Buried Secrets

by Margaret Daley

  Maggie froze a few feet into the office, then pivoted toward the man. “Work with you? I never said I was going to do that.” The very idea still didn’t sit well with her, even though logically she knew she should work with him if she wanted to find out what was going on.

  “Then why are you here?”

  The sound of the door clicking closed shimmied down her. “You know, that is a good question.”

  He arched a brow. “And? Are you going to answer it?”

  “No.” Because she didn’t have an answer. Why was she here? In the light of a new day she wondered if what had happened less than twenty-four hours ago was all a dream. The one thing she did know was that her grandfather would be furious if he knew she was talking with the enemy.

  “So you aren’t convinced that Jake Somers was murdered?”

  “Gramps’s horse got spooked, and it threw him. That wasn’t the first time he had fallen from one. This time he hit his head on a rock.” As she stated the facts told to her by the sheriff, she tried to distance herself from the situation, but she couldn’t shake the vision of Gramps lying at the top of the mesa for half a day until his body had been discovered by a ranch hand, who had found her grandfather’s horse riderless near the barn.

  “Accidents can be faked. How do you explain your grandfather’s house being ransacked yesterday, like my grandfather’s was?”

  “Everyone knew about Gramps’s funeral.” Of course, those people were his friends and neighbors, whom she couldn’t imagine robbing him. So the possibility that Zach Collier might be right had taken root in her mind while she had tossed and turned in her bed. Finally at five in the morning she’d given up the pretense of sleeping, and had done some research concerning Zach Collier on the Internet. She’d read about his grandfather’s death and about Zach’s disappearance the year before in the Amazon. Everyone had thought he was dead until his sister, Kate, had found him living with a tribe of Indians in a remote part of the jungle.

  Zach went behind his desk and sat. “Was anything taken?”

  “I don’t know. I still have a lot to clean up.” She lowered herself onto a chair nearby, and although a desk separated them, the room was too small, too intimate with its wall-to-wall bookcases filled with Indian artifacts interspersed among scientific volumes, mostly dealing with chemistry and biology. She felt enclosed in a tomb, drawn toward this man against her better judgment.

  “I noticed the television was still there. His guns. Those are items a robber would steal.”

  “True.” And Gramps’s prized Indian collection had been trashed, not stolen. “Maybe you scared them away.” She was grasping at straws, but she just wasn’t ready to admit to the possibility her grandfather had been murdered. The implication shook her very foundation.

  “So you don’t think my theory holds up?” He tapped his fingers against the padded arm of his chair.

  “I didn’t say that. I’m here to listen. I owe that much to Gramps.”

  He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly dinnertime. Let’s go someplace and eat. I talk better on a full stomach.”

  “So like a man to say that,” she muttered as she rose.

  He chuckled. “So much of my life has been spent in primitive surroundings searching for the next wonder drug, that when I can I indulge in the finer things in life, like good food.”

  “I read in the newspaper last year about your company’s troubles.”

  His eyes widened. “You read about a Collier?”

  “I like to be informed about the family enemy. Actually, Gramps took great pleasure in showing me the article. You lost the company?”

  He shrugged. “One of my partners was dealing in illegal drugs. By the time the dust settled the company was in shambles.”

  “So you came here?” Maggie gestured around her.

  “My grandfather needed me. I came to be close to him and do something different with my life. I’ve discovered I enjoy teaching, as well as researching. Here I get to do both.”

  When Maggie walked to the office door, Zach reached around to open it. His arm grazed hers. An electrical jolt streaked through her. It took all her willpower not to jump back from his touch, not to show him that he could make her react to his very nearness. She sent him a shaky smile as she stepped into the corridor. He returned it with a mind-shattering one that made her legs wobble.

  While she strode next to him toward the parking lot, she tried to steel herself against the charm that seemed to come to him so effortlessly today. She reminded herself that he wanted something from her, so of course he would turn it on. It could probably be turned off just as easily. She recalled the evening before. Right now he fit into the civilized environment around him, but she strongly suspected he was more at home in the jungle, with its raw primitiveness. The article she had read had recounted the story of him being lost in the Amazon for weeks, and his near death. His life had been saved by a group of Indians who shunned outsiders, and yet had taken him into their tribe.

  “You can follow me, or I can drive and bring you back later. I have to come back anyway to do some work tonight.” Zach paused at her car.

  “Your hours are as bad as a medical doctor’s.”

  “At the end of the term, I’m mounting an expedition into the jungle, so there’s work to be done. I do it when I can. I have four weeks to get everything done.”

  “And find your grandfather’s killer, too?”

  His look sharpened. “And yours. I’ll make the time if I have to. I owe my grandfather a lot.”

  As she did hers. The thought emphasized a bond between them she wished she could deny. They each loved their grandfathers. “I’ll ride with you. It’ll give us more time to talk.”

  Zach indicated his red sports car a few spaces away. “Bought and paid for by me.”

  Heat singed her cheeks.

  “Another one of my indulgences,” he explained. “I love to feel power beneath me, and I have a fondness for old cars.”

