“Sí, Señor.” Enzo spun on his heel and faded into the shadows.
Chapter 8
“Kat?” Sebastian spoke from the doorway. “We need to move.”
“What’s wrong?” Kat stopped her pacing near the bed and turned. Her stomach hitched, and she squeezed the handle of the gun tightly. “Did they find us?”
“Not yet,” he lied easily, walking into the room. “Your maid theory was correct,” he told her. With gentle hands, he loosened her grip on the gun. “But I don’t like sitting still with people looking for us. We should leave.”
“Where do you want to go?”
He’d thought about it on the way up to the room. Helen Cox didn’t hire two teams for an old sheaf of papers connected to rumored gold. “The Cinchona has a history, Kat. I want to know what that was. How Felix came to know about it.”
Guilt swirled inside Kat, but she held her tongue. She wanted to confide in him, but a tendril of doubt held her silent. However, she did know one person who might be able to give them both answers. She began to gather her things and jerked her head at Sebastian. “Let’s go.”
Outside, Kat circled to the driver’s side of the Jeep and held her hand out for the key. Sebastian dropped it into her palm and stored their gear. Without a word, she climbed inside, and he followed suit. She gunned the engine and peeled out of the lot.
“Where are we going?” he shouted over the rush of noise.
Katelyn whipped the Jeep toward the north. “You said we needed answers. That’s where we’re going.”
“Where?”
“An old friend of the family. Hang on.”
She whipped the Jeep onto the road, and Sebastian inhaled sharply as a low-hanging branch took aim at his head. Ducking low, he considered whether he’d made a tactical error in letting her drive. He blew out the deep breath on a string of epithets as more lethal boughs poked and jabbed at him. “Just to be clear, are you trying to kill me or just maim me beyond recognition?”
“Stop being such a baby.” Katelyn retorted, but she slowed the barreling charge to a more sedate pace.
“I’d like to arrive at my destination alive.” Sebastian groused, though he had to admire the tight control with which she drove. The speed inched up steadily, but she handled the aging vehicle well.
“Sebastian, who shot at us?”
“I don’t know. Felix’s find made news in the wrong circles. More than one collector will want to get his hands on it.” And her. Like John Doe would if Sebastian didn’t protect her. He’d finally recognized the man beneath the lamp as Enzo Selva. Back in New York, the thug was renowned for his ferocity and his willingness to rip his prey apart. Sebastian had never tangled with him, but he’d been unfortunate enough to stumble over one of his victims. He’d never forget the sickly-sweet odor of blood that clung to the walls and the carpet of the tycoon’s pent house in Long Island. Or the broken bodies that had him rushing into the bathroom for relief.
At the moment of recognition, he’d altered his plans. Slightly. No, he wouldn’t throw in his lot with Enzo or his companions. Even he claimed more of a soul than that. But if he could get Katelyn onto a plane back to the States, he’d salve his conscience and fulfill his pledge to Felix. Besides, after she was safe, he could decide if he’d keep the Cinchona or sell it to the highest bidder.
As though she’d read his mind, Katelyn asked quietly. “You were downstairs a while, Sebastian. What were you doing?”
“Talking to the manager.” Sebastian looked away, over the mud-stained window. “Trying to find out if anyone else had been in town looking for you or the manuscript. He hadn’t heard anything.”
Katelyn accepted his explanation, dismissing her qualms. Focused on her destination, she drove through the night in silence. Eventually, they crested another rise, and the river basin spread out before the Jeep. In the moonlight, modest wooden huts with thatched roofs, built by peasants who could not afford to live in town, dotted the basin. Katelyn swerved onto a rutted trail and came to an abrupt halt behind one of the houses.
A pretty matron emerged at the sound of the engine, her broad smile of welcome a soothing balm to Katelyn’s frazzled nerves. Quick, ambling steps brought the woman across the planks of wood that composed a back porch. Before Katelyn had emerged from the Jeep, she found herself wrapped against an ample bosom, close to suffocation. The barrier of the door proved no hindrance. Broad-palmed hands rough with age and festooned with silver and gold rings on nearly every finger pressed her face tight in welcome. Above her head, in muffled tones, Katelyn could hear the rush of queries as though from a distance.
