The pilot wipes his brow. One more hour to go.
Cas moans next to me. I push two fingers on her wrist. Her pulse is strong. Keeping an eye on her, I let the steady tempo of her pulse reassure me.
The rest of the flight continues without hiccups. We land just after eight. The air is warm and the airport building stuffy. The last commercial flight has landed at five. There’s no one except one security guard who doesn’t lift as much as an eyebrow as I walk underneath the buzzing overhead lights with Cas in my arms. The pilot follows with our bags. He dumps them in the back of the Jeep I’d left in the parking while I lower Cas into the seat and fasten her safety belt.
He refrains from looking at her when he says, “Will you need me anytime soon again?”
I take a stash of cash from my bag and hand it to him. “I’m good for a while.”
“In that case, I’ll be heading back tomorrow.” He grins. “I’ve got an airhostess waiting for me in Johannesburg. Her flight landed this morning.”
I nod. “I’ll let you know if anything changes.”
With a salute, he walks off.
Cas moans again when I start the engine. She either has a strong system or she’s used to taking drugs. The tranquilizer should’ve lasted for another few hours.
It’s a bumpy ride to the lodge, but I take it easy, making it home in forty instead of twenty minutes.
The lights burn in the entrance, but the staff has already retired to wherever they choose to spend their evenings, either at the shebeen or at their respective bungalows.
A fire burns in the pit on the front lawn by the river. Leon and Ruben get to their feet when I exit onto the deck with our bags slung over my shoulders and Cas in my arms.
“What the fuck happened?” Leon asks. “Is she…?”
“Drugged.” My tone is clipped. “Cas tricked Walter. She managed to get away. I had to go after her.”
Ruben’s smile is wry. “Let me guess. She didn’t appreciate your effort to save her hide.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I say, my jaw tight. “Her hide wouldn’t have needed saving if it weren’t for me.”
They don’t say another word as I make my way past them to my bungalow. I don’t bother taking a rifle as I still carry my pistol.
At my room, I drop the bags and go through the usual routine of checking for reptiles and scorpions before laying Cas down on my bed. She looks pale on the white linen, all the color gone from her cheeks. I put her handbag on the chair next to the bed and take off her jacket and shoes. Her ankle is a little swollen from when she twisted it, but it doesn’t seem too badly banged up. I check her pulse one last time, and, reassured that her heartbeat is strong and normal, I cover her with a blanket.
I stare at her, laying there in my bed, this stunning woman I’ve stolen. I’ve stolen many things in my life, a lot of money and jewels and cars, even food and books when I was younger, but I’ve never taken a person. I should be feeling a lot of things—guilt, remorse, and disgust—but all I feel is the sweet taste of possession.
Chapter 2
Cas
It’s dark when I wake. I stretch and burrow deeper under the soft, warm blanket. I’m cold, and my muscles ache like when I have flu. I’m not sick, am I? The cobwebs lift a bit, and everything comes rushing back.
Gasping, I push the blanket aside and jackknife into a sitting position. I’m in a huge bed framed by a mosquito net on all sides. A lamp burns on a nightstand next to the bed. The lampshade is made of ostrich feathers and the base is a monkey cast in bronze. Next to it stands a copper ornament, a ring box shaped like a fly. The wings open to give access to the box. I’ve seen trinkets like these at the African flea markets. A carafe of water and a glass have been left on the nightstand. The carafe is covered with a doily to keep out the insects. The doily has colorful beads around the edge, just like the ones my grandmother crocheted.
The golden glow of the lamplight doesn’t reach far into the room, only far enough to make out the polished red clay floor covered with a zebra skin next to the bed. The smell of hay and grass tells me the roof is thatch, but the ceiling is much higher than the cabin at the Kloof. I swipe a hand over the blanket. It’s mohair. The bed linen is white. The side next to me is undisturbed, the sheets smooth and the pillow undented. I’ve been sleeping alone. I’m still wearing my clothes.