Chapter Two

Johnny and Donnie left to trail Evans to her rendezvous with Muller. Once Abigail Evans stepped out, Max snapped up the opportunity to switch out a microphone in her bedroom that had fuzzy sound quality. Max slipped through Evans’s gate into the immaculate garden. Delicate paving ran along the neat flower beds. Rose bushes lined the wall. He’d watched her many times fussing around among her plants. The result was charming.

Her dark porch made breaking in easier. It was late, and he was also glad she’d drawn the curtains before she left. Nothing like a nosy neighbor spotting him through the windows once he was inside.

South Africa posed more challenges when it came to breaking and entering, so Donnie had acquired a copy of her keys from her bag in the gym locker. In Johannesburg, windows as an entry point were ruled out due to the hefty security bars crisscrossing them. Max clicked open the door mechanism before opening her sliding security gate.

The smell of banana bread cooling on the kitchen counter assailed Max’s senses, and his stomach growled in response. Martha freaking Stewart, he thought as he stared hungrily at the homely loaf. Johnny was right, this assignment sucked ass. Except for Johnny Cane, his team currently lived on takeout. Max couldn’t remember what a home-cooked meal, never mind a freaking home-baked cake, would taste like. His job was his life and most of it was spent maintaining a low profile in small villages and arid mountain regions in East Africa, eating MREs or local food. Max stuck to a healthy diet whenever possible, but his bachelor lifestyle back in the States wasn’t exactly conducive to domestic bliss. It usually consisted of kicking back with work buddies—most of whom were single.

“Perkele.” It felt good to swear in Finnish. Even though he was born and schooled in America and spoke with a Midwest accent, Max still spoke Finnish on occasion with his first-generation immigrant parents.

Leaning against the counter, he massaged his forehead. The guys were finding this assignment a little more psychologically challenging and it was up to Max to keep them on track. This series of investigations involved sleeper cells made up of young women. It wasn’t as if they weren’t used to dealing with suspects who were women. Over the years they had taken out or detained female bombers, extremist bodyguards—hell, coerced wives and mothers clutching AK47s. But the team had never been faced though with the possibility of moving in on an “All American girl” who’d betrayed her country.

As far as Max was concerned, a terrorist was a terrorist; there were no gray areas. You were either with or against them. His men wouldn’t hesitate to take out any threat when it came down to it. Max felt a measure of unease but not for the same reasons. Nothing added up. The energy was off—something was missing.

He had no idea how deeply Evans was involved but red flags littered her profile. Just glancing around her place, there were no obvious links to any loved ones. No family photos or albums. She’d cut ties with anything or anyone that mattered, that was what scared him the most. Evans might be readying herself.

Max took his time prowling through her perfectly put-together home, going over every detail. He’d been here twice before when they set up surveillance but always took his time getting a handle on her core energy.

Personal space spoke volumes when profiling a suspect; self-image left a footprint in the suspect’s home. A well-ordered color palette of pale greens, blues and creams rolled through her apartment and complemented the white walls and clean tiles of the space. The pale blue Persian rug that dominated the dining space looked expensive, and her lounge was lined with a beige sofa set decorated with pastel green throws. A subtle scent of vanilla hung in the air.

He confirmed that Evan’s piece was still strapped under the sofa. Donnie had found the weapon on their initial search. It wasn’t unusual for a woman living alone in South Africa to keep a gun for protection. Max always kept a close eye however for any additional weapons that might have found their way in, possibly through her suspected network. So far it was just that one small Glock 19.

Next was her art studio. She had converted the first bedroom, on the left, into a workspace combining an artsy area with an office. Max stared in reverence at her latest canvas of a dense forest. He’d watched it gradually take form through the surveillance but standing in front of it rocked him slightly with rising anger. The woman had raw talent—why in God’s name would she throw such potential away and blacken her soul by collaborating with terrorists?

Max sat at her desk and ran through recent activity on her laptop. Nada. A MIT2 camera faced her laptop so Max wasn’t surprised. All she’d been working on over the past few weeks were design materials for her business. If she communicated with her cell, there was another channel. Again, no evidence of personal photographs or social networking links, not even a personal email account. It was all business. After studying her sketchpads and scrapbooks, Max pressed his earpiece.

“Status?” He heard Johnny shift.

“They’ve just ordered drinks. Nothing as yet.”

“Where are you?”

“In the van. Reception is loud and clear. We have a clear visual. You can analyze the footage later.”

They’d planted listening devices on both of Evans’s handbags. Thank God she wasn’t a handbag freak but instead was practical and low maintenance when it came to accessories.

Max left Johnny to do his job and headed to her bedroom to fix the equipment. Her perfume lingered. Delicate, creamy. The white bottle sat on her dresser—Juliette has a Gun: Sunny Side Up—Max bet his bottom dollar that Evans would find a way to re-purchase this scent. She had only one, which meant this was a signature scent.

