They had another full day of interviews planned tomorrow before they could get on their plane and go home. Rosa felt bad for her team. They hadn’t gotten any downtime to enjoy the scenery or take in an excursion, but they hadn’t complained. Now they looked tired and defeated. She knew her finest squad didn’t take defeat easily.
Kaz lifted a hand as he stepped into the room. They gave him a desultory greeting. Tank sat at the table in the corner, his laptop open, his headphones in his ears, reviewing some of the audio reports they’d taken that day from the hotel guests. Bambi lounged on Rosa’s extra bed, studying surveillance pictures they’d taken during the drug exchange in Trevor’s room, trying to see if she recognized the maid who’d made the exchange against a roster of hotel employees. Seven of the hotel employees were unaccounted for today, including Miguel.
Radar sat in a chair next to Peyton with a sheaf of papers in his hand. He was translating written notes of the interviews from Spanish into English, so the FBI would have their own record. Rosa had told them she’d have that done when they got back to San Francisco, but Radar had been insistent that they might pick up something before they left. He just couldn’t let it go or accept that they’d never know who killed Joe Miller.
She felt a little guilty that she’d agreed to go to dinner with Bass. Not while her people continued to work a case that she’d brought to them through her connection to her old partner. But she needed a break. The atmosphere in the room was making her edgy – the air of desperation and disappointment. They’d failed. It was as simple as that. This was one case they weren’t going to solve.
“How’s your head?” Peyton asked, smiling up at Bass.
“Better.” He touched the bandage. “You ready?” he asked Rosa.
“Yeah, let me just grab a sweater.” She snagged the thin garment from the end of the bed where Bambi was, then she clasped it in her hands. “Stop this. Go out and get dinner yourselves. Have a margarita. Have a pitcher of them. Leave this for tomorrow.”
They looked up at her, all looking lost in their own thoughts. She shook her head and focused on Peyton. “Make them stop. Make them go to dinner.”
“We will,” said Peyton, lowering the cover on the laptop. “I promise. We’ll just work for another hour and then I’ll make them stop. Go have fun. Enjoy your dinner and drink a pitcher of margaritas for us.”
Rosa nodded and turned for the door.
“Do you have your cellphone?” asked Radar distractedly, his eyes still on his papers.
“Oh, shit!” said Rosa with a laugh, going over to the table and grabbing the little purse she’d packed for tonight. It had little more than her passport, her wallet, her lipstick and her cellphone. She’d added her gun because Radar had wanted her to be armed, which meant she’d stuffed her badge in there as well. As she slung her strap over her shoulder, her eyes landed on the paperwork she and Radar had worked on all day – the papers to bring Joe Miller home.
“Kaz, I forgot. I need your signature on this.”
“What is it?” he asked, moving toward the table.
“The orders to bring Joe home.” She held out a pen for him to sign, pulling the papers over to him.
He met her gaze, his expression grim. “Yeah,” he said, taking the pen. He signed with a flourish and set the pen on the form. For a moment he didn’t move, just stared at the paper.
Rosa laid a hand on his shoulder. “He’s going home, Kaz,” she said softly.
He still didn’t move, then he tilted back his head, staring at the ceiling. “Yeah, he’s going home,” he repeated. Then he turned, “You ready to go.”
“Yeah. See you later,” she told her team.
“I’ll text you where we’ll be. When you get done with dinner, let’s meet for a drink, all of us,” Peyton said.
Rosa nodded. “I’d like that.” Then she turned and walked to the door.
Kaz opened it and held it for her as she stepped into the hallway. “See you later,” he said and shut the door behind them.
* * *
Peyton opened the laptop again as they left, stretching her arms over her head. She’d been bent over the thing for too long. “I gotta sit at the table, Radar. My upper back’s hurting.”
Radar made a growl of annoyance as she rose and dragged the chair to the table across from Tank, holding the laptop in one hand. She moved the order to bring Joe home onto the pile of other papers, closer to Tank, and set the laptop down in its place.
“We’re only doing this for another hour, then we’re going to dinner ourselves,” she said.
Tank glanced up at her and gave her a closed mouth smile.
“Hear, hear,” said Bambi. “I want a daiquiri in a pineapple.”
“You and those daiquiris,” grumbled Radar. “They’re too sweet. Nasty.” He shivered in revulsion.
“Well, what do you like to drink when you’re down here?” asked Bambi.
“Don Julio, neat.”
“Don Julio? Tequila?”
“The finest tequila they make.”
Peyton smiled, listening to them, but she was distracted as Tank reached over and picked up the order, staring at it. His brow furrowed and he narrowed his eyes in concentration.
“Tank?”
“Look at this,” he said, setting the paper down in front of her and pointing.
She glanced where he pointed. “I don’t understand.”
He looked up at her. “I need all of Miller’s strange text messages to Rosa. Do we have those in all this mess?”
“I have them on my phone,” said Bambi. “When we came down here I typed them into my notes verbatim. I thought we might want them all in one place.”
“Bring them here,” said Tank, shoving aside his laptop and grabbing the pad of paper the hotel had left for them. He took the pen and wrote something across the top of the pad. Peyton leaned over and looked.
