Look What the Wind Blew In

by Ann Charles

  “I see some things haven’t changed,” Jared said.

  She lowered her hands, frowning at her ex-husband who was peeking inside her tent through the mesh flap.

  “Mind if I join you?” He let himself inside the zippered flap.

  Tents really needed to come equipped with doors with deadbolts.

  He eyed her messy tent with an expression of distaste.

  Like she needed this shit right now. “I told you to wait for me in the mess tent.”

  “Your standards have lowered greatly.”

  She considered telling him that he was mistaken, throwing back that she had divorced him after all, but she didn’t feel like getting into an argument after this morning’s mess. “Why are you standing inside of my tent, Jared?”

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “So talk.” She plucked a pair of clean underwear from a stack of clothes next to her cot, and then stood and unhooked her bra from the tent pole where she’d draped it to dry yesterday.

  “You used to wear satin and lace.”

  Was she actually awake? Was this madness real? Here she had yet another crewmember injured, inciting more whispers about that stupid ass curse, and now her ex-husband wanted to reminisce about past lingerie choices.

  “What can I do for you, Jared?” She crossed her arms.

  “There’s another reason why I came down here, other than the university’s needs.”

  No shit. “Can we talk about this another time? I’m a little busy right now.”

  “As you’ve probably noticed,” he plowed right over her. “I’m still in love with you.”

  She blinked. No. This couldn’t be happening.

  He stepped over a pile of boots and socks, closing the distance between them. “I’d like you back as my wife. Living without you all of these years has made me realize how valuable you are to me. We could do so much together for the archaeology world.”

  She blinked again. Maybe there was a curse after all.

  “Angélica, darling.” With uncharacteristic awkwardness, Jared reached for her, capturing her shoulders. He pulled her closer. “I’ve missed the scent of your skin.”

  Really? He missed the smelly parts and all? No way.

  He lowered his head, zeroing in for a kiss.

  She sidestepped. “Jared, it’s way too early in the morning for blisters and kisses.”

  “Come on, my love,” he said, snaring her hand. He lifted it to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “We were so good together in bed.”

  He remembered their sex life a lot differently than she.

  “Jared, stop.” She tugged free of his grip. “This isn’t going to work.” The Yucatán Peninsula would freeze over before she even considered swapping spit with him, let alone signing up for another tour of his version of wedded bliss. However, she needed to use a dump truck load of tact while making her feelings crystal clear. Her father’s future was at stake here.

  “I know you still enjoy my touch.” He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear. “Why fight the feelings you have?”

  He was right. She should stop fighting and choke the arrogant son of a bitch to death. “We tried the marriage thing, remember? It caused more harm than good. Maybe it’s best if we keep this,” she pointed back and forth between them, “the way it is.”

  “Ah. I see.” His smile had way too much confidence behind it. “You need some time to consider my offer.”

  Sure. The rest of eternity might be enough. “I don’t think so.”

  “You don’t think? So, there is an element of uncertainty still.” He took a step back. “How about I give you a little time to work through this morning’s unfortunate event and let my proposal sink in. Then we’ll revisit this later.”

  “Okay.” Fine. Groovy. Whatever it took to remove him from her tent before she clobbered him with her boot. “How about this time next year?”

  “Oh, how I have missed that dry wit of yours.” Jared stepped over her mess of clothes on his way toward the tent flap. “It reminds me of all the good times we used to have.”

  Huh. She wondered if he’d put in a change of address at the post office now that he was living in Fantasyland. “Jared, there’s no use digging up bones. Let’s keep to the present.”

  “You dig up bones every day. Just think about my proposal.”

  She’d sooner weigh the pros and cons of lighting her hair on fire. “I’ll do that. Now leave so I can get dressed.”

  He left, zipping both tent flaps closed behind him.

  As his footfalls faded, Rover waddled out from under the cot and snorted up at her.

  “My thoughts exactly.” She scratched behind his ears. “So, what am I going to do about the other guy?”

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, she was still working on that answer while sitting across from Quint in the small burial chamber two layers inside the Temple of the Crow.

  She’d made the choice of keeping Quint with her today rather than Jared. Listening to Jared talk about their past for hours would’ve driven her headfirst into a cenote, hands tied and all—especially after the crazy rumors flying around at lunch. She’d barely had a chance to eat while trying to convince her crew that Jorge’s blisters were not caused by some supernatural devil that blew in on the wind along with that damned curse.

  Expecting Quint to spend their time together plying her for information for his article, she was surprised at how quiet he was today while they worked. She should have been doing the Snoopy dance at his lack of chatter. Instead, she kept glancing his way, watching the frown lines sweep over his face like cloud shadows over the desert valley floor at her dad’s ranch.

  What was going on in his head? Was he regretting coming down here after learning more from Fernando about what had happened to Jorge? Was he unhappy with having to move to the tent next to hers? Did his pensiveness have anything to do with that letter he’d received from Jeff Hughes?

  Her vision blurred, her eyelids growing heavy. The heat of the temple was building, draining her. They shouldn’t stay in here much longer, but the soft glow of the lantern and the sound of Quint’s breathing lulled, making her want to curl up and catch up on all the sleep she’d missed lately.

