“Ian.”
He glances at me. The wind blows his hair around his face. His eyebrows are pulled together. The worry he wears openly on his face doesn’t reassure me.
“Why did you kill me?” I ask.
His frown deepens before his gorgeous eyes flare. A beat passes. His features even out as he turns his face back to the road. “I can ask you the same thing.”
“I didn’t kill you.” Not yet.
“Not with a bullet.”
What? I slide lower in my seat. Here we are, back to square one, enemies like on the night we met for the first time.
No. I wasn’t his enemy. I was his obsession. Now I’m his liability, just like I’m Wolfe’s. I’m not stupid. Wolfe didn’t simply aim that gun at me instead of Ian because I was the one holding a weapon. He went for the kill. He wanted me dead. I hold incriminating evidence that will ruin his life if it comes out. That’s as good a motive as it gets.
I breathe through my mouth to manage the pain when the gates of the lodge become visible up ahead.
“You hold on, do you hear me?” he says in a tight voice.
I am. I’m fighting with everything I’ve got. “Where are you taking me?” He mentioned a helicopter. “From here, I mean.”
His knuckles turn white around the wheel.
Shit. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t have a plan.
Weakly, I utter, “I think I need a doctor.”
Again, he says nothing, his silence confirming the truth.
The guards open the gates and jump out of the way when he speeds through. He drives down the dirt road and stops at the main building with screeching tires. A helicopter stands in the clearing. Actually, it looks more like a giant dragonfly. My heart sinks when he gets my door, lifts me into his arms, and carries me to that toy-like contraption that’s supposed to carry us through the air.
“Seriously?” I ask.
He gives me a strained smile. “Beggars can’t be choosers.”
The attempt at humor works. Something dark lifts from my chest. The permanent tightness in my ribcage eases. If Ian Hart can disarm me and exorcise the toxic sentiments that have been festering inside the cavity of my chest for more than a year, he’s more dangerous than what I ever gave him credit for.
He lifts me onto the passenger seat, secures my safety belt, and gets in next to me. His words flitter in and out of cognizance as he speaks to a control tower. The blades start spinning, and a moment later, we’re in the air.
“Do you know where we’re going yet?” I taunt.
He doesn’t take the bait. He focuses his attention on flying his giant insect as he says, “I’ll figure it out on the way.”
I hope he does because nothing makes sense to me. I cling to my will to have my answers. I cling to the image of his face and the competent movements of his strong hands until everything splinters into a kaleidoscope that slowly turns white.
Chapter 5
Ian
Cas is unconscious before we’ve left Zimbabwean airspace.
Blood loss.
She once took a bullet out of my shoulder and stitched me up, but I took a bullet from a .22-caliber rifle, a relatively low-powered weapon, at long range. She was shot with a more powerful weapon at close range.
She was right. She needs a doctor. A hospital. Only, there’s no hospital where she’ll be safe. Hospitals are obliged to report gunshot wounds, not to mention that Wolfe will keep an eye on the nearest hospitals. He’ll send a notice to every private clinic and state facility from here to South Africa to be on the lookout for Africa’s most wanted criminal and a woman with a gunshot wound.
Son of a bitch.
Why does Wolfe want her dead? He could’ve arrested us. Well, he could’ve tried. Instead, he went for a kill shot. That bullet was aimed straight at her heart. If I hadn’t pushed her, she wouldn’t be breathing now. He’s covering his ass. Cas must know or have something he doesn’t want to come out. That something is more important to him than catching me. Seeing that I’m his career obsession, that something must be huge.
I think fast.
My safest hideout in the current situation is the chalet in Lesotho, a tiny, mountainous country in the middle of South Africa, but the property is located on one of the highest mountaintops. It’s far away from hospitals and doctors. Plus, the altitude of almost four thousand meters isn’t ideal for someone with a heart condition. The oxygen level is too low.
Mozambique is too far. She’ll bleed out before I get there. Botswana isn’t an option either. I’m not on good standing with the king. There’s a good chance he’ll have the authorities waiting for us when I land on his soil.
There’s only one option left.
Keeping under the radar, I use the secure satellite phone and dial the only person who can get me what I need. It’s Christmas and dinner time. There’s a good chance he won’t take the call.
After four rings, he picks up.
Thank fuck for miracles.
It’s never been easy for me to ask for anything, but I don’t hesitate. For Cas, I’ll go down on my knees. “Damian, it’s Ian. I need your help.”
My heart pounds as three seconds of silence stretches.
Finally, he asks, “What do you need?”
I sag in my seat, swallowing a sigh of relief. “A surgeon. Blood transfusion. A safe place for a couple of days.”
His voice isn’t the one belonging to the kid I still have in my head. It’s deep and gruff, reminding me he’s grown into a man. “For you?”
“No.”
He doesn’t waste time with useless questions. He only asks the ones that matter. “Blood type?”
“O positive.” I know, because I know everything about Cassandra Joubert, no matter what she calls herself these days.
“Injury?”
“Gunshot. Shoulder.”
“Vitals?”
I touch two fingers to the carotid artery in her neck. “Unconscious. Pulse is weak but steady. Her breathing is normal.”
“Allergies?”
“None,” I say. “She has dilated cardiomyopathy.”
“How long since she got shot?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“It sounds as if you’re in the air,” he says.
“Helicopter.”
“How far are you from Joburg?”
I check the controls. “I can make it in three hours.” If I cut straight across Botswana.
His manner is efficient, confident. “I’ll send you coordinates. There’s a helipad for landing.”
“You can use this line. It’s secure.”
“I know,” he drawls. “I’ve already verified.”
Good. That means he’s as careful as I was hoping. “I’ll let you know when we’re—”
The line goes dead. He hung up.
“Close,” I mutter, finishing my sentence.
I grip her hand. “Hold on, Cas.”
Her skin is cold, too cold. That coldness seeps into me and settles over my heart. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. All I know is none of this would’ve happened if I hadn’t kidnapped her that night outside of Sun City.