Simon leaned back in his chair. “So, are there any other tricks you have up your sleeves that I should know about?”
She batted her eyelashes. “Live in fear.”
A corner of his mouth curled. She had expected him to be angry or upset about last night. At the least, embarrassed. After all, he was a big bad tomb raider and she was, well, she wasn’t.
“Any news on Lance?” Simon asked Paulie.
He shook his head. “It’s weird. He totally vanished from Scottsdale three months ago. The gallery was abandoned, everything left in it. The gallery employees said he just called in one day and told them to lock the doors. Final paychecks came in the mail. That was the last anyone heard of him.”
Jillian frowned. “Do you think something happened to him?”
Paulie shook his head. “I don’t know. He seemed to tie up all the loose ends. No one reported him missing. His bills are getting paid on time. It’s almost like he took a vacation and planned to come back at some point.”
Simon leaned back in his chair. “But no trace of where he went?”
“Nothing yet. I need to find a real Internet connection. My cell phone uplink is too slow here. I’m going into town today to see what I can find.”
“Sounds like a plan.” Simon’s gaze moved to Jillian. “We’re going to need some cooler clothes.”
She couldn’t argue with that. Already her jeans were sticking to her legs. “Does this mean sightseeing?”
“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he said, and she noted the edge in his voice. She could understand that, but to come to Mexico and not be able to see it just plain sucked.
“I thought you said Mexico was the perfect place to hide.”
“Or get killed,” he reminded her.
CHAPTER
10
The market in the center of the small Mexican town was crowded, noisy, and in full swing by 11:00 a.m. Jillian walked next to Simon between tightly spaced vendors selling everything from chilies to baskets to handcrafted silver jewelry. Canvas bags and flat woven bowls held foods she’d never seen before. Every vendor greeted them with beautifully bronzed, smiling faces that carried the integrity of their Mayan ancestors. Brightly colored blankets flapped in the midmorning breeze. The air smelled of cooking meat and tortillas. Voices rose above the tethered burros and caged chickens. Music wafted in and out through the alleyways.
In all, it was a menagerie of sights and sounds that Jillian did her best to absorb. This was fascinating, the way these people lived. Little had changed culturally for generations, and she didn’t want to miss a thing. She’d seen enough remnants of the past to appreciate the present.
Simon took her hand, and they threaded between vendors waving their wares. He didn’t seem at all interested, looking past them as if scouting for something or someone. She had to remember why they were here and the danger they could be in. But somehow it just didn’t seem real in this vibrant setting.
He finally stopped at one tent and spoke in Spanish to a woman wearing a pure white loose blouse and a long red embroidered skirt. She smiled and nodded at him, her cheeks rounding on her wide face. Then she glanced at Jillian and pulled a hat from the assortment attached to the canvas ceiling and walls.
Simon handed it to her. “Try this on. You’ll burn in the sun.”
It was plain straw with a wide brim that curved up slightly. She pulled it over her head and looked back at him. His eyes narrowed as they darkened and held hers. Her breath caught for a fraction of a second at the way he focused entirely on her. Times like this she could swear he had his own second sight. What did he see when he looked at her?
Then he turned away and paid the woman.
The hat did help to shield the midday heat as they wandered out of the market in search of clothing shops. The streets narrowed, and low buildings were packed together in a collage of pastels and whitewash. Slender alleys, doorways, and windows dotted the adobe. Men pushed carts that clattered across the cobblestone, laden with fat canvas bags and firewood. Children laughed and raced up and down the streets. Old women with sun-weathered skin looked up from their basket weaving and smiled.
They turned a street corner, and he said, “Can you put your hair up under that?”
She glanced at him. “I thought this was for the sun.”
“And disguise. You aren’t easy to hide, Jillian Talbot. Especially in Mexico.”
She humphed. “And here I thought you were watching out for my well-being.”
He gave her a quick glance. “Trust me, I am. Sunglasses and clothes are next.”
