Buried Secrets

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Light-headed, Maggie lowered herself onto the couch. Until he’d left the room, she hadn’t realized she hadn’t taken a decent breath since they had faced each other. Inhaling deeply now, she scanned the living room, trying to get a sense of the man who had taken over her life so effectively in the past day.

The colors of the room were the tan of the desert and the green of the barrel cactus. Beneath her feet was a beautifully woven Navajo Indian rug, worth a small fortune. The room was neat and orderly, much like her house except hers had a lived-in look while his didn’t. She got the impression he was rarely home. Again she thought of a museum as her regard took in his possessions.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” Zach sat next to her and gave her the first-aid kit. “Did I mention I hate going to the doctor?”

“Yes. Too bad.”

She managed to block from her mind to whom she attended as she checked his gash, cleaned it then placed a bandage over it. If she hadn’t been able to block him from her mind, she was sure she would have been in trouble. Zach Collier was just too much for her to handle at this time in her life. She had everything mapped out for herself. Her career and new practice were what was most important at the moment. She had spent years becoming a doctor, with she and her grandfather both making sacrifices to pay for medical school. Maybe in a few years, when she was more established, she could think about something other than being a doctor. Who was she kidding? She knew the real reason she didn’t focus on her personal life, and it had nothing to do with her profession. How long was she going to let what had happened between her and Brad Wentworth dictate what she did with her life?

“Well, what’s the verdict, Doc?”

“Oh, I’d say at least another fifty thousand miles.” She shoved thoughts of Brad back into the far reaches of her mind.

“That’s comforting, since this bod may get a lot of wear and tear in the near future.”

“You really are going to pursue this?” She looked him directly in the eye.

“Yes.” All the tenderness in his expression vanished, and a ruthless determination appeared in its place. “To the end, Maggie. I won’t let these people get away with what they did to our grandfathers.”

She wanted to believe him in that moment—almost did. Except, for over thirty years she had been raised to hate, and especially never to trust, anyone with the last name Collier. There was a small part of her that still doubted him even after the brake failure. She felt that if she believed him she was betraying Gramps. “How will you pursue it, Zach?”

Raking his hand through his hair, he rose to prowl the room. “I don’t know yet. Maybe I’ll find the clue in the map, after all.”

“But you said your grandfather studied it for years and could never find the answer.”

“I know. He thought he could break the code. If those people hadn’t gotten the diary, we might be able to figure out the mystery of the codices.”

She busied herself putting the bandages and medicine back into the first-aid kit, while the scent of coffee drifted toward her. Something was going on. She didn’t doubt that anymore. But she had no idea who was behind it. It could still be Zach. The one thing she did know was that she wasn’t equipped to solve the mystery of the codices by herself. If anything was going to be done, it would have to be done as a team.

A team. The words vibrated in her mind, conjuring up images of she and Zach working closely together, his thoughts hers, his actions a perfect mirror of hers. A warmth suffused her and made her hands quiver as she closed the lid on the kit and set it on the end table.

I hope I’m not making a big mistake. She inhaled a deep breath to fortify herself and said, “Zach, I have something to tell you.”

He stopped pacing and faced her. Although his expression became unreadable, his body grew taut.

“I have the diary,” she whispered. She clutched the arm of the couch and waited for his wrath.

He closed the space between them, his gaze straying toward the kitchen. “Where?” The deadly quiet of his voice unnerved her more than if he had shouted the question.

“My grandfather gave it to me on my thirtieth birthday. I used to keep it in my armoire.”

“Used to?”

She hated the way he stared at her with no emotion in his features, in his voice. “This afternoon, before I came to Albuquerque, I put it in a safety-deposit box.”

He turned toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“I’m taking you home. There isn’t anything more we can do tonight.”

“What about the diary? I thought you wanted it.”

He whipped around to confront her, his expression no longer blank but full of fury, all directed at her. “What do you suggest I do? Break into the bank to get it?”

“No.”

He walked back to her. “Do you want me to applaud you for being such a good liar? I actually believed they had the journal.”

The full force of his rage bombarded her—although his voice had never risen above a whisper—as he came to a halt in front of her. She released her grip on the arm of the couch and craned her neck upward until their gazes clashed. “I didn’t lie,” she said. “The diary wasn’t at my grandfather’s.”

“Oh, I see. You like to play word games.” He invaded her space completely, hovering over her. “What other games do you like to play?”