Chapter Thirteen
Sun shone through the blue nylon of the tent, waking Mallory. She reached for her T-shirt and looked over her shoulder at her sleeping husband before she tugged it on. Sand was everywhere, on the bedding, in her hair. They’d stumbled back to the tent last night, turned to each other in sorrow, in need, burning off their restlessness in a way that had seemed crass only hours earlier.
They’d fallen asleep facing each other, touching. Now Adrian slept peacefully, and she needed a shower.
The shower had been reassembled after the last storm—Linda had insisted—and the cistern was full from last night’s rain. She pulled the soap and shampoo she’d swiped from the hotel out of her pack and stepped through the nylon flap into the enclosure.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
Her heart slammed into her ribs, then dropped to her toes at the brusque Scottish tone on the other side of the nylon wall. She slapped her hand to her chest as if that would keep her heart from jumping out.
“Having a heart attack! Jesus, Adrian! I thought you were asleep.”
He flung open the flap. “What are you doing going off on your own?”
“It’s broad daylight and I feel gross.”
“I woke up and you were gone. Scared the hell out of me.” His gaze flicked to her bare breasts.
“You’re here now. Keep watch while I shower, all right?”
The look in his eyes made it clear what he intended to keep watch on. She shoved his chest, pushing him out of the enclosure. How many times had they gotten wrapped up with each other in a camp shower? Often enough that people stopped walking by the camp showers without making sure where Adrian and Mallory were first.
He took a reluctant step back. “I’ll keep watch. Though it seems a shame to waste the water for two showers.” His gaze floated to her breasts again.
With a growl, she shoved again, in no mood for him. She closed the door and dumped water on her head, wishing she could vent her frustration on him.
Keeping an eye on Mallory as she went to his tent to dress, Adrian strolled over to the Land Cruiser, ready to indulge in one of Toney’s cigarettes. He didn’t have a lighter, so he needed to use the one in the vehicle.
He stopped short as he reached for the door. Footprints circled the truck—not his and Mallory’s because they would have been washed away in the storm, or at least softened. No, these footprints were very distinct, made after the rain. They surrounded the truck before disappearing on the hard-packed sand leading to the campground, in the direction of his tent. Terror slammed his heart against his ribs. Someone had been here.
Jesus. Mallory. He ran to the tent, blood roaring in his ears.
Mallory looked up sharply from tying her boots when he entered. “What is it?”
He blew a breath out through his nose, trying to calm himself, wanting to alert her, but not scare her. “Someone’s here.”
“One of our people?” Her excitement rose as she stood.
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t even thought of that. If it had been Toney, he would have made contact. No, the secrecy made the motive seem sinister. “I just saw footprints outside the truck.”
“You didn’t—outside the truck?” She closed her hand around his wrist. “If someone is out here, do you think someone may have killed Dr. Vigil?”
“I’ve considered it.” And pushed the thought from his head because that meant danger for his brother. But something in the angle of the entry wound seemed off to Adrian. Robert wouldn’t have wanted to look into the barrel of the gun that took his life. Had he shot himself with the gun in his hand, or had he been trying to defend himself? “But why would they kill the old man?”
“I don’t know! He caught them robbing or something.” Her voice carried over the dunes. “We need to get out of here, go for help.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe that’s where the others are. They took the boat for help. We need to go.” She turned toward the vehicles.
“Mallory.” He gripped her shoulders and met her gaze. “Remember how long it took for the roads to dry after the last rain? We’re stuck here, at least for another night.”
She went white and swayed. “We can’t be.”
He had to calm her, though he wasn’t feeling too calm himself. “If someone planned to hurt us, they could have done it last night.”
“What’s to stop them from doing it tonight?”
“Because we’re going to sleep in shifts. I’ll look out for you while you’re sleeping, all right? Maybe we should stay in the truck. At least we can lock the doors.” Which wouldn’t stop anyone from shooting through the windows, but he wouldn’t mention that.
She dragged her hands through her wet hair, trying to gather herself. “Why are they doing this? How did they get here and leave if we can’t?”
“I don’t know. Maybe they had a boat.” He motioned toward the beach. “Get your gun and come with me to the truck. I need a cigarette.”
She was only a few steps behind him when he walked down to the water’s edge, to the debris scattered there.
The cigarette could do nothing to ease the rising panic in his throat. The white and red chunks on the sand were fiberglass pieces of the Miss M. He crouched beside one, picked it up, looked at the ragged edge. It had possibly struck a reef somewhere and gone down. Or it could have been destroyed by the same people who may have killed Robert.
His brother, his people, might have been on it at the time. Because he hadn’t remained vigilant, his brother might be dead.
He tossed the cigarette aside and gripped Mallory’s arm to turn her around, lead her to camp.
“We’ve got to get our dive gear.”
“What? Why? Adrian, your arm—you can’t dive. You won’t be able to swim.”
