At a cue from Javier, they used handheld battering rams to knock in the doors, then they streamed inside. Marco could hear a jumble of shouts, commands being issued as only seasoned cops could issue them. He waited to hear gunfire, but it never came and he relaxed against the seat.
Thank God it seemed to be over and quickly too. He knew it would take a long time to catalog the weapons and secure the gangsters, but if there was going to be gunfire, it should have come before now. Everything seemed to have gone well. They’d come out with enough manpower and they’d neutralized the situation.
Rolling his head on the headrest, he stared at the warehouse. A flutter of motion caught his eye and he squinted. Someone had come out on the roof and was walking across it. The person came to the edge where there were dumpsters and dangled over the side.
Marco knew he could call to one of his people inside the building, but he wasn’t completely sure they had everything secure yet. Pushing open the van door, he grabbed his crutches and got out, then he hurried as fast as he could across the street, toward the warehouse.
The escapee still dangled from the building, trying to judge how far the drop was to the dumpster and if it could be made without breaking anything. Just as Marco reached the site and drew his gun, the person dropped into the dumpster and disappeared.
Marco braced himself on the crutches and steadied the gun with both hands. “Come out with your hands up!” he shouted at the person in the dumpster. He heard rustling, but the perp didn’t appear. “I said, come out with your hands up!” Pressing the radio at his shoulder with his chin, he said, “I need backup on the left side of the building.”
The radio crackled, but he couldn’t make out the response. Suddenly the dumpster exploded in garbage and the perp leapt out of it, landing on the ground. He glanced back at Marco and Marco couldn’t help but notice he couldn’t be more than 14. Then the kid bolted toward the other end of the alley.
Marco didn’t want to shoot him, but he didn’t want him getting away. “Stop!” he shouted, aiming the gun at a spot above the kid’s head. He shot and the bullet went through a rusted piece of hanging sheet metal. The metal released and fell, nearly dropping on the kid. The kid threw himself to the side and slipped on something wet in the alley. He landed hard on his side, knocking the wind out of him.
Keeping the gun trained on him, Marco dropped the crutches, praying his damn leg would hold him and using the side of the building for support, limped over to the kid, pointing the gun at his head. “Don’t move!” he snarled.
A moment later, Holmes raced around the side of the building, his gun drawn. He skidded to a halt beside Marco, panting. “You okay, Captain?”
“Fine. What’s going on inside?”
Holmes reached down and checked the kid for a gun, then he yanked him to his feet. “We got him.”
“What?” Marco asked, lowering his own weapon. “You got who?”
“Chicago, Captain. We got Chicago.”
CHAPTER 19
Rosa sipped her coffee and stared across the resort to the pool. The sun was bright and the air was cool, but she could already feel the humidity climbing. Besides dipping her feet in the Caribbean on her walk last night with Radar, she hadn’t gone swimming. She wanted to, but she didn’t think it looked professional. Not that a Cancun t-shirt and khaki shorts screamed professional, but she had to look the part of a tourist.
This morning as Adrian filled her in on everything in San Francisco, he’d remarked that she looked tired. She was. After the late night they’d pulled last night and the fact she couldn’t stop playing everything over in her mind, she was getting at most three to four hours of uninterrupted sleep. Talking with Adrian didn’t help. She missed him and that missing of him was beginning to be a problem. He said he missed her. They were definitely beyond the fun, casual part of their friendship.
She thought about swimming again. She could say it was part of her workout routine. No one would question that. Radar had the Ghost Squad in the weight room this morning, running them through a workout. Since they’d come here, she hadn’t done her regular work out – she liked to attend spin classes at the gym down the street from her house, then some light weights -- but swimming wasn’t a bad substitute.
Before she could get up the energy to go, Bass appeared, wearing his tank top, button-up over shirt, and navy shorts today. His spiky blond hair gave him a relaxed appearance, added to his tan. He sank into the seat across from her and reached for the coffee carafe, filling a mug that sat there waiting.
He didn’t speak until he took a gulp, then he set the mug down and looked at her. “Buenos diás.”
“Buenos diás,” she repeated.
“I talked with Federico this morning.” He curled his hands around his mug.
“And?”
“He put a rush on the pill Bambi got from the kid last night.”
She leaned forward. “Did he get results already?”
Bass nodded. “It was Fentanyl, Rosa. Not as high as some of the pills they’ve tested lately, but still dangerous.”
“Should we pull the kid in for questioning?”
“If he clams up or demands a lawyer, we blow our cover. I’ve been down here six months. I don’t want to blow my cover unless we have a sure thing. We need to get more evidence.”
She nodded. In the DEA, sometimes you had to play the long game, but it didn’t work that way in a murder investigation. In a murder investigation, every hour made it that much more difficult.
“I’m trying to solve Joe’s murder, Kaz. You understand that. If we can break open this drug case for you, I’m willing to help, but we can’t stay down here that long. We’ve got to find out who murdered Joe and get back home. Time is critical in our business.”
