Temple of the Jaguar Read Free

doesn’t like competition, and his competition has a habit of disappearing.”
    “ But you’re still alive.”
    “ No small feat. If it was up to your uncle, I’d be dead by now.”
    She studied me carefully, and seemed to reappraise, looking me over like a used car. Maybe if I were lucky she’d kick my tires.
    “ Your father owned a museum in California,” I said, prodding.
    “ You know of my father?”
    I grinned. “I’m just full of surprises.”
    “ Well, the museum was burned to the ground,” she said. “Everything was lost. My father’s entire legacy, destroyed.”
    “ I assume Uncle Leo had a hand in that as well.”
    “ Yes.”
    She seemed about to tell me more but her drink came. She opened the bottle with a deft twist and took a long pull and wiped the corners of her mouth with her thumb and forefinger. Her hand was shaking. She twisted the cap back on and set the bottle on the wooden table. Next, she removed a small notepad from her purse, flipped to a page and looked at me steadily. Her blue eyes were flecked with gold. My favorite color.
    She looked down at the pad. “You, of course, are a looter.”
    “ I prefer the term creative archaeologist ,” I said and reached over and tilted down her notepad with my forefinger. There was much scribbling on the page, with my name written on top, underlined twice. Hmmmm. “Where did you get this?,” I asked. “I’m not exactly listed in the yellow pages under Looting.”
    She grinned. “I’m full of surprises as well, Mr. Caine. As it turns out, you are fairly well-known in the museum industry. A looter who’s not entirely untrustworthy.”
    “ Mom would be proud.”
    She went back to the notepad. “You have a Ph.D in Classical Mayan socio-economics from UCLA.”
    “ Sounded good at the time. But just try getting a job at Microsoft.”
    “ You worked briefly as an acquisitions specialist for the Bowers Museum of Cultural History in Santa Ana, California. Your last official job.”
    “ Yes.”
    “ But you quit.”
    I shrugged. “As it turns out, I had quite a knack for acquiring artifacts, and an even stronger desire to keep them for myself.”
    She closed the notebook, put it back in her purse. I knew there was still more information in there about me. Curiosity killed the looter.
    “ So,” I said, “did I pass the test?”
    She looked at me with those big round eyes. The circles seemed to be getting darker. She needed sleep. Probably a couple days’ worth. “Yes, I suppose you did,” she said.
    “ Oh, swell. Now it’s your turn. What’s this all about?”
     
     
     
    Chapter Four
     
     
    She sat back and crossed her legs. Her ankles were tan. Tan ankles did something to me. Her foot bounced as she spoke. “You are, of course, familiar with the legends surrounding Ciudad Blanca.”
    I sat back. “It’s a fairy tale.”
    “ It’s not a fairy tale, Mr. Caine.”
    “ Oh? You’ve been there? What’s it like?”
    She smiled and reached out and touched the back of my hand. I once heard that a good salesperson would always touch their mark. I felt like a mark. As if I were being manipulated through a sales pitch. Except that I liked her pitch—and her touch.
    Oh, brother.
    The waiter came by and looked at me. I shook my head and he went away. Meanwhile, she watched me carefully, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction. The flecks in her eyes glittered like fool’s gold. Except, I was beginning to feel like the fool. She slipped something into my hand.
    “ What’s this?” I asked.
    “ Look at it.”
    I did. It was a Polaroid of a limestone disc and a rotund older man standing next to it, smiling as if he were with a lover. The disc was taller than his hip, larger than the ones I had come across. I squinted, and was able to pick out one or two familiar glyphs, which seemed to speak of rivers and valleys. The majority of the text, however, was unknown to me. The glyphs spiraled out from the center for three rows in what could only