Path of the Jaguar

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www.DigitalDonna.com

To our sisters: Nadine Johnson, Anita Sitting Up, and Audrey Sallman

Chapter One

"We don't have a minute to spare!" Delores' final words were interspersed between excited catches of breath. "You get the boarding passes. I'll go after our luggage so we'll lose no time going through customs. Meet you here!"

"Why don't we stay together?" Lennea's question seemed tossed back at her, unheard by Delores, already lost in the moving throng. She felt pangs of uneasiness as she watched Delores disappear into the stream of steadily moving people at the Mexico City airport—disappear with a flare, swirling skirt and rapid steps on spike heels.

Minutes later, boarding passes in hand, Lennea waited anxiously for Delores. If she didn't return soon they would miss their flight on to Merida! As time passed, Lennea felt more and more lost and alone. People, so foreign to her, hurried by, taking no time for curious glances at her youth or blondness. The sound of Spanish all around her intensified her sense of isolation.

Lennea could afford to wait no longer. Not if they were going to make that flight. Pressured by the rapidly changing clock, she began to walk in the direction her friend had taken, hunting for the luggage drop-off, straining her eyes for a glimpse of wavy black hair and dangling red scarf.

Not until she spotted their luggage circling upon the huge conveyor belt did she fully realized Delores had failed to reach her destination. What could have happened to her? Delores couldn't have just vanished in the length of a building!

Lennea returned to the Aeromexico desk and struggled to make the clerk understand that she wanted Delores paged. She was beginning to wonder what she would do if Delores didn't show up at all. Nothing about Delores was ever quite solid or dependable, but surely even Delores wouldn't just abandon Lennea here without a word!

Lennea's uneasiness increased. Delores might have become ill from the stale sandwich she had bolted down in Dallas. Ugly visions arose in Lennea's mind—Delores, lying in an ambulance speeding toward some hospital; Delores, abducted by some maniac. The latter vision had more credibility. Delores' bold and striking appearance drew attention wherever she went. And she had a tendency to chat with everyone. Some degenerate might certainly become enamored with her and mistake her natural friendliness for invitation.

"Are you the one who paged Delores Camille?"

Startled by the deep, resonant voice, Lennea turned to face a very handsome man who looked as if he belonged to Spanish nobility. She noticed first the lips that had formed the words, full, aristocratic lips, tightened now at the edges with impatience or lingering anger.

"Delores was supposed to have met me here."

Lennea regarded the dark-haired man in his tan suit first with curiosity, then with suspicion. His eyes, black as obsidian, intensely dedicated themselves to the moment, so that no detail seemed to escape him. Their great depth reflected some of Lennea's own questions as well as her reservations.

On the flight from Dallas, Delores had gone over the plans she had made with Lennea. They were to spend the night in Maid, then contact Wesley Hern the following morning. Delores had not said anything about another person joining them in Mexico City. Her not mentioning either one of them to the other loomed over them both as incredulous, as a very baffling mystery.

"Delores didn't tell me we were meeting anyone here at the airport. I'm Lennea Andrews." She tried to sound matter-of-fact. "Wesley Hern's new assistant."

"So the genius has gotten himself an assistant!" A thin, black eyebrow raised; a strong hand tightened into hers with an exciting warmth. "I'm Joseph Darrigo."

His sardonic reference to Wesley caused Lennea to feel a sudden coolness toward him, despite the warm handshake. "Do you know Dr. Hern?"

"Hern and I have crossed paths many times. I work for the Museum of Anthropology here in Mexico City. Hern allows me to hover around the edges of his projects." The warm smile of a moment ago grew wry.

Another associate jealous of Wesley's talents. So many of them were! Following the example set by her Swedish father, Lennea hastily arranged a proverb for the occasion. "A great man is not often honored by those around him."

"Great men," Joseph accepted her challenge, "more often than not turn out to be great disappointments." Dark eyes left her face to scan the crowd. "Now, what do you think has detained Delores?"

Relief at having a companion to share her worries overcame her instinctive dislike of Joseph for criticizing Wesley Hern. She found herself pouring out to him the complete story of Delores' separation from her and hinted to him of her fears.

"Let's go back to the luggage drop-off."

More time must have elapsed than Lennea had realized. Only two suitcases remained, slowly whirling on the great moving strip. Delores' smart new case, that Joseph so easily lifted from the ramp, intensified the fact of Delores' absence. Lennea set the battered suitcase she had borrowed from her sister Val beside Delores' maroon one and gazed down the hallway to a series of arrows leading to a large room with long tables where luggage was being checked. Lennea had counted on Delores being with her when she went through customs. She felt a dread of the very stern and formal officer, who she would not be able to understand.

Joseph lifted Delores' suitcase. "Are you going through customs with me?" she asked, relieved and a little surprised.

"I'll try to pull it off," he said with a smile. "I'll tell the inspector I wear all of these bright, frilly things in the evenings."

Joseph's laughter joining hers made Lennea feel less anxious.

She noticed he established rapport with the customs inspector as easily as he had with her. Soon they were speaking rapidly back and forth.

"Did you explain about Delores?"

"I told him both suitcases are yours."

With only a perfunctory glance at the contents of Lennea's bag, the examiner turned full attention to Delores' expensive suitcase. Hastily he ruffled through the reds, yellows, and scarlet of Delores' bright wardrobe.

"Que es esto?" Frowning, he bent close to examine—Lennea couldn't tell what—some object at the bottom of the case.

