Look What the Wind Blew In

by Ann Charles

  He caught it against his chest. “No, damn you, Angélica. I was honest with you about Dr. Hughes. Now it’s your turn. Tell me why I have to leave in such a big rush.”

  An eye for an eye. Fine. “Because if you don’t, Jared’s going to convince the university to pull Dad’s funding.” There, it was out. If only that could free her from her ex-husband’s stranglehold.

  He clenched the mango slice in his fist. “I knew it had something to do with that asshole.”

  “Yes, well, now you know. So, please, leave tomorrow.”

  “That’s not going to happen.”

  “Why not? You have enough information to write your goddamned article, and don’t try to tell me otherwise.” She’d made certain of that.

  “Angélica.” Quint caught her arm. “Are you going to marry Steel again?”

  “I told you before, that’s none of your business.”

  “Have you put any thought into why he’s forcing you to get rid of me?”

  “Yes.” Several hours’ worth and usually in the middle of the night.

  “And?”

  She shrugged. “Something happened twenty years ago between you two, and he hasn’t gotten over it.” She glanced down at where he held onto her, feeling the callouses on his fingers, the heat of his palm. Maybe there was a girl from the village they’d fought over, or a female grad student here helping Dr. Hughes. “Did you steal his girlfriend?” she jested, sort of. Curiosity weighed in, too.

  “No. Not yet anyway.” The rousing look he shot her made her pulse do jumping jacks. “I think there’s more to it than the past.”

  “Like what?”

  “I’m still trying to figure that out.”

  As much as she wanted him to stay, he needed to figure it out somewhere else. “Whatever Jared’s reasons are, you need to leave.”

  He let go of her arm as if she disgusted him, his expression tight with scorn. “I can’t believe you’re going to let your ex-husband push you around.”

  Her go-to-hell glare didn’t seem to ruffle him.

  “Where were you this morning?” When she didn’t answer, he pushed further. “Were you with Steel?”

  Her chin rose along with her defenses. “None of your business.”

  His eyes flashed white-hot. “Quit shutting me out.”

  “Quit prying.”

  “You’re so damned stubborn.”

  “You’re one to talk.” How many times did they need to lock horns until he understood she wasn’t backing down?

  He growled in his throat, all bristly, predator like. “Just answer the question, woman.”

  “I was busy.”

  “Doing what?”

  Her heartbeat drummed in her ears, her breath coming short and fast. This battle of wills had gone far enough. “Mr. Parker, as an employee of the Mexican government, I am asking you one last time to remove yourself from these premises tomorrow morning.”

  “You don’t really want me to go, do you?” His eyes issued a challenge.

  She ignored him. “If you fail to heed my request—”

  “Were you with Jared this morning?”

  Unfortunately she had been, and she still itched every time she thought about those damned ants. She continued, “I will be forced to involve the federales.”

  “He sure has you wrapped around his finger.”

  “God damn your hide!” She grabbed Quint by the shirt collar and yanked him down to her level. “I was not with Jared this morning! At least not in the connubial sense.”

  He leaned closer, his nose almost touching hers. “Then where were you?”

  The scent of his skin wafted out from under his collar, his cologne or deodorant spicy, very male, kindling a flare of lust. She let go of his shirt and stepped back, needing distance to keep her head in the game instead of under the bleachers with him. “I was in the jungle looking for signs of whoever has been sabotaging our camp.”

  “What?” His brow wrinkled.

  “Happy now? Write that in your article.”

  He hit her with an exasperated glare. “Can it about that stupid article.”

  “It’s your fault.”

  He didn’t take her bait. “You think someone is behind these incidents? They’re not just accidents?”

  She nodded. “We found out for certain early this morning. Like I’ve preached from the start, it’s not a curse. What’s worse, the games are getting dangerous.”

  He gaped at her. “And you went out looking alone?”

