Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  Bass and Peyton tracked him, but he didn’t go back to the table with his friends. Instead, he headed around the perimeter of the dance floor. “Got him!” Bass muttered fiercely. “Bambi, do you have a visual?”

  “I do. He turned into a hallway on the other side of the dance floor. I can’t see him anymore.”

  “What’s back there?” Peyton asked Bass.

  “Bathroom.” He lifted his watch again. “Tank, he’s headed for the bathroom. Intercept him and see what the bartender gave him.”

  “On my way,” came Tank’s voice.

  Bass motioned for the waitress again. She came over after she delivered a number of drinks to Bass’ female fans at the other table. “Uno mas,” he said, pointing at his shot glass.

  She nodded and weaved back into the crowd.

  Bass watched the rest of the boys at the table. They were huddled together, their heads almost touching as they discussed something. Drumming his fingers on the table, Bass clenched and unclenched his jaw.

  “This is it. I feel it. We’ve got them this time.”

  Peyton watched him with concern. Miller’s death and the frustration of this case had clearly taken a toll. Bass’ eyes were bloodshot and she could see dark circles bruising the skin beneath them.

  “Come on, Tank,” he muttered.

  The waitress returned with another shot and Bass tossed it back before he even paid her. Peyton shared a concerned look with the other woman.

  “Uno mas,” said Bass, nodding.

  Peyton started to say something, but Tank’s voice filled her ear. “Got him.”

  “Yes!” whispered Bass, closing his free hand into a fist.

  “What is it, Tank?” came Radar’s voice. “What did he get from the bartender?”

  Tank didn’t immediately answer.

  Bass clenched and unclenched his jaw again, his eyes fixed on the candle in the middle of the table. Peyton shifted, hating the tension.

  Bass lifted the watch toward his mouth. “Tank, update!” he hissed.

  They could hear a mutter of voices, then Tank came back on the com. “It’s a business card.”

  “For what?” asked Bass, leaning forward. “For what?”

  “Una prostituta? I’m guessing that’s a prostitute because the other thing he has is a condom.”

  Bass slumped back against the booth.

  Peyton let out her held breath.

  “A prostitute?” came Radar’s voice. “A freakin’ prostitute. Forget it. I’m going to bed.”

  “Me too,” said Bambi.

  “I’m sorry,” said Tank.

  Bass didn’t respond. He just sat in the booth, staring at the candle. The waitress returned with his shot and he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her. Peyton paid for it and gave her a smile. She smiled in return, shot a look at Bass, and walked away.

  “We’ll figure it out, Kaz,” said Peyton, shifting to face him.

  Bass didn’t respond, just drummed his fingers on the table near the shot.

  “Kaz?” She touched his arm.

  He looked up at her, his expression bleak. “You know what keeps running through my mind?”

  “What?”

  “Shakespeare.”

  Peyton frowned. “What?”

  “Before I went to work for the DEA, I thought about acting, but not just any acting.” His words slurred just the slightest amount. “I wanted to be a Shakespearean actor.” He said it like act-tor.

  “Okay?” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

  “Not many opportunities for that, especially in the states.”

  “Why a Shakespearean actor?”

  He curled his fingers around the shot and glanced up at her. “He awed me. His work has stood the test of time for more than 400 hundred years. Can you believe that? His words speak to people centuries beyond when he wrote them.”

  Peyton leaned back in the booth and listened to him.

  “His most famous play’s Hamlet. His most famous soliloquy is To be or not to be. Everyone knows that monologue. Everyone in the world can quote it. A monologue about suicide and people four hundred years later can identify with that character, can relate to what he’s feeling at that moment. That’s power.”

  “It is,” Peyton agreed.

  “But that’s not the one running through my head. The one I can’t get out of my head is from Macbeth. Are you familiar with the play?”

  Peyton nodded. “We saw it performed at the Globe in London.”

  Bass’ eyes met hers. “You did? That must have been incredible.”

  “It was.”

  “Then you know Macbeth’s soliloquy in Act 5 after Lady Macbeth commits suicide?”

  “I know it.”

  “Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” he began quoting, his eyes returning to the candle, “creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” He shook his head. “Signifying nothing. He’s right. Life means nothing.” He reached for the shot glass.

  Peyton stopped his hand. “Life isn’t nothing,” she hissed at him. “Today, I got up and walked onto my balcony and I saw an ocean so blue, so crystalline and clear, that nothing man can create is its equal. And this afternoon…” She took the shot from him. “This afternoon I stood at the base of a pyramid eons old and I felt the presence of the people that once lived there all around me.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “That’s not nothing, Bass.”

  He stared at her, then he reached out and smoothed back a curl from her eyelashes. “Federico’s right, you have mystery in you, girl.”

  She gave a sad laugh and shook her head. “And you’re drunk.”

  “Yeah, I am.” He reached for the shot and tossed it back.

  Peyton lifted her bracelet to her mouth. “Tank, you still out there?”

  “I’m back at my place in the outdoor bar.”

