“We’re not having sex, D’Angelo. You haven’t been cleared by Dr. Chamberlain.”
He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Then we can watch a movie. Platoon or something.”
“Platoon?”
“That movie definitely doesn’t make me think about sex.”
She laughed and touched his face. “I love you, D’Angelo,” she said.
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Then come home with me.”
She nodded and helped him get to his feet. They snuck out of the Butterfly Restaurant and made it to the Charger without anyone knowing. Marco drove home. Dr. Chamberlain had cleared him earlier that day to drive. Peyton sat in the passenger’s seat and watched the City lights through the window, thinking about their discussion.
Did she want to get married? She’d been sure about it a few months before, but everything had changed. Did she still want it?
She wasn’t sure. She’d found the dress after their breakup, when he was living with Abe. Something had made her take a picture of it, but she wasn’t sure why. Now, they were just starting over again, learning how to live with each other. Did she want to go back to that next step with him? Could she? It was one thing to live together. It was another to accept a marriage proposal. Living together could be temporary, but marriage was meant to be a lifelong commitment.
She loved him.
She’d never doubted that.
But did she want to marry him? Did she want him to know that she would pledge her entire life to him and him alone? Could she? If he left her after they were married, she didn’t know if she could survive that. Wasn’t it safer to just keep things the way they were? Now if he left, it would be devastating, but she’d survive it. She’d survived it before. They could just keep living together until it didn’t work anymore. No pressure. No real commitment. No risk.
She was surprised when he pulled into the driveway, she’d been so lost in thought. He glanced over at her as he put the Charger in park.
“You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”
“Too much tequila,” she lied. She wasn’t ready to share these thoughts with him yet.
He gave a nod and started the laborious climb out of the car. She followed behind him as he crutched his way up to the door. He waited for her to unlock it, bracing himself on the landing. She was aware of him, the heat of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. Heat pooled in her belly, but she kept her head down and unlocked the door, bending to pick up Pickles as she opened it. She turned on the lights and stepped inside, grabbing Pickles’ leash.
“I’ll just take him for his stroll,” she said, refusing to meet Marco’s gaze.
She knew he sensed the deliberate barricade she was putting up between them. It was only in part his leg. She felt vulnerable after what she’d told him tonight and she didn’t want to discuss it anymore. If something more happened between them, she was afraid she might start dropping her guard and she wasn’t ready for that yet.
“I’ll probably scare the neighbors in this getup though,” she said, forcing a laugh as she brushed by him, hurrying out the door with the dog.
She fretted over everything as she took Pickles on his one block walk. When she got back to the house, she dreaded going inside, but she knew she couldn’t stand around on the landing for hours. Besides, he could probably see her from the camera he’d installed.
She carried Pickles into the house and removed his leash. The living room and kitchen were empty, but the light was on in Marco’s room. She knew she needed to say something to him, at least tell him good night, so she settled Pickles on the couch and forced herself to the door of his room.
“Marco,” she began.
He glanced up. He was removing his cufflinks, his shirt open, the burgundy velvet smoking jacket hanging off his broad shoulders. His eyes seemed to glow in the light of the bedside lamp and a faint dusting of stubble darkened his jaw.
She sucked in a wild breath and she knew she’d never wanted a man the way she wanted this one.
He quirked a brow at her in question, and that was it.
She felt herself moving toward him, sliding her hands over his bare chest and up to his neck, lifting on tiptoes to press herself against him. “What if we go really slow?”
He stared at her, then his arm curled around her waist, drawing her closer. “Really slow,” he said, and then he was kissing her, and she forgot about everything else, but him.
CHAPTER 8
Rosa leaned back on the lounger, closing her eyes. The sun felt heavenly on her bare limbs, the sound of the waves lulling her toward sleep. She didn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to relax. Her contentment had a lot to do with the man sitting next to her, reading a crime novel, his muscles gleaming with sunscreen.
Adrian Tréjo wasn’t a large man, average height, not bulky. His muscle structure was sleek and honed, and he had six-pack abs that she enjoyed staring at almost as much as she enjoyed his taut backside.
She’d never believed in relationships, especially in her line of work, but she liked men. She liked their company. Truth be told, she’d usually gotten along much better with men than women. In fact, she had many male friends, but no women she would even remotely consider a friend. She had women employees and so far that hadn’t been a problem, but there wasn’t a single one she would call in the event of a crisis.
Hm, she might want to give that some consideration.
Mostly, she like to keep her sexual encounters separate from her other relationships. Sex was a contract, a necessity, a tension reliever. Nothing more. Sometimes she spent the night, but sometimes that wasn’t necessary. And she always wanted the man gone the next morning.
Marco D’Angelo had been fun. She’d even agreed to take the job in San Francisco hoping they might continue their encounters for a while, but she’d never even considered more from him. She sort of believed he wanted the same thing – no strings attached, no complications – or he might have, if Brooks hadn’t gotten in the way.
She’d looked for the same arrangement in D.C., but the men always got serious, always wanted more. They wanted to go away for the weekend, or they wanted her to sleep at their place. She didn’t want any of that.
