by Rick Murcer
Who says God doesn’t answer prayers?
Wiping her clammy hand on her jeans one last time, she pushed the green oval on her phone.
“This is Belle.”
“Agent Corner here, Belle. Are you ready for this?”
That was a fine question. It held more meaning than let’s get your ass to work. She shivered with anticipation.
The answer was the same as it would have been ten years ago or ten years in the future.
“I am, Agent Corner. I am.”
The brief pause caused her to frown. Hesitating in situations similar to this was usually an unconscious gauge of a deeper emotional reaction than the quick, insincere glad-you’re-aboard.
“Sorry, Belle, got sidetracked for a moment. I’m glad to have you joining us. But I have to ask again: are you sure you’re ready for this?”
Am I ready for this?
She stared into space.
Her heart and mind were more than ready. Her logic was somewhat iffy. She could play it safe and stay where she was. She’d still be the big fish in the little pond and that had benefits. But playing safe had never been something she’d embraced. She rubbed her leg as an affirmation to that thought.
She wasn’t totally sure where this yes would lead, but did it matter? Really? She’d grown past her current position. Well, that wasn’t quite right. She’d grown up, eager to ride the next train.
“I’ve never been more ready, Agent Corner. When do I start?”
“It’s Josh. Are you giving notice?”
“My bosses have been on notice for five years, Agent. I can come in tomorrow.”
“That will work. Eight a.m. sharp.”
Her heart fluttered as the butterflies left her stomach. “I’ll be there, Josh. I can’t thank you enough. You’ve made me the happiest person on the planet.”
This time the hesitation was intentional. She could tell by the way he inhaled.
“You know the salary and benefits, but there are three other points, Belle.”
“Enlighten me, Josh.”
“First, you got this gig because you’re talented and can help us do what we do even better. The next thing is to pack a bag good for three nights, minimum. You’ll need to throw it into the car or the jet in an hour’s notice.”
“Okay. Thank you, and the bag is already packed. What’s the third thing?”
“I want you to hold off on the thank-you for six months.”
It was her turn to hesitate.
“Why is that?”
He exhaled. Her new boss spoke slowly.
“No one ever thanked the guards for tossing Daniel into the lion’s den and covering up the pit.”
CHAPTER-13
Manny’s eyes flashed to the wall by the open door, d ouble-checking the room-number plaque. He was in the right place.
He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving the man, who apparently was a local, dressed in khaki shorts and a bright green and teal Banana Republic shirt. That wasn’t all; he sported a shoulder holster cradling a pearl-handled Beretta 92s.
Law enforcement or drug cartel? Would the cartels be that blatant and obvious? He knew that none of the Mexican cartels’ scopes of influence had truly gone this far north, but who could say for sure?
Law enforcement was the logical assumption.
He frowned.
But why? Did this have something to do with the missing Aaron Rathburn? Good God, he’d just left the security office. His experience told him most foreign law enforcement didn’t, or couldn’t, react this quickly. That glove didn’t fit either.
Never taking his eyes from the taller man, Manny walked faster.
“Chloe?”
Nothing.
Four steps from the self-appointed sentinel, Manny returned the man’s glare. Anger pulsed in Manny’s temples. Maybe a little morsel of fear as well. He still couldn’t see his wife.
“Chloe? Talk to me.”
One stride from the man, and Manny had already braced for the imminent, unavoidable physical confrontation.
Chloe popped through the door.
“Manny. Relax. I’m fine.”
Her expression told him she was telling the truth. But there was something else underlying that expression.
My wife is doing a slow burn.
Despite the man’s size, Manny grabbed his shirt with both hands and slammed him into the wall, holding the stranger in a tight grip so that he couldn’t reach his weapon.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Wait, Manny—” said Chloe.
“Wait indeed, Agent Williams. I’m Inspector Eduardo Munoz with the Mexican Federal Police.”
