Lina swerved to avoid a downed tree. The tires crunched over small branches. The smell of crushed foliage flowed like oil through the open windows.
“So you’ve never known any of your people to dig illegally in the ruins?” Hunter asked.
“There are always rumors,” she said slowly, “but once Carlos took over the family mahogany and cement businesses, the rumors dried up. The source of our money was obvious even to people who disliked us.”
“Sounds like Carlos rules with bare knuckles.”
Lina’s mouth flattened. “Sometimes it’s that or go under. Or have our lands pockmarked with illegal digs, new and old.”
“Leave enough bodies and word gets out that the reward isn’t worth the risk,” Hunter agreed. “It’s a management technique that never ages.”
“Bodies?” She laughed. “Nothing that dramatic. Money works quite well. Carlos keeps the villages happy. They keep him happy. It’s what the Reyes Balam family has always done.”
“Yet Rodrigo, who knows more about this part of the Yucatan than the devil himself, believes there are tomb robbers on Reyes Balam land. Mercurio would have said the same, but he was too busy trying to charm your shorts off.”
“And you?” Lina asked tightly. “Do you believe my family is little better than the narco cartels? Money first and everything else second?”
“I believe you’re honest.” Hunter’s fingers skimmed down her cheek. “I believe the jungle hides as many secrets as hell does, and damn near as many bodies. Until we know some of those secrets, we’re running naked through places where angels in armor would tiptoe.”
Lina chewed delicately on her lower lip. “I know my family—especially my parents—aren’t angels, armored or otherwise. That’s not the same as believing they’ve lied to me all my life.”
Hunter picked over all the possible responses, trying to find one that wouldn’t push Lina away from him.
“Whoever has those missing artifacts is corrupt to the bone,” he said finally, remembering the basement abattoir, “and more dangerous than a bag full of grenades with loose pins. I don’t want you hurt, sweetheart.”
“It wasn’t exactly safe in Houston.”
“No. And we can’t assume it’s safe here.”
“So…you do believe my family is dirty.”
“Dirty as in narco dirty? No. Rodrigo didn’t say anything about drugs or El Maya,” Hunter said. “He just told me I should get the hell out of the Yucatan. He didn’t hint at any danger to you.”
“But you’re still here.”
Hunter didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. His presence was the only statement that mattered.
THE ENTRANCE TO THE REYES BALAM ESTATE WAS GUARDED by nothing but jungle. The grounds were only partially illuminated, just enough to tell Hunter that the landscaping was expansive and not heavily pruned. Smaller homes—probably separate quarters for guests—orbited the big house like cottages around a high-end hotel. The architecture was a mix of Spanish and Maya, modern and ancient. Construction seemed to follow the fortunes of the Reyes Balam family. Older buildings had been renewed and new ones had been built when the family had money.
“Carlos obviously has done well,” Hunter said.
“Once he was through his rebellious years, he has worked tirelessly for the family. Unlike my grandfather, who nearly ruined the family by picking the wrong fight, Carlos has avoided politics.”
“Avoided the limelight, yes,” Hunter said. “No one with real money avoids politics, especially in Mexico.”
What Hunter didn’t have to say was that Carlos was listed among the top tier of wealthy businessmen in Mexico. If people bought cement or mahogany, chances were good that they bought from some arm of Reyes Balam enterprises.
Lina turned off the headlights. The jungle flowed closer, part of the darkness. The stars were lost to the high overcast. Somewhere the moon glowed, but not here, not now.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I love the smell here. Green, living, laced with a hint of flowers and heat.”
“Home,” Hunter said.
Her answer was a soft laugh. “I never thought of it like that, but you’re right. The early memories are the deepest. The sweet mysteries of the jungle, the music of children laughing, women calling to one another at the market, the smell of pork and chiles and unsweetened chocolate. The shocking coolness of jumping into a cenote on a hot day. Playing hide-and-seek among the ruins while the faces of gods watched. The music of life that is the jungle at night. It seems so long ago for me and yet close enough to touch.”
