Perfect Specimen: Brietta (8 page)

“Unless he asks,” Melody reminded her.

“Trust me, he won’t.” Wincing, she added more diplomatically, “He’s got a lot on his mind, like Vince says.”

And he doesn’t really care about this site, or us, at all.

* * * *

When Taggert finally reentered the camp, Brietta and her team had done some perfunctory sifting of the four new grave sites, had made dinner, and had even showered and changed into fresh, dust-free clothing.

Still, he scowled when he saw them. Then he strode right up to Melody and asked, “Do I look familiar to you?”

She stared at him for a long moment, then stammered, “The w-walkie-talkie?”

“Yeah, the walkie-talkie. I’ve been calling you guys for three frigging hours.”

The grad student grimaced in apology. “We were caught up in our work.”

Taggert turned his suspicious glare to Vince. “You got rid of that weed, right? If I find out you’ve still got any—”

“It’s gone, it’s gone. I promise.”

Struggling not to laugh, Brietta decided to stay out of it, at least for now. If the wild-eyed bully got any worse, she’d step in. But for now it was just plain comical.

“I have another question,” Taggert was informing them. “Why does everyone have orange paint on the back of their heads?”

Brietta grinned. “Guess.”

He gave her a frustrated chuckle. Then his gaze wandered toward the cemetery. “More bones?”

“Wait till you see them.”

He cocked his head to the side, then walked over to the site. When she joined him, he murmured, “Their skulls are bashed in? Just like my first guy? Very cool. Any theories yet?”

“We’re kicking a few things around.”

“Well, keep me informed.” He studied her wistfully. “At this rate, you’ll be done in a week. What happened to the famous twenty-step gridding process?”

“Ten steps, not twenty. And we’ll be backtracking soon, because there’s still a lot of work to do on these first six graves before we start on the others. I just wanted to get some preliminary data for the permanent grid. Plus, I was dying to know if there were going to be any women. Or children. Or anyone who died from natural causes. So far, I’d say we’ve got twenty-one male specimens on our hands, all of them killed through violent, not natural, causes.”

“And no tools?”

“No tools, no weapons. I’ve never seen anything like it, Taggert.”

“Well, keep me informed,” he repeated absentmindedly. “Good work.”

“Did
you
find anything yet?”

“Nah, it’s pretty barren up there.”

“Well,” she said, feigning the same level of disinterest as he had shown in
her
work, “maybe you’ll find something soon. In the south, maybe.”

“Right.” He eyed her curiously. “How’s the head?”

“About the same. I mean, I’m sure it’s getting better, but it’s like you said—the dust and the altitude are slowing it down.”

“Right.” He cleared his throat. “I need to go into town tomorrow. To do some Internet research. Do you want me to pick up anything for you? Any medicines?”

She scowled. “I wouldn’t mind doing some research too. Plus, I’d like to send an email to my family. So they know I’m alive. Any chance of that?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he explained, “I’m still trying to keep all this quiet. But sure, checking in with your family’s fine. If Hannan’s aunt doesn’t have Internet access, we can arrange for you to use the local school’s computers.” When she stared at him blankly, he chuckled. “He didn’t tell you? You’re all invited to her house tomorrow night for a home-cooked meal. No Sterno involved. And you can spend the night on real mattresses.”

Real mattresses sounded pretty good to Brietta. “Just us, not you?”

“Someone has to guard the site. I might not be as big and strong as Rambo, but I’ll do my best.”

Brietta laughed. “No one’s as big and strong as Hannan, so don’t feel bad.” She hesitated, then touched his cheek. “Thanks again for all this. It’s the best ever, especially today.”

“So things are good between you and me?”

She nodded. “I’m even grateful you were a jerk the other morning. It would have ruined everything if you’d taken me up on that craziness.”

“What are you talking about?” He pretended to glare. “If you’re saying you offered me sex and I turned it down, I’ll hit
myself
on the back of the head.”

“I’m not saying I offered it, I’m just saying you turned it down. And you were right. So thanks.”

“Unbelievable.” He flashed a frustrated grin. “Let’s go eat. But first, wash that orange gunk out of your hair. It’s like walking into a freaking cult.”

“Be careful or we’ll get you too.”

For a moment, he looked like he
wanted
to be gotten, and her pulse started to race. Then he ruined everything by asking, “What exactly do you plan on saying to your family? In the email, I mean. Just about your personal situation, right? About your headache and all. Not the dig?”

