“I think she wants to know if we’re ready to order.”
The waitress nodded vigorously to indicate that was right.
“I’ll have the chicken quesadillas with queso blanco sauce.”
“I’ll have the same,” said Peyton.
The waitress nodded and walked away.
Rosa played with her straw. “I talked to Bass before I came down.”
“And?”
“Vega thinks they’ll have enough manpower in place by tomorrow night to take down the Excelencia. By this time tomorrow, it might be all over. Maybe we’ll finally know who killed Joe.”
Peyton breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I’m ready to go home.” When Rosa looked over at her, she added, “This is a beautiful place, but I miss my home.”
“You miss Marco.”
“And my dog and my friends and my bed.”
Rosa made a sound of agreement. “I miss Adrian.”
Peyton took another long sip of her drink. She hadn’t expected that. “So, is it serious between you and Stryker?”
Rosa slowly shook her head. “I just don’t know. It might be, but I don’t really have a frame of reference for it. Besides Joe, I don’t let a lot of people get close to me.”
No shit, thought Peyton. She took another long sip. She could feel the tequila warm a path to her belly and wondered if she should slow down. She hadn’t eaten much today. They’d spent most of the day at the AFI office, planning their raid.
“Adrian’s thinking of leaving the FBI.”
That took Peyton aback. “Really? He told you that?”
“Yeah, he wants to stay in San Francisco. We’re thinking of moving things to the next level.”
“But he’s going to leave the FBI?”
“He says he can’t be an agent again. Something happened, he’s never told me what, but that’s why he became a trainer. He says he wants to try something new now, something outside the FBI.”
Peyton mulled that over. Things must be very serious with Rosa if he was thinking of giving up his career for her, but then again, although Stryker had taken their training seriously at Quantico, she’d always got the sense that his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe that’s why she’d liked him so much. He wasn’t all gung-ho for the bureau like some of the other trainers she’d met.
“Radar’s investigating Joe,” Rosa said suddenly. Then she lifted her hand to the waitress, pointing between the two margarita glasses and holding up two fingers.
Peyton was torn between concern about another margarita on an empty stomach and Rosa’s comment about Radar. She realized she’d never attempted to have a real conversation with Rosa before, but did she always bounce around on topics like this, blurting out very serious comments like she was discussing the weather?
“Wait. What? Radar’s investigating what about Joe?”
“He thinks Joe may have been skimming off the top.”
“As in what? You mean selling the drugs himself?”
“Or taking money to look the other way. That’s the only explanation Radar can come up with for why your Beardy McBeardson was following Celeste and came down here. He thinks Joe’s the common denominator.”
“Do you believe that?”
Rosa shook her head. “I don’t, but is that because I don’t want to believe it, or is it because I really knew Joe that well?”
“You knew Joe that well. He was your partner for years, Rosa. You’ve got to believe in what you know about him. Nobody understands what it’s like between partners. That’s a deep bond, an unbreakable trust. If you believe Joe wouldn’t do something like that, then he wouldn’t.”
Rosa looked over at her. “How do you do that?”
“What?”
“Have such absolute trust in people?”
“I don’t. There are a lot of people I don’t trust.”
“Name one?”
Peyton drew a blank. “I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”
Rosa narrowed her eyes on her. “Do you trust me?”
Peyton realized she did. “Yes.”
Rosa nodded. “See.”
The waitress arrived with their second drinks, removing the first, then hurrying off to another table.
“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”
“I don’t know, Brooks. Can you ever really know someone?”
“Yes.”
Rosa glanced over at her again. “How?”
“I know Marco.”
“He left you.”
“And some part of me knew that was coming. I knew Marco would never stay while he felt he was unhealthy for me, but I also knew he’d do everything in his power to get healthy again.”
Rosa lifted her brows. “That’s one person.”
“I know Radar.” Peyton stirred her drink with her straw. “I know that Radar would protect any of us with his life. I know he is completely and totally devoted to his wife, and I know that no matter how much I annoy him, he still likes me.”
Rosa smiled.
“And I know Stryker’s a good man.”
Rosa’s smile dried and she reached for her drink, taking a gulp. “He is a good man.”
“So was Joe Miller.”
Rosa looked out at the pool again.
“Can I ask you a question?” said Peyton.
“Ask away,” she said with a flourish of her hand.
“Why did you ask me to dinner?”
Rosa regarded her a moment without blinking and Peyton resisted the impulse to squirm. “You’re interesting.”
“I’m interesting? What does that mean?”
“You’re damaged, Brooks. You have PTSD and you never recovered from your father’s death. Marco nearly died in your arms and that broke something in you. You have an unhealthy relationship with him.”
“In what way?”
“You’re too dependent on him for your happiness, but he’s the same way, so you’re both damaged. Maybe your two broken halves make one whole, who am I to judge.”
“Please go on,” Peyton said wryly.
