His Lost Mate (A Steamy Paranormal Romance Novel) (15 page)

“Damn, why don’t they leave it open?” Justin asked.

Deven picked up a notebook, leafed through the pages and frowned. “Minimizes the damage to the structure. Keeps animals and the weather out,” he said without looking up.

“And people too,” Kyle added. “They probably do the most damage.”

“Where are all the artifacts from this pyramid?” Justin pressed.

Margaret stood and brushed her hands together, sending off a puff of dirt. “Some are on display at the Sylvanus G. Morley Museum in Tikal. Others were sent to museums or stored in the basements of museums or governments buildings for future study.”

Lauren stopped digging for a minute to drink from her water bottle and observe Deven. He continued demonstrating techniques to Kyle and Justin in their grid squares, hardly stopping for a break. He was patient, encouraging and enthusiastic. The heat never slowed him down. Not only was he an excellent teacher and archaeologist, he really looked sexy even in his dusty clothes.

* * *

After several days of heavy rains, the team had to postpone their excavation. Deven had waited out the storms in his tent or in the CUB, reviewing notes and project plans. Each day away from the dig was a delay they couldn’t afford. Anything could go wrong and officials could shut them down again. At least the students were keeping busy with their studies.

Finally, the sun decided to break through the clouds, although a light mist swirled around the pyramid and dig. Flecks of sunlight glittered through the soaked leaves and tree branches. Deven dropped his trowel and stood, arched his back and rolled the kinks out of his shoulders. Glancing up at the pyramid, he studied the condition of the stones. For many centuries, decaying mold and mineral deposits had stained the stones, giving them a charred appearance. Devil’s Pyramid was one of many isolated archaeological sites around Tikal, but El Zotz fascinated him more than the others, and he didn’t know why.

Lauren was totally consumed by her work, like an experienced scientist. He doubted she was aware of his observation at the moment. Earlier, she had selected her grid, convinced that there were artifacts in that particular location.

Some archaeologists claim that they have a sixth sense and knew where to dig. Deven figured it had more to do with educated guessing or just plain luck. Although he didn’t believe in psychic intuition, he wasn’t surprised when after only a few hours, Lauren was the first to unearth an artifact.

Lauren gently brushed dirt away from the large shard of pottery. Not slowed by the rain, she was meticulous and methodical, as well as patient, hard-working and intelligent—all good qualities for an archaeologist. Her damp blonde hair hung limp from the intermittent drizzle. Her hands and her trowel were caked with dirt.

“I see the benefits of the pink handle on your trowel. You can find it in the mud.” Deven commented as he examined her progress.

She glanced at him over the top of her sunglasses. “I painted it myself.” She held up the tool for him to see. “I know it seems silly, but I can always tell which one is mine. I worked on a site in Arizona last summer and trowels had a way of disappearing, while a couple guys in my class managed to collect extras. So I painted this one. Guys wouldn’t get caught dead using a pink one.”

Deven smiled and pointed at the broken clay bowl she was uncovering. “That piece is ready for a photo.”

Lauren didn’t even look up. She kept staring at the shard of pottery.

“You didn’t move it, did you?” Deven asked.

“No, I didn’t,” Lauren groaned.

“Just checking.” He couldn’t hide his amusement. It didn’t take much to spark a response from her. The position of the artifact in relation to other pieces surrounding it was important. It might give small clues to the Mayan civilization. She turned her back on him, pulled the camera out of its case and snapped a picture, then squatted down and gently picked up the broken bowl. It was brownish-red with a faint hint of a yellow swirling design.

“It’s like a tiny piece in a puzzle of ancient history,” she said.

“A huge puzzle and with no idea of what it will look like when complete.”

While Lauren was studying her artifact, Deven studied her. The dirty knees, damp, stringy hair and mud-stained clothes didn’t hide her beauty. Thoughts of the night in Flores kept drifting in his mind. Her kisses had been hot, and he was getting hard thinking about it. What would have happened if Sylvia hadn’t interrupted? Would he have invited her to his room?

Things had gotten out of hand and he’d put her in an awkward position. Which probably explained her coolness toward him ever since.

