Look What the Wind Blew In (27 page)

“When did you talk to him about this?” She had a feeling her father had something to do with it.

“I didn’t. Your father did.”

Bingo.

“
Angel
, this rock isn’t getting any lighter.”

She scrambled to grab a stone the size of a grapefruit that had been hidden under the bigger one, and told Pedro to put down the rock.

“There are a few key things my father isn’t considering when it comes to the ceremony.”

“What?”

“For one thing, if I allow it and the Mexican government finds out, they will question my ability to handle my crew.”

“Nobody but us needs to know about it.”

“Jared will know, and I can’t see him keeping his big mouth shut.” She examined a couple more stones. “It could tarnish my credibility among my peers.”

“You would be praised by the Maya people for thinking of your men’s needs,” Pedro shot back.

“Quint might publish something about it.”

“He won’t if you ask him not to.”

She peeked over at him. He was shining the flashlight through his closed fingers, looking at his bones and blood vessels. “What makes you so certain?”

“Because he likes you.”

She felt her cheeks warm for a whole other reason than the heat trapped in the temple. “How do you know?”

“And you like him.”

“No, I don’t.” She’d be damned if she was going to admit it, even to Pedro.

“Liar, liar. Your underwear are on fire.”

“It’s supposed to be my pants.”

“Those, too. I saw the way you looked at him at breakfast. There were birds in your eyes.”

Birds? Angélica frowned at him. “You mean stars?”

“
Sí
. Quint is a real hottie.”

She laughed. “Where did you hear that expression?”

“Some businessman brought his family down and chartered a private flight to Tikal. He had two teenage daughters.” He held the flashlight under his chin, grinning like a madman. “Admit it. You like him.”

She chuckled, shoving him away. He was hopeless, and she loved having him here with her, even if he was more distraction than help.

“Who I do and do not like is my business, Pedro.” Lifting several rocks from another pile, she checked each one before lowering them back to the dirt floor.

“Your father and I approve of him.”

She rolled her eyes, turning over a triangular-shaped rock. They’d approve of anyone who didn’t have the last name of
Steel
.

“And it’s about time you got laid,” Pedro added.

She gasped. “Pedro!”

“What? You’re too uptight.”

“Shut it,” she ordered, and socked him lightly on the arm to emphasize her feelings on the matter.

“
Ay chihuahua
.” He rubbed his arm. “The truth hurts.”

“It will hurt even more if you bring up the subject in front of Parker.” She shined the light on the triangular rock, and her breath caught in her throat.

“I couldn’t think of a nicer guy to—”

“Pedro, look!” She dropped to her knees. “I found it!”

He came over, squatting next to her. “That’s it? That’s what you were searching for all of this time?”

“Yes!” Finally, she was going to be able to put the pieces of the puzzle together.

He grabbed her arm, his stare insistent. “You have to let Teodoro do the
Lolcatali
ceremony.”

Ah, what the hell. She needed her crew more than ever now. She blew a raspberry in defeat. “Fine. He can perform the damned ceremony. Happy?”

“No. But I will be when we get out of this death trap.”

He was beginning to sound like Quint.

She ran her palm over what she hoped was going to be the key to finding the shell. “But if this ceremony causes any problems for me,” she told him, “I’m going to tell Dad that you broke his favorite Lone Ranger and Tonto statue, not that gecko you blamed it on.”

He kissed her cheek. “This is going to work, trust me.”

“It better.” Because nothing else seemed to be.

“
Por favor
, can we leave this creepy place now? It’s giving me a case of pringles on my arms.”

She wasn’t even going to touch that one. Clutching the broken piece of
stela
to her chest, she stood. “Come on, let’s go find a shell.”

Chapter Fourteen

Itza: The ruling family of Chichen Itza, “Water Witch.”

Quint escaped to his tent, zipping the mesh flap closed behind him. After spending all afternoon helping the crew clear rubble from behind the Owl Temple, he wanted to fall onto his cot and sleep for half a day.

Grabbing his shower towel, he used it to dry the sweat from his face and hair. The lantern on his desk cast a soft light, pushing back the early evening’s shadows. His stomach rumbled as he lifted the cot and pulled out the envelope Jeff had sent via Pedro.

He sat down on his cot while opening the envelope and drew out a notebook. Its green cardboard cover was worn white along the edges. He laid it on the cot next to him. Reaching into the envelope again, he pulled out a single sheet of paper with Jeff’s handwriting.

“I finally found Mom’s notes! They were in Dad’s chair. She’d made this hidden compartment under the seat cushion. It was a pure accident that I found it, and I have a bump on my head to prove it. Good luck figuring out what she wrote. I look forward to hearing from you.”

Quint returned the letter to the envelope and picked up the notebook. The answers to why she’d been watching Steel for years had better be inside. If not … well, he wasn’t usually a quitter, but after Steel’s news about the plane wreck, he wondered if there was anything of Dr. Hughes left down here besides memories.

The scrawls on the pages made him grab the lantern and bring it closer. He’d forgotten how hard it was to read Mrs. Hughes’ chicken scratch. He flipped through, scanning, stopping when he saw mention of a plane wreck.

October 17th

I got a phone call this morning from a representative of the Mexican government. They found the wreckage of a plane in the jungle, somewhere near the Guatemalan border, and said they were sorry to inform me that my husband was on it. His luggage was found near the wreckage and is being sent to me. There was evidence of him inside the plane—his satchel and college ring. Close by on the jungle floor was a boot with his name written in it, something Henry did ever since his stint in the Navy. Some of his foot was still in it they said, mostly just bones. They figure an animal dragged away what was left of his body, because they couldn’t find it. They are sending me the ring and satchel. I told them to keep the boot. It’s been fifteen years since I last saw my husband. Why does the pain still feel so fresh?

