Chapter 13

Noordhoek Village, Restaurant.

“Because ... Because I am Shadow.”

Rosie’s voice was low, her words hanging in the sudden silence like the lingering smoke of a snuffed candle. The quiet at the table stretched, taut as a tripwire. It echoed in my head, a delayed explosion that sent ripples through the moment. Across from me, Fiona sucked in a sharp breath, her knuckles whitening around the delicate china cup she held.

I let the silence simmer a little longer, watching Rosie’s expression, but she gave nothing away. Her dark eyes met mine steadily, assessing, measuring. A confession like that wasn’t something to rush past. It needed room to settle, to take shape.

I reached for my fork, speared the last bite of cheesecake, and chewed slowly. The rich sweetness was at odds with the steel-threaded tension hanging over us. Then, pushing the empty plate aside, I drained the last of my coffee and lifted a hand to catch the waiter’s attention.

“Anyone for more coffee?” I asked, my tone deliberately light. A verbal wedge to crack the pressure before it swallowed us whole.

Fiona said nothing. Her fingers were still locked around her cup, her shoulders stiff.

“Aren’t you going to say something, Roy?” Rosie prompted, her voice even but edged with something I couldn’t quite place. Challenge? Curiosity?

I met her gaze. “What must I say? That you just revealed your undercover identity to me and Fiona? To you, I’m a total stranger.”

Rosie tilted her head, her lips quirking slightly. “Sometimes a girl needs to take a risk.”

“No risk, Rosie.” I leaned back, allowing a small, knowing smile. “I’m good with it. Been there, done it, got the T-shirt, and wrote the manual. We are both sheepdogs of the world.”

Fiona’s gaze flicked to me, something unreadable shifting in her eyes. A shadow. Doubt? Concern? Whatever it was, it passed quickly, masked by a small, wry smile.

“As long as you use your skills for good, not evil,” I added, my tone casual, but the words deliberate. “Then I’m good with it.”

Rosie exhaled through her nose, a small, almost amused sound. “I’ll have one more tea,” she decided. “Then I must be off.” Her eyes softened slightly as she turned to Fiona. “It was good seeing you again, Finny. I hope you see things the same way as Roy.”

“I’m beginning to understand,” Fiona admitted, her voice quieter, more thoughtful. “You two live in a world I never knew about ... until Roy got us out of a tight situation.”

Rosie’s brow lifted. “Tight situation as in...?”

“Anderson tried to do himself what you’re contracted to do. Hired some Funky Boys for the job,” I explained. “Now there’s five Funky Boys less.”

Rosie stilled, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “That was you?”

“Sorry if they were friends of yours.”

She shook her head. “I’m not part of any gang. I just run errands for those that pay good money.”

“That’s life.” I shrugged.

“Yeah...” she murmured.

I studied her for a moment before deciding to push my luck. “Rosie, if I may ask ... what do they pay you for the hit on me?”

Her gaze flicked to mine, a slow smile curving her lips. “Five hundred big ones.”

“Five hundred thousand?” I asked, feeling my eyebrows shoot up. Beside me, Fiona gasped.

Rosie gave a slow nod. “Yeah.”

“Well,” I exhaled, a smirk creeping in. “They say a journalist isn’t famous until his life is threatened. I must be very famous.”

She snorted. “Looks like it.”

I leaned in slightly. “Well, I can’t trump that amount, but maybe I can persuade you to consider coming along for the ride with Fiona and me.”

Rosie tilted her head, pretending to consider. “No persuasion necessary. I’ll do anything to keep my milky-bar ghomma safe and breathing.”

“Good.” My voice was steady, but the weight behind it was real. “I, too, would like to keep her safe and breathing.”

Rosie’s eyes narrowed playfully. “And your reason for that? Or don’t I need to ask?”

“No comment, no photos, and don’t quote me on it.”

Rosie chuckled. “One can see he’s media-wise,” she said to Fiona with a wink. Fiona blushed. Why, I had no idea.

“Finny, let’s go powder our noses before I leave,” Rosie said, rising smoothly to her feet. Fiona followed.

