Wings over the Okavango: An African Wilderness Romantic Suspense
Publisher: Beverley’s Books
Rights: Copyright 2026 B G. Nettelton. All rights reserved.

Wings over the Okavango

AN AFRICAN WILDERNESS ROMANTIC SUSPENSE

WINGS OVER AFRICA

BOOK TWO

B G. NETTELTON

Copyright © 2026 by B G. Nettelton

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Any likeness to any person, living or dead, is purely coincidental as all characters in Wings over the Okavanogo are purely fictional.

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Epilogue

Wings over Africa series

From Bush Lodges to the Back of a Cessna: The History Behind the Story

Afterword: The Real Pipeline That Almost Destroyed the Delta

The Memoirs that Inspired the Fiction

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

He thinks he’s the hunter, but I have him in my sights.

Late fifties, grey hair. He walks like someone important. Stiff and straight. It’s the posture of a military man, which is ironic, considering his home country of Germany doesn’t even have compulsory military service.

Maybe that’s why he comes to Africa every year. So he can use a gun. So he can hunt. Six years in a row now, he’s flown out here just to feel the cold weight of a rifle in his hands. He needs something to kill just for the sheer thrill of it.

I know the feeling.

Except, this time, there is so much more to it than just the thrill.

I weigh the compact 7.65mm handgun in my hands. I haven’t used it these past few years; a sleek, lethal relic from my military service days when it sure got a good workout.

I pause. He’s heading for the ammunition tent now, and I wait, melting into the shadows.

But there’s someone with him. A complication I had hoped to avoid.

The young bloke. Mid to late twenties, light brown hair. He’s chatting away while Kurt Heinrich selects his rifle. Only the best for Kurt, of course. I’ve already checked out what’s waiting in that ammunition tent for this safari. It wasn’t hard to figure out which rifle needed a little judicious tampering with.

I can’t believe my luck, though I always knew the pieces would fall into place. When a mission is this justifiably right, fate tends to cooperate.

Kurt is heading into the bush alone. That’s his plan, and I’m ready for him. But is the young bloke going with him ? Do I have to deal with both of them?

No. Too complicated. The younger one will head back to camp eventually, and Kurt will go on his merry way. He wants a lion, but he knows his limits. He can’t pull that off on his own.

Did I make a noise? Kurt looks up sharply, his gun cocked in my direction. Every bit the alert hunter—or so he thinks.

God, he’s looking right at me. Can he see me through the bush? My heart hasn’t raced this fast since I took out three hostiles in a two-minute ambush during the border wars.

But this is going to be worth the wait. Kurt Heinrich isn’t going to spoil the grand plans of those he has cheated.

He thinks he’s the hunter. He should have seen it coming.

Stealthily, I move forward. I could have done this quickly and cleanly from a distance. But where’s the fun if I don’t have the satisfaction of my prey coming face to face with me? I want to see the blank incomprehension wash over his features as he looks at my drawn pistol. I want him to know exactly what’s coming… but have absolutely no idea why.

Maybe, in those last split seconds of life, he’ll piece it all together.

Except that my bullet won’t be the decider. Oh no, I have something much more entertaining planned for his grand finale.

Chapter One

Maun, Botswana, 1996

Angie scuffed her foot in the dry riverbed, watching the dust devils spiral and dissolve in the oppressive afternoon heat. She hoped she would still be in Maun when the annual floodwaters finally reached the town though the drought was bad this year.

“Hey, Angie!”

She turned at the cheerful voice of her cousin who’d just emerged from a stand of waterberry trees; thankfully alone, for her boyfriend Hamish seemed always to be shadowing her these days.

“Are you going to the party at Le Bistrot tonight?” Saskia pushed back her blonde hair. Even since the last time Angie had seen her a month ago, there was a more noticeable glow about her.

Perhaps that’s what having a boyfriend did for one. Angie wouldn’t know.

“Nope, no parties for me tonight…but congratulations!” she said, giving Saskia a welcoming hug. “I hear Rupert’s employed you as chief cinematographer on some new project of his.”

Rupert was the eminent English documentary maker who’d made Africa his home, and Botswana’s Okavango Delta his passion. The elderly eccentric had taken Saskia under his wing since she’d finished her Bachelor of Arts in Film and Television Production at Rhodes University in Grahamstown the previous year.

Saskia’s star was rising.

“Is it anything to do with this?” Angie glanced down at the riverbed under their feet—cracked pale sand where the Thamalakane should have been running. “It was just awful seeing how bad everything looks from the air when we flew in from Jo’burg.”

Saskia’s expression darkened. “And now there’s this proposal to put in a pipeline from Rundu to Grootfontein. It was just a horrible rumour a couple of months ago, pumping water from the Okavango to channel to Windhoek. That’s what Rupert’s doco is all about. He wants to show all the big wigs how fragile this environmental balance truly is.”

The penny dropped. “Mum’s covering it in the paper,” said Angie. “She says all the safari operators are furious about it, too, and there’s going to be this big meeting in Gaborone in September when the three governments get together to discuss Namibia’s proposal.”

“Exactly! Which is why Rupert wants the documentary ready for a premiere at Riley’s Hotel in late August,” said Saskia, “and, also, why I need you to ask Starky when he has clients in camp.”

