Abby thought back to the kidnap attempt in Mexico City and wondered if the men had followed. Their secret was no longer well-guarded. Too many people knew they had come to Mexico in search of gold.

The taillights of Mateo’s Hummer flashed on as the vehicle slowed. Edge had devised a means of leaving the Hacienda San José unseen; then he had made certain they weren’t followed.

They were approaching what looked like a wide spot in the narrow dirt road. A couple of square buildings with flat metal roofs sat on each side, one with a lone gas pump out in front. A red-painted building at the far end of what passed for a town had a sign out front that read, POSADA UTSIL, a combination of Mayan and Spanish that translated as Best Hotel.

Abby sighed. Home sweet home, she thought.

Gage checked them in, parked in a space in front of the room, and unloaded some of their gear into one of the extra rooms he had rented. With the rooms Edge had added, they took up the entire hotel.

“Not much, is it?” Gage said, surveying the tight quarters that had a double bed, a single nightstand holding a lamp with a partially broken shade, and a three-drawer dresser that had seen better days. There was a wobbly ceiling fan above a trio of naked bulbs that lit the room with harsh, unforgiving light.

Abby breathed a sigh of relief when she spotted a rusty toilet through the open bathroom door. At least she wouldn’t have to share with the other men.

“I bet you’ve stayed in a lot worse places,” she said to Gage, smiling.

He chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”

“So what do the locals think we’re doing here?”

Gage set his carry-on on the bed, unzipped it, and flipped open the lid to unpack. “We’re tourists exploring the area. I’m your husband. I’m keeping you company while you’re taking photos and writing an article on the flora and fauna of the tropical dry forest.”

Her husband. Her heart stuttered at the thought of what it might be like if they were truly married. If the man were anyone but Gage Logan, it might be something she could imagine. But Gage wasn’t the type to settle down, and as she thought of it, neither was she. She was too independent, too used to taking care of herself.

Abby buried the thought, surprised at the pang of yearning she felt.

Her eyes ran over Gage’s unshaven jaw and the knife strapped to his thigh. “You look more like a mercenary than a tourist,” she said. “What are Mateo, Edge, and his security people supposed to be doing here?”