“No, he said he wanted a day to himself to watch the game. I left it at that. Jakey’s a deep man and who am I to deprive him of what he needs.”
Jake wasn’t a deep man. What the hell? He loved coming to Sunday dinners at the D’Angelos’. She pushed the worry aside. She’d talk to him later.
More flames shot up. “Don’t you think that’s a little much.”
“Gotta have big flames to do it right.”
She eyed his clothes. “Fruit period?” she said, motioning to the apples.
He put a long fingered hand against his chest. “Excuse me!”
“The apples, Abe.”
“Oh.” He laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it, but no, food period. Tomorrow I have a yellow chicken shirt I plan to wear.”
She nodded. “Sounds awesome.”
“So, things must be good with you and Angel’D, yes? You left the party early on Friday.”
Peyton fought the blush that painted her cheeks. “Things are fine.”
“Fine? Really? You don’t sneak off from Maria for fine. She was not happy with you, until I told her Angel left as well.”
Peyton shook her head. Leave it to Abe to make her feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush. “Okay, so things are better than fine.”
Abe gave her a piercing look. “It’s not like that part of your relationship has ever been a problem, though, little soul sista, is it?”
She blushed again. “Can we change the subject?”
“But that’s one of my favorite subjects.”
“I know.”
“Fine, what do you want to talk about?”
“Jake. Why isn’t he here?”
“You’re gonna have to ask Jakey that.”
“He was quiet yesterday too, spent most of his time outside with the barbecue.”
Before Abe could answer, her phone rang. Abe motioned at her pocket with his spatula. “Maybe that’s him right now to tell you what’s going on.”
Peyton pulled out her phone, but Rosa’s name flashed on the screen, not Jake’s. Peyton thumbed it on. “Sarge? What’s up?”
“Where are you? Are you home?”
“No, I’m at Marco’s parents’ house.”
“Can you send the address to Radar? He’s on his way to pick you up.”
“Wait. Why?”
Rosa paused. “Send the address, then I’ll tell you.”
Peyton held the phone away from her ear and pulled up her text messages, sending the D’Angelos’ address to Radar. Abe gave her a funny look, but she just shrugged. “Okay. What’s going on, Sarge?”
“Celeste called. She’s staying at the Nob Hill Motor Inn on Pacific. She needs to get to the airport by 3:00.”
Peyton checked the display on her phone. It was 1:07. “Okay?”
“Her boyfriend’s sitting outside her motel room in his black Lincoln, keeping her from leaving.”
“Really?”
“I don’t mean to interrupt your family time, but I’m out of town and I can’t get there in time. I’d send Radar by himself, but she doesn’t know him. She trusts you, Brooks.”
“I got it.”
“You need to get her on that plane. Whatever you have to do. I don’t like this. I went through the FBI’s Most Wanted and our bearded friend isn’t on there. I called everyone I know who’s still working at the DEA, but that’s gotten me nowhere. I’ve tried to get Joe myself, but he doesn’t answer. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing.”
“Okay, Sarge. We’ll get her to the plane. Don’t worry.”
“Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“No sweat. I’ll call you as soon as the plane takes off, okay?”
“Please do.” She hesitated, then said, “and Peyton, be careful.”
“You know me, Sarge. Caution’s my middle name.”
“Right,” she said with a laugh, then she was gone.
Peyton glanced at the text message that came through from Radar. “Be there in five.” She sighed and put the phone back in her pocket. “I gotta go.”
“What about my barbecue?”
“Save me some and I’ll eat it when I get back.” She laid a hand on Abe’s arm, then rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.
“You be careful, little bits, you hear?”
“Yep.” She jogged back up the stairs, opening the door to the kitchen.
“Come have a glass of wine, Peyton,” called Rosa, waving her over.
“I can’t, Rosa. I’ve gotta go to work.” She touched Mona’s arm. “I’m sorry, Mona.”
