One of the hyenas yipped, and it set the three of them off.
Every inch of Fletcher ached as she ran. Arms pumping. Quads searing.
The first chance she had, Deepti yanked Fletcher by the shoulder and threw her behind her, which was the exact reason Fletcher had hesitated in entering a truce with the CFO. Ordinarily, Fletcher was happy to root for a give-no-fucks mentality from women in a male-dominated workspace, but this time, just this once, it would have been nice for a singular fuck to have been given on her behalf.
One of the hyenas, the pack leader maybe, smacked its teeth in the general vicinity of Fletcher’s leg. Rather fond of her left ankle, Fletcher made a fast break for it.
Waylon cut a hard right. Then he cut back to the left. Each time they crisscrossed, there was a little more distance between Fletcher and the hyenas.
On their third cross (or was it a criss?), he called out, “Hyenascan’t swim very well, and they climb worse. We have to make it to the jungle.”
The rapidly approaching jungle suddenly felt five hundred miles away. Fletcher’s shirt was soaked with sweat. She wouldn’t make it five hundred miles. She might not even make it one mile. Especially not with the way Deepti kept trying to trip her.
“Could you maybe stop trying to use me as a human sacrifice?” Fletcher asked.
Deepti frowned. “Why? So you can use me as one?”
“Believe it or not, I’d rather not see you get mauled by a bunch of hyenas.” Fletcher found herself slowing her pace to keep in stride with Deepti, even if just to look the CFO in the eye as she said, “We can both survive this.”
A cold laugh shook Deepti’s shoulders. “We both know we can’t. You want Dyer’s money as much as the rest of us.”
“I don’t,” Fletcher panted. Why couldn’t they have had this conversation over coffees?
“Why else would you have been so adamant to come? You know, when I saw you at the airport, I assumed Dyer forgot his reading glasses.”
He had, actually. Fletcher had stashed them in the bottom of her bag after she found them neglected on his desk beneath a stack of paperwork Melv dropped off the night before. Paperwork that, in hindsight, she probably should have paid more attention to.
That was beside the point. The point was—
“We don’t have to watch each other die, Deepti. I like you.” Well, enough to not want to murder her, at least.
The smooth skin around Deepti’s eyes crinkled. Not quite laugh lines but something close. She wasn’t much older than forty, but suddenly Fletcher wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her truly happy. Controllingthe finances of a billion-dollar corporation probably didn’t lend itself to smiling much. (Not that she should have to smile at work, anyway. That’s an inherently sexist ask.)
“Yeah? What does Fletcher Spence like about Deepti Kaur?”
It wasn’t a trick question, but the words suddenly felt hard to reach. Could be the runner’s cramp scraping down Fletcher’s abdomen. “I really admire how you present yourself in meetings. Remember that time Bertram interrupted you, and you waited until he’d finished talking to apologize to the board for his inconsideration. Badass.”
Deepti brightened. “I didn’t know anyone noticed that.”
“As much as I love all the team building happening back there, is now really the time?” Waylon asked. Fletcher’s side protested with lactic acid, but he hadn’t even broken a sweat. How much casual cardio did this guy do?
One of the hyenas giggled, and the rest followed suit. Answering his question with a resounding: No, now was not the time. They weren’t slowing down.
Water shimmered at the edge of the jungle where the savanna grasses gave way to waxy leaves and weeping vines. Mirage or not, it was their only chance. She couldn’t keep running much longer.
“This way!” Fletcher called. The sudden change of direction bought them a little extra time as the hyenas regrouped, but not much.
Fletcher splashed into the water, more toddler with a soggy diaper thanBaywatch. Waylon and Deepti rushed in behind her, Deepti less than enthusiastically. Unlike the river’s clear, cool blues, the watering hole was like wading in the Manhattan sewer line. The water left a brown slime on everything it touched.
Still better than being lunch.
The hyenas stalled at the water’s edge. A couple of them dippedtheir paws in but backtracked with growls. Fletcher’s lungs ached with relief, or maybe just exertion, as she paddled out deeper.
Any semblance of relief vanished when Deepti grabbed Fletcher’s ankle and jerked her back.
Hands pressed against Fletcher’s shoulders, dunking her under. Her eyes flung open in surprise despite the stinging silt. It made little difference. The soupy brown water was nearly impossible to sift through. Up was down and left was right.
She kicked and clawed, gasping when her head finally broke the surface.
