“Where?” she demanded, pushing forward on the bed. “I thought you said—” She broke off at the look on his face.
Whatever gentleness he’d shown her a few moments ago was gone. He was all grim determination again, from the stony bleakness of his gray eyes to the hard set of his jaw. “I have business that’s been awaiting my attention since we left Tikal.”
And she knew, then. She knew what business was so important that he wouldn’t wait one minute longer than necessary to see to it. The business he’d never forgotten during their journey, no matter how little he’d revealed his preoccupation to his unwanted companion.
“Perry,” she said. “You’re going for Perry, aren’t you?”
The full force of his attention fell on her like a physical blow. “Worried, Mac? For me, or for him?”
She planted her feet on the floor and stood. “You still have no proof that he tried to—”
“I’ll have it, soon enough,” he said. He jammed on his hat and turned on his heel. “Make yourself comfortable. A meal will be sent up to you shortly.”
Mac had sworn to herself that she wasn’t going to beg, but all of a sudden her pride didn’t seem quite so important anymore. “Then you’re just going to abandon me here—”
He stopped with his hand on the knob. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back soon enough. Oh, and I wouldn’t advise that you think of leaving. It’s a dangerous city out there.”
The door rattled as it slammed shut.
Mac stood very still long after he’d gone, listening to the echoing hollow of her thoughts. She walked carefully to the bed and sat down again. Thinking on her feet wasn’t such a hot idea when her knees were shaking so much.
Okay, Mac. What now?
Liam was out of reach, undoubtedly on his way to do something rash and hazardous. And now she wasn’t with him to… what? Stop him? Protect him?
She pushed to her feet and marched to the window. Old San Francisco spread out before her in an undulating surface of square rooftops, punctuated by the occasional church spire or belching smokestack. It ran northward from the flats of the Financial District, up and over the hills and all the way to the Bay. From here the view of sparkling water was unimpeded and magnificent and utterly terrifying.
As she’d done so many times before, Mac pulled the Maya pendant from beneath her shirt and held the cool stone in her hand. This was it. Either she’d collapse in a useless heap or take up the gauntlet and find a way to do what she had to do.
Somewhere out there Peregrine Sinclair, her own great-great-grandfather, was going about the business of courting Caroline Gresham. Was he a murderer who’d kill a good friend for the sake of a woman—or her fortune? It seemed too incredible, but Liam believed it. And so, it seemed, had Homer.
If it were true, Perry wouldn’t be expecting Liam’s return. There was no telling what he might do once he realized his attempt had failed—or what Liam would do to him.
She turned from the window and went to the bathroom. It had a toilet and bathtub and sink, everything antique and fancy but recognizable and presumably functional. She turned on the faucet in the wood and marble washstand and splashed two palmfuls of cold water over her face.
Think, Mac. You’ve got to come up with something…
A discreet tapping came at the main door. Mac snatched a towel hung beside the sink and rushed across the room, remembering to assume a little dignity before she answered the knock.
But it wasn’t Liam. It was a young man in a dark suit with a wheeled cart spread with covered platters, cut crystal goblets, and ornate silver. Room service of a degree Mac had never seen in her life.
As she was something the young man hadn’t seen often. His gaze took in her jeans and shirt and traveled to her flushed skin and tousled hair.
“Your dinner, ma’am,” he said. “As ordered. Will there be anything else?”
The young man’s expression told Mac all she needed to know about her appearance. It was a shame she didn’t have anything in her possession that resembled the local currency, but she doubted the banks of 1884 would accept traveler’s checks so she could go out and buy herself a dress.