Words of Love

by Hazel Hunter

  “We can’t be together.” Jesse backed up a pace as though he’d struck her and the utter shock in her face instantly made him regret the words. “Not at first,” he said, quickly.

  But the damage was done.

  She backed away from him, looking as unsteady as he felt.

  “No, Jesse,” he said, reaching toward her. But she spun away, gripping her stomach, and staggered a few steps before she began to run, back to camp. “Jesse,” he gasped, trying to get his breath, as he sank to his knees.

  He stared at the ground.

  “Oh my god,” he muttered. “What have I done?”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Frederico throttled the engine back.

  That was his boat all right. He angled toward it.

  The Zodiac was tied off at a muddy embankment. The rope was stretched taut as the swollen river tried to take the boat away. He looked up at the jungle behind it.

  This was an area he’d always meant to explore. But the rich finds that surrounded it were more than enough to keep him busy.

  What did that gringo find?

  “Ernesto,” he barked. “Get the rope and tie off the boat.”

  As the two boats bumped, Ernesto jumped into the water and quickly waded ashore.

  Frederico jockeyed the boat as Ernesto tied a knot and then he killed the engine. He picked up Ernesto’s rifle and tossed it to him. Ernesto caught it with both hands. Then he took his pistol from its holster and tossed him that too, followed by the burlap sacks.

  Then, he stepped from his boat to the other.

  Two life jackets.

  That’s right. The woman had been with him this time. He smirked. This might actually be fun.

  He pulled his hat down tight, stepped onto the edge of the boat, and jumped all the way to the mud.

  Ernesto immediately handed him the pistol. He thumbed the cylinder open out of habit, checked the bullets, and snapped it back closed before holstering it. His other hand went to the handle of the machete.

  He pushed past Ernesto onto what looked like a small footpath.

  “Follow me,” Frederico said.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jesse stifled a sob with her hand as she stumbled back into camp.

  What an idiot.

  She came to a stop, her eyes full of tears, staring at the tent. Had she and Brett only been here a couple of days? It felt like a lifetime. She and Brett had made love in that tent only yesterday.

  She angrily shook her head.

  “Fool,” she muttered.

  She’d really deluded herself this time–a guy like him and someone like her. Here he was, on the verge of the most important archaeological discovery of all time.

  And she was a Jittery Jessica.

  His stricken face hung in the air in front of her when he’d realized they couldn’t be together. The words he’d said rang in her ears. She pushed her hands down over them and shut her eyes.

  ‘We can’t be together.’

  Now she did sob.

  He’d looked as pained as she felt–as though a knife stabbed deeply into her chest. She clutched it as she staggered toward the tent. Inside, she fell on her bed, still crying, and instantly curled into a ball.

  She had completely fallen for him–had even been on the verge of saying it. And for a moment, for just a moment, she had thought he loved her too.

  And maybe he did–but not more than he loved the site.

  • • • • •

  Brett remained on his knees.

  Still breathing hard, he stared down at the Jester God on the blue jade tablet in the plastic bag. Then he looked in the direction of the other six caves. Not one hundred yards away lay the most fabulous burial of all time and, in his hand, he held the clue that would unlock it.

  Thanks to Jesse.

  He looked in the opposite direction, across the main plaza of the Maya ruins, back toward camp.

  Jesse.

  He didn’t want them to be apart. It was the last thing he wanted. And he hadn’t intended to hurt her either. But that’s exactly what he’d just done. His one hand clenched into a fist and the other gripped the jade tablet.

  What kind of ass am I?

  It was his obsession, he told himself. The burial in the seventh cave was going to make his career–set him on an upward trajectory like a rocket. He’d sacrificed his marriage for it. He’d risked everything. Brought them through a freaking monsoon.

  He took the tablet from the plastic bag.

  The low relief carving of the Jester God sparkled in the light of the lantern. Suddenly, he imagined himself standing in front of an ornate, carved panel in some subterranean room beneath the stairs where this had been laying. There would be a hole where the strange outline of the tablet would fit. Then the burial of the Red King would be revealed. And, in his imagination, he turned to Jesse.

  But she wasn’t there.

  He blinked.

  In that moment of supreme joy at the ultimate achievement, she wouldn’t be there. He wouldn’t be able to share it with her. He would be alone.

  For the past three years, being alone had been good. It had been necessary but it had also been good. He’d let his obsession have full reign. Over and over, he’d imagined finding the Red King. And always he’d imagined himself alone.

  Now, that wasn’t right.

  Suddenly, the feeling was hollow.

  He got to his feet, grabbed the lantern, and headed toward camp.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Frederico turned and motioned for Ernesto to be quiet.

  The camp looked deserted but you never knew.

  As they quietly approached, Frederico took out his pistol.

  The cavern entrance had been a complete shock. He’d been about to double back and check for other paths when he heard the faint sound of the muffled generator. Without even seeing the camp, he knew it had to be the place. The camp was only confirmation. All of the supplies that the gringo had transported in Frederico’s boat were here.

