by Ann Charles
“Okay,” he said, unable to see a way for him to change her mind about spending time alone with her ex-husband without showing his hand. “Works for me.”
“Good.” She turned to leave but then stopped, looking back at him. “I hear you received a letter.”
Quint resisted the urge to cover his pillow with his other hand. “You must have paid a visit to your ex-husband before stopping by.”
Steel probably couldn’t wait to tattle and give Angélica another reason to keep her eye on Quint.
“I trust everything is okay back home?” she fished.
He cocked his head to the side, wondering how much this was eating at her. Apparently enough to make her ask. “You want to know who it’s from?”
“No!” She flushed a shade darker. “I mean, of course not. It’s your business who sends you letters.”
Yes, it was, but Quint didn’t want this to become a barrier between them. He needed her to trust him, share details of the past, open doors that would allow him to dig for more on Dr. Hughes. “I don’t blame you for wondering.”
“You don’t?” She wrung her hands together, then pulled them apart and frowned down at them as if catching them in the act of giving away her secrets. With a sigh, she jammed them in her pockets. “You’re right. I want to know who sent the letter, even though I have no right to ask.”
She was playing nice. He’d given her plenty of reason not to trust him from the start. Here was an opportunity to change that around, continue with being honest with her, like he’d been last night when she’d prodded about his reason for kissing her.
“The letter is from Jeff Hughes.”
Her forehead creased. “Mr. Hughes’ son.” It wasn’t a question, more like an accusation.
“Yes. Jeff wondered how things are going down here.” That was true. “He’s been cleaning out his mother’s place and found some old memorabilia and wanted to tell me about it.” That was true, too, just a little vague.
“How long have you known Jeff?”
“Since second grade when he hit me in the face with a dodge ball and made my nose bleed. He felt so bad about it that he gave me the ball so I could hit him back and give him a matching bloody nose.”
“Did you?”
“Nah, I told him to give me his Wolfman hat and we’d call it even. We’ve been friends ever since.”
“You’re lucky to have such a good friend.”
“What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Do you have any old friends you keep in touch with still?” If he could distract her from the letter, maybe she wouldn’t get him in a position where he’d have to choose between telling too much or hiding behind a lie.
She shook her head. “I grew up on dig sites like this one. That didn’t leave opportunity for making friends.”
“What about school?”
“My parents home schooled me throughout the day and in the evenings.” His expression must have relayed his sad feelings for a lonely little girl stuck down here in this jungle, because she held up her hands. “No, it wasn’t as bad as it sounds. I was lucky to get to play in tombs and swim in shallow cenotes all day long. How many kids are encouraged to get their hands dirty every day instead of sit still and listen in a classroom?”
She had a point. School was not his favorite pastime, especially not on warm, sunny days.
“It wasn’t until college that I realized how lucky I’d been to be raised the way I was—a little wild, but free.”
“And then you met Steel.”
A cloud shrouded the light that had been in her eyes. “Right. Let’s not forget about that colossal blunder.”
Damn it, that’s not what he’d meant. She was shutting down just like she had last night when he’d mentioned her ex-husband while trying to remind himself why he shouldn’t kiss her in the moonlight and taste Teodoro’s sweet wine on her tongue.
“Listen,” he started, standing, “about what I said last night. I—”
“Stop. Please.” She glanced toward the tent flap. “I’d rather not go there.”
Whether he intended it or not, he’d found a way to get her out of his tent. He took a step toward her on purpose, testing. “Maybe we should talk about what happened.”
“No!” She forced out a chuckle that sounded breathless, kind of sexy. “I had a little too much balche.” She fumbled with the mess flap’s zipper. “My lips were drunk.” She finally got a handle on the zipper. “And stupid.”
He moved closer, driving her out into the sunshine. “Yeah, but they’re nice lips, and you looked really good in the moonlight.”
Truth be told, she’d looked damned hot, but he’d had enough sense left to fight his attraction. Getting involved with Steel’s ex-wife could mess up what he’d promised Jeff he’d do down here.
“Yeah, well, thanks, I guess.” She put a few feet of distance between them. “But let’s forget that ever happened.”
Quint didn’t think that was possible, but he nodded anyway. He fought back a grin at the obvious discomfort the big, bad boss lady was fighting on his account. It was nice to see that she was human after all.
He took mercy on her now that she was safely away from Jeff’s letter. “Where should I meet Fernando?”
The flush faded from her cheeks. “You can head over to the Owl Temple whenever you’re ready. Fernando and some of the men are already working on clearing a chamber over there.”
“Where will you be?” His business or not, he wanted to know.
If his nosiness bothered her, she didn’t show it. “At the big cenote.” She pointed toward a trail leading into the jungle. “There’s an underground cave a few yards from it where several sacrifices occurred.”
“You mean the bloodletting type?”
“I mean the tie your wrists behind your back, whisper messages in your ears to deliver to the gods, and push you into the underground river type.”
Quint grimaced. “Does it make you nervous to go into that cave?”
