Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96460 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 482(@200wpm)___ 386(@250wpm)___ 322(@300wpm)
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.”