Chapter 21
No Clean Exit
NICK
The radio cracked through the quiet of the suite. I was out of bed before the second vibration hit the nightstand, reaching for my shirt with one hand and the radio with the other. I didn’t look at her while I dressed. If I did, I’d lose a second I didn’t have.
"Nick?" Her voice was steady, but the sleep was gone from it.
"Stay in the bed," I said, my fingers finding the buttons by feel. I reached for my boots, the knots done before I looked down.
“What was the code on the radio?”
One hand paused on my holster. Most guests wouldn't have recognized the cadence of the radio chatter, let alone asked for the specific designation. Juliette wasn't most guests.
"Eastern fence. Sector four," I said, checking the chamber of the sidearm. "It’s not a stray leopard."
I turned to her then. She was sitting up, the sheet pulled to her waist, hair loose around her shoulders, eyes already clear.
"Latch the panels," I said. Her eyes moved over my face once, and whatever she saw there stopped the question. "Stay away from the openings. Do not step onto the deck until I am the one walking up those stairs. Understood?"
She didn't argue. She didn't ask if I'd be okay. She just nodded, her jaw setting in a mirror of my own. "Understood."
Before either of us could make it a goodbye, I was down the steps and behind the wheel. Night air hit my face. The jeep was moving before the dust settled around the tires, headlights cutting through the dark while my mind ran three kilometers ahead to the cut wire.
Sector four.
It was one of the problem points in the perimeter—a dry wash where the ground shifted after hard rain and the Acacia scrub played hell with the camera traps. If someone had watched the boundary long enough, they could have noticed the pattern.
The radio crackled again. "Elias here. We’ve got a clean break. Two sets of prints, heavy tread. Looks like they headed toward the upper road, not the lodge."
"Staged vehicle?" I asked, shifting into fourth.
"Spotted a white pickup on the service road outside the boundary ten minutes ago. It cleared out when Daniel moved in."
"They're inside, then," I said. "Lock it down. No guest movement. I want a full sweep of the rise before the sun hits the horizon."
A kilometer out, the headlights went dark. Moonlight and memory took me the rest of the way, the track unfolding pale and narrow beneath the tires. By the time the fence came into view, Elias’s flashlight was already moving over the damage.
Sand crunched under my boots when I stepped out. The wire had been cut cleanly enough to rule out accident. Not elegant. Not amateur either.
“They got lucky with the camera gap,” Elias said, pointing to the downed trap.
“Or they watched long enough to make luck useful,” I said.
I knelt, studying the tracks. Men. Two of them. Moving fast, moving light. They weren’t here for a rhino, not yet. This was scouting. A rough measure of how fast we moved and where the perimeter thinned.
Wrong fence. Wrong fucking night.
That was how it started. Not with chaos. With patience. A blind spot here. A delayed patrol there. By the time rifles came out, the men carrying them already knew which ranger would reach them first.
On my feet again, I scanned the wash, the high ground, the black seam of treeline. Above us, the ridge cut a dark spine against the stars. Somewhere along that spine, two men were moving through the reserve, and Juliette was sitting in a suite with nothing but canvas between her and the dark.
My phone vibrated in my pocket.
I pulled it out, expecting a situational report from the gate. Instead, the screen bloomed with a text from Sofia.
SOFIA: did u book flights yet? mom says we need to decide
The message held me there until the screen dimmed.
Elias shifted beside the fence. “Nick?”
The phone clicked dark in my hand before I slid it back into my pocket.
“Show me the tracks.”
By dawn, the ridge had enough light to read tracks. The intruders had vanished back through the wash. The fence was still cut, the camera still down, and I still didn’t know why they’d picked tonight.
I drove over to the main lodge as the first light hit the veranda. The air smelled of damp earth and expensive panic.
The guest services manager, Sarah, was pale, one hand locked around her tablet while the guests closed in. The executive group had cornered her near the doors. The idiot Victor was mid-sentence, his face flushed with the kind of indignation only a man with a private jet can manage.
