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.

“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 fingers 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 would 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.

He shut his eyes. “Then you’d better get out of here now,” he grumbled and she ducked under his arm, grabbing a towel off the rack and wrapping it around herself. She disappeared into the bedroom and he drew a couple of deep breaths, then finished bathing, saying his rosaries for forbearance.

*    *    *

A knock sounded at the door. Pickles launched himself off the recliner and began jumping around at the door, barking. Marco picked up the remote and muted the baseball game he’d been watching. Reaching for his crutches, he kicked down the footrest with his good leg and levered himself up.

“Hold on a minute,” he shouted as he crutched his way to the door. “Pickles, enough.”

The little dog sat on his haunches and looked up at him, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. Marco unlocked the door and pulled it open, surprised to find Radar standing on the other side. The Ghost Squad’s lead was the last person he’d expected to see.

“Hey?” he said, tilting his head. “Peyton went to get some groceries.”

“Actually, I came to talk to you.” He reached up and removed his spectacles. “How you doing, D’Angelo?”

“Better.” Marco crutched backward to make room for Radar to enter the house. Radar stepped inside, looking around the interior, then he gave Pickles a scrutinizing glance.

“And she makes fun of my cats.”

“Well, it’s Peyton,” said Marco, moving back toward his recliner.

Radar shut the door and slipped the sunglasses into his shirt pocket.

“You want a beer or something?” Marco asked.

“I’ll get it.” Radar angled around Pickles and into the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator. “Wanna water?”

“Sure,” said Marco, sinking into the chair. Pickles jumped into his lap a moment later, turning three times and curling into a ball. Marco positioned the crutches and stroked a hand down Pickles’ back.

Radar passed him a bottle of water over his shoulder and took a seat on the end of the couch closest to him. “So, better? Pain gone?”

“In the leg, yeah. Some pain in the harvest site, but that’s better too.”

“How long you gonna be out?”

Marco thought about it. “They want me to stay out of work for another month, but I’m going back on Monday.”

“You tell Sparky that?”

“Hell no.”

Radar nodded and twisted the cap off his bottle. Pickles lifted his head, then rose, jumping from the recliner to the couch and taking a seat on Radar’s lap. Radar ran a hand over the dog’s fur. “What’s his name?”

“Pickles.”

He gave Marco a surprised look. “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“How long until you can put weight on the leg?”

“Not sure. I have to have a bone scan first, see if the graft’s taking hold, building bone. Could be between three to six months?”

“Must be frustrating.”

“You’ve no idea.”

Radar sipped at his water, still petting Pickles.

“You can put him down, you know?” He didn’t want to seem too anxious to get to Radar’s reason for coming, but he was starting to get antsy.

“Naw, I like animals.” He leaned forward and settled the water bottle on a coaster. “So, I came to talk to you about Mike Edwards.”

“How did you know Peyton would be gone?”

“I’ve got something to talk to her about too, so I figured it was a win/win.”

Marco nodded, squeezing his fingers around the water bottle. “Did you find out anything else?”

“It’s more what I didn’t find,” Radar said. “So the guy was an Army Ranger. As you probably know, that’s a pretty elite fighting force.”

Marco nodded.

“This guy does a couple tours of duty in the Middle East, but the last tour of duty was in Iraq.”

“Okay?”

“He served six months in Iraq.”

Marco’s attention zeroed in on Radar. “And?”

“He was honorably discharged upon his return stateside. That was two years ago. Problem is I got no record of Michael Barnabas Edwards for two years, until he turns up here four months ago.”

“What do you mean you’ve got no record?”

“No address, no cell phone number, no credit card charges, nothing for two years. Then suddenly, our boy appears on the radar four months ago. He has an apartment, cell phone, electric bill, car loan, and…”

“Half a mil in the bank?”

“Bingo.”

Marco ran his hand over his jaw. “So where was he after he left Iraq?”

“Exactly what I want to know.”

Marco met Radar’s dark gaze. “How are we going to figure that out?”

“I’m pulling some favors over in the State Department, see if I can get anything, but so far, I’m striking out. It’s like the guy just disappeared off the map.”

“He had to support himself some way?”

Radar considered that, staring at Pickles and rubbing his ears. “Yeah, but how and where?”

Marco drew a breath and held it, then he released it in a long sigh. “I knew this guy was hinky.”

“I’ll keep digging, but I wanna know if he tries to make personal contact with her again.”

Marco chewed on his lower lip. “What’s his interest in Peyton, though? What’s that angle?”

“Sexual?”

“Maybe, but the timing bothers me. He shows up just after she starts working for you guys. Why?”

“It could just be coincidence. She met him in a bar, remember?”

Marco considered that. “Do you really believe that?”

“Not for a moment.”

Pickles stood up and cocked his head. Marco reached over and turned up the volume on the game. “That’ll be her,” he said, nodding at the front window.

“We should probably keep this to ourselves for a little longer, don’t you think?”

“Oh, hell yeah. I just moved back in. I don’t need to be thrown out on the streets again.”

A moment later they could hear Peyton’s key in the lock. Pickles jumped off the couch and hurried over to the door, bouncing up and down as she pushed the door open, struggling to hold her grocery bags and draw her keys out of the lock.

Radar rose as she stepped inside and Marco reached for his crutches.

She paused and took in the scene. “Hey, Radar.”

“Hey, Sparky. You got more bags?”

“Um, yeah.”

He went to the door and disappeared outside. Peyton gave Marco a withering look. “Don’t you dare get up!” she scolded as she spied his crutches. “I’ve got this.”

He settled back in the recliner, thinking about what Radar had said. Where the hell had that bastard been for two years? Damn it, he knew there was something wrong with the guy.

Radar appeared a moment later, carrying the last of the bags. He brought them to the kitchen and set them on the counter.

“I didn’t know you were coming by, Radar,” said Peyton, beginning to unpack the groceries.

Radar leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest. “I wanna see the stuff you have on Lance Corporal Daws. I thought we could meet at headquarters for a few minutes tomorrow and you could give me everything you’ve got.”

Marco could see her confusion. “We’ve got physical therapy tomorrow morning, but I can meet you at noon. Still, you could have just called to ask me that. You didn’t have to come out here.”

Radar motioned over his shoulder with his chin. “I wanted to see how D’Angelo was. Besides I wanted to get out of the house.” He leaned closer to her. “Not to mention, Sparky, I got to meet your dog.”

Peyton’s expression fell.

“Yep, your silly, floofy, tiny little dog, named Pickles.”

“He’s my best friend,” she protested.

“And he’s perfect. Now I’m sure I won’t have to hear another word about Satin or Lace, will I?”

Peyton gave him a scowl. “You’re a mean old man, you know that?”

He laughed and stepped out of the kitchen. “Just wily, Sparky, just wily like a fox.”

“An old goat is more like it.”

Radar took his sunglasses out of his pocket and slipped them over his eyes. “See you tomorrow, Sparky.” He bent over and scratched Pickles’ ear. “And you little guy, you be a good snuggly wuggums.” He held up a hand to Marco. “Later, man,” he called over his shoulder as he pulled open the door and stepped outside.

Marco realized he was smiling.

*    *    *

Marco watched the game, while Peyton made dinner. He had to admit the pure domesticity of the scene appealed to him. It was so good to be back here with her, hearing her moving around. He didn’t at all believe in the strict gender roles his parents adhered to, but he wasn’t going to lie, the routine of what they were doing at this moment eased the anxiety inside of him, an anxiety he realized he’d felt since he walked out of this house two months ago.

She came over and took a seat on the couch, the spot Radar had occupied a little while ago. Pickles immediately curled up in her lap. Leaning forward, she put a glass of water on the coaster and tucked her legs to the side. “I made vegetarian lasagna. Rosa gave me the recipe when she was here last night. It’ll take about 50 minutes for it to bake.”

“Sounds great,” he said, smiling at her.

She studied the television for a moment.

“You know, if you want to meet with Radar earlier, I can probably drive myself to physical therapy,” he said.

“Not on your life. I’m still on vacation. Radar can just cool his heels.” She went back to watching the game. “Who’s winning?”

“Giants.”

“What inning?”

He glanced over at her in surprise. “What inning?”

“That’s right, isn’t it? Innings? Crap. Did I get that wrong?”

He laughed. “Why don’t you come here and I’ll explain it to you?” He patted the arm of his recliner.”

She gave him an arch look, bracing her chin on her hand. “Do I look stupid to you?”

He laid his head against the headrest and groaned. “No, but you’re killing me, woman. Why can’t you just sleep in the same bed as me at night?”

“Because you can’t control yourself.”

“Do you know how long it’s been?”

“A few weeks. Priests go their entire lives.”

“Which is why I never became a priest, Peyton.”

She laughed and reached over, laying her hand on his arm. Even this small touch sent a wave of want through him. “Say your rosaries.”

“What do you think I was doing in the shower this morning?”

She laughed again and curled her fingers around his forearm.

He rolled his head on the headrest and studied her. “It’s so good to hear you laugh.”

She ran her hand up and down his arm. “You too.”

He turned his hand over and clasped hers, then went back to watching the game. She was silent for a while, then she cleared her throat.

“So, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

He felt his gut clench, but he resisted the impulse to show his insecurity to her. “Yeah?”

“Devan told me about the Lowell Murphy case.”

His eyes whipped to her face. “What? When?”

“Yesterday. I was taking Pickles out and he pulled up to the party. He told me Lowell Murphy had a lover.”

“Peyton…”

“And the lover was Harlan Osborn.”

Marco exhaled.

“Devan said you wouldn’t bring Osborn in for questioning.”

“He had no business talking about this with you.”

“Well, you certainly didn’t.” He didn’t detect censure in her voice, just facts. “Marco, you know how often Harlan Osborn has been a thorn in our side.”

“I do.”

“Remember Claire Harper, how he forced us to go after Jake instead of Claire because she donated to his election fund.”

“I remember.”

“And how he interfered on behalf of Jedediah O’Shannahan.”

“I know.”

“Every turn, he’s been there, trying to steer us away from doing our job.”

“I know that.”

“Then why wouldn’t you bring him in for questioning? He’s got to be suspect number one in Murphy’s murder.”

Marco looked down, then reached over and picked up the remote, muting the television. “Do you ever get tired putting yourself, your life, your career on the line all of the time, Peyton?”

“Yes, but…”

“No, I mean, for how many years have we fought the system, our own system to get justice for people. We’ve risked our lives. We’ve sacrificed parts of ourselves.” He motioned to his leg, then motioned between them. “We almost lost each other, Peyton.”

She reached over and clasped his hand with both of her own. “You’re right. About all of it.”

He held up his free hand and let it fall again.

“But do you really think you can turn away from this? Do you really think you can stop pursuing Lowell Murphy’s murderer for your own peace of mind, Marco? Do you think you can let his death be unsolved, unresolved?”

He stared at her face, the features he loved so well, the expressions that were a part of him now. God, he loved this woman. “No,” he said softly. “No, I can’t, which is why I’m going back to work tomorrow, Peyton.”

Her expression sobered. “Don’t you think that’s too soon?”

“I’ll only do a half-day, but I want to find out where things are, what’s going on.” He lifted her clasped hands and kissed the back of them. “You know neither of us can stay away for that long. We’ve had our reprieve. It’s time to get back to work.”

“I would have liked it if our reprieve had been in the Virgin Islands again.”

“I know. So would I, sweetheart. So would I.”

CHAPTER 3

Rosa glanced up from her monitor as Darren, her assistant, poked his head inside her office.

“An Adrian Tréjo is here to see you.”

She glanced out into the open office space. She couldn’t deny a flutter of excitement at the thought that he was here, but she didn’t need speculation or intrigue among her people. Except she had asked him to give her people a refresher course on self-defense.

“Send him in,” she said, looking back at her monitor. She read through the email again, chewing on her inner lip as she considered how she wanted to respond.

“I could do that for you,” came a lazy drawl from her doorway.

She glanced up into Adrian’s sparkling dark eyes. He was leaning on her door jamb, his arms crossed over his broad chest.

“What?” she said, confused.

He motioned at his own lips. “I could chew on your lip for you.”

“Can Darren hear you?”

He leaned back and looked out the door. “I don’t think so. He went back behind his blanket fort.”

She smiled, despite herself. “It’s not a blanket fort. It’s a cubicle.”

“Right.” He entered the office and dropped into the chair on the other side of her desk, stretching out his legs and folding his hands on his belly. “So, I thought we could go to lunch.”

“Did you inspect the training facility?”

“I did and I gave a list of suggested improvements to your office manager.”

“Thanks. When do you want to hold the class?”

He considered that. “How many agents in each session, do you think?”

“Well, one of my squads is still on vacation for another week, although they’ve been popping in here and there all morning.”

Adrian smiled. “Just can’t stay away from you, can they? I know how they feel.”

Rosa looked away, feeling a blush paint her cheeks. “I’ll get Darren to draw up a list for you with times and names. What about starting on Wednesday?”

“Sounds good.” He leaned forward. “So, about lunch?”

She considered him a moment, then she smiled. “Okay, but we go out, away from here.”

“Can’t keep your hands off me, eh?” he answered, giving her a wink.

“That and other parts…” She caught herself as Peyton appeared in the doorway. “Brooks? What are you doing here? I thought you were on vacation.”

Peyton nodded, then her eyes dropped to Adrian and widened. “Stryker?”

“Hey, Buttons, so this is where you wound up?” He rose to his feet and opened his arms. Peyton stepped into them, hugging him.

“What are you doing here?” she said, taking a step back and glancing over at Rosa.

Rosa didn’t know what to say, but Adrian dropped into a boxer’s crouch and started throwing shadow punches at Peyton.

“I’m gonna whip your lazy asses into shape,” he said, aiming a shot at her.

Peyton blocked it effortlessly. “Lazy ass! Not even a little. I was your best pupil.”

“That you were,” he said, rising to his full height again. “Buttons here had half the other recruits scared to death – never dreamed a little bit of nothing could be so mean.”

They both laughed.

Rosa stood, grabbing her keys out of her desk. “What are you doing here, Brooks? I thought you were playing nursemaid to D’Angelo?”

“Radar wanted something from me, so I came in to give it to him.”

“What did he want?”

“Some files on a cold case I’ve been working. He thought he’d take a look at it for me while he had some downtime.” Peyton touched Adrian’s arm. “It was good to see you, Stryker. Sorry I won’t be here for your refresher course.”

“Looks like you’re in top condition anyway.” He pulled her against his side and gave her a quick hug, then released her. “Be good for Sarge here or I’ll give her all your tells.”

Peyton swiped at him, but he danced away. “See you in a week, Sarge,” she called over her shoulder, going out the door.

Rosa crossed around her desk and met Adrian in the middle of the room. He fell in beside her and they headed toward the elevators.

“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?”

“Why 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?”

She looked into her coffee cup. When he put it like that, it did sound suspicious. “Okay, so maybe you and Marco are right and he’s interested in more than being friends, but I haven’t encouraged him at all. In fact, I’ve made it very clear that I’m committed to Marco.” She reached for the sugar dispenser and flicked up the metal lip with her thumbnail. “Can we please talk about the Daws’ case? I promise you I’ll stay away from Mike. You can tell Marco I’ll be a good little soldier and fall into line.”

Radar made a noise of disbelief.

Peyton ignored it, flicking the tab again. “If Mark Turner died of carbon monoxide poisoning, he was murdered, Radar, and it had to be because of this case.”

Radar held out an empty hand.

Peyton flicked the tab again. “But why? Why did they want Turner dead? What did he know that we don’t?”

Radar shrugged, but his attention had moved past Peyton’s shoulder again.

“And what did someone want in a cold case file? What would they be looking for?”

Radar’s eyes shifted back to her.

She flicked the tab once more. It sailed off and landed in Radar’s cup of coffee.

Peyton’s eyes widened in horror. “Oh, God, Radar, I’m so sorry.” She grabbed the napkin off the table and tried to clean up the spray. “Let me get you a new cup.”

He just glared at her. “Sparky, you’re impossible,” he grumbled. A moment later his phone buzzed and he pulled it out of his pocket, looking at the display. “Leave it,” he told her, motioning to the mess. “Susan will get it. Dusty’s done.”

He dropped a ten on the table, rose to his feet, and walked out of the café. Peyton swiveled around and watched him go, then her eyes shifted to Susan.

“I tell you what, he’s gonna wear his coffee one of these days!” Susan said.

Peyton turned back and finished wiping up the mess, gathering everything, including the ten, and carrying it to Susan. She gave her the money and dumped the rest. “I’m sorry.” She pointed over her shoulder. “But the sugar dispenser’s missing it’s tab.”

*    *    *

Peyton found Radar leaning against the doorjamb of her office, talking to Dusty. The CSI was cleaning off his hands with a wet wipe. Peyton felt her heart sink as she saw the black powder on every surface.

“Are you sure?” Radar demanded.

“I’m sure, Radar. It’s clean. I did a preliminary run on the fingerprints I found and they were Agent Brooks, Margaret, Agent Campbell and Agent Redford. I didn’t even find yours in here.”

Radar scratched the back of his head, looking around. Peyton edged up next to him and peered at her desk. A flood of relief went through her when she saw Daws’ file, sitting on the surface with black powder on the cover.

“Can I check the file?”

Radar looked at Dusty for confirmation.

“Go ahead. I didn’t get anything off it either.”

“What about hair?” asked Radar.

He nodded at Peyton. “We can test it, but I’ll bet it’s from Agent Brooks.”

Peyton squeezed past him and hurried over to her desk, but she didn’t want to get the black powder on her clothes. Dusty handed her a pair of latex gloves and she pulled them on, opening the file. She leafed through it quickly, searching for the familiar pages. She’d gone over the file so many times, she felt she knew it by heart. She couldn’t remember how many times she’d read it from cover to cover.

She flipped to the back and caught her breath.

“What, Sparky?”

She looked up at them, but she didn’t answer, going back over the file again, page by page, making sure not a single page stuck to one another. Radar and Dusty watched her, but didn’t interrupt as she went through the whole thing a third time.

Finally, she had to admit the photos were gone. She looked up at Radar and felt her heart hammering in her throat. “They’re gone.”

“What’s gone?”

“The photo of the coin and the photos of the two napkins with the numbers on them.”

“They were in the file?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“You took them out, you said.”

“So Tank could scan them, but I put them right back inside. They took them, Radar.  They broke into my office, drilled out my lock, and took a few pieces of paper. Why?”

Radar ran a hand over his chin. “Who the hell knows, Sparky, but I want that damn security footage of the hallway but quick. Something’s very wrong with this case and now I’m pissed about it.”

Peyton closed the folder and sank into her chair. He was right about one thing. Something was definitely wrong.

CHAPTER 4

Rosa handed the folder to Darren. “Make sure everyone understands the schedule. Agent Tréjo wants to be done by 3:00PM at the latest. No one should be late for their training session. Got that?”

“Got it,” said Darren, not a hair on his blond head out of place. He had classical good looks, strong chin, blue eyes, wide forehead. And he dressed in the finest suits.

Rosa walked back to her office, circling around her desk. Darren had come with the SAC position and at first she hadn’t been sure if he’d work out. She wasn’t sure she liked inheriting someone else’s cast-offs, but she was quickly changing her mind. Darren was around thirty, gay, fashionable, and ambitious. He came to work punctually and stayed focused the entire day. She never had to ask him twice for anything. She wasn’t sure why he hadn’t tried to become an agent himself and she felt she ought to encourage that, but she hated to lose her most competent assistant to date.

She settled into her chair and swiveled it to face the computer, then she pulled up her email. Scanning the inbox, she clicked on the Las Vegas Nevada Field office. The ASAC (Assistant Special Agent-in-Charge) Troy Balais was requesting to know which of her agents was investigating a cold case in her office.

She frowned as she read the case profile. Lance Corporal Isaac Daws had died in a sleazy motel room off the Las Vegas strip of a drug overdose. Why had the FBI even been involved in this case? Unless it was because of Daws’ military connection. She thought she remembered hearing Radar mention something about it. Rather than respond to the email, she closed it and decided she’d question him about it first chance she got.

Just as she was opening the next email, her landline rang.

She reached over blindly and picked it up. “SAC Alvarez,” she said into the receiver.

“You have a call from Celeste Miller,” came Darren’s voice.

Rosa went still, then held the phone away from her face and stared at it. “I’m sorry, who?”

“Celeste Miller.”

Celeste Miller? Joe’s wife? She and Celeste had never really gotten along. Celeste didn’t enjoy her husband having a younger female partner and Rosa didn’t appreciate the underlying current between them. Of course, Joe hadn’t noticed it and seemed bewildered when either of them brought it up. Rosa thought back to Joe’s strange text messages, and now this? What the hell was going on?

“Sarge?” asked Darren. “Do you want me to take a message?”

“No.” Rosa chewed her bottom lip. Something very strange was going on. Her senses were on high alert. “Put her through.” She set the phone in the cradle, then reached for her cell phone and brought up Joe’s text messages.

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

She scrolled down. The next message was even stranger.

Do you remember the locker room incident? They asked me to take you on, said I’d be good for you. Man, they had it backasswardz.

Her phone rang and she settled the cell phone on her desk, snatching the receiver out of the cradle. “SAC Alvarez?”

“Rosa?”

She recognized the voice. Celeste always sounded breathless as if she’d been running a treadmill or something. “Hello, Celeste. I haven’t talked to you in a long time.”

“It has been awhile. That’s my fault. I’ve been so busy with the kids and then you moved out to San Francisco.”

“Yeah, but that’s no excuse. I’ve heard from your husband a few times over the last few days.”

“Really? That’s great, Rosa.”

Rosa frowned. “Actually, the text messages have been strange.”

“You know how he is when he’s on a case, away from home. He gets all homesick and everything.”

“Sure.”

“Look, I’m in San Francisco for a few days and I was wondering…”

“Why are you in San Francisco? Are the kids here?”

“No, no, they’re staying with Joe’s mother. Um, I wanted to get away, so I thought why not come to the City. This is my first time here.”

