Page 33 of Safari Murder Party
Thoughts beyondOh my god, oh my god, oh my godfelt entirely out of reach. “But she had a habit of coming back from lunch late and lacked an attention to detail?”
A hint of a laugh worked itself into Jackie’s voice. “I knew you’d understand.”
She didn’t. Shedefinitelydidn’t.
“Joplin’s dead, Jackie,” Fletcher stammered. “You killed her.”
“Of course I did. Leading isn’t easy. You have to be precise. Ruthless. Women—competent, capable women—get overlooked constantly. Would a man second-guess doing whatever it takes to get ahead?” Fletcher needn’t answer. A cloud of gunpowder, a puddle of blood, and Theo’s lifeless body said it all. “No, he’d lie, cheat, kill.”
A blade of horror twisted in Fletcher’s stomach. Before she could say anything, the gunmetal peeled away from her sticky skin, andFletcher inhaled deep into her belly. There was no time to relax. Over her shoulder, Jackie’s manicured hand pointed the pistol out the window.
Not toward Sheila. Not toward Raul’s bloating body. Farther.
Fletcher traced its aim. Jackie’s gun pointed straight toward Waylon, where he hiked back up from the island’s edge. Bluestem grass swayed around him, and he veered away from the foaming mouth of the ocean, the cliffside drop into an endless blue, and back toward the west wing. Hell of a time for a hot-girl walk, if you asked Fletcher.
She didn’t need to be a sharpshooter to know Jackie’s bullet was poised to lodge itself in Waylon’s heart. Was Jackie in the CIA before she joined Cartwright Media? The marines? (Neither, actually. Jackie was a by-product of the tech start-up quagmire. Much worse.) Regardless, the woman knew her way around a hostage situation, that was for sure.
Jackie circled in front of Fletcher, whose knees had gone totally gelatinous. She rapped a perfect red nail against the trigger, priming it. Fletcher’s stomach lurched with eachtap,tap,tap.
“I did what needed to be done. Someone has to take over Cartwright Media, and not even Dyer thought the miserable excuse of a man he called a son has what it takes to lead this company. That’s why we’re here.” Viciousness slicked her mouth into a sneer. “Do you think asking for permission made me the youngest editorJet-Setterhas ever known? Or being nice? Orsmiling more?”
Rhetorical questions, obviously.
“Rick’s precious conscience didn’t stop him from killing Theo. It won’t stop any of them. I’m not letting anyone take what I’ve rightfully earned away from me. Not Theo’s rabid pack of salespeople, not Dyer’s arrogant son.” Jackie turned, repositioning the silver barrel against Fletcher’s sternum. “And certainly not you.”
Fletcher’s heart rammed against her ribs, trying to escape—the rest of her was sweat-slicked and slippery. She was going to die. Shewas going to die in this silk robe. Unless she thought of something very, very fast.
“I can help you,” Fletcher said. More of a gasp, really.
Jackie’s detached laugh did little to calm Fletcher’s stomach. “Enlighten me.”
“No one knew Dyer better than me.” Each word chafed against Fletcher’s throat. A plan formulated in foggy ideas behind all the adrenaline and unadulterated panic. “Not just Dyer. The whole team. Their routines, their habits, their”—a breath, a swallow—“weaknesses. Whatever you need, I can help you.”
“Why should I trust you?” Jackie’s trigger finger was getting a little too impatient.
The Rolodex in Fletcher’s brain spun and spun. How many days had Fletcher spent daydreaming about working under her wing? Every cell in Jackie’s body meant business. She wouldn’t hesitate to kill Fletcher if it meant getting what she wanted—a woman in this industry couldn’t afford to be forgiving. There were always ten more less qualified men waiting to take her place.
Which meant that if she saw Fletcher as her competition, she’d have no problem eliminating her.
“I don’t want to take over the company.” Jackie’s grip on her gun didn’t loosen. Fletcher barreled on: “Why waste your time hunting everyone down when the best way to ensure you win the inheritance is to make it back to Manhattan before anyone else? By the time the rescue crew comes, Cartwright Media will already be yours. I can help you.”
There was so much filler in Jackie’s face that her expressions were a little fuzzy, but Fletcher was pretty sure she recognized this one as confusion. “You? And what would you get out of this little arrangement?”
“All I want, all I’veeverwanted, is to be aJet-Setterphotographer. Let me come with you. Let me join your staff.”
Let me stay on your good side and out of your crosshairs.
Jackie hummed. Considering, but not convinced yet. “How do you propose we escape?”
Everything Fletcher cataloged about Lydell flashed through her mind. The trail through the jungle, the airplane hangar near the mountain, the crosshatched boat slips on the island’s opposite edge. “There’s a marina where Dyer stores his yachts. That’s the only way off until the crew comes, but you’ll need a boat key.”
“And you can get it for me?”
“Yes,” Fletcher said and prayed it was true.
Jackie hesitated. Her finger never left the trigger. “I’ll head that way tomorrow morning and kill anyone who gets in my way in the meantime. Find me a getaway boat, and you won’t be one of them. Meet me by the docks at noon on Wednesday—with the key—and I’ll make sure you live to see your promotion.”
“Yes. Okay, yes.”
