Buch lesen: «Through The Storm»

CHAPTER ONE

HE WOULD COME after her.

Without him, Tessa Henning wasn’t worth the dust left by a mercilessly harvested and exquisitely carved elephant’s tusk, but once he discovered she knew too much, Brice would hunt her down just the same. He’d come after her because she was a traitor. He’d find her because she was his wife and he believed in gratitude and loyalty. He expected it. Brice had put her on a pedestal...made her feel beautiful and wanted at a time when everyone else saw her as awkward. He’d given her a life of luxury and security. He’d been generous.

He loved her.

She closed her eyes. She hoped it had been love all this time. Maybe it still was. Maybe she was wrong about everything. Brice had always been a decent man. A decent husband. Marriage involved trust. But didn’t love and trust take two in a marriage? Love and trust were funny words. Tessa swallowed hard, but the lingering, bitter taste of uncertainty dried her throat even more. She needed to stop rationalizing.

Listen to your gut. Don’t ignore your instincts this time. This isn’t just about you anymore. There’s a kid involved.

She took a deep breath, the kind she did in yoga class, then opened her eyes and took one last look around. The designer “organic eggshell”-colored paint she’d once thought made their bedroom appear clean and classy now seemed cold and painfully neutral. She ran her hand across the brown silk sheets that lay rumpled next to her duffel bag, making sure nothing she needed had been lost in them. Their silky touch was anything but soothing. It reminded her of how easily comfort and security could slip away. The pit of her stomach quivered.

“Just get Nick out of here first, then figure out what to do next,” she muttered, trying to keep her nerve up. The sound of Nick’s name grounded her and she rammed the last few bare essentials she’d piled on her bed into her bag, including her journal and the iPad she’d saved some work, research and personal files on. Nothing was only about her anymore. Not since her sister and brother-in-law were killed in an accident six months ago and her thirteen-year-old nephew became her responsibility. Well, hers and his uncle Mac’s, but she’d pretty much assumed primary guardianship. It had been Mac’s choice at first—a choice that preserved his rugged, bachelor bush-pilot lifestyle up in Kenya’s Serengeti. Not that he was entirely delinquent as a guardian, but Mac had managed to convince her early on that there was no way he could raise Nick. He sent money instead.

But she wasn’t complaining, exactly. She loved Nick and was glad he was a part of her life. Six months ago, she’d thought that having him around would be like having a part of her sister to hang on to. Things didn’t turn out that way. For someone with no child-rearing experience, suddenly having a grieving teenage boy dropped into your life was like expecting a deer to raise a baby wolf. Still, a part of her hated that she was going to lose Nick if her suspicions about Brice proved to be true.

She slung her mini backpack purse onto her shoulder, grabbed the duffel then hurried down the curved marble staircase to the main level of their modern South African villa. The floor-to-ceiling window that framed a spectacular view of the Southern Ocean’s crested waters never failed to take her breath away, but today the clawing waves seemed like they were desperate to capture her...to keep her from escaping. That same view made anyone who attended one of Brice’s upscale cocktail parties jealous of what they had. Those guests didn’t have a clue that his fortune had come at a price. Even Tessa didn’t have solid proof, and hadn’t even suspected Brice’s illegal activity until recently, but she was not going to stand by and be a victim. Or watch others suffer at his hands.

The journalist in her had been screaming that something was off for a while now, but given all she was going through after her sister’s death, her mind kept telling her to stay out of it, play it safe and take care of Nick. The problem was, there was no safe anymore. Home would never feel safe again. Tides changed and the undertow was deadly for the unprepared. She needed to be prepared.

At first, she’d thought Brice’s increasing emotional distance, preoccupation with work and irritability were due to the change their daily lives had undergone when Nick came to live with them. She had thought her husband was avoiding the stages of mourning she and Nick had been suffering through, and she had decided not to confront him about it. She figured it would all pass and they’d find a new equilibrium; plus, it wasn’t fair to make Nick suffer through their marital stresses. Not after what he’d already been through and not when his uncle Mac couldn’t get over his bachelor-ness and take his nephew in. But since her initial suspicions, things had been getting worse. Maybe Tessa’s imagination was working overtime and she was reading into the bits and pieces of a phone conversation she’d overheard when Brice didn’t know she’d returned home early from taking Nick to one of his posttraumatic therapy sessions, but she needed to know for sure. If Brice was involved in criminal activity, no way was she going to let Nick live around him.

