He heaved a sigh. “You know I’ve always been interested in La Malinche, Maren. When I told you the bedtime story as a child, it was with the interest of an avid archaeologist. I never believed in the curse. I only believed in the artifact itself. Highly prized, extremely sought after, never found. I began researching the relic, but like anyone else, got sucked into the lore and mystery. And when I was tracing Doña Marina’s descendants, I came across something of interest. It caused me to do some research into our own family. Declan obviously has done the same, although why, I can’t say.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, just like Declan can trace his roots back to Cortés, you can trace yours back to Doña Marina.”
She was silent for a minute as Evan’s words of love and destiny filtered through her mind. Easing herself down onto a chair, she looked back at her father. “Her blood flows through my veins. That’s why he won’t let me go. That’s why he came looking for me instead of the rest of you. He thinks he owns me the way Cortés owned that poor slave girl. He thinks I really am the key to finding La Malinche.”
“It seems that way now.” Patrick glanced toward Thad. “I-I didn’t make the connection before.”
“Love and hate are so closely related, he can’t tell the difference.” She let out a long, shaky breath. “He’s not going to stop whether we find the statue or not.”
“He will,” Thad said with so much vehemence in his voice a shudder ran through Maren.
There was no denying the hatred in his eyes, or the revenge still brewing there, fueled now by everything she’d told him last night. Her spine tingled at the rigid set of his jaw and the tension coiled beneath his broad shoulders.
“Let’s focus on finding that damn statue first,” Patrick said, “then on what we’re going to do with it once we have it.” He straightened. “Why don’t you go change, and I’ll take you out to the boat and show you what we’ve done while you’ve been gone.
“There’s something else,” Maren said. “Evan knew we’d found the wreck. He knew about the cannons. Someone on the project is feeding him info.”
“I’ll take care of it,” her father said.
“But—”
Her father held up a hand. “I don’t want you to worry about it. You have enough other things on your mind. Let me take care of this one.”
Reluctantly, Maren nodded. He was right. She had plenty of other things to stress over. But as she stood, she couldn’t shake the feeling of impending doom.
When Patrick reached for her again, she hugged him without reservation. “Thank you, Dad,” she said against him.
He held her for a minute before letting go. “We’ll work this out, Maren. Don’t worry.”
She nodded against him and wished she could believe what he told her was true. But where Evan Declan was concerned, she would always worry.
The sun was setting low in the sky that evening when the boat finally quieted and the rest of the team headed back to the mainland. As Thad stowed the dive gear, his mind drifted to Maren and her conversation earlier with her father. The woman was all strength, whether she saw it or not. And every time he thought about the things she’d had to deal with on her own all these years…
His heart squeezed and threatened to steal his breath all over again, just like it had when she’d finally confided in him. Like it had when he’d listened to her confess to her father. Locking the cabinet, he swallowed hard and forced the guilt down. Dwelling on a past he couldn’t change wasn’t going to help Maren and Isabel. And now it was his turn to be that strength for both of them.
Familiar notes echoed from the salon, and a slow smile slid across his face when he recognized the tune. ‘Glory Days’. The Boss. Her favorite. Following the raspy sound of Springsteen’s voice, he eased down the few steps into the salon and felt his heart roll.
Maren stood in the galley, rummaging through the cupboards. Her back was to him, and she couldn’t see him, but he could sure see her. Long, bare legs, tight, sweet ass in those short denim shorts, trim hips swaying to the beat, small waist, and toned, beautifully bronzed shoulders in that black ribbed tank. Her hair was piled high on her head, and late afternoon light shone through the porthole window, showering her in strands of gold.
God, she was beautiful. And still not his.
His heart squeezed tighter as he watched her move, reminding him of every fear he’d played over in his mind last night after she’d fallen asleep in his arms. Yes, she’d confided in him. Yes, she’d finally leaned on him. She’d even given him her body. But she hadn’t given him her heart. And that was what he wanted most. That was the key to everything.
He rubbed a hand over the ache in his chest and took a step into the room, intent on going to her, pulling her into his arms, and proving to her he’d never hurt her again, but her open laptop drew his attention, and he remembered what he’d been researching earlier when Lisa and Rafe had been diving.
Sliding onto her stool, he pulled up a new search page and started typing.
The Boss’s gravelly voice transitioned to the slow, sensual notes of ‘Secret Garden.’ A cup clanked against the worktable’s surface, and the scent of coffee surrounded him. Seconds later, Maren slid onto the stool at his side and lowered her brow. “Hey, now. No one plays Angry Birds on my laptop. Except me.”
One side of his lips curled, loving how at ease she felt with him now. He wanted that to last. Was willing to do anything to make it last.
With a flick of his fingers, he added information, hit Save, and swiveled toward her. When he spotted the cookies, his eyes widened. “Hot damn, where’d you find Oreos?”
She smiled around a bite, her lips so soft and kissable, it was all he could do not to pull her against him and throw her on this table so they could repeat what they’d done here the other night. “Bottom cabinet, hidden under a frying pan. Odds are they’re Lisa’s, and she’ll be ticked when she finds out we devoured them.”
