First You Run (5 page)

“Put some clothes on, man!”

Alone in the car, Ahkal took a cell phone from the glove box and dialed ten digits.

“Have you made the sacrifice, my lord?” a voice asked.

He smiled into the phone. “I have made the supreme sacrifice merely by walking this earth. Tonight, I left a message.”

“Very good. But will she heed it?”

The smell of the dead quetzal on his hand made his head spin. He mustn’t have cleaned it completely. “She will, or we will make the next message clearer. Miranda Lang must be stopped.”

The thump of a fist on his window made Ahkal jump and drop the phone.

“Get out of here, you freakazoid! I’m callin’ the cops!”

Without looking at him, Ahkal drove away.

“P
LEASE DON’T WORRY
,
Mom.” Miranda threw a rueful glance at Adrien, who flashed his deep, delicious dimple but kept his attention on the freeway traffic he navigated.

She hadn’t put up much of a fight at the car-rental agency when he upgraded her Saturn to a chunky Range Rover that matched his personality and style and, evidently, budget. Once he flew back to San Francisco, she’d downsize to a car she could handle for the rest of the trip. But this was too much fun. They were way above the road—and most other cars. Though he drove fast, he was skilled, never once giving her a reason to second-guess her decision to let him drive her.

He was skilled at
everything,
she mused, while she listened to her mother drone on over the cell phone about how dangerous it was for Daddy to golf when there could be a lightning storm. “Men get killed that way, you know, Miranda.”

“I know, Mom.” Then she let her thoughts, and her gaze, slide right back to the man behind the wheel.

Who was a great conversationalist, a soothing presence, and, just as he’d promised, a helluva good kisser. Her tummy flipped at the memory, her fingers tingling to touch the bit of tattoo that inched out from today’s T-shirt sleeve. Which, unlike last night’s bad black, was white and tight enough to show every rip and cord in his body. And there were many. She especially liked that muscle that ran from his jaw down—

“You know that, don’t you, Miranda?”

To his broad shoulder. “Of course I do. But Daddy knows what he’s doing.”

“That’s not what I meant. Are you driving? You don’t sound like you’re paying attention. You’re not on the phone and driving at the same time?”

“Hands free, I promise.”

Adrien whispered, “Shame on you, lying to Mum.”

She flicked him away, then came up with an excuse to end the call. “I see my exit now. I’ll call you later, okay? Tell Daddy I love him. You, too. ’Bye.”

“You failed to mention me to Mum.”

“Can you imagine?” Miranda laughed. “By the way, Mom, I’m traveling with a long-haired, tattooed Australian security specialist I picked up at my book signing last night.”

“Another lie,” he said. “I picked
you
up.”

“Either way, I just omitted the truth. It’s not a lie when it’s your mother; that’s self-preservation.”

“Has she ever omitted the truth to you?”

The question came from so far out in left field Miranda had to stop and think about it. “I guess I wouldn’t know, would I?”

He shrugged, which drew her attention back to his arm. “You like my ink?” he asked, flexing his bicep.

“It’s daunting. What is it?”

“An Aborigine axe blade.”

“Lovely.”

“It is, actually. I lived with a tribe when I was a teenager, and they gave me this as a welcoming present when I arrived.” He put an easy hand on her leg, giving it a squeeze. “I’ve got more. I’ll show you mine, if…”

She lifted his hand and returned it to the console. “Do I look like the kind of woman who would have a tattoo?”

“Do I look like the kind of man who would make snap judgments? You could have a tramp stamp, for all I know.”

“A tramp stamp?”

He placed his hand on her neck, then traveled down her back, inching her forward in the seat until he burned the spot about a centimeter above her tailbone. “It goes right here, where no one can see it but your lover.”

Heat burned where he touched, and her lower half melted.

“A very sexy tattoo,” he said.

So was his. She arched her back to encourage him to pull his hand out, but he just glided up and pressed one finger into a muscle between her shoulder blades. “This is another popular place for women to get tats.” He continued north, tunneling into her nape. “Sometimes you find one here, too.” He tapped the base of her skull. “Yes?” he asked teasingly.

He had to feel the goosebumps that rose all over her at that. “Drive, Adrien.”

With a chuckle, he returned his hand to the wheel. He turned off the highway, and soon they were traveling through rolling hills, all crisp and dry and the color of toasted rye bread.

“Couldn’t look much less like a rain forest,” Fletch noted. “One match could turn this entire place into charcoal.”

