In the Company of Killers by Bryan Christy (ebook reader for pc and android .txt) 📕

cod at Nobu with your future ex-husband instead of lying here with me sweaty and satisfied.”

“Possibly.” The shadow returned and she kissed him lightly. “Principles have kept my standards low.”

He ran a finger down her arm. She lay back. Soon his finger retraced itself and found a more distracting path. She had fingers of her own, of course. She kissed his chest, and then slowly moved her lips to investigate what they had discovered.

Klay felt the familiar pressure, their time together always less than enough.

Hungry sat up first and pulled the sheet to her chest. “You can’t embed, not officially. If anyone even suspected we’d given foreign journalists access to our files, we’d be finished. Our enemies are everywhere, Tom.”

“Wait a second,” he said. “When exactly did you make this decision?”

She smiled. “I’m a multitasker, remember?” She turned to him, her face serious. “You’ll visit our office. Meet our people. You are journalists doing a story on Ras Botha. That’s fine. You have a track record investigating him, and everyone knows The Sovereign. I can share things with you quietly and point you in the right direction. Anything concerning our investigation into the president, you cannot be present for, not even in the building.”

“Chinese wall. Understood.”

“If you want to share what you find with me, that’s your decision. You’re under no oblig—”

“I’d do it anonymously.”

She waved away his interruption. “You’re under no obligation,” she continued. “Nothing you learn from my office goes public before his trial.”

“Understood.”

“You trust this person you brought with you?”

“He’s good with computers. I’m taking this beyond rhino horn, Hungry. I want Botha to pay for what he did.”

“Of course you do,” she said. “They fired Vance?”

“Why do you say that?”

“You said you have a new editor.”

“Right. Vance retired. He has cancer.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Tom. I know he’s meant a lot to you over the years. He’s been like a father, hasn’t he?”

“Thanks. Not exactly a father. But a good man. He seems to be doing all right so far. He did most of his work here back in the day. Mandela is his hero.”

“And now you have a new owner now, I read.”

“We do,” he said. “Perseus Group Media. You’re well-informed.”

“Terry Krieger has done a lot of damage in this country. Have you met him?”

“Not exactly.” He told her about the hologram presentation.

“Does he know you’re here?”

“I wouldn’t think so. He wouldn’t know any more than I’ve told Sharon.”

“Which is?”

“The minimum: ‘I’m investigating Ras Botha, a South African kingpin I believe is behind the killing of my friend, not to mention attempting to murder me.’ She was salivating so much over a ‘revenge piece,’ she agreed. But I made clear my safety depends on total secrecy.”

“She’s close to Krieger?”

“I’m not sure, to be honest. She came on as an acquisition in the PR space. He’s pursuing nature-based technologies, militarized conservation, but he didn’t need a magazine to do that. The rumor around the office is he bought The Sovereign to please his daughter.”

“So you promise me you’re not working for him.”

“For him? No.” He looked at her. “What’s with the third degree?”

“Two prosecutors investigating Ncube have been murdered. PGM outlets covered the stories. They were mouthpieces for Ncube.”

“Jesus.”

“I have to be extraordinarily careful.”

“You’re going to need a silver bullet, Hungry. Something that takes down Ncube on your first shot.”

They lay back and watched the ceiling fan turn.

“Do you have it?” he asked. “A silver bullet?”

Hungry sighed. “I have a bullet, I’m not sure yet what it’s made of.”

“You want to tell me about it?”

“You shouldn’t even be asking that.” She rose onto an elbow and poked a finger into the scar below his shoulder. “Does this hurt?”

“Ow. No.”

She smiled. “And you think it was Botha’s people?”

“I do. He denies it, of course. The weird thing is he says he got me my surgeon.”

“Lord, that man.” She shook her head. “And he told you this how? When?”

“I bumped into him in the Philippines. Must have been just before you arrested him. He was with his son.”

“Hmm,” she mused. “How would he know you needed a surgeon?”

She got up and started to dress.

“See! We’re a good pair. That’s a question I didn’t ask.”

“Well, we’ve got him at New Lock. You’re free to ask him anything you like.” She reached for her dress. “I have good investigators. Three South Africans to speak truth to power. You’ll like them.”

“I’m looking forward to meeting them. But I’m hoping . . . I’m hoping there’s time for more us . . .”

“For us, what?” she said. When he didn’t answer, she cleared her throat. “Tom, I’m not sure we’ll get to be like this again,” she said stepping into her shoes.

Klay was pulling on his pants. “Are you telling me something?”

“The president’s got me under surveillance. And Botha’s people may be watching you . . . if not already, then soon.”

“We’ll figure it out, Hungry. Sharon wants me close to you, which I said is a hardship.”

He noticed she didn’t smile.

“How long are you here?”

“I have to get Tenchant back in ten days. His wife’s pregnant.”

“Not long,” she said.

“No,” he said, facing her, “but I can come back.”

She turned for the door. “We should go.”

Something was bothering her. There’d been something in their lovemaking, too. Not something more. Something less.

BLOODING A KRIEGER

Kimber Conservancy, Zimbabwe

Krieger handed his daughter his binoculars and pointed toward an outcropping. The male lion lay in the shadow of a boulder. The big cat yawned, exposing impressive canines.

“He’s perfect, Dad,” Blaze said. She took out her iPhone and started a video.

They were hunting Kimber Conservancy, 2,496 square miles of electric-fenced, raw Zimbabwean bush, just over the border from South Africa.

“That’s Cyril,” Pete Zoeller said.

Blaze studied the lion another moment, then turned. “We don’t name wild animals, Mr. Zoeller. Names are for people and pets.”

Krieger smiled—he had taught her that. Zoeller, the senior professional hunter on the Kimber for going on fifty years, smiled, too. He had taught Krieger. “You’re right about that, miss,” Zoeller said.

Blaze handed the field glasses back to her