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  The wheels bounced on, off, and then back onto the ground, jerking Chase from her thoughts. She felt a gentle touch on her forearm and opened her eyes to see Rayne above her. How did she look so put together and fresh after sixteen hours of moisture-sucking pressurized air?

  “Grab your gear, Chase. Our next plane is waiting for us.”

  Chase ran her hand over her face firmly, trying to smoosh some energy in there. If she could wake her face up, maybe her body would follow. “No transfer time?” She unbuckled her seat belt and stretched.

  Rayne swept her gaze over Chase’s upper body and shook her head. “We’ve got the charter to Tabatinga waiting for us to load up. No time to waste, muscles.” Rayne winked.

  Chase left her arms in the air a moment longer, enjoying Rayne’s attention mostly because Tonyck was eyeballing the exchange. Chase could see her jaw clenching and unclenching in ill-disguised contempt. “What about immigration?” Chase relaxed her arms and stood. She slung her backpack over her shoulder, grabbed her river bag in her other hand, and waited for a response.

  Rayne laughed and caressed the side of Chase’s neck briefly. “They do things different down here…especially when you load their palms with a bunch of Benjamins.”

  Chase shivered at Rayne’s touch, and she bit at the inside of her lower lip. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t play this game. Novice versus champion wasn’t a fair match. She nodded, said no more, and Rayne walked away. Well, she glided really, but Chase didn’t want to dwell on that.

  Chase gave Tonyck a cheeky wink and jogged to catch up with Rayne. “I know I said that I didn’t want any part of whatever you did to get the map, but I can’t seem to kill my curiosity…” Chase wiped her forearm across her head, the oppressive humidity hitting her entire system as soon as she left the conditioned comfort of the plane.

  Rayne glanced sideways at Chase and smiled. “What do you want to know?”

  “How do you walk so damn fast in heels?” Chase asked, not sure why she prioritized that irrelevant question.

  “Practice.” She cast another look Chase’s way, mischief playing on her lips. “You’d be stunned at what I can do in heels.”

  Chase didn’t doubt it, but she didn’t want to know either, right? Right. “Turner is alive, isn’t he?”

  Rayne halted instantly, and Chase nearly fell over herself to stop on the same dime.

  “That’s not a serious question, is it?”

  There was a lack of playfulness in her voice, a seriousness Chase hadn’t heard before.

  “Tonyck and Ginn, they’re pretty hardcore. Situations turn bad. Accidents happen…” The inference hung in the air, almost visible. Rayne blinked and tugged her ponytail over her shoulder before she continued her assault on the tarmac toward the other plane.

  “If anything had gone wrong, I would have told you, Chase. I would never knowingly put you in a situation of that magnitude.”

  Rayne’s heels clicked on each metal step as she climbed up into the much smaller plane. Chase focused on the silk-wrapped wedge of Rayne’s shoes instead of her swim model’s ass.

  Rayne reached the top and turned to face Chase, who paused a few steps down. Maddeningly, it increased their height difference farther and reminded Chase that no matter how hard she trained her body, she’d never be taller than Rayne. Her own lack of height had always gnawed at her inner sense of butchness. She should be six foot, or at least five ten. She wanted to look down on her girl, wrap an arm over her shoulders protectively. Maybe she’d invest in some Cuban heels…if they made it home.

  “Satisfied?” Rayne asked before strutting inside the plane without waiting for Chase to answer.

  Chase took the last couple of steps with one stride, caught her toe, and nearly fell into the plane. Maybe she could look into being stretched.

  She dumped her bags into an oversized seat and dropped into one opposite Rayne, already settled and staring out the window as intently as if Cirque du Soleil were performing on the wing.

  “What kind of head start do you think we have on Turner?” Chase asked, waving her hand in front of Rayne’s face.

  Rayne batted her hand away and turned her attention back to Chase. Her intensity was almost as stifling as the humidity.

  “We left them tied up and pumped with a hefty dose of Rohypnol and hung a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door. Tonyck said they’d be awake after eight to ten hours. He’s in the penthouse so it’s not like anyone could hear them shouting. I suppose they’ll be reliant on the diligence of the hotel staff. We could have a ten-hour run on them, or it could be as many as twenty-four hours. Then they’ll be tracking us, with or without the map. Turner will want what he thinks is his. Our footprints aren’t as invisible as we need them to be.”