“California in the summer is dry as a bone. That’s why I’m curious about how she managed to make a rain forest, of all things.” She pulled a piece of paper from her handbag. “We want an unmarked road with a high white gate.”

After a few minutes, they spotted an electronic gate in the middle of an eight-foot-high stucco wall with a simple brass plaque that said canopy. The gate was open, and when they drove in, it clanged closed behind them.

“They must have cameras or a sensor,” he said.

The road curved sharply at first, then grew steeper until it leveled out under an umbrella of trees, the foliage growing thicker, darker, and greener with each passing mile. Just as the road narrowed to a single lane, it crested at a hillside.

“Oh, my God,” Miranda said, leaning forward. “It’s unbelievable.”

Below them, a hundred acres of every imaginable shade of green rolled out like an endless emerald carpet, a shock of vitality in the middle of dried-up hills. Clusters of mini-forests dotted the landscape. Dropped in the midst were three massive orange clay structures shaped like stepped pyramids with giant open porticos on top, all adorned with brilliant turquoise and gold shimmering along the squared-off rooflines and columns.

“A bit like
Jurassic Park,
isn’t it?” Adrien mused.

Only that was a movie. This was
real
. “It’s a perfect reproduction of Palenque. The big building with a tower is the Palace, and over there is the Temple of the Inscriptions.” She pointed to a smaller structure, farther away from the two. “And the Temple of the Sun. Some say it is the most perfect of all Maya architecture.” She drank it all in, stunned by the imagination and breadth and splendor of it. “It’s actually more beautiful than the ruins, because the colors and jewels are the way they were almost fifteen hundred years ago.”

“Who
is
this guy?” Adrien asked. “This had to cost the earth to build.”

“I have no idea who Victor Blake is,” Miranda said. “But I can’t wait to meet his wife. What vision this must have taken, and what knowledge of the Maya.” She turned to him, excitement in her voice. “She’s a shaman, did I tell you?”

“You mentioned it. I knew one once. An Ab, out in the bush.”

“Was she a healer?”

“She was a he. Most shamans are, you know.”

A few minutes later, Doña Taliña Vasquez-Marcesa Blake floated down the wide and noble steps of her sixty-five-foot pyramid-shaped home to greet her guests. She was every bit as breathtaking as the world she’d created as her backdrop.

She wore white linen slacks and a cool yellow tunic, her ebony hair slicked straight back into a smooth bun, with chunks of pounded silver around her neck. She moved with grace and focus, reminding Miranda of the animal that the Maya worshipped above all others: the jaguar.

Doña Taliña looked nothing like her plain Mesoamerican ancestors. From a flawless coffee complexion over striking cheekbones and piercing ink-black eyes right down to her delicate gold shoes, she was glorious, and surprisingly young. She couldn’t have been forty, with a slender, toned body and a smile that emanated warmth.

When she reached out to greet Miranda, the warmth was a comforting, inviting, irresistible heat. They embraced as though they’d known each other forever.

“Dr. Lang! At last!” She cooed the words with a breathy Mexican accent, stroking Miranda’s cheek with an affection that would be startling if it hadn’t been so genuine. “I am so honored to have you at my home.”

Her “home” was a replica of a fifteen-hundred-year-old vaulted stone palace, complete with reproductions of hieroglyphs and ornate carvings along the walls and enormous columns that supported a wrap-around portico, topped off by a four-story tower that loomed over everything. This replica was slightly smaller but no less impressive than the actual palace built by Pakal, arguably the greatest king of the Maya empire.

“Thank you so much for the invitation, Doña Taliña,” Miranda replied, shifting her gaze from the beautiful woman to her home. “I’m the one who’s honored.”

At the sound of Adrien’s door, Doña Taliña transferred her attention to him.

“This is Adrien Fletcher,” Miranda said. “My…traveling companion.”

Doña Taliña’s eyes flashed surprise, but she covered it with another demonstrative greeting. Miranda hadn’t said she was bringing a guest, since she only decided at three that morning, and she hoped her hostess would understand.

“Welcome to Canopy,” Doña Taliña said. “I have some tea on the veranda ready for us. Someone will get your bags.” She indicated for them to follow her up the stairs. “Will you need separate, adjoining, or a single room?”

“Separate,” Miranda said.

“Adjoining,” Adrien said at the same time.

Their hostess smiled knowingly. “We have an entire guest wing to guarantee your comfort,” she said, curling her hand into Miranda’s arm to lead her up the stairs. “Now, tell me about your travels and all the wonderful reception your book has been getting, my dear.”

