Page 57 of Final Approach

The plane crashing had upended all of our lives, those still fortunate to live. But no one more than the captain of the sinking ship with a snake for a partner. She needed a sense of control, answers to push her forward.

I would give that to her.

“Here.” I handed her the boots and gestured for her to sit on the rocky outcrop on the other side of the burned-out fire. “Put these on and we will look for clues.” Reaching for the T-shirt, I tugged it on over my head. The small wound from the jaguar claw on my biceps twinged when the cotton rubbed along the bandage. It was infected—I’d checked last evening—but it was the least of my worries.

While she laced up the boots, I covered my mouth and nose with my shirt and tore open the cocaine packaging, sprinkling it on the damp earth like sowing seed, before opening another to do the same on a patch of dirt several feet away. I dragged my feet across the ground to blend it into the soil like fertilizer. The next rain would wash it away.

I sneered in distaste at the powder that ruined good men and women, killing people slowly by magnifying their trauma was only useful for torture. To inflict it on the innocent was its own form of evil.

Swallowing the sour bile at the base of my throat, I ripped apart another package. Trading it was the key to my survival. I would not hold the lives of strangers above my own.

“I thought we’d just bury them,” she admitted a few moments later, once the sixth package had been distributed. “Isn’t this bad for the environment?”

“I do not see any fish. Do you?” I ripped open the seventh brick. “Buried can be discovered. This is millions of dollars worth of uncut product—someone will come looking for it.”

Dangerous men would hunt this valley to get their prize. We would be long gone by that time. Clube de Morte would be rescued, and I would be halfway to Panama.

Gulping loudly, she bowed her head in acknowledgment. She made no move to help me, and I would have stopped her if she had. I could own this crime for her.

“Thank you,” she whispered when I had finished the task. Rolling up all of the plastic, I put it in the fire pit she’d made. “You’re welcome, Captain. Do you have a lighter?”

She pulled a small cigarette lighter out of the backpack and lit the plastic on fire, jumping away from the emitting smoke.

“Do not breathe it in unless you wish to get high,” I said seriously, backing away from the singing film.

Satisfied the plastic would burn nothing else, she followed me toward the riverbed’s edge. “I don’t need to be high to see things,” she quipped cryptically.

Before I could question, she’d moved several feet in front of me. “Can we look at each side of the river together? I’d offer to split up for the sake of time, but this spot gives me the creeps.”

She didn’t wait for my answer, guiding us over to the tail end of the plane. The tangled trees and dense ferns grew to the edge where the rainforest should meet water. I had offered her a chance at answers, but I needed them as well.

I was high as a child’s kite when I’d been walked onto the plane, but a hazy memory continued to blur at the edges of my vision every time I closed my eyes. Diaz speaking to the missing captain before we entered the plane with lowered heads and shaking hands.

Discerning what was real and imagined was a challenge when I’d had enough heroin in my system to settle a bull. But it was an image I wasn’t able to shake.

She continued to believe her copilot was innocent. I did not know the man, but was under no such illusions. What man hid when his crew needed him? What man ran in the face of danger?

A guilty one.

I would give her the weapon back once she’d properly seduced me, but I would require her promise to use it on Diaz the moment he threatened our safety. Something larger was at play, but I did not know all the pieces. This Jamie was the key. I now had my insurance in place, and the surprise gift of cash. I would bide my time until I knew.

If only to remain in my captain’s presence for a little longer.

We walked along the edges of the bank for several minutes, her leading, me following. We scanned every few feet for crushed foliage or signs of human interference. There was nothing.

“Let’s try the other side,” my captain suggested, her voice layered with disappointment. I followed her across the dry bed as cloud cover moved in, another storm on the horizon.

Several feet from the plane, deeper into the narrowing of the river, we found the first clue.

The embankment was high here—about four feet above the silt. A thick palm print of dried blood had imprinted so thickly on a tree root beneath a canopy, the rain failed to wash it away.

“Here.” I beckoned, pointing it out to Marley. She leaned in closer, her soft body becoming rigid.

“That’s definitely human,” she whispered, glassy eyes landing on me in confirmation. “I guess we start here.”

Offering her my hand, I hoisted her up into the jungle and followed behind, clenching my fists to stop the inherent need to squeeze the plump cheeks in front of my face. The dense trees and wild bushes were ominous in the darkness of the leaf cover.

Another bloody print, partial but defined enough to match the previous, had landed on another tree trunk just a few feet away at eye level.