9 Ways to Fall in Love

by Caroline Clemmons

  Tino slogged on, the rain pelting his head and strengthening his resolve. Slick mud caused him to shorten his gait and take more care in traversing the rainwater rushing down the trail. A month ago, he would have hiked out of here and claimed his next assignment. But his life had changed since meeting the passionate doctor. Isabella needed him. No one had needed him since his family’s deaths and his abuela passed. Isabella made him realize how empty his life had become.

  He needed her.

  And, right now, he was the only person who knew the danger she was in.

  He would find her and get her safely home. Lightness entered his chest then faded. His name was still connected with the sugar plantation and a father, who in the eyes of Chavez, was a traitor. He knew how much Isabella wanted to belong—to have an extended family. He couldn’t give her that. To go back to Venezuela, he would bring harm to his relatives. They would be foolish to receive him as family or Isabella as a musiú, foreigner. The family plantation had made great progress in staying family owned—for him to return… He shook his head. His father told him there was no going back. He understood. But would Isabella, when he was finally able to tell her his history? And would she understand his need to seek revenge?

  The rain lessened as he neared the dig compound. He stood inside the trees watching the activity. If Miguel and his ratas were in the compound, he needed to use caution and have surprise on his side to get Isabella away from them.

  Tino watched the area for half an hour. All the activities resembled what he’d witnessed while staying at the compound. People began entering the mess tent for dinner. He remained hidden and watched while all the dig inhabitants, including Walsh and Martin, went inside. Everyone conducted business as usual. Didn’t they notice or care that Isabella was gone? What did Martin tell the others about her disappearance? Her pack was gone. Did he say she’d gone back home? He had little time to consider what others thought.

  Isabella was alone with Miguel.

  He remained in the trees and worked his way to the dig entrance. The tunnel would be the fastest way to find out if they held her captive in the cave again. Tino dug his penlight out of his pack and jogged the open distance to the dig. Inside, he switched on his light and headed straight into the altar chamber and the hidden passage door.

  Three steps into the altar chamber, a breeze whispered across his damp face and neck giving him chills. He ignored the pulse in his temples. Worry and urgency caused the pounding. Pressing his shoulder against the boulder, he moved the rock and entered, closing the portal behind him.

  Darkness filled the void in front of him. The chill of the altar room still clung to his skin. Tino shook like a dog ridding its fur of water and aimed the beam of light at the cave floor. They had to have hidden Isabella here. If not, it would take him days, perhaps weeks, to scour the jungle searching for her. A voice in his head hummed there wasn’t that much time.

  He descended the rock steps and walked as quickly as he could without making noise. The tunnel stretched longer than he remembered. His fears and worries increased with each step, accelerating his breathing and heart. Finally, he found the chamber with the tunnel leading to the bats. The dirt in front of the opening remained undisturbed. He flashed his light down the bat tunnel, honing in on the ground. There were no fresh footprints.

  Tino squared his pack and proceeded toward the next chamber and entrance to the tunnel. He couldn’t allow his mind to think about not finding Isabella here. Where else could Miguel have taken her? Determination propelled him forward. Fear of being discovered slowed his pace, and he switched off his light. Caution and stealth transformed his movements into that of the jaguar he tracked and tagged. From following and watching, he had learned how to approach prey. Stilling his breathing and moving with slow fluid movements, he slipped his body around the edge of the chamber.

  Darkness stole his vision. His guts squeezed.

  No sounds other than his heart beating in his ears.

  No scent other than dirt and musty air.

  Empty.

  He flicked on the penlight. Desperation flooded him. Fear chilled his insides. He hadn’t felt this lost and helpless since the phone call about his family’s deaths.

  Where could Miguel have taken her? His holdings? He lived on the far side of Petén. How did he get here?

  The helicopter.

  Tino went into active mode. He jogged to the opening of the cave and dropped his pack to the ground, pulling out his radio. Ginger would find out where don Miguel lived and get information about the layout and if he’d returned with a woman.

  *~*

  Tears burned in Isabella’s eyes and stung her nose. Tino would never find her now that she’d been whisked away in a helicopter. Her heart ached knowing his search would not find her. Don Miguel goaded her with cryptic words, but she refused to carry on a conversation with the man. They’d dumped her, hands still bound, into the back of the helicopter and don Miguel himself flew the aircraft, sans his two goons.

  They barely gained altitude before her stomach bounced into her throat at their descent. The machine bumped and the thump of the rotors gradually slowed and stopped. The conveyance shifted as don Miguel climbed down and grasped her by the ankles, dragging her to the opening. Moonlight lit an area littered with tree stumps. He held her by her bound wrists and shoved her forward toward a line of trees.

  “Where are you taking me?” she asked, wiping her perspiring face on her shoulder and willing her stomach to not erupt.

  “Some place where I can keep an eye on you until everything is set.”

  She stepped from the trees and gazed at the familiar surroundings. The settlement, where she’d photographed and drawn the glyphs on the broken tablet, slept under the glowing moon. She caught a glimpse of the old man’s hut. Could he help her?

