Page 47 of Final Approach

No children had been on our plane.

Discomfort morphed into dread. I’d neglected to think about the well-known practice of human trafficking through the Darién, but it was impossible to ignore the evidence in my palm. Were members of the Colombian cartel close by, leading hundreds of migrants per day through this territory?

Perhaps we could barter some of our newfound drugs for safe passage. Desperate times and all, but I hoped never to reach that level of insanity.

Pursing my lips, I pocketed the sandal along with the food wrapping and turned to the waiting Diaz, his dark eyes regarding me curiously.

“Let’s head back.” I didn’t think it useful to say anything else.

He made no move to join me, choosing instead to glare off into the midday sun.

“Come on,” I coaxed again, waving the axe in front of me. “We have more trees to cut. My dark skin can still burn, you know.”

He snorted. His own skin was a similar shade to mine. We’d both singe this close to the equator. I highly doubted skin cancer was a concern for this man, but anything to provide a distraction.

He gave me one final predatory stare before turning on his heel to descend the rocky slope.

Was my sister having the time of her life with Arthur right now while I waltzed through dirt alongside a potential psychopath? I too could be sitting in an air-conditioned bar, sipping whiskey along with them, laughing about boorish topics that had nothing to do with my very survival.

My heart grew heavy as I considered the scenario. Marley, out here alone, was the alternative. I’d have no hair left on my head if I were seated on a Brazilian patio while she fought for her life out here without me.

Lady Luck had been a curse, not a blessing, but I was glad I could be here with my pilot, keeping her safe.

“Fuck!”

Diaz’s growled curse slipped through his lips when he slid in front of me on a craggy outcrop and fell hard onto the slanted rocks and into the crack I’d jumped over just minutes before.

“Mierda,” he cursed again.

From above, I took stock of the man truly jammed within the crevice in front of me. He’d fallen almost vertically, so the drop had to be as deep as I’d thought. His biceps did him no favors, now wedged between the two slabs with nowhere to go, the rock coming up to chest height. Carefully, I hopped over the opening to face him head-on.

His forehead sported a bloody goose egg, but he was conscious and furious.

“Help me,” he demanded, hatred and rage once again present in the depths of those dark, soulless eyes. And fear. It was masked by layers of ill will, but it was present.

It was heartening to see he could be the least bit frightened—something to show he was still human beneath the ruined suit and the badge in his pocket.

The hatchet grew warm in my palm. We were alone, two men with a task for our survival. How easy would it be to say Diaz had gone missing? No one else had ventured up here, and it was far enough away from the plane to ensure we were unlikely to make the trek again. One swift slice to the skull would be all that was needed to ensure this shifty man with the hatred in his heart never touched a hair on Marley’s head.

His pitch-black irises squinted at me in the tiniest display of panic. Alas, Diaz was human after all.

I released a small sigh and bent down to investigate the width of the crevice. If he had truly done something, if I had more than just valid but unsubstantiated suspicions, I might convince myself of its necessity. But unfortunately, I was not a murderer. My delicate sensibilities wouldn’t allow it.

“Hang on, mate,” I muttered, placing the hatchet far out of reach on a flattened rock above my head. Three inches of space was all we had to work with between his chest and the stone cage. If I wiggled my hands under his armpits, I could lift him up enough to free his arms, and he could pull himself out of the hole.

It was a working theory, but the only one I had. It was that, or abandon Diaz to meet his own fate, becoming a murderer by proxy. I hadn’t forsaken my royal title only to take up the new crown of Killer.

“Alright.” I forced false cheerfulness into my tone as if I hadn’t just contemplated his beheading. “I’m going to wedge my hands under your arms and lift, okay? Try to push your body against the rock for leverage as I do. We’ll harness physics today and get you out in no time.”

“Just do it,” Diaz grumbled, voice laced with a bit more panic. The imbalanced pitch satisfied me almost as much as a slice to the head.

Reaching between his chest and the uneven edges of basalt, I maneuvered my hands into place, stifling a grimace when his sweat slicked my palms. I’d have to steal a tiny drop of Ambrose’s sanitizer when he wasn’t looking.

“Three, two, one, push,” I counted, moving to my knees for a bit more force behind my tug.

My biceps strained and my quads burned at the awkwardness of the angle, but he budged a few inches, enough to free his elbows so he could wiggle his arms out of the crack.

“Can you manage now?” I asked, leaning backward to get a good look at him.