The guards stopped a respectful distance back.
With herculean effort, she plastered a cordial smile on her face as her whole body shook. She pressed the knife deeper into the folds of her skirt. Her latest encounter proved the knife might come in handy.
“Could you help me get a taxi?” she asked, surprised by her casual tone when urgency pounded at her temples.
The thinner guard raised a hand and like a hallucination in an old B western, a compact car emerged, pulling up to the curb. The faded paint and noticeable dents were a worry. The word “Taxi” painted boldly on the side and the fact security deemed the conveyance trustworthy, eased the coiled tension in her gut.
“Gracias,” Isabella mumbled, when the other guard held the door open for her. If they’d known what she’d brought to their country in her box, they’d escort her to jail. A chill of apprehension sent shivers through her limbs. How had she ended up with passports? She’d had her assistant at the college box up the vest and supplies, marking it with the university’s exempt status. Had Crystal put the passports in? She didn’t believe the girl would have had the time or the knowledge to put together a package of false passports. They had to be false to be worth smuggling. If they caught her with the passports or caught wind she’d smuggled them it was a good probability she’d be in a Guatemalan jail for a long time.
Forcing her lips into a friendly smile, she worked to cover her nervousness. She slid into the back seat, keeping the knife hidden in her skirt the best she could. Her bottom dropped into an indention in the cushion. The blade of the knife pressed against her thigh. The urge to pull it away from her leg was squelched by the unwavering watchful gaze of the guards.
“Enjoy your stay, seño.” The guard tipped his hat, and the taxi jerked away from the curb.
“Where are you going?” the taxi driver asked. His dark brown eyes stared at her from his rearview mirror aimed at an awkward angle to accommodate his slouched position.
“Hotel Casa Amelia, por favor.”
“That will be ten centavos,” said the driver, reaching a hand over the seat.
She dropped the coins into his upturned hand and allowed her body to wilt against the back seat. Sighing, she leaned her head back and wasn’t surprised at the solid feel of wood rather than upholstery. Weariness seeped into her arms and legs. Terror couldn’t take hold until she was locked in her hotel room. She now believed the warnings she read to visitors of this country. Her elation at being able to keep her department fully functional had outshined the warnings.
She’d endure Xib’alb’a, the world beneath the earth ruled by One Death and Seven Death, to keep her department and project alive. She’d worked too long and hard charting the DNA of the Central, North, and South American natives to have things shut down now.
Fear and her nerves subsided. In a few weeks, perhaps even days, she and Virgil would crack the tablet’s code and she could spend all her time on research instead of chasing down funding.
The excitement in Virgil’s voice when he’d called had sparked her excitement. Not only would this trip help her department, it was her first dig outside the U.S. All her internships had been at North American native digs. Finally, she would add an international dig to her resume.
A stretch of open road gave way to dirt streets winding between houses made of crumbling stone, cardboard, and tin. The buildings were more impoverished than any she’d witnessed on reservations or slums of cities. Growing up, she wasn’t allowed anywhere near this type of living conditions. As an anthropologist she had a need to discover if these people were happier than ones in fancy buildings with running water and mortgages they couldn’t pay.
Even as she wished to learn, her sense of survival drew her away from the window as the occupants sitting in front of the small buildings stared forlornly at the vehicle. I have so much. Isabella dug into her backpack as the taxi rolled to a stop at an intersection. Two young boys pounded on her window.
She reached for the handle.
“Do not lower the window,” the driver cautioned and inched the car away from the sullen faces of the boys.
“I could have spared them a centavo or two.” She craned her neck to peer at the small group of children forming in the street behind them. Not one of them had shoes and their clothing hung like rags on their bodies. Her heart went out to the children. She’d been fortunate to always have everything she needed and to never feel hungry. Never know desperation. Only loneliness.
“If you had offered, they would have surrounded the vehicle.” He glanced at her in the mirror. “You must learn not to show your wealth here or to give. Those who have less will take advantage.”
