Whispers in the Dark (2 page)

I spotted carved hand and toeholds in the rock, leading up to the low doorway. I tried to imagine the Anasazi living there centuries before, scrambling up the steep side of the boulder as easily as I walked up the stairs to my second-floor apartment. I half-closed my eyes to blur my vision and tried to picture the way it must have been before the walls crumbled and the roof collapsed. I imagined small, tanned people in loincloths, women on the roof, crouched over their work, children playing nearby, men returning from hunting or working their cultivated fields. I could almost hear their cheerful shouts.

I opened my eyes and turned down the path along the canyon rim, humming with pleasure.

The next structure, called Falling House, looked even less accessible. It clung to a rugged outcropping of rock separated from the canyon rim by a five-foot crevasse, as if a piece of the canyon wall had peeled away but stopped short of falling. Several ruined walls still stood, the jagged line of their crumbled tops silhouetted against the blue sky. A diagram in the pamphlet showed several rooms and a round kiva or ceremonial room.

I couldn’t wait to explore further. Of course, regular tourists weren’t allowed to leave the trail, but one of the perks of being an archaeologist was special access. For the next few weeks, this would be my playground.

The next site on the map was just a vandalized rock shelter, and the trail guide complained that people had torn down the walls before it could be excavated. Only part of one wall and a jumble of stones remained. But the guide also mentioned that the site might have yielded storage jars or food remains, had it been left for archaeologists. Since my interest was ancient food, I decided to creep down for a closer look.

I moved carefully, so as not to disturb the loose rocks, and squatted near the biggest pile of rubble. I gently lifted a few broken pieces, putting them back in the same place after I’d examined them. I couldn’t do much with the fragments, but as always, I marveled over touching something from the past.

Tomorrow would be soon enough for scientific method, for testing and hypothesizing. Tonight I only wanted to touch the magic of this ancient world. I closed my eyes and tried to feel some ancient presence, to hear whispers from the past. The air seemed to tremble with possibilities. If only I believed in magic—

A shout slashed the air. I twisted so fast I tumbled onto my backside.

I gaped up at the man towering over me. Bare chest, muscular and bronzed. Black hair pulled back from a face full of sharp planes and angles. Dark eyes fierce under scowling brows.

My heart jolted painfully. I’d come face to face with an ancient warrior. He was gorgeous.

And furious.

At me.

Chapter 2

“Don’t you read signs?”

I blinked at the apparition. “Uh....”

He gestured back at the main path. “The signs at every turn saying ‘Stay on the path’? The notice at the entrance telling you to leave artifacts alone? I could have you arrested and fined.”

Oh. I felt color flooding my cheeks. My pounding heart refused to slow yet, and the rush of adrenaline turned my arms and legs to jelly, but I rose steadily enough. I tried to ignore the heat in my face and the queasy feeling of panic in my stomach, which hadn’t yet accepted the message that I wasn’t in danger. “I’m Kylie Hafford,” I said coolly. “The archaeologist. Are you Danesh?”

I saw a satisfying flash of surprise and then guilt. Or maybe I had just imagined it, as his face settled immediately into a neutral mask. “Yes, I’m Danesh.” He hesitated before adding stiffly, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“The pleasure’s all mine.”

He must have caught my irony, because he almost smiled—I think. He said, “I’m sorry I startled you. I wasn’t expecting you yet, and....” He shrugged. “I’ve been noticing scuff marks in the ground, off the trail where tourists aren’t supposed to go. I figured someone was poking around, maybe looking for treasure.”

“And you assumed I was your treasure hunter?”

