Xandra Page 3

  FOUR

  TWO WEEKS later, Xandra left home before dawn, travelling east to Bakili. A six-hour drive across the glittering River Niger, bustling midsized towns, emerald green rain forests, and rolling acres of farmed land.

  Of course, a road trip across the country would not be complete without the usual police or military personnel at checkpoints asking for monetary tips. She handed out a few of those to avoid any delays.

  However, restlessness plagued her. A couple of rest stops to stretch her legs and use the bathroom didn’t help.

  All because of the new kill contract.

  Xan was primary, and she got the first refusal. Not that she had ever refused a contract.

  She took on the job and executed it without questions.

  But, on seeing the dossier of the latest target, her scalp had prickled with disquiet.

  So, she’d gone digging for more information. She'd hacked into Zoe’s computer and found out the hit had been ordered by Ralph Nweke.

  More searching provided details about the man. Mr Nweke was the Commissioner for Justice and State Attorney General in Bakili. Why would someone charged with upholding the laws want someone killed? Granted, many corrupt government officials allowed the cartels to flourish.

  The target was probably involved in criminal activities.

  She shoved away misgivings, putting them down to the termination of the agreement with Osagie. She wasn’t one to obsess or mourn the loss of anything. Still, she hadn’t expected it to end abruptly.

  She arrived at Bakili city, driving past the famous roundabout with its glittering water fountain towards the hotel she’d booked.

  As she pulled into the hotel parking spot, a dark cloud of foreboding hovered over her. Eyes closed, she sucked in a deep, calming breath.

  She was Xandra and afraid of nothing.

  “Welcome, Madam.” A man in a sky-blue t-shirt, black trousers and black leather boots greeted as she walked to the entrance. “My name is Thomas.”

  “Thank you, Thomas,” she injected a twang to skew her usual speech pattern and make it sound more local. She needed to be incognito and didn’t want to stand out.

  Same reason she wore a long, fringed wig, contact lens and makeup to change her facial features.

  In her skirt suit, she looked like an everyday businesswoman.

  “Can I take your luggage?” He indicated the black hard-cover carry-on case on wheels.

  “It’s okay. I’ll take it in.” She dragged the bag up the ramp.

  “Okay, ma.” He clicked a button on the wall, and the doors slid apart.

  “Thank you.” She strode into the foyer and approached the receptionist desk.

  After checking in, she went up to the room, ordered lunch and studied the map of the ranch she needed to get to. The terrain was mainly plains on the edge of a mountain with a river running through it.

  Then she unpacked the toiletries and clothes before pulling out the smaller damage-proof case and opening it.

  One of the advantages of driving instead of flying commercial was that she got to take her kit. Otherwise, she would have to find local dealers to buy weapons, which meant getting more people involved.

  She checked the content of the pack. Along with her weapon of choice the FN Five-seveN, she’d come with a sniper rifle, currently dismantled, and C-4 plastic charges. She wasn’t a fan of using explosives for a job and only applied it as a last resort.

  A knock sounded on the door.

  She closed the case, picked up the pistol and walked noiselessly to the door. Checking the peephole, she saw a man dressed in a bellhop outfit with a silver tray laden with dishes. She stepped aside and asked in a heavy accent, “Who is it?”

  “Room service,” he replied. There was nothing in his voice that indicated agitation or stress.

  She tucked the gun into the nearest drawer and pulled out her purse, taking the cash tip in readiness. No reason for him to hang in the suite while she fished the money out. Then she opened the door.

  “I brought your lunch,” the bellman said, holding up the tray.

  “Place it on the table.” She stood there, holding the door as he walked past. He lowered the tray and headed back to the entrance.

  “Thank you.” He took the notes and walked out. She shut the door.

  The smell of the Ofada rice with assorted meat sauce made her mouth water. Dismissing work for a few minutes, she tucked into the food and malt drink. Not always able to soak up the cultures of the regions she visited, she made sure to enjoy the cuisines.

