Chapter 1

Chapter One

Rio Blanco, Puerto Jardin

Present Day

A SHRIEK ECHOED through the Puerto Jardin government center. Zofia Parker jerked her head up from her phone, and her gaze swept the overcrowded room until she spotted the source. A toddler was being chased by his older brother, their mother in hot pursuit. She released the breath she'd been holding.

Conversations resumed, and with a grimace, Zo shoved her travel phone into her jacket pocket. She'd been having trouble concentrating even before her pulse zoomed into the triple digits. There was no way she'd be able to read now.

Chaos in the government center was normal, and a lot of people, especially those who'd driven in from the countryside, brought their children along. Usually, she could tune it out.

But not today.

She hated her antsiness. Only it wasn't impatience making her jittery. What, though? Zo looked around the marble and mahogany room again, but no one seemed interested in her, not even the two soldiers standing guard at the entry doors.

It should relieve her, but it didn't. Her instincts weren't screaming, but they were whispering. Insistently. And they'd been doing it for a while now.

Zo tucked her fingers into the front pockets of her jeans to stop herself from putting a hand over the gold disk. It was hidden inside her leather jacket, and she could feel the weight of it, feel the warmth of it—there was no need to touch it.

The easy thing would be to chalk up her edginess to the relic. After all, if she were caught with it in her possession, she'd be looking at a lengthy sentence inside a Puerto Jardinese prison, and not even the United States government would be able to keep her ass out of jail.

But that was a load of bullshit.

Her job for the Paladin League was to rescue artifacts that had been looted from archaeological sites, and if necessary, smuggle them to safety. The risk of arrest wasn't new, and while she was always aware it was there, it wasn't something that left the hair on her nape standing on end. But it was now. Had been since she'd left her hotel…and bumped into that guy.

Maybe the two things were related. Zo examined the faces in the jam-packed room more closely, but she didn't see the man with the scar.

That should relieve her, but it didn't.

She checked her number against the electronic counter on the wall. There were a few people ahead of her. If she'd offered a bigger bribe, she'd be finished already, but Zo hadn't seen the point when she'd arrived. Her flight didn't leave Rio Blanco until this evening, and she'd be stuck killing time at the airport if she wasn't standing around here waiting for her exit visa. Either way, she wasn't getting out of the country any sooner.

At the moment, though, Zo wished she'd dropped the extra money. The delay was adding to her anxiety, and at least if she was out of here, she'd be moving.

The desire to touch the disk rose again, and she pushed her fingers deeper into her pockets. Of the many artifacts she'd handled, this one might be worth the most money. Solid gold, three and a half inches in diameter, and with a legend that had captivated her since she'd been a child—no wonder she was edgy.

More bullshit.

Zo wanted a reason for her nerves. If she could come up with an explanation, she'd be able to plan for contingencies. Jumping at shadows? There wasn't much she could do to mitigate that.

A number was called, and the man next to her walked to the service counter. She moved to his spot in front of the window and glanced outside. Rio Blanco nestled in the mountains, and there was an awe-inspiring view of other peaks off in the distance.

The floor vibrated, and she looked out onto the street in time to watch a military convoy roll past. The country's civil war had been on a timeout for most of the last two years, but things had recently kicked up again in the northern part of the country.

As she glanced away from the troop transport and the armed soldiers seated in the back of it, her gaze landed on a man smoking a cigarette in front of the building. She sucked in a startled breath.

The scarred man—he was following her.

He had dark, wavy hair cut below his ears, and he wore a black suit with a white shirt and a dark tie. From their encounter in front of her hotel, she recalled that his nose was crooked as if it had been broken multiple times, and there was a ragged scar on his right cheek. That wasn't what had her unsettled. What creeped her out was the dead flatness in his eyes. Killers had that look, not normal people .

Zo realized she'd been holding her breath, and she released it with a shudder. Coolly, analytically, she considered the situation. She had two more people in front of her, and then she could get her exit visa. There was time to lose him before she had to be at the airport, and she knew this part of Rio Blanco well enough to ditch him.

