Short Fuse: Elite Operators, Book 2 (16 page)

She regretted it the second his expression changed from confessional to detached, and her ruefulness had grown with every hour since their discussion that morning. The truth was, she was falling for him. Hard. And the more the day progressed, the more she wanted some assurance that they would give this a chance, no matter what the future held.

She paused in her packing to stare at herself in the mirror. When had she become such a coward? When had she decided the best option was not to say exactly what she was thinking?

And since when did her stupid travel schedule dictate who she fell in love with?

Love.
It was a big word—one of the most terrifying and sparingly used in her vocabulary. So why did it suddenly feel like the only one that could suitably capture what she was feeling?

She shoved her feet into her flip-flops with a muttered curse, jogging across the floor and out of the cabin before she could give herself time to change her mind. It took ten seconds to reach Warren’s door, yet even that short time was plenty for the doubts gathering in her brain.

What if this is just adrenaline? What if the stress of the situation at Hambani is making me impulsive? What if I’m not that into Warren at all? Is there a danger version of beer goggles?

She paused outside his door, her hand raised to knock, her bare toes wiggling indecisively. Now that work had halted and the twenty-four-hour drone of the rock drills had ceased, the silence was absolute. The scents of cordite and chemicals wafted on the breeze, testament to Warren’s afternoon spent systematically detonating explosives in small quantities, denying the rebels their destructive potential.

She had no idea what she would say when she got inside, or why exactly she’d decided this was the best course of action. None of that mattered—it was now or never. She took a deep breath and knocked.

“It’s open, Nicola,” he called. She pushed open the door.

He didn’t bother to rise from the bed were he sat—his only concession to her unexpected arrival was to stick his boarding-card stub bookmark between the pages of the volume in his hands. He didn’t seem at all surprised to see her. Calmly he placed the book onto the bedside table and patted the empty space beside him. She closed the door behind him and slid onto the bed.

“Warren,” she began, but then her bare leg brushed his and memories of their night together flooded over her in a wave that was so visceral, she had to kiss him. She had to feel his mouth on hers immediately.

As soon as their lips met she was serene, full of a peaceful sense of completion. But it was short-lived—gently he disengaged from her embrace.

“I can’t do this.” His tone was soft, bordering on apologetic. “When we made love, it meant something to me. I can’t pretend that it didn’t, and I can’t do it again knowing you don’t feel the same. I’m sorry.”

She shook her head vehemently. “It meant something to me, too. That’s what I came here to tell you. I said what I did, blew you off the way I did, because I was scared. I’ve never felt this strongly about anyone, ever, and it was terrifying.”

“And now? Are you still scared?”

“More than ever.”

“I guess you weren’t planning to fall for a guy who defuses bombs for a living.”

“It’s not your job that scares me—it’s mine.”

“What do you mean?”

She wrung her hands in her lap, trying to put her convoluted thoughts into words. “I love my job. Or—I thought I did. I loved the travel, loved going to remote sites all over the world, loved leaving them feeling like they were a little better off than before I arrived.” She sighed. “But here? I have to admit defeat. I haven’t done a damn thing for Latadi. In fact, if anything, I’ve made the situation worse. I’ve never been so wrong, or such a failure. It’s made me question every choice I’ve ever made. What if I’ve wasted my whole career? What if everything I’ve sacrificed wasn’t worth it?” She paused, bracing herself for her next admission. “What if I leave Hambani, move on to my next assignment and never meet another man who makes me feel like you do?”

“Walking away from Hambani doesn’t mean you have to walk away from me.” His voice was soft as he took her hands in his.

“But how can it work? How can I know I won’t screw up us the way I’ve screwed up this?” She flung out her palms to indicate Hambani, Latadi, the whole stupid mess.

“Nicola,” he chided, smiling as he pushed a lock of hair over her shoulder. “This is Africa. Stories are different here.”

“What does that mean?”

“War will break out in Latadi. Lots of people will die, and it’ll be ugly and destructive, and not at all heroic. There may not even be a winner, just the side with more survivors. But that’s not the end—the story isn’t over. People will pick up the pieces, rebuild, get on with things. They’ll get married, have kids, live their lives.” He shrugged. “African stories are long and resilient. Latadi will find its way, and so will we.”

Then he kissed her, and his hands were in her hair, and as she parted her lips to let his tongue meet hers all the unanswered questions and worries and frets about how this could ever work between them evaporated, and there was only his touch. There was only him.