  She leaned her head against the warm wall, her eyelids drooping, thoughts scattering … her father rubbing his sore tooth, Teodoro sending her worried glances, Quint digging in a chamber, Jared holding out a diamond ring, Esteban screaming, her mother crying in her tent, Jorge whimpering, Quint cupping her face …

  “Dr. García.” His voice seemed to come from far off, echoing, yet she could feel his breath caressing her skin. Tell me, Angélica.

  She reached for him, coming up empty. Where was he?

  “Angélica,” he whispered in her ear. Tell me what you want.

  She wanted him, damn it. Right here in this hot, pitch-black chamber where nobody would see her lose control, hear her cry out when he touched her. She could smell his skin, hear his clothes rustling. Her imagination took over, slamming her with sensations and stimulating fantasies, filling her with aches and longings.

  Her hand flailed until she touched something solid, warm. “Quint.” She grasped his shirt, tugging him down.

  “Angélica,” this time his voice was clear and strong, right in front of her.

  Her eyelids flew open. Quint leaned over her, his hazel eyes close, his mouth even closer thanks to her grip on his shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin in the lamplight.

  “What?” she gasped more than spoke, letting go of his shirt. She slid upright against the wall, putting space between them.

  “You talk in your sleep.” His smile lit up his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Did you know that?”

  Her dream about having her way with him here on the chamber floor pinballed through her brain. Oh, dear Lord, no. Her whole face burned like she’d stuck it in a blast furnace. “What did I say?”

  His gaze centered on her mouth for one long head rush, then he sat back o
n his heels and looked at the glyph-covered wall behind her. “Nothing much. It was mostly mumbling and a few moans.”

  Moans? Like lust-filled, desperate for sex moans? Shit. Really? She wanted to hide inside her turtle shell.

  “What happened with Steel and the bat cave?”

  She latched onto his change of subject like it was a rope dangling from the cliff next to her. “I’ve never seen Jared’s face so pale, especially when he slipped on some guano-covered rocks and hurt his hand when he fell.”

  “That explains the bandage.”

  Silence stretched like taffy, starting to sag in the middle. “How is the article coming along?” she blurted out.

  “Great. You’ve given me a lot to get started.”

  It would have to be enough to finish, because he had to be gone in three days per Jared’s blackmail demands. Although, she hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to manage that. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear it.”

  Wonderful, first she tried attacking him in her sleep and now she was bumbling like a crush-filled teenager. Where was that bottle of rum she kept hidden in her tent when she needed it?

  He twirled the paintbrush he’d been using throughout the morning to clean the bone shards she kept finding. “Why don’t you let me dig for a bit?”

  “I have a better idea.” She pushed to her feet. “Let’s get out of here before we melt to death.” Or she fell asleep and did something even worse.

  “Your wish is my command, my master.” He bowed, handing her the paintbrush.

  She avoided his eyes while they cleaned up, still fretting over what she might have said in her sleep. They trekked in silence as they made their way out of the temple.

  “Dr. García!” Esteban met them just inside the exit.

  Her stomach dropped at his wide eyes and hitching breath. “Jesus, what now?”

  “It’s your father.”

  “What about him?” She stumbled backwards a step, right into Quint, who grasped her shoulders, steadying her.

  “He needs you right now.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Outside.” He wiped a stream of sweat from his temple with the shoulder of his T-shirt.

  He’d made it back from Cancun, thank God. So why was Esteban standing in front of her out of breath and sweating all over the place?

  “What’s wrong? Did something happen to him?” She leaned into Quint, afraid of what she was about to hear.

  “Sí. He dropped the key to the safe box into the cenote.”

  She choked back a bout of hysterical laughter and pushed past Esteban. That was it. She was going to duct tape her father in his tent for the rest of the dig season.

  * * *

  Spread out on the king’s chest is a necklace containing eight jade beads, four of which look to have skull visages carved into the face of the bead.

  Angélica stopped writing and yawned, blinking away sleep. She looked at her travel clock, and then leaned closer to it. Either the light from her lantern was dimming, or she’d reached the point where sleep deprivation was affecting her vision. She plucked it up and frowned at the clock hands. Was it really three already?

  She stood and stretched, needing a little more energy to finish her analysis before catching an hour or two of sleep. Maybe she’d actually sleep during the afternoon siesta break instead of working.

  Rover snorted in his sleep, his legs jerking as he raced through his dreams. He was probably running from María after tearing up her garden again, the unruly little jabalí. Splint or not, he managed to keep sneaking out of her tent and getting into trouble.

  Her focus returned to her notes. It was time to wrap things up. She sat back down and picked up the tracing she had made Sunday morning in the Temple of the Water Witch when all hell had been breaking loose with her father, his tooth, and Pedro. Holding the tracing in front of the lantern, she bent over the paper and wrote:

  In the center of the eight beads is a shell. While this glyph is pitted with age, details of the carving seem to show a cone-like shell with three flaring layers resembling a small Christmas tree. There are ten points rounding the bottom of the shell. According to my research (using “The Wayfarer’s Guide to South American Shells”), this shell looks like a member of the Astraeinae family of the Gastropoda Orthogastropoda class. After looking at photos of several specimens of this family, I believe it is either an Astraea Tecta or an Astraea Latispina. I would need to see the actual shell to give an official ruling on …

  “Angélica!”

