Look What the Wind Blew In (42 page)

“I thought someone said Dr. Hughes died in a plane crash.”

“Maybe he did, but Mrs. Hughes didn’t believe it. In fact, she doubted it so much that she spent the next several years searching for a different answer.”

Angélica blew out a breath, shaking her head. “Damn.”

“I told you it was complicated.”

She stared over at the Temple of the Water Witch for a long moment. When she turned back to him, she asked, “Will you be okay on your own for the day? I need to think about this. Let it soak in.”

He frowned. Juan had told Quint she’d need time and space, but he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of her being alone, not after what had happened to her dad this morning. “Working alone is dangerous.”

“I know. There are several machetes in the supply tent, along with some other makeshift weapons. I suggest you stock up. You and I need to be on alert at all times now.”

“I don’t like this.”

“That’s why I wanted you to leave.”

“I mean I don’t like you being alone. I knew what I was signing up for by not getting on that helicopter, so don’t worry about me.”

“Pedro gave me his flare gun. I also have one of the machetes and a camp knife.”

“Don’t you think we should seriously consider collecting our things and getting out of here? We can contact the
federales
for help when we reach the village.”

“No.” Her voice grew louder with anger. “I’m pissed as hell at whoever is fucking with me, and I’m not going to let them win. They shouldn’t have hurt my father.”

Quint gaped at her. “Who do you think you are? Jason Bourne? What if there is more than one of them?”

“There isn’t. They would have come at us harder and faster if so.”

“Still …”

She jutted her chin. “Trust me, Parker. I can take care of myself.”

“How? You weigh like a buck twenty-five soaking wet.”

“You’re shortchanging me. I’m heavier than that.”

“Not by much. What if someone sneaks up on you?”

“I’ll be listening for them. Besides, Pedro has taught me a few moves over the years.”

“Like what?” Hitting below the belt wasn’t going to save her with someone as brutal as whoever had attacked Juan.

She held out her arm. “Grab me.”

He did.

In a flash she took hold of him, twirled, wrenched his arm around his back, kicked the back of his knees, and pinned him face down on the dirt while she straddled his back.

“Like this, for example,” she said, settling onto his lower back. “Here we are again with me on top of you, back in the saddle. Sort of like last night, huh, Parker?”

He spit dust out, turning his head so he could see her with one eye. “If this is supposed to be my package of nice positivity, you forgot the pretty bow.”

“You want your bow?” At his nod, she leaned down next to his ear. “You were right, Parker. The truth was more complicated.” The warmth of her breath on his skin heated him from the outside in. “And as for your self-esteem, you’re not such a bad guy … when you’re not lying to me.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

Moan: A mythical bird (sometimes identified as an owl) associated with death.

The dig site felt like a ghost town at high noon. All that was missing was a creaky shutter and a lone dust devil.

Actually it was a ghost town, Angélica thought as she swung into the dark, empty mess tent for a lunchtime refill.

Grabbing one of the vegetarian
panuchos
from the cooler, she filled her water bottle and headed back out into the hot sunshine to find Quint. That damned block in the Temple of the Water Witch wasn’t coming out no matter how hard she tugged. She needed his help to pull it free. The sooner she got through that wall, the sooner she could find the shell and then go check on her father.

Angélica had faith that Pedro was taking good care of her dad, but she wanted to see him up and laughing again with her own eyes. That would ease one of the aches in her heart.

The other ache might be tougher to alleviate since it involved a certain hazel-eyed troublemaker who lived a long way away, traveled for a living, and didn’t have much good to say about spending time in the Yucatán jungle.

She’d spent a lot of time this morning thinking about Quint and not only about why he’d hidden the truth from her. Her explosive rage to his admission last night welled from feelings that went way deeper than a stranger betraying her trust. She liked him. She really, really liked him, and she wanted to keep liking him up close and personal for however long this thing between them played out. But their worlds didn’t mesh.

Long ago, while going through her divorce from Jared, she had accepted that she’d never have the dream life her parents had been lucky enough to experience—a mutual career, a shared dig site,
and
a love-filled marriage. She’d decided over the lonely years since then that she’d be willing to settle for one of those three with someone who made her smile every day, like her dad had her mom. But she didn’t want to get mired in a long distance relationship. They required too much trust. On top of that, the goodbyes would make the lonely pains sharper, the pining worse.

When she’d grown tired of spinning her wheels on why she needed to just have fun with Quint for now and not make any long-term plans, she’d focused on his explanation about Mrs. Hughes. By the time her stomach won the battle of wills and food had lured her out of the temple, she’d come to one solid conclusion—she needed to read through the information Quint had in his tent about Jared. Her ex-husband had been all sorts of an asshole over the years, but she had trouble believing he was a murdering one.

She stopped outside of Quint’s tent, listening. “Parker?” When he didn’t reply, she unzipped the tent flap. “Hello?”

Inside, Rover lay on top of Quint’s cot. He looked over at her without raising his snout from a tin plate littered with the shredded remains of a tortilla.

She squatted in front of the little javelina. “What’s wrong, sweetie?” She took a closer look at the plate of food, noticing the way he’d chewed on the bits of food but not eaten them. “Are you feeling sick today?”

He let out a quiet snort and nuzzled her hand. His skin felt warm but not hot. His stomach wasn’t swollen any more than usual. As she scratched behind his ears he whined, and then flipped over onto his side and flopped his head down on the cot. Eeyore had nothing on the poor guy.

She rubbed his belly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were sad.”

He sighed, blinking several times as he looked at her.

She smiled and scratched under his snout. “As soon as I find that shell, everything will turn around, I promise.”