And yet here she was with Adrian. She’d given in to his demand for time alone and gone away with him. More than that, they’d almost fallen into a routine at her house. She worked during the day, he helped out with training, then they arrived home at nearly the same time and woke up with each other. What surprised her most of all was that she liked it. She liked him being in her apartment. She liked knowing he’d be there when she got home. What the hell was wrong with her?
Her phone rang. He’d wanted her to leave it in the room, but she hadn’t been able to bend that much. It sat on the table between them next to the daiquiris he’d bought. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head toward it.
“Touch that phone and I’ll break your fingers,” he said without looking up from his book.
Rosa peered beneath her sunglasses at the display. Her fingers itched to snatch it up.
“I’m serious,” he said, turning a page.
“It’s Radar,” she protested, sitting up.
He stared at her from behind his own sunglasses. “You promised, Rosa.”
“I know, Adrian, but Radar wouldn’t call for just any reason. I promise, this will be the last call.”
He sighed and laid his head against the lounger. “Fine, answer it, but you owe me.”
“What do I owe you?” The phone had stopped ringing, but she knew she could call Radar back. “We’ve hardly left the room all day.” She gave him a suggestive look.
“A swim in the ocean,” he said, turning another page.
“What? That’s the Pacific Ocean, Adrian. It’s butt-ass cold.”
“Sorry, but that’s my price. You call Radar, you swim in the butt-ass cold ocean with me.”
Sh
e adjusted her sunhat on her head. “Fine. I’ll swim in the butt-ass cold ocean with you, but you’re taking me to the Monterey Aquarium tomorrow.”
He groaned. “The Aquarium?”
“That’s right. I want to see the fish.”
“I saw the brochure, Rosa. They have jellyfish there. You know how those things freak me out.”
“If I swim in the ocean, I get jellyfish.”
“Fine, but I want Kobe steak tonight and lobster.”
She smiled, studying his strong profile. Even this, even making plans with him felt good. “Sure.”
He frowned at her. “That easy?”
She shrugged. “I’ll think of something later on. In the meantime, you can stew about it.”
He laughed and went back to reading his book.
Rosa grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to call Radar back. He answered on the first ring.
“Sarge, sorry to bother you.”
“No problem. What’s up?”
“What do I hear in the background? Is that a vacuum?”
She still didn’t want her staff to know about her and Adrian. She wanted to keep it between the two of them for as long as she could. “I went to the beach. Just wanted to get away.”
“Now I’m really sorry I bugged you. Gwen’s been bugging me to go to the beach.”
“You should. It clears the mind.”
“Right. So I’ll cut to the chase and you can get back to enjoying your day off. Sparky and I finished the video feed outside her office.”
“And?”
“Nothing. However, we both noticed there’s a gap.”
“What do you mean a gap?”
“Forty-five minutes of tape are missing.”
“How is that possible?”
Adrian looked over, listening.
“I wasn’t sure. It happened when we were in LA, but I asked the building management if they could go through the maintenance record of the building.”
“And? Why do I feel I’m not going to like what you’re about to say?”
“The missing period was during a power outage. They lost the lights and the video feed. For some reason, the back-up generator didn’t kick in for 20 minutes or so, and then it was only enough to power the emergency lights.”
“When did this happen?”
Radar rattled off a date.
“What time?”
“Around 9:55PM. Back-up generator came on around 10:15 according to the management.”
“Do we have a list of everyone in the building at the time?”
“Security does, but…”
“But?”
“Someone might have snuck past the counter in the dark, or what worries me more, the security guards don’t sign the list at the front desk, so there’s no accounting for which of them might have been in the building at the time.”
“The security guards? Why would one of them know anything about the file in Brooks’ office and what possible interest could they have in this case?”
“One of the guards, Mike Edwards, has been paying a lot of attention to Brooks lately, buying her flowers, showing up at her door unannounced. It’s driving D’Angelo crazy, so I agreed to look into him.”
“Radar, this sounds paranoid. Marco D’Angelo is a jealous, over-protective boyfriend. Why in the world would you listen to him? Look, I think the world of Marco, but he hasn’t been the same since he was shot.”
“He’s not wrong about this guy, Sarge.”
Rosa shifted on the lounger, crossing her ankles. “What do you mean?”
“Mike Edwards was an army ranger. He served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He went to both countries a number of times, but there’s a two year gap where I can’t place him anywhere.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s not anywhere. No rent, no job, no tax returns. He just disappears.”
“Okay, that’s a little odd.”
“Yeah, you want more? He has half a million dollars in his bank account.”
Adrian’s brows drew down. Rosa knew he could hear Radar through the phone.
“A security guard with half a million?” she asked. “Inheritance?”
“I don’t know. And I won’t. Not without a warrant and I don’t think I have probable cause yet.”
“So how does this tie in with Lance Corporal Daws?”
“I can’t tell you.”
She rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Okay, this doesn’t prove anything, but you’re right. I don’t like the coincidences. Let’s keep a closer eye on this Edwards guy. Does Brooks know you’re looking into him?”
