Tomcat Line 2 The Lost Temple

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

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The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

CONTENTS

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
About the Author
MLR Press Authors
the trevor project

* * * *

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

The Lost temple

Part Two of The Tomcat Line

* * * *

Stevie Woods

* * * *

mlrpress

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places,

and incidents either are products of the author's imagination
or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

* * * *

whole or in part in any form.

Published by
MLR Press, LLC
3052 Gaines Waterport Rd.
Albion, NY 14411
Visit ManLoveRomance Press, LLC on the Internet:
www.mlrpress.com

* * * *

Editing by Kris Jacen
Cover Art by Deana Jamroz

* * * *

ISBN# 978-1-60820-177-8
First Edition 2010

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter One

Ian leaned against the wall of the Tomcat Freight Line

office building in Joliet, watching as Mac reversed his
eighteen-wheeler into one of the loading bays. Mac was just
returning from a five day run to Billings, Montana and Ian had
missed him so much. In the last month they'd only managed
to spend two weekends together at Mac's, and Mac had
visited him mid-week in Chicago, staying for three days in
Ian's apartment near the University. A total of seven days out
of thirty. It wasn't enough.

Mac opened the truck door and jumped down, turning to

enter the door that led to the offices on the first floor when
Ian stepped out from the side of the building and smiled at
him.

"Ian! What a surprise." He grinned, pulling the younger

man into a tight embrace which Ian returned with fervor.
"Thought you couldn't get here until tomorrow evening. This
is great; you can stay with me until Monday, can't you?" Mac
asked, obviously concerned that Ian had come to tell him he
couldn't keep the date.

"Yeah, I managed to ditch today's meeting, nothing that

couldn't wait. I had to see you," Ian said, pulling back to look
into Mac's eyes, his heart beating a little faster at the passion
he saw there.

"Why do I get the feeling this is more than just you

wanting to see me," Mac frowned, his keen senses at odds

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with Ian's words. "Has something happened, anything
wrong?"

Ian couldn't deny that things hadn't worked out exactly the

way they hoped when he and Mac had become partners nine
months earlier, following what could only be called a
whirlwind romance. He smiled at the phrase, but it fitted what
happened between them nonetheless. Just because they were
two men didn't make it any less romantic in his eyes. They
met and fell in love over a forty-eight hour period, during
which time they also faced violence, kidnapping and the
possibility of death because of the jealousy and greed of a
couple of Ian's academic colleagues. Ian knew it had been
quite an eye opener for Mac to understand the kind of intrigue
that could go on behind the closed doors of academia.

When Ian finally presented the artifact that had caused all

the trouble to his mentor and colleagues at the Oriental
Institute at the University of Chicago, it had stirred up quite a
furor. A supposedly mythic temple with an even more mythic
legend from the ancient Mayan civilization now had some
basis in reality. The tablet Ian had discovered in Guatemala
gave specific clues and an obscure reference to a key linked
with this temple.

Ian had received much praise for his perseverance—he had

also received a further grant to continue his studies, and the
dean, Dr. Tyler, had requested that he take on another class.

Ian had been gratified at the recognition after years of

fighting alone to prove his theories and had gratefully
accepted both the grant and the acknowledgement of his
peers. Before his success, Dr. Tyler had been one of the few

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to believe in him, supporting him as best he could, and Ian
had been happy to accede to his request, knowing it was the
dean's way of further increasing Ian's standing in the
department.

It was only when he met Mac for a celebratory dinner later

that evening that Ian realized he would have even less time
to spend with the man who had suddenly come to mean so
much in his life. His excitement had faded when he explained
to Mac how much more work would be involved in preparing
for another class while still carrying on with his research. It
also meant that his plans to go to Belize and search for the
temple would be even more of a possibility now, with the new
grant and the support of the University.

Ian could still remember the conversation when he had

confessed his concerns to Mac, ducking his head in a move
that Mac knew only too well.

Mac had put a finger under his chin and lifted his head so

their eyes met. "Ian Grayson," Mac had said, "you are not
going to give up either the research or this teaching post just
to spend more time with me. You have worked for years for
this and it's far too easy for you to sacrifice something you
want for others, well not this time. You deserve this and you
are going to accept it, all of it. We'll manage just fine."

They had already discussed the idea of Mac cutting down

on his driving. After all, it wasn't as if he needed to do it. He
owned the freight line and never needed to do more than sit
in his office and rake it in. He simply enjoyed being out on the
road, but he could easily hire another driver and then he
could spend more time with Ian. Time that the archaeologist

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would now no longer have available, but Mac told Ian not to
worry about it.

"I just won't cut down my driving after all," Mac said.

"Then we can see each other on the weekends when neither
of us will be working." He smiled as he traced a finger over
Ian's lips. "It will make our weekends something to really look
forward to."

At first it had been good. Ian always went to Mac's house

at Crystal Lake on Friday nights and didn't return to the
university until Monday mornings. If Mac wasn't out on a run
they would even meet mid-week in Chicago for the occasional
dinner, and Mac would stay over at Ian's apartment.

However, as time passed Ian was usually too busy to meet

during the week and even the weekends got shorter as he
sometimes couldn't get to Mac's place until Saturday, and
occasionally he would have to leave on Sunday evening
because he had an early meeting Monday. A few times he'd
had to go away to chase something up in his research.

Gradually, Mac started taking on longer trips, the ones

he'd promised Ian he wouldn't do so they could spend time
together on the weekends. He admitted he found his
weekends lonelier than ever before if Ian couldn't come
home.

Home: that had been the plan, that Mac's place would be

their home and Ian's apartment would only be used when he
had to stay in town. However, it now seemed that Mac's place
was just somewhere Ian came when he could; his apartment
was still his home. Mac had even taken to staying in the small

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by Stevie Woods

apartment on the top floor of his office building in Joliet if he
had two runs during the week.

Even though Mac never said anything, Ian knew how

unhappy he was with the arrangement, especially as what
had happened this last month had become the norm rather
than the exception. Neither man blamed the other, but
neither of them liked it either.

Meeting Mac's gaze now, Ian answered his query, "Not

exactly wrong Mac, but...look I don't want to talk here. Can
we go to your place?"

"Sure," Mac smiled though inside he was worried. Mac was

ten years older than Ian and his fear was always that Ian
might find someone else, someone younger. Ian got upset the
one time that Mac mentioned the possibility, swearing that he
loved Mac and couldn't imagine ever being with anyone else.
Mac didn't doubt Ian's sincerity, and he never mentioned it
again, but that didn't stop the worry nagging at him. It hurt
Mac that Ian seemed to accept so easily that their lives
mostly ran parallel now and they only crossed paths
occasionally.

Mac hurried upstairs and handed the papers from this last

trip over to Neil, asking the ex-Lt. Commander to handle
everything until the following Monday.

Neil had seen Ian's car pull up earlier and didn't need any

explanation. He grinned at his boss and said, "Sure, Mac,
leave it with me."

Mac simply nodded and left. Neil frowned; Mac was usually

pretty garrulous. If he didn't know better he would've thought
the boss was worried, but with Ian waiting for him what on

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earth could he have to worry about? No, more likely he was
just anxious to see his partner and get home. Neil watched
from the window as Mac got into Ian's car and they drove off
together.

* * * *

Driving up the long curving driveway to Mac's house, Ian

thought again what a lovely place it was. He felt a quick tug
in his chest that he didn't think of this as home yet.

The sudden offer of an excellent grant to continue his

research and eventually organize an expedition to Central
America had been a godsend. Ian had known that Mac would
offer to help him with funding; Mac was a rich man. However,
Ian didn't want to take money from Mac and the grant meant
he didn't have to.

Ian was getting increasingly concerned, as Mac was going

on longer and longer trucking runs and never seemed
surprised anymore when Ian had to cut short or even cancel
their weekends together. Ian was afraid he was
unintentionally pushing Mac away; he was afraid of losing the
man he loved and he couldn't bear that. He loved Mac with all
his heart and believed Mac felt the same. Mac told him not to
worry; as long as he kept busy he would take whatever Ian
could give him, which only made Ian feel guiltier than ever.
Why should Mac have to take the crumbs from his table?
There had to be way around this.

Ian was sure he'd found it. Now all he had to do was get

Mac to agree.

He smiled as he parked the car. One step at a time.

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Mac got out of the passenger door and leaned on the roof

as Ian exited and locked the car.

"Hi," Mac said softly.
Ian lifted his head and met Mac's gaze. "Ah, sorry, guess I

was a little quiet on the drive here." He walked quickly around
the front of the car and into Mac's embrace. "I had something
on my mind." Ian felt Mac stiffen in his arms and he leaned
back and looked at his partner. "Mac?"

Mac didn't look at him, instead looking over Ian's shoulder

at his home. "If it's... something I won't enjoy hearing I'd
rather you said it out here. Don't want that memory inside
my home."

The silence in the car hadn't helped Mac's confidence. Ian

always had something to say, it was sometimes hard to shut
him up. The only time he was quiet was when he was worried
and the fact that he wasn't sharing his concerns with Mac
made him think Ian's problem was with him.

"God, Mac, what are you thinking? What is it you expect

me to say?" Suddenly Ian realized. He knew what Mac feared
though he never spoke of it anymore. "You think I want to
end this, to break up with you? You think there is someone
else?" Ian took hold of Mac's chin and turned him so the older
man couldn't avoid his eyes. Ian stared at him and gently
smiled. "Mackenzie Wallace, I love you more each day and
I've been worried that I was pushing you away. All I want to
do is find a way around this problem of not being able to
spend enough time together." Ian felt Mac relax and saw the
relief in his eyes. "I'm thinking about dropping the extra
class."

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"I'm sorry," Mac said. "I should have more faith in you, in

us. But, Ian, you're not dropping the class. I do want to
spend more time with you, but not at the cost of your career.
You're still fairly young, Ian, and you have a long career in
front of you. We'll find a way somehow. As long as we both
want to, we'll find a way. Come on, let's go inside. I want a
shower and a good meal."

"Is that an invitation? Could do with a shower myself, been

a long day."

* * * *

A short while later they were sitting in their bathrobes on

the rug in front of a warm fire. They had shared a shower—
and enjoyed some hot, passionate oral sex under the spray,
with Mac promising Ian he would "pleasure him more
thoroughly later," and they were now enjoying a picnic
dinner.

Neither of them could be bothered to cook something, so

instead they raided the fridge and filled plates with cold cuts,
cheese, tomatoes and French bread. For dessert there was a
thickly frosted chocolate cake and Mac's freezer was well
stocked with a variety of ice cream. Thank goodness Mrs.
Simpson, his housekeeper, always made sure Mac's fridge
and freezer were well stocked.

Mac had chosen a bottle of beer while Ian had a glass of

wine. They were comfortable and Ian decided now was the
time to tell Mac.

"Mac?"

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"Mmm," Mac said dreamily, leaning back against the chair

he was using as a backrest, while Ian used him as a backrest.

"I told Dr. Tyler this afternoon that I needed a vacation.

Told him I had family problems."

"Oh!"
"I'm not due back for ten days. I spoke to Neil and he told

me you have another five day run due to start on Monday.
I'm coming with you." Ian decided he would tell Mac the other
half of his plan once they were well on their way to
Sacramento, California.

"What?"
Ian squirmed around so he was facing Mac, and smiling,

he said, "Five days together in your truck, talking, listening to
opera, talking, eating at truck stops, talking."

"Oh God, it's been so peaceful," Mac moaned, but his eyes

belied his words.

"Five nights sharing your single bunk," Ian said huskily and

suddenly he found himself flat on his back on the rug with
Mac lying over him, Mac's weight resting on his forearms.

Mac stared at Ian for a second before he slowly lowered

himself to capture Ian's lips in a tender kiss. "How about we
go upstairs now and get in some practice?" he asked gruffly.

"Your bed's at least twice the size." Ian laughed.
"So, we just use half of it," Mac growled.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Two

Monday morning rolled around all too soon after a

wonderful weekend at Mac's place. They swam in the pool,
played tennis, and made love under the shower, on the rug,
up against the wall in the hall, and each night in Mac's bed. It
had been a wonderful beginning and they still had a whole
week together.

Mac had a few stops to make on the way to California, as

well as picking up a major delivery in Sacramento to be
returned to Chicago.

When Mac picked up his papers from the office, he was

whistling as he entered the office.

"You got company this trip, Mac?" Neil asked. He grinned,

and added, "I saw Ian below, dressed in jeans. That's not
something he'd wear to the Institute."

"Yep. Ian has arranged a week off. He wanted to go on the

road with me again," he replied, smiling.

"Good," Neil nodded. "Enjoy the company."
"Oh, I intend to." Mac grinned.
His truck was loaded and ready to go so they climbed

inside. Ian looked around smiling as memories assaulted him.
He pulled back the curtain to look at the lower bunk where
they had shared their first kiss and had their first taste of sex.

"Good memories?" Mac asked with a grin.
"Oh yeah. Can't believe it's been nine months since I was

in this cab though."

"You've been busy." Mac shrugged.

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"Maybe." Ian dropped the curtain and turned to Mac.

"Don't ever let me do it again," he added a serious tone to his
voice and a resolute look in his eye. "Never think of yourself
as coming second to my work and if you think I'm overdoing
things, tell me." Mac started to say something but Ian quickly
interrupted him. "And don't let me try and make some
excuse. Just remind me of those two nights in your truck," he
added softly.

"We can add five more to that memory," Mac leered.
"Well, we have been practicing."
Mac laughed as he switched on the engine and prepared to

pull his truck out onto the road.

* * * *

The first two days passed remarkably quickly and with

much enjoyment. They had, as Ian had laughingly suggested,
talked, listened to music, enjoyed their meals together, and
sat in companionable silence simply watching the landscape
pass by. Occasionally Ian would read one of his books while
Mac would simply revel in his companionship.

Mac again brought up the suggestion of cutting down on

his driving trips.

"Mac, I know how much you love to drive. I remember you

telling me once that driving on those long straight roads was
the nearest thing you could find to flying without ever leaving
the ground."

Mac laughed, "I did say that, didn't I? Well, I'm not gonna

deny I enjoy the freedom of the road but the truth is, it isn't
as much fun anymore when I'm missing you all the time."

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"Oh, damn. We don't seem to be able to get this right, do

we?"

"Ian, we just need to compromise that's all. I'm quite

happy to cut down to one or maybe two runs. That way I only
need to be away between seven and ten days a month."

"Compromise, shouldn't that mean I cut down on

something too? I only have two options, give up the extra
teaching job or my research." He sighed. "I can't give up the
research Mac, it's too important to me..."

"And you're not giving up the teaching job. I remember

what Tyler said when he gave you that class that it would
stand you in good stead with the faculty in the future. I'm
compromising my life because I want to. Don't fight me on
this, Ian. Please."

Ian realized it was time, maybe not the ideal time, but Mac

had given him the opening.

"Mac, there may be another way."
"What?"
"I've finally put the clues together and I have a pretty fair

idea of where to find the temple now."

"Ian, that's wonderful, why didn't you tell me before?"
"Because I've been trying to find the right way, the right

time, to ask you to come with me. Come help me find the
temple in Belize?"

Mac turned to frown at Ian before he quickly turned his

attention back to the road.

"Belize," Mac said thoughtfully. "How long are you talking

about here, Ian? I mean this sort of expedition can take
months, yeah?"

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"Yes, I would estimate probably about three, but I can't be

certain until we get down there and find out how my
interpretation of the clues pans out." Ian didn't say anything
else, he didn't want to push Mac too much; he hoped Mac
would want to accompany him.

"So you want me to leave my business for at least three

months?" Mac said slowly.

"I know that's a long time but I thought perhaps... Look,

Mac I don't want to push you into this, I don't have the right.
I would like you to come with me, but the truth is I have to
go. This has been my life for the last ten years and I...I don't
want to go without you. I'd miss you like crazy, but I'll
understand if you don't feel able to come."

Ian was disappointed, but he really did understand Mac's

reluctance.

There was a truck stop sign just ahead and Mac signaled

that he intended to pull over.

"I thought we intended to keep going until we got to

Cheyenne and stop there for dinner and park up for the
night?" Ian queried.

"Yep, I know but we're doing fine for time and I need to

talk to you, I need to see you."

"Oh."
Mac pulled into the truck stop, about one hundred miles

short of their desired destination for the night, and he parked.
Ian made to open his door but Mac stopped him.

"No, I want to talk in here, in private." Mac got out of his

seat and moved into the rear compartment, with Ian
following.

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"Okay," Ian said, sitting on the lower bunk facing Mac.
Mac licked his lips and Ian followed the movement then

flicked his eyes up at Mac, who smiled sheepishly. "That
wasn't me trying to..."

Ian laughed. "Mac, you only have to look at me for me to

want to jump you."

Mac wiggled his eyebrows and Ian laughed again. "Talk to

me Mac," Ian said grinning.

"I can't let you go without me," Mac said softly and Ian

released a breath, a sigh straight from his heart. He only then
allowed himself to accept how much he would have hated to
go without Mac. "I can't stand the idea of you being alone
down there, nor of my being alone here without you. Not for
three months. You've turned me into a sap but I...need you."

Ian reached out and laid a hand on Mac's cheek. "I need

you too. Thank you for coming with me, I would've been so
lonely without you."

"I'm pretty sure Neil can handle things for a while. I could

even ask Leslie to help him, she's pretty organized too and
she knows all the routes and the contracts. But, Ian, I need
to give them a definite time line. I think we need to stick to
the three months. Can you do that?"

"I will do my best, Mac, but it's not something I can

guarantee." Ian ducked his head a moment and Mac knew he
was considering his options. He raised his eyes and held Mac's
gaze. "If after three months it is clear that I'm...not close
then I'll come back with you and plan another trip. If I am
close then... Please understand, Mac, I couldn't just walk
away, I couldn't." Ian prayed Mac would understand because

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he didn't know how else to express how much it meant to
him.

Mac stared him a moment and Ian's heart rate increased.

"It's all right, Ian. We'll stay three months. That's the plan.
However, if things are close, I'll come back to check on
matters with TFL, the house and your apartment. If
everything is under control I'll return to Belize and see how
things are with you. After that we'll see."

Ian deflated with relief and threw his arms around the

trucker. "God, Mac, what did I do to deserve you?"

"I don't know but you damned well got me!" Mac laughed

and then gasped as Ian swooped in and covered Mac's mouth
with his own. After a few minutes they broke apart and Mac
said, "I'll want another down payment tonight."

Ian laughed happily. "As many as you want."
They decided to go into the restaurant for an early dinner,

and as they crossed the parking lot Mac said, "You know after
this trip to Belize I will cut down my driving."

"If I find the temple you may not have to. My research will

probably be over then; I'll have more free time."

"No, you won't," Mac said, laughing as he put his arm

around Ian's shoulders. "All that'll happen is that it will open
yet another door and off you'll be again, chasing down more
clues."

Ian shrugged a bit sheepishly.
"I don't mind," Mac said smiling, "I love to see you so

passionate."

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Three

As Mac and Ian set off on their journey to California,

Matthew Iverson sat on the bed in his motel room sorting
through the print-outs of the newspapers he'd obtained from
the library in St. Louis two days earlier. He'd only skimmed
them when he first got them—he had a rendezvous to make—
and now he wanted to take the time to study them properly.
Having just returned home after serving six years in a foreign
prison he still felt out of place in his own country. And he
knew exactly who was responsible for his misfortune.

