Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 7

  Radar gave her a speculative look. “What do you mean? Did she tell you about it?”

  “I got an email from the ASAC in Las Vegas, Troy Balais. He wants the original case file returned to their office. They plan to look into it again.”

  Radar’s eyes narrowed. “Really? Interesting.”

  “I know the agent that was initially assigned the case died.”

  “Mark Turner. He was on his way out here to talk to Sparky. He crashed his car. Carbon monoxide filled the vehicle, made him go to sleep.”

  Rosa’s gaze never left Radar’s. “That’s pretty strange, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Stinks to high heaven.”

  Rosa smoothed the lines of her suit. “We could just pretend they want the case back because they want to look into the death of one of their own.”

  “We could.”

  “Except?”

  “Someone broke into the cabinet where Sparky kept the case file, stole a picture of an ancient Iraqi coin and pictures of some napkins with numbers on them, but left everything else intact. When Sparky asked for the evidence box a few weeks ago, the coin wasn’t in it and it wasn’t on the manifest.”

  “Huh. What about the napkins?”

  “They were in the box at the time. I haven’t gone to look at it myself yet.”

  “What were the numbers?”

  “We hadn’t figured it out.”

  “Convenient that they’re now gone.”

  “Except Tank wrote the numbers down and scanned the photo of the coin.”

  “Brooks had Margaret scan the entire file yesterday.”

  Radar gave a nod, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Good.”

  “Fingerprints in the office?”

  “Dusty found nothing.”

  “What about surveillance video outside the office? Do we have any idea when the break-in happened?”

  “I’m guessing when we were in LA, but I ordered the last few months of video from security. It should be here today at the latest.”

  “Good,” said Rosa. “You’ll keep me in the loop?”

  “You know I will, Sarge.”

  She pushed herself out of the chair. As she did so, her cell phone buzzed. She drew it out of her pocket and thumbed it on, staring at the screen. Another text from Joe Miller, but this one was in Spanish.

  She frowned, trying to decipher it. Her parents both spoke Spanish, but they’d wanted her to know only English. She’d taken Spanish in high school, but in college she’d switched to sign language, thinking it might be more useful. There was always someone around who knew Spanish.

  The text read, El que busca la verdad corre el riesgo de encontrarla. Verdad was truth. She knew that.

  “Sarge, everything all right?” asked Radar.

  “How’s your Spanish?” she said, turning back to him.

  “Pretty good.”

  She held out her phone and he took it, reading the text.

  “Um, it reads, he who seeks the truth runs the risk of finding it.” He looked up at her. “What does that mean?”

  Rosa sank back in the chair. “Are you sure that’s what it says?”

  Radar nodded. “It sounds familiar, but I can’t place where I’ve heard it before. You might run it by Tank.”

  “He who seeks the truth…” she began.

  “Runs the risk of finding it.” He lifted a dark brow. “Who’s Joe Miller?”

  “My ex-partner with the DEA.”

  “He usually send you cryptic texts like that?”

  “No, but lately…lately he has.” She told Radar about what had been happening with Joe, ending with the call from Joe’s wife, Celeste, requesting she meet her for lunch.

  “Are you going?”

  “Yeah.”

  Radar’s look grew concerned. “I don’t think that’s a wise idea.”

  “Actually, I asked Brooks to go with me.”

  Radar leaned back in his chair. “You asked Sparky?”

  “Yeah, do you think that’s a bad idea?”

  Radar shook his head. “I trust her at my back. Plus, she’s got an insight into people.”

  “That’s what I thought.” She lifted the phone and read the message again. “This is so strange. Why would he write it in Spanish?”

  “Did Miller speak Spanish?”

  “Enough to get by, but he wasn’t fluent and I don’t remember him writing in it.”

  Radar thought for a moment. “I’m telling you that saying’s familiar. I wish I could place where I’ve heard it before.”

  “I’ll talk to Tank about it.” She rose to her feet again. “Regarding the Daws’ file, let me know if you see anything on the video.”