The world around her blurred into a heady, spinning whirlwind of sensation. His palms encircled her waist, her camisole was on the floor, his lips were on her breast, her face was buried in his thick, black hair. She pulled his T-shirt over his head, he trailed his mouth down to her belly button, she straddled him and dragged his boxers over his hips, he reached into the drawer in the bedside table for a condom and the book he’d been reading fell to the floor with a thud.

They never spoke—there was no need. As their bodies bucked and collided and merged in unison, she felt closer to him than anyone else, ever. She made love to him with complete honesty and complete abandon, giving herself to him fully with every touch, every movement, every breath.

In the twilight of one of the innumerable climaxes they reached together over the course of the next few hours they lay on their sides, legs still entwined as they faced each other.

His eyes were fixed on hers, smoldering like molten silver. She traced the line of his jaw, then dropped her hand to his heart. It pounded against her palm, hammering inside his chest. He put his hand over hers, and their connection resonated deep within her.

That was the moment she knew her life had changed. And that she would never be the same again.

Chapter Thirteen

Warren’s eyes snapped open in the pitch-black cabin.

Something was wrong.

He carefully disentangled himself from Nicola’s sleep-soft form, gently kissing her temple before he slid from the bed. As he pulled on his jeans and picked up the Glock from the nightstand, he wondered if this scenario would ever play itself out on a regular basis. He imagined responding to a late-night summons as she slept in his bed in his house in Cape Town, and what it would be like to drive home from that hostage situation or bank robbery or bomb sweep knowing she would be there when he got back.

Would she stir in her sleep as he climbed between the sheets? Would she smile coyly, her eyes still closed, and tell him he smelled like cordite? Would she slip her arms around his neck and snuggle into his chest? Or would she remain undisturbed as he drifted off beside her, one hand flared protectively on her waist, grateful to be back in bed with the woman he loved?

He hoped he’d get the chance to find out.

He shook his head to clear it. Something had awakened him, and every nerve in his body told him it was something bad. He crept to the door and tilted his head against it, listening for movement outside.

Nothing.

He hefted the Glock with one hand and slowly opened the door with the other.

The night air was quiet and still. If it hadn’t been for a bare sliver of moonlight cutting across the grass, he might not have seen it.

The silhouette was unmistakable, and his pulse began to race as he recognized the unusual shadow cast by the wires sprouting from the device.

He charged back into the bedroom and switched on the light. Nicola sat up in alarm, blinking, and as he spoke he tossed his phone on the bed, then snatched up his shirt from the floor and draped it over her shoulders.

“There’s a bomb. You have to get out of here now. Call Alex on your way. Tell him to get Dan and meet you at the office. Whatever you do, don’t stop running.”

Her eyes were still cloudy with sleep, but she nodded and pushed her arms through the sleeves of his shirt. He followed her to the door, where he turned left to reach the device and she went right toward the office.

After a few steps she spun to face him.

“Warren—”

“I said go,” he commanded. She pressed her teeth into her lower lip, then turned and broke into a sprint.

He knelt in front of the bomb, studying the mechanism in the light from the cabin as he tried to decide whether he had time to dart inside and grab his toolkit. It was similar to the one in the shed, but not identical. If he had to guess, he’d say the bomb-maker had learned a thing or two since he’d wired the last one.

Distantly he heard the fire alarm clanging in the office. Nicola must’ve gotten through to Cedric—he’d decided to sleep in the canteen, having moved all of his possessions out of the small flat he’d been renting in Namaza. Warren wasn’t sure what the point of the alarm was—to dispatch any remaining security personnel, he supposed. Hopefully Cedric would take one of the golf carts and ride out to meet Nicola halfway. Hopefully Dan and Alex were already on their way to the office. Hopefully they all stayed there and didn’t try to come out and help him.

He blinked hard. He didn’t have time for useless speculation. He had to stay focused on the crude, deadly weapon before him.

No, he decided as he studied the strapped-together rock-blasting sticks, not crude. In fact this was the most sophisticated explosive he’d seen in a while.

And according to the tiny dial that was clicking around in a circle, acting as a countdown before it connected the detonator to the charge, it was also running on the shortest fuse.

Sweat beaded on his brow. He squinted at the mechanism, his eyes sweeping the connections and circuits over and over again. He could defuse it if he had time. Or if he had liquid nitrogen to slow it down. Or if he could just be sure there was only one detonator…

The fire alarm still screamed in the distance. The dial clicked and clicked. He estimated he had maybe forty-five seconds, a minute at the most.