Matthew still found it hard to believe that Captain

Mackenzie Wallace, the hot-shot pilot and later golden boy of
Special Operations, could settle to the simple life of a trucker.
Okay, so that was an exaggeration; Wallace owned the
company and had other lucrative interests as well, but he still
spent a large portion of his time driving from one end of the
country to the other. This didn't seem to gel with the man
that Matt had served with; the man who lived for the
adrenaline rush of risk and danger and the even greater thrill
of meticulous planning to beat the enemy. He also had the
native intelligence to look at every angle and had a solution
ready with an unerring eye for trouble. The balance between
the two sides of his nature made him the perfect team leader
to send into delicate situations.

Like the one Iverson and Wallace were in six years ago.

They were supposed to go in unobserved and leave with the
mark without anyone knowing they'd been there, until

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breakfast the next morning, by which time they would be
safely a long way away.

The team consisted of four including himself, with Wallace

in command. There was also Lt. Commander Andrew Ross
and Lieutenant Keith Livesey; they had been a close-knit
team on four previously successful missions. The mark was a
scientist with some top secret information that the Pentagon
needed. Iverson had never known what it was, hadn't even
known what kind of scientist and he didn't care because to
him it didn't matter. The scientist was merely a mark to be
extracted, protected until they could get him to safety; which
was exactly what Wallace did.

Except for the fact that Ross was killed and Iverson was

left behind to rot in a jail cell for six years. Six damnable
years that he most likely wouldn't have survived if it hadn't
been for his training and fighting skills. The place was a hell-
hole where everything had its price and as a new prisoner, his
youth and looks had become his only currency. For the first
time in his military career, being gay gave him an advantage;
he knew how to handle himself, when to fight and when to
give in for his own benefit. Eventually he was able to carve a
niche for himself in the hierarchy of the prison.

He would probably have still been there if the government

hadn't fallen and the prisons been emptied in an act of
defiance by the people.

Six years later he was a harder, self-obsessed man who

had only two things on his mind: the right to enjoy his
freedom and to exact his revenge.

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Iverson could still remember that night like it was

yesterday. He'd had six years to think about it until every
second was etched in his mind. Wallace should never have
left him behind: Wallace had been left behind once and swore
he'd never let that happen to anyone under his command. It
didn't matter that Iverson had been in the wrong place by his
own choice, his own mistake, but the perfect little soldier had
been nursing his dying lover when he should have been
helping his friend to escape.

It had taken Iverson a few weeks and thousands of miles

traveling around the country, tracking down service buddies
and old Special Ops contacts, trying to learn what had
happened to Wallace. He had been surprised to learn that the
man was no longer in the Navy; Wallace had been the
epitome of the professional serviceman. Apparently he'd left
the Service about four years earlier and in that short time he
had made a resounding success of his civilian life.

It seemed Wallace was much smarter than anyone gave

him credit for, because he'd been investing in the stock
market for years and accumulated a tidy sum, which he used
to set up his trucking line. He exclusively employed ex-Naval
personnel, mostly old buddies, and had a thriving business.
Most of this information Iverson had gathered from his friends
and contacts, some of whom were friends of Wallace and had
no idea what had happened to Iverson. They just accepted
that he had lost touch with his old C.O. and wanted to see
him again. The rest of the information he'd managed to
gather was a matter of public record.

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One of the most interesting items had come from an old

acquaintance living in St. Louis. Peter Moston wasn't
particularly fond of Wallace either, it seemed the Captain
hadn't taken too kindly to Moston's prejudice, both racial and
sexual, and had reported the man. Moston had been
reprimanded and passed over for promotion, finally resigning
his commission.

Iverson was very sympathetic, not bothering to reveal to

the homophobic Moston that he was gay. All he wanted was
the information, which Moston was more than happy to
provide, together with the possibility of his enthusiastic back-
up if need be. Moston was the only man he'd found so far who
didn't have some variation of a good word to say for Wallace;
not that the man was universally popular but he did manage
to garner respect.

Iverson was intrigued when Moston revealed, almost in

passing, that Wallace had been headline news, plastered all
over the St. Louis press, only a few months ago, following his
run in with a group of kidnappers and thieves. Moston fired
up his computer and searched the newspaper site for the
archive files, printing out copies of the relevant pages.

On the way back from Moston's apartment, Iverson

received a call on his cell.

"Iverson."
"It's Holland. I've got the latest on Wallace. He recently

left Joliet on another cross country run, this time he is going
west to California."

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Holland was an old friend from Iverson's time in Special

Ops. He had no idea how Holland had got the information and
he didn't really care, as long as it was accurate.

"This guaranteed?" Iverson asked.
"You know better than to ask that," Holland replied,

amusement lacing his voice. "He left just short of twelve
hours ago. He is due in Sacramento in five days." Holland
went on to explain that Wallace had three stops to make on
the way, giving detailed information.

"Yeah, right. Thanks. I owe you." He clicked off his cell.
This was a perfect opportunity, and he stuffed the print-

outs into his backpack to read later. He had a plan to work
out.

Returning to Moston's apartment, Iverson pulled out some

large scale maps and they studied Wallace's likely planned
route.

Wallace had left about twelve hours ago but Iverson didn't

think it would be too difficult to intercept him. According to
his information Wallace had a trip of over two thousand miles
to make, but he allowed himself five days; more than enough
time even allowing for all the rules and regulations truckers
had to adhere to these days. Iverson was pretty sure he could
intercept him no more than halfway to California.

Studying the map it seemed clear that Wallace would take

the most direct route from Chicago to Sacramento, along the
I-80. Apparently he had one delivery to make in Lincoln,
Nebraska, a second one in Cheyenne, Wyoming, and a third
in Salt Lake City, all along the I-80. His final drop-off was in
Sacramento.

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"If you head out of St. Louis on the I-70," Moston pointed

out, his finger tracing the route on the map, "you can drive
directly to Denver, Colorado and then head north on the I-
25..."

"...and intercept Wallace where it intersects the I-80 in

Cheyenne," Iverson finished. "Perfect."

Iverson knew from the information he'd obtained when

Wallace was due in Cheyenne, so all he had to do was be
waiting for him. If he timed it right he would have plenty of
time to decide on a detailed plan of action. He'd had six years
to appreciate how important the little details were, one lesson
he had learned from Wallace and one he now intended to
show he had learned well.

It was a journey just short of a thousand miles and as

Moston pointed out, a car driver didn't have the limitations of
a trucker. Even with the twelve hour head start the trip was
possible in thirty hours for one driver.

"Unless," Moston interjected, "you want company. That

way we could do it in less than twenty." Moston looked
hopeful.

Iverson hadn't told Moston why he wanted to find Wallace,

but it was obvious he didn't believe the lie about wanting to
track down his old C.O. He gave Moston's offer serious
thought for about one minute before he realized what the
man was really like and decided he would be much better off
alone. Besides, he was a firm believer in the old saying about
revenge being a dish best served cold, and he had the feeling
a man like Moston would rouse his passions, and not in a
good way.

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"Thanks," he said, "but this is something I have to do

myself."

Moston shrugged, not happy, but he didn't argue.
Now sitting on the hotel bed after driving for twelve hours

straight, Iverson took the opportunity to study the print-outs
from the St. Louis newspapers while he had a meal. He
planned to shower and have a few hours sleep before starting
out again. He was doing well, having traveled over six
hundred miles; he should be in Cheyenne in plenty of time to
make his plans.

He spread the papers on the bed. His eyes fell first on the

photographs; one of a good looking couple, a blonde woman
with long curly hair and a handsome man with black hair,
both about mid-thirties. He stared for a moment at the man;
he liked his eyes. Then he read the caption and realized those
two weren't facing a pleasant future. He wondered what had
tempted a respectable looking couple like those two, both
successful archaeologists, to turn to crime.

There was another picture of a small rectangle of dark grey

stone with marks scratched into its surface, and he could
hardly believe his eyes when he understood that this...this
simple block of stone was behind all the greed and violence.

He turned to the next page and saw a picture of a smiling

Mac Wallace. The only real difference that Iverson saw in
Wallace was that his once light brown hair, which had just
been turning grey at his temples, was now completely grey,
almost silver. Iverson had to acknowledge he looked even
better now than he had six years ago.

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Dragging his eyes away with difficulty from the man that

he had once desired, Iverson closed his eyes as he forced
down the old feelings that began to flutter in his stomach.
Any feelings he'd once had were long dead, and he wouldn't
let physical attraction get in the way of his need for revenge.
It was all that kept him going during his six years in hell. He
opened his eyes and hardened his heart as he looked again at
the photographs. It was then that he really looked at the
other man in the picture, and his eyes widened.

He quickly scanned the article alongside the photographs

and smiled as he finally understood how Wallace had got
caught up in all this. The handsome young man with the
sparkling eyes and shy smile was the possessor of the
peculiar block of stone, and Wallace had protected both it and
him, getting himself kidnapped in the process.

Iverson looked again at the image and noticed the ease

with which the two men stood, close, almost touching. There
was a second, smaller photograph at the end of the article
and in that one Wallace was smiling warmly at the young
man, who was looking back at him from under his eyelashes.
It could so easily be an innocent picture of a grateful young
man, unless you knew better. So Wallace was still playing the
other side of the fence then.

The realization dragged Iverson's memory back to that

night when he watched from a short distance as Wallace knelt
by Ross' body. The man was dying, probably dead already.

For once Wallace's meticulous planning had failed due to

faulty intelligence, the result being they had to resort to
making their escape across the rooftops of the city with

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guards in pursuit. Livesey was in the lead with the scientist,
Ross covering their backs while Wallace and Iverson had split
up to take on the guards, giving Livesey a chance to get the
man away. Iverson had seen an opportunity to get rid of his
rival for Wallace's affections.

Iverson had been on the Captain's team for over twelve

months and they had developed a good relationship, they
were friends. The Captain didn't stand on ceremony, said it
didn't work with the kind of unit they were. He expected
obedience in the field, but saw no need for the rigidity of rank
otherwise. Iverson had strong feelings for Wallace and
wanted more than just friendship, but his hopes were dashed
when Ross had joined the team six months later. Wallace had
known Andrew Ross a few years before and they rekindled
their friendship, and before long Iverson discovered they were
lovers. His jealousy flared but his anger was aimed at Ross,
not Wallace.

When the unexpected happened as the mission went to

hell in a hand basket, Iverson made full use of the confusion.
Wallace was almost pathological about protecting his team
and he was covering their six, holding off the majority of the
pursuing guards with well-aimed single shots.

Iverson hung back, having no doubt of his stealth ability.

He blindsided Ross, pulled him around behind one of the large
chimneys, his left arm wrapped around the Lt. Commander's
throat so he couldn't call out. Tightening his grip he lifted and
twisted Ross' body until he was pulled off his feet. Iverson
forced the struggling man face down, his knee in the back of
the man's neck, making Ross' back arch towards him. Using

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his arm Iverson lifted Ross' chin, forcing his neck back so far
he was flailing for breath, Ross knowing that any attempt to
twist free was impossible without risking his neck being
broken.

In almost the same instant, using his free hand, Iverson

whipped his knife across Ross's exposed throat below his own
left arm so the blood would spurt away from him. As Iverson
released him, the Lt. Commander toppled, gasping for a
breath he couldn't take as his life's blood drained away.

"You shouldn't have got between us," Iverson whispered to

a dead man.

Running to his right, away from Wallace and the others,

Iverson yelled, "Look out, Ross!"

Then, as if he saw a threat to the Lt. Commander he shot

off a couple of rounds before he dropped to the ground,
watching as Wallace ran up firing, as if to try and protect the
Lt. Commander. Instead the Captain found Ross lying in a
pool of his blood.

It was only then that Iverson realized he had made a

terrible, stupid mistake. He might have succeeded in his plan
to get rid of his rival, but he'd gotten careless watching the
drama unfolding before him.

By the time Iverson realized his danger and acted it was

too late, two of the guards stood over him, weapons aimed at
his head. He was trapped.

At that moment Livesey had yelled a warning that more

guards were coming, reminding Captain Wallace that getting
the scientist out was their priority. Wallace had looked up
then and saw the approaching guards.

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"Captain! Help me. Mac!" Iverson yelled, and got his legs

knocked from under him for his pains.

Wallace saw him, Iverson knew it, but the man had just

backed away, leaving Ross' body on the ground as he
retreated, firing his weapon a couple of times before turning
to run after Livesey to help protect the scientist.

Wallace left him. Without a backward glance, he had left

him.

Iverson spent six years blaming the Captain for wanting

the wrong man, for not seeing what was in front of him. For
making Iverson take such a risk and, worst of all, for allowing
his capture while Wallace kept a dead man safe. Where was
the vaunted care for his team, that promise that Wallace
would never leave anyone behind?

Iverson had never known exactly what happened until a

couple of days later when he had been "tried" for his crimes
and learned that the others had escaped. That was the last he
heard until he returned to the States six years later.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Four

They got an early start the next morning; Mac wanted to

make up for some of the lost time their early stop the night
before had caused. After their dinner they'd taken a walk to
stretch their legs and blow the cobwebs away before they
returned to the truck for an early night.

"You wanna collect what I owe you?" Ian asked as he

climbed into the cab.

"You always say being in debt isn't good," Mac said,

grinning as he followed Ian, pushing aside the curtain and
moving into the rear of the cab.

"I do, don't I? Is there any interest due?"
"Well I am in business; I have to charge reasonable rates."
Ian laughed. "You sound like a hooker!"
"So," Mac said wiggling his hips, "if you've got it flaunt it."
Laughing, Ian said, "Oh, God, Mac, you so can't do that."
"No, but I can so do this," Mac said gruffly, pulling Ian into

his arms and kissing him hungrily. Ian put his arms around
Mac's neck and returned the kiss with fervor.

Mac leaned against Ian and with a sudden twist of his

upper body he pushed the younger man backwards onto the
bunk. He lay down beside his lover and proved without a
shadow of a doubt that kissing wasn't the only thing he was
good at.

Ian was feeling good the next morning after a night of

passionate sex and a second round when they woke up. He

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was really hungry for his breakfast and Mac joked it was
because of their work out.

Slapping Mac's arm playfully, Ian said, "You saying we

should make it a morning ritual?"

For once Mac didn't smile. "It would be the perfect way to

start the day," he said, holding Ian's gaze.

"Well, it was one way to start the day," Ian said softly,

"Tomorrow morning how about we start the day with me
inside you?"

"Like I said, the perfect way to get an early rise," Mac

grinned as Ian raised an eyebrow.

Ian looked at his now empty plate. "If we keep this up I'm

gonna pile the pounds on," he said ruefully.

"No you won't, sex is an excellent way to keep fit, I'll take

care of you," Mac replied a little louder than he intended, and
the waitress pouring coffee for the occupants of the next table
almost spilled it onto the arm of the customer holding the
cup.

Ian, who could see the waitress from where he was sitting,

ducked his head partly from embarrassment and partly to
hide his grin.

Mac frowned at Ian, having no idea what had happened

behind his back, though he heard the angry voice of the man
berating the waitress for being careless.

"Come on," Ian said quickly, "let's get out of here and I'll

explain."

Ten minutes later they were back on the I-80 on their way

to Cheyenne. Mac said they would easily make their
scheduled drop on the outskirts of the city. Settling

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comfortably he switched on a CD and listened to Madame
Butterfly as the truck ate up the miles. Ian, who had been
quietly reading, smiled at his choice, remembering one of
their first connections after Mac had rescued him in Texas.
They had bantered about the idea of Mac liking opera,
especially a doomed romance like Butterfly. It had been his
first indication that there was a lot more to Mac Wallace than
met the eye. He was like the proverbial iceberg, nine-tenths
hidden.

Watching him now, Ian suddenly wondered if after nine

months he really knew the hidden depths of the man he
loved. He believed he truly knew Mac's heart but he wondered
what secrets still dwelt in the darker parts of his lover's
psyche. When Mac had been in trouble on his behalf last year,
his old friend, Hank, had told Ian that Mac had spent a long
time in Naval Special Operations and that he was an expert
operative. Ian wasn't that wrapped up in academia that he
didn't know what that meant, what kind of life Mac had led or
the kinds of things he might have had to do. Mac had talked
very little about that time in his life other than to confirm it.

Ian had learned more from Mac's nightmares than he ever

had from talking to him, and it was clear he was haunted by
some of his memories. After one particularly bad night when
Mac had woke up shouting, shuddering and pouring sweat,
Ian tried to get him to talk about whatever had caused the
nightmare, but all he would say was that some things were
best left alone. Ian hadn't pushed the subject, recognizing
that Mac was really upset by whatever memory had invaded

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his dreams, but the truth was that Ian didn't like the fact that
Mac kept part of himself hidden

To Ian, a relationship of the kind that they purported to

have meant sharing everything, and there was nothing about
his life that Mac didn't know. He understood that Mac wasn't
trying to keep him at arm's length, didn't intend to keep
secrets. Ian expected that Mac probably had a responsibility
to keep the missions he had undertaken secret. However, he
felt the nightmares were something different, just something
too painful to remember that only came to disturb his
dreams.

As if he knew Ian was thinking about something serious,

Mac turned to look at him when he pulled the truck to a halt
at a traffic light as they moved into the city environs of
Cheyenne.

"Everything okay?" Mac asked.
"Just thinking."
"About?"
Ian hesitated for a moment; should he tell Mac the truth?

How could he not? Wasn't that what he'd just been thinking,
that a relationship like theirs should have no secrets?

"I was thinking back to when we first met," Ian said

slowly, "when I first saw you listening to opera, how it made
me realize that there was more to you than you allowed
anyone to see. Hearing it again now it got me thinking about
how...little I know about certain aspects of your life—"

"What!" Mac interrupted. "You know all about me."
"No, Mac I don't..." Ian was interrupted when a car horn

blared to remind the trucker that the lights had changed.

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"Wait," Mac said hurriedly as he got the truck underway.

"We can't talk about this now. We're almost at the drop; we
can talk while they unload."

"Sure, but it's all right, there's nothing really wrong," Ian

replied, concerned that he'd worried Mac unnecessarily.

Mac harrumphed, not reassured, and Ian subsided for the

moment remembering that Mac had said the drop was on the
outskirts of the city. Mac was right, now was not the right
time to talk. It wasn't long before he turned the truck into the
entrance of a large distribution center and reversed into one
of the loading bays. He glanced at Ian before picking up his
clipboard from the dash and jumping down.

Sitting quietly in the cab, Ian watched in the wing mirror

as Mac spoke to one of the supervisors who seemed to know
him quite well, judging by the smiles and banter between the
two men. The man checked the paperwork as Mac opened the
rear doors to his truck. Ian knew that Mac was carrying
specialized medical equipment and the responsibility for
unloading rested firmly on the recipient.

Leaving the supervisor to organize the unloading, Mac

returned to the cab and nodded at Ian to get down, leading
the younger man to the rear of the large building where there
were several rough hewn tables and benches set under a
small stand of trees. They were obviously supplied for the
staff to eat lunch but as it was still mid-morning the area was
deserted, so they sat down comfortably facing each other.

"Let's get this out into the open," Mac said. "I don't like

the idea that you still don't think you know 'all about me.'"

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"I know all the facts, Mac, but certain aspects of your life

are still a mystery to me. I understand that you probably
can't discuss details that have to remain secret, but I don't
like the way you just shut me out."

