“Relax, Sarge,” said Radar, obviously not asleep. “Go for a swim.”
“And miss something?”
He pointed at the expanse of crystalline blue water. “The ocean’s right there. If something goes down, it isn’t going to be that dramatic.”
She shifted to face him. “How do you stay so calm?”
“I meditate.”
“Is that what you’re doing now?”
“Yep.”
“Teach me how.”
He gave her a skeptical look from above his sunglasses. “Sarge, people have been meditating since 1500BC, but you want me to give you a crash course on it today.”
“Yes!”
He sighed. “All right. You need to get into a comfortable position. It’s best to have good posture, but when we’re on stake out, you need to be inconspicuous, so I just try to get as comfortable as I can.”
“I thought you had to be cross-legged.”
“If that works for you, sure.”
She crossed her legs. “Don’t I have to put my index and thumb together, then lay my hands palms up on my knees?”
Radar gave her the same look. “If that works for you.”
She did that pose.
“Now, I find it easiest to close my eyes.”
“What if something happens?”
“That’s why we have our coms.”
“Right.” She closed her eyes, but that made her feel anxious, her shoulders tensing.
“How about I keep my eyes open while your eyes are closed?” Radar offered.
“Good.” She forced her shoulders to relax. “Now what?”
He didn’t answer for a moment and she opened one eye, looking over at him. He shook his head in amusement. “If anyone needs meditation…” he began.
“Don’t finish that if you value your job, Radar.”
He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Now, close your eyes and breathe in. Envision that you’re taking in a white light and it’s cleansing your soul.”
She opened her eyes and shot him a look. “Seriously?”
“You wanted to meditate.”
“All right. All right,” she said, closing her eyes again. “White light in.”
“Breathe out the dark energy, all the worries, the sadness. Envision it leaving your body.”
She thought of Joe Miller’s heart in a box on her desk and breathed out.
“White light in,” said Radar in a steady, soothing tone.
She had trouble envisioning this white light. She wasn’t a religious person, so she thought about the thing that made her happiest. Adrian. She breathed in the memory of his scent, his smile, the light in his eyes.
“Breathe out.”
The sight of Joe’s body swinging from the bottom of the helicopter.
“Breathe in.”
The blue of the Caribbean sea. The clarity of it, the whiteness of the sand.
“Breathe out.”
The sound of Celeste’s sobbing in her ear.
“Here comes the kid,” came Bass’ voice in her ear. “He’s wearing a lime green t-shirt that says Excelencia on it.”
Rosa’s eyes opened and she glanced toward the parasailing hut.
“And there’s the problem with meditation on this job,” said Radar, still looking like he was half asleep.
“What?”
“You never get to finish it.”
* * *
Bass nudged Peyton with his hand. She looked over at the parasailing hut, adjusting her sunglasses. A young man wearing a lime green t-shirt, floral print Bermuda shorts, and sandals opened the door on the side of the hut. He was carrying a beach towel slung over his shoulders, his black hair cut short and neat around his ears.
He and the young woman who’d been working the hut exchanged a few words, then she gathered a water bottle and her own towel, opening the door and striding away, back toward the Excelencia. The boy pulled up a stool and sat on it, reaching over to straighten a stack of brochures.
Peyton could see Tank behind the hut, moving toward it, waving the metal detector back and forth. She couldn’t see Bambi or Rosa and Radar, but she knew they were off to her left. Leaning back on her lounger, she picked up her magazine and pretended to read.
A waiter came by and Bass ordered two mango juices. She looked longingly at the water, wishing she could take a dip. Surveillance hadn’t been one of her strongest skillsets, but when she’d been partners with Marco, it hadn’t been that bad. They could talk for hours, or just sit quietly together, enjoying each other’s presence.
Bass wasn’t like that. He was tense and fidgety and he didn’t want to talk. Every overture she made, he shut down with either yep or nope. Great conversationalist. It occurred to her he’d been down here for six months, doing much the same thing. No wonder he was jumpy as a rabbit. It had to be getting old.
Dropping the magazine, she adjusted her bikini tie around her neck and fixed the end of her floral wrap. A few young men approached the hut, but she tried not to look directly over at them. They fist-bumped the attendant and leaned on the counter, talking. The attendant picked up a brochure and opened it, explaining something, but Peyton couldn’t hear.
The waiter returned with their mango juices and Bass moved to pay. Peyton figured it was her chance. “I’m bored,” she said, loudly enough for the waiter to hear. “This isn’t what I want to do with my day.”
“What do you want to do?” Bass said, glancing over at her as he counted out bills.
“We could try windsurfing. I’ve never done that before.”
Bass made a face, handing the bills to the waiter. “I’ve done windsurfing a million times. What about something more exciting? I keep wanting to try parasailing.”
The waiter smiled at them and turned on his heel, heading back toward the hotel.
“We could see how much it costs,” said Peyton, just as loudly for the benefit of the people sitting around them.
“Fine,” said Bass. He climbed out of the lounger and waited for her.
