Mac sat down. She did a quick mental count of the major ruins in the area. Aside from Tikal, the most famous, there were only a few of any size within a day’s walk. Uaxactum was north, but it was still a good fifteen miles away and considerably less impressive than Tikal. Its temples were simply not of the size she was seeing right now. El Mirador was even farther away.
Okay. She turned in a circle. To north, south, east, and west the carpet of green was unbroken. No massive clearings by lumber companies eager for the jungle’s untapped resources, no smaller patches of settlements or villages. No roads. No airstrip. No sign of habitation.
“It’s as I told you, Miss MacKenzie.”
Liam Junior settled into an easy crouch beside her, knees spread and big hands dangling between. “I can find no sign that your party has been here within the past week,” he continued—without mockery, for a change. He frowned at her. “How long did you say you were alone?”
She wanted to make some wisecrack, but it had managed to get tangled around her tongue. “About an hour after the guide left. Before I ran into you.”
“Then where is this guide?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many were in Tikal?”
“I didn’t count the tourists. I didn’t come with a tour group. They wouldn’t be—” No, don’t tell him no one would be looking for you, Mac. Not a good idea. “You’re still telling me this is Tikal?”
He only gave her another of those condescendingly half-pitying, half-contemptuous looks. Her head had begun to ache. A large, warm drop of water hit her on the bridge of her nose and trickled into her eye. More raindrops joined the first in rapid succession.
The square temple entrance provided the only shelter from the cloudburst that followed. Mac retreated just inside. Liam Junior stayed where he was, face upturned.
Mac was grateful for the moment of privacy. A crazy idea was forming in her brain, too ridiculous to think out, let alone speak aloud.
She wiped damp hands on the thighs of her pants, wriggled out of her backpack and unzipped the inner pouch. The photo was as carefully wrapped now as it had been on the day Homer had given it to her. Her fingers were a little unsteady as she pulled it out and held it up to catch the filtered light.
It was almost a shock to see how thoroughly her Liam clone resembled the real thing, even down to his clothing. But it was the ruins behind him and Perry that she examined. The temple framed in the photograph was high and surrounded by jungle, with only a scanty path worn through the greenery that covered the steps to the top. Trees grew on the stairway and on the temple platform, just as they did on the ruin she sat in. The match was almost perfect…
“Where did you get that?”
She flinched. Liam Junior stood over her, his hand already reaching for the photograph. Mac snatched it away before his dripping fingers could take hold.
“Hey! Be careful—that’s an antique!”
He shook his head, spraying water from his golden brown hair. “Antique?” he echoed. “How did you get it?” His tone sharpened, and he dropped into a crouch. “Do you know Perry?”
For a moment she wasn’t sure she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
He clamped his fingers around her wrist. “Perry. Did he give this to you?”
Mac stared at him. “This is too much. If Homer were alive he might have pulled something like this—”
He shook her, just enough to get her attention. “Perry Sinclair. This photograph was taken the last time we were in Tikal. Perry had it in his rooms.”
Mac worked her wrist free of his grasp and tucked the photo behind her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said carefully. “This photo was given to me by my grandfather. The men in it have been dead for decades—”
“Miss MacKenzie,” he said between his teeth, “when Perry left me in this jungle he was very much alive. And I am most assuredly not dead. Did Perry think I was?”