“A lot different from Houston.”
“Houston has its own beauty,” Lina said absently, listening to the jungle. “The rush and tumble of human life, the feeling of being within a giant’s heartbeat, shops offering goods from all over the world, the rhythms of different languages.”
“And the artifacts that tie past and present together,” Hunter said.
“That most of all. The people who lived in the Yucatan before the Spanish have always fascinated me. The resort cities…not so much. They don’t seem quite real, like they landed from outer space.”
The ticks and pops of the cooling engine blended with the random animal noises of the jungle that surrounded the compound. Though neither Lina nor Hunter said anything, they weren’t eager to leave the intimacy of the vehicle and the conversation that had nothing to do with blood and fear.
“I’ve never been able to decide which I like better,” Hunter said, “exploring the marshes of my childhood or the jungles of my adulthood.”
“What about cities?”
“A great place to get supplies, clean clothes, some shows, good food, and see friends. Overall, I prefer greenery to cement. But I’ll take a big city over a small town any day. My uncles are the opposite. They hate cities and love Brownsville.”
“I’m torn between my love of being on a dig and the richness of knowledge that comes with a city,” Lina admitted. “I finally realized that I need both.”
“Me, too.” Hunter linked his fingers with hers, savoring the smooth warmth of her hand in his.
She leaned close enough to smooth his hair back from his face with her free hand. He turned slightly and kissed her palm.
“I suppose we have to go in,” she said.
“Probably. Someone is sure to have noticed us by now. Is your neck itching?”
Her smile was bright in the darkness. “I’m used to being watched by family when I’m here. I am the only Reyes Balam of my generation.”
“No wonder you live in Houston. Nobody there is nagging you to be barefoot and pregnant.”
“And married,” she said. “That’s very important to my family.”
“What about you?”
“If it happens, wonderful. But there’s no nail-biting frenzy to get it done. I don’t want the kind of marriage my parents have.”
More lights came on at the front of the big house. A second row of knee-high lights came on along the main walkway to the house.
“I think that’s our cue,” Hunter said.
She sighed. “Good-bye, privacy. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, but they can be overwhelming.”
“I’ve never met a family that wasn’t.”
Neither moved to get out of the Bronco. Hunter studied as much of the estate as he could see.
Lina studied him.
Despite architectural differences, the various buildings managed to blend together into a pleasing whole. Crushed limestone paths connected outlying buildings to the main house. Gardens thrived with native and imported plants. The blended perfumes of flowers were a silent welcome and an invitation to stay and enjoy. Fountains splashed invisibly, joining all sounds into a gentle music. Native palms and imported bougainvillea interrupted the stucco and tile of the buildings. Sweeping balconies anchored cascades of flowering vines.
“This is what Crutchfeldt was trying for with his monstrosity,” Hunter said in a low voice. “But not
hing beats old money and roots that have grown through the centuries.” His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing more and more detail. He let out a soft whistle. “I knew the Reyes Balam name went back a long way,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to her, “but it’s beginning to sink in that you were born on an estate the size of Rhode Island. Must have been interesting.”
Lina saw enjoyment rather than envy in his expression. So different from Mercurio. Hunter appreciated the age of the combined Reyes Balam family lines, but he felt no need to been seen as an aristocrat in the eyes of his fellow man. Nor did he feel somehow inferior for being “common.”
She leaned closer, brushing her cheek against his arm for an instant. She had been looking for a man like him for a long time—confident rather than arrogant.
“I like the main kitchen and Abuelita’s family table,” Lina said. “The rest of it is simply there. When I was a child, most of the house was off-limits. After I was four, I rarely spent more than a few days at a time in the house. The rest of the time I was shuttled between digs and galleries until I told my mother that I was old enough to live on my own, with my own rules.”
“I’d like to have heard that conversation,” Hunter said with a slight smile.
