Rowan shook his head, looking at her warily. “I know, right?”
“And you’re sure it wasn’t Stephanie Wentworth? Did you talk to her?”
“I’ve got audio of our interviews with this woman. She was a reenactor.”
“I want to hear the audio,” Lauren said.
Rowan got up and closed the sliding door. “I’ll go get my recorder.”
“It’s on the charger,” she said.
Rowan went to the other room then returned. “Huh. The battery’s at like 10%.” He shook his head, plugging it into his computer, uploading the audio, draining the battery at the same time.
“It was dead when I found it.” She noted.
“I just need this last conversation...” he said as he waited.
Lauren took the headphones and put them on. Once he had it ready, Rowan hit the play button. He sat watching her reaction as she listened to the conversation from the woman’s hospital room. She locked eyes with him as she sat up, holding her hands to the headphones. “Could you replay it and turn it up?”
“Sure.” Rowan did as she asked.
“Sounds like it was in your shirt pocket,” she said.
“It was.” She knew him too well.
She listened again as he replayed it. Her face remaining stern, puzzled. “Who’s your translator?”
“That was Dr. Enrique DeLaFuentes,” Rowan said. “From the University. He was immensely helpful.”
Lauren looked at Rowan like he was insane. “He lied to you.”
“What?”
“She didn’t say what he said she did. You asked her if she was Stephanie Wentworth,” Lauren said. “He asked her to shake her head no and not speak in English. He said they couldn’t talk with you there and he needed you to go away.”
“What?” Rowan’s brow drew down making a deep wrinkle over his nose. “Why would he do that? He was nothing but helpful the entire time.” Rowan sat, perplexed. He ran it all through his mind before he looked at Lauren sharply. “Wait, how do you know what he said? Last I remember your Spanish was limited to ordering from the Casa Del Taco.”
“It’s not Spanish,” she said. “He spoke to her in Maya. His words were a local modern dialect, different from what she speaks. I can tell it’s not Spanish.”
“Since when do you speak Maya?” He stood, pacing the room, pausing to glare at her.
“I told you, I’ve been studying...” she swallowed hard. “You know I have a penchant for languages.”
“Like how you picked up Cherokee while you were missing in the Pacific Northwest? Yeah, I’m still baffled at how you do that.”
“I wish I could tell you it was a gift from the ancient gods, but that would just be crazy, right?”
“Yeah, right,” he said scornfully. He still didn’t know everything Lauren had learned from Tsul’Kalu, her imaginary shaman. She’d convinced him she’d been hallucinating about him after she was kidnapped and nearly had her arm ripped off.
She couldn’t tell him it was a Bigfoot who was her spirit guide. He wouldn’t understand. He didn’t know she still spoke to him. He certainly didn’t know she could summon him when she needed him. Or could she? Had it just been the fevered dreams of a sick pregnant woman? Maybe she was losing it.
“Why would Dr. Rick lie to me?”
“Dr. Rick?”
“Yeah, that was our nickname for him,” Rowan said, sitting down with his back to her, his hand on his knee and his thumb against his chin. Lauren rested her hand in the middle of his back, and he seemed to soften. “I thought we were friends.”
“Is there a way to contact him?”
“He gave me a phone number.” Rowan glanced at his watch. He took his cell phone out of the pocket of his cargo pants. Lauren could hear the ringing as Rowan waited for an answer that never came. “Dammit,” Rowan snapped when the call didn’t even go to voicemail.
“You said he was with the University?”
“Yeah,” Rowan said. Lauren took his laptop and searched the web.
“Which one?” Lauren asked.
“The one in Mexico City,” Rowan said curtly.
“There are like five or six different universities,” she turned the computer towards him.
“I think it’s in my dossier.” Rowan shook his head. “Let me see if it’s in my backpack.”
He came back a minute later and had a file. “Université Nationale de Mexico,” he pointed to it, showing Lauren. “That’s the one.”
