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

  Mayan Gods in the Yucatan

  Peyton Brooks, FBI

  Volume 5

  ML Hamilton

  Cover Art by Karri Klawiter

  www.artbykarri.com

  Mayan Gods in the Yucatan

  © 2016 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First print

  All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  This book is dedicated to my students, one in particular, who faithfully follow my adventures no matter how long it takes me to write the next volume.

  This is for you, Carolyn.

  And to the rest of my readers, no matter where you may be, thank you for your patience. As always, the greatest measure of my gratitude goes to my family who support me no matter what. That support is immeasurable.

  Nearer the gods no mortal may approach.

  ~ Edmond Halley

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  Rosa dried her damp hair with the bath towel, another wrapped around her body. She stared into the mirror at her reflection, setting the towel on the sink and lifting the lotion bottle, squeezing a dollop into her hands. Rubbing her hands together, she smoothed the lotion over her face and neck, moving from her straight nose to her high cheekbones, then she reached for the brush and drew it through her long, black tresses.

  Her phone buzzed on the counter beside her towel. She shot it a half-glance, then frowned when she saw the name flash on the display. Joe Miller. She reached over and lifted it, swiping her finger across the screen, then she pressed the text message icon.

  You remember how they rode you those first few days – calling you Mamacita. Bastards. The lot of them.

  She frowned and studied the message again. Joe Miller had been her partner with the DEA. They’d stayed in touch when she moved to the FBI, an undeniable, unbreakable link between them, but she hadn’t talked to him in more than a month. Why was he bringing up the past now? They never talked about the past. With Joe it was always the future – what boat he was going to have, what backwater town he was going to make his home when he retired.

  She rested her hip against the sink and typed back. What the hell’s wrong with you? You getting senile?

  She waited for the return text, but nothing. Maybe he hadn’t meant to text her? Maybe the text was meant for someone else, but it had to be her. He was right. The agents in the DEA hadn’t been thrilled with a young, hot-shot Latina crashing their boys’ club. They’d hounded her mercilessly, calling her Mamacita, asking her if she had her citizenship papers. God, she’d hated them.

  She banished the memory, banished the insecurity it created in her. She was SAC (Special-Agent-In-Charge) now; she had her own division. No one talked to her like that. She’d fire them the moment they dared to breathe such bullshit now.

  She set the phone on the counter and fluffed her hair, letting it spill through her fingers.

  “Come back to bed,” came the gruff masculine voice behind her.

  She looked at him in the mirror. He reached over and patted the empty space beside him on the bed, making her smile. She wouldn’t mind climbing back into bed with him. He was fun.

  “I have to get to work,” she said, reaching for her mascara.

  He threw back the covers and rose to his feet. He was completely comfortable in his nakedness. “Take the day off.”

  She shook her head, watching him stalk her. Six feet tall, leanly muscled, dark brown hair, fathomless brown eyes, he was exactly her type. She’d always gravitated toward such men, never staying in a relationship long, but she and Adrian had been an on-again, off-again thing for six months now. When he took his vacation and came out to see her, she’d been excited, but it scared her a little. Were they reaching an actual commitment stage? She didn’t want to think about it.

  He slid his arms around her waist and nuzzled her neck. “Come back to bed,” he whispered in her ear.

  “I can’t. Some of us aren’t on vacation.”

  He turned her to face him and she set the mascara on the counter. “You’re the SAC. Take a vacation now. Besides, it’s Saturday.”

  She placed a hand on his bare chest. “I have one squad out on vacation already.”

  “Then take the day.” He braced his forehead against hers.

  “What if I take Friday and we’ll go to Carmel, grab a room near the beach?”

  He sighed. “Fine. I’ll take it.”

  She kissed him under his square jaw. “Come down to the office and meet me for lunch.”

  He nodded, then his eyes dipped down, trying to peer beneath her towel. “An exclusive lunch?”

  She laughed and shoved him off. “A turkey sandwich lunch.”

  He groaned and kissed her quickly on the mouth, then he released her and walked into the bathroom. She watched him go, admiring his taut backside.

  “Look your fill, lady,” he called over his shoulder, reaching to turn the water on, “‘cause this stud’s off limits now.”

  She laughed again and turned back to the mirror, applying her makeup. Her gaze stole over to her phone, but no other messages had come through. With a sigh, she banished it from her thoughts and finished getting ready for work.

  * * *

  Peyton ran around and pulled the Charger’s door open, reaching out a hand to help Marco get out of the car. He levered himself up on his crutches, grimacing in pain as he squeezed all six foot four inches out of the cramped space. Leaning on the crutches, he closed his eyes and breathed in and out for a moment.

  Peyton resisted the impulse to ask him if he was all right. She knew that would set him off. He was the worst patient she’d ever seen and he resented any attempt she made to mother him, fawn over him. Angling around the car door, he began the labored hobble to the front door of her house.