“¡Hola, Katelyn! ¿Que pasa? ¿Quien es tu joven hombre? ¿Donde es Felix?” How are you? Who is your young man? Where is Felix?
Beside Katelyn, Sebastian could feel the shudder that followed the final question. In response, he leaped over the side of the Jeep and walked quickly to their visitor. He bowed deep, then extended his hand. When she responded, he lifted her fingers to his mouth and offered a courtly press of lips to the webbing of lines across the back. “Soy Sebastian. ¿Como se llama? ¿Es usted Katelyn’s hermana bonita?”
The woman chuckled deep and turned slightly, ready to flirt. Handsome young men did not often cross her path these days, and she believed in taking advantage of opportunity. Especially tall, mouthwatering opportunities who spoke Spanish with a devil’s voice. In rich tones that had let her spend her younger years singing to tourists in Lima, she responded in heavily accented English, “I am Senora Martinez. And, no, I am not her sister, you charmer. But I am not too old for company, even so late, if our Katelyn is not your sweetheart.” Releasing her young friend entirely, she sidled closer to Sebastian, her hips grazing him thoughtfully.
As she brushed against him with stunning familiarity, Sebastian took the advance in his stride. He continued to hold the beringed hand, and replied, “Our Katelyn has not decided yet what she thinks of me.”
Senora Martinez grinned and twisted her hips again, a second intentional graze that had Sebastian taking a quick step away. At his retreat, she laughed delightedly. “But you think of her.”
“Senora!” protested Katelyn.
“Hush, gata.” To Sebastian, she offered, “She is a bright one, but too deep in the books. Babies do not come from books, I tell her. But she doesn’t listen.” Senora Martinez draped an arm across Katelyn’s shoulders. She shifted her hand to grip Sebastian’s and led them both forward. As they crossed the crude wooden planks, she questioned in Spanish, “Why have you come to see me to night?”
“I need answers,” replied Katelyn in the same language. “About Tio Felix.”
“Come inside. Sit.” She opened the screen door and led them inside the small house.
The kitchen they passed through was neat as a pin and the size of a postage stamp. On the wood-burning stove, a pot filled with spices bubbled cheerfully. Scents danced through the snug space and drifted into the living quarters she led them to. The front room was all of a piece, living room and dining room combined. A low sofa decorated in swatches of bright, printed fabric sat against the wall. Two chairs faced the sofa, also covered in greens and golds and reds.
Against the far wall, a small wood table hewn from the forest hardwoods had been paired with three handmade chairs. A squat vase sat in the middle, its porcelain painted with geometric shapes. Cabinets filled the room, shelves stacked with pottery and glass. Despite the humble façade, the interior of Senora Martinez’s home bespoke taste and elegance and some means.
Taking his time, Sebastian surveyed the walls, which held well-framed photos of laughing children and smiling adults who all shared the same nose as the lady of the house. In more than one picture, a thinner, lovelier Senora Martinez stood onstage, lighted by fluorescent cams, her lips a pouting ruby as she sang. “Cabaret?” he asked with a smile.
“Sí.” Senora Martinez sauntered to her favorite, surrounded by a silver frame, and lifted it from the wall with ease. She turned and held the p
hotograph out to Sebastian. In the image, she wore a slick imitation of a dress that mirrored the ruby lips, with an abbreviated hem that in any era would have stopped a man’s heart. She perched on a grand piano, dark hair swept up into a riot of curls, accented by kohl-lined eyes. Behind her, a man hunched over the ivory keys and tried not to stare.
Sebastian whistled, low and appreciative. “They must have lined up for miles to see you.”
Senora Martinez preened and fluttered her lashes. “In my day, I was quite the draw in Lima. Men would travel for miles to see me. I was known as La Hechicera.”
“The Enchantress,” Sebastian translated. “Given these legs, I know why.” He stared at the picture more closely, focusing on the piano player. “This is Felix, isn’t it?”
With a sly smile that spoke volumes, she took the photo from his hands. Tracing the whorls in the silver, she said simply, “He has magic hands.”
