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

by M. L. Hamilton

  The boy shifted weight from one foot to the other as the woman slowly picked her sunglasses off the counter with her room card, then clutched the towels to her ample bosom. Bambi entered the lobby and crossed to Peyton. Peyton pretended to show her the brochure and she made some random comments about how fun it would be to go on such a trip.

  As the woman left the counter, Trevor stepped up and slapped some American money on it. He was breathing rapidly and Peyton could see the back of his hair was damp from sweat. He was a mess.

  “Tengo que cambiar dinero,” said Trevor loudly. Too loudly. The older woman turned to look at him.

  Miguel narrowed his eyes. “¿Qué?”

  “Tengo que cambiar dinero,” Trevor repeated. “Necesito billetes pequeños, muy pequeños. Monedas.”

  At that moment, the older woman dropped the towels, her room card, and her sunglasses. “Oh, goodness,” she said, bending over to pick them up.

  Trevor shot her a panicked look, then turned back to Miguel. He was breathing so hard he was almost hyperventilating and a sob came out of his mouth.

  “Please, por favor. Just give me the coin. Just give it to me.”

  “Oh shit,” whispered Bambi.

  Miguel’s affable smile dried and he glanced up, looking around the lobby.

  “Please!” pressed Trevor, placing his hand over the money. It visibly shook and Miguel zeroed in on it.

  “Bastard!” hissed Miguel, then he lunged for the boy.

  Trevor threw himself backward into the older woman. She shrieked, causing the other clerk to look up in alarm, then Miguel vaulted onto the counter. Peyton reached for the gun at the small of her back at the same time Bambi did, just as Miguel swung off the counter, landing on Trevor and the older woman, taking them both to the ground with him. A couple of young girls entering the lobby from one of the corridors screamed and the clerk immediately ducked under the counter.

  “Move! Move! Move!” Peyton shouted into her com.

  A moment later, AFI agents in riot gear flowed into the hotel from the beach and the street, but Miguel regained his feet and raced into one of the corridors on the west side of the building as Peyton and Bambi ran toward Trevor and the older woman.

  Peyton watched Miguel duck into the corridor and she tried to remember the layout of where everyone would be stationed. Grabbing Trevor under one arm, Bambi on his other, they hauled him to his feet as Peyton shouted into the com.

  “He’s coming your way, Bass!”

  “Roger,” came Bass’s response.

  “Do you have this!” Peyton said to Bambi, shoving Trevor at her.

  “Got it,” she answered, reaching down to help the older woman up. “Be careful.”

  Peyton nodded, then raced to the corridor after Miguel, motioning some of the AFI agents to follow her. As they sprinted toward the exit at the end, Peyton could hear Bass shout, “Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Then there was commotion in her ear and shouting. As they reached the conflux of the two corridors, she and the two AFI agents threw themselves back against the wall, holding their guns in position. They could hear grunting and the sounds of a struggle. Then suddenly the alarm on the door sounded, blaring loudly in the tight corridor, and they hurried to see what had happened.

  Bass lay in the corridor, struggling to right himself, blood streaming from a cut in his scalp as the door slowly closed. Miguel was gone.

  “Man down!” Peyton shouted into the com over the shriek of the alarm. “Man down!” She dropped beside Bass, still holding her gun and pushed him down. “Lay still!”

  He collapsed back on the carpet, moaning, his hands rising to press against the wound in his scalp. She stopped him and searched him over for any other wounds.

  Damn it, they’d made their move and it had failed. Miguel had gotten away and Bass was hurt. They had no choice but to shut down the hotel, missing the opportunity to close down the drug ring. The enormity of their failure nearly made her scream, but she didn’t have time before Rosa arrived, her expression stricken.

  * * *

  No one spoke in the hospital waiting room. They sat in the hard plastic chairs, drinking stale coffee, and trying to find patterns in the stained linoleum. Everyone felt defeated. Miguel had escaped. They hadn’t even gotten surveillance video of him exchanging the coin for Trevor’s money. Peyton felt guiltiest. She should have tried to make the exchange herself. They should never have left it for a kid.

