Their eyes remained locked as they touched glasses. Hungry had come to the restaurant from her office. She wore a red jacket over a black dress and the trademark pearls her grandmother had given her. “The Crocodile in Pearls,” the newspapers called her. She wore her hair natural now. It had been straight when they met. Time had added a few more lines at the corners of her eyes, responsibility weighing on her in a way that made her even sexier somehow. Another layer he’d like to take off, he found himself thinking.

“Now that you’ve surprised me, what is it that brings you to South Africa?”

“You.” Klay smiled. “I heard you were short on staff.”

“Always.” She nodded. “But I know you, remember? You’re here for Botha. Am I right?”

“I am.”

“I read about what happened in Kenya. I was very sorry about Bernard. I texted you, but no response. Not a surprise, really . . .”

“I’m sorry, Hungry. It was a bad time.”

“Was he behind it—Botha?”

“That’s what I want to find out. Do you have enough to hold him?”

“Oh, he threatened me in the courthouse, in front of the judge. So, we’re holding him without bail. We can do that for years, frankly. But no, there is not a lot to the case, legally. Politically, it is a different matter . . .”

“I heard.”

She sighed and tapped a crouton with her salad fork. “As usual, we’ve had more attention from the West over a handful of rhino horn than we have for the people here, the children . . .” Her voice trailed off.

He nodded. “You’re investigating Ncube.”

She glanced to her left, where two men at a table across the restaurant were staring at her, pretending to chew. “It is not a secret.”

Klay had noticed diners looking in her direction and whispering since she’d walked in.

“I can help you with Botha,” he said, taking a bite of his roll. “It doesn’t have to be just a magazine assignment. I know him. I could take him off your plate. I’ve got staff with me.”

Hungry studied him. “‘Off my plate’?”

Klay shrugged. “Off your hands. Act as your investigator— unofficially.”

Hungry chuckled and shook her head. “Always ready to cut a corner,” she said disapprovingly.

“Bernard was my friend.”

Hungry sighed. “It’s unethical, Tom. Ordinarily, I’d say impossible. But I have a chance to do something important for this country. It requires all of my attention. Botha’s not officially my mandate. He’s an accident of fate, I suppose. I saw the case and I knew it would be problematic, but I took it anyway. Let me think about this.”

“Define ‘this,’” he said, and smiled.

She smiled, too. It was an old joke between them. Back when they were dating he used to ask her, “Can we make this work?”

“Define ‘this,’” she’d reply.