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

  “Peyton, how are you?” he said, bending to kiss her cheek.

  “Good, how are you, Devan?” she said, forcing a smile for the assistant district attorney.

  “Can’t complain.” He nodded up at the house. “Quite the shindig, eh?”

  Peyton glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah, I guess.”

  Devan’s dark eyes lowered to her and he gave her a searching look. “How is he?”

  He being Marco. Peyton wasn’t going to play cloak and dagger with her ex over her current lover. “He’s good, Devan. Why don’t you go up and see him? By the way, how’s your baby?”

  Devan’s eyes sparkled. “She’s amazing. I can’t believe how much she changes every day.”

  “And Rani?”

  Devan’s expression grew brittle. “She’s well, Peyton,” he said, and Peyton thought it was a strange thing to say. “She’s doing very well.”

  “Good.”

  Devan hesitated, tucking his hands in his pockets. “Did D’Angelo tell you anything about the case we’re working?”

  She frowned at that. “We’ve been a little preoccupied with his recovery.”

  “Right. But do you know about Lowell Murphy’s death?”

  “The roommate of Kurt Foster?” Kurt Foster was an ex-army private whose roommate had been found dead of a gunshot wound in their bathroom. He was also a member of Marco’s Thursday night support group.

  “Right.”

  “I know Murphy didn’t commit suicide.”

  “Did you know Murphy was gay?”

  “I think I remember Marco telling me that.”

  “Did you know he was having an affair with someone very powerful?”

  Peyton nodded, narrowing her eyes. She wasn’t sure where Devan was going with this.

  Devan shifted weight. “Did Marco tell you we know who that person is?”

  “No.”

  Devan’s gaze lifted to the house and Peyton felt a sinking in her gut. What was he saying?

  “Who is it, Devan?”

  Devan’s eyes lowered to her and he just stared at her for a moment without speaking. “The mayor,” he said finally.

  Peyton blinked a few times in surprise. “The mayor? Harlan Osborn?”

  “Yeah, Mr. Family Values himself.”

  Peyton considered that. “Do you think he killed Lowell?”

  “Or had him killed.”

  Peyton eased away from the Charger, setting her drink on the trunk. “Why are you telling me this?”

  Devan rubbed a hand over his short cropped hair. “Your boyfriend has been balls to the walls on all these cases, wanting to pursue them even when there was nothing to pursue, but all of a sudden, he doesn’t want us bringing in Osborn for questioning.”

  “Why?”

  Devan lowered his hand. “That’s what I’m asking you. What’s going on with him?”

  Peyton couldn’t imagine. It didn’t sound like Marco. “I don’t know.”

  “I haven’t wanted to bother him with this. Not while he’s recovering, but we need to decide what we’re going to do with this case.”

  Peyton looked up at him. “Are you asking me to talk to him about it?”

  “I don’t think it’ll hurt.”

  Peyton blew out air. “Okay, I’ll try.”

  Devan smiled at her. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  She nodded, fussing with Pickles’ leash. Why wouldn’t Marco want to question Harlan Osborn? The mayor had been a thorn in their side for years.

  “I’ll just go say hello,” said Devan, motioning to the house.

  Peyton gave him another nod, still puzzling over what he’d said. What would make Marco not willing to confront someone like Osborn? He’d never balked at that before, but how did she ask him? Their footing with each other was so tenuous still. They were struggling to get back to what they had before.

  Would he resent her interference? Would he be mad that Devan had confided in her rather than confront him directly? She just wasn’t sure and that bothered her more than the fact that Marco had shied away from this case in the first place.

  * * *

  Peyton grabbed a garbage bag and started dumping paper plates and cups into it as she moved about the kitchen. Marco still sat in his recliner, Pickles on his lap. He’d been quiet since the last guest had left a few minutes ago.

  She glanced out at him, but continued picking up trash, dreading the conversation she knew they were going to have to have now that everyone was gone.

  “Peyton?”

  She hesitated, her fingers curling on the trash bag. “Yep?”

  “Will you come here, please?”

  She set the bag down and walked out to the living room, taking a seat on the couch kitty-cornered to his recliner. “What’s up?”

  He studied her, his blue eyes narrowed. “What’s going on?”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and shrugged. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  He continued to study her, then he held out his hand. “Come here.”

  She shook her head, moving back on the couch, further away from him.

  His frown deepened. “That. That’s what I mean. Why are you avoiding me?”

  She briefly closed her eyes. She didn’t want to have this talk because she knew he’d get angry at her. “Please don’t make this harder on me than it is.”

  “What?” He shifted a little, a flash of pain crossing his features. “You’re the one who wanted me to come live here with you again. Now you’re having second thoughts?”

  Of course he’d go there. Since they split up, he was always taking her actions the wrong way.

  “I knew you’d get mad like this.”

  “Well, is there any other way for me to feel?”

  “You could try to listen to me.”

  “You had a huge party, you spent most of it talking with other people. I haven’t seen you all day. It’s clear you’re avoiding me.”

  “Not for the reasons you think.”

  He drew a deep breath, trying for patience. “Okay, sweetheart, then for what reasons?”

