Relentless (Benson Security 2)

Joe gently placed her on the bed. With her face against the cool cotton sheets, Julia felt the world stop spinning and sleep overtake her.

Two hours and several cups of coca leaf tea later, Julia felt much better. Not right, exactly, just less likely to vomit on the people around her. She still felt weak and exhausted, but she didn’t feel dizzy. She wasn’t sure if that was due to the tea, which tasted better than she thought it would—and according to Google, wasn’t at all addictive—or the medication Joe shovelled into her. Either way, she was ready to go find Juan Pablo de Santos and, hopefully, the mummy.

The taxi dropped them off in one of the city’s meeting areas, Plaza San Francisco, a concrete intersection with a grassy area above a busy underpass. The area was nothing special—lots of traffic and people waiting to catch buses, generic office buildings and large billboards. In the distance, behind the many high-rise buildings, were the suburbs that went up into the hills. They looked like sheer walls made up of houses built on top of one another. And above it all were the snowy peaks of the mountain range, so close you could almost touch them.

And in the middle of this industrial area was San Francisco Church.

The massive sandstone building, with its dominating bell tower and ornately carved stonework, was complete

ly out of place.

“Eighteenth century,” Joe told her leaning in. “I know how much you like facts and figures.”

Julia cringed at the reminder of her earlier insanity, which made Joe laugh. Julia ignored him, looking around like the tourist she wished she was instead of a woman on a mission. A small market was set up facing the church, selling flowers and candles for worshippers who sat on the steps leading up to the colossal wooden doors.

“This isn’t how I imagined South America would be,” Julia said to no one in particular.

“South America is a mix of everything,” Joe said, showing just how closely he paid attention to her. “It’s as modern as anywhere on the planet, but at the same time it’s steeped in the past like nowhere else.” He pointed at a traditionally dressed Quechua woman, with her mass of coloured skirts nipped tight at her waist, a multi-coloured woven shawl around her shoulders and a black bowler hat on top of her head. Plaited black hair ran down her back, and her face was weathered by the sun. “See? You get the traditional with the new.” He pointed at a woman in a business suit, complete with briefcase, designer heels and a phone at her ear.

“It feels more diverse than Lima.” Not that she’d been in Lima for long enough to judge.

“More concentrated, maybe.”

They rounded the corner of the church into a narrow street with smaller, older buildings. These ones looked more traditionally Spanish, their exteriors a combination of fading stucco and wood. Julia tried to avoid the mass of people and tripped on the cobblestone road. Before she’d managed to steady herself, Joe snatched her hand and held it tight.

When she tried to pry it free, he gave her a look of reprimand. “I don’t want to lose you in here. It gets crowded.” He looked back at Patricia and Ed. “Keep a hold of her,” he ordered.

“My pleasure,” Ed said before taking Patricia’s hand.

Julia watched as her gran blushed and tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal to be walking around a strange city holding a strange man’s hand. It was hard, for a second, to remember that they weren’t two couples sightseeing in Bolivia. They were there for a reason. Alice’s life was on the line.

Plus—Julia shuddered—that was too close to going on a double date with her gran, and that was far too disturbing to contemplate.

They strode up the crowded street, mixing with locals and tourists alike.

“Does everything in this city have to be uphill?” Julia complained.

“You’ll feel better soon and you won’t even notice the incline,” Joe said.

“I doubt it.” Julia’s idea of a workout was walking up the three flights of stairs from her office to her tiny apartment. “I don’t work out like you do. I’m not fit.”

“You look good to me.”

She felt the blush heat her cheeks and snapped her attention away from the man holding her hand, to the market stalls against the buildings. Some of them were set up for the day, while others seemed to be an extension of the small shops behind the outdoor tables. She saw colourful woven ponchos, shawls and bags. Woollen sweaters and knitted hats with earflaps. Large woven blankets with hot pink stripes, hung from poles. Table tops were crowded with all kinds of clay work, from copies of Incan pots to the round-bellied figure of a woman.

Joe noticed where she was looking. “Pachamama. Earth mother. She’s worshipped here.”

“I thought Bolivia was Roman Catholic.”

He shrugged. “They mix it up. There’s a church where the old friars commissioned a painting of Mary done in the local style. They didn’t realise the image could be read in two different ways—Mary or Pachamama. The locals knew they were looking at Mother Earth; the Spaniards knew they were looking at Mary. They both won.”

Julia eyed him with admiration. “You know a lot about this place.”

“Like I said last night, I spent some time here when I was in the Marines.”

“Doing what?”

“Secret stuff.” His grin was wicked, but it didn’t quite make it to his eyes. Julia could only guess at the minefield of memories he had from his time in the service.