Saskia’s request came like a bolt from the blue. “What?” Angie blurted, too late to hide the horror in her tone. “Talk to Starky?”

“Yes, we’ll be doing some aerial footage over his concession, and I just want to know when your dad has scheduled any hunting safaris,” Saskia went on as if she hadn’t clocked her cousin’s response.

“Why should Starky’s safari impact your plans if it’s all aerial photography?”

“Well, it’s not all aerial photography,” Saskia countered. “We want to document the river that runs through Zerangu and get footage of the wildlife on the ground near camp—to compare it with past years. It won’t be such a good look for a wildlife documentary if Starky’s hunting clients are all bagging trophies the day we’ve set aside to film the wildlife in the same area. All I’m asking you to do is speak to Starky and find out when he’s got hunting client at Zerangu around July and August so we can plan Rupert’s flying days around them.”

Angie sent her cousin a combative glare. “Ask him yourself.”

Saskia hesitated. Clearly, she knew she was in dangerous territory. “Please, Angie. Starky has been in camp, or in the air every waking hour, in between his overseas marketing trips. And I’m not going to discuss it, publicly, over the radio.” Saskia paused. “Besides, he’s your father.”

Angie looked back at the empty riverbed.

Saskia sighed. “Sorry. I’m being awful, aren’t I? You’re only here for a few more days before you go back to work, and suddenly I’m asking you to bury the hatchet like it’s the easiest thing in the world.”

The small kernel of resentment in Angie’s chest dissolved. It was impossible to stay angry with Saskia when she was so fired up with excitement—doing work she loved and in a satisfying relationship with a man who clearly adored her. One day, maybe, Angie would find that too.

“But honestly, Angie, this could be a good way to thaw the ice. I know you’re cross with Starky, but it’s not like he was a monster when he dumped Sarah. And it was months ago. Surely you’re not still angry with him?”

Angie let out a slow breath, then looked up, one eyebrow raised. “I really liked Sarah and Starky just sabotaged not just her life but his own? Of course I’m still angry.”

“But Starky is just... like that.” Saskia’s tone turned pleading. “A charming, inveterate womaniser. He’s never been any different, or tried to pretend he’s anything else. I’m sorry about Sarah, too. I liked her. But he’ll never settle down. You know that.”

Angie wasn’t ready to let it go. “I haven’t spoken to Starky since I was so mad at him. Clearly, the novelty of finding a long-lost daughter he didn’t know about has worn off.” She drew a breath as she wiped her eyes. “And anyway, you’re his favourite. Ever since he saved you from the crocodile.”

“Oh, Angie, that’s not true. Starky was so, so proud and happy to discover you were his daughter.” Saskia gripped her cousin’s arm. “Yes, it’s true that we’ve had a bond since he saved my life but… it’s rather ironic that my father then saved yours. See, we’re even.”

She tried to smile but Angie shook her head. “Your poor father still has the scars to show how brave he was when he threw himself into the path of that lion but… it was my stupidity that caused all the damage. You weren’t stupid, you were innocent and lucky…and fortunately got saved by Starky in the nick of time. Me? I was just plain dumb and ran into trouble, and Uncle James had no choice but to do what he did. I can barely look him in the eye, knowing that I ruined his life.”

“You didn’t ruin his life! He’d do the same thing without hesitation if it happened tomorrow. You know what my dad’s like. The most decent man alive. And for goodness sake, you were fifteen years old.”

“Sixteen.”

“OK, like by about a week. And you’d just learned that minute that Starky was your father thanks to my mother who just blurted it out.”

Angie clapped her hand to her mouth. “Yes! Because of that Afrikaans tart, Charlize… if you recall.”

The shared memory had the odd effect of making them both laugh unexpectedly. How long ago it seemed that the two girls had persuaded the brother of a school friend to fly them into Deception Pan in the middle of the Kalahari Desert when Starky was taking a German hunter and his son on an overland safari to bag a Kalahari lion. And yet, those intervening six years also seemed to have disappeared in a flash.

“Did you ever hear from Kurt Heinrich’s son, Thomas, after they went back to Germany?” asked Saskia. “I’m sure he was a bit sweet on you.”

“Of course I didn’t!” cried Angie. “And of course he wasn’t sweet on me.” Unable to hold in her grin, she added, “I think Charlize probably gobbled him up.”

“Or poisoned him if she became his wicked stepmother.” Reconsidering, Saskia shook her head. “But of course, Charlize was only Kurt Heindrich’s bit on the side. You know she was a prostitute he picked up at Sun City? Mum only talked about it when she thought I was old enough—as if I was just some innocent kid when we landed on them at Deception and we could both see that Charlize was having it off with Starky too.” She clapped her hand to her mouth, adding quickly, “Sorry, Angie.”

“It’s quite all right. I’ve never been under any illusions about the extent of my father’s philandering.” Angie gave a short, exasperated laugh. “I should be grateful for it, I suppose, otherwise I wouldn’t even exist.” She exhaled. “But I still don’t want to ask him what his plans are in August. He should be the one to thaw the ice.”

Saskia let out a sigh of exasperation. “Please Angie, won’t you cut him some slack? Or has your mum been getting in your ear?”