His gaze narrowed on my face, and I had to stop myself from backing away. He said, “Maybe you do have a right to look around, but it’s still a problem. If tourists see you down here, they’ll think they can do it, too. They’ll pick things up, move them around, take them home. Even if they bring their finds to us in the visitors center—and they do that all the time—it forever ruins our chance of finding an artifact in its proper place, maybe learning more—”

“I know that,” I snapped. “They do teach us a thing or two in archaeology classes.” I stepped up to the path so he wasn’t looking down at me. He barely backed up, so I had to pass within arm’s reach of him, but I felt steadier once we were on the same level and I realized he wasn’t that tall. Well, everyone was tall compared to me. But he only had half a foot on me, so the towering effect had been a result of our respective positions and his scowl.

I stood as tall as I could and put my hands on my hips. “So what do you expect me to do, study this place through binoculars?”

Once again his smile vanished before I was sure I’d seen it. “We can do better than that. We’ll get you a uniform shirt so you look more official and a sign to put on the trail that says ‘Archaeologist at work.’ If you see anyone watching you, let them know what you’re doing and why, and that you have permission, but they don’t.” The half-smile hovered a second longer this time. “You could say it a little nicer than that, I suppose.”

I could probably say anything nicer than this guy, but I decided I’d start by not mentioning that. “Great. When can I get a shirt?”

He glanced over his shoulder toward the sun. That gave me a chance to drop my gaze from his face and notice that he was wearing running shorts and trail-runner shoes, with a T-shirt tucked into his waistband. He must’ve been jogging. That explained the bare chest and the glistening sweat, now vanishing in the dry air. I wished he’d put his shirt back on. All that bare skin was really distracting. If I dressed like that, I’d be accused of acting like a slut and have to put up with whistles and stares, but men—

He turned back and I jerked my gaze to his face. “How about first thing tomorrow,” he said. “Jerry’s waiting for me and I’m already late. Come by the office a little before eight o’clock and have some coffee.”

Now that was the nicest thing he’d said yet. But before I could answer, he said, “I’ll walk you back to the campground.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll just make sure I leave no trace and move along. You go on ahead so you don’t keep Jerry waiting.”

We locked gazes. I felt like I’d gotten into some battle of wills, and I didn’t even know why. But Danesh obviously thought he owned this place and everything in it. If I didn’t stake my claim now, it would be that much harder later. I felt my heart thump five, six, seven times and refused to move anything. Not even my eyes. He’d get no placating smiles or soft feminine pleading from me.

Finally he said, “All right. Be careful. You have a couple of hours of light, but it gets dark quickly and the temperature drops fast. Snakes come out at dusk, and it’s pitch black out here after dark unless the moon is out.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “I’ll be careful.”

He looked like he wanted to say more, but he turned and jogged up the path. I watched him for a minute, admiring the way the evening sun bronzed his back as the muscles rippled. Too bad his personality was as hard and tough as his body.

I sighed. It was just as well that I didn’t like Danesh. He was probably used to giggling tourists and adoring local girls. I’d made enough of a fool of myself without getting tongue-tied over his mouthwatering good looks. He didn’t know it, but he’d given me a test—a hard one. My hand trembled only a little as I retrieved my water bottle, so I convinced myself I had passed so far. One day, I would convince my body to stop panicking at the slightest surprise. For now, I just had to promise myself it would get better. Each time I faced my fears, I got a little stronger. I might not be back to normal yet, but I could see normal from here.

I decided to finish hiking the loop, but I stayed on the main path. Much as I hated being lectured, Danesh had a point. I should set a good example for the few tourists still out.

Two middle-aged men stood at a viewpoint looking across the canyon through binoculars. I paused behind them and tried to read the sign from three feet away. It said Pueblo Storehouses and had a sketch of the far canyon wall, with the storehouses outlined in red. That was one place I’d look for seed samples. I squinted, but with the shadows in the canyon I couldn’t make out anything on the far wall.

One of the men lowered his binoculars and turned to me. “We can’t find them. Do you want to try?”

I hesitated, but the men looked harmless enough, both about fifty and wearing polo shirts, one blue and one green, with shorts. I tried to search my instincts for any sign of danger and found none, besides the usual background anxiety. The man in blue handed me the binoculars and backed away to give me room. I smiled, remembering my comment to Danesh about studying through binoculars.

