- JUNGLE OF DECEIT
“No!” he lurched up.
Red strobes contrasted with the stark interior of his tent to reveal a woman with long black hair sitting in the corner.
One gasp. Another. Soon Mitch began to disassociate the nightmare from the screeching nocturnal pitch of the jungle. He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again the woman was gone.
Damn, I hate night sounds.
He considered turning on the flashlight, but the even breathing nearby reminded him that he shared this little canvas hell with Wes and Chuckles. His fingers wrapped around the aluminum cylinder as he hoisted out of the tent into the energetic heart of the jungle.
Night sounds. This jungle was full of them.
Reluctant to flick on the flashlight, Mitch relied on brief flashes of moonlight to aid with his getaway.
He explored the camp with the limited light. What in God’s name was he hoping for—to catch a glimpse of a crate marked with the HAA insignia? If he was successful, Nicholson had promised to use his connections to get him back into a lucrative photojournalist career. Although, if he was successful, he didn’t think he’d need the museum director’s influence.
Mitch broadened his circle around the site until he was tucked deep in a thicket of trees, far enough away to risk using the flashlight. He flicked on the beacon and stifled a shout as startled red eyes stared him dead on.
The disturbed kinkajou, a raccoon-like mammal, swung upside down from one of the branches and blinked curiously at Mitch. Recovering from the shock, he continued his loop, careful this time not to lose track of the camp. He only had a few hours until he was scheduled to meet up with Alexandra.
What was disturbing was how much he was looking forward to that.