Make No Bones About It ( a Dig Site Mystery--Book 2)

by Ann Charles

  “Nope. I’m here to spend time with a woman I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I left her bed.”

  “That woman was naïve.”

  Angélica had thought she’d be able to handle his absence with only minor twinges, but she’d been a fool. After weeks of feeling the sting of rejection, followed by gut-wrenching stabs of hurt and anger, then resorting to middle-of-the-night bargains with the devil for a single word from Quint, and finally wallowing in depression, she’d accepted the truth: Their careers made a relationship nearly impossible.

  “Besides that,” she continued, “she’s no longer running the show when it comes to you and me. I’ve taken over.”

  “I call bullshit. You’re being a big chicken, hiding behind this hard-core boss act that allows you to exist without having to invest emotionally in anything that might cause you heartache.”

  Her internal temperature rocketed as a blast of rage lit her up like a firecracker. She closed the distance between them and lowered her voice to a harsh whisper in case anyone else was within earshot. “I let you inside here,” she tapped her temple, “and you made a fucking mess of my world. I’d have to be insane to let you trespass any further.”

  “Your world needed messing up,” he shot back. “You have everything in here,” he pointed at her heart, “locked down tight. That’s no way to live.”

  “Me and my heart were doing fine and dandy before you showed up with your camera and secrets.”

  “You call working yourself to the bone every day and burying your head in books and notes each night ‘fine and dandy’?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with being career-driven.”

  “There is when you’re missing out on the sweet stuff in life.”

  “Sweet stuff? If you mean sex, you need to open your eyes wider. There’s more to a relationship than good sex.” Her parents had given her a solid example of what a long-term love affair looked like.

  “Sex was better than just ‘good’ between us and you know it.”

  She shrugged. “It was sort of memorable, I guess.” The snub rolled off her tongue before she could rein it in. Weeks of sleepless nights made her aim low.

  His eyes narrowed. “I’m going to bookmark that insult, sweetheart, and we’ll revisit it later.”

  “There isn’t going to be a ‘later,’ Parker.” That would involve more traveling for him, which meant more bouts of temporary insanity for her. As far as she was concerned, this falling in love baloney was for the birds, not an archaeologist with a shitload of work on her plate that required concentration and diligence.

  His laugh was short and hard. “Proving you wrong this time is going to feel so damned good.”

  Taking a step back from him, she blew out a breath. This was not going well. While Quint’s long, silent break from her life made her want to lash out and wound him, she didn’t really want to fight with him. For one thing, it was too damned hot in her tent to think straight; for another, she liked him way too much to keep taking cheap shots.

  “Listen, Quint,” she said in a level voice, rubbing her forehead. “I went through a twisted version of hell while you were gone.”

  “Tell me about it,” he shot back. When she threatened to clock him in the chin, he held up his hands. “I’m serious. Tell me about how you felt over the last few weeks.”

  “Four longggg weeks.” Well, not quite four, but it had felt like four months, damn it.

  “That’s a start. Let ‘er rip.”

  “I’d like to rip you a new one, that’s how I feel. How do I know you don’t have a woman in every country? That all I am is the current ‘Ms. Mexico’ mark on your bedpost?”

  “Jealousy? I didn’t expect that from you.”

  “You think I’m some kind of robot?”

  “No. I know full well you’re flesh and blood from head to toe, but you usually maintain an incredibly tight grip on your emotions.”

  “Which is the exact reason I can’t do this.” She threw up her hands. “The head archaeologist of a dig site cannot be caught sniffling in her tent at night like a silly schoolgirl because she misses her damned boyfriend.”

  His forehead creased. “I’m sorry.”

  She growled in self-disgust and paced to the other side of the tent, keeping her back to him. “I can’t handle your job. I thought I could, but after my ex, I’ve lost faith in my ability to trust.”

  “There are no other women, Angélica. Only you.”

  She turned. “Honestly, it’s not really you who I don’t trust. It’s me. I’ve made amazingly stupid decisions in my past.”

