“Or herself,” the woman interrupts.
Oh, great, so the killer looks come paired with a feisty personality. Looks like I’ve won the Pain-In-My-Ass Photographer lottery.
“Sure.” I nod toward her, trying to keep the annoyance from showing on my face. “And tell everyone his or her role.” I tilt my head in her direction. “Ladies first?”
She flashes me an impertinent grin, and says, “Winter Knowles, travel photographer.”
That seems like all she has to say. Miss Knowles, at least, is not over-talkative. Without adding another word, she turns to the guy standing on her left, none other than my best friend, Archie, who quickly takes the prompt.
“Archibald—Archie—Hill,” he says, with a grin that promises nothing good. I know him too well; he’s already trying to impress the lady. Tall, blond, bearded, and with piercing blue eyes, he usually doesn’t have to try too hard in that department. “Topographer, aerial drone controller, and human bullshit detector.”
Winter laughs, a light and bubbly sound. “We have a drone?” she asks with a big smile.
“Yup,” Archie confirms, smug.
“You’ll have to show me how to handle it.”
He grins. “I’m sure we can make that happen.”
Then my best friend and trusted companion of many past expeditions turns away from Winter and wiggles his eyebrows at me, as if saying he’d be more than happy to teach her how to handle it. I resist the urge to slap my hand over my face and groan.
This is a disaster.
Eager to move on, I stare at the next guy in our circle until he takes the hint.
“Dr. Rune Boonjan,” the short man says in heavily-accented English. “Head archeologist at the Thai Fine Arts Department, local expert, and interpreter.”
Dr. Boonjan and I met in person for the first time on the plane from Bangkok to Trat, and he impressed me with his knowledge of the Kingdom of Siam history. No worries about him; we clicked right away.
My colleague bends in a slight bow, with his palms pressed together in a prayer-like fashion, and salutes us in Thai, “Sawatdee khrap.”
We all bow back, mimicking his salutation except for the military guys, who remain upright.
Rude.
Then, the group’s focus shifts to the other Thai member of our team. About the same height as Dr. Boonjan, he’s leaner, and his brown skin looks more weathered even though he’s younger.
“Somchai Inkong,” he introduces, in English even more accented than the professor, making it a task in concentration to understand him. “Horses and mules handler, local fixer…” With a cheeky grin, he concludes: “…and machete operator. Sawatdee khrap.”
“Sawatdee khrap,” we repeat.
I turn to my right to encourage Tucker to speak—he’s the only other known factor in this group besides myself and Archie. He hasn’t been with us from the start, but since our first trip together in Guatemala, he has become an invaluable member of every new expedition Archie and I plan.
“Tucker Wallace,” he announces in his clear baritone voice. “Logistics, cooking, and first aid.”
“We have a cook?” Winter says. “Yay, I had assumed we would eat beef jerky for a month.”
And she even managed to make beef jerky sound like a dirty word.
She smiles at Tucker, probably more pleased at the thought of his cooking skills than anything else, but there he goes turning into an adoring puppy like the rest of them.
Not him, too!
Women are Archie’s weakness, but Tucker is usually smarter than that. With brown eyes and a mop of curly brown hair, he’s the shy, responsible guy in our group. The teddy bear looks don’t fool anyone for long, though; when it comes to his job, Tucker is a dictator with an iron fist.
The next man in our circle, at least, has no puppy in him. Although I’m not sure “hungry wolf” is much better. I’ll have to keep an eye on him and his pack when they’re around Winter. Because I didn’t have enough to do already.
“Smith,” the mercenary says, not shifting an inch from his military resting pose―feet hip-width apart, puffed out chest, hands clasped behind his back. “Head of security.”
His two deputies—both ex-sergeants in the army—echo him, keeping the same stance and not providing any additional personal details.
“Carter.”
“Montgomery.”
These military guys are so full of themselves, they’re ridiculous. But they also give off such a powerful not-joking vibe, even Miss Sass doesn’t tease them. But I can tell from the mocking twinkle in her eyes, she’s dying to. She physically has to bite her lower lip to stop herself from uttering whatever barb she’s thinking.
Definitely distracting.
Can’t she find a way to keep herself in check that’s less sensual? The pink cheeks and the lip-biting… those mile-long legs… I hope she doesn’t plan to cross the jungle wearing shorts.
“All right, that was everyone,” I say, ready to wrap up the meet-cute. “I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to become more familiar with each other in the upcoming weeks.” Archie throws me a rakish, I-plan-to-get-oh-so-familiar-with-our-photographer look. I pause to scowl at him, then add, “Tomorrow we leave at the crack of dawn. Before you go enjoy your last day in the comforts of civilization, I’ll ask Tucker to walk us through the logistics of our first stretch on the road.”
“Great.” Tucker takes out his rugged tablet and shows the group a map on the screen. “The first part of tomorrow’s journey will be on the Jeeps. In a straight line”—he traces the path on the map with his finger—“our target is not far from the resort, but the road to get there is more of an abandoned dirt trail winding up the mountains.” He points at the three peaks on our left. “It’ll take us most of the morning to clear a relatively short distance. Halfway up, we’ll stop at the only village inland to collect the last few provisions. From there, we’ll continue the crossing on horseback while the mules will carry most of the equipment and supplies. If everything goes according to plan, we should reach our final destination, the hidden valley beyond the peaks, before the sun sets. Once there, we’ll build our base of operations and proceed with our exploration on foot over the next days with the support of our local bushwhacking guide.”
Tucker nods at Somchai, who returns the gesture with a grin.
“Anyway,” Tucker continues, “we meet again in the parking lot tomorrow at five a.m., so we should all get an early night.”
He steps back, and I take the floor again.
“I’m sure there’s no need to point this out,” I say, staring directly at the photographer. “But we’re going to travel through a hostile environment and we should all dress appropriately, and punctuality is of the essence.”
Again, she bites her lip, but doesn’t comment. Even if the hard stare she’s giving me promises hell.
Before I dismiss the meeting, I deliver one last warning. “And finally, just a reminder that the nature of this expedition is confidential. If someone asks, our cover story is that we’re in Thailand to study the ecology of the region. Flora, fauna, rock formations… that kind of stuff. So, please, no loose talk about a lost city of gold. See you all at five tomorrow,” I conclude.