Beautiful Sacrifice

and put down a huge bowl of pibil . Steam that smelled of lime and orange and pork rose up. Bowls of corn tortillas and various condiments followed. She put plates and silverware along one edge of the table, smiled, and left.
    Lina took a big bite of pibil and looked around as she chewed.
    “See anyone you know?” he asked. “Tulum isn’t that far away.”
    “No. I just can tell by the faces that I’m in the Yucatan. Undoubtedly, our workers have relatives here, but I don’t know them by name.”
    “But they could know you.”
    “Recognize me, yes,” Lina said. “Knowing me is a lot different.”
    “How does your neck feel?”
    “Calm,” she said, licking up a stray bit of spicy sauce.
    “Let me know when that changes.” He looked at the piles of food. “You mind sharing?”
    “I was thinking of you when I ordered. The sauce in the green bowl will eat through steel. You should love it.”
    Hunter smiled and went to work. He ate with excellent manners, and quickly enough so that if something interrupted the meal, he wouldn’t leave the table hungry. After a few minutes, he looked up. Lina was watching him, smiling in a way that said she liked seeing him enjoy the Yucatec food she loved.
    “You really do feel at home in Mexico,” she murmured.
    “As long as I don’t have to eat the worms at the bottom of the mescal bottle.”
    She laughed and relaxed.
    Hunter ate and kept an eye on the patrons.
    He didn’t want any nasty surprises. But so far, so good. The café was filled mostly with chattering people, laughter, and the occasional off-color toast from a table of five young men. Their clothes labeled them as workers, not narcos.
    “Rodrigo called you a queen among peasants,” Hunter said.
    “Now I know he was drunk.”
    Hunter looked at Lina’s strong, high cheekbones and large, almost almond eyes. She had an extraordinary face. Haunting. Timeless.
    “Rodrigo has seen more than his share of Maya ruins,” Hunter said. “He lives well over the line between angels and devils. If I hadn’t saved his life a few years back, he wouldn’t even talk to me now. He’s a hard man to frighten. Yet he’s running scared, heading for the airport and the hell away from Tulum.”
    Lina paused just before she took a bite. “Why?”
    “Some tomb robbers he knows got themselves killed.” He took a big bite and watched her.
    She chewed, swallowed, prepared another bite. “If I don’t think of their families, I can say they had it coming.”
    But her dark eyes said she was thinking of wives and children, parents and siblings and cousins who would have holes torn out of their lives.
    “They died the old-fashioned way,” Hunter said, swallowing the pibil, which was as savory as it was nuclear. “As a sacrifice. Body paint, no hearts, sacred glyphs on the skin. You know of anyone local who might take ancient history a little too seriously?”
    “There are many full-blooded Maya here,” Lina said. She really wanted to eat more, but wasn’t sure her stomach hadroom. “And out in the small villages…well, you saw the cross of corn and the like. Catholic sure, but only on Sundays. The rest of the time, they live with the gods of their ancestors.”
    “All the Maya are pagans underneath?”
    “No. They’re like every other people. When it comes to any religion, they have fanatics and unbelievers and everything in between. But as a rule, the closer the jungle, the closer the old gods.”
    Hunter nodded. He’d noticed the same thing himself.
    “What’s next?” Lina asked, giving up on the savory food.
    “De la Poole. You sure you don’t want to call him?”
    “I’d rather surprise him.”
    “What if he isn’t there?” Hunter asked.
    “Someone at the museum will know where he is.”
    Without appearing to, Hunter took another look around the café. Nothing had changed. The locals might admire Lina’s royal looks, but they weren’t groupies.
    “You finished?” he asked.
    “Stuffed.”
    He threw some money on the table. “Let’s go.”
    They left the café and went to their rented Bronco. Hunter didn’t see anyone who cared. Lina’s neck didn’t itch.
    “I’ll drive,” she said. “You check on Jase.”
    Hunter didn’t argue. She knew the way better than he did.
    The Cancun-Chetumal highway was two lanes of divided road in either direction. There was jungle crowding on both sides, giving only rare glimpses of the ocean that was close enough to taste as an underlying tang in the