Mac frowned for a moment, not understanding what Ian

was referring to, then his face cleared, "You're talking about
my Special Ops days aren't you? What brought that up now?"
He suddenly paled. "I didn't say anything last night, did I?
When we were... Or..." He sounded confused, puzzled. "No,
I'd know if I'd been dreaming."

"No, no," Ian said, spooked by Mac's attitude. "You never

said anything, certainly not during sex. Why the hell would
you think that?"

"I don't know why I said that. Damn!" The truth was he did

know why he had said it. He dreamed occasionally of things
he would rather forget, things he never allowed to encroach
on his everyday life; things that invaded his nights when he
had no control over his subconscious. That was bad enough
but over the years he had mostly learned to cope with it.
What he had never learned to cope with was the nightmare
over Andrew's death and Matt's capture.

Officially the mission had been a success because he had

brought home the mark, safe and undamaged. There was
commiseration for the lost men, an apology for the fact that
the intelligence was incomplete and praise for the success
against such odds. Success? To him it had been unmitigated
failure; he had left a man—a friend—behind to face prison,
maybe even torture. He had also lost Andrew. How did he
describe Andrew, an old friend, a special old friend he

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engaged in sex with? They weren't partners; he didn't love
Andrew, at least not like that. He was a great guy and they
both just happened to be gay. It was less than a relationship
but more than a buddy fuck, much more.

That night haunted his dreams, the night he'd knelt beside

Andrew as he died because some enemy soldier had got past
him and somehow managed to slit the man's throat. He found
it hard to forgive himself for that mistake and his guilt was
multiplied because while he was with Andrew, Matt had been
captured. Matt had tried to help Andrew by chasing off the
enemy and warning Mac of the danger, and it had cost him
his freedom. Was it any wonder he sometimes woke up
shouting and sweating because he couldn't help either of
them? Was it any wonder he occasionally dreamed of the
good times he and Andrew had shared?

"I think you do," Ian said softly, dragging Mac back to the

here and now. "Who was he? Is he...?" Ian swallowed before
he could continue, "Do you dream about him?"

"Ian, no," Mac said, rubbing a hand up and down Ian's

arm. "At least not the way you mean. Please don't think that.
I meant what I said, you are the first man I have ever loved,
this is the first time I have ever had a real relationship." He
felt Ian relax somewhat and he continued, speaking carefully,
"I have nightmares about Andrew."

"Andrew? Can you tell me anything about him, about the

two of you?"

"Andrew and I served together a couple times, we were

very good friends and early on we discovered we were both
gay. We had a fling and then we went our separate ways.

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That was just the way it was in the Navy. A few years later I
was in command of a team and Andrew was assigned to me.
It didn't seem to matter that we hadn't seen each other for
almost five years, the friendship was as strong as ever and
we soon slipped back into our old ways. I have to admit it
was good, we were really good friends."

"Not just... what do you call it, a fuck buddy?"
"No, it meant more than that. It's hard to explain. I didn't

love Andy but I did care about him, you understand?"

"Yeah, I think I do."
"Then about six months later, he died under my

command."

"What!"

* * * *

Iverson leaned against the parapet of the roof overlooking

the distribution center. He'd been waiting since early that
morning and had seen the TFL truck when Wallace had finally
pulled in about half an hour ago. He pulled his binoculars
from his small case and had immediately double-checked that
the driver was Wallace. There was no mistaking the way the
man walked and the silver hair was just confirmation.

What had been a surprise was the second man jumping

down from the truck. He watched as they walked around back
and he had to move to the very end of the roof to be able to
keep them in view. He watched as they talked and then he
saw Wallace raise a hand and gently rub the other man's arm,
the motion seemed a little too familiar. This wasn't just

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another driver, Iverson realized as he lifted his binoculars for
a better look.

He smiled when he recognized the other man. Well, well,

the archaeologist. So, it hadn't been just a passing fancy all
those months ago.

Iverson looked through his binoculars, studying the

younger man, his mouth twisting as he recognized that the
man was even better looking in person. He watched as they
talked together and he frowned, wondering what it was they
were talking about that made them seem so intense. The
younger man leaned towards Wallace, putting a hand on the
nape of his neck. Iverson altered the focus on the binoculars
and he could clearly see the hand as it caressed Wallace's
neck, and he felt a frisson of anger at the easy familiarity.
Iverson moved the glasses to take a good look at Wallace's
expression and was surprised to see the tension; he'd
expected emotion of a quite different kind. He pulled his focus
back slightly and saw that the archaeologist was speaking. He
wished he could lip read, he so wanted to know what was
going on between them.

* * * *

Ian listened while Mac explained as best he could what had

happened that night six years ago. It wasn't easy with Mac
not being able to go into much detail, but Ian understood all
too clearly that a mission had gone disastrously wrong and
that Mac's lover had been killed and another of his team had
been captured. Mac took full responsibility for the disaster
even though it seemed clear to Ian that it was not his fault.

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Ian sympathized but he knew platitudes wouldn't help Mac,

who had six years of guilt to contend with. He reached out
and caressed Mac's neck, knowing the older man was always
calmed by his contact. He told Mac he understood but that he
also believed it wasn't doing any good to keep all the guilt
bottled up inside. The fact that he still had nightmares all
these years later suggested that maybe his psyche wasn't
dealing with the trauma.

"Have you had counseling?" Ian asked gently.
Mac laughed bitterly. "Even though I didn't want it. They

didn't give me a choice."

"I understand that, but you didn't tell them about Andrew

did you? That he was your lover? That you carried the guilt
for that as well as for everything else? That you felt
responsible for Matt's capture because you were trying to
comfort your lover? You couldn't tell them that so you bottled
it up, right?"

Mac dipped his head, not meeting Ian's gaze. "I never told

you all that," he said with a mixture of anger and relief.

Ian said nothing, waiting.
Mac raised his head, looking into Ian's eyes and he smiled.

"I should've known, shouldn't I? I sometimes think you can
read my mind you know me so well."

"Obviously not well enough," Ian said ruefully. Mac

reached out and took Ian's hand. "Mac, if you have that
nightmare again, please don't shut me out, talk to me."

"I won't, I promise. I think maybe talking to you will help

me more than any counselor ever could. I've never been able
to tell anyone about this before."

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"Mac," a voice called and they turned to see the supervisor

approaching. He was carrying Mac's clipboard. "Everything is
unloaded and your paperwork is signed. Nice doing business
with you as usual."

"Thanks, Walt, back at ya! This is Ian, a friend of mine."
Ian shook the man's hand but didn't say anything. For

once he had no inclination to talk; he felt he'd just made a
major breakthrough with Mac.

"See you in a few weeks?" Walt queried.
"Not sure, might be taking a few months off. Might be

Hank," Mac replied.

"Vacation?"
"Something like that, Walt. See ya!"
Ian nodded politely at the man who was obviously curious

about him as Mac raised a hand in farewell.

"Feeling hungry," Mac said cheerily. "Just happens to be a

good truck stop just outside of Cheyenne. They do a mean
steak," he added, draping his arm across Ian's shoulders.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Five

As soon as he saw the man with the clipboard approach

Wallace, Iverson knew they would shortly be leaving. He
headed back into the building and quickly made his way
downstairs and outside to where his car was parked across
from the entrance to the distribution center.

While he waited Iverson took a quick look at the

newspaper article again and checked the name of the
archaeologist. Grayson, Dr. Ian Grayson; that was it. He
stared again at the grainy picture and slowly a smile formed;
not a nice smile.

He was well aware that he couldn't do much in the city,

besides which he was now having second thoughts about his
original plan anyway.

He'd been so angry at Wallace he wanted to punish the

man, he wanted to hurt him; he wanted to kill him, but first
he wanted Wallace to know what a mistake he had made. He
wanted Wallace to understand what a perfect partner Iverson
would have made for the Captain; they would have been so
good together. Instead Wallace had ignored him and forced
him to destroy Andrew Ross all those years ago.

He'd thought for so long it had been Ross's fault; that Ross

had taken Wallace away from him, but now he saw that
Wallace had no loyalty. He was with yet another man. Just as
the Captain couldn't be trusted that night, he couldn't be
trusted now either. Mac Wallace was a shallow human being
who didn't deserve to be loved, to be cared for, and yet time

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and again he'd drawn people to him, picked the ones he
wanted, and left the others to flounder and suffer. Now he
would learn that Matthew Iverson should not have been
ignored, that there was a price to pay.

Iverson remembered that old saying about love and hate

being two sides of the same coin, and he was in the perfect
position to understand exactly what that meant. He also
understood there were things worse than death; pain deep in
the soul that made you long for the escape of death. Yet he
had fought to live day after day in that dreadful place, and it
was thoughts of Mac Wallace that kept him going. Now he
discovered another way to hurt Wallace before taking his final
revenge.

Iverson watched as the eighteen-wheeler turned out of the

distribution center, heading back toward the I-80. He would
follow until he found the right place. He smiled, thinking over
his new plan as he followed the truck along the interstate
heading out of Cheyenne towards Medicine Bow.

It wasn't too long before the truck signaled again and

Iverson realized they were pulling into a truck stop, probably
for lunch. He chewed his lip in thought, wondering if he could
risk it. He looked at himself in the rearview mirror and smiled
at his reflection. After six years in prison he doubted if his
own mother would recognize him, he certainly didn't think
Wallace would. Especially if he had his eyes filled with that
handsome archaeologist, he thought bitterly as he watched
the two men walk toward the restaurant.

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Iverson got out of his car and followed them at a discreet

distance. He hung back, watching where they sat, and chose
an adjoining table so he could keep an eye on them.

They seemed wrapped up in each other and totally

oblivious to anyone else. They laughingly argued over what to
order. Iverson couldn't hear the words but the smiles and
body language spoke volumes. After taking their orders, the
waitress came to his table and he quickly ordered. He picked
up a paper and surreptitiously watched them over the top;
not that he thought they'd have noticed if he'd stared straight
at them. The banter had been replaced by what appeared to
be a serious discussion, their voices now almost a whisper.

The conversation ended when the food arrived and a kind

of rueful smile graced the young man's face before he dipped
his head. Wallace said something quietly to him and he
looked up and smiled at the older man and shrugged. Then
they both began to eat in silence. Iverson watched the
exchange with interest, fascinated by the display of emotions
parading across Grayson's face, and he suddenly wondered
what he looked like during sex. The unbidden thought
enraged him with the sudden understanding that it would be
Wallace who put the look on that expressive face. He had to
turn away in case his own expression gave too much away.

Finally they stood up to leave and Iverson sat quietly as

they passed his table. He overheard snatches of their
conversation.

"...those quiet roads..."
"Service roads?"

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Iverson got to his feet, folded his paper and then got

behind them in the line to pay at the cash register.

The archaeologist was speaking quietly but Iverson picked

up bits and pieces.

"...need privacy...missed being...out under the stars..."
Wallace laughed softly and leaned in towards Grayson,

"Horn dog; you just enjoy the rush of doing it outside!"

"Shush!"
Iverson smiled as they walked away after paying, still

bantering with each other. Absently he paid his bill, his mind
was elsewhere, thinking that they might have just handed
him his perfect opportunity on a plate.

* * * *

"Gotta say, Ian, you're a bad influence on me." Mac

grinned.

"Hah! Who was it who first told me about service roads?

And I am now of the firm opinion that it was only an excuse
to get me somewhere remote so you could have your evil way
with me."

"Yeah, sure, you're a shrinking violet. And who is it who

likes to have sex outside at night 'under the stars'? How's
that for a euphemism?"

"Euphemism? For what?" Ian scoffed.
"Exposure. Hot, sweaty sex in public places. Adrenalin rush

from the risk of getting caught?"

"Okay, okay. Of course, you didn't take to the idea like a

duck to water. Though half the time it was in the grounds of
your place."

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Laughing, Mac said, "Never said I didn't enjoy it—and the

other half of the time it was in the university grounds or the
nearby park."

"How much further to this service road, Mac?" asked Ian,

quickly changing the subject. He had been terrified as much
as aroused when they had sex in the park. It had been his
suggestion, playfully at the time, but Mac had jumped on the
idea with alacrity and it had become wonderfully, horrifyingly
addictive. "You said it wasn't that far to this place you had in
mind and we've been driving for over an hour now..."

"Impatient, Ian? It's only been forty-five minutes and I

have this nice quiet little road at Alexander's Creek in mind,
it's a few miles this side of Salt Lake. We'll be there soon,
take it easy."

"It's not easy I've got a mind to take, it'd better be nice

and hard."

"Oh, it's hard, Ian, it's been hard for quite some time,"

Mac said hoarsely.

"Bastard!"
"Don't let my father hear you say that!" Mac laughed.

"About five minutes now, Ian," he added a few minutes later.

As he turned off the highway onto the dark, deserted tree-

lined service road Mac never saw the car pull off after them,
the car's headlights switched off.

* * * *

Iverson stopped the car shortly after leaving the highway

and parked up behind a couple of trees. From there he walked
slowly and carefully forward, keeping his eyes peeled for the

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parked truck. He heard them before he saw them. They were
calling to each other, Wallace setting up a small folding table
outside and lighting a couple of small lanterns while the
younger man was bringing out food and drink. They laughed
together and insulted each other as they prepared
sandwiches, sliced cheese and fruit, and poured coffee into
mugs.

Wallace grabbed one of the lanterns and set it nearby as

they sat side by side on the grass, leaning against one of the
truck wheels, and ate their meal.

Feeling hungry as he watched them, Iverson dug into his

pockets and pulled out some chocolate to nibble on. He
needed them to separate for what he had in mind; he needed
Grayson to be alone. Just a couple of minutes would be all he
needed. He decided he needed to hear what they were saying
and so very carefully he moved forward. He wasn't stupid
enough to forget how good Wallace had been. It may be over
four years since he'd been in the Navy and even longer since
he'd served in Special Ops; that disastrous mission had been
the last one for Wallace. He refused to take on another one,
returning to normal naval duties, but a man like Wallace
never lost his edge.

Stopping behind a large tree, Iverson saw both men get to

their feet. He would need to resort to a back up plan if they
kept together.

"...why is it you never seem to want to pack stuff up,"

Wallace was saying.

"Can I help it if I have to take a leak?" Grayson replied

with a smug smile.

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"Damned convenient," Wallace muttered loud enough for

Grayson to hear as he moved off into the trees on the other
side of the small clearing from where Iverson was hiding.
Grayson laughed but said nothing.

Smiling, Iverson quickly made his way around to the other

side, keeping an eye out for the direction the archaeologist
was taking. This was just perfect.

* * * *

After a few minutes when there was still no sign of Ian,

Mac stood on the top step of his truck and looked over to
where Ian had disappeared among the trees. He sighed and
picked up the large soft blanket before climbing down again.
He laid it out on the grass alongside the truck and, stretching,
looked up at the night sky above. They were far enough from
the city that the stars were clear and bright against the dark
backdrop and Mac, something of an amateur astronomer and
long time wannabe astronaut, lifted his arms to encompass
the natural wonder.

"Always did have a hankering for the stars," a voice broke

the silence.

Slowly lowering his arms and turning, Mac couldn't believe

it could be who it sounded like. It had been more than six
years since he'd last heard that voice, yet it was forever
imprinted on his memory, especially that last yell of his
name, a cry for help even as Matt Iverson had been captured.

Yet the shock of that voice was nothing compared to the

shock from the sight that met Mac's eyes.

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A man, someone he would never have recognized if not for

the distinctive voice, stood on the edge of the small clearing.
He had one arm wrapped tightly around Ian's chest, keeping
a firm grip on both of Ian's arms. His other arm rested across
Ian's right upper arm and shoulder, gripping a knife, the
blade of which was pressed across Ian's throat so that the
younger man had to lean his neck back onto the shoulder of
his attacker to avoid it cutting his flesh.

Ian's eyes were wide with fear as they tried to focus on

Mac from the difficult angle into which his neck was forced.

"Iverson?" Mac gasped, disbelief warring with shock. His

appearance had changed so much Mac would never have
known him. However, Mac's shock was swamped with anger
when he saw the fear in Ian's eyes. "What are you doing? Let
him go!"

"You worried about him?" Iverson queried, forcing Ian's

head back further by pressing the blade into his throat. A tiny
trail of blood ran down the knife blade and Mac saw Ian's
body go rigid in Iverson's grip. "Can't say I blame you,"
Iverson continued, "he is quite something to look at, isn't he?
I've been watching you for a while now, seen how close you
two are."

Iverson turned his attention from Mac, who was still

reeling that this man was actually here, like this. Why? Why
with a knife to Ian's throat? And to discover he had been
trailing them for God knows how long. Then, like a bolt of
lightning, Mac understood. Oh, God, revenge! He blames me
for whatever happened to him. Me, not Ian!

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Iverson turned to Ian and spoke quietly in his ear but loud

enough that Mac could hear too, snapping him out of his
confused ramblings. "Has he told you all about himself?
Somehow I doubt that. Do you know how he flits from one
lover to another? Do you know how he uses men? Don't care
about him or you'll suffer. I know that. I was his friend, his
best friend for over a year. He knew I wanted to be more but
he didn't care. He had other interests."

Mac listened to this with shock and horror. He had never

realized that Matt felt like that about him. They had been
friends, yes. Good friends but that was all. He never said
anything and Mac had never known he was gay. Hell, he
hadn't known that Matt knew he was gay. Don't ask, don't tell
and all that crap. With a chill in his gut he wondered if Matt
had known about him and Andy all the time.

"You were my friend, Matt, and I hated leaving you behind

that night. Tried to get them to let me mount a rescue
mission but they just quoted the regs at me." Mac risked
taking a step closer and another. "I never had any idea that
you... you felt like that about me... I..."

"DON'T!" Iverson yelled and Ian grunted with pain as he

tightened his arm, squeezing Ian's ribs.

Mac knew that Ian would already have difficulty breathing

with his neck forced so far back, and his chest being squeezed
was the last thing he needed. Mac immediately stopped
speaking and held up his hands in surrender.

"I would've been so good for you," Iverson said. "We'd

have been perfect together but you... you were too blind to
see it. Too busy wasting time on..." Iverson sucked in a

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breath, tightening his grip on the knife, making the edge
press a little harder into Ian's throat and staring at Mac.

"You didn't give a shit about me," Iverson began again.

"All you cared about was being the golden boy for the brass
and taking care of that nice piece of ass you got yourself. Got
your lover posted to your team, didn't you? Was that because
I was getting too close? I wasn't good enough for you though,
was I? Not a candle to Andy Ross, was I? You like 'em soft
and good looking..."

"Soft? Andy?" Mac interrupted incredulous, immediately

contrite in case he caused any more pain to Ian, but Iverson
didn't react physically this time.

"Oh, not when it came to the action no, quite the hero our

Lt. Commander Ross, but he did just what you wanted, didn't
he? I bet this one does too." He turned his attention to Ian
again. "Does he always want you to give it up? Does he like
you to suck him off?"

Feeling nauseous at what he was being forced to listen to;

Ian kept his eyes forward, never acknowledging the maniac
who had a knife at his throat. He knew, of course, who the
man was; the stranger had made sure of that when he
grabbed him in the trees. A heavy hand had clamped over his
mouth as hot breath ghosted over his ear while cold steel
caressed his throat. The man hadn't told him his name, but
he'd said that Wallace had a debt to pay for leaving him
behind in hell and that he, Ian, was going to help him pay it.
Ian had guessed who it must be.

