“Malokeen, Don Luis, Jago.” Wishing the men good morning, he inclined his head slightly. Such deference along with the honorific of don showed his respect.
The younger man, Jago, nodded and stepped back a pace, deferring to the chief Jaguar Priest.
Don Luis clasped his hands together. In recent weeks, the lines on his countenance seemed to have deepened. He returned the Mayan greeting. “Profesor, my friend, have you word from Señorita Fontaine?” he continued in Spanish.
“I do indeed,” Morales said. “She has arrived in Cabo Blanco.”
“And the Kizin statue?”
“She has brought it with her. She and her guide will leave tomorrow or the next day.”
“My people are frightened. Two tremors yesterday, another this morning. Kizin is warning us. El Día Maldito approaches. Will the señorita arrive, will the statue arrive in time?” Don Luis’s Adam’s apple leaped in his wrinkled throat as he swallowed hard.
“The journey is arduous but not long. She will arrive with time to spare. Do not fear.”
Brown eyes intense and wary, the assistant priest stepped forward to stand beside his mentor. When Don Luis nodded, Jago said, “Her guide? I thought our men would guide her on the old limestone sacbé, as Don Luis directed.”
Morales frowned, searching his memories of previous communications. Ah, yes, the theft. “This man is her personal guide and bodyguard. She fears an attempt to steal Kizin. The American will protect her and Kizin, and Arturo and Constantino will lead them here, as agreed. All will be well.”
But Don Luis was no longer listening. The two priests looked around, eyes wide, and Jago hustled Don Luis away from the stone walls of the temple.
No animals called. No birds. And then Morales heard the rumble.
Adrenaline flooded his veins, scrambling his pulse. “Héctor, bring the crew! Everyone, get out into the open, away from the buildings, away from the trees.”
They knew the drill but he couldn’t help warning them anyway. All knew the story of how sixty years ago an uprooted palm had crushed Gregory Fontaine.
He hurried to join the priests in the center of the plaza. The ground shook, and he stumbled to his knees. Arms lifted him and he found himself herded along by Héctor and a graduate student. She made the sign of the cross as they ran.
Dust floated up, trees swayed, and the ground rippled like a shaken blanket. The rumbling crescendoed in a deafening roar as if a monster bore down on K’eq Xlapak. Morales and the others planted their feet and held onto each other. He prayed this was only another tremor and not the major quake he feared, the one that would crumble the ancient ruined city to pebbles and open the earth for Kizin’s Underworld to swallow them all.
He’d told Don Luis all would be well. Ay, Dios mío, if only I believed it myself.
***
Cabo Blanco
Max paced the flagstones in front of the hotel steps. After arranging a meeting with their Maya guides, he’d suggested to Kate they check out the plaza. A good way for him to scope out the hotel’s neighborhood. An early morning shower had brightened the plaza but not his mood.
He kicked the base of the nearest pillar. How long could it take for Kate to fetch her sunglasses from her room?
Damn. That wasn’t what steamed him like this climate. The woman operated like an army CO. Assumed everything was going to skate along because she organized it.
He’d set them up with rooms overlooking the plaza so he could keep an eye on comings and goings, but she nixed the adjoining part. What, she thought he’d sneak in and jump her bones? Not that he’d mind some horizontal tango with her. Shit, he’d never forced a woman and never would. Fucking miracle he managed a calm reply.
Told her the Cabo Grande might be secure from bedbugs, but he couldn’t count out bad guys after Kizin. Probably shouldn’t have added the rest—that she was paying DSF for him to protect her and Kizin and how could he do that from down the hall... darlin’.
She’d pursed her luscious lips and tapped her foot before yielding, but giving in had obviously chafed like sandpaper on sunburn. Just remembering chafed the hell out of him.
Although the hotel was their best choice, the Cabo Grande had no safe for guests’ valuables. Like a jade statue with emerald eyes. Not that she’d let it out of her sight or trust him with the damn thing. She insisted Kizin was secure in the base of the camera bag, and with her.