  His jaw tightened. “And you see me as one of them?”

  “No.” She leaned against the tent’s center support pole, trying to find the words for how she felt about her situation. “This is going to sound silly, melodramatic, and probably downright absurd, and I can’t believe that I am going to say the words aloud, but here goes—I think I’m broken inside.”

  “You’re not broken,” he teased, “more like scratched and dented.”

  That made her smile in spite of her uncertainties. “I can’t see how a relationship beyond friendship is ever going to work between us.”

  “It will work if you want it to.”

  “What about what you want?”

  “I’m easy. I want you.” There was no hesitation in his voice.

  She frowned. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because every night I was gone I was thinking about little else besides clearing a path back to you and this lovely corner of hell you call home sweet home.”

  “But what about—”

  “Angélica.” His hand snaked out and captured her by the wrist. “You’re overthinking this.”

  “I’m using logic, Parker. Your career and mine don’t gel.”

  “We’ll find common ground.” He pulled her toward him.

  “I don’t like the emotional roller coaster I go through while you’re gone.”

  “I’ll find a way to leave less often.”

  “That’s not fair to you.” She rested her palms on his chest, the steady beat of his heart comforting, quelling her worries for the moment. “You hate Mexico.”

  “That’s not true.” His fingers combed back a loose strand of her hair. “I dislike only the hot and humid parts. The rest isn’t so bad.”

  “But I can’t ask you to—”

  “Would you shut up, woman, and kiss me already. It’s been a long twenty-four nights without you.”

  Kissing him was a mistake, but she was going to do it anyway. She was done thinking for now and wanted to focus on feeling for a while. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she went up on her toes and angled her head slightly. His lids lowered as he bent down, his focus on her mouth.

  “Quint,” she whispered, their breath mingling.

  “What?”

  “I missed your sorry ass.”

  His chuckle reverberated in his chest. “What else did you miss?”

  “This.” She pressed her lips to his, taking her sweet time, using her tongue and teeth as part of the display. When she leaned fully against him, pressing into his rigid form, he groaned under her onslaught. His arms drew her even closer, his hands exploring her curves, stroking, until they were both sweaty from more than the tent’s stifling heat.

  When she leaned back he smiled down at her. “That’s more like it.”

  “I’m glad you’re here.” She really was, in spite of the last few weeks of heartache and the cursing sure to come.

  “Let me guess, you need my big muscles to help you move some more old stones around?”

  “Something like that.” Resting her cheek on his chest, she breathed in his scent—yep, sunshine and citrus. Her heart swelled dangerously, wanting something she didn’t believe was going to pan out. “How long can you stay this time?” she asked, not sure she wanted to hear his answer.

  “That depends.”

  “On what?”

  “The queries I sent o
ut when I stopped back home for a couple of days to repack for my trip down here.” He toyed with her braid. “Pedro will check my email for me when he flies to Cancun for supplies and let me know if any of my lures have caught a fish.”

  At least he was honest and not promising the moon on a silver platter. “I guess Dad and I had better get you moving those old stones as soon as possible.”

  “Angélica.” When she met his hazel eyes, he told her, “We’re going to make this work between us.”

  Doubts shadowed her thoughts, but she hid them behind a bright smile. “How about we start with you avoiding bullet holes this time?”

  “But you’re so good at kissing them better.”

  She heard footfalls in the weeds on the other side of the tent flap.

  “Dr. García?” Gertrude, one of INAH’s assigned grad students from a university in southern Germany, called for her.

  “I’m in my tent.” She placed her finger over Quint’s lips, her gaze warning him to keep silent.

  “Pedro sent me to get you,” Gertrude said, sounding like she was right outside. “We need you over at the Chakmo’ol Temple immediately.”

  She frowned, stepping clear of Quint’s embrace. “Did someone get hurt?”

  “No. There’s another snake. This one’s even longer than the last one.”