“Okay,” she said, going to the link. After a few minutes, she found his name on the faculty list, and a phone number.
Rowan took the number she jotted down on a pad she kept by the bed. He punched the numbers into the phone. “I don’t speak... hola?” He was interrupted mid-sentence.
Lauren reached for the phone and he surrendered it. “Buenos Días. Mi nombre es la Dra. Lauren Pierce. Soy una investigación que intenta llegar al Dr. DeLaFuentes. ¿Podrías conectarme con él?”
“Oh, you speak Spanish now.” It wasn’t a question. “Great, suddenly my wife speaks Spanish.” He turned to the window, watching it rain, listening to the faint, muffled response over the phone, not understanding a word of it.
“Lamento mucho oír eso. Mis condolencias a la familia. ¿Puedo preguntar, cuándo murió?” Rowan turned, his brow arched, and he wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught part of that. He had to wait while she listened intently on the phone. Nodding, then shaking her head. “Gracias. Aprecio tu tiempo. Tenga un buen día.”
“What?”
Lauren looked grim when she hung up. “Dr. Enrique DeLaFuentes was murdered on the road to Chichén Itzá the day he was supposed to meet with your team. His car ran off the road north of the site. His body was found a few yards away, with a single gunshot wound to the head. He was sixty-nine years old. He left behind a wife of forty-two years, five children and six grandchildren.”
Rowan’s whole countenance sunk. His knees failed. He sat more quickly than he had intended, nearly missing the edge of the bed. “What the hell?”
Lauren scooted over, leaning against him. She rested her head on his shoulder and took a deep breath. “Whoever that was you were working with... I’m going to assume, was not Dr. DeLaFuentes.”
Rowan shook his head, still in disbelief. “Then who was he?”
“Yet another mystery we have to solve,” she said.
“Well, no one’s better at not solving mysteries than we are, huh?”
“Are we still using that tagline?” Lauren shook her head, kissing his cheek.
Chapter 14
Rowan called the team together ahead of schedule. They met in the conference room with their laptops, iPads, video cameras and other equipment. Bahati was barking orders. She provided instruction on what Rowan was looking for. She covered everything they needed to find to advance the investigation. Normally, this was Lauren’s job. As her second, Bahati stepped in, effortlessly. This team had been on dozens of investigations together. Everyone knew what to do.
Rowan waited for her to finish her instructions and for the team to get their coffee, grab a donut and get settled in before he stood and filled everyone in on the latest turn in their mystery.
“The world didn’t end on December 21st, but for the real Dr. Enrique DeLaFuentes, it was over before the day even began. What I want for Christmas is to find out who that jerk was that pretended to be our friend.” Rowan’s anger was evident by the poison in his tone. “I want to know who he is. I want to know where he is. I want to know why he did what he did. If he had anything to do with the real Dr. DeLaFuentes’ death, I want him brought to justice. I want no stone left un-turned.” Rowan took a deep breath. “Now, let’s put in a good solid four hours going through the video and audio recordings. I need a clear photo of Slick Rick. Then we’ll quit early and pick up after the holidays.”
The team jumped into action. Everyone did exactly what they were supposed to. When they went home, they were no closer to answering the many questions they
’d come in with, but at least the ball was rolling.
* * *
Lauren was napping when Rowan came in. It gave him the opportunity he needed to wrap her Christmas presents. There was no tree to put them under. The potted palm plant on the balcony had been decorated with red ribbons and miniature twinkling lights. Rowan brought it in and set it in the corner of the living room. He wrapped the few presents in colorful paper. There was something for the baby too. He couldn’t help himself. He put them under the palm, smiling as he imagined the look on Lauren’s face when she opened them.
“Rowan?” She called from the bedroom. He stashed the wrapping paper in the closet and went to check on her.
“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Rowan asked, coming in and setting down on the edge of the bed.
“No.” She yawned, stretching. “I’ve been awake for a while.”