Standing stock still, Ian sought out Mac's eyes, but Mac

kept darting his gaze between Ian and Iverson. Ian wanted to

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know what he should do and hoped Mac could somehow
signal him; how, he didn't know, but he watched his lover
closely just in case. Ian tried to tune out the voice pounding
at him, not wanting to hear the tirade, but it was impossible.

"You wanted to fuck out here under the stars," the man

laughed derisively and Ian was aghast that the man had even
been close enough to have heard that. "You're a romantic
aren't you? You know what, watching our Mac here with you I
think maybe he is too. Maybe he always was, but I never got
to see that side of him."

Iverson's attention moved over to Mac again. Ian could see

the anger and fear glittering in Mac's eyes, and he guessed
that Iverson could too.

"Yes I think maybe he is," Iverson repeated slowly. His

mouth moved closer to Ian's ear again, the hot breath wafting
across his ear making Ian want to shudder, but he fought the
inclination. He was afraid that any movement would make the
unstable man react. He was afraid of the knife at his throat.
"I was just gonna slit your throat like I did Ross, but now I
wonder how Mac would like it if I spoil this pretty face of
yours."

Ian saw the shock on Mac's face at that casual admission;

saw the blood drain from Mac's face as he realized Iverson
had murdered Ross because of him, because of insane
jealousy over him. Ian knew how that would affect Mac, and
he saw the way his hands clasped into tight fists and the
rigidity of his shoulders. He just hoped that Mac could keep a
grip on himself long enough to get Ian out of the mess he
was in.

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[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Six

Mac had always believed the enemy had killed Andrew;

never in a million years had he considered it was a friend, a
team member. Even less would he have imagined it was done
for personal reasons, murder pure and simple. No, not pure
and simple, it was vile. This man he'd believed to be a friend
had killed because of him. Rage raced through him and he
had to dig his nails into the palms of his hands, he had to
hold onto himself for Ian's sake.

Ian—it was only then that the second half of Iverson's

statement permeated Mac's consciousness.

Even as Mac realized what he'd said, Iverson slowly moved

the knife from Ian's throat and slid it along his jaw, scraping
the skin and making Ian gasp, before drawing it along his
cheek. Iverson stopped when the blade reached Ian's eye and
he let the blade rest there, just a millimeter from his lower
lashes. He turned to stare at Mac with a cold smile.

Mac loved Ian with his heart and soul, and though he

adored the way Ian looked it wouldn't make any difference to
his feelings if he were ever to be disfigured. That didn't mean
he would allow it to happen though. A heavy weight had
settled in his chest when he accepted he bore some
culpability in Andrew's death, but when he realized the same
man was now threatening Ian, any idea of responsibility
disappeared in the clarity of truth. The only person to blame
in any of this was Matthew Iverson.

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"Will you still want him if I remove an eye?" Iverson asked

cruelly. "Perhaps a nice jagged line down the cheek might
prove interesting."

Ignoring the hateful voice, Mac looked closely at Ian,

fearing to see the look in his eyes but determined to offer
what support he could. Ian didn't know it, but Mac would die
before he'd let any harm come to him; he was already
planning how to launch himself at Iverson so he would need
to bring the knife into play to defend himself.

Ian flicked his eyes downward and Mac hated that he was

in any way the cause of the fear Ian must be experiencing
feeling that blade tip so near to his eye.

Then as Ian kept repeating the movement, Mac realized it

wasn't fear he was seeing, it was tension caused by
frustration. Ian was trying to get him to look down and when
Mac did he understood. Iverson was so busy taunting Mac
that he'd loosened his hold across Ian's chest and Ian's right
arm was free.

They were so in tune that Ian saw the exact moment Mac

understood and immediately, before Iverson realized
anything, he moved. Ian lifted his right arm, dislodging
Iverson's grip a fraction, just enough to move the blade from
his cheek and allow Mac to move.

It might have been a few years since Mac had been a

serving officer, and even longer since he'd been in Special
Ops, but that didn't mean he'd lost any of his skills. Even as
Ian acted Mac was already moving.

Iverson was surprised by the sudden movement of the

archaeologist, thinking the man was cowed by his position. He

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was totally unprepared when Grayson knocked the knife away
and twisted in his grip, away from the blade. Iverson
managed to hold on to him until Wallace bowled into him, and
then he needed both hands to protect himself from his ex-
C.O. Grayson dropped to the ground and rolled out of the way
as Iverson grappled to keep the knife out of Wallace's hands.

Mac was cold with fury and totally in control of his

emotions. He saw Iverson as a threat to the life of the man
who meant everything to him and he knew only one way to
ensure his safety. He barreled into Iverson and went for the
knife. He was peripherally aware of Ian rolling out of the way,
but his attention was on getting the knife out of Iverson's
hand and into his.

They toppled to the ground and Mac gripped his rival's

right arm in both hands. Iverson was using his left arm to try
and prize Mac away, but he ignored the gouging fingers and
held Iverson's arm down with one hand while the other
grabbed for the knife. He wasted no time on niceties and
purposely broke Iverson's middle finger. As the man yelled in
pain he also opened his other fingers and Mac yanked the
weapon away.

Iverson immediately saw the danger and while Mac's

attention was on the knife Iverson shoved him flat on his
back and attempted to crush Mac's windpipe with his free
arm. Mac saw Ian approaching and assumed he was coming
to help. Mac didn't want Ian involved in this more than he
already was and Mac ignored the graying of his vision as
Iverson pressed down. Instead Mac used all his concentration
to drive the knife into the other man's neck.

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Iverson arched away from Mac in shock and pain,

immediately releasing his opponent to collapse in the dirt.
Mac rolled to his knees, gasping to fill his lungs again, and
suddenly Ian was there holding him.

"Mac! Oh, God, Mac. Are you all right?"
"Iv's'n?" he gasped.
"It's all right, he's dead, Mac." Ian tried to help him into a

sitting position.

"Sure?" Mac asked, looking over at the man who had just

tried to kill them. He was lying flat on his back, eyes staring
sightlessly at the myriad of stars above, his own knife
embedded in his neck.

"Oh yeah, I'm sure," Ian said quietly.
"I'm sorry," Mac said gently.
"Sorry? For what? You just saved my life and incidentally

your own."

"I brought this on us, it was because of me."
"None of this was your fault, now or six years ago. Let it

go Mac. The only person to blame has paid the ultimate
price."

* * * *

The last twenty-four hours had been extremely difficult.

Mac would have liked nothing better than to bury the body
and try and put everything behind them, though, of course,
that was impossible. Instead they had to contact the local
police and report the death.

Without being able to go into too much detail, it was very

difficult to explain why an ex-naval officer who had been

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declared missing in action over six years previously had
tracked down and tried to kill his ex-C.O. Besides being
unable to discuss the details of the mission that had gone
bad, Mac also had no wish to discuss his personal life of six
years ago, then or now. He certainly had no wish to broadcast
that jealousy concerning him had resulted in one murder and
the threat of causing two more. He kept throwing out the
ubiquitous line of "National Security" like it was some kind of
safety net and brick wall combined.

Police swarmed all over their impromptu campsite. Both

Mac's truck and Iverson's car were subjected to a thorough
search and all the accompanying tests. The police contacted
both Mac's office in Joliet and Ian's at the university. Mac was
particularly annoyed about dragging Ian's place of work into
this, but the police were adamant in checking their story.

Mac had been allowed to place a call to Neil and arrange

for a relief driver to come to Salt Lake and take the
consignment on to Sacramento as soon as the police released
his truck. He expected he would have to stay longer and the
delivery was due shortly. If the police wouldn't release the
vehicle perhaps they would at least allow the consignment to
be transferred to another truck. Neil told Mac not to worry,
that he would sort everything out.

At Mac's insistence they had contacted the naval

authorities to get confirmation, not only of the identity of both
ex-officers, but to confirm that their work was classified and
no information could be provided beyond who they were, and
that Iverson had been listed as MIA six years previously.
Mac's quote of national security was not only confirmed but

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the local police were informed that an investigation would be
commenced by naval authorities. Apparently, there was some
high level bickering behind the scenes which added to Mac's
claims. It was later established that information as to
Iverson's imprisonment was on record but nothing else was
forthcoming. The Navy also confirmed that Captain Wallace's
record was exemplary and that he had retired with full
honors.

Both Mac and Ian were medically examined and it was

confirmed that the minor injuries on Ian's body, the bruises
and the knife marks on his throat and jaw, were consistent
with their version of events, as was the bruising on Mac's
neck and across his throat.

The only prints found on the knife were Mac's and

Iverson's. Also there was no record of Iverson's entry into the
country.

Each man was questioned separately for hours on end, but

they stuck to their story regardless of how tired they were
after almost forty hours without sleep. Ian reiterated that Mac
had saved his life and then his own by having to kill his one-
time friend, whose experiences seemed to have driven him
over the edge.

Mac's version was much the same except for his obvious

anger at the threat to his and Ian's lives and his blatant shock
and reluctant belief that his one-time friend had wanted to kill
them.

The police brought up the incident from the year before

when Mac had been kidnapped in an attempt to coerce Ian
into exchanging his valuable artifact for him. They seemed

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particularly interested that Ian would be willing to give up
such a valuable piece for a man he hardly knew. They tried to
suggest there was something Ian was covering up, but in the
end his sincerity that his research might be important but
could never add up to the value of a man's life convinced
them. Though, of course, one of the officers snidely remarked
that though he was an archaeologist he seemed quite at
home traveling across the country with Mac and asked what
was in it for him.

Ian chose not to deny the fact, nor to confirm the officer's

remark, and simply chose to ignore the innuendo, replying
that yes it was a nice break from his stuffy office.

Every avenue of investigation seemed only to confirm their

story and they were released just after ten the following
evening, after twenty-four hours in police custody. They were
to stay in the area for the next few days at least and hold
themselves ready for possible further questioning, and to
meet with the Naval investigation team when it arrived.

Both feeling totally exhausted, they walked out of police

headquarters in silence. It wasn't until they hit the sidewalk
that they both realized they didn't even know where they
were going. Mac's truck was still impounded and they had no
other form of transport or any idea of a destination.

Ian turned to Mac with a raised eyebrow. "Mac?" he said

tiredly.

Mac gave him a slow smile. "Never thought to ask about a

hotel, not that I'd have trusted that bunch to know a clean
one anyway. Let's just get a cab to the nearest motel; I'm too
damned tired to care what it's like as long as it's got a bed."

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"Yeah and a shower," Ian added.
They hailed a passing cab and asked the driver to

recommend a quiet motel; he took them a short distance just
off the I-80 on the eastern edge of the city, only a few miles
from the service road where Iverson had died.

They got a room with a double bed and didn't even notice

the clerk's raised eyebrow. Ian simply asked if it was a large
double with a shower.

"Are you hungry, Ian?" Mac wondered.
"Too tired to eat."
"Yeah, me too," Mac said. He picked up the key and,

carrying the few personnel possessions they had been allowed
to remove from the truck, he led the way to room twelve.

It was a nice clean motel, nothing fancy, but the bed was

large and the shower was spotless.

"Mind if I go first?" Ian queried, eyeing the shower. "I'd

offer to share but I don't want to give you any ideas that I
can't make good on."

Mac smiled. "I couldn't take you up on it now either.

Wouldn't mind sharing though, perhaps we could hold each
other up?"

For the first time since leaving the police station Ian

smiled. "I'd like that," he said softly and the knot in Mac's
stomach unclenched. It was only then that he realized he'd
been afraid Ian had taken in some of the things Iverson had
said about him.

Mac had had time to think over all the things Iverson had

spouted, about his character and his attitude towards men.
During the terrifying time that Iverson had been holding the

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knife on Ian, Mac allowed the words to wash over him, only
concentrating on the man's actions, not his words. However,
during his time with the police, when they had kept him
waiting with only his thoughts for company, he had recalled
each and every phrase Iverson had said. Part of him didn't
doubt that Ian trusted him and wouldn't believe the vicious
lies. But that small insecure part, that part that whispers in
the dark, caused him to wonder if those words would lie like
seeds waiting to sprout in Ian's subconscious.

"What is it, Mac?" Ian frowned.
"Nothing, it's all right, I'm just tired," the trucker replied,

moving to the bathroom.

"Mac, come on, what's worrying you?"
He should've known he couldn't pull a fast one on Ian. The

man could see right through him. He stopped and turned
back.

"It's just... I... Those things that Iverson said about me.

He made me sound..."

"I know lies when I hear them. Or, in his case, delusions. I

know you, Mac, and I never gave any credence to what he
said. Don't you trust me?"

"You know I do. I..."
"You panicked," Ian smiled. "Come on, let's shower then

get a good night's sleep. You're just exhausted."

They got in the shower together, enjoying the warmth of

their touches as much as the warmth of the water. They
washed each other, their caresses soothing rather than
arousing, and then they carefully dried each other off before
lying in one another's arms in the wide bed.

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* * * *

Mac woke the next morning just as dawn was breaking. He

was an early riser, but this was early even for him and he was
still tired from the tribulations of the last few days. He was
also keyed up. He'd managed to get some sleep over the last
few hours, but it had been restless and uneasy. Ian had slept
through it all and Mac was grateful not to have disturbed his
partner.

It had been the first time he'd attempted to sleep since

killing Iverson. He'd hoped it would be different; this time
he'd killed for a personal reason, to protect Ian, not because
he was ordered to for some abstract cause he never really
understood. He should have known better, he should have
known it would be like this, it always was.

"Mac?" Ian's sleepy voice broke into his thoughts. "You

alright?"

"Not sleeping too well. You go back to sleep."
"You're feeling guilty over Iverson aren't you?"
"God, Ian, how do you do that?"
"I just know you," he smiled. "You're a good man and

having to kill someone, even though he was threatening us;
that just had to hurt. Not only that but that man had once
been your friend." Ian stopped, pushing himself up on one
elbow to look down at Mac. "I would've done it you know."

"What? What are you talking about?"
"I would've killed him, to help you. I had a moment to

think about it and I realized how much it would hurt later

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when you had time to think about it. I saw the knife in your
outstretched hand and I knew I could get to it so I—"

"I know, I saw you coming but I couldn't let you do that,"

Mac interrupted softly.

"What?"
"I didn't want you to carry that burden."
"Mac, you didn't have to do that. I made the choice

knowing what it meant."

"No, you didn't. You have no idea what taking another's

life is like. I was an officer, fighting and killing was my job. I
didn't like it but I was good at it."

"Oh, Mac, I can look after myself. It isn't a requirement to

be a soldier to look after yourself, to make the hard decisions.
I can do what I have to."

"But you don't have to, not while I'm here." Mac pulled Ian

back down to lie against him, placing his lover's head on his
shoulder. "I love you. I'd kill for you and I'd die for you, don't
you know that?"

Ian swallowed at the passion contained in those seemingly

inappropriate words. Then he lifted his head and stared into
Mac's eyes and saw the truth deep inside.

"I love you too, Mac, more than you know, I think." He

leaned down and captured his lover's lips momentarily. "I
know how much you love me, Mac, but for the first time I
wonder if you really know me." Mac was shocked. Ian held up
a hand to forestall any comment and continued, "Don't you
know that the passion and commitment that you admire so
much isn't only for my work?" Ian smiled. "In the same way I
fought for years against my peers, bucked the odds for what I

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believed in, I would do anything to protect the man I love and
our life together."

Mac stared at Ian, watching as those bright blue eyes

came closer and closed his own as Ian took his mouth. As
Mac returned the kiss, their passion grew and in no time the
kisses traveled across jaws and down necks. Mac nibbled at
Ian's shoulder as Ian's fingers played with Mac's nipples. As if
at the same time they both realized they were still alive; they
became frantic, moving against each other, kissing, licking
and caressing everywhere they touched.

Ian lay on top of Mac and rocked and writhed against him

as Mac lifted his legs and wrapped them around Ian, pulling
him closer, lifting his hips to match Ian's rhythm. Both men
were gasping for breath as their orgasms gathered and raced
through them to spill warmth between their bodies.

Ian collapsed on top of Mac and with a gasp Mac rolled so

they both lay on their sides, facing each other. Ian's eyes
were closed as he attempted to get a hold of his breathing.
Still panting, he opened his eyes to see Mac staring at him.

"What?" he asked breathlessly.
Mac smiled. "Watching you come... it's...humbling."
"That seems an odd thing to say." Ian frowned.
"Not really. I'm humbled that I can do that to you, make

you feel so much."

"Ah, perhaps it's pride you should feel," Ian said softly, "no

one has ever made me feel as good as you do."

"I'd like nothing more than to spend my life making you

feel good," Mac said, gently stroking his hand down Ian's

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chest before pushing him flat on his back. "I want to give you
everything. I want to make your life perfect."

"Mac," Ian gasped at the heat elicited by Mac's fingers on

his body, "I...I...oh, God, Mac." He arched his back as Mac
settled between his legs and proceeded to lave his nipples,
one after the other, as his hand caressed the smooth skin of
Ian's chest. "I have...everything I need... oh, God, God...
Mac, I have...you." Ian was unable to speak any longer. He
writhed under Mac's ministrations as his lover slowly licked
his way down Ian's belly and his hands caressed his hips.

Silence broken only by soft moans and whispered murmurs

filled the room as Mac allowed himself to feel pride at the
heights to which he was able to take Ian, before his partner
taught him that one didn't need a plane to fly.

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Seven

They finally rose to eat a late breakfast that was delivered

from a local restaurant. Ian was pleased to discover that the
coffee was excellent and he was drinking his second cup when
he was surprised by a knock at the door.

Mac opened it to find Hank and Leslie waiting outside.
"Guys, you got here sooner than I expected," Mac said,

shaking hands with Hank and giving Leslie a quick hug.

"How did you know where to find us?" Ian asked.
"I remembered I had to inform the police of our address in

town, and I called them at the same time I ordered
breakfast," Mac explained.

"The timing was propitious," Hank said in his precise way.

"Leslie and I had just arrived at the police station to enquire
of your whereabouts."

"Yeah, and while we were there I asked if your truck was

still impounded and it looks like they may release it
tomorrow," Leslie said.

"Yeah, but how did you get here so fast?" Ian asked,

looking from one to the other.

"Fast? Ian, it's been thirty-six hours since you were

detained. It's been a nice leisurely run with the two of us
driving."

"Why both of you?" he queried frowning.
"Poor boy's had a rough time," Mac grinned. "In case the

police released my truck Hank could take it on to Sacramento
and Leslie could take the other truck back. If my truck was

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still impounded but they released the load, Hank could take
that truck on and Leslie could fly back. Either way the load
could still be delivered, hopefully without too much penalty?"
Mac directed this last query at Leslie.

"I have spoken to Mr. Anderson and he understands. He

won't claim the penalty until the delivery is more than twelve
hours late. The best I could do, but if we can have the truck
or the load this morning Hank can make the deadline."

Hank inclined his head in assent.
"Well done, Leslie. I knew I'd be doing the right thing,"

Mac said thoughtfully.

Frowning at the seeming non sequitur, Leslie asked,

"What?"

Glancing at Ian, Mac said, "I'm going to be taking a leave

of absence for about three months and I want you to give Neil
any help he needs with the contracts and tenders."

"Whoa boss, that's your field."
"I know but Neil has assisted me long enough to know how

to handle any new stuff and together you can handle the
repeats and the routine orders. I know you've been interested
in that side of the business for a while now, well here's your
chance. You can work with Neil in the office while I'm away.
I'll give you power of attorney to sign on my behalf for the
three month period."