  “Will do, Sarge,” said Radar as she left his office.

  * * *

  Peyton flipped to the next page on the magazine. She’d read every magazine in this office at least twice, waiting for Marco to finish his physical therapy appointment. She should probably download a book or two onto her phone to pass the time. Glancing around, she marked that every other person in the room was glued to their phones, either texting or endlessly scrolling.

  This is how society ends, she thought. Everyone lost in the matrix. Ah well, she guessed it kept things quiet at least. Maybe that was why violent crime was down. People couldn’t release their phones long enough to off each other anymore.

  The door opened and Marco came out, dressed in his charcoal grey business suit. His hair was damp, which was something new, but she couldn’t help admiring the way the suit pulled across his broad shoulders or the trousers hugged his muscular thighs. Damn, her man was gorgeous.

  Glancing around the room, she noticed all the other women and a few men were looking at him, but he didn’t seem to notice, his attention focused on the crutches as he made his way to her. She dropped the magazine on the side-table and rose to her feet, stepping forward to meet him.

  Rising on her tiptoes, she kissed him on the mouth. He smelled clean as if he’d just showered, a hint of sandalwood cologne reaching her nose. He gave her a puzzled look.

  “What’s that for?” he asked.

  “You just look so damn scrumptious,” she said, kissing him again.

  He narrowed his eyes on her. “And yet we’re still sleeping in different rooms.”

  She took the bag that held his workout clothes off his shoulder. She wasn’t going around with him again about that. It was as hard on her as it was on him. She didn’t want to sleep alone. She hated sleeping alone. Her best sleep happened when he was beside her.

  “So, you got to swim today?” she said, deliberately changing the subject.

  Marco had always run to keep in shape, but since the gunshot, he’d taken to swimming instead. It put less stress on his leg, but let him manage his weight. “Yeah, Joyce, the physical therapist, said I was actually moving my leg. Couldn’t feel it, but she said it was moving.”

  Peyton slipped in beside him. “Joyce, huh? Couldn’t find you a male physical therapist?”

  He stopped as she opened the door for him, then crutched his way through. “Jealous, Brooks?”

  “I don’t know. Is she young and attractive?”

  “Yes.”

  They made their way down the hall and Peyton pushed the button for the elevator. “Yes? That’s it?”

  “What more do you want?” He crowded closer to her, leaning over to bring his face near hers. “If you’re jealous, maybe you should do something about it.”

  Peyton rose on her tiptoes and brought her mouth close to his. “You’re right.”

  His blue eyes twinkled.

  “I’ll ask Dr. Chamberlain to assign you to Grace. I met her the other day. She’s about fifty, could give you a run for your money in the weight department, and looks like a linebacker.”

  “Cruel woman,” he said, kissing her.

  She laughed.

  The elevator opened and they moved inside. Peyton pushed the button for the 1st floor. “So if they’re letting you swim now, that must be go
od news.”

  “It’s progress,” he said.

  “When are they going to let you put weight on the leg?”

  “Still don’t know that.”

  The elevator door opened and they moved out into the lobby of the building. Usually Peyton left him here, while she retrieved the car, but today he crutched after her as she exited onto the street, heading for the parking garage on the corner.

  As they walked, people dodged out of the way. Peyton marked the clouds were parting, promising a real summer day in the City. The sound of traffic, the honking of horns, and the blare of sirens reached them.

  “You sure you want to walk this far?” she asked him.

  He nodded, concentrating so he didn’t get jostled.

  “So, what are Cho and Simons doing on the drive-by shooting case?”

  “They went out to Jamaad Jones’ school.”

  “Which one?”

  “Thurgood Marshall. I had them take the new kid and Bartlet. Bartlet and Price don’t look much older than high school kids themselves. Maybe they’ll have some luck finding out if Jones was in a gang.”

  They reached the garage and turned into it.

  “So what do you make of this lunch today with Alvarez?” Marco asked. He was beginning to breathe a little hard and Peyton wished he’d wait there for the car, but he kept pace with her.

