The Jaguar Queen

by Betsey Kulakowski

  “Well, there’s another theory,” Rowan retorted.

  The detective glanced between the two men. “Is there one I haven’t considered?”

  “We discovered the professor’s research assistant was suspected of skimming and fencing Mayan artifacts on the black market. He and another assistant have gone missing.” Miller said.

  “Except, I’ve seen him,” Rowan said, stabbing the photograph between the eyes with his index finger. “My team was here when DeLaFuentes was murdered, and we worked with Dr. DeLaFuentes while we were here.”

  “Before he was killed?” The detective’s face contorted into a puzzled expression.

  “No, after ...” Rowan said.

  The detective laughed. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No,” Miller pushed the picture of Santiago Mateo across the desk. “This is the man who was working as his research assistant. He gave the name Matt Iago, but, you know him as Santiago Mateo.”

  The detective looked up with a stunned expression. Rowan could tell he recognized the name. “You worked with this man?”

  “You know him?” Miller asked.

  “He’s on our bureau’s Most Wanted list.”

  “Oh he’s on my list too,” Rowan said. “We want to help you find him.”

  “You think he killed the professor?”

  “Yes, and if he still has any of the antiquities he’s stolen, we want to return them to the university too.” Rowan added. Murder was one thing but scalping historical artifacts on the black market was just as bad in his book.

  “Do you think he had something to do with the professor’s murder?” the detective asked.

  “Technically, we’re not here to investigate this murder. Our primary objective is to locate the girl ... and if possible bring a fugitive of the law to justice, with aid, I hope. Perhaps we can help you solve your murder investigation and tick a name off your Most Wanted list.”

  The detective had listened patiently. When Miller finished he sat back and sniffed. “You’re in my jurisdiction,” he said, without preamble.

  “Which is why we came to see you,” Miller said. “I’ve already met with Mexican Officials in Mexico City,” he said. “Your government has agreed to cooperate. I have all the authority I need, but, as a courtesy, I prefer to make this a joint effort.”

  “So, how can I help,” he asked, picking up Stephanie’s picture again, then Mateo’s.

  “This woman was last seen in the company of a fugitive from the law just a few weeks ago,” he pushed Mateo’s picture back at him. “I need a BOLO on Mateo...and Stephanie Wentworth.”

  “This I can do,” he said. “I’ll have every officer on patrol looking for them.” He turned and glanced at Rowan then back to Miller. “What else?”

  “Can you recommend a good hotel?” Miller gave him a crooked Texas smile.

  Gutiérrez smirked and nodded. “I know the best place, but ... it’s New Year’s Eve,” he said. “There is a fiesta, and the rooms may be booked. Let me make a call and see if I can pull a few strings.”

  “Thanks,” Rowan said. “Gracias.”

  “De nada.”

  * * *

  The two Americans were still in the parking lot when Detective Gutiérrez picked up the phone and dialed a now familiar number. He lowered his tone before he said anything, making sure everyone else in the bustling detective’s room was too busy to overhear. “That problem you thought might come back to haunt you? It’s back.”

  “So soon?” The voice on the other end said.

  “And this time, he’s brought back up,” Phillipe said.

  “What kind of back up?”

  “Federales,” the detective said. “The kind who can easily get extradition if it came to that.”

  “Let’s make sure it doesn’t,” he said, drawing the words out.

  “And you should know ... they know about the antiquities ... and DeLaFuentes.”

  There was a long hesitation before an answer came. “Remember that favor I said I might need?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m going to need it. Walking papers and a plane ticket to San Diego.”

  “I’ll have the courier bring it over as soon as I get it,” he said, glancing at the photo his recent visitors had left behind. “I even have a photo for the passport.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Just make sure my compensation is sent back.” The detective turned his back as he spoke gazing out the window as the visiting Agent’s SUV pulled out of the parking lot.

  “If everything is in order and you can get it to me tonight, I’ll throw in a little something extra after the job is done.”