"Thanks for the confidence, Mac. I won't let you down,"

she said.

"What plans do you have for this absence?" Hank asked.
"I'm going to Belize with Ian."

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Turning to Ian, Leslie said excitedly, "You're going after

the temple!"

"You have the location now, Ian?" Hank inquired. Ian knew

the big guy well enough now to detect the note of interest in
his deadpan delivery.

Grinning at both of Mac's friends, Ian replied, "Well, let's

say I know where to look now."

* * * *

As the plane landed at Belize International Airport, Ian

breathed a sigh of relief, prompting a bark of laughter from
Mac. Ian shrugged, grinning back at Mac, but felt he was
entitled after the turmoil of the last three weeks.

They had to stay in Salt Lake for almost two weeks until

the police were finally satisfied with the report supplied by the
naval investigation team. Mac had attended what the
investigation team euphemistically called interviews but had
been more like interrogations. In the end they accepted Mac's
version of the event. The trucker was relieved that he didn't
need to disclose Iverson's jealousy; that was known only to
Ian and himself. The report the Navy supplied stressed the
national security aspect of the affair, citing Iverson's capture
and imprisonment as the cause and that the Captain had
acted solely in defense of his friend and his own life.

They had then flown back to Chicago, where Ian had a lot

of explaining to do. Dr. Tyler was very understanding,
surprising the academic with his casual reference to Ian's
relationship with Mac, which Ian had never mentioned to
anyone. He liked to keep his private life to himself and,

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though he liked and admired the dean, he didn't want to
create any awkwardness as he didn't know Tyler's opinion on
gay relationships. When he realized that Tyler was aware and
accepted that Ian and Mac were partners he was relieved. It
made it easier to explain his plan and ask for a leave of
absence to search for the temple. Dr. Tyler was very
enthusiastic about his research and how he had worked out
the clues.

Tyler was the only person, other than Mac, that Ian would

trust enough to discuss his findings in detail and the Dean
granted his request along with his good wishes. As Mac had
suggested, Dr. Tyler was only too happy to find someone else
to fill in teaching his classes for a few months.

Ian had spent the last few days getting everything

organized for their three month trip, while Mac finalized
arrangements with Neil and Leslie. Then the day finally
arrived when Neil drove them to the airport and they were on
the move.

They soon progressed through customs, and Mac led the

way to pick up the rental car that he had arranged before
leaving Chicago. He knew from what Ian had told him that
the roads in Belize didn't compare favorably at all with those
he was used to traveling in the U.S. There were only four
major highways in the whole country and even those were
not all paved; certain sections were little more than dirt road.
He'd made sure to order a four wheel drive vehicle, with
plenty of room for all the gear they would have to cart into
the jungle. They could only drive so far before they would
have to trek on foot.

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Ian was so excited about finally searching for the temple

he had sought all his adult life that he looked ready to jump
into the jeep and drive off immediately.

Mac put an arm around his shoulder. "Ian, it's been there

for at least a thousand years, another day or so isn't going to
matter. Let's head for the hotel, have a shower, dinner, an
early night. We can purchase our extra supplies, including
machetes and firearms, in the morning and then head out."

"I know, you're right but I feel... I feel... God, I have so

much energy I feel as if I'm going to explode."

"I think I know a way to channel some of that energy once

I get you inside our room," Mac said, laughing. He loved to
see Ian so excited, so happy, and he was really looking
forward to spending every day—and every night—for three
months in his company.

Ian was surprised when Mac pulled up outside the Biltmore

Plaza, just about the most exclusive hotel in Belize City,
though with a glance at Mac he realized he shouldn't have
been. Mac never advertised the fact that he was a rich man,
but he also never skimped when it came to Ian.

It had taken some gentle persuasion on Ian's part to

convince Mac that he was embarrassed by the gifts Mac
insisted on buying for him when they first became a couple.
Ian didn't want to upset Mac, who loved buying things for
him, but the academic was never comfortable with material
things. Ian was much happier to see the smile on his lover's
face because he was happy to see Ian, rather than to receive
a gift he didn't think he deserved. They both had to
compromise when they eventually saw each other's point of

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view. Mac enjoyed buying the gifts; to Mac there was no
better use for his money than to bring pleasure to the man he
loved, and no one deserved it more. In the end, Ian accepted
that it was Mac's need to give and Mac accepted that it was
hard for Ian to receive—all the time.

Eventually they settled on the plan of buying each other

gifts only on special occasions, anniversaries, birthdays,
Christmas. Mac, however, managed to spoil Ian in other
ways, like staying in the best hotel in town.

"Mac, this place is fantastic!" Ian turned in a circle as he

took in the wonderful gardens surrounding the low native
style buildings shining white against the deep blue sky, all
reflected in the pool at the center of the complex.

"It's even better in reality," Mac said, smiling at Ian's

pleasure. He had chosen the hotel from the photographs on
the net.

Mac went to the registration desk to check in as Ian looked

around. He was pleased that Mac had arranged for them to
spend the night in luxury, as the next few weeks were likely
to be spent under canvas. Mac had finished at the desk and
with a bellhop carrying their cases—most of the gear had
been left locked in the car, which they had been promised
would be secure in the hotel's garage—they made their way
to their room.

Mac tipped the man generously and, closing the door, he

turned to look at Ian.

"Thanks, Mac," Ian grinned, "this is a great way to start."

He moved closer to Mac, who stood leaning back against the

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door. "We can pamper ourselves tonight and then
tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow can take care of itself. Tonight I'm going to

take care of you," Mac said huskily, walking with slow
deliberation towards Ian.

Ian saw the fire in Mac's eyes and felt the slow burn of

need wash over him, starting in his toes and moving
deliciously up through his body. Mac put his hands on Ian's
shoulders, feeling the heat of the man through the thin cotton
of the shirt he was wearing. Even as he watched he saw Ian's
nipples harden and push against the restraining material, and
he let his hands drift slowly down to caress and pinch the
proud nubs.

Ian hitched his breath at the sensation. "Mac," he

murmured, raising his hands, but Mac shook his head and
pushed them back down. Ian knew what Mac wanted and
stood still as Mac began to unfasten his shirt before slowly
pushing it off.

Staring at him, Mac thought he'd never seen anything so

perfect; the skin soft yet firm, the deceptively fine lines hiding
an impressive musculature. Mac's hands caressed his lover's
arms, up across his shoulders and down his chest, around his
sides and up his back. Ian shivered, and as if the movement
were a signal, Mac pulled his lover to him; as one hand slid
up into his hair and the other down to cup his ass, Mac took
Ian's mouth in a passionate kiss.

As Ian melted into Mac's arms, Mac knew how much Ian

needed this. Knew too that Ian hadn't even realized how
much until Mac had touched him. Mac settled both hands on

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Ian's butt and lifted the younger man a little, pulling his groin
close to rub against his own. Ian moaned as he felt how hard
Mac was, and pulled out of the kiss to nibble on Mac's neck.

When Mac released him, Ian held on with his arms around

Mac's neck and nuzzled his nipples through his thin shirt. Mac
began to unfasten Ian's pants, and he squirmed as Mac
pushed down his pants and boxers in one smooth movement,
freeing his engorged cock. Sucking in a breath, Ian felt the
large warm hand encircle his length to gently pull and twist
on it. Mac gazed at him and Ian looked into the darkened
eyes of his lover. Mac gave him a quick kiss and caressed his
cheek before he slipped down to his knees in front of him.

Ian looked down at Mac's bent head as he licked at his

cock and it was a sight Ian would never tire of. As if he
sensed Ian's thoughts, Mac looked up and smiled at him,
swiping across the head of his cock before licking the
underside and sending a shock of pleasure through his lover.
He reached out and grabbed Mac's hair to steady himself and
Mac laughed, causing the puffs of air to vibrate and tease
Ian's cock.

"Oh, God, Mac, God," he murmured as Mac's hands slid

again to cup his ass; this time he caressed the soft globes
before slipping a finger inside Ian's opening. Having had more
sex in the last three weeks than he'd had in the previous
three months Ian opened easily to Mac's ministrations.

Mac licked Ian's cock as his hands ghosted over his ass.

Mac's fingers, first one then two, worked to open him up.
Sensations pouring through him, Ian tossed his head from
side to side as he muttered nonsense. His eyes closed tight

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and perspiration popped out on his skin. Mac took his cock
deep into his mouth, pulling back to kiss the tip and lick the
drops of precious fluid before swallowing Ian whole again,
licking and sucking. Ian felt his cock brushing the back of
Mac's throat as his lover sucked harder, pressing a finger
deeper inside him, searching for... Ahh...

"Mac! Again, oh God, again," Ian whimpered as Mac

stroked his prostate. He felt wonderful as fire and ice raced
through his veins, centering in his groin. "I'm gonna, gonna,
Mac..." The climax hit him and his come pulsed down Mac's
throat and he took it all, every single drop. Ian was leaning
on Mac's shoulders and he wavered as Mac got to his feet and
kissed him, letting him taste himself on Mac's lips.

Then Mac simply held him, whispering words Ian could

hardly understand as he came down from his high.

"That...was wonderful," Ian said, pulling back to look at his

partner. His eyes widened a little and he smiled. "You're still
dressed."

"Do you want to remedy that?" Mac grinned.
Ian laughed and reached out to unfasten Mac's shirt.
"Can I take you here, by the door?" Mac asked softly.
Ian hesitated and looked up at Mac, "Anything you want,"

he breathed, caressing Mac's chest and playing with the
dusting of hair before he unfastened Mac's pants and pushed
them, with his boxers, to the floor, where Mac stepped out of
them. Kneeling at his feet, Ian looked up at Mac, at his cock
hard and throbbing.

Suddenly Mac pulled him to his feet and kissed him

hungrily, demanding entry, which Ian gave willingly. They

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tasted each other, licking lips and caressing tongues until
they separated, panting for breath. Mac shoved Ian around to
face the door, and Ian reached to hold onto the door frame as
Mac swept long, caressing strokes up and down his back and
over his buttocks, reveling in his freedom to touch.

Locking his arms to hold himself steady, Ian dropped his

head between his raised arms, arching back to push himself
into Mac's hands. He was surprised when he felt the cold
slickness of Mac's cock penetrate him as he'd no idea when
Mac had time to find the lube, let alone put any on himself.
Mac slid into him in one smooth motion and Ian sighed at the
sensation, at the knowledge that he was owned—and owning.
Mac was his captive as much as he was Mac's.

The rhythm gradually increased and Mac moved his hands

from Ian's shoulders to wrap them around his abdomen,
pulling him closer and holding him tightly as Mac thrust into
him.

Ian was shaking and moaning continuously now as Mac

brushed his prostate again and again. Hearing the sounds his
lover was making and feeling the tremors running through
him, Mac increased his pace, pounding into him harder,
deeper. He wanted to touch his soul.

Feeling his climax gather, Mac gripped his lover tighter.

Ian's hands had long slipped from the frame and now all his
weight, and most of Mac's, was resting on his hands pressed
against the middle of the door.

Ian sensed Mac's orgasm building but his strength was

gone and all he was capable of doing was riding out the
sensation.

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With a roar Mac came, shooting deep into Ian, who gasped

at the wonderful sensations roiling through him as Mac's
warm semen coated his prostate in waves. Supporting Mac's
weight was too much and Ian crumpled, taking Mac with him
in a heap of tangled arms and legs.

"Wow," Ian gasped moments later. "That was something

else. You were fantastic."

"I was inspired." Mac smiled, reaching up and pulling Ian

towards him for a kiss. "You always bring out the best in me,"
he whispered as they broke apart.

"Good, all the better for me." Ian grinned. "Now, I seem to

remember being promised a shower, a nice dinner and then
an early night. I need the shower, I have worked up an
appetite, and as for the early night..."

"God, you're insatiable!"
"No, just in love with you," he said softly. "'Course it helps

that you're good at making love."

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Eight

Mac was pleasantly surprised by the climate of Belize. He

had expected it to be uncomfortably hot, but the climate was
not as oppressive as he had thought, and Ian told him it was
cooler in the more mountainous Cayo region where they were
headed, though the jungle was thicker there too. Apparently
their timing was propitious in that the rainy season was just
coming to an end and for the next three months the climate
was at its most stable. There would probably be early
morning rain but it would be light and over before the day
really started.

"Anyway," Ian explained, "the rains come with an inbuilt

bonus, often producing beautiful rainbows."

Ian's excitement had returned with a vengeance the next

morning. They got off to an early start after making love in
the shower as a prelude to a breakfast of fresh bread and
fruit with coffee and juice. Mellowing somewhat in the more
relaxed company of his partner, Ian allowed him to organize
the packing of the dark green jeep they'd hired. Naturally Mac
got behind the wheel and Ian raised his eyes.

"What?" Mac asked.
"You don't even know where we're going." Ian grinned.
"You're joking right? There is only one road into the Cayo

district, the Western Highway. Don't think I could get lost—
not that I would anyway, there isn't a map drawn that I can't
read."

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"We have to leave the highway near a small place called

Georgeville, before we reach San Ignacio, and head north into
the jungle. Not sure how far we can get in the jeep, hopefully
about halfway to El Pilar."

"Wait a minute. That's the new Mayan site they unearthed

a few years back. It's a huge place that spreads over the
border of Belize and Guatemala. Even I know you can get to
that place fairly easily by road from San Ignacio, why are you
taking us through the jungle?"

"Ah, been doing research." Ian grinned and Mac shrugged.

"You're right, except that we are not going all the way to El
Pilar. My investigations suggest there's a smaller temple
complex deep in the jungle almost due west of El Pilar. That's
where I will find the lost temple of Chac and the Ix-chel
device."

It should only take about two hours to reach Georgeville; it

was only about seventy miles away. It was little more than
ninety miles from Belize City to the border with Guatemala,
but it would all depend on the state of the road. According to
the information Mac had read, at least this highway was fully
paved.

They took one last look at the beautiful surroundings, out

over the sea and the distant Cayes, and Mac promised himself
he'd bring Ian back here just to enjoy the natural beauty. Ian
tended to drift through life with his head in the clouds, never
really seeing the world around him. Mac was going to show
him what he was missing.

Within the hour they'd left Belize City behind and were well

on their way along the Western Highway.

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* * * *

The sky was bright and in the lowlands area of the country

it was warm and humid. Even with the windows wide open
and the air blowing as they drove along, they were already
sticky and uncomfortable, though Ian promised it would be a
little better when they got deeper into the Cayo region, once
they passed the capital city of Belmopan.

Mac was enjoying driving as Ian gave him a running

commentary of his other visits to Belize, either alone or with
his Uncle Roger. He was quite comfortable in this part of
Central America, knowing the customs and speaking the
languages. Mac laughed when he discovered that the official
language of the country was actually English, though as Ian
explained most of the locals actually spoke a colloquial dialect
and Spanish was also widely used. There was also a native
language derived from Mayan known as Garifuna.

Mac had worked all over the world during his service days,

but a jungle environment was one he had never experienced
before. He'd been in South America once but he had never
left Buenos Aires. This was one scenario where he definitely
had to bow to Ian's expertise.

After the gradual climb from the Belize district up into the

foothills of the Maya Mountains in Cayo, they eventually
reached the area of Georgeville near where they would need
to leave the Western Highway and head north.

"Slow down a little, Mac, I have to try and find the correct

place to turn off."

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"Are you sure there's a road here somewhere, the jungle's

pretty dense."

"I know. I think road is something of an exaggeration.

There is actually a track marked on the map about here, but
that heads in the wrong direction. I believe... I hope there is
another one just along here. I have an older map where it's
marked but it's not on the newer versions."

"I imagine in this terrain tracks must get overgrown very

quickly," Mac said, looking at the dark green canopy far
above the jungle, the sun glistening as it dappled amongst
the heavy foliage that was still damp from the morning's rain.
He'd never imagined the jungle could be so beautiful.

"They keep the tracks clear that are in constant use. I just

hope there is enough left of this one for us to find and use it."

"And if there isn't?" Mac wondered.
"We cut our own," Ian shrugged.
Mac grinned. He should have known that something as

minor as an impenetrable jungle wouldn't stop his Ian, who
was presently studying the folded map on his lap. Ian dug
into his pocket and pulled out a magnifying glass, studying it
more closely. Ian then looked at the speedometer and leaned
forward to peer through the windscreen.

"Half a mile ahead, Mac. Pull to the right side of the road.

I'll tell you when."

Though Mac couldn't see much difference in the next half

mile than in the last five miles he merely nodded.

"Now," Ian said suddenly, "pull over and park."

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With a grunt Mac did as he was asked. "Not exactly a good

place to stop, Ian," he said, parking on a narrow strip of
verge between the highway and the encroaching jungle.

"I know, I know." Ian suddenly grinned and turned to Mac.

"You did take out insurance on this jeep, didn't you?"

"Ian!"
"Okay." Ian smiled. "Drive very slowly," Ian instructed.
"On this thing?"
"It's wide enough."
Grumbling, Mac did as he was asked, moving slow and

steady. After a few minutes, he asked, "For how long, Ian?"

"Just... just a minute." Ian was leaning out of his window

straining to look over at Mac's side of the vehicle. "Wait, stop
here."

"There's nothing here," Mac said. There was no break in

the jungle foliage and Mac had a sudden recollection of a film
he'd seen with the hero hacking his way through a jungle
using a machete. Ian got out and marched towards the
jungle. "Got your machete?" Mac called after him, grinning.

"Yeah, in the back," Ian replied absently and Mac laughed.
Ian continued to walk along the verge and after a couple of

minutes Mac re-started the engine and followed him. Five
minutes later, Ian stopped.

"It's here, Mac!"
Mac stopped the jeep and moved over to Ian. At first he

couldn't understand what Ian meant and then he realized.
There was a narrow patch of shale from the road into the
jungle that was almost completely overgrown, but it was
obvious on closer inspection that the jungle was still in the

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process of reclaiming a narrow strip of land that had once
been a road or a track.

"Why was this here, and perhaps more importantly why

has it been allowed to overgrow like this?" Mac queried.

"'Cause there was once a village a few miles in there. It

was called Cachol and it was only abandoned a few years
back. There has been a village on that site for hundreds,
maybe thousands of years. The name has changed a few
times but it has always been something that was named for,
or linked with, the Mayan god Chac-mol."

"That's a bit different from the other name you mentioned,

Chac," Mac said thoughtfully.

"It's just a later version of his name. The Mayan gods had

many variations of their name, for different purposes, or even
times of the year, but Chac is the original."

"This was one of your clues?" Mac queried.
"Yeah, but not one from the stone tablet, it just helped to

confirm my findings."

"Don't think I can drive down there though," Mac shook his

head.

"Can't leave the jeep here and I don't want to have to

drive to Georgeville," Ian said thoughtfully.

"You are impatient, aren't you?"
"True," Ian admitted, grinning, "but the real reason is I

don't want to have to carry this lot longer than we have to,"
he added, indicating the contents of the rear of the jeep. "If
we can just get the jeep off the verge and into here...?" he
glanced at Mac for his opinion.

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Just one look at Ian's hopeful expression and Mac caved.

He knew it was probably safer to park the vehicle in the small
town, but it also made sense not to have to trek however
many miles they were from Georgeville back here carrying all
the gear. They'd have enough walking to do in there, Mac
thought with a rueful shrug.