At the mention of her mother, Angie felt sudden anger spike. “Do you honestly think I’d let my mother get in my ear about anything? Starky loves women and runs through them like water through a sieve. But my mum?” She shook her head bitterly. “My mum has the worst judgment when it comes to men. The worst judgment about everything. I practically raised myself, so don’t think for a second I’d give credence to anything she says. My not talking to Starky has nothing to do with my mother.”

“Sorry, sorry! I know it’s a prickly subject.” Saskia held up both hands in surrender. “Let’s sit down and you can tell me about all the exotic places you’ve seen since I saw you last.” She tossed back her hair as she sank into one of two director’s chairs someone had left at the bottom of the Rutledge’s garden, where the dry sand stretched down to what would—God willing—in a few months be a glistening expanse of floodwater. “I bet all the pilots think you’re so hot wearing that smart South African Airways uniform.”

Angie bit her lip and squirmed, trying to think of something deflecting to say—which was apparently all the confirmation Saskia needed.

Her cousin narrowed her eyes and gave Angie a playful punch in the arm. “Out with it. There actually is someone, isn’t there? A pilot?” She gave a knowing laugh. “Does he have a white bougainvillea?”

Angie felt heat creep up her neck, but then she realised that if she couldn’t confess this to Saskia, there was no one else she could tell. Certainly not any of the flight attendants she worked with. That would be professional suicide.

“A captain with South African Airways, yes,” she admitted, still unable to meet Saskia’s eyes. “Though I haven’t been able to find out if he has a white bougainvillea.”

The white bougainvillea had been an ongoing joke between them—their shorthand for the kind of man they each dreamed of finding. For Angie, a white bougainvillea represented calm, purity, and safety. Everything her chaotic childhood had lacked.

“A pilot!” Saskia sounded shocked. “I thought with Starky being a pilot and living the life he does, you’d never in a million years go down that path.”

“I didn’t think I would either.” Angie finally looked up. “But David couldn’t be more different from Starky.”

Saskia gave her a long, measured look. “What, exactly, does that mean?”

“He’s honest. Not a womaniser. He treats me respectfully. He’s handsome and—”

“Whoa, whoa, stop!” Saskia’s look was dark. “The only thing that sounds different from Starky is the bit about not being a womaniser. Because Starky is all those other things! He’s handsome and respectful and honest—at least, he certainly has been with me.”

“But not with my mum all those years ago when she got pregnant with me,” Angie shot back. “And not with Sarah who would have laid down her life to be with him.”

Saskia paused, clearly sensing she was on dangerous ground. “So, this pilot. Tell me more about him. If he’s a captain, surely he’d be married. Or divorced. And certainly too old for you.”

“None of those,” Angie said, bristling. “He’s single and thirty-two—“

“Well, ten years isn’t an inconsequential age difference. And I’m surprised that at thirty-two he’s not married.”

“Oh, come on, Saskia.” Angie felt her defences rising. “You haven’t met him. He has the most gorgeous blue eyes, and he smiles at me whenever I bring him his dinner tray in the cockpit. He asks me questions that make me feel like he sees me as more than just a flight attendant.”

“Oh wow, you’ve really got it bad!” Saskia laughed. “I wasn’t being mean—I just wanted to see how you’d describe him. So, has anything else happened? Other than meaningful smiles?” She hesitated, then added more carefully, “Are you absolutely sure he’s not married?”

Angie nodded firmly. “He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, and I overheard a conversation where he made it quite clear that he wasn’t.”

“So this David—? You don’t think there are a lot of other flight attendants who get exactly the same kind of meaningful, special smiles?”

The question stung because it voiced the exact doubt that kept Angie awake at night. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But yes, he is very nice. And I do like him.”

“But that’s not a good enough reason not to go to the party tonight,” Saskia pressed. “You might meet someone else. Someone who’s actually available and interested.”

“It’s a good enough reason not to go to a party where I’d have to speak to my dad and ask him questions that you’re just as easily able to ask yourself. Why aren’t you going to the party?”

“Because Hamish and I are having dinner with friends at Croc Camp.” Saskia tilted her head, her expression turning pleading. “I honestly think it would be helpful—for both of you—to break the ice with a nice, specific question.” She squeezed Angie’s knee. “Please, won’t you ask your dad what he’s doing for the months of July and August. I need to start lining up interviews and coordinating shooting schedules and I can’t do that if Starky’s got a hunting party at Zerangu.”

Angie sighed, feeling the fight drain out of her in the afternoon heat. “Fine,” she said. “I’ll go to the damn party.”

Chapter Two

“You’re all dressed up, Mum. Are you going to that party at Le Bistrot?”

Better to ask now, Angie thought. There was no way she was pitching up at the same party if her mother was going to be there. Susan would drink too much—as usual—and Angie was sick of being embarrassed in public. She’d had a lifetime of it.

“How do I look?”

Susan turned from the mirror, striking a pose. She was wearing tight light-blue jeans with a white muslin blouse cut far too low—her usual modus operandi for wowing the local crowd. Her curly dark hair—the same unruly texture as Angie’s—had been twisted into a messy updo, and her kohl eyeliner was perhaps a shade too dark. But she did look quite attractive,  Angie had to concede. In the golden late-afternoon light filtering through the window, Susan could have passed for thirty rather than her real age.

“Are you going on a date?” Angie asked suspiciously.

