by Ann Charles
“Have you informed him he’s leaving?”
“I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Because I’d hate to have to tell your father that this is his last year down here.”
She shoved his hand off her shoulder. “You know, you haven’t changed a bit over the years. One minute you’re telling me how much you care about me, the next you’re trying to tear me down.”
“I’m only looking out for your welfare. I know how much this dig site means to you. Remember, I’ve known Parker a lot longer than you.”
“You knew him twenty years ago.”
“A tiger doesn’t change his stripes.”
She glared up at him. “No, he sure doesn’t, does he?”
“Angélica, don’t let our past differences interfere with your admirable, logical, level-headed good sense.”
“Fuck you.”
She left him standing in front of her tent. Quint had better come through on his part of the deal they had made yesterday, because otherwise she’d just sealed her father’s fate.
* * *
Mornings in this hellhole were legendarily awful, with biting flies and sweltering humidity. All Quint needed was a three-legged dog, an empty wallet, and a broken heart and he’d have an award-winning country song on his hands.
He finger-combed his hair as he walked back to his tent, his jaw stinging from shaving with plain old soap. Here he was fresh from the tin-bucket shower, and he was already sweating. That was just a Porta-Potty full of wonderful.
Earlier, after wrestling the snake from Rover’s jaws and getting coated in snake blood and javelina slobber in the process, he’d skipped breakfast in lieu of a scrub down. He’d been scraping off the last of his beard stubble when he’d heard the helicopter coming in.
As soon as he dropped off his shampoo and razor, he was going to head over and find out who had arrived for the party … or if the helicopter was here to rush someone away. He hoped Diego’s leg hadn’t taken a turn for the worse.
He turned the corner of his tent and saw Steel standing across the way outside of Angélica’s zip flap.
The jerk challenged him with a scowl.
Speaking of snakes, Quint thought with a lip curl. He paused long enough to toss his stuff inside his tent and then headed over to deal with more venomous vermin.
“You misplace your stick?” he asked Steel.
“What?”
“You know, the one that’s been jammed up your ass since you showed up here?”
The skin around Steel’s mouth tightened. “What’s it like for you, Parker, trying to fit in with the more intellectual crowd and always falling abysmally short?”
And the gloves were off again. “You and I need to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you—except when are you leaving?”
Quint planted his feet, ready to lock horns. “I’m not.”
“I believe that’s Angélica’s decision, but if I were you, I’d start packing.”
“She told me yesterday I could stay as long as I needed.”
Steel sniffed. “That’s her mistake then.”
“Something told me you’d take that attitude. Why are you so determined to get me out of here?”
“You’re not trustworthy.”
“Trustworthy or not, I have a legitimate reason for being here, unlike you.”
“You’re a liar. When Angélica finds out how deep your lies go, she’ll tear you apart limb by limb.”
Quint rubbed his smooth chin, studying his adversary, deciding tactics. “Where did the love go, Steel? Does this animosity you’re still clinging to after twenty long years have anything to do with my turning you in for being too rough with that young Maya kid?”
Steel’s jaw jutted. “He needed to be disciplined.”
Maybe, but not beaten senseless. “Or are you still bellyaching because Dr. Hughes trusted me with secrets he refused to share with you?”
“You did nothing to deserve his esteem. You were a selfish brat brought down here to be taught how to work hard and respect authority.”
Quint didn’t deny that. He’d been fresh out of school, full of rebellion, and high from an overinflated ego. Had it not been for Dr. Hughes, he probably wouldn’t be where he was today. “Dr. Hughes recognized my potential, and in case you’ve forgotten, his respect wasn’t given freely. I earned it that summer through sweat—lots of sweat.”
A vein pulsed in Steel’s temple. “Why are you here, Parker?”
“You know exactly why I’m here.” To find a ghost. “To write an article.”
“I hope you don’t have some romantic notion that you’ll find Dr. Hughes holed up in one of these temples, waiting for you to rescue him, because he’s long dead.”
