The next morning, I wake up to my alarm with a splitting headache, not nearly as rested as I should be.
Just perfect.
This trip is already proving much more challenging than I anticipated. Let’s hope everything will go smoothly today.
In the bathroom, I splash cold water on my face to help my brain catch up with the day’s schedule. Then I brush my teeth, shave—who knows when I’ll be able to properly do it next—and when I’m done, I drop the last toiletries in my backpack, shoulder it, and move outside.
The sky is still midnight blue and the only illumination comes from the path lights lining the walkways. I turn my gaze to the neighboring bungalow.
Everything’s dark.
It’d better mean the photographer already left, and not that her alarm didn’t work. I’m tempted to go check, but I don’t, thinking it’ll only prove my point if she shows up late.
Petty, I know, but this woman, for unfathomable reasons, is really getting on my nerves.
When I join the others in the resort’s parking lot, Miss Sass is already there and, honestly, looking as jungle-ready as the rest of the group.
She’s wearing military green cargo pants, black combat boots that rival the ex-Delta Force footwear, and a long-sleeved undyed linen shirt. A different camera from last night hangs from her neck, while her shoulders are weighed down by a gigantic rucksack—also military green. Her long hair is pulled back from her forehead in two twin braids that sneak around the side of her head all the way to her nape, where they join again in a thicker, single braid.
“Ogling the photographer, are we?”
Archie’s voice makes me jump.
“I wasn’t—that’s not what…” I scoff. “I’m just glad she didn’t show up in a dress.”
Archie slaps a hand on my shoulder. “And what do you think of the army look?”
“What do you think?” I ask pointedly.
Archie pulls at his short beard. “Those braids are giving me serious Mother of Dragons vibes, totally hot.”
Unfortunately, he’s right. I worry Winter Knowles could wear a potato sack and still manage to look totally hot.
“Should I remind you she’s off-limits?” I scold.
“Why? Because of your bogus dibs claim?”
“A dibs call is a dibs call.”
Archie shakes his head. “Sorry, buddy, but your claim is valid only if you act on it. I’ll tell you what.” He squeezes my shoulder. “I’ll give you a week’s head start, but if you don’t make a move by next Sunday, then the lady becomes fair game again.”
I’m about to protest, but he’s already moved on.
“Morning, Snowflake.” His deep voice booms across the parking lot. “Ready to rock?”
“Well, hello, if it’s not our esteemed drone handler.” She beams up at him and raises her camera. “Pose for a departure shot?”
Archie grabs the rear pole of the closest open Jeep and flexes his biceps, stamping a daredevil grin on his lips.
She brings the viewfinder to her eye and takes a few pictures.
When she lowers the camera again, Archie gestures toward her heavy backpack, saying, “May I?”
She unhooks the straps from her shoulders and lets him load the rucksack on the back of the Jeep.
I roll my eyes and join them before they exchange vows and get married already.
So much for a head start.
“Morning,” I greet them.
Winter turns to me, the smile evaporating from her lips. “Good morning,” she says, formal and cold.
Then, she eyes me challengingly, as if daring me to find something wrong with her outfit.
But I know better than to take the bait. Every little thing I say to this woman can and will be used against me, so I keep my mouth firmly shut.
“So.” She points down at herself. “Is my attire appropriate enough?”
Apparently, she still isn’t ready to let it go.
“Top notch,” I humor her, unwilling to be pulled into a useless argument.
Her eyes shine with mischief. “Worried I’d show up in a skirt?”
And, despite myself, I discover my lips curling in an amused grin. The lady sure is direct, I’ll give her that.
“The thought crossed my mind,” I confess. “Glad to see I was wrong.”
She gives me a curt nod that I hope means the matter is settled once and for all.
“I told you, not my first rodeo,” she says, then turns, yelling, “Shotgun!”
She climbs into the front seat of the Jeep, leaving me with a mental image of her riding a wild horse in cowboy boots—braids and all—permanently ingrained in my brain.
After a rocky start yesterday, things are shaping up to run much more smoothly today.
Satan had to basically eat his words about his prejudices toward me, while Archie is really working hard to make me feel part of the team. Although, to be fair, most of his friendliness is probably an attempt to get a sexy thank you from me before the end of the trip. But if he tries something, I’m confident Archibald Hill is the kind of man who can take no for an answer and not be surly about it.
So, all considered, I’m having a much better time today than I thought possible.
Tucker is driving our Jeep, while Archie and Logan ride in the back. Satan isn’t much company at all. He pulled his hat—a wide-brimmed, sable fedora so Indiana Jonesy, I almost asked where he’d left his whip—over his face the moment we took off and has been sleeping with his arms crossed over his chest ever since. Thankfully, Archie and Tucker are better travel companions, and have been very chatty about anecdotes from their previous trips while also telling me more details about the research that preceded this expedition and what they hope to find in the jungle.
I listen carefully as we drive further inland on the dirt road, taking the occasional shot of the thick vegetation surrounding us.
“So,” I say, turning backward toward Archie and pointing at his seatmate. “Is he always so uptight?”
A struggle between loyalty to his friend and the need to make a smart remark plays on the sweet Viking’s face.
Loyalty wins in the end. “This expedition is really important to him.”
“Why?”
Before he answers, I catch him and Tucker exchange a stare in the rearview mirror.
“It’s potentially the greatest archeological discovery of the century,” Archie says. “Lots of eyes pointed his way. Anyone would be nervous.”
“Okay, boys.” I shift my gaze back to the road ahead to avoid getting car sick; I can’t show any weakness when I’m with Satan, even if he’s sleeping. “Cut the bullshit and tell me what you’re leaving out?”
Archie is quieter than a tomb. So I train my eyes on Tucker.
He caves under pressure. “It might have something to do with Tara.”
“Dude,” Archie says. “Not cool.”
A woman? Someone who’s not cool to talk about… interesting. Could it be the mysterious she Archie referred to yesterday? Who is this woman? What happened? What’s the story? I need to know.
“Who’s Tara?” I ask.
“None of your business,” a gruff voice replies from the back of the Jeep.
“Ah, so he lives,” I comment sarcastically, spying Logan in the rearview mirror.
He’s removed the hat and is now glaring at me—via the car’s mirror—very much annoyed. So I let the subject drop. No point in pressuring Satan to share details of his life; it is known all masters of evil are very private about themselves. But at least now I have a name to investigate. I’ll have to sweet-talk Tucker into telling me what the big deal about this Tara woman is.
***
After a few more hours of winding dirt road, we reach the village. It’s a bumpy, dusty trip that leaves my back sore.
Tucker parks the Jeep next to a flat, rectangular building that Archie informs me is our rented warehouse. As soon as the car stops, I hop down and stretch my spine and arms like a cat that just woke up from a nap. The others join me in short order.
“Remember,” Logan whispers to no one in particular, even if I’m sure he means to remind whatever to me. “Not a word to anyone about our real mission. Always stick to the cover story.”
I ignore him and turn to Tucker. “What’s for lunch? Any local restaurants come with a recommendation?”