  Rayne pulled the tie from her hair. Chase quickly looked away to avoid the inevitable shampoo ad-like cascade of Rayne’s hair falling over her shoulders. Chase’s life would be so much less complicated if Rayne had simply been a model instead of her chosen profession. Chase could’ve watched her from afar, admired her in the sleek, glossy pages of fashion magazines (that she would never admit to owning and would hide away like a teenage boy hides porn). But instead, their paths appeared inextricably linked, and they were fated to crash into each other’s lives repeatedly. Chase had sometimes daydreamed their destinies were intertwined and that they would keep smashing together until they realized they were supposed to face this existence side by side. Those kinds of thoughts usually came after Chase had watched a ridiculously clichéd Hollywood rom-com movie or read a soft and fluffy lesfic book (again, something she’d never admit to owning and her collection was stashed away in a trunk beneath her bed).

  Those kinds of thoughts she shoved away because they were as unwanted as they were painful. Chase knew she’d just be a sidekick to the Rayne show, and she wanted to be the hero of her own life. She wanted to rescue the damsel in distress. Fuck knocking the clichés. They existed because sometimes they were true, and Chase embraced that one. But more than that, Rayne stood in the way of any kind of real partnership, friendship, or something deeper. Rayne’s ambition and selfishness left no room for anyone else in her mind or her heart.

  Chapter Twelve

  Chase finally found an empty wooden stool, picked it up, and joined the rest of the group. Rayne had commandeered the only table in the rudimentary bar, and the few seats around it were filled by Rayne, the tank twins, and a local guy Tonyck had met on their way from the airport into Tabatinga. Maybe it was a bar. There was no one serving, but there were glasses on shelves, and Ginn had brought in a bottle of rum. Chase didn’t know if the meeting was prearranged or whether Tonyck had just started a conversation with the first English-speaking Brazilian she’d found. They weren’t exactly forthcoming with their plans. Rayne’s quick explanation of, “It’s just a short stop for provisions, transport, and a guide,” had done little to settle Chase’s growing concern about Turner, and worse, Oscar Owen. Alongside that, however, the bubbling in the pit of her stomach that came with any adventure, the excitement, had increased tenfold. Syria had been intense, but when Chase took the time to reflect on it, she realized it had been the best experience of her life. She was processing the notion that she wanted more, more adventures, more danger. The possible thrills of hunting down ancient artifacts got her out of bed every morning, but this added risk plugged a hole Chase had been ignoring.

  Sitting here now, with a recently purchased machete hanging from the belt on her cargo pants, sweat darkening her camel-colored shirt, and her lucky scarf dipped and soaked in rainwater to keep her cool, she felt invigorated in a way she’d only dreamed about. This was the life she’d envisioned when she became an archeologist. This was her chance to become the hero she was desperate to be.

  Chase took off her Oakleys and hooked them onto her scarf. Rayne looked across and winked. She was incorrigible. With everything going on, she could still happily flirt as if there were all the time in the world for it.

 
“I have the boat you need, and I have perfect guide for you,” the local said. “Do you have the dollars we agreed?”

  The man’s skin looked like tanned, lived-in leather. He’d probably never heard of sunscreen, much less used it. His white button-down linen shirt was three sizes too big for him or he’d recently lost some serious weight. But there was something about him that gave the visual impression he was unbreakable, like his spirit ran through him in braids of stainless steel.

  “Money isn’t a problem, Pablo.” Rayne slid a stack of fifty-dollar bills across the table. “As agreed.”

  “For the guide.” Pablo grinned at the sight of a wad of greenbacks and moved to take them when the door to the tavern slammed against the wall.

  Everyone turned or looked toward the unexpected and loud intrusion. Chase, closest to the door, saw one guy and three women dressed head to foot in matching urban camouflage. While the guy was relatively average size, his posse were weighty, hefty women who wouldn’t have looked out of place on a prison rec yard. Chase clenched her teeth to stop from laughing. Their uniforms were of little use in the dense, lush green Amazon forest. Her urge to laugh drifted away quickly as she took the rest of them in. Each sported a machete on their belt, and the guy wore a shoulder holster with the butt of a handgun peeking out of it. In her peripheral vision, the tank twins edged their chairs away from the table, and Tonyck pushed the briefcase containing the map farther under the table to conceal it from view.

