I Hear Voices(5)

stunned crowd and roared, “Death comes on wings to he who dares to steal my treasure. Whoever enters the treasure tomb disturbs the rest of a God. The Guardians of the dead will protect my gold.”

I hit another button.

An eerie moaning like a chorus of lost souls wailing a dirge echoed around the room. With demented shrieks, a dozen skeletal warriors jumped out of the darkness with blood encrusted swords.

Several women and a couple of men screamed.

“It’s the Rock,” a woman cried and started clapping.

Montezuma

waved

his

sword

around

menacingly. “Who among you dares to take my treasure?”

“Great special effects,” a man called, clapping, too.

Soon everyone in the museum was clapping loudly.

Huh. Not quite the reaction I was expecting.

A hard hand clamped around my elbow. “The Rock? Are you fucking kidding me?”

“So I think Dwayne Johnson’s hot. Sue me.” I jabbed my stun gun in Sloan’s stomach and triggered it.

Grunting in pain, he convulsed violently and crashed to the floor.

I slid the remote into his breast pocket and patted his face. “Nice playing with you, numb nuts.”

“Bitch,” he hissed through clenched teeth, his limbs still twitched spasmodically.

“Sticks and stones.” Pulling on latex gloves, I slid the night vision goggles on and triggered my uncle’s electromagnetic pulse device. Inky blackness fell.

The crowd milled around uneasily.

Several people asked, “Is the show over?”

I quickly walked over to the case, used a glass cutter and removed the medallion.

A woman behind me asked, “Why haven’t the lights come back on?”

“Dammit my cell phone won’t work,” a male voice complained.

At the exit, I glanced back and groaned. The Tomb Raider was already on his feet. He had the constitution of a contrary jackass.

I walked over to my car and slid inside with a grin. A big jackass who had been out maneuvered by little ole’ me and there was nothing he could do to stop me from taking the gold.





Chapter Three


The Superstition Mountains are a , foot high bastion of ghosts and legends. The tales of the Lost Dutchman’s mine and Peralta’s gold have lured many into the deep canyons and rocky spires.

Those who dare enter the sacred grounds of the Apache Thunder God to hunt for the legendary gold usually found death instead.

Hundreds of men have vanished in this desert wilderness only a short drive from Phoenix. They were later found with their bodies mutilated and their heads cut off. Was the Thunder God responsible? Do Apache warriors still guard the gold? Or did gold fever make crazy men out of ordinary folks. Only the dead know. To this day hikers still find skeletal remains of the unlucky treasure hunters who got lost and ran out of water.

Me? I was heading into the heart of the sacred grounds. Was I worried about the Apache Thunder God? You betcha. The spirit world is real. I should know.

Some say the Lost Dutchman’s mine lies within the shadows of the forbidding rock called Weaver’s Needle. Would I search for it? Hell, no. Poor Ted North was the last psychic treasure hunter who tried. He had been found a week later half-dead and mad as a hatter.

The sun seeped over the mountains turning the morning sky from lavender to pink. It was a good five mile hike to Hieroglyphic Canyon and I wanted to get an early start before it hit a friggin’

degrees. But, hey, it’s a dry heat.

A hot wind rose with the sun. A newspaper tumbled across the parking lot and slapped against my legs. I picked it up. Emblazoned in bold print across the front page the headline exclaimed; Priceless Artifact Stolen. The Mexican government is outraged that the museum allowed a brazen thief to snatch the medallion in front of hundreds of witness.

Outraged? They were a bunch of thieves themselves and besides, it’s not like I’m going to keep the medallion forever. As soon as I find the gold, I’ll return it.

I searched the paper and snorted. The society bitch’s arrest merited two measly lines on the society page. The snooty reporter wanted to know if Margie Goldberg’s arrest for drunk and disorderly had aided the thief. Uh, yeah, it certainly had. I stuffed the paper into a trash can, shouldered my backpack and started down the path for fame and glory.



The path to fame and glory sucked big time.



Heat waves shimmered off the sweltering rocks and added to the feeling of being baked alive. My chocolate had melted an hour ago and the water in

my canteen was actually hot. Even the poor cactus looked wilted.

