by Ann Charles
“How long has it been, Quint?” Steel asked. “Almost two decades since we worked at this dig site with Dr. Hughes?”
Wincing, he tossed back the last of his coffee and held tight to the cup, waiting for Angélica to jump on his back and pummel the crap out of him.
“Isn’t that what you told me last evening, Quint?” She picked up her mug and put it on top of the stack of plates she held. “You know, when you walked me to my tent?”
Quint nodded cautiously, wondering what game she was playing now. He guessed it was something to do with appearing in the know in front of Steel and the rest of her crew who were eavesdropping.
“Have some breakfast, Jared. But don’t unpack your bag just yet.” She cast her father a weighted stare. “Dad, I need to talk to you.” With a nod at her foreman, she left the table, dropping her load of dishes onto the counter.
“Excuse us, please.” Juan followed her out.
Quint watched them go, unsure if he should stay in the mess tent or go pack his stuff to head home. One look at Steel’s smug expression and he knew one thing for certain—this dig site wasn’t big enough for the two of them.
* * *
“We have a problem,” Juan said, zipping the tent’s mesh flap closed behind him.
Angélica paced the floor. No, they had a category five hurricane about to make landfall at her dig site. “Did you know he was coming?”
“Last I heard, my request for continued funding was out of his hands.” Pushing several books aside, he sat down on the corner of her desk. “He assured me he would do his best but made no guarantees.”
“Do you really think they sent him down here to monitor your work?” Why Jared? Why now? She didn’t need him nosing around. There was too much at stake.
“I wouldn’t put it past the board to send him. They’ve cut funding left and right this year. Money is tight, and the state doesn’t have any extra in their budget to help.”
A snort sounded from under her cot, reminding her of the tortilla she’d stuffed in her pocket earlier. She squatted next to the cot. “Come here, Rover. I brought your breakfast.”
The pudgy, reddish-brown baby javelina scrambled out.
“I can’t believe you’re keeping that overgrown rat in here, gatita.”
Rover snarfed the tortilla in one grunt. Angélica stroked the wiry hair on his head. “You’re not a rat, are you? You’re just a baby jabalí.” She used the Spanish name for javelina because it sounded cuter.
“Where did I go wrong with you, child? You know how destructive the herds of javelinas can be on our ranch. Not to mention how much they reek.” He made a pinched face at Rover. “There’s a reason they call them skunk pigs, you know.”
“For one thing, his scent gland isn’t active yet, so he doesn’t stink. For another, javelinas make good pets if you start domesticating them young.”
“He’s a wild animal, gatita.”
“If you’d have just let me have a dog—”
“Don’t start with that again. You know we weren’t home long enough between your mother’s and my digs to have pets.”
“I know, I know. And Mom had allergies.”
“And, yes, there were her allergies to consider. She hated breaking out in hives. What with her auburn hair and those red bumps, she said they made her look like Raggedy Ann.” He smiled wistfully for a moment and then sobered, looking haggard around the edges. “What’re we gonna do about Jared?”
“I don’t know. Teodoro doesn’t have enough codeine to make the jerk tolerable for a day or two, let alone a month.”
Her father scoffed in agreement.
Straightening her makeshift splint on Rover’s leg, she sighed. “I’d like to send him on his way back to Arizona, but I have a feeling you’re going to do your best to talk me out of it.”
Rover nuzzled her forearm with his cool snout, grunting softly. She scratched his head and smiled in spite of the fact that her ex-husband was about one thousand miles too close at the moment.
“I need that funding, Angélica. Without it, I won’t be able to come back here next year.”
“I know that, but I don’t want him around right now.” She tightened the knots holding the splint to Rover’s leg. “Or your photojournalist either, for that matter.” The bastard had tried to put one over on her already and he hadn’t even been here twenty-four hours.
“Quint’s article could bring some much needed additional funding for me. Besides, he’s harmless. He just wants to follow you around and take pictures and notes.”