  “Where’s Teodoro?”

  “He’s helping María find herbs in the jungle.”

  “I’ll be there in a moment. Tell everyone to stay away from the snake.”

  After the footfalls in the weeds had moved away, she returned her focus to Quint. “I have to go.”

  “Another snake?” His forehead had several deep Vs centered on it.

  “We seem to have a rattlesnake highway running past the south side of the temple.” She grabbed her machete from where it leaned against her cot, along with the burlap bag on the floor next to it. “But don’t worry. Teodoro and I have gotten very adept at relocating them.”

  “What if they don’t want to be relocated?”

  She shrugged. “María makes a delicious cold snake soup.” The horrified expression on his face made her chuckle under her breath. “I’m kidding about the soup.”

  “Good.”

  “María uses the snake meat in her panuchos.”

  This time, his full-body cringe made her laugh out loud. God, she’d missed messing with him. She let her gaze wash over him, soaking him up. She’d missed the lightness he always added to her step, too. His grins and charm were infectious, dangerously so.

  “Christ, woman. You’re as warped as your father.”

  “He taught me well.” She unzipped the tent and stepped out. “We’re limited on sleeping arrangements at this site. Nobody has a tent to themselves. How do you feel about sleeping in the same tent as Pedro and Fernando?”

  He followed her out. “If you’ll remember, Dr. García, the original deal we made on the beach that night was that you would let me share your tent at each dig site.”

  She nodded, remembering that moment clearly, as well as what had happened later in her bed. Unfortunately, there was a slight snag she hadn’t planned on at that time. “Okay, you can move your gear into my tent. We’ll set up another cot later this afternoon.”

  “What about the extra cot already in there?”

  “It’s taken.”

  “By whom?”

  “My father. You’ll be bunking with the two of us.”

  He cocked his head to the side. “Are you screwing with me again, woman?”

  “Nope.” She rested the machete on her shoulder. “Not now and probably not later either. Dad is a light sleeper most nights.”

  Quint swore under his breath. “This just keeps getting better.”

  “Don’t worry. It’ll get worse again soon.” She patted him on the chest. “I’m off to dance with a snake.”

  “Be careful, boss lady.”

  She glanced down toward his belt buckle, her gaze flirting when it returned to his. “The snake sharing my tent is more dangerous than any hiding in the jungle.”

  “Funny. You’re a real Joan Rivers today.”

  “It’s been so long since I've had sex I've forgotten who ties up whom,” Angélica said in her best imitation of the late, great comedienne.

  He reached out and trailed his finger down her arm, his gaze smoldering. “I’ll be sure to remind you later.”

  A zing of longing made her knees feel rubbery. She gripped the machete handle extra hard. “I hope you brought some earplugs.”

  “Pedro already told me about the nightly jungle serenade.”

  She scoffed. “The creatures outside of our tent are nothing compared to the old beast on the inside. He snores loud enough to wake the dead.”

  * * *

  Sweat rolled down Quint’s back as he chewed on another bite of María’s handmade panucho. This one was stuffed with wild greens and chicken and coated in her spicy orange sauce. In spite of the nirvana going on inside of his mouth, he was 99.9 percent certain that this remote dig site in the Mexican jungle was really one of the nine levels of the Maya Underworld.

  He swallowed, chasing the chicken with a swig of warm beer. He stretched his neck from side to side, trying to ease the tension that had built up after traveling thousands of miles and then performing backbreaking manual labor in an oppressive sauna. He was getting too old for this globe-trotting shit. Settling down appealed more and more every day, but preferably somewhere less stifling than this place. Somewhere like Angélica’s comfy beach house outside of Cancun.

  Headache and sore muscles aside, Quint could barely keep his eyes open. Tomorrow, Angélica and he could begin figuring out how to work out this long-distance relationship hitch. Tonight, he just wanted to fall asleep with her sharing the same square mile with him. If she felt like getting naked at some point in the night and taking advantage of him while he was half-asleep, he had no problem with that either.

