Her stomach rolled. She forced the images away and waved a greeting to the greenskeeper as she passed the maintenance building and cut across the fairway, then glanced up when she rounded the hill. Just as Randy had said, the marauders were camped out on the eighth fairway.
She turned off the engine, hit the brake with her foot, and eased out of the cart. Her heels sank into the soft ground as she stalked toward the sand pit, making her wish she’d worn slacks instead of the pencil skirt she’d slipped into this morning.
“No, you guys are doing it wrong!” The young girl’s terse voice drifted to Maren’s ears as she drew closer. Dark hair tied back in a ponytail whipped across the girl’s shoulder when she turned to the two boys crouched in the sand behind her. “You can’t just tear through the dirt. You have to be gentle. You’re dealing with years and years of sediments there. If you yank and pull, you’ll ruin the integrity of the artifacts. Use your trowel and your whisk.”
The boys grumbled. It was clear they just wanted to dig and get dirty. They didn’t want to play this game or be bossed around by a girl. One boy flicked sand over his shoulder, contaminating the site, which had been carefully cordoned off with rope and stakes. The girl turned and glared at him.
Amusement cut through the fear bubbling in Maren’s belly, but she tamped it down and put on her best head-honcho face, then cleared her throat. The dark-haired girl whipped around at the sound.
“Just what, exactly, is going on here, young lady?”
Lacing her fingers behind her back, the girl quirked one dark eyebrow and bit her lip. “Ah, an excavation?”
Maren forced back the smile teasing the corners of her lips and wished like hell she could do that damn one-eyebrow thing. She could hardly blame the girl for setting up her own dig. Maren had done it a thousand times herself as a child, on the same golf course, in the same exact spot, for that matter. But there were rules. And rules had to be followed. She'd learned that the hard way.
“The guests don’t like having a dig on their course.”
“Ah, Mom. Can’t you tell them to leave us alone? This is science here.”
The ah, Mom did it. Maren’s heart slammed against her ribs as her eight-year-old daughter shifted her weight from one foot to another, reminding Maren that this was all that mattered. Not a place. Not a moment in the past. Just this.
Maren eyed the dirty khaki pants and T-shirt that read Archaeologists do it in the dirt, then frowned. “Science or not, this dig is dug. Get your tools, and get out of that pit.”
“Bugger,” Isabel muttered under her breath. “Come on, guys. We’re busted.”
The two boys grumbled again as they stood and dusted off their legs. But they did as they were told and followed.
“Who are your partners in crime?” Maren asked as she watched.
“This is David. He’s staying in 518. And Paul. He just got here today.”
Maren studied the two boys. They looked decent enough. At least halfway normal, even if they were palling around with a bossy girl. Isabel was always running with kids staying at the hotel.
She waited as the children hauled themselves out of the sand pit, and remembered, with vivid clarity, what it was like to be the hotel brat. She’d lived it herself. And though she hated that Isabel was now experiencing the same things she'd gone through as a child, she knew her father’s influence was the reason they both shared a love of the past.
She had to go to him. She could put aside her own fears and horrible memories of the Yucatan for him. This one last time.
“Pack up your gear,” Maren said to her daughter, fingering the locket at her chest, “and I’ll give you all a lift back. And I want you to change your shirt when you get back to the lodge, young lady. You know how I feel about that shirt. And Isabel,” she added when her daughter dropped her shoulders. “The next time you want to set up a dig, do it in the hills behind the hotel, not on the golf course.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Isabel muttered.
Maren let go of the locket and turned for the golf cart just as her cell phone rang. She pulled the clip off the waistband of her skirt and hit Answer without looking at the screen. “Hudson.”
“That’s Dr. Hudson,” a weak voice said on the other end of the line, “and it gets confusing when we’re both using it.”
“Dad?” Her heart felt like it skipped a beat as she waited. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” he said again, this time stronger. “Did you speak with your mother?”