  “I don’t know. I know Rosa thinks something’s up, but I don’t have enough information yet to figure it out.”

  “Do they know anything about the break-in at your office?”

  “Radar’s expecting the video feed today. Other than that, no. Now Las Vegas is asking for the Daws file and the evidence box to be returned.”

  Marco stopped and Peyton turned to face him. “Don’t get mad at me, okay?” he said.

  She fought down her immediate defensive response to that sentence. “Okay.”

  “Do you think this Mike Edwards could have anything to do with the break-in?”

  Peyton moved close to Marco, glancing around the parking structure to make sure no one could hear them. “No, Marco, I don’t. He’s just some guy who needed a job. He has nothing to do with any case I’m working.”

  His gaze never wavered. “Are you sure about that? Don’t you think it’s funny he shows up around the same time you get this cold case?”

  She touched his cheek. “Marco, Mike Edwards means nothing to me. He’s just a guy I met in a bar that needed some help. Please stop fixating on him.”

  He turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. “Okay.”

  As she turned to walk toward the Prius, her phone rang. She took it out and thumbed it on. “Hey, Abe,” she said. “What’s shaking?” The Prius doors unlocked and she climbed behind the steering wheel, watching Marco make the complicated maneuvers to get into the car. She wanted to help him, but the few times she’d tried, he’d grumbled at her.

  “Hey, little soul sista, you with our gorgeous hunk of Angel?”

  “Sure am. Just got done with physical therapy. I’m about to drop him off at the precinct. Do you need to talk to him?”

  “In a bit, but I’ll call him. I got the Jones kid for autopsy. Damn I hate doing kids.”

  “I know, Abe, I’m sorry.”

  “Anyway, I wanted to call you about the bachelorette party this Friday.”

  Peyton felt the blood drain from her face. “This Friday?”

  “Yeah, Maria’s in a panic about it. She’s afraid you’re gonna get called away on a case and then where will she be?”

  “I haven’t even started to plan yet, Abe. I don’t have a guest list or a venue. Shit, she wanted to have it at the same place as Cho’s bachelor party.” She looked over at Marco. He shrugged.

  “Calm down, little bits. I got this covered.”

  “You do?”

  “Yep, I’m doing Gentlemen’s Club for the fellas, but I thought we’d do an 80’s theme for the women. We’ll have it at the Butterfly Restaurant in the Embarcadero. I took the liberty of reserving two rooms.”

  Peyton shook her head. “You already booked rooms?”

  “I did. And they’re going to cater each one differently, according to my menu. I also got a guest list from Maria and Cho, and I’ve already sent out eVites to everyone.”

  “eVites?”

  “Online invitations. So much quicker, plus it lets me spend more money on the food and booze.”

  “Hold on,” said Peyton, starting the Prius. She pushed the button to put Abe on speaker and settled the phone in its holder. “You said Gentlemen’s Club for the men.” She glanced at Marco, who shrugged. “What does that mean?”

  “Smoking jackets, cigars, brandy snifters, and poker tables. I also got a collection of cravats.”

  Peyton pulled up to the kiosk and gave the burly guy behind the window her parking ticket. “And an 80’s theme for the women?”

  “Yep, so get your hairspray and your legwarmers out, baby, ‘cause we’re going back in time.”

  That was actually a good idea and it didn’t sound like it would require her to do much of anything. “What else do you need?”

  “Not a thing, toots. I got it all taken care of.”

  “I don’t know what to say, Abe. I mean, this was supposed to be Marco’s and my chore.”

  “Well, you’re both too busy making each other miserable for that.”

  Marco glowered.

  “Besides, let’s be honest, doll. This is so in my wheelhouse.”

  Marco nodded at that and Peyton had to agree, offering the parking attendant her bank card to pay for the parking. “Okay, so what time Friday?”

  “Eight PM on the dot, toots. Be there with bells on.” He gave a tinkling laugh. “Anyway, I gotta get the autopsy done, so I can get the bullet over to ballistics. Angel, I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Bye, Abe,” she said.