She had no idea what had him so worked up, but she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach all of a sudden. They weren’t going home on Monday.
* * *
Bass took Rosa to Pescados. The taqueria was located in an open air market where tourist still meandered through the booths, looking at trinkets and bartering with the locals, despite the time. The taqueria was painted in brilliant colors – oranges, reds, purples, greens – and had painted ceramic plates, colorful ceramic parrots, and deep red chili peppers hanging from the walls and the ceiling.
Bass led Rosa inside and they found a table in the middle of the restaurant. They took seats and Rosa draped her sweater and the strap of her purse over the back of the chair. The interior was crowded with tourists and locals, mariachi music playing through the speakers.
A waiter instantly appeared, bringing chips and pico de gallo. “What can I get you to drink?” he said. He was a middle aged man in an embroidered guayabera shirt and khaki pants.
Bass held out a hand to Rosa. It was one of their last nights in Cancun, she thought, what the hell! “A margarita,” she said.
“And you?”
“I’ll have the same.”
The waiter nodded and moved off.
“Should you drink when you’re taking pain pills?”
“I stopped taking them. My head feels a lot better.” He pulled a laminated menu out of a holder affixed to the napkins and handed it to her. “I recommend the fish tacos. It’s sort of what they’re known for.”
She set down the menu. “Sounds good to me.” She took a chip and broke it in two, placing a piece in her mouth, then she looked around the restaurant. “This place must cater to American tourists. This is the first time I’ve been served chips and salsa since I’ve been here.”
He laughed and took a chip himself. “You’re right. This is my favorite restaurant. I’ve eaten here at least once a week since I arrived.”
She broke the other half of the chip. “Do you like it here?”
“Yeah, I do. The people are nice. The food is excellent, and how can you beat that ocean?”
“True,” she said. “I think I’d like to come back on vacation.”
“With Adrian?”
She shrugged. “Probably. He’s thinking of staying in San Francisco. He’s actually thinking of leaving the Bureau.”
“Really? Why?”
The waiter arrived with their drinks. “Are you ready to order?”
Bass ordered for the two of them, while Rosa sipped at her margarita.
“Is it good?” the waiter asked, smiling at her.
She smiled back, feeling a little of the tension ease. “It’s good,” she answered.
He nodded and went away.
“Why would he leave the Bureau?” pressed Bass.
“He says he’s tired of being a trainer and he can’t go back to being an agent.”
“So he was an agent at some point?”
“Yeah, but something happened. He won’t tell me what. He’s been at Quantico for a while now.”
“You could find out what happened, you know?”
She reached for another chip. “I figure he’ll tell me when he’s ready. I don’t want to violate his trust.”
“Wow, that’s impressive.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean you don’t find that much anymore. With the internet always at our fingertips, everyone’s always checking up on everyone else. This relationship must be getting serious.”
She drew a deep breath and released it, toying with the straw in her drink. “I don’t know. I’ve never been particularly good at this sort of thing. I mean, I’ve never had a relationship that lasted longer than a few dates, but I have fun with Adrian and he’s not intimidated by me.”
Bass laughed, leaning back in his chair. “You can be intimidating.”
“I don’t mean to be. I just take my job seriously and I want to do the best I can.”
“And I admire that about you, but I think it’s harder for a woman.”
She looked up at him. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, if a woman’s tough, she’s considered a bitch, where a man doesn’t have to deal with that sort of thing.”
“I’m not going to disagree. It’s always that way. That’s part of the reason I left the DEA. I didn’t feel like the chief inspector took me seriously or that he’d ever recommend me for a promotion.”
“Hanson?” Bass made a scoffing noise. “He’s got his head so far up his ass, he can see his own tonsils.”
She laughed.
Bass leaned forward, dropping his voice. “Look, Rosa, I owe you an apology.”
“For what?”
He glanced down at the table, fiddling with a fallen chip, then he looked up into her eyes. “It’s been bugging me for a long time, going all the way back to when you first started with the DEA.”
“That is a long time,” she said, smiling.
“A lot of the guys, me included, weren’t ready to have a woman come into our boys club. We called you some pretty terrible things and I regret that. I got caught up in all the machismo.”
“Well, you grew out of it, so cut yourself some slack.”
“That’s not the only thing.”
“What? You called me bitch behind my back? Every man there did,” she said, laughing.
He laughed too. “No, well…yeah.” He gave her a sheepish look. “But I did something worse.”
“What?”
“Do you remember someone putting the mangos and papayas in your locker over the weekend?”
Rosa’s smile dried.
Do you remember the locker room incident?
Joe Miller’s text message.
Bass shook his head ruefully. “I did that.”
Rosa felt the blood drain from her face.
“I’m really sorry about that. I’ve been guilty about it all this time. I’ve wanted to confess and tell you how sorry I was all these years. It was a really shitty thing to do.” He looked up, his face shifting from chagrin to alarm. “Are you okay? You’ve suddenly got pale.”
Rosa tried to speak, but her heart was hammering in her ears.
“Rosa?”
The waiter arrived, placing their food on the table. Rosa stared at it, but she didn’t really see it.