“Her loss.” He dunked a cookie into the coffee she’d brought him and took a bite. “She knows anything worth saving has to be hidden in her casita.” He swiveled back toward the laptop and looked over what he’d done. “And I’m no good at Angry Birds. I can never get the damn birds to go where I want.”
“Don’t worry. Isabel will teach you, I’m sure. She’s a pro. I have to keep my laptop locked up; otherwise, she’d play that stupid game morning to night.”
His heart warmed as he looked toward Maren, and that ache intensified in his chest. He wanted to be a part of that. For the three of them to be a real family, the way they should have been long ago. It was killing him having to wait to meet his daughter, but he knew for now, it was the safest plan. And at the very least, it was giving him more time to reconnect with Maren.
Maren scooted closer so she could read the screen. The citrusy scent of pomegranates washed over him, and he drew it in, loving the way she smelled, the heat from her body, loving her. “What are you doing?”
He sipped his coffee. “Playing a hunch. Bear with me on this. What does La Malinche stand for?”
“Money, wealth, fortune.”
“You aren’t thinking deep enough. C’mon, Maren, dig. What was the lure to all those people who came in contact with her?”
She tipped her head to the side and watched her family history unravel itself in front of her. “Originally? Power. The legend says she holds a certain power that draws people toward her. Every person who came in contact with her was misled by that power.”
“Right. Except Carlos Leonard and his son. Why? Why were they able to break through the spell? Why didn’t they fall to the same fate as everyone else who touched the damn thing?”
“If you want to believe in the curse, then they did. If you remember, Carlos Leonard was killed during that storm.”
“True, but he was already sick. It’s not unusual for people to die of natural causes. Therefore, it’s possible his death wasn’t related to the curse at all.”
??
?So now you want to pick and choose who fell prey to the curse?”
He laughed. “I’m just stating the obvious.”
“The obvious answer is that there was no curse. Like I told Drummer, bad things happen to good people all the time.”
“Always the scientist. You know you don’t believe that. Deep down, you know there’s something else there.”
She frowned. “Do you want me to admit the thing is cursed? That everyone who touches it is doomed to a fate worse than death?” She pinned him with a look. “If that’s true, then why did Leonard’s son live? And why are we looking for it? Wouldn’t we fall under the same spell? Wouldn’t we be doomed to a horrible fate?”
“Would we?”
She narrowed her beautiful blue eyes. “What are you getting at, Leighton?”
He held her gaze, deciding whether or not to go on. At this point, what did they have to lose? “Okay. This is going to sound a little crazy, but I want you to think outside the box here for a minute. I was playing with something earlier.”
He pointed to the screen. “This,” he said, scrolling through the pages, “is Leonard’s family tree. Or as close as I could find. Nothing big stands out. It goes back a few hundred years, then stops. See this here?” He pointed to a name. The date was mid-seventeenth century and the name was Angelique Hernandez.
“Yeah, I see it.”
He flipped to another screen. “This is your genealogy record.” He scrolled through until he got to a date mid-seventeenth century, and watched her gaze follow his finger to the screen. “See this?”
Same name. Same dates.
A soft wrinkle formed between her eyes. “Are you saying I’m related to Carlos Leonard?”
“As near as I can tell. And if he’s related to you, then his genealogy also traces back to Doña Marina.”
Rubbing her head, she sat back. “You’re hypothesizing the Leonard family was immune to the effects of La Malinche because they were descendants of Doña Marina.”
“It’s a thought.”
“And going by that theory, if her blood relatives are immune to it, that means I’m immune as well.”
“I know it’s pretty far-fetched, but you and I both know you have a draw to that thing none of the rest of us do. You knew it wasn’t in that cenote when the rest of us didn’t have a clue. You feel a tug the rest of us don’t. You yourself told your father you know she’s with the ship and not in one of his cenotes.”
“True, but that was a hunch more than anything else.” She gave her head a swift shake. “This is insane, Thad. A feeling is not the same thing as proof.”
“No, but what else do we have to go on right now? Just listen to me for a minute. If we assume the curse is real, and if we hypothesize Carlos Leonard was immune to it, then logic says his son should have been immune as well.”
She shot him a look. “Hypothesize? Is that a technical salvage term?”
He frowned at her. She was trying to throw him off this path, but he wasn’t about to let her. “I may not have your fancy degree, smartass, but I do know how to guess.”
She sighed and looked back at the laptop. “Okay, so his son should be immune as well. But what does it prove? Nothing. Because his journal entry stated he was scared to death of the thing.”
“No, his journal entry said he felt a pull toward the statue. Not what, specifically, that pull was. It could be the same pull you feel.”
She frowned at him again. “You’re stretching here, Leighton. But, okay, assuming that’s the case, then if your theory holds, Marina’s son, Don Mahin Cortés, who was the first one to come in contact with Marina’s Bane, should have been immune as well. But according to history, he fell to the same fate. In 1548, he was tortured and executed for treason. If he was her blood descendent, he shouldn’t have died young or been drawn to the curse.”
“True, but he was Cortés’s son. Their blood was linked. She cursed the thing because of Cortés. He coveted her for fame and glory, right? Why wouldn’t the son covet her as well?”
