M
aren’s knuckles turned white as she gripped the seat of the helicopter. She hated helicopters more than she hated planes. Horrid images flashed in her mind—the blades whipping off the body of the helicopter. The small chopper swirling as if caught in a vortex. Her body flying headlong toward the ground at light speed.
She closed her eyes and focused on breathing. It would be a nasty way to die. Knowing it was coming, realizing there was nothing you could do to stop it. So much like the out-of-control roller coaster her life was on right now. Tragedy loomed ahead, and she was powerless to stop it.
She breathed deep, tightened her seat belt, and opened her eyes to glance out the window. The clear blue Caribbean churned below, peacefully rocking under the warm tropical sun. Ahead, she could just barely make out the unmistakable lines of the 172-foot
Marina
.
Nausea swirled in her belly, a sickening feeling that started in her toes and raced up her body until every muscle was clenched and rigid. Her gaze shifted to the pilot sitting at the controls of the helicopter, his bulging muscles a crystal-clear reminder she was under the will of those around her.
The helicopter finally landed, and she eased out of the contraption, ducked her head beneath the blades, and made her way off the landing platform. The wind whipped her hair around her face. A steward met her, one she didn’t recognize and didn’t care to meet, and led her down a flight of stairs and into the main salon.
The room was large and opulent, every possession screaming wealth and dripping affluence. A curved bank of plush cream-colored couches sat in the middle of the salon with chairs littered by elegant throw pillows positioned around it. Dark woods contrasted with light furnishings and heavy draperies. Behind the couches, large picture windows looked out over the serene water. And along one wall, a mahogany fireplace was topped with an enormous, elaborately framed gold mirror.
Across the room rested a gleaming, black baby grand piano, a hand-carved spiral staircase that swept both up and down, and a glass floor-to-ceiling cabinet housing his special collection.
She knew the contents. She didn’t even have to look. Jewels from shipwrecks he’d scavenged, bronze statues he’d pilfered, pieces of eight he’d told her he’d found diving, and gold and silver medallions he claimed were his by right.
And his favorite piece, the key to his collection, an ornately carved golden cross set on a heavy chain. The relic was no more than five inches long, three inches wide, and had once been given to Doña Marina by her lover, Hernando Cortés.
Maren knew the piece. She’d held it in her hands nearly a decade ago. It was the find that had drawn her father to the northern Yucatan and convinced him the cenotes were the last resting place of
La Malinche
. And it had been stolen from Mexico just as every chance Maren had to regain her life was stolen from her.
“I’ve been waiting for you, darling.” Evan stepped up behind Maren, brushed her hair to the side and skimmed his lips across the sensitive skin of her neck. The same spot Thad had told her last night he loved so much.
Startled out of her thoughts, she flinched and eased away from him.
Don’t think about Thad. Not here. Not now.
“I’m here, just like you wanted.”
“That’s not happiness to see me, my love.” His dark eyes shot her a disapproving look before he moved to the bar and poured himself a glass of bourbon. He lifted the decanter, but she shook her head.
She didn’t want anything but to get away from him. Far, far away.
He set the bottle on the counter. “You look well. Tanned, rested. The Mexican sun obviously agrees with you.”
“Why don’t we get down to business? You wanted me, I’m here. I’ve left a crew high and dry to fly out here today. They have questions, ones I can’t answer until this is over. The longer I’m gone, the more curious they become.”
He sipped his drink and stepped toward her. His blond hair had taken on a hint of silver just at the temples, but his body was still long and lean, with broad shoulders that showed the hours he spent in his private gym.
At forty-four, he was more a force to be reckoned with than he had been in his thirties. Time hadn’t only aged him—adding fine lines around crisp features that made women want to fall at his feet—it had hardened him into a dangerous individual who stopped at nothing less than what he wanted.
“You never could just relax and enjoy the pleasure of my company until the formality of business was out of the way. I respect that about you, Maren. We’re such similar creatures, both of us willing to do any and everything to obtain our goals.”
He trailed his finger down her arm, and the mere touch made her skin crawl, but she forced herself not to react. “We’re not the same, Evan.”