  “I’ll get it taken care of,” Phillipe said.

  “Any idea where I can find that little problem?” Matt asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do.”

  * * *

  “What?” Stephanie asked when Mateo hung up.

  “Your hero has returned to save you,” Mateo slung his phone across the room onto the bed, angrily. “It’s time to make yourself scarce. Think you can do that?”

  “I’ve been scarce for the better part of the last ... how many years?” Stephanie purred in his ear, running a rough nail along the curve of his tightened jaw. “Just leave it to me,” she said. “I’ll take care of everything. I just need one of those fancy portable phones and perhaps a trip to the salon?”

  “You act like I’m made of money.” He grabbed her abruptly, flipping her around into his lap, eliciting a startled yelp which turned into a giggle. She wrapped an arm over his shoulder and leaned in to kiss him.

  “I know you’re not made of money,” she said. “But I am ...”

  “Uh huh...” His hand ran down her back and pulled her into him. “But until you have it in your hot little hand, no trips to the salon ... no shopping trips ... no champagne or caviar.” He accentuated each item with a quick kiss; first her palm, then her elbow, and lastly, her neck.

  Stephanie sat back and stuck out her lower lip. “Well you’re no fun.”

  “When we find the money, we can have all the fun you want,” he said.

  “Are you sure we can’t have just a little fun?” She held up two fingers spread only a few inches apart, as she batted her eyelashes and lowered her chin.

  The inuendo was not lost on Santiago. He lifted a dark brow, considering her suggestion for a moment. “Well ... maybe just a little ... but only the free kind.”

  Stephanie smiled coyly at him, as she ran her finger down his chest, and twisted it into a curl of hair at the base of his throat. “Now, now. You know I don’t do free or cheap ... but I do accept credit.”

  “Mmm...” his lips captured her’s. “Credit huh?”

  “Visa ...” She kissed him quickly as he had her. “Master card .... Or American Express...”

  “Never leave home without it...”

  * * *

  It was late in the afternoon when they arrived at the hospital. It took nearly an hour before they got to the right person. Finally one of the nursing supervisors was able to tell them who the woman was and who had picked her up when she was finally dismissed.

  Fortunately for Rowan, Miller’s Spanish was flawless. “The woman told hospital staff her name was Olivia Harper. She was checked out by none other than Dr. DeLaFuentes,” Miller explained. The hospital administrator pulled the files and sat behind a desk with them closed in front of her.

  Miller asked to see the security tapes, and the administrator hesitated for a minute before offering a resigning gesture. With a motion for them to wait, she went and contacted the security department to pull the tapes. When she returned, she explained to Miller that they would have to go to the security office to get any more information.

  The tapes confirmed what the administrator had told them. As soon as the couple left the hospital, the information was completely worthless. Where the two might go was the next mystery they would have to solve.

  “She didn’t look afraid to you when they l
eft. Did she?” Rowan asked. “In the video?”

  “He had his hand in the middle of her back, but she seemed to be going with him willingly,” the federal agent agreed. “We need to retrace your steps, I think.”

  “My steps?”

  “He approached you, Rowan. Of all the teams working at Chichén Itzá that week, it was you and your team that he gravitated to. I just can’t see that being a coincidence.”

  “If the impostor killed the real Dr. DeLaFuentes, he could have found the man’s itinerary in the car. It could have had my name on it.” Rowan wasn’t so sure it wasn’t a coincidence.

  “But why would he bother impersonating an archaeologist?” Miller queried.

  Rowan thought about that for a minute. “Good question.”

  * * *

  Their rooms were ready when they arrived at the Hotel Mérida, which was located closed to the Cathedral near the middle of the city. They would make for Chichén Itzá in the morning. Miller wanted Rowan to walk him through their previous expedition. Rowan wanted another look at the circle of stones.