Yes, her mother definitely had that look about her—eyes suspiciously bright, and a ridiculous number of bangles lined up her arms. That was usually the giveaway: half for adornment, half for good luck.

“There’s a new engineer in town, and he’s taking me to Croc Camp for dinner.” Susan’s smile faltered slightly as she put her hands on her hips. “You might try bolstering my self-esteem by making some nice remark, you know. I might be forty, but I do have a few years left before I’m written off as some scraggy old witch. Or do you think I’m already there?”

“Not nearly, Mum. You look great,” Angie said, trying to be accommodating but not prepared to roll over the way her mother wanted her to.

“You really think so?”

Suddenly Susan was all smiles again, bustling about the small living room, pausing in front of the mirror to study her reflection while pursing her lips and checking her teeth for lipstick.

“Hey, maybe you could stay with Saskia tonight,” she suggested with false brightness. “You two cousins haven’t seen nearly enough of each other, have you? And you’re leaving in a couple of days.”

“I’m not sure yet. I might go out tonight,” Angie said, plonking herself on the cane sofa and hooking her legs over the armrest as she picked up a dog-eared Fair Lady magazine.

“Not go out tonight?” Susan whipped around to look at her daughter. “It’s Friday night—of course you should go out. There’s that party at Le Bistrot. Or there’s The Duck Inn—”

“Sounds like you want to get rid of me, Mum.” Angie straightened and tossed aside the magazine. “You planning on bringing Mr Nameless Engineer back here?”

“As a matter of fact, I was.” Susan’s chin lifted defensively. “He’s sharing a room at Riley’s with some other co-worker, apparently, so that’s out of the question.”

“How long have you known this guy?” Angie narrowed her eyes at her mother. The familiar dread was already settling in her stomach—that sick feeling she’d learned to recognise as a child whenever her mother got that manic gleam in her eye about a new man. “Oh, my God.” She shook her head slowly. “Is it any wonder I’m still single with a father like Starky and a mother like you? Do you even know this guy’s name?”

“Don’t you speak to me like that, missy.”

Susan’s tone was tight as she uncapped her lipstick to add another coat, but there wasn’t as much heat behind it as Angie might have expected. Probably because her mother knew there was no point pretending to be something she wasn’t.

“His name is Gregory, if you must know.”

“Gregory? Not Greg?” Angie couldn’t resist. “Well, that sounds poncy for a rough-and-ready engineer. Or is he just a fly-by-night mechanic, new in town?”

“You really do have tickets on yourself, girl, if you think you can talk down to me like that.” Susan’s hand trembled slightly as she applied the lipstick. “And if there’s any reason you’re still single, it’s because you’re shooting for the moon. You’ll never be satisfied with anything but perfection... and that doesn’t exist, I can tell you that much.”

“No, I’m just staying well clear of men who can’t keep it in their pants the moment they get the remotest bit of attention from a female.”

The words hung in the air between them, sharp and ugly. Angie instantly regretted them as her mother’s face went tight.

“And if you must know,” Susan said, her voice falsely bright again, “Gregory is Gregory because apparently there are two other Gregs who work for the same company. My Gregory is a very decent, handsome, hardworking guy, you’ll be pleased to know.”

“Wow. That does sound like a departure from the norm.” Angie sighed, suddenly exhausted by the familiar dance they always did when the subject turned to men. “You know what? Maybe I will put my head in at Le Bistrot tonight.”

“Great! So for once in your life you’ll  do something to please your mother.”

“I didn’t  know that going to a party at Le Bistrot would please you,” Angie said evenly. “But sorry to disappoint—I’m  doing this for Saskia.” She got up and headed for her bedroom. “Have a nice time if I don’t see you before I finish getting changed.”

“Angie—”

But Angie had already closed the door.

She leaned against it for a moment, listening to her mother move around the living room—the click of bangles, the spray of perfume, the nervous humming that always preceded a date.

Gregory.

God help them both.

Moving to the small mirror above the dresser, she studied her reflection. Same dark curly hair as her mother, same olive skin. But where Susan’s eyes held that desperate, hungry brightness, Angie’s were guarded. That’s what she’d been told, anyway.

She’d spent her whole life watching her mother careen from one disaster to another, each new man promising to be different, each one proving to be exactly the same. And the worst part? Susan never learned. Never protected herself. Never built the walls that Angie had so carefully constructed.

I am not my mother, Angie told her reflection firmly. I will never be my mother.

She pulled out a simple white cotton sundress—nothing too revealing, nothing that screamed “trying too hard”—and began to change. If she was going to Le Bistrot to track down Starky and ask him about his August schedule, she might as well look presentable.

Though God knew what she’d say to him when she saw him.

If she saw him.

The familiar knot of resentment tightened in her chest. It had been three months since she’d spoken to him. And eight months since he’d ended things with Sarah—sweet, patient, loyal Sarah who’d somehow seen past Starky’s reputation and loved him anyway.

Angie had truly believed Sarah might be the one to change him. To prove that Starky Willis could be more than a charming womaniser with commitment issues.

How naive she’d been.

She slipped on her sandals and grabbed her small woven bag. From the living room, she could hear her mother still primping, still humming, still radiating that manic hope that this time—this time—would be different.

Angie slipped out of the back door without saying goodbye.