Those were the same words her travel agent and Virgil had told her. Virgil’s exact words had been, “Don’t let that tender heart of yours get you in trouble before the guide I’m sending shows up.”
“We are here, seño, Hotel Casa Amelia.”
The car stopped in front of a three-story white stucco building with fresh green trim. The inviting open door and lush plants in pots on either side welcomed. This part of town held none of the poverty they’d just traveled through.
The driver draped an arm over the front seat. His good-natured smile was the first sign of welcome she’d witnessed since setting foot in Guatemala.
“Gracias. Since you speak English so well, could I ask you a couple questions?” She raised the hand with the knife, and his eyes widened. “If I keep this will I get in trouble?”
“Where did you get a knife such as this, seño?” His gaze remained riveted on the long, wide blade as she held it up for him to see.
“A man outside the airport.”
“They do not sell those as souvenirs.”
A nervous giggle tickled her throat. “No, they don’t.” She shoved her light-weight glasses back up to the bridge of her nose and wiped at the dampness clinging to her neck and chest. “A man wanted my box. I tried to tell him it was mine. My name was clearly written on it, but when it popped opened, my belongings weren’t inside.”
His eyes narrowed. “What was inside? Did you tell this to the security?”
“I was afraid if they saw the knife and then I told them…” She held her tongue. She’d said too much to a stranger already.
Isabella shook her head. “All that matters is my vest and supplies are gone. I have to get more before I continue on to the archeological dig at Ch’ujuña.”
The man stared at her then waved at the knife. “Would you know this man if you saw him again?”
“Yes. Even though at first the only thing I saw was this knife, I’ll not forget his nasty teeth or his dark eyes.” A shudder rippled her skin.
“How did you get the knife?” His dark eyes studied her face.
Her face heated under his scrutiny and her mortification, realizing how close she came to possibly losing her life. “I knocked the knife and the box to the ground when my pack slipped and swung.” She hadn’t done anything as daring as her movie idol Indiana Jones. No, clumsiness saved me, not bravery. Her heart hammered realizing what the consequences could have been if her backpack hadn’t become off balance. She had no doubt the man would have hurt her to gain the package.
“You are very lucky.” He exited the car and came to her door.
Lucky? She wrung her shaking hands as he opened the door. She’d never believed in luck, but this was the first time her clumsiness worked for good.
Isabella slid out and stood next to the driver who was a bit shorter than her five-eight height. Her sandals were a small barrier to the heat of the cobblestone street. She dug in the outside pocket of her backpack where she kept a small amount of money for tips and necessities. “If I give you the same amount as the ride here and extra money to wait ten minutes while I write up a list of items for you to get, would you be interested?” She counted out ten coins and what she deemed would pay for the items she’d need.
The driver smiled. “I would be happy to help you, seño.”
&
nbsp; “Good, give me about ten minutes to get registered and make a list.”
He nodded and Isabella entered the welcoming doors of the Casa Amelia.
Chapter 2
Augustino Constantine waited in the lobby of the Hotel Casa Amelia for a frumpy old anthropologist to arrive. Her plane had landed two hours ago. What kept her? He didn’t wait well. Never had. He liked to be in motion. When in motion he was harder to catch.
He lowered his newspaper to view the young woman striding into the hotel. Thin, average height, and even without curves, she was far more interesting than the paper he’d reread the past hour. A flowing, wrinkled, colorful skirt swirled around her long legs, and a cotton sleeveless top clung to the dampness between her breasts, accenting two pert nipples. The weight of her backpack, pulling her shoulders back, amplified the fact she didn’t wear a bra.
Attention piqued by her lack of certain clothing, he studied her closer. A long, reddish-brown braid stopped at the middle of her back. Her narrow face hosted thick eyebrows that couldn’t be hidden by the skimpy glasses she pushed up the bridge of her small nose sprinkled with just enough freckles to give her a youthful appearance. She had full sensual lips. Staring at them brought to mind many ways they could pleasure.
This could be a good form of entertainment this evening.
She approached the registration desk.
