Look What the Wind Blew In (18 page)

Her eyelids flew open. Quint leaned over her, his hazel eyes close, his mouth even closer thanks to her grip on his shirt. Sweat glistened on his skin in the lamplight.

“What?” she gasped more than spoke, letting go of his shirt. She slid upright against the wall, putting space between them.

“You talk in your sleep.” His smile lit up his face. The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Did you know that?”

Her dream about having her way with him here on the chamber floor pinballed through her brain. Oh, dear Lord, no. Her whole face burned like she’d stuck it in a blast furnace. “What did I say?”

His gaze centered on her mouth for one long head rush, then he sat back on his heels and looked at the glyph-covered wall behind her. “Nothing much. It was mostly mumbling and a few moans.”

Moans? Like lust-filled, desperate for sex moans? Shit. Really? She wanted to hide inside her turtle shell.

“What happened with Steel and the bat cave?”

She latched onto his change of subject like it was a rope dangling from the cliff next to her. “I’ve never seen Jared’s face so pale, especially when he slipped on some guano-covered rocks and hurt his hand when he fell.”

“That explains the bandage.”

Silence stretched like taffy, starting to sag in the middle. “How is the article coming along?” she blurted out.

“Great. You’ve given me a lot to get started.”

It would have to be enough to finish, because he had to be gone in three days per Jared’s blackmail demands. Although, she hadn’t yet figured out how she was going to manage that. “Good, good. I’m glad to hear it.”

Wonderful, first she tried attacking him in her sleep and now she was bumbling like a crush-filled teenager. Where was that bottle of rum she kept hidden in her tent when she needed it?

He twirled the paintbrush he’d been using throughout the morning to clean the bone shards she kept finding. “Why don’t you let me dig for a bit?”

“I have a better idea.” She pushed to her feet. “Let’s get out of here before we melt to death.” Or she fell asleep and did something even worse.

“Your wish is my command, my master.” He bowed, handing her the paintbrush.

She avoided his eyes while they cleaned up, still fretting over what she might have said in her sleep. They trekked in silence as they made their way out of the temple.

“Dr. García!” Esteban met them just inside the exit.

Her stomach dropped at his wide eyes and hitching breath. “Jesus, what now?”

“It’s your father.”

“What about him?” She stumbled backwards a step, right into Quint, who grasped her shoulders, steadying her.

“He needs you right now.”

“Where is he?”

“Outside.” He wiped a stream of sweat from his temple with the shoulder of his T-shirt.

He’d made it back from Cancun, thank God. So why was Esteban standing in front of her out of breath and sweating all over the place?

“What’s wrong? Did something happen to him?” She leaned into Quint, afraid of what she was about to hear.

“
Sí
. He dropped the key to the safe box into the
cenote
.”

She choked back a bout of hysterical laughter and pushed past Esteban. That was it. She was going to duct tape her father in his tent for the rest of the dig season.

* * *

Spread out on the king’s chest is a necklace containing eight jade beads, four of which look to have skull visages carved into the face of the bead.

Angélica stopped writing and yawned, blinking away sleep. She looked at her travel clock, and then leaned closer to it. Either the light from her lantern was dimming, or she’d reached the point where sleep deprivation was affecting her vision. She plucked it up and frowned at the clock hands. Was it really three already?

She stood and stretched, needing a little more energy to finish her analysis before catching an hour or two of sleep. Maybe she’d actually sleep during the afternoon
siesta
break instead of working.

Rover snorted in his sleep, his legs jerking as he raced through his dreams. He was probably running from María after tearing up her garden again, the unruly little
jabalí
. Splint or not, he managed to keep sneaking out of her tent and getting into trouble.

Her focus returned to her notes. It was time to wrap things up. She sat back down and picked up the tracing she had made Sunday morning in the Temple of the Water Witch when all hell had been breaking loose with her father, his tooth, and Pedro. Holding the tracing in front of the lantern, she bent over the paper and wrote:

In the center of the eight beads is a shell. While this glyph is pitted with age, details of the carving seem to show a cone-like shell with three flaring layers resembling a small Christmas tree. There are ten points rounding the bottom of the shell. According to my research (using “The Wayfarer’s Guide to South American Shells”), this shell looks like a member of the Astraeinae family of the Gastropoda Orthogastropoda class. After looking at photos of several specimens of this family, I believe it is either an Astraea Tecta or an Astraea Latispina. I would need to see the actual shell to give an official ruling on …

“Angélica!”

She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice right outside her tent. “What?” she whispered loudly, wishing everyone would stop sneaking up on her.

“Can I come in?”

“Of course.”

Juan unzipped the mesh flap and stepped inside. He had on the hole-ridden, white T-shirt and worn gray cotton shorts he wore to bed each night.

“What are you doing?” He moved over to where she sat at the desk and picked up the lantern. “What’s this?” he crooked his neck and looked down at her scrawls.

“Notes on what I found in the chamber Sunday morning.”

“Anything that will help?”

“Possibly, but I don’t think we have a leg to stand on unless we actually find one of the shells. Paintings and carvings are too indistinct and easy to mislabel.”

He grunted in agreement, and then held the lantern right in her face. “Do you realize how late it is?”

She squinted, wincing in the light. “What’s your point?”

“What are you still doing awake?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Is it Jared?”

More like Quint, but her father didn’t need to know about that particular pickle. “Jared’s part of it. What are
you
doing out of bed? Is your tooth doing okay?”

He scraped his hand over his beard stubble. “My tooth is fine, but we’ve got a problem.”

“What now?” She collected her notes and the tracing and stuffed them all in the drawer with the fake bottom. “Did you sacrifice the spare key, too?”

“Very funny,
gatita
, but this is serious.”