His eyes landed on the small statue sitting in front of the mirror. The only knickknack on display. It meant something to her. A small replica of the ancient Hellenistic sculpture called the Nike of Samothrace, depicting a figure of a woman fighting against a strong sea breeze, draped garments flowing in the wind. The pose drew him in, evoking a graceful balance between fierce motion and steadfast stillness. Possible parallels to Evans were disturbing. He turned it over, noting the Louvre sticker pasted underneath before placing it back and finally reaching behind the white dresser for the microphone.

***

What the hell was she even doing here? This was foolish. Abby glanced around the darkened sports bar. She needed to tread carefully when it came to Kris. She’d run into him a month ago while doing her weekly grocery shop at Edengate Mall. Kris had crushed her to his chest, his warm tears wetting her neck. Never thinking she’d see him again—convincing herself that he’d remained in the Middle East—the reunion pushed her off-kilter, and she’d elected to tell Kris an altered version of her story, leaving out the vital parts. Abby wasn’t sure if he’d believed her but hadn’t given any indication otherwise. Now they were meeting for a second time and Abby felt foolish for coming. Guilt made people do stupid things.

The truth about that night could never be revealed. What she’d become. A murderer and a coward. Shame made it hard to breathe and yet her heart was warmed at the prospect of seeing him again. They’d become childhood friends when her missionary parents stayed on his aunt’s game farm in Botswana for six months. Thirteen-year-old Kris immediately became a big brother to an awkward ten-year-old. Much of her time was spent learning about conservation and, through Kris’s encouragement, Abby developed a love for the African bush.

Her family eventually moved on to South Africa. Their strong friendship had endured the distance, writing letters back and forth and eventually Skyping. Even after Abby ran away from her family, she’d always tried to meet up with Kris over their vacation times.

When a twenty-one-year-old Abby traveled to Dubai to work as a flight attendant, Kris was working in Botswana as a game ranger. A year later he joined her, landing a prime job as the head game ranger for one of the sheik’s desert lodges. Everything had been an adventure. Snatched time off was spent traveling with friends and partying it up in the city and desert camps. All innocent fun, until that fateful evening when things had changed. The night she’d fed the love of Kris’s life to the wolves. The night she’d turned her back on their longstanding friendship.

And there he was. Winding his way to the table with his trademark confidence. Kris was now part of an elite anti-poaching unit and currently traveled throughout Southern Africa, protecting rhino and other endangered species from extinction. The rugged game ranger—God, he was attractive—the tall, dark and handsome vibe suited him.

Her heart warmed. Why had they never dated in the past? Maybe subconsciously they’d never wanted to risk the friendship. For her, the time had never quite felt right. Dubai had changed them both. Kris had started dating her roommate, Megan Jehani, and he’d grown distant. Abby had hung out with their circle less and less. The final twist of fate had ultimately thrown them apart.

“You okay, Cricket?” Kris asked.

Abby rose and smiled at the nickname Kris had bestowed on her on the farm, all those years ago. She never liked the nickname, but Kris had tagged her with it when a huge cricket had jumped down the back of her neck, causing her to shriek uncontrollably while doing the highland fling. Needless to say, the name stuck, just like her absurd fear of crickets and grasshoppers. Orthopterophobia. She could deal with snakes and spiders. Just not crickets or anything that looked remotely crunchy or spiky. Abby shuddered.

Kris pulled her in for a bone-crushing hug, intense emotion rolling off him. Abby wanted an escape. Stop it. This is Kris. A rare moment to be saved, cherished, taken out and examined later when she was all alone again. He pulled away slightly and gazed into her eyes as hands cupped her face. She tamped down the urge to squirm.

“Still so beautiful. When I saw you in the mall, I nearly had a heart attack. For the past three years, I thought you were dead. All along, I thought you were dead.” His eyes swam with confusion. “Why in God’s name would you just disappear like that?”

“Take a seat, let’s talk.”

They ordered drinks. Abby ordered a Coke. Her stomach couldn’t bear anything stronger.

With restless energy, Kris gestured towards the door. “There’s a great Indian place next door. Should we grab something?”

Shaking her head, Abby placed her hand on his. “This is fine, I can’t stay long.”

Kris smiled softly. “Remember those hot nights, that Indian place with the outside courtyard we’d go to? Best kept secret in Dubai. The three of us—Meg loved that spot. I forget that you pretty much hated it, except for the butter chicken, which you ordered every time. You were never a fan of Indian cuisine.”

Abby smiled. “I preferred the Persian place on the creek. I think that was Meg’s favorite spot too, made her a little homesick. She loved those kebabs, said they reminded her of her mother’s Persian cooking.” Her eyes filled with unshed tears.

“This is hard. I’m so sorry, I’m an idiot.”

“Please don’t.” A tear spilled over. “I’m the one who should apologize.”

His eyes looked empty, his face dull. The responsibility for those deep scars lay with her. “Hell, yes, you should. You just disappeared—walked out on me—I lost both the women I loved that night. I fucking needed you. What in heaven’s name were you thinking?”