A door on the far side of the living room led to Brice’s office. He kept it locked whenever he took trips, but Tessa had been planning today for over a month now. Trust. Traitor. She reached into her pocket for the key she’d made, then entered. His office had always made her nervous. Like a mother walking into a crystal display shop with a hyperactive child. Just about everything was made of glass or covered in it. The shelves. His desktop, resting on a sleek, sawhorse-style base with wooden drawers and files under either side. The decorative items between books. It had never hit her before, but now it looked as if he were being daring...seeing just how much load his life could take before everything shattered.

She went to his desk and wondered how he kept the glass fingerprint-free. She avoided touching the surface and opened the drawers. A credenza along the wall behind the desk carried his main computer. No doubt he’d taken his laptop with him.

She wished like crazy that she knew his computer passwords. One backup of his hard drive would be all she needed, but she had no time to guess and no clue how to hack. She’d take anything, though—the last bank statement, receipts...anything that would put her suspicions to rest and prove Brice wasn’t involved in dark business dealings. Prove that the man who’d swept her off her feet was still the same Brice she’d married. A charismatic and shrewd but moral and ethical businessman. Her husband. Yet the last words she’d overheard from that phone call still echoed in her ears: No one can find out. I’ll deny involvement with my last breath.

The nape of her neck prickled as she rifled through his drawers, careful to leave everything looking untouched. She hated this: the sneaking behind his back, the spying...the adrenaline. Boy, did she hate adrenaline. The longer it took for Brice to notice something was wrong when he returned from his business trip in two days, the more of a head start she’d have. She cursed e-bills and cloud storage, then tried one last drawer. A small clear plastic container lay in the back, covered by a stack of manila envelopes. She lifted it out and stacked the envelopes in place. The container had at least six flash drives piled inside. Maybe some things are too sensitive to store in cyberspace. Huh, Brice?

Her cell phone ring tone sent her pulse scattering. She fumbled for it in her back pocket and checked the screen. Katia. Her editor must have already seen the article she’d sent her just an hour ago. Tessa took a second to steady her voice, then answered.

“Hey, Kat.”

“Tessa, are you crazy? I can’t publish this in tomorrow’s paper. Have you forgotten who your husband is?”

Tessa pressed a hand over her eyes. Why had she bothered? Had she really thought the friendship that had grown between her and Kat would make a difference this time? How often had she been told “no” and to stick to her assigned fashion column?

“No, of course not. It has nothing to do with him,” Tessa said, as she quietly closed the desk drawer.

The article had everything to do with him, but she wasn’t stupid enough to mention his name directly. They wanted her to stick to her fashion column and she had. Only, instead of recapping the season’s trends and giving her generalized opinion on them, she’d written about how outdated and deplorable the use of ivory in jewelry and home decor was, especially in an era of animal-rights awareness.

“How can it not?” Katia huffed into the phone. “Tessa, why do you think I offered you this column to begin with?”

Nice. Rub it in. Nepotism. She didn’t write for the paper because of any talent. She wrote for it because Brice got her in.

“Not only is he on the executive board of this newspaper,” Katia insisted, “he’s the lead investor in half the companies you mentioned here. You have no proof. We’d get sued for defamation. I’m not losing my job over this.”

“You won’t lose your job. You’ll be doing it. Isn’t uncovering truths and raising awareness what journalism is supposed to be about?”

“Maybe for some journalists, but that’s not the purpose of your column. That’s not what your readers are looking for. If they want to read about crime, they’ll turn to the front page. Your column is in the Arts and Home section. Remember that. Tessa, what’s going on? This isn’t how you write. Have you been sleeping? Watching too many crime shows?”

Only for ideas on how to rob her husband.

“Kat. Listen to me a minute. As my friend, not my editor. I know something is going on that involves some well-known businessmen and politicians around here, and I have a really strong feeling it involves the illegal ivory trade. We can wave a red flag over the issue.” She looked down at the thumb drives. If there was anyone she could trust, it was Katia. “I’m working on getting more solid proof. If you have to leave company names off for now, fine, but at least print the rest. Get the ball rolling. Attract attention to the cause.”