"Yeah, sure," he agreed. "We just need to cut a bit of this

stuff back so I can get it in there and if we can move it out of
sight of the road so much the better."

"Great!"
Ian's excitement spilled over and he quickly began digging

through all the gear in the back of the jeep, producing a
couple of machetes with flourish.

By the time they'd cleared some of the jungle from the

track and moved the jeep far enough in to be out of sight of
the highway, they were hot, sweaty, exhausted and hungry.

They had plenty of water, though Ian warned Mac they

would still have to be careful with that. There was fresh water
to be found but it was further north. They relaxed as they ate
and Mac kept looking over at Ian.

"What?" Ian asked after a few minutes.
"Never realized how sexy you look when you're...like that,"

Mac said gruffly.

"Like what?" Ian asked, puzzled, and looked down at

himself. "I'm filthy," he said as he attempted to brush dirt off
his t-shirt, but his sweaty hands just made it worse.

Mac stared at the way the damp tee clung to Ian's body,

outlining the way his muscles rippled as he moved. He also
liked the way the perspiration sheened on his exposed skin,

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making it glisten. He let his eyes wander slowly over his
lover's body and he felt the tightening in his groin.

"God, you're beautiful," he breathed.
"Mac?" Ian lifted his head at the tone in Mac's voice and

sucked in a breath at the naked desire in his expression.

"This is going to be a long trip," Mac murmured, getting to

his feet and beginning to sort out the gear between the two
packs.

Ian moved up behind him. "I think you're on to a good

thing tonight, Mac," Ian whispered in his ear and smiled as a
shiver ran through him.

"How far do we have to go before we can camp?" Mac

asked huskily.

* * * *

They woke the following morning to the pitter-patter of the

early morning rain on the roof of their small tent. They had
managed to walk five miles along the abandoned track from
where they left the jeep before they had to stop due to the
fading light. Mac was disappointed at their lack of progress,
but Ian told him they had done very well considering the
conditions.

However, he wasn't disappointed when Ian showed him

later just what he meant by telling Mac he was onto a good
thing, and Mac wasn't sure if he'd be more stiff and sore from
using his muscles clearing the jungle or from their love-
making. Though, when he woke up feeling this good, who
cared?

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The rain was heavy but it ended as swiftly as it began, and

when Mac opened the tent flap and looked out, it was to see a
bright rainbow curving away in the distance.

Ian made coffee while Mac cooked breakfast, and when

they were settled down to eat Ian again showed Mac his hand
drawn map based on what he'd worked out from the clue on
the stone tablet and his own years of research. He'd already
explained to Mac that at one stage he thought the temple of
Chac might be in Guatemala, and he now pointed out the
particular glyph on the tablet that had made him look again at
the west side of the El Pilar site. Some of the explanation
went right over Mac's head but he didn't care. He loved to see
Ian so passionate, so full of self-belief, and he was caught by
the fire of excitement in his lover's eyes.

"What is it?" Ian suddenly asked, not understanding the

odd look in Mac's eye.

"Nothing," Mac said quickly and suddenly Ian grinned.
It was Mac's turn to say, "What?"
"You weren't thinking about what I was saying, you were

just wondering if we could make out when we find the
temple."

Mac laughed. "I wasn't but I am now." He moved closer to

Ian, wrapping his arms around him. "To be honest, I was
thinking how much I like to see you so caught up in all this."

Ian leaned in to kiss him, just a quick brush of lips before

pulling back. "Since I am so caught up in all this you'll
understand that I want to get on the move again, so let's
pack it all up."

"Slave driver! All you need is the whip." Mac grinned.

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Shortly they were packed and ready to move off; Ian was

about to start out when Mac asked for his map.

"Why?" Ian asked.
"Let me take point, Ian, it's what I was trained for. You

have produced as accurate a map as you can and I've spent
most of my life reading them."

Ian was about to remind him that he wasn't used to

cutting trail in the jungle, but then he realized that Mac was
feeling the need to contribute to the trek and taking point was
something he could do proficiently, so he just handed the
map to him. The smile he received was well worth any small
misgivings he might have.

When they'd finally camped the night before, they had

been lucky in finding the first small clearing they'd seen since
leaving their jeep. They needed to hack their way through the
first few miles and they were expecting the same terrain
again, so it was a pleasant surprise to find the going easier
this morning.

Every now and then the jungle growth encroached on the

path and Mac would need to use his machete to get past. Or
there were the lianas, twisted and looping as they dropped
down from the trees high above that would need chopping
apart so they could get through.

Mac was enjoying this more than thought he would. He'd

expected the heat to be more oppressive; the jungle to be
dank and dark, not bright and alive with the noise of the
creatures he could rarely see. He heard the differing calls of
various birds, the hooting of small monkeys, and other
sounds of animals he couldn't put a name to. He was

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fascinated too by a tree that Ian told him was called the
strangler fig tree. The name was certainly appropriate; it
looked as if the roots were climbing up the outside and
twisting around the trunk, but it was actually the fig tree
using a cinchona tree as support.

Suddenly he heard hissing, a sound he did recognize, its

proximity too close for comfort and he froze.

Watching as Mac moved purposely through the jungle Ian

was glad to see that he was comfortable in his surroundings.
His movements were sure and steady and he wondered why
he'd ever thought it could be otherwise with Mac. Mac glanced
around all the time, taking in the sights and sounds, yet Ian
knew he was still very aware of his purpose.

So when Mac suddenly stopped, keeping his posture in a

position which was not naturally relaxed, Ian knew something
was seriously wrong. He halted too and quietly said, "Mac?"

"Snake," Mac whispered.
Looking carefully ahead of Mac, Ian understood

immediately why his lover was nervous. There was a brightly
colored snake coiled in the tree inches in front of and just
above him, its head outstretched and looking down at him.

"It's okay Mac, just move very slowly backward."
"It looks ready to strike," Mac said nervously. "Read

somewhere to watch out for the brightly colored ones."

"Sudden movement attracts them. Do as I say."
"Okay."
"Step back to me, very slow, very steady."

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Keeping his eyes on the snake, Mac did as Ian told him,

very slowly retracing his path, one step at a time. After six
steps he felt Ian at his back and he sighed with relief.

"It's alright," Ian said, hands on Mac's shoulders, gently

turning Mac and making a wide berth around the tree the
snake was in. "That was a coral snake."

"Poisonous?" Mac asked, looking back at the now sleeping

snake.

"Yeah, but not enough to kill you. It would make you

pretty sick though." Ian smiled and added, "Well done for
spotting it however."

Cocking his head on one side, Mac gave a sad smile. "It's a

shame I wasn't as good at spotting Iverson," he said ruefully.

"Mac, you're not infallible. You had no reason to suspect

anyone was after you and when he attacked, you protected
us both. You did everything you could and it was more than
enough." Ian rubbed his hands up and down Mac's arms and
he felt the tension flow from him.

"Any other snakes I should watch out for?" Mac asked, as

they started walking again, his eyes darting everywhere.

"Well, there is the boa constrictor."
"The boa! Hell, why didn't you warn me?"
"You said you'd done some research," Ian said.
"I did! Must've missed that chapter," he grumbled.
"The boa is brown and sometimes hard to see against the

tree branches."

Mac stopped and turned three hundred and sixty degrees,

just in case.

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"Mac, relax. They have plenty of food with small mammals

and even birds. A six foot two trucker might be a bit much."

"Oh yeah, what about a six foot archaeologist who makes

fun of his partner?" Mac asked, stalking Ian.

"If his partner doesn't get back on point this archaeologist

might just change his mind about making out in the temple,"
Ian laughed, backing away.

He wasn't fast enough though and Mac grabbed him by the

nape of his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. "I'm gonna hold
you to that. It'll be my reward."

"Do I get one?" Ian asked breathlessly.
"Oh yeah, you get me."

[Back to Table of Contents]

The Lost Temple

by Stevie Woods

Chapter Nine

Mac was definitely less enamored of the jungle by mid-

afternoon. They'd climbed a little way before the ground had
leveled out again, and even though they were at a higher
altitude it was still very hot. They were both sweaty and
sticky, and though he still thought Ian was sexy in his jungle
gear, Mac wasn't enjoying what got him that way. Cutting
through the jungle was hard and damned dangerous, and Mac
swore he was never going to let Ian do this on his own
anymore. Too many nasty insects, snakes and other
dangerous reptiles to avoid. Mac had even fallen earlier after
getting his ankle tangled in one of the trailing creepers. That
had been kinda embarrassing.

And what he wouldn't give for a nice shower, especially

one he could share with Ian. As if to torture him they had
seen water all right, a fast flowing river that had looked
inviting, until Ian commented that it was unlikely to contain
crocodiles flowing that fast. It hadn't helped that Ian laughed
when Mac shuddered at the thought.

"Don't worry, Mac," Ian said, "there are crocs in Belize but

not up this high, nor in rivers like this."

"You know of any nice pools up here?" Mac asked but Ian

just shrugged. "Don't tell me you wouldn't go for a dip about
now?" At least the jungle seemed to have thinned out a little,
making the going easier.

"'Course I would. I know a few fast rivers yeah, but safe

pools? No. But that doesn't mean there aren't any. Changes

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happen in the landscape all the time in places like this." As he
spoke Ian had stopped to study his map again, leaning
against a convenient tree.

Mac walked on, feeling as if he could breathe again. He'd

thought he would find... suddenly there was no solid ground
beneath his feet, he was falling. "Ian!"

Ian had just put the map back in his pocket when Mac's

yell cut through the jungle chatter and sliced into his heart.
He looked where Mac had been a few feet ahead but there
was no sign of him.

"Mac! God, Mac, where are you?" He ran a couple of steps

when he heard Mac's strained voice.

"No, stop."
"Mac?"
"Ground just opened up. Careful."
Ian could see a gaping hole just ahead and he lay down on

the ground. "Hang on," he said, praying that Mac could do
just that. He crawled forward inch by slow inch, knowing if he
moved too fast he would likely cause more ground to crumble
and probably send Mac tumbling. He had no idea just how
unstable the ground was, or how far a fall Mac was facing. It
was even possible it was a sink hole that had opened up.
Gradually he squirmed to the edge of the break and he looked
over the edge, drawing in a breath at what he saw.

Mac was clinging to the side a few feet below. Not very far

it seemed but the earth was crumbling all around him and Ian
knew it wouldn't be long before Mac was falling again. And it
was a long way down to the bottom of the newly opened

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crevice. Mac was looking up at him, fear in his eyes, fear that
seemed to ease on seeing Ian.

"Don't move, Mac," he said quietly. Mac didn't speak but

his eyes answered for him.

Ian took a coil of rope from his pack, shook it free. He

carefully lowered one end to slide between Mac's hands.
"Grab on!" he instructed.

"You can't pull me up from there," Mac gasped.
"I don't intend to, but I want you holding onto the rope.

That's not going to hold you much longer. Trust me."

Still holding on to his precarious perch, Mac grasped the

rope with his left hand. When he was confident of his grip on
the rope, he let go and grabbed it with his right hand too.

Ian felt the tug on his hands and grunted at the weight.

"You need to go on a diet," he grumbled, relief flowing
through him as he heard Mac's guffaw.

Holding tight and trying to keep the rope as taut as

possible while slowly letting the rest of the rope uncoil, Ian
edged away from the hole. Ian got to his knees and then to
his feet when he was sure the ground wasn't going to collapse
beneath him. He backed a couple more feet away to the tree
he had leaned against earlier, knowing the ground was secure
there. He walked around the tree so he could use it as a
fulcrum to help pull Mac to safety.

Taking a good grip of the rope, he called, "I'm all set, Mac.

Gonna pull you up now. Ready?"

"Yeah," Mac called back and Ian didn't like the strain in his

voice.

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"You just hold on, I'll do all the work." He began to pull,

hand over hand, steady and continuous. He looked over his
shoulder, watching as the rope slithered toward him over the
lip. Then he saw Mac's hands, and he redoubled his efforts,
placing his foot against the tree and pulling harder.

Finally Mac was back on solid ground. Gasping for breath

he rolled onto his back, still holding the rope.

"I'm sorry, forgive me," Ian said as soon as he reached his

side.

"Sorry, for what?" Mac asked, his voice getting stronger.

"Wasn't your fault the ground gave way."

"For being so wrapped up in this damn quest that I put you

at risk. Can you forgive me?"

"I knew what I might be facing coming on this...quest with

you. Oh, not the details," he said, throwing his arm out
roughly to encompass the crevice, "but that there would be
risks. And," he said pulling Ian into his embrace, "I would
much rather share them with you than have you risk them
alone. Knowing you, my love, you would risk far worse than
this."

Ian had the grace not to argue; he merely shrugged and

turned to lead the way, giving the unstable area a wide berth.

"You know," Mac said conversationally, "I don't understand

how this place can have stayed lost. If it's anything like the
other Mayan temple sites they've found with the huge
pyramids and stuff, wouldn't it be seen for miles?"

"Hardly, Mac. This jungle swallows up the most amazing

stuff. Just take El Pilar. A huge site like you said, but it was

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only discovered in the last decade. Then again, I think this
will be different."

Mac waited for further explanation but nothing was

forthcoming. Ian did like his little surprises.

* * * *

An hour or so later they came to a small clearing where

the creepers, wild orchids and other jungle growth had a good
hold, and here Ian halted.

"Cachol," he said softly.
"What, this is the site of the village?" Glancing round Mac

frowned. "How can you tell? It just looks like another
clearing."

Ian walked over to a small hump in the ground and, taking

the knife from his belt, he began to scrape at the ground
cover. Mac came over to help and in a short time they had
uncovered a low broken wall.

"The base of one of the houses," Ian explained. He took

the map from Mac and got out his compass. He checked his
bearing and studied the map.

"That way," Mac said from over his shoulder, pointing out

the direction.

Ian smiled and nodded and they moved on again. They

hadn't gone very far when the terrain changed and they
began a slow climb. After a short time, Ian stopped and
looked around, studying the terrain.

"This is it, Mac," Ian said quietly.
"This? But there's nothing here."
"Yes, there is, when I can find the way in."

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"Way in? Is this one of those strange pyramids then?"
"No, this is just what it seems, one more hill in a

mountainous countryside. However, I believe the temple is
inside. This temple had a different purpose. Many of the
Mayan pyramids were used for human sacrifice, but this one
is dedicated to the use of the Ix-chel."

"You've mentioned that name before but I'm confused ever

since I did some research. You refer to Ix-chel as if it is an
object, yet from what I've read it's the name of a goddess.
And where does this Chac come into it?"

Ian smiled. "You're right but like most things Mayan it is

complicated. Ix-chel was indeed a goddess, wife to the leader
of the Mayan pantheon actually, but he treated her
abominably and she left him and went into hiding more than
once. Anyway, she was also known as Chac-chel, and in one
of his forms Chac-mol was her lover, her only refuge. Chac-
chel was, among other things, a goddess of healing. The Ix-
chel was also the name of her sigil; the seal contained a
supposedly magical image which was used in her rite of
healing. I believe it's this artifact that gave rise to the legend
of the fountain of youth."

"How?"
"Supplicants came to the temple and if they were worthy

they were cured. Given another lease of life at the behest of
their goddess."

"So like most legends its veracity has been lost over time,"

Mac said contemplatively.

"Exactly!"

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"Kinda sad. It'd have been nice to have more time to

spend with you."

Ian met his gaze and smiled.
"So how do we get inside?" Mac asked abruptly.
"Find the entrance," Ian said. "We need to be careful

though."

Ian took another sheet of paper from one of the pockets of

his vest and studied it. It contained a row of glyphs, one of
which showed a pyramid shape, flattened at the top with a
swirl around it, filling the square glyph. Ian fingered the exact
point at the beginning of the swirl within the pyramid and he
compared it to the hill on which they stood.

Mac watched, knowing that like the proverbial iceberg he

could only see one tenth of what was happening; the rest was
going on inside Ian's head. He was just debating telling Ian
that perhaps they should camp for the night and start fresh in
the morning when Ian suddenly strode to his right.

"Over here!" Ian called.
Mac followed and halted as Ian began to turn in a slow

circle, studying the land around them.

"It's here, I know it is," he muttered, staring at the

ground. He slowly walked the area, occasionally tapping the
ground with his toe, occasionally dropping to his knees to feel
the earth. Suddenly he hurried to one spot and fell to his
knees again.

"Now what?" Mac asked.
"We dig, it's here."

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Mac glanced around, not seeing any difference with this

particular spot to the dozens of others Ian had inspected
previously.

Ian saw his hesitation and said softly, "Trust me, it's here."
Mac smiled and took out his knife. Ian pointed to a place

about two feet away and Mac began to dig while Ian tackled
the area where he was kneeling.

When they had broken the surface of the ground with their

knives, Ian went to their packs and removed their folding
shovels. They weren't very big but with the two of them they
should be able to do it, he hoped.

They kept hard at it, digging a roughly rectangular shape

into the hillside, and Mac kept his doubts to himself, following
Ian's lead. The light was fading now and they were both
exhausted. Ian sat back on his heels, disappointed but ready
to accept defeat for the night when Mac suddenly grunted.

"I've hit something," he declared excitedly, getting caught

up in the possible nearness of their goal.

Ian hurried over to where Mac was digging and scrabbled

about in the dirt, feeling for what it was that Mac had hit.
Between them they unearthed the edge of a block of stone.

Ian plopped down on his backside, staring at Mac with a

mixture of shock, disbelief and joy. Mac grinned at him and
then turned back to continue digging.

"Come on, Dr. Grayson, get with the digging. I don't want

to spend the night out here."

Finally a block of stone about six feet square was

unearthed and with much manhandling and some brute
strength they managed to move it enough for them to

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100

squeeze inside the entrance to the temple. After gathering
their packs, the two exhausted men finally entered the temple
complex.

Mac snapped on a flashlight just to confirm it was as

empty as it had seemed from outside. All they could see was
a floor, walls and a ceiling made of stone blocks; they were
inside a tunnel.

Before Ian could say anything, Mac said, "We rest now.

Everything else will have to wait for tomorrow."

"Yep," Ian replied tiredly, "even your reward."
Mac harrumphed, "Yours too."
"I know it's gonna make things really dark in here, but I

think we should preserve the flashlight batteries," Ian
suggested.

"You're right, not that it exactly makes me happy," Mac

admitted. "Never have liked enclosed places. Perhaps we'll
get a little light from the night sky."

"Hmm, doubtful." Ian smiled and added, "Don't worry, I'll

look after you."

* * * *

[Back to Table of Contents]

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101

Chapter Ten

Mac was walking alone through the jungle and it was very

quiet, too quiet. He was edgy. The sound came from directly
behind him and he turned slowly. As he feared, there was a
boa constrictor undulating towards him, its dead eyes staring
straight at him, and he was frozen with fear. It was way
bigger than Ian had described. Even as his lover's name
entered his thoughts the scene shifted and dissolved and
when he could see clearly again the huge snake was stalking
Ian.

Mac couldn't move, couldn't even cry out in warning, and

he watched in horror as the monstrosity approached nearer
and nearer to the blithely unaware young man. As if the
snake knew Mac was watching, its huge head turned towards
him and with horror coiling in his gut Mac saw the snake's
face; it was Iverson.

The scene shifted again and the Iverson snake was now

chasing down another man. He was a little shorter than Ian
and of heavier build, and Mac puzzled over who it could be,
until the man turned around. It was Andrew Ross, and he had
no chance of escaping as the huge snake trapped and caught
him within the coils of its huge body. Ross was struggling,
trying to free an arm to reach for the knife at his belt, but the
snake only tightened its grip.

