Page 28 of Safari Murder Party
That was when theHoly shit I’m going to throw up all of my intestinesset in.
There was a finality to death she learned early—hogs on the farm, bacon in the skillet. But this? Theo was dead, and he wasn’t orchestrated-my-own-demise dead, like Dyer.
He was shot-by-his-direct-report dead.
Murdered-in-cold-blood dead.
Dead dead dead.
The useless violence of it. Rick’s blatant arrogance. His disrespect for the fragility of life. All Fletcher could do was suck down a half-formed gasp and wipe the stray tear trailing down her cheek.
Some desperate part of her wanted to believe it was a clever ruse. Her heart continued beating, a steady drum:not real, not real, not real.
But it was.
There was no saving Theo.
There was no saving any of them.
Fletcher’s pulse throbbed in her throat, and sweat pilled on the back of her neck. Melv had read the fine print, and now Theo had a bullet hole through his chest. This entire house was filled to the brim with old hunting contraband. Who would be next?
No.No.
She stamped a towel on the grease fire of fear burning behind her ribs. Rick had always had a short fuse. He threw tantrums. Hepicked fights. No oneelsewas going to hurt anyone. These were her coworkers. People she knew. People she’d scheduled team-building Central Park picnics with, roller rink retreats, and ax-throwing offsites.
Well, on second thought, ax-throwing was not particularly comforting right now.
Fletcher peeled herself away from Theo’s rapidly cooling body to see Raul land a punch square on Rick’s jaw as if to knock some sense into him. The salesman staggered backward, but his sly smirk didn’t flinch.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
“This isn’tCall of Duty, asshole,” Raul barked. Despair contorted his dark skin. “He’s not going to respawn at the next checkpoint. You killed him. He’s dead.”
Rick wiped a smear of blood off his face with his cuff. “You heard Dyer. The hunt’s already started, baby. I’m trying to inherit a fortune.”
Raul’s face scrunched up in disgust. “You’re an animal.”
Unfortunately, in his adrenaline-induced haze, Raul had clearly failed to bring Rick’s familiar Remington into the equation. Rick cocked the barrel and pointed it toward Raul’s chest. “You want to say that again?”
Cries went up. For the first time all morning, Fletcher was at least marginally convinced that everyone on this island hadn’t lost their minds. Just Rick. (And she truthfully wasn’t sure he’d ever actuallyhadhis.)
Deepti threw herself between Rick and Raul. The barrel pressed against the buttons on her blouse each time she breathed. One rasped command left her mouth. “Don’t.”
It was enough of a distraction for Brian to knock the gun out of Rick’s hands. An awful clanging rang through the sitting room.
Finally, Rick seemed to notice the shift in the air. The breeze lifting strands of Fletcher’s braid buzzed dangerously, tinged with the scent of iron. He wanted more blood to be shed, but it could easily be his next. They outnumbered him, twelve to one.
Both hands went up next to Rick’s face. He took a hesitant step backward, then another. Waiting to trip the snare wire, caught in his own trap.
“You know what?” he said. A strand of greasy black hair slid over his forehead, and he brushed it away with his forearm. “I’ll go. But you’re no better than me. I came here for the career development like the rest of you. You think I’m an animal? Watch what you’ll become.”
The week had only just begun.
“Opal. Sheila. Come find me. Sales sticks together,” Rick said, conveniently sidestepping the fact he’d just single-handedly executed the VP of Sales. He scooped the shotgun off the floor on his way out.
No one trailed after him. For a long moment, no one moved at all. When she heard the front doors open and close, Fletcher watched Rick through the wide windows, tracking his steps toward the garage. It didn’t take long for an engine to rev. The tires of an ATV kicked up clouds of dust as Rick sped down the baobab-lined drive, spearing across the savanna.
At once, everyone exhaled.
