12.21.12: The Vessel (The Altunai Annals)

by Killian McRae

  “Do you still have family around here?”

  Victoria shook her head. “Sadly, no. Everyone’s dead or moved on to other places.”

  He could see a speck of sympathy in her eyes, perhaps reflecting his own. She was just as lonely as he was in this world. Shep wasn’t quite ready to cry like old girlfriends and braid each other’s hair, however, so he diverted the subject. “And how did you become interested in the Olmec? You were trained in Egyptology, no?”

  “True enough, but my interests have always varied. And, being native here, the Olmec are part of my heritage.”

  “Yes, you must be one of the Veracruz Kents.” Shep laughed. “Not a very Latin-sounding name, Kent. How did your family end up down here?”

  “Keep a secret?” She leaned over, a conspiratorial look meeting his. Shep mirrored her movements, bringing his face within inches of hers. She licked her lips, and, Lord help him, he couldn’t help but wonder if they were as soft as they looked. “Kent isn’t really my name.”

  Shep couldn’t make out from her half-smirk and taunting eyes if she was pulling his leg.

  Nor could he bring himself to shift away from her, though he knew that he was inappropriately close. He couldn’t explain it. Sure, finding her attractive made sense; she was young, intelligent, and beautiful as sin. Still, why this overpowering sense of ... familiarity? He was drawn to her somehow. It wasn’t anything emotional, of that he was certain. His heart had made a lifetime commitment. However, there were desires bordering on compulsion, and they hadn’t been met in quite some time. He needed to close the distance, needed to kiss her. Victoria bit her bottom lip, and as her eyes fluttered closed, Shep felt his pulse spiral out of control. He leaned forward tentatively.

  “You feel it, too, don’t you?” Shep whispered, his eyes closing as he awaited the gravitational force between them to bring him crashing into her.

  “A wise woman wouldn’t.”

  The moment passed. As though the rain from outside had found its way in, the heat between them washed away with her retreat.

  “I’m sorry,” Shep found himself barking out before he could even fathom what he had to be sorry for.

  She shook her head violently. “I didn’t mean to get so close. I didn’t ... That would have been very wrong, and I would have done it for all the wrong reasons.”

  Shep found no words with which to respond. Wouldn’t he have been the one taking advantage of her? He parted his lips to speak, to assure her that she had nothing to apologize for, but was stopped short by Victoria jumping to her feet. Stuffing her book into a leather satchel, she threw it over her shoulder in such haste that she didn’t notice one loose leaf of paper flutter down to the floor.

  “I have to go.”

  It was such an impossible a statement—with a hurricane raging outside and at night—that, for a moment, he thought she was making a joke. He was hardly laughing as he watched her undo both pressure locks on the door and open it. The wind pelted droplets of water over his face, stinging with each hit.

  “Victoria, if I said or did something ...”

  She gave him the briefest, most intriguing of smiles. “It wasn’t you. It’s always been me.”

  With a swish of her coat and hair falling behind her frame as she exited, she was gone.

  Perplexed, Shep sealed the door and watched through the window as the havoc outside consumed her silhouette, taking his shame with it. Would it have been so wrong to kiss her? Had she not wanted to? He wasn’t a college kid anymore, but was he so repulsive to her young eyes? Sure, his blond hair was spiked with gray. Despite his kinship with Cuervo, he logged enough time on the treadmill to burn off his hangover each morning that he was trim if not fit. And yes, there were a few wrinkles around his eyes and a little wear on his elbows, but he felt young. Youngish. Well, anyhow, not old.

  Bending over, he scooped up the paper. Pictorial lines drawn at odd angles comprised glyphs he didn’t recognize. Mayan, he assumed, although underneath each English translations and margin notes enlightened his understanding. As he looked at a notation in the center, his heart nearly stopped.