Chapter Three

Angie could hear the pounding bass from Le Bistrot long before she shouldered her way through the crowd at the entrance. The courtyard was already packed—a chaotic mix of safari guides, pilots, expats, and backpackers, all seeking cold beer and whatever passed for entertainment in Maun on a Friday night.

She’d only been gone a year, but already she felt like an outsider in this close-knit community of misfits. The truth was, she felt like an outsider most places.

“Whoa there! Sorry!”

Pain lanced through Angie’s breast as a guy in ubiquitous khaki barrelled out of the door, his beer can jabbing into her. He was clearly chasing someone—she caught a glimpse of another figure disappearing into the darkness of the courtyard.

The guy gave only a cursory glance over his shoulder, yelled an apology as he registered that Angie was still upright, and then vanished into the dark after his quarry.

“Bloody hell,” Angie muttered, rubbing her chest.

“Hey, Angie! Want a drink?”

Lucy Brennan was waving at her from a corner table, where she sat beside her husband Rob. “I didn’t know you were back in town! Great to see you!” Lucy’s face was lit up with genuine pleasure.

Angie made her way over, grateful to see friendly faces. “Good to see you too. Back from your holiday in Canada?”

“Yes! After all this time, it’s actually my first trip to see the in-laws.” Lucy laughed and gave an exaggerated shudder. “Minus thirteen, it was. I’m not used to temperatures like that.” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “But I saw Starky this morning—he just got back from Zaire where he said it was forty-two degrees, so I guess I can’t complain about Maun when it gets hot.”

Angie’s stomach clenched at the mention of her father. “You’ve seen him?” She tried to keep her voice casual. “I heard he’d been in Germany.”

“Actually, that trip’s scheduled for next week, I think. He got back from Zaire yesterday morning. We bumped into each other at the airfield.” Lucy’s expression shifted slightly. “So, you two haven’t caught up yet? I know you’re leaving in a couple of days, and he mentioned he’d been looking out for you.”

Angie ran the tip of her tongue over her dry lips. “No, I haven’t seen him this trip back, actually. Though I do have a question for him—Saskia wants to know his movements in August because Rupert is shooting a doco around then.” She looked at Lucy hopefully, silently praying that Lucy might have the information and save her the awkwardness of actually having to track down Starky.

“I’m so sorry you missed him again!” Lucy looked distressed. “He’s gone away again, and I don’t know if he’ll be back in town before he heads off to Germany. What a shame, because you two don’t get to see much of each other, do you?” She paused, then brightened. “Oh, wait!” Lucy turned in her chair and waved at someone across the room. “Golden Boy will know! Sorry—he hates it when I call him that. I mean Nick.”

At Angie’s confusion, Rob supplied, “Nick’s a contract pilot filling in while Starky’s away for the month. It’s Starky’s second trip to Germay in six months so he needed the help. Thought you knew.”

Angie blinked. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” she said evenly. “After all, that’s where most of his hunting clients come from. “No need to call over Golden Boy, though,” she added quickly, glancing across the room. “I’ve heard all about him.” Handsome. Self-assured. All those epithets that made her want to run a mile because they indicated the kind of arrogant fly-by-nighter pilot her father was. “I’m sure I can get the information from other sources.”

“Oh, Nick’s really nice,” Lucy defended him immediately. “I know he has a reputation as a ladies’ man, but it’s the ladies who are all over him. He’s honestly the sweetest guy when you get to know him.”

“Well, I’m not going to get to know him.”

Angie shifted slightly in her seat, angling herself so the young man on the far side of the room—she now realised he was the same one who’d crashed into her at the entrance—wouldn’t see her face directly.

She knew how some of the guys in the delta operated. Any of the semi-permanent women who worked in the safari business were fair game, not to mention the tourists who piled into overland trucks for the great Cairo-to-Cape journey, or those who came to Botswana on a budget and stayed at Oddball’s rather than the five-star luxury lodges.

“Besides,” she added, “you’re safe because you’re married. Of course you think he’s nice.”

“You’re a bit prickly tonight,” Rob remarked with a smile. “Is everything all right?”

Angie sighed, suddenly bone-tired. “It’s my mum, I guess. She’s hooked up with another guy and she’s in that euphoric stage. I’m just waiting for it all to come crashing down.” She rubbed her temples. “It happens so regularly, and I don’t know whether to feel glad I’ll be away when the shit hits the fan or guilty that I won’t be here for her.”

“Come on, Angie.” Lucy leaned forward and placed her hand over Angie’s. “You’ve got to remember that she’s the mother and you’re the daughter. You can’t waste your energy trying to sort out her problems.”

“That’s right,” Rob agreed. “Just relax and enjoy yourself. Make the most of being footloose and twenty-two.” He looked around the crowded room. “See how many guys there are here? I bet you don’t know half of them. Why don’t you try to get out more while you’re home?”

Before Angie could protest, he’d already lifted his hand. “Hey, Nick!”

Oh God, no.

But it was too late. The man from across the room was already making his way over—tall, lean, with that easy confidence pilots of a certain type seemed to wear like a second skin. Pilots like her father, she thought, with a shudder.

As he got closer, Angie registered sandy-blond hair and sharp hazel eyes that seemed to take in everything at once as his gaze raked her assessingly.

A half-smile played at the corners of his mouth, revealing a row of even white teeth—except for one slightly crooked eyetooth that should have been a flaw but somehow just made him more attractive .

