Look What the Wind Blew In (31 page)

Her father stepped inside the entrance, patting Quint’s shoulder on his way to the coffee carafe. “You found her; good job, Watson.” Juan frowned when he turned and really looked at her, coffee in hand. “
Gatita
, you should go to bed. You look—”

“Like hell, I know,” Angélica finished for him. She felt like petrified dinosaur dung. Her lungs still ached, her knee throbbed, and her head pounded. “I just need more coffee, and I’ll be fine.” She lifted her cup to her mouth, grimacing at the taste of bitter coffee. She hadn’t had the energy to seek out cream and sugar this morning.

“I’m not sure coffee has that kind of power,” Quint said, sitting across from her.

Juan headed for the kitchen. “You need to take a day off,” he told her in his fatherly voice before disappearing from view.

“You doing okay?” Quint asked. At her nod, he asked, “What happened to your boot?”

“It fell off.”

His eyes narrowed. “It just fell off, huh? Laced all of the way up and double-knotted.”

She shrugged and then winced at the pain that came with it.

He pointed at the bandage on her finger. “What about that?”

“I sliced it on a sharp rock when I was crawling out of the river,” she lied. The embarrassing moment of her panicky attempt to free her bootlace was her secret. No one needed to know how close she’d come to losing it down there in that tunnel.

“How’s Rafael?” She changed the subject.

“Shaken up, sore, and suffering from one hell of a headache. He didn’t get the full treatment Esteban received, but the goose egg on his head feels as hard as an elbow. Looks as big as one, too.”

“It’s too bad he doesn’t remember anything. They must have been jumped close to the same time. It makes me wonder how many thugs we’re dealing with here.” And why would they sacrifice Esteban? Were they cult members? Or was that a show of their strength? In her opinion, they were a bunch of goddamned cowards, afraid to step out of the jungle and face her.

“Who was watching the camp last night?” Quint asked.

“Lino’s shift started at ten, but he says he didn’t see anything suspicious.”

Juan came out from the kitchen with a leftover
gorda
tortilla stuffed with tomato and beans and sat down next to Quint. “From now on, let’s put two men on patrol for each shift. Jared volunteered to step up tonight.”

She stared down at the black liquid in her cup. “How many more are leaving?”

“Five, including Esteban,” Quint said. “Teodoro is taking him to the village clinic tomorrow as soon as he feels Esteban can travel. The others are heading out at dawn.”

She shook her head in defeat, too tired to do more right now. The
Lolcatali
ceremony had been a waste of time.

“That leaves us with eight men, not including Fernando. Doubling up is going to put a crimp in what we can accomplish while the sun is shining.”

Juan reached over and gently squeezed her hand. “There’s more,
gatita
. Teodoro said there are rope burns on Esteban’s wrists.”

“I know. I freed his wrists while we were in the
cenote
. Someone must have tied them behind his back after they sliced them.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out the triangular stone she’d been hanging onto since she’d made it out of the river. “I found this small
tok
blade in his pocket while I was waiting in the cave for you guys.”

Juan paled. “
¡Dios mio!
”

She palmed it again. “Esteban was sacrificed.”

“Why?”

“Maybe it’s some weird cult,” Quint replied, picking up on her earlier wavelength.

“We need a gun,” Angélica told her father. “Sticks and harsh language aren’t going to stop whoever is messing with us.”

“We’re not commandos,
gatita
. We’re scientists. I haven’t fired a gun in over a decade, and that one was full of pellets.”

“I’m tired of sitting here on my hands while my men are picked off one by one.”

“We could search the surrounding jungle,” Quint suggested. “Play some offense instead of defense.”

“It’s no use,” she said. “There’s a lot of jungle out there. We’d have better luck finding Bigfoot. Plus we risk somebody getting lost or bit.”

“Maybe we should call in the
federales
,” her father said.

“No!” Angélica shot to her feet. That was not an option. “We do that, and they’ll shut down the dig for the rest of the season.”

Juan frowned. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I’ve seen it done at other sites, Dad. They’ll want to do a thorough investigation. And if they don’t find who’s behind this right away, they might not let us start up again next season.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “We can’t risk that. Not when we’re this close.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head, but didn’t argue further. She’d convinced him, for now.

“You’d rather risk more lives?” Quint butted in.

He didn’t understand the full penalty of shutting down this dig site, the years of work that would be put on hold indefinitely, including their search for the proof. Without that shell, she’d never be able to save her mother’s reputation.

“I’d rather find out who is behind this and take care of it myself than involve the Mexican government and all of its red tape.”

She didn’t want to discuss this anymore. Her head hurt, her body ached. She wanted to go to her tent, close her eyes, and forget about it all for several hours.

“And what about what your men want?” Quint wouldn’t let it go.

This was her dig site, her crew, her huge fucking disaster. Who was he to question her choices? His job was to write a damned article and that was it.

“My men need money to feed their families.
Wants
often take a backseat to
needs
down here.”

“Angélica, listen,” Juan started in his peacekeeping tone. “You’re tired and not thinking clearly at the moment. Maybe we should all—”

“And if they don’t want to stay?” Quint pushed, going head to head with her.

“The exit door is open for everyone.” She leaned over the table, bearing down on him. “Including you.”

Chapter Sixteen

Hypothesis vs. Theory:

Hypothesis implies insufficient proof to provide more than a tentative explanation. Theory implies a greater range of proof and a greater likelihood of truth.

Lunchtime rolled around all hot and sweaty.

Quint loaded his plate with a fat
panucho
and carried it over to where Juan was sitting alone at a table, reading a thick book full of pictures of Maya symbols.

“I’ve made a decision,” he told Juan, taking the seat across from him.