“Then why would any of her other descendants be immune? Wouldn’t we also be related to both, as descendants of the first mestizo, Don Mahin Cortés?”
This time he raised his brow questioningly. “Are you?” He flipped back to her family history. “He’s not in your genealogy.”
Her eyes narrowed again. “How is that possible?”
“Think about your history, Maren. Just before Cortés left for Spain, he arranged for Marina to marry a Castilian knight, Don Juan Xamarillo. Marina had another child before she disappeared from history.” He drew his finger up to the screen, showing a female offspring from the union. “She’s not usually referred to in history. Females generally weren’t valued or even respected. But your bloodline traces back to her, not through Don Mahin Cortés.”
Maren studied the screen again. “You think I’m immune to the curse.”
“It’s a hunch. It would explain why you feel a tug. It’s been almost five hundred years. Maybe”—he crossed his arms over his chest—“maybe you’re the only one who can end this.”
She considered for a moment, then said, “If that’s the case, then why me? Why not Patrick? He’s got her blood in his veins too. Why me and why now?”
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s just…time.”
She frowned. “This is a little woo-woo, even for you, Leighton. Do you actually expect me to believe in all of this? That the curse is real, that Doña Marina is using me to put the whole thing to rest? That after five hundred years, she finally wants peace?”
“Why not?” he asked simply. “Haven’t you ever held an artifact and felt the history in it? Life goes on, but you and I both know the dead have a strong hold on what happens in the future. Why else do we bust our asses trying to find out what happened hundreds and thousands of years ago? Death isn’t the end, Maren. It’s only the beginning.”
A strange expression crossed her features, one Thad couldn’t read. “It’s an interesting theory. But one we won’t be able to test until we find the damn thing. And if history has taught me anything, it’s that I’m not immune to heartache. Maybe my fate worse than death is everything I’ve already been through.”
She rose and took her mug back into the galley. And as Thad watched her go, that same fear he’d had last night after she’d fallen asleep pierced his chest. She was holding back again. Not a secret this time…but her emotions.
Nerves vibrating, he followed her into the kitchen and leaned back against the counter while she dumped what was left in her cup and rinsed it in the sink. He wanted to reach for her but kept his hands against the counter at his sides instead.
“What?” She dried the cup and set it on the counter.
“You said something to Patrick that’s been bothering me.”
“What did I say?” Confusion drew her brows together as she turned to face him.
“You said, ‘love and hate are closely intertwined.’”
“They are. I believe that. Anyone who’s listened to Doña Marina’s story knows that’s true.”
His chest grew tight. So tight it was hard to draw air. But this was important, and he needed to get the words out. “Do you hate me, Blondie?”
Surprise flickered in her mesmerizing eyes. “Why would you ask that?”
He shrugged and crossed his feet at the ankles. His stomach felt like it was twisting into a pretzel, but it was the hole growing in his chest that pushed him on. “You’re not telling me what’s on your mind. I can see you’re holding back. You’ve given me your body, but not your heart, and not your soul, and definitely not your trust.”
“Thad—”
“If you hadn’t given me all those things before, I might not know now. But I can tell.” He closed his eyes and savored the pain, because he deserved it, dammit. But he didn’t want her to hurt, and he could tell she still was. “Maren, I know I screwed up. I—”
She placed her silky soft fingers over his mouth, stopping his words. When his eyes opene
d and focused on hers, honesty reflected deeply in her gaze. “We both made mistakes. And I don’t hate you. I might have once, but not anymore.”
She slid her hand down his chest and focused on the dive-shop emblem on his black T-shirt. Heat permeated his shirt and slid across his skin. And his heart rolled beneath her hand. “It’s not you. It’s me. Things happened so fast last time. I fell for you right away. To the point where I didn’t care about anything else. I certainly didn’t care about the dig, or doing what my father thought was best. I only wanted to be with you. That need was so strong, so overpowering, somewhere along the way, I think I may have lost a part of myself in the process.”
Love for her filled his heart and mind. He covered her hand with his own and squeezed. Hoping—praying—she could feel it too.
“When it ended,” she went on, “I was lost. And when I found out I was pregnant and couldn’t find you, the only way I could get through it all was to blame you. I’ve felt the extreme of both emotions. Love that blinds you to everything and everyone, and hate that can consume you if you let it. And it nearly did me. Isabel is the only reason I didn’t end up like Declan. She taught me what real love is all about.”
His heart beat hard beneath the palm of her hand. “Maren—”
“The kind of love I felt for you scares me,” she whispered. “I’m afraid to give myself over to that again. I can’t lose myself in it, because it’s not just about me anymore. I have Isabel to think about. She needs me.”
His fingers tightened around hers, and his heart squeezed so hard, he felt the pain through every cell. “I need you too. I want another chance. A real chance. And a future with you and Isabel. I love you, Maren. I promise I won’t hurt you again. Never, ever again.”
He slid his arms around her waist, pulled her close, and kissed her brow. And his heart raced at the familiar feel of her, at the way she wrapped her arms around him and trembled beneath his touch. But it wasn’t enough. She was still afraid. Still holding back. Still sure he was somehow going to trample all over her heart again.