Page 45 of Final Approach

Wrapping the gauze around her hand, I secured it with medical tape and let it go. Her screams had become soft sniffles as I worked, and the numbness in her eyes had returned.

This poor woman was going to need a full mental assessment when we made it back to Brazil. She shifted closer into Tessa’s hold, and for the first time, I caught the wistful look of love in Tessa’s eyes as her gaze lingered on her friend’s face.

They were lovers—not platonic at all. My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest as I imagined losing someone I loved like this—in the jungle, helpless and scared.

Packing away the first-aid kit, I offered a weak smile and prayed I’d made the right choice.

Day 2 – After Crash

Detective Diaz was a tough nut to crack, and very convincing in his subtlety to anyone ignorant of duplicitous natures. I knew better. His desperation lived in every movement, like a caged animal biding its time for its owner to turn its back.

I was not turning my back.

And I was going to find out what his deal truly was. He’d been compliant—too compliant—completely at odds with the rage and hatred I’d witnessed on the plane. That kind of emotion did not appear on a whim. It was bottled up inside a person. For the controlled or the well-practiced, it was only revealed when it was shaken out of them, as it had been with Diaz.

That kind of rage was dangerous. What would it take for him to be shaken enough to harm the others? To harm Marley? Each passing hour was an additional spark shed onto a powder keg of stifled emotion. I was convinced Diaz would be the first to blow, and we would all be the fallout.

“Gracias, compa,” I said cheerily while the detective threw several fallen limbs on the pile we’d constructed. He’d been predominantly speaking Spanish to Madman on the plane, so I used Spanish now, to make him a little more pliable in my company.

So far, it hadn’t worked, but I was persistent. I needed to know his secrets. Had he been near the plane when we encountered the jaguar last night? Did he idly watch as we faced almost certain death—even a fearful man would surely offer help once the threat had been neutralized? His arrival back to camp had been too close to ours to be a coincidence.

The Baron and the Baroness held plenty of parties over the years where I’d moved among the fake smiles of sycophants underscoring their true desire for proximity of status. None of those people had truly emanated danger. They were pompous and boring more than anything, with intentions fairly obvious to anyone willing to look past the façade.

Diaz’s intentions were a mystery. I knew nothing about him, yet I could say with utmost certainty he would do nothing to save any of our lives, except maybe Madman’s for reasons currently undisclosed.

A tough nut, indeed, but I’d get to the bottom of it. We were stuck together until rescue came, and we couldn’t survive alongside people we couldn’t trust. Our surroundings posed enough of a danger. Constantly questioning the motives of our companions would be enough to drive one mad, thus the question needed answering.

Who really was Detective Diaz?

He still wore filthy suit trousers and dress shoes. Perhaps he’d never packed a change of clothes in his carry-on at all. Not a seasoned traveler, then.

Diaz simply grunted at me and continued scouting for branches along the riverbed. We’d traveled about a hundred paces north of our little camp, and the ground was starting to sharply incline, larger pebbles and boulders marring our path. I was thankful I’d packed sneakers for the gym in my overnight bag, or I’d be as stuck as Marley in our uniform-issued footwear.

That footwear had almost gotten her killed last night. My heart stuttered in my chest even now at recalling the terror in her eyes. The image had haunted me through my limited sleep, and I’d found several strands of my own curls on the mat beside me when I awoke.

I hadn’t pulled my hair out since I was a teenager. Marley under duress was enough to awaken the dark habit—I couldn’t bear to see it again.

If Ambrose hadn’t pulled through …

My chest twinged reliving his bravery. The sexy, cantankerous American was already my exact type and then, he had to step into an oncoming jaguar to shield our captain. The two of them together had me all tied up in knots of anxiety, unreasonable protectiveness and … lust. Definitely lust.

That memory alone firmed my resolve. I’d guard Marley with all I had until rescue came—even if it meant spending time with this twat. There was only one way to soothe a man like Diaz: appeal to his ego.

I could caress a man’s ego as well as I could caress a cock or clit into coming all over my face. Very well.

“Hambriento?” I asked the detective if he was hungry in an admittedly basic attempt at drawing him back into our minimalist conversation. Pulling out my sole protein bar, I offered it to him in a gesture of peace.

He turned to face me, brows furrowing as his gaze lit on the chalky chocolate, glaring at it with suspicion.

“I already had mine,” I lied, pushing it out further. “Go on. Can’t work on an empty stomach.”

He begrudgingly pulled it from my fingers and sniffed it as if petrol could have poisoned it. Then he peeled it open and took a bite.

I smiled encouragingly. “Glad you’re here with us, mate, even if I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Only the strongest survive, you know? We’ll get through this.”

I gestured around me conversationally, as if we were standing in a garden instead of a jungle.

“I consider myself lucky, honestly. Death by plane crash isn’t the blaze of glory I thought I’d go out in, you know?”