This time Corrie didn’t fight Ford for the walkie. He pulled it out of the backpack and called back.
“Jon? What happened? Is everything okay?”
Crackle . . . crackle . . .
“Dr. Matthews! We need you. Come quick!”
“Where are you? And are you okay?”
Crackle . . . crackle . . .
“Oh . . . yeah. We’re fine. But we think we found something. South of the raft.”
Fine? They were fine? Did those two have any idea what they’d interrupted? After all their goading that morning, they deserved to be strangled.
“We should get going,” Corrie said, standing and brushing the remaining dirt and debris from her clothes and hair. Ford’s heart sank.
And like that . . . the moment faded. Again.
They hiked back to where Jon and Memo stood waiting beside a moss-covered boulder. Ford examined it, but there wasn’t anything special about it. Another rock half-buried in the dirt. Nothing like what he and Corrie had found up top. They’d better have something good or Ford would never forgive them.
“So, what’d you find?” Corrie asked, striding up to them.
“Well, you told us to look for a cave. Something that might not be obvious. ‘Hidden by nature’s curtain,’ I believe was what you said,” Memo started.
Then Jon picked up the story. “And we saw this boulder and all the moss. And, honestly, we would have missed it if Memo hadn’t tripped—”
“And I fell right through,” Memo finished.
Corrie and Ford each scanned the boulder. There were no holes in the ground. No cracks in the stone. If this was what they brought them down here for . . .
“Fell through what?” Ford asked, his patience wearing thin.
Memo smiled. “Through this.”
He reached his hand to the sheet of moss and pulled it back like a curtain. A cave. Hidden by nature.
“What the . . .” Corrie said, walking toward it.
“They’re vines,” Jon said. “Vines that have grown over the top of the boulder and are covered by moss.”
“Yeah, when I fell and put out my arm to brace my fall against the rock, it gave underneath.”
She stepped into the pitch-black crevice, placing her hand against the wet rock before resting her forehead against the back of her hand. Ford moved closer to get a peek inside, shining his flashlight into the dark abyss. The cool air from the seemingly never-ending cave hit him with a blast. Cold. Dark. Damp. He’d never truly believed Mendoza’s account, but now . . . well, now it was looking to be the answer.
Nature’s curtain.
Chapter
Eleven
She was the luckiest woman in the world. Soon they’d have to rename her Badass as Fuck Mejía. She’d done it. She’d found Chimalli’s final resting place in less than three days.
Well, Ford, Jon, and Memo had helped. But they wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for her. Because they, like everyone else, had disregarded Mendoza’s story. But Corrie knew. Mendoza had been right. And soon they’d prove he was right by finding actual artifacts. Finding evidence.
She hadn’t wanted to leave. There was still so much to see and explore. But Ford was right. They’d be back in a few days with a crew and equipment. Then they could really dig down, no pun intended, into the mystery that had shrouded Chimalli’s life—and death—for hundreds of years.
It was too bad that by the time they returned to the site, Corrie would no longer have the peace that she’d felt being there with Ford. No, when they returned there would be more than a dozen people with them. With noise. And crowding. And protocols to follow. She wanted to be there alone, even if only for an hour. An hour with the adobe hut and the chilly cave. An hour to feel Chimalli in the earth and in the stone.
Though she’d be okay if Ford wanted to join her.
She hadn’t been able to get him out of her head all night. He’d invaded her dreams. Commanded her thoughts. His ex might have said he was boring in bed, but he sure as hell wasn’t boring in her dreams. No, the only thing boring was his cock pounding into her vagina. She’d almost come in her sleep. When she’d woken, she’d worried that she actually had. And with his demeanor that morning and the wet spot she’d had on his boxers she was wearing, she was only twenty-five percent sure she hadn’t.
But even worse than that—or, honestly, better—was the way he’d surveyed her when she’d lain on the ground next to Chimalli’s home. He’d saved her life. Yes, he’d saved her again. She could admit it. Corrie had spent enough time studying poisonous flora and fauna in the region, and Ford had had a coral snake in his hands without knowing it. That thing could have killed her with one bite, but Ford hadn’t even flinched. They’d have to be careful when they got back and warn everyone about the snakes. But for now, Ford was her hero.
Three times over.
Damn Jon and Memo for interrupting their moment. She’d been so close . . . not even ten inches from finally tasting him. Finally sealing the deal on that kiss. The kiss that had eluded her for more than eight years. And boring sex or not, Corrie wanted to experience it for herself.
It was too bad they weren’t forced to share that tiny-ass tent again. And now that they were back at camp, back with the other fifteen people on this expedition, their opportunities to be alone were dwindling.
A small part of her debated whether she should have told him so much about her sex life. It wasn’t like she’d given him any specific details, but she’d definitely come off as being more . . . active than him. In the last eight years he’d been with only one person. The number of men in her sexual rotation this year alone more than quadrupled that number. He’d seemed surprised that she was on Tinder, and though he’d said it was because he thought she’d been in a committed relationship, maybe she should have clarified that she hadn’t needed to use it for years due to said sexual rotation?
Or did that sound worse?
And this was one of the reasons Corrie didn’t date. Monogamously, at least. Because having to explain her sexual prowess wasn’t something she really cared to do. Not that she was ashamed of her sex life. Like she’d said, she was comfortable with her sexuality. And fuck those people who thought it was okay for men to sow their wild oats, but women who did were sluts.
For now, she wasn’t looking for a boyfriend. She merely wanted to scratch the itch that had been nagging her for eight years. And Ford looked willing to scratch that itch despite her sexual past.
All she had to do was find another opportunity.
They got back to camp around four thirty. It had taken them longer to get back than they’d originally plotted, meaning each day they’d have to account for two and a half hours of travel time to and from the site, maybe a little less on the days they weren’t carrying any gear. Moving the camp wasn’t an option unless they built their own road through the jungle—which was not something the investor had given them permission to do on his land. Corrie didn’t mind the hiking in and out from a physical standpoint, but in reality, it meant less time each day at the dig site.
“Well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in,” Ethan called over to them as he and Sunny emerged from his tent. It looked like they and the others must have just returned from working for the day packing up the old site, most of them covered in dust and dirt, sitting around the campsite relaxing. “Tell me you have good news.”