Table Of ContentNight Fall
Cherry Adair
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
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
Also by Cherry Adair
THE EDGE BROTHERS TRILOGY
Edge of Danger
Edge of Fear
Edge of Darkness
OTHER TITLES
White Heat
Hot Ice
On Thin Ice
Out of Sight
In Too Deep
Hide and Seek
Kiss and Tell
MALLARUZA
CENTRALWEST AFRICA
“Morning,” Kess Goodall said absently as she and Simon Blackthorne passed in
an upstairs hallway of the city offices of Mallaruza’s state capitol building. Tear
and sweat tracks painted pale lines through the dirt on her sunburned cheeks, and
her gray eyes were shadowed. Something was up. She made no effort to hide it;
in fact Simon observed that despite the greeting, she was barely aware of those
she passed, and probably wasn’t even seeing individuals as she speed-walked by.
Intrigued, he turned to watch her retreat.
Cute ass.
She was publicist for Abioyne Bongani, Simon’s old college friend and current
president of Mallaruza. Goodall had held up well in the past two months,
considering that she’d been banished to this tiny country in midwestern Africa.
No one wanted to hire her back in Atlanta, Georgia, where she was from.
The PR community there had closed ranks on her. Instead of looking for a job
anywhere else in the United States, she’d opted for a time-out here in Africa.
She hadn’t chosen easy, that was for sure.
Escalating skirmishes on the border between Mallaruza and Huren, an outbreak
of some deadly virus, and the upcoming elections were all keeping her out of
trouble and on her toes.
As far as Simon could tell, she’d done a pretty decent job of promoting the good
Abi was doing for his country. Since Abi was becoming suspiciously more
saintlike as the day of his reelection approached, her duties were of the
cheerleader variety—exactly what the untidy, yet vivacious, Ms. Goodall
excelled at.
She wasn’t going to hinder Simon’s
investigation in any way. Intel divulged that she’d been fired from the PR
company she’d worked for. Being phenomenal at her job had saved her cute ass
every time she’d pulled some insanely over-the-top stunt. Like attacking one of
the other members of the staff, or throwing a vase full of flowers at a client.
She was impulsive, volatile, and
unpredictable.
Simon had a wary respect for
unpredictable.
His work as a T-FLAC/psi operative made unpredictable the norm. But an
unpredictable civilian, right in the middle of what had the potential to be an
extremely volatile conflict between two small countries, was not good.
His job here was simple. As president, Abi Bongani had called him in because
he suspected another wizard might be manipulating the skirmishes on his border
with Huren. The Hureni were a violent people, but they usually kept their
fighting internal. Recently they’d started sending sorties deeper into Mallaruza.
Pillage, murder, rape, and general
mischief. The Hureni were full-service bad neighbors, and bad for Abi’s
campaign.
As a friend, Abi didn’t want Simon doing any more than tracking down the
wizard responsible. He had his own ways of finding out why.
Simon was happy to have an
all-expenses-paid vacation in Africa. The ocean was nearby and he was between
ops. Why not?
It had been years since he and Abi had tossed back a few beers and caught up on
college memories.
Hmm. There’d been a redhead then, too.
Or had it been a blonde? Since Goodall was reportedly a magnet for trouble, and
wanting to know what the tears meant, he decided to follow her, undetected, into
Abi’s office. Loose cannons tended to go off in the worst possible situations.
The wide hall was filled with people rushing about. Simon strolled into a nearby
public rest room, letting the door swing shut behind him. He checked the stalls,
making sure the men’s room was deserted.
He shimmered, invisible, back into Abi’s opulent office to hear what she had to
say. Of course Abi, being a Half wizard, sensed that he was there. He lifted his
head and frowned in Simon’s general direction before he waved Goodall to one
of the chairs in front of his desk.
“How was the trip?” Abi asked, his deep voice holding only a hint of Africa
beneath his American high school and college English. He was an intelligent
guy, with a capacity to do good like few people Simon knew.
He and Abi had lost touch over the years, but Simon knew his old friend was an
idealist, a champion of lost causes, and had a competitive streak a mile wide.
Simon had been intrigued to get the call asking for his help.
Crossing his arms, Simon took up position near a zebrawood bookcase holding
leather-bound, foiled, first editions. None read.
Just for show. But a classy show.
He considered himself a good study when it came to women. The bedraggled,
baseball-cap-wearing redhead, walking to some internal tragedy, would not
normally have garnered his attention. He liked women a great deal, but he had an
aversion, a strong aversion, to sloppy and ill-kempt. When he had time to
indulge himself, he usually went for sophisticated, well-educated, well-groomed,
brunettes.
Goodall was a bit too straight up and down for his taste. And her red hair wasn’t
just red. What he could see of it was wild, grab-your-attention, screaming
orange. The color matched the bright orange hiking boots on her small feet.
Subtle, she wasn’t.
What she was was hot.
No matter what the hell his eyes
