“You look exhausted, dearest,” Celia said, tugging Lina toward the house. “Mr. Johnston will bring your luggage while you greet—”
“Hunter isn’t my lackey,” Lina cut in. “Is the second-floor guest room across from me prepared?”
“No. All the rooms in the house are assigned.”
That many guests for Abuelita’s intimate family party? Lina thought sarcastically. But all she said was “Then one of the casitas will do.”
Celia stopped. “Abuelita and Carlos won’t tolerate you sleeping in the same room as your…guest.”
“We’ll each take a casita,” Lina said, shrugging like it made no particular difference to her.
“You will take your regular room. Mr. Johnston will be in the casita next to Philip.”
“I thought you just said that all the rooms in the house were assigned to guests,” Lina said.
“Carlos didn’t assign your room to anyone else. The men living in the house are guards, not guests.”
“Guards?” Lina asked sharply.
“Of course. Guards have lived in the house for years. You just haven’t noticed because you’re never here for more than a few hours before you take off for one of Philip’s grubby little digs.”
“Carlos must be as paranoid as Philip,” Lina said.
Celia shrugged. “The world has changed. Especially now. Every crazy in the world has come to the Yucatan to celebrate the destruction of the old and the coming of the new.” She looked at Hunter. “I do hope you aren’t one of those deluded souls?”
Hunter smiled.
Lina winced.
“No, ma’am,” he drawled in English. “Your beautiful daughter is all the lure this boy needs to come to the Yucatan. But Tulum sure did look crowded.”
“Idiots,” Celia said. “Chasing legends like village children after butterflies.” She turned toward one of the paths leading into the shadows. “Come, Mr. Johnston. You can settle in Casita Cenote while I take Lina to her room. After you have time to refresh yourself, dial three on the phone. Someone will come and bring you to the house.”
Lina didn’t object to the separate quarters. Casita Cenote was old, but better than the stable, which she’d bet was her mother’s first choice for Hunter. “I’ll show him the casita. I’m sure you’re busy juggling Abuelita’s celebration and a house full of guards.”
For a moment Hunter thought Lina’s mother would object to letting them out of her sight. Then Celia gave him directions to the casita and turned to her daughter.
“Come with me,” Celia said. “We have much to talk about and very little time together.”
Lina looked at Hunter, who smiled with a warmth that made her flush.
“No problem, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m good at finding my way around.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CELIA LOOKED UP AT THE YOUNG WOMAN WHO WAS SUCH a complicated mix of many cultures—Lina had the stunning facial structure of a female who could trace her royal Balam ancestors back six centuries, the height of her noble Spanish ancestors, and the tongue of an independent American woman.
All of it, thrown away.
“A gringo?” Celia demanded. “Is that how you repay your family? It is your duty to carry on the family line.”
“Me?” Lina said, shocked. “What about Cousin Carlos?”
“Fifteen years of marriage, remarriage, far too many mistresses—no children. As Americans put it so crudely, mi primo is shooting blanks. That leaves you.”
Lina didn’t know whether to laugh or wail.
The tight line of her mother’s jaw told Lina neither would get the job done. Same for the dutiful daughter routine. She was tired, tense, and repelled by being treated like a walking womb.
“The Reyes Balam family has married out of Mexico as often as it has married in,” Lina said.
“Aristocrats,” Celia said in a clipped voice.
“Really? Last time I checked, Philip was the son of two university professors. A gringo with no rich inheritance coming. You married him and you were only half my age at the time. The world kept turning. Your parents survived having an ordinary gringo in the family just fine.”
“You will not speak to me with such disrespect!”
“Lies are disrespectful. I’m speaking the truth.”
“Are you pregnant?” Celia demanded.
Lina stared at her mother. “No.” Not yet, anyway.
“Then you have no excuse for embarrassing the family like this,” Celia said.
It took Lina about three seconds to understand what she’d always suspected was the truth of her parents’ marriage.
