Out of Time

by Samantha Graves

  She didn’t seem to realize that she’d gone into a complete trance in the yard. All the blood had drained from her face. Her eyes had glazed over, unblinking and unseeing. Her body had turned stiff, like death. For a moment, he had been afraid she wouldn’t come back at all. Did that happen every time? Did it always take that much out of her? It had never occurred to him what effect the lens would have on her.

  She’ll be all right, he told himself. She had to be.

  He watched her circle the other artifacts, her eyes now clear and bright. Blond hair curled around her face in the humidity. Color rose in her cheeks and lips. And when she smiled at him over the Olmec head, he realized how much he liked looking at her face. He’d even play tourist for that privilege.

  They moved through the outdoor exhibits with Jillian studying every fragment of rock. Aside from the heads, the rest were touted as thrones, altars, and stelae. But to him they were simply stones that could be anything, given enough imagination. Archaeologists.

  Inside, the museum was small and unpretentious but well attended. And filled with more rocks. Jillian stopped in front of a small exhibit of bowls and masks. He’d had enough of rocks for the day and was about to suggest they leave, when she whispered, “Look at that cup. Someone crafted that thousands of years ago.”

  She looked around, and her expression dimmed. “Such a small collection. So little left of an ancient race.”

  “Some races leave nothing behind,” he noted.

  Jillian eyed him. “Maybe that’s because someone’s stolen it.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. “And maybe a cup is just a cup.”

  Fire lit in her eyes. “It is a glimpse into the past. Into humanity. Where we came from.”

  He grinned. “Or maybe they just wanted a cup to drink from. Doesn’t tell you a damn thing about them. You don’t know what they drank or why. It might as well still be in the ground.”

  Her voice rose. “Is that how you justify what you’ve done?”

  A few people glanced in their direction.

  He narrowed his eyes at her. Was she trying to pick a fight? “And who are you to tell me I’m wrong? Some of my best customers were museums.”

  Her eyes widened. “I would never—”

  “You’ve worked with stolen goods, and you know it. How many pieces have ‘unknown origin’ on the provenance? It’s easy enough to forget that when it’s in your hands, isn’t it?”

  He was aware of the stares they were getting, but he didn’t care. This was one battle he was tired of fighting. It would end here.

  She was fairly trembling with anger, and her words were clipped. “It doesn’t make what you do right.”

  “Unless it goes to a museum,” he countered. “And then it’s okay because you don’t care how it got there or whose backyard you took it from.”

  “Our pieces come from all over the world,” she said.

  “Exactly. And how do you justify putting your name on something from outside New York? Or the U.S.? Or North America? You don’t own those.”

  “If we didn’t have artifacts from other countries, how would we learn and appreciate their cultures? How would we get to view the beauty and art of ancient peoples?”

  Simon countered, “And what about the people who watch artifacts being dug up in their villages by archaeologists? They take everything away to their museums, your museum, and those village people get nothing.”

  A small Mexican man wearing a museum patch on his lapel approached. “Excuse me, but I’m going to have to ask you to keep your voices down.”

  Jillian completely ignored him. “This is irreplaceable history. Would you rather that it wind up in some collector’s closet where no one can see it, or used to buy drugs? Would that be better?”

  “Por favor, senorita—” the man said.

  “Maybe it would,” Simon told her over the man’s voice. He pointed to the cup. “Because a thousand years from now, I won’t give a shit if someone finds that I once owned a fucking coffee mug.”

  Jillian said, “You don’t know that. Someone might want that knowledge. Respect it, even.”

  “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” the man said, looking a little nervous.

  Simon crossed his arms. “Like you? Not everyone has your vision, Jillian. Trust me, no one will care.”

  She went very still, and her eyes burned into his. Then she spun on her heel and stormed out of the museum.

  Oh, no, you don’t, he thought and went after her. Every time they started this conversation, she bailed. Not this time. He caught up with her halfway back to the Jeep.

  “We finish this here and now. No more running. No more guilt trips. Everything on the table,” he said and pulled her to a stop. She rounded on him with so much fury in her eyes that he almost stepped back.

  “You think this is funny?” she said and threw her arms out to encompass the yard. “You think the past means nothing? That history is worthless? Because if you do, then you think I’m worthless.”

  She was mad as hell. He’d never seen her like this, so out of control. “That makes no sense, Jillian.”

  “It makes perfect sense,” she said, and took a step forward until she was toe-to-toe with him. “That’s why you don’t care about humanity or what it took for us to get this far. You have no faith in man.” She jabbed a finger in the center of his chest with a sharp fingernail to make her point.

  “Hey, that hurt.” He rubbed the spot. “Faith in man? Have you taken a good look at man lately?”

  “The only time you care about the past is when you can use it for your own selfish gain.”

  He’d wanted a fight. He got one.

  “Trust me,” he said softly. “If Celina’s life wasn’t on the line, I wouldn’t touch another one of your precious trinkets. From where I stand, they have never caused anything but pain.”

  She glared at him and said, “You have no idea what pain is. You don’t know some of the horrible, horrible things people have done with objects. But there is still beauty underneath all of that. You just don’t want to see it.” Her lip trembled when she finished, and she bit her lip to stop it. “Are we done now?”

