Page 11 of Heat Force
Robert shot him a tired smile. “The rebels used tobethe army. Renegades, mostly. They broke away and now fight to control this part of the country. The government forces aren’t exactly well-trained or well-fed, so containment isn’t really an option.”
“What about the UN?” Hawk leaned back against the railing. He looked almost relaxed, though Lexi caught the sharpness in his eyes. “Don’t they have peacekeepers in the area?”
Someone had done their homework.
Robert sighed. “The UN does what it can. But the roads are a nightmare—half of them are blocked by the army or the rebels, and most of those roadblocks are just excuses to extort money from travelers. It’s dangerous to move around. Even with UN backing.”
Estelle returned, wine glass in hand. “Robert got ambushed on the road to Goma a few months ago.” Robert shot her a warning look, but she didn’t notice. “He was shot in the shoulder.”
“Shot?” Jasper blurted out. All eyes turned to Robert.
“It was just a graze,” Robert said quickly, brushing it off with a wave of his hand. His tone was light, but Lexi didn’t miss the way his jaw tightened. She knew his shoulder still gave him trouble.
“It doesn’t happen very often,” she said, trying to smooth over the sudden tension. She glanced at Hawk, hoping they hadn’t scared him off, but his expression was one of intrigue. His eyes gleamed in the glow of the deck’s lanterns.
“It’s like the Wild West out here,” he muttered, taking a pull from his beer.
Lexi dropped her gaze to his hand holding the bottle. Big hands. Confident grip. For a split second she pictured them running over her body, and gulped, pushing the unwelcome thought from her mind.
He caught her eye, and she glanced away. Why wasn’t he rattled like a normal person? Jasper looked like he wanted to bolt, but Hawk just seemed… curious and maybe a little bit excited, like this was all just a big adventure to him.
Before she could say anything, Estelle broke the tension with her cheerful voice. “Dinner is ready! Let’s head inside.”
Lexi saw Robert exhale, relieved to leave the topic behind. She couldn’t blame him. There was no pretty way to talk aboutthe chaos in the DRC, no version of this story that didn’t leave you feeling hollow. Sighing, she followed the group inside.
The conversation during dinner mostly revolved around the documentary, filming locations, and storylines. The crew were excited to get started, and Lexi let their enthusiasm fill the space, content to stay quiet.
Every so often, she caught Hawk looking at her. Not long stares—just glances. Subtle, but enough to make her pulse skip. She didn’t return them, though. She wasn’t sure she wanted to encourage whatever unspoken thing had started between them.
The truth was, Hawk reminded her too much of the men she’d left behind in New York. Sharp suits, flashy smiles, and ambitions that left no room for vulnerability. The kind of man who could charm a room but wouldn’t stick around when things got messy. He might’ve been wearing chinos instead of a tailored suit, but he still felt like one ofthem. All image, no substance.
And yet, there was something about him that fascinated her. The way he stayed calm when everyone else got stressed. The way his questions, even the surface-level ones, seemed to carry a weight of curiosity.
When dinner wrapped up, Lexi took the first chance to excuse herself. She thanked Estelle for the wonderful meal, said her goodnights, and slipped out into the warm night air. The road back to her cabin was quiet, save for the symphony of jungle sounds. The high-pitched chirping of crickets, the distant hoot of an owl, and the rustle of leaves as something moved in the undergrowth.
At first, the noises had unnerved her. The dark felt alive, like it was watching her, waiting to pounce. But now, the sounds were familiar, even comforting. The jungle was vast and unpredictable, but it was also steady in its own way, unchanging in its rhythms.
She reached the door to her cabin and paused, noticing something white on the mat.
A letter.
It was postmarked New York.
Lexi sighed, scooping it up. She already knew who it was from. Her mother’s letters were as predictable as they were exhausting.
By the time she’d opened it and settled into bed to read, her eyelids were heavy. Her mother’s words were neat and precise, the tone a familiar cocktail of criticism and thinly veiled guilt. Then came the sucker punch, written in a bolder, told-you-so manner.
Charles was getting married.
Her chest tightened for half a second, then… nothing. No heartbreak, no pang of regret. Just a quiet acceptance. Of course he would marry. Of course it was Elizabeth Carlton-Ross, one of her mother’s socialite friends’ daughters. Charles had always been a prize, a politician destined for greatness, and Elizabeth would make the perfect accessory.
Lexi tossed the letter onto the nightstand, rolling her eyes at her mother’s parting advice to “watch her skin in the harsh African sun.” As if that was all she needed to worry about out here.
Shutting off the lamp, she sank into her pillow. As she lay in bed, listening to the jungle’s lullaby, one thought crossed her mind before sleep took her. Hawk Anderson had rattled her more in one day than Charles ever had.
And she wasn’t sure if that was a good thing—or a very, very bad one.
CHAPTER 5