“You’re intelligent, but you don’t always use that intelligence. You are too damn trusting, which is a contradiction when you think about how damaged you are. You like people.” She made a sneer. “All people – white, brown, black, pink, blue, gay, straight, asexual – and you try to accept them for who they are, but you also have a very prosaic code of ethics. Don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t commit murder. I’d say it almost bordered on religious fervor, but you’re too open minded. Another contradiction.”
Peyton didn’t bother asking her to continue. She just sipped steadily at her drink and let Rosa keep speaking.
“You even accept me and I’m the last person you should accept. I slept with the man you adore, I scare the hell out of you, and I make you feel insecure. You don’t like to feel insecure. In fact, you like to be in control and yet, you defer to anyone who has a stronger will than you.” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “You are interesting.”
Peyton pushed the drink away. She’d drank too much, too quickly and her head felt fuzzy. “I can’t imagine why you don’t have any friends,” she quipped.
Rosa burst into laughter. “And you’re funny, so there.”
So there, thought Peyton, immensely relieved when the waitress finally appeared with their dishes.
CHAPTER 22
Rosa turned off the hairdryer, thinking she might have heard a knock on her hotel room door. She stood with the brush and hairdryer poised, waiting for confirmation. It came again, a quick rap three times. She knew it was Radar by the staccato rhythm and her heart sank. She didn’t want to open the door. Maybe if she didn’t, he’d go away and she could avoid hearing what he had to say.
When the knock came a third time, she knew he’d heard the hairdryer. There was no getting out of this. She placed the hairdryer back on its holder and lowered the brush to the sink, grabbing her hair-tie. She stepped out of the bathroom and crossed to the door, gathering h
er thick hair into a ponytail. Pulling open the door, her heart sank further. Tank stood behind Radar, carrying a laptop in his hands.
Radar stepped into the room, motioning Tank to the table in the corner by the French doors. Tank slipped past her and sank into the chair, giving her a sheepish look, but Radar looked determined. Grim and determined. This was definitely not good news.
“I’d ask you if everything’s all right, but I get the sense it isn’t.”
Radar took the other chair, leaving her the end of the bed. She sank onto it.
“Pull the bandage off, Radar. Don’t pussyfoot around. I hate it,” she demanded.
Radar removed his shades and tucked them into the neck of his polo shirt. “Joe Miller had an off-shore account in the Bahamas.”
Even though she’d tried to prepare herself for it, she still felt like she’d been gut punched. “What do you mean he had an off-shore account?”
“It was opened by a third party with a large deposit. Only Joe and his wife Celeste can withdraw from it,” said Tank.
For some reason her brain wouldn’t process this information. “What do you mean a third party deposited a large sum of money into it?”
“It was done through an untraceable wire transfer,” said Tank. “I can’t even get the country of origin.”
“How much?” she said, gritting her teeth. She felt like she might be sick.
“$250,000,” said Radar.
“When?”
“When?” echoed Radar.
“When was this done?”
“A few days after Joe arrived in Quintana Roo,” said Tank.
“Has anyone withdrawn the money?”
“Not yet.”
She rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”
“I’m sorry, Sarge,” said Radar. “I was afraid there was more to this than there appeared.”
She thought of what Peyton had said to her the previous night, about how she had to trust herself, trust her belief in Joe. “I don’t believe it.”
Tank and Radar exchanged a look.
“The proof is there, Rosa,” said Radar gently. “Tank can show you the account.”
She shook her head. “I don’t care. Something doesn’t add up. Why would they kill him? If they were paying him off to…what?” She wasn’t even sure she knew.
“Look the other way,” said Radar. “Not solve the drug case. Let the cartel keep operating out of the Excelencia.”
“Then why did they kill him?”
Radar held up an empty hand and let it fall again. “Who knows? These things go bad, especially when you’re dealing with bad people. He crossed the wrong person.”
“It still doesn’t make sense. He came down here after Bass had been here for six months, but a few weeks later, he has an offshore account and then he’s dead. Why not kill Bass? Bass has been here for six months. They’ve had a hell of a lot more opportunity to eliminate him.”
“Bass didn’t get into bed with them,” Radar suggested. “Miller did. Then something went horribly wrong.”
“No, he wouldn’t do that!” She touched the center of her chest. “I knew him, Radar. I knew Joe Miller. No one was more above-board than Joe. No one was a better agent. He would never have taken a bribe, he would never have gone into business with drug dealers.”
Radar looked down. She knew there was more.
“What?”
Tank focused on the computer screen, fussing with the keys and refusing to make eye contact with her.
“Tell me!” she ordered.
“He was in trouble, Rosa. He had a lot of debt and they were about to lose the house. They’d made some bad investments and his salary couldn’t cover the outflow,” said Radar.
“Celeste was trying to find work. I found a resume posted on an on-line headhunter site with her name and address,” added Tank.
Rosa felt her shoulders slump. “He never told me that.”
Wisely, Radar and Tank didn’t respond.
“He never said he was in trouble. I would have helped him, I would have done anything I could to make things easier on him.”
Tank typed on the keys and Radar rubbed the back of his neck.
Rosa tried to process what they’d told her, but she couldn’t. What would Celeste do now? She didn’t have a job, she was about to lose her house. How would she make it? As soon as they finished this case, the federal government would freeze the offshore account and she wouldn’t have access to that money either.