  That night, they walked through town to find dinner, discovering a raucous New Years’ celebration. Dinner wasn’t a problem, every street vendor in town was out. The perfume of grilled meat and tortillas had Rowan’s mouth watering. Miller appeared from the crowd with a couple of margaritas in plastic cups. Rowan didn’t hesitate to take one and drain it. They feasted and toasted out the New Year ahead of the midnight fireworks celebration. Miller insisted on staying, but Rowan was tired. He wanted nothing more than to go back to the inn and call Lauren. Since his experience the other night, all he wanted was to hear her voice.

  As he walked back to the hotel, the margaritas were swirling in his veins. The music throbbed in his head. The surging crowds passing him added to the problem of simply trying to walk straight. He stopped at the steps of the inn, startled by the man leaning on the arched entry way.

  “Hello, mi amigo.” He grinned devilishly. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”

  “You are not my friend,” Rowan snarled. This time he really meant it too. “Where’s Stephanie?”

  “She’s safe,” he said. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

  “I’d like to hear that from her.” Rowan leaned on his knees, trying to stop the world from spinning.

  Santiago considered him for a moment before he chuckled wickedly. “You have no idea what you’ve stumbled across. Have you?”

  “I’d really like some answers about that,” Rowan stated flatly.

  “I’m sure you would,” he said. “But this isn’t the time nor the place.”

  Rowan swayed. The tequila hit him hard. “You’re right,” he said, reaching out to catch the lamp pole next to him. He tried to steady himself.

  “Did you enjoy your margaritas?” Santiago grinned. “You know the good thing about lime and tequila? They hide the taste of any kind of drug you want to dissolve in them. Drugs like benzodiazepine. You’ve heard of that, right?”

  Santiago’s words seemed to swirl in the void around Rowan’s head like echoes. “Date rape drug.” The words slurred. Rowan dropped to one knee.

  Santiago came to his side and lifted him to his feet. “That is a horrible name for it, considering this isn’t a date and I certainly have no intent of anything so nefarious,” he said. “I like it because it makes you do what I want you to do.” Santiago led Rowan down the street, struggling to keep the bigger man on his feet and moving in the right direction. “It’s also useless as a date rape drug on men... makes it hard to get a decent stiffy.”

  “That’s not very nice,” Rowan’s words slurred as the drug began to take its full effect on him.

  “Don’t worry,” Santiago said. “You’ll forget all about it by morning.”

  “Oh, that’s good. Where are you taking me?”

  “I need your help,” Santiago said. “I need you to help me find something.”

  “Oh,” Rowan stumbled and lost his feet, taking Santiago down with him.

  Santiago swore in Spanish as he wormed out from under Rowan’s limp body. “You could stand to go on a diet, my friend. You’re as solid as they come.” Rowan made a decent attempt to get to his feet on his own, but Santiago got him up and all but drug him into a small house, before he passed out cold.

  * * *

  Lauren sat up until after two a.m., waiting for Rowan to call. She hadn’t talked to him since he left, and she hadn’t expected the new year to come in without at least a call from him. She’d tried to reach him other ways too and thought for sure she’d found him a few days before. The effects of her efforts had been surreal. She’d dreamt of making love to him in a way she hadn’t been able to in a long time. His body had responded to her’s. It had felt so real to her. She thought for sure he’d felt it too, but now... she wasn’t so sure.

  Tsul’Kalu had told her she could call to him when she needed him, but apparently that kind of need wasn’t what he’d meant. She was prepared to try again, since he wasn’t answering her phone calls.

  She tossed the phone aside and lay down, closing her eyes, willing sleep to come. She was certain she could find Rowan in his dreams. He wasn’t one to stay up late. So she was certain he must be asleep.

  Distance and darkness were no obstacles, but Rowan’s consciousness wasn’t responding to her. She could feel herself pacing around him, but the room was dark, and as she reached for him, she found only a void. “Rowan,” she called, but he wasn’t there.