“Aw, why do you have to leave? We’re gonna have lots of food in a bit.” She touched Peyton’s cheek.
“I know, but my boss is coming to pick me up and he doesn’t have a lot of patience. I’ll be back later on, hopefully in time for dinner.”
“Okay, okay. You go do your FBI stuff.” She walked Peyton into the living room. “Peyton has to go, Leo. She’s got work.”
Marco looked up from the baseball game, his brow furrowing. She motioned for him and he grabbed his crutches, pushing himself to his feet.
“You just got here, bella,” said Leo.
“Is everything okay?” asked Vinnie.
“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile.
Marco moved over to her.
“Radar’s on his way. We have to take Celeste Miller to the airport. Her gentleman friend is keeping her from leaving the motel.”
“What does that mean? Is he actually stopping her?”
“I think it’s more likely proximity intimidation, but Rosa wants us to make sure she gets on the plane.”
Marco nodded.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, then kissed him and turned toward the door. He followed her. “Don’t come down, Marco. It’s too hard to get back up.”
“Don’t worry about that.” He reached out and caught her arm. “You need your gun,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his family.
She nodded and opened the door. Together they went down the stairs and Marco popped the trunk on the Charger. Some of the kids ran over when they reached the car, but Marco kept them back by him.
Peyton pulled her gun out of the compartment bolted to the side of the trunk, sliding the shoulder harness over her t-shirt, then she clipped her badge to her belt. Finally, she grabbed a cardigan off the passenger seat and pulled it over the gun to hide it.
Radar swerved up to the curb next to them in a 1963 Corvette stingray in metallic bronze. The kids exclaimed in appreciation and Marco made a whistling sound as Radar put the car in park and got out, leaning his arms on the roof.
“That’s a pretty baby,” Marco said, appreciating the beautiful lines of the classic car.
“She sure is, and purrs like a kitten. My wife spoils me.”
“Yes she does,” said Marco, reaching out a reverent hand to stroke the roof.
“Shake a leg, Sparky,” Radar said, then focused his attention on Marco again. “You get the brace off your leg and some mobility and I’ll let you drive her.”
“Seriously?”
“Yep.”
Peyton slid past Marco and opened the passenger side door. “You boys through with your flirting?”
Marco caught her arm and brought her back around. “Be careful, Brooks,” he said, eying her with worry in his blue eyes.
She kissed him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back here before you miss me.”
She knew he was fighting himself not to warn her further, so she kissed him again, lingering this time.
Radar cleared his throat. “We’re on the clock here, Sparky.”
Peyton pulled away, then dropped into the passenger seat. “Keep your panties on, old man. I’m coming.”
Radar lifted a hand to Marco, dropped into the seat and started the big engine, then he wheeled away. Peyton could see the kids surrounding Marco, watching the Corvette speed off.
* * *
“Tell me what the hell’s going on. Gwen and I finally get a weekend alone and I get a call
to go escort someone to the airport.”
“Where’s Kiki?”
“Visiting her parents in LA.”
“Aw, poor Lacey and Satin, having to do without their daddy.”
“Uhuh,” he said, holding up a finger in front of her face. “You don’t get to do that anymore. Not after I met snuggly wiggums.”
“So you really want me to find something new to razz you about, is that right?”
He thought for a moment. “You have a point. How about I tell you what Gwen and I had planned today. We were gonna get a couple’s massage and then a romantic dinner, after which…”
“Ew. TMI, old man,” she said in a teenager’s voice.
They both laughed and Radar drove for a while. “What’s the deal with this woman?” Radar asked again.
Peyton wasn’t sure how much he knew. Not that she knew a whole lot more. She started with the first time Rosa had mentioned her concern for her ex-partner to the lunch she and Rosa attended.
“Where are the pictures you took of this guy at the lunch?” asked Radar.
“Marco had them printed and gave them to me. I turned them over to Sarge, but I don’t know what she did with them.”
