“Get up, Vera.”

Vera opened her eyes, sure she was about to launch into the river as she had the previous day, but it was far worse—Mr. MacKenna glared down on her, his eyes full of impatience.

“Get up, we’re leaving camp. We’re already late.”

She moved to sit up, then fell back down onto the small cot, her body rejecting the idea of any movement. Everything ached, everything stung—she was in pain from head to toe.

“Up,” he repeated, turning to leave.

“Where are we going?” Vera sat up, holding her side and sucking in a gasp of air. Except that was a mistake as well. Seemed her ribs were disagreeable to such a movement. Her body was disagreeable to a fair deal already and she hadn’t been awake enough to get her bearings.

“You’re going back to England.” Owen stepped out of her tent, letting the flap close with a sharp punch.

She wasn’t going anywhere. Vera had traveled for one reason, the very reason who had her rushing to her feet to give chase.

“Now, wait here, Mr. MacKenna,” she yelled, emerging from her tent. Before her, a chaotic scene unfolded of men coming to and fro as the sounds of hammers and yelling filled the air with a heavy beat of steady work. She smoothed back her hair and stood straighter, determined not to let a single man see her bend in pain.

The smell of campfire still filled the air. In the distance, yells filtered through the dense forest surrounding the tents. The burned remains of tree stumps rose from the ground, the after stark afterthought of brush clearing.

Mr. MacKenna didn’t stop. In fact, he marched straight into his tent across the way. She wouldn’t be put off by his broody demeanor. He’d always acted as if the world was crashing down around his shoulders because he couldn’t bear the weight any longer. Even that summer when they met, while he was recovering from an injury.

Vera squared her shoulders and pulled back the tent flap, only to collide with Owen. She neatly bounced off of him, nearly falling over. And she would have too, if only he didn’t reach out and have her cradled now in his arms.

“You’re going back to England,” he said softly. “You’re no good to me dead.” His eyes bore into hers—rich amber spun with gold.

And her heart tripped in her chest, well, there must be another name for such a feeling but she was quite at a loss of words for once. Mr. MacKenna hadn’t shaved in several days and the growth along his jaw only seemed to make his face harsher for it. It loaned him the look of a hungry wolf, desperate for food, ready to fight if cornered. In that moment she wasn’t sure she possessed the strength to fight him off if he stole a kiss. But that was a matter of semantics. He’d have to be someone she didn’t wish to kiss again for it truly to be stolen. And that, as she hung back in his arms, couldn’t have been further from the truth.

Shaking free of his stare, she wiggled against his hold. Vera was placed neatly back on her feet once more, her hand still resting upon his chest. She pointed her index finger at him, at least pretending to be half of mind to argue.

“Listen here, Mr. MacKenna,” she said, licking her lips before she leveled her gaze up at him. “I nearly died yesterday and I’ve traveled for weeks. You can’t bundle me up and shove me onto a ship home. I refuse.” She dug in her heels for effect, then jammed her finger into his chest once more.

Mr. MacKenna lowered his head, bending down between them both. “I’m bigger.”

“You’re pig headed, is what you are.”

He let out a low chuckle. “I’ve been called much worse. Don’t be afraid to hurt my feelings now.”

Vera straightened, her hands settling on her hips. “You’re impossible.”

“Is that the best you have?”

“My brother is dead.” The words flew from her mouth so quickly they even surprised her. He straightened at that. “He’s dead and I’m here to find out why. And if you could stop being such an impossible bastard, I’m asking for your help.”

“No,” he said firmly. “It’s not safe here for you. You’re going back to England. I don’t care if I have to drag you there and tie you to the mast of the ship, you’re going back, damn it.”

“How typical, a man who wishes to order a woman about. I can look after myself.”

“No one’s saying you can’t, lass. But the jungle here doesn’t care a fig about your women’s rights.”

Vera gasped, stepping forward to stomp on his foot. Just moments ago she had thought of kissing him and enjoying it! How foolish. Men like Mr. MacKenna were best if avoided. Too bad she had fallen for him years ago.

He turned, retreating into his tent without a word. Oh, how she wished to pummel him with her fists. Too bad his chest was like hitting stone. The foolish man wouldn’t feel a thing.

So she was going to be difficult, Owen wouldn’t claim to be surprised. She always did have a mind of her own. That was partly why Tom’s aunt tried to get her married that summer. Tom said his father thought Vera was too smart to make a good wife and wanted to see her married before she had too much time to think outside of the school room.

