Page 2 of The Lost Guardian

Before he knew it, Santiago was halfway up a rolling ladder, sleeves shoved to his elbows, carefully adjusting layers of fabric to expose the priceless vessels beneath. Though he worked fast, his movements were steady and precise. They had to be when handling centuries-old treasures.

There it was. A metallic-looking black-ware jar with a single spout—an item far more likely to be found in the coastal regions of Peru. Someone must have switched the tags.

Santiago let out a quiet, satisfied laugh, correcting the mistake with a pen he’d tucked behind his ear.

“There we go.”

Only then did he glance at the clock.

“Shit.”

Eleven minutes later, Santiago raced up the front steps of the Ancient Cultures Museum of Los Angeles.

“Late start this morning, Santi?” Marcus, the morning security guard, called out to him.

Santiago managed a half wave as he scanned his badge and rushed toward the employee wing. He could chat later.

Any other day, he would have walked straight past the break room and to his desk. He had only started assisting Dr. Silva, the Resident Andean Historian and his PhD adviser, a few months ago. He didn’t know many of his coworkers personally and still felt awkward milling about among them.

Unlike the ever-charismatic Marcus, Santiago was terrible with small talk. As a result, he tended to avoid the communal spaces. But the lingering smell of coffee slowed his steps today, reminding him that he’d skipped his morning cup in favor of the archives. Santiago shot a glance at his watch. He was already late, so the room wasn’t likely to be busy. And Dr. Silva was preparing for an archeological dig in Chile, so he doubted she’d be waiting for him. The promise of caffeine—the scent wafting dark and bitter through the open doorway—made the decision for him.

It’s not like I’m ever late, he thought to himself. And no one pays attention to grad students.

Convinced, he dashed into the break room, sloshing the dregs of an ancient coffeepot into a paper cup and slamming on a flimsy plastic lid. He lifted it to his lips. It was lukewarm and…pulpy? Disgusting. But good enough.

He hastened toward Dr. Silva’s office. On the way, he felt an urgent buzzing. Santiago glanced at his phone’s screen, which flashed Brooke Miller.

He answered on the third ring.

“Santi! Have you done it yet?” Brooke asked, her voice unbearably loud. Wincing, he lowered the volume.

“Good morning to you, too, Pond,” he greeted his best friend. “And no, I just got to the museum.” He paused to sip from his cup. “Ugh.” He coughed, choking on the burned taste. Maybe caffeine was overrated?

Nah.

“Just got there? You’re telling me Santiago Rios was finally late?” Brooke seemed to celebrate this minor delinquency.

“I got caught up in the archives,” Santiago answered. He stopped himself from diving into an explanation of the mislabeled pots—and their provenance—that he knew would bore her. Besides, he was almost at his desk.

“Okay, listen, you’ve got this!” She could tell he needed a pep talk; she knew him well. “You’ve prepared what to say, you’ve proven you know your stuff, and you’ve been an amazing research assistant. There’s no reason for hot, sexy Doctor Boss-mama to deny your request!”

“Don’t call her that,” Santiago responded automatically. Dr. Silva was, of course, a striking woman. She was also a highly respected leader in her field and old enough to be his mother. “And I know, I know.”

“Santiago.” There was a loaded pause over the line.

“Yeah?” he asked nervously.

“Ask. Her.” Brooke drew out each word. “And I’ll come over tonight with a bottle of something to celebrate.” Her voice regained its normal, chipper cadence.

“I don’t know that this is something worth celebrating,” Santiago grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck, which was beginning to prickle.

“Of course it is.”

Her words were soft, and Santiago felt himself relax.

“Okay, if she says yes, we’ll celebrate,” he replied.

“She’ll say yes,” his friend replied confidently.