What Hunter didn’t have to say was that Carlos was listed among the top tier of wealthy businessmen in Mexico. If people bought cement or mahogany, chances were good that they bought from some arm of Reyes Balam enterprises.
Lina turned off the headlights. The jungle flowed closer, part of the darkness. The stars were lost to the high overcast. Somewhere the moon glowed, but not here, not now.
She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I love the smell here. Green, living, laced with a hint of flowers and heat.”
“Home,” Hunter said.
Her answer was a soft laugh. “I never thought of it like that, but you’re right. The early memories are the deepest. The sweet mysteries of the jungle, the music of children laughing, women calling to one another at the market, the smell of pork and chiles and unsweetened chocolate. The shocking coolness of jumping into a cenote on a hot day. Playing hide-and-seek among the ruins while the faces of gods watched. The music of life that is the jungle at night. It seems so long ago for me and yet close enough to touch.”
“A lot different from Houston.”
“Houston has its own beauty,” Lina said absently, listening to the jungle. “The rush and tumble of human life, the feeling of being within a giant’s heartbeat, shops offering goods from all over the world, the rhythms of different languages.”
“And the artifacts that tie past and present together,” Hunter said.
“That most of all. The people who lived in the Yucatan before the Spanish have always fascinated me. The resort cities…not so much. They don’t seem quite real, like they landed from outer space.”
The ticks and pops of the cooling engine blended with the random animal noises of the jungle that surrounded the compound. Though neither Lina nor Hunter said anything, they weren’t eager to leave the intimacy of the vehicle and the conversation that had nothing to do with blood and fear.
“I’ve never been able to decide which I like better,” Hunter said, “exploring the marshes of my childhood or the jungles of my adulthood.”
“What about cities?”
“A great place to get supplies, clean clothes, some shows, good food, and see friends. Overall, I prefer greenery to cement. But I’ll take a big city over a small town any day. My uncles are the opposite. They hate cities and love Brownsville.”
“I’m torn between my love of being on a dig and the richness of knowledge that comes with a city,” Lina admitted. “I finally realized that I need both.”
“Me, too.” Hunter linked his fingers with hers, savoring the smooth warmth of her hand in his.
She leaned close enough to smooth his hair back from his face with her free hand. He turned slightly and kissed her palm.
“I suppose we have to go in,” she said.
“Probably. Someone is sure to have noticed us by now. Is your neck itching?”
Her smile was bright in the darkness. “I’m used to being watched by family when I’m here. I am the only Reyes Balam of my generation.”
“No wonder you live in Houston. Nobody there is nagging you to be barefoot and pregnant.”
“And married,” she said. “That’s very important to my family.”
“What about you?”
“If it happens, wonderful. But there’s no nail-biting frenzy to get it done. I don’t want the kind of marriage my parents have.”
More lights came on at the front of the big house. A second row of knee-high lights came on along the main walkway to the house.
“I think that’s our cue,” Hunter said.
She sighed. “Good-bye, privacy. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, but they can be overwhelming.”
“I’ve never met a family that wasn’t.”
Neither moved to get out of the Bronco. Hunter studied as much of the estate as he could see.
Lina studied him.
Despite architectural differences, the various buildings managed to blend together into a pleasing whole. Crushed limestone paths connected outlying buildings to the main house. Gardens thrived with native and imported plants. The blended perfumes of flowers were a silent welcome and an invitation to stay and enjoy. Fountains splashed invisibly, joining all sounds into a gentle music. Native palms and imported bougainvillea interrupted the stucco and tile of the buildings. Sweeping balconies anchored cascades of flowering vines.
“This is what Crutchfeldt was trying for with his monstrosity,” Hunter said in a low voice. “But nothing beats old money and roots that have grown through the centuries.” His eyes adjusted to the darkness, revealing more and more detail. He let out a soft whistle. “I knew the Reyes Balam name went back a long way,” he said, speaking as much to himself as to her, “but it’s beginning to sink in that you were born on an estate the size of Rhode Island. Must have been interesting.”
Lina saw enjoyment rather than envy in his expression. So different from Mercurio. Hunter appreciated the age of the combined Reyes Balam family lines, but he felt no need to been seen as an aristocrat in the eyes of his fellow man. Nor did he feel somehow inferior for being “common.”
She leaned closer, brushing her cheek against his arm for an instant. She had been looking for a man like him for a long time—confident rather than arrogant.
“I like the main kitchen and Abuelita’s family table,” Lina said. “The rest of it is simply there. When I was a child, most of the house was off-limits. After I was four, I rarely spent more than a few days at a time in the house. The rest of the time I was shuttled between digs and galleries until I told my mother that I was old enough to live on my own, with my own rules.”
“I’d like to have heard that conversation,” Hunter said with a slight smile.
All Lina said was “I think of the estate as belonging to others, not to me. Which is accurate. I may be the only pure Reyes Balam descendant, but I’m female. The lands and estate aren’t mine and never will be. If I happen to produce a son, everything will pass to him. If I have daughters, it will be held in trust until their first son inherits.”
“Your family didn’t follow the Spanish custom of dividing land among sons and money among daughters?”
“I guess the Maya model held, though most grandsons of Maya rulers inherited nothing but death. Usurpers took the previous king’s name or began their own dynasty, celebrated their own name.” She looked at the flowers and the jungle surrounding everything. “I never really thought about all of this. All I cared about was being allowed to dig in the family ruins.”
“So who owns it all now?” Hunter asked.
“Abuelita’s name is on the deed. She came into it by inheritance. Funny thing is, she lived out in a village called Ixúmel most of her life.”
“Is there a lot of the Balam family left?” Hunter asked.
“Not many. The mainline Balams are all but gone. The ‘cousins’ want nothing to do with Tulum. Even Carlos lives in Houston and only visits here.”
“Interesting. Aside from the weird shrines and some scary dude called El Maya,” Hunter said, “I like Tulum. But then I’ve always liked the Yucatan.”
“Well, for Mexicans, being from Tulum is like being from…”
“Brownsville?” Hunter asked, smiling. “Barely a step above Hicksville?”
“Pretty much.”
A lone figure came out of the front door of the main house, backlit by a hallway of brilliant chandeliers. The porch lights flooded on, revealing Celia Reyes Balam.
As always, Lina was struck by what a beautiful woman her mother was. She looked every bit the aristocrat that her birthright pronounced her. Tonight she was wearing exquisitely fitted black slacks and black heels with more height than leather. An emerald-green silk scarf embroidered in gold thread with Maya glyphs lay softly about her shoulders, partially covering a black silk blouse that had been created to highlight her assets in a sleek and stylish manner. A large, emerald-embedded gold cross hung between her breasts. The gold chain holding the cross was twenty-two carats, gleaming like a well-loved dream.