Interesting that Steel would mention that. “What makes you so sure of his demise?”
“Five years ago, a plane was found in the Guatemalan jungle, two hundred and fifty miles southwest of here, half swallowed by the bush.”
“I’m sure there are downed planes strewn throughout the Central and South American jungles. What does that have to do with Dr. Hughes?”
“Hughes is dead.” Steel took a step closer as if to reinforce his point. “He was on that plane when it crashed and burned twenty years ago.”
Quint tried to hide his surprise behind a stony mask. “What proof is there that Dr. Hughes was on that plane?”
“The tail broke off during the crash. They found his luggage near the wreckage, along with other personal belongings.”
“How come Mrs. Hughes wasn’t aware of this?”
“She was, but she chose not to believe it, clinging to some foolish hope of finding her husband alive in some remote village with his memory wiped.”
He didn’t want to believe Steel. Hell, part of Quint was holding onto hope, too. Hope that Dr. Hughes was still around, impossible as that seemed.
Until he could investigate this nugget of information further, he decided to change the subject. “Drop the blackmail threat, Steel. I’m not leaving tomorrow.”
Steel inhaled through his teeth. “Angélica told you about our little arrangement, did she? How unfortunate for her father.”
“Drop the blackmail or deal with the consequences.”
“This is really a bit over your head, Parker.”
“Okay, let me speak in your vernacular,” Quint said. “If you don’t drop the blackmail threat, I’m going to call up the editor of American Archaeology Today, who happens to be a good friend of mine, and explain to her that you are using blackmail as a means to get me kicked off this dig site.”
Steel’s face hardened so fast Quint was amazed it didn’t split in two.
He continued, “We’ll see how your superiors like having their university criticized in print for using petty treachery and interfering with not only the public’s awareness of the past, but also the scientific community’s advancement in knowledge about the Maya people.” Quint crossed his arms over his chest. “Trust me, you aren’t going to be well-liked when this article comes out. Hell, who knows, you might even lose your job, along with respect from your peers.”
If looks could burn a man to death, Quint would be nothing more than a poof of smoke.
He rocked back on his heels. “So what’s it going to be, Steel? Are you going to back off, or do I have to hike to the village this morning and make a phone call?”
* * *
By the time Angélica caught up with her father and Pedro in the mess tent, Juan had already spilled most of the beans.
“The blisters were where?” Pedro grimaced.
“You heard me,” Juan said. “And then Jared ended up with biting ants in his cot.”
“No!”
“He was covered with red welts for over a day. Angélica made him wear a hat and sunglasses whenever he left his tent. He looked like some kind of polka-dotted clown. And then—”
“Dad!” Angélica interrupted. “Don’t you think that’s enough muckraking for on
e day?”
“It’s not really muckraking since we’re not exactly prominent people, gatita. Besides, it’s just Pedro.”
“What’s ‘muckraking’ mean?” Pedro asked.
“It’s still humiliating.”
“You’re overreacting.” He turned back to Pedro. “Diego was bit by a coral snake this morning.”
Pedro winced with his whole upper body. “Ay yi yi.”
“He’ll be okay, thanks to Teodoro’s quick thinking, but that leg is going to smart for a while.”
“So all of this is because of her curse?” Pedro nodded in Angélica’s direction before taking a sip of his coffee.
“My curse?” Her dad must have filled him in on everything else when he had flown to Cancun to get his tooth fixed. “Really, Dad?”
Juan had the decency to look a little sheepish.
“Sounds like hanging around here isn’t going to be good for my health.” Pedro lowered his cup to the table. “Especially if someone will be muck-cracking me.”
“Pedro, not ‘muckcracking,’ it’s muckraking,” Angélica explained. “And you’re staying for two weeks no matter what.” She needed him more than he could imagine.
“Of course I am, mi angelita.” He patted her hand in his usual brotherly way.