Brietta rolled her eyes in disgust. “If I told my cousin Josh about this infection, he’d want to fly here and fix me. So he’d demand to know where we are, and then we’d have to kill him. So no, I’m not going to tell him.”

“He’s a doctor? Maybe you
should
ask for some advice. This can’t go on much longer, Brie. I’ve got responsibility for all you guys, whether you like it or not.”

She suddenly pictured an ambush at Hannan’s aunt’s house, and demanded, “You’re not staging an intervention tomorrow night, are you?”

“Huh?”

“It’s just home cooking? Not doctors or exorcists?”

“No doctors, no exorcists. Just good food, and carrot cake for dessert.”

“Carrot cake?”

He smiled. “Isn’t that what you asked for when I called your apartment last Friday?”

“And you remembered?” She felt her cheeks burn, and backed away from him quickly. “I’d better go brush this paint out of my hair. So . . . thanks again for bringing me along on this dig.”

“And for not hitting on you?”

She nodded, then turned away, heading quickly for her tent, anxious to put some distance between them before she made a complete, sex-starved fool out of herself. And on a more practical note, she needed to find the lovebirds and have them tarp the site before the thunderstorm that was brewing in the mountains came crashing into the camp.

* * * *

Thunder and lightning rocked the tent all night long, but the morning was blissfully clear and calm—at least until she heard the roar of an engine and realized Taggert was heading out for his research junket. Part of her wanted to run after him, begging to go along, but her pride wouldn’t allow it. He might turn her down, or worse, see it as an attempt to rekindle something.

Sure, the carrot cake had been a seductive touch, but his obnoxious disinterest in the cemetery counterbalanced its effect. Try as she might, she couldn’t fathom why he wasn’t more intrigued by it.

“Because he’s so sure he can find something better,” she assured herself. “And maybe he already has, right? But not
south
of here. If he’s on the trail of something monumental, it’s to the north, where he and Kasha keep sneaking off to.”

Except he and Kasha wouldn’t be going north today, would they?

Inspired, she dressed quickly and went to find Hannan, who was having breakfast with the grad students. Hoping she sounded casual, she murmured, “G’morning. Where’s our fearless leader?”

“You just missed him,” Vince said between bites of scrambled eggs. “He’s spending the day in town. Then as soon as he gets back, it’s
our
turn. I can’t wait to see civilization again, no offense.”

“You will revel in my aunt’s hospitality,” Hannan said proudly. “And she will enjoy spoiling you, as she always spoils me.”

“Speaking of spoiling people . . .” Brietta tried for an innocent smile. “Any chance you’d let me borrow Kasha for a few hours?”

“Where are you going?” Melody wailed. “I thought we’d be working on the silent witnesses.”

“Actually, you’ll be sifting dirt. And even though I love that kind of thing”—Brietta grinned wickedly—“I don’t want to be a micromanager, so I’m gonna let you work unsupervised today.”

Vince laughed. “You just want to find something legendary in those hills before Tagg does. Remind me never to compete with you. You’re ruthless.”

“You have no idea.” She gave Hannan another smile. “So?”

He looked her up and down as though
she
were the horseflesh at issue. “Are you an experienced rider?”

“I was practically born in the saddle,” she assured him, adding with a sheepish grin, “Summer camp, three years in a row during high school. Plus, Kasha and I have a rapport going already. Just ask her.”

Hannan grinned. “Fine. Just don’t break my horse. And be back in time to visit my aunt. She made her very first carrot cake just for you.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Which means I’d better get going—”

“Not so fast. We need to be sure you have water. And a radio. And a gun. Can you shoot?”

“I don’t do guns. But luckily—“ She reached into the top side pocket of her cargo pants, pulling out the compact canister of mace that she always carried, thanks to a promise made to her favorite uncle. “See? I’m armed and dangerous.”

“You can’t gas a viper, Brietta.”

She grimaced. “Ugh, don’t remind me.”

“If you wish to borrow the horse, you must also borrow a pistol. No arguments.”

She could see he meant business, so she thanked him sweetly, agreed to a quick lesson, and concentrated on learning how to keep the safety on, suspecting that the biggest danger lurking in those hills consisted of her shooting herself in the foot.

And miss the carrot cake? No way
.

