After forty minutes, the citrus farms on the outskirts of Rustenburg come into view. The green gorge with its small waterfall lies in the distance.
I glance at Ian. “Are you sure about this?”
“The cabin is the most obvious place Wolfe will look for us.” He reaches over and squeezes my hand. “We hid out there once, remember?”
Only too well. I pull my hand away. He tenses, but he doesn’t comment.
He circles once. The area is quiet. No holiday makers are hiking in the mountain. It’s the first week of January. The schools have reopened and most people are back at work. That was part of the reason why we decided to return to the Kloof. It will be quiet with no visitors during the week.
When he’s identified a suitable outcrop, he lands the helicopter in a clearing not far from the waterfall. He puts my gun on my lap before cutting the blades. We keep an eye on the surroundings, making sure the coast remains clear. After a beat, he cuts the engine.
We packed light, not that there was much to pack. I reach for my backpack, but Ian grabs both mine and his and swings them over his shoulders.
“I can get that,” I say.
He flashes me a smile as he leads the way. “I’m just being a gentleman.”
A footpath leads to the camping area at the bottom of the gorge. The climb down is steep. At one place, I have to grab the ledge with both hands to keep my balance. Even without the minimal weight of the backpack on my back, I’m battling to breathe by the time we reach the slippery stone shore of the waterfall. We stop to rest and have a drink of water before making the remainder of the short walk to the cabin.
The cabins aren’t fitted with alarms. Ian easily picks the lock. The cabin is neat and tidy, minus linen. It has been cleaned after the last holiday makers left. The cleaning staff won’t come around until the next time the cabin is rented, which could be the coming weekend. The Kloof is always popular on weekends in the summer, even out of holiday season. Our only chance of being spotted is when the security guard does his rounds, but the cabin is one of the more secluded ones, and the night guard normally comes past around seven. We just have to keep quiet and not shine any lights until after.
“Here,” Ian says, pulling out a chair for me by the table. “You need to rest.”
Putting the gun down on the table, I take a seat. “I’m fine.”
His brow furrows. “You’re pale.”
“I just haven’t exercised for a while.” I walked around in Damian’s office block and climbed the stairs to practice, but my heart isn’t playing along.
Ian hooks a finger into the neck of my T-shirt and pulls it away. “How’s the wound?”
“I don’t even feel it.” The stitches aren’t pulling as much as in the beginning. They should dissolve in a few days.
He drops my backpack next to the chair, takes out my phone, and puts it on the table. “Call me if you hear or see anything. I won’t be long.”
“Where are you going?” I ask with alarm.
“To pull a few branches over the helicopter. We don’t want anyone flying over to spot it.”
“What about setting the perimeter alarms? Shouldn’t we do that first?”
“Later. I’ll do it before getting wheels and supplies.”
Ian’s plan of getting wheels is hitchhiking to town and buying a car with cash. We could’ve easily stolen one from the parking lot near the main building—the ground keepers park their cars there—but we want to attract as little attention as possible. We don’t want the authorities to know we’re here until we’re ready.
Ian gives me another concerned look and a peck on the forehead before leaving. The peck on the forehead, just like the squeeze he’s given my fingers in the helicopter, has become his new way of touching me. It’s platonic enough not to make me nervous, yet he keeps a foot in the door. It’s not much, but it’s not nothing.
While Ian is away, I stew over this new vague definition of us, worried it may develop into something again if I’m not careful. There isn’t much else to do but worry.
After I’ve caught my breath, I pace the floor and go over our plan in my head, but my thoughts always return to one subject—Ian. More specifically, Ian and me. When this is over, I’ll go my own way. I’ll lie low for a while and then keep moving, staying under the radar. Maybe I’ll become a bounty hunter. I have the skills. Sure, my heart gives me trouble from time to time, but not so much when I’m healthy and well-rested.
A noise outside, whistling, pulls my attention. Rushing to the window, I flatten my body against the wall and peer through the crack between the curtain and the window frame. The guard is doing his rounds, making his way along the path. It’s late morning. I make a mental note of the time. When he’s gone, I dare to breathe again.
Ian returns shortly, dark patches staining the armpits of his T-shirt. He climbed up and down the gorge twice, and he’s not even out of breath.
He plants another one of those charged kisses disguised with nonchalance on the crown of my head. “Did anything happen while I was gone?”
“The guard came around. It was just after eleven. It looks like he does a round in the morning too.”
His smile is friendly, but the heat in his eyes goes beyond platonic. “That’s good to know.”
I turn away quickly, busying myself with cleaning my gun.
Ian spends the rest of the morning sneaking around the site to set alarms. At lunchtime, we eat the sandwiches Lina has packed. He spreads out his jacket on the bare mattress and convinces me to take a nap while he showers. I lie down on his jacket and fold the ends over me. A faint smell of tobacco clings to the leather, not that I’ve seen him chewing on cigars lately. He’s given up the habit.
Before long, my eyes drift closed, and when I open them again, he’s hovering over me with wet hair, dressed in a clean T-shirt and jeans and smelling of hotel soap.
“I’m going to get us some wheels.” He studies me with a worried expression. “Stay inside and don’t make noise. You should be safe here.”
I stare up at him, at how the longer side of his hair falls over his face. I remember how he looked when he leaned in this very doorframe and watched me undress. I was a different woman then, and maybe he was a different man. Much has changed. What hasn’t changed is my body’s reaction to him. Back then, I feared him, but it didn’t stop me from wanting him. I don’t fear him any longer, and I want him as much as ever.
“Okay,” I say quickly, lest he sees my thoughts in my eyes.
His smile is soft. He lingers another second, and then he’s gone.
Despite my resolution to keep watch, I must be more tired than what I’d like to admit, because I fall back into a deep sleep.
It’s dusk when he returns. The bed dents where he sits on the edge.
“What time is it?” I ask.
He takes my wrist and brings my watch to my face. It’s almost six.
I free my arm and push onto my elbows. “Did you get a car?”
“A truck. It’s parked on a dirt road running next to the fence. I couldn’t risk driving through the gates, even though it was tempting signing in as Cyndi Lauper.”
I take in his grin. The fake name is no doubt a jab at the name I gave him at the bar.