Chapter 13
Kat’s cry echoed about the cave. I raced up the stone steps two at a time, and at the top, Kat stood with her hand over her mouth and tears pooling in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” I clutched her to my chest.
“Dad.” The word broke in her throat. “That’s my father.”
I turned my flashlight to where she pointed. A skeleton was seated in the corner like a gruesome horror movie prop. The body sat with his back against a wall, and the head had tipped forward like he was looking at his legs.
I squeezed her to my chest, and as her shoulders heaved, her sobs broke my heart in two.
“It might not be your father,” I said half-heartedly.
She pulled back from me, shaking her head. Sucking in a shaky breath, she wiped tears from her eyes, then turned to the body. “It’s Dad. He’s wearing his favorite Hawaiian shirt.”
She laced her fingers into mine, and we stepped closer to the body.
Kat sniffed and wiped her eyes. “He died all alone.”
A leather journal rested next to his hand.
“Do you think he wrote in that journal?” I asked.
Kat let go of our grip, picked up the book, and wiped her hand through the dust on the cover.
She opened the clip, and as she turned over the cover, I squatted at the body. A thick layer of dust covered the skeleton. The bones in his hands were still intact, and plenty of hair covered his skull.
Beside the skeleton, positioned between his left leg and the stone wall, was a dark brown leather backpack. A skeletal hand rested on the pack like he’d been protecting the contents when he’d taken his last breath.
I leaned over the body to remove the bag and noticed a dark stain on the left leg of his cargo pants. My breath caught. In the middle of the stain was a bullet hole.
Fuck me. He didn’t die of starvation. He bled to death.
Kat whimpered and I stood to face her. I thought she must have seen the bullet wound, but her attention was on the pages. Tears wet her eyelashes, and an expression of utter sorrow twisted her beautiful face.
I rested my hand on her shoulder. “Hey. I’m so sorry.”
She swept her finger beneath her eye, wiping away a tear. “I always knew Dad was dead. So, it’s not really a shock. It’s just so sad that he died alone.”
A sob left her throat as she closed the journal and clutched it to her chest.
I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and as she cried against me, I wanted to take away all her pain. Her sorrow was like a brick in my belly, and although I barely knew her, I wanted to know everything about her. In a short amount of time, Kat had filled a crack in me that I hadn’t realized was open. She gave me purpose.
Her father’s death was no accident; it was murder, and I was determined to help her find the bastard who killed him.
I glided my hand over her hair and cupped her neck. “Did your dad write who shot him?”
“What?” She jerked back. “Shot him?”
Shit. She hadn’t noticed the blood stain.
“What are you talking about?” Her voice was a strangled croak.
I nodded at the body. “There’s a bullet hole in the left leg of his cargo pants.”
The whites of her eyes showed her horror. “Jesus.” She stepped toward her father’s body. “Why would someone shoot Dad?”
“Maybe the answer is in his journal.”
She met my gaze. “I bet you’re right.” She flipped open the journal again. “And maybe he detailed how he found this place.”
I cupped her elbow. “How about we take a seat somewhere?”
Her gaze darted from me to her father’s body. Inhaling a deep breath, she nodded.
Clutching her hand to mine, I led her down the ancient steps, and as thunder echoed to us, we sat side by side with our backs against the stone altar. I positioned the flashlight for her to read.
She rested the leather journal on her lap and released a shaky breath as she opened to the last page. Skimming over her father’s handwriting, she turned a couple of pages before finding where she wanted to start.
She turned to me with so much sorrow in her eyes I wanted to wrap my arms around her and squeeze out her sadness. “Ready?”
I nodded. “As long as you are.”
“I’ve waited eight years for answers, so I’m more than ready.” She cleared her throat.
She read for a little bit, then chuckled. “He’s written this like one of his newspaper articles.”
“Maybe he hoped it would be published,” I said.