  She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice right outside her tent. “What?” she whispered loudly, wishing everyone would stop sneaking up on her.

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  Juan unzipped the mesh flap and stepped inside. He had on the hole-ridden, white T-shirt and worn gray cotton shorts he wore to bed each night.

  “What are you doing?” He moved over to where she sat at the desk and picked up the lantern. “What’s this?” he crooked his neck and looked down at her scrawls.

  “Notes on what I found in the chamber Sunday morning.”

  “Anything that will help?”

  “Possibly, but I don’t think we have a leg to stand on unless we actually find one of the shells. Paintings and carvings are too indistinct and easy to mislabel.”

  He grunted in agreement, and then held the lantern right in her face. “Do you realize how late it is?”

  She squinted, wincing in the light. “What’s your point?”

  “What are you still doing awake?”

  “I can’t sleep.”

  “Is it Jared?”

  More like Quint, but her father didn’t need to know about that particular pickle. “Jared’s part of it. What are you doing out of bed? Is your tooth doing okay?”

  He scraped his hand over his beard stubble. “My tooth is fine, but we’ve got a problem.”

  “What now?” She collected her notes and the tracing and stuffed them all in the drawer with the fake bottom. “Did you sacrifice the spare key, too?”

  “Very funny, gatita, but this is serious.”

  She was afraid of that. She slammed the desk drawer closed. “Which one of my crew is it now?”

  “It’s not your crew this time.”

  Her breath lurched. “Quint?”

  He shook his head. “Jared.”

  Chapter Nine

  Subín Tree (commonly known as Bullhorn Acacia): A tree covered with thorns and biting red ants.

  “¡Dios mio!” Angélica gripped the doorjamb on Teodoro’s threshold, trying to hide her recoil at the sight in front of her. “What happened to you?”

  Jared looked up at her from the cot where he lay shirtless while Teodoro applied ointment to tiny red welts covering his chest, neck, and face. “Ants.”

  She shuddered, her legs starting to itch. She’d had a run in with biting ants as a kid when she’d poked a stick into a red ant hill on her dad’s ranch. Turned out the stick wasn’t long enough. While she was busy messing with their home, a war party had crawled up inside her jeans and attacked her legs. She’d kicked off her pants and run around in circles screaming until her mom had sprayed her off with the hose, and even then some of those little fiery buggers had held on tight, requiring a more persuasive shooing.

  Her father nudged her inside the hut so he could shut the door behind them.

  “How did this happen?” she asked nobody in particular.

  Juan dropped his arm around her shoulders and led her toward Teodoro’s cot, forcing her closer than she wanted to be. The memory of what her father still laughingly referred to as The Mexican Ant Dance still haunted her. Those bites had hurt.

  “Gatita, I think you might want to sit for a moment.”

  “Really?” At his sober nod, she slumped onto the edge of the cot. She braced herself for what was to come, scratching at an itch on her arm. A glance in Jared’s direction left her grimacing. The tendons and muscles in his neck were visibly ta
ut in the lantern light. Sweat ran down his face, mixing with the glistening ointment covering his cheeks and jaw.

  “We have a problem.” Juan squeezed the bridge of his nose, a gesture she’d seen often during the brief time her mom had been in intensive care. He wasn’t nearly as pale and worn-out looking this time though. Not yet anyway.

  Teodoro grunted at Juan, pointing at the lantern.

  Juan grabbed the lantern and moved closer, lighting up the angry bites even more. He frowned at her. “I found a subín branch in Jared’s cot.”

  In his cot? How did it get up in his cot? And why?

  “And ants scattered throughout his sheets. There were too many to count.”

  She turned to Jared. “Did you notice anything odd before you crawled into bed?”

  “No.”

  Grimacing, she scratched her lower back. “So, you think someone sneaked into his tent while he was sleeping and slipped the branch into his cot?”

  Juan shrugged.

  “Why would someone do that?”

  “Personal vendetta?”

  Angélica opened her mouth to dismiss his idea but then closed it. Just about every person at the site could be labeled guilty on that count, including herself. Jared was about as well-liked by her crew as the ants he’d been sharing his bed with tonight. “Any other ideas?” Any that wouldn’t alert the federales to start snooping around her dig site?

  “The curse,” Teodoro spoke in Mayan.

  Angélica nailed him with a glower. She should have seen that one coming. “Any other logical ideas?”

  “What about Rover?” her father asked. “Maybe he dragged the limb into Jared’s tent. We’ve both witnessed him climbing up on your cot even with his bum leg.”

  She considered that. “I don’t think so. He may like to pilfer from María’s garden, but he’s a picky eater when it comes to insects.” There was another possibility, one that gave her goosebumps.

  She needed to talk to her father. Alone.

  Rising, she scratched at a tickling on her scalp. “I’m going to go scout around Jared’s tent and look for signs of anything peculiar.”