“Quint is not harmless.” She sank to the floor and lifted Rover onto her lap. “And he’s not down here just to take pictures and notes.”
“What then?”
“I haven’t figured that out, but I’ll have some answers before he follows me anywhere.” He’d better cough up the truth or he’d find himself writing that article from wherever the hell he’d come from back in the States.
“I had no idea he’d been here before.”
“That makes two of us.”
She’d wanted to hit Quint upside the head with a tin plate back in the mess tent. Lord, what a fool she’d been last night, coming within a breath of telling him about the letter she’d received two years ago from Dr. Hughes’ wife.
She blamed the moonlight and his citrus-scented cologne for her near slip. Hell, she was probably just low on vitamin C. It was simply a case of lust or scurvy. Quint was lucky she hadn’t taken a bite out of him.
As much as that idea tickled her funny bone, she knew better. Or rather, she knew herself better. Ever since being burned by Jared’s golden boy looks over a decade ago, she’d turned to the dark side. The tall, rugged, dark-haired sort of temptation Quint offered was her Achilles heel. Smelling like a mix of mandarin orange, jasmine, and musk he had offered her a heady dessert. Fortunately, common sense had prevailed, as it usually did.
“Well, whatever his reason for being here,” her father said, “I highly doubt it will interfere with what we’re trying to accomplish.”
She stroked Rover’s back. “How can you be so certain?”
“I may not know his personal history very well, but I did do some investigating and made some calls when it comes to his résumé.”
“And?”
“He’s no slouch in his field.”
She shrugged. “I still think we should keep our lips sealed about Mom’s theory.”
“Of course. Although, if we find the evidence—”
“You mean when we find it.”
He crossed his ankles. “You’re that sure it’s here?”
“Positive.” Well, mostly, she thought, but he didn’t need to hear about her doubts, not with so much working against them this year. “I read through all of Mom’s notes again before the season started, including the list of items at the other site that led her to the glyph. The key here is the glyph we found that shows Yum Cimil riding in on the wind with the traveler.”
“You mean the curse.”
“No curse.” She set Rover down in the mound of towels he was using for a bed and got to her feet. “A clue.” One she knew would lead her to the proof they needed.
“It could be both.”
“Dad,” she started with a growl, then noticed the twinkling in his brown eyes.
“What do we do about Jared?” he asked again.
“Sacrifice him in the cenote. We can tell the crew his death will satisfy the curse’s creator, and then everyone will stop jumping at shadows and get back to work.”
Juan laughed. The sound of it made Angélica smile, easing some of her frustration. She picked up her leather pouch that held her tools. “If Jared stays, he sticks with you and does what he says he’s down here to do.”
“So, we work on finding the proof after everyone goes to bed?”
“Exactly.” This was going to make her long days even longer, but she had no choice. She didn’t want her father to lose funding. She needed his help and loved having him at her side du
ring the dig season.
“No matter what, we can’t let Jared find out what we’re up to,” she told her dad as she strapped on her tool pouch. “You could lose your funding.”
Maybe even his job.
“And Quint?” Juan asked
As far as she was concerned, Mr. Photojournalist could go into the cenote, too. “Leave him to me.”
Not knowing how well Quint was associated with Jared, she needed to tiptoe around both men. They could be old pals, reunited again to give her an even bigger headache than the curse.
She patted Rover on the head. His light snores continued without interruption. He wasn’t a morning jabalí.
“Okay, we have a plan.” Juan stood and dusted off the seat of his pants. He sneezed and then sneezed again. “Gatita, you need a maid in here. Why don’t you dust occasionally?” He eyeballed the pile of clothes she’d thrown in the corner on the tent floor. “This place is a sty.” He pointed at Rover. “You even have the pig to prove it.”
“He’s not a pig.”
“He’s got hooves, so that’s close enough.”