She continued small talk about the drive, the event that evening, and the weather, as they climbed three dozen stone stairs before reaching the shade of the portico, where lounge chairs surrounded a table spread with fruit and cold drinks.

At a single finger lifted in command, Doña Taliña’s staff hustled to pour tea and serve food from silver and jade trays.

“My husband sends his apologies that he isn’t here to greet you,” she said. “He’s been detained in a meeting in Los Angeles.”

“What does your husband do?” Adrien asked.

Doña Taliña beamed with pride. “He is a brilliant entrepreneur, a man with vision and understanding. But he is humble and will simply tell you that he’s a private investor. I’ll tell you this, he is a natural salesman.” She laughed softly. “He could persuade anyone to do anything. He persuaded me to leave the country I love to live in California.”

“He’s obviously worked hard to make you feel at home here,” Miranda said. “Canopy is amazing.”

“Thank you. It is home now.” She turned to Adrien. “And it sounds as if you are far from home as well, Mr. Fletcher. How long ago did you leave Australia?”

“Nearly two years ago,” he said.

“Do you plan to return?”

He glanced at Miranda before answering. “Eventually.”

Doña Taliña still seemed amused. “Is your future tied to Miranda, then?”

“My future isn’t tied to anyone, Doña,” he replied.

Miranda stepped up to a mosaic mask mounted on a wall, seizing on a chance to change the subject. “This is absolutely gorgeous, Doña Taliña.”

“Please, call me Taliña. We are not that formal at Canopy.” She stepped closer to Miranda and reached up to touch the mask. “My husband commissioned this as a wedding present. That is
k’ahul ahaw,
but of course you know that.”

“A holy lord,” Miranda explained to Adrien. “And I assume that’s pure jade.”

“It is. He indulges me.” Taliña tucked her arm around Miranda’s waist, a whiff of musky perfume drifting from her. “And now you can see why I love your work. I love how you’ve captured the spirit of the Maya, demystifying without demolishing. I find it exhilarating to read.”

Taliña’s touch would be an invasion of personal space from anyone else, but the woman was so warm and authentic that Miranda didn’t mind. “Thank you. I hope readers agree with you.”

Dark eyes flashed. “They must. Anything else is just foolishness.” She paused for a moment, surveying Miranda’s face. “Tell me why you have such trouble in your spirit. This should be a time of strong happiness for you.”

Could she really sense that? Or was Miranda’s face giving away a sleepless night? “It was a long drive,” she said. “And…a late night.”

Taliña rubbed her hand over Miranda’s back, frowning. “There’s something else.” Her fingers stilled. Right in that spot between her shoulder blades, the one Adrien had touched not an hour earlier. It tingled again, and Miranda drew in a surprised breath.

Adrien moved slightly, tensing up from his position against a carved relief of a warrior’s shield, his eyes sharp on the two women. Taliña guided Miranda away from him.

“Sit here.” Taliña gently pushed Miranda into a chair in the shadows, then took another next to her, closing fingers heavy with silver, jade, and a few choice diamonds over Miranda’s unadorned ones. Wordlessly, she stared into Miranda’s eyes for a long, uncomfortable minute, the pressure in her hands increasing with each second, along with the intensity of her midnight gaze.

“What did you dream last night?” Taliña asked.

“I don’t remember.” Had she even slept last night? She’d tossed, turned, sighed, relived kisses, and thought about the man sleeping on her futon.

“There was blood,” Taliña said.

Miranda’s jaw loosened in surprise, but she checked her reaction. Taliña released her hands and put fingertips on each of Miranda’s temples. “There is worry here.” She placed a light fingertip over Miranda’s heart. “And alarm here. I can help you.” Taliña stood and slipped through an arched doorway, into what Miranda assumed was the living area.

“Maybe she can help,” she said, unable to meet Adrien’s direct gaze. “Maybe she can simply divine who left that message for me last night.”

“Maybe.” But there was enough doubt in his tone to tell that he didn’t believe.

Taliña returned through a different doorway, crisp linen brushing as she walked. She sat next to Miranda and held up a round hand mirror, encrusted with a rim of large, yellow topaz stones set in silver filigree.

“My
toli,
” she explained. “It will allow me to see.” She angled the mirror so they could both see the reflection. Miranda glanced at the glass and at her own face, seeing bluish circles under slightly puffy eyes, and the lone coat of mascara she’d applied at dawn had long ago flaked off. It didn’t take a shaman to see the stress on that face.

Taliña stared at the reflection, frowning. “Someone wants to hurt you, my dear. Someone is going to hurt you very much.”