“You know,” he said with a smug smirk, ignoring her words, “I could have any woman on the planet. Actresses, models, debutantes, royalty—they all throw themselves at me. All I have to do is look and they slip into line, do whatever I ask, wherever I ask.”
She recognized the smugness in his voice, and bile slid up her throat. “So why do you continue to hound me?”
He smiled, a slow and sinister grin that spread across his tanned face. “We’re cut from the same stone, you and I. I knew it the first time I met you, way back in that pathetic jungle. And I feel it now in the way you so easily forsake your family and friends, all for me.” He tilted her face up to his with a finger under her chin. “There’s love there, Maren.”
Her stomach churned. He didn’t know the first thing about love. He never had.
“I can give you anything you want,” he said. “With me, your life would never be dull, it would never be boring. You know all you have to do is ask, and the world is at your fingertips.”
She’d heard it before, the offer to take her away from everything she knew and loved, to give her a life she never dreamed of. He hinted at love and affection, but deep down, she knew it was the conquering that thrilled him.
“We were made for each other, Maren.” His gaze swept over her. “It was inevitable, you and I. You can’t deny history. His blood flows through my veins, hers through yours. Time and distance could never keep us apart.”
She had no idea what he was babbling about. She only wanted him to refocus on the reason he’d called her. “My team, remember, Evan? Tell me why you called me here today.”
“Business first. I do so love that about you.” He dropped his hand and sighed.
“You’ve been silent for too long.” His voice turned hard, any pride he had in her convictions long past. “I expect updates. I don’t appreciate being left in the dark.”
“There’s been nothing to update. We haven’t even found the wreck yet.”
He studied her with narrowed eyes, and her stomach clenched as she stared back. He couldn’t possibly know they’d found the
Conquistador
.
“I understand the cannons are amazing. It seems that tropical storm was a blessing in disguise for you, wasn’t she?”
The blood drained from Maren’s face. He knew. He already knew. Someone had talked. Someone on the dig was feeding him information. Her mind spun. Who? Not one of the core group, she was sure of that. It had to be one of her father’s grunts.
A woman. Someone who would be swayed by his power and money.
“Nothing’s secret from me, Maren. I know everything. My eyes are everywhere.” He stepped close. “Just ask me how.”
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of seeing her squirm. Refused to fall into his trap.
For a swift second, she felt the familiar burst of hatred she’d worked so hard to overcome. It was all she could do not to lash out at him. Thankfully, though, he turned back to the bar to refill his glass, and it gave her the much-needed moment of clarity to realize that wouldn’t help.
“The infamous Thad Leighton,” Evan said in a jovial tone. “It must be something working with him again. How is he these days?”
Her stomach rolled at the mention of Thad’s name, but she crossed her arms and tried not to let him see the question bothered her. But a niggling thought in the back of her mind wondered if he’d set off the explosion in that cenote because of Thad. To hurt him the way he’d hurt Colin. To prove a point to her. Common sense, though, told her not to ask. “He’s fine, I suppose. I don’t ask.”
Evan eyed her over his shoulder. “And you haven’t told him about Isabel?”
“Why would I? I’m not stupid.”
“No.” His gaze raked her body, an intimate sweep from head to toe that sent her pulse higher. “You are most definitely not that.”
Her palms grew damp. She wanted his attention back on the dig and off her. “So what else do you want to know?”
He finished his drink and set the tumbler on the counter, letting the ice cubes clink in the empty glass. “I want to hear from you weekly, Maren. I want scheduled updates. I will not be kept out of the loop. Is that understood?”
“Completely.”
“Good.” He stepped closer. “Now that we have the business end of our arrangement out of the way, we can move on to something a bit more enjoyable.” He fingered the end of her hair.
“No, we can’t.” She took a step out of his reach. “I’ll be your stool pigeon. I’ll even give you
La Malinche
once we find her. What I won’t do, however, is pretend to feel something for you. I’m not your wife, I have no desire to be your girlfriend, and I won’t be your concubine. I won’t sleep with you again, Evan. Aside from a business arrangement, we have no relationship.”