All Lina said was “I think of the estate as belonging to others, not to me. Which is accurate. I may be the only pure Reyes Balam descendant, but I’m female. The lands and estate aren’t mine and never will be. If I happen to produce a son, everything will pass to him. If I have daughters, it will be held in trust until their first son inherits.”
“Your family didn’t follow the Spanish custom of dividing land among sons and money among daughters?”
“I guess the Maya model held, though most grandsons of Maya rulers inherited nothing but death. Usurpers took the previous king’s name or began their own dynasty, celebrated their own name.” She looked at the flowers and the jungle surrounding everything. “I never really thought about all of this. All I cared about was being allowed to dig in the family ruins.”
“So who owns it all now?” Hunter asked.
“Abuelita’s name is on the deed. She came into it by inheritance. Funny thing is, she lived out in a village called Ixúmel most of her life.”
“Is there a lot of the Balam family left?” Hunter asked.
“Not many. The mainline Balams are all but gone. The ‘cousins’ want nothing to do with Tulum. Even Carlos lives in Houston and only visits here.”
“Interesting. Aside from the weird shrines and some scary dude called El Maya,” Hunter said, “I like Tulum. But then I’ve always liked the Yucatan.”
“Well, for Mexicans, being from Tulum is like being from…”
“Brownsville?” Hunter asked, smiling. “Barely a step above Hicksville?”
“Pretty much.”
A lone figure came out of the front door of the main house, backlit by a hallway of brilliant chandeliers. The porch lights flooded on, revealing Celia Reyes Balam.
As always, Lina was struck by what a beautiful woman her mother was. She looked every bit the aristocrat that her birthright pronounced her. Tonight she was wearing exquisitely fitted black slacks and black heels with more height than leather. An emerald-green silk scarf embroidered in gold thread with Maya glyphs lay softly about her shoulders, partially covering a black silk blouse that had been created to highlight her assets in a sleek and stylish manner. A large, emerald-embedded gold cross hung between her breasts. The gold chain holding the cross was twenty-two carats, gleaming like a well-loved dream.
Even in her five-inch heels, Celia was inches shorter than her daughter.
That’s how she gets away with it, Lina realized all over again. Someone that tiny and voluptuous is always underestimated. Men never get past that “Pocket Venus” thing.
Celia paused at the top of the many steps leading up to the entrance. Mounds and waterfalls of flowers framed her.
“Your mother,” Hunter said, though he couldn’t see her face clearly.
“How did you know?”
“You have her elegance and curves.”
Lina made a startled sound. She’d never considered herself as lushly built as her mother. To know that Hunter thought of her that way sent heat rippling through her.
Celia waved casually, then started to walk down the stairs one swaying step at a time. Even in the low lighting, the sensuality of her walk was striking.
“I don’t move like she does,” Lina said.
“No, you’re sexier. Those long legs add an extra punch that high heels can’t match.”
“Stop it before I crawl right into your arms.”
“That’s supposed to discourage me?” Hunter laughed softly.
Then he bit down on her hand with a tender intensity that took her breath. She forced herself to remember that her mother was approaching.
The wind blew warm into the car, like a huge animal breathing.
“Hunter,” Lina said huskily.
“Yeah, I know. That’s your mother coming toward us like a thunderstorm. Time to see how bad it’s going to be.”
Hunter got out and walked quickly around the Bronco. He gave Lina an unnecessary hand out of the car and shut the door behind her like a good courtier. She smiled slightly and held on to his hand, telling him without words that she wasn’t going to pretend he was just a business associate.
“You sure?” Hunter asked in a low voice.
“Yes.” Her voice whispered against his ear as she went up on tiptoe. “Celia only respects strength.”
“Which is your bedroom?”
“In the back, on the second floor. Southeast corner room.” She smiled suddenly. “Wrought-iron trellis up to the balcony. Watch the bougainvillea. It has thorns.”