Bass took another sip of his coffee and then turned to watch two kids shooting water cannons at each other. After a moment, he turned back and gave Rosa a serious look. “Here’s the thing, Rosa. I have a feeling you aren’t going to solve Joe’s murder until I solve this drug case and that’s the truth. Our cases are irrevocably entwined.”
She drew a deep breath and released it. He was right of course, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.
* * *
They took their same positions on the beach as the previous day. Peyton sat with Bass, watching the parasailing hut. Miguel hadn’t arrived yet and the girl was running the reservations. Bambi was playing volleyball with Brett, while Tank went back to scanning the beach for treasures.
Yesterday, he’d actually found a ring – cubic zirconia – but he said the Professor would find it interesting. He’d collected bits of sea glass and pretty shells for her as well. He said she didn’t like store bought souvenirs.
Radar and Rosa had taken up their position on the other side of the parasailing hut, continuing to play the vacationing Mexican couple. This morning Radar had insisted his squad work out with him and he’d run them through a few self-defense positions before he’d let them get breakfast.
Peyton couldn’t deny his training regime was a lot more dictatorial than Stryker’s. Stryker didn’t shout obscenities at his students or call them names, but Radar did. He justified it by saying that an opponent wouldn’t ply them with compliments when he was trying to kill them.
In the end, Peyton had kissed his cheek to make him stop, which prompted Bambi to do the same. When Tank pretended like he was also going to kiss him, Radar ended their training session. As they took the elevator back to their room, Radar glared at her. Of course, she got great joy in poking the bear, so she asked him what was wrong. He grumbled something about her ruining his people, that Bambi and Tank would never have been so forward before she came along.
She smiled now, thinking about it. She hoped she’d ruined them. It was so much more fun if you liked the people you worked with. It made the time go so much quicker. Speaking of which, Bass was back to not talking. She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she’d drawn the straw that would have let her play volleyball i
nstead of this. During Marco’s quiet times, she’d known how to bring him out of it. She’d make some ridiculous claim and he’d be forced to debate it with her. Bass wasn’t like that, or so she didn’t think. Maybe he was. She hadn’t really tried.
“You know, they say there could be a Megalodon still alive now.”
Bass glanced over at her. “You don’t say.”
“Yep, you know what the Megalodon is?”
“Something from Jurassic Park, right?”
“Well, it was a prehistoric shark that they thought went extinct, but there may be one out there,” she said, pointing to the ocean. Tank would have corrected her already and told her there was no evidence of that, but Bass just nodded and went back to watching the parasailing shack.
“Interesting,” he said.
“You ever wonder what might happen if, you know, it came on shore.”
“I guess people would get eaten.”
“Seriously eaten. I’m mean, can you imagine if it was walking around just eating people? Who could stop it?”
Bass shot another look at her from behind his sunglasses. “The military, I guess.”
The military? Was he serious or was he ignoring her? She slumped in her lounger, gripping the arms. Maybe she could go swimming until Miguel came for his shift. Staring out at the crowded beach, she looked for Tank, but he’d disappeared. She wouldn’t mind giving the metal detector a whirl.
Her heart caught and she gripped the arms of the chair tighter. Then she reached up and took off her sunglasses. A man, walking along the shore where the sand was wet, looked familiar. She tracked him with her eyes, noticing his bushy beard, completely bald head. He wore shorts and a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos, and carried his sandals in his hand. He also had on sunglasses which hid his eyes, but his head swept the beach as if he were looking for someone.
Peyton casually lifted the comlink to her mouth. “Sarge, Radar, see the guy walking down the beach toward your direction. Bald, big beard.”
Bass looked over at her, then looked out at the surf. He sat up a little straighter, suddenly on alert.
“I don’t see him,” said Rosa.
“Just wait. He’s coming around the back of the parasailing shack right now.”
Silence descended as both she and Bass followed the man with their eyes. Peyton realized goose flesh had erupted all over her skin.
“I see him,” came Radar’s voice. “He sure looks like our friend from SFO.”
“That’s what I thought. Sarge?”
“I’m fairly certain it’s him.”
“Who?” said Bass in a low voice.
“He was following Celeste Miller,” Peyton said. She rose from the lounger and walked toward the parasailing hut, angling around behind it, so she could keep him in view.
“I’m gonna confront him,” came Radar’s voice. “Sparky, Tank, you got my back.”
“Roger,” said Peyton into the com.
“Roger,” came Tank’s voice.
She glanced to her left and saw Tank sweeping the sand with his metal detector, a floppy hat on his head. He held up a hand to her and she did the same. Suddenly, Peyton spotted Radar heading down the beach toward the water.
Beardy McBeardson spotted him as well and hesitated. Peyton thought he might actually wait for Radar to reach him, but suddenly he turned and stepped into the ocean, tossing his sandals into the sand.
“Stop!” shouted Radar, beginning to run, but Beardy McBeardson dove into the waves and began stroking out into the open water. All of a sudden a boat, coasting along the shoreline, swung in toward land and Beardy McBeardson headed toward it.
Radar stumbled to a halt at the water’s edge as the bearded man was hauled onto the boat.
