Stone Of Heaven: The Carswell Adventure Series, #1

By L.A. Sartor

A treasure hunter goes missing in the Yucatan jungle. Her inexperienced city-girl twin rushes to the rescue. What could go wrong?

 

Content with her simple life creating jewelry and living on a train, Tori Carswell is nevertheless edgy. Her adrenaline-junkie sister's promised check-in call is overdue.

 

Treasure hunting is in Reid Hunter's blood and if he finds this fabled prize, he'll be a rock star, able to pay his bills and salvage his reputation. But plans go horribly wrong, as the blue jade is more powerful than imagined.

 

Rescuing her sister involves conquering fears Tori can't face, let alone act on. She must rely on her twin's Southern gentleman without-a-conscience, ex-partner Reid for help.

 

Will he put riches before life…and love?

 

If you liked Romancing The Stone and The Adventures of Indiana Jones, then you'll love Stone Of Heaven – Book One in the Carswell Adventure Series.

 

Buy Stone of Heaven for heart pounding danger and swoon worthy romance set in the exotic ruins of the Yucatan.

• Language: English
• Publisher: L.A. Sartor
• Release date: Nov 1, 2021
• ISBN: 9780985679224

Book preview

1

The rain squalls lashing her train-car lightened to a drizzle. Relieved that hurricane Michaela finally moved eastward and out of Texas, Victoria Carswell let out a slow breath. She put down the jeweled pendant she’s been absently polishing for the past couple of hours and turned back to her computer.

She refreshed the screen. Again.

Nothing.

Dammit, Abby, you promised you’d get in touch soon. And getting in touch Abby-style always meant a video chat.

Their last chat was less than satisfactory. Abby was getting ready to fly her plane from their old home in Oregon to a primitive location in the Yucatan. On the heels of a hurricane no less. Tori begged her to wait and ended the conversation yelling at her. Via video of course.

Abby had simply smiled into the camera and taken off, behaving cavalierly and irresponsibly.

Again.

Come on, Tori, at least be honest with yourself. That’s not what you're upset about. You're scared to death that what happened to Mom and Dad will happen to Abby.

Her twin could have waited at least a few more days to let things dry out and stabilize, but oh, no, headstrong Abigail Carswell couldn't miss her chance at finding the prize.

Just like Mom and Dad.

Tori picked up the pendant and immediately put it down. It didn't need another bit of polishing, and she was too keyed up to handle it with the care it deserved. Not only had Abby left on this new treasure hunt, Alfred Choy, Tori’s friend and mentor, was leaving her the moment the storm allowed.

Not just leaving, moving out.

To calm herself, Tori looked around her studio car, and by extension, the symbol of the life she'd built; her own private train. She loved living on a train. The custom-built five cars had everything she needed, and her train allowed her to live her life her way.

The cherry on top was being able to do the work she loved. The tabloids called her jeweler to the stars, and she resented the moniker. She never advertised her work and rarely met her clients—her choice, not theirs. And she did her best to avoid attention of any kind, unlike her sister, who craved the adrenaline rush of action and adventure, followed by the notoriety of the subsequent find.

Dammit, Abby, call.

Just then a ray of sunlight broke through the storm, bathing Tori in golden brightness, momentarily giving her the illusion of peace.

Until she heard the opening swoosh of the connecting door. She immediately picked up the pendant, needlessly inspecting it with her jewelers loupe, looking busy and unconcerned. But from the corner of her eye she saw two suitcases being set down.

It's your best work, Tori, Alfred said, bending over her shoulder, studying the pendant. The First Lady will be pleased.

Tori refused to put down the loupe, not wanting to meet her friend's gaze.

The word friend didn't begin to cover Alfred's place in her and Abby's lives. He'd been their guardian, mentor, and after they became adults, their friend. He seemed ageless, though his hair was silver and his face lined. Alfred still stood tall, unbowed by the tragedies and responsibilities he'd faced over his lifetime.

He placed a hand on her shoulder.

Finally she looked up, her gaze blinded by tears.