The man’s calm, dark eyes told Manny he was who he said he was. Manny held tight. Just because someone was a cop didn’t mean he had good intentions. Especially in another country.
“Really? Where’s your ID?”
“In my shirt pocket. If you’ll let me go, I’ll show you. I’m not one of the bad guys, Agent.”
“Yeah? That’s what they all say.”
Chloe put her hand on his shoulder. “Manny, I’ve seen the ID. Let the poor man loose. He’s been polite, even though I don’t like why he’s here.”
The touch of Chloe’s hand was electric, as always. The sound of her voice reassuring. He felt his anger subside as he reluctantly released Munoz, patting him on the chest.
Stepping away from the Mexican cop, he was choked with the realization that this was the second time in an hour the lid had popped from his temper. Getting angry was nothing new for him, or for anyone for that matter, but to have it happen this close together suggested some underlying frustration.
No shit, Williams. You mean like having another vacation screwed with?
Maybe his pissy attitude had to do with his not-so-fond memories of being used as a knife holder during his prior stay in a Caribbean Resort.
Thinking something may have been wrong with Chloe didn’t steady his mind much either. Throw in a security staff that wasn’t qualified to work at any mall in America, let alone protect the resort’s guests, and one may have a motivation or two to be angry.
“I apologize, Inspector. I’m probably a bit too cautious, but we’ve had a reason or two over the years to keep up our guard.”
“I understand, Agent Williams.”
“Do you really? We’re here to get away for a few days, and so far, the script hasn’t gone as it should,” said Manny.
“Yeah well . . . that’s not all the inspector’s fault, is it?” said Chloe, a morsel of that Irish fire flashing in her eyes.
“True. But we couldn’t let that woman go on like she was without stepping in to see what we could do, right?”
“You mean you couldn’t let it go.”
He shrugged.
Sighing, she took his hand. “It’s one of those love-hate traits that makes you Manny Williams, and a reason I love you.”
“I thought it was my good looks and my black Lab.”
“See, you still have much to learn about me, man. I do love that dog though.”
Manny squeezed her hand. “I do. But I’m sure that the Mexican authorities don’t really care about all of that.”
Turning to Inspector Munoz, Manny searched his face and felt his stomach tighten. This man had a full meal on a small plate. He thought he was here to discuss the missing Brit, and maybe Munoz was, but that was hardly the complete story.
The inspector rubbed his stubbled face with both hands and gave Manny and Chloe a tired smile. “Your perceptive and lovely wife said you would discover my intentions before we sat down. That is unless you’ve already received a call or text from Agent Corner . . . if you had, then you’d be informed of the reason for my visit.”
Manny shook his head. “I’ve not heard from Josh in two days. He promised to give me, and the rest of the unit, time off with no interruptions.”
Munoz nodded. “He said as much when I called.”
Turning to Chloe, Manny saw that she knew exactly
why Munoz was at their door.
“Well, since I’ve received no contact from Josh yet, I’m assuming he was going to give me a day to relax and then send your information. But you obviously don’t believe you can wait that long.”
“I do not believe waiting is an option, Agent.”
The expression on Munoz’s face grazed desperation, but he was keeping it together. It was obvious he was a patient man, and his heart for his job was genuine. Yet, as Manny knew intimately, this line of work can rip that heart away and stomp on it like an insect.
“And let me guess, it’s simply a stroke of luck that we happen to be on your island, right?”
Staring at his hands, Munoz spoke quietly. “Fate has its own agenda, Agent Williams. I don’t smile at the fortunate circumstances because there are so many other unfortunate situations that don’t end with the finest of results. You and your wife and friends vacationing on Cozumel, at this moment, may balance those unfair scales somewhat.”
Manny ran his hand through his hair. The man obviously needed help. Profiling help.
He was overrun with the urge to say “no” and take his wife by the hand, shut the door, and lock the world out. It could be just the two of them. Sex. Pina coladas. The beach. The pool and whatever else they wanted to do, or not do. But it would never be just the two of them. At least for any extended time.
