Ellen James - Forbidden

Beyond sharing this warning, the Institute showed discretion. It did not elaborate on further aspects of Dr. Petrie’s personality, nor did it explain why his promising career had faltered to the point that only a struggling organization like the Institute itself would hire him.

In preparation for her new job, Dana had promptly attempted to find copies of Nicholas Petrie’s books on ancient Mayan culture. Both volumes had gone out of print, and she’d finally located dog-eared copies of them at two separate libraries. It was all a mystery, really. The books were excellent, written in a lively, insightful style. At this stage of his career, Nicholas Petrie should have produced even more insights into the Maya. What had reduced him to second-class status, heading a minor dig on the insignificant little island of Calamar, Mexico?

Dana forced herself to stop speculating. She’d come to this island for herself. Perhaps the Calamar dig was a minor one, but she didn’t care about that. This was her chance at last to break out of the stifling mold of her old life.

And so she was excited. And nervous. Her emotions were pent-up. All these sensations roiled inside her.

“Please pull over,” she said in a very distinct voice.

“Ms. Morgan, I’m sure you’d like to admire the view, but–”

“You’d best pull over, Dr. Petrie.”

Thankfully, something in her tone prevented him from further argument. He brought the Rover to a halt. Dana clambered out her side of the vehicle and stalked off toward the underbrush. She had a vague notion of preserving some dignity for herself, but a second later she was doubled over in an ignoble fashion.

Nick Petrie knew exactly what to do. Without saying a word, he followed Dana and supported her head during the humiliating episode. His hand was cool and firm against her clammy skin. When it was all quite over, he held a canteen of water to her lips for a blessedly refreshing sip or two. Then he moistened a serviceable white handkerchief in the water and pressed it matter-of-factly against her face. She was trembling, and he held her steady with one arm. Giving up all hope of dignity, she leaned against him, silently accepting the strength he offered her.

“I usually don’t cause such a strong reaction in people,” he said. “I make them run away, yes–but I don’t make them sick. This is a first.”

She couldn’t even bear to look at him. Dana hated feeling out of control, the way she did right now. When she was quite sure she could stand alone, she moved away from him–although she’d ended up clutching his handkerchief and couldn’t seem to let go of it.

“I feel fine now,” she declared. “It’s all very embarrassing, what just happened–but it was the excitement, you know. I’ve been that way ever since I was a kid. I’d go on a trip, and I’d get so worked up about the adventure I’d be sick….” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was only making matters worse, conjuring up an image of herself as a spindly little kid who couldn’t even handle the anticipation of going to Disneyland. She could tell from the disgruntled expression on Dr. Petrie’s face that he didn’t want to hear any more about her childhood.

And yet, just a few moments ago, he’d been…compassionate. There could be no other word for the way he’d helped her. Gruffly compassionate. Maybe only the gruff part remained now, but she hadn’t imagined the other.

“I’m ready to go on,” she said.

“I doubt you’re up to working,” he answered brusquely. “I’ll take you into the village and let you rest for the day.” He made it sound as if he wanted to be rid of her, and that only strengthened Dana’s resolve.

“Absolutely not. I’m fine–really I am. I’m more than ready to work.”

He studied her with a skeptical expression, the harsh lines of his face hardening still further. There could be no doubt that he disapproved of her. But then he gave an abrupt nod, and led the way back to the Rover.

Dana clambered in beside him. He drove more slowly now, making the ride smoother. Dana suspected he was doing it out of consideration for her, but she didn’t know how to thank him. He probably wouldn’t appreciate her gratitude; he still maintained a beleaguered expression.

But at least they were on their way again, the road turning and making a path among the vine-draped trees. The jungle of Isla Calamar engulfed them. Branches scraped the sides of the Rover as the road grew more narrow and rutted. Now Dr. Petrie couldn’t avoid bouncing along, and Dana’s stomach clenched in protest. She willed herself to remain calm; she simply would not disgrace herself again.

They traveled for half an hour, perhaps more. Nick didn’t speak to her. The silence seemed a brooding one, broken now and then by the shriek of some exotic bird. The green shadows of the forest pressed in on the Rover, but at last Nick came to a halt. And that was when Dana saw it–the Mayan temple.

It jutted up amid the jungle with all the majesty of its thousand years. Mossy stone upon stone rose in narrowing terraces to the very pinnacle of the pyramid. Underbrush still tangled about the steps, and here and there gnarled tree roots had broken up the dark gray stone. Dana climbed out of the Rover and went to stand at the very base of the temple, craning her neck upward. She was filled with a sense of awe–and gratitude that she could witness this remnant of a vanished civilization. She knew there were more impressive ruins: the great Mayan cities discovered at Palenque, Tikal, Copán. That didn’t matter. This was her ruin, this temple hidden among the forest of mangrove and cypress.

At last she turned to Nick, who had come up beside her. “It’s wonderful,” she murmured. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

He said nothing in return, but merely studied her in that disconcerting manner of his. In the mysterious shade of the jungle, his eyes were an even more intense blue than before–and his features even more stern. His gaze might be disapproving, but that didn’t stop her from feeling oddly drawn to the man, as if they shared something unspoken in common. For the space of several heartbeats she gazed back at him. His features had gone taut–perhaps a sign that he, too, felt this odd connection between them. Dana knew it didn’t make sense. Nicholas Petrie was a stranger to her. How could she therefore feel this disturbing sense of closeness to him?

She was the one who glanced away first. Firmly she reminded herself of the disaster with Alan. She couldn’t afford to be attracted to Dr. Petrie, of all people.

She turned from him, and saw a black-striped iguana dart across a rock. Insects buzzed around her. So far this morning her repellent wasn’t doing the job, and she had to resist the urge to slap her arms.

“What types of artifacts have you uncovered in the vicinity?” she asked, needing to fill the silence between herself and Nick. “Monuments, stelae, that sort of thing.”

When she ventured to glance at him again, she could swear she saw a restrained humor hovering in his expression now. His change of mood annoyed her. What did he find so funny, dammit? She slapped her arms after all, as a swarm of whining bugs strafed her. Why didn’t any of them seem to be attacking Nick?

“We’re excavating for remnants left by the Mayan farmers who lived near this temple,” Nick said. “But don’t get too worked up, Ms. Morgan. We’re not likely to make any stunning discoveries. I’m not the first archaeologist to descend on the island. Different groups were here during the 1920s and 1950s. They didn’t find anything particularly noteworthy. We’re here as follow-up.”

His impassive tone made her glance at him more sharply. “You’re not excited about this place?”