A Time to Die

An avid reader since childhood, Beverly Barton wrote her first book at the age of nine. She wrote short stories, poetry, plays and novels throughout high school and college, and is now a New York Times bestselling author, having written over sixty books since she was first published in 1990. Beverly lives in Alabama with her husband.

Also available by Beverly Barton

DANGEROUS DECEPTION

AMNESIA

CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

THE MURDER GAME

THE DYING GAME

BEVERLY BARTON

A TIME TO DIE

www.mirabooks.co.uk

In loving memory of Wilhelimena “Willie”wood,

who lived her religious beliefs, setting an example

for family and friends. You left this life much too

soon, but your deep faith in a heavenly eternity

comforts those you left behind.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

A special thank-you for invaluable technical

and medical research assistance.

Roger Waldrep

Steven L Romiti, MD

PROLOGUE

THIS ASSIGNMENT sucked big-time. Lexie would rather be just about anywhere than here in Gadi covering the presidential inauguration ceremonies. Newly elected President Tum was an evil, arrogant son of a bitch who had massacred a hundred thousand of his own citizens in an ethnic cleansing. And the world had turned a blind eye. Even UBC, United Broadcasting Center, for whom she worked as a TV journalist had thought this man’s official takeover of power was so insignificant that they had sent only her—a rookie reporter—and a lone cameraman to cover the event. Their escort/bodyguard, Mr. Kele, was here somewhere in the crowd, a moth-eaten-looking rogue who made Lexie’s skin crawl. But at least the guy carried a gun and spoke the language.

“There he is. President Tum. Get as many close-ups of the cocky little bastard as possible,” Lexie told Marty Bearn, her cameraman.

Marty and she had met for the first time on their recent plane ride from Atlanta, the home base for UBC. She had bellyached to him about this crap assignment until she’d vented as much frustration as she could, and he had shown her photos of his bride, a cute little brunette with big doe eyes. She had wondered what a cutie like his Sherry saw in a big, hefty oaf like Marty, with his shock of auburn red hair, hee-haw laugh and oversize teeth. But by the time they arrived on the Dark Continent, Lexie understood Marty’s appeal. He possessed a laid-back, easy-going nature, an appealing personality and a caring attitude. Not to mention that he was hog-wild, crazy in love with his wife. What woman could resist a man who loved her that much?

“Look at him strutting up to the podium like a little bantam rooster,” Marty said. “I bet he’s not more than five-six without those high-heel boots he’s wearing. He’s definitely got a Napoleon complex.”

“He’s a monster, if you ask me,” Lexie said off-camera. Then she returned to reporter mode, keeping her voice low as Marty began filming again.

Prior to Babu Tum’s arrival, she had commented on the outdoor event being held in an open courtyard half the size of a football field. As Marty had cinematically scanned the area and the large crowd of citizens who had been herded into place like mindless cattle, she had considered how she would present this news event to her audience. Later, once back at the studio in the U.S., she would create a voiceover to describe today’s farce. A fake election. A dictator president. A subjugated people. She supposed it was possible that UBC would use the entire piece Marty and she created, but she seriously doubted it. The “powers that be” would cut it down to a two-or three-minute segment and put their own spin on the soon-to-be forgotten event. One more African dictator assuming official power was hardly newsworthy, was he?

Unfortunately, Lexie was not proficient in the native language, so she managed to pick up only a word here and there, occasionally piecing words together to figure out a sentence. Where was their guide when she needed him? Lost in the crowd, not worth the two hundred dollars a day UBC was paying him.

Oh, well, it probably didn’t matter that she couldn’t understand every word of Tum’s speech. Overall, the man was simply blowing his own horn.

Less than five minutes into Tum’s speech, which had been interrupted half a dozen times by shouts Lexie did understand—Long live President Tum—a ripple of apprehension tapped up her spine just as droplets of perspiration trickled between her breasts. In one life-altering moment, she instinctively knew something horrible was about to happen.

A single rifle shot rang out—the long-range weapon hitting its mark. Babu Tum’s dark eyes widened in shock and realization as the bullet entered his forehead.