  The guy with the gun walked forward with an exaggerated roll of his right hip as his left leg limped behind him almost imperceptibly. Chase suspected he’d affected the roll to hide the physical defect of a slightly shorter leg. He swept his hand through his greasy looking hair and shook his head, slowly and theatrically.

  “Americanos? In my town? Pablo, my eyes must be deceiving me, because it looks like you’re in the middle of a business deal with the pretty lady.” He rubbed his eyes and nodded. “Yes, that is what this looks like. But that can’t be, because you know you have to run everything you do by me…don’t you, Pablo? You know that.”

  His European accent seemed out of place. Siberia seemed like a long way to come to run a small town like Tabatinga. His little gang fanned out from behind him, and one of the women put her hands on Pablo’s shoulders to keep him from going anywhere.

  “Nicolai. It’s just a conversation,” Pablo said and pushed the dollars back toward Rayne. “The lady was eager. The lady misunderstood.”

  Nicolai continued past Chase and stopped beside Rayne. He offered his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss…”

  “Miss Congeniality,” Rayne said, ignoring his hand and keeping her expression serious.

  Ginn snorted and Chase covered her own amusement by wiping her hand over her mouth and chin. It was as casual as she could manage. Nicolai frowned, clearly not a Sandra Bullock fan. He dropped his hand to his side.

  “Did you misunderstand my friend? Did you offer him payment for something he cannot deliver without my express permission?” Nicolai picked up Rayne’s glass and emptied it onto the floor.

  Chase glanced at the tank twins. Tonyck could take the one with her paws on Pablo. Ginn could disable Nicolai. The other two were on either side of Chase, both slightly in front of her. The woman on her right turned and eyeballed Chase. She flared her nostrils, and her nose ring glinted in the single beam of sunlight that penetrated the boarded windows.

  Rayne brushed away a wisp of hair that had escaped the white bandana she’d wrapped around her forehead. Even in fatigues and this oppressive heat, she managed to look like a hot Calvin Klein model on a jungle-themed catwalk.

  “I don’t believe so. I think we understood each other just fine. The only one who seems to be confused here is you,” Rayne said and gave Nicolai a sweet smile.

  He smirked and moved Rayne’s ponytail from over the bare shoulder and ran his finger along the strap of her tank top. “How so, pretty lady?”

  Rayne placed her hand over his fingers and smiled again. “Because you seem to think you’re in control.”

  In one swift motion, Rayne twisted Nicolai’s hand and pulled him downward with force. Chase watched, awestruck, as his head bounced off the table. Within a millisecond of Rayne’s action, Tonyck was up and at the woman holding Pablo, and Ginn barreled toward the woman on Chase’s left.

  Energized, Chase twisted up, yanked her chair from the floor, and drove it across the chest of the woman with the nose ring. She fell backward onto her ass, but Chase didn’t give her the time to recover. She kicked her across the jaw, sending her onto her back. Chase stepped forward but saw the woman’s kick at her leg too late to avoid it. Air rushed past her, and she hit the dirt floor hard, the breath knocked out of her.

  “Fucking branco,” nose ring woman said as she landed a punch.

  Chase tensed and absorbed the blow, before she slammed her forearm across the woman’s face. The accompanying crack gave Chase an unusual sense of satisfaction. The force of the strike sent her tumbling to Chase’s side, and Chase was quick to follow up. She straddled her and pinned one arm beneath her knee. Chase held the other one down with her right hand and drove her left fist across the woman’s jaw. Once, twice, a third time before she ceased her struggling beneath Chase’s weight.

  Chase slowly extricated herself and stood to see the others had been similarly neutralized. Rayne and the tank twins looked at her. The corner of Ginn’s mouth turned up in a small grin. Rayne raised her eyebrow and gave Chase a smile accompanied with that look like she wanted to push Chase on the table and devour her. Tonyck’s expression was harder to read, but Chase thought it’d decreased a few notches of contempt.