“A little different than DC, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes it is. So, Rosa, I was wondering if you’d be free for lunch tomorrow.”

Rosa sat up straighter, alarms going off inside. “Lunch tomorrow?”

“Right. Somewhere fun, out in the open.”

“Out in the open?”

“Like Cafe Flore on Market. It has an outdoor seating section.”

“Outside, huh? You know this is San Francisco, right? It can get a little cold, even in late June.”

“The weather said it’ll be nice. I’m really looking forward to seeing you, Rosa. We’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

Celeste and Rosa had absolutely no catching up to do. They were acquaintances only because of Joe, but otherwise, the two women would have had nothing to do with each other. For Celeste to ask her to lunch meant something was very wrong here.

“Okay, Celeste. I’ll see you tomorrow. What time?”

“Quarter past noon.”

“Quarter past noon it is,” she repeated.

“See you then.” The line went dead. Rosa sat, holding the receiver so long that she could hear the strange sound a phone made when the other side disconnected. She set it on the cradle once more.

What the hell was going on? She didn’t like this, especially in light of the two messages she’d gotten from Joe, messages with no responses. She didn’t want to meet with Celeste by herself. First of all, something told her she wasn’t understanding the entire picture and she wanted another set of eyes on this, but there was also Celeste’s strange request to meet in the open. Why?

She could ask Adrian to go with her, but that might spook Celeste. She needed someone who gave off a nonthreatening air, but who would be sharp enough to pick up on any subtle body language or strange things Celeste might say.

Brooks immediately popped into mind. She’d never seen anyone who interrogated the way Brooks did. She was able to get suspects on her side with an uncanny ease, and she was hands down the best interrogator she had.

She picked up the phone receiver and pressed the button for Darren.

As always, he picked up on the first buzz. “Sarge?”

“Can you call Agent Brooks at home and see if she’s coming in today?”

“I just saw her talking to Margaret.”

“Can you find her and send her to me?”

“Done.”

Rosa picked up her cell phone and thumbed it on, staring at the text messages. What was going on with Celeste and Joe? Joe Miller had been a career agent for the DEA. He had to be pushing twenty-five years with the department. He’d had a stellar career and together they’d had one of the best records regarding solved cases. Their success had made it easy for Rosa to jump over to the FBI where she felt she had more advancement potential.

Suddenly, Brooks appeared in her doorway, her wild curls down around her shoulders. She wore a pair of jeans and a pale pink t-shirt that complemented her dark skin. Her FBI badge was affixed to the silver chain of her belt, but she didn’t seem to be wearing her gun.

“You wanted to see me, Sarge?”

“I thought you were driving D’Angelo back and forth to physical therapy, but you’ve been here everyday.”

“I took Marco this morning, but he went into the precinct. I came here to get Margaret to scan a casefile for me.”

“What case? Is this related to the break-in at your office yesterday?”

“Yep.”

“Did Radar get the video feed from the hallway like he requested?”

“I don’t know. I was going to give him a call when I got home.”

“What is this case?”

“Lance Corporal Isaac Daws. He died…”

“Of a drug overdose. I have an email from the Las Vegas ASAC in my inbox.”

Brooks took a step into the room, her brow furrowing. “What?”

Rosa clicked on the email again, reading through it. “They’re pulling the case back to the Las Vegas field office. They want us to return the file.”

“Wait. Why? They haven’t worked that case in years.”

“They said one of their agents died on his way out to talk to you about it.”

“Mark Turner. He had the case originally. He died of carbon monoxide poisoning on the way over the Sierras, crashed his car into the back of a semi.”

Rosa frowned. “That sounds…”

“…hinky?” Brooks nodded and came forward, taking a seat on the other side of Rosa’s desk.

“You said you’re having Margaret scan the file?”

“Yeah, some pictures were stolen out of it. I figured we might want to have a protected copy.”

“Good thinking.”

Brooks smiled. She liked praise. Rosa knew she still worried she didn’t belong with the FBI, especially after being diagnosed with PTSD.

“Radar’s looking into this case with you?”

“Now he is. At first he just kept telling me and Tank to focus on our current cases. What do you want me to do about the Las Vegas request?”

“Once Margaret finishes scanning the file, send the physical copy back to Las Vegas. I’ll email the ASAC and tell him we’re sending the file over to him, but you and Radar keep working it.”

She beamed at that and started to rise. “Great.”

Rosa held up a hand. “There’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”

Brooks sank back in her seat, her expression shuttering. Rosa sighed. No matter how long she worked for Rosa, there would always be history between them. Rosa and Marco had had a tryst during a case they worked with the SFPD. Peyton always seemed to think that Rosa was going to bring it up or that she still had designs on Marco. Although Rosa had fond memories of their time together, it was a one-night stand. Nothing more. She knew, even then, that Marco was crazy in love with the little bundle of energy sitting across from her right now.

“Do you remember my old partner Joe Miller from the DEA?” she said.

Brooks nodded. “He didn’t say much, but I remember him.”

“We keep in touch, but sometimes we go months without talking to one another.”

“Okay?” Brooks reached over and tapped a finger on the top of Rosa’s metal business card holder, trying to tamp the cards into a straight line.

Rosa tried not to be distracted by that. “A few days ago, he sent me a text message.”

Brooks’ dark eyes lifted to her face, her finger hovering over the cards. “What does it say?”

Rosa pulled up the message on her phone and showed it to Brooks.

Brooks read it. “I’m guessing you remember this incident. Why would he bring it up now?”

“Exactly. Then a few days later, I got the next one.” She nodded for Brooks to scroll down.

Brooks read the message, then scrolled up and read the first one again. “What’s the locker room incident?”

“They put mangos and papayas in my locker over the weekend, and the fruit spoiled.”

“Wow, that was shitty.”

“Yep.”

Peyton handed the phone back. “Some of my fellow trainees found out about the serial killer case Marco and I worked before I went to Quantico.”

Rosa nodded.

“They filled my training locker with cereal. Serial, cereal.”

Rosa shook her head in disgust. “What’d you do?”

“I wasn’t going to do anything, but Stryker found out. I mean, he found out who did it and he made them run double what the rest of us did. He never said why. He never called them out in public, but everyone knew the reason.”

“That’s why you think so much of him.”

“Well, that and he’s fair. He was hard on us, but he was always fair. He kept telling us we had to be in top physical form or we’d end up dead. He gave us a reason for everything he asked us to do. A lot of the other trainers didn’t bother with that. We appreciated it.”

Rosa nodded.

Peyton reached for the business cards and lifted them from the holder, trying to straighten them in her hands. “So, why do you think Miller is sending you those texts like that?”

Rosa shrugged. “No idea. It’s completely out of character. We talked about a lot of things, but Miller wasn’t the nostalgic type.” Her eyes lowered to Brooks’ hands, adjusting the cards, and she found it oddly hypnotizing. “Anyway, it gets stranger.”

“How so?” Brooks looked up again, but when she did, the cards tumbled out of her hands and scattered on the floor. “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She dropped to the ground and began gathering them up.

Rosa shook her head in amusement. She should have moved the holder the moment Brooks appeared at her door. “Today I got a call from Joe’s wife, Celeste.”

Peyton’s head lifted from the floor and she peered up at Rosa. “About what?”

“She’s visiting San Francisco on vacation without their kids or Joe.”

“Why?”

“She says she’s never been here.”

“They live in DC?”

“Springfield, Virginia.”

Brooks gathered the rest of the cards, taking her seat again. She started tamping them into place against the arm of the chair. “That seems odd.”

“Yep. She wants me to meet her for lunch at Cafe Flore tomorrow because they have an outdoor seating area.” Rosa said the last slowly.

Brooks went still. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

Rosa felt relief. So she wasn’t just being paranoid.

“What else did she tell you?”

“Just that the kids were staying with Joe’s mother in Virginia, and she and I haven’t seen each other in a long time. She stressed we needed to get caught up. Celeste and I have never needed to get caught up. We weren’t exactly friends when I was Joe’s partner.”

“I can imagine you weren’t.”

“Why do you say that?”

Brooks made a motion with her hand. “Have you looked in a mirror? Any woman would be intimidated by all of that.”

Rosa smiled, bracing her chin on her hand. “You know you don’t have to be intimidated, right?”

“I’m not.”

“But you just said…”

“Any woman. I’m not any woman.”

“Fine.” She held out her hand, indicating the business cards. “I’ll take those.”

Peyton settled them in her hand with a sheepish shrug. “I don’t think you should go to this lunch by yourself. Something’s up, Sarge.”

Rosa nodded. “My thoughts exactly, but I’m afraid if I ask one of the men to go, it’ll intimidate Celeste. I also want someone who can pick up subtleties and that’s just not Radar.”

Brooks gave her a look of agreement.

“I know you’re still on vacation, but I was wondering if…”

“I’ll do it. What time do you need me to be there?”

“Is 12:15 okay?”

“Perfect. It’ll let me take Marco to physical therapy.”

“Okay, Cafe Flore at 12:15.”

“I’ll be there.” Brooks rose to her feet and turned toward the door.

“Brooks?”

She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“Wear your gun tomorrow.”

With a nod, she disappeared into the hallway, headed for Margaret’s desk.

*    *    *

Marco sank into his desk chair with a sigh. Peyton had dropped him off after physical therapy and insisted on seeing him into the precinct. Lee, his massive Samoan administrative assistant, had been the only one in the lobby when they arrived, but he’d jumped to his feet and hurried to open the half-door for Marco, fussing over him, the very thing Marco hadn’t wanted to happen.

After assuring Peyton he was all right, he’d finally gotten her to go to work. He felt grateful for the time they’d had together lately, but there was a strange tension between them. She acted like he was fragile porcelain and well…he was sexually frustrated by her no touching edict. Even her boyish black suits were starting to get him all hot and bothered.

As soon as she climbed in the Prius to go, he’d ask Lee where everyone was. Tag and Holmes, his younger detective team, were discussing Lowell Murphy’s murder with Lieutenant Dan Wegner of the Taraval Station, the station that had been first on the scene of the homicide. Cho and Simons, his veterans, were on a new case, the drive-by murder of a seventeen year old kid in Hunters Point. Jake Ryder, their CSI, was with them.

He crutched to the back of the station and found Stan Neumann, their tech guru, in his office. He checked in with him and remarked on the new dolls (sorry, action figures) Stan had on display, then he and Frank Smith, the old uniform cop, had a cup of coffee together. He enjoyed the few minutes catching up with Frank. Finally, he made it to his office, sinking into his desk chair.

Leaning back, he took in his heavy wooden desk, his forest green visitor chairs, the curtains on the window, and the picture of Peyton and Pickles. He reached over and touched Peyton’s cheek in the photo with the edge of his finger. God, he was glad to be back in her house, but damn it, she was making him crazy with her insistence on sleeping in different beds…hell, different rooms.

His phone buzzed. He picked up the receiver. “Hey, Lee.”

“Captain, ADA Adams is here to see you.”

Marco had forgotten how efficient Lee was. Compared to his last secretary, Carly, who couldn’t seem to find her desk, let alone understand what one was used for, Lee was efficiency personified. “Send him in.”

Lee opened the door and ushered Devan Adams into his office. Of course, Devan looked polished in a dark navy suit with a pale pink collared shirt, and a navy tie. He was one of the few straight men Marco thought could pull off pink.

“Can I get you some coffee, ADA Adams?” asked Lee.

“I would love a cup. Black, please,” he answered, unbuttoning his suit jacket as he took a seat.

“Captain?”

“Coffee would be great, Lee. Thank you.”

Lee nodded and disappeared out the door.

Devan turned his handsome face toward Marco, his hair cut short and perfectly aligned, his jaw clean-cut, and his eyes clear and bright.

“You must be sleeping at night again,” Marco said. Devan had an infant daughter and he usually pulled the 2:00AM feeding.

“Amira’s been sleeping until 5:00AM lately. It’s perfect. I have to be up at that time anyway.” He eyed the crutches. “So how are you?”

“Getting along. They still won’t let me put weight on the leg, but Dr. Chamberlain said he’s pleased that the graft seems to be taking, so I hope I’ll be walking again in another couple of months.”

Devan nodded. “And Peyton?”

It always circled back to Peyton with Devan. “She’s good.”

“But are you two? You know?” He shrugged.

“We’re living together again, yeah.” He wasn’t about to tell the ADA that they weren’t sleeping together yet. No way in hell was he bringing that up.

“So you’re all moved out of Abe’s?”

“Yeah, he and Jake moved my stuff back while I was in the rehab facility.”

Devan scrunched up his brows. “So is the engagement back on?”

“Why are you fishing?”

“Just trying to show interest in your life, D’Angelo.”

“I call bull shit on that.”

Devan held up his empty hands. “You always think I have an ulterior motive. You’re suspicious by nature.”

“Detective,” said Marco.

Lee opened the door again, offering both of them their coffee.

“Thank you, Lee,” said Marco, smiling at him.

Lee ducked his head.

“Yes, thank you, and if you ever want to get out of here, I’ll make a position for you in my office,” said Devan, sipping at his coffee.

“Don’t poach my people,” Marco grumbled.

“Hey, if you can’t hold them, they’re fair game.”

“I’m happy where I am, ADA, but I appreciate the offer.” Lee ducked out of the room.

Marco leaned back in his chair and sipped at his own coffee. “I know this isn’t a social call.”

Devan settled the mug against his thigh. “Nope. What are we going to do about Harlan Osborn? Are you going to drag him in for interrogation?”

“The moment I do that we get a gag order slammed on us.”

“So you’re going to ignore the fact that he was Murphy’s secret lover?”

“No, but I just don’t know how to approach it. We go at it the wrong way and he shuts us down.”

“That never stopped you before. What are you afraid of?”

Marco considered that, swiveling to look out his office window. “Harlan Osborn has been a burr in my side for years. He’s complicated cases that had nothing to do with him, just because he wields power in this town.”

“Claire Harper?”

“And Jedediah O’Shannahan, to name a few.” Marco held up a hand. “And this could ruin your chances for the governor’s mansion, Adams. I thought Rani already had plans to redecorate it.”

“I don’t want it at the expense of justice,” Devan said.

Marco rolled his eyes. “Really? God, you’re so cheesy sometimes.”

“You’re the one usually making the cheesy speeches, D’Angelo, appealing to my better nature. I don’t like this role reversal.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Damn, that Ryder knows how to buy coffee. You think he’d want to come work for me?”

“Stop poaching my people!” Marco growled again, then he stared at his computer screen, thinking. “I just wish I knew how best to handle this.”

“He’s gonna lawyer up the moment you mention Lowell’s name, so just go with it.”

Marco’s gaze rose to Devan’s face. “Do you remember the reporter that got thrown out of his fundraiser a few weeks ago?”

“Yeah, the McLeod woman. What’s her first name? Hannah or Hilda?”

“Hilda, really?” Marco asked him.

Devan shrugged. “What do I know about women’s names?”

He sure never forgot Peyton’s. “Harper,” Marco corrected. “I’m gonna call her and see if she can tell me what she’s learned about Osborn.”

“She’s gonna want something in return.”

“Of course she is.”

“Quid pro quo.”

“Right.”

“What if you can’t give it to her?”

“Then I’ve lost nothing, have I? I don’t have anything right now as it is.”

Devan jerked his chin at Marco’s cell phone. “Call her now.”

Marco pulled up her contact on his phone and pressed the icon. It rang so long, he was sure it would go over to her voicemail, but suddenly she picked up. “Harper McLeod, The Emersonian?”

Marco recognized her voice. “Ms. McLeod, this is Captain D’Angelo of the SFPD Homicide Division.”

“Yes, Captain D’Angelo, how can I help you?”

“Well, I was hoping we could help each other.”

Across from him, Devan sipped at his coffee.

“What do you mean, Captain?”

“I’d like to meet with you tomorrow if you have some time.”

“I’m booked solid tomorrow. What about the next day? Thursday?”

“Thursday works for me. How about noon?”

“That’s a little late. Can’t we meet earlier?”

“I have physical therapy in the morning, Ms. McLeod, so it’s a little difficult for me to get here before noon.”

“Noon it is. Are you buying me lunch?”

Marco considered that.

“I like sushi. California rolls are okay,” she added.

“Fine. I’ll have lunch here for you.”

“Great. A girl’s gotta eat you know.”

“Right.”

Devan smiled.

“What is it we’re discussing, Captain D’Angelo?”

“Mayor Osborn.”

She went quiet. So quiet Marco wasn’t sure she was still on the line.

“Ms. McLeod? Are you still there?”

“Here,” she answered. “Well, I have some information on Osborn, all right, and I’m happy to share, but what do I get in return?”

“We’ll discuss that Thursday. You know I can’t reveal any information on an ongoing case.”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see about that, won’t we? I mean, I don’t dish for nothing.”

Marco shook his head in annoyance. Working with a reporter was always a dicey proposition. “We’ll talk Thursday. See you at noon, Ms. McLeod.”

“See you at noon, Captain D’Angelo.”

Marco disconnected the call and gave Devan a speculative look. “Okay?”

“It’s a start,” he said and finished off his coffee. “I think I’ll go get myself a second cup. You ‘spose Stan Neumann would like to join me. I could really use a good computer tech to do some research for me. Maybe I can poach him instead.”

“Nice,” said Marco, watching him walk to the door and let himself out.

*    *    *

Cho and Simons appeared in the late afternoon, taking a seat across from Marco’s desk. They both wore that grim cop look Marco knew so well. They’d seen things they’d rather forget. He pressed the button for Lee and the assistant appeared in the doorway a moment later.

“Get Cho and Simons some coffee, Lee, please.”

The big man nodded and disappeared again.

“Tell me.”

Cho glanced over at Simons and sighed. “Drive-by in Hunters Point. Caught a 17 year old kid, Jamaad Jones, in the temple. Dead on impact.”

Marco grimaced. “Anyone see anything?”

Simons curled his hands around the arms of his chair. “Couple of people reported a late model Lincoln leaving the scene, but no one thought to get a license plate number.”

“No one thought to or no one wanted to?” asked Marco.

“Yeah,” said Simons. He looked older than he had a few weeks ago when he’d visited Marco in the rehab facility. Marco wondered how many more years Simons had in him.

“Gang related?”

Cho shrugged. “Looks that way, but no one puts Jones in a gang. His mother lost it. Had to call the paramedics out to give her a sedative. God, that just…” He shivered.

Marco nodded. “I know, Nate.”

“We’re gonna go out to the high school tomorrow. Talk to the teachers, his friends, see if anyone knows if he was mixed up in a gang, but he was just a kid,” finished Simons.

“There are two gangs operating in the area. Big Block Gang, which we already know about, and a new one called Mainline,” said Cho. “Mainline’s pushing into Big Block territory. I talked with Javier Vargas of the Gang Taskforce. They’ve been keeping a close eye on Hunters Point, worried about this new gang.”

Marco nodded. “How’s Ryder doing?”

“He’s Ryder, you know?” said Nate. “It was hard listening to the mother, but Ryder kept on working the scene. Afterward, he just sat in the back of the car, not speaking. I didn’t know if I should press it or not.”

“I’ll talk to him before I go home.”

Lee opened the door, handing Simons and Cho their coffee. “The ME’s here to see you, Captain.”

Marco nodded. “Tell him just a minute.”

“We’re done. We got nothing else right now, Captain,” said Cho.

“Okay, go home.”

They rose and headed for the door.

“Cho?”

He stopped and looked over his shoulder.

“Take Bartlet and the new kid with you to the school tomorrow. That way you can cover more ground.”

“Got it.”

Marco nodded and watched them go, their shoulders drooping. A moment later, Abe appeared in the doorway, throwing his arms wide.

“Sweet Angel’D, how are you, darlin’? How’s the first day back behind the desk?”

Marco couldn’t help but smile seeing Abe. He wore a pink shirt with white polka dots all over it and striped pants in pink and white. Glancing over the desk, Marco saw he wore white spats with pink tassels.

“What? No pink spats?”

“I had to order them custom, but they’re not here yet.” He threw his long frame into the chair across from Marco’s desk, his pink and white beads tinkling on the ends of his dreads. “I sure do miss your pretty face across the breakfast table from me, Angel. If things aren’t working out with the Divine Miss P, you know I’ll take you back in an instant.”

Marco shook his head. “Things are fine.”

Abe’s brows lowered immediately in a frown. “Fine? Fine? That does not sound fine at all. Are you fussing at each other again?”

“No.”

“Then what is fine?” He said fine like it was a dirty word.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Abe crossed his legs and folded his hands on his knee. “I’m not leaving until you dish, Gorgeous, so dish.”

Marco felt his frustration rise. “She’s sleeping in Jake’s old room.”

“Oh!” Abe placed a long fingered hand against his chest. “Oh, that’s not good at all. You’re living like Lucy and Ricky.”

“What? Wait. What?”

“Ricardo. Twin beds and all.”

“Sure.” Marco knew he shouldn’t have told Abe anything.

“Well, give her time. You know women.” Abe gave him a skeptical look.

Marco narrowed his eyes. “Yeah, and you don’t. This isn’t a sex thing, Abe. Well, not exactly. She’s afraid she’ll hurt me.”

Abe’s expression grew more puzzled. “What sort of sex do you straight people have?”

Marco laughed, despite himself. “No, it’s the graft.” He stopped himself and held up a hand. “Let’s change the subject.”

“Good, because I really came here to talk about the bachelor party this Friday night.”

“You’re organizing that?”

“Yep.”

“Well, then you need to talk to Peyton because apparently the two parties have to be in the same venue and there can’t be any strippers.”

Abe leaned forward. “I have the perfect place lined up. I’m thinking a Men’s Club theme for our side of party.”

It was Marco’s turn to look concerned. “Men’s Club, as in…”

“Cigars, poker, fine brandy, smoking jackets, and cravats.”

Marco blew out air in relief. “Right. Of course.”

“What were you thinking?”

Marco shook his head. “So what about the women?”

