“There were only the four of you on board?” he asked carefully, not wanting to push her too far too fast.
He felt her jerky nod. Then she said, “Yes,” as if she was just remembering that he couldn’t see her, and added, “We were in Campeche, in the Yucatán, at the site of a newly discovered Mayan city. My father was Dr. Gavin Sullivan. He was an archaeologist and a professor emeritus at Stanford. He was pretty famous, at least in academic circles.” She stirred against him, and Cal got the impression that she was looking up at him through the darkness. “I don’t suppose you’ve ever heard of him?”
“No. But then, I don’t spend a whole hell of a lot of time in academic circles.”
“No, I don’t suppose you do.”
He detected what he thought was a flicker of a smile in her voice, and some of the tension in his gut eased. She was emerging from the miasma of the nightmare, and that was good. What he wanted to do was keep her talking until she got it all out. Tomorrow they were catching a plane out of there if he could find any possible way to manage it, and it would be better for both of them if she’d aired her fears before then. At the very least, he’d know exactly what he was dealing with.
He said, “So you flew out of Yucatán. Who was at the controls?”
“My father. He owned a Piper Cherokee that he flew to archaeological sites all the time. He was an experienced pilot. He—” There was a sudden catch in her voice and she broke off, then started again. “He was good at everything like that, everything he did, really. Sometimes—sometimes, though, he tended to overestimate his abilities. Or underestimate the risks.”
A shudder racked her. Cal guessed that she was thinking of the plane crash. He tightened his hold on her.
“Who was acting as copilot?”
She took another deep breath. “David. He had his private pilot’s license—my father helped him get it for just that reason—but he hadn’t had it very long and he didn’t have a lot of experience. He was proficient enough, though, and getting better all the time. But he was another one to sometimes overestimate his abilities and underestimate risks. Probably it had rubbed off on him from my father.”
“The two of them worked together?”
“Yes. By the time of—the crash, David had been working for Dad for a couple of years as his graduate assistant while trying to earn his PhD. The two of them were tight. Almost father-son tight. Becca—she was my half sister from my father’s first marriage; she was the same age as David, twenty-six—worked for my father, too. He wanted a documentary made of his work and he hired her to be his videographer.”
“What about you? What were you doing there?”
“I was working for him, too. From the time I was a little girl I’d spent part of my summers and a lot of school breaks traveling with Dad to archaeological sites, usually really remote ones, which is why I know things like how to set up a tent, and make a furnace for a tent.” Her tone had turned slightly pointed, and Cal remembered expressing suspicion of her abilities in that regard. He rubbed an apologetic hand up and down her arm. She continued, “Dad offered me a job right out of college, to complete the team, he said. I was in charge of making all the necessary logistical arrangements, like where we would sleep and what food was available and finding us cars, porters, specialized equipment, that kind of thing. My father called me his ground control officer.” Again Cal got the impression that she gave a faint smile. “It was supposed to be a temporary position because I had plans to go on to grad school, but then there was David, and I stayed.”
“You fell in love.” Cal kept his voice carefully neutral. He discovered that he actually didn’t much like the idea of that, even if it was younger, more naive and idealistic Gina falling in love with her father’s almost equally young assistant. Even if the relationship was long over. Even if the guy was dead.
“We fell in love,” Gina confirmed, her voice soft with reminiscence. “David was handsome and smart and funny and kind of brash, and I was absolutely thrilled that he chose me. Becca had a thing for him, too, you see. Becca was beautiful, and she was like our dad, outspoken and ready to take on anything, anytime. I take after my mother: I’m quieter and more careful. My father used to call my mother ‘domestically inclined’ because she got tired of traveling around with him all over the world. She wanted a stable home life. She’s very organized, very down-to-earth. Also very loving and kind.”
“I like the sound of your mother.”
“She’s been my rock all my life. Dad was more like a shooting star blazing across the heavens. Dazzling, but—” She broke off.
“Not as reliable?” Cal guessed.