Free All In by Gabra Zackman Page B

find his friend and get some more leads. Jackson was pysched about it, even if the relationship would just be their undercover identity. He thought it would be a wonderful beginning step to be “playing” lovers. Maybe it would be the beginning of the real thing. He was getting lost in fantasies when, suddenly, he was next to her again.
    “What now, another bar?” she said. “The street where you had your first kiss? What?”
    “The street where I had my first kiss is now a parking lot, but I’d be happy to park in it with you,” he said, moving a bit closer.
    “Treat me like a lady or don’t treat me at all,” she reprimanded him.
    “Sorry, Bee. That sucked. It was stupid of me.” He knew he had made a wrong move; he had to change his approach to her, and fast. “I know the way you are. I know what you want from a man. You’re a romantic, babe. And you need someone who is as romantic and strong and cool as you are. Sorry about all the dick jokes and all the flirty shit. It’s just what I do when I’m nervous, like a habit. But that kind of talk is too casual, and you’re not casual to me. I’m sorry if I made you think that’s all I wanted. It was me being stupid, that’s all.” He paused, taking her in. “We cool here?”
    She smiled at him. He liked that she looked surprised and pleased by his honesty. He’d have to do it more often if that’s what she wanted to see. “We’re cool, Jackie. And nothing about you is stupid—you’re just a clown sometimes. But I will say it’s awfully nice when you’re real with me. I think I just need some time to process this, that’s all.”
    “Great,” he said. “How ’bout a five-hour moped ride to some amazing caves down south? Hassan had a lead that may pan out. We’ll have to dress like tourists, though. How does that sound?”
    “How’s that different from how I’m dressed now?” she asked.
    “Well,” he said, looking at her pale pink jean skirt with a sheer pink-and-white-checkered top, “not that different, I guess. We just need some stuff we can do some climbing in. I’ve got a friend who’s got a bunch of spelunking gear—we can swing by his place first. And I think it’s best if we act like we’re on a romantic trip. It’s a better cover. Cool by you?”
    “Cool by me,” she said. “When do you want to go?”
    “How’s now? We can check things out late tonight. Or we could sleep on it and get started first thing in the morning.”
    “Awesome,” she said, invigorated by the chance to do some real legwork. “Let’s shoot a quick email to the Boss and get going. I’m ready to rock!” She stood up and realized she was a bit drunk. “Actually,” she said, “maybe we should eat something first. I think I drank too much whiskey.”
    “Sounds great,” Jackson said. “We’ll get a firm plan together and leave ASAP. And I’ll cook you dinner at Mahmoud’s place. Homemade falafel is one of my secret weapons.” She laughed loudly, and he reveled in it. “And Bee?”
    “Yes, honey?”
    “I know you’re still processing, but I’m in with both feet. This is only the beginning. I’m gonna woo you like you’ve never been wooed before.”
    “ Rockin’ ,” she said, and hiccupped. “I can’t wait to see you try.”
    ‡‡‡
    CHAS AND SUSANNAH had landed in Johannesburg and were now in the northwest suburb of Melville, near the university, at the door of the safe house that Mahmoud had sent them to. Chas knocked on the door three times, and a small slat opened in the middle of the door. A low soft voice asked, “ Qui vous a envoyé ? ” and Susannah, who knew French through her father’s side of the family, answered: “ Nous venons de Mahmoud Assouline.” The door was quickly opened, and a woman wearing a veil welcomed them in. “Chas! Susannah! I am Amal, welcome.” She closed the door before taking off the veil. Susannah saw she was stunningly beautiful, small, curvy, and exotic-looking, with olive skin and