“You said no strippers.”

“No, I mean the bachelorette party.”

“Peyton’s supposed to do that.”

“She’s gonna needs some help, Abe, and you know it. Especially if you wanna pull it off by this Friday.”

“Well, I figure we better do it soon. They get married in mid-July and we never know when Peyton’s gonna get called away.”

“I agree.”

“Okay, well then, I guess I’ll think about the girls side too, but I’ve already reserved the Butterfly Restaurant.”

“The Butterfly Restaurant?”

“In the Embarcadero, Pier 33. They’ve got private rooms.”

“What do you need me to do?”

“Do you have cravats?”

“Um, no.”

“Then just show up looking beautiful, Angel, I’ll handle everything else.”

Marco forced a smile, but he couldn’t deny the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “No strippers, right?”

“No strippers, right,” said Abe, then he winked.

CHAPTER 5

“What is going on with this cold case Brooks has been looking into, Radar?” said Rosa, taking a seat in the simple metal chair on the other side of his desk.

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 good 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.”

Celeste nodded. “One day you think everything’s fine, the next day it’s not.” She lifted her gaze and speared Rosa with it. “Just like that. You lose contact. You lose each other.”

Rosa eased her hand away, her back straightening. “How long have you been…separated?” She said the last word with emphasis and Peyton perked up.

“A week. Six days.” Celeste’s gaze grew more intense. “Six full days.”

“And you came here?”

“I didn’t know where else to go. I had to get away. I had to talk to someone.”

Rosa nodded.

“You and I were so close once. We had no secrets between us. We told each other everything. We shared every little worry, every problem. We never went a day without telling each other good night. Remember?”

Rosa gave her a shuttered look. “Yes, I do.”

“I just needed to talk to someone I trusted and you were the first person that came to mind. You know everything about us. About Joe and me. Everything.”

“What happened, exactly? With Joe?” said Rosa, placing emphasis on the name. “How did this happen?”

“He was gone so much. Always working, always away.” She looked out on the street again, her eyes going distant. “I met someone. Someone new and different.”

Peyton could feel the atmosphere change. Rosa stiffened and lifted her gaze as well, her dark eyes sweeping the street.

The waiter appeared, carrying their plates and set them down. “Anything else, ladies?” he asked.

Neither Celeste nor Rosa acknowledged him, so Peyton gave him a smile. “We’re good. Thank you.”

He nodded and walked back toward the restaurant. Peyton shifted and watched him enter the building. The interior was crowded, but except for a couple in the back corner, they were the only people on the patio. Out on the street, the usual traffic rushed past – both foot and vehicle, the sound of the City muted by the plexiglass barricade.

“You met someone?”

Celeste finished her Bloody Mary and swallowed hard, her eyes watery as she stared at Rosa. “I met someone. He’s so different from Joe. Tall. 6’1”, 6’2”. 250 to 275lbs. Completely bald.” She gave a hysterical little laugh. “Black beard and mustache.”

Rosa picked up her fork and dished up a bite, then bent over, placing it in her mouth. Peyton concentrated on her own plate, but she knew something significant had been communicated. The tension was so thick, she felt a twist in her gut.

Rosa turned toward Peyton. “What time is it?” she asked.

Peyton pulled out her phone and thumbed it on. “12:30.”

“You sure?”

Peyton met her gaze. “Pretty sure.”

Rosa’s jaw tensed. “I thought it was closer to 3:00.” Her eyes bore into Peyton’s, then she turned back to Celeste. “Funny how time flies. So tell me how you met this guy.”

“It just happened,” said Celeste. “One minute I was home taking care of the kids, and the next I just ran into him outside my house, parked in a big black car.”

Peyton continued to mess with her food, but she swiveled her gaze to the right, shaking the loose hair out of her face. She could see a man standing across the street, leaning against a light pole, his arms crossed over a massive chest. He had to be over six feet tall, big, stocky, with a beanie on his head and a bushy black mustache and beard. Looking down at her phone, she pretended to check her text messages, but she pulled up the camera, zoomed in as much as she could and snapped a few pictures of him.

Celeste moved her plate out of the way without touching it. “You know, I’m not hungry. I should go, but it was really good talking to you, Rosa.”

Rosa set her fork on her plate. “I’m sorry about Joe. Is there a chance things will work out?”

Celeste shrugged. “I just don’t know. It’s been a week, six full days, Rosa.”

“Right. So six days ago, was he in DC?”

Celeste drew a deep breath. “I think I’ve got a bug or something. I need to go.” She pressed a hand to her stomach. “Might be a touch of Montezuma’s revenge.” She rose to her feet. “I’m so sorry, but I better go before I disgrace myself.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to take you back to the hotel?”

“No, I’ll be fine as soon as I get out of here.”

“Take care, Celeste. Are you headed back to DC?”

She shook her head, her eyes cutting to the corner. “Maine. My folks have a cabin. The kids and I will probably spend the summer there until things get sorted. If you want to come out for a vacation, just call my cell.”

Rosa nodded and watched Celeste hurry away.

Peyton’s attention shifted to the guy in the beanie and beard. “Boyfriend’s got a black sedan. Looks like a Lincoln. Tell me when he passes the corner.”

“Got it,” said Rosa.

Peyton positioned her phone at the light, then held her breath.

“Now,” said Rosa.

Peyton snapped off a number of pictures as the black Lincoln sped down the street, following the direction Celeste had gone. Then she pulled up the pictures she’d taken and sent them to Marco.

Rosa began eating again. “You need to delete those off your phone for good measure.”

“Yep.”

“You sent them somewhere?”

“Marco.”

“Good. Now delete them.”

Peyton waited until she was sure the images showed as delivered on her screen, then she pulled them up and deleted them from her phone. “Should we finish our lunch or head out?”

“Finish our lunch.”

“What the hell is this all about? She wanted to tell you in person they were getting a divorce?”

“No, that was a ruse. Something’s clearly wrong.”

When the waiter approached, Rosa motioned to the cobb salad. “Can you box that up? Our friend had to go. She wasn’t feeling well.” Then she gave Peyton a wink. “I hate wasting food.” Pushing back a corner of the napkin, she removed a sliver of paper.

Peyton glanced into Rosa’s hand as the waiter cleared the dishes from the table. Only one sentence was written on the scrap in a spidery, thin script.

Joe’s in trouble in Cancun.

CHAPTER 6

Rosa paced her office, dialing Joe Miller’s cell phone number. She should have just called him the first day he sent the cryptic text messages to her, but she hadn’t wanted to disturb him if he was on a case or something. The cell phone rang as it had last night, then it went to voicemail. She hung up without leaving a message. She’d already left three the previous night after her lunch with Celeste.

She tried to think of who she still knew at the DEA that she could call. Her immediate supervisor had retired last year, but she knew a few agents still. She forced herself to take a seat at her desk and pull up her contacts.

Kazander Ward Bass – Kaz Bass was brash, arrogant, opinionated. He took risks and sometimes turned a blind eye toward protocol, but he was a solid agent. Kaz Bass could be counted on to have your back in a tense situation. He also had charm. He could sweet talk his way into a confession like no one she’d ever seen, except maybe Peyton.

Vance Gallagher – she and Joe had worked with him on a few cases. He was a lot like Joe, by the book, never stepped out of line. He always erred on the side of caution, never making an arrest until, as he said so often, all his ducks were in a row.

Finally, Eleanor Koster – Ellie Koster sometimes jumped to conclusions, but she had an uncanny instinct. In fact, Joe always said that if Ellie Koster hesitated, something was definitely wrong. Rosa had always admired Ellie’s focus. Once she was on a case, nothing else mattered.

She decided to go alphabetically and started with Bass. His phone rang a number of times, then went over to voicemail. She left a message, asking him to call her, then she moved on to Gallagher. He picked up on the third ring.

“Agent Gallagher,” he said.

“Vance? This is Rosa Alvarez, Joe Miller’s old partner.”

“Hello, Rosa. How are you?”

“I’m doing well, how are you?”

“Aces.”

“How are the kids?”

“Great. Susanne got married a month ago.”

Rosa tried to remember his kids, but she was having a hard time bringing them to mind. “That’s great, Vance.”

“So what can I do for you?”

She thought about the best way to approach this. Different agencies within the government could be difficult to work with, each protecting their territory, but she didn’t know what else to do. “Vance, I’m a little worried about Joe Miller. I got some strange text messages from him and Celeste came out yesterday to meet me for lunch. She said they were getting a divorce.”

“Really? Hm.”

“Have you talked to Joe recently?” For some reason, Rosa held back Celeste’s scrap of paper that said Joe’s in trouble in Cancun. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt like a good idea.

“What exactly did the text messages say?” asked Vance, his voice guarded.

Rosa’s instincts perked up. Why wasn’t he more interested in the divorce? He and Joe had been friends, went out for drinks together, watched football on the weekends. “Just nostalgic stuff.”

“Really? Can you send them to me? Just forward them on?”

“I guess.”

“That would really help, Rosa.”

“Vance, what’s going on? I feel like you know more than you’re telling me.”

“No, no.” He said it twice, slowly, as if he were trying to think before he responded.

Rosa looked up as Adrian stepped into her office, wearing FBI training sweats. She motioned him forward and he took a seat across from her.

“Was Joe on a case of some kind?” she asked.

Adrian’s brows rose with interest.

“Well, we’re always on a case, Rosa. You know the DEA. More work than agents, I always say. Job security, you know?”

Rosa frowned. What the hell did that mean? “What sort of a case? Is he stateside? I tried to call him, but he doesn’t answer?”

“Tell you what. Just forward me the text messages and I’ll see what I can find out. Could be this is above my pay grade, but you never know?” He gave a tense laugh.

“Sure, I’ll do that,” she said, but she had no intention of forwarding anyone the messages until she talked with Joe himself. “I appreciate the help, Vance.”

“No problem, Rosa. We’ll get to the bottom of this, don’t you worry. Just send me the messages, okay?”

“Okay. Bye.”

“Bye, Rosa.”

She hung up and stared at the phone.

“What was that about?” asked Adrian.

“I just called a couple of the agents I knew from the DEA. I was hoping they might tell me what’s going on with Joe.”

Adrian jerked his chin at her phone. “Did you look up his last text message?”

“Yeah, Radar was right about the translation. It’s a quote from Isabel Allende.”

“Tell me it again.”

“He who seeks the truth runs the risk of finding it.”

“It sounds almost like a warning, Rosa. I don’t know, it makes me nervous.”

She shrugged. “Well, unless he returns my call, I’m sort of dead in the water here.” She put her chin on her hand. “How are the training sessions going?”

“Good. Your people are in pretty good shape. Buttons signed up for one tomorrow. That should be fun.”

“Really?” Rosa’s smile dried and she gave him a narrow eyed glare. “Should I be worried about your fascination with Buttons?”

He flashed a white toothed smile. “If it brings out the tigress in you, sure.”

She tilted her head at him.

He got up and leaned on the desk, bringing himself closer to her. “You know you’ve got nothing to be worried about, right?”

She leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why would I be worried? This is just a fling, right?”

He smiled seductively. “Is it? Remember, I know where you keep your spare toilet paper roll and I have a toothbrush in your caddy.”

She couldn’t help but smile back at him. He had her there. “So maybe it’s more than a fling,” she said.

His eyes twinkled. “Definitely more than a fling,” he answered, then winked at her.

*    *    *

Lee escorted the reporter, Harper McLeod, into Marco’s office. He looked up from his computer and motioned her to the chair across from him.

“Take a seat. I’d get up, but…” He motioned to his crutches.

“Can I get you anything?” Lee asked her.

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Coffee would be great. I love precinct road tar, gets my blood pumping.”

“This isn’t precinct road tar,” Marco warned. “Our CSI’s a coffee aficionado.”

“The coffee’s delightful,” said Lee, the words incongruous with his massive size and Hawaiian shirts.

“Then hit me up.”

“Cream and sugar.”

“God no. I want nothing between me and my caffeine,” she said, taking a seat and crossing her legs. “Thanks.”

Lee nodded and left the room.

Harper looked around, narrowing her eyes in concentration. Marco watched her take in his office. “Pretty masculine,” she said, then opened the huge bag she had set on her lap and took out a small recorder. She placed it on his desk.

“Masculine?” he asked.

“No, I mean it’s nice. Just surprising.”

Marco leaned back in his chair. “Why is it surprising?”

Her eyes swiveled back to him. “Really? Come on. You’re pretty, you live in San Francisco, you were on a date with the ADA at the mayor’s fund raiser.”

“It wasn’t a date. The ADA’s married with a kid.”

Her brows rose in amusement. Clearly she didn’t believe him.

Marco realized he didn’t care what she thought. “Anyway, what’s with the recorder?”

“Oh, for the record, I record everything.” She considered her words. “Huh, that’s strange.”

“What’s strange?”

“Rec-ord, re-cord. It’s a homonym.”

“Sure.”

“English is wicked weird.” She dug back in her purse and pulled out a piece of gum, unwrapping it. “Do you mind? I just quit smoking.”

Before he could answer, she plopped it in her mouth.

“Sure.” He glanced at the clock on his computer. “So, I called you down here to see what you know about Mayor Osborn.”

“I want something in return.” She bounced her foot, shifting in the chair.

He frowned. “You want something?”

She motioned between them. “This is a reciprocal relationship. If I give you something, you give me something in return.”

“Okay, what do you want?”

“I want information about the drive-by two days ago.”

Marco considered that. He didn’t know much about it yet. “It’s a brand new case.”

“Is it a case?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you going to investigate who murdered Jamaad Jones?”

“Of course we are.” Marco’s voice came out sharper than he intended.

She bounced her foot some more, but didn’t speak.

He stared back at her. “What exactly do you want me to say about it?”

“I wanna know who’s been assigned the case, what they know so far, and what their next step is.”

“Two of my most experienced detectives have been assigned the case. They know nothing so far because they just got it. And their next step is to solve it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. She wore a rose colored collared shirt that looked like it might be real silk, a long black skirt that hugged her hips, and stiletto heels in black. Her brown hair was pinned up on her head in a loose chignon. The fact that he knew it was a chignon had more to do with Abe than anyone else. No wonder she thought he was gay.

Lee opened the door and held out her cup of coffee. Then he gave Marco a worried look. “I’m sorry, Captain. Did you want anything?”

“I’m good, Lee.”

Lee smiled. “Lunch should be here in a bit.”

“Great.”

He smiled again and disappeared out the door.

She lifted the mug to her nose and took a sniff. “Hm, nice.” Then she took a tentative sip. “Even nicer.”

He waited.

“Captain D’Angelo, I’d really like to establish a working relationship with you, but that’s gonna be difficult if you keep thinking I just fell off the turnip truck.” She gave him a cool look, her green eyes large and smoky.

“The turnip truck?”

“That I’m a newb.”

“Okay?”

She took another sip and shivered in pleasure. “Shit, that’s good.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, but she didn’t notice.

“Did you know I’m a Livingston Award Recipient?”

“Should I have?”

“Do you even know what the Livingston Award is?”

Marco blew out air. “Probably not.”

“It’s an award for journalists under the age of 35.”

“Congratulations.” He drew the word out.

“I wasn’t fishing for compliments. I wanted you to know who you’re dealing with. If you want my information, I expect better from you, so why don’t we start again?”

He smiled.

Her eyes narrowed on him. “Why are you smiling?”

He shook his head.

“Do you find me amusing? Is that what this is? You find women amusing, Captain D’Angelo?”

“No, you just reminded me of someone.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah.”

“Who?”

Now that was complicated. He and Peyton might be living together again, but that didn’t mean they had things sorted. “Someone important.”

She tilted her head. He knew he’d taken the steam out of her. “Okay, well, just so we’re clear with one another.”

“What do you want to know, Ms. McLeod? I honestly don’t have much. We just got the case two days ago.”

“What are the names of the detectives you assigned to it?”

“Inspector Nathan Cho and Inspector Bill Simons. They’re my most senior detectives.”

“Good. Do they have any leads?”

“Not to speak of. It was a drive-by. A few witnesses saw a late model Lincoln, but that was all. No one thought to get a license plate number.”

“Okay.” She sipped at her coffee. “Damn, this is really good coffee.”

“Anything else you want to know?”

“Was Jamaad Jones in a gang?”

“He was seventeen years old. He was an average student at school. He had a perfect attendance record. At this point, we can’t place him in a gang, but that could change.”

She nodded. “Now, was that so hard, Captain?”

“We’ll see. Is it my turn yet?”

“Yeah. What do you want to know about Osborn?”

“Is he gay?”

“As Richard Simons.”

“Come again.”

She waved him off and bounced her foot some more. “Yes, he’s gay.”

“But he’s married.”

“Right. No married man has ever turned out to be gay. Cole Porter, Rock Hudson, Oscar Wilde, Anthony Perkins.”

“Okay, I get you.” He blew out air. This one was going to be a challenge. She was smart and quick and didn’t have a lot of respect for his position. “Has he had many affairs that you know of?”

“I know he was involved with someone recently. They’d hook up at the Fairmont. He likes them young and handsome. He showers them with gifts.”

“How does he keep it out of the news?”

She shrugged, setting the coffee cup on his desk. “I don’t much care who he’s sleeping with to be honest as long as he doesn’t stonewall me. He shut down that shelter for gay teens in the Tenderloin, then refused to talk to me about it. It just might be time to out him.” She fluffed her hair. “The way I figure it, I’d be doing him a favor.”

“His last lover wound up with a bullet in the back of his head, Ms. McLeod. You might wanna show some restraint.”

“Lowell Murphy?”

“You know who he was?”

“I know you’re investigating his murder, I know you’re asking me about the mayor, so it isn’t too hard to put two and two together.”

“Do you think Harlan Osborn is capable of murder?”

“Isn’t that supposed to be what you figure out, Captain?”

“I’m asking your professional opinion.”

She bounced her foot and chewed her gum. “Well, I know he wants to be governor and he’s willing to get in bed, pardon the pun, with some sketchy characters.”

“Victor Maziar?”

She tapped her index finger against her nose.

“Do you know much about Victor Maziar?”

“I know that he’s got Russian mob connections.”

“Can you prove that?”

“I’m working on it.” She rustled around in her big bag, then pulled out a wrinkled photo and slapped it on the desk before Marco.

He reached for it, seeing a spray painted word on the whitewashed perimeter wall in front of a mansion. He was pretty sure he recognized the mansion. “Is this the mayor’s home?”

“Yep.”

“What language is this?” He pointed to the spray paint.

“Russian.”

“What does it mean?”

“I’m not sure. I tried to translate it, but it’s hard to read. I must have some letters wrong.”

A knock sounded at the door. Lee poked his head inside. “Sorry to bother you, Captain, but Officer Price would like to see you.”

“Tell him to come in.”

Price stepped into the room, wearing his uniform. Harper’s gaze roved over the young man from head to foot and she gave a slow smile.

“Nice,” she said.

He ducked his head to her. “Ma’am,” he said, then he turned to Marco. “Sorry to bother you, Captain, but I had an idea and I wanted to run it by you.”

“An idea?”

“About the Jamaad Jones case.” He shot a look at Harper.

“I’m all ears,” she said, giving him a sultry wink.

He shifted uncomfortably, turning his uniform hat in his hands.

“Go on, Danté,” Marco urged.

“Danté?” purred Harper. “How exotic.”

A blush painted Danté’s dark cheeks and he averted his gaze from her. Marco knew he should send her from the room, but he wanted to get back to their discussion. “Captain, I was wondering if I could change into plainclothes and go knock on the neighbor’s doors for information about Jamaad Jones. A lot of the people in that neighborhood distrust cops and I thought maybe if I didn’t look so much like a cop, maybe they’d talk to me.”

Marco considered that. He didn’t like the young man going out there by himself, but it wasn’t a bad idea. Hunters Point was primarily African American and Danté was right. A lot of the people had good reason to be distrustful of the police. “I don’t want you going alone.” He set the picture down on his desk. Danté’s eyes strayed to it. “I guess it wouldn’t help if Bartlet went with you in plainclothes?”

Danté’s pale brown eyes snapped to Marco’s face. “Um, Captain, Bartlet’s a little conspicuous.”

“Oh, he’s super white, is he?” said Harper.

Danté shot a look at her, then focused on Marco again. “I’m sorry, Captain, but…”

“No, you’re right. Okay, I agree, but I want you to take Cho with you. I don’t want you going alone.”

A flash of a smile touched the young man’s mouth. “Thank you, Captain. I appreciate it.”

“Just be careful,” Marco warned.

“Yes, sir.” He turned to go, then stopped and turned back around. “I’m sorry, Captain. I don’t mean to butt in, but that graffiti…”

Marco’s brows rose. “Yeah, we don’t know what it says.”

“I do.”

Harper let out a noise of disbelief.

Marco’s eyes snapped to Danté’s face. “You know Russian?”

“Yes, sir.”

“How?”

“Well, sir, I haven’t told you yet, but I have an eidetic memory.”

“A what now?” asked Marco.

“Photographic memory,” said Harper, sitting forward. “Holy shit! Are you serious?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Ma’am,” she scoffed. “We’re about the same age, dude.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he repeated.

“What do you mean you have a photographic memory?” asked Marco.

“I do, sir. I just do.”

“Why are you a cop?” asked Marco in bewilderment.

“Word!” said Harper.

Danté shot another look at her, then focused on Marco. “My family believes the greatest role for a person is to serve his fellow man. This is how I felt I could best serve, sir.”

Harper snorted and slumped back in her chair. “Seriously?”

“Enough!” Marco told her, focusing on the kid. “You know Russian?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What else?”

“Spanish and French. I’m better at writing than speaking, but I can speak it if necessary. I’m trying to learn Cantonese now, but I’m wondering if I should learn Mandarin first.”

Marco stared, his mouth hanging open. This kid was amazing. He picked up the photo. “What does this say, Danté?”

“нет предателей means no traitors.”

“Get out!” said Harper, shoving him in the side.