I studied the diagram and then focused the binoculars on the canyon wall, below the far rim where I had already hiked on my way over.

The man said, “It looks just like the sandstone, I think.”

I scanned across the canyon wall and finally spotted formations that didn’t look natural. “I see them. The walls are rounded so they don’t stand out that well, but you can see a rectangular doorway.” I tried to focus the binoculars better. Something looked odd on one of the walls, like a large stone that wasn’t quite the right color. I couldn’t figure it out, but no doubt it would make sense when I explored more closely. Or had the storehouses been damaged? Maybe even recently, by someone leaving the path to look for treasure? If I found anything strange, I’d have to let Danesh know.

I grimaced at the thought. Maybe I’d tell Jerry instead.

I handed the binoculars back to the man and tried to explain where the storehouses were. I realized I’d been hearing a strange sound, a low rumbling. I glanced around, unable to tell the source. Surely not thunder, as the skies remained a clear, deep blue.

“Sounds like a plane,” the man in green said. The two had lowered their binoculars and were holding hands. I felt myself relax a notch.

We all scanned the sky as the sound grew louder. He had to be right about a plane, but it was creepy to hear that sound and not be able to see any source. I guess sound traveled far with no city noise to mute it.

Finally I spotted a small, black plane, surprisingly low in the air. It seemed to be coming straight toward us.

“I wonder why they’re so low,” Green said.

“Tourists who want a close look at the canyon?” I suggested.

“There aren’t any official tour flights. We checked. Could be a private pilot seeing the sights.”

The plane veered sharply to the left, leaving a trail of white across the sky.

“But they’re heading away now,” Green said. “I hope they’re not in trouble. With all the mesas and mountains around here, I’d want a little more altitude.”

I imagined flying just a few hundred feet above the ground. Would it be comforting to have your landing so visible, or terrifying because one slip could have you slamming into the ground? “They’d call someone if they were in trouble, wouldn’t they? They must have a radio.”

“They should have a radio, but they’d have a better chance of reaching someone higher up, where the signal won’t be blocked by the peaks. This low, they’re flying under the radar. They won’t even show up on the government’s tracking system, so if they go down, searchers won’t know where.”

Funny, I knew the phrase “flying under the radar,” but I’d never thought of it quite so literally. Blue gave Green a playful shoulder bump. “It’s probably nothing. Tom’s a worrier. He likes to make up dire scenarios for random strangers.”

Tom laughed. “One of these days I’ll be right.”

I chuckled with them, then thanked the men for the use of the binoculars and moved on. But I kept glancing in the direction the plane had gone, watching for smoke or any other sign of trouble. No doubt I just had my city instincts on alert in this unfamiliar territory, but I couldn’t help imagining what would happen to the victims of a plane crash out in the desert or on one of the peaks. I saw nothing more of the plane, though, so I had to trust they were all right.

I finished the loop well before dark, cleaned up in the restroom, and sat at my picnic table to eat the second half of the sandwich I’d been keeping in a cooler since lunch. The block of dry ice would keep my yogurt and cheese sticks cool for a couple more days. Then I’d be stuck with dried and canned food until I made a trip into town, something I didn’t relish given that my compact car obviously wasn’t designed for the rough roads. Well, I hadn’t expected luxury.

I had expected quiet, though. Yet the night filled with sounds as dusk fell. Birds, insects, and rustling in the dark. I strained my ears and tried to identify the sounds. Bird calls were easy enough. That low buzz had to be some kind of insect, and I convinced myself it was only creepy because I wasn’t used to it. Rustling in the bushes was harder to dismiss. I forced myself to breathe deeply and repeated in my mind,
Just animals. Just animals. You’re safe here.

A squirrel scurried up a tree nearby, proving my point, and I let out a burst of nervous laughter.