Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 4

  “Buttons?” she asked, giving him a skeptical look.

  “‘Cause she’s cute as a button, but feisty as hell,” said Adrian, nudging Rosa with his shoulder. “How’s her PTSD?”

  “I think it’s better.” She looked around to make sure Peyton wasn’t listening. “To be honest, she’s one of my best agents. I put her on the Ghost Squad with Radar. They’ve already solved four cases.”

  Adrian whistled in appreciation. The elevator opened as they reached it and Radar stepped out, his black sunglasses in place.

  “Speak of the devil,” said Adrian, holding out his hand.

  Radar barked out a laugh and grabbed the hand, dragging Adrian in for a male hug. “Stryker, you old bastard, what are you doing here?” he said, pulling off his glasses and tucking them into the pocket on his collared shirt.

  “Had a couple weeks of vacation hanging out there and they told me to use it or lose it, so I thought I’d take in the sights here in Frisco.”

  “San Francisco,” both Radar and Rosa said at the same time.

  Adrian rolled his eyes, bracing his hands on his hips. “So you still married to that supermodel?’ She hasn’t wised up yet?”

  “Nope. Still married to her. Someday she’s gonna realize she needs glasses.”

  They laughed. Rosa moved around them and pushed the button for the elevator.

  “So I hear you got stuck with Buttons?”

  Radar gave Rosa a questioning look.

  “Brooks,” Rosa offered.

  “Oh, yeah, Sparky,” said Radar. “Yeah, she rounded out our team.”

  “Sparky, huh? That’s about the right of it, isn’t it?”

  “You know her from Quantico?” asked Radar.

  “Sure did. Wicked case of PTSD, but so damn determined. She knocked a six foot six, three hundred pound kid on his ass.”

  “How the hell she do that?”

  “Just hooked her foot behind his knee the right way and let gravity do the rest.”

  They all laughed in appreciation.

  “She clocked me good when she first got here. I hadn’t read her file yet, so I didn’t know about the PTSD. I went at her hard to see what she had and she let me have it,” said Radar.

  Adrian chuckled. “Not surprised at all with that one. I hear she’s done good by you.”

  “Four cases in three months. I’d say so.”

  Glancing over his shoulder as the elevator opened, Adrian patted Radar’s shoulder. “Let’s grab a beer before I head back.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “We’re gonna grab some lunch and discuss some training sessions I’m gonna run while I’m here.”

  “You do that.”

  Rosa and Adrian stepped into the elevator and Radar lifted a hand, then turned away.

  As soon as the doors closed, Adrian turned and stepped into Rosa’s space, forcing her back against the wall of the elevator. He pinned her between his arms and lowered his head. “Been waiting all day to do this,” he said and kissed her silly.

  * * *

  After talking to Stryker in Rosa’s office, Peyton detoured to Tank’s office and peeked inside, but he wasn’t there. When she came out, she ran into Margaret. For some reason, she felt happy to see the older woman with her perfectly coiffed hair, her sweater set in teal green, and her ubiquitous string of pearls.

  “Peyton! How are you?” She gave Peyton a motherly hug and Peyton breathed in her spiced apple scent.

  “I’m good, Margaret. How are you?”

  “Good. It’s been quiet around here though.”

  “I’ll bet. How’s that artist husband of yours?”

  “James is doing great. He’s in Austin this week for a show.”

  “Why didn’t you go with him? You must have time coming?”

  “My youngest, Joseph, came home for a visit.”

  “He’s the future lawyer?”

  “You got it.”

  Peyton smiled.

  Margaret leaned closer to her. “How’s your guy?”

  “Marco? He came home from the hospital two days ago. We went to physical therapy today. They’re trying to reconnect synapses in his brain to his leg since they did a nerve block, or something like that. He needs to find a new connection so he can walk again.” She pointed over her shoulder at Tank’s office. “I was actually coming to see if Tank knows anything about it.”

  “If anyone would know, it’d be Tank, but you might go talk to Igor.”

