“How was I supposed to know I’d be hanging on a broken ladder?” I accepted my bag from him and looped its straps over my shoulder. “Plus, I only pack dresses for vacation.”
“Maybe tomorrow you should buy some pants.”
I tilted my head to see the platform above us. “How are we going to get back up there?”
Andrew ran the light up the wall with the missing ladder. “We aren’t.” He shone the light around the space, stopping on a dark tunnel. “That’s our way out.”
Perhaps it wasn’t the first time Andrew had ended up many feet below the ground, in an ancient building, amongst the dead. He was, after all, an archeologist, and my guess, one of the best ones since someone apparently paid him a whole lot of money to chase a lost treasure and break laws.
From the stories Andrew had told me about the treasure, this room should have been filled with a lot of massive chests and crates, but the room was vacant.
“So, no treasure here.” I dusted the dirt off my feet and put my shoes on. “Should we keep moving?”
“It seems we won’t find the Asiento de Padua cargo. But something is here.” He surveyed the walls towering over us with markings and words carved deeply into smooth stones.
“By the way. Yes. Look…” I fished my iPhone out of my bag and found the collage of images I’d made. “Augustine sketched this church.” I held my phone out to Andrew. “When I took this photo today, I immediately recognized the town square.”
Andrew’s warm hand enwrapped mine, bringing the screen closer to his face. “Where did you see this sketch?”
“At the museum.”
“This is good.” His smirk turned into a smile. “Before he died, in his last letter to Simón, Jorge wrote that Augustine’s artwork conveyed more than just the beauty of the world he saw. It told stories. Sometimes, it’s a love story, and sometimes, it’s a message deeply hidden that only select people can grasp its true significance. I presumed it was a poetic way of saying how incredible of an artist Augustine was. But now it makes more sense that what he meant was Augustine left actual messages in his sketches.”
“The museum only had four drawings on display. I have photos of them.”
“May I see them?” Andrew’s eyebrows narrowed.
I pulled my hand out of his touch and found images on my phone. “If you scroll to the left you’ll see an unfinished waterfall, a large house, a palace, and this village square.”
Andrew was staring at my phone, unblinking, a satisfied smile spreading on his face. “I need to ask Carlos if they have more in the archives.”
“Do you know what message he left in this sketch?”
“This could be it.” Andrew pointed the flashlight at the wall in front of us. Carvings showed rural life with figures working in fields, riding horses, ships battling sea serpents, and a jungle with large cats and snakes hanging off trees. In the center of it all was a structure with angels above. Maybe a church? This church? I wasn’t an artifacts expert, but in movies, these kinds of engravings usually carried a message.
I opened the camera app and snapped a picture, illuminating the area with a bright flash.
Andrew studied the wall, slowly moving the flashlight’s beam over it in a kind of pattern. Deep in thought, he looked even more intelligent. The dim light underlined his sharp and confident profile, making it extra noticeable how handsome he was. And he was single.
Well, unmarried, at least.
An old feeling I hadn’t allowed inside me for such a long time pushed all the air out of my lungs. I wasn’t sapiosexual, but I knew well the type of guys that attracted me like positive ions to negative ones. I tended to fall hard for highly educated, intelligent men. And here I was in the company of a man who ticked all boxes. On top of everything, he had a sexy accent. But a man like Andrew wouldn’t fall for a woman like me. I have worked enough with people in high society to know I was too far outside Andrew’s socioeconomic class. Men like him seek partners who share their affluent lifestyle, education, and cultural sophistication. I had none of those. And if I kept reminding myself about it, I could control my growing interest in him.
“These look familiar, but I need my notes from the car.” Andrew’s voice yanked me out of my daunting personal rabbit hole.
“Then we’d better leave,” I said. “William is probably worried.”
“Not just yet.” Andrew stepped to the wall, retrieved a pocketknife, and scraped around the rock at the bottom of the churchy structure.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“This stone is protruding slightly,” Andrew said. Tiny particles of dirt fell on the ground as he grated. “We’re in the lower part of this building. If I’m correct—” The knife blade slid inside. He placed the flashlight into his mouthagain, and pivoted the handle side to side, slowly pushing a stone out.
“That can’t be good for your teeth,” I said as I gently removed the flashlight.
Andrew sheathed his knife and slipped it into his side pocket. Grasping the stone, he blew a slow breath and cautiously wiggled it out. We exchanged rock for flashlight, and he shone the light into the hole. He broke into a wide smile, making my heart skip a beat.
“What’s there?” I asked, breathless.
