Jade

I woke up to the sound effects of rain, not your regular drip-drop variety, but rather an orchestral interpretation that included everything from rumbling thunder to the pelting of a torrential storm attacking my bungalow’s thatched roof. The sound effects came with a wet face and a burning urge to pee.

I opened my eyes only to become the victim of an ocular assault. A drop hit me smack in the eye. I sat up startled, rubbing my eye. My pillow was wet. Hell, my T-shirt was wet too. The drenched mosquito net bowed over my head, dripping a steady stream. Beyond the net, above the wooden rafters, a trickle dropped from the ceiling. I looked around. The roof leaked in several places and puddles covered the floor.

I sprang out of the bed and jumped into action, but there wasn’t a lot I could do. I was the proud owner of a thin travel towel that would never do the job. Besides, I had to get my emergencies prioritized. The scratches on my arm burned and my bladder was about to burst.

I scurried over to the bathroom, which was separated from the bed only by a thin burlap curtain. I slid down my panties, plopped down on the toilet, and released my own biological version of the biblical flood. The roof leak in the bathroom missed the tub by only three inches.

I’d been warned about complaining, so it wasn’t an option. I tried to focus on the positives. From where I sat, I had a million-dollar view of the river, brown, swollen and overflowing its wide banks this fine morning, but hey, I had a water view.

Beyond the screened glass doors and the deck that comprised the whole back side of my rustic retreat, I spotted movement. A Nile crocodile swam in the river, a true, honest-to-God fifteen footer, eyeing my humble abode. I grinned. I was in Africa and I was watching this magnificent specimen from the comfort of a proper toilet. Out-freaking-standing.

Still flowing like the damn river, I surveyed my quarters under the light of day, recalling my arrival to the station last night. Zeke had delivered me to Claudette, the lodge’s manager. Claudette was a spectacular beauty with a flawless ebony complexion, a cascade of braids that flowed like a fountain from her crown, and a lovely, soothing accent. I’d followed her like a zombie to the main lodge, the only place with Wi-Fi at the station, from where I emailed news of my arrival to my parents and Hannah, along with a couple of other things.

Glad to hear you got in safe, Mom WhatsApped me right away.

And from Dad, Oorah.

For their sake, I hoped they never, ever heard about my encounter with Kobe Kumbuyo.

From the main lodge, I’d followed Claudette to my bungalow at the far end of the dilapidated walkway, away from the main lodge, and way past all of the other bungalows. The lodge had once been a boutique style, eco-friendly lodge, with thatched roofs, hardwood floors and high-end finishes, a sanctuary for civilization’s wealthiest escapees. At some point, the resort had gone bust and the Pacha Ziwa foundation had picked it up for peanuts and used it to house the offices, staff, and researchers who worked at the reserve.

Once we got to my room, Claudette helped me make the bed with clean, crisp sheets stamped with Property of Pacha Ziwa Reserve across the hem. I didn’t think I’d been very talkative, but I hoped I’d come across as grateful. After she left, I’d cleaned up in the cool outdoor shower and crashed on the big bed. Since then, I’d been in a sleep coma.

My view from the toilet revealed that my bungalow was no longer posh. The deck paint was peeling off, the furnishings were old and stained, and, well, there was the small matter of all those roof leaks. The place came with three hours of generator-powered electricity a day and no Wi-Fi or hot water, but I hadn’t expected any of that.

On the positive side, the bungalow’s vaulted ceilings and the open concept gave the place an airy feeling. The dark mahogany floors retained a classic sheen and the king size bed was huge, even if the mattress was a bit lumpy. So, yeah, it was raining inside, but the place had charm.

With my most urgent business out of the way, I went for the basics. I brushed my teeth, washed my face, ditched my wet T-shirt, and dried myself with my precious towel. I checked my gear. It was high and dry on the rustic wood shelves that served as an open-face closet. A Ziploc bag was stuffed at the top and with it, came a note:

Not essential, I know, but cute, in case you go on a date. Love Mom.

I smiled and opened the bag. It held a pair of silver sandals and a new, black cotton dress. I hung the dress on a perch and put the sandals away. I had no intention of going on a date while at work in Africa, but it was really sweet of Mom. I checked my cell. The battery was dead, so I had no way to tell the time. The solidly gray day provided me with no real clues. So much for star-based navigation.

The annoying tapping I’d been hearing for a while finally registered in my brain as insistent knocks at the door.

“Hang on,” I shouted over the sound of the rain.