“She denies there’s anything wrong. That’s why D’Angelo’s got his panties in a bunch.”
“Of course, Brooks never met a bad guy in her life.”
Adrian snorted out a laugh.
“Let’s go back to the agent from Las Vegas. What was his name?”
“Mark Turner.”
“Right. He clearly knew something. We need to figure out what happened to him.”
“Got it.”
“But let’s also keep an eye on Brooks’ admirer while we’re at it. I wanna know if that guy goes to the bathroom funny.”
“On it,” said Radar.
“Okay, well, keep me posted.”
“I will, Sarge, and again, sorry for disrupting your weekend.”
“No problem. Talk to you on Monday.”
“Talk to you Monday,” and then he was gone.
Rosa settled the phone on the table. Adrian tilted down his sunglasses and gave her a slow, wicked perusal.
“Now it’s time for the swim.”
Damn it, she thought. She knew he wouldn’t forget. Oh, she was going to make him look at jellyfish all right – the glow in the dark ones for starters. Yes, she was.
* * *
Peyton pulled the door open, holding Pickles so he’d stop barking. Marco glanced over, surprised to see Jimmy Bartlet and the new kid, Danté Price, on the doorstep.
“Hey, Peyton,” said Bartlet, stepping inside.
“Hey, Jimmy, what’s going on?”
“Is the captain here?”
“What’s up, Jimmy?” he called from his recliner. He reached over and lowered the volume on the Giants game.
Bartlet paused, glancing into the kitchen where Tag and Abe argued over the best way to thread a shishkabob stick. “Hey, Tag, Abe.”
“If it isn’t little Jimmy Bartlet,” sang Abe. “You here for dinner, cutie pie?”
“Sure,” said Bartlet.
Tag jerked her chin at him, but went back to arguing with Abe.
“I mean if it’s all right,” said Bartlet, giving Marco a pleading look.
Danté hadn’t stepped inside. In fact, he seemed a little bewildered by Bartlet’s familiarity.
“Come in, Danté,” Peyton said, motioning him into the house.
“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, ducking his head.
“You’ve got to stop calling me ma’am.”
“Yes, ma’a…” He gave her a sheepish look.
“You can’t do it, can you?”
Marco knew she hated being called that, but the poor kid just seemed so flustered around her.
“It’s gonna be hard. My mama would lecture my brother and me about how to treat women and I can still hear those lectures, word for word. Word for word. So many words.” He sighed.
Peyton placed a hand on his arm. “Okay, well, let’s just say you’re the only one allowed to call me that.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said, flashing a white toothed smile. He moved into the house, drawing Abe’s attention.
“Well, howdy doo, aren’t you an adorable dish of chocolate…”
“Abe!” Marco warned.
Abe cut off abruptly.
Danté shot a shy smile at Peyton.
“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the couch. “Want a beer or something else to drink?”
“Still on duty, ma’am,” he said, sitting down on t
he couch closest to Marco.
Bartlet came out of the kitchen, carrying a beer, but when he heard Danté, he shot a worried look at Marco. Marco shook his head in amusement. Bartlet would always be a work in progress, but this new kid was something else altogether.
“Or, sort of,” said Danté.
They both wore plain clothes and no guns. Their badges weren’t even visible.
Bartlet shrugged and took a seat on the bar stool. “So, whatcha making?” he asked Abe.
“Shishkabob,” said Abe. “We’re having a debate over the best way to make sure the bamboo skewers don’t burn up on the barbecue. Any ideas, Jimmy boy?”
“Uh, not really sure.”
“Soak them in saltwater,” grumbled Tag once more. “Would you just let me handle that?”
Peyton deliberately ignored them, moving to the other end of the couch and taking a seat. She released Pickles and he hurried over to Danté. The young man lifted him onto his lap, stroking his back.
“What’s up?” Marco asked, shifting to face the kid.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abe hand Bartlet a couple of skewers and some of the vegetables to thread on the stick. “Wash your hands in the bathroom and help us if you want some dinner, Jimmy boy,” Abe ordered.
Bartlet hopped off and hurried into the hallway for the bathroom.
Danté watched him go, then rubbed Pickles’ ear. “We searched the pawn shops for Murphy’s watch like you asked.”
“And?”
Danté shot a look at Peyton. “We found it, Captain, at the San Francisco Buyers Expo on West Portal near here. That’s why we came over. Jimmy said it was okay.”
“It is. Are you sure it’s the same watch?”
Bartlet came out of the bathroom, whistling. Danté looked up at him as if he expected him to finish explaining why they’d shown up at their captain’s house unannounced, but he didn’t even acknowledge them, climbing back on his barstool and grabbing his beer.
Danté turned back to Marco. “It had the engraving on the inside, from Sugar Bear. We couldn’t afford to buy it, and well…”
“Well?”
“Jimmy showed him his badge and the guy clammed up. He wouldn’t even talk with us anymore.”
“He got all quiet, Captain, said he don’t deal with cops,” added Bartlet, his back to them as he threaded a mushroom on his stick.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 11