  “Good, I need help getting Bass home.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  She looked at the agent sitting next to her, staring at the flickering candle again. “No, he’s just in mourning, that’s all.”

  “Gotcha. I’ll meet you on the beach.”

  “We’ll be there,” she said, then she nudged Bass with her hand. “Come on. You’re entitled to a night of wallowing, then tomorrow…”

  “And tomorrow and tomorrow,” he said, giving her a mischievous smile.

  “Right. Tomorrow we get back to work.”

  He made a flourish with his hand. “If music be the food of love, play on.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  Bass nodded and began sliding out of the booth. “Twelfth Night. If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.”

  Peyton followed him out of the booth, pushing him in the back when he staggered a bit. “God, you’re a dark one,” she said, bringing a laugh bubbling out of him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Rosa went down to the hotel restaurant the following morning. Half of the restaurant was open air, adjacent to the pool. Some kids were already swimming, splashing around and having a good time, while their parents sat on loungers, sipping coffee and keeping an eye on them. The pool was a huge structure that wound around small islands with palm trees planted on them. It also had a swim up bar. The location would have made a nice retreat at any other time and she couldn’t help thinking about Adrian. She felt surprised at how much she missed him.

  After returning from Chichen Itza last night, she’d gone up to call Celeste and check in on her. She’d tracked her through her parents and finally gotten a hold of her. Celeste was still laying low with her kids in Maine at her parents’ cabin. No one had told her Miller was dead, so the task fell to Rosa. Celeste wen
t into meltdown and Rosa spent the next hour trying to get her calm enough to go back to taking care of her kids. Celeste made her promise to keep her updated, which she did.

  After the call, she’d been too upset to sleep, and although it was one in the morning in San Francisco, she’d called Adrian on the video chat. She needed to see his face.

  He’d picked up on the first ring, his voice heavy from sleep, his hair mused. She’d wanted to be there with him, curled in his arms, and that surprised her too. He’d talked to her for more than an hour, listening and offering his support in any way he could. She couldn’t deny, she liked having someone there for her, someone who would get up in the middle of the night and comfort her.

  She shook the thought away and looked into the restaurant, hoping to see one of her team there. She didn’t want to eat alone. Bass was sitting at a table, his back pressed to the wall, drinking coffee and watching the kids.

  She walked over to him and took a seat. Today she’d put on a long sundress in yellow with birds of paradise embroidered on it. The spaghetti straps and loose fit were a lot cooler than the black suit she usually wore. She noted that Bass had on a pair of navy blue shorts, a blue tank top and a white collared shirt unbuttoned in front.

  “Buenos dias,” she said.

  “Buenos dias,” he answered, rubbing a fist against his temple. He made a motion to someone beyond her line of sight and a moment later a waiter appeared.

  “Café?” asked the waiter, carrying a silver carafe.

  Rosa turned over the mug sitting on the table. “Por favor.”

  He filled it, then motioned to the laminated menu resting in a silver holder in the center of the table. “Cuando esté listo para ordenar,” he said.

  Rosa glanced at Bass. “When you’re ready to order,” he translated. “I ordered the huevos rancheros. Muy bien,” he said for the waiter’s benefit.

  The waiter inclined his head.

  “I’ll have that too,” she said.

  “Ella también,” said Bass and the waiter nodded, moving away. Bass sipped at his coffee some more. “Do you know what happened last night?”

  Rosa poured a little cream into her coffee. “Radar debriefed me this morning. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

  Bass shook his head, looking out over the pool. He was just as polished as ever, his spiky hair styled, but he had dark circles under his eyes. “I thought we had them this time.”

  “Now what do we do? Do you want to pursue the parasailing angle?”

  “I think that’s a good idea, but we’ve got to be careful. Radar and Tank just ooze cop.”

  Rosa laughed. “I know. We talked about that. Radar and I are going to pretend to be a Mexican tourist couple on vacation. I think your idea of Bambi and Brooks pretending to be college girls on the prowl isn’t a bad one. We thought Tank could rent a metal detector. I saw they rent them on the beach. That would give him an opportunity to snoop around.”

  “Brooks and I pretended to hook up last night, so we could keep playing that up and Bambi could hang out with us as Brooks’ girlfriend.”

  “Sounds good.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. “Look, Kaz, I know how hard this is for you.”

  He held up a hand. “I lost it yesterday and it was totally unprofessional. And then I got drunk at the bar when we were on duty. I can understand if you want to file a complaint with my superiors.”

  Rosa shook her head. “It hit us all hard. It took my legs out.”

  “How did Celeste take it?” He ran his fingers over the top of his mug.

  “Bad. Really bad.”

  Bass looked away, watching the kids play. “We need to do something to make sure his kids get to college.”

  “We will. After we solve this case and find his murderer.”

  Bass nodded, still not looking at her. “I should have handled it better.”

  “Well, by that same token, I should have been the one to identify him.”