She wasn’t making his job easy, for damn sure. Once in his room, he’d checked on his knife and his Beretta Px4 Storm. Made sure the pistol was in working order, loaded it, and set the safety. If he needed more weapons he’d buy them here.
She’d handled the general’s offer without a blink but the hotel-room snafu threw her. Only the first shock, he reckoned. He pictured the fear pinching her face when she saw the gun-toting drinker. She recovered fast enough then. Guts and determination. Or was her stubbornness her need for control?
He shouldn’t let her tick him off. What could he do? Nada. If only she didn’t know about Doug and Istanbul, it’d be easier to ask her about her brother’s artifact trading without her realizing he was gathering info.
He turned from the plaza to see her crossing the lobby toward him, the camera bag slung over one slim shoulder. Her wide smile when she spotted him made her beautiful face glow and whacked him right in the solar plexus. And lower. Hell, I get a hard-on when I’m supposed to interrogate her?
He jammed on his aviators at the same time she slid on her sunglasses.
They strolled across the steaming pavestones. Children called out, hawking chewing gum and hard candy.
Small shops ringed the square—clothing, fruit and vegetables, ice cream, jewelry. Aromas of peppers, onions, and unidentifiable spices floated from a café. Vendors at kiosks and tables, women with shopping bags, a few men in a group smoking near the central fountain. No other norteamericanos.
Kate set her sunglasses on top of her red-gold hair, bound in a ponytail, and examined embroidered handkerchiefs in a vendor’s stall.
A lanky man with a stringy mustache ambled toward them, and Max turned to observe him. Mustache crossed to the fountain and joined the smokers. But his gaze kept returning to Max and Kate. The man’s bearing marked him as former military. Unemployed, if he was hanging around on a weekday morning. Maybe he was just admiring the beautiful woman. Or maybe he’d been paid to watch them.
Max would rather admire Kate’s legs, on display in a knee-length khaki skirt, but kept Mustache in his peripheral vision. Somebody could’ve hired a mug like him, even Sedgwick, and it’d be nuts to discount Centaur. The black-market ring sent their thugs all over the world. And hired extras in places like Costa Verde.
Mustache left the smokers and entered a bar on the other side of the plaza.
Kate withdrew a small purse from a side pocket of the camera bag. She paid the vendor for five handkerchiefs and slid on her shades. “Gracias.” To Max, she said, “Something for my mother, even though she deplores my coming here.”
“But the family must’ve gone with the professor on expeditions.”
“We did, sometimes.” Her shoulders twitched in what might be irritation or a defensive gesture as they wandered along. Aromas of grilling goat meat wafting from a vendor stall made his mouth water. “Mostly Central and South America, but a few times to South Africa. Mom fretted about the dangers then too.”
“Any fieldwork since? With Doug?
“Definitely not with my brother on his treasure hunts. And nothing since I started work at the museum. My last digs were as a summer intern in grad school. Anasazi pueblos in southwest Colorado.”
He snorted a laugh. “Summer camp.”
Lips pursed, she whipped off her sunglasses. “Yes, I know the jungle’s not the same. I know I haven’t your experience or expertise. I know the trek’ll be hot and exhausting and dangerous. If you don’t know by now I won’t fold, keep it to yourself. Dammit, Max, I’m paying you to do a job, not question my competence.”
She studied him for a moment, then nodded and replaced the glasses. “Okay, then.” She set off toward the blue stucco church.
Max followed, resettling his ball cap on his head. Competence? Defensive? Oh yeah, darlin’. More going on with Kate than rescuing baby brother and returning Kizin. The lady had something to prove. Okay with him, as long as the risks didn’t mean impulsive moves that’d ratchet up the danger meter, like her coin trick inside Sedgwick’s vault.
They meandered past the church and stopped in front of the leather shop. The rich smells of tanned hides invited them inside. Nobody seemed to be paying them undue attention.
Various leather goods hung on racks and covered small tables. Max followed Kate’s example and smiled at the proprietor, a small dark woman in the traditional embroidered dress, seated on a folding chair by the doorway.
She returned his greeting but her sharp gaze followed him as he lifted a tooled belt with a silver buckle from a display.