Joseph said something again in Spanish.

A vision of little white pills Delores often took to keep her alert during exam time made Lennea's heart pound against her chest. Is that what he had found? With her pitifully limited Spanish vocabulary, she would never be able to explain!

Almost as a distraction, Joseph lifted a big, flowered cosmetic bag from Delores' case, exclaiming, "Why do women need all this makeup?"

The frowning inspector looked up suspiciously, but he smiled when Joseph translated the words into Spanish. Still, he took the cosmetic bag from Joseph, and with sharp-eyed intent, poked a finger around the lipsticks, mascaras, bottles of cream and perfume. Lennea's breath caught in her throat. Time stopped for her as he asked Joseph several more questions. At last he closed the case and motioned for them to move on down the line.

"You have enough with that—do you call that monstrosity a purse?" He referred to the oversized canvas bag she had bought especially for the trip. Lennea's arm ached from the weight it and the length of time the strap had been around her shoulder.

"It's a flight bag." Inside was a disorganized lot of last-minute items, along with some books and papers she had brought along for Wesley Hern.

The intercom barked out another message in rapid Spanish. "They're still calling our 8:45 flight," Joseph interpreted. "We must hurry!" Now feeling she would be lost without him, Lennea rushed to keep up with his increased speed as they swerved through the maze of people.

When they reached the boarding gate, Delores was nowhere in sight. Lennea glanced out at the silver plane silhouetted against the darkening sky. The gate keeper, concerned about their lateness, gestured for them to board.

She had hoped, somehow expected, to find Delores waiting here, all smiles and quips. Bewilderment at the empty reception rushed over her. "What shall we do now?"

"Why don't you go on," he said, urging her forward. "I'll wait here tonight. If there's no word of Delores by morning, then I'll take all possible steps to find her."

Lennea had no thought of deserting Delores or leaving her fate in the hands of a stranger, one who may or may not be Joseph Darrigo from the National Museum of Anthropology. "I'll stay with you." Wariness of Joseph sprang from nothing he had said or done, only from Delores' omission. Somewhere in Delores' constant chatter Joseph's name was certain to have surfaced. Unless... Warnings of Joseph, of the entire situation, flashed before her mind. Something was terribly wrong!

Joseph didn't pressure her to leave. All he said was, "Your last chance," and the two of them moved to stand by the huge glass that looked out into the airstrip. They remained there until they watched the plane the three of them were to have boarded grow smaller and smaller until it became a spot among clouds.

They lugged the heavy bags back to the main terminal. "I'll stay with the luggage if you want to look for Delores."

Lennea had expected Joseph to suggest the exact opposite. For some absurd reason she felt reluctant to leave Joseph with their luggage. He had been so protective, so gallant, she felt a little ashamed of her suspicions of him. After all, how likely was it that he would want to run off with the assortment of things Delores and she had brought from the States?

If only Wesley had met them here! Wesley she could trust. He would know exactly what to do! Dr. Wesley Hern—Lennea worshipped him. She still felt dazed when she realized that he had selected her application to be his assistant above all those more qualified graduate students. Most of Lennea's studies had been about the North America Indians. That, combined with her limited knowledge of Spanish, made his choosing of her little short of a miracle.

Lennea knew she had Delores to thank for the chance of spending the summer in the Yucatan as Wesley's assistant. Delores, his personal secretary, and she were to work with Wesley at the new archaeological excavation site of Tikom. The professor was busy uncovering evidence to support his theory of why the Maya Indians abandoned their great pyramids for his new book, Wrought in Stone. Not for love of Maya Indians had Lennea accepted this position. What Lennea knew about the Mayas she had learned only from Wesley's classes and her texts. She shrank from the idea of barbaric, blood-dripping sacrifices, which was all that ever really came to mind when she thought about them. But to be near Wesley Hern, to in some small way assist him—that was her personal idea of heaven!

She wished again that Wesley was here with her now instead of the stranger, Joseph Darrigo. She longed for Wesley's calmness, his cool, objective intelligence. But Wesley wasn't here and wasn't going to be here. Lennea alone must take full responsibility for Delores' safety.

Lennea grew impatient waiting. She placed the suitcases under the seats and began skirting the nearby area for Delores. After checking the restroom, she paced up and down the crowded corridors, looking into souvenir stores, snack bars and money exchanges.

She wandered until she grew weary of her futile search and started back to where she had left the luggage. Not far behind a middle-aged man abruptly stopped walking. Something about his guarded manner caught her attention. With a sense of shock she met the glance he cast from the corner of his eye. He looked exactly like the Mayas pictured in the books in her bag—the same short stoutness, the same large head with generous, jutting nose and huge eyes, marked by heavy-lidded concentration.

Deliberately she passed close by him and continued walking toward the suitcases. She forced herself not to glance back. She stopped finally beside a window and looked out at the lights of the airstrip, hazy in the moist air.

The Mayan had followed her. He stopped across the aisle. Lennea felt his surreptitious watch and a shiver of fear made her legs weaken. How long had he been following her? Why was he spying on her?

She tried calmly to decide what to do. However much she wanted to confront him, it would do no good. It would be wiser pretend she did not know of his existence. She moved slowly away from him into the crowd. Whatever had happened to Delores was linked somehow with this evil-eyed stranger. She began walking faster, darting around travelers and suitcases and coming face to face with Joseph.