Angie forced herself to meet his gaze without flinching.

“Nick Hartley,” Rob said cheerfully, “this is Angie. Angie, Nick.”

“We’ve met,” Nick said dryly, his eyes dancing with amusement. “Though I believe our introduction involved me assaulting her with a beer can.”

“That was you? I heard the commotion by the door.” Lucy looked mortified.

“Afraid so.” Nick extended his hand to Angie. “Apologies for the less-than-gentlemanly entrance and not stopping. Are you all right?”

His hand was warm, calloused, and he held hers a touch longer than strictly necessary. Angie felt an unwelcome flutter in her stomach and pulled her hand back.

“I’ll survive,” she said coolly.

“Angie wants to know if Starky’s bringing hunting clients to Zerangu in August,” Rob interjected. “You wouldn’t happen to know, would you?”

Nick shook his head, his frown suggesting he was trying to work out why Angie would be asking. “I’m only here for another three weeks. I’ll be long gone by August.”

“No plans to stay permanently in the delta?” Lucy asked. “You seem to really enjoy it here.”

“True enough, but the Buffalo contract’s too good to turn down.” Nick said this with a wink at Angie. “And I’m talking about the winged variety.”

Angie felt her jaw tighten at the condescension in his tone—as if she wouldn’t understand aviation terminology.

Lucy interjected quickly. “I think Angie knows you meant the plane and not the four-legged variety. She’s a pilot’s daughter, after all. And a flight attendant with South African Airways.”

Nick’s eyebrows rose, and his smile broadened, revealing that crooked tooth again. “SAA? Flying the big 747s? Very nice.” His gaze sharpened. “And your dad flies jets too?”

“Didn’t I mention it?” Lucy said with a laugh. “Angie is Starky’s daughter.”

Nick did a very obvious double-take. His eyes widened fractionally, and he studied Angie with fresh scrutiny—appraising her in a way that made her want to squirm.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” He tilted his head slightly. “Yes, I can actually see the resemblance now. The boss’s daughter.” He laughed. “I’d better buy you a drink, then.”

“No, please. Not just because I’m the boss’s daughter,” Angie said, wincing internally.

But Nick was already rising. “What’ll everyone have? Lucy? G and T? Rob? Another Castle?” He turned to Angie, his expression expectant. “And you?”

“Same as Lucy, thank you,” Angie said, offering him a lukewarm smile.

Oh well. Looks like I’m stuck.

But at least Lucy and Rob were here as a buffer.

“See?” Lucy gushed as Nick made his way to the bar, his khaki shirt stretched across broad shoulders. “Isn’t he lovely?”

“Yes. And here for only a few more weeks,” Angie reminded her pointedly. She reached across and gave Lucy’s hand a quick squeeze. “Promise you won’t try to set me up? I really don’t need anyone else matchmaking after Saskia arranged that disastrous double date with that chartered accountant from Gabs.”

She took a deep breath. “And anyway, I’m looking for something a bit more permanent than a fly-by-nighter who’s about to nick off to run guns out of Zaire. I know the type.”

“Now that’s a bit unfair,” Lucy protested, just as Nick arrived back with a tray of drinks.

“Did I hear you mention Zaire?” he asked, setting down the glasses. “That’s where the Buffalo contract is based.”

“Is it?” Angie said sweetly, directing an I-told-you-so look at Lucy. “How... adventurous.”

Nick caught the edge in her tone and his smile turned knowing. He settled into the empty chair beside her—close enough that she could smell the faint scent of aviation fuel and soap on his skin.

“Adventurous,” he repeated, as if testing the word. “That’s one way to put it.” He took a sip of his beer, his eyes never leaving hers. “Though I prefer to think of it as gainful employment in challenging circumstances.”

“Gun-running, you mean,” Angie said bluntly.

“Cargo transport,” Nick corrected mildly. But there was a glint of amusement in his eyes that suggested he knew exactly what kind of cargo he’d be transporting. “Completely above-board. Ish.”

Despite herself, Angie felt the corner of her mouth twitch.

Don’t, she told herself firmly. Don’t find him charming. Don’t.

Chapter Four

Another gin and tonic later—or maybe it was two—and Angie was feeling in considerably lighter spirits.

Lucy and Rob had just left, and to her surprise, she wasn’t feeling the slightest bit abandoned by their departure.

“So,” she said, resting her chin on her hands and looking across at Nick, “what brings you to Maun? Where are you from, and what did you do before?”

“Ah, the full interrogation,” he said, grinning and echoing her body language, his chin resting on his hands as he leaned across the table, closing the gap.

It was ten o’clock now, and the party was in full swing. The music made it hard to hear without leaning in close, but most of the crush was concentrated on the dance floor—just far enough away from the tables that they still had a chance at conversation.

“Well, I was born in Zim,” he said, then tipped his head, amused at himself. “Or Rhodesia, as we whenwes still call it.”

Angie’s mouth curved. She’d heard the term many times—usually from South Africans with a knowing grin, usually after the words “when we” had been said one too many times.

“Oh, God.” Nick lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Listen to me. Full-blown whenwe already. You’d better shut me down now or I’ll start with the ‘When we...’ stories and never stop.”

