Born Into Love (27 page)

“Too late.”

“What’s in the bundle?” She edged closer. “What’re you going to do?”

Ever so slowly he removed the clay-stained cloth.

She stared at a knife. Blood-red stones clustered around the gold hilt.

Teodoro caressed the handle. “It carries the gift of eternal life.”

Sweat ran down her temples. “Coming from you, that sounds bad.”

“Many deaths will follow.”

She yanked the knife out of his hand. “Not this year!” His shrieks startled Remy but he was too far away to grab her. She tossed the dagger inside the tomb aiming for the black recesses.

Teodoro dove after it.

She hung onto his narrow ankle. He kicked at her, but she wouldn’t let go. When she moved to get a better grip, he slammed his hand into her chest like a quarterback avoiding a tackle, knocking the breath out of her and sending her tumbling backwards. Still shrieking he disappeared into the darkness of the tomb.

The earth shuddered. Debris shot from the entrance choking her. Inside, the freshly hewn poles crashed. Remy stood over her twirling his gun until Diego whisked her away from the debris. Fresh air burned as it entered her lungs and she rubbed her chest trying to ease the pain. When her breath normalized, she clung to Diego. He felt colder than the metal that had just been in her hand.

“I only meant to get rid of the thing. I didn’t know he’d go after it. I thought he planned to stab you.” Diego smoothed her hair, but she couldn’t stay still. “We can’t leave him in there. He could still be alive.” She stared at Diego. His skin had a greenish tint like the flesh of a corpse. “You haven’t eaten.”

Remy cocked his gun. “I want that knife.”

She turned on him. “Shut up! I’m so tired of you. I’m getting food for Diego. Shoot me if you want, but Diego won’t get the knife if you kill me. And let’s face the truth--weak as he is, he’s the only man still strong enough to do the job.”
As long as he has food
.

Remy lowered his favorite toy.

She handed Diego a can from her waist pack. Tension vanished from the muscles of his face. She patted his cheek. “Yeah, I know it’s not soup.”

“Please, do not watch.”

Mercedes whispered. “Just drink it.”

“Look away.”

She focused on her battered boots. From Jose’s scream and Remy’s pallor when she raised her eyes, she knew Diego had transformed. She watched as he retreated into the forest. When he returned his skin hovered near light gray, a good sign.

Diego hurled chunks of stone away from the entrance. Mercedes joined him until her wrists ached from the weight of the rubble. José crept closer.

“I help?”

Mercedes wiped her hands on her slacks. “Your boss doesn’t care who does the work as long as it’s not him.” She turned her attention to the entrance and shouted hoping for an answer. “Teodoro! Can you hear us?”

He couldn’t or he couldn’t answer.

Upon removing the last chunks of granite clogging the foyer, Diego slipped inside.

* * *

He gripped Teodoro by his shirt and tugged his inert body into the green overcast of camp. Why? Because madness gripped the sorcerer, because Mercedes would blame herself for his death, because their captor had knowledge his beloved needed and because he would not deliberately let someone die.

“He is still alive.”

Mercedes wrung her hands. “What can we do?”

“His ribs are crushed, internal bleeding. He does not have long.”
Diego inched his arm under Teodoro’s neck to ease his breathing.

José studied the sorcerer. “Is dead?”

Remy swore before he could answer. “Castilla, you’re an idiot. Where’s the knife?”

“I grabbed his body not the weapon.”

Like a child, Procteur stomped his foot. “I wanted the knife.”

Teodoro gasped.
Diego thought he intended to speak, but his fingers darted under his encrusted vest. In a frenzied moment he coughed then sliced his neck with the ancient blade. To Diego’s horror the dying man gripped the knife Diego had last seen in the hands of the sorcerer’s ancestor Ma’ta. The knife present at Diego’s sacrifice, that Ma’ta dipped into Diego’s vampire father’s blood.

And now it hastened another death. Teodoro’s blood smelled rich.
Diego withdrew. “Mercedes, you will have to search him.”

She shook her head. “I can’t do it.”

Diego held her gaze. “You must. We need the antidote.”

She started to cry and
he hated himself. But if not on his person then where?

“I’m in charge now,” Procteur said. “Hand everything to me beginning with the pouches on his neck.”

She passed the necklaces. Remy opened the sacks. “Pathetic. Tiny bones and black dust.” Still, Procteur shoved them into a net bag.

Mercedes reached into the pockets of the cargo pants. “I found something. Feels like a bottle.”

She glanced at Diego and he understood they had the same thought. It must be the antidote.

“Let me have it,” Remy ordered.

Her fingers were reluctant, but Remy, still armed, stuck out his hand. He glanced at the label. “A prescription. I’ll keep it. Now give me the knife. It’s sitting there like a big dinosaur.”

“I’m not touching it.”

Neither could Diego.

José approached. In his hand he held a large leaf. He took the knife, wrapped it then offered it to Remy.

Procteur smiled. “I know a European collector who’ll pay extra for the gems.”

Diego
wanted Ma’ta’s knife destroyed. Mercedes rose and José handed her leaves to clean herself. Water from his canteen removed the rest. She linked her arm with Diego’s. Remy laughed.

“A real bonding moment, but time’s up.”

“Are you leaving the body of your partner exposed? His followers might object.” The thought had not occurred to the great treasure hunter for he looked at Diego with surprise.

Remy spoke to José. “Bury him in the jungle, but check his knapsack.”

As they watched José discovered a notebook and pen. Both found their way into the pockets of Remy’s khakis. Then he had José toss Teodoro’s empty pack on the fire.

Procteur pointed the gun at
Diego’s chest. Diego lunged for him. “Mercedes, run!”

