Chapter 1 #2
“Can I ask how it is you work for the Abramos?”
I set my cup down, and my heartbeat ticked up a notch. “You work for the Abramos, too.”
“I’m used to dealing with people like them.”
That sounded dark. “Meaning?”
He gave me a gaze that nearly leveled me. “You seem like a smart girl. You think the Abramo family comes by their money legally?”
No, I didn’t, but my annoyance overpowered that. “Maybe this woman”—I emphasized the distinction—“doesn’t care where the money comes from.”
I planted my gaze on him, and everything else around us fell away. Judging by the scowl twisting on his lips, what I’d said displeased him. But as soon as the scowl was there, it was gone and his face returned to an empty, expressionless mask.
“Look,” I added, “the truth is I have to work for the Abramos, but my contract is almost up. I’ll be free of them in a few weeks.”
He was either evaluating my statement for truth, or for how much further he could pry. “Have you flown for all of them?” he asked. “Vitale?”
Giovanni’s father, the head of the Abramo family. “Yes. He’s the one who hired me.”
His shoulders straightened. Was that interest he was trying to hide? “Why do you think he did that?”
Now I was fully annoyed. I wanted to snap something along the lines of, “Because I’m a damn good pilot.” But I kept my tone even. “The Abramos hate Americans. I think they employ as many of us as they can, so they can boss us around and feel powerful.”
Was that a half-smile teasing his lips? “Doesn’t that bother you?”
I took another sip of my tea and leisurely set it down. “People usually don’t tell me what to do when they’re in my plane and we’re twenty thousand feet in the air. They’re welcome to try.”
It was a half-smile. And then it was gone like it had never existed.
“Does their superior attitude bother you?” I asked.
“Giovanni,” he said of our employer, “can tell I’m not someone you want to piss off.”
Nathan gave me a dark, authoritative look, and it was . . . odd. Like an act. I didn’t know him. We’d only met the previous day while I’d gone through preflight checks. But I could see through this easily.
I offered a knowing smile. “You work hard to give off that impression.”
He took a deep breath, and his pupils dilated subtly.
Whoa. He didn’t like that I’d called his bluff. He reacted like I’d knocked him back, and his eyes narrowed, furious. This bad-ass persona of his . . . was it all an act?
Abruptly, there were Italian words behind me. Giovanni. Nathan nodded, stood, and downed the rest of his coffee.
“What are you doing?” It came out harsh and demanding from the giant American man as I pushed back from the table.
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m going on the game drive.”
“I recommend that you don’t.”
“Why’s that?”
He shot me a condescending look. “You want to witness a kill?”
“I thought this was a safari. No hunting.”
His face was blank, but damn . . . those eyes. “I meant one animal killing another. There might be blood.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. If he only knew. “I’ll be fine.”
He straightened to his full height and his face darkened, eerie and beautiful. “It could be dangerous.”
Oh, God. Those words cut right into me, heating my body. “Maybe I like a little danger.”
I followed Giovanni through the lodge to the game vehicle, leaving Nathan in stunned silence.
Besides the money and my concern about the consequences of refusing the Abramos’ offer, this was my final reason for taking the job. The darkest part of me liked the thrill of danger.
When I reached the open-air vehicle, Giovanni said something over his shoulder. He must have thought I was Nathan, for his eyes widened in surprise when he noticed me.
And then his lips pulled back into a smile.
Giovanni Abramo was wealthy and privileged, and I assumed he’d never had to work a day in his thirty years of life. Everything about him screamed spoiled and entitled.
My Italian employer was pleasantly attractive. He had a mop of black, curly hair that he constantly pushed back to keep out of his dark eyes. He could just cut it, but he seemed to like the action that had become habit.
A shadow fell on me.
Once again, I hadn’t heard Nathan’s arrival. Pleasantly attractive wasn’t a label I’d use for that man. Unconventionally handsome? Yes. Rugged? Sure. Strikingly intense? Oh, yeah.
Giovanni climbed into the modified Land Cruiser that had no roof, windows, or workable doors. He held out his hand, offering to help me in. It was completely unnecessary because there was a handhold right beside his outstretched hand, but I accepted it, not wanting to be rude.
His hand was soft and off-putting. He probably got bi-weekly manicures. I wasn’t into it. I would rather a man had rough, strong hands with calloused palms and dry skin. I liked someone who worked hard and knew how to handle himself.
Giovanni was definitely not that kind of man.
The Land Cruiser had two rows of tiered seating for optimal game viewing.