The storm is nearly over, so it is time, he said. My boxes are on the platform, and the helicopter is on its way.

I told you that wasn't necessary. I could easily have taken you wherever it is you're going.

A swift cut is kinder.

Like a guillotine, Tori answered.

Alfred smiled sadly. Have you heard from Abby?

She shook her head.

Deep in the Yucatan rainforest surrounding his village of Chuca, Jacinto was tired of slogging through the muck, collecting bitter oranges blown from the trees by the hurricane. Instead, he pulled a few banana leaves from the uprooted plants, shook off the muddy water and piled the broad green foliage in the sun, building a little nest. Stretching out, he wanted nothing more than a nap, having slept little the past two nights.

He'd never been through a hurricane and never again wanted to feel the wind try its best to tear him off his feet while the cold water stung like little bees as it hit his face.

But what had been worse—far worse—was huddling with the rest of Chuca's villagers in Itzamná Ahu's great stone temple to wait out the storm.

Before the priests snuffed the torches and sealed them inside by rolling a stone slab twice Jacinto’s own thickness across the temple's opening, he'd seen terrifying carvings of the god on the walls along with gruesome portrayals of the sacrifices made to him—of men and women being thrown into the cenotes or having their still-beating hearts cut out.

The images burned into his brain and wouldn't let him sleep. The stone floor of the temple was cold and bumpy beneath his short pants and threadbare cotton shirt, for the few blankets and mats had already been given to the elderly of village. And then there was the dark, inky blackness that surrounded him and made it nearly impossible to see his own hand in front of his face. He hated the dark.

All in all, he was miserable.

Maria! Isabelle! his father muttered in his sleep, then momentarily jerked awake. Maria, Isabelle, come back, my loves.

Jacinto patted his father's arm, knowing it was the only thing he could do when his father called for his dead wife and daughter. Being sealed in the temple of a god he hated had to be torture for his papa.

While his grandmother continued to snore loudly, as did most of the villagers, Jacinto tried his best to sleep; after all, he was ten years old, a man by village standards, and shouldn't be afraid. But inside the temple, he felt like a boy, not a man.

Finally the storm passed.

The priests had let them out into the sunshine to see the chaos the storm left in its wake, and his grandmother had sent him into the dripping forest to gather the oranges.

But first the nap.

He curled up on the banana leaves, his eyelids drifting downward, when an anthurium leaf moved in the sultry breeze, and he spied a glint of blue beneath the greenery.

Siesta forgotten, he pushed the broad leaf aside and saw several blue pebbles twinkling in the sunlight.

Scooping them into his palm, awed that they glowed so brightly, he was certain they must be worth much. He carefully pushed the pebbles deep into the pocket of his pants, making sure they were safe, then scrabbled in the sodden underbelly of the rainforest for more.

As he dug deeper into the mud, a sting crossed his palm. He jerked back his hand, fearful an asp had bitten him. But a gash, not bite holes, bled through the mud covering his palm. Relieved, he carefully started to dig deeper.

Soon the broken edge of a thick blue stone poked above the mud.

Excited that it had to be more valuable than the pebbles and forgetting caution, Jacinto thrust his hand deep into the muck, folding his fingers around the object, holding tight despite the sharp edge slicing deeper into his palm.

Freeing the egg-sized piece, he wiped his prize on his shirt and stared with awe at the intricately carved corner, broken off something he couldn't imagine.

Spitting on the carving and rubbing it with his thumb, he cleared off most of the muddy haze and held his treasure up to the sun, playing it back and forth in the strong light. The blue stone's glow was mesmerizing, seeming as if the sun itself were trapped inside. "¡Madre de Dios!"

Pulling the pebbles from his pocket, he held each to the sunlight; they glowed, but not as brightly as his bigger prize.

But now he knew he'd been gone too long for the simple job of gathering oranges and quickly filled the basket halfway. His grandmother wouldn't mind much if it was only partially filled, and when he could get his father alone, he'd show him the treasures.