  He checked his watch. It was ten past seven. How much longer was Angélica going to hang around after supper? As much as he wanted to catch up on current events at the site, he was going to have to call it a night soon.

  Across the table, Pedro sat between Juan and Fernando, telling them about the screech owl that had flown into the helicopter’s blades while they were landing. Angélica shifted on the bench seat next to him, horizontal lines forming along her forehead as Pedro threw out the words “Yum Cimil” and “muan owl.” She let Pedro finish his tale without interruption, though, probably because the INAH crew, as well as Esteban and Lorenzo, had already eaten and left the tent. There was no risk of spreading fear or causing heart palpitations from the more superstitious of the bunch with most everyone out of earshot.

  By the time Quint had made it to the mess tent after wrapping up the day’s work and unpacking his shower supplies from his backpack, there was only one of the INAH crew left behind. He’d had the pleasure of officially meeting Daisy Walker before she’d headed off to her tent for the night. The petite woman’s blue eyes had twinkled as she shared a knowing look with Angélica after shaking his hand. Unfortunately, the fiction author hadn’t been there. Quint would have to seek out Maverick tomorrow and try to figure out if the guy was legit or not.

  Tuning out Pedro and Angélica arguing about the dead owl, Quint scanned the small, crowded mess tent. Pots and pans hung from rope laced between tent poles, and bowls were stacked up knee high like Russian nesting dolls. How did María manage to make delicious food in such a rudimentary setting? Her kitchen was nothing more than a barbecue grill set out behind the tent and two makeshift, wooden worktables inside. There was no running water, only gallon jugs and a couple of buckets.

  Not that the rest of the site was any more sophisticated. This time around they were basically camping in the rough. The two pit toilets and three solar camp showers were one step above what Quint had experienced during that backpacking trip along the Continental Divide he’d taken in his mid-twenties.

  María’s cooking,
however, raised the bar when compared to the freeze-dried cardboard he’d eaten every night on that hiking trip. Quint stabbed the last bite of panucho on his plate and stuck it in his mouth, savoring the complex spices in the sauce. He washed the last forkful of food down with another swallow of beer.

  Earlier, after Angélica had left to deal with the snake, her father had stopped by the tent, taking Quint on a tour of the grounds. Juan’s lightweight walking cast and cane slowed them down, but Quint enjoyed the more leisurely pace while trying to adjust to the heat and humidity.

  While sharing the known history of the site, Juan added details on what work needed to be accomplished over the next few weeks. By the time he finished and put Quint to work helping to clear the entryway into a temple named after a monkey, Quint understood why Angélica had been willing to pay him from her own reserves to stay and help. There was too much work for too few people.

  According to Juan, this new INAH crew had several well-intentioned helpers, but training and monitoring their progress was slowing down the workflow. If Angélica could have had five more of her own experienced crew instead of the newbies, meeting her objectives wouldn’t have been insurmountable. But the extra time it took to guide the INAH crew had Angélica working late into the night. Juan’s brow had been pinched as he told Quint how many times he’d awoken in the morning and found his daughter sleeping with her pencil in hand and her notebook acting as a pillow.

  Quint didn’t ask Juan about Marianne’s history at the site or why Angélica chose to revisit the place of her mother’s death. The timing didn’t feel right, nor did Quint want to add to the worry lines on Juan’s face.

  Instead, he told Juan about the two polar bear cubs in Greenland that had stolen his expensive tripod and bent it all to hell before they’d finished playing with it and dumped it into the icy Atlantic. Juan’s laughter smoothed out those lines and lightened his mood for the rest of the afternoon. Keeping Juan talking about his plans for shoring up the site’s two main temples made the afternoon fly by as they dripped sweat and swatted away flies and mosquitoes.

  Now here Quint sat, still sweating and itching. He needed a shower and then his cot. A yawn escaped before he could stifle it, drawing Juan’s gaze from across the table.