“Yance?”
The old man stopped halfway across the room and turned. Moonlight shone across his aged face, making him look older and more fragile than the sum of his years. Simon cleared the emotion in his throat. “I’m not sure if I ever properly thanked you. So, thank you.”
The moon smoothed out Yancy’s aged features as he smiled. “You were worth saving, too. Don’t ever forget that.” Then he walked out. “Lock up when you leave in the morning.”
Simon shook the memories from his mind and concentrated on the present. As much as he hated being the messenger, Jillian deserved to know at least the condensed version. He tossed the papers on the bed and headed downstairs.
He found Jillian at the kitchen island sitting in front of a tall glass of milk, the cookie jar, and a small, neat stack of chocolate-chip cookies. She looked up in mild surprise when he walked in and got himself a glass. It took only a second for his body to register the flimsy camisole top and the nipples imprinted through it before she pulled her robe across her chest.
This was getting pitiful. He needed a woman. Just not this woman. He grabbed the milk out of the fridge and sat across from her at the island.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked while he poured the milk.
“Too much on my mind.” She smiled a little, but weariness haunted her eyes.
“Paulie have any luck tracking down Lance yet?”
She shook her head. “Nothing yet.”
“We need to talk to him.”
She blew out a breath. “I still can’t believe he’d tell anyone.”
People had been betrayed for less, Simon wanted to say, but he didn’t. Besides, Lance was a moron. Any man who had Jillian and let her go must be a complete idiot. Not that he wanted her. He was just saying. If he did, which he didn’t . . . Shut up, Simon.
He reached over and stole one of her cookies. “What I can’t figure out is why you haven’t tried to take my car yet.”
“I don’t have a license.”
Simon realized that wouldn’t stop most people, but it was enough for Jillian Talbot. “Okay. So why are you still here? You could run away, take off with Paulie or just call 911.”
She was about to dunk a cookie into her milk and stopped. A strange look crossed her face. “Do you trust anyone?”
“Nope.” He popped the cookie into his mouth.
“Even yourself?”
He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m here because I’m part of this, whether I want to be or not. I won’t leave you at the mercy of the likes of Franco.”
That might keep her around for a while, but as soon as he mentioned death, she’d reconsider. And if he mentioned that a man like Kesel was tracking them, she’d be smart to run.
Then she dipped the cookie in the milk and sucked on it gently. He was about to address the legend but froze as her lips wrapped around the chocolate-chip cookie and her eyes closed slightly. Then she took a bite of it, revealing even white teeth before chewing it slowly. He was pretty sure she wasn’t doing this to him on purpose, but if she kept that up, he’d never be able to leave this island.
She opened her eyes and caught him staring. He didn’t even try to look away. He didn’t want to miss out if she did it again.
Her eyebrows rose as she put the cookie down. “Sorry,” she said, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she could read every lascivious thought in his mind.
Instead, she reached in the jar and slid him three cookies. “I didn’t mean to hog the jar.”
He stared at the chocolate-chip cookies. It wasn’t cookies he wanted.
“So how long have you been a tomb raider?” she asked.
His mind did a whiplash 180 from some nicely forming fantasies to ugly reality. “About fifteen years, but you’ll be glad to know I’m retired now.”
“The damage is done. You’ve already plundered history.” She took a bite out of her cookie.
And just like that, the fantasy was over. Her view of him and his occupation was as righteous and stubborn as the rest of her. What would happen if he told her everything right now? What would she do? Refuse to help him? He decided he couldn’t risk it. He’d give her just enough to get her into Mexico and figure out the rest from there.
He tipped his glass to her. “Someone had to. Those precious artifacts don’t do anyone any good buried in the ground.”
Anger darkened her face. “As opposed to being in some private collection with no historical reference. What you do is illegal and immoral.”
“Did,” he corrected and raised a hand to stop her before she stepped up on her soapbox. “Babe, don’t even bother to argue with me. Can’t fix the past. Don’t want to. We got enough problems in the here and now.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I really wish you’d stop calling me ‘babe.’”
He grinned and watched her take a mental count to ten. She was so tightly wound. What would it take to unleash what lay underneath? It was the quiet ones you had to watch out for. Years of pent-up energy, frustration, emotion. Bet he’d have his hands full. But since that wasn’t going to happen in his lifetime, he might put his energy into worrying about how long his lifetime was going to be.
Simon picked up another cookie. “Yancy found a legend that might answer some questions about the lens.”
Jillian’s expression brightened in a flash. “He did? Where?”
“He has connections.”
Her excitement dimmed. “I’m sure.”
Simon took a drink of his milk while weighing his options. Just enough info to keep her close to him, needing his protection. Not enough to send her packing. Finally he said, “Supposedly the lens leads to an ancient treasure in Mexico. Only one lens was created to find the location—”
Jillian’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Only one?”
“To be used by the chosen Seer when the world was ready. That’s all Yancy could find,” he finished. He watched her to see how she handled that.
“Chosen—me? Seriously?” she asked, suddenly hanging on every word he said, the cookies and milk forgotten.
“Seriously.”