She stuck her tongue out at him. “I’ve been too busy to clean lately.” Or sleep. Unzipping the mesh flap, she motioned for her father to lead the way. “Remember, mum’s the word.” She grabbed her straw sunhat from a hook on the main support pole.
“Uh, Angélica …” Juan called in through the tent flap.
“Especially around Quint,” she added as she stepped out into the morning sunshine and ran smack into the blasted photojournalist.
Hells bells! She stumbled back a couple of steps, regaining her balance and handle on the situation.
She leveled her chin at him. “Hello, Mr. Parker.” There was no time like the present to set him straight on how his time here would be spent going forward, and how she felt about lies and likewise, deceit.
“It seems you and I need to discuss your future at this site,” she told him. “And your past.”
Chapter Four
H-men: Traditional Maya priest-curer; a shaman.
Years ago while working on a job up near Kodiak, Alaska, for an outdoor magazine, Quint had stepped out of his tent in the middle of the night to take a piss and had found himself nose-to-nose with a grizzly bear. Luckily, the bear had been equally surprised and had left Quint’s face intact before dashing off into the dark.
Quint wasn’t sure Angélica would be as kind as the grizzly had been, especially with her expression now mirroring Mr. Hyde’s on a bad hair day. He needed to figure out how to get Dr. Jekyll to come back and quick.
Several questions flew through his mind as he stared into her squint. What did she not want her dad to tell him? Was it about Dr. Hughes? About something they’d found in one of the temples? Something to do with Steel? Quint’s curiosity was sniffing the air, but he was smart enough to keep his trap shut. Convincing her not to kick him off the dig site took priority over everything else right then.
“See you at lunch, Dad.” Angélica dismissed her father without taking her eyes off of Quint.
He dove right in. “Dr. García, we need to talk.”
She scoffed, “Ya think?”
“Let me start with: I’m sorry.”
Her expression remained granite-like, not crumbling even a smidgen at the edges. “Before I decide whether to accept your apology, Mr. Parker, would you care to explain what you were trying to accomplish last night?”
“Are you going to kick me off the dig site?” He didn’t feel like wasting his breath if all was for naught.
“That depends on your explanation.”
A new rash of sweat formed on his upper lip. “I wanted to see how much you knew about the history of this place.” That was mostly true.
“Why didn’t you ask me?”
“I was trying to be clever.” He aimed for a little levity.
“Turns out you were just being an ass.”
He deserved that. “I’m sorry.”
“You already said that.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are you really here?”
“To write an article about the site Dr. Hughes put so much blood, sweat, and tears into—a sort of tribute.”
One auburn eyebrow lifted in response.
“He was a good man, taking me under his wing when I was rebelling against my father’s rule,” he continued truthfully. “I thought it’d be a fitting way to thank him for his part in straightening me out, helping me to find my way when I was too young and stupid to realize I was lost.”
“What’s your plan of attack?”
“What do you mean?” He was tiptoeing here and didn’t want to misread her question and step on a land mine.
“Well, knowing that you were here with Dr. Hughes twenty years ago makes me wonder if this will be some kind of comparison of how he ran the site back then to how I’m running it now. A measurement of his successes versus mine, maybe? Or were you thinking about incorporating my parents and their efforts?”
“No, not a comparison. More along the lines of noting how things have changed—methods of finding artifacts, site geography, ideas on structural architecture. Things like that.” He was winging it, his fingers crossed that it sounded plausible. “I’d only mention your parents in a brief history, if at all. Although your father has some interesting theories that I’d like to talk to him about and consider including.” Before she got her shoulders all hunched about that last line, he added, “In a favorable light only, of course.”
She cocked her head to the side, studying him. “When were you going to tell me the truth about your history here?”
“After I’d found out what you knew about the site. I thought that you might be more open if you didn’t know I’d been here before.”
“Was I?”
It was his turn to scoff. “Hell, no.”
“Good.” Her gaze darted past him, her nostrils flaring. She swore under her breath.
