if it’ll make you happy. Fortunately for both of us, I thought better of it but it’s likely the bottle broke when the earthquake hit so be careful where you put your hands and knees. And don’t grab at me, okay? I’m not going anywhere without you.’
‘No,’ she said again. Then, ‘I’m…sorry.’
Anything that difficult to say had to be sincere and by way of reply he wrapped his fingers about her wrist.
It was slender and he could feel the delicate bones beneath her skin, the rapid beat of her pulse. It was a wonder that something so fragile could have survived undamaged as she had fallen through the roof. She had been lucky. So far.
‘Yes, well, maybe we could both do better. Now, let’s see if we can find a light.’ As she made a move to stand up, he held her down. ‘On your knees, Miranda. Breaking an ankle down here isn’t going to improve matters.’
‘Know-all,’ she muttered.
‘You know, maybe you should try not talking for a while,’ he suggested.
‘You should be so lucky,’ she replied, grinning despite everything. Riling this man might be the last fun she ever had so she might as well enjoy it. ‘So, have you any idea where you are?’
‘I know where this was yesterday,’ he replied, bringing her back to earth with a bump. ‘Once we reach one of the walls I’ll have a better idea of the situation.’
Keeping his free hand extended in front of him, Jago swept the air at head height; it would be stupid to knock himself out on a block of stone. Easy, but stupid and he’d used up his quota of stupid for this lifetime.
Despite the blackness, he sensed the wall a split second before he came into contact with it and, placing his hand flat against the surface, he began to feel for the carvings that would tell him where he was.
‘I’ll need both hands for this,’ he said, but rather than abandoning her while he searched for something that would tell him where he was, he turned and pressed her fingers against his belt. ‘Just hang on to that for a moment.’
Manda didn’t argue. His belt was made from soft, well worn leather and she hooked her fingers under it so that her knuckles were tucked up against his waist as he moved slowly forward, her face close enough to his back to feel the warmth emanating from his body.
‘Well?’ she demanded after what seemed like an endless silence. He didn’t answer and that was even more frightening than his silence. ‘Jago!’
‘I think I’ve found the eagle,’ he said.
‘The eagle?’ Manda remembered the unfinished carving on the stone beside the path.
‘It had a special place in the life of the people who lived here, watching over them.’
‘In return for the entrails of young virgins?’ she asked, trying to recall the stuff she’d heard in the television interview of the well-endowed archaeologist.
‘You read the Courier?’ He didn’t bother to disguise his disgust.
‘Not unless I’m desperate. Should I?’
‘Someone wrote a book about this place and the Courier ran excerpts from it. It was pitched at the sensational end of the market.’
‘They wouldn’t be interested otherwise. And no, I didn’t read it, but I did catch a few minutes of the author when she was doing the rounds of the television chat shows a few weeks back. Very striking. For an archaeologist.’
‘Yes.’
‘I take it you know her?’ Then, when he didn’t answer, ‘Who is she?’
‘No one who need worry about becoming a virgin sacrifice,’ he replied and there was no disguising the edge in his voice. He was, it seemed, speaking from experience. Was she the reason he’d been thinking about taking to the bottle? She didn’t ask. She didn’t want to know and, rapidly changing the subject, she prompted, ‘Tell me about the eagle. The one that you’ve found.’
He turned away from her, looking up. ‘It used to be above the altar stone.’
‘So?’
‘In the ceiling above the altar stone.’
Earlier that day Jago had been certain that life didn’t hold much meaning for him. The sudden realisation of how close he had come to losing it put a whole new slant on the situation.
‘Okay, let’s try this way,’ he said, moving to the left too quickly, catching Miranda off balance and she let out a yelp of pain.
‘What is it?’ Jago demanded impatiently.
‘Nothing. I jabbed my hand on something, that’s all—’
‘Glass?’ Jago reached back, took the hand she was cradling to her breast and ran his thumb over her palm and fingers to check for blood. If the bottle had broken, if she’d cut herself… But her hand was dry. ‘It must have been a piece of stone. Be careful, okay?’
She just laughed, deriding him for a fool and who could blame her?
‘I mean it!’ he said angrily, knowing full well that what had happened had been his fault. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘It’s okay. I understand. It’s worse than you thought, isn’t it?’
‘It’s not great,’ he admitted.
‘So? Are we going to get out?’
She spoke directly, her voice demanding an honest answer from him, but Jago had spent a lot of time working alone in the Cordilleran temples and his hearing had grown acute in the silence. He heard the underlying tremor, the fear she was taking such pains to hide.
‘WE’LL get out. I’m not promising you that it will be quick, or easy.’ Jago knew there was little point in putting an optimistic gloss on it. She had seen the devastation for herself in the flare of the match. ‘Even if, in the confusion, your tour party don’t immediately miss you, I have no doubt that your family are already making things hot for officials at the Foreign Office.’
Her response was a tiny shivering sigh. ‘I’m afraid if you’re relying on that to get us out of here, we really are in trouble. I…I’m sort of taking time out from my family. They have no idea where I am.’
‘Are you telling me that you didn’t even send your mother a postcard?’ he asked, tutting.
‘I don’t have a mother, but even if I had…’ She broke off. ‘I mean— Wish you were here? Would you?’
‘Point taken,’ he said, his pitiful attempt at levity falling flat. He should have known better. He hadn’t just taken time out from his family, he’d walked out of their lives fifteen years ago and never looked back. ‘Not to worry. If no one misses you, there are plenty of people who know I’m out here.’