Abby couldn’t bear to see her old friend this way, berating herself for the thousandth time. “I wasn’t thinking.”

The waitress returned, and Abby took a long sip of the Coke. She should’ve ordered a glass of wine…or a truckload of tequila shots. Typical Abby, always the control freak.

“Please give me something,” Kris begged. “Anything. I need to know what happened that night. Were you there, when the accident happened? Were you in the car with Meg? I’ve tried to investigate but the case is shut up so tight. They wouldn’t even let me see Meg’s body because we weren’t fucking married. They wouldn’t let me near her.” His face twisted with buried grief.

She swallowed hard. Kris could never know the truth. Time for a little more Abby-style deceit. “I left the party just twenty minutes after her and arrived just after the accident happened. The car was surrounded by police, who extinguished the flames. When I saw Meg’s red shoe next to the car, I fell apart. I couldn’t stay there so I just ran. I was in complete shock.”

Squeezing his hand on the table did little good.

“God, I just wish I’d been there, I was called away to help with the birthing of a foal. One of the prince’s breeding mares went into labor.” Stroking her hand, he asked, “I know Meg was meeting up with you at the party. Why didn’t you leave together? For God’s sakes, she was your flat mate.”

“I left with…left with a man I met at the party.”

Disbelief flooded his face. “I don’t believe you. You’re bloody lying—you would never have a one-nighter.”

Abby felt her face flush. “I wanted to live a little. Big deal. It was a foolish decision to stay with him instead of going home with Meg.” Real emotion rose to the surface. “After that night I just couldn’t face the reality of her death. I couldn’t go back to the apartment and be surrounded by all Meg’s stuff. A few days before, Meg asked me why I looked so unhappy living in Dubai, why I didn’t start fresh. I’d been running for so long that I forgot how to stand still. But after the accident, I ran like a coward. That’s who I am. I couldn’t face you and I doubt you’ll forgive me and that’s okay. “

Abby could barely see straight. Everything seemed out of focus. She hated deceiving one of the few people who’d been there for her and who loved her for who she was.

Kris’s glare held suspicion. “You just never bothered to drop me a line to say, ‘Hey, Kris, by the way I’m alive and safe.’ The car was an incinerated mess. I’d wondered if you’d died in the car with her, the police gave me nothing. I searched for you for so damn long, it was like you dropped off the planet.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Bullshit. If we never ran into each other at the mall, would you ever have contacted me? Even your own father has no clue where his daughter is.”

“You spoke with my dad?” Abby leaned back in disbelief.

“Yes, I spoke with your wonderful father.” Kris’s mouth twisted. “That’s how damn desperate I was. The bastard said you’d died.”

Kris ran his hand through his hair in frustration and stared at the ceiling.

The truth clawed up her throat. So many times she’d had to pull herself back from finding him and rushing into his arms. It was now too late; she was fully committed to her cause. If Kris knew the truth, he’d never look at her the same way again. Abby ran her finger through the water vapor clinging to the sides of her glass. Strobe lights filled her vision. Everything was too hot.

Feeling bilious, she took a deep breath and got to her feet. “I’m not the same person you knew. I’ll destroy you. Walk away from this—from us. Our friendship is over.”

“Stop being so dramatic, that’s a bloody bitchy thing to say and I’ve only just found you again.”

She carefully bent to pick up her bag and scrounged up some notes, barely making out what they were.

“I’ve got this,” Kris said.

The pounding in her head threatened to bring her to her knees. “I literally have an epic migraine coming on. I need to leave. “

He grasped her arm. “You’re not escaping, I won’t let you disappear again.”

Abby didn’t have the strength to fight. Her vision was now completely blurred out, and bar furniture seemed to jump in her way.

“Let me help, you cannot possibly drive like this, let me take you home.” They made their way into the parking lot, Kris guiding her with a reassuring hand.

She absolutely couldn’t let him know where she lived. Abby shook him off as she got to her car.

He growled in frustration. “God, you’re so damn stubborn. I’m staying in the Kruger National Park for a couple of weeks on a rhino protection assignment. We’ll damn well talk when I get back.”

Abby ignored him. It was over.

Kris yelled as she backed out. “Text me when you’re safely home.” With a vague wave, Abby crawled out of the parking lot. Driving like this was not the wisest move but she had to get out of there. The migraine had excellent timing.

That was the last time Kris Muller would see her face. Self-hatred tasted bitter in her treacherous mouth.

***

“Pull back, she’s heading home.”

Max slid out of her wooden gate. “Already?”

Donnie yawned. “It was a disastrous little date. Basically, he cried, she lied and now she’s driving home like a drunkard on crack.”

Max paused on his way up their stairs. “What the hell are you talking about, control freak Evans is fucking drunk?”

“Nope. She’s come down with a migraine. Definitely some ape-shit driving happening. She looks like crap, as white as a damn sheet.”

Max slipped in their door. “I’m back at base and I want to see that footage.”