“Is everything all right?” asked the waiter.
Rosa looked up at him, not processing what he was saying. Those who seek the truth run the risk of finding it. Her heart wanted to shout NO, but her mind knew what Joe Miller had been trying to tell her all along.
“Everything’s fine,” Bass told the waiter, giving her a concerned look.
Rosa scrambled behind her for her purse. “I have to go to the bathroom.”
“Are you okay?” he asked as the waiter moved off again.
She stared at him, wanting so much not to be right about this, but he lifted his head suddenly and his eyes darkened. “I’m not feeling well,” she said and rose to her feet. “I’ll be right back.”
She took a chance and turned her back on the table, not wanting to alarm him any more than she had, but as she headed for the bathroom, she fumbled to open her purse and find her cell phone. Weaving between the tables toward the archway marked los baños, she turned into the dimly lit hallway, getting the latch on her purse open, but an arm snaked out and snagged her around the waist, dragging her into the hallway and shoving her back against the wall.
Another hand clamped over her mouth, cutting off her breath and her purse went sailing into the distance, her cell phone falling out and skittering across the floor. Before she could fight back, a man shoved her up against the wall, pinning her with his size and weight. The brush of a beard tickled her cheek and a low voice said, “Whatever you do, don’t scream!”
* * *
Tank’s hand flew over the pad of paper, writing down letters and crossing things out. Finally he stopped and looked up at them. He had Miller’s text message to Rosa. It read They asked me to take you on, said I’d be good for you. Man, they had it backasswardz. Backasswardz. Then Tank had written the word backasswardz, crossing out letters, and below that, he’d written Kaz Ward Bass.
“Why the hell didn’t Miller just tell Rosa it was Bass?” Radar growled. “Why all the cloak and dagger?”
“He obviously thought that his communications were being monitored,” said Tank.
Everyone stared at the paper, no one moving, then Radar slammed a hand on the table. “Get Rosa on the phone now!”
Peyton and Bambi scrambled to find a phone in the room, while Radar glared at Tank. “Why didn’t we see this before? Miller was trying to tell Rosa who betrayed him.”
“I’d never seen Bass’ name written before. As soon as he signed this paper, it hit me.” Tank held up the paper with Bass’ signature on it, releasing Joe’s body to the U.S.
Peyton found her phone first, dialing Rosa’s number. They all held their breath as Peyton listened to the ringing. A moment later, Rosa’s voice could be heard, asking Peyton to leave a message.
“How long has she been gone?”
“Not ten minutes,” said Bambi, glancing at the clock on her own phone. “Can you track her, Tank?”
“No, I can track all of you, but I never thought to set that up on Sarge’s phone.”
“If we call the US phone service, that’ll take too long,” reasoned Radar.
Peyton went to her backpack and pulled out her gun, checking it for bullets. “We have to go look for her.”
“We don’t know where they were going for dinner!” shouted Radar.
“Then we split up and check every restaurant within walking distance of this hotel.”
“We don’t have to do that. A lot of the smaller restaurants close once the clubs open. We just need to check the restaurants that are within walking distance and still open.”
“Try her phone again,” said Bambi, jumping up and down.
Peyton tried again, but she got the voice message even quicker that time. “We’re wasting time, Radar. We need to go look for her. She could be in danger. Why di
d he want to take her to dinner by herself tonight?”
Radar rubbed both hands against his temples. “I don’t like splitting up,” he said.
“We can cover a lot more ground that way,” said Bambi, calming herself by pulling out her own gun.
Tank finished clicking on the computer. “I’ve sent a list of restaurants to each of our phones. Radar, you take the top three, I’ll take the next three, then Bambi the next, and Peyton will do the last.” He jumped up, reaching for his own gun, which lay on the table.
“Okay, just stop for a moment and listen to me!” Radar said firmly. “No one engages Bass. Do you understand? You pull Sarge aside, tell her what we found out, and wait for backup to arrive. No one takes Bass down on their own.” He pointed a finger around the group. “Are we clear?”
Everyone nodded.
“I want it verbally.”
“Aye aye,” they all said.
“Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit! Shit!” grumbled Radar as they headed toward the door.
Peyton pulled up Tank’s list once they were in the hallway, headed for the elevators, counting down the list to get to the three assigned to her. The elevator arrived and they climbed inside. Tank began passing out the comlinks to everyone.
“We stay in contact at all times,” Radar said, drawing Peyton’s attention from her phone. “Do you understand? We check in every five minutes. If we don’t hear from someone, we head to their last known location.”
The elevator reached the bottom floor and they piled out of it, hurrying for the front doors of the hotel.
“Be careful, everyone!” said Bambi, squeezing Peyton’s arm.
“Keep updating every five minutes!” Radar scolded, then they broke away, hurrying off in different directions.
Peyton stepped back under the hotel awning and looked at the list again, silently counting down until she came to her three. One name stood out to her. Pescados. She remembered Bass saying something about getting fish tacos there and loving it.
Was there a chance he might have taken Rosa there? She had to try it first. It was the only clue they had. She wondered if she should call for backup already, but she had no proof that’s where they’d gone. She needed to check it out first for herself.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 43