“Yes. But you don’t sound good. If you’re not well, I should come earl—”
“Friday is good. Just…” He coughed. “Don’t miss your plane, Maren. I need you.”
He needed her. The words caused her chest to tighten. She couldn’t count the number of times she’d wished to hear those words from his lips. Not her, the archaeologist, but her, the person. His daughter.
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I’ll be there. I promise.”
“Good. Good,” he said again on a sigh. “You won’t regret it.”
Maren closed the phone and looked toward her daughter, laughing and joking with the boys in the golf cart. And though she couldn’t explain why, his last words sent a shiver straight down her spine.
CHAPTER TWO
With her fingers gripping the seat of the Cessna as if her life depended on it, Maren tried to take her mind off the rumbling aircraft and her overwhelming fear of flying by reciting the periodic table. It was better than imagining the small plane nose-diving into the Caribbean. Way better than thinking about her father and what was happening to him. She made it as far as silicon before Lisa interrupted her.
“I still think they’re fake. No woman has boobs that perky. Rafe assures me they aren’t, though when I asked him how he knew for sure, he got all quiet on me. ’Course, then I had to give him hell about it, because that’s what wives are supposed to do. But I’m telling you, it’s unnatural.”
Maren glanced sideways at her friend. Lisa’s flame-red hair was cut short and spunky and set off her emerald-green eyes. They’d exchanged a few hugs and tears when they’d met up in Cancun, but since climbing on board the rattling tin can that was their plane, Maren could barely focus on anything besides her fear of dying. “What?”
“The model.” When Maren only stared at her, Lisa rolled those pretty gems skyward. “Haven’t you been listening? God, it’s like talking to my husband when Baseball Tonight is on. I told you about Pete, right? Rafe’s friend? His sister is a big-time model. Wait. Correction. Underwear model. With giant silicon boobs. I’m telling you. Not normal.”
Maren looked back out the window as Lisa prattled on. She knew Lisa was simply trying to keep her mind off the flight and what was happening with her father, but gossiping about someone she didn’t know and had no interest in meeting wasn’t helping. Neither was concentrating on that tickle in the back of her throat.
“You won’t regret it.”
Why had her father said those words? Yeah, he knew Mexico was the last place she wanted to visit again, but what could she possibly regret about seeing her injured, possibly dying, father?
The plane bumped, jostling Maren in her seat, distracting her from the frantic thoughts rushing through her head. When the metal contraption dipped to the left, she closed her eyes and resumed reciting the periodic table.
The plane jolted again, and Maren’s fingers dug into the seat until her knuckles turned white. “Nickel, copper, zinc,” she said louder.
Lisa smiled and reached out to pat Maren’s hand. “You’re doing good. You haven’t made it to xenon yet. It’s not so bad.”
“Not so bad? Are you nuts?”
Lisa chuckled. “In a few minutes, you’ll look back on this with fond memories.”
“That’s what I’m afraid of.”
“We’re comin’ in, ladies.” The pilot’s raspy voice drew Maren’s attention away from her father and onto the terror that lay ahead. “Hold on. This runway’s
short.”
“Oh God. Did he say the runway was short?” Maren cinched her seat belt down tight and gave up any pretense of holding it together. She grabbed Lisa’s hand.
Even Lisa tensed as the small plane rocketed down the runway. Maren braced her feet wide and slammed her eyes shut. The shaking only convinced her the landing gear would fall off at any moment. Metal screamed against metal in the small cabin as the pilot applied the brakes. Maren rushed through the fourth line of the periodic table.
By some miracle, they slowed. And as they began to turn toward the right, Maren finally opened her eyes.
She could swim through a dark cave with barely a light and only a few minutes of oxygen without being scared, but airplanes freaked her out big time. Giant metal machines were not meant to fly. And certainly not people. Birds and insects. That was it.
She let go of Lisa’s hand and wiped the sweat on her capris. “Okay. Not doing that again. We’ll rent a car when it’s time to go back to Cancun.”