She was tucking her hair up in the hat when a voice rose from behind them. Simon’s head turned quickly. Jillian was about to look when he shoved her past him and into a nearby doorway entrance.
“Hey!” she said as she steadied herself.
He held her at arm’s length and said, “Stay here until I come back for you.”
Then he stepped back the way they’d just come and disappeared out of her line of sight around the doorway.
Not far away, Jillian heard a woman’s deep voice say, “Simon. I thought that was you. How are you, love?”
Love? Jillian frowned. Who was that?
“Nice to see you, too, Alexis,” Simon responded. “Been a while.”
“Too long. Where are you keeping yourself?” Alexis said in a slow, thick, seductive accent.
“Just staying out of trouble,” Simon replied.
Jillian pressed against the doorway and peered around the corner. Alexis had her back to Jillian, and Simon stood facing her. If he saw Jillian, he didn’t show it. His eyes were glued to the gorgeous woman with the clingy blue dress, long powerful legs, and dark cascading hair. In fact, she looked a lot like Raven. Capable. Powerful. Confident.
Alexis took a step toward Simon and cooed, “Staying out of trouble is no fun. Why don’t you come to my place, and we’ll catch up on old times?”
Old times, my ass, thought Jillian ruefully. As if reading her mind, Simon flicked his gaze to her. His eyes narrowed in warning.
Fine. She ducked back inside the doorway, pulled her straw hat over her eyes, and tried to figure out why she was so pissed. She didn’t own Simon. Truth be told, he might be sexy but he wasn’t her type. Not even close. Why should she care if some old flame was climbing all over him? She didn’t.
Then she heard Simon speak Spanish and caught “esta noche.” Tonight? Was he going to meet Alexis tonight? Disappointment settled in her bones, even as Jillian cursed herself for it.
Then Alexis made a bunch of flirting remarks that sounded fake and stupid. “Oh, please,” Jillian murmured. If Simon fell for such an obvious come-on, he was a fool.
Not that she cared.
A few minutes later, Simon was hauling Jillian out of the doorway. “Let’s go.”
Jillian eyed him as he hurried her along. “Who was that?”
“An old friend,” he said, scouting the area for any more familiar faces among the poverty-stricken struggling to survive another day. He didn’t need to run into any other old friends at this point. Alexis had a reputation of being easy to buy, and he wanted to make damn sure he bought her before someone else did. Which meant he was coming back tonight, without Jillian, to see what she knew of Celina’s last whereabouts, and then pay her handsomely to pretend she never saw him. At least he was pretty certain that Alexis hadn’t seen Jillian.
“Funny, she didn’t look that old,” Jillian muttered. “Tomb raider?”
“Yup,” he said, looking past the dilapidated buildings and busted-up cobblestone roads full of trash and waste. The town was going right to hell. Shoeless kids ran along the gutters. Old women hunched in the doorways of buildings that should have been condemned long ago. Some things never changed.
“Old lover?”
His mind took a quick detour, and he looked at Jillian, but her eyes were focused straight ahead.
“Yes. Very old,” he said finally, surprising himself by the lousy way i
t made him feel to admit it.
“So, you’re meeting her tonight?”
Simon stopped dead in his tracks. He’d purposely switched to Spanish so she wouldn’t understand what he was saying to Alexis. Jillian turned to face him in silent question. Blue eyes peered out from under the hat with a quiet yet powerful sexiness he couldn’t even put his finger on.
“How do you know that?”
She raised her chin. “I took a Spanish class. Nothing extensive, but enough to pick up a few words here and there.”
How many damn classes had she taken? “And you didn’t tell me?”
“Why should I?” she said coolly. “You have your secrets, and you aren’t sharing.”
The honesty and hurt in her face caught him off guard. He’d never even considered his secrets secret. They were just something he didn’t talk about. And then there was Celina. A pang of guilt came and went. He should tell Jillian and Paulie exactly what they were up against. But something was stopping him, and he feared it was the clear blue beguiling eyes he was staring at.