  He barely slept the rest of the night, lapsing between slumber and consciousness with every roll of thunder or refreshed cadence of rainfall. In the emerging light of morning, he finally found rest as the storm let up and the rain lessened into a gentle tap-tap-tap on the window that hypnotized. He hoped the dawn would bring Victoria back from wherever she had weathered the storm and the awkwardness that now lay between them.

  Much later, the rain and wind stopped. Shep rolled over and found the cot across from him undisturbed. Replaying the evening in his head, he still couldn’t make heads or tails of it. He had to find her, to apologize … or maybe kiss her. He considered telling Hector about Victoria’s little admission about the scroll, but decided against it considering how seriously Plaxis took their security protocols. No doubt there was a reason she didn’t want Hector to know she had seen it, and he couldn’t see how outing her would get him the answers to his questions any quicker.

  The unhinging of the locks from outside and the crashing open of the door broke his concentration. Hector’s quivering frame filled the space, his face whiter than should have been possible for a man of his complexion. He looked at Victoria’s cot with a heavy brow. “So she is gone.”

  Shep rolled up on one elbow. “She took off about nine-thirty last night. Any idea where I can find her?”

  “Not just Vick,” Hector gasped. He stumbled into the room as though in a trance. “Everything. The box. The scroll. Even the statuette, Shep. It’s all gone.”

  Chapter 5

  Victoria Kent was a lot of things, but stupid she was not, although descriptors such as self-serving, manipulative, coy, and arrogant she’d cop to. She had no qualms about the risks involved with her activities on the Yucatan, despite the fact that certain parties would be uber-pissed once they found out. The fact that she was indispensable to said parties provided her all the sense of security she needed.

  A lack of stupidity was also the reason she’d stopped herself from kissing Sheppard Smyth, a man on whom she had no design. That he had felt some degree of attraction had been integral to her scheme, and she’d counted on her figure, face, and flirting to work their usual magic. Still, how naturally he played his part surprised even her. She hadn’t counted on Shep’s lust overriding his grief the way it had. Part of her wanted to dislike him for that, but Christine had passed several years ago. Maybe that was just the way the heart worked.

  She cursed as she fought through the rain, away from the shelter where, no doubt, Shep sat, confused and intrigued. She hadn’t thought he’d wake up so quickly. The eye of the storm wouldn’t be over them for two more hours, which was when she had planned to rouse him. Shep recuperated from travel and drunkenness faster than most men. Thank goodness she’d had her notebook already out when he surprised her. That piece of paper she’d dropped, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist reading it, would intrigue him enough so that all events she needed to fall into place, would start falling into place. He’d also be driven by his unrequited attraction. Men were so predictable that way.

  She barely stifled a yelp as her legs buckled and her knees punched into the mud. Victoria hated being wet, and she hated being dirty. Here she was, in the middle of the rainforest, soaked, soiled, and sullied. You would think after everything she’d been through, she’d be a little better at this by now. Thank goodness Hector Gonzalez’s fears of Kronastia’s interference made him malleable beyond belief. When she had suggested keeping the unearthed artifacts onsite, using the on-coming hurricane as an excuse to buy more time, instead of trucking them into the city to Plaxis’s lab, he’d been all too ready to agree. Which made her job even easier. Good goddess, maybe she just should have volunteered to take them back to her own shelter for safekeeping?

&nbs
p; Luckily for her, the Plaxis hired goons had been wise enough to get out of the storm, or so it seemed. From the outside, the security shelter where Hector had insisted on storing the finds appeared to be unguarded. Shielding her eyes with her hand, she punched a series of numbers into the keypad on the security door and pressed her thumb to the scanner. With a beep and click of the lock, she was in.

  Looking at José.

  Of course, Mr. I’m-too-Sexy-for-Détente would be on watch, wouldn’t he? A hurricane couldn’t possibly be considered ample protection against thieves, robbers, and all-purpose swindlers. Considering the task currently at hand, she gave José credit for not being as dumb as she’d thought. Despite the fact that she was a person who appreciated intelligence, Victoria found herself wishing the security detail lacked more of it. At least the hired guns proved to be wild, trigger-happy testosterone factories, allowing her to play the part of the untagged doe that had wandered into their hunting territory. José, their alpha, had warned the others pretty quickly that Victoria was his bitch to claim. Unfortunately, after three weeks of feigned gentleness and demure temper on her part, José was getting hungry for action. The last thing she needed right now was anyone’s attention, least of all the head of security’s.