Chapter 17

Remy never fired. Diego’s hands tightened on his neck and he struggled to speak dropping the gun next to Teodoro’s battered body.

“Behind. . . you. My men.”

Diego shot a glance over his shoulder. Troops in camo flashing automatic rifles stepped out of the jungle. Diego jerked Remy against his body as he turned to face them. If they fired, Procteur would perish first. Diego would be gravely injured, but unless his enemies performed other procedures to end his existence, he would recover if the metal were removed. Under his knuckles he felt the heat of Remy’s flesh. His fangs descended. Procteur struggled against him.

“Don’t. . . fire,” he squawked, more frightened of their guns than of
Diego. Weapons still raised, the soldiers spread along the camp perimeter and waited. Battles often came down to this pause. Diego accepted the weight of their gaze. He stood in the attitude of the warrior he had been so many times without fangs. No one flinched. Yet the blanched faces showed they were as terrified of Diego as Mercedes had been revolted.

His
plan? Occupy the soldiers giving Mercedes time to reach a river. Instead, she screamed.

A gash marred her cheek and a knife hovered at her neck. The m
ercenary who pushed her into their war circle stared into Diego’s eyes, daring him to take the next step.

“Let me go,” Remy ordered, “or she’s dust.”

Diego gave him his freedom. He scrambled for the gun, opened the chamber. “Say bye-bye.”

He aimed. Suddenly the soldier threatening Mercedes collapsed--a two-foot arrow protruding from his chest. Men with stained cheeks and black powder sprinkled on their greased bodies surrounded Remy’s pals.

Stalemate.

The mercenaries looked from one another and made a decision. They lowered their weapons.

Teodoro’s features repeated themselves in the faces of the new arrivals. Their long, notched arrows changed direction and pointed to Diego’s chest. Mercedes swayed, shaken by events.

A bowman marched to Teodoro’s corpse. He poked the remains with his foot. No response. He tossed
the body over his shoulder as Diego had seen firemen do on the news and vanished with it into the jungle. Another tribesman approached Remy and jabbed at his legs until Procteur moved into the jungle joined by the rest of the archers.

Mercedes and
Diego faced the armed squad. A mercenary with the posture of a colonel issued a command. In unison, the soldiers turned their weapons toward the jungle.

And
they waited.

Raucous blue-headed parrots flew overhead. Procteur reappeared wearing black dust. He looked scared.
Diego had the sense that neither group offered friendship. The “colonel” confronted him in a harsh whisper. Remy dripped sweat that made rivulets in the dust covering his skin. Mercedes slipped into Diego’s arms and they, like the rest of the camp, watched Remy and the “colonel” in silence.

Procteur ended the chat by addressing
them. “We stay in camp. It’s not safe to enter the jungle now. We’re on the tribe’s boundary and they need time to adjust.” The “colonel” spat on Remy’s boot. Procteur flinched but let it slide.

Perhaps his enemies could be
Diego’s friends.

Remy surveyed Mercedes and
him. “You have a reprieve.” He rubbed his neck and regarded Diego with hate-filled eyes. Their unfinished business and their last breaths delayed.

With a nod from their self-appointed leader, the soldiers lowered their rifles. Some entered the forest with machetes and returned with palm thatch and saplings. Wielding their steel blades as well as
he and Rodrigo had swung their swords, they built lean-tos.

Mercedes squeezed his
arm. “Why aren’t we dead?”

“Someone Procteur fears wants us alive. The
‘colonel’ is harder to read.”

“What colonel?”

He explained.

“He doesn’t look merciful.”

“He is not.”

Her eyes widened. “How do you know? Did you read his mind?”

“That skill vanished when I began a jungle diet.” He squeezed her hand. “You must rest.”

“Maybe my body’s had enough antidote. Maybe I’m cured.”

“I still think you must rest.”

“If I don’t make it,” her voice thickened with emotion, “save my family and Dave. Make certain Remy gets what he deserves and rescue the artifacts.”

“Is that all?”

She smiled. “Pretty much.”

Procteur approached and nodded to Mercedes. “We need you to pack.”

She folded her arms. “The mummies can’t travel exposed. It rains here, you know. And if they’re shipped as is by helicopter, you’ll lose them to vibration. No one’s going to buy dust.”

The colonel entered their small group. “Woman right.
Momias
protection.” His voice held substance equal to his manner.

Procteur took the comment like a blow to the solar plexus.
He might be a treasure hunter, but his opinions mattered little to Mercedes or the tribesmen or the colonel or Diego. As Luz would say Remy had no street cred.

“Okay, señorita, what your idea?”

“Crate them.”

“How?”

“Use the forest.”

* * *

Watched by the mercenaries his
love photographed which artifacts went into what box. The colonel arranged torches to give her more light. Several of the soldiers tested the cardboard cartons and adjusted the freshly-made twine that would bind them. The tension eased in Mercedes’ face as she lifted the last of the painted bowls and set it carefully in its cubbyhole. She took a moment to review the photos.

Remy hovered. “Give me the camera.” Mercedes obliged. He looked at the screen. “I see you couldn’t resist checking the original pitcher. It’ll fit right in with our other items. All of it’s going to add to my bank account: your family name, Castilla’s reputation as a do-gooder and your deaths will give the pieces extra cachet. I can see the headlines—‘Art Lover’s Niece Dies on Ill-Fated Castilla Expedition. Artifacts Lost’. Except they won’t be.”

“Puerco.”

Diego
stepped between them and helped her toward the mat he had prepared. He cooled her forehead with his hand then he edged toward the jungle. At the border between camp and the foliage, he faced Remy. Procteur nodded, thinking that he had been asking permission. Still, he had to wonder why Remy would let him feed. Diego grabbed the closest tree when out of his sight and he shook it in anger and frustration.