“Car would take too long. Especially with the way traffic travels on these back roads. And I’m pretty sure we crossed water at some point. Car won’t work. We’d sink.”
“Okay. A boat. I don’t care. I’ll even take a Jet Ski. But I’m definitely not doing that again.”
Lisa laughed and reached for her bag.
Maren breathed slowly and, feeling marginally steady, finally took a good look around.
The landing strip was nothing more than a short stub of grass, no more than the width of a normal street in the States and as long as a football field. Palm trees lined the outer rim of the airfield. Off to the left, a small airplane hangar housing probably no more than two planes glittered in the afternoon sunlight. A run-down shack that had to be the terminal sat ahead between two large palms.
There’d be no getting out of here quickly if she had a panic attack. And considering she didn’t yet know how sick her father really was, she had no idea how long she’d even be here.
That was a question she probably should have asked before leaving Isabel. But she’d been too worried to think.
The pilot killed the engine and whipped around in his seat, flashing a toothless grin. “Welcome to Southern Quintana Roo.”
Maren managed a “Thank you” and unbuckled her lap belt. The Cessna’s door opened, and humid air redolent with the scent of exhaust enveloped her. Sweat beaded on her neck and trickled down her back, but at least her feet were now on solid ground.
She slipped on her sunglasses and glanced around the small airstrip while the pilot helped Lisa get their bags. “We were supposed to meet a car.”
The pilot lifted his hand to shield his eyes from the blistering sun. “A Jeep? Like that one?”
He pointed across the airstrip to a grove of palm trees. Maren’s gaze followed the sweep of his hand, then stopped.
Two men stood, leaning against the hood of a shiny black Wrangler. One had auburn hair, long legs, and a slim build. He wore khaki shorts and a white T-shirt. The other was darker all around—rough, tanned skin, dark hair—wearing faded jeans and a loose, Red Socks T-shirt blowing in the light breeze.
Maren’s breath caught. And her heart gave an involuntary skip before dropping like a stone into her stomach.
“Oh my God.” No way was this happening. Not here. Not today. Not after everything she'd been through.
Lisa turned and froze. “Oh, crap.”
Maren didn’t take her eyes off the Jeep and the dark-haired man watching from across the airstrip. “Did you know about this?”
“I swear, Maren, I had no idea.”
She bit her lip to keep from screaming, tossed her duffle over her shoulder, but couldn’t seem to look away from the Jeep. Her father wasn’t hurt or sick. There was no hospital or “facility.” This was a setup. And she was going to kill him when she saw him.
Control. Stay calm. You can handle this.
Legs steadier than she expected carried her across the tarmac. When she reached the Jeep, she checked the emotions rushing through her and stopped an arm’s length away from a man she’d hoped not to see for quite some time. At least until she was older. And wiser. And a hell of a lot stronger.
Thad Leighton.
His hair was thicker than she remembered, but his body was toned and filled out in just the right places. And though she hated to admit it, she saw exactly what she’d missed in those magazine articles Isabel had cut out about his successes overseas. Broad shoulders, flat abs, narrow hips, and strong, muscular legs.
Memories teased the edge of her mind, but she pushed them back, refusing to remember how she’d explored that body with hands and fingers and her own sensitive flesh as they’d tangled together on a secluded Mexican beach.
He didn’t move from where he was leaning back against the vehicle, but even behind the dark shades, she knew his eyes were fixed on her. “Hey, Maren.”
A feeling she didn’t know how to define bubbled through her at the sound of his deep voice. A voice that had once whispered promises in her ear, one she’d dreamed of hearing thousands of times over the years. “Thad.”
“It’s been a long time.”
“Yeah. It has.”
Time and circumstances had taught her about control. She wouldn’t give him the benefit of seeing her break. She turned away before he could speak again, focusing her attention instead on the redhead still leaning against the hood of the Jeep, watching their exchange with genuine curiosity. “I’m Maren Hudson.” She pointed behind her. “Lisa Maxwell.”