“Why did Sarge get spooked about the pictures and make you delete them?”
“It was just the way Celeste was acting. I think Sarge senses there’s more to this than she knows. Celeste certainly gave off the impression that she was being followed.”
“By who though?”
“I don’t think Sarge has any idea and doesn’t want to take chances. Celeste left a note under her napkin that said Joe’s in trouble in Cancun.”
“Cancun, Mexico? And the DEA? Sarge is thinking drug cartel. That’s what she’s thinking.”
“Why would she be worried about them here in San Francisco?”
Radar shot a look at her behind his mirrored sunglasses.
“Forget I said that. I met Sarge because we were fighting a Mexican drug cartel here, but do you think they’re sophisticated enough to hack our phones, listen in on our conversations?”
“They build tunnels between the U.S. and Mexico with running lights and paved roads, Sparky.”
“I withdraw my doubt,” she answered, adjusting her gun harness. The motel had become visible ahead.
“I’m gonna sweep through the parking lot. You tell me if you see our bearded man,” said Radar.
He pulled into the parking lot of the Nob Hill Motor Inn, a much tighter, more narrow space that she figured he’d thought. Peyton stared at the cars, searching them for the man from Cafe Flore, but she didn’t see him or his Lincoln. The motel was three stories, the lowest floor comprised of covered parking spaces, then two more floors with rooms. A cement walkway ran the length of the top two floors with an iron railing.
“I don’t see anyone in the cars, Sparky, so I’ll stay here, while you get Celeste out.”
She nodded and pushed open the door. Adrenaline raced through her as she looked into the shadowed darkness of the parking spaces. Someone could be lurking back there and she’d never see him. Reaching under her cardigan, she curled her fingers around the handle of her gun, then walked resolutely to the stairs and started to climb.
Celeste yanked open the door to the room before Peyton could knock, a bag slung over her shoulder, her purse gripped in both hands. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing rapid. She must have been peeking through the curtains.
“We don’t see him,” Peyton told her, then drew her out and shut the door behind her. “Walk closest to the building.”
Celeste gave a terrified nod as she and Peyton moved back down the walkway to the stairs, Celeste on the inside, blocked by Peyton’s body. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Radar climbed out of the car. Peyton marked he’d drawn his gun, but he held it against his thigh. He took the bag from Celeste and walked to the back of the Corvette, opening the trunk and dropping it inside, his sunglasses scanning the parking lot as he did so.
Peyton folded back the seat and helped Celeste climb in the back, then she waited until Radar reached the driver’s side before they both dropped into their seats, shutting their doors. Radar replaced his gun and put the Corvette in drive, then pulled expertly into an empty parking space and wheeled the car back out, heading for the street.
Just as they reached the entrance, a black Lincoln pulled across the opening, blocking them. Peyton stared into the eyes of the bearded man, her hand curling around the gun handle, and Celeste made a whimpering noise.
“Shit!” Radar swore, glaring back at him, his own hand rising to his gun holster. “Get down,” he commanded Celeste in a low voice.
She ducked behind Peyton’s seat.
They stared at each other for a full ten seconds or so, Peyton’s heart hammering in her ears, then someone honked behind the Lincoln and the bearded man’s attention snapped to the rearview mirror, then he drove away. Peyton leaned forward, trying to see where he went, but he pulled over as soon as he found an open space and threw the Lincoln’s door open, climbing out. That move earned him more honks from people who had to swerve to avoid him.
“Radar,” Peyton warned as he started walking down the sidewalk toward the motel.
“I know, Sparky,” he said, his attention fixed on the traffic buzzing by on the street.
Peyton grabbed her badge with her free hand and eased the gun out of the holster as the man came closer to them, but suddenly Radar’s tires spun and he jumped out into traffic, swerving to avoid a car barreling down the street. Brakes squealed and horns blared, but Radar corrected and slipped between two larger cars, speeding away.