Not his style. Too flashy. He glanced at Kate, who appeared focused on wallets. “Rescuing your brother this way is a big challenge. You and Doug must be close.”
She slanted him a questioning look. No wonder. His question came out of left field. “Not so much now,” she said, “but we were tight growing up. Even though he was a little pain sometimes, he stood up to anyone who hassled his big sister the bookworm.” She blushed and lowered her gaze to the leather goods.
“You and your brother partner often for antiquities buys?”
She set down a red fringed wallet and picked up a simple black one. “Once in a while, if he can talk me into a loan.” A wistful smile on her lips, she shrugged. “Or if it’s a piece that interests me.”
“Like what?” He replaced the belt and fingered a leather vest.
Her head tilted as if she searched her memory. “There was a set of three French Victorian jewelry boxes.”
Perfect for her. Probably nothing Max needed to take note of. “You bought one?”
“All three. I gave one to my mother.” She rifled through a bunch of key cases. “My work for the museum doesn’t interest her much, unless there’s an opening reception, but she does occasionally appreciate the results of Doug’s treasure hunts.”
“Like the jewelry box.”
She nodded. “I miss haggling with him over his finds. “He’s injured, you know. Not just the leg, his head... I—” She fluttered a hand and appeared to sniff back tears.
Dammit, this conversation had taken a left turn. “Hey, he’s probably haggling with the kidnappers. Giving them a hard time.”
Kate flashed him a wobbly smile. “Sounds like my brother. Thanks.”
“DSF will find him, get him out of there.” He couldn’t tell her not to worry. They both had a hell of a lot to worry about—tremors, animal and human predators for starters.
He left the shade of the shop’s awning and checked out the plaza scene again. No sign of Mustache. No point in scaring Kate, so he wouldn’t mention the man unless he popped up again. “So Doug twists your arm when he needs help buying some pricey item?”
She murmured assent. Holding up a key case, she signaled to the woman, who hurried over with a waist pouch of cash. A moment later, Kate joined him in the sunshine. “Enough shopping. Small gifts for Mom and a new case for my keys.”
One more shot and then he’d back off. For today. “Big-ticket items like artifacts or is Doug into gold coins like Sedgwick had?” he asked as they wandered back toward the hotel.
“No coins.” She slipped on her sunglasses. “Awhile ago he wanted help buying a couple of ancient Greek pieces he found in Alexandria.”
His pulse kicked up like a colt let out to pasture. “Like what?”
“A Corinthian bronze helmet and a gorgeous glazed amphora painted with the image of the goddess Nike.”
The descriptions sounded familiar. He filed them away to send Mara later. “Cool. I’d like to see those. I bet you went for them for your museum.”
She shook her head. “Too expensive and I wasn’t certain of the provenance. Doug managed alone.” She slid the shades down her nose. “Why are you so interested?”
Tingling spread across the back of his neck. He rubbed his nape and shrugged. “No special reason. Just making conversation.”
“Uh huh.” She hiked the camera bag higher on her shoulder and walked on.
He let out his breath. Subtle, Devlin had said. Next time he’d have to be more careful.
Chapter Eight
Kate glanced at Max as he drove their rented SUV to the dockside warehouse storing the crate of supplies she’d shipped.
Even driving, he maintained that soldier-like vigilance. And his trademark grim face. Checking the rearview mirror, the side streets, everything, like this morning. As they’d explored the shops, he never stopped surveying the plaza. Protecting her, from what she didn’t know, in an open square. And what was his reason for the questions about Doug’s artifact trading? Still something to do with Istanbul? She’d pay closer attention if he asked again and press him for a better answer.
“Ah, on our left, there’s Our Lady of the Rosary. It’s one of the oldest churches in Central America.” The ornate colonial Baroque style needed paint but the stonework and statues in several niches were intact.
When Max turned toward her, a bemused expression twitching the corner of his mouth, she shut up, her mouth suddenly dry from chattering like a monkey with what she knew of the country.