“My God!” Marty Bearn gasped. “Tum’s been assassinated.”

Tum’s guards, whose presence on the podium with him had apparently not deterred the assassin, aimed their weapons, searching the crowd for the killer. One by one, three of Tum’s six-man advisory council dropped as shot after shot rang out. While the other three men took cover, the crowd went wild, screaming and running, everyone hysterical with fear. Caught up in the frenzy, Tum’s guards began firing into the crowd, killing at random, taking down unarmed civilians.

“Let’s get out of here!” Marty called to Lexie.

“No way in hell!” she yelled back. “This is history in the making. Keep rolling. We don’t want to miss a thing.”

“Damn it, Lexie, we’ll get ourselves killed.”

“Keep rolling!” Being on the scene for this story could make her career as a journalist. Once she got this footage back to Atlanta, her face and name would become famous overnight.

As if from out of nowhere, a group of armed warriors surrounded the courtyard, returning fire in an attempt to protect the crowd by taking on Tum’s guards. While the gunfire continued, Lexie described what was happening and Marty filmed the scene as it continued to unfold. What appeared to be a four-man team, all wearing black, their faces masked by some sort of camouflage paint, each carrying a rifle, stormed forward, waging war on three times their number. One man in particular stood out, at least in Lexie’s mind. Towering a good six-four, his sheer size distinguished him from the others.

“They’re not Gadian,” she said into her microphone. “From what I can tell, these soldiers are all Caucasian, except one. Apparently they’re either mercenaries or special agents of some type who were sent to assassinate President Tum or—”

Marty Bearn grunted loudly, then clamped his left hand over his chest and went down on his knees, all the while clutching his camera in his right hand. Bright-red blood stained his shirt and seeped between the fingers of his left hand.

“Marty!” Lexie screamed.

She dropped down beside him as he crumpled into a heap at her feet. Oh, God. Oh, God! “How bad is it?” she asked as she tried to pull his hand away from the wound.

He tried to speak, but couldn’t. A gurgle of bloody saliva erupted from his mouth.

“Marty! Don’t you dare die. Do you hear me?”

His hand clutching his chest went limp. Lexie’s heartbeat drummed inside her head. Please, God, help him. Don’t let him die. She lifted his hand from the wound, then gasped when she saw the damage a single shot had done, the entry wound almost directly over his heart. Then she looked into Marty’s face. She knew he was dead.

Just to make sure, she felt for a pulse.

Nothing.

This was all her fault. He had wanted them to run, to get away, but she’d insisted they stay and keep filming. I’m sorry, Marty. I’m so sorry.

She loosened the camera from his hand and rose to her feet. She had to find a way out of this nightmare. There was nothing she could do for Marty. Not now. It was too late for anything except remorse.

Doing her best to avoid getting caught in the crossfire, Lexie tried to make her way out of the courtyard, but too many dead bodies blocked her path, men and women cut down by Tum’s retaliating guardsmen. Keeping low, pressing the camera to her breasts, she visually scanned in a circular motion, seeking an escape route. She spied an open gateway directly to the left of the podium, where several guards remained. In her survey, she had noted that only a handful of Tum’s soldiers were still standing. Whoever the hell this elite squad of assassins were, they were good. Very good. Good enough to eliminate seventy-five percent of their foes in record time.

The gunfire overrode the screams, which seemed like a rumble beneath the roar. The scent of sweat mixed with the metallic odor of blood as the sweltering African sun blasted down on the dead and wounded.

The taste of fear coated Lexie’s dry mouth.

What should she do? Stay here and risk being killed? Or run for her life? Neither option appealed to her, but what other choice did she have?

Going strictly on gut instinct, she made a mad dash for the one escape hatch open to her. She crawled halfway there, then stood and ran as if the devil were chasing her.

Almost there. Almost there. Just a few more feet.

Wham! The bullet hit her in the back with thundering force, knocking her flat as pain shot through her like a wildfire raging along every muscle and nerve.

She had come so close, had almost escaped.