He stopped, glared, her words barely penetrating the roaring in his ears, the need to know the truth. “I don’t have a choice. I think someone blew up my boat.”
They found bits and pieces of gear in the camp—most had been kept on the boat or the barge, including the compressor for the air tanks. They found two half full tanks in the rear of one of the trucks, a pair of fins in Toney’s tent, another pair in Jacob’s. No scuba suits, but the depth off the coast wasn’t much, and the water wouldn’t be too cold.
Tension built in Adrian’s chest as he strapped the tanks across it. He didn’t want to dive and find the bodies of his brother, his friends. He was not built for shit like this. Burying the professor last night had used the last of his reserves and he couldn’t take anymore.
But he couldn’t leave them, either.
He grasped Mallory’s arms before they jumped off the edge of the dock, forced him to look at her, forced himself to comprehend the worry and fear in her eyes. He needed to keep her safe too. “We don’t know what we’ll see. We have no clue where they are. You shouldn’t go.”
She met his gaze steadily. “You need me down there. I’ll be all right.”
He brushed his thumb over her bottom lip, then bent down and kissed her, hard. He didn’t know how he’d manage without her here.
The water was quiet beneath the surface, almost as calming, as mind clearing as the cigarette had been. They had no idea where the boat had gone down, had only a little air. Their first search would have to yield something. They wouldn’t get another chance until they returned with equipment.
The wreck wouldn’t be right off the dock. The structure itself hadn’t been damaged. They had to swim, and his guess was to swim in the direction of the cove entrance, where the boat would have come in from the barge.
He and Mallory didn’t have enough air to make it to the barge itself.
The water was clear; they could see to the bottom without having to swim along it. The closer they stayed to the surface, the less air they used. If he could just calm himself, he could make the half-filled tank last. He was an experienced diver. He could do that.
Mallory, who swam slightly ahead, motioned to him. Ah, hell. What did she see? He approached and saw bits of red and white on the seafloor below. He pulled a dive buoy out of his pocket, used his regulator to inflate it and sent it to the surface. When they came back with help, they’d be able to find the site more easily.
He kept an eye on his gauge as he descended. They had to conserve air for decompression stops, and they’d already used nearly half of what they’d started out with. Shit. They were going to have to do a quick discovery dive and get out.
Mallory watched as he set his alarm. Five minutes was the most they could spare.
They had definitely discovered the site of the accident, and from the scattered looks of things, it had been no accident. The boat had exploded.
Yeah, possibly the compressed air had blown and foul play hadn’t occurred, but Adrian couldn’t get the image of Robert’s body out of his head. He didn’t want to bury more friends, but he had to know.
With a disdain he couldn’t show on an archaeological dig, he tossed pieces aside, looking for bodies, for anything that would let him know what had happened to his people. He kept an eye on Mallory and said a silent prayer that she wouldn’t find anything grisly.
His alarm went off too soon, and he was tempted to ignore it, but they were alone in this wild place. They couldn’t risk the dangers of staying down too long. He signaled to Mallory and they slowly rose to the surface.
They didn’t have enough air to spend the full time allotted at the last decompression stop, so both were gasping for breath when they broke the surface. He looked into Mallory’s eyes, then out over the water.
Where the hell was his brother?
They lay side by side on the beach, panting as they stared up at the sun. Mallory hadn’t had to swim that distance in years. Fortunately, the tide had been with them. She didn’t think Adrian had the strength to pull her back to the beach. She needed to check his injured arm, but he probably wouldn’t allow her yet.
“We need help.”
“We have to wait. Being stuck in the jungle would be worse than being stuck here.” His voice was strained, as if he was holding on to the last of his own sanity.
“Unless we’re killed here.” Mallory couldn’t stop the panic that threatened to choke her. She wanted to be brave, damn it, to be strong, but everything was just so big and out of control.
“Mal.”
She sat up. “No, Adrian. We’re miles from anyone, anything. No one is coming to help us, and we can’t leave. Our friends are missing, we have no boat, we have no gear. I’ve never felt so helpless in my life.”
“We’re fine. Just calm down.” He rubbed his hand down her arm, but she was in no mood to be comforted. She jerked away. He stood with a sigh. “We’ll get through this. We can do it. We don’t know that they’re dead. Let’s see if we can find the sat phone.”
“We could start packing up,” Mallory said. “That might make it easier to find.”
Adrian tensed at her words, clearly unwilling to admit defeat. “Maybe. It’s a lot of work.”
“We’ll be here for a couple of days.”
“Unless we find the sat phone,” he reminded her. “Let’s just keep looking. Don’t leave my sight.”
After lunch, they packed the residential tents. Working together, the task didn’t take as long as Adrian had expected but was emotionally draining, especially packing up his brother’s things. Toney had been the member of his family he worried about least of all. He’d always been able to take care of himself. Still Adrian had managed to let him down.