Chapter Seven

“Come on, Kasha, stop covering for him. I
know
you know where he’s been looking. Am I getting warmer or colder?” She gave the horse a frustrated grin. “Do you hate it up here? It’s so rocky. I guess I shouldn’t put you through this, right? I can go faster on my own anyway.”

They had galloped across the open ground, following the same route Brietta had seen Taggert take, but once they reached the hills she had dismounted and was now leading the horse instead. Tying the reins to a scrub bush, she located her canteen and poured some water into her palm. “Just a little bit, okay, Kasha? We’ll have some more after I’ve poked around a bit.”

At points along the patch she had noticed scuff marks, trampled grass, and other indications that someone had walked there recently. Odds were it was Taggert, since she hadn’t seen any other sign of life in these hills—or anywhere else in the vicinity—since their arrival at the base camp. With luck, she’d continue to see signs of his furtive exploration.

Patting Kasha’s neck, she took a swig of the water for herself, then replaced it in her backpack and pulled out the walkie-talkie. Depressing the send button, she asked cheerfully, “Hey, base camp, how’s it going?”

There was a moment of silence, then a breathless, “It’s going—really good. Really.”

“Oh my God,” Brietta reported to the horse. “They’re screwing around in the middle of the day. Let’s hope they’re in a tent, not the cemetery.” Into the handheld device she murmured, “I’m fine too. I’ll call you again in thirty minutes, right?”

“Be careful,” Melody said.

“You too,” she replied, resisting an impulse to explain that in their case “careful” meant “use protection.” Why harass them for being twenty-four and in love? It was so, so much better than twenty-nine and involuntarily celibate, wasn’t it?

Laughing at her loveless predicament, she signed off and slung the pack over her shoulder. Reminding the horse to stay put, she began following the trail upward again. As it grew steeper, she slipped several times, grabbing at branches to keep herself from losing ground. The tracks led into an area punctuated with rock walls and some serious fissures in the earth, and while she was anxious to make quick progress, she tried to respect the hazards surrounding her, especially the snakes Hannan had warned them about.

“Three-ringed vipers,” she cautioned herself aloud. “The deadliest creatures in these parts. So pay attention.”

Along with the fissures in the ground, there were vertical cracks in the stony walls, some large enough for a person to fit into. She tried one or two but found they formed shallow niches—possibly big enough to provide shelter from an unexpected rainstorm, but only if the person was willing to stand. Taggert’s boot prints disappeared in front of one of these crevices—one wide enough for a man to slip into, but once again, its usable area was shallow, with the width narrowing precipitously before it was even eighteen inches deep, and the ceiling was so low it didn’t seem likely Taggert could actually stand upright in it.

But Brietta could, so she shrugged her backpack to the ground, then entered the crevice, examining the side walls and ceiling with her fingertips. Had Taggert discovered some sort of stash in this humble spot? Or maybe multiple stashes in a series of fissures? Wouldn’t that justify all his optimism and secrecy?

Maybe the tools used to bury the silent witnesses. Or the weapons used to execute them
.

But there were no hidden caches. Nothing special about this fissure at all. Which of course, she realized ruefully, was why he had left prints leading up to it.

A decoy.

Frustrated, she wondered if maybe she should go south, not north, after all. This guy was playing games, misdirecting her, wasn’t he?

Leaving the path, she climbed high on the rocky face, then pulled out her Swarovskis and studied the southern hills for more fruitful hunting grounds. To her delight, a huge bird was circling in the distance, and she recalled how a magnificent golden eagle had been the symbol of the Artaxiad dynasty in Armenia—at least, according to Taggert.

Wishing she’d brought a camera, she struggled to reach still higher ground, but her foothold proved illusory, and without warning she half slid, half tumbled down the hill, her knees and elbows connecting with every rocky outcropping.

Cursing, she landed in a heap, more worried about the binoculars than her battered body
or
her bruised ego.

“Stupid bird,” she muttered as she gathered up her belongings. Then she searched for a workable path back to the well-worn one and noticed another crevice, a deep gash this time rather than a shallow one, and while the sides were sharply offset, she was sure a person could fit through them.

Intrigued, she scrambled over to it and found it to be wider than it appeared. Not only could she fit through the crack, but she could see it was really just a narrow entrance that sloped downward to some sort of pitch-black underground cave.

Pulling out her flashlight, she trained the beam on the walls, hoping beyond hope that she was either following in Sean Taggert’s inspired footsteps, or even better, had actually found this place ahead of him.