  “I guess it beats riding donkeys or walking.” She followed him to his classic 1968 Corvette.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I like the jungle. There’s something about it that keeps drawing me back.”

  That fit him. Zach Collier had a way of stripping away civilization to its primeval core. His lean power, leashed at the moment, made her wary. He was a dangerous man on more than one level, different from anyone she had met. She knew his partner had tried to kill him, and he had survived.

  Seated in his car, Maggie let the silence linger between them as he weaved his way through traffic. She didn’t look at him, but instead concentrated on the view to her side. Although she’d said they could talk on the way to the restaurant, she was tired, plain and simple. That was the only reason this man was getting to her. After spending part of the morning researching him on the Internet, she was beginning to wonder if there was anything he couldn’t do. He had several doctorates and knew many languages. His interests were varied—from finding a new drug in the wilds of the rain forest to spending time with an isolated tribe of Indians. He had come into her grandfather’s house yesterday, stared down the barrel of a rifle and not flinched.

  She leaned back, letting the smooth ride lure her into a semiconscious state. If she could just catch up on her sleep, she was sure she would be her old self again—confident, in control, her thoughts neat and organized, not centered on the man next to her.

  When Zach pulled into a parking lot at a Mexican restaurant in the foothills of Albuquerque, she didn’t want to get out. That meant she would have to listen to him tell her why he thought her grandfather had been murdered. Suddenly the thought of someone deliberately causing Gramps’s riding accident knotted her stomach. It also meant, if Zach was right, that she was in danger from some unknown source because she had the diary, and she suspected that someone knew it. Was that the person who’d followed her last night? In the back of her mind, she’d hoped it had been Zach.

  “After you left last night, what did you do?” Sh
e climbed from the Corvette.

  The mention of the evening before caused his eyes to become diamond hard. “Went home to nurse my wounded pride. I never thought I would have such a difficult time convincing someone she may be in danger. Of course, I’ve never been arrested before, either.”

  Maggie paused at the entrance into the restaurant. “You didn’t follow me into Santa Fe?” She was ninety percent sure of the answer, but she needed to hear it from him.

  “No, I live here.” When she started to open the door, he placed a hand on her arm and swung her around to face him. “Why? Did something happen after I left?”

  The feel of his fingers on her momentarily captivated her attention.

  “Maggie, what happened?”

  “I was followed into town.”

  “That must mean the person doesn’t have the diary, then.”

  “It’s not at my grandfather’s house.” She couldn’t tell him everything just yet. She couldn’t shake off the years of hating the name Collier overnight. She wasn’t even sure if it would ever be possible to completely trust someone with that last name, however irrational that might sound. By his own admission Zach had been close to Red Collier, and that man would have given anything to have the map and the diary, had tried years ago to be the sole owner of both. Was Zach fulfilling a deathbed wish to get the monk’s journal and solve the mystery of the lost Aztecs and their codices? Her thoughts chilled her. She normally wasn’t a person who mistrusted and questioned every move someone made, but after the day before, she would be doing that more. Her life might very well depend on it.

  “If they have the diary, then why follow you?” Zach asked after they had been seated and the waitress had taken their orders.

  “That’s the first question we can ask them when we find them.” She hoped her flippant answer would keep him from probing any deeper, because she couldn’t out-and-out lie to him. She’d never been a good actress.

  He rubbed the back of his neck, his forehead furrowed. “This whole business doesn’t make a whole lot of sense. Our grandfathers have had the map and diary for years. Why the interest in them now?”

  “Exactly. I’m still not totally convinced anything is going on.”

  “What will it take to convince you?”

  “You say you weren’t the one who followed me, but—”

  He bent forward, his eyes pinpoints, anger slashing his face. “Do you have to get killed to believe me? Something is going on, and the person behind it won’t stop until he gets what he wants. As to why now, I’m not sure. It wasn’t common knowledge that our grandfathers had the map and diary. Maybe one of them talked.”

  “In recent years Gramps had decided the rumors he had heard years ago were just that, rumors based on legend, not facts. He didn’t think the diary was important to anyone but him. He retrieved all the information he needed for his anthropological study of the Aztec Indians at the time of the Spanish conquest, but he never discussed the diary with anyone but me and my father. I don’t even think my mother knew about it.” She folded her arms and glared across the table at him. “Gramps didn’t say anything.”

  Zach averted his gaze for a few seconds. “I can’t say that about my granddad. He had a stroke a couple of months ago, and he would sometimes ramble on about the past. He could have said something. But most people probably wouldn’t have realized what he was talking about.”

  “But maybe one did?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you know who visited him?”

  “Not for sure. A lot of his old colleagues from the college came to see him, but the rehabilitation center didn’t keep a list of visitors. I asked.”

  She was well aware that Red Collier had gone on to garner quite a reputation in the field of archaeology, and had taught at the same college as Zach. “Too bad. We could have started with that.”

  “We can try interviewing members of the staff and see if anyone remembers anything.”

  “That might be a good idea.”

  “Whoever is after this legend won’t be giving it to any museum. It has to be a private collector.” Anger cut deep into his features. “I can’t tolerate knowledge lost for private gains.”

