CHAPTER NINETEEN
Sa Calobra, Mallorca
December 5
Evan had waited, bobbing in the bay behind an outcropping of rocks. When the men drove away and the guard who had reported her left to patrol another section of the shoreline, she stashed the Zodiac, grabbed her gear, and disappeared into the caves.
She would have thought familiarity with the confining space would have eased her irrational anxiety. Turns out, not the case. Knowing a pitch-black stalactite cage lurked at the end of her path did little to soothe. Nevertheless, determined, she crawled through the last opening, yanking her canvas supply duffle behind her. Skirting a puddle, Evan settled next to what she had surmised was a small sealed ingress marked by one of the low stone stacks.
She tackled the marker first, a miniature snowman of limestone rocks melded by water and time. Separating the small middle piece from the base, Evan once again discovered two gold chain links. They could have been part of a substantial necklace or a chain from a lock. She carefully marked and bagged the pieces. Next, she addressed the closed hole in the cave wall. After taking photographs and measurements, Evan withdrew a small geological hammer from the duffle and gave the surface an experimental tap. She brushed away the detritus, checking for more chain links or other concealed objects, and continued.
Cam turned down another dark hall and found himself back in the old storage room. Well, not a room but a cave. The mine shafts occasionally intersected with the dozens of cave systems that crisscrossed the island. Cam stifled a shudder. He wasn’t claustrophobic or afraid of the dark, but this dank space with rows of limestone formations that dripped like rabid jaws was downright creepy. He mapped the room's layout, the one egress, and items of note. Through experience, he knew that anything could have significance, from the crate marked “demolition” sitting by the entrance to the small stack of rocks by the back wall.
Out-of-commission coal carts lined one wall like errant grocery carts in a parking lot. The men probably used them to transport heavy equipment then simply sent them careening across the room when they were finished. Tools and crates were stacked against the other wall. A battery-powered lantern flickered and hummed. He cocked his head; there was another sound. It was a nearly inaudible tap tap tap emanating from the far corner. Grabbing the lantern by its mangled wire handle, he moved closer to investigate. There. Setting the light closer, he could just make out a deviation in the surface of the wall, a sealed opening. Tap tap tap. There was that sound, clearly man-made. Was someone trapped? Were those faint taps the last effort of an oxygen-deprived man?
Cam walked the two steps to the tools lining the adjacent wall without further forethought and grabbed a sledgehammer.
Evan was examining what appeared to be a symbol scratched into the side of the opening when wham. She was thrown backward as a blow from the other side of the wall crashed through the rock, a lethal sledgehammer stopping just shy of her chin. She scrambled back on her backside and the heels of her hands, her thoughts too scattered to form a plan. Through the settling dust, a face emerged, distinctive golden eyes scanning the confined space. Familiar golden eyes. This was the bully who had chased her from the beach—the gorgeous bully who had chased her from the beach. She sorted through the mosaic of emotions forming in her mind: outrage, apprehension, unease. She settled on anger.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Evan looked at the man who had so frightened her earlier. He looked… dangerous.
“I could ask you the same thing, chica. This is private property.” The man spoke with a heavy accent, his callous persona apparent. His astonishing eyes traveled a path down her body and settled on the spot where her pant leg had slid up above her boot, revealing her bandaged injury. She pushed the fabric down to cover it.
“I’m an archaeologist. You’re disturbing a dig site.” She protested.
“You’re a trespasser. You’re in the March Copper Mine,” he growled.
“This is part of the mine?” Evan questioned.
“March Copper Mine,” he repeated.
“I see. Well, um, I better not mess with it, then.” She dusted off her pants and turned to leave.
“You mean you will come back when no one is around,” he challenged.
Evan spun to face him. “These caves are public land. Where does the mine start?”
The man gestured over his shoulder, then did another tour of her body as she stood. “What are you doing down here, ratoncita?”
She blanched at the insult, little mouse. “As I said before, I’m an archaeologist, here with a team. I’m due to meet them very soon.”
“This team? They are in the next cave? Or waiting for you on the beach? Or did the little mouse smell a treat and go off on her own? Because that would be a big mistake.”
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said.
“Then you have made two mistakes,” he said.
Evan took a moment to assess his threat, his words so at odds with his face. He looked boyish and handsome, poking his head through the hole he had made. A leering smile revealed straight, white teeth, a curl of dark hair artfully flopped on his forehead.
And those eyes. They were the color of wheat.
She silently cautioned herself to look away before she got lost in their mesmerizing depths. She chided herself for getting drawn in by his looks. Satan was once God's most beautiful angel.
When it was clear she wasn’t going to respond, the man goaded her further. “What did you find, chica? Buried gold? A mummy's tomb? Was there a treasure map etched on the wall?”
“I won’t really know since you took a wrecking ball to it.” She gestured to the debris below his head.
“Hold that thought.” He backed out of the aperture, and a moment later, the sledgehammer was back, obliterating the entire sealed-off entrance.