“Oh, Senora.” Katelyn came to join them, stricken. Stroking the older lady’s arm gently, she broke the news. “Tio Felix is gone, Senora. I thought you knew. He was hurt—”
“Murdered.” Sebastian interrupted baldly. “Men came into his home and killed him. And they are after Katelyn now.”
“Sebastian!”
He shrugged. Looking down at the senora, he caught and held her eyes. In the brown that glistened with sorrow, he found what he expected. Resignation and knowing. “Senora Martinez is a woman of the world. She will not be surprised by death. Plus, she knew what Felix did for a hobby. Didn’t you?”
In an echo of his shrug, Senora Martinez turned away to replace the photo, her hands not quite steady. Katelyn watched as she missed the nail twice. With a searing look at Sebastian, she quietly took the photo and returned it to the empty space on the wall.
Undaunted, Sebastian lightly clasped Senora Martinez’s hand and led her to the low sofa. He squatted beside her, stroking the wrinkled skin. “You and Felix have been close friends for decades, no?”
“Sí.” She lifted her head proudly to meet his inquiring gaze. “We grew up together in Canete. My parents cleaned house for his. Tended the gardens and drove the Estrada family around.”
“But you and Felix didn’t care about stature, did you? You were in love with each other.”
A soft blush bloomed on the wide cheeks. “Ah, we were in love once. Very young and stupido. When I was sixteen and he was seventeen, we ran away to Lima. I sang, and he played.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Katelyn asked softly. “All of these years?”
Senora Martinez lifted her hands, the stones sparkling in the light. “This was before. Long before Felix met his Mirella and I met my Josef.”
“Before he began his quest,” Sebastian added. “While you were in Lima, he began to collect objects, didn’t he? Beautiful, priceless pieces.”
Senora Martinez stiffened, her eyes sharp and cold. “I do not know—”
Sebastian lithely gained his feet and strode to the curio cabinet. Opening the glass doors, he lifted the priceless objects. “This statue? Aztec. This pottery? From the Tepeu, a seventh-century Mayan dynasty.” He rubbed a length of fabric that rested beneath a row of bronze items. “On the black market, this swatch is worth a great deal, given that it was used to swaddle the dead in Nicaragua, before the Spanish came.”
She studied him closely. “How do you know this? Are you an archaeologist?”
Katelyn chortled, the sound short and strangled. “He’s a thief, Senora.”
“Yes, but I know my trade.” Returning to his position beside the sofa, he continued, “Senor Estrada was not a thief, though, was he? He was a collector. Probably started while you lived in Lima. But he became hooked and began to stray farther and farther afield. You loved him and stayed with him as long as you could. Until his hobby became an obsession.”
“He would leave for days at a time. Then weeks.” Senora Martinez knitted her fingers together and laid them in her lap. “Always, there was something he had to find. I grew tired of waiting, of being kept in Lima. My voice was good, but I would not become a star.”
“You are honest with yourself, Senora Martinez.” Sebastian cocked his head to the side. “Most are not. We like to believe our own lies.”
“It is a curse, this honesty.” She reached out and ruffled Sebastian’s hair. “An affliction you seem to share.”
“Only on Thursdays.” To distract, he asked, “Tell us about your husband.”
Senora Martinez wasn’t fooled, but she complied. “I met Josef, and he did not mind my past. After a time, we returned to Canete. He bought this land, and we made our lives here.”
Katelyn asked, “He didn’t care about your friendship with Tio Felix?”
“No, una poca. After all, Felix introduced us. Josef was his, how do you say, gate?”
Sebastian chuckled, “Fence. Josef was his fence.”
She nodded at the translation. “Ah, yes. His fence. The noble Felix wouldn’t sell what he found, but he did have family heirlooms that funded his adventures. He asked Josef to watch after me, the first time he left Peru to go abroad. By the time he returned, I was married to him. Felix became godfather to our first, Luisa.” She turned to pat Katelyn’s cheek, her face somber. “I will miss your uncle. He was a good man.”
“I know.” Katelyn paused, then asked, “Do you know what he was looking for recently?”
“¡Madre de Dios!” With an exclamation, Senora Martinez levered herself up. Startled, Sebastian rose to help her stand. She pressed past him, agitated. “How could I forget? I am growing old in my brain. Wait here. I have something.”