Peyton slipped her feet into her sandals and jumped up, adjusting her wrap around her waist. This morning Bambi had begged to style Peyton’s hair into a French braid. Pulling the end of the braid over her shoulder, she moved to Bass’ side. He dropped his arm over her shoulders and directed her toward the hut. He wore his typical board shorts with a tank top and an open collared shirt.
A couple of the young men walked away from the hut. Peyton marked that one shoved something in his pocket. She tried to find a distinguishing characteristic about the young man and saw he had a large beauty mark on his right cheek. Maybe she’d be able to find him later and figure out what he’d slipped into his pocket.
Reaching the hut, Bass picked a brochure off the pile and opened it. He moved until he’d banded Peyton with both arms, laying the brochure down in front of them. The attendant smiled over at them and went back to talking to the group of three college-aged boys standing at the counter.
The counter was high and Peyton couldn’t easily see over it, but she pretended to listen as Bass read from the brochure. Instead, she focused her attention on the boys.
“No, man, skiing is the best. You get you some powder and it’s like heaven,” said one boy.
“Snowboarding. Forget your stupid ass skis. You ever been snowboarding, Miguel?”
The attendant shook his head. “No snow,” he said and they all laughed.
Peyton wondered if they were talking in code.
The young men glanced over at her and one gave her a wink. She smiled in return.
“Can I help you?” asked Miguel, moving in front of them.
Bass cleared his throat. “We were wondering how much it would cost to parasail and if you need experience.”
“No, it is easy.” He turned the brochure and showed them the prices, then he gave Peyton a smile. “Like floating,” he said.
She tilted her head a little. “I don’t know. It seems scary. How far up do you go?”
“That depends
.”
“On what?”
He leaned on the counter, bringing himself closer to her. “How high you want to go?”
Peyton gave him a flirtatious look, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he meant something else.
“It’s a little expensive,” said Bass. “Let’s talk about it,” he told Peyton.
She turned toward him, pouting. “But I’m bored. You promised me something exciting.”
He gave a sigh. “Let’s try windsurfing.”
“You said you’ve done windsurfing a million times.”
“But this will blow the majority of our money.”
She rolled her eyes and looked back at the young college men. “This vacation blows.”
Bass slammed a hand on the counter, making them all jump. “You’re costing me a fortune,” he grumbled and walked away, headed back toward their loungers.
She glanced back at him as if she was undecided, then pretended to be embarrassed and looked at the brochure again. Miguel shot a look toward Bass, then leaned on the counter by her. “There are many exciting things to do here without much money.” His English was surprisingly good.
“Like what?” she said, smiling at him.
“Like…”
“Hey, Miguel, catch you later!” said one of the college kids. He gave the attendant a chin jerk. The other two had started to wander off.
“See you later, man,” said Miguel.
The young man, a blond haired, blue eyed kid of about twenty-two or three, hesitated and looked down at Peyton. “Come play volleyball with us. I’m Brett.” He fit the frat boy stereotype perfectly. He held out his hand.
Miguel’s expression grew grim as Peyton accepted his hand.
“I’m sure I could find all sorts of exciting things for you to try,” he said. Then he brushed along her side as he stepped around her, heading for the volleyball court.
Peyton looked back at Miguel. “I should get back to my boyfriend,” she said, motioning to Bass.
Miguel watched the college boys go. “Be careful around them, chica.”
“Why?” She laughed.
“They are not nice.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just be careful,” he said. “A lot of these college students are here for one thing and one thing only.”
“So, you’re not?”
He smiled, his teeth a bit crooked, but white. “You want excitement, chica, I can get it for you. We would have a good time, yes?”
“Yes,” she said, then she looked anxiously over her shoulder at Bass. “But I have to be careful.”
“Right.” He glanced at Bass as well. “You get away from him and come see me. I work the front desk at night.”
She smiled. “Maybe I will.”
He nodded, then glanced at Bass again. “See you soon.”
Peyton walked back to Bass and sank onto the lounger. Bass shifted on the seat, leaning close to her and giving her a stern look. “Pretend we’re arguing,” he said under his breath.
She looked away from him, as if she were shunning him.
“What did he say?” Bass said, reaching out and grabbing her arm as if he were trying to get her attention.
“He wants me to meet him tonight at the desk. He works there at night. He says he’ll show me something exciting.” She glared at him as if she didn’t like being handled and wrenched her arm out of his hold. “One of the college boys, the blond, blue eyed walking frat boy stereotype, invited me to play volleyball with them. He said his name was Brett. Then Miguel warned me off him.”
“Why?”
“He said Brett and his buddies weren’t nice boys, that they want only one thing.”
“What one thing?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Did Miguel give them anything?”
“Not that I saw, but the boy with the birthmark earlier put something in his pocket.”
Bass considered that. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”
She nodded.
“You can’t go meet up with this Miguel by yourself.”
“I can with the intercoms and my gun.” Her eyes went back to the hut where a pair of college boys had approached the counter, talking to Miguel. “You’re right about this being shady, Bass. Way too many young males for it to be coincidence.”