Suddenly hearing priests' voices nearby, Jacinto froze. He didn't want to be noticed by them any time, but especially out in the rainforest alone, without his father to protect him.

The voices grew louder, and his chance of escape was lost, for the priests could hear the slightest of sounds. Crouching under the concealing leaves of the plant, he pushed the carved corner deep into his pocket, making sure the pebbles rested on top, hiding it the best he could for the moment, praying the priests wouldn't find him.

They were nearly on top of him. He curled up, trying to make himself as small as possible, shutting his eyes, hoping that if he couldn't see them, they couldn't see him.

Jacinto counted long seconds after they passed inches from his hiding spot, until he could no longer hear them.

Then fear clutched his belly as he realized he heard nothing at all.

Not a single bird call or the rustle of a fat iguana. Just unnatural silence.

Scrambling out from his hiding spot beneath the leaves, he ran in the opposite direction from where he'd thought the priests would head, pumping his legs as if the terrible god Itzamná were on his tail. Not slowing much, but risking a glance behind him, he ran smack into an unyielding chest and fell backward onto the ground.

An apology forming on his lips, he looked upward, seeing the loincloth, then the beads and feathers and finally the tattoos covering nearly every inch of Maya Ah Kin's face—Itzamná's fearsome head priest.

Jacinto knew all too well that once the priests were angered, there was no returning to the village for the offender. Only once had he asked his father what his mother and sister had done to offend the priests, and his father's angry answer was to stay out of their way.

And now he'd touched one.

Maya Ah Kin reached for him and he closed his eyes, waiting for death to come.

When a moment had passed and he still breathed, he squinted through barely opened lids to see Maya Ah Kin pick up something next to him and hold it up to the sun.

One of his blue pebbles.

"¡Vuelvan acá!" the priest roared, shaking the leaves from the tree, then grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of blue stone teeth. The same stone as the pebble he held.

The same stone as the carved corner in Jacinto's pocket.

He thought quickly. He could give Maya Ah Kin the carved piece but would most likely die anyway, or he could run; and if the priest caught him, he'd take the stone and Jacinto would still die. He knew his chances of living were none one way and slim the other.

He'd take slim.

Jumping up, he ran as hard as he could, not risking a look behind him this time. He made it to a field of maize blown apart by the storm and reached his small gray donkey, tethered to an uprooted tree.

As he yanked the rope from the tree root, he saw the priests Maya Ah Kin had summoned entering the far edge of the field.

Jacinto clambered up on his pet, urging him to go faster, steering him toward a narrow washed-out path, away from the village and home.

He'd never see home again.

When they reached a bend in the road, Jacinto slid off his donkey, slapping its rump and sending it on as a decoy. Run fast, my friend, he whispered as he slipped between thick trees into the sheltering rainforest.

In the intense Yucatan sunlight, Reid Hunter critically surveyed Huntress, his vintage Cessna 195. You were lucky, old girl. That small crack in your windscreen can be fixed back in the States.

He fondly patted Huntress's wing as he looked around the small rustic airstrip. His pride and joy had suffered little compared to the other plane, which ended upside down in a tree at the edge of the strip.

The small metal Quonset hut had a few more dents but basically stayed in one piece. Thankfully. That's where he rode out the storm, and while its fury was exhilarating, worry over his Cessna had taken the edge off the rush.

Hearing a high-pitched whine overhead, he searched the sky, looking for the King Air. He knew that sound intimately and smiled as it landed steeply on the short length of runway, bumping along the muddy, grassy strip, stopping precisely a propeller's width away from Huntress.

Reid moseyed over, waiting as the cabin door opened, the steps lowered, and the pilot emerged. Following me again, darlin'?

In your dreams, Abby Carswell responded. Wet dreams. She threw down the wheel chocks.

Reid, ever the courtly Southern gentleman, picked up the chocks, intending to secure the plane's wheels, but first gave Abby a quick, thorough look. Her raven hair was, as usual, pulled back severely into a ponytail near the top of her head. On her it looked good, really good, and he knew just how the strands felt sliding through his fingers and cascading over her shoulders. So the severe look, meaning all business, didn't work on him.