  Sheesh! He must be taking lessons from her father. “This is another reason you should leave tomorrow. I can’t guarantee your safety if you stay any longer.”

  “Don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.”

  “Fine. Whatever.” She was tired of trying to take care of everyone anyway. “Just remember, I tried to save your ass.”

  “Who’s going to save your ass?”

  She didn’t answer.

  The intensity of his stare multiplied so fast it stole her thoughts. “Are you considering marrying Steel again?”

  She struggled for words, trying to come up with something coherent. “That’s a rather personal question.”

  “I’ve been feeling ‘rather personal’ lately when it comes to you.”

  What did that mean? “Of course I’m not going to marry Jared again.”

  “Good.” He stepped toward her, his intentions written all over his face. It didn’t take a decade of studying glyphs to read him.

  She backed into the counter, her heart tapping an S-O-S against her ribs. “Quint, don’t. Stop.”

  He placed his hands on the counter on both sides of her, cutting off all escape routes. “I won’t. Not this time.”

  She gulped. “There was a period between don’t and stop.”

  “I didn’t notice it.” He stared at her mouth.

  She scrambled for something to detour him. “I’m Jared’s ex-wife.” That had brought him to a halt the night of the Chachac ceremony.

  “Who gives a shit about that?”

  She thought he did. “It’d make things easier if you left.”

  “Too bad. I’m staying.” He crooked his head, lining up his lips with hers.

  She could feel the heat radiating from his skin through his shirt. “Why?”

  “I can’t stop thinking about you.” He traced her lower lip with the pad of his thumb.

  The tingling started at his touch and fire-balled south. “You can’t?”

  The back of his fingers trailed down her neck. “I’m not going anywhere until I do something about it.”

  She couldn’t stand this much more. It’d been too long since she’d felt anything even close to it … Hell, since she’d felt anything at all.

  She captured his hand. “Stop it,” she whispered, her throat constricted along with her lungs.

  This time he listened. His eyes searched hers, hesitation lurking in their green depths.

  To hell with it all. She was tired of being hungry for more whenever he was around.

  “Stop teasing me unless you plan to kiss me.” She lifted his hand to her mouth, running her teeth down the length of his index finger.

  He sucked in a breath, his eyes darkening as she lightly bit the web of skin between his finger and thumb. “Oh, sweet Jesus, I do.” Using his hand that she still clutched, he drew her against him and nudged her chin up with his knuckles. “Lick your lips, boss lady.”

  She did as told.

  A groan rolled up from deep in his chest. “I don’t know what’s sexier, your wet lips or you listening to me without fighting back for once.”

  She flirted with him from under her lashes. “Shut up and kiss me, Parker.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” His lips brushed over hers—soft, feather-like, testing. He drew back to look into her eyes, searching.

  That wasn’t enough by far. Sinking her fingers in his hair, she dragged him back down, showing him what she really wanted.

  This time there was no dithering in
his response. While his mouth took over, coaxing moans and gasps from her, he ran his hands down her sides, gripping her hips through her khakis. She suctioned herself tighter against him, craving more of the rugged terrain of his body.

  “Dios mio,” she breathed when he gave her time to catch her breath. “You really know how to kiss.”

  “I know how to do other things, too.” His lips trailed along her cheek.

  “Like what?” She closed her eyes, her body turning into liquid fire from the inside out. She moved against him, really, really interested in finding out firsthand.

  “Quint?” Her father’s voice penetrated the lust that was making her head rummy. “Are you in here?”

  Angélica gasped, leaping out of Quint’s arms.

  But it was too late. Her father stood frozen just inside the mess tent entrance. The wide-eyed look on his face made her want to hide under a table. Then he grinned, his face lighting up, and she knew she was up shit creek.

  “Well, hello, you two.” Juan sauntered toward them, handing a cardboard envelope with Express written on it over her shoulder to Quint.

  Quint cleared his throat. “Thanks, Dr. García.”

