Words of Love - By Hazel Hunter Page 0,18

called her sounded in her ears: Jittery Jessica. The fits of reading new languages, the way her hands floated over the text–it had begun when she was young. She’d learned long ago to stop reading and translating in front of people. She felt her face flush hot.

Brett smiled at her.

“You do fit,” he said. “And you are needed.” He took her hand in both of his. “I need you,” he said, looking down at their hands and then into her eyes. “But I need you to be honest about how you’re feeling. I can’t help you if I don’t know what’s wrong.” She was about to protest but he cut her off. “And two dizzy spells, and then passing out, that’s wrong.” She closed her mouth, took in a deep breath, and slowly exhaled. “Is there anything else?” he asked. “Any other symptoms?”

“No,” she said. He waited and tilted his head at her. “Seriously,” she said. “No. That’s it.”

He nodded a little.

“Okay, dizziness, vomiting, and a lack of appetite,” he said, like a laundry list.

“But–”

“No buts. They might not be related or they might.” He thought for a few moments, looking at the floor. “You already told me what you ate in Santa Elena and that was all right. And you’re on an antimalarial,” he said, and then he paused. “Which one?” he asked. “Which antimalarial are you taking?”

“Doxycycline,” she replied.

“Okay, right,” he said nodding quickly. “That could definitely be it. The side effects are nausea, vomiting, and dizziness. It could be worse.” Suddenly, he stopped. “You’re sure that’s it, right?”

“Yes,” she said definitively. “That’s it.” He turned a fake scowl on her that made her laugh a little. “I swear,” she said. “That’s it.”

“Okay,” he said, smiling as he took a deep breath. “Side effects, then. That’s the good news.” He squeezed her hand. “The bad news?” She waited and he actually became serious again. “There’s nothing we can do about it,” he said, as he glanced toward the cave entrance. “We’re not going anywhere until that monsoon passes and then it’ll be a matter of going back to Guatemala City.”

“No!” she said.

Guatemala City was across the country. If they went there, it’d take days.

“Nope,” he said shaking his head. “There’s no real medical care out here. It has to be Guatemala City.” Again she started to protest and he interrupted her. “No arguments, Jesse.”

She blinked at the first time he’d used her nickname.

“Call it a Principal Investigator decision,” he said, smiling. “And that would be me.” Then his smile faded a bit. “Because you do fit and I do need you. And I have to know you’ll be all right. The doctors in the capital will hopefully be able to confirm that it’s nothing more than side effects. But you can’t switch drugs mid-stream. If they can’t do anything for the side effects, then…”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. She knew. If the dizzy spells continued, she’d have to go home.

Finally, she nodded.

“When the rain is over, then,” he said.

Although she couldn’t see the cave entrance, she looked that way anyway.

All of a sudden, she wished the rain would never stop.

CHAPTER TEN

“Last one,” said Frederico. “Take it or leave it.”

They stood staring at the single Mayan vase on the table. It was a tall cylinder, nearly two feet in height and about six inches in diameter. The black and tan painting stood out clearly from the cream colored background. Though the images were somewhat eroded and faded, they were still recognizable: yet another great lord sitting cross-legged on his throne.

The buyer stared hard at it. He’d thrown back the hood of his slick rubber poncho, which was dripping all over, though he was careful to keep it away from the vase.

Frederico glanced at the rain through the screen on the window. It was still coming down in buckets. Although it happened to be the first storm of the season, it was the biggest storm Frederico had experienced. The buyer had come by road, not an easy thing in this weather. But the river was impossible.

He looked back at the buyer. For a moment, he considered killing the man.

The big truck he drove would come in handy. As his fingers settled on the handle of the machete hanging at his side, he imagined hacking the man’s throat. He looked down at the man’s front pants pocket. The serious buyers always brought cash. And this was a serious buyer. There was probably at least five thousand dollars in his