It was as if someone threw a switch in Mac's psyche and

as his fear was replaced with rage he found himself rushing
forward to try and help his ex-lover. The Iverson snake heard

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102

him coming and twisted round to face him. Ross was clearly
in trouble, being crushed by the enormous strength of the
snake. Mac leapt and landed halfway up the coils of the boa,
where he was able to get to the knife on Ross' belt. Making
sure he was firmly attached to the snake by gripping with his
knees and feet, Mac used all his upper body strength to
attack the reptile with the knife. Unfortunately, the knife
didn't do as much damage to the creature's tough skin as Mac
hoped, so he changed his grip and began digging in with a
sawing motion instead.

The snake let out a blood-curdling screech and reared up

in pain, throwing Mac from its back before in its fury it
squeezed the life from Ross, throwing the man's body on the
ground at Mac's feet. A mixture of guilt and grief tore at Mac's
chest as he cradled Andrew's body.

A low sound broke into Mac's sorrow and he looked up to

see the huge snake coiled around Ian, holding him tight in its
unforgiving grip. The sound was his lover gasping for breath.
Iverson's expression was contemptuous as he tightened his
grip on the archaeologist, whose face was contorted with pain
and white with fear. Ian opened his mouth in a silent scream
and...

...Mac jolted awake, shaking and in a cold sweat. His

breath was coming in gasps as his heart pounded in his chest.

Mac's exertions disturbed Ian, which was not surprising

since Ian was lying with his head on Mac's chest.

Sleepily Ian murmured, "You okay?"
"Yes," Mac lied, surprised his voice was so calm, "just a

bad dream, go back to sleep."

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103

Ian lifted his head to look up at his lover, and frowning he

asked, "What about?"

"What?" Mac asked confused.
"Bad dream, what was it about? And don't tell me it

doesn't matter because clearly it does."

Mac sighed. "Never keep anything from you can I?" he

muttered.

"Why would you want to?" Ian asked softly.
Mac looked at him and said slowly, "What makes me tick; I

want you to know all of that. I just wish I could've kept
that...dark part of me away from you."

"Mac, that dark part of you is also part of what makes you

tick. I do want to know all of that. I want the nightmares as
much as the dreams. Don't shut me out."

Shrugging his defeat Mac flicked on the flashlight; he

needed it at that moment, and turned it away to diffuse the
light as he described his dream. "It was just a stupid
nightmare," he said as he finished.

"If that was all it was why did you wake up shaking and

afraid? Okay you've told me what you saw in your dream,
now tell me what it makes you feel."

"Didn't know you were a shrink," Mac grumbled but Ian

just lay quietly, waiting. Mac took a deep breath and
explained, "The dream interchanged you and Ross and after
he killed Ross... I was so afraid of losing you."

"And now?"
"What?"
"How do you feel now about what happened with Iverson?"

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104

Mac frowned, losing his way with the conversation for a

minute and then he smiled. "Ah," he said. Ian had seen right
to the heart of it, why should that surprise him? "Grateful that
I didn't lose you. If the price of my keeping you safe and in
my life was his life, then it was worth it. There is nothing in
my life worth more than you."

Ian leaned against Mac, mouth to mouth, his breath

ghosting Mac's lips, "Then you feel exactly as I do," he
whispered.

Mac grabbed his shoulders and pulled him that last fraction

of an inch until they were devouring each other, lips pressing
and clashing against teeth, tongues brushing each other as
they sought the sanctuary of one another's mouths until the
need to breathe forced them apart, panting.

Mac shoved Ian down roughly and lay over him, kissing his

neck and suckling on that tender spot where neck met
shoulder. Ian attempted to take off Mac's tee but he wouldn't
relinquish his hold on Ian's neck, so he just shoved the shirt
out of the way and caressed his lover's chest, tweaking his
nipples.

"Time for that reward," Ian said, a glint in his eye.
"Yeah," Mac said, lifting his head, a feral look in his eye.

"Certain promises were made. You owe me as I remember."

"True, and you owe me." Ian grinned.
"Well I think this calls for a certain amount of give and

take," Mac said laughing, "and I think I know just how to do
it," he added, releasing Ian and twisting he got to his knees,
facing his still recumbent lover. Reaching down he began to

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105

remove Ian's clothing, and before long Ian was up on his
knees, removing Mac's clothes.

Soon they were both completely naked, kneeling on their

makeshift bedding, staring at each other. They renewed their
caresses, kissing lips, nipping necks and shoulders, hands
skimming hot flesh until Mac laid Ian down with his head
facing towards Mac's feet.

With a grin Ian understood and he angled himself so he

could easily reach Mac, taking his half-hard cock in his mouth,
gently licking the length before pulling back to swirl his
tongue around the head.

Mac gasped at the sensation and then grinned as his

partner shimmied his hips to remind Mac to get on with it. He
leaned forward and mimicked each move that Ian made,
licking, sucking and then nipping on the head of his lover's
cock.

Mac always thought it was doubly erotic, giving and

receiving, and it wasn't long before he felt his orgasm
gathering. He noticed that Ian's movements were becoming
more erratic and guessed he was approaching his climax too.
Abruptly Ian released him and Mac was about to lift his head
to see what Ian was doing when he suddenly felt wet heat
surround one of his balls and he gasped as Ian sucked him,
sending shivers skittering down his spine. Mac moaned and
arched his back, inadvertently releasing Ian's cock.

Their eyes met and by mutual consent they both returned

to mouthing each other's cock. Hands were skimming up and
down arms, across flanks and skittering along spines until
with perfect accord they each teased the other's anus; fingers

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106

stroking, circling and ghosting around the opening, one finger
just pressing, never quite entering.

Both desperate now, they increased their efforts by deep-

throating each other until with a shudder Ian came first down
Mac's throat. Ian stilled his movements as he rode out his
orgasm while Mac swallowed down everything he had to offer.

Mac held Ian as his shivers died away, his heart slowed to

a normal rhythm, and he got his breathing under control.
Then he blew a kiss to Ian's cock as a reminder and Ian
laughed before returning to his pleasurable task of sucking off
his lover.

It wasn't long before it was Ian's turn to hold Mac as he

recovered. He scooted around and when they were lying face
to face, he kissed Mac.

They fell asleep in each other's arms, resting in the still

and silent tunnel entrance.

* * * *

This time Ian was firm that Mac had to keep behind him as

he made his way through the temple. The Mayan priests were
quite capable of setting traps to keep the ordinary folk in the
communal areas and away from their religious centers.

So, following Ian as he led the way deeper into the

underground complex, moving down the long dark tunnel lit
only by a flashlight, Mac let his mind wander. He had little
else to do other than watch Ian, and that was far from a
difficult task. He thought back to what Ian had told him about
the artifact they were so close to finding and he did so hope
all Ian's work would prove worthwhile.

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107

He didn't know precisely what the thing looked like, but

Ian thought it would have smooth lines, no sharp edges but
gentle curves to represent the continuation of life. Ian
surmised it would be circular or possibly oval and he also
believed it would be marked with glyphs. It would probably be
made of gold, which was precious to the Maya, though not for
the reason it was precious to modern man. To the Maya it
was a gift of the gods to be used in their veneration. For
personal use, the Mayans placed much greater value on jade.

Mac had asked what the Mayans did with it. "What'd they

do? Wave it around while they dance?" Mac joked.

However, Ian hadn't been amused, telling Mac that the

priests would treat the object with great awe; it was the
source of their power after all, and they would use it to
perform ceremonies.

"It must have contained some kind of special medicine,

probably a combination of local herbs, probably something
that no longer exists," Ian explained, talking as much to
himself as he was to Mac. "So many of the plants used by the
Maya for centuries fell into disuse, or have been destroyed by
farmers and cultivation." He turned to Mac, his eyes sparkling
with interest and enjoyment in his subject, making the
trucker smile. "You know there are even projects in hand now
to try and catalogue the plants and their uses in the rainforest
here. There are some species of plants that are totally unique
to Belize. Perhaps it was one of those, maybe one extinct now
that was used by the ancient priests to cure the people and
they believed it was magic."

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108

"I suppose to them it would've seemed like magic," Mac

mused.

As he recalled the conversation, Mac hoped that perhaps

if—when—Ian found the artifact there might be some trace of
the plant still inside. Ruminating about the success his lover
deserved, and how much he hoped he could help him gain the
recognition he deserved, he almost walked into the back of
his partner, who had suddenly stopped.

"What is it?" he asked.
"The passage is blocked," Ian replied and Mac walked up

alongside to take a look.

Sure enough the tunnel came to an abrupt end, as if a

stone wall had been built across it. Mac felt his stomach drop
as disappointment hit, until he realized Ian didn't seem upset,
just determined. Then Mac realized why; there was a row of
Mayan glyphs down the wall off center. Ian was already
studying them.

"What are they?"
"Hmmm," Ian replied distractedly.
"The glyphs, Ian, what are they?"
"Ah, oh, I think I'll be able to open the door once I get the

right sequence."

"Door? That's a door?"
"Yes. Give me a minute, Mac."
Mac nodded and leaned against the wall to wait. Thirty

minutes later he slid to the floor to sit and wait. After an hour
he was pacing before he considered he might be disturbing
Ian, but when he tried to ask him the archaeologist didn't
hear the question. With a rueful grin, Mac sat down again,

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wishing he'd brought something to read, seeing as he couldn't
read the glyphs.

When his stomach began to growl he dug into their packs

and pulled out a couple of energy bars. He took a bite out of
one and waved the other one under Ian's nose. "Hungry?" he
asked.

"God, yeah," Ian replied, taking the bar and ripping at the

wrapping, braking off half in one bite.

"Well, nice to know food talks to you louder than I can,"

Mac sighed.

Ian laughed. "Well, food or sex as long as your hand is the

one giving it to me."

"Good save," Mac quipped.
"Another good save. I think I've cracked this," Ian said as

he reached out and turned one of the small glyph-inscribed
stones forty-five degrees.

There was an immediate grinding sound and Mac swiftly

moved up alongside Ian, preparing to grab him and pull him
out of the way if the wall was about to collapse, as Mac was
half-convinced it was. Ian just placed his hand over Mac's arm
and calmly waited.

Slowly the sound increased in volume and Mac noted the

central section of the wall, just to the left of the row of
glyphs, moved slowly toward the left and slid inside the wall
on that side. Apparently once the movement began it must
have freed the mechanism, as the action picked up speed and
a gap of about three feet wide opened up.

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"Always said it was a good idea to bring an archaeologist,"

Mac said as he followed Ian through the newly created
doorway.

"Smart ass!"
"You should know!"
Ian ignored him, instead looking around the large room

they had entered, the large empty room.

"Is this what you expected?" asked Mac.
"Didn't really know what to expect," Ian admitted. "There's

gotta be another door in here somewhere."

"Why?"
"Because this is the waiting room where they weeded out

the unworthy, then the priests would see the worthy
supplicants in private. They would have wanted to keep the
'magic' as secret as possible so only those who actually
experienced it would ever see it."

"Probably got even better reviews like that," Mac

commented.

"That's one way of putting it. Actually that's quite

accurate; they built their power base on the fear and awe of
the people and sometimes..." Ian was walking the perimeter
of the room as he spoke, his voice fading as he stopped and
stared at one particular spot. There was another vertical row
of glyphs slightly off center of the middle of that particular
wall.

He heard Mac's footsteps move to join him. "They look

different," Mac commented.

Ian raised an eyebrow. Mac was correct but Ian was

impressed that he even recognized that fact.

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"Yeah, it's a different edict so I'll have to find a different

glyph. I just need to study this," he said, searching through
his pockets until he found his notebook. Opening it he
compared his drawings with the actual glyphs. Mac knew that
somewhere in that notebook Ian had also copied the
markings inscribed on the stone tablet that he'd left secure in
the safe back at the university.

Resting against the wall on the opposite side of the as-yet

closed door from where Ian was studying the glyphs, Mac
prepared for another wait, but surprisingly it didn't take as
long this time before Ian twisted the block and the door slid
open.

Mac stood in the doorway looking inside the much smaller

room, which was only about a quarter of the size of the room
they were presently in. Through the narrow door, he could
see there was a stone plinth in the center of the room. It was
only about three feet six inches high and in the center there it
was, reflected in the glare from Ian's flashlight, shining like a
beacon and calling to Mac.

He knew immediately what it was from Ian's description. A

golden oval with a bright green gem in the center, it was
larger than he expected and even from the doorway he could
see it was engraved with markings, glyphs he assumed. Even
before he realized it he was moving. Ian's belief was totally
exonerated.

Ian could hardly believe he had actually found it. After all

those years of searching, years of verbally sparring with his
peers, his belief was proven. Even if it was only a piece of
jewelry and nothing more, it was still the Ix-chel, the sigil of

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the Mayan goddess of healing. If it had another purpose, and
he could prove it, he could even claim to have solved the
legend of the fountain of youth!

He stared at the bright gold, still perfect after all the

centuries it had sat in its setting on the plinth...

Oh... my... God! As if time slowed, all but stopped, he saw

as Mac stretched out his hand to lift the heavy object from its
stand.

"Mac! NO!" Ian yelled, but even as the words left his lips

he knew he was too late.

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Chapter Eleven

Ian had been so engrossed in staring at his goal that he

hadn't realized what Mac was doing. He had been peripherally
aware of his partner moving slowly forward, though now he
wondered if the slow movement had only been from his
viewpoint as his mind was otherwise engaged. Even now as
he moved forward to try and help his lover, knowing it was
futile, he felt as if he were moving in slow motion, pushing his
limbs against a force he could not see, a force holding him
back as the ancient Mayan trap was sprung.

Mac's hand was already lifting the beautiful object from its

resting place when Ian's yell cut the air. His movement
hesitated, but before he could speak to ask what was wrong a
creaking noise filled the chamber and suddenly Mac was
falling.

Ian watched in horror as one of the slabs making up the

floor beneath Mac's feet opened and he fell through, but only
about two feet. Even as he looked up in shock at Ian, the
stone slab closed again, trapping Mac's legs between the two
blocks.

Ian was sliding to his knees alongside the trucker as the

door behind him shut, locking them both inside the small
room even as Mac's cry of pain echoed in the enclosed space.

The golden object which had caused all the trouble had

fallen from Mac's nerveless fingers to tumble onto the surface
of the plinth, where it lay undamaged yet teetering on the

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edge not far from where Ian had put out a hand to support
himself as he attempted to help his lover.

"Damn it Mac! Did you forget what I said?" Ian said

tersely, his panic making him brusque.

"Well, yeah!" Mac ground out through gritted teeth. "Just

saw the damned thing and..."

They were both trying to pry the block away from Mac's

legs but there was no way it would move.

"Fuck!" Ian said, flopping back in disgust. He stared at the

golden artifact and felt frustration and a tinge of fear as he
watched the blood well slowly from Mac's injuries. Controlling
his emotions he turned to the plinth, looked at the row of
glyphs that ran along the center of the plinth. "I'm gonna
have to try and work out what this says. It should tell me how
to release this trap."

"I ain't going anywhere," Mac said as he attempted to tie a

strip he'd torn from the hem of his t-shirt around his leg.
Trouble was, most of the injury was out of reach, trapped
between the two blocks of stone.

Suddenly there was another grating sound and Ian

checked his watch. Just five minutes had passed. Remarkable
really, it seemed much longer.

"What's that?" Mac asked as the sound came again.
"Next part of the trap," Ian said dispiritedly. "Hoped I was

wrong for once and the collapsing floor was all there was.
Unfortunately most of their traps were two fold. If the priest
didn't free you immediately it meant you'd angered the gods
and they would destroy you. Nice, simple way to keep the
undesirables under control."

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Before Mac could ask the question on the tip of his tongue,

water began to run into the room from small openings about
three quarters of the way up the walls. It was coming in
slowly, but Mac knew that it wouldn't take that long to fill this
comparatively small space. Swiftly he turned back to look at
the newly closed door.

"Can you get out, Ian?" he asked softly. He knew it would

be hard to force Ian to leave, but he had to find a way. He
was glad now that he hadn't told Ian just how much his legs
hurt.

"Not without you," Ian said quickly, not turning round but

continuing to study the glyphs. "And before you say
anything," he continued, "Not only won't I leave you, I can't.
That door will only open when the trap is reset." He did turn
around then. "We go together or not at all."

Mac stared at Ian, trying to decide if the archaeologist was

lying for his sake. Ian was not a good liar; his eyes always
gave him away. Looking into his eyes Mac saw pain and, as
he wasn't hurt, Mac knew Ian's pain wasn't for himself.
However, he also saw determination.

"Then work fast Ian, work fast."
Frustrated at his inability to help, Mac watched Ian

carefully and believed he knew his lover well enough to know
how he felt and what he was thinking. It only made him angry
that Ian's dream—Ian's life—might come to an end in the
small stone room under an unknown mountain in the
rainforest because of his stupidity. If only he'd waited, let Ian
do his job. Had that terrible dream merely been a precursor

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of his inability to protect Ian, rather than a reminder of an
earlier failure?

Ian worked as fast as he could. He compared his notes

with the glyphs and tried not to worry as the water climbed
up the walls of the room. Slowly it washed up his legs, chilling
him, though not so much as his fear was. There was also the
fear of watching Mac drown if he couldn't get him free before
the water reached halfway up the walls. He would be able to
climb up on the plinth to get higher and survive a little longer,
but he had no wish to survive without Mac. That truth hit him
like a ton of bricks. Knowing he loved Mac was one thing, but
understanding in that one brilliant second that life without
him would be a sad empty existence not worth living was a
revelation. His unthinking statement to Mac was true: We go
together or not at all.

"Mac, did you notice any glyphs on the stone blocks?"
Mac blinked for a moment, as if his thoughts had been

elsewhere, and it took a moment for him to reply. "I'm not
certain but there might have been."

The water was now up to Mac's groin and he shivered as

the shock hit him. Ian guessed it hadn't registered until then
just how cold the water was.

Ian took a quick breath and ducked his head under the

water, searching the stone block that trapped his lover. He
couldn't see very well, the flashlight was still on the surface of
the plinth, so he ran his fingers over the surface of the block
and felt the indentations of a glyph, and then another one.
Surfacing he gasped for air and shivered at the chill of the
water.

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"Are there?" Mac asked and Ian nodded.
"Need to press the correct three in sequence," Ian gasped.

"Need light," he added, picking up the flashlight and diving
back under the rising water, which was now almost to Mac's
waist.

At least now the archaeologist could see what the glyphs

looked like, trouble was there was a row of six and he only
had to press three, in the correct sequence. He just needed to
keep calm enough to remember which ones and which
sequence.

Mac watched as Ian dived again, taking the only light

source with him. Almost desperate for contact he followed the
flickering light as it moved under the undulating water, as the
archaeologist struggled to see the glyphs, which were their
only method of escaping. Mac's stomach clenched with pride
as he watched the man who was his life fight so frantically to
save him. Then a shiver ran through him at the thought that
if Ian failed it would cost both their lives and there was
nothing he could do to help. God, I've not even told him how
sorry I am!

At that moment Ian broke the surface again, gasping for

another breath, and stared straight into Mac's eyes.

Mac saw the panic in Ian's eyes and knew he needed to

ground the younger man, needed him to be able to
concentrate on his task, not panic about his lover.