“Probably.” She released a soft moan. “He’s titled it: Poison, corrupt politicians, and an environment in peril.”
I huffed. “Sounds like you were right . . . that truck and your dad’s disappearance were related.”
“Yeah, looks like it.” She spread her hand over the page as if smoothing out the paper and began reading.
“‘I have dedicatedmy life to investigating man-made environmental disasters, but I never expected to be murdered because of my research. As my blood pours out of me from a bullet wound in my leg, I write these as my dying words.’”
“Jeez, how did he even think straight?” I asked.
“Like Dad said, he dedicated his life to reporting. It probably helped him get . . . get?—”
“Hey. What else does he say?”
She wiped her eyes, then turned her gaze back to the journal.
“‘Man-made environmental disasters are often accidents. However, while I believe the disaster in Las Cuevas de los Susurros, the vast cave system in Mexico’s Yucatan jungle, began as an accident, the subsequent coverup was deliberate.’”
“You were right about the truck, Kat.” I nudged my shoulder to hers.
“I told you.”
“‘Coverups and corruption are often exposed by accident, as was the case for me. After discovering the intentional dumping of toxic waste in a secluded section of the Yucatan jungle, I visited the Hele?asquinto gold mine, two hundred miles from Tulum. My presence was met with hostility, fueling my suspicions.
“‘One evening, while at a local cantina in Xamach, the sorrow in the eyes of the barmaid, Catana Ximena Carrera, caught my attention. As we spoke, she revealed the mysterious disappearances three years earlier of her brother and husband, who were both truck drivers for the mine. Despite her apparent innocence, I suspected their involvement in the illegal dumping.
“‘Guided by her information, I revisited the mine, and while searching the area between the mine and the toxic waste dump site, I discovered a truck that had plummeted into a cavern. But the vehicle was so far down I couldn’t see it properly or confirm if the truck belonged to the mine.
“‘Determined to get answers, I returned to the site with equipment to lower myself into the massive underground cave. Beside the truck lay two unidentified bodies, which I believed to be Catana’s loved ones. All their identification had been removed – which I believe confirms their bodies had been tampered with. That had all my alarm bells ringing. Even more shocking was the truck’s cargo: Barrels of cyanide pellets.’”
“Cyanide. Jesus!” She bulged her eyes.
“Fuck. That’s deadly stuff. We’re lucky those barrels seem to be contained.”
“Why would they have barrels of cyanide?”
“Cyanide is used to extract gold during the mining process. Your father must have put two and two together.”
“We need to make sure that poison gets out of here before?—”
I nudged my shoulder to hers. “We will. Don’t worry. What else did he write?”
She turned her gaze back to the book.
“‘I reportedmy findings to the local police. However, when I led Captain Rodrigues Gonzales and Officer Juan Santhwente to the site, they turned on me.’”
“Son of a bitch!” I clenched my fists. “Fucking corrupt cops. Should have known.”
She blinked at me. “Do you know them?”
I shook my head. “No, but there’s so much corruption down here, you can’t trust many cops. So, how did he get away?”
Frowning, she returned her gaze to the journal.
“‘Running for my life, I was shot in the leg. I managed to get away, but I fell into another cavern.’”
“Shit. That’s unlucky.”
“Yeah. Poor Dad.”
She kept reading. “‘My wound made it impossible to climb back to the surface, so, knowing this cave would be my final resting place, I searched for a spot to pen my final words. And it seemed the gods may have smiled down on me after all because I found the perfect place . . . an ancient Mayan temple deep within the cave.’”
She read the final passages in silence.
Kat closed her eyes and rested her hand on the page like she was trying to draw strength from her father’s words.
I draped my arm over her shoulder and tugged her to my side. Nothing I could say would ease the ache in her heart.
She jerked forward. “His camera.”
“What?”
She jumped to her feet. “He said he took photos, so where’s his camera?”
She sprinted up the stairs.
