by Ann Charles
When he cleared the last of the remains, his knees gave out. He leaned over the remains of the right leg, sucking in deep breaths to get rid of the lightheadedness that was making him sway.
Grabbing his flashlight, he shined the beam down at where the right foot should have been but wasn’t.
Mrs. Hughes’ words clanged in his thoughts:
… a boot with his name scrawled on it (an old Navy habit) was found close by on the jungle floor. Some of his foot was still in it (mostly bones). They figure an animal dragged away what was left of his body, because they couldn’t find it.
Quint scrubbed his hands down his face, his heart beating a bass drum in his ears, loud and hard.
He’d found Dr. Hughes.
Until that moment, a small part of him had believed in the fantasy that Dr. Hughes had suffered from amnesia for the last two decades and was down here growing old under a different name. He’d wanted to have something good to take home to Jeff and his family, something uplifting.
Not this. Fuck, not this.
Mrs. Hughes had been right. Her husband hadn’t been on that plane. Some rotten piece of shit had cut off Dr. Hughes’ foot, probably years after he was dead judging by the lack of any blood remnants around the bottom of the leg, and planted it there to fool the authorities. Someone twisted and demented and desperate, and Quint had a good idea who.
And so had Mrs. Hughes.
He heard the rasp of a shoe slide across the pebble-covered floor and lunged to his feet, reaching for his machete.
Something hard slammed into the back of his skull.
A bolt of pain streaked through his head as he fell forward. The floor kissed his cheek goodnight, and the lights went out.
* * *
Angélica was starting to lose it.
There’d been nobody in the outer chamber when she’d gotten brave enough to peek out through the hole, not even the stupid mouse.
All of the stress she’d been dealing with for so long had her brain all cattywampus. At least that excuse made her feel less skittish as she clambered up the last ladder leading away from the king’s tomb and jogged through the passageway toward the temple’s exit. Every so often, she’d glance behind her to make sure nobody was following her.
She shot out of the temple and down the steps, one of the two shells the king had been buried with wrapped in the piece of cloth clutched in her palm. She went straight to Quint’s tent, eager to share the news of her find.
His tent flap was unzipped at the bottom. Rover must be outside, probably rooting around in María’s garden. She grimaced. That was not a good habit for him to get into.
“Quint,” she called as she opened the flap the rest of the way, ducking inside. Nobody was home.
Where was he? The mess tent? She walked over to his desk. The photos they’d found in the Dawn Temple were there, partially wadded up. Why’d he do that to them? He wouldn’t have gone back in the Dawn Temple again without her, would he?
Back outside she slowly zipped the flap closed, debating where to look next. A whisper of fear nipped at her. Had someone gotten to him while he was sleeping? No, she would have seen a sign of a struggle, a turned over cot, something. Wouldn’t she?
He was fine. She needed to keep a lid on her panic for a little bit longer until they’d hiked to the village and called Pedro to come and get them. Quint was probably messing around back in the Dawn Temple again, that was all. Something to do with those pictures Dr. Hughes had left behind.
She turned around.
Jared stood there, not five feet away, wearing the same clothes he’d been wearing yesterday. Only they looked like they’d been worn for twenty-four hours in a jungle, all dirty, sweaty, and wrinkled. Very un-Jared like.
She squeaked in surprise, echoing the mouse in the king’s tomb. “Jared? What are you doing here?” Where was everyone else? Was her father okay? Had the helicopter gone down?
“Hello, darling.” He pulled a handgun from behind his back and pointed it at her face. “Did you miss me?”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Cimic: To die; death.
Quint opened his eyes, blinking several times to bring the world into focus.
A skull stared at him, its jaws wide in a silent scream.
He jerked back, groaning as a bolt of pain shot through his head, and quickly lay flat on the floor again.
His right cheekbone stung as he lay there in the dirt. He tried to lift his hand to touch his face only to realize his wrists were tied together behind his back. His ankles were bound, too.
Closing his eyes, he tried to remember what had happened … footfalls … someone coming up behind him … he’d reached for the machete. That was it.