I sat behind Phillip, who was seated at the steering wheel on the right side of the vehicle, ready to serve as our guide.
A large rifle was clipped to the dash, easily in reach of almost anyone, including me.
Giovanni sat in the same row as I did, but on the left side of the bench.
He’d yet to make a move on me, and maybe he wouldn’t. Perhaps he had a girlfriend or two back in Rome who kept him satisfied. But I’d occasionally catch a glance from him that leered, and it made my stomach turn.
It was kind of sad. I should be flattered that an attractive man was interested, and I hadn’t been with anyone in a long time. I’d been going through quite a dry spell recently. My gaze drifted to the tall man who stood beside the vehicle.
Nathan had confirmed what I knew from the minute I’d stepped foot in Vitale Abramo’s ostentatious home office. Criminals. I’d hoped they were only the white-collar kind and hadn’t seen much to make me suspect otherwise. And holy hell, the money was good and steady. The Abramos traveled a lot.
But just a few more flights and I’d be facing a scary decision. Where would I go next? Back to flying a regional route in Spain? And would the Abramos let me go? They were clearly used to getting what they wanted.
Did Nathan have any room to judge me? He admitted he was used to working for criminals. Why did he care if I did, too? Why did I care what he thought of me?
The vehicle rocked slightly when Nathan climbed in and sat behind me, and I could feel the tension rolling off him. He had a brief conversation with Giovanni, and I couldn’t help but listen as the Italian tumbled out of his American mouth.
It sounded delicious. The rise and fall of the words were like waves on a sea, and it was impossible to ignore. I wanted to know what he was saying. I wanted to know why he spoke Italian so well. Why he was working for Giovanni.
I wanted . . .
I knew exactly what I wanted, and I frowned at myself. I’d have to force those thoughts from my ridiculous mind.
No mixing business with your personal life, remember? That includes the American sitting behind you.
The wide Land Cruiser sped across a sandy path through the short trees and bush. The CB radio mounted below the dash buzzed with Afrikaans or another language I didn’t know, and Phillip snatched up the receiver, gave a short reply, and returned the receiver to its rest.
“There’s a pride of lionesses hunting a kilometer from here,” the South African said.
The vehicle lurched forward as he stepped on the gas. The landscape changed quickly around us. One minute it was thorny, dense bush, and the next it was open, grassy plain.
“Giraffe,” I said to no one in particular, pointing down the hill as we flew by. The lanky animal stood on its long legs, eating leaves from a treetop, and paid no attention to us.
“And zebra,” Phillip replied, although he pronounced it zeh-bra. “Giraffe and zebra are old friends. You usually see them together.”
I didn’t care what the men thought of my reaction, it was impossible not to be dazzled seeing something I’d only seen behind fences at a zoo. “He’s beautiful.”
“She, actually,” Phillip said. “They are elegant, no?”
“Yes.” Elegant was the perfect word.
We crossed over a dry creek bed, and the Land Cruiser scaled the rocky hill on the other side, leading us to where another vehicle sat, the logo of a different lodge displayed on its side.
The vehicles were similar in style, but the back of the other one was full of passengers, all with camera straps slung around their necks.
Phillip pulled alongside the driver and chatted with the burly man, in what sounded like friendly conversation. Then, as we parted, Phillip yelled to the other vehicle’s passengers, “Make sure you ask him why he’s called Gentle Creature!”
The driver gave an embarrassed smile when he pulled away.
“Why is he called that?” I asked.
“Johannes used to be a tracker for us. One day he came into a clearing and startled a rhino bull. The firing pin of his rifle jammed, so he said he had to talk the rhino out of charging him.”
“How’d he do that?”
“Johannes told the rhino that he was a gentle creature and meant it no harm. We can’t let him get by without teasing.” He moved the gearshift. “Hang on, we’re going in.”
I wasn’t quite sure what he meant until the tires turned off the path and into the bush. Then Phillip drove right over a large sapling. I latched on to the bar over the seatback in front of me.
“Everyone down,” the South African warned over the sound of tree limbs snapping beneath the undercarriage.
It was because now he was going under a low-hanging tree with two-inch thorns on it.
I flattened myself against the center seat as the thorns dragged and scraped over the hood and continued relatively harmlessly over the shirt on my back.
The problem with this was it brought me face to face with Giovanni.
I sat up quickly, but he asked me something. Nathan’s deep voice came from behind.
“He wants to know if you’re all right.”