  She shut the Charger and locked it, following behind him. She knew he was determined to do this on his own. He wouldn’t accept the wheelchair the hospital recommended, so finally Dr. Chamberlain had relented and gave him crutches, but the spot on his right side where they’d taken the bone graft was still healing and sore, and he couldn’t put any weight on the reconstructed leg.

  He worked his way slowly up the ramp. At the top, he stopped, waiting for her to open the door. She was a little afraid to open it. He would either have a good reaction to the surprise waiting on the other side, or he’d be a bear about it. She was never sure with him.

  She eased past him and looked up. He gave her a half-smile, but she could see how even this little excursion exhausted him. Maybe she should have reconsidered her plan. “I just want you to know how glad I am you’re home,” she told him.
/>   He leaned heavily on the crutch and reached out, sliding his hand around her neck and drawing her to him. “Let’s get inside and you can show me,” he purred against her lips.

  Oh man, this wasn’t going to go well, she thought, letting him kiss her. Then the realization of his mouth on hers captured her attention and she pressed up, trying to move closer to him, forgetting for a moment everything else.

  Suddenly the door flew open and a cacophony of “Surprise!” echoed from within. Even though Peyton knew they waited in the living room, the sudden sound startled her and she cringed against Marco, who stumbled back a bit.

  But before she could recover, Abe was there, throwing his arms around both of them and kissing Marco on the cheek. “Welcome home, Angel’D!”

  Peyton chanced a look up at Marco, but his handsome face was expressionless with shock. Curling her arm around his waist, she motioned inside the house. “Let’s get you to your chair,” she said.

  He didn’t respond, just hobbled into the house, greeting everyone who crowded around him. Peyton tried to make a path through the throng for his recliner, but the house was filled to capacity. Just Marco’s enormous family alone would have taken up most of the room, but she’d invited the precinct as well.

  Vinnie, Marco’s oldest brother, grabbed him in a bear hug, nearly knocking the crutches away. “Welcome home, baby bro,” he shouted, pounding Marco on the back. Behind him were Bernardo and Franco, who also grabbed him in a hug.

  “Where are the kids?” asked Marco with obvious trepidation. The D’Angelo hoard had a way of creating a special sort of chaos.

  “Tonio and Cristina are watching them,” said Vinnie.

  “Let me through,” said Mona, swatting her large sons away as she pushed between them. She reached up and placed both hands on Marco’s cheeks, pulling him toward her for a kiss. He almost lost his balance, but Bernardo and Franco steadied him. “Sit, sit,” she ordered, shooing people away as she led her youngest son to his favorite chair.

  Peyton found herself relegated to the back as everyone congregated around him, shaking his hand, kissing his cheek, or hugging him. Mona positioned herself on a folding chair at his side, reminding him who each person was as they approached as if he’d had a head injury instead of leg surgery.

  “You remember Tag, the one with the tattoos, so many tattoos,” she said, sotto voce, her hand against her mouth as if only Marco could hear. The other hand made a motion toward her own neck.

  Tag gave her a tight smile and patted Marco awkwardly on the shoulder. “Welcome home, Captain,” she said, then she made her way back to Peyton. “I need booze, Fluffy.”

  Peyton looked up at Abe.

  “I’m on it,” he declared, then hooked Jake through the arm and dragged him into Peyton’s kitchen. “Help me get everyone a drink, Jakey.”

  Jake followed him reluctantly, shooting a pleading look at Peyton. She shrugged and gave him a wink.

  Pickles, Peyton’s Yorkshire terrier, pawed at her leg. She scooped him up and cuddled him close, protecting him from the many bodies moving around the small room, especially the one coming at her in six inch heels.

  Maria stopped right in front of her, holding out a piece of paper.

  Peyton reached for it. “What’s this?”

  “My list for who I want at my bachelorette party.”

  “Your bachelorette party?”

  “I’m getting married next month, Brooks. When did you think you’d throw it?”

  “Um.” She looked to Tag for help.

  Tag crossed her arms over her chest, drumming the fingers that said HAPPY on her bicep.

  “Brooks?”

  “Um.”

  Maria put her hand on her hip and gave her the look. Peyton knew she was in trouble. “You have one job…”

  “I know and I’m on it. I just thought…”

  “You thought what?”

  “That Marta would do it as matron-of-honor.” She scrunched up her face, waiting for Maria’s outburst.

  “You thought Marta would do it? You don’t think Marta has enough on her plate, helping me get ready for my big day?” Maria’s eyes filled with tears and she waved a hand in front of her face. “That’s fine, Brooks. Don’t bother yourself.”

  “No, Maria, it’s not that.”

  Tag made a derisive snort. “Straight people,” she mumbled and headed toward the kitchen.

  Peyton glared at her retreating back, then reached out for Maria, but Maria put a hand in her face.

  “Don’t. I can’t talk about this with you right now,” she said and moved into the crowd.

  Peyton blew out air and found Nathan Cho, Maria’s fiancé, staring at her, shaking his head. She held up the paper. “Help me, Nate,” she said. “She keeps springing this stuff on me without warning.”