“Roy, don’t get distracted by drenched waifs while we’re gone...” Fiona teased and giggled. And as they walked away, I heard Rosie ask, “What’s the story about drenched waifs?”

Oh, brother. Wee-men.

Fiona and Rosie off to the restroom.

As they walked towards the restrooms, Rosie bumped her shoulder lightly against Fiona’s.

“So ... what’s the deal with you and Roy?” she asked casually.

Fiona scoffed. “There is no deal.”

Rosie shot her a knowing look. “Come on, Finny. I saw how he looked at you back there. And how you looked at him.”

Fiona hesitated. “It’s not like that,” she said, but even she wasn’t convinced by her own words.

Rosie grinned. “Oh, this is going to be good. Spill it,” and she pushed open the restroom door for them to enter.

Fiona sighed, staring straight ahead. “I’ve spent the last three nights in Roy’s bed.”

Rosie nearly tripped over her own feet. “What? And you’re telling me there’s no deal?”

“It’s not like that,” Fiona repeated. “Nothing happened. We’re just two friends sharing a queen bed.”

“Nothing happened?” Rosie scoffed. “Three nights, Fiona. Three. Either Roy is the most disciplined man on the planet, or you two are both blind.”

Fiona huffed. “It’s complicated.”

Rosie rolled her eyes. “It always is.” She studied Fiona for a moment before smirking. “You like him.”

Fiona pressed her lips into a thin line. “I ... I think I’m falling for him,” she admitted. “But I’m not making the first move. If Roy wants something, he’s going to have to be the one to step up.”

Rosie tilted her head. “Fair enough. But don’t wait too long, Finny. Some things are worth taking a chance on.”

Fiona gave her a look, then decided a subject change was in order. “Roy’s got a thing for drenched waifs.”

Rosie’s brows shot up. “Drenched waifs? Yeah, tell me about it...”

Fiona nodded. “We got caught in the Laingsburg storm. I got a flat tire a way back along the road to there. About sixty kilometres out, and the assholes that helped me change the tire also stole my cell phone and bag with my wallet and cards in. When I got to Laingsburg Roy was in the restaurant and saw my predicament. He stepped up and bought me supper, and also paid for a room at the local guest house.”

“Wow! A real gentleman.”

“Well, I owe him for that, so we kept contact, but instead, Anderson got in the way and Roy nearly killed Anderson.”

“He should have exterminated the bastard!”

“Well, Roy is going to help me find that artefact that Anderson wants.”

Rosie’s grin widened. “See! Roy is seeing the light — you just need to nudge him over the edge.”

Fiona groaned. “I walked right into that one.”

Rosie chuckled. “You sure did.”

Roy waiting at the table.

The two women walked off to the restroom, chattering away like old school friends who hadn’t seen each other in years. It was almost bizarre how quickly they’d clicked. I sat back in my chair, shook my head, and turned to stare out the window.

The morning fog had lifted, replaced by a steady breeze rolling in from the southeast. High above, thin clouds were breaking apart, peeling back like old paint on weathered wood. The first shafts of sunlight lit up the fields, turning the grass into gold and making the distant tree line glow.

It was a beautiful scene — the kind you’d appreciate more if you weren’t tangled up in the mess I was currently swimming in. Still, I found a bit of calm in it. Maybe, just maybe, today wouldn’t be so bad.

That fragile sense of peace lasted exactly two minutes before my phone buzzed.

I pulled it out and answered. Anton’s voice cut through immediately. “There are no girls here at Anderson’s place.”

No hello, no small talk. Typical Anton — all meat, no garnish.

“Did you check the mine?” I asked, already knowing the answer would be no.

“What mine?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “The old abandoned mine on the property.”

“Where the hell is that?”

I exhaled slowly. “I’ve never been there, but it’s been mentioned before. Anderson used to take guests there for ... entertainment.” I let that word hang. “Somebody on the farm must know where it is. Ask around. There’s always someone — a gardener, a handyman, a guy who’s been around so long he remembers the first fence post going in.”

Anton grunted. “There’s an old man working in the garden. I’ll ask him. Let me call you back.”

