history. To date it, I would need to know where it was found, in what layer of dirt, with what other objects or signs of habitation. All I have is this photograph.”
Hunter noted the flush of temper darken her high cheekbones. The lady had passion. It was part of what attracted him to her. Then he watched anger fade into something close to puzzlement.
Silence stretched.
“What?” he asked.
She flinched as though she’d forgot he was there. “I’m not sure. I feel like I’ve seen something similar to this, but I can’t remember where or when. The shining…” She smacked the desk again with her palm. “Damn the grave robber who cared more about money than knowledge!”
“Grave robbers are poor. Only the endgame is rich.”
She blew out a hard breath. “I know. I spent most of my childhood running barefoot through villages that depended on my family’s generosity for food, clothing, everything but water. And sometimes even that. I didn’t understand then. I just laughed and played with the village children while Philip and their fathers dug through the jungle, seeking Maya heritage.”
“You can’t eat heritage.”
The air-conditioning kicked on, a cool breath settling over the office.
Suddenly Lina looked defeated. She shook her head. “I know. If my child was hungry, I’d be in the front line of grave diggers, shoveling hard.”
His hand squeezed her shoulder, lingered.
“So would I,” he said. “Tell me more about Maya and masks.”
She looked into his silver-blue eyes and saw shadows. She knew he understood loss at a level as deep, even deeper than hers. She tried to remember why she should be angry with him.
She couldn’t.
“Masks,” she said, gathering herself. “Masks were an integral part of Maya rituals. The nobles/priests wearing them would take on the aspects of the god whose mask they wore, or the god would speak through the mask wearers. Either or both.”
“I don’t think the news coming from that obsidian mask would be good.”
“All masks are fearsome to some degree, because the gods are fearsome. But this one gives me chills.”
A movement at the ground-level window caught her attention. Whatever it was vanished before she could focus. Just like all the other times she’d looked over her shoulder, feeling watched.
“You okay?” Hunter asked.
“Yes,” she said automatically, even as her instincts shouted
Hunter’s phone vibrated against his butt. A text had just come in. He fished out the device, hit the button, and read Jase’s message: NEED U. NEW INFO.
“I have to go,” Hunter said, gathering up the photos and stuffing them into their envelope.
“But—” she began.
“For now, you’ll have to work from your notes,” he cut in. “I’ll call as soon as I’m free. Have something good for me.”
The office door closed behind Hunter before she could say anything. The man moved like a cat.
Then she remembered why she was mad at him.
With a muttered word, Lina booted up her big computer and went to work. It wasn’t like she had a lot of choice, after all.
And if she kept telling herself that, she might not have a case of rapid pulse every time he came near her.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN HUNTER LEFT THE MUSEUM BUILDING, HE DIDN’T notice the rising, oddly dry heat of the day. His long legs moved with deceptively lazy speed as he covered ground to the parking lot where he had left his beat-up Jeep. As he walked, he speed-dialed Jase’s number.
“What’s up?” Hunter asked as soon as Jase answered.
“While you were sniffing around the sexy professor, I reviewed those warehouse tapes until my eyes started to bleed.”
“I was working, not sniffing,” Hunter said. A half-truth.
“Nice work if you can get it. I found something interesting.”
“One of the nights covered on those security tapes,” Jase said, referring to the digital record that got wiped every three weeks, “the custodian made an extra trip through the warehouse. Other than that, he was as regular in his rounds as a robot.”
“Huh.” Hunter turned the key. The engine started instantly. Only the exterior looked careless. Every working part was better than new. “You at my apartment?”
“Yeah, I don’t want Ali to suspect that anything’s wrong, that I didn’t take the bus as usual to work. Can you pick me up? It’s Ali’s shopping day.”
“Buses are a pain,” Hunter agreed, “especially with kids and groceries.”
“And pregnant.” There was a smile in Jase’s voice, the sound of a man who was pleased with his woman.
“On my way,” Hunter said.
A few minutes later he pulled to a stop in front of his apartment building. Jase was waiting, dressed in jeans, sandals, and a clean blue shirt whose sleeves were already rolled up against the heat. A light wind jacket made an unnecessary layer, which told Hunter that Jase was carrying.
“How close did the janitor get to the stuff?” Hunter asked as Jase slid into the passenger side of the Jeep.
“That’s tough to tell. The recording devices are only triggered by movement. Some of the guys had complained about that and the lack of enough cameras to cover every angle, but the brass blew it off.”
“Cameras cost money. Where we going?”
As Jase told Hunter the address, the Jeep poked out into city traffic. People and faces flowed by on all sides, shades of pale sliding into rich mahogany. Cowboy hats were common, whether they were made of leather or felt or straw.
“The janitor could’ve spent a few minutes in the area where the artifacts were,” Jase said. “I could see him come and go on the record, but not exactly what he did. That whole aisle wasn’t covered well.”
“Budget is a bitch. Is this a regular janitorial guy?”
“He’s on the crew, more or less checks out. But get this, he’s taken a few days of unannounced vacation, starting about three days ago.”
Hunter’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting.”
“Yeah. So let’s go knock on his door, ask a few questions.”
“How’d you get the address?”
“Usual way.”
“A warrant?” Hunter asked.
“Ha-ha. I told the head of PR of DeWatt Industrial Solutions that he could talk to me or I’d come back with a warrant for his personnel files, checking so-called Social Security numbers against government databases.”
“Oh. That usual way. Thought you weren’t supposed to show your badge.”
“Brubaker can sit on it and spin.”
Hunter smiled. “You do know where the address is?”
“Dirtbag central,” Jase said.
“Just so you know.”
