Now that we’re at their base camp, our kidnappers have aligned themselves into two distinct groups, and they look too comfortable in their circles for this to be a new arrangement.

Suddenly I understand. We’ve been kidnapped by two groups working together. And if the tension between Silvana and Sebastián is any indication, neither organization is thrilled with the collaboration.

“¡Vamos, princesa!” Silvana’s shout startles me, and I knock the full kettle into the stream. She and her men laugh while I wade in to fish it out.

When I have water boiling on grills propped over all three fire pits, I sanitize my toothbrush in one of the kettles. While I’m brushing my teeth, the green walled tent opens, then falls closed behind a man carrying a cardboard box. Sweat rolls down his forehead and drips into his eye. He blinks the sweat away, but never takes his focus off the box, even when he stumbles over a rock on his way to the narrow footpath leading to the beach.

He’s terrified of that box.

Unease crawls up my spine as I watch him. Silvana’s bombs are being made here. Twenty feet from the spot where I slept.

I won’t be sleeping again until this is over.

By the time my teeth are brushed and I’ve used what passes for a bathroom, the other hostages are almost done with breakfast. Except for Indiana.

“Here.” He sets a bulky brown meal packet on my lap when I sink onto the grass mat next to him. “I tried to snag you a piece of fruit, but Domenica’s a beast before she’s had some caffeine.”

“I know how she feels.” I hold up the brown envelope. “If there’s no instant coffee in this thing, my descent into madness will be swift and terrible.”

Indiana laughs. “I’ll alert the men in white coats. So what will the hostages be feasting on this morning?”

“‘Menu twenty-two: Asian Beef Strips,’” I read from the front of my packet.

“The breakfast of champions. I got ‘Menu twelve: Fancy Penne Pasta. Vegetarian.’” He rips into his packet. “Bon appétit!”

I start to tear open my envelope, but when I look up, I find Sebastián watching me from across the clearing.

It’s six thirty in the morning, according to Indiana’s waterproof camping watch. Eight and a half hours until the deadline Silvana gave my father. Time is running out.

“Thanks,” I say as I reluctantly hand the MRE back to him. “But I think I hear opportunity knocking. Wish me luck.”

“I’ve seen you handle yourself. You don’t need luck,” he whispers as I stand. But I can hear concern in his voice, and that makes me feel oddly warm as I cross the clearing.

Sebastián sees me coming, and his smile actually looks welcoming. “¿Qué pasa, Genesis?”

“I didn’t get any fruit.”

The men around him laugh, clearly amused by my willingness to make demands from a man holding an automatic rifle.

“We ran out,” Sebastián says.

“Rumor has it, fruit grows in the jungle.”

His brows rise. “You’ll have to pick it yourself.”

“Then I’ll need an escort.” I gesture toward the narrow footpath, as if I don’t know it goes to the beach. “Lead the way.”

He stands, then gestures in the other direction. Away from the ocean. As we head across the clearing, a crescendo of laughter and crude jokes from his men follows us.

I ignore them all and focus on Indiana instead. He’s right. I don’t need anyone to wish me luck.

Valencias make their own luck.

21.5 HOURS EARLIER

MADDIE

When the first rays of dappled sunlight wake me, I find Luke curled up to my back with his arm draped over my stomach, as if he’d tried to stop me from leaving in his sleep.

For a moment, I savor his warmth. But then reality kicks in.

Luke shouldn’t depend on me. Following me into the jungle nearly got him killed. And it may still.

I shouldn’t have let him come, but I can’t leave him now, even for his own good.

I don’t want to leave him.

I carefully lift his arm and sneak out of the tent. By the time I get back from relieving myself in the jungle, Luke is packing up our camp.

“Did you know that Parque Tayrona contains more than seventeen thousand square acres of jungle?” he says as he folds up the camp stove.

“So what?” I ask as I strap our sleeping bag to the bottom of my pack. “You think we’re still in Tayrona?”

“Probably. The vast majority of the parque is unexplored, unmapped wilderness.”

I shrug into my backpack. “If this is a needle-in-a-haystack analogy, you know exactly where you can shove your odds and statistics. I will find them.”

“I know. And I’m still with you. But I have an idea. Silvana was marching you guys northwest, right?”

“Yes. We were headed away from the rising sun.”

He shoves the folded camp stove into his bag and zips it up. “Then I propose we head due north, instead.”

“Why?”

Luke looks at me as if I should already have caught onto his point, and I hate how clueless that makes me feel. “Because the Caribbean is due north, and heading toward the shore means we’ll be going downhill. Which will make hiking easier. We can turn west once we hit the water, and that’ll be much easier going.”

“You’re leaving something out.” I can see it in his eyes.

If we hike along the beach, we might see a boat, or run into other tourists, or pick up a stronger cell signal. “You’re not trying to help me find Ryan’s murderers.” The betrayal feels like a bruise deep in my chest. “You’re trying to get us rescued.”

“I’m trying to do both,” he insists. “We’ll still be heading north and west, but at a much faster pace. And if we find help before we find the kidnappers, we can alert the authorities and let them take over. We owe that to your cousin and her friends.”

“I know, but . . .” I don’t want Ryan’s killer apprehended. I want him dead.

“Maddie, you don’t even have a plan.” Luke throws his hands up in frustration. “Even if you’re willing to kill someone—and I really hope you’re not—we have a rifle you don’t know how to use, and a grand total of five shells.”