Her body floated downward, as if in slow motion. She tried to make sense of what had happened and why. She lifted her gaze as she fell and saw three of Tum’s guards go down in rapid succession, blood spurting from their splintered heads. When she hit the stone floor of the courtyard, her tight grip on the camera holding the footage of the day’s events loosened. Try as she might, she could not stop the camera from skidding out of her reach. She had risked her life and Marty’s for nothing. He was dead, and she was probably dying.

Slipping in and out of consciousness, Lexie had no idea how long she lay on the hot, bloody stone floor. Five minutes? Fifty minutes? Five hours?

“You can’t take her with us,” a man’s voice said, his accent decidedly British.

“If I don’t, she’ll die,” a deeper, harsher voice replied. American, Lexie thought somewhere in the deepest recesses of her addled brain.

Seconds later, she felt a pair of large, strong arms lift her as if she weighed no more than a child. He crushed her wounded, agonized body against his hard chest. She managed to focus on his face for half a second, not long enough to really see him, catching only a glimpse of smoky-gray eyes before passing out.

GEOFF MONDAY, the SAS officer who had been second in command on their secret assignment, which had sent a select group of American and British soldiers into Gadi, came up to Deke. He nodded toward the closed door across the hall from where Deke was waiting to speak to Lexie Murrough’s doctor.

“Any change in her condition?” Monday asked.

Deke shook his head.

“It wasn’t your fault, you know,” Monday told him. “She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Yeah, I know.” It wasn’t as if this UBC reporter had been the first innocent civilian he’d wounded or killed, but she was the only American. Civilians died in wars every day, casualties of hatred, revenge or sheer madness. So why was Lexie Murrough any different? Because she was a woman? Because she was a fellow American?

“You risked your career, not to mention your neck and mine, to save her,” Monday told him. “She’s going to live, thanks to you.”

“She’s paralyzed because of me, because my bullet hit her spine.”

The closed door opened, and two military doctors emerged. One walked away down the hall, while the other approached Deke.

“Captain Bronson?”

Deke nodded.

“Ms. Murrough is awake and asking questions,” the doctor said. “She wants to know the name of the soldier who rescued her.”

Every nerve in Deke’s body tensed.

“You can go in to see her, if you’d like.”

Deke shook his head. “Tell her you don’t know who the soldier was.”

The doctor gave Deke a quizzical look, then said, “If that’s what you want, but I’m sure she’d like to thank you.”

“I don’t want her thanks.” Deke turned and walked away. How could he face the woman—a girl really, only twenty-four—and accept her thanks, when he knew it had been his bullet that hit her and probably paralyzed her for the rest of her life?

CHAPTER ONE

Ten years later…

LEXIE MURROUGH gazed out of her office window overlooking the Market Street Bridge, which was now a pedestrian-only crossing. When arranging the furniture in her office, she had made certain the beautiful view was available to her throughout the workday. For the past two years, she had called Chattanooga home, ever since she’d joined forces with billionaire heiress Cara Bedell to found a charitable organization to help the underprivileged worldwide. Although Lexie was listed as the group’s president and was the person who oversaw the day-to-day running of the charity, Cara not only provided the bulk of the funds for Helping Hands, she often took an active role in the decision-making. Since joining forces for such a worthwhile cause, Lexie and Cara had become good friends.

There had been a time when Lexie had taken friendship for granted, when she’d taken many things for granted. But that had been another Lexie, the young and very foolish rookie reporter who had thought the world revolved around her. In the span of five minutes, her entire life had changed forever. The cute, feisty college cheerleader who’d been voted Most Likely to Succeed and had reigned as homecoming queen her senior year at the University of Georgia had died in a godforsaken African country on a sweltering June day ten years ago. But unlike her cameraman, Marty Bearn, Lexie had been reborn, given a second chance at life.

“Daydreaming again?” a female voice inquired, breaking into Lexie’s thoughts.

Lexie sighed, then turned and smiled at her assistant, Toni Wells. “I was just enjoying the view.” Lexie didn’t discuss her past with her friends and associates. Her therapist had helped her understand that in order to move forward, she had to let go of the past. Not only of the lost hopes and dreams, but of the guilt and the anger.