October 18th

They say he was on that plane, but the more I think about it, the more I don’t believe them. He never wore his lucky ring. He carried it in a small leather pouch that I’d sewn into the liner of his luggage. Something isn’t right here, but I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Steel was right, Mrs. Hughes had known about the accident. Even after fifteen years of no contact from her husband, she’d still been in denial.

Quint rubbed the back of his neck, grimacing at the grit. He frowned down at the pieces of dirt on his palm. Had his whole trip down here been a waste of time? If so, maybe he should write the damned article and catch the first bus back to the airport.

He turned back to the notes. With the weight of the tragic ending to the Hughes’ marriage heavy on his heart, he read on:

October 20
th

I keep remembering pieces of conversations I had with Henry that last season, and the troubles he was having with that grad student who continually challenged his authority. I’ve been trying to remember his name but can’t place it.

“Jared Steel,” Quint told her. She’d obviously figured that out though. Was this the beginning of her obsession with Steel?

“Would you stop wiggling, you little shit,” Angélica said from somewhere outside.

He froze, listening. Was she coming closer?

There was a muffled snort and then footfalls in the dry grass. Her laughter rang out low and soft, rousing his curiosity.

His gaze landed on an old boot Rover had left next to his cot—the perfect excuse to talk to her. He stuffed the notebook under his mattress and practically tore the mesh flap open in his haste to see her.

“Angélica.”

She looked over from where she stood bathed in the last rays of the day’s sunlight. Rover squirmed and twisted in her arms, doing his best to break free. “Hi, Quint,” she said with a hint of a smile on her lips.

Rover laid eyes on him and squealed, struggling harder.

“Okay, okay.” She let the little guy down. Rover bounded over to him as Quint drew near.

With the sun setting at her back, she had an ethereal radiance behind her. The loose tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail were lit like little live wires. Floating pieces of dust glowed like tiny fireflies around her face. To his tired eyes, she looked like a slice of heaven.

Then again, maybe he was delirious with heat exhaustion and hunger and was starting to hallucinate. That didn’t stop him from wanting to drag her back to his tent and do naked things to her.

“You weren’t at lunch today.” He kept it easy between them, not wanting to scare her off with a “Me Tarzan, you Jane” chest beating display.

“You weren’t at supper,” she shot back.

Rover nuzzled his ankle, making an odd snorting-grunting sound.

She glanced down, wrinkling her nose. “He’s sliming your sock.”

“After all of the sweat it soaked up today, it needs to be burned.” He held her chewed hiking boot out in front of him. “He left his toy in my tent.”

She took the boot. “At least it wasn’t my pink bra this time.”

“I might not have given that back.”

Her cheeks darkened, but she held his stare. “Then I’d expect something in trade.”

“Oh, yeah?” He shoved his hands in his pockets to keep from touching her. “Like what?”

“Well, certainly not your sock.”

That surprised a laugh from him. When he quieted, the silence stretched between them. The sun slid below the horizon, leaving them alone in the twilight.

She shooed away a mosquito. “How did it go today?”

Hiking barefoot through hell would have been preferable. “Good. I think we actually made progress.”

“That’s great. You’re working with Fernando again tomorrow, right?”

“If that’s where you need me.”

A chorus of frogs broke into a croaking frenzy in the jungle behind him.

“Yeah,” she nodded, “that’s where I need you.” She pointed at her tent. “I should get some work done. I guess I’ll see you at breakfast tomorrow.”

“You will.”

She turned toward her tent and then looked back at him. “Quint, as you’ve probably gathered, I’m not really comfortable talking about my feelings, but I want to let you know how much I appreciate your help. I don’t know what we … what
I
would do without you these days.”

The sincerity in her eyes was his undoing. Angélica needed his help. At that moment he happily would have steered his ship full speed ahead into the rocks, whistling as it crashed into pieces and sank into Davy Jones’ locker. The importance of whether or not he figured out the details of Dr. Hughes’ death barely mattered. For this particular damsel in distress, he’d put up with bugs, snakes, sweat, and whatever else this godforsaken place threw at him.

“Angélica?”

“Yes?”

“You have a smudge of dirt,” he lied, reaching out and rubbing his thumb down over her cheek.

She brushed the back of her hand over the area. “Did I get it?”

He tilted her jaw up and to the side pretending to inspect her cheek. “Yes, but you missed the other spot.”

“Where?”

“Right here.” He lowered his head, brushing his lips over hers. She tasted salty with a hint of María’s orange special sauce. At her moan of submission he returned for more, letting the spark between them catch fire and flare.

A hard tug at his ankle pulled him back from the deep. He broke the kiss, looking down at where Rover was yanking on his sock.

“He’s a demanding little shit,” she said, her voice husky.

“We need to find a Rover-sitter.”

She chuckled. “Did you get it?”

“Get what?”

“The spot on my lips.” Her eyes flirted.

No, not even close. “For now.”

As much as he wanted to follow her into her tent and peel her clothes off, he stepped back. There were too many secrets. If this thing between them were going to be a one night stand, secrets wouldn’t matter. But there was no way one night with her was going to be enough. He wanted more. A lot more.

He jammed his grab-happy hands back into his pockets. “I may need to check for dirt smudges another time though.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Definitely.”

“We’ll see.” She reached down and grabbed Rover. He let out a squeaky grunt as she lifted him. “Goodnight, Parker.” Giving Quint a parting wave, she disappeared into her tent.

His body still rigid and pining for the auburn-haired siren, he returned to his tent. She was so close yet still just out of reach.

Secrets …

He stared at the corner of the cot where he’d hidden the notebook. Maybe it was time to come clean about why he was really here.