He staggered, but his gaze never left Marco.

“No traitors,” Marco repeated. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well, as I said, getting into bed with someone like Victor Maziar might not be good for one’s health,” offered Harper.

“What does this have to do with Lowell Murphy’s murder though?”

“No clue.”

“If the mayor is taking money from the Russian mob, did he do something to brand himself a traitor in their eyes?”

“Or is it a warning?” said Harper.

Marco rubbed the back of his neck. “Damned if I know.” His gaze rose to Danté. “Thank you. You’ve been a big help.”

“Anytime, Captain,” said the kid.

Marco studied him a moment. Having a kid like this, with people like Stan and Jake behind him, could make a crime fighting team unlike any the other precincts had, but what if this kid got bored? Marco didn’t like the idea of him being in danger, but he knew he needed to keep him occupied if he wanted to keep him.

“Good luck with the neighbors. Do you want me to talk to Cho about your idea or do you want to handle it?”

“I’ll talk with him, Captain.”

“Good. Brief me when you get back.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, then he nodded at Harper. “Ma’am.”

Harper shook her head in amusement. “Mr. Spock,” she answered.

He gave her a bewildered look, then left the room.

Harper turned back to Marco. “He’s adorable. A little stiff, but damn, did you see him translate that Russian like it was Pig Latin?”

Marco nodded, his attention on the door. How the hell was he going to keep someone with Danté Price’s intellect challenged here in homicide?

*    *    *

“He has an eidetic memory,” said Marco, reaching across the counter and taking the salad bowl and tongs from Peyton. He tossed the salad.

“An eidetic memory?” she asked, grabbing a pot holder and removing the bread from the oven.

“Photographic memory.”

“And so he speaks Russian?”

“He says he reads it better than speaks it.”

Peyton set the cookie tray on the counter by the sink and gave him a puzzled look. “Why would the Russian mob paint that on the mayor’s fence?”

“The reporter thinks it might be a warning to keep the mayor in line. If they’ve donated to his campaign, they might be insisting he deliver on his promises.”

“Hm. So he’s courting some bad money and they’re making him pay up? Why am I not surprised with that guy?”

“Did you ever think he was gay?”

She shrugged, then picked up the knife and transferred the bread to the cutting board. “He made a big deal out of being the family values guy, which always seemed a little weird for San Francisco. It isn’t like that’s a big flag waving moment for us.”

“But his ambitions have always been beyond San Francisco.”

She pointed the knife at him. “They have, so I guess it makes sense he wouldn’t want that part of his life out in the open.”

Marco chewed on his lip, his eyes going distant. “I will never understand politicians. You have this job that’s in the public eye like no other, but you think you can hide things. They always get outed. No matter what. Why do they do it?”

Peyton started cutting the bread, placing it in a basket. “I’m not sure, but it must be hard to live such a big lie. You said the reporter said he gave his lovers a lot of expensive gifts. What did he give Lowell Murphy?”

“Kurt Foster said it was a watch. When I talked with him tonight at the group meeting, he said it was engraved.”

“What did it say?”

“ from Sugar Bear. We can’t find it.”

“That’s pretty distinctive. I mean if someone wanted to get rid of it. Have you checked pawn shops?”

Marco smiled. “You’re brilliant. We’ll get on that tomorrow.”

She finished with the bread and tossed Pickles a bit of the crust. He caught it in midair. She passed Marco the plates and the silverware, then set the basket on the counter next to the salad.

Coming around the counter, she laid her hand on his arm, then took the seat next to him. “So, what are you going to do to keep the Price kid interested in being a police officer?”

“Right,” he said, dishing salad onto his plate and passing it to her. “I don’t know.”

“He said he wants to be a detective, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he’s green, Peyton, and so damn young.”

“If he takes the detective test, he’ll pass it, won’t he?”

Marco nodded. “But I have to approve him taking it.”

“How are you going to stop him?” She dished salad onto her plate. “You’ll lose him if you try to stop him from advancing.”

He accepted the basket from her and took a piece of garlic bread, setting it on his plate. “I don’t know. I’ll figure it out. I keep wondering if Bill Simons might not have too many more years in him.”

She hesitated, her eyes meeting his. “Are you serious?”

“This last case, the seventeen year old kid, really seemed to hit him hard. His youngest is seventeen. As far as we can figure, Jamaad Jones wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just going home after playing some street ball with his friends. Bill said they blew the kid’s brains out. For what?”

She covered his hand with her own. “I don’t know, Marco. I’ve never understood that.”

He squeezed her fingers. “Let’s drop this for now. Not good dinner conversation. Did Radar get anything off the videos?”

“Not yet. He and I looked at a couple weeks of them, but nothing.”

“I had Stan print those pictures you sent to my phone. They’re in the bedroom if you want them.”

“Good. Did you delete them off your phone?”

“Yeah, Stan said he moved them to a secure server. He looked up the license plate number on the car, but it was a rental from an outfit at the airport. Renter paid in cash.”

“I figured it might be.” She sighed. “Rosa was pretty freaked out. It was like some spy movie thing.”

“Or FBI drama,” he quipped, nudging her with his shoulder.

She laughed. “Right. Or FBI drama.” Picking up her fork, she dug into her salad. “Eat, D’Angelo, I made this dressing from scratch, then Mama D sent over some homemade chocolate ice cream. We almost had that instead of salad for dinner, let me tell you.”

He smiled at her, then leaned over and kissed her temple. “Never change, sweetheart,” he said in her ear. “Never change.”

CHAPTER 7

“Stan Neumann, Marco’s tech guy, said the license number on the Lincoln was from a rental company at the airport. The guy paid for the rental in cash,” said Peyton.

“But they must have papers on him? He had to sign something to get the car. Insurance waivers, rental agreements?”

Peyton held up an empty hand. “We probably need a warrant to get that information.”

Rosa nodded. “I’ll do that. What’s going on with the video feed outside your office? Any news on the break-in?”

“Radar and I have looked at a lot of weeks of film. We’re still plowing through it, but we don’t have anything yet.”

“The file went back to Las Vegas?”

“Yeah, and so did the evidence box.”

“Radar wanted to look inside and see if the napkins were still there with the numbers on them.”

“He checked with Myron. Myron opened the box and the napkins were still there.”

Rosa tapped her pen on her blotter. “But he still says the coin wasn’t in there?”

Peyton shook her head. “And it wasn’t on the manifest.”

“Does Sarah Campbell, Tank’s wife, have any more information about the coin?”

“Professor Bishara, her associate, had the most information, but without being able to test the coin itself he can’t authenticate anything. However, he did tell Tank and me that some coins were found in 2013 by Iraqi archaeologists and he suspected our coin might be from that same cache.”

“But he can’t prove it unless he has the coin?”

“Exactly.”

“Radar said you got a picture when you were in London, a text message,” pressed Rosa.

“Of Senator Lange and Isaac Daws together, but when I questioned Lange’s assistant about it, he assured me Lange had never met with Daws before.”

“Could it have just been a photo op with the troops sort of thing?”

“Sure.”

Rosa considered that. “But then why did Mark Turner want to come out here and talk to you in person?”

“Exactly.”

“And why did he die?”

Peyton nodded in agreement.

Rosa blew out air. “Okay, well, let’s get through the rest of the video feed today, if we can. I wanna know who broke into your office. Then we’ll decide our next move.”

“On it.” Peyton rose to her feet.

“I hear you have a session with Stryker today?”

Peyton’s dark eyes lifted and pinned Rosa, searching her. Rosa forced herself not to shift uncomfortably. “Yeah, I wanna make sure I still have the edge.”

“Good,” Rosa said. “He’s the best.”

“Yeah, he is.”

“Well, um, go get ‘em.”

Peyton gave her an amused look. “Sure. I’ll do that.” Then she strode from the room.

Rosa rubbed her hand over her forehead. Go get ‘em? What the hell was wrong with her? She didn’t want anyone to know about her and Adrian, so why did she go around acting weird about it?

Time to concentrate on something else. Joe Miller popped into her mind instantly. Grabbing the mouse, she clicked on her contacts and pulled up Ellie Koster’s number. Reaching for the receiver, she dialed it. Ellie answered on the first ring.

“Agent Koster,” she said, her voice low with just a hint of a southern accent.

“Ellie, it’s Rosa Alvarez. How are you?”

“Rosa?” repeated Ellie. “I’ll be damned. How are you, girl? What’s going on in Frisco?”

“San Francisco,” Rosa corrected. “Everything’s fine. How are things there in D.C.?”

“Good, real good. I just came back to work this week in fact.”

“Really? Where were you?”

“I’ve been on maternity leave. I had a baby girl. We named her Mary Todd, for Mary Todd Lincoln.”

“Oh, wow, how…clever,” Rosa managed to get out. “A baby girl. Congratulations. How long were you out?”

“Three months. It was a wonderful bonding time for us. It’s was real hard coming back, I can tell you, but the mortgage don’t pay itself, now does it?”

“No.”

“So what can I do for you, Rosa?”

Rosa stared at the computer screen. Every move she made just complicated things and she had no real proof that anything was wrong with Joe. “I was actually calling you about Joe Miller, my ex-partner.”

“Joe?”

“Yeah. He sent me a few cryptic texts, then I had a surprise visit from his wife. She says they’re getting a divorce.”

“Joe and Celeste? No, that’s awful.”

“Right. Surprising too.”

“Yes, it is at that. What happened?”

“She says she met someone new.”

“I can’t believe that.”

Rosa swiveled her chair back and forth. “I don’t know too many people left in the DEA. You and Kaz and Vance, but I was wondering if you’ve talked to Joe lately.”

“I can’t say I have, Rosa. In fact, I don’t remember the last time I talked to him.”

“Is he in the office there?”

Ellie was silent for a few moments. “I don’t recall seeing him all week, as a matter of fact,” she finally said. “I know Kaz has been on assignment for quite awhile now.”

Which explained why he hadn’t returned Rosa’s call.

“Do you know where Kaz is on assignment?”

“That’s classified. I’m sorry, Rosa.”

“No, I get that. Can you at least tell me if it’s out of the country?”

Ellie was quiet for a few moments. “I believe it is,” she said. “Look, if you’re concerned about Joe, I could send you to his supervisor and you could let her know.”

“Can you give me her name, Ellie?”

“Brenda Doyle. Do you want me to transfer you to her?”

Did she? Rosa just wasn’t sure what she would say to the woman. Hey, got some weird texts from my ex-partner and wondered if he’d lost his mind? Or maybe that his wife had shown up, followed by a guy that looked like a thug from a B-rated spy movie?

“No, Ellie, don’t transfer me yet. It’s probably nothing. I don’t want to get Joe in trouble or anything.”

“I get you. Well, if you wanna talk to her, just call back and I’ll make sure it goes through.”

“Thanks, I appreciate it and congratulations on your baby. You’ll make an awesome mom.”

“Aw, thank you, Rosa. Well, talk to you soon.”

“Talk to you soon,” repeated Rosa and she hung up, then sat staring at her computer screen. This was certainly becoming alarming. If only Joe would just return her damn text messages, they could get this whole things squared away. Damn it all, she had other things to worry about right now and didn’t need this. She’d rather concentrate on her and Adrian, to be honest.

*    *    *

Peyton danced on the balls of her feet. Stryker stood in front of her in a half-crouch, his muscles loose. He looked like he was only half-concentrating, but Peyton knew that was bull shit. Stryker was quick and deadly.

“You gonna just keep dancing, Buttons,” he taunted her, “or are you gonna come at me?”

She didn’t respond. He’d taught her never to verbally respond to a taunt. It was a distraction technique and she needed her attention completely focused on her opponent’s hands and feet.

“Well, small fry, what’s it gonna be?”

Peyton narrowed her eyes on him, knowing he was about to pounce. He feinted to her right, her strong side, and she blocked him, but with his cobra quick moves, he snaked out with his left foot and hooked her behind her knee. She’d been expecting that and dropped backwards, rolling on her shoulder and springing to her feet.

He circled around her and she moved with him, keeping him in front of her. “Good, Buttons, you remembered.”

She didn’t stop to take the compliment. She’d done that one too many times in Quantico, she loved the praise, but he’d made her pay for it every single time. She kept loose, her eyes focused on his gaze, not his hands. She knew the second he made a decision to start for her. His eyes flicked to the left just a bit, enough to notice.

He smiled, trying to disarm her. “So, how do you like working for Sarge?”

Peyton didn’t answer, edging around the training room with him.

“She can be a little bossy, can’t she? Demanding?”

Peyton tried to calm her breathing, still focused on him.

“I know how you balk at authority figures, Buttons. You always gotta question everything. But Sarge, she doesn’t allow much questioning, does she? It’s her way or the highway, ain’t it?” He jabbed at her, but Peyton blocked him.

“Is it hard for you, Buttons, having her give you orders? The way she barks them, knowing they’ll be obeyed. But you, you don’t like to obey anyone, do you, small fry? You like dancing to your own beat, doing your own thing.” He moved at her again, but danced back at the last minute, forcing Peyton to readjust. “I don’t know. I think it’s kinda hot. The way she takes charge.”

Peyton blinked, straightening just a fraction.

It was just the moment Stryker had been waiting for and he pounced, clipping her on the side of the head. She spun to escape him, but he caught her around the upper body, his other arm clamped around her waist, hauling her back to his chest and pinning her.

“Now, Buttons, I know this is the very thing you fear most of all,” he whispered in her ear. “Get out of it.”

She felt panic edge up inside of her. He had her arms pinned against her sides. She squirmed, trying to break his hold, but he had her in a grip that didn’t allow her to take a full breath.

“Fight it, Buttons! Fight the panic!”

“Stryker, please…” she heard herself whimper, then she struggled again, but he only tightened his arms, cutting off her breath.

“Listen to me!” he shouted at her, shaking her. “This might mean life or death, Peyton. So you listen to me!”

She went still, closing her eyes, trusting him.

“If you ever find yourself in this situation, don’t fight. Do the opposite. Be unpredictable.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, her breath sawing in and out. “I don’t understand.”

“Because you’re panicking. Think, Buttons. Think. Sometimes the best way to fight is not to fight at all.”

She tried to internalize what he said. The best way to fight is not to fight at all? Radar had tried to teach her something similar, but his advice had been to fight until her last breath, until there was nothing more she could do. Still, he’d also told her to be unpredictable. What did Stryker mean?

“Think, Buttons. Think your way out of this. You’ve got to control your breathing. You’ve got to conserve your energy and when the moment is right, you react.”

She realized she was shivering. Her teeth were chattering and her head was filled with white noise. She focused on her breathing. It was hard to draw a deep breath because he had his arms wrapped so tightly around her, but she could take shallow breaths and slow them down, count between them.

She did so, holding her breath and listening to his heart pounding against her spine. The effort made her feel light headed, but in that moment, she understood what he said. Be unpredictable.

Without warning, she went slack in his arms. The sudden weight of her limp body pulled him off balance and he stumbled, trying to keep his hold on her. As soon as she felt his weight shift, she stamped down on his foot and he let out a grunt of pain, releasing her. She spun out of his hold and crouched, ready to strike if he came at her again.

He rose to his full height, his dark eyes sparkling. “There you are.”

She tried to slow her breathing, still the panic. Black spots danced in her peripheral vision. He came forward and reached out to lay a hand on her shoulder, but she flinched. He held out both hands.

“It’s okay, Buttons. We’re done.”

She closed her eyes, then felt his fingers curl around her elbow.

“Sit down.”

She sank to the mat and placed her head in her hands.

“Deep breaths,” he urged, sitting down across from her.

She opened her eyes and tilted her head to look at him. “I screwed up.”

“No, you did just what I asked you to do.”

“Then afterwards I almost passed out.”

“Hey, that’s fine as long as you’re safe. As soon as you know you’re safe, you have my permission to pass out.”

She laughed and he smiled.

“I keep thinking it’s getting better, but it’s obviously not.”

“It is. When you first went to Quantico, I couldn’t talk you out of a blind panic. That was it. You just kept struggling until I had to let you go, afraid you were going to give yourself a heart attack. Now, you fought through it and listened to me.”

She regarded him steadily. “You’re a good trainer, Stryker. You know that.”

“Well, it’s easy with a good pupil,” he said, chucking her under the chin. “Come on, you can buy me a smoothie downstairs.”

She watched him jump to his feet, then she climbed up after him. Maybe he was right. It used to take her hours to calm down, but now she only felt a little like throwing up.

*    *    *

Maria grabbed Peyton’s hand, dragging her onto the dance floor. Overhead the disco ball rotated, shooting out blinding rays accompanied to the pulsation of the colored lights spinning in circles. The music was so loud, she couldn’t hear herself think.

Earlier, she’d met up with Maria and Marta at Cho’s house in South City. In a cloud of hairspray, Maria and Marta had teased and sprayed their hair until it was a mile high on their head. Peyton let them fluff hers out a bit, but it didn’t take much to make her look like Diana Ross. With a liberal dose of eyeliner, blue eyeshadow, and red lipstick, Peyton hardly recognized herself, then Maria made her shimmy into a pink pleather mini-dress with spaghetti straps and a black pleather motorcycle jacket with shoulder pads. Black high heeled combat boots over fishnet stockings completed her ensemble.

“This is the only time it’s appropriate to wear combat boots – an 80’s throwback party, Brooks,” Maria said.

She and Marta wore matching mini-skirts and bustiers in pastel colors with enough makeup to disguise a geisha. Peyton didn’t know how Maria walked in those open toed boots, but she made it look easy.

The minute they climbed into the limo Abe had provided, Marta popped the cork on the champagne bottle, making a toast to her sister – “The biggest beotch on the block!” – and they were off. The bottle was empty by the time they pulled up to Pier 33.

Abe greeted them in a leopard print smoking jacket with a black velvet cravat and gold lamé slacks, ushering them out of the limo and hurrying them inside. Before they even reached the room, the sound of Madonna singing about being a virgin wafted out to them.

Abe threw open the doors and the strobe lights spilled out into the hallway. The room was already filled with Maria’s guests and the drinking had begun. Maria linked her arm through Peyton’s and Marta’s dragging them into the crowd with her.

“Rock on, ladies!” shouted Abe and closed the doors behind them.

Peyton tried to be attentive to Maria, dancing with her, throwing back a few shots of tequila, although she managed to take only one to every two that Maria took, and dutifully writing down the gifts Maria received, but after she’d written pink G-string, black G-string, white G-string so many times, it seemed a bit redundant. She even agreed to cut Maria’s penis cake, although just looking at the thing made her queasy, but not as much as the anatomically correct chocolates Abe had made for the occasion.

“Want some balls!” shouted one of Maria’s friends, throwing her arm around Peyton and laughing in her face.

After all of that, she didn’t feel a bit guilty for ducking out when Marta insisted that Maria try out the pink feathered handcuffs she’d gotten and promptly handcuffed her to a chair, while the women pinned dollars on her clothes. Peyton snuck to the door and slipped into the hallway, closing in the lights and the music and the laughter, pressing her back to the barrier and shutting her eyes for a moment.

“Had enough?” came a familiar voice.

She looked down the hall to the stairway leading to the roof. Marco sat on the tread, his cravat draped over the rail, his smoking jacket open, his collar undone. His crutches were braced against the stairs next to him.

Peyton couldn’t believe how happy she was to see him, moving down the hall and picking up the crutches, so she could sit beside him. “You escaped too?” she said, snuggling into his side and wrapping her arms around his where he had it braced on a knee.

“I needed a moment. They’re all sitting around the poker table, drinking scotch with cigars in their mouths.”

“This place is letting them smoke?”

“No,” he said with a laugh. “They’re just chewing on the ends of them.”

Peyton made a face.

Marco’s eyes tracked down her outfit and back up. “How the hell do you make that get-up look sexy, woman?”

She laughed. “I see you lost the cravat first chance you got.”

He nodded and leaned back, sliding his arm around her and pulling her closer to him. “Your shindig is louder than ours.”

“And would you believe, probably has more penises.”

He flinched and she laughed, laying her head on his shoulder. The tequila shots were starting to make her sleepy and he smelled so good. He pressed his lips to her forehead. “I’m glad you escaped.”

“So am I. I couldn’t take much more. I love Maria, but I’ll be glad when this wedding is over.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head. “It’s a little over the top, isn’t it?”

“A little? Marco, I just cut a penis cake, and right now…” She pointed back down the hall. “Maria is handcuffed to a chair while women pin money on her.”

“Well, Jake’s telling everyone the odds for each hand. Did you know the odds of being dealt a royal flush is 1 in 649,740? And Stan keeps calling the Jack a Knight, because the other two are the King and Queen. It just doesn’t make sense, Peyton. If you’re going to go medieval, why not stick with authenticity?”

She laughed. “God, this would so not be how I’d do it.”

His smile dried and he toyed with a curl. “How would you do it?”

She leaned back, looking up at him. “What do you mean?”

“How would you plan it? What would you want for a wedding?”

“D’Angelo…” she said in warning.

“It’s just talk, sweetheart.” He shrugged. “What would you do different?”

She thought about it. It was probably the tequila, but what would it hurt to tell him what she’d like? It wasn’t as if they’d even considered moving to that step again after their breakup. In fact, they’d both been careful to steer clear of any talk about it. But sitting here with him now, what did it hurt?

“You know what I’d really like,” she said, snuggling back against his chest.

“What?” His fingers stroked through her hair, soothing her, lulling her toward sleep.

“I’d like a beach wedding.”

“A beach wedding?”

“Yeah, in Carmel. Just our family and friends.”

“That’s still a lot of people.”

“I know, but I want it simple. Just a white altar covered in flowers, the chairs set up in the sand. Nothing else.”

“What about music?”

“A harp for the ceremony, then a live band for the reception. It wouldn’t even matter what kind of band because it’d be live.”

“And flowers?”

“Lilacs,” they both said together.

She shifted, playing with the buttons on his shirt. “Abe would be my man of honor.”

“What about bridesmaids?”

“I guess it would have to be Maria and Bambi.”