And just like that, the line went dead.

I slid the phone back into my pocket and leaned back in my chair again, eyes drifting to the restroom door. I swear, if they were redecorating the place tile by tile in there, they couldn’t take any longer.

My thoughts drifted — to Rosie, to Fiona, to this whole twisted circus we were dancing through. Rosie’s appearance hadn’t just thrown a curveball into my day, it had brought a flood of old memories with it. Names I hadn’t heard in years, faces I tried to forget. People like Rosie didn’t retire; they just changed job titles. Today they’re a ‘consultant,’ tomorrow they’re a ‘security advisor,’ and the day after that, they’re someone’s problem solver — with a gun.

Fiona, though — Fiona trusted her. That’s what unsettled me most. Fiona’s not stupid; she’s sharper than most people give her credit for, but she also has a blind spot the size of a barn door when it comes to people she cares about. Rosie clearly fell into that category, and that worried me.

The Rosie I remembered was a shark in human skin — efficient, cold, always two steps ahead and never afraid to pull the trigger if it meant tying up loose ends. If Fiona thought that Rosie had turned into some kind of loyal sidekick, I had serious doubts. People like Rosie didn’t switch off the darkness; they just learned to hide it better.

I’d play nice — for Fiona’s sake — but my gut told me to keep one eye on Rosie and the other on my back.

Finally, after what felt like half a lifetime, the restroom door swung open and the women reappeared. Rosie gave me a quick hug, all warmth and confidence, and promised to stay in touch before vanishing out the door.

As soon as she was gone, Fiona’s expectant gaze locked onto me. “So?” she asked, her voice light but her eyes sharp. “What do you think of her?”

I shrugged. “Interesting.”

“Just interesting?”

“What else do you want me to say? I’ve known her for exactly twenty minutes.” I paused, letting my gaze drift to the door Rosie had just exited through. “Besides, it’s not every day you have brunch with someone who once had your name on their kill list.”

Fiona winced slightly but didn’t back down. “Fair point. But give her a chance. She’s on our side.”

“For now,” I muttered. “But that’s only because you’re in the picture. Take you out of the equation, and I’d probably be staring down the wrong end of her Slabside.”

“Don’t be so harsh,” Fiona said softly. “Yeah, she’s done some things — things neither of us wants to dig into over breakfast — but people change.”

“People adapt,” I corrected. “They get smarter about hiding the things that make them dangerous.”

“Roy...”

I held up a hand. “Fine. I’ll give her the benefit of the doubt, but I’ll be watching — both her and my back.”

“Thank you. That’s all I’m asking.”

We settled the bill and stepped outside. The sun was higher now, warming my face as I took a deep breath of fresh air, clearing away some bitterness lingering in my chest.

“So,” I said, “what now? We’ve still got half a day ahead of us. Got anything you need to tick off your list?”

Fiona brightened. “Let’s go over my equipment, if you don’t mind. We’ve still got that artefact to unearth.”

“Speaking of unearthing...” I glanced at her. “Where exactly is this mine entrance at Anderson’s place?”

She frowned slightly, recalling the details. “There’s a dirt road just left of the main gate. Follow that about a kilometre and you’ll hit the old farmhouse. The mine entrance is actually inside the farmhouse itself — hidden in the passage. There’s a door that opens onto a staircase leading down into the tunnels.”

I swore under my breath. “Dammit.”

Without wasting time, I pulled out my phone again to call Anton back.

Anton answered just before the call went to voicemail, his voice sharp and straight to the point.

“You got the info?” No greeting. No small talk. Just Anton being Anton.

“Yes,” I said, keeping my voice just as clipped. “There’s an old farmhouse about a kilometre in from the gate. In the passage, there’s a door that opens onto a staircase leading down into the mine tunnel.”

“Got it. That helps. We’re trying to get the girls out.”

I froze for a heartbeat. “You found them?”

“Yes. We stumbled onto a ventilation shaft and went in from there. Found nine girls, all between fifteen and twenty.”

Nine. That number landed hard in my gut. My throat tightened around words that wouldn’t come. All this time, all the awful possibilities racing through my mind — and there they were. Alive.