His training dictated that sometimes the best way to dispose of a bomb was to let it explode in a controlled manner. He wasn’t sure his commanding officer would put his next move in the category of
controlled
, but the clock was ticking and he was out of ideas.

Nicola trembled uncontrollably, but she ignored Cedric’s pleas to join the others inside the house. She knew getting out of the chilly air wouldn’t stop her shaking. She’d be a jittery mess until she was sure Warren was safe.

Horrible, grisly speculations careened through her mind, but she steeled herself against them. If she wanted to be with Warren—and she wanted nothing more in the world—she had to learn to trust him. She had to have faith in his ability to keep himself alive.

So when Dan appeared at her side and asked in a voice pitched high with panic if she was sure Warren knew what he was doing, she simply nodded.

“He’ll be fine,” she answered firmly.

Not long after those words left her mouth there was a pop, a flash and then a booming burst of fire in the distance, in the direction of the cabins. The flash was visible before the boom reached them, like thunder following a bolt of lightning, and the sudden, silent illumination in the night sky was simultaneously beautiful and eerie. Then the sound rolled over them, bringing with it a tiny tremor, clattering dishes in the canteen and the glass panes in the windows as if a heavy truck had lumbered past.

Nicola’s heart was in her throat as everyone rushed to join her outside the canteen, where she’d been standing in tense vigilance. She barely noticed them, her imagination running wild. Clearly Warren hadn’t been able to stop the device from exploding—but how close had he been when it detonated?

Fear turned to panic and for a moment she was frozen in terror and suspense, barely able to drag air into her lungs.

Then her phone rang.

At first she didn’t realize it was hers, because it wasn’t. It was Warren’s—he’d given it to her as he’d shooed her out of the cabin, and she’d clutched it ever since. As soon as she registered that the unfamiliar ringtone was coming from the phone in her hand, she turned it over to read the caller ID.

Nicola Holt
.

She frowned. How could she be calling herself? Her phone was still in the—

“Oh my God,” she muttered, answering the call and jerking the phone up to her ear. “Warren? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Can’t say the same for that big group of trees behind the cabins, though.”

She couldn’t help it—she burst into tears. Heavy, uncontrollable sobs overwhelmed her thoughts and her vocabulary, garnering deeply uncomfortable looks from her colleagues and panicked reassurance from the man on the phone.

“Everything’s okay, I promise. The charge wasn’t even that big; in fact it was a lot smaller than the one we found in the shed. I think it was meant to be more frightening than deadly, and—”

She was beyond processing what she heard, let alone responding, and she held the phone out to whoever stood nearest—Alex, it turned out. As she wrapped her arms around herself and fought to regain composure she heard him speaking to Warren.

“No, she’s fine, just upset. We could see the flash from here and I think we all feared the worst.”

The worst.
What did that look like? Two weeks ago it would’ve been dismissal from her job, being passed over for a promotion, maybe even a missed flight or a badly executed presentation. But now? It was a phone call to a famous diamond-mining family, explaining that their errant scion wouldn’t be coming home. It was a funeral, an obituary, the end of an idea that had only just begun to form. It was scrolling through the contacts on her cell phone, deleting the one who would never call her again.

Warren made it clear she didn’t have to choose between him and her job, that they’d make it work, that whatever was happening between them was worth distance and time and complex logistics. He respected her career, respected her commitment, and she knew he would never ask her to compromise either of those on his behalf.

And yet, everything that had so excited her for the last eight years—thoughts of bonuses, of promotions, of industry-wide recognition—suddenly felt hollow. Selfish. So trivial they were almost vulgar.

She took a deep breath, tilting her chin to stare into the big, dark African sky, and the stars that were brighter than any she could remember seeing. Her beliefs were unchanged—she still wanted to affect this world, to improve lives, to unravel inequality as much as she could. But she had to find a new way to do it.

She was no closer to an answer when Warren jogged up to the canteen fifteen minutes later, looking as unruffled as if he’d spent the last hour rigging sails on his boat rather than disposing of a bomb. She sprang up from the chair she’d dragged onto the patio so she could watch for him, ignoring the way Dan, Alex and Cedric hung back as she sprinted across the grass to meet him. He opened his arms and she fell into them, sagging against his chest.

“Don’t ever do that again,” she admonished, squeezing her eyes shut against the soft material of his shirt.