“I come bearing gifts.” Toni placed a lidded foam cup on Lexie’s desk. “Fat-free mocha, no whipped cream.”

“Thanks. You’re a sweetie.” Lexie picked up the cup, snapped back the plastic lip of the lid and took a sip of the hot coffee. “This is just what I needed.”

Toni sat in a chair across from Lexie’s antique desk—a gift from Cara—crossed her long, jeans-clad legs and relaxed as she sipped her own drink, no doubt something sinfully rich and loaded with calories. Toni was one of those fortunate women who never gained an ounce and ate like a lumberjack.

Years ago, when she’d been in her early twenties, Lexie had never worried about her weight. But inactivity and overeating had added a good thirty pounds to her five-five, medium-boned frame. It had taken her years to shed twenty of those pounds, and she now had to watch every bite she ate in order to maintain her weight.

Lexie studied her young assistant. Antoinette Wells was twenty-five, tall, slender and exotically lovely, with curly black hair, a café-au-lait complexion and striking hazel eyes. Her mother, an African-American poet, and her father, a white third-generation Georgia politician and now a state representative, had divorced when Toni was twelve.

“Don’t look at me that way,” Toni said. “I didn’t bring any doughnuts or Danish today. And I can’t help it if I inherited skinny genes from both parents, can I?”

Lexie laughed. “Heredity can be a bitch sometimes, but in your case, it was a blessing.”

“Only in the looks department,” Toni said. “At least you don’t have the complications I do, dealing with a mixed heritage.”

“You’re right. Life isn’t perfect for any of us, is it?”

“Ooh, you’re in one of those moods, huh?”

Lexie scooted back her chair and turned it so that she faced the window instead of the room. With her back to Toni, she said, “I went for my six-month checkup yesterday, and the news was pretty much what I expected.”

“No change?” Toni’s voice held just a hint of pity.

Lexie shook her head. “No change. And after all this time, there isn’t likely to be any further improvement.” Emotion welled up inside her, tightening her throat. But she didn’t cry. Wouldn’t cry. At this point in her life, tears would be a waste.

Toni came across the room and stood behind Lexie. “Do you want the pep talk now, or should I save it for later?”

“Now would be good.” Lexie heaved a deep sigh.

“You’re young, beautiful, have a job you love and friends who adore you, and even if you can’t run, you can walk.” Toni let her hands drift down from where she’d been gripping the back of the chair to touch Lexie’s shoulders. She gave her a reassuring squeeze, then grabbed the chair again and whirled Lexie around to face her. “And the only reason you don’t have a man in your bed is because you won’t make the effort. How many times has Lieutenant Desmond asked you out on a date this past year?”

“You could have stopped before bringing up Bain Desmond. From now on, he’s off limits during any pep talk.”

“Why?” Easing her hips against the side of Lexie’s desk, Toni sat on the edge.

“Why? You know why.”

“Explain it to me again.”

“Because Bain Desmond isn’t the type of man I want as a boyfriend,” Lexie said. “He’s a police detective. He carries a gun. He shoots people.” She had an aversion to guns and to the men who carried them, especially in a professional capacity. “Besides that, actually dating Bain would ruin our friendship.”

“What’s wrong with Farris Richardson? He wouldn’t know one end of a gun from the other.”

Lexie wrinkled her nose. “If you like our accountant so much, why don’t you date him?”

“I have Jafari now. Why would I ever want anyone else? But you, on the other hand, have no one warming your bed at night.”

“When did finding a man for me become your goal in life?”

Toni sighed dreamily. “Since I’ve fallen in love. I suppose I think all my best friends should be as happy as I am.” She looked Lexie right in the eyes. “Of course, you might not find a guy as wonderful as Jafari. He’s definitely one of a kind.”

“I’ll make you a deal. If you can put Jafari out of your mind for a few hours, I’ll do my best to forget my visit with Dr. Burns yesterday. Then we can actually get some work done before lunch. I’m meeting with Cara at one. Would you order lunch in for the three of us? I want you to sit in on this meeting and tell her some of your ideas about the charity auction she’s hosting to raise funds.”