And she looked excited, even though she attempted a bored look with her raised eyebrow and hip cocked against the plane's door.

He grinned as he set the chocks. He'd bet his bottom dollar, which currently was his last dollar, she was also after the Stone of Heaven, so it would be another challenge to see who won this prize.

And this time he'd win; he owed it to her.

She'd never forgive him for China, and he'd never explain what really happened, but since then she'd beat him every time, and it was getting expensive for him to lose.

"¡Señor! ¡Señorita!" A small boy called, running into the clearing as if chased by demons.

Instinctively Reid grabbed for his Glock .45, tucked into the back waistband of his shorts.

Don't shoot the boy, Reid. Abby took the steps from plane to ground in a few bounds and stopped by the boy. What's wrong, little one? she asked.

Jacinto looked over his shoulder. "Viejos!"

Reid cocked his gun and scanned the wall of trees lining the airstrip.

Ancient Ones, here? she asked.

"Sí, they are after me."

And what did you steal from them? Reid asked, worried the boy might be telling the truth and excited that he might be right and the Ancient Ones still lived.

He caught Abby's eye roll. Well, why else would they be after the boy? He's pretty small for a sacrifice.

Seriously, Reid!

He caught her frown as she put a protective hand on the boy's shoulder before squatting down to be eye level with him.

What's your name? she asked.

Jacinto.

Why are they after you?

Reid knew something had frightened the kid as he again fearfully scanned the trees, and damn if the kid didn't turn his back on him while pulling something out of his pocket to show Abby.

Abby of the soft voice and sharp-as-nails tactics.

Well, screw that. He was going to see what the kid had, and walked right around Jacinto to stand next to Abby. Reid would stick to her like glue until he could find out if the kid was seeing things or there really were Ancient Ones still alive. Yes, tell us why they're after you.

The boy looked down, not meeting Reid's eyes. "I will only tell the señorita.

Abby laughed at Reid's stunned expression, pleased Jacinto chose her to confide in.

She'd vowed on Hermann's deathbed in that backwater Chinese clinic that she'd beat Reid at his own game every time they crossed paths. The fact that Hermann survived had in no way diminished her vow to find any treasure before the Southern-mannered snake named Reid Hunter could get his hands on it.

And now Reid was being an obstacle as Jacinto stuffed whatever he was going to show her back into his pocket.

She raised a brow, waiting for Reid to leave. As Jacinto insisted.

Just this once, her ex-partner said as he backed away a few yards. And it won't make any difference, I’m beating you this time.

And she knew Reid meant it, for he'd openly thrown down the gauntlet.

Jacinto again fished around in his pocket, then opened his palm to her.

Abby was a good poker player, but stifling the squeal that welled up when she glimpsed the boy's treasure tested her skill. Destiny smiled on her again and left Reid in the dust.

Plucking the amulet from Jacinto's palm, she carefully shielded it from Reid's view while letting the sun play over it. The legends were true. The blue jade pulsed with energy, as if it contained the universe's life force. Her heartbeat tripled.

Can you show me where you found this? she whispered.

Jacinto shook his head furiously, then yelped and darted around her, holding onto her waist. At the same time she heard Reid's expletive.

She looked over her shoulder.

Spaced around one edge of the airfield were impossibly tall men, garbed in gold-embroidered azure loin clothes that fell to their knees. Tattoos covered their chests, arms and faces. Their heads were classically distorted, flattened and elongated in the way she'd only seen in ancient frescos. Each one wore a blue jade bead on a leather thong, knotted snugly against their throats.

The boy wasn't lying—the Ancient Ones did exist. Abby stuffed the amulet in her pocket at the same time Reid rapid-fired rounds into the air.

The priests melted back into the trees.

Abby saw the boy's gaze dart to Reid, and Jacinto took a step toward him.

Putting a hand lightly on the boy's shoulder, she knew she had about two seconds to make her case. "I'll help you with the Viejos if you help me. Please, if you