  After eating, she dropped the tray in the hallway outside the suite, locked the weapons case and stowed her cash bundle in the safe. Then she headed out with a small rucksack containing the handgun, a bottle of water and fruit bars.

  Her car was matte grey and absorbed light instead of reflecting it. The last thing she wanted during surveillance was to have a brightly coloured vehicle that would attract attention.

  It took two hours to drive out to the location, a ranch in the middle of nowhere.

  She was a city girl. She loved the buzz, the noise, the hustle and bustle of the concrete jungle. Out here, there was nothing. Just miles and miles of scrubland interspersed by a few trees. Mountains and valleys and plains. What did people do with themselves?

  A wooden arch proclaimed Njoku Farm and Ranch. Nailed to the post on the left side was a sign saying, ‘help wanted.’

  She drove under the archway and followed the wide, winding dirt road for half a mile. Then turned right and went off-road for a mile until she spotted a copse of trees and headed toward the canopy. It was the only shelter she’d seen for a while, and she wanted somewhere secluded to park the vehicle.

  The trees provided shade for a hot afternoon as she got out and surveyed the area. A river wound its way past. It didn’t look deep, but it was extensive, perhaps a quarter of a mile across.

  In the other direction, the main house would be more than two miles to the west of where she stood, according to the map she’d studied.

  With the long-range binoculars, she saw the cattle on the east field. She returned to the car and pulled out the rucksack, placing it across her shoulders. Then she walked to the tree and climbed. She needed the elevation to see past the shrubbery and any trees in the way.

  She’d learned rock and tree climbing as part of completing the assault course in military training along with everything else.

  At a sturdy branch, she sat across it, legs dangling, and leaned against the trunk. Pulling out the binoculars, her gaze swept across the plains below.

  Beyond the grazing cattle, she found pigs in a pen and horses grazing in a paddock. Further down were barn structures. The main house had a rustic look in an early 19th-century colonial style.

  She zoomed in on two men who stood inside a paddock with a single, big white horse.

  The horse appeared agitated. One man stood by the side and looked like he was stroking the horse and talking to it, while the other strapped on a saddle. The horse reared up, and the man with the reins continued soothing it until it calmed.

  The interplay between the men and the animal they were trying to control fascinated her.

  Suddenly, the man with the reins mounted the horse. But the stallion didn’t comply. It raised its head and bucked, kicking out with its hind legs continually until the man on top fell. Luckily, the second man pulled him free, so the animal didn’t hit him in the process.

  A smile curved Xandra’s lips. She didn’t feel any sympathy for the men. Instead, she had an affinity with the horse.

  The animal was untameable. Unbreakable. Like her.

  She managed to get a look at the two men and pulled out the tablet to compare the image of the target. Neither of them looked like the man she was hunting.

  Something caught the corner of her eye, and she swivelled in its direction.

  A blue truck with the ranch logo on the side drove up the dirt road headed into the ranch. From the hidden perch in the tree, she
saw it clearly, dust clouds in its wake. The driver was not visible. But she followed its trail until it pulled up in front of the house.

  The driver hopped out and shut the door of the vehicle.

  Xandra’s pulse rate kicked up a notch. She glanced at the photo—a long-range shot and not the best—of the target again.

  The new arrival appeared to be the same person in the image. The only way to be definite would be to get closer to him.

  Tricky, since this wasn’t a busy city where she could walk past him on the street. There were very few hiding places close to the house. Otherwise, she would have done the trek down there.

  Her mind flicked to the ‘help wanted’ sign at the entrance to the ranch. She didn’t know what kind of service they needed. Probably a farm or ranch hand.

  She knew little about working on a ranch but could ride a horse. She was a quick study too. How hard could it be?

  Mind made up, she climbed down the tree and headed to the car.

  If she was going to play the part of a ranch hand, then she needed to look the part.