“Angélica thought maybe we could start having a couple of men pull night watches,” Juan stirred more sugar into his coffee. “What do you think?”
“Es bueno,” Pedro agreed.
“We can’t spare any men completely from the day shift,” she said. “But maybe if we split the nights into four-hour shifts, it won’t cause that much of a ripple effect in the workload.”
Pedro finished his coffee, bringing his cup down hard like a judge’s gavel. “I’ll cover the first shift tonight. Have Rafael pull the second.”
“You sure? You just flew in.”
“I’m well-rested and fresh compared to the rest of you.”
“True.” Juan leaned toward Pedro, a fat grin popping up on his face. “You’ll never guess who I caught Angélica with in this very tent yesterday morning, and they weren’t in here drinking coffee.”
Her mouth fell open.
“Por favor, don’t tell me it was Dr. Steel?”
“Nope. It was—”
“Dad!”
Pedro might be practically family, but some things did not need to be shared.
“Would you look what’s falling out of the sky these days,” Quint’s voice behind her made her jump. “Pedro Montañero in the flesh. I’ll be damned.”
Angélica hoped like the dickens that Quint hadn’t heard what her father had been saying a moment before. She lifted her coffee cup to her lips, trying to hide behind it.
“Quint Parker!” Pedro stood as Quint rounded the table. “A big, old birdy told me you were here.” He pumped Quint’s hand. “Have you been staying out of trouble all these years?”
Angélica peered over her cup at Quint. Freshly shaven, damp hair combed back with a few wavy tendrils already breaking free, smelling of soap, he looked good enough to eat in one tempting bite.
“Hell, no.” Quint grinned. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Pedro patted the bench seat next to him. “Join us, amigo.” After Quint grabbed some coffee and settled in across from her, Pedro elbowed him lightly. “Quint, what does ‘muck-er-aching’ mean? Angélica keeps saying something about it to Juan.”
“She does, huh?” Quint shot Angélica a raised brow. “It’s kind of like mudslinging.”
Pedro’s whole face rounded in a whopping smile. “Ah, sí. I’ve seen those shows—two women in bikinis covered with mud while they fight. Ay yi yi.”
“Ay yi yi is right,” Quint said with a wink at Angélica.
Angélica wrinkled her nose back at him, then squeezed Pedro’s hand across the table. “Pedro, you have a wonderful way with English, but that’s not the kind of mudslinging I’m talking about.”
“What I said was not exactly muckraking,” Juan said to Quint. “I was filling Pedro in on what’s been going on around here.”
“Ah, gotcha.” Quint looked at Pedro. “It’s sort of like whistle-blowing.”
Angélica stole a line from Lauren Bacall in To Have and Have Not, one of her mom’s favorite movies. “You know how to whistle don’t you, Pedro,” she said, her voice smoky. “You just put your lips together and … blow.”
Quint’s gaze was glued to her mouth. He puckered and let out a quiet wolf whistle, finishing the scene Bogart style.
Pedro tried to copy Quint’s whistle, but it sounded weak, so he gave up and trilled instead, which made Juan laugh.
“Try again,” her father encouraged.
While Pedro and her dad fooled around with whistling, Quint tapped her wrist, getting her attention.
He leaned across the table and spoke low. “I ran into someone outside your tent.”
Jared! Her grip tightened on her cup. “What a coincidence. He was just asking about you this morning.”
“That should be the last time. My side of the deal is done.”
She blinked in surprise. “That was quick.”
“I don’t mess around.” He sent her a cockeyed smile. “Except with women who know how to whistle.”
Flirt! Okay, now that the whole blackmail mess was behind them, she needed to get back to business, to keep her mind on her work—not Quint. “I believe I owe you a big thanks.”
Quint shot her a smoldering look. “Or something else.”
Her new resolve buckled just like that. She gulped some coffee, careful not to swallow her tongue.
“What does whistling have to do with the curse?” Pedro asked, bringing them back around to where they’d started.
Juan snapped his fingers. “I know! Think of it as being dragged through the mud.”