  Vega walked into the waiting room. “Bass is going to be okey dokey,” he said, smiling grimly. “Concusión, sí? They’re keeping him overnight para observación.”

  “Can we talk to him?” asked Rosa.

  “Ah, no, he is resting. They give him the morfina. Él está dormido.”

  “He’s sleeping,” translated Radar.

  Rosa nodded.

  Vega gave her another grim smile. “Ah, bonita, I know it is decepcionante, disappointing, sí?”

  “Sí,” said Rosa.

  “But we find we have shut down a source, yes? No más drogas a Excelencia.”

  “We didn’t catch anyone in the act,” said Radar, pushing himself to his feet. “And we still don’t know who murdered Joe Miller.”

  Vega nodded in understanding. “Es decepcionante, sí? But tomorrow, I work again. We have the cantina. We have Miguel’s familia in the area. It is something. That is all that can be done.”

  They nodded in return.

  “Let’s get some sleep,” said Rosa, motioning toward the door.

  “Come, I will drive you home,” said Vega. “You must be cansado.”

  They walked out of the hospital without speaking and Vega drove them back to their hotel. They climbed out of his Tiguan with only a meager goodbye and went inside, still avoiding all discussion of the night as they went to their separate rooms.

  Miguel may have gotten away with his crime, but the Excelencia would never be the same.

  CHAPTER 24

  Rosa entered Kazander Bass’ hospital room the next day to find him on his feet, pulling on his black uniform shirt. He had a bandage on his head where he’d struck the door frame and he was squinting like he was in pain.

  “Are you supposed to be up?” she asked.

  He winced. “They wanted me to stay another day to make sure I’m not going to suddenly die of a brain bleed, but I told them I’d be responsible for my own health.”

  “They give you stitches?”

  “Three. Just enough to make me feel sorry for myself, not enough to seem heroic.”

  She laughed, but she didn’t feel very good about anything at the moment.

  He sobered and studied her, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I screwed up. I was ready for him, Brooks told me he was coming my way, but he still got the drop on me.”

  “That’s not your fault. We all get blindsided at times.”

  “How did you get down here?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and reaching for his shoes.

  “Vega brought me. He’s talking to Brett Enticott’s parents. They want to fly their son home to the states to see if any treatment might help him, but they need Vega to sign off on the papers to let him go, since he’s a material witness.”

  “Not gonna make much of a witness,” Bass said grimly.

  “No, he’s not, which is why Vega’s letting him go.”

  He pulled on the second shoe. “Have you discussed with Vega what else you plan to do?”

  “We’re going back to San Francisco, Kaz. We have a flight out on Monday. That gives us just enough time to wrap things up. Joe Miller was killed by the Dios Mayas. Somehow I’m going to have to make peace with not getting the actual guy, but this isn’t our fight. This is for the DEA and the AFI, not the FBI.”

  He nodded. “I get you.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’ve got to call my direct supervisor, Brenda Doyle, see what she wants me to do. My cover’s blown, but I hate to give up. I’d like to keep working the case with Federic
o. There still might be something we can do. Maybe go back to that little cantina Miguel took Brooks to, see if anyone’s willing to talk. Find his cousins who work in the tourist industry. I’ve got this feeling that if we could just get this Miguel character, we might unlock the whole Dios Mayas.”

  “I hope you do, Kaz. I really hope you do.”

  He finished tying his other shoe and rose to his feet, grimacing in pain and placing a hand against his forehead. “You think Vega will mind giving me a ride back with you?”

  “Not at all. Are you checked out?”

  “Yep, I’m free to go. I was going to call a taxi, but I’d rather not.”

  She motioned to the door. “Let’s go see Vega.”

  He hesitated, reaching down to grab his flak jacket. “Look, Rosa, you’ve got a couple of days before you head back to San Francisco. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner tonight? My treat.”