  He blew out a breath. Yeah, they were done. There would be no agreeing on this point. “We’re done.”

  She glared at him. “Good.”

  Simon walked behind her back to the Jeep. He was crazy to think anything he’d said would sink into that stubborn head of hers. What did he care? Once this was over, she’d be back at work, huddled over something that mattered only to her. Consumed by the past.

  When they reached the Jeep, he scanned the parking lot for any familiar cars as he unlocked the doors. One blue pickup truck caught his eye. Had he seen that recently? He committed the license plate to memory, just in case.

  Jillian said, “I would care, you know.”

  He looked over the hood of the Jeep, and her gaze met his.

  “I would care that you owned a coffee mug. I wouldn’t let you be forgotten,” she said and climbed into the passenger side and shut the door.

  Not forgotten? It took a moment for her words to register. Because she would be able to see him. It occurred to him that the past was more than just the passing of time to her. She saw it like no one else, was bound to it in a way that no one could ever understand. Felt responsible for respecting it, for keeping it sacred, for remembering it.

  If you think history is worthless, then you think I’m worthless.

  Now he understood what she meant. The question was, did she understand? Because no one could live in the past all the time. No one could carry that burden for the whole of mankind, not even Jillian. She’d have no future.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Donovan took a puff of his Cuban Cohiba cigar, careful to not let the long ash tip drop on his new linen suit. “Are you sure they are here in Mexico?”

  The woman on the other end of the line said, “Positive. They came in through Veracruz and are making their way across the
country. Right now, they are near Catemaco.”

  Donovan balanced the cigar between his fingers and studied the tight wrap as he exhaled. “Do you think they’re on the trail of the archives?”

  “I know Bonner. He has a plan. Nothing will get in his way.”

  “And you think he’s capable of finding this cache?”

  “If anyone can, he can. You’ll have treasure worth more than you could ever imagine.”

  Donovan swung his feet off the mahogany desk and walked across the marble between the expensive furniture and tropical plants to the penthouse balcony. He leaned against the thick glass railing.

  The beach below was covered with half-naked brown-skinned beauties, white lounge chairs, and grass umbrellas. He loved Acapulco in the summer.

  “Half of the treasure,” he said.

  “That was the deal,” she replied, her voice hardening ever so slightly. “I find the treasure, and you clean up the mess.”

  Donovan smiled. That was a mighty big price for cleanup, and he knew why. She’d screwed everyone from heaven to hell. He wouldn’t trust her until he had the treasure in hand. “That was the deal. By the time I’m done, you won’t have any worries.”

  “I better not, Mr. Donovan. I want a clean start.”

  He savored the cigar. “You will. And you’ll keep me posted as to their progress?”

  “Of course. I’ll contact you as soon as they find the location. You have men ready to move in?”

  Donovan tapped the cigar on the railing and the ashes scattered into the wind. “Of course.”

  “Good. It’s nice doing business with you, Mr. Donovan.”

  He smiled. “Perhaps we will work together again sometime.”

  She laughed. “I don’t think so. This is my chance to get out of this business, and I’m never coming back.”

  “Pity. Your skills are valuable.”

  “I know,” she said and disconnected.

  Donovan closed the phone and watched the sun glisten across azure water. Boats and yachts dotted the bay. A rich man’s paradise, to be sure. This deal could bring him not only money but also a glory he longed for. No one was going to top this. He would be the best of the best, go down in history, even. All he had to do was keep it together for a few more days.

  He took a puff and pressed a preset on his phone. While it dialed a long number, he watched the women walk along the shore topless.

  “Hello.”

  Donovan said, “It’s a go. Put me through to Walsh.”

  Catemaco Lake was absolutely lovely, Jillian decided as the crater lake stretched like glass to the volcanic edges. Late afternoon sun kissed the shallow waves, and giant herons careened overhead. White tourist boats with blue-striped canopies chugged along the shores. Small sailboats zipped over the dark blue water.

  The makeshift stands by the side of the highway increased in number as they neared the city of Catemaco. Some folks waved as they passed. Jillian smiled at the love for life and the energy the people of Mexico seemed to exude from their souls.

  “We need to find a place to stay. Any preferences?” Simon asked.

  “Separate rooms would be perfect,” she answered.

  He glanced at her, but she pretended not to notice.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” he said, tight-lipped.

  The city itself stood majestic and proud tucked in the jungle and hills. Colonial buildings gleamed above the palms and deciduous trees. Graceful arches adorned every storefront and stucco facade.

  The city was lively with scattered marching bands and celebrations in the squares. Clowns wielding balloons entertained the children, and families wandered up and down the streets.

  Simon stopped at three hotels and each time came out shaking his head. They wound up in the southern part of the city in a small hotel with peeling paint, broken tile floors in the lobby and no elevator to the upper floors. Her room was on the small side but clean and bright, with a third-floor view of rooftops and the mountains to the south.

  She stepped out on the balcony and took in the scenery. The sun was dipping lower in the sky and promised a gorgeous sunset.

  “Nice view.”