  She reached out and took his hand. “You’re home now and there’s nothing more in the world I want than to be with you.” She gave him a significant look. “You know what I mean by be with you?”

  “You’re a grownup, sweetheart, you can say sex.”

  “Okay, well, I want to have sex.”

  “Then…” He held out his free hand.

  “We can’t.”

  “What?”

  “Dr. Chamberlain said…”

  “Forget Dr. Chamberlain.”

  She eased forward on the couch, clasping his hand in both her own. “No. Marco, look, this is the chance we’ve been waiting for. This is our opportunity to get back to a place of health and strength. Let’s not mess it up.”

  He exhaled in frustration. “Peyton…”

  “No. For God’s sake, you just had a bone graft. The bones are just healing now. I don’t want to risk anything.”

  He slumped back in the chair. “How long?”

  “As long as it takes.” She fidgeted, knowing this next part was going to go over even worse. “Which is why I’ll be sleeping in Jake’s old room?”

  “What?”

  She flinched at the anger in his voice. “Just until Dr. Chamberlain says it’s okay.”

  “That could be months.”

  “I know, but aren’t a few months worth it for a lifetime of being pain-free, walking without a cane?”

  He leaned his head back on the chair and curled his fingers in Pickles’ fur. “Why don’t you just make me a eunuch?’

  Peyton rolled her eyes. “Seriously?”

  He looked down at the little dog. “I feel your pain, buddy,” he told him. “She just neutered me too.”

  Peyton laughed and rose to her feet, leaning over his chair. “I love you, D’Angelo,” she said. “And this is going to be as hard for me as it will be for you.”

  He reached up and curled his finge
rs around the back of her neck. “Not even a little,” he said against her mouth, then he kissed her and Peyton knew he was telling her lies.

  Damn, she wanted him.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rosa hummed to the 70’s soft rock station as she fried the bacon, moving it from the pan to a plate and setting the plate in the oven. She picked up the spatula and flipped the pancakes, pleased to see the even browning on the other side. She’d never been one for domestic chores, preferring to eat out, but she was actually enjoying this.

  Adrian stepped into the kitchen, moving up behind her and sliding his arms around her waist. “Smells good.”

  “Bacon’s known for that.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He nuzzled her neck and she squirmed, but didn’t really try to get away. “Can I help?”

  “You wanna set the table?”

  “Sure.” He went to the cabinet and grabbed two plates out.

  Rosa stopped, watching him. He knew where she kept her plates. Of course he did. They’d been cooking for each other every night since he arrived, but the intimacy of the gesture struck her. He turned and gave her a frown.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “The pancakes are burning, so it must not be nothing,” he said, nodding at the pan.

  “Oh!” She slipped the spatula under them and moved them to another plate, turning down the burner.

  “What’s going on?”

  “You know where my plates are.”

  His dark brows lowered in a frown. He’d shaved that morning, but a shadow of stubble already darkened his jaw. His short hair, parted in the middle and swept back from his face, was still damp from the shower they’d taken together that morning.

  “Don’t go getting all spooked, woman. It’s just plates.”

  She looked away, reaching for the batter and pouring out another couple of pancakes. He leaned into her and kissed her temple.

  “Although you know what they say, first plates, then I’m buying tampons.”

  She nudged him away. “No one says that.”

  He laughed and moved to the table, setting the plates in their regular spots. “You got some text messages,” he said.

  She looked over her shoulder, her eyes landing on the table. “From who?” she asked.

  “Joe Miller?” He gave her a curious look. “Wasn’t he your partner at the DEA?”

  “Yeah.” She turned down the fire and walked over to the table, picking up the phone. She handed him the spatula. “Don’t let them burn,” she said distractedly as she thumbed on the display.

  Joe had sent her two more text messages.

  Do you remember the locker room incident?

  The second message said, They asked me to take you on, said I’d be good for you. Man, they had it backasswardz. Backasswardz.

  She braced her chin on her hand and read the texts again. Why had he written backasswardz twice? Could it have been autocorrect? No way, not with random z on the end.

  She typed back. What’s with all the nostalgia, old man?

  Adrian moved up behind her, looking over her shoulder. “What’s that about? The locker room incident?”

  Rosa glanced at the stove, but he’d turned everything off and placed it in the oven to keep warm. “When I started, a lot of the guys weren’t happy about it. They didn’t want a woman working there and they sure didn’t want her to be brown.”

  Adrian made a grunt and took a seat, still holding the spatula. Something about the sight made her smile. “What’s the locker room incident?”

  “They stuck mangos and papayas in my locker over the weekend. When I came back, the fruit had spoiled. The smell was noxious.”

  “What a shitty thing to do.”

  “Yeah, well, I was a hothead.”

  “No!” He feigned disbelief.

  She swatted at him. “So, I marched into the men’s locker room when they were showering.”

  A smile stole across Adrian’s face. “You hussy!”

  “I demanded to know who it was and I told them I’d beat the shit out of all of them if I had to.”

  “That was ballsy.”

  “Yeah, well, it almost got me in big trouble. They didn’t take it well and there were more of them than there were of me.”