“Maybe it’s in his backpack,” I said as I chased after her.
Kat knelt at her father’s side and removed his hand from his backpack.
It surprised me that she was willing to touch him. Then again, there was a lot that surprised me about Kat.
She tugged open the outside pocket of the backpack.
“Here it is.” She pulled out a Nikon camera and flicked the switch to turn it on. “It’s dead.” Scrunching her nose, she handed it to me.
I huffed. “You didn’t really expect that miracle, did you?”
She fished into the pocket again. “Nope, but maybe these will still be okay.” In her hand were four rolls of film.
I whistled. “Now we’re talking.”
Kat struggled to open the main zipper on the backpack and handed it to me. I yanked it open and returned it to her to remove the contents.
She pulled out a phone and her face twisted into a frown. “This is how he sent that photo. I wonder if we can get anything off this?”
“I bet my man Wyatt will be able to. He can break into anything.”
She gave me the phone. “You take it then.”
Her father’s pack contained more rolls of unused film, sunglasses, a set of keys, and a change of clothes.
Kat returned the items to the backpack, and with a big sigh, she shuffled back to the body.
I stepped away, giving her time with her father’s remains.
At the bottom of the steps, I opened the leather journal. It was in incredible condition. The leather must be decent quality, and the pages looked brand new, not nearly a decade old or weathered and beaten like I felt.
A thought hit me like a lightning bolt.
“Kat,” I called up to her. “Your father said he walked to this temple.”
“What?” She stood at the top of the stairs.
“He said he couldn’t climb out, so he searched for a place to pen his final words. He walked here.” I strode to the side wall of the cave. “There must be another entrance into here.”
Kat joined my side, and we hurried around the cave’s perimeter.
We arrived back at the altar.
“Shit. Did we miss it?” I said.
“Give me the flashlight.” Snatching it from my hands, she strode ahead of me, returning to the cave wall. “Maybe there’s a secret passage.”
Walking slower, I followed her around the walls again.
Panning the light beam up and down the rocks, she found a narrow opening behind one of the carved pillars.
“Could that be it?” She shone the flashlight into the passage.
“It’s going to be a tight squeeze if it is,” I said.
“We’ve had tight squeezes before.” She shrugged.
“True. See if we find anything else. If not, grab your things and let’s check it out.”
After a thorough search turned up nothing, Kat put her father’s journal into his backpack and put the bag on her back.
We returned to the opening.
“Want me to go first?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I handed her the flashlight, and she grinned like I’d given her a bag of diamonds.
“What?” I cocked my head.
“Nothing.” Shrugging, she turned the flashlight toward the tunnel.
“It wasn’t nothing. What were you thinking?”
She rose on her tippy toes and gave me a quick kiss. As she pulled back, I grinned like a fucking football jock in the girl’s locker room. “What was that for?”
“For being a nice guy.”
“Do you kiss all the nice guys you meet?”
“Nope, only the ones who have the balls to follow me into secret passages in ancient caves.”
“It’s torture, that’s for sure,” I joked. If only she knew . . . I would happily follow her sexy ass anywhere.
She raised her foot. “Help me up.”
I cupped my hands, hoisted her into the passage, and was treated to a glorious view of her butt as she wriggled away. Hot damn.
Grinning like a lunatic, I used the ancient carved pillar for leverage to climb into the narrow passage behind her.
“You okay?” Her voice echoed to me.
“Yep.” The rock walls were tight on either side of me, and crawling on my hands and knees, I had to duck to avoid hitting my head on the low ceiling. “What do you see?”
“Nothing yet.” Kat”s flashlight illuminated the way and gave me enough light to see her shape in the tunnel.
The air was thick with scents of damp earth and musty stone, and with each foot we crawled, I couldn”t shake the feeling we were heading into more trouble.
The light went out, plunging us into absolute darkness.
“What’re you doing?” I called forward.
Kat groaned. “The damn flashlight died.”