  Simon’s voice surprised her, and she spun around to find him in her room with his bag.

  She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t tell me.”

  He smiled and dropped his bag. “Only room available. The circus must be in town.”

  Her gaze cut to the lone full-size bed that would barely accommodate Simon. Perfect.

  “Still mad at me?” he asked. He watched her with wary eyes. Although he looked relaxed in the cotton shirt and shorts, there was a tension in his face that betrayed his true feelings.

  You can’t save him.

  “I guess we just come from different worlds,” she said.

  A corner of his mouth curled. “Right.” But he didn’t sound like he agreed. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

  She pulled on her hat. “Is it safe to walk around?”

  “It is with me,” he said. She realized that she believed him.

  As they wandered out onto the street, Jillian absorbed the sounds and smells. Tiny markets and stalls sold crosses and magic amulets, side by side.

  As they walked, Simon explained that Catemaco was well known as a spiritual haven for wizards and witch doctors offering spells and cures for anything that ails. Signs everywhere offered readings and incantations while boys on bicycles did their best to steer them into the shops. Simon discouraged them with one look.

  At one stall, a unique necklace on a table caught Jillian’s eye—a long, clear crystal wrapped on one end in intricate gold filigree and suspended on a gold chain. She stopped and picked it up. The facets seemed to drink in sunlight, spotlighting everything they lit upon. Colors flashed and merged and pooled back to white.

  “Beautiful,” she murmured.

  The crystal spun slowly, feeling far heavier than it looked, and Jillian was mesmerized. The seller minding the booth said something in Spanish to her.

  Jillian blinked. The woman had beautiful brown skin, a wide forehead topped with white-streaked hair pulled back into a ponytail. She looked familiar somehow.

  “Por favor?” Jillian said.

  Simon leaned in. “She said the crystal is very old. Very special. The only one she has.”

  “Si,” Jillian said with a nod. “Muy bueno.”

  The seller smiled, revealing straight white teeth set brightly against her brown skin. Then everything got very quiet, and Jillian couldn’t take her eyes off the woman. A familiar dissociation threatened, and fear prickled down Jillian’s spine.

  “You are the one,” the woman said to her in perfect English.

  Jillian swayed on her feet. “What?”

  The old woman pointed to Jillian’s eyes. “You can do this. Don’t be afraid.”

  The words hung in her ears until the sounds of Catemaco rushed back over her, drowning her senses as she fought to get a grip. She didn’t even realize Simon had taken the necklace from her until the seller handed it back to him in a bag. Jillian stared at the woman, but she’d already busied herself with another customer as if nothing had happened. As if they hadn’t been the only two people in the world a moment ago.

  Jillian closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead. What was happening to her? Was she hallucinating now?

  She opened her eyes when Simon removed her hat and lowered the necklace over her head. It settled perfectly between her breasts, exposed by the low tank top.

  Her fingers traced the length of the crystal, feeling a strange warmth. It was the same feeling she got whenever she worked with an artifact with positive memories. In this case, a gift from Simon.

  Something old.

  Something from the past.

  For her.

  She inhaled at the insight. He knew.

  When she looked up at Simon, his eyes were dark and intense. A shudder went through her at the concentration of his focus. Blood flowed to key parts of her body in dan
gerous anticipation. For the first time in her life, she felt truly understood by a man. Now she knew why her mother tried to save her father. Why a woman would risk that. But she couldn’t. It would hurt too much.

  “Thank you, Simon,” she said softly.

  He gave her a smile and replaced the hat on her head. “You’re welcome.” Then he laced his fingers in hers and led her through the city.

  The blue truck was parked across and down the street from the hotel when they returned from dinner. At 10:00 p.m. the streetlights were few and far between, but Simon knew it was the same truck he’d seen at the museum.

  “Shit,” Simon muttered. This was going to be a crappy end to an otherwise excellent day.

  “What is it?” Jillian asked.

  He gazed at her upturned face, still flushed from a night of laughing and dancing and enjoying life. His eyes lingered on the crystal cradled between her breasts. Damn lucky gem.

  He ushered her inside their hotel lobby and handed her the key to the room. “Go to the room and lock it. Don’t let anyone in but me.”

  Her eyes widened. “What’s wrong?”

  “Something just came up that I need to handle. Go.”

  She eyed him with uncertainty and then headed to the stairs. He waited until she was out of sight before ducking out the side exit of the building into the dark alley. Not the smartest thing to do in Mexico at night. Every one of his senses was on high alert. He wished he’d had time to get the gun he’d borrowed from Mancuso.

  He ran down the alley to the next street over behind the hotel and then took the next alley back. When he came out again half a block down from the hotel, he had a good view of the other side of the street. He waited.

  Ten minutes passed with no movement before his night eyes picked up a small flame and a man lighting his cigarette in a closed and darkened storefront entry. The flame went out, but the cigarette glow gave him away long enough for Simon to make his way down and across the street. He came up behind the man.

  Simon reached out, grabbed him by the throat, and slammed him against the hard stucco. The man flailed as Simon pulled him forward and banged him against the wall again. There was an unmistakable crunch when man met wall.