Through The Storm. Rula Sinara
getting as far from the boy as she could. Because sooner or later Brice would realize this wasn’t a vacation, and when he did, he’d be after her for answers...and there was no way she’d let Nick get caught in the cross fire.
* * *
MAC WALKER HATED being played almost as much as he hated owing anyone anything. But everyone—including Mac—had a price, and saving Air Walker Safaris from the red was a big one. He’d always gotten by okay. Up until now, the balance between booking enough paid charters to keep the cash flowing and still having plenty of spare time to volunteer free flights for herd observation or tracking for wildlife reservations or research and rescue camps in the area had been perfect. His safari charters hopefully raised awareness of endangered species while letting tourists take in or photograph the phenomenal world below. But his volunteer work? That’s what he lived for. That’s what he didn’t want to sacrifice if AWS suffered. He liked the way his life was—he was on his own and in control. And no matter how many psychological games bigger, better companies tried to play with him, he wasn’t going to give in.
He hated the fact that once anyone got wind of the good life or a diamond in the rough, they wanted a piece of it. Now every other flying junkie was trying to set up shop and cash in on the draw of Kenya’s Serengeti and his books were beginning to show it. It made him sick that they didn’t really care for the land, so much as the opportunity. He sat back, propping his dirt-crusted hiking boots onto the undersized wooden table that served as his desk, and studied his email reply to the latest franchise trying to buy him out. He deleted the colorful insult he’d added to the draft.
It wouldn’t be selling out, really—except from his perspective. The companies trying to buy AWS positioned their offers as more of a partnership and a chance to increase business. No doubt the move would fund the kind of tender loving care his one true love—his chopper—needed, and he’d finally be able to add a second helicopter and pilot to his payroll. But the mere idea of giving up an ounce of control made him cringe. Sure, he was just a small charter business, but he’d never needed much to keep himself afloat before. He’d had a few extra expenses this past year. That was all. He just needed a small business boost and time to recover. He still had adequate savings to keep sending his share of support for his nephew, Nick. That was one of his priorities and the least he could do, but boy, did he need to start adding to the bank account. The numbers in the partnership offers were tempting.
Just not tempting enough. AWS wasn’t on its deathbed yet.
But his gut told him it would happen sooner or later. The question was when. How many bridges could he burn before he lost all his chances at a deal that would keep AWS from going completely under? For now, though, it was a risk worth taking to maintain his independence.
He took his feet off the battered wood desk and hit Send. Done.
He needed a drink.
And more customers.
He scrubbed his face with his palms and took one swig from a bottle of Scotch he kept in the short filing cabinet that helped support the end of his desk. Then he turned off his lamp and computer. His long-term lease at Hodari Lodge, one of the upscale tourist lodges near Amboseli National Park, afforded him a windowed office where tourists could browse brochures and sign up for tours. He also had adjoining private living quarters that were barely big enough for a man half his size. He’d divided his humble “single bed and bath” space with a curtain consisting of long orange and red cloths gifted to him by Masai friends after he’d located a young child who’d wandered too far from their village. The handiwork, woven with care, was a reminder of what was important in life.
He made short use of the basin and urinal that occupied the left side of the room, turned off the lights, sat on the edge of the single bed he dwarfed and pulled off his boots.
The chitter-chatter of insects and mellow cries of nocturnal beasts carried through the mosquito netting on the window he’d opened earlier. Potent sounds that fueled his blood and kept him company.
He leaned back against his pillow and started to tuck his hands behind his head but froze at the barely perceptible click of the door to his quarters. Shuffling steps were followed by the metal grind of his rusty file cabinet opening and the rustle of papers. Not a very quiet thief, but then again, few people knew he lived at the back of his office, and Sue, his assistant, never went past the front desk. She’d left much earlier and had promised to lock the door that opened to the lodge’s foyer so he could deal with emails uninterrupted. He should have double-checked.
He slipped his switchblade out of his back pocket and rose. This had happened to him once before. The guy had been after his alcohol. Handing over his Scotch would be the least of Mac’s worries. Losing his computer or the day’s cash that he hadn’t had the chance to bank would bite a lot harder.
He peered past a break in the Masai drapes and quickly noted that the dark figure was no match for his six feet. It looked more like the size of an older kid. Moonlight reflected off his bottle of Scotch at the back of the file drawer. Untouched. Not after the booze, huh?
One long stride and he had his hand over the intruder’s mouth and their body braced hard against his. A faint trace of perfume or scented shampoo and the thief’s curved shape gave her gender away and, admittedly, shocked the heck out of him. She gasped and dug her nails frantically into his forearm while trying, unsuccessfully, to kick her heels up at his knees. The little witch even tried sinking her teeth in him, but he twisted his hold and saved his skin. He held his blade just far enough from her neck so she could see it.
“Stop struggling and this won’t get any worse.”
Her chest heaved, but she obeyed. He flicked his blade shut with one hand, shoved it in his pocket and reached to turn on the light, then he flipped her around and pinned her against the closest wall.
“You have got to be kidding me,” Mac said.
Tessa stared up at him with the same doe-like eyes he remembered, only now faint lines creased her forehead and a couple of early grays streaked through her long brown hair. She was still as beautiful as she’d ever been, but the past six months had clearly left their mark. She looked older than her thirty years...even more so than when he’d seen her at the funeral. Too many lazy beach days with fancy drinks did that to a person, didn’t it? Okay, he was being a jerk, stereotyping her. He wasn’t that judgmental. Not any more than she’d always been of his lifestyle. Maybe it really was the stress of her loss showing. That was something he did understand.
His brother, Allan, had been a pilot, too. He’d married his high school sweetheart, Tessa’s sister, Maria, and when their Cessna had crashed just miles from their home in Cape Town six months ago, custody of their then twelve-and-a-half-year-old son, Nick, had been given to both Mac and Tessa. An arrangement that made no sense at all, given that she lived in South Africa with the millionaire husband she’d landed and he lived in Kenya’s outback with no time or place to add a kid. The only explanation Tessa or Mac had been able to come up with had been that Maria and Allan wanted their child to retain ties to both sides of his family. Having the comforts of a mansion, great schools and both a father and mother figure on hand made more sense than uprooting him. Besides, as far as Mac knew, Tessa had plenty of time to spare, what with playing the butterfly wife and not doing much more than writing a fashion column once a week. Mac didn’t have anything close to that kind of luxury.
“Can you please ease up on the man hold?” she panted.
Her face was pale and clammy. He’d scared her to death, all right, but she deserved it. Tessa Henning. In Kenya. In his cave. Unbelievable. He glanced down to where something glimmered against her skin with the rise and fall of her chest. A simple silver M...for Maria. He recognized the necklace as the one he’d helped his brother pick out for Maria’s birthday senior year. Back when he couldn’t afford a whole lot.
Mac released his hold and motioned her to sit on his desk chair while he stood akimbo between her and her only escape.
“What were you looking for, Tessa?”
* * *
TESSA SUCKED IN the corner