Juan peered at Quint over the rim of his glasses. “What’s that?”

“For my next article, I’m writing about the Polar Bear plunge. Want to throw on some swim shorts and join me in the icy water?”

“You’ll freeze your kibbles and bits off.”

“Nah, they already melted away this morning.”

Juan grinned. “Tell you what. If you stick around and help us wrap up the season here, I’ll jump in with you.”

“A couple more weeks in this heat?”

“I’ll even go commando.”

“Deal.” He perused the mess tent as he chewed on a piece of María’s tangy chicken, noting the empty lunch tables. The place felt like Bourbon Street on Ash Wednesday. Where was Angélica? Was she still pissed at him? “So, has your daughter always been this stubborn?”

“No. She’s getting worse with age.”

“Where is she anyway? Sleeping?” He tried to keep his interest casual sounding.

“Last I checked her tent was empty.” Juan pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, took off his glasses, and began to clean them. “But knowing Angélica, she’s probably in the Temple of the Water Witch.”

Didn’t that woman ever sleep? Quint took another bite of his
panucho
, trying to remember Juan’s words during the ceremony last night about that temple. What had he said? That something had been in there all along?

Quint glanced up to find Juan watching him with one raised eyebrow. “Why do you ask?” Juan asked.

“I need to talk to her about what happened this morning.” He’d overstepped his boundaries and wanted to clear the air.

“You do realize she was exhausted after the whole Esteban accident? That’s the only reason she said what she did to you.”

“She was right. It’s not my place to interfere.”

“You’ve been working alongside of us. That gives you as much right as anyone else on this site to question her reasoning, whether she likes it or not.”

“That’s easy for you to say. You’re her father.” Quint swatted away a fly trying to land on his plate. “I’m just a journalist here to write a story.”

As far as they were concerned anyway.

“Well, you started out that way.” Juan slid his glasses back on, stuffing the handkerchief in his pocket. “She needs your help. We both do. In case you haven’t noticed, we’re short a few men. We need you to meet Angélica’s objectives set for this year.”

“What happens if she doesn’t meet her objectives?”

“She’ll be written up by her superiors, possibly even be pulled from future work at this site.”

Quint paused, his next bite halfway to his mouth. “Just because she didn’t meet her objectives for one year? That seems irrational.”

“It comes down to the fact that she’s not local. She may live south of the border for much of the year, but she’s not a Mexican citizen. There are a lot of local archaeologists who would love to take over this site. As long as she keeps meeting her goals, the National Institute of Anthropology and History will continue to allow her to work at this dig site and possibly others as requested. But if she fails, she could end up as an assistant on some less prestigious dig and not be able to set foot on this site again until they open it to the public.”

Her stubbornness was beginning to make sense.

“So you see, we need your help for however long you are willing to give it. Pedro has agreed to stay here for a week more than he originally planned, and if I can get Jared to take on part of the workload, Angélica could still reach her objectives this season.”

Juan could get more than he bargained for from Steel. Quint had trouble believing the snooty professor would be willing to contribute without a steep price.

“But more important than any of those reasons,” Juan leaned forward, “I need you to stay for my daughter’s sake.”

Quint frowned, not certain what that meant.

“I may be old, but I’m not blind. My daughter hasn’t shown so much interest in a man since the early days with Jared.”

“I … uhh …” He shoved a bite of tortilla in his mouth to fill the useless gaping hole.

“Or frustrate her as much as you do.”

He gulped down the bite. “Pissing off women is my specialty.”

Juan grinned. “I see that. I also see that you can give her something the rest of us here can’t.”

As much as this conversation with the father of the woman he’d been lusting over lately was making him want to slide under the table, curiosity got the best of him. “What’s that?”

“A ch—”

“¡
Díos mío!
” Pedro cut in, dropping onto the bench next to Quint. “I feel like someone hit me on the head with a bag full of coconuts.” He rested his head in his hands.

Juan pushed his coffee cup toward him. “Drink up. It’s María’s magic elixir.”

“What time is it?” Pedro grabbed the cup and swallowed it all down. He slammed the cup down on the table and winced at the noise it made.

“Lunch time.”

“Damned
balche
.” He glanced around the mess tent. “Where is everyone? This place is like a town of ghosts.”

“Well, sleeping beauty, while you were busy sawing logs last night, Angélica was doing her best to save Esteban, who’d been sacrificed in the
cenote
.”

Pedro hadn’t been there when Quint raced back for help getting Esteban out of the cave. Juan told him later that Pedro had stumbled back to his tent soon after Quint and Angélica had gone to find the boys.

“No!” Pedro sat up straight, his eyes wide. “Is he alive?”

“Yes. Teodoro and a couple of the crew took him to the clinic in the village this morning. They should be back anytime now.”

“Good. Where’s Angélica?”

“In the chamber.”

“Am I working with her this afternoon?”

“No.” Juan closed his Maya symbol book and stood. “Quint is.”

“I am?” That was news to Quint. He’d been in the Owl Temple with Fernando all morning.

Juan nodded. “Pedro will take your place with Fernando. I’d rather not have anybody working alone anymore, so plan on staying with her throughout the day.”

“Okay.” But he had a feeling Juan’s daughter wasn’t going to be happy about this change-up.

“Plus, Angélica needs to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Ask her.” Juan flashed him a wink. “Pedro, Angélica wants to know if you carry a gun on that rig of yours?”

“A flare gun.”

“Well, as much as I like roasted marshmallows, that’s definitely not what we need with the jungle tinderbox dry right now. Never mind.” He bade them goodbye and left.

“Where’s Jared?” Pedro asked when they were alone.

Quint shrugged. He hadn’t seen Steel since he’d helped carry Esteban out of the cave last night.