“It’s what I do every day. That’s not going to change.”

There was a sad undercurrent to his words, and she pulled back in his embrace, squinting to read his expression in the darkness. He smiled, but it was obligatory, comforting—insincere.

She frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he replied, too quickly. “Why?”

He shifted his weight, and as his gaze moved cagily to his feet it clicked.

“I know what you do for a living, and I’ve told you it doesn’t scare me.” She gripped his arms above his elbows, squeezing gently. “But losing you does.”

His expression changed as his eyes held hers for a full minute, became earnest, his jaw tightening with words unsaid. The night seemed to darken around them, the buzzing insects hushing, even the breeze pausing in its passage. For a second she thought the whole universe was holding its breath, waiting for them, a man and a woman who were little more than strangers yet who’d come to know each other so deeply, standing in the middle of the African bush at midnight, about to declare something they could never take back.

He inhaled. She didn’t dare blink.

Then three flashlight beams bounced toward them across the grass, cutting through the moment the same way they spliced the darkness. She dropped her hands from his arms and he pivoted toward their oncoming colleagues, his posture stiff and preoccupied.

“What the hell do we do now?” Dan demanded, his voice teetering on the edge of hysteria.

“Now that we know you’re okay,” Alex added, although his wide-eyed expression suggested he was as eager for answers as Dan.

“I’d say the message is pretty clear—we have to get out of here,” Warren replied. “We can’t know exactly when the Matsulu rebels plan to take Hambani, but a bomb at a cabin door feels like a pretty final warning.”

Concern flared in Nicola’s mind. “How did the bomber get on the site? You checked the perimeter during the evacuation, and we only have the two gate guards still left inside. Dan phoned the booth as soon as I got to his cabin, and they were both there—they wouldn’t have had time to plant the bomb and rush back.”

“They probably bribed the guards.”

“They what?” Dan screeched. “We’re not safe! Hundreds of them could pour onto the site at any minute! We have to get out of here!”

Cedric shook his head. “Two thousand miners just lost their jobs. The shebeens in Namaza are overflowing. There may be riots.”

“But we can’t stay here,” Alex protested. “The site isn’t secure, and we’ve already had one bomb. Who knows what else is on the way?”

“Okay, everyone stay calm,” Warren commanded, raising his palms. “I’m not worried, so none of you should be. First, there aren’t hundreds of rebels—maybe seventy-five, if they’ve managed to recruit people from other provinces. Second, if they really wanted to hurt us, they had their chance. I think they just want us out of the way, and they’ll wait for us to respond to the bomb. Third, Cedric’s got a point. Namaza’s a powder keg. You’ll have to leave earlier than planned tomorrow, early in the morning, when the town’s quiet and everyone’s sleeping. It’ll be safer to wait at the airfield in August Town than drive through Namaza in the middle of the day.”

Alex exhaled heavily. “Sounds good. What time—”

“Aren’t you coming with us?” Nicola interrupted.

Everyone’s head turned in her direction.

“You said we’ll have to leave earlier than planned,” she continued. “Please tell me you don’t still intend to stay behind to meet your friends.”

He regarded her for several seconds before answering. “Why not?”

Because I can’t bear to lose you. Because I never want to be apart from you again. Because I love you.

The realization stunned her into a silence so deep, she could sense Dan fidgeting impatiently as he waited for her answer. She opened her mouth, closed it, repeated the process once more. Speaking suddenly seemed like the most insurmountable task in the world, and she wondered how she’d managed to express so many words through all these years.

Warren’s posture softened, and perversely she hoped he knew what she wanted to say without her having to find the words.

“I have to stay behind.” His tone was gentle, reassuring, heavy with intimacy despite the presence of three other men.

“I’m sure we can find another way to move the gold,” Alex offered. “Anyway, it’s not such a big capital loss that it’s worth—”

“It’s not just the gold.” Warren’s gaze shifted from her to her colleagues. “I didn’t want to alarm all of you, but there are still several explosives caches stored inside the mine itself. More of Roger’s paranoid hoarding—not that it matters now. We can’t let the rebels get hold of them, or use them to hold the site hostage. Most importantly, we can’t let them detonate the bombs to destroy the mine. There’s enough tonnage in there to take out half of Namaza, and the aftershocks could cause massive earthquakes for years. Those explosives are the last step to utterly devastating this country. I can’t leave without disposing of as many as I can.”