  “Not a bad idea.”

  Margaret smoothed out her cardigan, fussing with the hem of it, then she glanced up at Peyton. “Actually, I was wondering how things are between the two of you.”

  Peyton bit her bottom lip. She hadn’t really talked with anyone about this, not even Abe, but she trusted Margaret and Margaret had a lot of years of experience in marriage. “I feel like we’re walking on eggshells around each other.” She blew out air. “When we were in the hospital, it was different. He had to rely on me a lot more, but he’s more mobile now.” She glanced around. “I’m sleeping in another room.”

  “Oh dear.”

  “No, not because of that. Because I’m afraid…” She caught herself, uncertain how much she should say. “Um, I’m afraid I’ll hurt him – the bone graft, I mean.” She felt her face heat with embarrassment.

  Margaret smiled fondly and touched her arm. “That may be why you feel like you’re walking on eggshells. I’ll bet he’s not happy about that arrangement.”

  Peyton shook her head, her eyes wide.

  “Sparky!”

  She jumped, her heart slamming against her ribs. Margaret jumped too.

  “Good lord, Radar, do you have to bellow so!” Margaret scolded him.

  To Peyton’s amazement, he looked contrite. “Sorry, Margaret,” he said, kissing her cheek.

  She patted his shoulder, her face softening immediately.

  The contrition lasted no longer, however. “I thought you were going to meet me at noon,” he grumbled at Peyton. “Does it look like I have all day to wait around on you?”

  “I’m here, aren’t I? I was just coming to see if Tank was in. He’s been helping me on this case.”

  Radar’s brow lowered in frown. “You asked Tank for help, but you didn’t ask me?”

  “We tried to ask you, but you just kept telling us to focus on our current case.”

  “I think I’ll just head back to my desk,” said Margaret, holding up a hand, “unless either of you need anything.”

  “No,” said Radar.

  “No thank you, Margaret,” Peyton said, emphasizing the last.

  Margaret shook her head in amusement and moved off.

  Radar glared at Peyton. “Why do you have to be such a pain in the ass?”

  “Why do you have to be such a grumpy old man?”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I would have thought Stryker might have taught you some respect.”

  Peyton’s expression shifted. “You know Stryker? He was one of the best instructors I had at Quantico. He always encouraged me and told me I was doing a good job. He never skimped on the praise and he was always patient with me. I’ll tell you, that’s the way to instruct someone, just positive reinforcement all the time and…” Peyton’s voice trailed off. Radar’s expression hadn’t changed in the least.

  “Are you finished?”

  She nodded.

  “Do you think you could give me the Lance Corporal’s file now?”

  She nodded again.

  “Do you think it could be now?” He motioned for her to go before him.

  Peyton started walking toward her office. “So, how’s Gwen?”

  “Great.”

  “And Kiki?” Kiki Sommers was a victim in their last case. She’d been raped and drugged, nearly killed during her assault. She was living with Radar and his wife while she recovered.

  “Better.”

  “And Satin and Lace?” Peyton hid her smile.

  “I don’t know, Sparky. How’s Snuggly
Wuggums?”

  “His name is Pickles.”

  “Sure it is.”

  “He’s great. This morning I gave him his favorite doggy chow and we went for our walk. He doesn’t like to walk more than a block, so then I take him for a carry. That’s another block. Then we head back to the house.” She turned into her office, taking her keys out of her pocket. “When we get back to the house, he needs a little snack. You know, from expending all that energy on the walk and carry and then…” Her voice trailed off as she started to fit the key into the lock on her overhead cabinet. Her hand faltered.

  Something was wrong.

  “What?” asked Radar.

  Peyton dragged over her chair and climbed up on it, bracing it against the desk so it didn’t swivel. This brought her eye level to the lock and she could clearly see that someone had drilled out the center of it.

  “Shit!”

  “What?” demanded Radar.

  A sick feeling settled in the pit of her stomach and she reached for the handle, but she stopped before she touched it, her training kicking into place. Glancing down at Radar, she held out her hand and he steadied her as she hopped off the chair.