  But where is the gringo?

  He pointed the gun in various directions but there didn’t seem to be anybody. He came to a stop at what looked like a work table. There was a large map–which made him grin. It was so easy when the archaeologists did all the work. He leaned over it and quickly oriented himself. Here was the cave entrance and there–he scowled in disbelief–were six more caves, each one with plan views of ruins drawn in them.

  The place was big.

  He’d just been about to look in the direction of the rest of the caves, when something on the map caught his eye. In thick black letters, someone had written “The Red King.”

  He froze.

  The Red King?

  He stared hard at the words and then looked around him. No wonder the man had kept this a secret.

  Suddenly, he heard a sound coming from the tent. He crouched and motioned to Ernesto. With two fingers, he pointed at Ernesto’s eyes and then pointed toward the dark back of the cave.

  “You watch,” he mouthed.

  Ernesto turned to look into the darkness and Frederico crept toward the tent entrance. He could hear more clearly now. It sounded like crying, the crying of a woman. He quickly flipped the tent flap aside and saw her. She was on the bed and a quick look around let him know the man wasn’t here. He holstered the pistol.

  When he looked back to her, her eyes had grown wide and she was scrambling off the bed.

  “Brett!” she yelled.

  Frederico quickly covered the small space between them and cut off her scream with a punch to the stomach. Even through the mosquito netting, the force of it had been enough to double her over and she collapsed.

  Frederico went back to the tent flap and flipped it open.

  “Find the gringo,” he called to Ernesto and pointed toward the cave. “But don’t kill him. We need him alive.”

  • • • • •

  The world was a painful haze.

  Jesse coughed herself awake and felt a throbbing
ache in her midsection. She tried to breathe without using her diaphragm but that was no good. She coughed again, still trying to get a breath. What she wanted to do was hold her stomach but she found her hands wouldn’t move. As she opened her eyes, she realized she couldn’t move her feet either.

  She was lying on her back and she looked up at her hands. They were tied to the top of the metal frame headboard with what looked like canvas webbing–Brett’s belt. She was on her own bed with her head propped up on pillows. She heard a low chuckling from the other side of the tent.

  The netting was gone and Frederico stood in the middle of the tent, looking down at her. This was the man who’d rented them the boat. She tugged at her hands and feet.

  What was he doing here?

  “Brett!” she screamed.

  But that only made him grin.

  “Where’s the Red King?” he said, stepping over to her.

  She knew her mouth must be hanging open but she stared at him, dumbfounded.

  How did he–

  Where was Brett?

  “Tell me where the king is,” Frederico growled lowly. “And you won’t have to suffer–much.”

  With that, his hand went to his side and he slowly withdrew a machete.

  Jesse suddenly found her voice.

  “I don’t know,” she said, her voice quavering. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Where was Brett? Was he with the Red King? How could she say where the Red King was if she didn’t know where Brett was?

  Frederico regarded her with a little disappointment and pointed the machete at her waist. She held her breath as he used the tip to lift the bottom of her tank top and expose her midsection.

  “That’s a shame,” he said, staring at her skin. “For you.”

  He raised the machete up so that she could see it and then he quickly slapped the flat of the blade down on her exposed skin. She gasped at the loud smacking sound and the sudden burning pain, as her hands and feet jerked against the restraints.

  He lifted the machete, licked his thumb, and brushed the blade with it.

  Jesse convulsively sucked in a breath as the stinging continued.

  “I keep my helper very sharp,” he said slowly, looking at the blade. “So sharp, it doesn’t hurt. So it does no good to use the edge.”

  With a flick of his wrist, he brought the flat metal down again, higher, near her rib cage, and harder.

  She cried out.

  “There,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Now, tell me, where is the Red King?”

  She coughed and shook her head. He used the back of the blade to scrape the waist of her shorts down to her hips.

  “I don’t know where–”

  Again, the blade came down, lower across her abdomen, with a metal ringing thwack.

  She screamed.

  • • • • •

  Brett saw the looter just as he heard Jesse scream.

  His ears pinned back against his head and he felt his heart begin to pound.

  Jesse!

  He wanted to scream her name, run to her, save her from whatever had happened but someone stood in the way–a man with a rifle. He had to be a looter.

  Brett quietly set down the lantern and jade tablet and quickly backed away from them. The looter with the rifle had just entered the other side of the plaza and he apparently didn’t know about the floodlights.

  Brett backed into shadow and then ducked behind a stela.

  The man approached cautiously as Jesse screamed again.

  God, what was happening to her?

  He forced himself to stay still though his heart was pounding in his ears and the echo of her scream still rang in the cavern.

  The looter had finally seen the jade tablet. Though he might have guessed it was a trap, he couldn’t help but stare at the blue jade. Even from where he stood, he must be able to see the color. Blue Olmec jade fetched top dollar.

  The man crouched and swiveled his head from side to side but, true to form, he zeroed in on the jade.

  Jesse screamed again and Brett cringed. He glared at the man with the rifle.

