The Twin Test. Rula Sinara

       CHAPTER ONE

      THEY WERE MISSING.

      Dax Calder muttered a curse and tossed his laptop, satellite phone and several rock samples, on the hand-carved poster bed that occupied the bungalow’s main living space. He double-checked the adjoining bedroom, where his identical twin daughters were supposed to be waiting for him.

      The room was in perfect order, down to their suitcases—one purple and one green—sitting uncharacteristically neat and aligned at the ends of their timber-pole framed beds. Two binders of math practice assigned from their virtual classes lay on a small writing table tucked in the far corner. He had a feeling the twins hadn’t touched a math problem since he’d left them three hours ago. Sheer white curtains danced over a colorful, handwoven tapestry rug in front of the sliding doors which led to a private, lava stone patio.

       Escaped. Not kidnapped. Or killed. Or—God help him—eaten alive.

      He raked back his hair and started for the open door. His flash of panic dulled to a smoldering irritation the second he spotted a piece of paper with a pair of cheeky smiley faces drawn on it taped to the glass behind the billowing sheers. Not again.

      Their modus operandi. Cryptic notes. Nothing but the sketched faces and “bored x 2” written under them. How many times had he told them that they needed to stay put until he returned? Three hours was all he’d asked for out of desperation. Their nanny hadn’t arrived in Kenya yet, and the chief engineer overseeing the oil field extension Dax had been contracted to survey had set up a meeting this morning.

      Dax ripped the paper down and crumpled it. It wasn’t the first time he’d dealt with their escapades. Using their twin factor to play pranks with hotel staff whenever he traveled was probably half the reason the hotels he frequented knew him so well. He wouldn’t be surprised if his name was tagged with a warning note: Beware of the twins.

      Only he’d never stayed here at the Tabara Lodge before. Heck. They’d never stayed anywhere this exotic. He wasn’t worried about them sneaking into a hotel kitchen and switching the salt and sugar, or dressing up as the Grady twins from The Shining and knocking on random hotel room doors at night. No, at the Tabara Lodge he was more worried about what they’d run into. This was Africa...as in safari land.

      As stunning as Kenya was, there was dangerous wildlife out there, and the girls’ idea of survival and self-preservation was limited to some pact they had never to rat on each other.

      Dax tugged at the collar of his polo shirt, where it chafed the back of his neck. He paused only for a second to secure the door they’d left open.

      He’d told them a million times to keep the bungalow locked up so that nothing would get stolen. He’d expected them to stay locked in because it made him feel more secure about leaving them alone for a few hours. Sure, he’d chosen Tabara because it was family friendly and had flushing toilets. But the guests and staff were still strangers. He had also been warned that wildlife here could be unpredictable and that vervet monkeys considered open doors an open invitation. He made a mental note to check his bags and equipment for anything missing—once he found his missing kids.

      An area of flowering shrubs and fruit trees that shaded benches fashioned from thick, twisted branches, extended beyond the rustic stone patio. Twelve thatched-roof bungalows, joined by stone-lined dirt paths, sat in a semicircle around the main lodge, complete with reception area, restaurant and pool. Considering the view of the golden savanna in the distance, this upscale safari lodge watered its gardens well. It seemed a wasteful luxury for a region that suffered severe drought seasons, but then again, for what he was paying for an extended stay, the lodge could afford the extra water.

      Water. He knew exactly where to look for them first—the one place he’d forbidden the twins to go alone.

      He headed for the main lodge, rounding a small cove where urns of flaming red hibiscus surrounded a metal sculpture of a giraffe and its baby. The scent of pool water and earsplitting squeals hit him before he cleared the garden.

      “Out. Now.”

      “Dad! Jump in!”

      Ivy disappeared under the water and shot across the pool so quickly that all he could make out was a blur of purple. Fern popped her head out of the water and pulled one of her green swimsuit straps higher on her shoulder.

      Sandy had chosen the two colors when she was planning their nursery and outfits before they were born. The purple-and-green color coding had stuck as a way of telling the identical twins apart and, even now, the girls considered them each their favorite colors because their mother had chosen them. As for Dax, it made life a lot easier when he wasn’t wearing his contacts or when he was too tired to pay attention to their subtle differences, like the fact that Fern had always weighed a pound or two less than Ivy.

      “Not happening. Now, both of you, out.”

      He grabbed a complimentary towel from a stack and tossed it to Fern as she hoisted herself onto the edge of the pool. Ivy hedged her bets and flipped around for one more lap before obeying.

      “You’re not really mad, Dad,” Fern said, wrapping her wet arms around him. “Are you? Because I’d feel guilty, and you know how that knots up my stomach and makes it so I can’t eat.”

      Guilt trip, huh? He loved them to death, but these two were going to age him twice as fast. Make that four times as fast if they’d inherited their ability to guilt him into doing what they wanted from his mother.

      “I totally am, and I would never make you eat if you weren’t up to it.” Dax tossed another towel at Ivy