TWICE A HERO By Susan Krinard

A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “That’s Liam’s. One of those we—”

“One of the two pendants you and Liam made four years ago,” she said. “I want yours as well, Perry.”

“May I ask why?”

She cupped the cool stone in her hand. “Call it a souvenir. You do have it, don’t you?”

“Yes. In my rooms.”

“Will you give it to me?”

He inspected her as if he could wring the full story out of her by sheer concentration. “Very well, Rose.”

Thank God. “Then I have one more thing to ask. I need your help to arrange transportation back to the jungle as soon as possible.”

“Back to the jungle? Surely—”

“I know what I’m doing, Perry.” She stood up, testing her legs. They were prepared to hold her up now that the worst was past. “Liam has told me he plans to be out of town as soon as he’s recovered enough to travel. I want to be gone by the time he gets back, whatever it takes.” Her throat was aching, and she went on more briskly, “I’ll need to borrow a little money. Just what I need to get back to Guatemala.”

Perry steepled his ringers under his chin. “I suppose I can’t convince you not to go ahead with this madness.”

“No.”

“Then I’ll do what I can to help, of course.”

“Thank you.” She started for the door and paused. “I am glad to have known you, Perry. And Caroline.”

“It isn’t farewell just yet,” he said.

But it would be very soon. In a matter of days she’d be beyond anyone’s reach. Safe. With nothing more challenging before her than enduring a two-week sea voyage, tramping a couple hundred miles through the jungles, and trying to make a Maya time tunnel take her back to 1997.

Simple.

“I’ll wait to hear from you,” she said.

She walked down the echoing hall to the great front doors, Norton loyally by her side. At the threshold she knelt before the wolfhound, rubbing his ears between her fingers.

“Well, fella, this is it. I probably won’t be seeing you again.”

The dog thumped his tail against the polished floor. Mac fought to keep the tears in check just a little longer.

“I can tell you what I’m not going to miss about this time,” she joked. “Long heavy dresses and corsets and institutionalized male chauvinism, to name a few. I can’t wait to get back to Coke and feminism and nice, safe air travel and… Oh, hell.” She flung her arms around the massive, shaggy neck. “I’m going to miss you, Norton.”

And your master most of all, her heart whispered. She gave the dog a final caress and left him looking after her as she closed the door between them.

His bark reached her through the door. It became a howl as she strode away from the house, blindly following the route she knew would take her back to the Palace. Afternoon fog was beginning to roll in off the ocean, wreathing her in a chill that matched the lump of ice under her ribs.

Soon—she had to keep believing it—life would be back to normal. No more crazy excursions for MacKenzie R. Sinclair. There was a small apartment, a quiet life, and a job waiting for her back home.

And memories—more than enough to last her a lifetime.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ye Gods! annihilate

but space and time,

And make two lovers happy.

—ALEXANDER POPE

THE DAILY DOWNPOUR was nearly over. It was smack in the middle of the rainy season, but Mac was almost grateful for the hard going. It had kept her from thinking.

She leaned on her improvised walking stick and caught her breath. The mules stamped and shifted in the mud behind her, jingling their harnesses. Fernando soothed them with a quiet endearment and waited for Mac to signal them forward again.

Thank God for Fernando. She glanced back at the Maya muleteer. Somehow she hadn’t been surprised to see him show up at the door of her grungy hotel room in Champerico. It hadn’t been mere luck that she’d been able to hire the one person in Guatemala she knew to guide her back to the ruins: Fernando had been waiting for her.

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