Look What the Wind Blew In (11 page)

They laid Alonso down gently as soon as Juan stepped aside. The boy cried out, arching in pain.

Juan peered over their shoulders. “What happened to him?”

Teodoro cut away Alonso’s pant leg. An ugly, jagged gash ran along the outside of the boy’s calf. The coppery scent of blood, sweat, and dirt filled the small hut.

Steel made a retching sound, then covered his mouth and rushed over to the window, hanging his head outside.

Frowning in surprise, Quint stared at Steel’s back as he visibly took several deep breaths. Apparently the big shot archaeologist had a problem with the sight of blood. Quint didn't remember that tidbit from when they’d worked for Dr. Hughes. Then again, he hadn’t exactly exchanged scar stories with Steel back then.

“Pulley line broke,” Fernando told Juan, wiping his hands and arms off on a rag Teodoro handed him. “A rock landed on his leg.”

“Son of a …” Juan ran his hand through his hair. “Where’s Angélica?”

“
No lo sé
,” Fernando said with a shrug. “But she sent Esteban to help us a little bit ago.”

“That must have been right after I left her at the Temple of the Crow,” Quint told Juan.

Grabbing the bottle of iodine, Teodoro motioned for Quint and Fernando to secure Alonso. “Hold him.” He dumped iodine on Alonso’s cut.

The boy cried out, thrashing for several seconds under their grip before slumping back onto the cot. Quint knew that sting well only his gash had been a lot shallower.

Teodoro delicately touched the area around Alonso’s shin.

“Is it broken?” Juan asked.

“No.” He pulled a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, wiping the sweat from his brow. “Maybe bad bruise.”

Juan rubbed the sore tooth side of his jaw, his face scrunched with worry. “Who inspected the pulley lines this morning?”

Fernando finished wiping off most of the blood and tossed the rag in a basket by the wall. “Lorenzo.”

“Is he still at the Sunset Temple?”

“Yes,” Steel spoke, turning from the window, his face pale. “I saw him a few minutes before the bucket fell.”

“Jared, come with me.” Juan headed for the door. “Find Angélica,” he said to Fernando. “Let her know what happened.”

Quint watched Angélica’s father stride away, wanting to help somehow. He darted outside ahead of Steel, jogging to catch up with Juan. “Is there anything I can do?”

“No.” Juan continued walking. “This damned curse,” he muttered. “Lorenzo’s checked the lines many times. He knows what he’s doing.”

“Juan,” Steel called out from behind them. “Hold up.”

“I wonder how my daughter will rationalize this.” Juan’s brow was covered with beads of sweat, a drop rolled down from his temple. He clasped Quint’s shoulder while they waited for Steel. “I appreciate your offer, but Angélica wouldn’t like the idea of you being at the scene of the accident.”

Quint blew out a frustrated breath. It wasn’t like he planned to take pictures. “Okay. Let me know if I can help in any way.”

Steel caught up with them, his gaze honing in on the duct-tape bandage on Quint’s arm. “Another injury? You’re quickly becoming more trouble than you’re worth.” He turned to Juan. “You realize that if Parker includes this accident in his article, you might as well say goodbye to hopes of future funding. A plague of safety issues will kill your chances of returning to this site anytime this decade, maybe next.”

Quint ignored the dickhead’s sneer. “I’ll be in my tent if you need me, Juan.”

“Thanks. Take care of that arm.” Juan strode away with Steel.

With the afternoon sun baking his shoulders, Quint watched until they’d disappeared around the side of the mottled-gray, rectangular
Ik
Temple. He swung at a mosquito buzzing around his ear, trying to come in for a landing.

Damn, he hated this fucking jungle.

He smacked the blood sucker flat against his neck.

There had to be some way to convince Juan and Angélica to trust him. Some way that didn’t require him to show his hand.

Scratching at his neck, he headed back to his tent. Once again he was back where he’d started—in need of a plan.

* * *

Angélica crept around the side of the
Ik
Temple, squatting low in the shadows. She paused, searching the plaza in front of her. Twilight had blanketed everything in shades of gray, framing the open area with a dark vignette that extended into the trees.

A rumble of voices drifted out through the mess tent entrance. Supper was still going full swing. Perfect. Now was her chance.