He wasn’t convinced that it was possible to have a personal and intimate relationship with his student and still maintain a professional and academic rapport. He had to consider the consequences an affair could have on the overall reputation of the field school if things between them went south.

Better if he kept his distance, but he was not convinced that he could.

One of the guards in a camouflage uniform walked the outer perimeter of the dig, on the edge of the forest. It was a comfort to have an armed guard on site even though it was also an annoyance.

He rubbed his forehead and eyes with his hand. Damn, another headache and it was beginning to pound. Lauren was still hovering over that piece of pottery. Her eyes looked dazed and miles away. He crouched down beside her. He almost groaned out loud when he noticed her nipples erect beneath her cotton T-shirt. “Something wrong?” Deven asked.

Lauren didn’t answer right away. “No, I was wondering about this piece.” There was a dreamy tone to her voice. “I was trying to imagine the person who made this. What was his life like? Who taught him to make pottery? What did he use it for—cooking, storing, eating…? Did he have a happy life? A sad one? Did he have a family?”

She stared at him, looking for answers. Desire glinted in her eyes—desire for knowledge or desire for him? He felt a tug in his chest.

“Those are good questions, but not all can be answered.” Damn his voice was quivering. He cleared his throat. “You have a very perceptive and nostalgic viewpoint.”

“Not very scientific.”

“You have the heart and soul of an archaeologist. There’s nothing wrong with looking for the everyday details of an ancient culture within artifacts. It’s the little details that help put the pieces together to understand history. We hope they give a clue to the past.”

Lauren gently placed the pottery shard in the labeled plastic bag and stared at him. “Is that what you’re hoping for?”

Deven was lost in her honey-brown eyes. Her gaze traveled from his eyes to his mouth, then quickly glanced away. Was she regretting the evening by the lake or aching for an encore as much as he was? He sucked air into his mouth and tried to slow the pulse throbbing in his pants. “What do you mean?”

“What are you hoping to discover with this project?” Her tone was stiff and professional. He silently cursed himself for wishing she’d at least acknowledge the heat between them. He’d never behaved unprofessionally around a student before. This was so unlike him.

God, he wanted her. He took a deep breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “I want what every archaeologist wants. To find out what happened to the great Mayan civilization. Around 900AD ninety thousand or more people just disappeared. I want to know why.”

Lauren smiled. “A much bigger goal than finding out what food they ate out of this bowl.” She held up the labeled bag with her pottery artifact.

“I know,” he groaned. “I sometimes get obsessed with this project.”

“I’ve noticed.” She laughed. “But it shows the pride you have in your work.” He loved her laugh, such a relaxed and joyful sound. He squinted as the latest rain shower stopped and the sun peeked out from behind a dark cloud.

“Aha. Finally the sun shows itself again,” Lauren announced. “One more day of rain and my hair will grow mold.”

He started to laugh, then stopped abruptly. It made his head pound in pain.

Margaret walked over to them. “Deven, you don’t look well.” Her face was lined with worry.

“Just a headache,” he said.

“Here, let me do some Reiki for you. Sit.” She pointed to the folding chairs under a cluster of palm trees.

“Aspirin doesn’t work, why should your metaphysical stuff work?” He shrugged. “You’re welcome to try, but I don’t think it’ll do any good.” Deven sat down and closed his eyes as Margaret positioned her hands about an inch above his head.

“I’ve heard of Reiki,” Lauren said. “How does it work?”

“Reiki is a method of natural healing by using the natural life force energy. I allow the energy to flow, enabling the healing powers to penetrate wherever they need to go until I feel I’ve done it long enough. There is so much life force energy here in the jungle. It’s easy to tap into it.”

Afterward, Deven stood up and rubbed his temples. “Well, it doesn’t seem to be helping much today. I’ll admit it has helped, or seemed to have helped, in the past.”

“Your headaches must have some karmic connection,” Margaret said. “If I remember correctly, you had frequent headaches around this site on our last trip.”

“Just stress, or maybe it’s time for lunch. You know I don’t believe in that metaphysical stuff, Margaret.”

“Maybe you should go back to camp and rest for a while,” Lauren said.

“I agree,” Margaret added. “I can run things here.”