He mentally shook himself. “I want to find out if Alexis knows anything about the legend.”
Jillian nodded a few times, looking strangely impassive. “Of course. That’s a great idea.”
He narrowed his eyes at her flat response. “Right.”
Then Jillian blinked once and turned away. “Right.”
Kesel stood in the shadows of Carlos’s office and listened to the dealer bargain with two grave robbers wearing ill-fitting clothes and several days’ worth of dirt. This was Carlos’s job—to screw looters out of their finds and then turn around and make a huge profit from collectors on the black market.
Although the office was small and ancient and pathetic, Kesel knew Carlos also owned a veritable mansion in a good Puebla neighborhood. His neighbors had no idea that Carlos made his money on the backs of poor, small-time grave robbers.
Five minutes later, a lopsided deal was struck, and the men handed over their treasure. They left with a small wad of cash and greed in their eyes.
Greed killed. Greed made a man sloppy. It was no way to do business, especially this kind of business. A tomb raider who gave in to greed was dancing with death.
Carlos waited until the door closed behind the men and waved Kesel forward. He pulled a chair up to the desk and inspected the fine tapestry the men had sold to Carlos. It was worth fifty times what Carlos had just laid out.
“Very nice,” Kesel said. “This should bring a handsome profit.”
Carlos huffed, his neat black mustache jumping in the process. Thick, neatly trimmed hair stuck out from under a tattered straw fedora. His sharp eyes were watchful as he took a long draw on his cigarette and then pointed at Kesel. “The archives would pay a hell of a lot more.”
Kesel leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. That was the difference between him and Carlos. Carlos was in it for the money. Kesel was in it for revenge. No one fucked him over and lived to tell about it. Mistakes made doing business difficult. Money was nothing compared to honor. If that meant he had to play nice with a greedy, arrogant, ostentatious bastard like Carlos, he would.
Carlos stubbed out his cigarette. “So you think they’re in Mexico already?”
“I know they are. They flew from Boston into Veracruz yesterday. Franco is watching Yancy in Boston.”
“Elwood Yancy? He’s still alive?” Carlos shook his head. “What good is it to watch him?”
Kesel said, “You never know when you might need incentive.”
Carlos’s eyes widened slightly when Kesel smiled at him. “What about Bonner and the woman?”
“The word is out that I’m looking for them in Mexico,” said Kesel. “It won’t take long to locate them.”
Carlos squinted at him. “You think that will work?”
Kesel rubbed his fingers together. “Money talks.”
Carlos gave a grunt and lit another cigarette. “And what do we do when we find them?”
“Nothing.”
Carlos nearly swallowed the cigarette. He stared in disbelief through the haze at Kesel. “Nothing? Why would we do nothing?”
Kesel leveled his gaze at Carlos. “You want to find the archives?”
“Of course.”
“The best way to do that is to let them find it for us. Then when they get close, we step in.”
Carlos frowned in thought and nodded. “Yes. Yes, that’s good. But what if Celina beats us to them?”
Kesel smiled. He was counting on that. In fact, that was all he cared about. He had a reputation to uphold. No one was going to steal what was rightfully his. “She won’t make a move until the treasure is in hand. And once she does, I’ll be waiting.”
Carlos watched him warily. “You’re a scary enemy to have, Kesel.”
He let that hang in the air like so much smoke. “Remember that next time you try to screw me on a deal, Carlos.”
By the time they got back to Mancuso’s house, Jillian was exhausted from the shopping, the heat, and her stubborn curiosity about Alexis. She headed straight for her bedroom, dumped the new clothes on the bed, and was about to lie down when someone knocked lightly on her door.
She opened it to find Paulie standing there.
“Are you alone?” he said, looking antsy.
Trouble. “Yes. What’s wrong?”
He glanced down the hallway and scooted inside, closing the door behind him. “We got a problem.”