She tucked the newfound vase tighter into the crook of her arm. Dry weeds crackled under her hiking boots as she threaded her way through the tents and made it to hers without being seen. Once inside her tent, she zipped the canvas door closed and tied down the window flaps.

After pushing the jumble of paperwork and books to the side of her desk, she gently set the vase down, making sure it didn’t tip over. Then she stepped back and stared at it in the semidarkness. Her ears rang in the silence.

Where was her father? He needed to see this. Maybe she should go get him. No, she should probably make sure her memory was correct and the vase had a connection to her mom’s notes like she’d thought when she’d first found it.

Where was her lantern? She glanced around her tent, not seeing its shape in the thick shadows.

A fresh coat of sweat covered her skin in the muggy gloom. With all air flow restricted, the heat seemed heavier. She grabbed a dirty T-shirt from the floor and wiped off the gritty sweat ringing her neck.

The sound of soft snores came from under her cot. She peeked underneath it. A familiar shape lay on its side next to Rover’s sleeping form. She reached under and pulled out her lantern. He must have been playing with it again.

Turning it on, she set it next to the vase and leaned closer to inspect the designs on the vessel.

Outside, the frogs croaked louder as they wound up for their nightly performance. Crickets chirped in harmony. A breeze blew through, rustling the high treetops, blocking out the sounds of the crew eating supper.

She opened the bottom desk drawer and pulled out a stack of papers along with a couple of books, lowering them to the floor. The fake drawer bottom lifted out without a sound. She plucked out the old, frayed-edge notebook hidden there and set it down on her desktop.

Her chair creaked as she settled into it. Her mother’s signature was scrawled across the bottom corner on the front cover of the notebook. With her finger, she carefully traced the curves in her mom’s name, remembering the way her mom had held her pen, the intensity lining her face as she scribbled note after note for hours on end, the long braid of silvery auburn hair resting on her back. It seemed like just yesterday …

No.

Angélica shook her head, clearing the memories. This was not the time.

She flipped open the notebook and sifted through it, searching for a certain symbol she was sure her mother had drawn in the right margin on one of the pages.

There!

She flattened the page and scanned midway down, slowing when she found the related paragraph.

Several of the vessels contained images of Ek Chuah and his servants delivering goods to the king. However, two cylindrical vessels contained the image of a shell. One had the shell in Ek Chuah’s hand. Another had a shell on a necklace worn by the king.

She frowned up at the vase, and then grabbed her magnifying glass. Under the magnifier, the subjects in the images encircling the vessel cleared.

Grabbing a pencil and a piece of paper, she wrote:
Cone-shaped shell, Ek Chuah, skeletal visage, and death god.

She closed her mother’s notebook, excitement bubbling in her stomach along with a growl of hunger.

Something nudged her leg. Smiling, she lifted Rover into her lap. “Hey, baby boy. Look what I found.”

He snorted, undoubtedly praising her sleuthing skills.

“I never doubted her, you know.” She scratched him behind the ears.
Even
when
everyone
else
ridiculed
her
.

Rover snorted again, wiggling in her arms.

“I won’t stop, either.” She stroked his back. “Not until I prove her right.”

Rover’s stomach gurgled.

She chuckled. “Poor baby! You must be starving. I haven’t fed you since lunch.” That made two of them. Not eating supper was becoming a habit of late, something her father had chastised her about more than once after noticing how baggy her pants were getting.

The sound of footfalls approaching made her freeze. She held her breath, waiting for whoever was out there to pass on by, her arms tightening around Rover.

“Dr. García?” Quint’s low voice came through the canvas walls.

Shit. She frowned at the vase.

Rover squealed, struggling to break free. She let him down, watching him race toward the zipper. Usually only food made him squeal like that, not good-looking troublemakers.

“What in the hell was that?” Quint said. “Angélica?”

She was stuck. He could undoubtedly see her lantern light leaking through the canvas.

“Hold on a moment,” she called out. She carefully set the vase down on the floor next to her desk.

“Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, sure.” She tossed her mom’s notebook into the bottom drawer and kicked it closed. “I just need to …” she glanced around her living quarters. A pink bra dangled from the main support pole, several dirty T-shirts and pairs of underwear and socks littered the floor, and a bunch of books lay scattered next to her cot. “I just need to grab something.” Like a big rug so she could shove everything under it.

