Beautiful Sacrifice: A Novel

“Mi prima,” Carlos murmured to Lina. “I am glad to see that you don’t ignore Abuelita as you do me.”

Lina smiled. If Hunter hadn’t known her better, he would have thought it was warm.

“As you know,” she said lightly, “my job at the museum is very demanding. It seems like my last class was only yesterday.”

“Family is always first,” Carlos said.

“Of course,” she said, but her eyes said she was biting her tongue.

Hunter stirred.

Carlos’s head snapped to the side as though he hadn’t noticed the other man until now. He looked at Lina. “Who is this?”

Like Celia didn’t tell him two minutes after I arrived, Hunter thought sardonically.

But he was familiar with the kinks and knots of family life, so he simply waited like a good guest while Lina introduced him to Carlos. Instead of the head-of-the-family grilling Hunter had half expected, Carlos shook hands and turned his attention back to Lina.

Message received, Hunter thought. I don’t exist.

Two maids ghosted into the room and put plates of seafood canapes on a heavy coffee table that already held a ragged stone face. Celia complained to Carlos that Philip wasn’t here, yet she knew he was on the estate. She also said she preferred the previous chef, who had been trained in Europe.

Carlos shrugged and turned to Lina. “Come, mi prima, you must see my latest artifacts.”

The blue-tiled wall leading to the artifacts glittered like it was underwater.

Hunter offered to get canapes and drinks for Celia and Abuelita. Celia declined. Abuelita didn’t seem to hear him. He excused himself and went to investigate the food.

It was going to be a long night.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

THE DISTINCT CRUNCH OF CRUSHED LIMESTONE MEETING hard-soled combat boots came like bizarre jungle calls from around the perimeter of the compound. Hunter waited until the guard closest to him continued on his predictable rounds.

If I was handling security, Hunter thought, there would be a lot of job openings. These clowns should be dancing with elephants in a circus.

On the off chance that the guards might be backed up by other, more subtle men, Hunter waited in the shadow of a group of sabal palms whose trunks were buried in flowering vines and gardenias allowed to go feral.

I’m going to smell like a vase of flowers when I get out of here. Plus fresh blood from the damned insects eating me alive. Good thing all my shots are current.

There were diseases out in the jungle that were a lot more dangerous than the armed men making their mechanical rounds of the Reyes Balam compound.

Hunter waited, a semiwilling sacrifice to the insect gods.

No hidden guards moved. No sharp odor of cigarettes or matches hung in the darkness beyond the lighted paths. Toward the big house, two young women called from the huge kitchen, teasing the men who would rather be romping in bed than stomping around in the dark with guns.

When the guards had completed two rounds, Hunter picked his moment and ghosted through the landscaping, ignoring the noisy pathways. There were only a few flickering lights on the second floor at the southeast corner of the house—candles beckoning him. The rest of the floor was dark.

He wondered if the rooms were truly given over to guards, or if Cecilia had used that as an excuse not to let him sleep under the same roof as Lina, princess of the Reyes Balam line.

The muted, liquid illumination of the candles through screened windows drew Hunter as surely as his hunger for Lina. The landscaping lights around the house provided more ambience than security. It was way too easy for him to drift among the shadows that dipped and danced with every mood of the wind. The ancient bougainvillea was more ladder than barrier. The thorns drew blood he barely noticed. The sturdy wrought-iron balcony was an invitation he took with both hands. He went over the railing like a jungle cat, more imagined than seen in the shadows.

The French doors leading inside weren’t locked. Hunter dropped to the balcony floor, eased open the doors, and listened.

Nothing but his heartbeat.

Silently he went low through the doors, closing them as he slid behind one of the heavy draperies that had been gathered at either side of the door. The sitting area was empty of all but half-consumed candles, the TV silent. A partially open door waited to the side. He stood near the door, listening, watching, wanting.

The scent of cinnamon and woman curled from the bed to him in a silent caress. The alluring line of shoulder and waist and thigh called to him. The pale, fragile silk of her nightgown revealed and concealed with every shifting breath she took. The dark shadows of her nipples, the shadow between her thighs, her slightly parted lips slid like a knife into his heart. For an instant he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, could only feel the ache of certainty sweeping over him.

She was everything he’d ever wanted, ever dreamed, ever hungered for in the loneliness that was his life.

Abruptly Hunter decided they could talk about artifacts and death later. At this moment other things were more important.

Lina’s bed was draped in a fragile fall of mosquito netting. A single candle flickered at her bedside, beyond the reach of the netting. Slowly Hunter licked the finger and thumb of his right hand, pinched the wick, and let the room slide into a radiant kind of darkness. Exterior lights glowed beyond the screened windows, turning them into luminous silver.

With quick motions he stripped off his boots and clothes, making sure his weapons and condoms were within reach. He pushed through the gauze, feeling it slide like breath over his naked body. He put one hand over Lina’s mouth as he let the mattress dip beneath his weight.

The electric change in Lina’s body told Hunter that she was awake.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmured against her ear.

He felt her smile beneath his hand, but it was the hot lick of her tongue over his skin as she breathed his name that told Hunter she knew exactly who was in her bed.

“Go back to sleep,” he said softly. “Don’t mind me.”

His erection prodded her hip in bold contradiction.

She would have laughed out loud if his hand hadn’t covered her mouth. As it was, she bit the base of his thumb slowly, deliciously, then sucked one finger into her mouth for a hotter caress, the kind of tasting she wanted to do all over him.

“Is anyone else on this floor?” he asked.

Lina savored the unique flavor of his skin—jungle and salt, a metallic hint of blood and dusty thorns—before she reluctantly gave up teasing his finger to answer.

“Only the night guards, and they’re out making rounds,” she said softly.

“I noticed. Bunch of clubfooted clowns.”

“Their guns are clean and loaded. Carlos checked them before they began their shift.”

“Your primo struck me as a demanding sort of employer,” Hunter said, but his lips and teeth tracing her flaring cheekbone said that there were other demands a man could make.

Hungry ones.

“He is. That’s why he’s successful. Celia checked their clothes and fingernails. She won’t abide dirty guards inside the house.”

“Did Abuelita check their ammo?”