“That’s odd.” He tilted his head. “I was just in here about fifteen minutes ago and you were snoring.”
“I don’t snore.” She feigned being affronted. “Maybe you snore, but I don’t.”
His eyes went wide in an expression of mock indignation. “Oh, I snore?” He chuckled.
“Yeah you do.” She insisted. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”
“Uh huh.” He shook his head. She ran her hand up his arm to his cheek and drew him in for a kiss. “So what’s the rest of your Christmas Eve look like?”
“It’s Christmas Eve?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I thought I might go get us something to cook for dinner. Then we could watch Christmas movies and drink hot chocolate with marshmallows. I could even bake cookies for Santa.”
“Since when do you bake cookies?” She scoffed.
“Honey, I’ve got skills you haven’t even seen.” He puffed out his chest.
“Okay ...” Lauren grinned, dragging out the word. “I’d like to see you bake cookies. Let’s do it?”
“Deal,” he said. “Have you been out of bed today?”
“No,” she said, adding a salute. “In accordance with orders.”
“Well then, why don’t you go take a warm bath, and I’ll put clean sheets on the bed. I’ll make you a sandwich for lunch. Then I’ll go get everything for dinner, cocoa and baking cookies.”
“Sounds like a good plan. Clean sheets would be wonderful.”
* * *
Rowan was much happier being domesticated than she was. Lauren was already like a tiger in a cage. A week spent in bed was torture for a woman who lived for two years in a tent in Yellowstone without seeing another soul more than once or twice a month.
Rowan not only changed the bedding, but he put the linens in the wash, ran the vacuum cleaner and brought her a fresh towel from the linen closet. He put it on the bench by the tub, while she soaked in the warm foamy waters.
By the time she got out and dressed in a pair of pink shorts and lilac t-shirt, he’d dusted and tidied up the bedroom and had the bed turned down for her.
Once she got settled, he came in with a bed-tray. On the plate was a sandwich, tortilla chips, green grapes, and a cup of tapioca pudding.
“Think that will hold you until I get back?”
“Yes, thank you.” She popped a grape in her mouth.
“Anything else you need from the store? Anything sound good?”
“I could go for more of those grapes... any fruit, really, sounds good,” she said. “And meat. Any kind of meat.
That made him smile. “I have my phone if you think of anything else,” he said, leaning in to kiss her forehead.
* * *
“Truthseeker,” Tsul’Kalu was standing at the foot of her bed when she looked up. She froze, watching Rowan’s shadow move as the door closed behind him. She turned to the shaman in disbelief.
“What are you doing here?” She asked, lowering her voice as if anyone might hear her.
“You summoned me.” He folded into a lotus position.
Lauren sat back against her pillow crossing her arms, biting her thumbnail. “How’d I do that?”
“I am here when you need counsel.”
“What I need is... I need to get out of this house,” she said, heaving a sigh.
“As you wish.” He stood.
The next thing Lauren knew, they were standing at the top of the El Castillo, looking out over the jungle. The sun shone down on her. She could feel the humidity in the surrounding air. Lauren looked down, realizing she was still in her pajamas. “What the hell?”
“This is what you wished to see,” Tsul’Kalu said. “You wish to speak to the Jaguar King. Come, I will show you to the portal.”
“Portal?” Tsul’Kalu took her hand and she took a step towards the stairs. The next thing she knew, they were entering a clearing in the jungle where a circle of engraved stones stood. There were seven of them. They were magnificent. The largest stood higher than seven feet tall, and at least three or four feet wide. It was white quartz. Maybe granite.
She felt her breath escape her body. Her head wanted to swim, but Tsul’Kalu had his hand on her arm. He steadied her. “You... you called this a portal?” She asked.
“Yes.” He led her into its center. “This is a sacred place where the veil of time is thin. There is little to separate this world from space and time.”
The perfume of the jungle filled her nostrils. It was a combination of humid moss and ancient magic. She walked over to the largest of the seven pillars. Putting her hands on the ancient stones, she studied the glyphs. The carvings had once been deep. The stone had been weathered away, leaving only a trace of the markings.