As she hurried from the room, Katelyn studied Sebastian in silence. The silence lengthened, and she never broke her oblique gaze. Sebastian shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “What?” he asked testily. “Do I have something on my nose?”
“A bit of brown, perhaps,” she teased, rising to join him. “You were very kind to her.”
“I’m not an ogre, Kat.”
“No, you’re not, are you? Nor nearly as much of a scoundrel as you’d like to be.”
“Come over here, and we’ll test your theory.”
Katelyn rose, but instead of joining him, she wandered over to the array of photographs. “I’ve been in this house a dozen times. I never noticed.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Doctor. People see what they expect. Not much else.” His tone was only slightly bitter though he didn’t notice it. “Show them the obvious, and they won’t look any further.”
“Hmm,” came Katelyn’s noncommittal reply.
Before Sebastian could press her, Senora Martinez returned, brandishing a leather journal. She spoke quickly, excitably. “Felix came to see me weeks ago, before his last trip. He asked me to take this, to hold it for you, Katelyn, in case anything should happen.”
“He knew he was in danger?”
Senora Martinez shook her head. “I don’t know. Felix would come to me off and on, bringing this diario. He would tell me to keep it for you, if anything happened to him. Then he would return, safe and sound.” “He would bring me a trinket or a vase, always beautiful. We would drink coffee and speak of our beloveds. And of Lima.”
“May I?” Sebastian reached out to take the diary, but Katelyn pinched it from Senora Martinez’s fingers first.
“Later,” she demurred.
Sebastian narrowed his eyes, and seeing the tension between them, Senora Martinez demanded of him, “Tell me about these men who killed Felix.”
“They want something that Felix found. A manuscript.”
“The Cinchona.”
Raising an annoyed brow, Sebastian muttered, “Does everyone know about this damned thing?”
Senora Martinez cuffed his shoulder in sympathy. “The Cinchona was Felix’s greatest obsession. He would not tell me much, but he began searching for it when we lived in Lima.” She moved past him to the Incan statue. “He found this in Bolivia. On his return, he heard about a prize that would make
man immortal. Called the Cinchona.”
“Immortal?”
“A myth, of course.” Katelyn spoke over Senora Martinez’s response. Now was not the time for Sebastian to learn the truth of the Cinchona. Not until she was certain of his loyalty. “But the real story of the Cinchona is its path to the Incan gold, right, Senora?”
Senora Martinez replied, “The Cinchona is many things, Katelyn. Wealth, long life, happiness. But if Felix did find the manuscript, and he was killed for it, why are these men after you?”
“Because they believe she has it,” Sebastian explained flatly. He bowed again to Senora Martinez. Quickly, he described the men who shot at them at the cave, led by Enzo. “These men may come to you, Senora. Do not tell them that you’ve seen Katelyn.”
“Of course not.” She nodded briskly. “You two will stay here to night. Felix’s secrets can wait until morning.”
Chapter 9
“We need to report in.” Enzo halted on the winding trail, and his companions immediately followed suit. He held out his hand, and a wiry young man produced a large phone, twice the width of his palm. The tangled thicket surrounding them would have blocked most cellular signals, but he had a sat phone for just that reason.
Without a word, the boy turned to face the way they’d come and trained the Steyr Aug rifle on the opening. Slender, almost spindly, he had a gamine face that would have done justice to a courtesan. Doe eyes sported a heavy fringe of black lashes that women cooed over. The wide, almost feminine mouth was a natural deep rose that framed brilliantly white teeth with a charming gap between the overlarge front incisors. His olive complexion explained the straight fall of ebony hair and the broad, flat cheekbones. He looked sixteen at most, was actually twenty-two. Rafael Benamor caressed the butt of the rifle with a lover’s touch, his dainty fingers playing over the rifle sight.
“Do not shoot unless I command,” ordered Turi Avilar, the final member of the party. His nut brown skin gleamed with sweat from hiking through the rugged terrain. He did not enjoy the heat of Latin America, preferring his normal environs of South Philly. “Shoot anything else before we find the girl, and I’ll make you more like her than you can imagine.”
Secrets and Lies Page 10