  She smiled wearily. She wished they could have gotten an earlier flight out, but this gave them time to shore up a few loose ends and work on transporting Miller’s body back to the states once it was released from evidence. She just wanted to go home, but she hadn’t really taken any time to enjoy the culture here or the beauty of this place.

  “Sure. If you’re feeling up to it, we’ll go to dinner tonight.”

  He stepped up beside her, nudging her with his shoulder. “They gave me some magic pills, so I’ll be fine.”

  She winced, acutely aware Vega was talking at that moment with grieving parents whose son would never be the same again.

  “Sorry, too soon, huh?” He gave her a sheepish smile.

  “Yeah, Kaz, too soon,” she said, then nudged him back.

  * * *

  Marco took a seat in the booth at the Cliff House, looking out over the ocean. It wasn’t the cop’s seat with his back to a wall, but he liked looking at the ocean when he came here, so he always picked this spot. The busboy put a basket of warm muffins and a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice in the middle of the table, then the waitress appeared, smiling at him, carrying a pot of coffee.

  He turned his cup over on the saucer so she could pour, then he reached for the carafe of orange juice and filled his glass. “Thank you,” he said, smiling in return.

  “Are you ready to order?”

  “No, I’m waiting for someone. I’ll just sip my coffee and look at the view while I wait.”

  “Very good. Just signal when you want me to take your order.”

  He agreed and lifted the orange juice, taking a sip as she walked to the next table waiting to be served. He shivered in pleasure. Few things were as good as fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning.

  The Cliff House was one of his favorite restaurants in the City, which is why it made a natural choice when he decided to hold this meeting. He’d called Stryker because Peyton had wanted him to, but he’d never expected the man would be interested in the job. It was a cut in pay, a cut in prestige, and frankly, Marco didn’t know how long it would last. Working for local government could be an iffy prospect. If a new mayor decided CIPAC wasn’t a worthy expenditure, they could be disbanded.

  His phone rang and he marked Devan’s name on the display. “What’s up, Adams?”

  “Good morning to you, D’Angelo.”

  “What do you want? I’m about to have a meeting.”

  “On the weekend, eh? Well, I won’t be able to come to the mayor’s house with you.”

  “Why?”

  “Gotta go look at houses or my marriage may be over.”

  Marco laugh.

  “Laugh all you want, I’m serious.”

  “Sorry. Go look at houses.”

  “Do you have this? You aren’t going to compromise the case, are you?”

  “I’ll do my best not to.”

  A man appeared next to him. He was about six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, lean, and fit, his shoulders straining at the polo shirt he wore. Marco realized he’d seen him with Rosa when he’d dropped Peyton off at the airport.

  “Hey, I got to go.”

  “Call me and let me know what happened after it’s over, okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, then he disconnected the call.

  “Adrian Tréjo,” the man said as Marco accepted his hand, “but most people call me Stryker.”

  “Marco D’Angelo.” Marco shook his hand and released him, then motioned to the chair across from him. “Sorry I didn’t get up, but…” he said, laying a hand on his crutches.

  “No problem.” Stryker took a seat and unfolded his napkin.

  Marco lifted the juice. “Fresh squeezed orange juice?” he said.

  “Sure,” answered Stryker, smiling. He glanced around the room as Marco poured, then over his shoulder where the ocean frothed against an overcast sky. “This City gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

  “It does, which is why I’ve never been able to escape.”

  Stryker laughed. His voice was deep and masculine, but he gave off an easy-going vibe. Marco was surprised how at ease he was with him. Stryker lifted the menu and glanced over it as he reached for the orange juice and took a sip. “Wow, that’s good.”

  “Yeah. Try the muffins. They’re also amazing.”

  Setting down the glass, he reached for a muffin and broke off a piece, placing it in his mouth. “I could get used to this.”

  Marco smiled.

  “What’s good here?”

  “I always get the sautéed vegetable scramble.”

  “Really? You pass up the Johnson omelet with Dungeness crab and avocado? I thought you people in California ate avocado on everything.”

  Marco laughed. “The avocado isn’t the problem. It’s the crab.”