He reached out a hand, grabbed Ian's vest and pulled the

archaeologist to him. At last something I can do for him. "It'll
be all right, Ian. I know you can do this, I trust you."

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Ian sighed, leaned in towards Mac until they were cheek to

cheek, then just as suddenly broke free. He took a quick look
at the row of glyphs on the plinth before diving again.

He studied the glyphs and he recognized two of the three.

Frowning he looked again. Where was the third? Six glyphs.
He looked again. Ian knew he was right; only two of these
were the right ones. God, where was the third? He couldn't do
anything until he found it; that was the one he had to press
first.

It must be somewhere else, but where?
Ian surfaced, gasping for breath, staring in shock as he

realized the water was now up to Mac's chest. Ian turned
away, desperately searching the plinth. Almost as an
afterthought he picked up the artifact and dropped it into one
of the pockets of his vest. He shoved the woven cloth
covering the surface aside but it was clear of any carvings.

"Ian?" asked Mac, his voice surprisingly calm.
"Found two, but the other one..." Ian's voice cracked. "It

has to be here somewhere, it has to. I'm missing something."

"Ian, take a breath. Let it out slowly." Mac held his gaze,

making Ian obey him, making him listen. "Now, if it's not on
the slab, where could it be? It's meant to reset the trap,
right? The trap consists of this slab and...?"

"...the door!" Ian grabbed Mac's face and kissed him hard.
Ian swam to the door and searched each side for a glyph,

but there was nothing so he looked on the lintel over the top.
Again nothing.

"The floor?" Mac called.

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Ian quickly dived down to the check out the slab in front of

the door and there it was. Just one glyph centrally placed.
With great relief, Ian pushed and turned it forty-five degrees.
Nothing happened.

He surfaced and swiftly swam back to Mac.
"Nothing there?" Mac asked sadly, the water now up to his

neck.

"Yeah. I turned it but nothing changed. Don't expect

anything will until I have pressed the other two in the correct
order. Hang on Mac, hang on."

Taking a deep breath, Ian dived under the water again and

headed straight for the glyph that he needed to turn next. He
pressed on it and tried to turn it but it wouldn't move. No, no,
no. Turn damn it, turn, TURN! With a last furious twist the
glyph moved and once it was free it moved easily. However, it
had taken too long and Ian needed air. Breaking the surface
he was shocked to see that Mac's neck was arched as the
water lapped over his mouth and he fought for each breath.

"God, Mac! Just one more," he said. He took a deep breath

and covered Mac's mouth with his own, filling his lover's lungs
with sweet air. Breaking away he took another breath as his
gaze met Mac's and they allowed their eyes, the windows to
the soul so it's said, to speak for them.

Mac didn't have the words anyway; he just prayed Ian

understood and that he wouldn't blame himself for the failure,
which if it had been anyone's fault, was his because of his
impetuosity. He didn't want to die here, but even less did he
want to leave Ian to die alone, cursing himself for a fault not
his. No one could have done more than Ian, and as he

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watched him dive again Mac had the crazy idea that perhaps
Iverson had won after all.

With a silent prayer Ian dived again, for the last time; it

had to be the last time for Mac had none left. With a strength
borne of desperation Ian twisted the last glyph forty-five
degrees and immediately surfaced to give Mac more air,
knowing even if he was correct—God, he had to be correct—it
would take time for the water to drain away.

As he surfaced it was with profound relief that he heard

the grinding sound again; short-lived relief as Mac's head was
still under the water. Filling his lungs, he grabbed his lover's
face and ducked under the inch or so of water that was
stealing Mac's life, and breathed air into his mouth again.
Mac's hands wrapped around him and held on until suddenly
he staggered as he was freed from the Mayan trap.

The slab in the floor opened at the same time as the door

opened and the water swiftly receded, Ian supporting Mac's
weight as he lowered him to lean back against the stone
plinth, drawing great gulps of air into his lungs.

"Knew you'd do it," Mac gasped.
"Sure you did." Ian tried to laugh but he was too

exhausted, emotionally and physically. He dropped down
alongside Mac, leaning against him for a moment before he
remembered his injured legs. "Let's take a look at you," he
said, reaching for his knife to slice the material of Mac's
pants. He was afraid that the trap may have broken
something.

"Don't think it's as bad as I first thought—"

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"Which is still better than you let me think it was," Ian

interrupted.

"You had enough to worry about," Mac said as he pulled

apart the two halves of his right pant leg. The flesh was
bruised, torn and bleeding, but there was no sign of any bone
injury.

Ian grabbed their packs, which had been on the floor next

to the plinth. Of course they were soaked, but the first aid kit
was in a plastic container that was supposed to be completely
waterproof and air tight; now they would find out how
accurate the claims were.

Ian cleaned the injuries as best he could by using a torn up

t-shirt. They really needed clean water but they only had their
drinking supply and Mac refused to let him use that.
According to the map there should be fresh water not too far
away, so he made do with the damp tee and accumulated
water in the room. Mac took some painkillers as Ian smeared
antibiotic cream on each leg and covered them with dry
bandages from the first aid kit—claims proven.

Ian watched as Mac cautiously flexed his legs, first one and

then the other, and attempted to stand. Ian could tell Mac
was relieved to find that he should be able to walk, though he
would probably need some support. He could probably make
a walking stick or a crutch. Ian was also aware that Mac was
trying to hide how much pain he was still feeling.

Ian repacked everything, cautiously wrapping up the

artifact and placing it securely in his pack. Supporting Mac
until they could get outside the temple, Ian led the way back
down the tunnel.

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Chapter Twelve

Slogging through the still draining water all the way

through the temple, they finally made it outside the tunnel,
where they were surprised to find it was only just past dawn.
Mac was leaning on Ian quite heavily now; his right leg was
effected more than the left and he was finding it increasingly
difficult to support his weight on that leg, though he still felt
exceedingly lucky not to have been injured more severely.
The stone block had closed sharply on his legs and held them
firmly, and at the time he'd feared there may have been
some broken bones, now he thought they were just badly
bruised.

"I need a crutch of some kind, I can't lean on you all the

while," he said in a tight voice as Ian helped him to sit down
on the rough ground above the temple entrance, the land
above it being the only dry area left on the hillside.

"You can always lean on me, you know that."
Mac sighed. "I certainly do. I'd never have survived that

fucking trap if you hadn't kept your wits about you, if you
hadn't been so tenacious. And I guess I tend to forget that
underneath all that book learning there is also a strong
capable man. That's the second time you have saved my life
this trip."

"You don't owe me anything. We're in this together, all the

way. You help me, I help you and right now you need help."
Ian grinned. "Anyhow, I like you leaning on me."

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Smiling, Mac replied, "Yeah but you know that practically

speaking that won't work for long, not in this climate or this
terrain. You already have too much to carry without trying to
carry me too." Ian was already carrying Mac's backpack along
with his own.

"I know. Anyhow I've already got a plan in mind," Ian

admitted and Mac raised an eyebrow. Ian shrugged and
continued, "According to this map which, if one forgets about
that unstable area, has proved fairly accurate, there's a pool
over that small rise there."

"You pulling me out of that hole is not something I can

forget about," Mac stated, "but that water had to come from
somewhere."

"Look," Ian said, showing Mac the rough hand-drawn map

and pointing out a thin blue line snaking from the mountains
some distance away to pass by not far from their present
location. "It looks as if the water should be pretty fast flowing
and fresh."

"Probably cold, even in this climate," Mac surmised.
"And surrounded with lots of nice trees so I can cut you a

crutch after you've given those legs a proper cleaning and
I've re-bandaged them."

"Doesn't look too far either, what're we waiting for?" Mac

said, stretching out a hand for Ian to pull him up. Mac put one
arm across the younger man's shoulders and leaned against
his lover, and Ian put an arm around Mac's waist to help take
some of the weight off his legs.

It didn't take long to find the pool, more or less exactly

where the map had indicated. There was a narrow, fast

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flowing river and as it turned around a sharp bend some of
the water overflowed into a wide basin that formed the pool.
The water continued to flow from the pool to form a small
stream that meandered off into the jungle, slowed somewhat
by the formation of the large pool.

"It's probably that stream that fills a reservoir somewhere

in the temple complex," Ian commented.

"No crocodiles in there I hope," Mac said, a tight smile on

his face.

Ian knew that he was trying to put on a brave face but he

was clearly in pain.

"I wish the Ix-chel really did work to help you heal

quickly," Ian said as he led Mac to sit on a large flat rock just
to one side of the pool.

It really was quite a beautiful setting. The rising sun gave

everything a slight red tinge, and the spray caused by the
churning water of the river as it splashed over into the pool
danced with every color of the rainbow. The jungle
surrounded the pool and the backdrop of the various greens
added to the effect. Then, to top if off, a large macaw
suddenly landed on the nearest tree and added its call to the
noise of monkeys.

"They sure want you to wake up and enjoy the new day,"

Ian said as he gazed at the noisy creatures surrounding them.

"Yes, it is a new day and what a day for you," Mac said.

"You can show the world you were right all along."

"It doesn't seem to matter so much now," Ian admitted.

"What is important to me is that you and I are together, well

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and safe. The Ix-chel is just a bonus. Let's get your legs
sorted."

Mac looked as if he was going to say something, but he

just smiled.

Ian trailed a hand in the water, which while not exactly

cold, was not warm either; it probably heated up later in the
day.

Ian took everything out of his vest pockets and then

quickly stripped off and laid his wet clothes to dry over some
nearby bushes. He then emptied their packs of all their other
clothing and spread that around too. They would be much
more comfortable trekking back through the jungle in dry
clothes.

Meanwhile, Mac took off his jacket and shirt and leaned

over to unfasten his boots, grunting a little in pain as he
pulled his legs in doing so.

"Wait," Ian said, "I'll do that. Sit back."
Mac did as he was told; resting on his outstretched arms

and watching as Ian kneeled at his feet and removed his
boots and socks. His pants were already ruined and he lifted
his backside as Ian pulled them off.

Next, Ian carefully unwrapped the bandages, relieved to

see that the injuries showed no sign of infection. Ian waded
into the water, gasping at the cool water on his skin, and
moved to the front of the large boulder on which Mac was
seated.

Mac swung his body around and scooted forward so his

legs dangled in the water, which was cool and soothing on his
heated flesh.

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"Oh, that's good," Mac said. He sighed and leaned back on

his arms again, gaze skywards. "It's beautiful," he added.

"It is, but we're here to clean your legs."
"We'll get to that, but I also intend to celebrate."
"Celebrate what?" Ian queried.
"Life, love and the pursuit of success!" Raising an

imaginary glass, Mac added, "To Dr. Ian Grayson, who once
again has been proved right."

"Which I couldn't have done alone, thank you," Ian replied

seriously.

"Come kiss me and thank me properly," Mac replied, his

gaze completely on Ian now.

Ian smiled and, slipping in between Mac's legs, he leaned

up to meet Mac halfway. "Never need an excuse to kiss you,"
he murmured and then their lips met.

It was always good when they kissed, but this time it felt

different, special. Spiritual. Ian's lips parted slowly and Mac's
tongue slipped inside to entwine with Ian's. Mac's strong
hands gripped his shoulders, almost lifting him from the
water. Ian wrapped his arms around Mac, holding on, never
intending to let go. In that moment Ian wished that Mac could
read his thoughts to know just how very much he meant to
Ian. Saying the words was one thing, knowing the truth of
them was another. But it was impossible. Still, they had the
next best thing: trust.

The need to breathe broke them apart and Ian rested his

head on Mac's stomach.

"I needed that, I need you, I always will," Mac said softly,

his fingers sliding through Ian's hair.

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Ian looked up, his heart too full for words, but he knew

Mac understood.

"Think I can face the trek back now," Mac said quietly.
Ian took a deep breath and stood up again. "Let's get your

legs dried and re-bandaged," he said calmly. "Then we can
have a good breakfast and make a start. Unless you want to
rest first?"

"I think I'd like to get back as soon as we can and I know

you would too. You have a discovery to show off!"

"I already made my best discovery the day I met you," Ian

whispered.

Mac swung his body away from the water so Ian could

treat his legs. By the time he had finished the sun was
shining strongly, and when Ian checked their clothes were
dry. They both dressed quickly and then Ian made some
breakfast.

"Ian?" Mac said hesitantly, as they settled to eat.
"Hmm?"
"I've been thinking. Whatever the future holds I want us to

share it, together."

"Well, of course, isn't that why I wanted you to come with

me on this trip?" Ian said puzzled.

"That's what I mean. Together, always. I want our lives at

home to really be shared. So, whether it is in Chicago or
anywhere else in the world, wherever you go, I go.
Anymore...quests you go on, I go along too."

"Wouldn't have it any other way. We're a partnership, fifty-

fifty," Ian said firmly. "Besides, I'm going to come on trips in
your truck from time to time."

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Mac smiled and they finished eating in silence. Mac's legs

were feeling a lot better but Ian still cut a branch for him to
use as a crutch just in case.

Finally they were ready to leave and Ian checked his map

before they struck out.

As they moved off Ian's voice floated back to Mac, "Hey, if

we're a fifty-fifty partnership, does that mean I can drive your
truck?"

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About the Author

STEVIE WOODS is a Brit living in the Northwest of England

and though Stevie would love to be able to write full-time she
has to resort to a day job, though she's counting down to the
days until she can finally give it up and concentrate on doing
what she really wants!

A long time avid reader of romance with a dash of

adventure, Stevie only stumbled over 'slash' pairings a few
years ago and was an immediate convert. Having dabbled
with writing on and off for years, it wasn't long before Stevie
was tapping away on the keyboard inventing stories around
two hot guys, gaining her first publication in the summer of
2007.

Stevie likes reading stories with a good strong plot and

believable characters and does her best to create them in her
own work.

Stevie has a soft spot for historical settings but also

thoroughly enjoys SF and Fantasy, Paranormal and
Contemporary, finding the similarities as intriguing as the
differences. Stevie already has several novels and short
stories released by Torquere Press and Phaze Books.

Stevie is happy to hear from her readers via
www.steviewoods.com

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MLR Press Authors

Featuring a roll call of some of the best writers of gay

erotica and mysteries today!

M. Jules Aedin
Maura Anderson
Victor J. Banis
Jeanne Barrack
Laura Baumbach
Alex Beecroft
Sarah Black
Ally Blue
J.P. Bowie
Michael Breyette
P.A. Brown
Brenda Bryce
Jade Buchanan
James Buchanan
Charlie Cochrane
Kirby Crow
Dick D.
Ethan Day
Jason Edding
Angela Fiddler
Dakota Flint
S.J. Frost
Kimberly Gardner
Roland Graeme

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Storm Grant
Amber Green
LB Gregg
Wayne Gunn
David Juhren
Samantha Kane
Kiernan Kelly
J.L. Langley
Josh Lanyon
Clare London
William Maltese
Gary Martine
Z.A. Maxfield
Patric Michael
AKM Miles
Jet Mykles
Willa Okati
L. Picaro
Neil Plakcy
Jordan Castillo Price
Luisa Prieto
Rick R. Reed
A.M. Riley
George Seaton
Jardonn Smith
Caro Soles
JoAnne Soper-Cook
Richard Stevenson
Clare Thompson

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Lex Valentine
Stevie Woods
Check out titles, both available and forthcoming, at

www.mlrpress.com

[Back to Table of Contents]

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the trevor project

The Trevor Project operates the only nationwide, around-

the-clock crisis and suicide prevention helpline for lesbian,
gay, bisexual, transgender and questioning youth. Every day,
The Trevor Project saves lives though its free and confidential
helpline, its website and its educational services. If you or a
friend are feeling lost or alone call The Trevor Helpline. If you
or a friend are feeling lost, alone, confused or in crisis, please
call The Trevor Helpline. You'll be able to speak confidentially
with a trained counselor 24/7.

The Trevor Helpline: 866-488-7386
On the Web: www.thetrevorproject.org/
the gay men's domestic violence project
Founded in 1994, The Gay Men's Domestic Violence Project

is a grassroots, non-profit organization founded by a gay
male survivor of domestic violence and developed through the
strength, contributions and participation of the community.
The Gay Men's Domestic Violence Project supports victims
and survivors through education, advocacy and direct
services. Understanding that the serious public health issue of
domestic violence is not gender specific, we serve men in
relationships with men, regardless of how they identify, and
stand ready to assist them in navigating through abusive
relationships.

GMDVP Helpline: 800.832.1901
On the Web: gmdvp.org/

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the gay & lesbian alliance against defamation/glaad

en espanol

The Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation (glaad) is

dedicated to promoting and ensuring fair, accurate and
inclusive representation of people and events in the media as
a means of eliminating homophobia and discrimination based
on gender identity and sexual orientation.

On the Web: www.glaad.org/
glaad en espanol: www.glaad.org/espanol/bienvenido.php
servicemembers legal defense network
Servicemembers Legal Defense Network is a nonpartisan,

nonprofit, legal services, watchdog and policy organization
dedicated to ending discrimination against and harassment of
military personnel affected by "Don't Ask, Don't Tell"
(dadt).The sldn provides free, confidential legal services to all
those impacted by dadt and related discrimination. Since
1993, its inhouse legal team has responded to more than
9,000 requests for assistance. In Congress, it leads the fight
to repeal dadt and replace it with a law that ensures equal
treatment for every servicemember, regardless of sexual
orientation. In the courts, it works to challenge the
constitutionality of dadt.

sldn Call: (202) 328-3244
PO Box 65301 or (202) 328-FAIR
Washington DC 20035-5301 e-mail: sldn@sldn.org
On the Web: sldn.org/
the glbt national help center
The glbt National Help Center is a nonprofit, tax-exempt

organization that is dedicated to meeting the needs of the

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gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community and those
questioning their sexual orientation and gender identity. It is
an outgrowth of the Gay & Lesbian National Hotline, which
began in 1996 and now is a primary program of The glbt
National Help Center. It offers several different programs
including two national hotlines that help members of the glbt
community talk about the important issues that they are
facing in their lives. It helps end the isolation that many
people feel, by providing a safe environment on the phone or
via the internet to discuss issues that people can't talk about
anywhere else. The glbt National Help Center also helps other
organizations build the infrastructure they need to provide
strong support to our community at the local level.

National Hotline: 1-888-THE-GLNH (1-888-843-4564)
National Youth Talkline 1-800-246-PRIDE (1-800-246-

7743)

On the Web: www.glnh.org/
e-mail: info@glbtnationalhelpcenter.org

* * * *

If you're a GLBT and questioning student heading off to

university, should know that there are resources on campus
for you. Here's just a sample:

US Local GLBT college campus organizations

dv-8.com/resources/us/local/campus.html
GLBT Scholarship Resources tinyurl.com/6fx9v6
Syracuse University lgbt.syr.edu/
Texas A&M glbt.tamu.edu/

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Tulane University www.oma.tulane.edu/LGBT/Default.htm
University of Alaska www.uaf.edu/agla/
University of California, Davis lgbtrc.ucdavis.edu/
University of California, San Francisco lgbt.ucsf.edu/
University of Colorado www.colorado.edu/glbtrc/
University of Florida www.dso.ufl.edu/multicultural/lgbt/
University of Hawaiyi, Manoa manoa.hawaii.edu/lgbt/
University of Utah www.sa.utah.edu/lgbt/
University of Virginia

www.virginia.edu/deanofstudents/lgbt/

Vanderbilt University www.vanderbilt.edu/lgbtqi/

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