And Owen had gone and thoroughly fell for her while recovering, kissing her just as thoroughly, the two of them dangerously close to forcing her aunt’s hands if they were ever caught. He had compromised her, but then she had so loved it. And he would never forgive himself for doing it, not when he was ripped away from ever seeing her as his wife, as he had intended. But the Crown was a demanding mistress in his experience, selfish enough to force him into a bachelor’s life. To work as a spy endangered those that he loved.

That summer seemed ages ago now, and he’d found one’s life changed with the tide. Hearts were just as consistent, ebbing with feeling. Too much lay between them now. Besides, it was too dangerous for Vera to be around him.

“Will you stop walking away?” she asked in a huff from the entryway of the tent. A slip of blond hair fell to frame her face, drawing his attention to those heavenly dark eyes of hers, rich as sin. “I’m not a child, Mr. MacKenna. I won’t be told what to do. I’ll pay you for your help.”

It was possible Vera Attwater was never a child. She was born with a sharp tongue and a wit to match. Hell, she even kissed as though she had been a courtesan in another life. Trying to keep up with that brilliant mind of hers was a challenge he rarely ever met fully. She thought circles around him. He saw the world in numbers and angles, and she wanted to know why one’s heart felt multitudes.

Owen grabbed the duffel from his desk and slung it over his shoulder. “Where are your things? Get them.”

“My God,” she exclaimed, “it’s as if I’m speaking another language. And I know—” She stopped and he waited, his heart hammering in his chest waiting her to finish that sentence. He spoke several languages, that’s why he was such an attractive candidate to the Home Office. Among his other, more deadly talents.

“Miss Attwater, regardless of what you have to say, we’re leaving. Get your things or we’ll leave without.”

She turned abruptly and stormed out. Owen’s body relaxed on a deep breath as he surveyed his tent. Nothing important was left behind, which was good because he didn’t trust anyone, especially after Tom’s death. And now that Vera as here, somehow miraculously surviving a shipwreck, he doubted he was done with danger. It all seemed easier once. Now, well now he was stuck with Vera Attwater. No good could come of that. She was safer if he continued to push her away and get her back to the safety of England.

He stepped out of his tent and searched the sky—not a storm cloud in sight. If they left soon, they could make it to Stanley Falls in five days’ time. From there, he’d pay a guide to see her the rest of the way home and he continued his work for the Crown. It wasn’t as if he were going to get...

Oh, bloody hell...

Vera marched forward, the white linen shirt she borrowed of his unbuttoned a button too low. It revealed the perfect curve of her breasts as the shirt stirred.

“Then we’re leaving without,” he said, observing her empty hands. He turned his back and walked fifty paces before he felt a tug at the back of his shirt. “This,” he growled, slowly turning around, “is not how the rest of today is going to go.”

With pursed lips, she slammed a folded piece of paper into his chest. He didn’t move back a step, which apparently didn’t meet her approval because her thick brows drew together in frustration.

“Since you won’t listen to me, look at that.” She stepped back, folding her arms. She stood tall, even if her body was dwarfed by her clothes. Well, his clothes more precisely. Vera stood before him in pants rolled up and tied at her waist with a rope, and the damn crime of it was that she still looked as if she were Athena, preparing for battle.

Owen set down the duffel, then opened the folded piece of paper, his heart picking up its pace once he noticed Tom’s writing.

“I found a notebook of his after the funeral. It was full of these cryptic messages. But this was sewn into a jumper of his, hidden at the back of bureau…”

Owen nodded, not needing her to finish. It was a map of the Upper Congo, the lethal area groups of men had tried to explore, but few ever survived. And if the scribbling were correct, it held the answer the Crown had paid Owen to discover—the Inoubliable.

“I need to know why my brother died, Mr. MacKenna, because I’m the Queen of England if it were because of riding accident. This is the answer. Whatever waits at the center of that map is why he’s buried and I’m here. And I will not return until I have my answer.”

Even in death, Tom couldn’t get out of Owen’s way. What had he been up to?

“And now that you’ve seen...” Vera snatched back the map and slipped it underneath her shirt, tucking it neatly into her corset, never once taking her eyes off Owen.

“That was supposed to change my mind?” Of course it had, not that he would admit that to her. There must be a way to see to the map and get Vera off to England. There was always a way.

“I need answers. You have them, I know you do, Mr. MacKenna. I’m not daft.”

At least in that they agreed. Owen took in the sight of her, drowning in his clothes, the sun wrapping around her with a dangerous brilliance. He scratched at the back of his neck, his mouth dry from wanting to kiss that smart mouth of hers.

“I’m sorry about your brother.”

She folded her arms again, then lofted her nose in the air. “But this is where you tell me to be a good little girl and return to England, isn’t it?”

“Haven’t I been telling you that all morning?”

Vera shrugged, her eyes growing red.