She put him at around twenty-five—three years older than her—yet he seemed so confident it was almost unfair. Two gin and tonics ago, that would have set her alarm bells ringing. She had no intention of ever hooking up with someone remotely like her philandering father. And yet, right now, Nick was... disarming. Adorable. Desirable.

She leaned in a little closer. “So you had to leave?”

She had cousins whose farm had been burned in the seventies, during the war. They’d got out with nothing but the clothes on their backs. There were too many stories like that.

“My mum’s still there,” Nick said. “I left three years ago when a job came up—tsetse-spraying in the Delta.”

“Oh, so this isn’t your first time in Botswana? And is your dad still in Zimbabwe? Where did you learn to fly?”

Angie stopped herself, realising she was firing off questions too quickly for him to answer. She bit her lip as she sipped the drink that had just been placed in front of her. Her head was swimming a little, but she was also experiencing the unusually pleasant sensation of being swept up in fierce attraction. Not something she was used to feeling.

Nick grinned, his hand sliding slowly across the table. He kept talking as his fingers gently circled Angie’s palm. Yes, she’d turned it palm-up for this—exactly this—hadn’t she?

“I got my start very young. Nine, in fact, when I first started getting rides from a pilot who did a regular freight run from Salisbury to Gweru. He started teaching me to fly not long after.”

“A nine-year-old pilot?” She raised her eyebrows. “You must’ve had real aptitude, or else he liked you very much.”

Nick’s grin turned slightly crooked. “I twigged that he was visiting a pretty lady who was not his wife in Gweru.”

Angie gasped, unconsciously withdrawing her hand. “A nine-year-old blackmailer?”

“A nine-year-old whose underdeveloped moral compass realised that something wasn’t right and was so desperate to learn to fly that he just ran with it.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “You can’t blame a little tacker for doing what the grownups do: make the most of a situation.”

“It sounds like you were clued-in right from the get-go.”

A little kernel of warning in Angie’s brain suggested that this kind of opportunism was far too similar to the way Starky grabbed life with both hands. She wanted down-to-earth honesty and integrity, and Nick’s stories of exploiting others’ weaknesses suggested everything she should run away from.

But even as this little voice fought for ascendancy, she was already pushing her hand back across the table and grinning at him.

“You got the flying bug early, didn’t you? First pilot in the family?”

Nick shook his head. “My dad flew the Vickers Viscount for Air Rhodesia.” His face clouded. “Well, he did when I was growing up. Then he started flying humanitarian missions.”

“He sounds like a good man.” Angie’s opinion shifted slightly. Nick obviously came from stock who put a high price on serving their fellow humans. She’d briefly toyed with the idea of volunteering abroad before admitting she really was too much Susan and Starky’s daughter. The idea sounded awfully noble in theory, but being a flight attendant as a way to see the world was quite frankly a lot more fun and glamorous than handing out life-saving food to starving children. But that didn’t mean she didn’t admire that self-sacrificing element in others. Perhaps Nick was more of a decent guy than she’d first thought.

Nick shrugged. “A good man?” He seemed to ponder the words as if for the first time. “My mum didn’t think so. But maybe if he’d had a few more years to prove himself, he might have gone down in history as one.”

Before Angie could respond, a tall, broad-shouldered safari guide whom Angie knew vaguely sauntered over. “Hey, Nick! Back in the delta, I see! Yissus! Big surprise! Tsetse spraying again?”

“Good to see you too, Geoff. And no, not tsetse fly spraying this time.” Nick rose, still in possession of Angie’s hand. He glanced at her, smiling as he told Geoff, “Sorry, we were just off. I promised I’d get Angie some info from the Zerangu office. I’m filling in for Starky while he’s away,” he added by way of explanation, giving Angie’s arm a little tug before leading her toward the door. Geoff had already been set upon by another long-lost buddy, it seemed.

“Hope you don’t mind,” Nick said as he cleared the way through the crowd of enthusiastic dancers.

She was relieved to be in the cooler fresh air. It was nice out here, standing on the sandy strip outside the restaurant, the darkness wrapping around them. “Not at all,” she said, “especially if you really are going to do what you say.”

“Oh, I always follow through on promises,” he said lightly, with a grin. “Say anything else you like about me, but I am a man of my word. Now, you want to find out what Starky’s calendar is for August?”

He was still holding her hand as they strolled toward the compound where a number of safari offices and charter flight companies were located. The street was empty, silent except for the distant throb of music from Le Bistrot and the occasional bark of a dog. Overhead, the stars were thick and bright.

“I guess you have a key, don’t you?”

Angie shook her head. “My dad and I are not... that close,” she said, feeling awkward for the first time since they’d started chatting.

He raised his eyebrows, and she was glad he didn’t probe further. He dug into his pocket to produce a key, unlocking first the compound gate and then the Zerangu Safaris’ office.

“Right, let’s find what you want to know,” he said as he flicked on the light, bathing the room in harsh fluorescence that made Angie blink. “Starky’s not the most organised, but his calendar is always up to date, and I think we’ll find anything else we need stuffed into the bottom drawer here.”

He pulled open the drawer beneath a filing cabinet, and Angie grinned at the confluence of papers and letters stashed there in no seeming order.

“Aha! We have the Germans arriving on July 15 and leaving August 3. Kurt Heinrich and party,” he read from the manifest. He glanced up. “Is that all you need?”