“Adrian!” Mallory’s shout of alarm had him turning, reaching for the gun he’d tucked at the small of his back.
She ran out of the tent she’d shared with Linda, something in her cupped palms.
“What is it?”
She stretched her arms in front of her so he could see the two mouthpieces he’d searched for before she’d left with Jonathan.
“Linda doesn’t dive.” Adrian looked from the evidence in Mallory’s hands to her face.
“Looks like she didn’t want you to, either.”
What the hell?
Adrian walked through what was left of the camp, avoiding Robert’s tent yet again. Everything else was packed up, the only thing they could do as they waited for the roads to dry. He just couldn’t bring himself to go back to Robert’s tent.
He had to, however. They needed to pack his things, ship them to the States. Adrian would keep his books, unless there was a will stating otherwise. Unlikely, since he was estranged from his family because of his career choice.
Yes, Adrian saw the irony there.
Mallory might want the professor’s books, though.
He pulled out the cigarettes, lit one with the lighter he’d found in Toney’s tent, a habit as old as shaving, as new as, well, as being with Mallory again. And probably not as bad for him as she was. He drew on the filter, savored the calm the nicotine settled over him.
“Hey.” Mallory came up behind him before the cigarette was half gone, placed a hand on his shoulder. “We have to do this.”
With one last drag, he tossed the remaining cigarette into the sand. He blew the smoke out on a breath and nodded that he was ready.
Since he’d left the sides of the tent up, the rug and the chair were soaked again. Adrian would carry them to the dock to dry in the sun. He wouldn’t think about the blood splattering either of them, the sand around them.
“Oh, no!”
Only at Mallory’s cry did Adrian realize that the books they’d left on the ground had been soaked by the storm. In his grief, Adrian had forgotten about them. The mess here might hold the answer to the professor’s death. Robert could have been going through them when he was shot. Or the shooter could have been looking for something.
Had Robert surprised a thief?
He wouldn’t express any of these fears to Mallory, who knelt beside the ruined books, searching for something to salvage.
Books, texts on everything from Maya culture to shipwrecks to tourist books on the Yucatan Peninsula, were swollen with water, their words distorted. Some of these books Adrian remembered had been old when he’d started working with Robert.
He crouched beside Mallory, who hid her face behind her hair. The hitches in her breathing told him she was crying. He slid a soothing hand over her shoulder.
“They’re only books.”
“You know what they meant to him.”
“I know.”
“It’s insult to injury. Was he studying when he died? Is that why they’re like this?”
“I don’t know, Mal. We’ll never know. Is there anything that isn’t damaged?” He dropped his hand and leaned to look in the trunk, pulled out a stack of books and placed them on the cot. “The ones at the bottom aren’t so bad. Look, here’s The Cordemex.”
She almost smiled as she took the big leather-bound book from him, ran her hand across it. “My dad gave him this.”
Ah, geez, how could he have forgotten that her connection with the man went back even farther than his own? Even though she hadn’t worked with Robert in years, she had worked with him longer, loved him longer.
She widened her eyes. “What? I’m okay.” Since he wouldn’t stop looking at her, she leaned forward to rummage through the trunk. “Anything else in there?”
Adrian pulled out a couple more texts, on the bottom given that Robert didn’t use them as much, but the professor hated to travel unprepared for any possibility. Removing the last book from the box was disappointing, like after opening gifts on Christmas morning, only to not get what you wanted.
“Where’s his dig journal?” Mallory asked.
“What?” Adrian had just dropped a book on top of another book with a thud and hadn’t heard.
“His dig journal. The one I saw him using the other night was red, with kind of a paisley design.”
He sorted through the books even though he knew he hadn’t seen it. He swore. If someone had killed Robert, that person had his notes. It could be the same person who had taken his manuscript. How much time had passed between his room being ransacked and Robert’s death? Had the killer used his notes to find the camp?
“He always had it with him.” Panic tightened her voice, making her movements jerky as she looked around the tent.
Adrian reached out a hand. “It’s not here.”
Her eyes, when she turned her attention to him, were wild. “Someone took it.”
“Probably.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “To see what we were up to? I don’t know.” It was too late now anyway. His secret was out. He eased back on his heels. “What do you want to do with the ruined ones?”
She sighed and trailed her fingers over the spines, reading the titles. “They’ll mildew in no time. We’d better burn them.”
He knew what that cost her and wanted to touch her, let her know he understood. But she stood abruptly, bumping the cot, and the books he’d stacked there fell to the sand.
A scrap of cloth tumbled out from between the spines. With it, a piece of delicately carved ivory.
A familiar piece of delicately carved ivory. Adrian’s blood went cold.
Mallory crouched, picked it up carefully with the cloth and inspected it before looking at him.
“What is it?”
“It’s from the Tunisia dig.” And had no business being here.