She pulled the robe tighter over her chest. “And that’s why they want me. They believe I can find this treasure for them?”
“And if they believe that, there will be no stopping them until proven otherwise,” he added.
She frowned, deep in thought. “What if the legend isn’t true?”
He replied, “Then we might have a problem.”
Her eyes met his. “I see.”
She got it. And so far, she didn’t look like she was planning a getaway. “Does that vision of yours work on anything?” he asked.
Jillian tensed. “Not people, if that’s what you mean.”
And even if it did, you wouldn’t use it, he thought immediately and wondered how he knew that to be true. “So just objects. What about newer items, like a chair or this glass?”
“It depends if there is a strong emotional imprint. Even then, I may only get shadows of movement. A flash of a hand. A burst of darkness or light.”
“What if you used the crystal?”
“So far it’s only worked on old objects. Unfortunately, I haven’t had a chance to test it, since you keep hiding it on me.”
He smiled. And that was the way it was going to stay. “You’ll get plenty of practice. Mexico is full of old stuff.”
“Mexico,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve never been there.”
“I have. At the very least, we need to learn more about this legend and what we’re up against. Even better if we get to it first. Then you have something to bargain with.”
He watched her to see if she bought it.
Her gaze fixed on him for a long count. “You mean we can bargain with.”
He finished his milk and stood up to rinse the glass. “We. I’d like to live to cash in my 401K.”
She watched him intently. “And what if this really does lead to something significa
nt? Something historically irreplaceable?”
He leaned against the counter and studied her. What if she wouldn’t part with it? What if she refused to let him trade it for Celina? That would be a problem. He had to quash any notion she might get of “saving” this find. “Which would make it all the more valuable. Feel free to sacrifice yourself, but don’t expect me to.”
She gave him a look like she was thinking about it, so for good measure he added, “And you can’t find it without me. Believe it or not, there is some skill involved in tracking down treasure.”
She blinked at him, clearly unimpressed by his skill set. “There must be another way.”
He shook his head. “If you’ve got a better plan, let’s hear it. The way I see it, you can turn both yourself and that crystal over now and see what good ol’ Franco has in store for you, or we can find the treasure and use it to save both our hides. Not to mention Paulie and Yancy and anyone else you might bring into this.”
He could tell he hit pay dirt by the way she blanched. “I didn’t bring anyone else in.”
“It might be a good idea to keep it that way,” he added.
She bit her lip. “What about the police?”
“You’ll always have that vision. The cops can’t help you. You don’t find this, you spend the rest of your life on the run. Short of destroying the crystal—”
Her eyes widened in alarm. “No. Never.”
He almost felt guilty for playing that card, but a desperate man couldn’t be choosey. He couldn’t save Celina without her, and he couldn’t risk losing her.
Jillian stood up and put the cookie jar on the counter next to him. She was so close he could smell her. Like spring. He didn’t remember women smelling like that before. Her blue eyes held his, and he couldn’t look away. Don’t be an idiot, Simon.
“We’ll go to Mexico and talk to your friend Mancuso. But if I think of another way out of this, we discuss it,” she said firmly.
Discuss it. Sure. And then they’d do things his way.
“Agreed?” she asked.
He inhaled her one more time, even though he knew it was a mistake. “Agreed.”
“Scout’s honor?” she added, her gaze steady.
She was catching on quick. But what did he care? He’d never been a Boy Scout. “Scout’s honor. Now go to bed. We’re on the first flight out tomorrow.”
CHAPTER
8
Be careful what you wish for, Jillian thought as she and Paulie waited for Simon outside the Veracruz airport car rental at 10:00 p.m. The evening air was heavy with the smell of oil and lingering heat. Yet, in the darkness, there was color and motion in the people and vehicles and buildings. A curious mix of old and new, shiny and shabby.
A long flight from Boston to Mexico City to Veracruz, security checks, customs inspections, and the visitor application had Jillian feeling the weight of jet lag. Her bag was full of paperwork and forms that she was too tired to concentrate on.
Still, the excitement of change had her mind racing and her body full of restless energy. This must be what Raven felt like all the time. No wonder she was so hooked on it. On the other hand, Raven had the skills and experience. The excitement faded as Jillian realized just how ill-equipped she felt.
She strained to understand the rapid-fire Spanish of passing locals with her limited language skills. She caught a few words—caliente, “hot,” and cerveza, “beer.” But everything was pretty much lost on her, since her entire language study had been a few short weeks of an Introduction to Spanish class. Too bad she hadn’t kept up with it. Who knew she’d need it? Who knew she’d be in Mexico with zero days’ notice?
She turned to Paulie, who looked perfectly rested in a loud Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts. “Thank you for coming along.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “No problemo. I wouldn’t leave you alone with him for nothing. I know he told me that this was the only way to save your necks, but I gotta bad feeling this is bigger than we think.”
She had that feeling, too. Especially since the closer they’d gotten to Mexico, the quieter and more surly Simon had become.
“I’m surprised you had your passport with you,” she said.