He studied her for a moment. “And this decision is final?”
She lifted her chin. “Yes.”
“I see.”
A wave of relief washed over her. He wasn’t going to fight her on this. He was going to agree to her stipulation, because in the end, he wanted
La Malinche
more than he wanted her. He was a smart man. He wouldn’t jeopardize his chance to finally get his hands on the priceless relic.
His fist slammed into her face before she even saw him move. Heat snapped across her cheek, radiated through her temple and behind her eye. The blow was so strong it knocked her off her feet. She felt herself flying, then her back crashed into the glass coffee table behind her and pressure radiated through her right shoulder and hip.
The table gave beneath her weight. Something sharp pierced the flesh of her shoulder. Her head rolled to the side as her eye, cheek, the whole left side of her face exploded in pain. Warm wetness trickled down her cheek just as the room began to spin.
Somehow, she pried her eyes open, and when she blinked and finally focused, she saw Evan standing above her, his face taut with a menacing rage. “The next time you come to me, Maren, you’d better have a different answer.”
He stepped back and smoothed out the lines of his silk shirt. Then he turned his attention to Maren’s right. “Ah, Stevens,” he said in a voice no longer laced with venom. “It seems Dr. Hudson has taken a nasty fall. See that she finds her way to the helicopter and have Davidson fly her back to Cancun. I’d hate to take up any more of her precious time.”
He glanced at her battered body lying in a pile of broken glass and shattered wood. And she tensed, glanced down, and eyed the piece of splintered wood near her fingertips. He’d never hit her before, and she hadn’t seen that coming, but if he came after her again, she’d fight. Until the last breath.
Disgust flashed in his eyes before he looked toward his servant once more. “Then get in here and clean up this mess.”
C
HAPTER
T
HIRTEEN
M
aren wasn’t exactly sure how she made it back to her hotel. Her head was in a fog, and the last hour was a blur.
Keeping her gaze down, she made her way through the crowded lobby, not caring what she looked like to passing tourists. Now, right now, she only wanted to find her room.
Every muscle in her body ached when she closed the door at her back after fighting with the key card. Flipping on the bathroom light, she squinted at the burn in her retinas, but forced herself to look at her reflection.
Her left eye was already swollen, which explained why she was having trouble seeing. Her face was badly bruised over the entire left side, and a streak of dried blood ran across her cheek and forehead.
She slipped out of her once-crisp white blouse, winced at the pain in her back, and turned to get her first glimpse. The bruise stretched from shoulder to hip, and a large gash cut across the end of her shoulder, blood oozing from the wound. Her stomach rolled when she realized there were still pieces of glass spearing out of the horrendous cut.
The room spun, and she gripped the counter to steady herself. Sinking down onto the lid of the toilet, she rested her head against her knees and focused on breathing.
She wasn’t going to pass out, dammit. She’d tangoed with a tiger shark, she’d lived through decompression sickness, she’d even nailed natural childbirth. She could survive
this
.
Feeling steadier, she reached up with her good arm and did the best she could to remove the glass. Pain shot through her shoulder with every tiny movement, but she ground her teeth and kept going. Confident she’d gotten most of it, she grasped a towel and wrapped it around her wounded shoulder. Then she stood on shaky legs and headed for the bedroom with slow, careful steps.
She needed stitches. The wound was long and deep. It wouldn’t heal properly without them. She was pretty sure she had a concussion, and something in her was slightly worried he might have broken her cheekbone. She’d have to go to the emergency room. There would be questions, but she could handle them.
She
would
handle them. But not yet.
Sinking onto the edge of the bed, she closed her eyes. She hadn’t expected that from him. She’d never underestimated his power and knew he would do whatever he could to get what he wanted. He’d proven that fact in Mexico the day Colin had died. But as much as he turned her stomach, he’d always fawned over her, trying time and again to lure her away with him. She’d believed—no, she’d hoped, she realized—he felt something for her, however miniscule, that would enable him to understand her feelings and let her go when the time came.