“He said he had found it—the Devil’s Gold. He said he had come back to retrieve it. Then he fell ill and came to me for help.”

“Anything else?”

“He mentioned his granddaughter. He said she would be coming for the gold. After that, his ramblings made no sense.”

“But you believe what he told you is true.”

“He was feverish, but still lucid at the time. He grew worse after suffering your ill treatment.”

True, he silently admitted. Deprivation, even torture had not penetrated the mind of the man he’d imprisoned in the old prison cells beneath the Velásquez family’s deteriorating hacienda.

Arturo thought of the day Zuma had come to him. A friend had fallen deathly ill, she’d said. She needed a doctor, but had no money.

The doctor Arturo had so generously provided had immediately reported the old man’s ramblings, snaring Arturo’s interest. A little research confirmed that King Farrell was an explorer, a famous treasure hunter. Could his delirious claims of finding millions in long-buried gold actually be true?

Whispers of treasure had been circulating in the Yucatán for more than a century. If Farrell had discovered the location of the gold, Arturo was determined to claim it.

He turned to Paulo, who stood alertly next to the door. “Did you deliver the letter?”

“Sí. Neither Logan nor the girl were at the hotel at the time. Rico left it at the front desk, as you instructed.”

It had taken weeks to track down the granddaughter Farrell had mentioned in one of his rants. Abigail, he’d said, would be coming for the gold.

In a last desperate gamble, Arturo had hired an investigator to find her, succeeding just days before she left Denver for Mexico with a man named Gage Logan. She was after the gold, Arturo was sure, on her way to somewhere in the Yucatán, where the old man had come to recover his treasure.

As head of the Velásquez family—which included Ramón, his powerful younger brother—Arturo had put out the word that he was searching for her. Just a day after her arrival, news came that she was staying with Logan at the Hacienda San José.

Arturo glanced at the gilded clock above the mantel over the fireplace. The afternoon was slipping away, and still no word. The letter he had sent was sure to get a response from the girl.

“Call the hotel,” he said. “Find out if the message has been picked up.” Logan and Abigail were sharing a room in the luxurious hotel. Perhaps Logan was merely taking a few days to sample the lady’s charms before venturing out in the heat of the Yucatán to retrieve the gold.

Paulo pulled out his cell phone and made the call. He inquired, then ended the call. “They have not yet returned to their room.”

Arturo’s eyes narrowed. “But they are still there.”