Jen. Ian. Sophie. Max. Sampson. Alex. Josh. Dean. Haley Rose. Even Louise. These people had shaped, and continued to mold, his and Chloe’s lives. They were their support system and would always be with them. Good or bad. Never mind the perverts and hardcore psychos and unrestrained animals that he and Chloe had encountered in their line of work.
Then there were people like Munoz. The people who weren’t afraid to do what it took to make this world a bit better. He’d gathered enough courage to ask for help—and not wait to ask for it. Something Manny could always learn more about, asking for help. Weren’t they on the same team?
What choice did he truly have?
Bowing and stretching his hand to the door, Manny smiled. “Step inside, Inspector. Let’s talk about what’s on your mind.”
The Mexican cop returned the smile. “Are you sure you want to know?”
Then Munoz walked into the hotel room.
Manny glanced at Chloe. She shook her head and followed Munoz.
Closing the door behind him, Manny realized it had only taken about three hours to get this vacation off to a rocky beginning. He prayed he was wrong and that the rocky start would only be a temporary glitch.
Could they actually get that lucky?
CHAPTER-14
Alex looked at Dean, grinning. His friend was sitting completely upright in a pool chair, feet on the concrete, concentrating on his laptop resting in the empty chair to his right, the one he was saving for Sophie, but those actions weren’t what drew his attention to Dean, again.
The forensic tech extraordinaire, without question, owned the most unique look at the resort’s sparkling, ten-thousand-square-foot pool. The man was as white as the proverbial snow storm, accenting his purple-and-red-paisley swim trunks. There was a wide, white streak of sunblock running down his nose, and some of it had trickled into his dark beard, making it look like he’d left part of his BLT to eat later. Throw in the white ball cap and white socks under his brown leather sandals, and you had . . . well, you had Dean Mikus at his very best. And worst.
“He’s one of yours, right?”
Alex glanced at his wife Barb, who was lying on her stomach, already turning the warm Mexican rays into a darker tan.
His smile grew wider.
“Yep. White skin, classy garb, and toss in a sense of healthy sun protection, and you’ve got him covered.”
“Just him?”
He looked at her again. She was as beautiful as ever. Her orange bikini accented the perpetual tan she seemed to carry year round on her almost perfectly shaped body.
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, honey. Nothing,” she said softly.
“Hey. I burn easy, and I need this hat to protect the dome.”
“Yep.”
“And who said socks weren’t okay with sandals?”
“No one important, honey. But you are at a pool.”
“True. And my feet are getting hot. Okay. Maybe I’ll take them off.”
“That’s fine. Maybe the sweatpants too. Like I said, it’s a pool.”
“Whatever. That leaves a lot of skin exposure to UV rays. I’m not sure that’s totally safe, Barb.”
She sat up on her elbows. “Let me tell you what’s safe and good for you. If you don’t take that shirt and pants off and put on a swimsuit, I’m going to be your worst nightmare. Got it?”
He sighed. She looked harmless, but. . . .
“Okay. Okay. Damn. We’re on vacation, and you’re getting tense. Just relax. And, by the way, what’s in it for me if I strip down to pool-boy clothes?”
“You do know what happens to the pool boy when the cougar of the house gets a good look at him half naked, right?”
“You mean like in the movies?”
“Yep.”
“Be right back.”
Five minutes later, Alex was back in the chair beside Barb, green bathing trunks loose around his thighs, his skin glistening with 50-SPF sunblock. His bucket hat pulled a little lower.
She turned her head and looked his way.
He smiled.
She smiled.
“That’s better, pool boy. Momma’s got a surprise for you later.”
He was feeling warmer, and it wasn’t just the sun.
“Surprise, huh? I can’t wait.”
“Wait for what?”
Looking up, Alex saw Sophie standing beside him, floppy hat on her head, a pink beach bag draped over her shoulder, and a tight, one-piece swimsuit covering her body.