“I’m surprised your mother didn’t just send you to a convent to have me instead of marrying you off to Philip,” Lina said softly.
“Nobody knew Carlos was sterile,” Celia said with faint bitterness. “I was young and foolish. I wanted out of Tulum, out of the jungle, into a bigger world. I saw Philip as my entrée into that world. For all that he was thirteen years older, he was…naive. When I became pregnant, he offered marriage. We eloped.”
“And then you discovered that all Philip wanted in life was to dig in the jungles around Tulum,” Lina said, understanding more of her parents and their choices. “He wanted a world whose center was Reyes Balam lands. Maybe he wasn’t as naive as you thought.”
Celia’s nails flashed like blood as she waved her hand, dismissing the past. “I won’t let you repeat my mistake.”
“It’s my life, not yours.”
“Carlos is unhappy with you. He could make your life difficult.”
“In other words, do as he wishes or find myself out of a job.”
Celia bit her lower lip unhappily. “Please, Lina. Now is not a good time to push Carlos. Abuelita is becoming…difficult at times.”
“Difficult? How?”
“She is old, very old.”
“Are you saying that my great-grandmother is senile?” Lina asked.
“I—no, of course not. She is simply Abuelita.”
But Celia didn’t look Lina in the eye when she said it.
“Does she need specialized care?” Lina asked softly.
“Don’t even think it. Carlos won’t hear of it and Abuelita…no, the best thing is to simply…”
“Pretend that everything is fine?” Lina said.
Celia smiled despite the unease in her dark eyes. “Yes, that’s exactly right. I knew you would understand, dearest. We don’t contradict Abuelita. Carlos simply agrees and sees that things are as comfortable as possible for her.”
“Which makes things comfortable for you.”
“But of course. Abuelita will not live forever. It is little enough to do to make her last time pleasant.”
Lina felt the heat of tears stinging her eyes. Abuelita could be headstrong and demanding, but she was one of the few constants in the shifting landscape of Lina’s life.
As though sensing weakness, Celia bored in. “Mr. Johnston can’t comprehend your position in Mexico, your family obligations. Enjoy him—he certainly looks like he is built to be enjoyed—but don’t fool yourself into believing it is something it can’t be.”
For a moment Lina was too shocked to speak.
“Ah, little one, you look like you swallowed a live mouse,” Celia said, laughing without malice. “We are women, yes? Sex is something we use. We don’t let it use us. So go, sneak out to the casita in the night and roll around in the darkness with your gringo lover. But be in your own bed before dawn, ready to pay Abuelita and Carlos the respect they are due, and to be the Reyes Balam woman you were meant to be.”
“Or at least pretend to be that woman?”
Celia smiled and hugged her daughter. “I knew you would understand. Once Abuelita is dead, things will change. Carlos is a man of the world.”
When her mother released her, Lina said, “As long as you understand that Hunter will be treated as a guest while he is here. If you insult him, we will leave. Please tell your cousin.”
&nbs
p; “Abuelita won’t—”
“Abuelita has the excuse of age,” Lina cut in. “You don’t. Carlos doesn’t. Philip is rude to everybody, so he’ll just be treating Hunter like one of the family.”
There was a long silence while Celia digested the change in her daughter. She had always wondered what it would take for Lina to dig in and demand respect as an adult.
Now Celia knew. She couldn’t say she was relishing it. It had been much easier when Lina had been eager to please.
“How long will you be staying?” Celia asked finally.
“How long can everyone be civil to Hunter?” Lina asked in return.
Her mother nodded tightly. “Abuelita will expect to see you, and your guest.”
“As soon as Hunter and I have had a chance to bathe and change our clothes, we’ll be eager to see her. Or would she rather have us as we are now?”
Celia looked at her daughter’s rumpled travel wear. “Abuelita is resting. Meet us for canapés in the library at eight.”