She was afraid of that. She slammed the desk drawer closed. “Which one of my crew is it now?”

“It’s not your crew this time.”

Her breath lurched. “Quint?”

He shook his head. “Jared.”

Chapter Nine

Subín Tree (commonly known as Bullhorn Acacia): A tree covered with thorns and biting red ants.

“
¡Dios mio!
” Angélica gripped the doorjamb on Teodoro’s threshold, trying to hide her recoil at the sight in front of her. “What happened to you?”

Jared looked up at her from the cot where he lay shirtless while Teodoro applied ointment to tiny red welts covering his chest, neck, and face. “Ants.”

She shuddered, her legs starting to itch. She’d had a run in with biting ants as a kid when she’d poked a stick into a red ant hill on her dad’s ranch. Turned out the stick wasn’t long enough. While she was busy messing with their home, a war party had crawled up inside her jeans and attacked her legs. She’d kicked off her pants and run around in circles screaming until her mom had sprayed her off with the hose, and even then some of those little fiery buggers had held on tight, requiring a more persuasive shooing.

Her father nudged her inside the hut so he could shut the door behind them.

“How did this happen?” she asked nobody in particular.

Juan dropped his arm around her shoulders and led her toward Teodoro’s cot, forcing her closer than she wanted to be. The memory of what her father still laughingly referred to as
The Mexican Ant Dance
still haunted her. Those bites had hurt.

“
Gatita
, I think you might want to sit for a moment.”

“Really?” At his sober nod, she slumped onto the edge of the cot. She braced herself for what was to come, scratching at an itch on her arm. A glance in Jared’s direction left her grimacing. The tendons and muscles in his neck were visibly taut in the lantern light. Sweat ran down his face, mixing with the glistening ointment covering his cheeks and jaw.

“We have a problem.” Juan squeezed the bridge of his nose, a gesture she’d seen often during the brief time her mom had been in intensive care. He wasn’t nearly as pale and worn-out looking this time though. Not yet anyway.

Teodoro grunted at Juan, pointing at the lantern.

Juan grabbed the lantern and moved closer, lighting up the angry bites even more. He frowned at her. “I found a
subín
branch in Jared’s cot.”

In his cot? How did it get up in his cot? And why?

“And ants scattered throughout his sheets. There were too many to count.”

She turned to Jared. “Did you notice anything odd before you crawled into bed?”

“No.”

Grimacing, she scratched her lower back. “So, you think someone sneaked into his tent while he was sleeping and slipped the branch into his cot?”

Juan shrugged.

“Why would someone do that?”

“Personal vendetta?”

Angélica opened her mouth to dismiss his idea but then closed it. Just about every person at the site could be labeled guilty on that count, including herself. Jared was about as well-liked by her crew as the ants he’d been sharing his bed with tonight. “Any other ideas?” Any that wouldn’t alert the
federales
to start snooping around her dig site?

“The curse,” Teodoro spoke in Mayan.

Angélica nailed him with a glower. She should have seen that one coming. “Any other
logical
ideas?”

“What about Rover?” her father asked. “Maybe he dragged the limb into Jared’s tent. We’ve both witnessed him climbing up on your cot even with his bum leg.”

She considered that. “I don’t think so. He may like to pilfer from María’s garden, but he’s a picky eater when it comes to insects.” There was another possibility, one that gave her goosebumps.

She needed to talk to her father. Alone.

Rising, she scratched at a tickling on her scalp. “I’m going to go scout around Jared’s tent and look for signs of anything peculiar.”

“I don’t think that’s wise,
gatita
.”

“It’s my dig site.” Her crew. Her responsibility. Hiding in her tent wasn’t going to make this lunacy stop. “None of this leaks out to anyone else, understand?” She locked gazes with each man, emphasizing her words with a warning glare.

Her father pressed his lips tight, holding his two cents inside. He didn’t need to speak. His disapproval lined his forehead. “What do you want us to do with Jared? Wrap him like a mummy and hide him in one of the tombs?”

What a great idea! If only it were that easy to get rid of her ex-husband.

“Jared.” She avoided looking directly at him, focusing on the cot next to his head while scratching at a tingle on her hip. “Stay in your tent all day today. If you have to use the latrine, wear a hat and sunglasses. I don’t want you to be seen by anyone until the swelling on those bites goes down a bit.” At his nod, she turned to her father. “I need to talk to you outside as soon as you’re done helping Teodoro.”

Grabbing a spare flashlight off the shelf, she escaped into the waning moonlight, itching all of the way.

Damn!
She wanted to throw the flashlight as far as she could, but settled for kicking at a rock on the ground instead. “Damn, damn, damn,” she growled under her breath for good measure, flicking on the flashlight.

The leaves on the trees rattled softly as a small breeze blew past, mixing with the croaking of the frogs down by the
cenote
. She peered across the plaza at the thick shadows around the base of the Dawn Temple.

It would be so simple for someone to sneak around this place, especially in the dark.

Something crashed through the bushes behind her.

She whirled, shining the light into the thick canopy of trees and clusters of underbrush. Several low branches at the edge of the jungle bobbed slowly up and down. It was too dark further under the canopy to see beyond the jungle’s outer skin. Tiptoeing toward the bushes, she aimed the beam of light at several thorny branches.

A hand clamped down on her shoulder.

With an inward gasp she leapt sideways, wrenching free, but then dropped the flashlight. It hit the ground with a small
clink
and the beam of light disappeared.

Darkness swallowed her whole, quaking heart and all.

She could hear someone breathing.

It wasn’t her.

Her knees turned loose and wobbly. “Who’s there?”

“Santa Claus,” her father said. “Who do you think?”

“Dammit, Dad!” She kneeled down, feeling around for the flashlight. “You scared the crap out of me.”