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.
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.”
“And lose my safety net? I don’t think so.”
Corrie squirmed to get away, but Lance held firm, pressing the knife harder against her skin, causing her to squeal.
“Please!” Ford called out. “Please don’t hurt her,” he pleaded.
“Hurt her? What kind of animal do you think I am?” he asked.
“What do you want? Whatever it is, it’s yours,” Ford said.
But Lance laughed. A hoarse, sickening laugh that sent a cold shiver down Corrie’s spine. “But you don’t have anything that I want, Dr. Matthews. Except . . .” He paused. And something about the way he paused sent a wave of nausea over Corrie’s skin. “Except maybe I need her to come with me to ensure my safety.”
“You asshole—” Ford started, taking a step toward them. But Lance only grabbed tighter.
“Ford, please,” Corrie cried out, tears streaming down her face. Her prior escapades seemed like child’s play now. In all her years, all her adventures, she’d never been more terrified.
“Back up!” Lance commanded, his words blasting in her ear. “Back up or I’ll slit her throat. It would be a shame, but don’t test me. You’re not going to stop me from leaving with this knife.”
“Well, that’s not the knife,” Ford said, “so if you want to leave with Chimalli’s blade, then you’re going to have to let her go.”
Now was not the time for games. And based on Lance’s laugh, he clearly agreed.
“Nice try, Dr. Matthews, but I found it in your super-secret hiding place under your mattress.”
“You found a knife under the mattress. You didn’t find the knife. I made a fake. A decoy. I knew someone had been lurking around. The real knife has been with me the whole time.”
“Prove it.”
What was he doing? Ford reached around his back and pulled out a handkerchief with something rolled up inside. Slowly, he unraveled the fabric, revealing a sheathed blade with a mosaic hilt glinting in the light.
“The knife for her.”
“You’re not in a position to be making demands,” Lance responded.
“Take the knife and let her go, and you’ll never see us again. We won’t come after you. We won’t even tell them which direction you went. Or . . . I throw this in the river,” he said, raising the knife in the air. “It’s one or the other, but something tells me Vautour would rather have this over those damn photos. You choose.”
“Ford, don’t,” she called out. “Don’t give it to him.”
“I know what I’m doing,” he said, focusing only on her.
His emerald eyes stared at her holding so much hope. Holding on to the chance that her trust was still a possibility. She wanted to give it to him, but there was a knife grazing her neck. This wasn’t just him tricking her into coming on this dig. This could get her killed.
But the thought of getting out of this situation with his arms wrapped around her provided her comfort.
She nodded her head slightly, telling him okay. She trusted him. His worried eyes relaxed a fraction, and then he turned his attention back to Lance.
“Do we have a deal?”
“Fine. Bring it to me and I’ll let her go.”
Ford took a few steps closer, rewrapping the knife in the handkerchief. “Toss the knife over there,” Ford said, pointing to a spot several feet away, “let her go, and then I’ll give this to you.”
Lance waved the blade away then tossed it to the ground before pushing Corrie toward Ford. She resisted the urge to grab the knife from Ford’s hands and run to camp. Trust me, his eyes spoke as she walked behind him, shielding herself with his body.
“Here,” Ford said, outstretching his arm with the handkerchief. “Take it and go.”
Lance greedily snatched the knife from his hands. “Nice doing business with you.”
“Come on,” Ford said to Corrie, pulling her into his side.
They took a few tentative steps forward to head to camp, then Ford reached down, grabbing the knife that Lance had discarded. What was he doing?
“On the count of three, run,” he then whispered.
Run?
“One . . . two . . .”
“What the hell is this? What do you think you’re trying to pull?” Lance growled.
“Run!”
Ford pushed Corrie out of the way as Lance lunged with the knife, but not fast enough to avoid the rusty blade slicing his forearm. He winced, grabbing his cut arm as Corrie screamed his name.
“Go! Run!” he screamed at her.
And leave him there alone?
“Give it to me!” Lance yelled.
Lance waved the knife at Ford, slashing it through the air, Ford narrowly missing the blade each time. They danced around in a circle, lunging and swiping at each other, while Corrie stood motionless off to the side. Their bodies finally connected, wrestling each other next to the rushing river.