“Seño, how may I help you?” the clerk asked with more enthusiasm than he had when Tino registered.
She deposited her backpack on the floor at her feet. The horn handle of a twelve inch Guatemalan blade protruded from the side pocket. Tino’s curiosity spiked another notch.
“I have a reservation. Dr. Isabella Mumphrey.”
Tino snapped the paper down and stared even harder at the woman. This was the frumpy, old anthropologist he was to guide? His gaze scanned the length of her one more time while tuning in the conversation.
“Ahh, Dr. Mumphrey, Dr. Martin said you were to get the finest room, no?” The clerk acted like a simpering fool giving the doctor her key and expounding on all the wonders of the hotel.
“Gracias. May I borrow a paper and pencil? I need to make a list for the taxi driver.”
The clerk handed her the items. She stepped to the side of the counter and began writing.
Why would she make a list for a taxi driver? Curious, Tino folded the paper and strolled to a spot beside her. So intent on her list, she didn’t even acknowledge his presence as he leaned, reading the items. Army knife, candle, braided fishing line, hooks, swivels, 24 gauge snare wire…
“You are planning a trip into the jungle, no?”
She started at his voice. Deep green eyes rimmed in gold stared at him from behind wire-rimmed lenses. She blinked, focused on him, and narrowed her eyes.
“Didn’t your mother teach you manners? You don’t look over people’s shoulders to see what they’re doing.” She picked up her list and held it to her damp shirt.
“Mi mamá did teach me manners, no? I am Tino Kosta, your guide to the dig at Ch’ujuña.” He held out his hand waiting for her to shake.
Her gaze traveled from his extended hand up his arm to his face. She squinted her eyes and glared at him.
“You’re not of Mesoamerican descent, so you can’t possibly be my guide. Are you in cahoots with the disgusting little man who stole my property?” She bent toward her backpack, giving him a good view down the front of her blouse.
Si, she didn’t wear a bra. The nipples peaking through her clingy shirt sat atop a palm-sized mounds. Now, being a man who liked his hands filled to overflowing when it came to handling a woman—
“¡Carajo!” The pointed end of the large knife that had been tucked in the doctor’s backpack waved inches from his nose. “What is this about?” A woman who ran around without undergarments shouldn’t be offended by a man viewing her body.
“You tell me what this is about? I was naïve once today. I won’t make that mistake a second time with you banditos.”
He had to give her credit. The knife didn’t shake, and her words dripped with the right amount of bravado and control.
“Dr. Mumphrey, Ezzabella…”
She frowned at the use of her given name.
Tino shrugged, sent her a smile he reserved only for his grandmother, abuela Juanita, and resumed, “I am not a bandito, and Dr. Virgil Martin did hire me to bring you to the dig.”
Her gaze slid from his face to the knife and back. “Show me proof you are who you say you are.”
He slipped a hand in his pocket and drew out his guide credentials and driver’s license provided by the Drug Enforcement Agency. “I cannot give you Dr. Martin’s request. He contacted me by phone.” Okay, he lied on that one. He hadn’t spoken to Dr. Martin. The guide Martin hired was probably celebrating with his family. It wasn’t often he was paid triple to let someone else do his work.
Isabella lowered the knife and scrutinized his credentials and driver’s license.
“Seño, is your list ready?” A man, Tino recognized as an undercover policia walked into the hotel.
“I’m sorry, I was distracted and haven’t finished.” Isabella set the knife on the counter and returned to her list.
“What is the list for?” Only disreputable people or fools made friends with the policia. More than half in the rural areas were corrupt and involved with the very people he was out to destroy.
“My vest and survival gear were stolen en route. I need to replace them before I go into the jungle.” She continued writing, her eyes remained fixed on her growing list.
“I have everything we will need for the trip.”
“There are items I prefer to have with me.” She leveled a determined gaze on him and pushed her glasses up. For a slip of a woman she exuded authority and snobbery.
“¿Seño?” The man he knew to be a policia studied Tino.