He nodded. “All right, I’ll be back in an hour or two. Come get me if you have any problems.”

When Deven entered the camp he noticed Jim’s Jeep in front of the CUB. Jim wasn’t supposed to be back this early. He was in town all day picking up supplies while Sylvia worked in the museum. He hadn’t expected them to return until early evening.

Sylvia strode out of the building, letting the screen door slam behind her. He closed his eyes as the sharp bang rattled through his ears, intensifying the throb in his head.

With the way Sylvia had her arms crossed in front of her, he knew she had bad news. “Let me guess, Sylvia, no hot water in the showers,” he said under his breath. He didn’t have the patience to deal with her right now.

“Deven, we need to talk.”

“Can it wait until I recover from this headache?”

“No, it can’t.”

He rubbed his forehead with the pads of his fingers. “What are you and Jim doing back so soon?”

“Come inside and I’ll tell you.”

“Sylvia, I can’t have an intelligent conversation with my head feeling like it’s going to explode.”

“Fine. I wash my hands of ever seeing those artifacts again. My Mayan exhibit is ruined. Those people at Customs,” she raised her voice, swinging her arms in the air, “are out of their minds.”

Deven sighed, knowing she was probably exaggerating and knowing she would never let it drop. He ran his hand through his hair and tried not to groan. “Sylvia, I know your Mayan exhibit at the Peabody—”

“This is more important than my collection at the Peabody,” she snapped, planting her hands on her hips, glaring at him like a cobra ready to strike. “Customs claims there is no record anywhere of those four additional stolen Mayan artifacts recovered at the border. The other three were documented as stolen from the Tikal museum, but those four, they say, have never existed before.”

“Impossible.” Deven shook his head. “Every artifact excavated is documented somewhere. Someone had to have reported it missing.”

“Not these. A Mayan figurine and three pottery vessels are almost completely intact. They would’ve brought a high price on the black market, but no one can determine where they came from.”

After their lunch break, Lauren followed Margaret to the east side of the pyramid where a trail led into the jungle. A siesta seemed to hold more fascination for Kyle and Justin so she left them behind. “The Tikal guide map shows several ruins in this area. The number of artifacts collected over the years must be enormous,” Lauren said to Margaret as they began their walk.

Margaret nodded. “There are a substantial collection of Mayan artifacts. Many have been stolen or lost over the years. Even now the locals dig up pottery and carved jade and sell them on the black market.”

“That’s sad, because once they’re gone, that fragment of history is lost as well.”

Margaret drank from her water bottle and then said, “This other site isn’t far from here.”

Narrowed by vegetation, the path only allowed one person to pass at a time. Lauren followed close behind Margaret. Thin, yellow stalks of bamboo grew in tight clusters like bars in a cage, making an excursion off the path impossible. Margaret pointed out purple orchids hanging onto tree trunks and clusters of scarlet vermiliads spilling out between the trunks and branches.

“Should’ve brought my camera with us.” Lauren examined the delicate flowers.

Margaret smiled. “Not far from here is a beautiful spot for pictures. There’s a waterfall and a place to swim.”

“Sounds wonderful.” Lifting her hair off her neck, she let a breeze cool her skin. “I really like it here, Margaret. It’s nothing like camping at home though. You could easily get lost.”

“With seventy thousand square miles of jungle it’s very easy. Unless you have a compass, always stay on the paths.”

“My father taught me natural orienteering skills, like moss grows on the north side on trees, pick a point at a distance as a guidepost and walk to it to avoid walking in circles. But here…moss grows on all sides of the trees. And in some areas the vegetation is so thick it’s hard to see a few feet ahead.” She looked up. “I doubt I could find the North Star with all these trees…” Sweat trickled down her brow, and an icy chill flowed through her veins. This area was so isolated. One wrong turn off the path and…

“I’m afraid those Girl Scout skills won’t be very helpful here.”

Lauren skirted the subject. She didn’t need to show Margaret her trepidation. Where was her sense of adventure? “I can see how you’ve fallen in love with this place.”

“I wouldn’t mind retiring down here,” Margaret said. “The jungle has trapped my soul.”

“Trapped your soul? Is that a good thing?” Lauren asked.