Bass settled back on his lounger as if their fight was over. “I know, I’m just worried that our buddy Miguel wants to show you more than a few pills.”
She watched the young men talking furtively, glancing around as they conversed. “I don’t think we have much choice. This is our first real lead.”
* * *
Peyton laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”
Marco sighed. “I wish I was, sweetheart. I saw a guy walking around with a bull’s head on. They have these mock battles on the stage, wizards and warriors against ogres and the bull people, I never figured out what they were.”
“I want that picture, D’Angelo. Send it to me right now.”
He picked up his phone and angled the laptop screen a little better, then he messed with something on his device. Pickles sat on his lap and Peyton waved her fingers at him, then made kissy faces. The little Yorkie tilted his head at her.
“I miss you.”
“Me or the dog?” asked Marco, looking into the screen.
“Both of you, but the dog mostly.”
“Thanks.”
She laughed. “I wish I’d been there tonight.” Her own phone buzzed and she lifted it, pressing her finger against the text message. An image opened on the screen of Jake, Abe, Stan and a guy she didn’t recognize, all hamming it up for the camera, wearing wizards robes and hats and Jake wearing leather. “Does Jake have a sword?”
“Yep.”
She made the image bigger. “Where are you?”
“Taking the picture.”
“Uh un, I want the one I know Jake took of you.”
Marco sighed again. “Brooks.”
“Send it or I go directly to the source.”
Marco gave her a narrow-eyed glare, but she thought it was sexy, not intimidating. “Fine.” He messed with his phone some more. A moment later, her phone buzzed again.
She pulled up the message and caught her breath. Marco glared at the camera, much the way he had a few minutes before, but he was dressed in this rough hewn green shirt that was open nearly to his waist, showing off his six-pack abs. She made a whistling sound, then expanded the picture and looked closely at his face.
“Are you wearing…”
“Don’t even say it.”
“Marco, you’re wearing…”
“Please, Peyton…”
“Eyeliner?”
Marco closed his eyes and stroked Pickles’ head.
She laughed. “Oh my God, Abe got you to wear eyeliner?”
“It was that or a blond wig that went down to my ass!”
She fell back on the bed, giggling hysterically. “Oh my God, Abe got you to wear eyeliner!”
She could hear his laugh over the video feed. At that moment, someone knocked at the hotel room door. “Hold on, I gotta get this.”
She rolled off the bed and answered the door. Radar, Bass, Bambi, Rosa and Tank all filed in. Rosa took a look at the laptop and went over to it. “Hello, D’Angelo.”
“Hello, Rosa.”
“Tell your woman goodbye, we got work to do.”
Peyton hurried over and picked up the laptop. “I gotta go.”
Marco’s expression had gone grim. “Be careful, sweetheart.”
“I will. I love you,” she said, blowing him a kiss. “Kiss Pickles for me.”
“Talk to you tomorrow.”
“Yeah, good night.”
“Night.” He hesitated, then said, “Peyton?”
She lifted the laptop again.
“I love you.”
She nodded and disconnected the call, then she closed the laptop. Bambi had taken a seat on the end of her bed. She pulled Peyton d
own next to her, sliding her arm through Peyton’s.
“Okay, we need to get our ducks in a row,” said Rosa, taking a seat at the table by the window. Outside the window, the lights had come on and the sound of the surf filtered into the room, but everything else was dark. “Close the curtains, Tank.”
Tank closed the slider and yanked the curtains shut.
“Brooks has her date with Miguel. Bambi has a bonfire with the frat boys.”
Peyton looked over at her. “You do?”
She nodded.
“Neither one of you is going alone.”
Bass shifted weight. “I think I should go with Brooks. That way if I get caught, I can act like the jealous boyfriend, following my girlfriend.”
“Okay,” said Rosa.
“I called Federico to back me up,” he finished.
“Good. I think Radar and I should take a walk along the beach near the bonfire in case Bambi needs us. That won’t look suspicious.”
“What about me?” asked Tank.
“You’ll coordinate everyone from here,” said Radar. “If anything goes south, you can pull either team to the other location. We’ll all have our trackers turned on in our phones.”
“And the com links,” added Tank.
“When are you supposed to meet Miguel?” asked Rosa.
“Whenever. He works the desk in the evenings.”
“Peyton and I need time to get ready,” said Bambi.
“Okay. Meet in Tank’s room before we head out to check all of the equipment.” Rosa gave them all a grim look. “Neither one of you get into a vehicle with your marks. Stay in the open. No one takes chances. Remember, Miller was pulled off the street.”
Peyton and Bambi nodded.
“I’ll be right there,” Bass told Peyton. “I promise you.”
She knew he felt guilty that he hadn’t stopped Miller’s abduction, but she could take care of herself. She had no intention of letting anyone get the drop on her. Still, it was nice to know he’d be there if she needed backup.
“Thanks.”
He nodded, then headed for the door with the rest.
Bambi put her head on Peyton’s shoulder. “I’m sorry they cut short your talk with Marco.”
Peyton shrugged. “It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She lifted her phone. “You wanna see something?”
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 29