she-devil
—So wait, what’s the problem?
I don’t know. Sent the text late last night.
—Liar.
OK. Just… he actually seems cool.
—Hmm. You like him?
Maybe. It’s not a big deal. Anyway, gotta go.
Russel’s distinctive voice is calling, “Harleyyyyy!” Better I go out before he wakes the entire rainforest.
—Harley. You totally like him.
I don’t even know him, I still respond. We just have sex and he helps me with my tent and supplies sometimes.
—Harley Storm. Has a nice ring to it?
STOP. Love you, BYE!
I put my phone away, my mouth still deciding whether to smile or scowl. Han is perpetually trying to convince me I’ve met my Prince Charming in whatever guy I happen to be dating at the time. And 10/10 times she’s been wrong.
It’s not her fault, really. I think she just wants to be able to double date with me, my guy and the Most Handsome Man Alive.
Anyway. I have some food to eat. And camera shots of rainforest coolness to catch.
Chapter 9
Greyson
After a quick breakfast of some stale cereal Russel had squirreled away in his pack, we all set out again.
It seems like barely five minutes have passed before Russel falls back so that we’re walking side by side, the others several paces behind us.
“So,” he says.
“So,” I say.
He’s giving me an annoyingly significant look that could mean anything—from him spotting a nest of thousands of lethal spiders, to him wanting praise for whatever breakfast was this morning.
He sniffs. “I won’t be the first to bring it up.”
“Good.”
Whatever Russel’s getting at, I’m really not in the mood. Our trekking isn’t off to a great start. Manuel’s already got a minor stomach bug, while Harley insisted on being the last one in our line, thus the most vulnerable.
Speaking of Harley…
Another look back finds her as fine as the other five times I checked. This time, though, she catches me, and quirks a brow.
Dipshit idea, Greyson.
But it’s just being a good boss, making sure my whole crew stays safe. Even if I’ve been checking way more than usual.
Russel is chuckling, and suddenly I can’t stand it anymore. “What, Russel?”
Russel rubs his chin, a merry twinkle in his eye. “I know what’s been happening out in the bush.”
OK, now I’m full-on pissed.
“Careful,” I hiss. I manage to keep my angry tone low, as low as Russel’s has been.
“If you want to bang Miss PrettyPants, it’s no concern of mine,” he says breezily, “Just, be careful.”
“Watch your tone,” I growl.
Russel only shrugs.
Then again, he hasn’t out and said that he knows for sure that we’ve slept together. Maybe if I just keep my mouth shut… As long as he doesn’t out and ask me. I’ve always hated lying—and been as bad at it as Dad was good.
“Work relationships can get messy.” Russel’s gaze has a faraway look as he says this. “Believe me, none know better than myself.” His head droops a little, as he murmurs, half to himself, “Her name was Esme, and we were going to spend our lives together.”
“Let’s just get to the next camp in one piece,” I say.
Over the next few hours, we barely stop to eat, let alone get any usable shots of the surrounding rainforest. Probably because this part of the rainforest is thick, so thick that it’s easy to tell where Russel passed through—it’s the only possible way to go.
A sigh of relief rolls out of me once we finally step out into a clearing.
“Looks like this is a perfect place for a pit stop,” I tell the crew.
Russel groans, but I hardly notice.
This place is…
“Beautiful,” Samantha breathes behind me.
Which just about sums it up. Somehow, we’ve stumbled on a near-hidden waterfall, with crystal-clear waters and exotic yellow and red flowers bordering it.
“No, no, no, no!” Russel’s muttering furiously, starting to pace.
“What?” I ask.
“This isn’t right.” He shakes his head despondently. “Not right at all. I didn’t pass any waterfall on my way here.”
“You want to take a look around while we rest?” I ask him.
“Indeed.” Already Russel’s striding off, talking over his shoulder. “Not to worry. I’ll figure this out. Just give me an hour, maybe two.”
The others are already setting their bags down and nearing the water, while Harley… is nowhere to be seen.
Shit.
I scan the trees around us furiously, but there’s no sign of her. When was the last time I saw her? Ten minutes ago? Twenty?
“Jorge,” I say, “Seen Harley?”
Jorge points past the waterfall. “Think she went that way. Took the cameras too—said she could maybe get some good shots there.”
“Oh. I’ll go