She shrugged. “Not much about this place makes me nervous anymore. The cave is dangerous though,” she warned him. “It’s slippery in places from all of the bat guano and moisture. If you’re not careful, you could fall into the river and get sucked into one of the underground limestone caverns. That’s why I’ve made it off-limits to everyone.”
Got it, boss lady. “And Steel is going in there with you? He must not be squeamish about working in caves.”
“To my knowledge, there are only two things that get Jared excited, and one of them is blood.”
“I noticed that.” He remembered the incident with Alonso. “What’s the other?”
Her smile came quick, her eyes sparkling with devilry. “Bats.”
* * *
Angélica woke before dawn on Monday morning to the sound of a scream. She bolted upright in her cot, nearly tumbling out onto the floor.
A dark quiet cloaked her. She strained in the silence, listening. Not even the trees made a creak or shiver. Had she really heard a scream or had it been a nightmare? She fumbled for the lantern, but found her flashlight instead.
Another scream rang out before she could turn it on.
She dropped the light, her heart going off like a tommy gun. When she felt for the light again, it was nowhere to be found. “Dammit!”
Who was screaming? She hopped out of bed and landed partially on Rover. He squealed as if he’d been mortally wounded. She yelled along with him in the darkness, stumbling across the clothes-covered floor, tripping over a boot. Her right knee slammed into the desk. “Son of a b—”
“Angélica!” Teodoro called from right outside her tent.
“I’ll be right there,” she said through gritted teeth while hopping around on one leg, holding her throbbing knee. In the darkness, she grabbed what felt like a shirt and threw it on, then shuffled through the pile of clothes next to the desk and found a pair of shorts.
Where were her shoes? Where had she taken them off? Sh
e grabbed the boot she’d tripped over, slipped it on, and after feeling around the floor for a few seconds, found one of her shower flip flops. It was for the same foot as the one wearing the boot. Shit-criminy! It’d have to do.
She shoved the left shower shoe on her right foot and limped out into the moonlight. Teodoro waited long enough for her to zip up her tent before rushing off into the feeble moonlight toward his place.
“Teodoro, would you slow down?” she said in a loud stage whisper. When she rounded the corner, she saw there was no reason for keeping her voice low. Half of her crew was standing outside his door, twittering excitedly like a bunch of newly hatched chicks.
She stopped and took a deep breath, not sure she was ready to deal with the fears and irrationalities that were sure to come with whatever had caused the screaming. Several of the men noticed her and rushed toward her. She lowered her head and pushed through them, ignoring the questions about the curse and concerns about how she was going to get rid of the evil spirits haunting the site.
Fernando stood waiting in the doorway. She looked up at him, searching his face. The frown lines rippling up his brow made her wince in anticipation. “What is it?”
He stood aside. “You need to see for yourself.”
“Oh, God! What now?” She hobbled past him, approaching the group of men huddled around the sick bed.
They parted as she neared. Teodoro stood directly next to the bed, holding a lantern over its occupant. The sweat on his forehead glistened.
She followed his gaze. Her hand flew to her mouth, barely catching her gasp.
On the bed, sprawled face down with his pants around his ankles, was Jorge. Or rather, Jorge’s bare ass, covered with huge, inflamed, horrible-looking blisters.
Whimpering, Jorge reached back and began scratching his right cheek.
Teodoro caught his hand. “It will only make it worse,” he told the boy in Mayan.
Jorge cried for his mother.
Teodoro looked over at Angélica, his face craggy with wrinkles, his hair all askew.
“What do you think happened?” she asked.
“Looks like the curse got the latrine, too.”
Chapter Eight
Chechem Tree: The “black poison-wood” tree. Resin from this tree causes itching, blistering, and swelling.
There was nothing like a couple of hair-raising screams in the night to make a guy fall out of his cot and land flat on his face.
Thanks to Quint’s nose plant, it’d taken him a few minutes to get dressed. To make matters worse, the zipper on his tent flap had stuck and ended up breaking off in his hand.
Now that he’d managed to get himself both vertical and outside, he couldn’t seem to find anyone in the shadow-filled predawn light. But he could hear their low murmurs. Maybe they were at Teodoro’s hut.
Gingerly pressing on the cartilage below the bridge of his still-throbbing nose, he rounded the corner of the mess tent and ran smack-dab into Angélica. His elbow jammed into her shoulder, which in turn rammed the heel of his hand into his nose.
“Yowch!” He reared his head back, his eyes watering.
She let out a yip of surprise and stepped backward, tripping over a tent stake, her arms flailing.
Quint caught her wrist, pulling her back toward him before she fell into the tent wall. “Gotcha.” He steadied her, holding her by the shoulders while he blinked away his pain.
She looked frazzled in the pale light. Wisps of hair floated around her face, pillowcase wrinkles lined her cheek. The tag of her tank-top stuck out at chest level, bobbing slightly as she breathed. The shirt’s seams were showing.
“Sorry about that,” Quint said. “I should’ve been watching where I was going.”
She leaned into him slightly, like she needed a kickstand to stay upright. “I’m the one who should’ve been more careful.”
Taking a closer look at her, he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes. Sweat dotted her upper lip. She looked more than tired; she was almost haggard. “That wasn’t you screaming was it?”