I rummaged through my duffel, found my yoga pants and my black tank top, and dressed quickly. On my way to the door, I slipped on a puddle. “Shit.” I recovered swiftly. “I’m coming!”

I undid the lock and opened the door. Matthias stood on my stoop, wearing khaki cargos and a green military style T-shirt beneath an olive rain jacket. The tones played up the hazel in his eyes. He looked clean-shaven and fresh, despite the bruise on his cheek. It was lot smaller than I expected when I remembered last night. Matthias must be a fast healer. He showed none of the wear and tear I felt in my bones. He stared at me as if I were an alien from another planet.

“What?” I said impatiently, making sure I blocked his view of the room, afraid he’d boot me out if he knew how bad the leak situation was inside.

He hesitated, shifting his weight from one boot to the other. “I…we…we were worried because we hadn’t heard from you today. I thought maybe I…we…needed to check on you.”

“Well, bad news for you.” I crossed my arms and leaned against the threshold. “I’m alive. What time is it anyway?”

He looked at his watch. “Two fifteen, something like that.”

Wow. I’d slept a long time. I could see why he’d gotten worried.

“I come bearing gifts.” He picked up the plastic laundry basket by his feet. “May I?”

I shrugged, but he started to come in anyway. I had no choice but to hold the door open for him.

He lumbered into the bungalow, took in the small waterfalls trickling through the roof, and whistled aloud. “This is worse than I thought.”

“It’s fine.” I closed the door behind him. “I can deal with it.”

“Can you now?” He gave me a skeptical stare.

“Look,” I said, “if you’re here to evict me—”

“Don’t get all bent out of shape just yet.” He deposited the basket on the wobbly coffee table. “Peace. Okay? I didn’t come here to fight with you.”

“Okay,” I mumbled dubiously. If he thought I was going to change my mind or give up on my assignment, he was crazy.

“You and I.” He motioned between us. “Fresh start. All right?”

I eyed him with suspicion. What was he up to?

“Like I said, I brought buckets.”

“Huh?”

“For the leaks.” He lifted a pile of stacked buckets out of the basket. “To collect the water?”

“Ooh.”

It was the best housewarming gift I could think of at the moment and I didn’t waste any time. I grabbed the top two buckets and stomped off to place them under the nearest leaks. He grabbed some buckets too. After studying the trajectory of the leaks with a lot more care than I did, he placed them around the room in strategic positions. With the major leaks in check, the only remaining one was the one over my bed. I braced my hands on the bed frame and pushed with all my might. The massive frame didn’t budge, not even an inch.

“I’m right here,” he said. “Would you like some help?”

“I can do it.” I leaned into the frame and pushed a little harder, but nothing.

“Sure, why don’t you slip a disc or two in the process?” He ambled over to me. “Or you could snap your spine in two. That should be fun.”

I rolled my eyes and kept at it. I was used to taking care of things myself. He sighed, bent his knees, and pushed. Magically, the bed slid forward as if on rollers. We parked it a few feet closer to the screen, under a patch of dry roof.

He cocked his fists on his hips and surveyed the room. “That should do it.”

“Thank you,” I mumbled belatedly. “I knew there had to be something I could like about you.”

“My charming personality?”

“Nope,” I said, stripping the wet case from the pillow. “Your water management skills.”

He laughed, a deep, quiet, satisfying rumble that fit nicely with the rainstorm’s muted song. My lips turned up in a grin as I hung the pillowcase to dry over the back of a chair along with my T-shirt.

“You must be hungry,” he said, taking off his rain jacket and hanging it on the peg by the door.

“Starving,” I said. “I was going to trek to the lodge and find some food next.”

“Sorry,” he said. “The kitchen is closed between two and six. But I brought you something.” He handed me a small package wrapped in aluminum foil.

I glanced at him, then opened the package. It was a sandwich, and a darn good one, by the looks of it, with fresh lettuce and tomatoes, three kinds of cheeses, and a stack of folded turkey. My mouth salivated, but still, I hesitated. Was the sandwich an eatable kindness or a trap?

“I was told last night that food was prohibited in the rooms,” I said cautiously. “To keep the animals away.”

“True, that’s the rule.” He bent his long legs and sat down on my sofa. “But after last night, I thought maybe we should make an exception.”

He was breaking his precious rules. For me. I’m not sure why, but my heart knocked against my ribs and my face burned as if it was on fire. I bit down on the sandwich and hid my reaction with some vigorous chewing action.

