Memo raised his hand. “He headed toward the site with his pack when the Jeeps pulled in.”
“That son of a...” Corrie didn’t wait to finish her sentence before sprinting toward the jungle.
“Corrie! Wait!” Ford called out. But there was no stopping her. Nor going after her. Not with Ethan and Ford still in their pre-shower flip-flops. “Shit,” he said, rushing toward his tent.
“What are you doing?” Ethan called, hurrying behind him.
“I need shoes.”
And to check on one more thing—his hiding spot for the knife.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
That motherfucker.
They needed Lance’s confession if they were going to make it out of this predicament unscathed. Or at least partially unscathed. But there was no way she was letting that rat Lance get away with this. Not after he’d gotten those photos, too.
She charged through the forest. Weaving in and out of the trees. Leaping over rocks and fallen timber. After three weeks out here, Corrie knew every obstacle. Every landmark. So long as she kept her pace, she’d find Lance in no time.
Or, rather, Lancelin Soldat.
Her heart pounded as she ran. Pounded faster than her feet, with a mixture of nerves and exertion. She hadn’t run this quickly since the jaguarundi incident. But her drive had kicked in. This was what she was made for.
The roar of the waterfall grew louder, and she slowed her pace upon noticing a black backpack on the ground near the river. But Lance was nowhere to be found. Dipshit probablyneeded a piss break. She crept over to the bag, inching with caution and stealth.Quick. Search the bag.
She slowly unzipped the front pocket, trying not to make noise, and rummaged through the contents when a sharp prick nicked her neck.
“Looking for this?” Lance said from behind her, pressing a blade into her flesh. “Stand slowly with your hands in the air.” His accent faded, now revealing his true French voice.
Corrie did as he said. Okay... maybe shewasn’tmade for this.
“Turn around.”
There, staring back at her, was a white flint blade. “Not so smart after all, are you?” he said, with a smirk.
“Cut the crap, Lance. You’re never going to get away with this.”
“Oh no? I believe I already have. I got what we came for.”
“You think Vautour is going to give you a dime from whatever profit he makes off that thing?”
“Oh, pretty lady, I’ve got much more than this. I warned you to be discreet. Lucky for me, you didn’t heed my advice. I already have a buyer for those lovely photos of you. Vautour considers it my bonus. Besides, Vautour knows better than to screw me over.”
How had she missed it? His accent? His smarmy face? His beady eyes? The man could have been picked straight out of a lineup in aDick Tracycomic.
“You’re kidding, right? That’s what he does. That’s what people likeyoudo. Screw each other over the minute you get the chance,” she spat back.
“Oh, you mean like your boyfriend did to you?” He tappedthe blade lightly against his temple. “I figured it out. Or, well, I was eavesdropping. That’s how I learned about this beauty,” he said, tracing his finger along the knife. “It’s too bad he turned out to be an asshole. You two really... enjoyed each other. Thank you for providing me with the entertainment. Gets lonely out here,” he said, his hooded eyes raking over her body.
The sudden urge to vomit overcame her. “Fuck you.”
A flash came out of the corner of her eye.Ford. She tried not to reveal her relief, but Lance must have noticed the recognition in her eye. With a swift yank, he pulled Corrie in front of him and held the knife against her throat.
“Don’t come any closer!” he yelled to Ford, his warm, reeking breath hot against her ear.
“Whoa, whoa,” Ford said, putting his hands in the air. “Lance, calm down. Just let her go.”
