My guys had visited this island many times during their adolescence and were less impressed. The architecture was magnificent, and several walls were covered in a gold light, mimicking the gold leaf that once covered the walls. They left me to my wonderment as they quietly discussed possible sites.
We arrived in a room with a large stone inside it. Elias pulled out a pocketknife, and they bloodied their fingers. Michael indicated I should watch for anyone that might interrupt them. I offered to prick my own finger, but they staunchly refused.
“A small amount of blood should be enough to make the magic of the portal begin to work.” Michael cut his finger without a wince or flinch. “I’m honestly not sure how much it'll take to actually open it, but even a few drops should make it dosomething.” He tapped several blocks with the blood from his finger before it healed and had to prick it again.
I stopped them a couple of times as people came in. The tourists didn’t stay long, as the room was actually quite boring once you got past the marvel of the stonework. One older lady stopped to chat with us.
“Is this your first time in Peru?” She had a British accent.
“Yes, ma’am, though my husband—” I paused, unsure what to call Elias and Anthony. “—and his friends have been here before. They’re studying architecture and came for inspiration for their graduate work.” I was proud of myself for rattling that lie off the top of my head. She gave us a sweet smile and moved on.
Once they’d exhausted every stone in the room, including the large stone settled in the center, we walked casually through the entire building and gardens. They occasionally touched bloody fingers to stones that looked to be older than others. We were flying blind.
I enjoyed the beauty, but after four hours combing the temple, we went to the car rather dejected. “I suppose it was too much to hope to find it the first day we looked.” I opened the back car door and sank into the seat.
“Remember, we're together and safe, nobody knows where we are, and our boys are safe,” Michael said. He clasped my cold hand in his warm one. I’d expected Peru to be warmer, but I was chilled.
Elias noticed a restaurant within walking distance of the parking garage, and we headed off that way. TheCasa Qorikanchadidn’t even look like a restaurant. From where we stood, it just looked like a stone building, maybe an office, but it was sure to be warm inside. I gave my approval.
We sat at a small table, and Elias conversed with the waiter in Spanish. I told Michael to order for me as I couldn’t read the menu.
Elias and Anthony told us stories about our children from the past five years to pass the time as we waited for our lunch. Tears pricked my eyes—again—hearing about the way Daniel used to say different words. He didn’t ever have a lisp, according to Elias, but he mispronounced several words like ketchup—che-hups, and he always said sound-noise instead of just sound or noise. On one hand, I was thrilled he was safe. On the other hand, I missed it all.
I was laughing at Anthony’s description of David trying to flirt with a visiting Supay teen when I noticed an older woman walk in.
“Guys,” I whispered. I couldn’t even hear my own voice in the crowded restaurant, but I knew they would. “The older woman that walked in—don’tlook—was one of the tourists that was interested in what we were doing in the museum.” The idiots turned their heads at the same time I was whispering. “Be cool, guys. Geez, you act like you’ve never been sneaky before.”
The woman pulled up a chair at the bar and spoke to the bartender. I saw Michael’s lips moving and cocked my head. “I can’t hear you, Michael.” Anthony, sitting closest to me, leaned in as if to place a kiss on my neck.
“She may be able to hear us if she’s an Unseen. Don't speak our names again. Eat at a natural pace, and we'll leave.”
Easier said than done.Luckily, she sat facing away from us, so I didn’t have to worry about her watching us. I watched the guys’ gazes travel around the room, scanning for potential threats.
I tried to people-watch too, but all I saw were people—normal people, living their lives. I could see no threats, but to be fair, my eyes kept straying to Michael's profile. I still couldn't believe I was looking at my husband. I reached out and clasped his hand.
Our food arrived, and I almost drooled in anticipation. Potential danger or not, I was hungry, and mycausalooked delicious. The combination of avocado, beef and potato was Peruvian magic in my mouth. I picked off of their plates, too, samplinglomo saltado, antichuchos,andpollo a la brasa.
If we don’t start a workout regime, I’m going to gain weight.
The guys were tense throughout the meal, and our conversation was nonexistent. “She probably lives nearby,” I said into my wine glass.
“We must be diligent. We don't want the Junta interrupting us now,” Michael whispered as he leaned over and kissed my forehead.
Elias pulled money out of his wallet and left it on the table. I was ushered out of the restaurant, then flanked for the short walk to the car. “Don’t you think you three are overreacting a little? I wanted to finish my rice.”
“I’d hoped to stay one more night here before beginning our drive to the next potential location.” Anthony held my door open and climbed in with me. “After seeing that woman again in the restaurant, we should head on to Bolivia.”
“Great. How many hours will that take?” I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation. “This is overkill.”
Anthony pulled me into a side hug. “Continue trusting us, Coya. We’re cautious because we care for you.”
I settled in for yet another long, boring drive, alternately brooding and snoozing when the first car hit our bumper. I let out a little shriek and sat up, looking around us. Night had fallen, and my view out of the back window was blinding headlights. I couldn't see past the bright lights to tell what type of car was hitting us.
“Floor it, Elias!” Michael yelled from the passenger seat. Anthony pulled me into his lap so he could press the latch to lower the seat and reach into the trunk. He pulled out a bag of weapons and handed me the first gun he put his hand on. It was my nine-millimeter. I knew it was mine because it had a bright pink grip, which I could see clearly when we pulled ahead a few feet and the headlights illuminated the interior of the car. I put my hand down in the side pocket and pulled out four clips. They went in my bra—the best pocket.
My fingers released the safety, and I rolled down the window. Going up on my knees, I discovered how difficult it was to aim at a car as it tried to ram us while the car, I was riding in weaved back and forth.
My shots went wild. Once the large vehicle behind us realized I was shooting at them—and that Michael and Anthony had joined the fight—they rammed the bumper of our little compact car even harder. I was slammed into the back of the driver’s seat while I tried to aim at an impossible target.