“What color would you pick for their dresses?”

“No, see that’s what I’d want to do different. I’d let them pick their dresses. Abe too. Whatever crazy thing he wanted.” She smoothed a hand across Marco’s chest. “Of course, you look gorgeous in silvery grey. Maybe one of those suits René Noir designed for you. And your groomsmen would be your brothers.”

“Mmhmm,” his voice rumbled beneath her ear. “What about the ceremony itself?”

“Jake could do it. He could get ordained on one of those on-line churches.” They both laughed. “He’d be good at that, don’t you think?”

“Definitely. What would you wear?”

She reached for the cell phone she’d hooked to the scarves Maria had wound around her waist and thumbed it on, pulling up her pictures. “I actually found one, before, when we were…when…” She stared at it. It was simple, elegant, with a lace bodice, spaghetti straps and a narrow, long gown without a train.

Marco took the phone and looked at it. “It’s beautiful.”

She nodded. “I want to go barefoot in the sand. No high heels to trip me up.”

He handed the phone back to her. “What about the reception?”

“Right after the wedding. Just buffet style, and no seating chart. If I have to hear about a seating chart one more time, I’ll scream. Let people sit wherever they want to sit.” She stopped and drew a deep breath, sitting up. “This is silly.”

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes on her.

“A beach wedding, not in a church. People aren’t going to like that.”

He cupped her cheek with his hand. “Who cares what anyone else wants? They can do their own thing, but anyone who matters to us won’t care, Peyton. They’ll just want you to be happy.”

She put the phone away, shaking her head. “Too much tequila,” she said, looking away from him. His blue eyes were too intense and his presence overwhelming. He made her want things that she’d given up – him and their life – but she was afraid to hope for them, to want them, to trust him. “I should go back in.”

“What if you didn’t?”

“What?”

He leaned toward her. “What if we went home? We put in our time. We did our duty. What if we just went home? I have the Charger here. I’ll bet they don’t even miss us.” His eyes were alluring, his voice husky.

“We’re not having sex, D’Angelo. You haven’t been cleared by Dr. Chamberlain.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Then we can watch a movie. Platoon or something.”

“Platoon?”

“That movie definitely doesn’t make me think about sex.”

She laughed and touched his face. “I love you, D’Angelo,” she said.

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Then come home with me.”

She nodded and helped him get to his feet. They snuck out of the Butterfly Restaurant and made it to the Charger without anyone knowing. Marco drove home. Dr. Chamberlain had cleared him earlier that day to drive. Peyton sat in the passenger’s seat and watched the City lights through the window, thinking about their discussion.

Did she want to get married? She’d been sure about it a few months before, but everything had changed. Did she still want it?

She wasn’t sure. She’d found the dress after their breakup, when he was living with Abe. Something had made her take a picture of it, but she wasn’t sure why. Now, they were just starting over again, learning how to live with each other. Did she want to go back to that next step with him? Could she? It was one thing to live together. It was another to accept a marriage proposal. Living together could be temporary, but marriage was meant to be a lifelong commitment.

She loved him.

She’d never doubted that.

But did she want to marry him? Did she want him to know that she would pledge her entire life to him and him alone? Could she? If he left her after they were married, she didn’t know if she could survive that. Wasn’t it safer to just keep things the way they were? Now if he left, it would be devastating, but she’d survive it. She’d survived it before. They could just keep living together until it didn’t work anymore. No pressure. No real commitment. No risk.

She was surprised when he pulled into the driveway, she’d been so lost in thought. He glanced over at her as he put the Charger in park.

“You’re awfully quiet,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

“Too much tequila,” she lied. She wasn’t ready to share these thoughts with him yet.

He gave a nod and started the laborious climb out of the car. She followed behind him as he crutched his way up to the door. He waited for her to unlock it, bracing himself on the landing. She was aware of him, the heat of his body, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he looked at her as if he wanted to devour her. Heat pooled in her belly, but she kept her head down and unlocked the door, bending to pick up Pickles as she opened it. She turned on the lights and stepped inside, grabbing Pickles’ leash.

“I’ll just take him for his stroll,” she said, refusing to meet Marco’s gaze.

She knew he sensed the deliberate barricade she was putting up between them. It was only in part his leg. She felt vulnerable after what she’d told him tonight and she didn’t want to discuss it anymore. If something more happened between them, she was afraid she might start dropping her guard and she wasn’t ready for that yet.

“I’ll probably scare the neighbors in this getup though,” she said, forcing a laugh as she brushed by him, hurrying out the door with the dog.

She fretted over everything as she took Pickles on his one block walk. When she got back to the house, she dreaded going inside, but she knew she couldn’t stand around on the landing for hours. Besides, he could probably see her from the camera he’d installed.

She carried Pickles into the house and removed his leash. The living room and kitchen were empty, but the light was on in Marco’s room. She knew she needed to say something to him, at least tell him good night, so she settled Pickles on the couch and forced herself to the door of his room.

“Marco,” she began.

He glanced up. He was removing his cufflinks, his shirt open, the burgundy velvet smoking jacket hanging off his broad shoulders. His eyes seemed to glow in the light of the bedside lamp and a faint dusting of stubble darkened his jaw.

She sucked in a wild breath and she knew she’d never wanted a man the way she wanted this one.

He quirked a brow at her in question, and that was it.

She felt herself moving toward him, sliding her hands over his bare chest and up to his neck, lifting on tiptoes to press herself against him. “What if we go really slow?”

He stared at her, then his arm curled around her waist, drawing her closer. “Really slow,” he said, and then he was kissing her, and she forgot about everything else, but him.

CHAPTER 8

Rosa leaned back on the lounger, closing her eyes. The sun felt heavenly on her bare limbs, the sound of the waves lulling her toward sleep. She didn’t remember the last time she’d allowed herself to relax. Her contentment had a lot to do with the man sitting next to her, reading a crime novel, his muscles gleaming with sunscreen.

Adrian Tréjo wasn’t a large man, average height, not bulky. His muscle structure was sleek and honed, and he had six-pack abs that she enjoyed staring at almost as much as she enjoyed his taut backside.

She’d never believed in relationships, especially in her line of work, but she liked men. She liked their company. Truth be told, she’d usually gotten along much better with men than women. In fact, she had many male friends, but no women she would even remotely consider a friend. She had women employees and so far that hadn’t been a problem, but there wasn’t a single one she would call in the event of a crisis.

Hm, she might want to give that some consideration.

Mostly, she like to keep her sexual encounters separate from her other relationships. Sex was a contract, a necessity, a tension reliever. Nothing more. Sometimes she spent the night, but sometimes that wasn’t necessary. And she always wanted the man gone the next morning.

Marco D’Angelo had been fun. She’d even agreed to take the job in San Francisco hoping they might continue their encounters for a while, but she’d never even considered more from him. She sort of believed he wanted the same thing – no strings attached, no complications – or he might have, if Brooks hadn’t gotten in the way.

She’d looked for the same arrangement in D.C., but the men always got serious, always wanted more. They wanted to go away for the weekend, or they wanted her to sleep at their place. She didn’t want any of that.

And yet here she was with Adrian. She’d given in to his demand for time alone and gone away with him. More than that, they’d almost fallen into a routine at her house. She worked during the day, he helped out with training, then they arrived home at nearly the same time and woke up with each other. What surprised her most of all was that she liked it. She liked him being in her apartment. She liked knowing he’d be there when she got home. What the hell was wrong with her?

Her phone rang. He’d wanted her to leave it in the room, but she hadn’t been able to bend that much. It sat on the table between them next to the daiquiris he’d bought. Her eyes snapped open and she turned her head toward it.

“Touch that phone and I’ll break your fingers,” he said without looking up from his book.

Rosa peered beneath her sunglasses at the display. Her fingers itched to snatch it up.

“I’m serious,” he said, turning a page.

“It’s Radar,” she protested, sitting up.

He stared at her from behind his own sunglasses. “You promised, Rosa.”

“I know, Adrian, but Radar wouldn’t call for just any reason. I promise, this will be the last call.”

He sighed and laid his head against the lounger. “Fine, answer it, but you owe me.”

“What do I owe you?” The phone had stopped ringing, but she knew she could call Radar back. “We’ve hardly left the room all day.” She gave him a suggestive look.

“A swim in the ocean,” he said, turning another page.

“What? That’s the Pacific Ocean, Adrian. It’s butt-ass cold.”

“Sorry, but that’s my price. You call Radar, you swim in the butt-ass cold ocean with me.”

She adjusted her sunhat on her head. “Fine. I’ll swim in the butt-ass cold ocean with you, but you’re taking me to the Monterey Aquarium tomorrow.”

He groaned. “The Aquarium?”

“That’s right. I want to see the fish.”

“I saw the brochure, Rosa. They have jellyfish there. You know how those things freak me out.”

“If I swim in the ocean, I get jellyfish.”

“Fine, but I want Kobe steak tonight and lobster.”

She smiled, studying his strong profile. Even this, even making plans with him felt good. “Sure.”

He frowned at her. “That easy?”

She shrugged. “I’ll think of something later on. In the meantime, you can stew about it.”

He laughed and went back to reading his book.

Rosa grabbed the phone and swiped across the screen to call Radar back. He answered on the first ring.

“Sarge, sorry to bother you.”

“No problem. What’s up?”

“What do I hear in the background? Is that a vacuum?”

She still didn’t want her staff to know about her and Adrian. She wanted to keep it between the two of them for as long as she could. “I went to the beach. Just wanted to get away.”

“Now I’m really sorry I bugged you. Gwen’s been bugging me to go to the beach.”

“You should. It clears the mind.”

“Right. So I’ll cut to the chase and you can get back to enjoying your day off. Sparky and I finished the video feed outside her office.”

“And?”

“Nothing. However, we both noticed there’s a gap.”

“What do you mean a gap?”

“Forty-five minutes of tape are missing.”

“How is that possible?”

Adrian looked over, listening.

“I wasn’t sure. It happened when we were in LA, but I asked the building management if they could go through the maintenance record of the building.”

“And? Why do I feel I’m not going to like what you’re about to say?”

“The missing period was during a power outage. They lost the lights and the video feed. For some reason, the back-up generator didn’t kick in for 20 minutes or so, and then it was only enough to power the emergency lights.”

“When did this happen?”

Radar rattled off a date.

“What time?”

“Around 9:55PM. Back-up generator came on around 10:15 according to the management.”

“Do we have a list of everyone in the building at the time?”

“Security does, but…”

“But?”

“Someone might have snuck past the counter in the dark, or what worries me more, the security guards don’t sign the list at the front desk, so there’s no accounting for which of them might have been in the building at the time.”

“The security guards? Why would one of them know anything about the file in Brooks’ office and what possible interest could they have in this case?”

“One of the guards, Mike Edwards, has been paying a lot of attention to Brooks lately, buying her flowers, showing up at her door unannounced. It’s driving D’Angelo crazy, so I agreed to look into him.”

“Radar, this sounds paranoid. Marco D’Angelo is a jealous, over-protective boyfriend. Why in the world would you listen to him? Look, I think the world of Marco, but he hasn’t been the same since he was shot.”

“He’s not wrong about this guy, Sarge.”

Rosa shifted on the lounger, crossing her ankles. “What do you mean?”

“Mike Edwards was an army ranger. He served in both Iraq and Afghanistan. He went to both countries a number of times, but there’s a two year gap where I can’t place him anywhere.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean he’s not anywhere. No rent, no job, no tax returns. He just disappears.”

“Okay, that’s a little odd.”

“Yeah, you want more? He has half a million dollars in his bank account.”

Adrian’s brows drew down. Rosa knew he could hear Radar through the phone.

“A security guard with half a million?” she asked. “Inheritance?”

“I don’t know. And I won’t. Not without a warrant and I don’t think I have probable cause yet.”

“So how does this tie in with Lance Corporal Daws?”

“I can’t tell you.”

She rubbed a hand up and down her arm. “Okay, this doesn’t prove anything, but you’re right. I don’t like the coincidences. Let’s keep a closer eye on this Edwards guy. Does Brooks know you’re looking into him?”

“She denies there’s anything wrong. That’s why D’Angelo’s got his panties in a bunch.”

“Of course, Brooks never met a bad guy in her life.”

Adrian snorted out a laugh.

“Let’s go back to the agent from Las Vegas. What was his name?”

“Mark Turner.”

“Right. He clearly knew something. We need to figure out what happened to him.”

“Got it.”

“But let’s also keep an eye on Brooks’ admirer while we’re at it. I wanna know if that guy goes to the bathroom funny.”

“On it,” said Radar.

“Okay, well, keep me posted.”

“I will, Sarge, and again, sorry for disrupting your weekend.”

“No problem. Talk to you on Monday.”

“Talk to you Monday,” and then he was gone.

Rosa settled the phone on the table. Adrian tilted down his sunglasses and gave her a slow, wicked perusal.

“Now it’s time for the swim.”

Damn it, she thought. She knew he wouldn’t forget. Oh, she was going to make him look at jellyfish all right – the glow in the dark ones for starters. Yes, she was.

*    *    *

Peyton pulled the door open, holding Pickles so he’d stop barking. Marco glanced over, surprised to see Jimmy Bartlet and the new kid, Danté Price, on the doorstep.

“Hey, Peyton,” said Bartlet, stepping inside.

“Hey, Jimmy, what’s going on?”

“Is the captain here?”

“What’s up, Jimmy?” he called from his recliner. He reached over and lowered the volume on the Giants game.

Bartlet paused, glancing into the kitchen where Tag and Abe argued over the best way to thread a shishkabob stick. “Hey, Tag, Abe.”

“If it isn’t little Jimmy Bartlet,” sang Abe. “You here for dinner, cutie pie?”

“Sure,” said Bartlet.

Tag jerked her chin at him, but went back to arguing with Abe.

“I mean if it’s all right,” said Bartlet, giving Marco a pleading look.

Danté hadn’t stepped inside. In fact, he seemed a little bewildered by Bartlet’s familiarity.

“Come in, Danté,” Peyton said, motioning him into the house.

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said, ducking his head.

“You’ve got to stop calling me ma’am.”

“Yes, ma’a…” He gave her a sheepish look.

“You can’t do it, can you?”

Marco knew she hated being called that, but the poor kid just seemed so flustered around her.

“It’s gonna be hard. My mama would lecture my brother and me about how to treat women and I can still hear those lectures, word for word. Word for word. So many words.” He sighed.

Peyton placed a hand on his arm. “Okay, well, let’s just say you’re the only one allowed to call me that.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said, flashing a white toothed smile. He moved into the house, drawing Abe’s attention.

“Well, howdy doo, aren’t you an adorable dish of chocolate…”

“Abe!” Marco warned.

Abe cut off abruptly.

Danté shot a shy smile at Peyton.

“Have a seat,” she said, motioning to the couch. “Want a beer or something else to drink?”

“Still on duty, ma’am,” he said, sitting down on the couch closest to Marco.

Bartlet came out of the kitchen, carrying a beer, but when he heard Danté, he shot a worried look at Marco. Marco shook his head in amusement. Bartlet would always be a work in progress, but this new kid was something else altogether.

“Or, sort of,” said Danté.

They both wore plain clothes and no guns. Their badges weren’t even visible.

Bartlet shrugged and took a seat on the bar stool. “So, whatcha making?” he asked Abe.

“Shishkabob,” said Abe. “We’re having a debate over the best way to make sure the bamboo skewers don’t burn up on the barbecue. Any ideas, Jimmy boy?”

“Uh, not really sure.”

“Soak them in saltwater,” grumbled Tag once more. “Would you just let me handle that?”

Peyton deliberately ignored them, moving to the other end of the couch and taking a seat. She released Pickles and he hurried over to Danté. The young man lifted him onto his lap, stroking his back.

“What’s up?” Marco asked, shifting to face the kid.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Abe hand Bartlet a couple of skewers and some of the vegetables to thread on the stick. “Wash your hands in the bathroom and help us if you want some dinner, Jimmy boy,” Abe ordered.

Bartlet hopped off and hurried into the hallway for the bathroom.

Danté watched him go, then rubbed Pickles’ ear. “We searched the pawn shops for Murphy’s watch like you asked.”

“And?”

Danté shot a look at Peyton. “We found it, Captain, at the San Francisco Buyers Expo on West Portal near here. That’s why we came over. Jimmy said it was okay.”

“It is. Are you sure it’s the same watch?”

Bartlet came out of the bathroom, whistling. Danté looked up at him as if he expected him to finish explaining why they’d shown up at their captain’s house unannounced, but he didn’t even acknowledge them, climbing back on his barstool and grabbing his beer.

Danté turned back to Marco. “It had the engraving on the inside, from Sugar Bear. We couldn’t afford to buy it, and well…”

“Well?”

“Jimmy showed him his badge and the guy clammed up. He wouldn’t even talk with us anymore.”

“He got all quiet, Captain, said he don’t deal with cops,” added Bartlet, his back to them as he threaded a mushroom on his stick.

“What kind of watch, Danté, do you know?” asked Peyton.

Danté looked over at her. “Yes, ma’am, I recognized it. A Movado.”

“Woowee,” said Abe, shaking his dreads. “That’ll set you back four or five Benjamins, Angel.”

“He’s right, Captain,” said Danté. “The pawnshop guy wanted $450 for it, even with the engraving.”

Marco glanced at Peyton. “So we need a warrant.”

Danté shifted on the couch. “Captain, there’s more.”

Marco’s attention snapped back to him.

“He was Russian, or Chechen maybe.”

“How do you know?”

“He was talking into his phone when we got there and he was speaking Russian.”

“Kept saying nét,” offered Bartlet. “Just nét, nét, nét.”

“That’ll do her,” said Abe. “Quickest way to determine a Russian.”

“Idiot,” grumbled Tag.

Suddenly the front door opened and Jake stepped inside, a kiss the cook apron around his waist, a wire brush in hand. “Hey, Jimmy, Danté,” he said.

“Hey, Jake,” said Jimmy without breaking his concentration.

“Mr. Ryder,” Danté said, nodding at him.

Jake frowned down at the kid, pausing by the couch, then he nudged Marco with the back of his hand. “I got the grill all cleaned. Where’s the briquettes and lighter fluid, Adonis?”

“Why do you think I know?” he grumbled.

“Because barbecuing’s man’s work.”

“Word,” said Jimmy.

“So I figured you ought to know that at least.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“It’s under the sink in the kitchen, Jake,” said Peyton to head off an argument.

Jake nudged Marco again. “Was that so hard?”

“Hit me again, Ryder, and you’ll pull back a stub,” he growled.

Jake rolled his eyes. “He’s all bark, no bite,” he told Danté.

“Well, maybe a little bite,” said Peyton, smiling at Marco.

He winked at her, but Jake made a face. “God, don’t scar the kid,” he scolded.

“Actually, I want to hear about the bite,” called Abe.

“I don’t. Don’t you go talking about sex with my captain, Fluffy,” said Tag.

Peyton laughed. Marco knew she liked having the house full of people again. And for his part, Danté looked amused, not scandalized. He was gonna do all right at the precinct, Marco figured, especially if he could navigate this insanity.

*    *    *

Peyton climbed onto the bed, wearing his 49er’s jersey and rubbing lotion onto her hands. She had her hair up in a ponytail and she smelled of her lilac scented soap. Marco closed the book he’d been trying to read and leaned back against the pillows, running his hand down her back. Since the previous night, she’d moved back into the master bedroom with him. After waking up wrapped around each other, it had seemed silly to keep sleeping in separate rooms.

“Danté’s quite a young man, isn’t he?”

Marco smiled, shifting the pillow behind him. “He’s pretty impressive. I can’t believe they found the watch.”

“What are you going to do? Are you going to get a warrant?”

“Yeah, it’s evidence.”

“What’s this Russian or Chechen connection?”

Marco thought about that for a moment. “I don’t know. It bothers me.” He released his breath and met Peyton’s gaze. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

“Okay?” He could feel her tense and he smoothed his hand down her back again to get her to relax.

“Remember that picture of the two of us that was sent to my phone anonymously?”

“The one on the precinct steps with the red x over me?”

“Yeah.”

“I remember.”

“Stan traced it back to Eduard Zonov.”

“Eduard Zonov, the guy Carol Peterson killed?”

“That was his nephew, Demetri. Eduard was Brad Peterson’s bookie.”

“Wait. I’m confused. Why would Eduard Zonov take a picture of us?”

“No idea, remember I told you Danté read the graffiti outside the mayor’s house, on his perimeter wall.”

“No traitors. I remember.”

“That was written in Russian, and now the watch shows up in a pawn shop run by a Russian.”

“Or Chechen?”

“Right.”

Peyton blew out air. “What’s the connection with the mayor?”

“I don’t know. Not yet.”

Peyton settled her hands in her lap. “You’re gonna have to bring the mayor in for questioning, D’Angelo. You can’t keep putting it off.”

“I need something more. If we move too fast, he’ll slap a gag order on us and I’ve lost him.”

Peyton considered that.

He wanted to change the subject. This one made him anxious. “So was Maria upset that we took off last night?”

Peyton’s eyes rose to his face. “A little, but she was pretty hung-over today.” She snuggled up next to him, laying her head on his chest. “We have dinner at Mama D’s tomorrow, don’t we?”

“Yep.”

“What’s the theme this time?”

“Korean barbecue.”

“We just had barbecue tonight,” she protested.

“Why do you think that is? Abe was prepping for tomorrow. This was a dry run.”

Peyton lifted her head and looked at him. “Seriously?”

Marco shrugged.

“Why does your mother go along with this?”

“She’s crazy about Abe, and I think it’s fun for her to plan a menu around his next looney scheme.”

Peyton snuggled against him again and sighed, her muscles loosening. “I can’t believe how tired I am.”

He stroked a hand down her back and over her hip. “Really, really tired?”

She shifted, looking up at him. “Seriously? After last night?”

He tilted her chin with his free hand. “Do you know how long you were sleeping in the other room?”