Heading back out into the sunshine, she zipped the mesh flap closed and frowned over at the Dawn Temple.

“Where are you, Parker?”

* * *

There was something important in the Dawn Temple.

Something to do with that head variants glyph.

Juan had felt it, and now Quint’s gut rallied behind that theory, too.

After Angélica had left him to his own devices earlier this morning, he’d returned—machete in hand. Hours later, between the wheelbarrow and a whole lot of sweat, he’d cleared a path through the rubble over to the wall. There was one barrier left, and one way or another he’d get past it. When he made it back to civilization he planned to tell Juan about what they’d found—together.

He pulled on the huge chunk of limestone that leaned against the block with the head variants glyph on it. The back of the rock lifted slightly, then slipped out of his grip and fell back into the shallow hole between several other large pieces of the ceiling.

Damn it! If he could just get a solid grip on the thing.

The sound of footfalls on the stone floor behind him made him reach for the machete.

“What are you doing in here?” Angélica asked.

He spun around, the machete half-raised, and tripped over a large stone on the floor behind him. He flat-handed the wall while catching himself, making his hand sting like a son of a bitch. “You scared the shit out of me, woman.”

She looked down at his bared chest. “Apparently, I scared the shirt off of you, as well.”

“It’s freaking hot.” He shook the pain from his hand.

“I noticed.” The heat in her eyes when her gaze returned north made him wonder if she were referring to something more than the temperature. “You feeling jumpy, Parker?”

“This place gives me the creeps.” His ego wasn’t too big to admit it either.

“Then why are you in here?”

“Would you believe me if I said I was finishing what your father started?”

She nodded.

Well, that was something. Maybe Juan was right about giving her space and time to calm down and understand the whole search for Dr. Hughes secret. He pointed at the glyph. “See that block with the head variants on it?”

She made her way over the remaining pile, joining him. “You mean this?” She shined her flashlight on it. “The Sun god and Venus in the morning.” At his nod, she asked, “What about it?”

“It’s the exact match of the drawing in the back of Dr. Hughes’ journal.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Your dad told me so. He dragged me in here this morning to show it to me right before …” Quint exhaled loudly, “you know.”

“Yeah, I know. Did Dad say why he thought it was worth bringing you in here?”

“He had a notion that Dr. Hughes might have hidden something in this room, something important to him, and it may be behind this loose block the glyph is on. That’s why Dr. Hughes drew it in the back of his journal.”

“Why didn’t he mention anything to me?” she said, more to herself than him.

Quint answered anyway. “I think he knew you had your mind on that shell.”

“Still …”

“And he was protecting me. He didn’t want to tell you I was looking for Dr. Hughes.”

She shot him a smirk. “A partner in crime. He must like you if he’s joining in your shenanigans.”

“We had a deal.”

“What deal?”

“It was a guy thing.” When she stared, waiting, he added, “It involved freezing our balls off together.”

“Male bonding with my father, Parker? Was this another attempt to get information about Dr. Hughes?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I like your dad. He makes me laugh.”

“Yeah.” Her smile had a hint of sadness. “Me, too.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You’ll see him again soon.” Before he did something stupid like hug her, which would probably land him face down in the dirt again with her sitting sidesaddle on him this time, he squatted down and grabbed the huge stone. “If I can get this damned, over-grown pebble out of the way, we can see if your dad was right.” He grunted as he lifted. His arms started shaking and then his grip slipped and the rock crashed back against the others. “Damn it.”

“You’re scratching the hell out of your skin.” She stepped over and grabbed his sweat-soaked T-shirt, tossing it at him. “Put that on and I’ll make you a deal.”

He shook the shirt, making sure there were no critters on it, and slipped the wet cotton over his head. “I’m all ears,” he said as he pulled it down over his stomach.

“I need your help in the Temple of the Water Witch. I’ll help you move this chunk of ceiling if you help me get that block out of the wall.”

“Okay. Let’s get to work.” He bent down, adjusting his grip on the rock to make room for her.

She joined him, sliding in next to him, placing her hands under the backside of it. Sweat dotted her brow. “Ready.”

He could smell her shampoo. The sweet citrus scent spurred flashes of her all naked and fresh from the shower, hot and ready for a whole different reason.

Shaking off the memory, he focused on the rock in his arms. “On the count of three then.” He adjusted his grip once more. “One, two, three!”

The rock rose out of its bed and hovered on the edge of the stone in front of it.

Crap! His grip was slipping.

Angélica grunted, seeming to double her effort. Finally, the damned rock rolled free, taking Angélica with it.

She stumbled into him. He staggered backward, his heel catching on a rock, and fell, landing flat on his back on the chamber floor. She came down on top of him, elbows first, knocking the wind out of him.

It took him a second to catch his breath. With it came pain throbbing in his right butt cheek thanks to a small rock he’d landed on.

“Are you okay?” Angélica pushed up on her arms, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

“I think so.” He dug the stone out from under him and tossed it aside. “But you were right. You do weigh more than a buck twenty-five.”

Her gaze narrowed.

“And I think your elbow cracked one of my ribs.”

“Keep talking about my weight, and I’m sure it will.”

He grinned. “I’m just messing with you.”

Her eyes lowered to his mouth, then her lips were brushing over his, slow and sexy, making his head float clear up to the ceiling. When her tongue touched his, his aches and pains slipped from his mind.

He groaned into her mouth, his body tightening as she moved over him, lighting fires all over the place. His hands spanned her hips and then slid down over her back pockets, squeezing the soft firm flesh under the cotton. God, she was intoxicating, making him crave more and more.