“I am sorry about, Tom. Truly. He was a great man.”

“He was. And a great brother. And he deserves the respect of finding out the real reason why he can’t grow old or have a family or fall...”

Owen cocked his head.

“He’s never going to fall in love, Mr. MacKenna. He’s going to be forever twenty-nine. And he’s going to be missing from my life, like this big hole that will never be filled.”

And didn’t Owen know that? He was robbed of a great friend and partner, and now he was stuck roaming through the African jungles with no direction, blindly following leads, aggressively turning assets to help with the search.

“He’d want you to be safe.” Owen bit back her name, or the endearment that lingered on his tongue whenever he addressed her. “I know that. And I recognize that even if you think it’s a good idea for you to be here, I can tell you that this whole country is a stick of dynamite, waiting for the charge to explode. And it won’t be years, it’s a matter of days. It’s not safe here, Miss Attwater, and getting yourself killed isn’t going to bring back your brother.”

Silence wrapped around them as her eyes filled with disappointment.

“Vera,” he said, his voice a plea.

She glanced up, her lips pulled into a tight line.

“There’s time to fight in this life, and then there’s time to stop and listen to your head. Use your head now. Get yourself home safe and live the life Tom was denied.”

For a moment, her hands worked at the rope around her waist, nervously tying a knot. Then, without a word, she turned and fetched the little that was salvaged from the shipwreck, then returned, her head hanging low. “Then get me on a ship home, if you must.”

Owen reached out, then dropped his hand and turned toward the jungle. Five days of trekking would be difficult, but there wasn’t another ship scheduled for three weeks’ time. She followed as they exited camp, silent as she walked behind. Maybe he shouldn’t have been such a bastard. Maybe he had been too harsh. But then again, what could he say to ever make up for losing Tom?

This was the right thing to do. This is what Tom would have wanted. And above all, this is what Owen wanted. He wasn’t prepared to have Vera back in his life, especially not the fierce woman she had become. That only drew him closer, made him soften toward her. Above all, he was proud of her.

An hour in, silence still lingered between them. A parrot flew overhead as he bent the palms out of the way and forged a path forward. If only he could make her understand he wasn’t the villain.

“You could have sent a telegram,” he said grimly, swinging his cutlass in a large sweep in front of him.

A sound made him freeze. A gunshot ripped through the air, one not too far away.

“I had no idea where. I had to ask after you in London, at the office you keep there. Which reminds me, your secretary was very rude.”

“Miss Attwater,” he said in warning, the hair on his back prickling.

She continued, unaware. “Anyway, you are a hard man to track down, but I find that if you offer to pay for information, people are much more agreeable to helping.”

He held up his hand as he turned around, facing the direction of the sound. The jungle’s growth was too thick to see what the commotion was. There weren’t other camps nearby. And the mines were a day’s distance away.

Another shot, this time striking the giant palm leaf beside his head.

“Get down,” he hissed, pulling Vera close, and shielding her with his arms.

Another shot, too close for it to be a coincidence.

“I’m starting to think someone wants you dead, Vera.” Before she could answer, he grabbed her hand. “Now run.” He pushed her forward into the thick overgrowth and followed, ducking as the bullets sliced through the air.

The jungle raced past as they ran, the deep green blurring by as he turned and shot back. He couldn’t find the culprit, couldn’t see a damn thing. But when you’re on the wrong end of the bullet, there wasn’t time for answers.

“I don’t know where I’m going,” Vera shouted over her shoulder.

“Keep moving. Don’t stop.”

Rain started, not a light rain, but the kind that soaked the ground during the wet season. It was unrelenting as it poured for above, deafening the sound of gunfire. Owen couldn’t tell where the shots were coming from now. He turned, pushing Vera forward until she stumbled, taking him down as well. The two tumbled, falling and falling, sliding as the rich mud washed down the side of a hill, carrying them away.

“Owen!”

Vera slide forward, screaming, her arms outstretched as the mud carried her farther and farther away. He tried to keep up but his body crashed against the trees, snagged on the roots and vines. Above them, somewhere in the distance was a shout—a voice carried off by the roar of the rain and the rush of water flowing down the mountain.

“Vera!”

At the bottom, she stood on her knees, her arms braced in front of her as the water and mud continued to flow underneath. He struggled to stand, to gain his footing, and she did the same as he neared her.

“Who’s shooting at us?”

He didn’t have the answer, though he was curious himself. I can’t tell where they are now, we have to keep moving.”

She stood, drenched in mud, holding out his duffle in her hands.

He nodded for her to continue, and she did, until there was another loud rush.

This time, the ground beneath them gave way as a shot fired into the air, and they tumbled down, down until they struck the surface of the river.