The scream had been high-pitched but not quite at the female level.
“No, not me.” She stared blankly off to her left, and then shuddered at whatever was passing through her thoughts.
“What’s going on? Where is everyone?”
Steel came around the corner right then, following in Quint’s wake. He stopped at the sight of them, his face pinching into a scowl. “Well, isn’t this cozy.”
Angélica snarled at him. “Don’t start, Jared. I’m in no mood for your high-and-mighty shit.”
He looked at Quint’s hands, which were still clutching her shoulders. “Are you taking her prisoner, Parker?”
Quint ignored him, focusing on the tousled, obviously troubled woman in front of him. “Are you okay?”
“Ask me that again when the sun is setting.”
“Unhand her, Parker.”
Unhand her? Were they lords and ladies? Apparently, he’d missed the trumpeted announcement. Hell, and here he’d gone and left his rapier in his other pants.
Quint slid his hands down to Angélica’s elbows before releasing her, enjoying the feel of her soft skin under his fingers.
Steel muttered something not very gentlemanly.
“What happened?” Quint asked her.
“Nothing that concerns you,” Jared answered.
“I don’t remember yanking your chain, Steel.” Quint kept his focus on the woman in front of him.
“Uh, nothing really.” She crooked her head side-to-side, stretching her neck. “Just a minor glitch in this morning’s routine.”
Damn her for trying to close him out again. “Either I hear the truth from you or from your crew, Dr. García. Who’s it gonna be?”
She nailed him with a squint. “I don’t want this to show up in print.”
“It won’t.”
“You understand I’m very concerned about my crew’s reputation as qualified field workers.”
“Completely.” He held her squint. “You have my word.”
“Don’t trust him,” Steel advised.
“Jorge has experienced an incident that caused several large blisters to form on his skin.”
Quint grimaced, wondering what the boy had gotten into. “How did—”
“Dr. García,” Fernando interrupted, joining their little party. “Nada. Not on the seat, the walls, or the door handle.”
She threw up her hands, cursing in a rapid-fire mixture of English and Spanish.
“Teodoro says it smells like resin from a chechem tree,” she said after catching her breath.
“He can actually smell that?” Steel asked.
She nodded. “He sent Enrico out to gather some juice from a chacah tree.”
Quint looked from Angélica to Fernando and back, lost in the middle of the conversation. “What does that do?”
Angélica glanced his way. “Cures the rashes caused by the chechem resin.”
“What should I do about them?” Fernando thumbed in the direction of the cluster of men hovering outside of Teodoro’s door.
“Send them to the mess tent. I’ll be there shortly to deal with the ripple effects from this.” As Fernando walked away, Angélica sniffed the air. “I smell coffee.”
Quint sniffed, too, noticing only the scent of his tent canvas coming from his clothes, which reminded him of something. “I broke my tent zipper. It was jammed or something, and when I tried to force it, the zipper broke off in my hand.” He pulled the piece of metal out of his pocket and showed it to her.
“You’ll have to switch to the other supply tent.”
“Which one is that?”
“The one next to mine.”
“Parker should remain with the other workers,” Steel commanded, as if it were his decision. “Give him the one I’m using, and I’ll move into the one next to yours.”
She hit Steel with a testicle crushing glare. “Damn it, Jared! This is my dig site. Try to remember that while you w
ait for me in the mess tent with the rest of my crew.” She returned to Quint. “You can move after breakfast.” Squaring her shoulders, she limped off toward her tent.
Quint noticed her boot and flip-flop ensemble and grinned.
“Pretty convenient, your zipper breaking like that.”
“You should see me work my magic with buttons.” Quint continued to watch Angélica until she slipped between tents and disappeared.
“You’re up to something, and I’m going to catch you in the wrong place at the right time,” Steel threatened.
Jesus, this pissing contest was getting old. “Oh, yeah? Catch this.” He tossed the zipper at him.
Steel snared it with a bandaged left hand, sucking in his breath in pain. He dropped the zipper into his other palm, wincing as he flexed his injured hand.
Quint eyed the bandage. The wrap job didn’t look like a Teodoro Special. “Ruin your manicure in the bat cave?”
“Stay away from my wife, Parker.”
There was an underlying menace in his voice that made Quint pause. His gut warned him there was more to Steel’s animosity than petty jealousy. “I have a news flash for you—she’s not your wife anymore.”
Steel’s nostrils flared. “She’s my wife until I say otherwise.”
The son of a bitch really needed his face rearranged. “Tell you what. How about you just stand here living in your fucked-up fantasy world while I go grab a cup of coffee and enjoy reality without you in it.”
“Remember,” Steel snared Quint’s sleeve. “I’m watching your every move.”
“Fine.” Quint yanked free. “Watch me move into the tent next to hers.”
* * *
Inside the safety of her tent, Angélica dropped onto her cot and covered her face with her hands.
What in the hell was going on? First Esteban’s arm, then Alonso’s leg, now Jorge’s ass. Over the years, they’d had incidents at the dig site but just the average sprained ankles and sore backs. Nothing like this. Maybe she was working them too hard. Maybe she needed to give them a longer siesta after lunch. Maybe …