CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
For the love of God, who the hell is calling at this hour?
Naidoo could feel her lover, Allan, who had unexpectedly decided to spend the night at her townhome, roll over to the other side of the bed.
“Either answer the bloody phone or turn it off, Camila. Please. Some of us have to work in the morning.”
“Yes, sorry. I’m answering it.”
She grabbed the cell phone from her end table and looked at the display. It was Govender. She took the call and sat up.
“Hello.”
She rubbed her eyes. It was seven after one in the morning.
“We have a problem.”
“Is he talking?”
“No. But he did put a man in the infirmary.”
Naidoo perked up.
“Is that right?”
“Why would I make up something like that?”
Allan grumbled. Naidoo looked back at him. He had buried his head underneath t