It was the third church she’d pointed out. She never babbled. She must be boring him to numbness. Chalk it up to nerves. She unscrewed the top of her blue Nalgene canteen, took a sip, and licked a stray drop from her lower lip.
His scowl deepened. Looking away, he rubbed his nape.
What that was about she hadn’t a clue. She shrugged and took another drink.
Once away from the city’s central square, the SUV wove through narrow, unpaved streets. Kate shook her head at the tumbledown tin and stucco shacks they were passing. “Costa Verde was once a prosperous country.”
Rainwater and—from the rank smell—sewage flowed in a ditch on one side. A skinny dog lapped muddy water from a pothole. Women scrubbed clothes at a communal fountain.
“Earthquake damage and political turmoil have been costly. The old dictator propped himself up, not the country, for too long.”
“I think President Aguilar has made reforms, but they have a long way to go.”
“You’re on the money. The markets in the plaza were selling more goods today than I remember from before,” he said, his intent gaze flicking to the rearview and side mirrors, hands flexing on the steering wheel.
“What is it?”
“Don’t look, but we have company.”
She went still but her mind raced. “Following us?”
“Man in the blue sedan behind us. He was watching us in the plaza earlier. Another man’s riding shotgun.”
She leaned closer to the door and checked her side mirror, but could see only the vehicle, not the occupants. “Max?”
He squeezed the hand she was white-knuckling on the camera bag. “They seem to be tailing us, not threatening. Locals, maybe hired by the general. I want you to get on the floor. Just a precaution.”
Pulse scrambling, she undid the seatbelt and folded her knees so she could scoot onto the floor. She dragged the bag with her and clutched it to her chest. The rough mat smelled of nameless dirt but she forced deep breaths to dispel the dizziness behind her eyes.
“Hold on. I’m gonna take this next left fast.”
Max knew what he was doing. Evasive maneuvers, like she’d seen in a hundred movies. His jaw was set, making him look more hardened than ever. He’d taken out the Beretta and placed it on the console tray.
God, please don’t let it come to gunfire.
He spun the wheel, rocking the SUV and throwing her off balance against the
seat cushion. Her breath blew out in a whoosh but she held onto the camera bag. They were speeding along now, bouncing in ruts and potholes. She kept her gaze on Max, wishing she could emulate his iron control instead of trembling all over.
After two more jouncing turns, they slowed.
“It’s okay,” Max said, his voice soft. “You can get up now. They’re gone.”
She levered herself up into the seat and buckled up. “You lost them.” If only she didn’t sound so breathless. But thank God for his alertness and experience.
He shot her a wry grin. “Not really. They turned off at that last corner. Must’ve figured I made ’em. Probably weren’t supposed to be noticed. Amateurs.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Somebody or more than somebody is too interested in us for safety. We need to speed up this operation as soon as we meet these guides of yours.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Not that the back country would be any less hazardous, but at least they’d be moving forward. Closer to Doug.
When her pulse returned to something approximating normal, she once again looked around them. More tin shacks lined the dirt road. Returning Kizin would bolster the country’s cultural heritage, maybe the tourist trade. Too inadequate, but maybe she could come up with something more. “Where are we?”
“I see cranes and masts ahead. So we’re on track for the docks.” Max braked for four barefoot children kicking a soccer ball. They scampered aside and waved. “What exactly is in the warehouse?”
“I didn’t know what I’d be able to find here, so I purchased all our equipment in the States and shipped the crate. Tents and other camping gear, mosquito netting, lanterns.” She held up her list of purchases. “We’ll buy food here, of course.”
“Of course.” They reached the harbor, and Max turned left toward the commercial docks. “Did you consult my boss on this?”
As he steered around three dogs asleep in the rutted street, the SUV’s swaying threw her against her seatbelt and closer to him. Sun-heated skin laced with soap. Strong jaw in a hard profile. Sinewy muscles bulging below the short sleeves of his T-shirt. After a beat, she straightened in her seat and returned her gaze to the front. Awareness still filling her senses, she smoothed her hands down her skirt. Now was not the time. Not that there’d ever be a time.
On Deadly Ground (Devlin Security Force Book 1) Page 7