  “Mi corazon!”

  José leapt to his feet, turning away from the bank of monitors streaming visuals in from all over the camp, despite the heavy rain that made many of the screens look like modern hydro-art. From the corner of her eye, Victoria saw one screen where Shep now reclined wearily on his cot, the paper she’d dropped under his study. A smile crossed her face. At least that was coming together, but damn this Argentine, peeping-tom bastard for spying.

  “Hola, Señor Montoya.” She hoped a wall of formality would give her enough time to distract him from his attempted conquest and find a way into the air-tight crate behind him. Continuing in Spanish, she said, “Did you draw the shortest straw, having to ride out the storm in the security shelter?”

  “I volunteered for it, to keep an eye out for you.” His eyes pitched toward the bank of screens, indicating the one showing where she had been minutes before. “He shouldn’t be here to start with. Gonzalez is getting presumptive, thinks he’s actually running this show. I saw what Smyth tried to do to you. It took all I had not to grab my gun and come running.”

  It took all she had not to roll her eyes and run off. “I’m more than capable of taking care of myself, Sr. Montoya. As you no doubt saw when I left a few minutes ago.”

  She shivered in revulsion as he reached out and smoothed his callused hand over her long, multi-hued hair. “A real man takes care of a woman, Victoria, no matter how strong or weak she may be. He protects her honor, as much as his.” For a moment, it looked as though he might try to claim a kiss from her as well, but Victoria shifted away just as he leaned in.

  “Plaxis security protocols forbid fraternization while on duty,” she staunchly reminded him.

  He unleashed a devious smile. “I’m the chief of security. Who would it be reported to?” His hand reached out and stroked her cheek. “You are such a beautiful woman. I’m not surprised the American is attracted to you, but you need someone worthy, not some pansy-ass professor.”

  An ingenious little grin spread over her face as she realized she’d get up the stream faster if she was paddling with the current instead of against it.

  “Are you worthy, José?” she cooed as she batted her eyelashes just the smallest bit and reached into her pocket, drawing out the lip gloss canister. Slicking the translucent contents over her lips with a slow, sultry pull of the application wand, Jose’s eyes grew heavy-lidded. “Not too many ‘real men’ for me way out here. At least,” she leaned in closely and spoke into his lips, “none that have made me feel secure enough to trust yet, none that I could get close to.”

  His tongue darted out and slicked his bottom lip. “Security is my specialty, señorita. You can get as close to me—” his hands reached out and grabbed her at the waist, pulling her slender frame hard against his, “—as you’d like.”

  Carnal need heated him as he pressed his mouth to hers, his tongue jutting into her mouth without pause. Victoria mocked a moan and pulled at his shirt, leading him to think she wanted him to kiss her harder. Which she did, but not in the way he presumed. Lust did things to a man, and not just physically. It turned off certain switches in their heads, made their brains run at a slower, more primal pace. As blood was utilized for other purposes, the scaling back of Jose’s higher brain functions made it easier for Victoria to do her thing unobstructed, and the toxins in the lip gloss would take care of the rest.

  José’s hands threaded her hair before landing on her shoulders and squeezing. She flinched. Alpha dogs tended to be sadistic, and she wasn’t surprised when he pressed into her and saluted her at the midsection, all the while kissing her ... frankly, quite well.

  Okay, so the creep could kiss. She had a job to do.

  Victoria arched her back and tipped her head to the side, letting him trail his mouth down her neck, where the chemical catalyst mixed into her perfume would speed Jose’s poisoning. She closed her eyes, letting out a hiss as he bit at her ear. She knew the moment the toxins kicked in, because his body froze solid in her arms.