“I have a lunch date with Jafari, but since we’re having dinner together this evening, he won’t mind if I cancel.” Toni eased off Lexie’s desk and headed for the door. “Want me to order something now and then pick it up around noon?”

“That would be great. Thanks.” Just as Toni opened the office door, Lexie called, “Let Robert, Vega and Malik know that I’m going to bring Ms. Bedell by today to say hello to everyone.”

“Will do. I’ll forewarn the workers that the Queen Bee will be buzzing through on her way in and out this afternoon.”

“Look, Toni, despite your personal feelings about the human rights policies of some of Bedell, Inc.’ s worldwide business partners, you need to remember that Cara Bedell signs your paycheck and mine. And she only took over her father’s business two years ago. She can’t change everything overnight. Give her credit where credit is due. Okay?”

Toni shrugged. “Okay.”

Alone again in her office, Lexie reached over to where her cane leaned against the edge of her desk. Using the cane to brace herself, she lifted her body slowly and stood. Discomfort, but no pain. Pain was in the past, as was the struggle to relearn how to walk. After several operations and five years of physical therapy, she had gone from being an invalid to a partial invalid to completely mobile. Except for a decided limp and the use of a cane, Lexie was for all intents and purposes normal. As Toni had pointed out, she couldn’t run, but she could walk. Considering how close the bullet had come to severing her spine, she was damn lucky she wasn’t paralyzed from the waist down.

Just as she took a couple of steps, her cell phone rang. During working hours, she kept it on her desk, just in case she received any personal calls. Leaning on the cane with one hand, she reached out with the other, picked up the phone and checked the caller ID.

Smiling, she flipped open the phone and said, “Hello, Lieutenant Desmond.”

“Hello, beautiful.”

“Thank you, sir. You certainly know how to make a girl’s day.”

“I should hope so.” He chuckled. “Look, the reason I’m calling is…well, I need to do some of my Christmas shopping, and I thought you might help me get started tonight. What do you say?”

“Only if you buy me supper first.”

“It’s a small price to pay for your assistance.”

“This is not a date,” she warned him. “It’s just two friends getting together.”

“That’s right. You and me. Just buddies.” Bain chuckled again. “You really don’t have to go over the same territory every time we go out. No matter how charming and persuasive I am, you’re not going to have sex with me.”

Ignoring his last comment completely, she said, “And you won’t wear your gun.”

“I’ll be off duty tonight, so that won’t be a problem.”

“Good. Then pick me up here around six and we’ll grab burgers at Steak and Shake before we hit Hamilton Place Mall.”

“You got it.”

After they ended their conversation, Lexie made her way across the room slowly, carefully, until she reached the row of file cabinets on the opposite wall. As much as she liked Bain, they really were just friends and nothing more. She didn’t know why she felt compelled to keep reminding him of that fact. Although they’d never talked about it, they each knew the other was in love with someone else. He with a woman he wouldn’t admit he loved and she with a man she didn’t know—a man with smoky-gray eyes.

She had met Bain through a chance encounter. About eighteen months ago, she and Cara had run into the CPD lieutenant and his date one evening at a local restaurant. Bain Desmond had been the lead detective during the investigation into Cara’s half sister’s death, which had turned out to be the responsibility, albeit accidental, of her own father. And, unable to cope with what had happened to his daughter Audrey, Edward Bedell had committed suicide. As his only remaining child, Cara had inherited the vast Bedell, Inc. conglomerate and all the responsibilities that entailed. Lexie would have had to be blind to have missed the sexual vibes radiating between Cara and Bain. And she would have had to be an idiot not to realize that both of them were pretending—to each other and to themselves—that there were no vibes.

After propping her cane against the wall, Lexie opened the middle file cabinet and flipped through until she found the Gs. Gadi. The country where she had met death head-on and survived had become her pet project. Of all the people in the world who needed help, her heart went out to those in the small African nation steeped in poverty and ignorance. But at least they were no longer under a vicious dictator’s rule. Ever since President Tum’s death ten years ago, the country had undergone numerous changes, and after a four-year civil war, they were now reemerging as a democracy.