There’d been only one set of footfalls, he was pretty sure. That didn’t mean an accomplice wasn’t hiding outside in the tunnel though.
Angélica!
Oh, Jesus! He had to find her, warn her. He struggled to free his hands. The rope dug deeper into his skin.
“Fuck!” He stared into the skull’s empty eye sockets, swallowing back a wave of panic.
He lifted his head off the floor to look around and felt something sticky on the back of his neck. It pulled on the hairs there when he moved. That couldn’t be good.
His flashlight lay next to Dr. Hughes’ pelvic bone, about two feet away. The beam of light lit up a piece of limestone. Was it dimmer than before? How long had he been out?
If he could find a sharp edge on one of the rocks scattered around him, maybe he could free himself before whoever had hit him returned for more batting practice.
He rolled onto his back, lying on his bound hands, maneuvering so his head was pointing toward the exit. Another shot of pain made him grit his teeth. When it eased, he pushed with his heels and inched across the floor, bumping against his flashlight as he passed. The light spun around, pointing to the entrance to the chamber. Pausing to adjust his hands, he twisted as much as he could to look in the direction of the light.
Something hung down in the chamber entryway. What in the hell? He twisted further. It was an ax handle. The blade was buried in the main support beam overhead.
Quint’s blood chilled.
Dirt trickled from the ceiling, settling onto his neck and chest.
He looked up. A large section of the support beam directly above him had been hacked away, the remaining timber was ragged from the ax blade.
Another creak of splintering wood filled the room, followed by a low rumble.
A handful of grit and dust fell from the weakened ceiling, dusting his chest and the floor next to his shoulder.
“Hells bells,” he whispered.
* * *
Angélica stared at the gun aimed at her chest. Jared’s steady grip gave her the chills. She lifted her chin, holding his gaze. “What do you want from me, Jared?”
He smiled, his eyes gleaming with contempt. “To start with, I’ll take that shell.”
“No!” She clutched the shell tightly against her stomach and took a step back.
“You didn’t think I knew about your little treasure hunt, did you? You shouldn’t try to hide things from your husband, darling.” His hand snaked out and grabbed her arm, yanking her toward him. “What’s yours is mine. Now give it to me.”
She hesitated. Her mother had worked so hard for this find, putting her reputation on the line.
He pressed the cool barrel of the gun up under her chin. “Don’t be stupid.”
She held the shell out toward him. He snatched it from her, keeping the gun jammed under her chin. “That’s my girl.” He tucked the shell into his shirt pocket and buttoned the flap.
Fury balled in her chest, burning. After all she’d worked for the last three years, he thought he could just walk onto her dig site and take the spoils from her.
“Now comes the fun part.” He lowered the gun, and then swung her around so her back was to him. The barrel jabbed into her upper spine. “Let’s go see how your boyfriend is doing.”
Quint! “What have you done, Jared?”
“You’ll see soon enough.” He shoved her forward, toward the Dawn Temple.
As they neared the temple steps, the bushes at the jungle’s edge rustled. Rover waddled out into the morning light.
She stopped, not wanting the javelina to follow wherever Jared was leading her. But as soon as Rover saw her, he trotted over, rubbing his snout against her leg.
“Go away!” Jared kicked at the javelina, catching Rover with the toe of his boot.
Rover squealed, running a few feet away, then stopping.
“Leave him alone, Jared.”
“I’ve had enough of that foul pig.”
“He’s a javelina.”
“He’s disgusting. Almost every time I sneaked into your tent, he was there to squeal on me.”
That’s how Jared had known about the shell. He’d been stealing into her tent all along, snooping through her stuff, the nosey bunghole. “So that’s why you were there with Rover that one night when I came back from the shower.” She glared at him. “You said you’d heard him squealing and rushed to his aid. But that wasn’t it at all, was it? Rover had been protecting his territory, ratting you out.”
At the sound of his name, the javelina came running back over to her.
“No, Rover. Get out of here.” She nudged him away.