“None of your business. It’s a personal family activity thing.”
Sophie took off her sunglasses and rolled her eyes. “Good God, Dough Boy, I know what the hell that means, and I don’t want that image in my head. What’s wrong with you? You should have lied to me. You could have said it was about dinner or some damned thing. Now I need a brain scrub.”
“Oh, your warped Asian brain needed a scrub long before now. You know that, right? Hell, maybe even a lobotomy. And don’t call me Dough Boy.”
“Really? A lobotomy?”
“You actual know what that means?” asked Alex.
She turned around and patted her rear. “Right here, Dough Boy. Or should I say Snow Boy. Damn, you make Mikus over there look like a poster boy for Coppertone.”
“Whatever, wench. At least this is the real me.”
“What? Are you talking about my girls? That’s it. I’m kicking your ass.”
“How about margaritas first?” suggested Barb.
By then, Dean had wandered over. “That sounds great. Everyone want one?”
Sophie waggled her finger at Alex. “You’re damn lucky your wife has a great mind. You were about to be a statistic.”
“Yeah? I’ll try not to lose any sleep.”
“You do that. But like Manny says, you got to be on your toes. When you least expect it . . . bam . . . I’ll be all over you. No one talks about the girls except Dean.”
“Now I need a brain scrub,” said Alex.
Dean finished ordering from the poolside waiter and then sat down at the foot of Alex’s deck chair and motioned for Sophie to come closer.
“Okay, drinks are coming. Speaking of statistics and girls, how’d it go with the lady in the lobby?”
Barb turned over and sat up. She was watching Sophie.
Alex suddenly felt uneasy but tried not to show it. His wife was no dummy.
“Well, we got a few minutes in without work raising its ugly head,” said Barb.
Sophie looked up toward the afternoon sun, slung her bag to the pool’s deck, and sat beside Dean. “It went okay. You know Williams. He found a couple thing
s the security people missed, and it’s pretty obvious her husband is missing and hasn’t just run off somewhere.”
“How so?” asked Alex.
Sophie told them what had transpired with Aaron Rathburn and the stranger who returned his car.
“Shit. Did Manny get that look in those baby blues?” asked Alex.
“What do you think?” snorted Sophie. “He’s like a damn perpetual clock. He just can’t shut down. I climbed on his case for a few minutes, and I think it helped. But you know about tigers changing their stripes. Doesn’t happen.”
Alex did know about that. His good friend—the BAU’s and maybe the rest of the world’s Guardian of the Universe—simply wasn’t wired like most folks. He guessed that was a good thing. If Manny thought like normal people in this job, he’d probably be in a sanatorium.
“So is he going to get involved?” asked Dean.
“I don’t think so. I reminded him that Chloe and he needed a break . . . and to take one, for crying out loud. The authorities can handle this. We’re on vacation,” said Sophie.
“Let me guess. He said he’d try, right?” said Alex.
Letting out a breath, Sophie nodded. “He did, for what that’s worth.”
“Ah. Well. I’m not sure how to say this,” said Dean, blocking the sun with his hand. “But should we see if the locals can use our help?”
Standing, Sophie reached down and clutched his beard. “Are you nuts, son? No! The locals can handle this. They’re cops. They have inspectors and shit. Manny and I helped them get some leads and a timeline. That’s enough, got it?”
“I agree,” said Alex, glancing at Barb. “We’re here to recharge. Josh let us come on this vacation together and said the world can wait. So, you know what? The world can wait.”
Alex watched as Dean slowly put his hand on Sophie’s. “I hear you both. I’m just saying, if we were that woman, wouldn’t we want some help?”
“We got her some help, right, Sophie?” asked Alex.
“We did. They’re way ahead of the game because of the BAU,” she said softly.
The waiter reappeared and dished to each of them a salty, lime delight.
Alex took two long draws while watching his feet, the awkward silence deafening.