“I’d expect nothing less leading to the bed of a princess,” Hunter said. He gave her neck a quick, biting kiss.
Celia hurried forward.
Hunter and Lina walked more slowly. He had time to size up the woman who looked more like Lina’s older sister than her mother.
The files Hunter had read told him that Celia had had her first and only child after a difficult birth at age seventeen. Yet she looked barely a handful of years older than her daughter, a testament to good genes and better plastic surgeons.
“Lina,” Celia said, stretching up to embrace her daughter. “It’s about time!” The words were in Spanish.
Although Lina leaned down into the hug and her mother stood on precariously high heels, Lina was still taller than Celia.
Those long legs add an extra punch that high heels can’t match.
The memory of Hunter’s words made Lina feel much more feminine than her travel-wrinkled clothes.
“I told you I’d be here for Abuelita’s birthday and the holidays,” Lina said in English.
Celia’s mouth shaped into a delicious pout and she said in Spanish, “It’s fortunate that Abuelita insisted on an intimate family celebration this year. You know I depend on you for family arrangements.”
“Really? I’ve never noticed,” Lina said in English.
Hunter told himself he hadn’t heard Celia emphasize “family” twice, but he knew he had.
So had Lina.
“Cecilia, this is Hunter Johnston,” she continued in English, deliberately standing very close to him. “Think of him as a very, very good friend. I do. Hunter, meet Cecilia Reyes Balam, my mother.”
Hunter’s poker face held, but it was a near thing. Lina’s emphasis on the second “very” had been a declaration of intimacy. When it came to throwing down gauntlets, she’d been taught by experts.
He smiled at Lina, letting every bit of the heat and possessiveness he felt shine through.
Celia would have to have been blindfolded to miss it. The flat line of her mouth said that she didn’t like what she saw.
“Señora Reyes Balam,” Hunter said deeply in Spanish, his voice caressing the words like a native speaker. “It is my pleasure and honor to meet you. I now understand the so
urce of Lina’s beauty.”
Then he waited for Celia’s next move.
With the smoothness of a businesswoman and the elegance of a queen, Celia held out her hand. Hunter took it in both of his, letting her measure the difference between his big, work-hardened fingers and her own fragility.
“Mr. Hunter.” Celia nodded, switching to English. “How…unexpected.”
“A thousand apologies,” Hunter said in Spanish. “Lina and I just decided it was time for me to meet her family.”
Lina had a good poker face, too. She’d been wearing it since she’d bent down to greet her mother. Deliberately, Lina rubbed her cheek against Hunter’s arm in a lover’s caress.
Celia watched with eyes that missed nothing. She didn’t like what she was seeing, but she was too shrewd to leap into uncharted territory.
“But of course,” Celia murmured. “Lina’s little friends are always eager to meet her family.”
Translation: Men saw Lina as a way to marry well.
“She is her mother’s daughter,” Hunter said. “I imagine that your marriage to Dr. Philip Taylor was quite a surprise to your family.” Then he smiled.
It wasn’t his warm and fuzzy smile. It was a statement that if Celia wanted open warfare, he’d deliver it. Philip might have come from an old Boston family, but they were hardly aristocrats. Yet Celia had married him despite his lack of great money and noble pedigree.
Celia blinked and reassessed Hunter. He might be a fortune hunter, but he wasn’t weak or stupid. Which was truly unfortunate. Celia’s grandmother had made no secret of her desire for Lina to marry a Mexican man of good family.
Lina spoke casually, as though she was unaware of the dangerous tides shifting beneath the conversation. “I thought it would be a lovely birthday present for Abuelita. I know she worries that I don’t like men.”
Hunter almost choked. He gave Lina a fast sideways look. She responded with a smile that announced just how much she liked a particular man: Hunter Johnston.
Lina was enjoying this entirely too much, but he couldn’t bring himself to spoil her fun. He had a feeling that she was well and truly fed up with being shoved at men and reminded it was her duty to have children.
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