Raiders of the Lost Heart(92)

Ethan rushed over, trying to loosen Ford’s grasp as Guiles trembled. “Ford, Ford, ease up, man!” Ethan said.

“No! This asshole is a snitch. And a thief!” Ford’s voice thundered, rumbling from his throat all the way through his fingertips wrapped around the black cotton, as the veins in his neck throbbed.

“Thief? I’m not a thief. I swear . . . I . . . I haven’t taken anything!” Guiles protested. The color drained from his face as he stuttered.

“Bullshit! It’s been you all along. Spying on us in the jungle. Sneaking around the storage sheds in this hoodie. And snitching on us to Vautour! Where are they, Guiles? Where are the fucking pictures?”

“Pictures? What pictures?”

“Don’t play innocent with me. You know what goddamn pictures I’m talking about.”

“I swear,” he said, putting his trembling palms up to his chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. And . . . and . . . I don’t know Mr. Vautour. I’ve never spoken to him in my life. I was hired by Mr. Soldat.”

Ford scrunched his face. “Who?”

“Mr. . . . Mr. Lancelin. Mr. Lancelin Soldat.”

Corrie narrowed her eyes. “Lance.”

What? Ford loosened his grip. No. It couldn’t be. Lance was his friend. Guiles was the one who was sneaking around. Lance had made sure to protect them. Unless . . . unless it was all a lie.

Was there no one on this damn dig who was honest?

“He told me to keep an eye on things. Patrol the camp. But that’s it, I swear! I haven’t taken anything.”

A sick, gut-wrenching churning roiled through Ford’s body. It was Lance all along. Pretending to be on their side. Now he felt like a gullible fool.

Ford turned toward the group, scanning for Lance, but of course he wasn’t there. He put his hands to his mouth and called out, “Has anyone seen Lance?”

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 probably needed 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 she wasn’t made 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 a Dick Tracy comic.

“You’re kidding, right? That’s what he does. That’s what people like you do. Screw each other over the minute you get the chance,” she spat back.

“Oh, you mean like your boyfriend did to you?” He tapped the 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.