“You have to call Vautour,” Corrie said, snapping him out of the haze.
“And say what? ‘Hey, Pierre, I know you’ve been blackmailing me, but by any chance, were you mistaken when you said you owned the land we’ve been digging on?’ I’m sure that will go over well.”
“Put him on speakerphone. Get him to admit that this was all part of his little scheme so they can hear. Otherwise, we’re going to get arrested, Ford. For all they know, Vautour doesn’t exist. All they see is a group of people trespassing and digging up Moreno’s property.”
“We’re all screwed,” Ford said, pacing between them.
“How did this even happen? I thought you said Dr. Crawley told you about this dig,” Ethan said.
“He did”
“Crawley had to have known about Vautour,” Corrie said.
“There’s no way. Dr. Crawley is highly respected in our field. He encouraged me to fight for this spot,” Ford said.
Corrie blinked. “You mean, he told you to convince Vautour not to hire me?”
Ford nodded. “He said Vautour wanted you, but he was pretty sure that you would decline. Then he told me about the money because I needed it.”
“Ford, there is no way Dr. Crawley didn’t know exactly who Vautour is. He set you up.”
Ford cocked back his head. “What? No. He wouldn’t do that.”
“Why not? He’s clearly been looking for a way to get rid of you. This was his opportunity. Send you off on a bogus dig, and when it falls apart, he’s got a reason to fire you. He knew you were desperate.”
God, how could he have been such a fool? Of course this dig had been too good to be true. And it had fallen into his lap right at the time he needed it most . . . right after he’d gotten his pay cut and explained to Dr. Crawley how much he needed the money.
“How do you know all this? About Vautour, I mean?” he asked Corrie.
“I met Vautour at Bernard Sardoni’s party. The encounter was brief, but a few days later I ran into him again. He knew I was the one who’d taken the necklace and that I’d beat him to it. He said we were two peas in a pod, but I assured him that I wasn’t there to steal anything. I was there to return what had already been stolen. But he said one day he’d call me to work for him, and I said it would never happen. Guess I was wrong about that.”
“Well, this is all fascinating, guys, but what the hell are we going to do?” Ethan asked.
“Maybe we need to give them everything we’ve found? Cut out Vautour. Moreno gets the goods. And we get out of here, hopefully with a slap on the wrist. I mean, it’s still a fantastic discovery. Let’s take them to the site and show them everything, and, Ford, you can give them the tecpatl and then . . . Ford?” Corrie asked as Ford stared blankly at her. “Ford, what is it?”
“My tent . . . it was ransacked.”
“What do you mean it was ransacked? When?”
“I don’t know. When I went to get the permit, it . . . it was trashed. I thought maybe Castillo’s men trashed it, but now . . . well, there’s no way. The timing, I mean.”
“It had to have been one of Vautour’s men,” Corrie pointed out.
“Guiles,” Ford said, finally coming to the realization. “Vautour knew about that night . . . when Guiles found us in the jungle. It has to be him.” How had he not realized it before? Not only was he one of the only guys on the smaller side, per Agnes’s observation of the person sneaking around the storage shed, but he was gunning for a gold star from the boss.
They all turned back toward the group, scanning for Guiles. There, nonchalantly approaching from the TTs . . . in a black hoodie.
“Son of a—” Ford grumbled under his breath, making a beeline toward Guiles. “You!” he said, grabbing a wide-eyed Guiles by the shoulders of that fucking black hoodie.
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.