HUNTER OPENED THE DOOR AT LINA’S LIGHT KNOCK. OBVIOUSLY she kept clothes at the estate, because she sure wasn’t dressed tonight out of a cut-rate chain store. She wore a simple teal silk dress that probably cost its weight in diamonds, and strappy heels to match. A heavy gold bracelet was clasped around one wrist. Matching earrings swayed gently. He couldn’t read the glyphs in the dim light of the porch.
She looked uncertainly at his black, artificially faded jeans, bare feet, and bare chest. “Didn’t the maid give you my message?”
Hunter barely heard the question. The soft silk dress flowed over her like a lover’s mouth, hinting at the full nipples on her breasts, clinging to the lush curves of her hips and thighs. He wanted to go down on his knees and worship every female inch of her.
“Hunter?”
“Excuse me while I reel in my tongue,” he said, his voice deep.
Lina felt heat rise in her cheeks. “I should have warned you. On the estate, I’m expected to dress for dinner.”
“I’m not complaining. You look damned edible. Will I get parent points subtracted if I leave drool marks on your dress?”
She laughed, stepped into the casita, and closed the door behind her. Seconds later, she was wrapped in Hunter’s arms.
“Just don’t bite me anywhere it shows,” she said.
His glance went to her breasts and the sweet place between her thighs. “I can work with that.”
She felt ravished, and she loved every hot instant of it. Anyone who saw Hunter’s eyes now would never describe them as cold.
“Later,” she said, her voice breathless. “Celia kept me from coming to get you until the last minute.”
“I figured. She doesn’t want you to have time even for a quickie,” he said.
“In some ways, she is old-fashioned,” Lina said against the warmth of Hunter’s skin. Chest hair tickled softly, making her smile.
“So am I,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yeah. For me, quickies just don’t get the job done. Unless I’m going to be locked in the casita tonight. Then I’ll take whatever I can get now, however I can get it.”
“I know where the keys are kept,” she whispered teasingly against his chin. “I’ll set you free.”
Hunter bit her neck very gently, very thoroughly. When he lifted his head, the only mark he left was her quickened breathing and heightened color.
“I’ll count on it,” he said. “Now turn on the TV or something while I get dressed.”
Reluctantly, she went to the remote on the small coffee table. In the quiet, the bar refrigerator in the tiny kitchen hummed, shuddered, and went still. Sounds of the jungle seeped through the thick limestone walls of the casita. The door to Hunter’s bedroom closed.
Sighing, she flicked on the TV remote.
Every news channel she hit had something on the Maya baktun. It was being treated like the New Year’s Eve countdown in Times Square. Clocks ticked away the hours and seconds until midnight, December 21. Subtly amused reporters stood in front of shrines and iconic ruins, interviewing crystal huggers and wannabe priest-kings. Some of the spectators wore costumes right out of popular-culture books and videos purporting to be about the Maya, except the feathers were from chickens rather than quetzal birds. Everyone shuddered deliciously at the false excitement of the end of the world that nobody sane really believed would come. Each person interviewed was more ridiculously earnest than the last.
“Just one big party,” Hunter said from behind her. “Step right up and take your cup of Kool-Aid.”
Lina grimaced. “The blood at those shrines was real.”
“Blood is always real.”
“Have you heard anything more from Jase?”
Hunter wasn’t surprised that she associated blood with Jase. “Cell connection here sucks. The call was dropped halfway through Ali’s assurances that Jase was feeling good enough to pat her butt and other interesting bits.”
Smiling, Lina shook her head. “It’s amazing that they only have two kids and one cooking.”
“It’s early yet. Give them a few more years. Jase always wanted a houseful of children.”
“What about you?” Lina asked, then bit her lip at the sadness that etched around Hunter’s eyes. “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“No problem. Will I pass dinner inspection?” he asked.
She looked from his clean, if well-used, dark jungle boots to the jeans and the square-bottomed dark shirt he wore open at the throat. “You sure pass my inspection.”
“Parents are harder.”