  Nate shrugged. “How do you think I feel?” He moved closer to her and lowered his voice. “Just make sure that Simons has my bachelor party at the same venue, same time, different rooms, no strippers. You got that?” He gave her a pointed look. “No strippers, Brooks.”

  “Got it.” She folded the paper and tucked it in her back pocket. “Anything else?”

  “I’ll pass the information onto you as I get it.” He looked around the room. “I’d better go see where she went.”

  Peyton started after him, but the door opened and her mother appeared, followed by Cliff. “Hallo!” Alice Brooks called.

  Peyton turned back toward her, carrying Pickles. “Hey, Mama.”

  Alice kissed her on the cheek, then Cliff socked her on the arm. “Stop it, Cliff,” Alice scolded, shooing a hand at him. “How are you, darling?”

  “Fine. How are you, Mama?”

  “She’s great. So, we heard the stud’s moving back in,” said Cliff.

  Peyton drew a deep breath for patience. “Yep.”

  “The wedding back on? You knocked up or something?”

  And there it was.

  “Cliff!” said Alice, turning on him.

  “Why don’t you go say hi, Mama?” Peyton suggested, reaching for the door to close it, but just as she did, Jimmy Bartlet and a handsome young black man appeared in the opening. “Hey, Jimmy,” she said, lifting on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  “Hey, Peyton, sorry we’re late. Hard to find parking out there.”

  “Yeah, I know, come in.”

  They stepped inside and Peyton shut the door. Jimmy motioned to the young man. “Peyton, this is my new partner, Danté Price.”

  Peyton offered him her hand. “Nice to meet you, Danté.”

  Danté shook it, giving her a smile. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  Peyton’s brows lifted. “Ma’am?”

  “Peyton,” said Jimmy, nudging him with his shoulder. “We better go say hi to the captain.”

  “Sorry, Peyton,” said Danté, ducking his head. “Nice to meet you.”

  “Same here, Danté,” she called after him. She watched them wade into the crowd, then she turned for the kitchen and came up short. Drew Holmes stood before her, giving her a smirk.

  “So, you screwed up the FBI yet, Brooks?”

  Peyton plastered a smile on her face. “Naw, as soon as I no longer had to look at your ugly mug, it was like everything just fell into place and started running like clockwork.”

  He laughed and patted her shoulder. “Nice party.”

  “Thanks, Drew.”

  “Come and get it!” shouted Abe, passing Drew a tray over the counter. “Try my Atomic Champagne Cocktail in honor of our gorgeous Angel returning and sharing his beatific light with us all!”

  The drinks on the tray were a pretty amber gold color, but something appeared to be floating inside the glass.

  Big Bill Simons picked one up and studied it. “What’s in it?”

  “Oh, isn’t that adorable! It’s a little goldfish.”

  A collective murmur of discontent went around the room.

  Abe waved them off. “Seriously? It’s an ice cube mold. Honestly,
people!”

  With that assurance, everyone moved to get a drink. A few minutes later, Jake and Abe had set out the finger sandwiches they’d made the previous night with Mona’s famous potato salad and Rosa D’Angelo’s three bean salad, and Peyton found herself shunted from conversation to conversation.

  She tried to keep an eye on Marco, but he was surrounded with well-wishers. She did mark that Abe brought him a special drink of his own and she knew it was non-alcoholic, and Mona made sure he was served a plate of food.

  Finally she escaped the crowd, taking Pickles’ down to the front yard to do his business.

  Jake found her there.

  “Hey, Mighty Mouse, rockin’ party,” he said, handing her another of Abe’s concoctions.

  She took a sip. “Thank you for everything you did, Jake,” she said, going up on tiptoes to kiss his cheek.

  “No problemo,” he said, sipping from his own glass.

  “But, I’m still pissed at you for not telling me he was having surgery.”

  Jake shrugged. “I don’t get into domestic squabbles.”

  “Still, I think you owe me.”

  He made a face, pointing over his shoulder at the house. “How do you figure? Have you seen our finger sandwiches?”

  She laughed and reached in her back pocket, pulling out her list from Maria. “I was thinking you could help me put on a bachelorette party…”

  Before she’d even finished, he was shaking his head and holding his drink in front of him like a barrier. “Hell no! I’m not getting involved in that. You’re on your own, Mighty Mouse.”

  “Fine. I’ll just ask Abe.”

  “You do that,” said Jake, turning back toward the house. “But I hear Simons has already enlisted him for Cho’s bonanza.”

  “Shit!” Peyton cursed, looking down at Pickles. The Yorkie looked up at her and cocked his head in question.

  Leaning against the back of the Charger, she let Pickles sniff until his heart’s content and sipped at her drink. A black BMW pulled up to the curb, blocking the driveway and the door opened. Devan Adams stepped out, looking sharp in black slacks, a navy blue polo shirt, his black hair cropped short, and his face cleanly shaven.