Unless he was aware of when her flight left. A little cash to an airline employee, and he'd have the info. In which case, it wouldn't matter whether or not she lost him. He'd simply show up at the airport. Zo ran through possibilities.

She could take another flight, but if he staked out the international terminal, he'd catch her anyway, even if she didn't book until the last minute.

She risked another look over, but he was gone.

Or at least he was out of sight.

This wasn't the first time someone had pursued her to grab an artifact. Dealing with antiquities thieves or their brokers meant there was always a chance of catching the wrong person's attention, and they didn't come more wrong than the man with the dead eyes.

She shivered, suddenly cold despite her jacket.

If he were after her or the disk, she'd handle it the same way she'd dealt with every other oh-shit moment that had popped up in the four years she'd worked for the League. Maybe it seemed more daunting this time than in the past because she'd gotten used to having a partner.

Zo crossed her arms over her chest. Okay, so Finn was more than her partner. He was her best friend and lover, too, and she missed him something fierce. He was the primary reason she wanted to get home ASAP.

Or he had been the primary reason until she'd seen Dead Eyes.

The next two people had their numbers called in rapid succession—she was next. Zo checked the sidewalk outside the window again, but the guy was nowhere in sight. Now, if the hair on the back of her neck would lie down, she'd feel much better.

Of the many artifacts she'd rescued, this was the most important. Any Huarona artifact would be valuable—there were so few of them—but the Disk of the Gods was special. It had been the stuff of myth until her boss called her into his office and assigned her to retrieve it. It was real, and it was tucked in her jacket. Now she needed to get it out of the country so it could end up in a museum.

A number was called—her number. For no reason that she could discern, her pulse spiked, and Zo took another deep breath, trying to regain control.

She went to the counter, digging her passport out of the inner pocket of her jacket as she walked. The clerk was young, perhaps in his early twenties, and his eyes lit up when she headed toward his window. He wasn't subtle—she saw him check her out, his gaze traveling over her from head to toe. His eyes gleamed when she stopped in front of him.

Call her cynical, but Zo figured the shine meant he'd identified her as an American, added up the cost of her athletic shoes, jeans, and jacket, and expected a bigger bribe than she'd been prepared to offer. There were some things she didn't like about Puerto Jardin.

"Hello, pretty lady. How can I assist you today?" he asked in English.

She was fluent in Spanish, so she answered in that language, hoping it would reduce the amount of money he'd expect. "I'd like an exit visa, please."

The clerk's expression became crestfallen. Leaning toward her, he said in Spanish, "You're leaving so soon? Perhaps you can be persuaded to stay a few days longer? I know the best clubs and will play tour guide for you."

His flirtatious tone startled her for a moment. As she imagined Finn's reaction to the clerk's interest, she had to bite down hard on her lower lip to prevent a laugh. Her lover could go caveman in a heartbeat when he felt some guy was showing her too much attention.

She met the man's earnest brown eyes, and the genuine regard there had her infusing her voice with regret. "I'm sorry, but there's no possibility of changing my plans."

Disappointment clouded his gaze. "When does your flight leave?"

"Today." He'd need that information anyway to issue the visa.

"Ah." For a moment, he appeared inconsolable, and then with a shrug that clearly expressed win some, lose some, the clerk said, "I'll need your passport."

Wordlessly, Zo put it on the counter and slid it toward him, the appropriate bribe folded inside. He pocketed the bills so skillfully that she nearly missed the movement. Only when the money was safely tucked away did he compare her to the picture.

"Zofia." Her name sounded almost musical the way the clerk said it. He entered her name into the computer. While they waited, he pulled out a paper form, and after copying down the information from her passport, he said, "Departure date, today. Airline and flight number?"

"PacAtlantic Flight 554."

"Rio Blanco to Mexico City to Los Angeles. You are going through to Los Angeles?" He waited, pen poised above the paper.

"Yes."

The young man recorded her destination. There wasn't much more to the form, and after glancing at the computer screen, he offered an apology for the delay.

Zo wasn't surprised; the miracle was that the ancient system worked at all. When the computer finally processed her information, he'd stamp an exit visa, initial it, and attach it to her passport. At the airport, the visa would be double-checked by another government employee. That was one thing she could always count on in this country—an endless bureaucracy.

