The Mercenary: The Savage Seven. Katherine Garbera

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The MERCENARY

      The MERCENARY

      THE SAVAGE SEVEN

      KATHERINE GARBERA

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

      www.kensingtonbooks.com

      Contents

      Chapter One

      Chapter Two

      Chapter Three

      Chapter Four

      Chapter Five

      Chapter Six

      Chapter Seven

      Chapter Eight

      Chapter Nine

      Chapter Ten

      Chapter Eleven

      Chapter Twelve

      Chapter Thirteen

      Chapter Fourteen

      Chapter Fifteen

      Chapter Sixteen

      Chapter Seventeen

      Chapter Eighteen

      Chapter Nineteen

      Chapter Twenty

      Chapter Twenty-one

      Chapter Twenty-two

      Chapter Twenty-three

      Chapter One

      AUGUST 1, SANDTON, JOHANNESBURG, SOUTH AFRICA

      The phone rang as Olivia Pontuf was in the middle of stripping down for a shower. It had already been a long day and it was only 10:30 A.M.

      “It’s Olivia,” she said, answering her cell phone. Her BlackBerry was her lifeline to her old life. She relied on it. Last week she’d thought she’d lost it and had brought the entire household to a standstill until it was found. Ray had been amused, but Olivia hadn’t been. Everything she had was in that phone.

      “Darling, I need you to bring me a file from my office,” Ray Lambert said.

      She reached into the shower and turned off the water. “Okay, give me a second to go downstairs and you can tell me which one you need.”

      “I don’t have a minute to waste while you do whatever it is you do to fill your day,” Ray said.

      “I was getting in the shower, Ray, I trust you don’t want me to walk naked through our home,” Olivia said. Their home was a large estate house in an affluent suburb of Johannesburg. She really had no problem with nudity, but the three security guards who lived with them creeped her out a bit.

      “Okay, but hurry.”

      She bit her lip to keep from reminding him that she had just said she’d hurry. She pulled on her thick terry bathrobe and walked out of her bedroom suite and downstairs to Ray’s home office.

      He said nothing while she made her way downstairs and she told herself that one of the things she’d always liked about Ray was that he didn’t waste time with small talk.

      The room was darkly appointed and smelled faintly of the Cuban cigars that Ray liked to smoke after dinner. “I’m here.”

      “About time,” he muttered. “Go to my desk and open the middle drawer.”

      “Middle, middle? Or left middle?” she asked.

      “Middle,” he said. Ray seemed tense, which wasn’t like him. He was usually relaxed and charming when he dealt with her. She’d seen him get short tempered with help or with service people who didn’t meet his standards, but never with her.

      “It’s locked,” she said.

      “Dammit. There is a key on the credenza behind you in the bottom of the Zen rock garden,” he said.

      She turned around and saw the garden; she used the little rake to move the sand around until she exposed the key. She pulled it out and wiped it off on her robe before fitting into the lock.

      “Okay, I’ve got the drawer opened.”

      “The folder I need is in a black envelope. Do you see it?”

      She rooted around in the drawer, uncovering the envelope in the back. It was padded and thick. She resisted the urge to linger in the drawer and see what else was important enough for Ray to lock away.

      “I have it.”

      “Great. Have Burati drive you to the mines. I need that file as quickly as you can get here.”

      “I guess a shower is out,” she said.

      “Yes, Olivia, some things are more important than appearance.”

      Feeling like she’d been slapped, she was silent. “I’m well aware of that, Ray.”

      “I’m sorry, darling. I just need that file. Please bring it as quickly as you can.”

      “Of course, I’ll be there as soon as possible,” she said.

      “Excellent. Bye.”

      He hung up and Olivia knew she had to face the truth about this new life of hers.

      She knew she had a life many would envy. She had grown up among the crème de la crème of European society, and moving from London to Johannesburg (or Jo’burg, as the locals called it) had seemed very exciting.

      The reality of life here in Jo’burg was so different from what she’d imagined. The beauty of South Africa was marred for her by the constant threat of violence and crime. She couldn’t jog in the early hours as she’d always done at home but instead had to wait until mid-morning when it was safer.

      She wasn’t a health nut but had found her habits made her life here seem more normal. And she relied on them to keep her sane.

      Sure, she had a lot of social events to keep her busy and, as always, she was working on one of her fiction books about Krissie Carmichel, girl-spy. But there were also lots of bodyguards and trained attack dogs that were always nearby to keep her safe. Ten-foot-high fences surrounded the lush, leafy green residential neighborhood they lived in.

      And she’d said yes to Ray’s offer of marriage because he was wealthy, good looking, and moved in the same circles she did. Now she was having second thoughts.

      Ray worked almost every day from before sunrise, leaving their home with his bodyguards Nels and Mumba and not returning until well after the cocktail hour. She was doing her best to fit in here, but the shopping malls closed at three, which limited her outings, and her charity work was also limited to only daylight hours.

      Her work seemed stymied lately. She attributed it to the move. Moving always threw her off her writing groove.

      While the people she’d met were nice, the constant threat of crime and having to always stay vigilant was wearing her down. That was why today she’d had enough.

      She took a brief shower and dressed quickly in a Chanel pantsuit. Despite the fact that she knew time was of the essence, she took ten minutes to put on some makeup; she felt naked if she went out of the house without eyeliner and lipstick on.

      “Going somewhere, ma’am?” Burati asked.

      “Just running this folder up to Mr. Lambert at the mines,” she said.

      “I will have the car brought around,” Burati said. His accent was lyrical and she liked to listen to him talk.

      “I’d like to try driving on my own this time, Burati,” she said. She needed to be alone