  She thought of what her grandfather had hoped to glean from the information written on the deerskins about the lost sect of Aztecs, if indeed, they had fled to the Southwest ahead of the Spanish conquerors. “I know one of your areas of expertise is anthropology, like my grandfather. It could sure enhance your reputation if you discovered the codices and evidence of the lost Aztec tribe who tried to preserve part of their culture from the Spanish conquistadors.”

  The harsh glint in Zach’s eyes stabbed her. “The reason you can say that, Dr. Somers, is because you don’t know me at all. Was that comment made because I’m a Collier? Do you judge a man without getting to know him?” The taut lines of his body transmitted his feelings more than his quiet words, spoken with a lethal edge.

  Her gaze fixed upon the nerve that twitched in the hardened line of his jaw, and she regretted her words. She moistened her dry lips. “No, not usually.”

  “The most important reason I want to find the codices is that it was Granddad’s lifelong dream. He believed they existed to the day he died. He wanted to prove once and for all a group of Aztecs had lived in the Southwest, separated from the ones near Mexico City. He believed the legend that they had taken some of the Aztec treasures with them for safekeeping.” He brought his glass of water to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “It may have been wishful thinking on my grandfather’s part, because he hated to admit that something of such historical significance would have been destroyed by the Spanish.”

  The intense way he was looking at her made her realize how lacking she was in the ways of men and women. Except for her one relationship in college with BradWent-worth, she hadn’t dated much, having devoted her life to her studies and becoming a doctor. Now that she was established in a thriving practice, she still didn’t date much.

  She breathed in sharply and caught the scent of him, enticingly masculine—clean, fresh, like the desert at night. When his regard dropped to the pulse beat at her throat, his look entranced her. Then slowly his gaze reconnected with hers, and the earlier bond she had experienced grew.

  For a long moment she couldn’t think clearly. Then, from a willpower she was beginning to realize was lacking more and more around him, she glanced away. She had to focus on what was important: the map and diary that could lead to the Aztec codices. “Was the map stolen?” she asked finally.

  “Yes.”

  The anxiety in the air between them settled around her shoulders heavily, weighing her down as though it were an iron cloak. “Then what’s the use? If the legend is right, you have to have both the map and the diary to find the location of the codices and any other Aztec treasure there may be.”

  He straightened, alert. “Because I have a copy of the map. Do you have a copy of the diary?”

  “No, and even if I did, why should I trust you?” Red Collier had betrayed Gramps, taking the map and his true love, Willow-in-the-Wind, for his wife. If the man had been able to steal the journal from her grandfather, he would have done that, too. She had grown up knowing every minute detail of the feud between the two men, which had started over a woman they’d both loved and a treasure they had both wanted to find, first as partners, later as enemies.

  “Because I don’t want you to end up like your grandfather—dead.”

  His directness sizzled the air. Did he know she had the diary?

  Thankfully, the waitress arrived with their dinners, and the moment shattered like a rock hitting a window. Maggie picked up her fork and started to eat. “I worked through lunch, fitting some afternoon patients in so I could come see you. I didn’t eat anything. I’m starved, and this looks delicious.”

  “I see you’re still not totally convinced someone killed your grandfather.”

  “No. As you said earlier, it’s just a theory. No real proof.”
>
  “A scientist to the end. I can appreciate that. I hope, however, that that end isn’t a permanent one.”

  She tightened her hold on her fork. “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re doing a nice job.”

  “Good. Someone needs to scare some sense into you.”

  “Then go to the police with your theory. Let them figure it out. It’s what they’re supposed to do.”

  “A job that won’t mean much to them. This is very personal to me. Besides, as you just pointed out, I don’t have any concrete proof something has happened.”

  She gestured with her fork. “Exactly. In my profession, I deal with facts, Dr. Collier, as you’re supposed to in yours.”

  He took a bite of his quesadilla. “It’s facts you want? Number one, both of our grandfathers died weeks apart, mine supposedly from natural causes, yours from an accident. There are ways to stop a person’s heart that appear natural. And there are ways to make something seem like an accident when it isn’t. Number two, both of their houses, and Granddad’s room at the home, were trashed right after their deaths. Number three, you were followed by someone last night. Number four, our grandfathers have a past that connects them to an archaeological treasure that has never been found, and could be worth millions.” Intensity vibrated in his voice as his eyes bored into her.

  Maggie felt as though they were the only two people in the whole restaurant, and everything was wiped from her view but him. She was desperate not to believe him, because if what he said was true then her life would change drastically from this moment forward. The unknown lurked before her, prodding her fear to the foreground. She’d battled desperately to remain in control of her life, and that control was slipping away from her.

  “Those facts can be explained. Accidents and natural deaths happen all the time. People are robbed all the time. And their connection is almost sixty years old.”

  He leaned forward. “What about the person who followed you last night? A weirdo out for his jollies?”

  “That’s a possibility.”

  Zach shook his head. “You’re the most stubborn woman I know. Fine. I tried to warn you of the danger you’re in, but it’s obvious you’re in denial. I’ll work on this without your help.”