Page 19 of The Lost Guardian

Now Abuelo Manco was gone, too. And Santiago hadn’t gotten to say goodbye to either of them. Brooke’s hand found his, a small comfort as the weight of grief landed like a lead blanket around his shoulders.

Ali frowned. “That’s a shame,” she whispered.

Santiago shook his head as if to clear it. “What does any of this have to do with the men in my home? The guns?” he demanded.

“One more question,” Ali said. “One more and I’ll answer everything, I promise.”

Santiago sighed. What choice did he have?

“After your father passed, was he buried here? In the United States?”

Santiago startled. The question was so random, so wildly inappropriate for a stranger to ask, that it shocked him enough to answer.

“No,” he replied. “It was in my father’s will that his remains be returned to Peru. Which was weird, but we made the arrangements.” Santiago’s brow furrowed. “My mother wasn’t doing well after my father’s death, so we had a small ceremony here, but his ashes were returned to Lima.”

Ali nodded, as if she’d expected that answer.

Santiago was exhausted. He missed his father. The grief her words disturbed within him floated up like sediment from the bottom of a pond. It mixed with the fresh heartache over losing his abuelo and his chance to ever truly know the man.

Everything was just too much. Santiago had had the strangest, most terrifying day of his existence. The anxiety churning in his gut snapped what little control he had left, and he slammed his hands down onto the dashboard—hard.

The sound wasn’t like a gunshot—because now Santiago knew exactly how loud that was—but it echoed through the stuffy interior of the car nonetheless.

Ali didn’t flinch, simply raised a dark brow at him.

Santiago sucked in a few deep breaths, appalled at his momentary lapse in control.

“I need you to do a better job of explaining, please,” he said after he felt he could regulate his voice. It shook, but at least he didn’t shout, which had been his first instinct. “I am seriously freaking out here.”

“Very well,” Ali answered, smoothly maneuvering through an exit. “Santiago, you are a Guardian of the Lost Tomb of Atahualpa. And I am here to bring you to Peru.”

6

Santiago pressed his body against the passenger door, trying to put as much space between himself and those words as possible.

“Atta-what?” Brooke asked, staring at Ali like she had cut her in line. But Ali didn’t acknowledge her, sparing a glance from the road to look at Santiago instead.

She cocked her head to the side, as if attempting to read his mind. Then she focused back on driving.

“Mr. Rios,” Ali said, “what do you know about the Guardianes de la Tumba?”

Before the words finished leaving her mouth, Santiago shook his head.

Instead of looking discouraged, Ali’s face brightened.

“So you do know of your heritage,” she replied, sounding pleased. “Good. That will speed things up.”

“My heritage?” Santiago said. “You mean the stories my grandfather told me? Those aren’t real.”

“Your grandfather?” Ali repeated, the satisfied expression on her face melting into concern. “You mean, your father didn’t tell you? He didn’t prepare you?”

“Prepare me for what?”

Ali’s fingers drummed on the steering wheel. “Well, I can guess what he and Manco fought about,” she said, more to herself than to him.

“What is going on?” Brooke interrupted, addressing Santiago this time. “What stories? What is she talking about? Who are the ‘guardianes’?”

Ali looked expectantly at him. Santiago took a deep breath, inhaling the air freshener’s valiant attempt to mask the underlying scent of chemical cleanser and metal.