“Why would she think you were dragging me through the mud?” Pedro asked Juan.
She needed some fresh air. Too many of her senses were suddenly tuned into the All-Quint-All-Night radio show going on in her head. Standing, she told Pedro, “I meant he was exposing what’s been going on around here.”
Pedro shrugged. “Teodoro fills me in every Tuesday when he calls from the village.”
“You knew about all this?”
“Not all. I missed Teodoro’s call yesterday. But I knew about the curse.”
She growled in her throat. Was there no such thing as a secret around this place? That was it. She needed a few hours alone in the Dawn Temple to find her happy, orderly, get-her-shit-together place.
Pointing her cup at Quint, she changed back into boss mode. “You’re with Fernando again today. Dad, you take Jared and Pedro.”
“Will do,” Juan picked up his coffee. “As soon as I finish this. Where are you running off to?”
“I have a report to write,” she lied.
“Right.” He stirred his drink. “Be careful, gatita. Sub Chambers Q and V are extremely unstable.”
* * *
This trip to jungle hell was turning into reunion central. First Steel and now Pedro. Quint snorted. If only Dr. Hughes would make an appearance, he could turn in his name badge and leave the party.
Or not.
He had a few things to sort out with Angélica first.
“Quint!” Pedro called, catching up with Quint just outside his tent and handing him a large manila envelope. “I have something for you.”
Quint held up the envelope. “From you?”
Pedro shook his head. “From Jeff Hughes.”
“I didn’t realize you know Jeff.”
“He called three days ago, said he found mi nombre and number in some of his madre’s things and wondered why.”
Quint wondered why, too. Maybe the answer was in the envelope in his hand.
“I told him you and I used to work together for his papa and I would be seeing you soon. He asked if he could ship this to me to bring to you.”
Quint squeezed the envelope. It felt like some kind of thin book. He
itched to open it, but not in front of Pedro. “Thank you for making sure I got it.”
“No problema.” Pedro hitched his bag over his shoulder. “Now which of these tents was Alonso’s? Juan said I can sleep there.”
Quint pointed across the way. “That green one.” He picked at the corner of the package, working it loose.
“Gracías. Wish me luck. I’m working with Jared this morning. He is … what do you say? A fun blower.”
“You mean a fun-sucker.”
Pedro chuckled. “Some things never change, sí? Save me a seat at lunch.”
He watched Pedro walk away, debating whether he should ask him to keep quiet about Jeff’s delivery. No, that might make him curious.
As soon as Pedro was out of sight, Quint tore open the top of the envelope. What could be so important that Jeff had to ship it via Pedro? Why had Mrs. Hughes been in possession of Pedro’s name and number?
“Quint!” Juan was headed his way.
He lowered the envelope, trying to discreetly tuck it behind him.
“Fernando wants me to take you over to where he’s working.” Juan came to a stop in front of him. “He moved inside the temple to one of the chambers.”
Of course he had. It was undoubtedly hotter, tighter, and a helluva lot more dangerous inside. Quint couldn’t wait to dig in.
“It’s like a maze in there,” Juan added. “Can be dangerous if you don’t know where you’re going.”
Juan was doing a bad job of selling today’s task, but Quint had no choice. Angélica needed the help, and he needed to get to the bottom of these Dr. Hughes’ clues. He rubbed his thumb over the torn piece of envelope. Jeff’s package would have to wait until later, along with the new questions Pedro’s news had drudged up.
“Let me grab something from my tent.”
At Juan’s nod, Quint stepped inside, glancing behind him to make sure Juan didn’t follow. Unable to resist, he peeked inside the envelope and saw a letter clipped to the front of a notepad. He opened the envelope wider and read: I finally found Mom’s notes! They were in…
“You coming, boy?” Juan’s voice interrupted.
“Be right there.” He stuffed the envelope under his cot, his pulse rat-a-tat-tatting about what answers he was going to find in that envelope.