"I see you make frequent trips to South America and come to Puerto Jardin several times a year." The clerk gestured to her passport, where the pages were nearly full with stamps.

"Sí," Zo said cautiously.

He leaned toward her, the glow back in his eyes. "On your next visit, perhaps we can get together. I'll give you my number, and—"

A beep from the computer stopped him, and Zo breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived.

The kid's face went wooden, his interest gone with the blink of an eye. Or the perusal of the computer screen.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." He didn't meet her gaze, staring instead at the passport he held in his hand. "The computer…it isn't working. I'll finish your visa in the back."

Before Zo could react, he left the counter. His change in demeanor had been too sudden, and if it had been a computer crash, he'd have reacted differently. People got pissed when the system went down. They didn't go emotionless.

And he'd taken her passport.

The clerk didn't need it any longer to issue an exit visa, but he did need the form he'd left on the counter. Maybe she was blowing this out of proportion, but Zo didn't think so. Something was on the computer, and she wanted to know what.

She shifted position, went up on her toes, and leaned over, but she couldn't see the screen. It did, however, afford her a view into the back room where the clerk had gone. He wasn't using another computer. Instead, he was talking to an older man who might be his supervisor while pointing at her passport.

Her instincts went from caution to danger in a heartbeat. Something was going on, but she'd done nothing that should cause this kind of behavior.

Unless they knew about the disk.

Attempting to smuggle a pure gold, historic artifact out of the country wasn't nothing. Not by a long shot.

Zo strained to hear, but there was too much noise in the government center. If the kid hadn't taken her passport, she'd cut out of here right now. The underground market in Rio Blanco offered a wide variety of items—including exit visas. It would cost a fortune, and she'd still risk being nabbed at the airport, but at least she'd have time to hide the disk.

She feigned interest in her nails as the older man looked in her direction, but although her head was down, her hair hiding her face, she never took her gaze off the pair. Maybe she wasn't much of a lip reader, but there was a word that was unmistakable— policia . He picked up the phone.

Damn, she was screwed.

There wasn't time to debate what to do. As soon as the supervisor hung up with the police, he'd tell the soldiers to detain her. She'd heard horror stories about Puerto Jardinese jails, and Finn had confirmed them. She didn't want to experience one for herself.

She checked to ensure the boss and clerk were preoccupied with the phone conversation, and then, with what Zo hoped passed for nonchalance, she sidled away from the counter.

Every cell in her body urged her to run, but she forced herself to keep a sedate pace. She couldn't do anything that would draw attention. The soldiers on either side of the door might be as bored as everyone else, but they'd stop her if she did something unusual.

There seemed to be a million people between her and the exit.

Keep calm. Don't rush. Act normal .

Leaving her passport behind was bad, but getting caught with the disk in her possession would be much worse.

Her heart throbbed against her ribs, trying to leap out of her chest. In the years she'd done this, she'd never been this close to getting nailed.

A woman stepped into her path, blocking her way. Another burst of adrenaline powered through Zo, but the woman's attention was on the baby she held at her shoulder. As she crooned softly to the crying infant, Zo adjusted her path around her.

At last, she reached the wooden double doors. One of the soldiers standing next to them moved in front of her. Slowly, she raised her gaze to his.

He smiled, and with a flourish, opened the door.

" Gracias ," she said, surprised her voice sounded normal. Zo didn't hesitate any longer—she went outside and walked away from the building, keeping the same moderate pace she'd used inside.

She could run like hell once she was out of sight.

A spot between her shoulder blades burned as if someone with laser vision was searing a hole into her back. The scarred man! She glanced around but didn't spot him. If he was there, she'd have to worry about him later. Right now, she had a more urgent problem.

The wail of sirens cut through the noise of traffic. Zo didn't stop moving, but she focused on the sound. Yes, definitely growing closer. The desire to run surged again. She fought it off.

The sidewalk here was busy, but not crowded enough. If she could make it over about two blocks, she'd have the crush she needed to disappear. It was lunch hour, and with the number of office buildings lining the main thoroughfare through Rio Blanco, the entire stretch would be jammed.

