Raiders of the Lost Heart(20)

“Yeah, that’s possible, but look at the soil.” She pointed at the soil in his hand. The loose, crumbly almost-black dirt had a spongy texture as he pressed the substance between his fingers. “It’s different than at the top. Up there it’s more claylike. There would be some commonalities. And there’s no evidence of any erosion. It’s not the place.”

This. This was the Corrie he remembered—the I’m right, you’re wrong know-it-all. Ford rolled his eyes. She hadn’t even looked at the artifacts they’d found or the dig pits. Like she could tell they were in the wrong place based solely on a handful of dirt. What a colossal waste of time. “Okay, Corrie. Well, thanks for this. Guess we should head back and get you to the airport.”

He started to walk away. God, how could he have ever thought this was a good idea? Bringing her here? Ford could have put the tecpatl in her hand—given it to her, à la Bernard Sardoni—and she still would have said he was wrong. Because that was what Corrie did. She disputed everything he said. She was a contrarian, at least when it came to disputing whatever Ford believed. They would never see eye to eye because they’d never even started on the same page.

“I thought you wanted my help,” she hollered after him. Dammit. He slowly turned, and there she was, sassy as all get out with her arms folded and hip cocked to the side.

“I wanted your expertise on where we should be looking. See if you knew something we didn’t about how deep or in what spots to dig here,” he called back.

“Well, I’m giving you my expertise, and you’re in the wrong place.”

God, she was irritating. And arrogant. Like she’d always been. Expertise, pfft!

“You can’t possibly know that by standing here for five minutes and picking up some dirt.”

“Then where’s the river?”

“The river? What’s the river got to do with this?”

“Mendoza claimed that Chimalli tended to his wounds as they sat beside the river with Yaretzi cooking their meal nearby.”

He groaned. “Not again with Mendoza.”

“And in the Spaniards’ accounts they came upon a man suspected to be Chimalli by the river. Where is it? Where’s the river?”

Fuck. He forgot about the Spaniards.

He pulled out the notebook he kept in his pocket at all times and unfolded the map tucked between the pages. Scanning the worn paper, he searched for the river. There. Not far from a few of the other locations he’d circled as possibilities for the site. Sites he’d never bothered to rule out once they’d found this location.

Great.

He’d been so desperate to start digging and find these damn artifacts that he’d convinced himself he was right. Desperation mixed with a tiny bit of pride—and a healthy dose of arrogance. How could he have been so lazy and irresponsible? He didn’t deserve to be called Doctor.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” she said, smug as could be. It was smugness she’d earned, but the last thing he needed was a braggart.

“I didn’t ask you to come here for a trip down memory lane, Corrie, so spare me the I told you sos, okay?”

She laughed, but not one of those intoxicating, genuine laughs that he liked. No, this was one of those I despise you more than anything else in the whole wide world laughs he’d had the unfortunate pleasure of being on the receiving end of one too many times.

He’d earned plenty of those, too.

She unfolded her arms and placed her hands on her hips as she took a few slow, swaggering steps toward him. “You can’t say it, can you? Even now. Even when you tricked me into flying thousands of miles because you needed me, and you can’t admit when you’re wrong.”

Ford matched her stance and narrowed his eyes at her, bracing himself for a fight.

“Okay, okay,” Ethan started in, ready to play mediator yet again.

But Ford didn’t want a referee. This wasn’t about her flying to Mexico or some dirt. This was about them and the long overdue need to hash out this decade-long grudge.

He’d opened his mouth with vile words on the tip of his tongue when Sunny ran over waving the yellow satellite phone in her hand.

“Dr. Matthews! Dr. Matthews! You’ve got a call!” she called out from fifty feet away.

Sat phone rule number one: the phone was only to be used for calls from the investor and emergencies, and when it came to their investor, his calls were emergencies. At least in Mr. Vautour’s eyes. Meaning chewing out Corrie would have to wait.

Sunny ran up, out of breath, and handed him the phone. Sat phone rule number two: don’t delay. With the cost of the calls, running was a necessity. Otherwise, a single phone call could cost them a few hundred dollars. Again, cutting into their bottom line.

And Ford’s profit.

He walked toward her, then took the phone and waited a few seconds for Sunny to hurry away. Rule number three: don’t listen in. Once she, Ethan, and Corrie were out of earshot, he answered.

“Hello?”

“Dr. Matthews?”

“Yes?”

“This is Dr. Snyder over at Sacred Heart Hospital calling about your mother, Catherine Matthews.”

Ford’s heart sank. The doctors at Sacred Heart had never had to call before. His mother was still well enough that she could make her own phone calls, and they weren’t scheduled to have another one until Friday. Something must have happened.