  “Don’t like seafood?”

  “Vegetarian.”

  Stryker raised an eyebrow. “Man, I admire that. I’ve tried for so many years to go vegetarian, but I always fail.”

  “It’s hard to give up meat.”

  “No, man, it’s the bacon. I could give up all other meat. I just can’t give up my bacon.” He glanced at the menu again. “Which is why I’m having the bacon, mushroom and cheddar omelet.”

  Marco relaxed. Stryker might not take the job, but he liked him. “So I guess you’ve heard from Rosa?”

  “Yeah, she said they’re coming home on Monday. Guess things haven’t gone so well down there. You heard from Buttons?”

  “Buttons?” Marco arched a brow.

  Stryker laughed and held up a hand. “Sorry, Peyton.”

  “Yeah, she told me what happened. It’s hard going into another country and trying to solve a crime. There’s no way you’re going to be viewed as anything but an outsider, even from the police.”

  “I know. I just feel bad about it. Rosa really wanted to get the guy who killed Joe. Joe’s death shook her up.”

  “I know it did. Joe Miller was a nice guy.”

  An awkward silence fell between them, the first one, but Marco had been expecting it. It was strange to be sitting across from Rosa’s current lover when he had his own history, albeit brief, with her. They were both aware of it and talking about Miller only brought that to the foreground.

  Thankfully, the waitress arrived. “What can I get you gentlemen?” she asked brightly.

  They ordered and the waitress poured Stryker some coffee. Marco leaned back in his chair and fingered the handle on his own mug. “Look, Stryker, I appreciate you meeting with me. Peyton was all fired up that I call you, but I know the job I have is nothing like what you’re used to doing. I can’t pay you anywhere close to an FBI salary and the benefits probably won’t be as good.”

  “Tell me about the job.”

  Marco narrowed his eyes in surprise, then he decided what the hell. He went over the job description, the salary and the benefits, then he told him about Mavis Jones and that she was considering coming on as an assistant. Stryker listened without comment, then he picked up his orange juice and drained the glass.

  Setting i
t back down, he clasped his hands before him on the table. “Here’s the thing, Marco, this thing between Rosa and me, it’s getting serious or I hope like hell it is. I’m not as young as I used to be and I’d like to see where it’s going, but I can’t do that if I’m in Virginia. Once I loved the FBI and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else, then…” He looked down at the table, his voice trailing away. After a moment, he looked up again and said, “Listen, I haven’t even told Rosa this yet, so I’d appreciate it stay between the two of us.”

  Marco frowned. “Sure.”

  “Six years ago, my partner and I were on a case, a gun smuggler. He had this grand scheme to arm the detainees in Guantanamo and help them start a revolution. Complete nutjob. He was moving guns across state lines, so we went out to stop him. He got warning we were coming and opened fire…” His voice trailed off. He rubbed at his temples with one hand. “We were told the storage facility was cleaned out, but it wasn’t. He was hiding inside, waiting for us. He shot my partner in the head. He didn’t even have time to draw his gun and he was standing right next to me. I got…I got his brains on my flak jacket.”

  Marco grimaced. “God damn,” he whispered.

  “Yeah. I wanted to quit the next day. I didn’t want to play FBI anymore, but my supervisor talked me out of it. I tried being a SAC, but I hated it. Then I went to Quantico as a trainer.” He paused and reached for his coffee, drinking some.

  Marco looked out at the ocean to give him time to get his composure again.

  “Sorry,” he said, setting the cup down. “See why I haven’t told Rosa. It’s easier to talk to someone I don’t know so well, but with her, well, I’m scared of the way she’d look at me afterward, wondering if I’m gonna go all crazy on her.”

  “I don’t think she’ll do that.”

  Stryker nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

  “You need to tell her.”

  Stryker nodded again. “You’re right.”

  Marco tapped his fingers on the table. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “I’m in a support group on Thursday nights for people who’ve been in traumatizing situations, life altering situations. How’d you like to go with me?”