  She drove to the city, visited a clothes shop, bought t-shirts, jeans and work boots. In her room, she created a fake resume, although she doubted the necessity of one for what would amount to manual labour.

  The next morning after breakfast, she packed her things and checked out of the hotel.

  Travel case in the boot, she drove the two hours to the ranch.

  Her senses heightened as she went under the archway onto the dirt road, adrenaline spiking.

  An adrenaline rush during a kill situation was par the course. However, the surveillance process itself never engendered the same emotions flowing through her right now.

  She would get to talk to the target and possibly work with him for a few days.

  Gravel crunched under the tyres as she stopped in front of the stone-built house. A light-skinned young woman in a pink t-shirt and blue jeans came around the corner. She had a pretty, oval face and long brunette hair tied in a ponytail.

  From the dossier, the target had a younger sister in her mid-twenties whose description matched the girl who’d just stopped by the veranda.

  Xandra stepped out of the vehicle and shut the door.

  “How can I help you?” the girl asked in a soft voice.

  Smiling, Xan took a couple of steps in her direction. “I’m here for the job.”

  She squinted, her forehead creasing into a frown before her brown eyes went wide. “Oh, you mean the farmworker job?”

  “Yes, that job,” Xan replied, stepping up and extending her hand. “My name is Allie.” Alexandra was her given name. When she’d gone to the military camp, she’d become Xandra. However, in situations when she needed anonymity and a pseudonym, she adopted a variation of her full name.

  “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Ginika, although my friends call me Gigi.” The corners of her lips curled up, and they shook hands. “Sorry if I seemed confused. You don’t look like a farmer.”

  Smart lady.

  Xandra had never worked with animals or crops. Her clothes were practically out of the packaging. Best to stick to the truth—as close to the truth as possible—and hope it worked.

  Still smiling, she met Ginika’s brown eyes with a steady gaze. “You’re right. I’m not a farmer. But I’m good with my hands, work hard and can do whatever needs to be done.”

  “Okay. My brother is the one you need to see. He’s inside on the phone now. Come in, and I’ll get you a drink while you wait for him.” She stepped onto the veranda, looked over her shoulder with a warm smile. “Welcome to Njoku Ranch, Allie.”

  This was the first time Xandra had been unknowingly invited into the target’s home.

  Her observation instincts kicked in as she walked through, checking out the layout, recording exits as well as objects.

  The interior was open and welcoming, with archways leading to the living area, high ceilings and dark wooden beams, furniture arranged to showcase a family home. The decorations were modern, but the house retained some of its rustic charms. Steps with intricately designed tiles stood at the end of the hall, leading to the next level up.

  Ginika led her through an arch under the stairs into a beautiful, large kitchen with a range cooker, terracotta floor tiles, honey-coloured walls, cherry wood cabinets and a matching rectangular table with eight chairs.

  “Please, sit.” She pointed to one of the chairs as she opened a door. “What would you like to drink?”

  “Water, please,” Xan said, pulling out one of the wooden chairs and settling into it sideways.

  “Sure.” She flashed white teeth and opened the door to a large fridge which, on the face of it, seemed to be the only high-tech gadget in the rustically modern house.

  The friendly welcome and the homely environment sent a twinge across Xandra’s chest. She resisted rubbing a palm on it.

  She had never received this kind of warm reception from the family of her mark. When she entered their homes, she usually tampered with the locks or, as in Yahya’s case, entered while the door was already opened.

  Her skin prickled.

  She should warn Ginika about inviting a stranger, a killer, into her home so readily.

  In the cities, people tried to be aware of whom they allowed onto their premises. Perhaps crime wasn’t as rampant out here in the countryside.

  This begged the question. If these people were so innocent, why did someone want one of them dead?

  Why did the question spring into her head? She had never bothered with it before. Now it did, she wanted answers. She would get them when she met the target face-to-face.

  Ginika came back with a bottle of water and poured some into a glass with ice cubes.

  “Thank you,” Xan said.

