21. Chapter 18 – Nikki
Detective Diaz was a tough nut to crack, and very convincing in his subtlety to anyone ignorant of duplicitous natures. I knew better. His desperation lived in every movement, like a caged animal biding its time for its owner to turn its back.
I was not turning my back.
And I was going to find out what his deal truly was.
He’d been compliant—too compliant—completely at odds with the rage and hatred I’d witnessed on the plane.
That kind of emotion did not appear on a whim.
It was bottled up inside a person. For the controlled or the well-practiced, it was only revealed when it was shaken out of them, as it had been with Diaz.
That kind of rage was dangerous. What would it take for him to be shaken enough to harm the others? To harm Marley? Each passing hour was an additional spark shed onto a powder keg of stifled emotion. I was convinced Diaz would be the first to blow, and we would all be the fallout.
“Gracias, compa,” I said cheerily while the detective threw several fallen limbs on the pile we’d constructed. He’d been predominantly speaking Spanish to Madman on the plane, so I used Spanish now, to make him a little more pliable in my company.
So far, it hadn’t worked, but I was persistent.
I needed to know his secrets. Had he been near the plane when we encountered the jaguar last night?
Did he idly watch as we faced almost certain death—even a fearful man would surely offer help once the threat had been neutralized?
His arrival back to camp had been too close to ours to be a coincidence.
The Baron and the Baroness held plenty of parties over the years where I’d moved among the fake smiles of sycophants underscoring their true desire for proximity of status.
None of those people had truly emanated danger.
They were pompous and boring more than anything, with intentions fairly obvious to anyone willing to look past the facade.
Diaz’s intentions were a mystery. I knew nothing about him, yet I could say with utmost certainty he would do nothing to save any of our lives, except maybe Madman’s for reasons currently undisclosed.
A tough nut, indeed, but I’d get to the bottom of it.
We were stuck together until rescue came, and we couldn’t survive alongside people we couldn’t trust. Our surroundings posed enough of a danger.
Constantly questioning the motives of our companions would be enough to drive one mad, thus the question needed answering.
Who really was Detective Diaz?
He still wore filthy suit trousers and dress shoes. Perhaps he’d never packed a change of clothes in his carry-on at all. Not a seasoned traveler, then.
Diaz simply grunted at me and continued scouting for branches along the riverbed.
We’d traveled about a hundred paces north of our little camp, and the ground was starting to sharply incline, larger pebbles and boulders marring our path.
I was thankful I’d packed sneakers for the gym in my overnight bag, or I’d be as stuck as Marley in our uniform-issued footwear.
That footwear had almost gotten her killed last night. My heart stuttered in my chest even now at recalling the terror in her eyes. The image had haunted me through my limited sleep, and I’d found several strands of my own curls on the mat beside me when I awoke.
I hadn’t pulled my hair out since I was a teenager. Marley under duress was enough to awaken the dark habit—I couldn’t bear to see it again.
If Ambrose hadn’t pulled through …
My chest twinged reliving his bravery. The sexy, cantankerous American was already my exact type and then, he had to step into an oncoming jaguar to shield our captain. The two of them together had me all tied up in knots of anxiety, unreasonable protectiveness and … lust. Definitely lust.
That memory alone firmed my resolve. I’d guard Marley with all I had until rescue came—even if it meant spending time with this twat. There was only one way to soothe a man like Diaz: appeal to his ego.
I could caress a man’s ego as well as I could caress a cock or clit into coming all over my face. Very well.
“Hambriento?” I asked the detective if he was hungry in an admittedly basic attempt at drawing him back into our minimalist conversation. Pulling out my sole protein bar, I offered it to him in a gesture of peace.
He turned to face me, brows furrowing as his gaze lit on the chalky chocolate, glaring at it with suspicion.
“I already had mine,” I lied, pushing it out further. “Go on. Can’t work on an empty stomach.”
He begrudgingly pulled it from my fingers and sniffed it as if petrol could have poisoned it. Then he peeled it open and took a bite.
I smiled encouragingly. “Glad you’re here with us, mate, even if I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy. Only the strongest survive, you know? We’ll get through this.”
I gestured around me conversationally, as if we were standing in a garden instead of a jungle.