  “They wouldn’t have hurt you, would they?”

  She shrugged. “Who knows? Before it went too far, Joe stepped up behind me and well, they weren’t going to fight him.”

  “Why? He’s not the biggest guy I’ve seen.”

  “Yeah, but they all respected him. He had a reputation for being a straight shooter, fair and honest, and hardworking.”

  “Did you file a complaint with your superiors?”

  “Nope. That wouldn’t have solved anything. No one ever admitted doing it. I still have no idea who it was.”

  He set the spatula on the table and leaned back in his chair. “That kinda shit pisses me off.”

  “Come on. You don’t get hazing at Quantico. I call bullshit on that.”

  He leaned toward her, his expression grim. “Not if I find out about it. I won’t put up with it.”

  Adrian was one of the most sought after self-defense teachers at the FBI’s elite training facility. She was thinking of having him give her own people a refresher course while he was on vacation.

  “Did you know the powers that be asked Joe to be your partner?”

  She shook her head, looking at the display, hoping Joe would text back. “No, this is the first I’ve heard of it.” She read the messages again. “I don’t get it. We’ve never even talked about that time when it happened. Why is he texting me about it now?”

  “Maybe he’s missing you?”

  She didn’t think that was it. She and Joe hadn’t been partners for a while. Of course, they kept in touch. She’d even had Thanksgiving at his house with his wife and kids two years ago, but they just didn’t get all schmaltzy like that with each other.

  Adrian rose and kissed her on the top of the head, going to the stove to retrieve their breakfast. “Why don’t you just call him and ask him what’s up?”

  Rosa ran her thumb over the phone’s display.

  “Rosa?”

  She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Hm?”

  “Call him. Ask him what’s going on. You do remember that thing in your hand does something other than send text messages, right?”

  “Yeah,” she said. “If he doesn’t text back, I’ll call tonight.” She set the phone down and pointed at the oven. “I’m starved. Are you gonna get the food or stand there looking all handsome?”

  His face lifted in a smile and he bent to retrieve the food. Rosa watched him, thinking she could get used to his luscious backside in her kitchen on a permanent basis.

  * * *

  Marco carefully maneuvered into the shower. Dr. Chamberlain had told him he could take the brace off long enough to get showered properly, as long as he didn’t put any weight on the leg. That was all good and well, but this shower barely held a full-grown man without a bum leg.

  Having a master bathroom in San Francisco was a luxury, but the home designers had added this one as an afterthought. In fact, Marco felt sure someone had converted a closet into a bathroom at some point in the house’s history.

  Gripping the safety bar, he dragged himself inside and under the water spray. Bracing both hands on the wall, he let the water run over his back and shoulders, the warmth of it soothing away his frustrations. Since the surgery, the hospital hadn’t let him properly shower, just a sponge bath. Once he’d moved to the rehabilitation center, they’d let him shower as long as he sat, which was only marginally better.

  Staring down at his leg, he studied the raised pink scar. He had no pain in the leg. The pain came from the harvest site in his groin. His problem now was that he couldn’t feel the leg. Dr. Chamberlain said the human brain was remarkably malleable and could reroute connections to give him function. In other words, he assured Marco his mind woul
d figure out a way for him to feel the leg enough to put weight on it and eventually walk. He sure hoped so because he was done with this whole mess.

  He grabbed the shampoo, realizing that his shampoo was no longer here and he’d have to content himself with Peyton’s lilac scented designer brand. He lathered twice, actually finding the familiar scent soothing. Rinsing off, he reached for the soap.

  And dropped it.

  “God damn it,” he swore, banging a fist against the shower tile. How the hell was he going to bend over and retrieve it without putting weight on his leg? He couldn’t even kick it over to himself for the same reason.

  “Are you all right?”

  He closed his eyes and fought for composure. He wanted to do this on his own. Peyton was already frustrating the hell out of him with her sleeping apart edict. He didn’t need her in here, coming to his rescue now of all things.

  “I’m fine.”

  She narrowed her eyes, peering through the foggy glass. “Did you drop the soap?”

  “Yeah, but it’s fine,” he gritted out between his teeth, both hands braced on the wall of the shower, while the water pounded down on him.

  “I’ll get it,” she said and opened the door.

  “Peyton!” He tried to stop her, but it was too late.

  She pushed up her sleeve, squatting down, and tried to reach into the bottom of the shower without getting wet.

  “Peyton, it’s okay…”

  Before he could say anything more, she slipped on the bathroom rug and landed in the shower on her backside, letting out a startled gasp.

  Marco caught his breath too, but a second later, they both started laughing. She stood up, not worrying about getting wet anymore and handed him the bar of soap.

  “Good thing you had me here to help you.”

  “Yep,” he said, still laughing, pressing his forehead to hers. He realized it had been a long time since he’d laughed with her.

  She kissed him quickly on the mouth. “I should probably get out of here, huh?”

  He nodded. “You probably should.”

  Instead, she gave him a slow perusal, then rose on her tiptoes and brought her lips close to his ear. “You know this is difficult for me too,” she whispered.