Paulie laughed. “I work for your sister. I always have my passport with me. At least this time I didn’t get a call in the middle of the night telling me to be in Jakarta in twenty-four hours. This? This is cake.”
If you say so, she thought. “Have you been to Mexico before?”
“A few times,” Paulie said. “Quick one-day trips, mostly. It’s better than some places I’ve been.”
Jillian pursed her lips. “Simon doesn’t like Mexico.”
Paulie wiped his sweaty forehead on his sleeve. “I noticed. Makes you wonder why, doesn’t it?”
Yes, it does. And since he was running the show, any secrets he might be keeping made her very nervous. That was quite a feat, considering. First thing she needed to find was a map. She wanted to know where they were and where they were going.
She yawned despite herself, and Paulie asked, “You okay?”
She nodded. “Just a little tired. Didn’t sleep much last night or on the way here.”
“I slept like a rock.” He rubbed his shaved head. “Traveling is a bitch, though. You gotta learn the fine art of sleeping on a plane.”
“Never happen,” she said, half to herself. She would never become a road warrior. It was just too hectic. “Any word from Lance?”
Paulie shoved his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels. “He’s not in Arizona. In fact, it’s like he disappeared off the face of the Earth. I hate to say it—”
“Don’t,” she interrupted, more sharply than she intended. She smiled apologetically at Paulie. “Sorry.”
He nodded. “I understand.”
Did he? Did he know what it was like to bare your soul to someone and be rejected? She hoped not. She wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
A white Jeep barreled from around the side of the rental building and screeched to a halt in front of them. Simon stepped out and started loading their bags in the back.
Paulie asked, “So. Simon. Why are we walking into the lion’s den, again?”
“Because it’s the last place Franco would think to look for us,” Simon told him as he kept his eyes on the surrounding action. But he wasn’t sightseeing like she was. He was working. And from the irritable look on his face, he wasn’t liking what he saw.
“Right. Hate getting shot at.” Paulie kept his laptop but tossed his bag into the back with the others. “And Yancy couldn’t come because?”
“Legal issues.” Simon opened the front door for Jillian, and she climbed in.
Paulie got into the backseat and leaned forward to murmur in Jillian’s ear, “Legal issues, my ass.”
She gave him a smile. “Worried?”
“I’m always worried. Paranoia keeps me alive,” Paulie said.
“You haven’t seen Simon drive yet,” she said. “Buckle up.”
Simon took the driver’s seat, and the Jeep lurched into traffic with a vengeance, narrowly missing a cab. She heard Paulie swear in the back and grinned.
The windows were wide open, and the wind whipped her hair across her face. She corralled it into a loose braid as she took in the city of Veracruz.
Cheap neon lights vied for attention in the midst of the rich colonial and Spanish architecture. Tall cathedrals pierced the night sky. Illuminated by spotlights, domed white roofs shone. Smells of food and spices dominated the air. It was a lovely city. As they drove through street after street, her excitement grew. The museums must be magnificent. She couldn’t wait until morning.
But then she noticed that the landscape began to flatten out, leaving the tall clusters of buildings behind them. Her exhilaration took a dive.
“I thought we were going to stay in the city,” she said to Simon.
He glanced at her. “Heading to a small town called Cielo Azul. About thirty kilometers south.”
&nb
sp; She looked back as the city slipped into the background. Obviously Simon didn’t do sightseeing. He was completely focused on getting himself off the hook. She couldn’t blame him. None of this was his fault. Plus he was a tomb raider, which meant that he wasn’t dealing with the kind of guilt she was. If the legend was true and if the lens was authentic and if it led them to something historically important, it was a curator’s dream. And she was going to use it as a payoff to save her own skin. Might as well stick a knife in her heart. On the other hand, that was a lot of ifs.
Still, the lens was special to her. Made for her. She was special; she’d always known that. But never would she have guessed this would be the reason. For so long, questions had occupied her mind and her life. In her bones, she knew the answers were out there, just a glance away.
You have a gift, Jillie, her mother used to tell her. Jillian looked out the window at the black sea.
Maybe. Maybe not. There were times when history was best forgotten. There were things she wished she could forget seeing. Things that turned a gift into a curse.
“What are you thinking?” Simon asked, interrupting an increasingly depressing stream of consciousness.
She turned to him and raised an eyebrow. “Wow. A complete sentence.”
He gave her a warning look, brown eyes narrowing. The dashboard cast a green light over the shadow of a beard over his stubborn jaw. She suddenly realized how comfortable he looked driving the Jeep, in a blue T-shirt and cotton pants. Wind ruffled his hair, adding to the rebel look.
They didn’t make men like him in Manhattan—rough, tough, real, fearless, and mean. He didn’t hone that amazing body at the gym with all the muscleheads. He didn’t worry about his hair or his manicure. He didn’t care what anyone thought of him. He just lived his life his way with complete ease. As much as she hated his occupation, she had to respect him for knowing who he was.
That, and the amazing body. It flashed in her mind just long enough to raise her temperature a little. Maybe Mancuso had a cookie jar. She gave a mental sigh. Don’t even go there, Jillian. You’ve got all the trouble you can handle.
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