Peyton whipped around and looked through the rearview mirror to see the bearded man racing back to his car, then she slumped in the seat again, drawing a deep breath.
“What the hell is going on!” shouted Radar, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. “Has he approached you or asked you questions?”
Celeste shook her head. “He just follows me, watching whoever I talk to. I caught him taking pictures when I went out to get dinner the other night.”
“Taking pictures of who?”
“Me, whoever I talk to. The other day I turned to confront him at Union Square, but he disappeared in the crowd.”
“And you haven’t heard from your husband?”
Celeste shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “He’s been gone more than a week. We never go this long without talking to each other. He calls me every night.”
Peyton reached back and clasped the other woman’s hand.
“And you don’t know what case he was working on?”
“No, but I never do. I just knew he was headed to Cancun eight days ago.”
“And when was the last time you talked to him?”
“The first day he arrived.”
Radar shifted and met Peyton’s gaze. She knew immediately what he thought – either Joe Miller had gone to ground because he’d uncovered something too big and his life was in danger, or worse yet, he was already dead.
“He has to be alive,” said Peyton, “or Celeste wouldn’t have a tail on her.”
“What do you mean he has to be alive?” cried Celeste. “Of course he’s alive.”
“Sparky’s right. He’s alive.”
Celeste settled back in the seat. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, her hold on Peyton’s hand tightening.
* * *
They made it to the airport without incident. Radar kept his attention focused on the rearview mirror, but there didn’t seem to be any black Lincolns behind them. Peyton shifted in the seat to look at Celeste.
“At lunch, you told Rosa you were going to Maine to spend the summer with the kids. Is that still your plan?”
“I’m flying to Maine, but I’m taking a connecting flight from there. Joe’s parents are meeting me with the kids. We’re headed to Orlando, then Joe’s parents will go back to DC. As soon as I have a place to stay, I’ll send Rosa my address.”
“How?”
“I’ll figure that out then.”
Peyton nodded.
Celeste leaned forward and clasped Peyton’s hand with both of her own. “Please find Joe. He’d never leave me and his kids this way. Never.”
Peyton nodded. “We’ll find him, Celeste.”
Radar pulled into the covered parking lot. “What terminal?”
“Terminal 3,” said Celeste.
Radar parked the Corvette and they all climbed out, then he grabbed Celeste’s bag from the trunk. “Stay between Sparky and me.” They started walking quickly for the monorail. Hurrying up the escalator, Peyton and Radar kept Celeste between them. Peyton scanned the people moving in their direction for the man with the beard, but she didn’t see him.
They arrived at the monorail platform. Radar directed them to the side and he scanned the map for Terminal 3. A moment later the monorail arrived to the announcement of a mechanical voice overhead. A few people got off, carrying luggage, and the rest got on. Radar moved them to the end of the car, closest to an exit door, and reached up to grab the overhead handrail as the car lurched forward suddenly.
A woman standing next to him saw his gun beneath his jacket and whispered loudly to her husband, “He has a gun.”
Radar flashed his badge at her. “Federal Agent, ma’am,” he said, and she relaxed.
The car was crowded. Peyton moved closer to Celeste and clung to the vertical pole, bracing her legs as the monorail picked up speed. Suddenly, it braked, throwing them forward. The announcer came on, calling out the next parking structure. The doors opened and more people squeezed inside. Peyton shifted, looking for the bearded man, but she was too short to see past the many heads around her.
The monorail lurched forward and Peyton felt the familiar tug of her PTSD rearing its head. Radar gave her a look from behind his sunglasses. “Deep breaths, Sparky,” he said. “We’re almost there.”
Celeste gave her a questioning look, but Peyton shook her head, forcing a smile.
With a sound of rapid deceleration, the monorail braked hard again, forcing the man behind Peyton to stumble into her. “I’m sorry,” he said, righting himself. The mechanical announcer called out the first terminal.
“Sure,” Peyton mumbled.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 13