“You can go.” Tino waved the man away.
“I need my things.” The panic in her eyes would have been laughable if her hand hadn’t gripped the knife handle. “I can’t go into digs without my gear.”
“We will drive to Sayaxche tomorrow. It is better outfitted for the jungle traveler than this town. You can write your list in your room with air conditioning.”
Her eyes widened at the words “air conditioning”.
She turned to the policia. “Gracias for waiting. I’ll get my things myself tomorrow.” She held out a slender hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you. And thank you for your advice.”
The man smiled warmly and clasped her hand. “Que Dios la acompañe en sus viajes. Luck be with you on your travels.”
The warm smile and genuine warmth in Dr. Mumphrey’s eyes surprised Tino. She’d come across as a hard-edged, snobby scholar until now.
“Gracias.” She released the policia’s hand and retrieved her knife and backpack. She turned to him. “What time do we set out in the morning?”
Tino wasn’t willing to give away anything with the policia stalling by engaging the clerk in a conversation. He snatched her backpack and placed a hand on her elbow, escorting her toward the terrace in the back.
“I’ll take my pack, and why are you hauling me out here?” She struggled against his hold on her and reached for her bag.
“I wanted to show you this.” He motioned to the sun setting over Lake Petén Itza to distract her. He didn’t need the policia or clerk butting into the conversation.
“Oh my!” The whispered words held reverence. Dr. Mumphrey unzipped a pocket on her backpack and pulled out a small camera.
Tino watched her adjust dials and snap photos. She immersed herself in the scene, changing angles and muttering. The glass-like lake with the mountains looming behind never failed to invoke this reaction from visitors. Gazing beyond the woman to the setting sun over the water, he wondered how long it had been since he’d really appreciated the beauty around him. Too long. He rolled his head and shook out the tense muscles in his shoulders. Not since he vowed to avenge his family�
�s deaths.
Dr. Mumphrey drew in two long, deep breaths and slowly exhaled. He shifted his view to encompass the woman. Her body relaxed, the simplicity of innocence softened her features. He’d believed from the woman’s name, occupation, and status, he would guide an old British woman who was a hardened traveler. This woman should still be in grad school if his deduction of her age wasn’t as misplaced as his impression of her name.
She faced him. “Why did you drag me onto this terrace?” A slender finger pushed her glasses back in place.
“How did you come to know the man who brought you here?” He doubted she knew him to be the policia. He wasn’t in uniform, and she hadn’t treated him like he held any authority.
“He was my taxi driver from the airport. Why?” She leaned closer, a quizzical expression on her face. “You weren’t very nice to him.” Her tone reminded him of his mamá’s scolding. His heart squeezed with regrets and the empty pain memories of his family evoked.
Tino motioned to two chairs on the edge of the terrace. Dr. Mumphrey sat but held her hand out for her bag. He handed it to her. “How did you acquire such a fine example of a Guatemalan knife? You just arrived, no?”
Her face paled. “A man at the airport…” Rather than the hard-edged tone she’d used on him so far, her voice wavered.
“The bandito you accused me of friending?”
“Yes. I barely stepped outside the airport and this man, with this knife,” she tapped the handle, “accused me of having his package.” She peered into his eyes. “It was my box. Security didn’t allow me to bring some of my survival items on the plane in my backpack, so I packed them and my vest in a box and sent it through baggage using the university’s exempt status for packages. You know, to avoid the delay of an inspection.” Isabella shrugged. Her whole body slumped into the chair as if deflated.
Tino resisted the urge to rub a hand up and down her arm. Instead, he curled his fingers around the chair arm. He couldn’t become attached or feel anything for anyone. This assignment required he get into the jungle around the Ch’ujuña dig. DEA had received word a new drug route into Mexico was being set up. Nothing gave him as much pleasure as apprehending and putting behind bars the men under the man responsible for his family’s death. One by one he would take away Garza’s underlings, and then his family, until he felt the same loss Tino lived with.
9 Ways to Fall in Love Page 84