  Hurry.

  • • • • •

  Jesse convulsed under the blade yet again but felt the room start to spin and darkness begin to take over her vision.

  “No, no, no,” Frederico said, a warning tone in his voice, just as water hit her face.

  She sputtered and coughed but her eyes opened at the sudden sensation.

  He stood there with a metal cup in his hand.

  “Where is the Red King?”

  “Please,” she managed to breathe. “I don’t know.”

  As the blade slapped into her, she grunted, without the energy to scream.

  Was Brett with the Red King?

  Her head swam.

  “The Red King,” said Frederico.

  And the blade came down again.

  Oh god, it hurt. It burned and stung and each swing hurt more than the last. But as the pain rose, an image blazed into her mind.

  The Red King. The Blood Gatherer. The confession. And the pain. It hurt but…hurt was the key.

  The glyphs began to circle, slowly at first. The word for hurt sounded like the word for the spine of a cactus. It was the spine of the cactus that symbolized repentant bloodletting. The confession was a bloodletting and the prospective king needed to bring the cactus spine and let blood.

  She had been right.

  The Red King would have his blood.

  Again, water was thrown in her face and the haze of pain returned.

  “You leave me no choice,” said Frederico. He moved the machete in front of her face so she could see it. “The tip can also be effective.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Finally, the looter was almost within reach. He’d stopped looking from side to side and was completely focused on the stone tablet. Brett crouched low, ready to spring.

  Just then, Jesse screamed with a blood-freezing wail that made his teeth grind and even made the looter look.

  Brett leapt at him.

  At least six inches taller than the man, he easily tackled him as the rifle discharged into the air. As the adrenalin coursing through his system finally found a release, Brett jammed his shoulder into the man’s solar plexus and took hold of the rifle. As the smaller man grunted and hit the ground, the air was knocked out of him and his grip went slack. Brett quickly ripped the gun from his hands.

  But the little man was tough. Even though he was on his back, he immediately began punching and landed two quick blows, one on the jaw and one in the eye. As Brett backed up and got to his knees, the looter tried to crawl backwards, crab-like. With one eye closed, Brett swung the rifle but he was off balance.

  The butt of the gun glanced off the man’s head and then hit the ground with a loud crack, as the wooden stock flew apart. It had been enough to stun the man, though, and Brett still held the barrel of the gun. He swung it backhanded and it thudded into the side of the man’s head with a crunching sound.

  Though he’d never so much as slapped anyone in his life, Brett knew with certainty that the man would not be getting back up. Without so much as a backwards glance, Brett sprang to his feet. He grabbed the jade tablet and sprinted for camp.

  • • • • •

  Frederico tisked. As he watched blood trickle from the bottom of the woman’s foot, he realized he should have made the foot straps tighter. He’d barely started when she’d screamed and jerked and actually been able to move her foot.

  Suddenly, a rifle shot rang out.

  That would mean one of two things: Ernesto had found the man and couldn’t follow orders or the man had found Ernesto. Both were bad and suddenly the hair on the back of Frederico’s neck stood up. Without thinking, he sheathed the machete, took out his pistol and positioned himself at the far end of the tent. Then he heard the heavy boots over the sound of the generator. He’d been right to move.

  Suddenly, the tent flap opened and the gringo appea
red.

  “Jesse!” he screamed and started toward her just as he realized Frederico was there.

  • • • • •

  Although Jesse’s eyes were open and she was panting, she didn’t seem to see him. As though his mind were in overdrive, Brett took in everything.

  Even as one part of his brain catalogued the large red welts on her midsection and the blood at the foot of the bed, another part of his brain silently screamed.

  She’d been tortured.

  Tortured.

  He slowly swung his glare on Frederico as the pistol and machete were quickly added to the catalog.

  Whether it was from his swelling eye or the fury that threatened to take him over, Brett looked at him through a red mist. He stared hard at the pistol pointed at him. It’d take more than that to stop him.

  Still gripping the jade stone, his fists shook as he looked at Frederico’s face–the toady face of the man who’d rented him the boat, who’d come here looking for treasure, who’d hurt Jesse. As he turned to face him squarely, Frederico quickly pointed the gun at Jesse.

  Brett froze.

  “Drop the rifle,” Frederico said. Brett hadn’t even realized he was still gripping the barrel of the broken gun. He let it drop. “Where is the Red King?”

  Brett stared at the pistol, glanced at Jesse, and then took a deep breath as he looked back to Frederico.

  “In the seventh cave,” he said.

  “Brett, no,” Jesse breathed.

  Frederico smirked.

  “Where in the seventh cave?”

  “In the pyramid,” Brett said.

  “Brett,” Jesse pleaded. “Please don’t!”

  He wanted desperately to turn to her but he didn’t dare take his eyes off Frederico, who was eying the two of them. Then he focused back on Brett.

  “So you think you found the Red King?”

  Brett tossed him the blue jade carving of the Jester God. Even a looter–especially a looter–would know what that meant: a Maya king was never far away.