  “José?”

  Just a dull, zombielike groan in response.

  “Will you do something for me?” As if she had to ask.

  “Anything,” he muttered.

  She slithered out of his arms. His eyes tracked her with a forlorn look, as though she were taking away his favorite toy.

  “I need the items in this box,” she said, tapping her fingers on the lid of the crate. “I know you know the code. Open it.”

  The puppy bounced around, happy to please its master. The mind-slave’s emotions always broke near the surface, the every whim of the controller their reason for living from moment to moment. To have such an ability was addictive. Victoria couldn’t deny that she’d abused the tool more than once in the past, but she was fighting down the rush being the dominant gave her. She had to stay focused, had to stay vigilant.

  “Good, José, very good.”

  The box’s lid sprang open and José stepped obediently out of the way. The storage crate, lined with plush velvet, would no doubt help to soften any blows, but it disturbed her that the items hadn’t been individually curated. Which meant, she understood, that Hector intended to ship out the discoveries to the lab in Mexico City as soon as the hurricane cleared. He may have bought in to the few hours of delay she’d proposed, but it seemed he wasn’t going to chance pissing off Kronastia that much. Lucky for her, she’d gotten to them first.

  Memories overtook Victoria as she ran her fingers over each object, echoing moments long since passed. Her eyes fell to the statuette. She couldn’t stifle the sharp intake of breath and flutter of her heart. Nostalgia’s quill nudged at her. Biting her bottom lip, Victoria swung the leather satchel she had been carrying on her back forward and began lowering the objects into it. She took up the wooden box last and hinged it open, an exhale of relief issuing from her when she saw the scroll was still contained inside. It should have upset her, given that papyrus as old as it was likely to come to quick damage once exposed to the elements, and even more so here in the rainforest. Of course, Hector was a Mesoamerican expert, so the knowledge of how to properly preserve a piece of pilfered papyrus wasn’t his particular predilection. Luckily the scroll also had inside it ...

  Victoria shouted as she searched again. “Where the hell is the amulet?”

  “Gone.” José’s deadpan only made her panic seem all the more overblown.

  “Gone?” she repeated unbelievingly. “Gone where? Hector said he wasn’t going to—”

  “Plaxis lab,” José murmured. “Mexico City, this morning. Boss’s orders.”

  Profanities spoken
in a dead tongue rang from her lips. She wanted to hit something, hard. Hard enough to knock it into next week. Victoria closed her eyes and centered herself, determined to stay on task. Whatever. Seven whole days lay ahead of her before she’d really need the amulet. For now, though, she was needed elsewhere and her time—and energy—was running out.

  With a swing of her arm, Victoria threw the satchel over her shoulder and turned back to José, who stood looking intently at nothing in particular. She pressed her body against his with utmost delicacy. His desire was her most agile weapon at the moment, and the toxins made his will highly accessible.

  “Do you want to make me happy, José?” she coyly queried, taking his earlobe between her lips and sucking as he answered.

  “Yes, mi corazon. I’d do anything.”

  “Anything?” She let her hand snake around his sides, running her fingers in circles over the lower part of his back. “Would you even betray Dmitri Kronastia for me?”

  He grimaced. Even with most of his ability to think rationally contained, he was still a soldier. Hard wiring laid down by years of discipline were not so easily circumnavigated. The human need to war—particularly in the male of the species—was instinctive, and loyalty to the master-of-arms akin to the pack yielding to the alpha.

  “I ... would.”

  His resistance to commit quickly or completely disappointed her. Any mental trigger she could plant for later use would have to be subtle and only for her benefit. The loyal mutt wouldn’t betray Dmitri outright.

  “I have to leave.” She saw the shadow of sadness on his face. However, his expression quickly turned to one of joy when she said, “We’ll see each other again soon. When we do, José, it may be in a time where I am in need of help. Will I be able to count on you then? Even if it means doing something your boss might punish you for later, would you help me?”