Using the edge of my camouflage t-shirt to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, I checked my map again and groaned. Hieroglyphic Canyon was another friggin’ mile down this rocky obstacle course called a path. Where were Granny Annabel and her arctic freeze when I needed them?

My satellite phone chirped loudly and the hair on the back of my neck sprang to attention. How in the hell had the Tomb Raider gotten this number?

The image of Sloan decked out like a commando, face paint and all, firing a rocket launcher at what had to be a convoy of terrorists’

vehicles flashed across my mind.

I yanked the phone out of my backpack and gasped, “You work for the CIA!?”

There was a long silence. “You’ve been out in the sun too long, sweetheart.”

“You’re the only man I know who makes sweetheart sound like a cuss word.”

He dropped his voice an octave and purred, “How about I call you ‘Angel’ instead?”

I shivered as a shocking heat clenched my lower muscles. Omigod, he was actually trying to seduce me.

“First thing I want to do to you, Angel, is strip you bare. Then I’m gonna spread your hot, naked body across my bed like a banquet and eat you until you scream.”

Hoo boy! He was definitely a pro at seduction.

Shaking off the urge to yell, ‘take me I’m yours,’ I snorted rudely instead. “Nice try asshole.

Does the Logar Province in Afghanistan ring a bell?”

With a low, aggressive growl, he snapped, “Let’s get one thing straight, Zelda, that gold is mine.”

“And how exactly do you plan on finding it, Derek? Got a CIA psychic on tap?” I swatted at a bee buzzing around my head.

“No, you’re gonna find it for me.” His voice was lethally matter-of-fact.

I laughed. “Not a chance. Hell will freeze over before I’d work with you.”

A mini blizzard sprang up around me.

“Oh for God’s sake give it a rest.”

I could sense his puzzlement before he added, “You’ll do exactly what I say if you want your uncle out of jail.”

“Ha! My uncle is no longer in the country. So, good luck with that.” I hung up.

The blizzard got worse.

I reveled in the cold breeze. “Thanks Granny.”

The blizzard stopped and the unforgiving sun immediately seared my already sunburned skin.

Granny Annabel’s disembodied voice echoed eerily off the steep walled canyon. “You have roused the hunter in Derek. He will not stop until you are his. Accept your fate.”

“You don’t get it, do you? He doesn’t want me.

He wants the gold.”

“Only true love will bring you what you seek.”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop already with the mystical crap.”

“He is your destiny.”

“Destiny, my ass.” The satellite phone chirped again. I stabbed the answer button and snarled, “Stay the hell away from me or I’ll do more than stun you.”

“You try that little stunt again and I’ll put you over my knee.”

“The big, scary CIA agent’s gonna spank me.

Gosh, I’m trembling in my boots.”

Derek laughed. It was a masculine, mocking taunt. “When I’m done with you, you will be screaming my name and begging for more.”

I stared at the phone in disbelief. Did he really think I was that hard up? Okay I was, but a girl had to have some self respect. “Sorry, sugar, but you’re not my type.”

“I’m exactly your type, Angel, and one night in my bed will prove it.”

“You egotistical, conceited ass I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth.”

“Care to place a bet on that?”

With a furious growl, I disconnected and swatted at another bee. That’s when the hum of thousands of bees caught my attention. I glanced up at the ledge I was using to block the sun and jumped back. Holy shit! That was one big, freakin’

hive and the little buggers were a bit riled up.

Putting out calming psychic vibes, I inched away.

A movement at the mouth of the canyon drew my attention. A large form appeared in the shimmering heat mirages dancing across the brittle desert.

Squinting against the glaring sun, I peered at the man walking out of the translucent waves. How in the hell was he tracking me?

Sloan looked huge, invincible as he sauntered down the path after me with his Fedora set at a cocky angle.

I eyed his neon green shirt decorated with bright red flowers. The rescue people wouldn’t have any problems spotting him from the air.

He gave me a friendly wave.

I gave him the one finger salute.

Derek grinned and increased his pace.

My temper flared to life. Grabbing a rock, I hurled it at the bee hive and scored a direct hit.

It hit the ground with a loud splat and thousands of angry bees poured out.

“Oh shit!” I ran for it and put every ounce of psychic power I had into calming the bees chasing me.