“Tessa...”

“Look, I have to catch a flight. I’m taking my nephew to his uncle’s so that I can focus on this. Just post it. Making waves could be good for both our careers.”

“Forget your career. Stop and listen to me.” Katia lowered her voice. “Nothing is private here. I’m betting every email is monitored. You’re playing with fire, and that’s not like you. Be careful. It hasn’t been that long since your sister and brother-in-law were killed. I think the stress is getting to you. Take a break. I can get someone to cover the column for a while.”

“I don’t need a break.”

There was a pause and she could hear someone talking in the background and papers shuffling.

“Tessa, I have to go.”

She started to object, but the line disconnected. Tessa cursed and jammed the phone back into her pocket. You have no proof. Why couldn’t her instincts count for something? Apparently personal agendas trumped both friendship and truth. She took a deep breath. Katia was afraid to ruffle a few feathers. Well, Tessa was about to do a lot more than that. She grasped the USBs and stuffed them into her backpack, knowing full well they could end up being empty or useless, but she was running out of time. She wiped her damp palms against her beige khakis and tucked Brice’s chair under the desk, but then pulled it back out and used the hem of her blue V-neck T-shirt to polish the drawer handle and the glass edge, just in case.

She locked the office behind her, then climbed the stairs two at a time, slowing down only as she approached Nick’s bedroom down the hall. She paused, slowing her erratic pulse with deep breaths before tapping on his door and cracking it open.

“Nick, you have thirty seconds or we’ll miss our flight.”

“I’m ready,” he said, slinging his bag over one shoulder, swinging the door wide open and shoving past her. He was definitely taking after his dad in above-average height and already matched Tessa inch for inch. His jeans and dragon T-shirt were getting too short again. If only he’d let her take him to cut his hair a few inches to match. His blond side-swept bangs made it impossible to look him in the eye. His room looked like the latest hurricane had made landfall. Good thing Brice never bothered going past Nick’s bedroom. If he had any idea there was a room in the house in a state like this, he’d die.

“Uh, are you sure you didn’t forget anything you need? Toothbrush, perhaps?” And here she was afraid something had fallen between her bedsheets.

“No,” he snapped, reaching around her and pulling the door shut.

“Okay.” Keep out. That won’t be a problem.

She followed him downstairs, letting him out first so she could set the house alarm. The taxi she’d arranged for earlier was idling in their circular driveway. Nick waited for her before getting in.

“You should be happy about taking a holiday.”

The private school he attended—one of South Africa’s popular and prestigious ones and the same one he’d attended before his parents were killed—gave its students ten days off in August. He’d complained plenty of times that one of his American classmates had told him kids back home got something like two and a half months off in the summer. How did parents over there survive that? How did parents survive, period?

Nick shrugged and gazed out the window at the passing shoreline as they headed for the airport.

“Whatever.”

Tessa caught the driver glancing at her. Sympathy for Nick’s attitude? Or recognition of whose wife she was and curiosity as to where she was going? She wouldn’t doubt that half the drivers in their area answered to Brice. He tipped well, but he also had a great rapport with everyone. Which was why getting him to approve this trip had been so important. His approval meant less suspicion on his part and that alone would buy her time.

Brice had seemed relieved when she mentioned taking Nick out of town for a week. If Tessa had noticed anything since Nick came to live with them, it was that Brice had less patience for kids than she did. He hadn’t been kidding when they’d had the infamous discussion about no kids right before they got married. But she loved Nick. He was her nephew...her blood. And Brice wasn’t solely to blame on the no-patience front. Nick was a handful. A slurry of teen moodiness thickened with posttraumatic stress. Yet Brice had welcomed him into their home. That’s why she was feeling morbidly guilty right now.

She smiled at the driver and tried to act as relaxed as possible, fighting back tears as they passed the neighborhood of midsize homes where her sister had lived. She noticed Nick looking over and her heart broke for not being able to tell him that his “visit” to his uncle might end up being a lot more than a visit...and that he’d likely not see his old neighborhood again for a long time. She placed her hand on his shoulder and he shoved it off. His constant rejections hurt. So she wasn’t ideal substitute-mom material, but she was trying to do her best.

It’s all going to be okay.

All that mattered was getting Nick to Kenya and then 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.