Her stomach twisted in dread. “Is it Lance?”
Paulie looked confused for a moment. “Lance. No, but I have a phone number for him for you. He’s here in Mexico.”
“What’s he doing in Mexico?” she asked.
Paulie waved her off. “Forget Lance. Bigger problems here. Take a look at this.”
He handed her an open cell phone screen. It took Jillian a moment to realize that she was looking at a woman in a chair with a gag around her mouth and her hands tied behind her back. She appeared terrified.
“Oh, my God. Who is she?”
“Someone named Celina. Someone being held for ransom.”
“That’s terrible.” Then she noted the strange look on his face. “What does this have to do with us?”
Paulie took the phone from her. He punched in a few numbers and shoved the phone back to her. “Read the text message that came with it.”
Jillian skimmed the short note.
Jackson, we have Celina . . . will kill her . . . find the Archives of Man . . . contact is Jillian Talbot . . . Manhattan . . . find her, use the lens, get the treasure . . . you have ten days.
Chills ran through her as her mind began to connect the dots. Simon had the lens. He knew her name, had her photograph. And the name Jackson, he’d asked her about him. He had convinced her that she was in danger and had dragged her to Mexico for her own good. Because the bad guys were after them. Because they needed a treasure to negotiate with . . .
And she’d believed him.
Her hand started trembling. “Whose phone is this?”
Paulie shoved his hands in his shorts pockets and gave her a sympathetic look. “Simon’s.”
“You lied to me.”
Simon glanced up from the center island in the kitchen to find Jillian standing in front of him and Paulie hanging in the background.
Lied to her? Now, there was a mighty wide opening. He decided to play it cool until he knew exactly which lie she’d figured out. He put down the mango he was peeling and wiped his hands on a towel. “How so?”
She held out the cell phone, and he stilled when he saw Celina’s picture. Shit. Didn’t he delete that? Then he looked at Paulie, who glared back. He must have retrieved it. Damn geeks.
“Who is Celina?” Jillian asked. Her face was flushed, her eyes wide, and the cell phone in her hand shook badly. He couldn’t tell if she was going to cry or murder him. He noted the butcher block full of knives and discreetly slid it out of reach.
“My ex-wife.”
>
Jillian lowered the phone with the careful control of a woman on the edge. “She’s what this is all about. You don’t give a damn about me or Paulie or Elwood or anyone else. You need to find the treasure for her.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “What was I supposed to say to you? ‘Hey, Jillian, would you mind terribly putting your life on the line to save a woman you never met?’”
“You could have told me the truth,” she said. “You could have been decent and told me exactly what was at stake. You could have—” She stopped abruptly. “Trusted me.”
He squinted at her. “Trust you? Babe, you’re not the one I’m worried about.”
She didn’t look at all appeased by his confession. “And Jackson? Who is he?”
Simon braced his arms against the island. She’d read the text, too. The game was up. He might as well tell her the rest. “Celina’s current husband. He’s dead. Murdered.” He looked her in the eye. “Because he was carrying the lens and coming for you. He was supposed to find it in return for Celina.”
She blinked a few times. “Murdered. By who?”
“A man named Kesel. A mercenary and an assassin. Apparently, we aren’t the only ones looking for this treasure. There are at least two other parties.”
Paulie looked at the ceiling and swore. Jillian just stared at Simon like he was the lowliest man she’d ever laid eyes on, which he was.
“The Archives of Man is the legend we’re after?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Which you knew about back at Elwood’s?”
Simon watched her. “Yes. Some of it. Not all. We still need Mancuso for the rest.”
“I see.” She blinked a few times. “And did you ever consider the fact that I might not be able to help you? That I might not be able to find these archives? Did it ever occur to you what that would do to me?” Her voice broke on that last sentence, and he felt emotion build in his chest.
“No,” he said honestly.
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Emotions warred across her face, and Simon braced himself for the inevitable explosion of anger.
Out of Time Page 9
