Safari Murder Party

Prologue

Wilderness hummed around Fletcher as she fought to catch her breath. She’d grown begrudgingly used to its melody over the last few days—the whistle of hot wind through the reeds at the watering hole, the elephant trumpet in the distance, the frog song from the jungle thick.

Of all the people Fletcher thought she’d be here with, the last was Waylon.

Waylon, who had tried to sabotage her career when it had barely begun.

Waylon, who had every right to inherit the Cartwright legacy and none of the qualifications.

Waylon, who held a steak knife to her throat, the blade pinching her skin.

Something greedy burned in his gaze. A hunger. Like he’d been wanting to do this for a long time and only now got the chance.

“I want to trust you,” he said, the steel scraping across her rapid pulse.

Breathing. Fletcher wasn’t breathing. “Then trust me.”

“But how do I know you won’t betray me?”

“I could ask you the same thing.” The last week flashed behind Fletcher’s eyes. Sparkling cocktails served with gourmet meals. Handshake deals signed with blood. And now, a knife to her throat. Careful, she asked, “What do you need to convince you?”

His voice was low in her ear. “Tell me what you want, Spence, and I’ll let you live.”

Last month, she could have answered his question in a heartbeat.

TSA PreCheck. An invitation to the company retreat.

A byline in the travel magazine she’d sold her soul to.

But that was before. Before she’d ever set foot on this patch of untamed land, and before there was a serrated edge against her esophagus.

He was asking the wrong question. She knew what she wanted.

What was she willing to do to get it?