A police car raced past her, screeching to a halt in front of the government building. She took a deep breath and kept walking. The end of the block seemed a long way off. She strode as fast as she dared.

As soon as she turned the corner, Zo hurried. This side street had few pedestrians, and she felt conspicuous. Two blocks, and she'd be safer. Two blocks, and she'd leave behind the stone-fa?ade buildings from the 1950s and be surrounded by the chrome and glass of skyscrapers. Two blocks and she'd be enveloped by workers from those multinational conglomerates who were on their lunch breaks and shoppers who'd come to visit the boutiques that occupied the first level of most of those high-rises.

It took a million years to cover the short distance.

Her breath shuddered from her as she turned into the business district. As Zo had anticipated, the area teemed with people. Most wore business attire, but there were enough men and women in casual clothes that she didn't stand out.

Zo matched her pace to the crowd, unable to relax. Not yet.

Every now and then, she paused in front of one of the expensive ground-floor stores, and while she pretended to window shop, she took the opportunity to look around. No one seemed to notice her, and she didn't see the scarred man. After a couple of blocks of disinterest, she calmed down.

With the immediate danger over, she ran through the problems she faced. No passport—that was huge. The US embassy had closed a few years ago, so she couldn't head there and claim hers had been lost. The underground market?

Zo did some quick calculations and decided she had enough cash to make it a possibility. It wasn't foolproof, though. Even if she used an alias, her picture could be posted behind the ticket counter, with the government issuing a warning to be on the lookout for her. As soon as she checked in, an airline employee would report her. If that happened, the chances of escaping the airport before she was arrested were slim, but the alternatives to flying had problems, as well .

Getting out by sea wouldn't be a simple thing. Rio Blanco was in the mountains, the ocean hundreds of miles to the west. She'd have to reach a port first, and finding someone to sail her out? It would take more money than she had.

The people in front of her came to a halt, and Zo looked up to see the Don't Walk symbol glowing red. Leaving via land wasn't easy either. Not only did she have the same distances to challenge her, but the borders were patrolled.

If it wasn't for the civil war...

But there was a war and getting transportation to towns near the borders or to a port city for that matter wasn't as uncomplicated as it used to be. For the right money, she could get a driver, but she'd have to trust him to actually get her where she wanted to go. Zo didn't like those odds. She needed—

San Isidro. It wasn't near a border or the ocean, but she'd practically grown up in the village and still visited regularly. She could find someone there to drive her.

Getting to the town wasn't too hard. Buses picked up passengers around the city, so she wouldn't have to risk boarding at a station. Even better, the driver would expect her to pay cash. It would be impossible for the police to monitor every bus.

Coming up with a decent plan eased some of her stress. Once she reached the border, she'd have to slip across on foot and hope to avoid the military, but there was always a weak link.

The walk sign came on, but before she could move, Zo felt a prickling sensation at the back of her neck. Police? Slowly, casually, as if she was merely double-checking to make sure the traffic had halted before crossing the street, Zo looked around. She nearly missed him.

Dead Eyes. Damn.

Moving with the others, she picked up her pace slightly.

She risked stopping, using the excuse of window shopping to get a better look at her stalker in the reflective glass. As she watched, he gave a quick signal. Zo saw a second man return the gesture, nod shortly, and hurry down a side street. Her stomach plummeted.

Maybe she was wrong, but Finn had taught her too much about tactics to blow this off.

If the other man circled the block, she'd find herself cornered between the two—basic strategy. With buildings on her left and a busy street to her right, she'd have a hell of a time escaping once they put themselves into position.

Zo pivoted from the window and strolled as casually as she could manage. She glanced toward the street.

Six lanes filled with speeding cars, motorcycles, buses, and trucks.

She checked the doors to the nearest stores, but a clerk would call the police if trouble started, and Zo couldn't trust the authorities.

The second man rounded the corner ahead of her. She'd read it right.

A honk brought her attention back to the road. Traffic had slowed. There wouldn't be a better chance. Whirling, Zo plunged out onto the boulevard.