Beautiful Sacrifice

moment, her eyes dark and measuring. Then she looked at the photos. “Do you know where the artifacts came from?”
    “All I know is that the plates on the truck caught at the border were from Quintana Roo.”
    “The driver?”
    “The same.”
    “Has he mentioned any specific area or ruins?” Lina asked without looking up. Holding her breath. “Q Roo is a big state.”
    “He’s dead,” Hunter said. “He didn’t talk about anything but getting shuck of the artifacts. He was afraid of them, or of whoever would take delivery.”
    “You’re not making this any easier,” she said under her breath.
    “Easy or hard, it’ll get done. Somebody knows where those artifacts came from. Somebody looted them, sold them, maybe they were resold a few times before they were packed in bags of cement mix and taken north. When I find the looters or the middlemen, I’ll find the name of the end buyer. Somewhere along that line, someone will talk. Someone will know about these artifacts.”
    Lina was still caught on the bags of cement. “Was it a commercial load in a commercially licensed truck?”
    “No. I had a source check it out. The truck was stolen from a building site on the Riviera Maya.”
    Thank God, Lina thought. “You know that part of my family’s business in Mexico and the U.S. is cement?”
    Hunter nodded. “The bags weren’t from Chel Balam International.”
    Not that the wrapping proved anything. Buying bags of cement mix was about as complex as buying tortillas.
    “Yet you still came to me,” she said.
    Silently he watched her, waiting for her to realize there was no way out.
    “This is extortion,” she said.
    “You want me to walk away, I’ll walk,” he said, reaching for the photos.
    “And talk, no doubt,” she said bitterly, smacking his hand away from the photos.
    “Does that mean you want me to stay?”
    “It means that I have no choice. And we both know it.”
    “I’ll pay for your time and expertise,” Hunter said, letting out a hidden breath of relief.
    “I’m not a whore with a Ph.D. Now shut up and let me concentrate on these photos.”
    Hunter shut up.

C HAPTER F IVE
     
    S OMEWHERE BEHIND H UNTER, A MAN WHISTLED DOWN THE hallway outside Lina’s office. Someone else called out a greeting. The air conditioner made mechanical sounds.
    Hunter counted the books in one of Lina’s bookcases. Twice.
    After a very long silence, Lina asked, “May I take notes?”
    “As long as you don’t show them to anybody but Jase or me,” Hunter said.
    Without another word, she pulled over an electronic notebook, turned it on, tapped the screen to create a new document and a keyboard, and began typing.
    “You said you could multitask,” Hunter said, “so talk while you type.”
    “The knife is most likely obsidian, which is volcanic glass. Unusually refined, delicate flaking pattern. The goal was beauty, not durability. Ceremonial. Probably to be used only once, or at most in a brief series of highly important ceremonies. There is a sigil etched into the blade.”
    “What does it mean?”
    “Unknown. The photographer used too much flash for me to read beneath the glare.”
    Hunter came and stood behind the desk, close to her. Too close. He knew it and he didn’t care. He really liked the scent and feel of her near him.
    “Show me,” he said.
    “Here,” she said, pointing to the photo.
    The flash had made an explosion of light against the highly reflective obsidian. The result obscured part of the knife while throwing the rest into relief.
    “Go on,” he said.
    Her full lips tightened, but all she said was “These are first, very quick reactions to the artifacts. A gut response. If you want academic detail, I need more time.”
    “Give me what you can right now. I’ll wait for the rest.”
    There was no double meaning in that, Lina told herself. And he’s not breathing in the scent of my skin.
    She forced herself to think, to multitask despite the looming presence of Hunter Johnston, but every breath she took was flavored with warmth and something clean, healthy, male.
    “Give me room,” she said tightly.
    He shifted an inch away. When she met his eyes, she knew that he was as aware of her as she was of him. She set her teeth and forced herself to concentrate on the second photo.
    “A mask,” she said. “Those are feathers or wings flaring away from the sides of the face.” Inhuman lips parted, a god’s wordspouring out. “Gaping mouth, eyes large and not filled