“Wow.” I swallowed, licked my fingers, and plopped down on the sofa’s opposite corner, bringing up my feet and curling my knees against my chest. “This is good. Love the mayo.”

“Mayo was a dangerous decision.” He grinned, a totally new expression for me, one that added both mirth and mischief to the gleam in his eyes. “But it was a risk I had to take.”

“I know, right?” I took another bite, chewed and swallowed. “It’s not a popular condiment these days. Another good, old-fashioned favorite fallen to the whim of the masses, like barbeque potato chips and macaroni and cheese.”

The corners of his eye crinkled when his smile widened. “What’s the world coming to?”

“Can you imagine a world without macaroni and cheese?” I crossed my eyes and, holding up my thumb, jabbed my index against my temple. “Pow. Just kill me now.”

He laughed again, that quiet, sensual sound that went straight to my lower belly and tickled my groin. I took that as an omen that perhaps, if the planets aligned, we could maybe turn the corner, become civil to each other, who knew, maybe even become friends?

“I’ve got some other things for you.” He dug through the basket. “I thought maybe you’d like this back.”

He held my bra in the air, the black one I’d shed last night in the clearing.

“Oh.” I blushed like a freaking fool and snatched it from his hand. “Thanks, I guess.”

“That was a dangerous thing to do.”

“You already said that.”

“I’m saying it again.” His tone held a warning. “Around here, you’re better off keeping your bra on.”

“Yeah, well, thanks for the tip.” I tucked the bra under my bum, crammed the last of my sandwich in my mouth, and swallowed with a gulp.

“This is for the scratches on your arm.” He lifted a jar from the bottom of the basket. “We don’t want them to get infected. Can I take a look?”

He had to see to believe, another way in which he was a lot like me. With a resigned huff, I stretched out my arm. “If you must.”

He examined the scratches closely, his huge hands turning my wrist this way and that, his big blunt fingers sliding up and down my forearm with gentleness that took priority over the sheer strength of his grip.

“It’s clean,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Duh.” I scoffed. “I rinsed it well last night. Do you think I’m a dummy?”

“No, I know better.” Quietly, methodically, he opened the jar and set it on the coffee table. He pulled out a sterile pack of gauze, ripped it open and after dipping it in the jar, held it up. “May I?”

“I’m speechless.” I said, consenting with a nod. “If I hadn’t met your evil twin yesterday, I could’ve mistaken all this as some sort of a kindness gene in your DNA.”

“Another thank you would suffice.” The grin kept tugging at his mouth as he spread the ointment over my scratches, proving that maybe he did have a sense of humor after all. He traced one of the scratches up my arm and onto my back. He paused when he spotted the tattoo on my shoulder blade. “A mappa mundi?”

“You know what it is?”

“Of course I know what it is,” he said, a tad too sharply. “An ancient map of the world. I’m not a dumb as you make me feel.”

Oops. “Sorry about that.”

“This star,” he said, circling the newest addition to my tattoo. “You already added Africa to your map?”

“It was a done deal,” at least in my mind.

“Yeah, I imagine it was,” he murmured, as if in one night, he’d gotten to know me.

He added a little cream to my newest tat then returned to spread relief on the scratches on my arm. It smothered the itch right away. In all honesty, I hadn’t known how bad I was burning until Matthias put out the fire. I let out a low, grateful moan.

His gaze flowed over me hot and smoldering as if he wanted to drink the sound. “Listen,” he said gruffly. “It’s not that I don’t like you. In fact, I do like you. A lot. You’ve got guts, girl. You’ve got spunk.”

Could it be true that he liked me? Well, he had kissed me last night. Or had I kissed him?

The hazel eyes beamed on me, burning with a coppery glow around the pupil. His touch was soft, warming and comforting. Ripples of thrill flowed from his thumb as it slid under my wrist, near to where my pulse hammered faster every second that passed. His touch echoed in my body, commandeering my cells and setting off flutters in my lower belly.

Holy smokes. I was so glad I wasn’t standing in front of the digital temperature-taking device the airport authorities used to ensure incoming passengers didn’t have Yellow Fever or Ebola. Had I been under the scrutiny of one of those right now, my whole body would’ve been glaring red, especially the part between my legs. I’d probably have been deported on entry.

Down, Jade, down. Matthias was the enemy. Remember?

“So…” I cleared my throat and in true Jade form decided to kill my reaction and go for the jugular. “Are you going to try to kick me out or what?”