“Less than a week.”

“And before that, it was months in the rehab facility.”

“Three weeks.”

“And before that…”

She eased up and kissed him, her hand curling around the back of his neck to hold him to her. “Shut up, will you, D’Angelo!” she said against his mouth and deepened the kiss.

CHAPTER 9

Rosa leaned her head against the glass, staring at the bioluminescent jellyfish in the tank. They undulated up and down in a graceful dance, their translucent bodies glowing in pale blues and pinks, their tentacles waving in the gentle current. Adrian stood beside her, frowning, his hand cupped over his chin.

“They’re oddly beautiful, aren’t they?” he said, his voice nearly reverent.

“They are,” said Rosa softly. Something about the peacefulness of the scene made her hush her voice.

“And yet they still freak me out.”

“Why?” she asked, smiling at him.

“They’re so alien. Are they fish or animal? Or something else entirely?”

“Something else entirely,” she said, motioning to the sign that explained what jellyfish were.

“You shouldn’t be able to see through a living thing. It’s not right.” He shuddered. “Why do you like them so much?”

“I don’t know. They’re ethereal, otherworldly. I like the thought of something that beautiful being in the world. It makes the world seem just a little bit magical.”

She felt his attention shift to her. He studied her profile without speaking for a moment. She tried not to get uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

“That seems so out of character for you,” he said gently.

She watched one jellyfish in particular undulate up to the top of the enclosure. “Why?”

“You’re one of the most grounded, practical people I know. You’re dependable and predictable.”

It was her turn to frown. “Predictable? That’s awful. Is that what I am?”

His eyes grew smoky in the dim light. “Well, not in bed, if that’s what you mean,” he said, moving closer to her.

She laughed and pushed him off. “I didn’t mean in bed, but you make me sound like a stuffy old woman.”

“No, I like the fact that you don’t get all emotional and pop off. I like the fact that you always stay level-headed. It makes you a good SAC.” He smoothed back a strand of her straight black hair, his fingers trailing over her cheek. “But I also like this side of you, this wonder and pleasure at something so insubstantial.”

She smiled and his eyes lowered to her lips. Moving forward, he bent to kiss her, but her phone suddenly rang in the holder on her belt. He exhaled in frustration and backed up.

Rosa itched to answer it, but he’d asked her for this weekend, for her undivided attention. She had to respect that. She pressed the button and sent the call to voicemail, then she slid her arms around Adrian’s waist and tucked her hands in the back pockets on his jeans.

“You were just about to do something,” she prompted.

He encircled her with his arms. “Yeah,” he said, then lowered his head and kissed her.

Rosa had never been comfortable with public displays of affection, but she couldn’t deny, right now she didn’t care. Adrian’s mouth on hers made her heart speed up and her body strain to get closer to him.

A cough behind them brought them apart. An older woman gave them an arch look, then motioned to the tank at their back. “Do you mind if the rest of us have a turn?”

They both laughed and moved off, their arms around each other’s waist. They wandered through the rest of the displays and Rosa even got Adrian to pet the stingrays. He laughed in delight when one of the gentle creatures splashed him.

Toward noon, they were both getting hungry. He suggested they grab something from the aquarium cafe. Rosa agreed. After ordering their meal, they found a table near the window, overlooking the ocean, and sat down.

“I’m gonna hit the restroom,” Adrian said, kissing her.

She smiled as he walked away, then her smile sobered. What the hell was wrong with her? She was acting like a giddy teenager with her first love, not a grown woman who didn’t believe in relationships. Fixing her chin on her hand, she watched the ocean surging beyond the windows, feeling strangely content with the day.

Her phone rang again.

She wanted to send it to voicemail like the last call, but she figured it wouldn’t hurt to see who it was as long as Adrian didn’t know. Unclipping it, she glanced at the display, then frowned. Celeste Miller, Joe’s wife. Maybe she’d heard from Joe finally. If so, it would alleviate Rosa’s worry. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure Adrian hadn’t come out of the bathroom.

“Celeste?” she said.

“Rosa, I’m so glad I got a hold of you.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m still in San Francisco, but I have a flight out of SFO at 3:00.”

“Okay?”

“Do you remember the new boyfriend I told you about?”

Rosa glanced around, but no one was listening and Adrian hadn’t yet returned. “Yeah, what about him?”

“We’re sort of on the outs right now and he’s keeping me from making my flight.”

Rosa considered what Celeste said. Who the hell was this guy? His car had no license plate and she couldn’t place his face anywhere. She’d done a quick search of the FBI’s Most Wanted.

“Rosa, I’m getting a little concerned I might miss my flight. It’s important I make it to the airport.” She emphasized the word important.

Adrian took a seat at the table on the opposite side from her and gave her a curious look. Rosa grabbed a napkin, covering the phone’s speaker with her hand. “Do you have a pen?” she whispered to him.

He shook his head, then leaned over to the couple at the seat next to them, asking them for a pen.

“Have you heard from Joe, Celeste?”

“No, have you?”

“I contacted some of our mutual friends, but they haven’t heard anything either.”

The woman at the next table fished a pen out of her purse, handing it to Adrian, and he passed it to Rosa.

“Tell me where you are,” Rosa said.

“The Nob Hill Motor Inn on Pacific, room 214.”

“Remember my friend Peyton,” Rosa said.

“Yeah, the one who’s getting married?”

“That’s the one. Well, she lives pretty close to where you are. I’m gonna call her and have her give you a ride to the airport. Be ready to go when she arrives. She’ll be coming with another friend of mine named Radar.”

“I’d rather you came. We could catch up some more.” She said the last with emphasis.

“I wish I could, but I’m out of town. My friend Peyton, will make sure everything goes smoothly, okay?”

Celeste didn’t answer for a moment. “I can see him in the parking lot. He’s just waiting there.”

“Which is why Radar will be with Peyton. Don’t worry. I’m sending you my best friends. They’ll make sure you get to the airport. I promise.”

“And then what?”

“Then I’m gonna see if we can figure out who your boyfriend is, Celeste, don’t you worry.”

“Thank you,” whispered Celeste, tears in her voice. “I can never repay you for this.”

“Keep an eye out for Peyton, okay?”

“I will.”

“And tell her I said to mind the departure.”

“Got it,” Celeste answered and hung up.

A cafe worker placed two cheeseburgers and fries in front of them. Adrian gave her a speculative look, stealing one of her fries. “Guess the jellyfishing’s over?”

“I’ll make it up to you.”

One brow lifted over a dark eye. “Really? Does that mean you’re going to quit your job and move back to DC?”

Rosa paused with a fry nearly in her mouth. “What?”

He laughed. “Don’t look so panicked, Rosa. I was just kidding.” He motioned with another fry at her phone. “Don’t you have to call Buttons or something?”

Rosa blinked, then reached for the phone. “Right,” she said.

*    *    *

Peyton and Marco pulled up in front of the D’Angelos’ home. A number of D’Angelo nieces and nephews were playing basketball in the driveway, but rushed the Charger as soon as Marco turned off the car. Peyton smiled as she got out, hugging little people who smelled of sunshine and fresh marine air. A number of them bounced on the sidewalk, knowing better than to rush into the street, waiting for Uncle Marco to climb out of the driver’s side and crutch his way to the curb.

The moment he made it up on the sidewalk, he was surrounded, little hands patting him, hugging him, little voices asking to be picked up. Peyton shooed them away as Marco crutched his way to the long stairs, leading to his parents’ front door.

He stared up at the stairs as the door opened and Vinnie came out on the landing.

“You want I should carry you up here, little brother?” called Vinne, starting down the stairs.

Marco glared at him. “You try and I’ll shoot your ass.”

“Is that anyway for a police captain to talk?” Vinnie grabbed Peyton’s hand and pulled her up a step, wrapping her in a bear hug. “Hey, cutie pie, how are you?”

“Good,” she said, hugging him in return.

“Can we move this into the house?” Marco grumbled. “Once I get going, I don’t wanna stop.”

Vinnie hooked Peyton around the waist and urged her toward the door. Marco crutched up behind them. The interior of the D’Angelos’ house was crowded with more family members. Bernardo and Franco kissed her on the forehead, then pushed past her to razz their brother as he made his way up.

She left Marco to his brothers and walked over to the recliner, bending to kiss Marco’s father, Leo, on the cheek.

“Bella, so good to see you,” he said, squeezing her hand. He motioned to the chair next to him. “I have a seat for my boy. Where is he?”

“He’s right behind me.”

“How are you?”

“I’m good, Leo.”

He brought her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it. “I’m so happy you and Marco are back together again. You belong with each other.”

Patting his hand, she smiled. “So am I, Leo, so am I.” She watched Franco and Bernardo putting him in a headlock. She could imagine how loud and raucous it must have been raising four boys. “I better go say hi to Mona,” she said, kissing Leo’s cheek once more.

“You always smell like the flowers, Bella,” Leo called after her as she moved toward the kitchen. She found Mona, Marco’s mother, and his three sisters-in-law all prepping food in the expansive area.

“Peyton!” shouted Serena, Bernardo’s wife, coming forward to hug her. Then she was hugged by Rosa, Vinnie’s wife, and Sophia, Franco’s wife.

Mona caught her cheeks with her hands and kissed her forehead. “Where’s my boy?” she demanded, releasing Peyton.

“He’s just coming in now. Is Abe here?”

“He’s starting the fire in the backyard. He says we need big flames.”

“Leave it to Abe to know about flames,” quipped Peyton, making the D’Angelo women titter. “I’ll just go say hi.” She moved toward the back door, pulling it open. Just as she did so, flames shot into the air from the barbecue.

Standing behind it was Abe, wearing a black shirt with red apples all over it, and black trousers with embroidered apples along the cuff. His black boots sported a red apple on the toe, and from somewhere, he’d found an apple apron. He looked up, the ends of his dreads bound in red beads, and smiled. “Little soul sista, how are you? Where’s my Angel?”

“Probably being fed by the D’Angelo women.”

Abe frowned. “But I’m making Korean Barbecue. He better not fill up too much. You tell him, sugar, make sure he knows I expect him to try everything…well, except the meat of course.”

“Is Jake here?”

“Nope.”

“Is he coming?”

“No, he said he wanted a day to himself to watch the game. I left it at that. Jakey’s a deep man and who am I to deprive him of what he needs.”

Jake wasn’t a deep man. What the hell? He loved coming to Sunday dinners at the D’Angelos’. She pushed the worry aside. She’d talk to him later.

More flames shot up. “Don’t you think that’s a little much.”

“Gotta have big flames to do it right.”

She eyed his clothes. “Fruit period?” she said, motioning to the apples.

He put a long fingered hand against his chest. “Excuse me!”

“The apples, Abe.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “I hadn’t thought of it, but no, food period. Tomorrow I have a yellow chicken shirt I plan to wear.”

She nodded. “Sounds awesome.”

“So, things must be good with you and Angel’D, yes? You left the party early on Friday.”

Peyton fought the blush that painted her cheeks. “Things are fine.”

“Fine? Really? You don’t sneak off from Maria for fine. She was not happy with you, until I told her Angel left as well.”

Peyton shook her head. Leave it to Abe to make her feel like a schoolgirl with her first crush. “Okay, so things are better than fine.”

Abe gave her a piercing look. “It’s not like that part of your relationship has ever been a problem, though, little soul sista, is it?”

She blushed again. “Can we change the subject?”

“But that’s one of my favorite subjects.”

“I know.”

“Fine, what do you want to talk about?”

“Jake. Why isn’t he here?”

“You’re gonna have to ask Jakey that.”

“He was quiet yesterday too, spent most of his time outside with the barbecue.”

Before Abe could answer, her phone rang. Abe motioned at her pocket with his spatula. “Maybe that’s him right now to tell you what’s going on.”

Peyton pulled out her phone, but Rosa’s name flashed on the screen, not Jake’s. Peyton thumbed it on. “Sarge? What’s up?”

“Where are you? Are you home?”

“No, I’m at Marco’s parents’ house.”

“Can you send the address to Radar? He’s on his way to pick you up.”

“Wait. Why?”

Rosa paused. “Send the address, then I’ll tell you.”

Peyton held the phone away from her ear and pulled up her text messages, sending the D’Angelos’ address to Radar. Abe gave her a funny look, but she just shrugged. “Okay. What’s going on, Sarge?”

“Celeste called. She’s staying at the Nob Hill Motor Inn on Pacific. She needs to get to the airport by 3:00.”

Peyton checked the display on her phone. It was 1:07. “Okay?”

“Her boyfriend’s sitting outside her motel room in his black Lincoln, keeping her from leaving.”

“Really?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your family time, but I’m out of town and I can’t get there in time. I’d send Radar by himself, but she doesn’t know him. She trusts you, Brooks.”

“I got it.”

“You need to get her on that plane. Whatever you have to do. I don’t like this. I went through the FBI’s Most Wanted and our bearded friend isn’t on there. I called everyone I know who’s still working at the DEA, but that’s gotten me nowhere. I’ve tried to get Joe myself, but he doesn’t answer. I’ve got a bad feeling about this whole thing.”

“Okay, Sarge. We’ll get her to the plane. Don’t worry.”

“Thank you. I appreciate it.”

“No sweat. I’ll call you as soon as the plane takes off, okay?”

“Please do.” She hesitated, then said, “and Peyton, be careful.”

“You know me, Sarge. Caution’s my middle name.”

“Right,” she said with a laugh, then she was gone.

Peyton glanced at the text message that came through from Radar. “Be there in five.” She sighed and put the phone back in her pocket. “I gotta go.”

“What about my barbecue?”

“Save me some and I’ll eat it when I get back.” She laid a hand on Abe’s arm, then rose on tiptoes and kissed his cheek.

“You be careful, little bits, you hear?”

“Yep.” She jogged back up the stairs, opening the door to the kitchen.

“Come have a glass of wine, Peyton,” called Rosa, waving her over.

“I can’t, Rosa. I’ve gotta go to work.” She touched Mona’s arm. “I’m sorry, Mona.”

“Aw, why do you have to leave? We’re gonna have lots of food in a bit.” She touched Peyton’s cheek.

“I know, but my boss is coming to pick me up and he doesn’t have a lot of patience. I’ll be back later on, hopefully in time for dinner.”

“Okay, okay. You go do your FBI stuff.” She walked Peyton into the living room. “Peyton has to go, Leo. She’s got work.”

Marco looked up from the baseball game, his brow furrowing. She motioned for him and he grabbed his crutches, pushing himself to his feet.

“You just got here, bella,” said Leo.

“Is everything okay?” asked Vinnie.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing a smile.

Marco moved over to her.

“Radar’s on his way. We have to take Celeste Miller to the airport. Her gentleman friend is keeping her from leaving the motel.”

“What does that mean? Is he actually stopping her?”

“I think it’s more likely proximity intimidation, but Rosa wants us to make sure she gets on the plane.”

Marco nodded.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” she said, then kissed him and turned toward the door. He followed her. “Don’t come down, Marco. It’s too hard to get back up.”

“Don’t worry about that.” He reached out and caught her arm. “You need your gun,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at his family.

She nodded and opened the door. Together they went down the stairs and Marco popped the trunk on the Charger. Some of the kids ran over when they reached the car, but Marco kept them back by him.

Peyton pulled her gun out of the compartment bolted to the side of the trunk, sliding the shoulder harness over her t-shirt, then she clipped her badge to her belt. Finally, she grabbed a cardigan off the passenger seat and pulled it over the gun to hide it.

Radar swerved up to the curb next to them in a 1963 Corvette stingray in metallic bronze. The kids exclaimed in appreciation and Marco made a whistling sound as Radar put the car in park and got out, leaning his arms on the roof.

“That’s a pretty baby,” Marco said, appreciating the beautiful lines of the classic car.

“She sure is, and purrs like a kitten. My wife spoils me.”

“Yes she does,” said Marco, reaching out a reverent hand to stroke the roof.

“Shake a leg, Sparky,” Radar said, then focused his attention on Marco again. “You get the brace off your leg and some mobility and I’ll let you drive her.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep.”

Peyton slid past Marco and opened the passenger side door. “You boys through with your flirting?”

Marco caught her arm and brought her back around. “Be careful, Brooks,” he said, eying her with worry in his blue eyes.

She kissed him. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be back here before you miss me.”

She knew he was fighting himself not to warn her further, so she kissed him again, lingering this time.

Radar cleared his throat. “We’re on the clock here, Sparky.”

Peyton pulled away, then dropped into the passenger seat. “Keep your panties on, old man. I’m coming.”

Radar lifted a hand to Marco, dropped into the seat and started the big engine, then he wheeled away. Peyton could see the kids surrounding Marco, watching the Corvette speed off.

*    *    *

“Tell me what the hell’s going on. Gwen and I finally get a weekend alone and I get a call to go escort someone to the airport.”

“Where’s Kiki?”

“Visiting her parents in LA.”

“Aw, poor Lacey and Satin, having to do without their daddy.”

“Uhuh,” he said, holding up a finger in front of her face. “You don’t get to do that anymore. Not after I met snuggly wiggums.”

“So you really want me to find something new to razz you about, is that right?”

He thought for a moment. “You have a point. How about I tell you what Gwen and I had planned today. We were gonna get a couple’s massage and then a romantic dinner, after which…”

“Ew. TMI, old man,” she said in a teenager’s voice.

They both laughed and Radar drove for a while. “What’s the deal with this woman?” Radar asked again.

Peyton wasn’t sure how much he knew. Not that she knew a whole lot more. She started with the first time Rosa had mentioned her concern for her ex-partner to the lunch she and Rosa attended.

“Where are the pictures you took of this guy at the lunch?” asked Radar.

“Marco had them printed and gave them to me. I turned them over to Sarge, but I don’t know what she did with them.”

“Why did Sarge get spooked about the pictures and make you delete them?”

“It was just the way Celeste was acting. I think Sarge senses there’s more to this than she knows. Celeste certainly gave off the impression that she was being followed.”

“By who though?”

“I don’t think Sarge has any idea and doesn’t want to take chances. Celeste left a note under her napkin that said Joe’s in trouble in Cancun.”

“Cancun, Mexico? And the DEA? Sarge is thinking drug cartel. That’s what she’s thinking.”

“Why would she be worried about them here in San Francisco?”

Radar shot a look at her behind his mirrored sunglasses.

“Forget I said that. I met Sarge because we were fighting a Mexican drug cartel here, but do you think they’re sophisticated enough to hack our phones, listen in on our conversations?”

“They build tunnels between the U.S. and Mexico with running lights and paved roads, Sparky.”

“I withdraw my doubt,” she answered, adjusting her gun harness. The motel had become visible ahead.

“I’m gonna sweep through the parking lot. You tell me if you see our bearded man,” said Radar.

He pulled into the parking lot of the Nob Hill Motor Inn, a much tighter, more narrow space that she figured he’d thought. Peyton stared at the cars, searching them for the man from Cafe Flore, but she didn’t see him or his Lincoln. The motel was three stories, the lowest floor comprised of covered parking spaces, then two more floors with rooms. A cement walkway ran the length of the top two floors with an iron railing.

“I don’t see anyone in the cars, Sparky, so I’ll stay here, while you get Celeste out.”

She nodded and pushed open the door. Adrenaline raced through her as she looked into the shadowed darkness of the parking spaces. Someone could be lurking back there and she’d never see him. Reaching under her cardigan, she curled her fingers around the handle of her gun, then walked resolutely to the stairs and started to climb.

Celeste yanked open the door to the room before Peyton could knock, a bag slung over her shoulder, her purse gripped in both hands. Her pupils were dilated, her breathing rapid. She must have been peeking through the curtains.

“We don’t see him,” Peyton told her, then drew her out and shut the door behind her. “Walk closest to the building.”

Celeste gave a terrified nod as she and Peyton moved back down the walkway to the stairs, Celeste on the inside, blocked by Peyton’s body. When they reached the bottom of the stairs, Radar climbed out of the car. Peyton marked he’d drawn his gun, but he held it against his thigh. He took the bag from Celeste and walked to the back of the Corvette, opening the trunk and dropping it inside, his sunglasses scanning the parking lot as he did so.

Peyton folded back the seat and helped Celeste climb in the back, then she waited until Radar reached the driver’s side before they both dropped into their seats, shutting their doors. Radar replaced his gun and put the Corvette in drive, then pulled expertly into an empty parking space and wheeled the car back out, heading for the street.

Just as they reached the entrance, a black Lincoln pulled across the opening, blocking them. Peyton stared into the eyes of the bearded man, her hand curling around the gun handle, and Celeste made a whimpering noise.

“Shit!” Radar swore, glaring back at him, his own hand rising to his gun holster. “Get down,” he commanded Celeste in a low voice.

She ducked behind Peyton’s seat.

They stared at each other for a full ten seconds or so, Peyton’s heart hammering in her ears, then someone honked behind the Lincoln and the bearded man’s attention snapped to the rearview mirror, then he drove away. Peyton leaned forward, trying to see where he went, but he pulled over as soon as he found an open space and threw the Lincoln’s door open, climbing out. That move earned him more honks from people who had to swerve to avoid him.

“Radar,” Peyton warned as he started walking down the sidewalk toward the motel.

“I know, Sparky,” he said, his attention fixed on the traffic buzzing by on the street.

Peyton grabbed her badge with her free hand and eased the gun out of the holster as the man came closer to them, but suddenly Radar’s tires spun and he jumped out into traffic, swerving to avoid a car barreling down the street. Brakes squealed and horns blared, but Radar corrected and slipped between two larger cars, speeding away.

Peyton whipped around and looked through the rearview mirror to see the bearded man racing back to his car, then she slumped in the seat again, drawing a deep breath.

“What the hell is going on!” shouted Radar, slamming a hand on the steering wheel. “Has he approached you or asked you questions?”

Celeste shook her head. “He just follows me, watching whoever I talk to. I caught him taking pictures when I went out to get dinner the other night.”

“Taking pictures of who?”

“Me, whoever I talk to. The other day I turned to confront him at Union Square, but he disappeared in the crowd.”