It no longer surprised Lauren that she could read the glyphs. It told a story of the ancient king who took to wife, a goddess who fell from the sky. She gave him sons and brought much prosperity to the land. For a time they were happy and there was peace in the realm. But there came a year with no rain. Warring nations came to their lands. One year turned into five. These People grew hungry. Crops withered on the stalk.
There was talk of men with hair like corn-silk. Their eyes were like sapphires and emeralds, much like the Jaguar’s bride. Clearly, the gods were displeased. It was their wrath that made the crops wither. The angry gods drove the game from their lands. There was only one thing to placate the divine beings and restore order. That was blood.
Lauren could see the story unfolding even as the world around her went dark. The only light came from the fire in the center of the circle. The King took his throne and watched as the blood of their enemies flowed. War had been waged against neighboring tribes and the light-eyed men to appease the gods. Time seemed to blur the details as months passed, and more battles were fought. More captives were brought to the altar and their hearts removed while they still beat. The smell of roasting flesh and wood smoke mixed with the perfume of the jungle, created a nauseating miasma. It made the bile rise in Lauren’s throat.
A priest at the King’s elbow began whispering. Lauren listened to the voice over the crescendo of the drums. Over the screams of the tortured captives. His voice echoed in the air. Blood pooled at their feet. Lauren caught every word, but the rising smoke made her dizzy. The circle began to spin around her. “Give back to the gods what they have given to you.” The words echoed in her mind. “Man is made from corn and blood... is made from corn and blood... given to us by the gods... a gift for us from the gods... as the gods have given life to us... life to us... we must give life to the gods... give her your queen... the gods demand blood... give her your queen...”
The world spun in Lauren’s head. A piercing scream threatened to split the lobes of her brain. She covered her ears and crouched. She couldn’t block the dirge from her mind. She could feel her grasp on time and place slipping away, and the world fell away. The blackness came for her. Then, there was nothing.
Chapter 15
Rowan arrived home later than he’d expected. Traffic had been snarled. The grocery store was packed. He was soaking wet as the skies outside continued their onslaught, drenching hi
m on the brief dash from the car to the door. By God! Their next home would have an attached garage.
He was surprised to find the condo dark. Lauren must have gone to sleep. He envied her ability to sleep anywhere. It didn’t matter if it was in a plane or the back of a truck. The minute she lay down she was usually out like a light. He smiled to himself as he unpacked his grocery bags. He put everything away, except for what he needed to make dinner. He paused to put on some Christmas music, setting his phone on the counter top as he set to work mixing dough for his favorite homemade calzone. It wasn’t traditional Christmas food, but he and Lauren weren’t traditional people. They were anything but.
It would take about an hour for the dough to rise. He found a bottle of beer in the back of the fridge and cracked the lid open. He grabbed his phone. Taking it to the sofa, he flipped on the light and reached for the remote as he sat down.
He had at least a dozen emails and messages from fans, studio execs, partners, and extended members of the team, wishing him and Lauren Merry Christmas. He smiled and sent back a dozen reciprocal wishes. There was a text from his parents in Denver, asking him about the baby. They were excited to become grandparents. They promised to come out for a visit after the baby arrived. He couldn’t decide if he should be pleased or offended. They’d never come to visit him. They hadn’t even come to his military retirement ceremony. But now, suddenly it was convenient to come all the way out to California to see their first grandchild? He could see where he ranked.
His mother was especially amusing. Every text from her started with, “Hello, son. It’s your mother.” Like he didn’t have her set in his contacts. “It’s been a long time, and your father and I miss you.” Every single time. If they missed him so much, why didn’t they just call? His father was getting hard of hearing and Mom—she just didn’t like talking on the cell phone. Every text ended with “Love you, Mom and the Colonel. PS: Your father says hello too.” Every. Single. Time.
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