Beautiful Sacrifice

the sign or something much like it on one of the pieces that Jase had lost.
    With a soft sound, Lina edged closer. The broken knife had a sigil on it, a marking that made her pulse spike. The mark was a cluster of four triangles all turned point out, with jagged lines joining them on their longest side.
    Four corners joined by lightning.
    Kawa’il.
    “Where did you find this?” Lina asked tightly.
    “If memory serves, it probably wasn’t from a sponsored dig,” Crutchfeldt said, his smile more a hint than a real curve. “It’s from a lowland site in the Yucatan. Post-Classic period. It actually postdates the official end of the Maya civilization, though there were many artisans who kept working with motifs and styles—”
    “Yes, I know,” Lina interrupted curtly. “Which site.”
    It was a demand, not a question.
    “South of Padre,” Crutchfeldt said blandly.
    She took a careful breath before she looked at Hunter. “You never wanted to date me. You just wanted to use me.”
    He stared back, unreadable.
    “I’ll be in the Jeep,” Lina said.
    Without another word, she left.
    “Sensitive young lady,” Crutchfeldt observed. “It’s that Latin temperament.”
    Hunter wanted to roll his eyes. “I haven’t noticed that Latins have the only tempers on earth. If you’re talking temper, I come from Vikings via Genghis Khan.”
    For the first time, Crutchfeldt looked at Hunter with real interest. “What do you want?”
    “I have a client who wants to acquire artifacts from that period.” Hunter nodded toward the alcove before he added a deliberate echo of Crutchfeldt’s words. “Very, very badly.”
    “You should have dated the mother, not the daughter.”
    “Celia doesn’t have access to the artifacts,” Hunter said.
    “And you think I do.”
    “That’s why I’m here.”
    Hunter reached into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts and pulled out the pictures of the missing artifacts. The photos showed the rubs and creases of careless handling, but the artifacts were quite identifiable.
    Curious, Crutchfeldt leaned closer. Hunter yanked back the photos and held them like a poker hand, close to his chest. With an impatient sound, Crutchfeldt plucked one of the photos free.
    A mask, shining like a smoking mirror, ringed with glyphs of power and death.
    “Kawa’il,” Crutchfeldt breathed. For an instant the avarice of a collector gleamed in his eyes. Then the businessman took over. “What is the provenance?”
    “My client wants the artifact,” Hunter said, “not the pedigree.”
    “I don’t have either one.”
    Hunter had known that the moment Crutchfeldt looked at the photo with the eyes of a man who wanted, not one who already owned.
    “Who would?” Hunter asked.
    There was a long silence. Then Crutchfeldt sighed. “I rarely give advice, yet…Dr. Taylor’s exquisite appreciation of my collection was very satisfying.”
    Hunter waited.
    “There are grave robbers on Reyes Balam lands,” Crutchfeldt said. “They take, but they don’t sell to me or anyone I know. Their leader is more ruthless than your Genghis Khan.”
    “Who is he?”
    “To speak his name is death.” Crutchfeldt smiled thinly and handed over the photo. “I prefer life.”
    “Is he Mexican?”
    Crutchfeldt nodded.
    “Is he called El Maya?”
    Crutchfeldt’s eyelids flinched. “Good day, Mr. Kerrigan. You know the way out.”
    Hunter wanted to argue, but he knew a losing hand when he held it. With a smooth motion, he pocketed the photos and walked out, leaving Crutchfeldt and his collection behind. The sun seemed unusually hot and vital after the mansion.
    Lina was waiting in the Jeep, frowning and biting her lush lower lip.
    Hunter got in and started up the engine without a word.
    “Well?” she asked after they were beyond the long drive.
    “I’m thinking.”
    “Think out loud.”
    Hunter almost smiled despite the anger and adrenaline racing through him.
    To speak his name is death.
    He didn’t want Lina anywhere near that kind of danger.
    And he didn’t have any choice. Houston hadn’t provided safety for her. They had been followed to the city limits and would have been followed farther if Hunter hadn’t lost the tail. The fact that it was a lone follower had told Hunter that it wasn’t a law enforcement agency breathing down their neck. Even the dumbest cop knew that if the subject was alert, a single tail didn’t get the job done.
    “Hunter?”
    He flexed his hands on the steering