He brushed against her leg again, sticking close.
“Go!” She pushed him toward the jungle.
Rover turned and looked at her, tilting his head.
“Go home,” she said, shooing him away with her hands.
“Stupid, disgusting pig,” Jared said from behind her. She glared over at him and froze at the sight of him aiming his gun at the javelina.
“No!” She rammed into Jared as he squeezed off a shot. The explosion was deafening, then several loud squeals pierced the air.
She turned back to Rover. Fresh blood was splattered on the dry grass, but there was no javelina to be seen. The bushes at the jungle’s edge shook in his wake.
Jared bellowed a victorious shout that ended in laughter.
Her eyes watered. Rage, fear, and hatred roiled in her throat.
“Oh, please,” he said when he turned the barrel back on her. “Don’t tell me you’re going to cry over that vile pig.”
“He’s a fucking javelina, you prick.” And the bastard was going to pay for shooting him. “You got the seashell, Jared,” she spoke through clenched teeth. “What else do you want from me?”
He rubbed the barrel of the gun down the side of her face from temple to jaw, his eyes a bit too manic for comfort. “Nothing much, darling. Just your life.”
* * *
Was that a gunshot?
As Quint rubbed the ropes faster against the jagged edge of the fallen block of ceiling, he could feel the binding loosening. Sweat soaked his shirt, dripping from everywhere.
If it were a gunshot, it had to have been close for him to hear it inside this limestone coffin. Fear for Angélica made him work harder on freeing his hands. He had to hurry up and get to her, help her.
The sound of someone coming down the passageway stopped him short. There was more than one person coming this time. He looked over at the entryway, his breath held.
Angélica stumbled through first, tripping over a small pile of rocks. Quint winced as he watched her fall to her knees on the floor.
She was alive! The relief flooding him was short-lived, slowed by the sight of her escort.
Steel! He was back.
Before Quint could get a word out, Steel grabbed Angélica by the hair and yanked her to her feet. Pulling a .38 Special out from behind him, he aimed it at Quint.
Oh, hell! What was he going to do with that?
Then realization struck him like a cannonball to the gut. Not only had Steel been responsible for Dr. Hughes’ missing foot and Dr. Norah Ann Sutcliffe’s so-called accident, but all of the injuries and sabotage here at the dig site over the last few weeks. He was their curse.
Damn. They had a killer on their hands, and unfortunately, Quint’s were still tied.
“Hello, Parker.” Steel’s flashlight blinded him. “What a nasty scrape you have there. How’s that lump on the back of your head?”
Quint squinted in the bright light. “I knew you’d surface again, Steel.”
“Really?” Steel turned on a lantern that sat on the floor, setting his flashlight at his feet. “You think you have me all figured out, Mr. Detective? Did all of Mrs. Hughes’ clippings and notes about me that you have tucked away in your tent spell it out for you?”
“No. Shit floats.” Quint wondered how many times Steel had been in his tent searching through his things. It appeared somebody had been busy digging for his own treasures when everyone else had been working.
Steel smirked. “We’ll see who’s the funny man when I bury you two in here under tons of rock and skip on back to my alibi in Cancun.”
“Jared,” Angélica broke in, stepping in front of Quint. “This is between you and me. Leave Parker out of it.”
Steel kept the gun held high. “Actually, darling, Parker and I have business of our own to attend to regarding our old friend, Dr. Hughes.” He nodded his head toward the skeleton Quint had uncovered. “But I’ll take care of you first, if you insist.” He pointed the barrel at her. “Untie Parker’s feet. I want him standing for this.”
She knelt next to Quint’s legs, her hands trembling as she tried to untie the knot. She looked up at him. He’d expected to see fear in her eyes; instead, fury burned there, blasting him back in surprise.
“I’m gonna fuck him up royally,” she whispered.
Quint’s chest tightened. Oh, no, what was she going to try in the sights of a loaded .38?
“What was that, darling?” Steel was squinting, practicing aiming the gun at arm’s length, focusing on different parts of Angélica’s body.