  “Bye, little soul sista.” And he was gone.

  * * *

  Peyton and Rosa took a seat on the bench that ran along the side of Cafe Flore’s outdoor patio. The bench was angled so they had a view down Market and their backs were to the restaurant. The patio was enclosed with a brown fence, but cutouts covered in plexiglass allowed a view onto the street. A waiter in a green Cafe Flore t-shirt approached – an Asian man with a bald head, laughing eyes, and soul patch below his lower lip. He set water at their places and offered them menus. He didn’t question why they were sitting on the same side of the table, but Rosa told him they were waiting for someone else.

  Celeste arrived at 12:15, grabbing a cane backed chair and sliding it to the end of the table, closest to Rosa. She leaned over and kissed Rosa on the cheek, then offered a tight smile to Peyton. Finally, she sat on the edge of the seat, placing her large black handbag in her lap and grabbing her napkin, shaking it out, but instead of settling it in her lap, she dropped it in a heap on her paper placemat.

  The waiter approached again. “Can I get you ladies anything to drink?”

  Celeste looked up at him. “I’ll have a Bloody Mary.”

  He nodded and turned to Rosa.

  “Water’s fine,” she said.

  He lifted his brows at Peyton.

  “Water, thanks,” she said, smiling. Then she eased over a bit, so she could see Celeste more clearly. Celeste was a tall woman, rounded hips, small bust. She had dirty blond hair cut into a short bob and dark blue eyes that darted out to the street. She wore a pair of jeans and a pink cable knit sweater with short sleeves.

  Immediately Peyton could feel the tension coming off this woman. She clutched the handbag with one hand, the other spinning her large wedding band around and around her finger.

  “Thanks for having lunch with me, Rosa. I know how busy you are,” she said, shooting a look at the two women.

  “No problem. This is Peyton Brooks, one of my friends.” She said friends strangely.

  “Nice to meet you,” said Celeste, offering her hand. Her fingers were cold to Peyton’s touch.

  “Nice to
meet you, Celeste.”

  Celeste looked down at the table. “I didn’t know you were bringing anyone. I mean…” Her eyes shot to Peyton’s face. “It’s fine, but…”

  “Peyton had an errand to run on Market. She’s getting her engagement ring resized.”

  Peyton gave Rosa a confused look, but smoothed it over when Celeste glanced up at her.

  “You’re getting married? Congratulations. When?”

  “Um, yeah. Thanks,” she said. “July.”

  “Let me see the ring.”

  Peyton gave Rosa a panicked look.

  “Like I said, she’s having it resized. We’re going to pick it up after lunch. You know, the maid-of-honor’s job is never finished,” said Rosa with a laugh.

  Celeste laughed with her, the sound breathless and strained.

  Okay, now this was strange.

  The waiter returned and set the drink in front of Celeste. “Are you ready to order?”

  Celeste grabbed the Bloody Mary and swallowed a fourth of it in one gulp. “Um, do you have a Cobb salad?”

  “We sure do.”

  “I’ll have that.”

  He turned to Rosa and Peyton. Rosa motioned that Peyton should go first. Peyton opened her menu. “I’ll have the spinach frittata.”

  “I’ll have the same,” said Rosa.

  “Very good,” said the waiter and moved away.

  Rosa shifted toward Celeste. “So what brings you to San Francisco? You said on the phone this was your first time, right?”

  “Right.” Celeste’s eyes drifted out to the street. “This is my first time here.”

  “The kids are with your parents?”

  Celeste lifted her Bloody Mary and downed another few gulps. “Joe’s mother actually,” she said distractedly, then she shifted in the chair and leaned forward, her left hand curling in the napkin. “Joe and I are getting a divorce, Rosa.”

  Peyton sipped at her water, watching Rosa’s stoic expression.

  “You and Joe?”

  “Yeah.” Celeste looked out at the street again. “Strange, isn’t it? I thought we were going to make it forever, but things happen, you know?”

  “I’m sorry, Celeste.” Rosa reached over and took her hand. “That’s terrible.”