  Don Miguel navigated her into the largest adobe structure on the outskirts of the settlement. She stepped inside the building and trepidation crept from her toes and tingled her hair follicles. Opulence shouted this man spent quite a bit of time here. The villagers would owe him, making them less likely to help her. A seating arrangement graced half the room nearest the door. Two young men sprang to their feet. Both gazed the length of her, their lips curled in a leer. Panic and acidic bile rose in her throat when her gaze discovered a large bed against the far wall.

  “¡Déjenos!” Don Miguel ordered the two men.

  Their haughty stances drooped as they shot her one last leering glance and disappeared out the door.

  Her panic eased. She could deal with one easier than three. Even if he was the most vile.

  Don Miguel cut the rope at her wrists and motioned for her to sit on the sofa. The rich fabric and soft cushion of the furniture was heaven after spending the last week sitting on hard chairs and sleeping on a pad on the ground. She leaned into the comfort and couldn’t restrain the sigh.

  He smiled and poured red wine into a glass, handing it to her. “You cannot refuse this. I guarantee it comes from the finest winery in your country.” He held up the bottle, label out, for her to read.

  The rain water had quenched her thirst at the time, but the heat and fear had once again parched her throat. She peered at the wine. Did she dare drink alcohol? She was accustomed to wine. But could one glass muddle her brain enough to hinder an escape?

  “I’d prefer something else on an empty and altitude challenged stomach.” As if to corroborate her comment, her stomach chose that moment to gurgle loudly.

  “Fruit and tortillas are the best I can offer at this time of night.” Don Miguel moved to a cupboard and extracted a bowl of papayas and bananas and a dish covered with a cloth. He set them on the table next to the sofa and returned to the cupboard.

  Isabella raised the cloth and found tortillas. She took one, rolled it up, and bit off the end. Her high metabolism kept her on a continual search for food. She had two energy bars in her vest pocket, but she didn’t want to draw attention to all the items on her person. They c
ould come in handy planning her escape.

  Don Miguel returned with a cup of white liquid. “Coconut milk.”

  She took a small sip, tasting for any off flavors. Sweetness tickled her tongue, and she drank.

  He watched her eat without saying another word. The staring and silence frazzled her nerves. Should she come out and tell him she knew what he was up to? No, by feigning ignorance she had the upper hand. She finished the milk and set the glass alongside the empty plate and half full bowl of fruit. She’d eaten the easy to peel bananas leaving the papayas.

  The smug smirk and raised eyebrow of the man said he wanted her to ask questions. Holding her tongue was torture, but she wouldn’t give in. By refusing to talk it gave her more time to form a plan in her head. Isabella plumped a pillow covered in finely woven fabric of the colors she’d witnessed in this village on her last visit. She reclined on the sofa, closing her eyes.

  The man growled and stomped to the opposite side of the room.

  She gulped a snicker down and continued evaluating what she knew. They were upriver from the dig. She’d have to use a boat to get to the landing and then hike in. Would Tino look for her at the dig first? If not, she could stay with Pedro until he did arrive. But how did she discover if they were continuing with the ceremony?

  Rustling sounds near the bed meant don Miguel planned to turn in for the night. He didn’t tie her up. Did he think she wouldn’t try to get away, believing she didn’t know where she was? A cough resounded outside the door. The two he’d sent away stood guard. That was how he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

  She opened her eyes and shifted to her side. The lantern was off. She peered around the dark interior of the mud hut, searching for another way out. Nothing. Not even a window. She’d noticed when they walked to the building it resembled the others on the outside—a bit weathered and slightly larger. Don Miguel didn’t want the building to draw any attention.

  The only escape was through the door and past the two men. She could use the excuse that nature called and sneak away when she used the bushes. Yeah, a smile tipped her lips. She had to do it before the sun came up. The moon’s illumination was nearly as bright as the sun, but she could use the shadows of buildings to hide her escape. Not tonight. She needed time to scope out everything and form a plan.

  A shiver slithered up her spine. The full moon was tomorrow night. That didn’t give her much time to plan or get away.

  *~*

  Tino stared into the dark cave, waiting for Ginger to report back. She’d promised to make his questions top priority. How long would it take for someone to check out don Miguel’s whereabouts? He couldn’t sit at the mouth of the cave indefinitely. Another group of drug traffickers could find out about the cave and plan to use it, or Miguel and his ratas could come back.

  He had to sit tight. The tunnel was the quickest way to the dig, and he couldn’t risk carrying the open radio through the jungle. To go deeper within the cave would cut off reception.

  Where was Isabella? Was she safe? Could she stall Miguel until he caught up to them?

  “¡Coño!” Tino kicked the wall to the cave entrance. Waiting would drive him crazy. He picked up his gear and walked twenty feet into the jungle at the side of the entrance and set up his tent. The activity helped loosen his constricted muscles but didn’t ease his mind. He shoved all his equipment into the tent and sat down to eat dried meat and nuts.

  The radio crackled. He dove into the tent and plopped his earphones on.

  “Konstantine. Over.”

  “No sign of Miguel at the plantation. Sources say he left three days ago in his helicopter. Over.”

  The news was good. He was still in the area, presumably.

  “Gracias, Ginger. Over.”

  “Constantine?”