  It had been so much easier before. He’d been willing and had accepted her presence even though it made no sense to him. That acceptance had allowed her to touch him, to feel his breath on her skin, and to love him the way he needed her to. His hunger had fueled her energy and given her authority over him. But once his need was sated, she couldn’t hold on to him any longer.

  Clearly, she’d done her job too well. He didn’t need her, and she couldn’t reach him without that energy. She woke up before dawn, aware of the futility of her efforts. It irritated her. What had been so easy before, hadn’t worked a second time. She got up and went to the kitchen to make some breakfast. She was sitting at the table when the phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number, but she answered anyway.

  “Lauren, it’s Miller,” he said, his voice heavy.

  “What’s wrong?” She felt it in her core immediately.

  “Have you talked to Rowan in the last twenty-four hours?”

  “No, why?”

  “He was headed back to the hotel last night to call you,” he said. “He wasn’t in his room when I went to meet him this morning. It doesn’t look like he slept here last night. I have no idea where he is.”

  Lauren stood, the baby kicking as she did. “What?” She ran a hand through her hair. “You lost my husband?”

  “Lauren, don’t panic,” he said. “I will find him. I just needed to know if he called you or not.”

  “Well he didn’t,” she said, brusquely.

  “I’ll call you as soon as I find him,” Miller said, and the line went dead.

  Chapter 21

  Lauren paced the living room. Her hands trembled. Worst-case scenarios played out in her head. Had he been unavailable to her because he’d been with another woman? That was the first thing that came to mind, but she promptly dismissed it. Female fans were always mooning over him, but she knew his heart. She knew he would never cheat on her. Rowan Pierce loves me. That was the truest sentence she knew.

  Her second thought was that he was dead in a back alley somewhere. That thought chilled her heart and almost made it stop. She hurried to the bedroom, debating what to do first. She had to do something, but what?

  She willed herself to calm down. She took a deep breath to slow her racing heart. Panic wouldn’t help Rowan. But if she could help him, she had to try. Steeling herself, she closed her eyes, and reached for him in the darkness. “Rowan!” She called for him silently, but as forcefully as she could. The force of her effort made the room sp
in and she stumbled back on the edge of the bed. She managed to sit rather than fall. Safely positioned, she tried again. This time she mustered all the energy she could. “Rowan!”

  * * *

  Rowan sat up a bit too quickly, looking around in the dark. Disoriented and sore, he moved in an attempt to improve his position. He found his hands and feet tightly bound. He realized he was moving, when the vehicle hit a pothole and he was tossed about, banging his elbow against something hard. A pained cry escaped his throat and the darkness threatened to envelope him again. A second pothole was his undoing, hurling him headfirst in the side of the truck.

  The faint had been kind enough. When he came to a second time, he was no longer moving, and he had the distinct feeling that it was Lauren’s voice that had called him from the void. He took comfort in knowing he wasn’t alone. He didn’t know where he was, or what had happened to him. He could feel she was close. That assured him that he’d be okay. He genuinely believed it.

  A rattling at the door made him freeze. A lock was being opened and he debated the feasibility of lunging past whomever it was. He had to try to make an escape, but then with the bonds around his hands and ankles he knew it would be futile.

  Daylight blinded him as the door swung open with a metallic groan. “Welcome back, Mr. Pierce.” Santiago Mateo stood grinning at him. “I hope the ride wasn’t too rough on you.”

  “I’ve had better.” Rowan groaned as Mateo pulled a knife from his belt.

  Rowan recoiled, throwing up his hands defensively. “Whoa, there’s no need for violence...”

  Mateo sniggered at him, and reached for the bonds around his feet, pulling him around so he could cut the ties. “Don’t get your panties in a twist, Rowan,” he said. “You can’t help me with your feet tied.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to help you?”

  “You don’t have any choice,” he said. “I’d sure hate for your beautiful wife to have an accident, especially considering how close she is to delivering.”