He splashed more water on his face and said, “I am Kruger. I am the spirit of the lion. I am the Ghost of Timbavati.”

Idris Madeira reluctantly slipped the black ski mask back over his face. He would, unfortunately, have to perform a worthy imitation of his former ruthless and untouchable self—at least for a few more hours—because things were about to get very bloody.

Chapter 14

ASAC Sam Carter took a sharp left and guided his vehicle up to the nice suburban home of the Burke family. August, the family’s youngest son, stood at the curb, cigarette in his mouth.

The first time Carter had laid eyes on August Burke, he thought him to be just another punk kid—a slacker, content to wander through life. He had been shocked to learn that Burke held two masters degrees and a doctorate in criminal psychology. But the part of the story that Carter found most interesting was that August Burke had received the degrees online while still attending high school, and he had done so under a false identity.

Burke’s college scores were near perfect. His high school grades were mediocre.

The kid now wore a black one hundred percent cotton polo shirt with the letters FBI stenciled in white on its breast. Carter had special ordered the shirt for Burke as a compromise over the kid not wearing a suit. Burke had explained that he didn’t like his arms or neck being restricted and materials other than cotton against his torso and arms felt like sandpaper rubbing his skin.

Still, they would need to find a compromise on the baggy jeans and bright white tennis shoes. And the mop of stick-straight, dirty-blond hair that crept down and over the kid’s ears.

As Carter pulled up to the curb, Burke leaned into the car, the cigarette still dangling from his mouth. The kid had bright baby blue eyes and that rebel-without-a-cause thing going for him. Carter had heard from Burke’s father that, although Burke had issues in many social arenas, the kid was quite proficient when it came to attracting the fairer sex. But so far, all of those relationships had only lasted a couple of weeks.

Burke glanced around the inside of Carter’s Lincoln MKZ and said, “How about I just follow you in my car?”

“What? My ride not sweet enough for you?”

“I don’t like riding in cars when I’m not used to the driver.”

“I’m a good driver.”

“I’m sure you are, but I’ve never seen you in action. I don’t know your capabilities. Your reaction times. How well do you follow the rules of the road?”

“I haven’t had a ticket for over twenty years.”

“That’s not the same thing as being a good driver.”

“I was trained in advanced defensive and offensive driving techniques by the Federal Bureau of Investigation.”

“Okay, that makes you a great guy to have on the team in a high-speed chase, but that doesn’t correlate to your lane usage and observance of speed limits. Thirty percent of accidents that result in death are due to speeding.”