  “Someone drilled out the lock.”

  His eyes rose to the cabinet, then he sprang into action, stepping out into the hallway. “Margaret, get Dusty up here.”

  “Right away,” came her reply as Radar stepped back in the room.

  “Don’t touch anything!”

  “I’m not!” Peyton protested, holding up her hands.

  Radar leaned back out into the hallway. “And get whoever’s working security downstairs up here stat!”

  “Got it,” said Margaret.

  “Who’s Dusty?” asked Peyton.

  “Our crime scene investigator.”

  “Dusty? You call him Dusty?”

  “His real name’s David Pendergrass, if you need to know?”

  “But you call him Dusty because he dusts for fingerprints?”

  Radar shrugged.

  “You do know your nicknames are horrible, right?”

  Radar’s eyes rose to the cabinet. “I don’t like this, Sparky.”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not loving it either.”

  “What the hell is it about this case?”

  “I don’t know, but something’s hinky about it.”

  “How did you wind up with it again?”

  “It was a cold case that Bambi gave me when we were waiting for an active case.”

  “Why’d you talk to Tank about it?”

  “There was a picture of this strange coin in it. I took it to him because he knows everything.”

  Radar gave a nod of agreement.

  “His wife’s an anthropology professor at Cal.”

  “Sarah, right.”

  “So we went out there and met with her. She brought in another professor, um…” She tapped her forehead with her index finger. “Professor Bishara. He teaches Middle Eastern History. Anyway, they both looked at the coin and said it was Iraqi and dated back to the Sandsissy period or something.”

  Radar tilted his head at her. “Sandsissy period?”

  She waved that off. “I can’t remember. I have it written in my notes in the case file, but since I can’t touch anything, I can’t get it for you.”

  “Why did you get fixated on this coin anyway?”

  “It was found on the Lance Corporal’s body, but when Tank and I ordered the evidence box, it wasn’t in there.”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t in there?”

  “I mean it wasn’t in there, Radar. And it wasn’t on the manifest, but the picture has the case number printed on it.”

  “What did Myron say?” Myron Hammersmith was in charge of the evidence room.

  “If it isn’t on the manifest, it wouldn’t be in the box, but then Mark Turner died.”

  “I know.”

  Her eyes lifted to the cabinet. “And someone tampered with my cabinet where I keep the file. What if it isn’t in there anymore, Radar?”

  He shook his head slowly.

  “So how come I haven’t met Dusty yet?”

  “We haven’t needed him. For most of our cases, local police have handled the evidence collection, so there wasn’t a need.”

  Peyton nodded at that. Suddenly, two men in security guard uniforms appeared in the doorway of her office. One was Mike Edwards, the guy Peyton had met in a bar on an ill-conceived night out with Bambi. He gave her a smile and a head nod. Peyton didn’t return it, focusing on Radar instead.

  The other guard was tall and lanky with light brown hair, pale brown eyes, and acne scars on his cheeks. “Agent Moreno, you asked for us?” he said.

  Radar turned, his eyes narrowing when he saw them. “Aren’t you the day supervisor?”

  “Yes, sir, Zach Barker, sir.”

  “I want the security footage for the hallway outside this office.” He thought for a moment. “Make it the last two months. And I want it by the end of today. Is that clear?”

  “I can have it by tomorrow, sir. I have to put in a request with my supervisor,” said Zach. “Can I ask what we’re looking for?”

  Radar tilted back his head, looking down his nose at the guard. “Someone tampered with Agent Brooks’ cabinet and I want to know who came into her office without authorization.”

  Before he could finish, a clean-cut man in a navy blue suit with a red, white, and blue tie appeared in the hallway, carrying a bag. His nearly white blond hair was parted in the middle and feathered back on either side. He wore dark rimmed glasses and had bloodshot blue eyes. He wasn’t classically handsome, but he wasn’t unattractive either. He had to be in his late thirties, early forties, and stood about the same height as Radar.