  He held his breath. Ginger never slipped protocol. “¿Si?”

  “Doctor Isabella Mumphrey has a high priority status. Over.”

  His gut clenched. Why would the government put a high priority status on an anthropologist?

  “Can you elaborate? Over.”

  “Classified. Out.”

  ¡Coño! That put a whole different light on the possibilities for her abduction. And if she was a government agent why hadn’t she told him when he poured out the truth to her? He flipped the radio off, uprooted his tent, and shoved all but his gun, knife, and some food under a flourishing fern.

  Pedro had some explaining to do. The cook and Isabella acted like strangers but were they? His mind ran through all his conversations with Isabella and her reactions to the people around her as he stalked through the tunnel toward the dig. She was good at playing the innocent. He’d fallen for it. Fell for her. ¡Coño! He’d given more of himself to her than he had given anyone in years. Had dreams of giving her more. But who was she really?

  He ran through the now familiar tunnel.

  At the boulder that hid the tunnel from the altar chamber he stopped and stared back into the darkness. He didn’t remember covering this much distance. His thoughts had ricocheted off his brain and bounced around like sparks, emitting emotions of frustration, confusion, and loss. His tightly reined emotions wanted to explode.

  He loved a woman he didn’t really know. Ha! Love. He seldom used the word or even thought of himself ever loving another, yet he had fallen hopelessly for this woman, and he had no idea if her responses to him were genuine or faked to…To what? Why would an agent be assigned to watch him? He’d never done anything to cause his superiors to think he was anything but ethical.

  He ascended the steps, pressed his shoulder against the rock, and slid the portal open. Cold air wrapped around him the minute he stepped into the chamber. Why was this chamber always colder than the tunnel? He stared at the drawing on the wall and wondered what about it had captured Isabella’s attention? Could the drawing be the real reason she came here? If so, why? And what did he have to do with it? Clearly, she’d attached herself to him for a reason.

  The images blurred as he stared. Voices whispered in his head. One had the same sweet voice as Isabella. “You can save me.”

  “How?” His own raspy reply broke the spell. He hurried out of the chamber.

  At the dig entrance, he peered around the compound. Everyone had retired for the night. He ran across the open area to the back of the cook tent. Pedro held answers; he was sure of it.

  Tino didn’t bother making his presence known. He slipped through the flap quietly, stopping to peer into the darkness. His gaze landed on the bed and he stepped forward with caution. He reached down to grasp the man’s arm and came up with only a blanket.

  Where was the cook at this hour of the night?

  Chapter 27

  Isabella stretched and groaned. The sofa, while softer than the floor, lacked the space for stretching out. Her lower back ached from remaining curled up all night. And nature called.

  She sprang alert. This was her chance to escape. With less than eighteen hours before the ceremony, she needed to get away. Daylight wasn’t optimal but she had to try. She rolled to a sitting position and glanced at the bed.

  Empty.

  Last night’s used dishes had been replaced with full plates and a full glass of coconut milk. A pitcher of water along with a colorful, woven towel stood at the end of the table. All of her needs were thought of, except…

  She stood and walked to the door. Her hand pressed against the solid wood and the door swung open. Don Miguel stepped inside. He peered over her shoulder and shook his head.

  “Where are you going? I have provided all you need.”

  “An outhouse would be ideal,” she quipped.

  “The brass pot in the corner is your outhouse, señorita. I will give you thirty minutes to finish your morning duties.” He stepped back and closed the door.

  Shamutz! He didn’t plan to let her out of the hut. How could she escape with two-foot adobe walls and guards at the door? Using the facilities and washing up, she thought of digging out, but there was nowhere to h
ide the evidence, and no time. The door held her only escape. She’d have to listen and discern when the guards grew less vigilant and figure out a way to get by them.

  She plopped onto the sofa and ate her breakfast. She needed her strength for her escape.

  Don Miguel entered. His gaze traveled about the room and landed on her. “I see you have made yourself at home. That is good.” He sat in a chair and watched her. “For one so brilliant you have hardly asked any questions.”

  Ahh, her not asking annoyed him. Good. She shrugged.

  “Since you are unwilling to ask, I will tell you what you need to know.” He leaned back in his chair. His large hands rested on the chair arms, but his tufted knuckles gripped the ends, whitening the joints. “Your Dr. Martin has discovered a ceremonial sacrificial altar. I, as a great collector of all things Mayan, am drawn to the ceremonies of bloodletting and sacrifice. Specifically human sacrifice. As a true scholar of Mayan history, you know that did not happen often. Bloodletting did, and Dr. Martin helped me experience that last year. Now he will help me experience another Mayan ceremony.” His eyes closed, and his lips curved into a self-satisfied smile. He shifted his weight in his chair and absentmindedly adjusted his trousers.

  He is aroused by the idea of sacrificing!

  Isabella shuddered. His aura of evil hadn’t been mistaken.

  “Together, we are going to reproduce the moon god’s sacrifice tonight. We wish you to be present.” His eyes opened. Dark dilated pupils peered at her.

  She’d witnessed this kind of zeal before, in Virgil’s eyes when he’d uncovered some relic of historic importance.