The unguarded expression on his face reminded me of a cat caught a second before it pounced. Then his eyes dulled, the lines of his mouth tensed and his Adam’s apple rippled. “Have I mentioned anything about you leaving?”

“No, but you’re being nice to me,” I said. “In my experience, people want something very specific when they’re nice to you.”

“Whoa.” A small pucker of concern deepened the lines between his brows. “You’ve got like zero faith in the human race.”

He was right about that one.

“Don’t try to trick me,” I said. “I’m a lot better at rational conversations than you’d think. Just tell me what you came to say and be done with it.”

He dabbed the last of the ointment on my arm and tossed the used gauze into the nearby wastebasket. After screwing the lid back on the jar, he leaned forward, braced his elbows on his knees and cleared his throat. “Look, Jade, it’s nothing personal.”

“Sure, it’s nothing personal.” I clasped my hands on my lap. “But you still want me to leave.”

“Yes,” he admitted with unusual candor. “It’s the best solution for everyone involved.”

Except me of course. “How so?”

“It’s a delicate time for the reserve.”

“Why?”

“The big grant,” he said, “the one that pays for operations? It’s due for renewal at the end of the year.”

“And having a photojournalist around makes you nervous.”

He inclined his head. “Correct.”

“Are you afraid I might expose the shit that goes down around here along with the research?”

“I’m afraid you’d publicize the reserve and people who have no clue would take it upon themselves to pass judgment on a very complex and fluid environment.”

He had a point, but so did I. “Poaching is not a gray area.”

“Jade…” He lowered his head, clasped his hands together, and cracked his knuckles. He looked up at me again. “We live in an upside down world. The bad guys outgun the good guys. If we’re not smart, places like this won’t survive.”

There could be an interesting brain underneath that thick skull of his.

“New question,” I said. “What’s somebody like you doing here?”

“Like you said, I’m a mercenary, so what?”

“Um…” I hesitated. “I might have been a little wrong about that.”

“Oh, yeah?” He flashed me a tentative glance. “How do you figure that?”

“If you were a true mercenary,” I said, “you’d be working for one of those global security companies that pay mega dollars to operators willing to go into complicated theaters. You’d be a recruiter’s dream. And the money… Surely, you could easily make ten times what you make here. But no, you’re not here for the money, which makes you most definitively not a mercenary. Which leads me back to my original question. Why are you here?”

“I like Africa.” His gaze shifted out the window and scanned the river. “I like my job here.”

“True.”

His eyebrows came up. “What are you now, a human lie detector?”

“No, I just like to use my brain now and then. Here’s a hunch. I think you like Africa a lot, sure, but I have a feeling you also don’t like the USA very much lately.”

“Look, this conversation is not about me,” he said, tapping his thumbs together impatiently. “It would be much better for you to leave now. It would be best for the reserve and the station, less complications and…”

“It would be better for you,” I finished his sentence. “Because if you and I climbed in a jar, we wouldn’t need vinegar to make a bitter pickle together.”

His eyes met mine. “That bad, eh?”

I shrugged, unable to process the disappointment that dulled his eyes. Somehow, I’d hurt his feelings. God, Jade, you can be such a bitch. Well, at least I was a competent bitch with a job to do.

“Last night,” I said. “You kissed me.”

“Did I?” His mouth twitched. “It kind of felt like you kissed me.”

It was possible. “I’ve been known to be reckless before.”

“Reckless, yeah.” He leaned toward me. “That’s you all right.”

His face came near. His mouth beckoned. Oh, no, no. I panicked. Was this going to happen again? Yes, it could happen and worse, if the heat burning between my legs and the bulk rising beneath his cargos had anything to do with it.

The knock at the door startled me. I jumped three feet high. Jesus. Saved by fate?

I catapulted for the door. Before I opened it, I glanced back. Matthias’s stare was nailed to the coffee table, jaw tight, eyes hollow. Disappointment again, kind of what I felt inside?

As I swung the door open. A small, bespectacled man dressed in a white robe and a white cap gave me a slight bow. “I’m the reserve’s director, Ari Farai. May I come in?” He didn’t wait for a reply. Wrinkled face tight, he marched past me and into the bungalow without another word.

Zeke stepped in right behind him and closed the door. He widened his eyes in a cautionary warning. Something was amiss. My belly squeezed. Crap. I had some idea of what it could be. How had they found out? I couldn’t help but wonder: In my haste, had I already made the mistake that would get me kicked out of Pacha Ziwa?