“Don’t worry. Carlos will probably go with the conservative businessman look or Maya gentry, depending on his mood. Abuelita usually makes do with canapés and goes off to be by herself. Mother will be dressed like a dictator’s wife, and Philip will show up in whatever he’s wearing when he remembers dinner. If he remembers. It wouldn’t be the first time he worked through meals.”
As Lina spoke, she looked through the casita window. Less than a hundred yards away, a larger casita glowed quietly in the darkness brought by foliage and night.
“Is that where Philip lives?” Hunter asked.
She nodded.
“Your mother, too?”
“No. She and Carlos each have a wing of the main house. Abuelita, too. The guards stay there as well.”
As Hunter straightened a pant leg, he quietly checked the knife in his boot. After a short argument with himself about paranoia, he had cursed the lack of a safe in the casita and secured the gun at his back.
“Anyone mention the reason for all the guards?” he asked.
“You heard Celia. They’ve been here for years. But I think all this Maya New Year stuff has them on edge. Strangers in Tulum, those wretched shrines.” Lina moved uneasily. “There’s something out there. I can feel it.”
“Like Houston?” he asked sharply.
She frowned. “No. I think I’m just creeped out by those shrines.”
“So am I.”
Her eyes widened. “You don’t show it.”
“Contrary to Y-gene myths, I’m not fond of blood and guts,” he said dryly. “Speaking of which, just how civilized am I supposed to be?”
“You mean, what kind of crap are you expected to take?”
“Yeah.”
“Abuelita is very old. From what my mother hinted, she may be getting senile, so I can’t vouch for her manners. Philip has no manners to speak of. If Celia and Carlos are openly rude, we walk out.”
Hunter whistled softly. “You’re pissed off.”
“I’m an adult. If I have to be polite, I require the same from others.”
“How did your mother take it?”
“Like a business deal she didn’t like but couldn’t change,” Lina said. She glanced at the thin gold watch her mother had given her last Christmas. “We’d better get going.”
As Lina turned her head, her heavy gold earrings caught the light.
“Those are Kawa’il glyphs,�
�� Hunter said.
“The jewelry was Abuelita’s gift to me last Christmas. I suspect it was her way of saying that she accepted my bent for archaeology. And probably a little slice at me for being so much Philip’s daughter.”
“That’s a really expensive insult,” Hunter said.
“I choose to focus on the acceptance. Insults, civilized and otherwise, are a part of Reyes Balam life.”
“I can’t wait for dinner.”
“Oh, it’s not as bad as I sound. I’m just still angry at Celia’s rudeness to you.”
“She’s not the first,” Hunter said, latching the door behind them.
Despite Lina’s joking words about keys—and the guards—there were no exterior locks, only an interior bolt. Maybe that was why all the guards were armed. Or maybe that shadow walking on a limestone perimeter pathway was a gardener with a really odd-shaped hoe.
A banana clip was hard to disguise.
Lina followed Hunter’s glance. “He’s just one of the compound’s night guards.”
The tone of her voice told him that the sight was as ordinary to her as the crushed limestone walkways stitching the Reyes Balam compound together.
Banana clips, Hunter thought to himself. The new must-have accessory for the narcos and the rich who hide from them.
The guard must have found Lina and Hunter equally ordinary. He didn’t glance their way.
All the banana clips in the world won’t help unless he’s a lot more alert than he looks, Hunter thought.
He knew firsthand just how boring the job of being a night guard could be.
Until it wasn’t.
Lina ignored the grand front entrance and went through the kitchen entrance instead. The scents of peppers both hot and mild permeated the air, along with roasted pork and corn, coffee, and the dark breath of unsweetened chocolate. Other spices clung to the room, telling Hunter that while dinner might be socially uncomfortable with the Reyes Balam family, it wouldn’t be boring to the palate.
A tiny woman was sitting at a small, very solid mahogany table, sipping from a demitasse. The china was antique, both proud and subtly faded, as though it had come to the Yucatan via Spain centuries ago. The contents of the demitasse were all New World—thick, unsweetened chocolate laced with very hot peppers.
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