"It is a security protocol, Mr. Miles," Sarah was saying, her voice thin. "We simply need to ensure the roads are clear before—"
"I have a board meeting in London at noon tomorrow," Victor snapped. "My transport was scheduled for seven. It is now seven-fifteen."
"The airstrip road is temporarily closed," I said, stepping into the light.
The group turned. Victor looked at my dust-streaked uniform and the dirt under my fingernails and seemed to find a new gear of frustration. "Mercer. Explain this. Is there a lion on the road? If so, fucking drive around it."
"It’s not a lion," I said. "And the road stays closed until I say otherwise."
"This is unacceptable," Graham added, his voice lacking its usual podcast-ready charm. "We have schedules. We have lives."
“We have a perimeter breach,” I said, my voice flat. “There are potentially dangerous men inside the reserve. Until I know where they are and what they’re carrying, your itinerary is not part of my protocol.”
I turned to Sarah to give her the briefing notes, but the crowd was already closing in on her.
Victor was waving his watch near her tablet while Graham droned on about "brand reputation" and "unnecessary drama.
" Sarah stood near the veranda doors with her tablet clutched against her ribs. Her smile hadn’t moved in thirty seconds.
“Sarah, get them into the lounge. Keep the coffee coming. No one steps outside.”
She nodded, her face pale, and started herding the grumbling group away.
I stepped back onto the veranda. Behind me, Victor was still talking. Ahead, the bush gave me nothing. Sarah was finally leading the rest of the group toward the lounge, but my focus was three miles out, where the rise met the sky.
Elias’s voice crackled over the radio, low and urgent. "Nick, we’ve tracked the tread marks past the wash. They aren't heading back to the perimeter road. They’re cutting across the high ground, moving directly toward the ridge suites."
Everything nonessential dropped out. The western suites sat three miles out, tucked beyond a narrow track and too much cover.
“Daniel,” I barked into the radio, cutting over Elias. “Western tents. Now. Collect the guests and get Juliette Wilder. No packing. No delays. Bring them to the main lodge. I’ll have Sarah call ahead.”
"On my way," Daniel’s voice came back, clipped and professional.
I pulled my personal phone from my pocket and dialed the extension for Juliette’s suite. She picked up on the first ring.
"Nick?"
"You're okay?"
"I'm exactly where you left me," she said. Her voice was steady, clipped at the edges. "I heard the jeep leave. I assumed the road was a no-go."
"It’s a no-go. But the high ground isn't safe. The tracks were moving in your direction." I stood motionless, my hand locked hard around the railing. "Daniel is three minutes out in the cruiser. When he pulls up, I need you to grab your shoes and get in. Nothing else. Do you understand?"
There was a beat of silence on the line. “How long do I have?”
“Three minutes.”
"I understand," she said. "The flight was supposed to be thirty minutes ago. You checked the transfer time three times yesterday—you know the schedule better than I do."
The ridge sat in sharp relief now, the rising sun turning the scrub visible inch by inch.
"Road’s closed, Juliette. And you’re moving."
"That is the operational answer."
The wood of the post felt cool against my forehead. "It’s the only one I’ve got right now."
The silence on the line stretched between us, three miles of scrub and thorn wire keeping us apart. Daniel’s cruiser appeared as a dust plume below the upper road, too far away and moving too slowly.
"I have a call with my sisters," she said finally. "I'll tell them the delay is temporary."
"Right. Temporary."
We ended the call without a goodbye.
In the distance, a dust cloud lifted behind Daniel’s vehicle as he drove hard toward the ridge. Juliette was out there with canvas for walls, a phone in her hand, and Daniel still three minutes away.
She was right. The delay was temporary. She had a life waiting for her in Florida. I had a cut fence and men in the scrub.
I turned back toward the gatehouse to coordinate the sweep. The road out was closed. That should have made things simpler.
It didn't.