  “Hey, Radar, welcome back,” he said, holding out his hand.

  Radar shook it. “Hey, Dusty, thanks.” He pointed at Peyton. “This is my team member, Peyton Brooks.”

  Peyton smiled and shook hands with him.

  “What’s going on?” Dusty said, giving the office a quick perusal.

  “We need you to go over this place with a fine tooth comb.” Radar pointed at the cabinet. “Someone tampered with Agent Brooks’ cabinet, looks like they drilled out the lock. She had an important file in there. I wanna know who did it.”

  Dusty considered the situation. In the meantime, Radar regarded the two security guards.

  “I’m gonna need some time to work the room,” said Dusty, “if you wanna go grab a coffee.”

  Radar never took his eyes off the guards. “Sounds good. Let me know when you’re done.” He jerked his chin toward the elevator. “The two of you can go back to work, but I expect those files by tomorrow.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Zach and motioned for Mike to follow him.

  Mike seemed reluctant to go, but Radar glared at him so brutally that he finally turned away, quickening his pace to catch up to his supervisor.

  * * *

  Radar led Peyton down to the café in the lobby of the building. Rather than go through the self-serve line, he took a seat, his back to the windows overlooking the street. Peyton gave him a bewildered look, but sank into the seat across from him. He usually took the cop’s seat, back against a wall, never a window.

  Lifting a hand, Radar waved at the woman working the cash register. “Two coffees, Susan, please.”

  “Damn it, Radar,” said the woman, “this place is self-serve.”

  “Thank you,” he called in return, then folded his hands on the table and gave Peyton a searching look. “Tell me everything you know about Mike Edwards.”

  Peyton’s brows rose at that. “Mike Edwards?”

  “Yep. Everything. How you met, every conversation you’ve had, every time he showed up at your house or called you randomly on your phone.”

  “Why are you asking about Mike Edwards?”

  “Humor me, Sparky.”

  Peyton narrowed her eyes. “Is this about Marco? Did he tell you to look into him?”

  “Wh
y don’t you want to tell me?”

  “Because it’s none of your business.”

  Susan appeared beside them. She was a tall, spare woman with a hairnet covering her brown hair. Her race was indeterminate. Maybe Indian, maybe African American, maybe Hispanic, but she had large dark eyes that turned down at the corners and made her look perpetually sleepy.

  She set two coffees down in front of them. “One of these days, you’ll go out of here wearing it, Radar,” she told him and went back to the register.

  Peyton grabbed the sugar dispenser and poured directly into the paper cup. Radar watched her, his fingers curled around his own cup. Once she was satisfied with the amount of sugar, she dropped a splash of milk into it and reached for the spoon, stirring.

  When she looked up, she realized that Radar wasn’t watching her, he was watching someone over her shoulder. Probably Mike at his post in the lobby. She grabbed the sugar dispenser again and added more.

  Radar’s eyes moved back to her. “Why don’t you just eat it with a spoon?”

  “I’ve done that,” she said.

  “Tell me about Mike Edwards.”

  Peyton exhaled in frustration and lifted her cup, blowing across the surface of it. “He’s an ex-army guy, who just wants to make some friends out here. He needed a job, so I told him about the security guard position, but that’s it.”

  “And you met him in a bar?”

  “Yeah, but nothing happened. We just talked and that’s all. I got shaken up on the dance floor and he recognized the signs of PTSD. He brought me a glass of water.”

  “He filled your office with flowers.”

  “That was to make up for stopping by my house unannounced.”

  “What has he told you about his service?”

  “Nothing. Honestly, we’ve never had any deep personal conversations. He fell off his bicycle once and I drove him home. I say hi to him when I come in during the morning, but that’s about it. All of our encounters have been pretty random.”

  Radar’s eyes snapped to her face. “Random?”

  “Completely.”

  “He enters your life a few months ago when you’ve broken up with your fiancé. Then he starts working where you work. And apparently, he has an apartment a few streets away from your house. How is any of this random, Sparky?”