  Bass looked back at her. “No, no, Brooks was right about that. You were closer to Miller than any of us. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see him like that.” His expression grew haunted. “I couldn’t handle it. I puked my guts up, but that Brooks of yours. Man, that little spitfire is tough. She identified him and didn’t flinch, then she kept me from throwing myself off the pyramid. She is something else. She sure handles Radar well.”

  Rosa gave him a frown. “She’s also in a serious relationship with a six foot four street cop with a body like the Rock.”

  “Of course. All the good ones are taken.”

  Rosa laughed.

  Bass studied her a moment. “Why didn’t you ever get married?”

  “No reason to. What about you?”

  “Same.”

  She thought of Adrian, feeling a pang of longing, but she tamped it down. “Why do you suspect the parasailing guy?”

  “When he’s working the shack, he has a steady stream of college kids and high school graduates flocking to him. They’re always acting furtive.”

  “Okay.”

  “Then, when he goes on break and this girl takes over, she gets hardly any attention. The girl’s pretty, cute figure, while the guy’s just your average Joe and he attracts a lot of male attention.”

  “How old are both of them?”

  “I estimate the guy to be around 25 or so. The girl’s in her early twenties.”

  “Do the kids ever go up in the parasail?”

  “That’s the other thing. Some do, some don’t.”

  “Maybe they’re just scheduled for a later time?”

  “Money seldom exchanges hands.”

  “Does anything change hands?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  “Have you questioned him or gone up there when the kids are there?”

  “I don’t want to blow my cover. I did buy a group of college kids beer after one of them went up to the guy. We played volleyball together. During the game, I asked the kid if he was going parasailing. He said no and shut me down. I was afraid to push. I’m a little old to get in with them, but I was hoping maybe Bambi or Brooks might have better luck.”

  Rosa nodded. “I think Bambi played volleyball in college and she looks like she’s about sixteen.”

  “Good. Maybe we’ll get a break this time.”

  Their huevos rancheros arrived and the smell was heavenly. Rosa thanked the waiter, then lifted her fork, but Bass didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to eat while it’s hot?”

  He gave the eggs a worrisome look. “I don’t know if I can. That tequila really packs a wallop.”

  Rosa shrugged and dug in. Having a plan always made her ravenous.

  * * *

  After physical therapy and a few stolen moments to touch base with Peyton in Mexico, Marco drove out to Hunters Point. They’d decided to hold their barbecue in the Youngblood Coleman Playground, where he found an impressive collection of baseball diamonds, soccer fields, and tennis courts. The park itself was constructed on tiers so there was plenty of room for all activities.

  Marco spotted the blue police canvas flapping from their aluminum shade cover. A table had been set beneath it covered in stickers and pamphlets and pens to give away to anyone who wanted them. Danté and Bartlet stood behind the table with Jamaad Jones mother, Mavis, and her 68 year old mother, Maeve. Marco crutched over to them, nodding at his officers and holding out his hand for Mavis.

  She grasped it in both her own. “Captain D’Angelo, how kind of you to come out here.”

  “I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said. “It looks like a good turnout.”

  “It is.” She motioned to the woman next to her. “This is my mother, Maeve.”

  He shook hands with the older woman. She had bony fingers and prominent veins, white close cropped hair and thick glasses, and when she smiled at him and patted the back of his hand, Marco couldn’t deny she had a welcoming, pleasant face.

  “Jamaad’s father and brother are out in the crowd with Inspector Simons and Cho,
talking to the people,” Mavis told him. Then she laid her hand on Bartlet. “These young men have been very good about helping us give out information.”

  “They’re some of our finest,” Marco said. Bartlet beamed, but Danté was too busy canvassing the area. Marco didn’t think he was moved by empty compliments.

  His eyes slid past Mavis to Jake and Tag where they manned dual barbecues, surrounded by kids and teenagers of various ages. Stan stood at another table covered in condiments, keeping everything filled and helping those who needed assistance. At the moment, he was helping a tiny girl in braids put catsup on her hotdog. Glancing around Marco saw a good number of people eating at picnic tables or chatting in small groups.

  Mavis had placed a photograph of Jamaad on the table, one with him and a pitbull from the shelter. He glanced at it and away. The sight of the young man with his whole life ahead of him bothered Marco and he didn’t know why. He’d had cases where the victim was young before and he’d never lost focus on what was important – solving their murder. Maybe it was having Peyton so far away that made him feel Jamaad’s senseless death so powerfully.

  Danté pulled up a lawn chair next to Mavis. “Sit down, Captain,” he said.

  “Yes, he’s right. Sit down,” said Mavis, motioning to the chair. Marco hadn’t intended to stay, but he knew it wouldn’t look good to be too quick about leaving. He probably should be at the precinct, since only Smith, Holmes and Lee were holding down the fort, but he owed it to Mavis and the community to stay for a while.

  Maeve came around the table and took his elbow. “Sit down, please. Having a captain here will make people take this more seriously.”

  Marco crutched to the chair and sank into it. Maeve pulled her chair over to the side of his and sat next to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Did you know Jamaad wanted to be a dog trainer?”