Beautiful Sacrifice: A Novel

She watched him with equal intensity.

“Don’t look like that, sweetheart,” he said huskily.

“Like what?”

“Like I have another party hat in my jeans.”

“You’re not wearing any jeans,” she said, her glance traveling over him with open approval. “Not wearing anything, in fact.”

“Neither are you.” He bent over and kissed her slowly, thoroughly. “We’ll take care of that when we get some new clothes, Padre style. Do you think Crutchfeldt would like to show us through his collection?”

Lina slowly surfaced from sleep and the desire that curled lazily through her. “Crutchfeldt? Why would he?”

“You’re Celia’s daughter. You’ve heard so much about his collection from your mother, and you happened to be in the area, yada yada.”

More awake with each second, Lina thought about it. “He just might. He’s arrogant, proud, and likes to be admired for his scholarly and discriminating taste.”

“Perfect. Bat those fantastic eyelashes at him, make suitable cooing sounds, and generally take his mind off of business.”

She grimaced. “Ugh. That’s what Celia does. The batting and cooing.”

“Works, right? Men can be very simple creatures.”

“Simon Crutchfeldt is odious,” Lina said. “He’d wade through blood to get to an artifact he wants.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “Literally?”

“There are rumors…” Lina’s long fingers moved restlessly over the bedspread. “But rumors aren’t truth. I don’t want to spread lies, even about him.”

“Are those rumors about a network of grave robbers and bloody middlemen who funnel artifacts through Mexican government contacts to Crutchfeldt?”

She gave him a startled look. “Yes. How did you know?”

“Part of any security operation is gathering information. My uncles are good, and two of my cousins are even better. Born hackers.”

“Crutchfeldt.” She said it like a curse. “I can’t decide whether to shower before or after we see him.”

Hunter laughed. “I’ll shower down the hall while you decide. Because if I shower near you, we’ll be in severe danger of making a baby.”

Lina got up. She’d much rather have lured Hunter into bed or into the shower, and knew he felt the same way. But she didn’t object aloud. They had used up all available condoms. Not that she didn’t want to have a baby. She did. Just not nine months from today.

Sometimes being an adult sucked.

Hunter watched Lina’s beautiful butt disappear into the bathroom. He grabbed his clothes, showered, and dressed quickly. A circuit of the house told him that nothing had changed since the last time he’d made the rounds shortly before sunrise. Nobody parked nearby, nobody sitting on a porch, no new tracks in the yard or near the Jeep.

He went back to the house and straight to his uncle’s safe. The combination hadn’t changed. He opened the safe, counted out a wad of cash, took one of the penlights, removed his boot knife, and left a note with his signature. He ignored the handguns and the cache of emergency documents in case he needed a new identity. He shut the safe, smiling.

Lina thought he was paranoid. His uncles were paranoid. They had learned the hard way.

By the time Lina had showered, taken what stains and wrinkles she could out of her clothes, and dressed, Hunter was through fixing breakfast in the kitchen. Toast, peanut butter, orange juice, coffee. Not a feast, but it would keep them going until they found better. They both ate quickly, knowing the meal was meant to be fuel rather than a dining experience.

“No complaints?” he asked as he ditched their paper plates.

“About what?”

“The food.”

“We don’t have freezers and greengrocers and chefs at dig sites,” she said, rinsing out their coffee cups. “We eat what we pack in and are glad to have it.”

He laughed, slid his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her freshly washed hair. “I really like you, Dr. Taylor. You don’t need perfumes and spas and boutiques to make you sexy.”

“A night with you would make any woman feel sexy.” Then Lina heard her own words and blushed.

“Same goes. I’m lucky I can walk this morning.” His teeth closed gently on her ear, his tongue savored delicate skin. “Now march that beautiful ass out to the Jeep before I get us into trouble.”

She took the warning and grabbed her purse on the way through the living room. She noticed the open computer, but left it for Hunter to deal with.

By the time Lina was strapped in the Jeep, Hunter was striding out, computer under his arm. All male, lithe as a big cat, he took her breath away. With a mental curse she reined in her thoughts.

“Do you want me to call Crutchfeldt now?” she asked as Hunter got into the driver’s seat. “Or do you just want to show up at his door?”

“You have his number?”

“He called me a few weeks ago, looking for Celia.” Lina pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “He should still be in the memory.”

“Good. We’re on a short clock. Get us in as soon as possible.”

Hunter drove into the commercial section of town while Lina made nice on the phone with a man she would rather have sliced into fishing bait. He admired her professionalism and hated that he’d asked her to do something so distasteful to her.

But then, holding a bloody rag over a bullet wound was nobody’s idea of nice either. She’d done it without a flinch or a complaint.

I like her way too much, Hunter realized.

Then he smiled. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he knew it. At some level it scared him. He knew what loving and losing was like.

Hell on earth with no time off for good behavior.

“In an hour,” Lina said, closing her phone. Like her mouth, her voice was flat. “He just oozed anticipation over meeting Celia’s oh-so-respected Ph.D. daughter.”

“Good work, Lina. Thank you.”

“If it will help Jase and his family, I’ll deal with the devil.”

“And you,” Hunter said quietly. “Don’t forget your own safety in this. I sure don’t.”

Her mouth tilted in an upside-down smile, but she didn’t say anything.

South Padre Island unrolled on either side of the Jeep—malls and tourist traps sprouted like crazed mushrooms alongside new two-story houses and smaller homes that had been in place for some fifty years or more. The damage from the last hurricane was a memory gathering dust in storerooms along with the plywood used to cover windows during a blow.

It was cooler than Houston, but not by much. The morning sun caused heat ripples to rise out of the asphalt. The breeze from the sea was more hope than actual relief. The swampy smell of the slow-cooking wetlands to the west of them pervaded the humid air like invisible smoke.

Hunter parked near a strip mall with a gas station on one side and a discount chain clothing store in the middle, and tourist traps full of trinkets on the other end. In between was everything including a liquor store, a fake fingernails “spa,” a check-cashing company, a small grocery store, and a Thai restaurant.

He reached into his wallet and pulled out cash. “Get what you need.”

“I have credit and debit cards,” she said.

“Cash only. No paper or electronic trail until we have to show our passports to get on the plane to Cozumel.”

Lina stared at him with wide, dark eyes. “Were we followed to Padre?”

“Not yet, but there’s no point in leaving a trail of bread crumbs.”