Beautiful Sacrifice

have credit and debit cards,” she said.
    “Cash only. No paper or electronic trail until we have to show our passports to get on the plane to Cozumel.”
    Lina stared at him with wide, dark eyes. “Were we followed to Padre?”
    “Not yet, but there’s no point in leaving a trail of bread crumbs.”
    “You’re paranoid.”
    “I’m alive.”
    She let out a breath. “I’ll pay you back.”
    “Whatever. Just make sure you have two changes of clothes and shoes you can run in. The sort of stuff you could wear on a dig or at the beach. Are you on birth control?”
    She blinked. “Ah, no.”
    “Good. Then we don’t have to worry about getting you meds.”
    “I can live without vitamins, but a toothbrush would be very nice.”
    “No problem. We’ll pick them up along with a new stock of party hats.”
    Lina bit back a smile. “Colors and flavors?”
    He gave her a hot sidelong look. “Want to pick them out?”
    She blushed, laughed, and shook her head.
    With a last check around the parking lot, Hunter followed Lina into the store. His eyes were never still, but he didn’t find anything that set off his internal radar. They hadn’t been followed past the edge of Houston and nobody seemed interested in them now.
    Once in the store, Lina quickly found what she needed. Even if she’d been the shopping kind of woman, this wasn’t a place she would have lingered. But shopping was something she did when she had to, with a list in hand. Like jaguars were climax predators, she was a climax shopper; she knew what sheneeded, she took it when she saw it, and that was that. The only thing she tried on was a pair of all-purpose athletic shoes. She threw in socks and a pair of flip-flops and took her armload back to where Hunter waited, watching other shoppers.
    “Your turn,” she said.
    He went through the men’s department with an efficiency that spoke of long experience with unexpected trips and living off the land. His last selection was a cheap sports duffel that could hold everything the two of them had selected. He paid for the lot at one of the checkout stands. As soon as they were in the parking lot, he put everything into the duffel and headed for the market.
    “Get what you need. I’ll get snacks, water, and trail food. And party hats.” He smiled at her. “We’ll change in the gas-station restrooms after I get fuel.”
    She looked startled. “We aren’t going back to your uncle’s house?”
    “Depends on Crutchfeldt.”
    Lina tilted her head and watched him with unblinking, bittersweet-chocolate eyes. “I don’t understand.”
    “If he gives us a good lead, we’ll work it wherever it goes,” Hunter said. “If somebody picks up our trail, we’re on the next plane to Cozumel. Keeping you safe is my first priority. Finding who’s after you is second.”

C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
     
    G ROUND FOR BUILDING ON S OUTH P ADRE I SLAND WAS scarce—protected wetlands thrived on one side and the ocean on the other. Simon Crutchfeldt’s house was built on enough land for a small subdivision. The two-story faux Georgian clashed with the wild tangles of scrubland that surrounded all but the ocean side of the estate. The manicured lawn looked as improbable as big boobs on a skinny woman. The tall, showy rows of sabal palms lining the approach and clumped artfully around the house looked plastic.
    In north Houston, the estate would have been right at home. On Padre, it was slightly ridiculous.
    “Sometimes money doesn’t talk,” Lina said. “It screams.”
    Hunter drove up the long drive and parked his Jeep in anarea set aside for guests. Beyond a waist-high hedge of gardenias there was a pool set in several acres of landscaping and tilework. Although it was just after nine, their host had told them to look for him there.
    “I’m along for the ride,” Hunter said, turning off the Jeep and pocketing the key. “You just pursue your area of interest and don’t pay attention to Mr. Harold Kerrigan. That’s me.”
    “Is Mr. Kerrigan the strong, silent type?” she asked, smiling.
    “Yeah. But if I start coming on like a middleman for a collector with an agenda, you be your usual shocked, upright academic self. I’m just a guy you’ve dated once or twice and you’re really pissed off. That way, if the ivory tower ever gets wind of this charade, you’ll be covered.”
    “You make me sound like a prig.”
    “Caesar’s wife, sweetheart. ‘Prig’ is the first word in the job