“Am I staying or going, Dr. García?” Quint asked, looking around to see what had her attention.
Steel was coming their way across the plaza.
She focused back on Quint. “My father has faith in you and thinks you could be beneficial to his future. Because of that you can stay.”
“Thank you.” He held out his hand to shake on it. “I appreciate the second chance.”
“No more games.” She looked at his open palm, hesitating, and then clasped his hand. “Trust me when I say that you do not want to get on my bad side.” To his surprise, she pulled him down to her level. When she spoke, her voice was low and sinister. “I may be known for digging up bones in this jungle, but I can bury them here as easily, too.”
Quint blinked in surprise. When he pulled his hand back, he saw the twinkle of amusement in her green eyes. She had a wicked sense of humor. He liked that in a woman. His gaze slid down, stalling on her lips. Firm but lush. He liked them, too.
Steel’s voice sliced through his contemplation of the fun he could have with the witty doctor and those lips of hers. “Angélica, I need to talk to you.” He pushed his expensive sunglasses up on his head, blatantly avoiding looking in Quint’s direction as he drew near. “Darling, couldn’t you find something more appropriate to wear in front of your crew?”
Angélica glanced down at her yellow T-shirt, wiping some dirt and what looked like hairbrush bristles from her chest.
Quint considered offering her his help. He was pretty sure he’d do a more thorough job of removing every single bristle.
“What I wear is none of your business, Jared.” She touched Quint’s forearm, drawing his gaze back northward. “I need to talk to María. Meet me outside the supply tent in ten minutes.”
“Will do.” Quint wanted to grab his camera from his tent and a bottle of water.
With a nod at both of them, she strode off toward the mess tent.
“What about me?” Steel called after her.
She turned, walking backwards a few steps. “You’re not my problem. Dad’s waiting for you in th
e Sunset Temple.” She spun back around and left Quint alone with Steel, both of them watching her go.
“Lovely, isn’t she?” Steel asked.
“I hadn’t noticed,” he lied without missing a beat. “I’ve been too busy taking orders from her since I arrived.”
“Then continue not noticing.” Jared hadn’t changed in twenty years, still trying to rule where he had no authority. “And keep your hands to yourself.”
Fuck off, Steel. “When it comes to Angélica, what I do with my hands should be the least of your concern.” Quint hoped she never caught wind of his boast, or she’d have him buried up to his neck next to a red ant hill.
“Dr. Steel!” Juan’s voice echoed across the plaza, interrupting their tête-à-tête. “Dr. Steel, please come with me. I could use your expertise.”
Expertise? That should feed Steel’s ego … for the moment anyway.
“Looks like you need to go.” Quint resisted the urge to use his boot to help Steel on his way.
“What are you doing here, Parker?”
Quint hid his hostility behind a cheesy smile. “I might ask you the same thing, Dr. Steel.”
* * *
A short time later, Angélica led Mr. Big-time Photojournalist to the crumbling limestone steps outside the Temple of the Crow where Esteban waited for them while smoking a cigarette.
She paused at the base of the steps, noticing the worried pinch of Esteban’s face as he stared over at the Temple of the Water Witch. The boy had been wound tight since the night he’d fractured his arm, and trying to convince him that no curse existed was a waste of breath.
“Esteban, this is Mr. Parker. He’s going to work with us today and take some pictures.”
“Call me Quint.” He pointed at the sling wrapped around Esteban’s right arm. “What happened?”
“Mal viento,” Esteban whispered, his gaze darting across to the other temple as he inhaled more nicotine.
Quint turned to Angélica. “An evil wind?”
“He fell down some steps,” she explained, wondering how much Spanish Quint understood.
Before Esteban could spur more questions with his paranoia, she told him to catch up when he finished his cigarette and motioned for Quint to follow her. She outpaced him to the top, much more accustomed to the heat than he. She waited inside the dim passageway leading to the heart of the temple while her eyes adjusted.