Why hadn’t he told her how bad things were?
“It doesn’t make a difference, Sarge.”
She glanced up at Radar, her thoughts a million miles away. “What?”
“It doesn’t make a difference what he did or why. We have the same job we had when we came down here. We have to shut this cartel down and find the people who murdered him. Nothing changes that.”
She nodded, but she wasn’t really focused on the case anymore. She felt betrayed and hurt and confused. She would have bet everything that she knew Joe Miller, that he’d never be capable of something like this. She would have staked her life on it.
Now it made her wonder what other miscalculations she’d made.
* * *
Marco had Lee call Simons into his office Thursday morning. The big man lumbered in and sank into one of the chairs across from his captain. Marco noted that the dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem as pronounced as they had a few days before.
“I’m headed out to see Mavis Jones and let her know we caught Jamaad’s killer. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”
Simons smiled. It was a rare thing. “Yeah, I’d like that, Captain.”
Marco reached for his crutches. “Then let’s head out. She’s expecting us.”
As they left the precinct, Marco told Lee where they were going and then they climbed into the Charger. Pulling out onto the street, Marco fought his impulse to fill the silence with conversation. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself, Peyton had usually carried it for the two of them, but Big Bill Simons was even less of one than he was.
After pulling onto the freeway, headed toward Hunters Point, Marco glanced in the rearview mirror and adjusted his side mirrors. Besides Simons’ breathing, no other sounds filled the car. Marco couldn’t help but wonder if he and Cho spent all day like this, not speaking, not looking at each other. It didn’t seem to bother Simons.
“So, Cho’s getting married real soon,” he finally said, when he couldn’t take it any more.”
“Yep.”
Marco looked at him from the corner of his eyes, but Simons was staring out the window, his fingers drumming on the Charger’s door handle. “To Maria.”
Simons glanced over at him. “Yep.”
Marco nodded, dragging his teeth over his lower lip. “That’s kinda wild.”
“I guess. He’s crazy ‘bout her, and she seems to love him, so…”
So? So, what? At least finish a thought.
Marco slapped his palms against the steering wheel. “Peyton says she might be home in a couple days.”
“Good.”
“Bet Maria will be glad. She keeps calling me to see if I’ve heard from Peyton. I think she’s nervous she won’t be here for the wedding, but I told her I’d have Ryder wear the dress if necessary.” Marco laughed, but Simons didn’t. He felt Simons’ gaze on him. Marco realized he was babbling and that was a first. He never babbled. He never made small talk. Is this how everyone else felt around him all the time? Hm, that was worth considering.
He fell silent, thinking about Peyton, thinking about her coming home, and wishing it were today. Although he had Pickles, her house seemed horribly quiet without her. When she was home, people just dropped by without warning. In fact, he couldn’t string two nights together when someone hadn’t popped by and stayed for dinner. When he was there alone, no one stopped by. Maybe it was his inability to make conversation. Maybe people felt it was unpleasant to spend time with h
im.
He tried to remember hanging out with people if Peyton wasn’t around and the only time that happened was if Jake or Abe instigated it. Maybe he should make more of an effort. Maybe he should try to be a little friendlier. Then he dismissed that.
It was too much work. Honestly, while he didn’t mind all the other people hanging around, the only one he really wanted to spend time with was Peyton. His own family was so much better when Peyton was there with him.
Because thinking of Peyton made him feel so lonely, he turned his attention to the task force. He’d finally gotten around to calling the mayor’s assistant and finding out exactly how much had been set aside for his use. It was more than he’d thought – enough to hire a director, an assistant and maybe a part-time clerk. He could also afford a lot more neighborhood barbecues and community events, maybe even hire some local bands to play music. Of course, the task force needed a name. Harlan Osborn had dubbed it the San Francisco Neighborhood Partnership. He supposed SFNP might be an okay acronym, but it felt a little official. He leaned toward something that would be easily remembered. In fact, he was coming down on CCAP, the City Community Action Plan, but he wanted to run it by a few people first.
This topic of thought carried him until they rolled up before Mavis Jones’ front door. The Jones had a small house up a short flight of stairs. The front opened directly on the street, but brick planter beds on either side of the staircase lent color to the otherwise drab tan of the structure.
The window shades were open and someone glanced out the front pane, looking down to the street. Marco thought it might be Jamaad’s grandmother, Maeve. They climbed out of the car and moved toward the house. A few young men hung out on a stoop a few doors down. Marco couldn’t help but wonder if they belonged to one of the two gangs fighting for territory in this neighborhood. Young men hanging around with nothing to do, no matter what neighborhood, was probably not a good thing, especially since it was eleven in the morning. Why weren’t they in school?
As they reached the stairs, Marco felt the familiar annoyance. Stairs were his bane and it made him feel vulnerable. Simons stopped, waiting for him. Marco shifted the crutches to one hand and gripped the handrail, then he gradually settled weight on his left leg. It held. He was getting stronger.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 38