“And you haven’t heard from your husband?”

Celeste shook her head, her eyes welling with tears. “He’s been gone more than a week. We never go this long without talking to each other. He calls me every night.”

Peyton reached back and clasped the other woman’s hand.

“And you don’t know what case he was working on?”

“No, but I never do. I just knew he was headed to Cancun eight days ago.”

“And when was the last time you talked to him?”

“The first day he arrived.”

Radar shifted and met Peyton’s gaze. She knew immediately what he thought – either Joe Miller had gone to ground because he’d uncovered something too big and his life was in danger, or worse yet, he was already dead.

“He has to be alive,” said Peyton, “or Celeste wouldn’t have a tail on her.”

“What do you mean he has to be alive?” cried Celeste. “Of course he’s alive.”

“Sparky’s right. He’s alive.”

Celeste settled back in the seat. “I can’t believe this is happening,” she whispered, her hold on Peyton’s hand tightening.

*    *    *

They made it to the airport without incident. Radar kept his attention focused on the rearview mirror, but there didn’t seem to be any black Lincolns behind them. Peyton shifted in the seat to look at Celeste.

“At lunch, you told Rosa you were going to Maine to spend the summer with the kids. Is that still your plan?”

“I’m flying to Maine, but I’m taking a connecting flight from there. Joe’s parents are meeting me with the kids. We’re headed to Orlando, then Joe’s parents will go back to DC. As soon as I have a place to stay, I’ll send Rosa my address.”

“How?”

“I’ll figure that out then.”

Peyton nodded.

Celeste leaned forward and clasped Peyton’s hand with both of her own. “Please find Joe. He’d never leave me and his kids this way. Never.”

Peyton nodded. “We’ll find him, Celeste.”

Radar pulled into the covered parking lot. “What terminal?”

“Terminal 3,” said Celeste.

Radar parked the Corvette and they all climbed out, then he grabbed Celeste’s bag from the trunk. “Stay between Sparky and me.” They started walking quickly for the monorail. Hurrying up the escalator, Peyton and Radar kept Celeste between them. Peyton scanned the people moving in their direction for the man with the beard, but she didn’t see him.

They arrived at the monorail platform. Radar directed them to the side and he scanned the map for Terminal 3. A moment later the monorail arrived to the announcement of a mechanical voice overhead. A few people got off, carrying luggage, and the rest got on. Radar moved them to the end of the car, closest to an exit door, and reached up to grab the overhead handrail as the car lurched forward suddenly.

A woman standing next to him saw his gun beneath his jacket and whispered loudly to her husband, “He has a gun.”

Radar flashed his badge at her. “Federal Agent, ma’am,” he said, and she relaxed.

The car was crowded. Peyton moved closer to Celeste and clung to the vertical pole, bracing her legs as the monorail picked up speed. Suddenly, it braked, throwing them forward. The announcer came on, calling out the next parking structure. The doors opened and more people squeezed inside. Peyton shifted, looking for the bearded man, but she was too short to see past the many heads around her.

The monorail lurched forward and Peyton felt the familiar tug of her PTSD rearing its head. Radar gave her a look from behind his sunglasses. “Deep breaths, Sparky,” he said. “We’re almost there.”

Celeste gave her a questioning look, but Peyton shook her head, forcing a smile.

With a sound of rapid deceleration, the monorail braked hard again, forcing the man behind Peyton to stumble into her. “I’m sorry,” he said, righting himself. The mechanical announcer called out the first terminal.

“Sure,” Peyton mumbled.

Celeste sucked in a gasp, making both Peyton and Radar jerk their heads up.

The bearded man stood on the platform, waiting to board their car.

“Radar,” Peyton said in warning.

“I see him.”

The door before them opened. Peyton had enough time to make eye contact with the bearded man before people shoved past her, trying to get out. Radar grabbed her and Celeste, forcing them into the crowd, moving toward the other end of the car. Panic rose inside of Peyton as she was jostled against other people. The announcement came over the speakers and the doors swished closed.

The car lurched forward, throwing Peyton into a heavy woman who glared at her. “I’m sorry,” she said, glancing over her shoulder to see the bearded man had gotten onto their car and was trying to make his way toward them.

Just as they made it to the other door, Radar turned around, his hand moving inside his jacket to curl around the handle of his gun. Peyton had a moment to envision the bloodshed that might occur if the two men began firing at each other before they lurched into the next stop, throwing everyone forward.

The doors popped open with the bearded man in the middle of the car, surrounded by people. Peyton grabbed Celeste’s hand and jumped out onto the platform, then reached back in and tugged Radar after her. They started running for the escalator as the announcement came over the speaker and the doors shut again. They reached the top of the landing and Peyton urged Celeste to begin descending, then Peyton and Radar glanced back at the monorail, watching it pull away with the bearded man still caught in the middle of the car.

“This is just terminal 2. We better hoof it,” warned Radar, nudging Peyton forward.

They ran down the escalator and ducked into the terminal. Radar flagged down a security guard on a golf cart and showed him his badge. “We need to get to terminal 3.” He motioned to Celeste. “What gate?”

“Gate 84,” she said.

“Get on,” said the guard and the three of them climbed aboard.

He whisked them expertly through the airport and up to the security checkpoint before the gates. Radar showed the police at the checkpoint his badge and they rushed Celeste through the process, not even batting an eye when both Peyton and Radar showed them their guns.

They made it to the gate with only a few minutes to spare. Celeste’s flight was boarding, but she paused and threw her arms around Peyton, hugging her close.

“Thank you for everything,” she whispered in her ear.

“No problem,” said Peyton. “Let us know where you are as soon as you can.”

“I will.”

“Stay safe, Celeste.”

She squeezed Peyton’s hand and blinked back tears. “Please find my Joe,” she said.

“We’ll do our best,” Peyton answered.

“Thank you, Radar,” Celeste called and he waved her off, his attention focused on the people meandering about.

Turning, Celeste hurried into the tunnel, leading to her flight. A few seconds later, a flight attendant closed the tunnel door, but still Peyton and Radar didn’t leave, not until they saw Celeste’s plane begin to taxi away from the terminal.

When it turned toward the runway, Radar exhaled in relief. “Ready to go, Sparky.”

Peyton nodded. “What do you really think is going on, Radar?” she said, falling into step beside him.

“I have no idea, but whatever it is, it’s not good.”

“I need to call Sarge and tell her Celeste made her flight.”

“Do that once we get to the car…” he began, then he suddenly stopped walking.

Peyton looked to where he was staring and saw the bearded man standing a ways from them, watching them in return.

“I’ve had just about enough of that guy. I want to know who the hell he is,” snarled Radar, reaching under his jacket for his gun, then he moved in the guy’s direction.

Instead of following him, Peyton deliberately lifted her phone and snapped off a number of pictures. Whether it was that or Radar moving toward him, he suddenly decided he didn’t want to confront them. He turned on his heel and disappeared into the crowd.

Radar hesitated, easing his hand out from inside his jacket. “That bastard’s starting to get on my nerves,” he said, glancing over at Peyton.

“Mine too, but I think I’ve got a pretty good photo this time.”

Radar moved back and looked at her picture. “Quick thinking, Sparky. Now, let’s get the hell out of here. I hate airports and I have a bad feeling we’re gonna be flying real soon.”

“Wonder what this one will be?”

“What do you mean?”

“What mythical creature? We’ve already had a werewolf, so Beardy McBearderson doesn’t really fit.”

“Beardy McBearderson?” They started walking toward the monorail again.

“Well, we can’t keep calling him Baldy, now can we? That’s offensive to the folically challenged.”

“Who was calling him Baldy?”

“I was. In my head.”

Radar put a hand on her head and patted it. “I don’t really want to know what goes on in here, Sparky. I fear it’s a veritable funhouse with mirrored mazes.”

“Fine.” She flipped around and walked backwards. “How do you feel about Korean barbecue?”

“What?”

“Korean barbecue. That’s what Abe’s making tonight at the D’Angelos’. You’re welcome to join us.”

“An awful lot of words in that sentence don’t make sense to me.” When she opened her mouth to explain, he held up a hand. “Don’t bother. I wasn’t kidding when I said Gwen and I had a couple massage and…”

Peyton put her fingers in her ear and sang, “Lalalalala,” to drown him out.

CHAPTER 10

Radar finished filling Rosa in on the adventure Peyton and he’d had the previous day. “When I started toward him to confront him, he disappeared in the crowd. I probably should have confronted him on the monorail.”

“And what? We don’t know what we’re dealing with. What if he pulled a gun?”

Radar shook his head. “I don’t know, but what the hell is going on?”

Rosa tapped her pencil on her blotter. “I’ve been resisting this, but I guess I have no choice. I’ve got to call the Chief Inspector.”

Radar crossed one ankle over his knee. “You’re gonna be stonewalled. Federal agencies still don’t know how to play nice with each other.”

“Yeah, but my people are involved now, so I don’t have much choice. Besides, I owe it to Joe and Celeste. Joe was my partner for a long time, Radar. We’re like family.”

“I get that. What do you want me to do?”

“Stryker leaves Wednesday. Tank and Bambi are due back today, right?”

“Right.”

“Get them into training with Stryker today or tomorrow.”

“What about this other thing?” He motioned at the picture he’d had printed from Peyton’s phone. “Do you want me to try to figure out who our bearded friend is?”

“Yeah, see if the rest of your team can get on it too. What’s happening with the break-in on Brooks’ office?”

“I’m dead in the water. Without surveillance footage or fingerprints, we’ve got nothing to go on.”

“Now that the case is back in Vegas, we don’t really have jurisdiction over it either.”

Radar dropped his foot to the ground and leaned forward. “You’re right about that too.”

“What about the security guard, Mike Somethingorother?”

“Edwards?” Radar rose to his feet. “Until he does something else that gives me probable cause, I can’t dig much deeper on him.”

Rosa nodded, thinking about both cases. This is what she found most frustrating about her job, the lack of information.

“Let me know if there’s anything else you want me to do about Joe Miller,” Radar said.

“I will,” she responded and watched him walk from the room, then she reached for her desk phone and pushed the button for Darren.

“Darren?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he said.

“Where are we on the warrant for the rental car from SFO?”

“I’ll call over to the judge’s office and see. I haven’t heard anything.”

“Thanks. Can you also get me the Chief Inspector for the DEA on the phone?”

“On it.”

Rosa picked up the picture of the bearded man. He didn’t look familiar, although the bushy beard and eyebrows made it hard to distinguish individual characteristics. It was even difficult to tell his race or ethnicity.

Her phone rang and she picked it up. “I have Chief Inspector Hanson on the line,” said Darren.

Rosa was a little surprised. She hadn’t expected to get him on the first try. Maybe an assistant, but not the chief inspector himself. “Thank you. Chief Inspector, this is SAC Rosa Alvarez from the San Francisco FBI branch.”

“SAC Alvarez, what can I do for you?” said the man’s deep voice.

“I’m not sure if you know, but I worked for you a couple years ago.”

“I remember your record well. You were an asset to our organization.”

“Thank you. Actually, I’m calling about my ex-partner, Joseph Miller. His wife Celeste came to see me a few days ago and she told me Joe hasn’t contacted her in a week, which is unusual. When we were working a case, he always made time to contact his wife at least once a day.”

The chief inspector didn’t immediately answer.

“Chief?”

“SAC Alvarez, have you heard from Joe Miller yourself?”

“No, that’s why I’m contacting you. Yesterday, two of my agents went to escort Celeste to the airport. She was being followed by a man. When my senior agent went to confront him, the man disappeared into the crowd.”

Again silence.

Rosa waited, tapping the pencil on her blotter some more. “Chief?”

“SAC Alvarez, if Joe Miller contacts you, I want you to call my office directly. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir, but…”

“Thank you. I appreciate your attention to this matter.”

“Chief, what’s going on? Is Joe Miller missing?”

“I can’t divulge that information, SAC Alvarez.”

“Can you tell me if he’s on a case?”

Silence.

Rosa tapped her pencil, feeling her stomach knot. He wasn’t going to give her any information. Not that she’d expected much, but his lack of information increased her suspicion that something was wrong.

“He is on a case,” he said finally.

“In Mexico?”

“I cannot divulge that information, SAC Alvarez, just please, contact my office if he should contact you.”

“What about the man following his wife, Celeste? Do you have any idea who that might be?”

“I have to go, SAC Alvarez.”

“Please, Chief, are Celeste Miller and her children in danger?”

“If you hear from Agent Miller, please contact us immediately.”

“Chief Hanson…” she started, but she heard the phone disconnect. Slumping back in her chair, she threw the pencil on her desk. What the hell was going on? What sort of case was Miller working?

She reached for her cell phone and pulled up his contact, then she pressed the dial button. The call didn’t even ring through, going immediately to voicemail. She listened to his voice and felt another twist in her gut.

“This is Joe Miller, leave a message and I’ll get back to you.”

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, Joe?” she whispered, but she disconnected the call.

*    *    *

Marco crutched into the precinct after his physical therapy appointment. He was glad to be driving again, but he missed having Peyton waiting for him when he came out. The only good thing about physical therapy was it had replaced his Monday and Friday meetings with Dr. Ferguson, the psychologist. As long as he went to the group meetings on Thursday, he didn’t have to have private counseling sessions anymore, which was good because Dr. Ferguson didn’t approve of his living arrangement. He felt Marco and Peyton weren’t good for each other – they were co-dependent. Marco hated psychobabble and so he gave Ferguson’s ideas only a passing consideration.

As far as he was concerned, the best thing in his life right now was Peyton.

Tag pulled open the precinct door for him. Waiting on the other side of the counter was her partner, Drew Holmes.

“We got the warrant to confiscate the watch from the pawn shop,” Tag told him. “We’re on our way out there right now.”

“Good. Look around for any other signs.”

“Like what?” asked Tag.

“I don’t know, I just think it’s strange that there’s this Chechen or Russian connection here.” He glanced over at Lee. “Tell Stan I want to see him.”

“On it,” said Lee, picking up the phone.

“When are we gonna confront the mayor, Captain?” asked Holmes, moving to the half-door and pulling it open for him.

Marco crutched through. “I gotta have more, Drew. You know what a slippery eel Harlan Osborn is.”

“Do I ever.”

“Then we need more than what I got from the reporter. I need proof that Osborn was Murphy’s lover.”

“What if we can find some pictures of them together?” asked Tag. “Stan got Murphy’s computer up and running. What if he can find some photos or something?”

“That might be worth looking into. Good thinking.”

Tag gave him a nod, then she and Holmes went out the door. Marco crutched to his office.

“Stan’s on his way up, Captain.”

“Send him in when he gets here.”

“Can I get you some coffee?”

“I’ll get it for myself in a bit.”

“I don’t mind. Really.”

Marco looked over at the huge assistant. For a man of such size and physical presence, Lee was an easy-going guy. In fact, Marco hadn’t see him annoyed or angry once since he took over Carly’s position.

“Coffee would be great,” Marco said, smiling. “Are Cho and Simons in yet?”

“They came in just a few minutes ago. They were back at the high school, trying to locate Jamaad Jones’ friends.”

“Can you tell them to come up as well?”

“Sure,” he said, picking up the receiver again.

Marco crutched into his office and settled himself in his chair. Stan Neumann appeared a moment later, wearing his typical converse sneakers and a t-shirt that said Nerd? I prefer the term intellectual badass. Marco gave him a smile.

“How was your weekend, Stan?”

Stan sank into one of the chairs. “Good. There was a Marvel convention at the Cow Palace. I got a first edition Spider-Man in a frame.”

Marco frowned. “A first edition Spider-Man what? Action figure?” Stan had a number of action figures in mint condition and their original packaging in his office.

“No.” Stan laughed, the sound condescending, although Marco knew he didn’t mean for it to be. “Comic book.”

“Oh, cool.” He frowned again. “Wait. How do you read it if it’s framed?”

Stan’s eyes widened behind his coke-bottle glasses. “You don’t read it, Captain. You don’t dare touch it. That would ruin it.”

“Right. Right,” Marco said…twice, but he didn’t understand the world Stan inhabited.

“You wanted to see me?”

“Yeah, Lowell Murphy’s computer? You were able to get into his chatroom history, right?”

“Right.”

“What about photos?”

“The hard-drive was pretty messed up. It was almost impossible to get anything off it.”

“What about the cloud or something? Could he store pictures in the cloud?”

Stan considered that for a moment. “I’d have to figure out his password, but it might be the same one he used for his online profile. What are you looking for?”

“Proof that he was dating the mayor.”

Stan shifted uncomfortably. “Okay. I’ll look for cloud storage or anything like that.”

“I know you don’t like snooping through people’s private lives.”

“But it’s necessary. I know, Captain. I’ll get back to you as soon as I find something.”

“Thanks, Stan.”

Stan rose and left the room, sidestepping to avoid Lee as he brought Marco a cup of coffee. “Anything  else, Captain?” Lee asked.

“Is Danté Price in yet?”

“I believe so.”

“Would you ask him to get me a report about what he discovered when he canvassed Jamaad Jones’ neighborhood? I want it in writing.”

“I’ll let him know.” Lee left the room.

Marco thought about the two cases. The boy’s murder should be easy to solve, but he knew how street murders went. Someone saw something, but was afraid to come forward. He turned on his computer and pulled up his email. Abe had told him yesterday he’d have Jamaad Jones’ autopsy this morning. Sure enough, Abe’s email was at the top of his list.

He clicked on it and opened the document. Jamaad had been shot through the left temple. Abe estimated that death was instantaneous and based on the lack of injuries anywhere else on his body, he figured Jamaad hadn’t seen it coming. There was nothing to indicate he tried to duck or block the shot. One minute he’d been walking down the street, the next he was dead.

Marco closed the file and stared at his desk blotter. A world where 17 year olds were murdered in the street wasn’t one he wanted to inhabit. What the hell was wrong with people? Who decided that they had the right to take another’s life?

He picked up his coffee and sipped it. He had two murders to solve, two young men, very different in every way, but both ripped from life way too soon. Neither should have died, both should have lived long lives, surrounded by family and friends.

Cho and Simons appeared in his doorway. “You wanted to see us, Captain?”

“Where are we on the Jamaad Jones’ murder?”

Simons sank into a chair, dark circles under his eyes. For the first time, Marco noticed the grey at his temples. “He was just your everyday kid. High school student. Lived with his mother and father, his grandmother and younger brother. Pulled B’s and C’s, never suspended.”

Cho had taken the seat next to him. He glanced at Simons, then gave Marco a grim look. “No one puts him in a gang. The new kid, Price?”

“Yeah?”

“He and I walked the neighborhood, knocking on doors. No one remembers seeing him even hanging out on the streets. He walked with his younger brother to school, came home on time, maybe played a little basketball at the elementary school, but that was it. The neighbors all say his mother kept a tight rein on those boys.”

“I guess you saw Abe’s autopsy report?” Marco asked.

Simons looked down, nodding.

“We saw it. He didn’t have any defensive wounds, just the one shot to the head. The kid didn’t see it coming,” said Cho.

“Do any of the businesses on the street have surveillance cameras?”

Cho shook his head. “The Price kid and I asked around. The neighborhood is poor, Captain. A lot of the businesses shut down during the last economic downturn.”

“Okay, what next?”

“I think I should go back out with Price. Knock on a few more doors. Maybe we get lucky,” said Cho.

“Sounds good. Talk to Price about his report. Make sure he knows how to write up what you guys did the other day, Cho.”

“On it, Captain.” Cho rose to his feet.

Simons moved to get up as well, but Marco cleared his throat. “Bill, will you wait a moment?”

Cho glanced over on his way out the door as Bill Simons settled his bulk back in the chair. Marco met Cho’s gaze and gave him a slight nod. Cho nodded back, then left, closing Marco’s door behind him.

Marco took another sip of his coffee. “Bill, I know this case has shaken you up.”

“Bobby’s seventeen this year, Captain. I just saw that kid and I couldn’t help it.” He scrubbed both hands across his face, then back through his thinning brown hair. “I don’t know. It’s so stupid. I never let this stuff get to me, but lately…”

“Lately it has?”

Simons nodded, not making eye contact. “Maybe I’m getting old, Captain. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Or maybe it doesn’t make sense to have to scoop a seventeen year old kid off the sidewalk, Bill. I can set up some appointments with Dr. Ferguson.”

Simons reared back. “The shrink? I’m not huddled in a corner or something, Captain. I’ve been here every day. I haven’t missed a shift.”

“You don’t have to be huddled in a corner or missing shifts to need someone to talk to Bill. And you don’t have to be drinking yourself into a grave either.” He gave Simons a self-deprecating look.

“That’s not what I meant, Captain. You had a reason. You got shot, but me…what the hell do I have? I went on a call, same as I’ve done for years, nothing more.”

“I’m starting to think it isn’t the one call that does it, Bill. It’s the years of calls that build up, the accumulation of trauma that finally breaks us.”

“No offense, Captain,” he said, meeting Marco’s gaze, “but I’m not broken. I’ll get over this. I just got to stop seeing Bobby every time I look at the Jones kid. That’s all. I just got to work through it, and I will. Don’t worry, Captain.”

“Okay, Bill, but if you change your mind, let me know.”

Simons nodded, then pushed himself to his feet. “Thanks, Captain,” he said, lifting a hand in a brief acknowledgement, then he went out the door, shutting it behind him.

*    *    *

Marco reviewed the report Danté sent him about their canvas of Jamaad Jones’ neighborhood. The kid could write, detailing everything with the right amount of information. Nothing was misspelled and everything appeared grammatically correct, or as far as Marco knew. English had never been his strong suit. When he and Peyton had been partners, he’d always made her write the reports, begging off that he had dyslexia. He didn’t, or else he didn’t think he did, but he had never been very good at putting his thoughts down into words. Peyton was and this Danté kid might be even better. He couldn’t believe how much the new kid impressed him, and made him wonder why he was here and not solving the world’s problems at a university somewhere.