  “Oh, it’s Dr. García now, is it?” Juan crossed his arms over his chest. “So formal all of a sudden, huh, Quint? What were you two doing in here anyway?” He blinked with exaggerated innocence at both of them.

  Angélica trilled out a handful of Spanish curses. She’d never hear the end of it now.

  “Just what are your intentions, young man?” Juan’s grin grew even wider, his enjoyment soaring right along with her humiliation.

  “Dad, knock it off.” She blazed past him, her skin practically in flames. She needed some fresh air.

  “But I’m just starting my Spanish Inquisition,” he called after her.

  Quint’s low rumbling of laughter followed her out into the hot sunshine. The grass crackled under her boots as she strode toward her tent.

  She smacked the palm of her hand against her forehead. “Way to maintain control of your emotions around the guy, dummy.” What in the hell was she going to tell Jared when Quint was still here come Friday morning? She kneaded her hands together. More important, what in the hell was she going to do about Quint and what had happened back there?

  Maybe she should sleep with him and get it over with.

  She smacked her forehead again, aiming for the voice inside of it that wasn’t helping one iota.

  “Gatita!”

  She paused without looking back, waiting for her father to catch up.

  He grabbed her arm when he reached her side. “Where’re you heading?”

  There was a worried tone in his voice that made her look at him. Tension lined his eyes. “Back to my tent, why?

  He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, turning her toward his tent. “I need to talk to you alone.”

  She blew out an exasperated sigh. “If this is about what happened between Quint and me back there …”

  “I wish it were only that.”

  Come on! What now? She halted in her tracks. “I’m getting really tired of this crap, Dad.”

  He kissed the top of her head. “I know, gatita, but we have a problem.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Stela: An ancient inscribed stone monument.

  Quint waited until he had reached the safety of his sauna, aka tent, to tear open the express envelope from Jeff. He was tempted to open the window flaps so he could breathe while melting to death, but decided to see what he had in his hands first.

  Inside the envelope he found four sheets of paper. The top piece was a note from Jeff. The next one was a letter from Dr. Jared Steel requesting his own high school records. Judging by the Eastern Valley Catholic High School logo on the upper right corners of the last two sheets, they were the requested records.

  Fanning himself with the cardboard envelope, Quint dropped onto his cot and read Jeff’s letter.

  I’m still going through those boxes of Mom’s that I found in the attic above Dad’s office. So far, all of it seems fairly trivial, mostly more random articles from the university newspaper about Dr. Steel. These school records arrived in the mail yesterday morning. The envelope had our mailing address wrong, so it’s a wonder it made it here. The original post date is close to the time Mom passed away. There was no letter of explanation or anything, which makes me wonder if she’d hired that private detective to get this, too. I don’t understand why she would have wanted these. Then again, I don’t understand why my mother was obsessed with Dr. Steel at all. Anyway, I thought maybe you could make some sense of it. If I come across anything else of interest, I’ll send it your way. I hope you’re having more luck than I am.

  Don’t let the Yucatán bed bugs bite—or the snakes and spiders. Ha!

  Quint let Jeff’s letter drift to the floor and focused on the school records. The top third of the first page listed his hair and eye color, as well as his height and weight for the ninth and tenth grade. The eleventh and twelfth grade slots were empty. The rest of the records noted several instances when Steel had been given detention and why. Quint smirked as he read, remembering his own checkered school life.

  At the bottom of the second page, there was a handwritten note:

  Jared’s parents died last week in a boating accident. The state has decided to place the boy with a local foster family. He will be allowed to finish the final quarter here, but will be moved into a public high school next year.

  Quint felt a pang of sympathy for the kid, being orphaned at such a young age. He tried to picture a younger version of Steel, with blue eyes, dark blonde hair, and a lot less hostility, but he came up blank. That was the only side of Steel he’d ever known.