  “So the new muscles aren’t just for show then?” Rayne nodded toward the semi-conscious goon at Chase’s feet.

  Rayne’s memory was obviously selective. Chase had taken up MMA training at around the same time they’d become colleagues the first time. Her failed attempt at being a Good Samaritan in that bar fight made Chase realize she had to get better at defending herself if she was going to continue trying to help people. And sometimes, attack was the best form of defense.

  “I guess not,” Chase said, putting a little swagger in her voice. It wouldn’t hurt for the tank twins to see she could take care of herself and wouldn’t be the “dead weight” Tonyck had anticipated. And despite her best intentions to the contrary, Rayne’s approval was annoyingly important.

  “Pablo.” Rayne leaned across the table and pushed the undisturbed pile of dollars back toward him. “Perhaps we should conclude our business on the way to the riverbank?”

  Pablo scooped up Rayne’s money, nodded, and rose from his position at the table where he’d apparently remained unaffected by the ruckus around him.

  “Absolutely. We’ll pick up Effi on the way. She is expecting of us. Then I go back for your belongings.” He pocketed the dollars, buttoned the flap, and patted it as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared. As he passed Nicolai, he gave him a sound kick in the gut and smiled when Nicolai groaned. “Just because he is ex-military, the silly man thinks this is his town. I’ve endured much worse than him.”

  Out on the street, Pablo pulled his shirt open to reveal an ugly, poorly-healed wound that started at his collarbone and disappeared into the waistband of his jeans. At a few inches wide, Chase figured it could be a machete wound, but it looked like his skin had almost been peeled back from his ribcage.

  “Gold prospectors,” he said directly to Chase.

  She’d studied it a little too long. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to stare. Why did they do that to you?”

  “Because I wouldn’t be a good little slave for them.”

  He jumped into a battered old Jeep. The engine unwillingly sputtered into life and a cloud of diesel plumed into the air, scarring the bluebird sky. Rayne slid into the passenger seat. Chase got in and scooched across to the far door. Ginn followed, but for unknown reasons, Tonyck came around to the far door. She glared at Chase until
she shrugged and scooted over to the middle. Tonyck climbed in and took up far more room than she actually needed, making Chase feel like fresh cement between two bricks. Tonyck positioned the steel briefcase in the well, and it banged against Chase’s shin. She closed her eyes and counted to five, choosing to think about Pablo’s past experience rather than her current position.

  “Did you escape from them?” Chase leaned forward so only the edge of her ass was perched on the back seat.

  “I did…because of Rayne. But my family was not so lucky.”

  She caught his glance in the rearview mirror and saw tears pool in his eyes before he quickly looked away. Tonyck shoved her knuckles sharply into Chase’s kidney.

  “Had to ask, didn’t you? Asshat,” Tonyck whispered.

  Chase didn’t respond. Tonyck was right; she shouldn’t have pried. But she wanted to know how Rayne had helped him escape. She focused her attention on her surroundings, trying to get her bearings in relation to the airport, but Pablo twisted the car this way and that, left and right along increasingly narrow and muddy backstreets. The shacks and buildings began to meld into each other, impossible to tell apart. A particularly large pothole jolted their ride so hard, Chase bounced from her seat. On landing, her ribs ached where nose ring woman had landed a punch. Chase slowly dropped her hand from the front seat and pressed against the spot. It didn’t hurt enough to be broken. It hurt just enough to let her know she was on a kick-ass adventure.

  * * *

  Tonyck and Pablo traveled to the airport and back twice for the group’s supplies. Chase wondered if Tonyck would bring her gear at all, but she’d done her a small disservice. She found her backpack and river bag squished beneath a box of tools on the second trip. They packed everything into a boat that had seen better days. The paint had long abandoned its efforts to maintain its good looks, and the windshield was so deeply and comprehensively scratched from abrasive cleaning products and maybe even the odd bullet that seeing through it was near impossible. The outboard looked like it had been stolen from a museum for the oldest engines in the world. If this part of the Amazon wasn’t brown, it would be once that rust-bucket started oscillating its oxidized propellers. Chase suspected the rust might be the only thing holding the boat together.