  “You’re welcome.” She tugged a chair and sat on the other side of the table. “Your accent. You are not local.”

  For a moment, Xandra wondered if she’d been discovered already. “No, I’m not from the Bakili region. I came here to enrol at the university for a part-time course. But I also need a job which is why I’m here.”

  “Wonderful. That’s my alma mater. You’ll love it there. If you need me to show you around.”

  “That’s nice. Thank you. So, what do you do? Do you work in the area?”

  She remembered the distance between the ranch and the nearest town. It wasn’t an easy daily commute.

  Ginika shrugged and brushed loose strands of hair back from her face. “I haven’t been able to find a job. I would like to travel and see the world. But for now, I have to stay and help my brother with the ranch.”

  An ache bloomed in Xandra’s throat. She has no real friends. None she could have chats like this. Yet, she understood the constraints in the other woman’s life. Felt a connection to someone she’d only just met.

  This necessity to sacrifice themselves for a more significant cause—family in Ginika’s case and the Himba cartel in Xandra’s—connected them.

  “If it’s really what you want to do, then you should just go. Life’s too short.” Not to mention that Xandra would deprive her of her brother. The twinge in her chest returned.

  Ginika gave an uncertain smile. “You think so?”

  “I do.”

  Steady footsteps echoed in the corridor behind Xandra. The hairs on her nape stood erect. Usually, she didn’t sit with her back to the door. She’d been relaxed in Ginika’s presence and had lowered her guard.

  While the other woman was harmless, this new arrival was an unknown.

  Xandra’s first instinct was to reach for the gun. She lifted a hand to pat her chest.

  Damn. No hidden panels in this outfit. Unarmed, she was dressed like a farmhand, not an assassin.

  Pulse accelerating, she twisted in the seat.

  A tall man strode into the kitchen. He wore brown boots and blue-washed jeans, the muscles of his broad shoulders and chest filled out the light blue chambray shirt. His thick black hair was cut in a taper-fade, while
dark bristles on his chin and thick brows framed caramel skin, scrutinising eyes as black as night, and full sensuous lips.

  Recognition punched Xandra in the gut and her breath hitched.

  He was the man in the dossier. Ebuka Njoku. Owner of Njoku Ranch and Farms.

  Her target.

  “Gigi, I didn’t know you had a guest,” he said in a deep commanding voice.

  Feeling light-headed, a sizzle went down Xandra’s spine. Heat washed over her skin. The space in the kitchen seemed constricted, the air sucked out.

  His piercing gaze unsettled her. Like he could see more than she projected. Like she was the prey.

  It seemed she’d temporarily forgotten how to inhale and had to force the action.

  Suddenly not wanting him standing over her, she straightened and shook out her shoulders. She wasn’t afraid of him. She was nobody’s prey.

  Ginika waved her hand in Xan’s direction as she stood too. “Ebuka, this is Allie. She’s here for the farm job.”

  “Nice to meet you, Allie, but have you worked on a ranch before?” He looked her over as if he didn’t believe she was suitable for the job. His direct approach matched his sister’s.

  Back ramrod straight, Xandra held her breath, wondering if she passed the examination. Wanting his approval for more than one reason. She didn’t want to leave. Not now. Not until she found out more about this man.

  “No,” she replied. “As I said to your sister, I can do whatever job you want me to do. I’m great with woodwork, and I don’t mind getting my hands dirty.”

  He put his hands on his hips, exuding confidence and power. “Ranch work is back-breaking and has to be done no matter the weather outside. Are you sure you can cope with it?”

  Xandra was petite, fit and toned. Anyone who mistook her appearance for weakness did so at their peril.

  She stepped forward, extending her hand and met his gaze. “Why don’t you give me a trial, and if you’re not satisfied, you don’t have to hire me.”

  He nodded, reaching out. “I’ll give you twenty-four hours to prove yourself.”

  That was more than enough time to learn what she needed to do her job.

  “Deal,” she said, accepting his firm callused hand.