“I consider myself lucky, honestly. Death by plane crash isn’t the blaze of glory I thought I’d go out in, you know?”
The detective snorted with what I took as agreement before taking another bite, closing his eyes as he chewed. Good. Hungry people were angry bears. Fed people—they were a little more pliable.
“What got you into law enforcement?” I asked while using the hatchet in my hand to slice off a few stalks from an overhanging tree as he ate. “I always wanted to wear the uniform, but couldn’t agree to all the rules, you know? So many rules.”
Dark eyes popped open, and his gaze turned back to me. Slowly, he nodded. “Hay demasiadas reglas,” he agreed. Too many rules.
“That must be challenging,” I mused, tossing the branches I’d just cut into the growing pile. “I am not so good with rules, either.”
“Rules are meant to be broken,” he said before he crumpled the empty wrapper and threw it on the ground. Then he turned back to the task at hand.
Fantastic, he was a litterer, too. Satisfied I had at least pulled a few words out of him, I let the conversation fade. Now I was the sycophant, flattering my enemy for my own personal gain.
It didn’t matter. I’d do anything to protect Marley. The crush on my friend was rapidly developing into something I didn’t have a name for. Obsession seemed too—well—obsessive. Fixation was more apt.
Picking up the wrapper, I thrust it into my pocket.
To think my most traumatic thought two days ago had been about being dumped by a man I hadn’t even loved, and now I was shadowing a shady law enforcement officer in the middle of the Darién Gap to protect a woman who didn’t even know I cared for her.
Staring at the detective’s back as he worked, I idly sliced a few more branches and considered the gravity of our situation.
Could we possibly pin the cocaine smuggling on him?
My gut churned like a sea of hungry sharks as I considered the ramifications of that discovery.
No matter what, we were going to have to dump the bricks under the cover of the jungle before we were rescued.
And where in the gods’ honest fuck was Jamie?
Marley remained convinced of his innocence.
I’d kept my mouth shut, mostly to keep the peace, given I only had a memory that could mean nothing.
But the more I considered the possibility, the more I grew certain of his culpability.
It killed me to acknowledge it, and killed me more to recognize my failure in reading him properly.
I hadn’t the proof, but I’d bet my very satisfying dick Jamie had a hand in that drug transport.
If Aileron discovered the hidden cargo, far more than our jobs were on the line. Life in a South American prison was no life for me—I was certainly no Madman.
Not the time for that anxiety spiral. Once we had food and shelter secured for the day, Marley and I could come up with a plan.
It appeared the river was far larger than we’d thought—at least, I’d thought—and in the distance I could see another deep bow as it traveled eastward, a pocket of water sitting at the very edge of my vision.
Whether it was truly a pocket of water or a figment from broken eyewear, I couldn’t be sure, but it was worth investigating.
“Hey,” I called to Diaz, who was staring into the trees as if contemplating a run for it. “I think I see water up ahead. Let’s check it out, yeah?”
He chose not to answer, but did turn in the direction I’d pointed to and started forward. Alright then, onward.
A stagnant pond wouldn’t do us much good for drinking water—but if the pool appeared clear enough, I’d happily soak my clothes for a few moments. The sweat and stink had become distracting.
A tinny, shiny something caught my eye, stuck in a small bush at the edge of the riverbed. I drew closer and picked it up. A candy wrapper? Turning it over in my hand, it was a Bocadin chocolate bar with Spanish nutrition info on the back side of the wrapping.
Odd. Had someone roamed the night while we slept?
More curious than unsettled, I pocketed the wrapping and continued forward. My stomach grumbled at the thought of a tasty treat, but I ignored it. My thirst this morning had been bad enough, but the small bottle of vodka had taken away the pain in my limbs and settled the anxiety in my brain.
Just a nip. The psychological terror of the jaguar and the emotional turmoil of the surprise drugs and still missing friend had taken its toll.
I was a mere man, in need of a small drink.
And it had worked. I was right as rain again, albeit a little hungry, thanks to sacrificing my one protein bar of the day. I’d feast on an avocado later.
Holding my hatchet tightly in one fist, I followed Diaz up the steep incline to a different shallow pool—the rocky bank had hidden this one from view. The water stank of death, and I swallowed the bile rising in my throat. No clothes washing then. Right.