Buried Secrets. Margaret Daley

couple of months ago, and he would sometimes ramble on about the past. He could have said something. But most people probably wouldn’t have realized what he was talking about.”

      “But maybe one did?”

      He nodded.

      “Do you know who visited him?”

      “Not for sure. A lot of his old colleagues from the college came to see him, but the rehabilitation center didn’t keep a list of visitors. I asked.”

      She was well aware that Red Collier had gone on to garner quite a reputation in the field of archaeology, and had taught at the same college as Zach. “Too bad. We could have started with that.”

      “We can try interviewing members of the staff and see if anyone remembers anything.”

      “That might be a good idea.”

      “Whoever is after this legend won’t be giving it to any museum. It has to be a private collector.” Anger cut deep into his features. “I can’t tolerate knowledge lost for private gains.”

      She thought of what her grandfather had hoped to glean from the information written on the deerskins about the lost sect of Aztecs, if indeed, they had fled to the Southwest ahead of the Spanish conquerors. “I know one of your areas of expertise is anthropology, like my grandfather. It could sure enhance your reputation if you discovered the codices and evidence of the lost Aztec tribe who tried to preserve part of their culture from the Spanish conquistadors.”

      The harsh glint in Zach’s eyes stabbed her. “The reason you can say that, Dr. Somers, is because you don’t know me at all. Was that comment made because I’m a Collier? Do you judge a man without getting to know him?” The taut lines of his body transmitted his feelings more than his quiet words, spoken with a lethal edge.

      Her gaze fixed upon the nerve that twitched in the hardened line of his jaw, and she regretted her words. She moistened her dry lips. “No, not usually.”

      “The most important reason I want to find the codices is that it was Granddad’s lifelong dream. He believed they existed to the day he died. He wanted to prove once and for all a group of Aztecs had lived in the Southwest, separated from the ones near Mexico City. He believed the legend that they had taken some of the Aztec treasures with them for safekeeping.” He brought his glass of water to his lips, his gaze never leaving hers. “It may have been wishful thinking on my grandfather’s part, because he hated to admit that something of such historical significance would have been destroyed by the Spanish.”

      The intense way he was looking at her made her realize how lacking she was in the ways of men and women. Except for her one relationship in college with BradWent-worth, she hadn’t dated much, having devoted her life to her studies and becoming a doctor. Now that she was established in a thriving practice, she still didn’t date much.

      She breathed in sharply and caught the scent of him, enticingly masculine—clean, fresh, like the desert at night. When his regard dropped to the pulse beat at her throat, his look entranced her. Then slowly his gaze reconnected with hers, and the earlier bond she had experienced grew.

      For a long moment she couldn’t think clearly. Then, from a willpower she was beginning to realize was lacking more and more around him, she glanced away. She had to focus on what was important: the map and diary that could lead to the Aztec codices. “Was the map stolen?” she asked finally.

      “Yes.”

      The anxiety in the air between them settled around her shoulders heavily, weighing her down as though it were an iron cloak. “Then what’s the use? If the legend is right, you have to have both the map and the diary to find the location of the codices and any other Aztec treasure there may be.”

      He straightened, alert. “Because I have a copy of the map. Do you have a copy of the diary?”

      “No, and even if I did, why should I trust you?” Red Collier had betrayed Gramps, taking the map and his true love, Willow-in-the-Wind, for his wife. If the man had been able to steal the journal from her grandfather, he would have done that, too. She had grown up knowing every minute detail of the feud between the two men, which had started over a woman they’d both loved and a treasure they had both wanted to find, first as partners, later as enemies.

      “Because I don’t want you to end up like your grandfather—dead.”

      His directness sizzled the air. Did he know she had the diary?

      Thankfully, the waitress arrived with their dinners, and the moment shattered like a rock hitting a window. Maggie picked up her fork and started to eat. “I worked through lunch, fitting some afternoon patients in so I could come see you. I didn’t eat anything. I’m starved, and this looks delicious.”

      “I see you’re still not totally convinced someone killed your grandfather.”

      “No. As you said earlier, it’s just a theory. No real proof.”

      “A scientist to the end. I can appreciate that. I hope, however, that that end isn’t a permanent one.”

      She tightened her hold on her fork. “If you’re trying to frighten me, you’re doing a nice job.”

      “Good. Someone needs to scare some sense into you.”

      “Then go to the police with your theory. Let them figure it out. It’s what they’re supposed to do.”

      “A job that won’t mean much to them. This is very personal to me. Besides, as you just pointed out, I don’t have any concrete proof something has happened.”

      She gestured with her fork. “Exactly. In my profession, I deal with facts, Dr. Collier, as you’re supposed to in yours.”

      He took a bite of his quesadilla. “It’s facts you want? Number one, both of our grandfathers died weeks apart, mine supposedly from natural causes, yours from an accident. There are ways to stop a person’s heart that appear natural. And there are ways to make something seem like an accident when it isn’t. Number two, both of their houses, and Granddad’s room at the home, were trashed right after their deaths. Number three, you were followed by someone last night. Number four, our grandfathers have a past that connects them to an archaeological treasure that has never been found, and could be worth millions.” Intensity vibrated in his voice as his eyes bored into her.

      Maggie felt as though they were the only two people in the whole restaurant, and everything was wiped from her view but him. She was desperate not to believe him, because if what he said was true then her life would change drastically from this moment forward. The unknown lurked before her, prodding her fear to the foreground. She’d battled desperately to remain in control of her life, and that control was slipping away from her.

      “Those facts can be explained. Accidents and natural deaths happen all the time. People are robbed all the time. And their connection is almost sixty years old.”

      He leaned forward. “What about the person who followed you last night? A weirdo out for his jollies?”

      “That’s a possibility.”

      Zach shook his head. “You’re the most stubborn woman I know. Fine. I tried to warn you of the danger you’re in, but it’s obvious you’re in denial. I’ll work on this without your help.”

      He had tried to understand her position, but he was having a hard time doing it when the facts seemed so obvious. But he couldn’t turn his back on her. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if something happened to her, which was why he had returned to the ranch the night before even though he had known it wasn’t a wise thing to do.

      While Maggie played with her food, not really eating any of her cheese enchiladas, he remembered their confrontation the day before. He should be angry, but that emotion had died quickly. Instead, all he could think about was her long auburn hair, released from its restraints, framing her face in wild disarray while she stood on her grandfather’s porch, aiming a shotgun at him. Or her green eyes that were the color of dew-kissed grass.