The other man stepped away from the vehicle and extended his hand. “Nate Drummer.”
“Nice to meet you. Is my father at the site?”
“Patrick, right?”
She nodded.
“He’s there,” he confirmed.
“Good. Let’s go.” She tossed her bags into the Jeep and climbed in the backseat, letting Lisa take the front next to Thad.
There were some pleasantries between Thad and Lisa. A hug, a few shared laughs, but Maren tried not to listen.
She had not come all the way down here for this, to be waylaid by Thad Leighton of all people. To be set up by her father. By her mother, for crying out loud. Were they all working together? Had hell frozen over?
She wanted answers. But not from the people around her. She wanted them from her father. That lying, good for nothing, son of a—
Forcing back the anger, she stared out at the passing scenery. They drove for roughly ten minutes up the coast, then pulled off into an area of palm trees and small hut-like casitas. As they neared what she knew her father would call ground zero, Maren caught a glimpse of two more Jeeps and a few rangy people milling around the site. She scanned the area and found her father no more than fifty yards ahead, talking with a young couple in the middle of camp. Perfectly healthy and tanned in the early evening sunlight, exactly as she expected.
Anger simmered under her skin.
The Jeep slowed and finally stopped. Grasping the frame, she climbed up and jumped out without a word. And didn’t bother to look back.
Thad turned off the ignition, gripped the steering wheel, and watched Maren stalk toward her father. He was pretty sure he could see steam pumping out of her ears.
Well, hell. He should have anticipated the cold shoulder, right? It wasn’t like he’d expected her to throw herself into his arms after all this time. He was damn lucky she hadn’t flattened him at the airstrip. He’d be the first to admit he probably deserved it.
He watched as she waved her hands at her father in an obvious sign of frustration, not caring who saw. Patrick glanced around, then eventually managed to pull her toward his casita before she laid into him in the middle of the road and caused more of a scene than she was already making.
She still had a temper. She’d kept it carefully guarded at the airstrip, but she sure as heck wasn’t hiding it now. Patrick obviously hadn’t told her Thad would be here. His mind drifted to their numerous arguments nine years before. Then shifted to the
sultry makeup sessions that had always followed.
He ran a hand down his face and blew out a slow breath. Dammit, she looked good. Better than he’d envisioned over the years. And yeah, he’d envisioned plenty. Her silky blond hair was longer than she’d worn it the last time he’d seen her. Those blue eyes seemed lighter, more spellbinding. Her voice was the same, but that mesmerizing face had lost its youthful look, was now mature and exotic and, just his luck, drop-dead gorgeous.
“You planning to sit there and stare all day, or are you going to help me with these bags?”
Thad glanced toward the petite redhead standing next to the Jeep with her fists perched on her hips.
Same old Lisa. Blunt and to the point.
He couldn’t stop the smile that curled his mouth. He’d missed her too. If she’d married Colin and if things hadn’t turned to crap all those years before, she might have been his sister-in-law.
Ignoring that painful thought, he climbed out of the Wrangler. “You planning on bitching at me the whole time you’re here?”
A sassy one-sided grin slinked across Lisa’s pixy face. “I’m thinking about it. Especially considering the way Patrick tricked us both into coming down here.”
Thad cringed. Obviously, Maren had more reason to be pissed than simply because of his presence. “That bad, huh?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No. Trust me, I’m not in on Patrick’s schemes. He only called me two days ago.”
Lisa studied him across the vehicle, and amusement toyed with the edges of her lips. “In that case, you’re forgiven. Though bitching at you does hold some merit. I know you’ve missed it.”
Thad smiled. He had missed her. More than he’d realized. He walked around the vehicle and hugged her, this time with real gusto. “You look good, Maxwell.”
“You too, Leighton. It’s been way too long.”
At least someone was happy to see him. He figured that was a plus. He eased back. “I heard you got married. Congrats.”