“Let him go, Radar,” said Rosa through the com. “You don’t want to get into a scrabble in the water. It’s too dangerous and you have expensive equipment on. I took some more pictures of him.”
Radar slapped his hands against his thighs and turned a circle.
“Can we get DNA off his sandals?” asked Peyton into her com.
“Probably not, after they’ve been dropped in the ocean, but he’s definitely connected to Joe’s murder,” came Rosa’s voice.
Peyton watched the boat speed off into the open water. Who the hell was this guy and why wouldn’t he let them talk to him?
“When I get my hands on this bastard, I’m gonna strangle him,” said Radar into the com.
“Well, that’ll be good. A strangled Beardy McBeardson is gonna give us all kinds of information,” said Peyton.
She thought she heard a laugh from Rosa.
“Beardy McBeardson?” Rosa asked.
“Hey, it’s the FBI. You guys are famous for your brilliant nicknames. I’m just taking a page out of the playbook.”
A second later, she knew she’d made Rosa laugh.
* * *
By noon, Miguel still hadn’t shown up. Bass had ordered them a couple of mango smoothies and Peyton needed to use the facilities. Besides, she was bored to death. Stakeout on a street in San Francisco or stakeout on a beautiful beach in Mexico was no different. She hated inaction, she hated sitting still, and the humidity was making her sleepy.
She stretched. “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” she told Bass. “I think Miguel might have the day off.”
“Did he mention that to you yesterday on your date?”
“No, but it was a first date, so we stayed pretty much on the surface. When I go into the lobby to use the bathroom, I’ll look to see if he’s working the counter.”
“Okay.”
She pushed herself off the lounger, tightened her wrap around her waist and slid her feet into her sandals. She glanced at the girl working the parasailing booth, but she was busy texting on her phone.
Angling up into the hotel, she crossed the tiled lobby, eyeing the front desk. Two young men worked the computers, but neither was Miguel. Both of them were busy checking people into their rooms and only one glanced up, giving her a nod of greeting. She didn’t recognize either of them.
She turned left into the hallway leading away from the lobby and came to los baños. The room was empty, so she picked the last stall and went inside. A moment later, the door opened and someone came into the room.
“He’s not there. I looked,” said a young woman’s voice.
“Are you sure? Richie said he’d be there. Are you sure you remember what he looks like?”
“He has short black hair and he has a Mayan calendar tattooed on his right inner wrist.”
Miguel had a Mayan calendar tattooed on his wrist.
Peyton rose and fixed her suit, but she didn’t flush the toilet.
“His right wrist?”
“Inside.”
“And what do you say to him again?”
The girl didn’t immediately answer. Peyton could hear her moving down the row of stalls. She reached over and flushed the toilet, then opened the door. The girl, a curvy African American girl with a pretty face and hair done up in a French braid, jumped back.
“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” the girl said. She looked old enough to be in college, probably not high school.
“No, problem. Too many Mojitos,” Peyton said with a laugh, moving toward the sink.
The girl laughed as well. Her companion was a Caucasian girl with wavy brown hair and big brown eyes. Her eyes almost swallowed up her face. Both girls wore bikinis so small they left little to the imagination.
The second girl smiled at Peyton. “Mine’s pineapple daiquiris,” she said and both girls giggled.
“I haven’t tried those.” Peyton pressed the soap dispenser and lathered up her hands. “That’ll be my next drink.”
“It comes in a pineapple. It’s so much fun.”
Peyton smiled over her shoulder at her as she continued to lather. The African American girl began fussing with her braid, while the other girl adjusted the straps on her bikini top. Peyton knew they were waiting for her
to leave, which made her all the more reluctant to hurry. What had they been talking about? Whatever it was, it clearly had to do with Miguel.
“So, what do you want to do now, Alex?” asked the brown haired girl.
“I need to exchange money,” said the other girl significantly.
Peyton turned on the water.
The brown haired girl looked up and met her companion’s eyes in the mirror. “Okay. How do you say it again?”
Alex shook her head in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jenna?”
“I don’t know. I don’t speak their foreign language.”
Peyton’s eyes met Alex’s in the mirror and they smiled at each other. Their foreign language? Did the girl realize she was the foreigner?
“Tengo que cambiar dinero.”
Peyton went still, holding her hands under the running water.
“Right. I’ll do it. It’s my turn to exchange money,” said Jenna.
“Fine,” said Alex. “Just don’t forget to ask for coins. Monedas.”
Then they turned and walked out of the bathroom. Peyton grabbed some towels, quickly dried her hands, and followed them. She found them in the lobby, standing together, staring at the counter. Peyton walked past them and went to the rack, pretending to look through the brochures, but after a few minutes of whispered debate, both girls turned and walked out of the lobby without getting their money.
Shit. What did it mean? Twice now she’d heard college aged kids asking for change. Monedas. Was that code for pills? If so, she hadn’t seen any pills pass between Miguel and birthmark boy the previous night. Miguel had clearly counted out the money in front of all of them. She hadn’t seen any of the pills Bambi had discovered, but hearing the same thing twice had to be significant.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 33