Angie had been levelling a very appraising look at his muscled thighs and tight buttocks, shown to best advantage as he bent over. She felt her face flame as he caught her staring.

He raised his eyebrows, grinning as he registered her embarrassment. “Or is there something more you’re after?” He took a step closer, bridging the gap between them.

Angie’s throat went dry. She felt her heartbeat ratchet up and was conscious of the heat in her cheeks and a sense of almost urgent need at the juncture of her thighs.

She knew she was  under the influence of three gin and tonics, but the glaring fluorescent light dulled the intimacy sufficiently for her to gather her wits and step back. She was not going to get involved with a fly-by-night pilot with questionable morals. And the fact that he was  gorgeous sealed it.

Angie knew how her dad operated, and Nick was a chip off the old block.

“That’s very helpful, but I must get home now. I have an early morning start.” Suddenly she was stiff and unresponsive. She felt awkward and a little bad for turning into the ice maiden, but she was not going to melt into his arms like every other woman for whom he turned on the charm would.

“Sure. Where do you live? I’ll walk you back.” Only the faintest flicker in his expression gave away the fact that he was caught off guard by her change of demeanour.

“No, it’s quite okay. It’s very close, in fact,” she said.

“Sorry, but walking home alone is not an option. Come on, if it’s so close it’s probably on my way anyway.”

They returned to the dusty street in silence. The moon was high in the sky, and the faintest of cool breezes carried the scents of the Okavango. That lush wonderland was on the doorstep, though it was hard to believe it, walking the streets of dirty, dusty Maun.

It’s what drew most people to the delta, though many spent more time than they would like in the overgrown village rather than the game-rich wetlands on its doorstep. Angie included. Starky had often offered to take her to Zerangu, his hunting camp, but she’d only been there a handful of times since the tumultuous revelation six years earlier that he was, in fact, her father. And not since he’d ended his two-year relationship with Sarah a few months before.

“I don’t suppose you’ve met his regular German hunting client, Kurt Heinrich?” Angie said, more for something to say as she struggled for words that might lead to more intimate talk—or that at least broke the uncomfortable silence they were now in.

He shook his head. “I think he and his party come every year. I’ve heard Starky on the phone, and other things he’s said. Why?”

“Oh, I met him once,” Angie said. “A long time ago. Six or seven years ago, when he took his poor, reluctant son Thomas out to the delta. He wanted to blood him, but Thomas was a poet, not a hunter.” She grinned up at Nick. “And you’re a hunter.”

Suddenly she was serious, watching his face. But he shook his head, holding up his hands. “I’m not against it, but I just fly the guests into camp—like a lot of other pilots around here.”

“So, you’ve never shot anything?”

She registered the way her question caught him. He stiffened, and his face went blank for a second. Then the insouciance was back. “So, this is it? Your mum’s place?” he asked as she stopped at the entrance to a small cottage set back from the road.

“Yes, but there’s no need to walk me to the front door.”

“There’s every reason to,” he said quietly, “regardless of whether you were a hideous old crone or the beautiful young woman I just spent the best evening with.”

He didn’t try to take her hand, but his words tugged at her heart as she fiercely tried to resist the effect they had on her. Oh my God, he was just gorgeous.

“Thanks, Nick. I had a nice evening too,” she said, turning the doorknob, then making a gurgle of frustration to find it locked. “Damn. I forgot to bring my key, but Mum’s home, I think.”

Nick frowned. “I think I hear her too,” he said, and in the split second of silence that followed, a very distinct, throaty cry of what could only be described as sexual euphoria emanated from a bedroom window nearby.

“Oh God,” Angie muttered, cupping her flaming cheeks with her hands.

“You can hardly barge in on your mother when she’s having such an obviously good time,” Nick said, clearly enjoying Angie’s discomfort. “Come on.” He gave her a gentle punch in the arm. “Come back to my place. It’s walking distance. I promise I won’t bite, and I’ll take you home whenever you want. We’ll just give your mum a bit of time, hey?”

Angie stood frozen with indecision. She wanted to go home with Nick far more than she wanted to rattle the door and call for her mother to let her in.

She bit her lip and saw that his expression was amused as he watched her.

“We can have a Baileys or an Amarula on the veranda—how about that? And you can tell me why you disapprove of hunters so much, or whatever else it is that gets you hot under the collar.” He hesitated, smiled even more broadly, and added, “I really am interested.”

It was his quick squeeze of her hand that undid her. It should have galvanised her into sticking to her guns and refusing his offer, but there was something about his touch that just had her insides curling. And although he didn’t try to hold her hand or touch her in any other way as they walked back to his place, a little part of her wished that he had—while another part of her knew that this might have been the trigger for her to have changed her mind and sought her mother’s unreliable sanctuary.

“Oh gosh, so you’re staying at Starky’s place,” she said, taken by surprise as he opened the gate before leading her into the thatched cottage by the river.

“Your dad’s a pretty good guy,” said Nick. “I had some dingy bolt-hole in the general pilot’s compound that I was quite expecting to stick it out in, but Starky insisted I stay here while he went to Germany. He’s going to talk to Kurt and see if he can rustle up any more German hunters—they’re his best clients. He has a permit for a lion, which he tells me his most loyal hunter is desperate to bag.”