“I brought you some food.”

“You did?” That explained Rover’s squeal. And why he was currently trying to bite the flap zipper. Her father had probably put Quint up to this visit while he was busy keeping Jared out of her hair over in the mess tent.

“This may sound like an odd question,” Quint said, “but do you have a pig in there with you?”

She booted her pink bra and the rest of her dirty clothes and several books under her cot. After one last check to make sure none of her other unmentionables were scattered around for him to see, she nudged Rover out of the way and unzipped both flaps. “Hi.”

He held out a plate of food. “Good evening.”

“It’s Rover,” she said, taking the plate. “My
jabalí
.”

“It is?” His forehead wrinkled. “Your what?”

“My pet javelina.” She stepped aside, allowing him room to enter. “Please, come in.”

He’d barely made it inside the tent when Rover head-longed into his ankles, greeting his shins with grunts and snorts and nuzzles.

“Holy pork chops!” He laughed, kneeling down. “I didn’t realize javelinas were so cute as babies.”

Angélica zipped the mesh flap shut, sealing them inside. Together. Alone. She stood over him, breathing him in. He smelled clean, fresh from the shower. She was tempted to do something stupid. Her gaze traveled down over his broad shoulders and strong forearms, her fingers flexing. Make that something downright asinine.

Oh, stop it
, she scolded her silly libido and then settled into her chair. Besides, after spending the afternoon crawling around in temples, she was coated with dirt and probably stunk like monkey butt.

She switched her focus to the fresh baked tortillas he’d brought and the pile of fruit. Her mouth watered. “Thank you for bringing me supper.” She pointed at Teodoro’s trademark bandage. “How’s your arm feeling?”

“Fine.” He scratched Rover behind the ears.

She tore a piece off one of the tortillas and held it out toward Quint. “Give him this and you’ll have a new best friend for life.”

He dangled it in front of Rover’s snout. The hungry javelina inhaled it in a single chomp.

Quint chuckled, patting Rover’s back. “You want some more, little guy?”

Rover danced around in a circle in response, something her father had taught him when offered treats.

“Have you been teaching him English?” Quint asked, his eyes warm and sparkly in the lantern light.

“No, Dad has. ‘Food’ is Rover’s native language.”

“That makes two of us.”

Angélica watched them play a few moments longer, then her stomach demanded a forkful of sustenance.

“So, what’s Rover’s story?” he asked.

She cut another bite, forcing herself to slow down and not inhale it like her javelina. “I found him a couple of weeks ago. He was caught in a trap in the forest about a quarter-mile from here.” She handed Quint another piece of tortilla.

“Hurt your leg, huh, buddy?” He fed Rover and then moved over to her cot, waiting for her nod of approval before lowering onto it.

Rover took a couple of steps toward her, sniffing the air, but then whirled in Quint’s direction. He hobbled over to him and nuzzled his outstretched hand.

Angélica froze with her fork halfway to her mouth. “Amazing. He chose you over food. It must be true love.”

“I think we may be related.” Quint fanned his shirt, glancing at the closed window flaps and then her desk before returning to her. “I have a first cousin who looks remarkably like him, snout and all.”

She laughed and then stuffed some dried mango into her mouth. For several moments, he played with Rover while she chewed. The lack of tension in the air was a nice change. Lately, her meals had come with a side of anxious whispers about that damned curse. Heartburn was served for dessert.

“Did Fernando find you earlier?” Quint asked.

She shook her head, wondering why her foreman had been looking for her.

“You haven’t heard about Alonso, then?”

She swallowed. “What about him?”

“A pulley line snapped and a rock landed on his leg.”

“What?” She pushed aside the last bits of supper, her hunger suddenly replaced with a clenching ache. “How is he? Is his leg broken?”

“Teodoro says it’s just a deep bruise. His calf muscle took the brunt of the blow.”

Damn it!
She could imagine how fast this news had spread throughout the camp. She dropped her plate onto the floor for Rover, rising to her feet. Was everyone still in the mess tent? Maybe she should go address this newest incident, try to talk sense into the most vocal of her crew before they started scaring some of the newer hires away.