“She wondered why you killed Dr. Hughes,” Quint lied, trying to distract Steel from pulling the trigger.
Steel closed one eye, targeting, then the other. “He got too nosey.”
“Dr. Hughes knew about Norah, didn’t he?”
“The old man got lucky.”
Angélica freed Quint’s ankles, tossing the rope aside. She stood a little stiffly, rubbing the side of her thigh as she rose. What had Steel done to her already? Kicked her? Went to town on her, too?
“Lucky, my ass,” Quint said. “You were so eager to climb to the top back then that you got reckless. He saw that in you. That’s why he never trusted you.” That explained several decisions Dr. Hughes had made that last dig season, involving Quint oftentimes when protocol would have called for Steel.
Steel shrugged. “He’s dead now, so his trust doesn’t matter anymore.” He pointed at Quint with the gun. “Darling, help Parker up. I have a feeling he’s going to feel a little woozy when he’s on his feet, so keep him standing.”
She followed his order, her hands gentle on Quint while her glare sliced and diced her ex-husband.
A sharp pain pierced Quint’s skull as soon as he was upright. A wave of nausea made him double over, while shooting stars filled his vision. He felt himself tipping. Angélica wrapped her arms around him, holding him upright. After several seconds his head cleared. The nausea ebbed and the pain between his eyes waned to a dull throb. He pulled out of her grip, waving off her look of concern.
She touched the back of his neck, the sticky part. Her fingers were dark red when she pulled them away. “What did you do to him, Jared?”
“You should be more concerned about what I’m going to do to you.” Steel held the gun pointed toward her forehead.
They needed that .38! “Why did you kill Norah?”
Steel’s focus shifted back to Quint. “For a man who should be enjoying his last few breaths in the present, you sure seem obsessed with the past.”
“Did Norah know about Roy Bumm?” he asked, trying to keep the self-important jerk talking, not shooting.<
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The gun lowered slightly. “Ah, so you found out about Roy Bumm. I’m surprised you’re clever enough to put that together.”
“That wasn’t it.” Angélica’s voice overflowed with loathing. “Knowing you, Jared, Dr. Sutcliffe had something you wanted. A certain theory, I’m betting, that would secure you a master’s degree.”
“Now, darling, remember your place.”
Quint inched toward Angélica, who looked ready to pounce. That’s when he noticed the camp knife she had partially tucked behind her, hidden from Steel’s sight.
Oh, hell. She knew better than to bring a knife to a gunfight.
“Of course, it all makes sense now,” she said. “You seduced her into sharing her theory with you, and then you killed her.”
Quint frowned, sidetracked. “Really?”
She nodded. “Ask Jared to explain to you the relationship between the tzolkin and haab calendar cycles?” She sneered at Steel. “Better yet, have him tell you the date in our calendar system that is equivalent to 12 Baktun, 19 Katun, 2 Tun, 13 Uinal, and 19 Kin.”
Where was she going with this? Quint turned to Steel, wondering if he were going to bite.
“Oh, that’s right,” Angélica taunted. “You don’t know the answer to either one, do you?” Her scoff echoed off the walls. “I never understood how you could’ve written such a highly praised paper on the Maya calendar cycles in relation to the Long Count calendar system without even knowing how to read the representational glyphs—until now.”
Steel’s face contorted in fury. “You think you’re so smart, don’t you? Speaking and writing in Mayan, reading glyphs as if they’re comic books.”
“It’s called education, you village idiot. You should try it sometime.”
The .38 Special was back, leveled on Angélica’s face. “Norah got what was coming to her. Like you, she thought she was smarter than me.” Looking mad as a hatter, Steel’s smile returned, too. “Like her, you’re going to pay for that mistake.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Quint saw her shift her grip on the knife, getting it prepped to throw.
“You don’t know what you’re doing with those shells, Jared.” She angled her body ever so slightly, her focus solely on her ex, holding him in place. “You need me to explain and write the papers, or you’ll look like a fool.”