Beautiful Sacrifice

parked nearby, nobody sitting on a porch, no new tracks in the yard or near the Jeep.
    He went back to the house and straight to his uncle’s safe. The combination hadn’t changed. He opened the safe, counted out a wad of cash, took one of the penlights, removed his boot knife, and left a note with his signature. He ignored the handguns and the cache of emergency documents in case he needed a new identity. He shut the safe, smiling.
    Lina thought he was paranoid. His uncles were paranoid. They had learned the hard way.
    By the time Lina had showered, taken what stains and wrinkles she could out of her clothes, and dressed, Hunter was through fixing breakfast in the kitchen. Toast, peanut butter, orange juice, coffee. Not a feast, but it would keep them going until they found better. They both ate quickly, knowing the meal was meant to be fuel rather than a dining experience.
    “No complaints?” he asked as he ditched their paper plates.
    “About what?”
    “The food.”
    “We don’t have freezers and greengrocers and chefs at dig sites,” she said, rinsing out their coffee cups. “We eat what we pack in and are glad to have it.”
    He laughed, slid his arms around her waist, and nuzzled her freshly washed hair. “I really like you, Dr. Taylor. You don’t need perfumes and spas and boutiques to make you sexy.”
    “A night with you would make any woman feel sexy.” Then Lina heard her own words and blushed.
    “Same goes. I’m lucky I can walk this morning.” His teeth closed gently on her ear, his tongue savored delicate skin. “Now march that beautiful ass out to the Jeep before I get us into trouble.”
    She took the warning and grabbed her purse on the way through the living room. She noticed the open computer, but left it for Hunter to deal with.
    By the time Lina was strapped in the Jeep, Hunter was striding out, computer under his arm. All male, lithe as a big cat, he took her breath away. With a mental curse she reined in her thoughts.
    “Do you want me to call Crutchfeldt now?” she asked as Hunter got into the driver’s seat. “Or do you just want to show up at his door?”
    “You have his number?”
    “He called me a few weeks ago, looking for Celia.” Lina pulled her cell phone out of her purse. “He should still be in the memory.”
    “Good. We’re on a short clock. Get us in as soon as possible.”
    Hunter drove into the commercial section of town while Lina made nice on the phone with a man she would rather have sliced into fishing bait. He admired her professionalism and hated that he’d asked her to do something so distasteful to her.
    But then, holding a bloody rag over a bullet wound was nobody’s idea of nice either. She’d done it without a flinch or a complaint.
    I like her way too much, Hunter realized.
    Then he smiled. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him, and he knew it. At some level it scared him. He knew what loving and losing was like.
    Hell on earth with no time off for good behavior.
    “In an hour,” Lina said, closing her phone. Like her mouth, her voice was flat. “He just oozed anticipation over meeting Celia’s oh-so-respected Ph.D. daughter.”
    “Good work, Lina. Thank you.”
    “If it will help Jase and his family, I’ll deal with the devil.”
    “And you,” Hunter said quietly. “Don’t forget your own safety in this. I sure don’t.”
    Her mouth tilted in an upside-down smile, but she didn’t say anything.
    South Padre Island unrolled on either side of the Jeep—malls and tourist traps sprouted like crazed mushrooms alongside new two-story houses and smaller homes that had been in place for some fifty years or more. The damage from the last hurricane was a memory gathering dust in storerooms along with the plywood used to cover windows during a blow.
    It was cooler than Houston, but not by much. The morning sun caused heat ripples to rise out of the asphalt. The breeze from the sea was more hope than actual relief. The swampy smell of the slow-cooking wetlands to the west of them pervaded the humid air like invisible smoke.
    Hunter parked near a strip mall with a gas station on one side and a discount chain clothing store in the middle, and tourist traps full of trinkets on the other end. In between was everything including a liquor store, a fake fingernails “spa,” a check-cashing company, a small grocery store, and a Thai restaurant.
    He reached into his wallet and pulled out cash. “Get what you need.”
    “I