“I’m a little busy right now,” Anton continued. “I’ll call you later.”

“Okay ... thanks,” I managed, though my voice felt distant, like it belonged to someone else.

Then Anton’s tone shifted, a slight hesitation creeping in. “Listen, thanks for the information. Don’t tell Doctor Reid just yet, but ... the tenth girl didn’t make it. Looks like she contracted pneumonia and died down there. So I’m adding murder to the charge sheet.”

That hit like a fist to the chest. “Shit,” I muttered. It was all I could think to say.

“Sorry, Scrooge, I have got to go. We’re still hauling the girls out. I’ll update you later.”

“Yeah ... bye.” My hand hung in mid-air a moment longer before I pocketed my phone, feeling like it weighed ten times heavier than before.

I sighed, long and slow, letting the breath drag out as if it could take some of the weight off my shoulders. It didn’t.

“What?” Fiona’s voice cut through the silence, full of concern.

I shook my head, trying to pull my thoughts together. “I’ll tell you later, but Anton found nine of the girls.”

Her face lit up with hope. “How are they?”

“He didn’t say much. Just that they’re busy getting them out. He’ll call with a full report later.”

“Okay.” She exhaled too, shoulders dropping with relief. “I’m just glad they found them. The poor things...”

I nodded, but my mind wasn’t done with it. Nine girls made it out of that hell-hole, but the tenth ... Her face — a face I’d never even seen — haunted me already. Some kid, no older than twenty, dying cold and alone in the dark. I didn’t know her name, didn’t know her story, but her ghost settled on my shoulders anyway. And now, we had to live with the fact that we were too damn late for her.

Later that afternoon, back at the cottage, Fiona and I tackled the puzzle that was her field equipment. The Land Rover had been packed to the roof with her crates and boxes — three heavy aluminium crates, and six slightly less intimidating boxes — all of which I had the honour of hauling inside, while Fiona supervised like a queen on her throne.

“Those two over there,” she said, pointing with a finger while nursing a mug of coffee in the other hand. “And those three can go here, next to the table.”

“Anything else, Your Majesty?” I asked, wiping my forehead with the back of my hand. “Shall I polish your crown while I’m at it?”

She stuck out her tongue at me before setting her mug down and getting to work on the crates. The aluminium ones immediately caught my attention — sturdy, with reinforced corners and those shiny butterfly fasteners, the kind you’d see on professional camera cases or something you’d expect to find in a spy movie. If James Bond ever took up archaeology, this would be his luggage.

Click-clack, click-clack — Fiona unfastened the lids with practised ease, flipping them open to reveal the foam-lined interiors. Neatly cut compartments held an assortment of tools, all snug and secure like surgical instruments in an operating tray. Some were familiar — trowels, brushes, a measuring tape — but others looked like they belonged on a spaceship.

I picked up something that looked suspiciously like a dentist’s pick, except it had a weird, hooked end. “What’s this doohickey?”

“Precision scraper,” Fiona said, snatching it from my hand before I could use it to clean my fingernails. “For delicate work around artefacts. And no, it’s not for your cuticles.”

She moved down the line, giving me the grand tour of her tool kit — calipers for measuring small finds, a plumb bob for perfect vertical alignment, a collapsible stadia rod for site mapping, even a small GPS device that looked older than the cottage itself. There were also soft-bristled brushes in every size, from makeup brush dainty to full-on broom mode.

The second crate held the more robust tools — trowels, shovels, a small pickaxe, and something that looked suspiciously like a crowbar. “That’s for stubborn rocks,” she grinned, giving it an affectionate pat.

“I want to see that ground penetrating radar thingamajig of yours,” I said.

“Oh, it’s there in that third box on the left,” she replied, barely looking up.

The third crate was where things got fascinating. “This,” Fiona said dramatically, “is my pride and joy.”

She opened the lid with a flourish, revealing a beautifully packed ground penetrating radar unit — sleek and futuristic compared to the rest of her gear. It looked like the offspring of a lawnmower and a fancy metal detector, complete with control screen and expandable handle.