Page 3 of Knox's Mission

Now, she really shivered.

Yes. The answer was a resounding yes.

Besides, not every documentary would be filmed in a destination like this one. This was a ticket, like the same kind of ticket you get on an airplane. Theairport isn’t your destination, neither is the aircraft. They are a means to take you where you want to end up.

Sliding through the water, Amy kept her hands in her lap, gripping her camera. She searched the darkness for movement or a pair of eyes in the water or from above. That was the thing about the Amazon, predators were all around. She’d never felt so vulnerable or realized what a speck the human race was in an environment like this one where every living creature was fair game.

After what felt like hours, monkey calls filled the air.

A.J. slowed the canoe and listened. Amy’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness long before now, but there wasn’t much to see without a hint of light in the dark canopy.

“Mercenaries,” A.J. warned.

“Or porcupine,” Donnie added. He immediately went flat inside the long canoe.

“Should I know what that means?” Amy whispered.

“Those monkey calls aren’t monkeys,” Donnie whispered with more than a hint of frustration in his voice.

“Then what are they?” Amy asked. Excuse her for not knowing why that posed a threat. She hadn’t been told the location of the shoot until she metLorna in Manau International Airport. Before then, she’d been led to believe this documentary was about indigenous women who left their tribes to live in civilization.

“Could be a Manu tribe that kills people who enter their territory by shooting them with so many arrows, they look like a porcupine when it’s over,” Donnie explained with that same level of disgust at her lack of knowledge. Was he being serious? Scaring her? Or misinformed?

Either way, he was still a jerk.

Did he not get the memo that she’d been tricked into this location? Because she was one hundred percent certain he’d been standing five feet away when Lorna had grabbed Amy by the forearms, pleaded with her to hear her out, and then went on to explain how they weren’t filming women but anacondas in their natural habitat in the jungle.

Amy had to call for reinforcements when there was a spider in her house. Out in the Flooded Forest where they were heading, a quick internet search had revealed tarantulas floated on the surface of the river.

Lorna had been right about one thing, though. Amy wouldn’t have sold her piano—her last item of any value—to buy an airplane ticket to traipse across the jungle like Jane from the Tarzan movies if she’dknown the truth about where they were going and what she would be filming.

Call her quirky, but she wanted to live long enough to enjoy the career she would have once she hit the right note with her documentaries.

And now she had to be worried about being porcupined—however slight the possibility—by an indigenous tribe who didn’t want her here almost as much as she wanted to be anywhere else? Could there be a more awful way to die? And then she remembered the jaguars who would eat her alive. Or the bullet ants who wouldn’t necessarily kill her but would cause so much pain with one sting that she might wish she could die.

Could this trip get any better?

Using a special lens, she turned on her camera without using a flash or light feature. There was no reason to give their enemies an exact location to pinpoint with those arrowheads on the off chance Donnie was right about the monkey calls. Gun-wielding Columbian mercenaries were far more likely to be a threat, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Where are we anyway?” Amy asked, figuring Google Maps may be able to pinpoint her location or get her out of here.

“I’m not sure,” Donnie said, a little less venom inhis voice this time at least. Was he being nice as some sort of last act?

Amy’s mind raced as she white-knuckled her camera. Lying on her back, she documented the sounds of the water, the monkeys, and the other chirps and songs of the jungle.

As much as the noises freaked her out, they were probably better than complete silence.

A thought struck. Here, she could be killed as easily as she accidentally stepped on a fire ant back home in the suburbs. A surprising trill of excitement rushed through her, cutting through some of her fear. A strange sensation followed. As silly as it might sound, there was peace in knowing she was part of a living, breathing ecosystem. One that leveled the playing field.

The realization struck her as odd, that she would somehow find peace in a moment of panic. But there was nothing she could do to stop a tribesman who would shoot arrows at her on sight. Maybe for the first time, she understood her brother Garrett a little better too. Was this feeling the one he’d chased when he signed up for the military and then went on to become an Army Ranger? Him and his best friend? Amy hadn’t thought of Knox Preston in months. Thinking about him now sent very different sensations rocketing through her. Was her brother at peace when he’ddied in the helicopter crash that had claimed so many lives?

Funny, because he’d never treated her any different than Garrett’s annoying little sister, four years their junior. Too young, he’d said, to follow them on their ‘adventures’ through the creek behind their homes. Too young, he’d said, to hang out with them in the tents they’d constructed in the backyard. Too young, he’d said, to do anything but go inside and play with dolls.

Dolls?

Amy might not relish the thought of diving headfirst into the Amazon jungle, but she would rather hop on her bike and jump ramps than stay inside and play with dolls. He’d known that too. He’d only said it to push her buttons, and he’d done a damn fine job.

What would Knox say about her being in the jungle now? What about her brother Garrett? Would he have warned her not to go?

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