  Gathering the documents, he stuffed them back into the envelope. He started to stash them under the mattress, but then changed his mind. Rolling the cardboard into a tube, he jammed it into the middle of his backpack instead.

  He cinched his pack tight and stared at the canvas wall. Sweat trickled down his neck. “Okay, so now what, Sherlock?”

  He was still missing some crucial pieces of the puzzle when it came to Mrs. Hughes’ fascination with Steel. He had all kinds of articles and documents on the jerk, but nothing connecting them. No notes on why she went through the trouble to gather all of it.

  If only he could figure out a way to bring it up to Angélica without her getting bent out of shape. Being Steel’s ex-wife, she probably knew things about his past that would link the clues Mrs. Hughes had left behind. But after what had just happened between them in the mess tent, if Quint pressed her for information on Steel, would she think he had been warming her up in order to get her to spill personal details?

  He scoffed. Of course, and she’d probably also suspect he was going to use whatever she shared in his article.

  Fuck. He tossed his backpack on the floor. The damned hard-headed, distrustful, bossy woman! She could light his fuse like nobody else.

  His mind flashed back to the moments when she’d raked her teeth over his skin, pulled his mouth down to hers, moaned against him. She knew how to fire him up, too. It was too bad Juan had interrupted them.

  Closing his eyes, he replayed that kiss, getting sweaty all over again. Her mouth had tasted sweet from the mangos she’d been eating, while her skin had smelled like coconut sunblock. The two fruits had made an intoxicating combination, especially when she was pressing against him, all soft curves and wet …

  The sound of someone unzipping his tent flap yanked him back to the present. He turned, watching the zipper slide slowly along the bottom of the flap.

  Somebody was trying to be very quiet about sneaking into his tent. Was it the same person who was terrorizing the rest of the crew? The dig site’s saboteur?

  Quint looked around for something to use as a weapon. He looked at a cardboard shipping tube. No, too soft. Maybe that coil of rope hanging by the window. No, his lassoing skills were rusty. There, he zeroed in on a handful of tent stakes tied wit
h a strip of hemp … and what, he’d stab the intruder in the heart? This was turning into an episode of Scooby Doo versus Count Dracula.

  He swiped the long handled flashlight from his desk, flipping it around, waving it like a police baton. That was more like it. He crept into position, raising the flashlight.

  It was time to put an end to this game of cat and mouse.

  * * *

  “So, how many of them are leaving?” Angélica asked as she slumped onto her father’s cot.

  “Only two—Horatio and Octavio,” Juan answered. “Where’s that book on seashells, the Wayfarers one? Is it somewhere in your messy tent?”

  “No, it’s on your desk, right there under those books on structural architecture.” How could he think about seashells while members of her crew were fleeing the dig site like mice from a burning milpa? “Have you tried talking some sense into either of them?”

  Juan pulled out the book on shells. “It’s no use. They’re convinced it’s the curse.”

  “Way to go, Jared.” She wrinkled her lip. “I told him to keep a low profile. I knew something like this would happen if anyone saw him.”

  “It was a case of bad timing. He thought he’d waited long enough to avoid running into anyone after breakfast.”

  “I think it was a case of arrogant stupidity.” She rubbed her temples, trying to push aside her frustration and figure out a solution.

  Juan fished his glasses from his shirt pocket. “Teodoro noticed this morning that some of his balche was missing. He suspects the two boys dipped into that last night and that’s why they were lagging behind the others and ran into Jared.” He used his shirt tail to clean his glasses, a crooked smile forming on his mouth. “We’ve all had our share of those mind-numbing balche hangovers.”

  “Maybe we could offer some kind of incentive for them to stay.”

  “Like what?” He slipped on his glasses and flipped open the book. “More money?”

  She laced her fingers together, running through numbers in her head. “I can’t give them more pay without giving everyone more, and my budget is already maxed out. Due to the extra crew we took on, I had to cut into our supply allotment in order to give these guys a semi-decent wage.”