Lee buzzed his office. Marco picked up the phone. “Lee?”

“Captain, Mrs. Jones would like to see you.”

Marco paused, frowning. “Mrs. Jones?”

“Jamaad Jones’ mother.”

He blew out air and looked toward his windows where lazy white clouds were floating overhead. Grieving parents had always made him squirm. It was so hard to talk to someone who’d lost the most precious thing in their life. “Are Cho and Simons in?”

“Yes, sir. They just came back from lunch.”

“Ask them to meet me in the conference room.”

“On it.”

Marco reached for his crutches and levered himself up, then he went to the door and opened it. A woman of medium height, dark skin, and dark hair stood on the other side of the counter. She was in her late thirties, early forties, wearing a striped blouse and jeans, a folder in her hands. She looked at him with weary brown eyes.

“Mrs. Jones?” he said, crutching to the half-door. “I’m Captain Marco D’Angelo.”

“Mavis,” she said, her eyes sliding down to the brace on his leg. “How were you hurt, Captain?”

He looked down. “Gunshot, but this is from reconstructive surgery. I’m actually on the mend, ma’am.”

“Good. I’m sorry to bother you. I know you’re busy, but I just wanted to talk to you.”

“Certainly.” He pulled open the half-door. “Come into our conference room. I’ve asked the two detectives assigned to your case to meet us up here.”

“Thank you,” she said, stepping through. She walked to the conference room and went inside. Marco was surprised at how calm her voice was, her back straight, her bearing regal.

She took a seat at the head of the table, setting the folder down in front of her and folding her hands on the cover. He crutched in after her and took a seat on her right side, leaning the crutches against the wall. Lee appeared in the doorway.

“Can I get you some coffee, Mrs. Jones?”

“Mavis, please. And I’d like a cup. Just a splash of cream, please.”

Lee nodded. “Captain?”

“I’m good, Lee, thank you.”

As he exited, Cho and Simons appeared. Cho with his quick, efficient mannerisms, stuck his hand out to the woman. “Inspector Nathan Cho, ma’am,” he said, then motioned to the hulking figure behind him. “This is my partner, Inspector Bill Simons.”

Mavis shook Cho’s hand, then reached past him to shake Simons. Simons didn’t speak or make eye contact. He just took her hand briefly, then eased past Marco to take a seat on the left side of the table, directly across from his captain. Cho sat down on Simons’ right, closer to Mavis.

“Before we begin, I just want to tell you how sorry we all are for your loss, Mavis,” said Marco.

She tilted up her chin, swallowing hard, but she kept her regal composure. “Thank you, Captain D’Angelo. I appreciate that. It’s been a brutal couple of days for our family.”

“I’m sure it has. We’re doing everything in our power to find the person who did this, ma’am.”

“I appreciate that, but I thought you might want to know who Jamaad was. Maybe it would help to put a face on things.” She swallowed again, then opened her folder. It was filled with pictures.

Simons lowered his head and stared at his clasped hands, but Cho shifted uncomfortably, meeting Marco’s gaze. She took out the top picture and set it in the middle of the table. Marco could see two women, one older than the other, two teenage boys, and a man about Mavis’ age.

“That’s our family photo from last summer. Jamaad was sixteen. The other boy is his younger brother, Jonell. Jonell was thirteen there. The older woman is my mama, Maeve. She’ll be 68 this year. The man is Jamaad and Jonell’s father, Jonah. We been married nineteen years. I’m not saying we had a lot of money, because we didn’t, and I’m not saying we didn’t have our problems, because we did, but we were a family.”

She fought back tears, pursing her lips for a moment and looking up at the lights overhead.

“We were a family.”

Lee appeared at that moment and set the coffee by her. She nodded at him. “Thank you,” she said.

“You’re welcome,” Lee answered and backed out of the room.

Mavis didn’t touch the coffee.

“Jamaad was a good boy.” She picked up a certificate and set it in the middle of the table. “He had perfect attendance. He just got his learner’s permit. He was learning how to drive, but he walked with his little brother to and from school every single day. Jonah was teaching him to drive. We couldn’t afford an extra car, but Jamaad always told me, ‘Mama, I get my license, I can go to the store for you.’”

She blinked a few times, then picked up another photo and set it on top of the certificate. In it, a lanky teenager was smiling at the camera, squatting beside a huge pitbull, his arms around the animal’s neck.

Marco shared a look with Cho. Simons sat with his head bowed, his hands clasped before him. He hadn’t moved since he took his seat.

“Jamaad volunteered at the local animal shelter. Did you know that?”

Marco’s eyes rose to hers. “No, ma’am, we didn’t.”

“He got into training the dogs. He thought if he could teach people how to train them properly, they might not bring them back to the shelter when things got hard.” She swallowed again and tapped the picture. “That’s what he wanted to do with his life. Train dogs and teach people how to do it. The shelter was considering letting him start a program. They were even looking into getting some state funding for it.”

Marco found himself distracted. Harlan Osborn had suggested that Marco start a neighborhood task force in the community. He hadn’t followed up on it because he’d been preoccupied with Murphy’s murder, but it wasn’t a bad idea. If he could make inroads in the community, it might make things easier on his officers. If they had a relationship with people in the neighborhoods, the people might feel comfortable coming to them, telling them what they saw. The biggest problem for police, any police department, while investigating a crime, was getting people to admit they saw something. They instinctively didn’t want to get involved.

“Is something wrong, Inspector Simons?” said Mavis in a firm voice.

Marco’s eyes shot up and for a moment, he felt guilty for letting his attention slip. Simons also looked stricken, staring at her, his hands tightening until his knuckles turned white.

“This is the first time you’ve looked at me since I walked into this room,” she challenged.

“Mavis,” Marco began, but Simons interrupted him.

“I have a son. He’s seventeen. Same age as Jamaad,” said Simons, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat as Cho lowered his gaze.

Simons shook his head. “I can’t look at your boy without seeing my own.” He forced himself to look her in the eyes. “I swear to you, Mrs. Jones, I will do everything in my power to find out who did this. I won’t stop until I do. I don’t know how to make you believe me, except…” He fought for composure, then pointed a big, beefy finger at the picture of Jamaad with the dog. “…I see my boy when I look at Jamaad.”

A sob choked in Mavis’ throat. Cho retrieved a box of tissues from the counter behind them, setting it before the grieving mother. Mavis pulled out a number of tissues and covered her face with them. Marco didn’t know what more to do. He wished Peyton were here. She always knew how to handle these situations.

Finally, Mavis looked up, tears running down her dark cheeks, dropping off her chin. She dabbed at them with her tissue, then she tilted up her head, firmed her jaw, and nodded a few times. “That’s all I ask, Inspector Simons,” she said. Her eyes shifted and pinned Marco. “Now, Captain D’Angelo, tell me how I can help you solve my son’s murder.”

*    *    *

“Wait. The mother wants to help you,” said Peyton, passing Marco a dish over the counter. He sat on the barstool, a dish towel in hand, and accepted the plate, drying it.

“That’s what she said.”

“Well, you told her not to get involved, right?”

Marco set the plate on the other one he’d dried, then accepted silverware from her. “Actually, I told her we’d take her help.”

“Marco.”

“Hear me out,” he said, placing the dried silverware on the plates. “Harlan Osborn asked me to head a neighborhood task force.”

“Harlan Osborn, the mayor?”

“Yes.”

“Asked you to head a task force?”

“Yes.”

“Harlan Osborn, the suspect in Lowell Murphy’s murder?”

“Yep. I talked to him at the benefit Devan and I attended where he announced his plans to run for governor of California. We were supposed to meet to hash out the details and he said he’d call me, but he didn’t. I didn’t call him either because I got busy, but after listening to Mavis, it occurred to me that this was my opportunity. People in the neighborhoods don’t always want to talk to us. Maybe if they saw us in their communities more, they’d be more inclined to trust us, tell us what they see.”

Peyton listened to him, turning off the water. “You clever bastard.”

He gave her a smile.

“First, you’re sincere about this task force idea, aren’t you? You really do think it might help with the communication between the police department and the neighborhoods.”

“I do.”

“Second, this lets you get out into the community to canvas it and talk to people.”

“It will.”

“And finally, it might get you access to Harlan Osborn without his entourage.”

“It might.”

She smiled and shook her head in amusement. “And people think you’re just another pretty face, D’Angelo.”

He shrugged, picking up the dishes and passing them to her. She took them and moved back, dodging Pickles who was hoping for an after-dinner treat, and placed them in the cabinet. “How will you use Mavis Jones?”

“I’ve already been thinking of that. If we have a community barbecue in the neighborhood, get some of the other precincts to pitch in, we can set up a booth to pass out pens and stickers and other paraphernalia that we have. We can put up the pictures of Jamaad that Mavis has and she can even man the booth for a while, helping us pass out literature and swag. A few officers can man it with her and answer questions.”

“Or talk to potential witnesses?”

“Exactly.”

She closed the cabinet and grabbed a treat for Pickles, giving it to the little dog. He ran and jumped on the couch, placing the biscuit between his paws to chew on it. Peyton moved around the counter, trailing her fingers over it. He’d been distracted by watching her go through the routine of finishing off the dishes for the night. It seemed so normal and domestic.

She turned the barstool and moved between his legs, placing her arms on his shoulders and sinking her hands in his hair at the back of his head. Still distracted, he put his hands on her hips and stared into her exotic dark eyes. God, she fascinated him.

Her brow furrowed. “What’s all this deep thought about all of a sudden?”

“Deep thought?”

“Right now. You seem distracted.”

He nodded toward the kitchen. “Do you realize how domestic we were just being?”

“Domestic?”

“Doing dishes, feeding the dog, talking about our day.”

She gave him a puzzled look. “Does that freak you out?” He didn’t sense any judgment in her tone, just curiosity.

He pulled her closer, studying her face. How could you know someone for so many years and still find so much fascinating about her? Everyday he spent with her, every night he lay down beside her, he found something new that intrigued him – simple things – her sigh when she relaxed into the bed, the way her shoulder curved down to her collarbone, the slope of her hip, the way she said certain words, the tilt of her head, the lilt of her laugh…the smell of her shampoo.

“No, sweetheart, it doesn’t freak me out. It makes me feel safe. It makes me feel like I’m home.”

She pulled him toward her, sliding her face along his until her mouth was near his ear. “You know when you’re sexiest, D’Angelo?” she whispered.

He breathed in the smell of her shampoo, closed his eyes against the pleasure of her warmth, the feel of her skin beneath his hands. “When?”

“When you talk like that,” she said, then slid out of his hold, tugging on his hand. “Let’s go to bed, D’Angelo,” she said in a sultry purr and Marco scrambled for his crutches.

CHAPTER 11

Rosa settled her cup of coffee on her desk and glanced up as Darren entered her office. She’d just been about to take a seat, but she stopped and gave him a smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, Sarge,” he answered, carrying a square Express Shipping box in his hands, the iconic red, white, and blue colors instantly identifying the company. “You got a package.”

“A package? Where’s it from?”

He set the box in the middle of her desk. “Miami?”

“What?”

He shrugged.

“What happened with the warrant on the rental car company at SFO?”

“The judge is dragging his heels, says he doesn’t think we have enough to force the company to give up their client information yet. If we could prove that the bearded guy threatened Celeste Miller, maybe, but since we can’t, it’s not looking good.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about this yesterday?”

Darren shifted weight. Since she ran the entire office, he tried to take some of the small things off her plate. She knew that about him and usually she appreciated it, but this was too important to her. “I was trying to get something more on the guy. I called the manager at the Nob Hill Motor Inn to see if he remembered seeing the guy hanging around the parking lot. He didn’t, but he was gonna ask some of the people staying there. I was hoping maybe someone talked to the bearded guy, or he confronted somebody, anything threatening that would give the judge enough probable cause to issue a warrant.”

“That’s good,” she admitted. “Get the manager on the phone right now and see if he found out anything.”

Adrian walked through the door, distracting her. “Hey, Rosa, I just got the last of the Ghost Squad set up for training today – Bambi and Tank, right?”

“Right.”

He gave Darren a head jerk. “How’s it goin’, boss?”

“Awesome,” said Darren, moving toward the door. “I’ll get the manager on the phone now, Sarge. Let me know if you need anything else.”

Rosa lifted a hand to him, then grabbed the scissors out of her desk and pulled them open, using the sharp edge to cut the tape on the Express Shipping box. “I thought Bambi and Tank were going to train yesterday.”

“Bambi didn’t get in until today. She took an extra day of vacation, so I figured it might as well wait, but Darren got some training in yesterday.”

Rosa looked up at him. “Darren, my assistant?”

“Yeah, he asked me to give him some pointers, so I did.”

They both smiled.

“So, do you think you’ll be able to take me to airport tomorrow or should I get an Uber?”

She gave him an arch look, setting down the scissors. “I’ll take you, you silly man.”

He laughed as she opened the box, finding another smaller white box with a red bow inside. She gave him a puzzled look. “What did you do?”

“What?”

She lifted the white box out and set it on the desk. “What did you buy, Adrian?”

“I didn’t buy anything.” He moved closer to her desk, a frown darkening his brow.

Rosa gave him an annoyed look. “Really?” She picked up the scissors again and cut away the red ribbon holding the box closed.

“Rosa, I’m not kidding.” The tone of his voice made Rosa hesitate. “I didn’t send you anything. I’m telling you the truth.”

Rosa turned back to the first box and tilted it. A card in the bottom read, El que busca la verdad corre el riesgo de encontrarla. He who seeks the truth runs the risk of finding it. A sick feeling settled into the pit of her stomach and she picked up the scissors again, using the edge to wedge under the box lid.

“Rosa, what the hell’s going on?” Adrian demanded. He looked into the Express Shipping box. “What does that line mean?”

She lifted her eyes to him and realized she was trembling. The scissors shook against the box lid. “He who seeks the truth runs the risk of finding it.”

“Is that a threat? What the hell does that mean?”

Rosa shook her head, then using the scissors, she pried open the box and leaned over to look inside. At first she wasn’t sure what she was looking at, but then Adrian made an exclamation of horror. “Oh, shit! What the hell!”

Rosa stumbled back from the desk, dropping the scissors and covering her face with her hands. “It’s his heart! Oh, God, it’s Joe’s heart!”

“Rosa!” Adrian said.

Black spots danced in her peripheral vision. Her heart thundered in her ears, tried to fight its way out of her throat. “Oh, God, Adrian, it’s Joe’s heart. I know it’s his.”

Adrian appeared in front of her, grabbing her shoulders. “Rosa, look at me!” he said, tightening his hold, but she couldn’t stop staring at the thing in the box, her vision swimming.

“It’s his heart! It’s his heart!” she heard herself sob. “Oh God, it’s his heart!”

Adrian dragged her into his arms. She buried her head against his shoulder, her hands still covering her face. “It’s his! It’s his!” she kept saying. The voice didn’t seem to be her own. “Oh, God, Adrian, it’s Joe’s heart! They murdered him! They murdered him!”

*    *    *

Peyton turned into Rosa’s office the next morning, wanting to ask her if they were giving up on the Daws’ case now that the Vegas field office had pulled the file back. She stumbled to a stop, taking in the scene.

Rosa’s voice rose in a panicked cry and Stryker was holding her, keeping her head pressed to his shoulder. He glanced over at Peyton, then down at Rosa’s desk. Peyton saw the white box next to the Express Shipping box and edged forward, peering into it.

A fleshy grey lump sat in the middle of the box. For a moment, Peyton’s brain didn’t process what she saw, then she stumbled back. Darren, Rosa’s assistant, appeared in the entrance, his face twisted with concern.

Peyton corralled her racing thoughts. “Go get Radar,” she ordered, “and call down to Igor and get him up here. Tell him to bring equipment for a crime scene.”

Darren darted out of the room. Peyton lifted her eyes to Stryker. Rosa’s stricken cries were unnerving her. “Take her out of here, Stryker. Take her to the break room.”

Stryker nodded and eased Rosa toward the door. She went, her body still curved into his, her hands over her face, her head pressed to his shoulder. When they were gone, Peyton moved toward the desk, not touching anything, and picked up the scissors. Rosa had obviously been using them to open the boxes. She pushed the Express Shipping box closed and looked at the return address. Both labels were typed, the name Dorothea Clark followed by an address in Miami in the upper left corner, SAC Rosa Alvarez with their address in the center.

Radar and Tank appeared in the doorway, coming to a halt. Peyton looked up at them. “Tank, we need to find out who Dorothea Clark is,” she said, rattling off the address in Miami and the correct name spelling.

The tall, buzz-cut Special Agent listened, nodded, and left again. Radar eased forward and peered into the white box, sucking in a breath. His dark eyes lifted and met hers.

“Whose heart is in the box, Sparky?”

“Really? You don’t know?”

He gave her a puzzled look.

“How the hell should I know, Radar? It doesn’t exactly have a name tag affixed to it, but Rosa implied it was Joe Miller’s.” She tilted the Express Shipping box toward him with the edge of the scissors. “El que busca la verdad corre el riesgo de encontrarla.”

“He who seeks the truth…”

“…runs the risk of finding it.”

Radar’s brow rose in appreciation. “You know Spanish?”

“Enough to get me in trouble.”

“Figures,” he said. “That’s probably proof positive that the heart belongs to Joe Miller.”

“Why?”

“Sarge got a text message from Miller a few days ago with that message in it. Where’s Sarge?”

“She was pretty broken up, so I had Stryker take her down to the break room.”

“We need to question her.”

“I’m just waiting for Igor. I don’t want to break the chain of evidence.”

Bambi appeared in the doorway. “Hey, Peyton, Radar, what’s going on? Everyone’s buzzing outside.”

Peyton couldn’t believe how happy she was to see the pretty blond. They’d talked a few times on the phone, but this was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks.

Bambi eased into the room and looked into the box, then let out a whistle. “That’s a human heart!” she said, excitement thrumming in her voice. “Oh, man, that’s a real human heart, isn’t it?”

Peyton nodded, finding Bambi’s fascination with anything macabre charming. God, she’d really changed since coming to work here.

“Whose is it?”

“Joe Miller, or so we think. We’re waiting for Igor.”

“Man, that’s brutal. Someone actually mailed a human heart by Express Shipping. That is totally ballsy. Can you imagine taking that to the shipping center and having them weigh it?”

Radar turned toward Bambi, shuddering. “I want the name of the courier who delivered this box today. Go down and find out who signed for it, Bambi.”

She shot a look at Peyton in disappointment, then nodded. “Of course, Radar. I’m on it.”

Radar dragged both hands through his dark hair.

“She’s just curious,” Peyton said.

“I can’t handle her creepy fascination right now, especially because Igor’s coming.”

As if summoned by his words, the little Medical Examiner with the bald head, the thick glasses, and the lab coat appeared in the doorway, carrying his medical bag. He was accompanied by Darren, who hovered in the doorway, giving them all an anxious look.

An idea occurred to Peyton. “Who brought the box to Sarge?” she asked the assistant.

He blanched. “I did. I carried it in here. It was waiting on my desk when I got here this morning.”

Peyton shifted and glanced at the time on Rosa’s computer. 8:00AM. That meant the box had to have been delivered the previous night. Igor approached the desk, setting his bag on the ground and reaching for a pair of latex gloves in his lab coat pocket.

“What have we got here?” he said, then he pulled out a camera and began shooting the scene. “Fascinating. That appears to be a human heart.”

Peyton nodded, trying not to look at the cheerful white box and its terrifying contents. Radar shifted weight, his hands on his hips. He walked to the window and looked out as Igor continued to take pictures. Then Igor replaced his camera and hovered over the box, staring at it.

Peyton took out her phone and typed the message left in the Express Shipping box into a search engine. It came up as a quote by Chilean author, Isabel Allende. Interesting, but what did it mean?

Her musings were cut short as very carefully Igor reached into the white box and lifted the heart out.

Peyton turned away at the sucking noise it made as it was lifted from the white cardboard. Turning it over in his hands, Igor gave a grunt of appreciation. “Fascinating. Just fascinating. It looks like the arteries were excised with a blade of some kind.”

“Scalpel?” asked Radar, turning around. He gave the heart a disturbed squint.

“No.” Igor’s voice trailed off and he turned the heart again.

Peyton shivered in disgust.

“The strokes aren’t precise like a scalpel, but it was a sharp blade, to be sure.” He squinted at it. “I know this sounds gruesome, but I can’t help but wonder if it was ripped out while it was still beating.”

That did it. Peyton made an involuntary retching sound, bending over.

“Sorry, Agent Brooks, I always forget how sensitive you are.”

Radar sighed. “Let’s go talk to Sarge, Sparky,” he said, moving around the desk and grasping her shoulder. “Igor’s got this part of it.”

Peyton let him push her out of the office, feeling a wash of relief that she didn’t have to watch Igor handle a human heart as if it were a daily occurrence, which (she realized) it probably was.

*    *    *

They found Rosa and Stryker in the break room. Stryker stood at the counter, his back leaning against the formica, his hands braced on either side of him, watching Rosa. Rosa sat in a chair at the table, staring off into the unknown, her hands flattened on her thighs. Peyton patted Stryker’s shoulder and grabbed a mug, then filled it with coffee. She held the mug out to Radar.

“Go put a little of your secret stash in here,” she ordered him.

“Secret stash?” He shot a look at Stryker.

“The hundred-year-old bottle of Scotch in your credenza.”

“How do you know about that?” he hissed.

“Detective,” she told him. “Come on, Radar, hurry up.”

Radar took the mug. “It’s only twenty-year-old Scotch,” he grumbled.

“Whatever,” she told him, shooing him along. As soon as he was gone, she looked up at Stryker. “She tell you anything?”

He shook his head miserably. Okay, so Rosa and Stryker were more than acquaintances, but she’d already figured that out when he first showed up. He spent a lot of time in Rosa’s office instead of in the training room. “I can’t get anything out of her. I know about the text messages, but I thought she told you guys about that as well.”

“She did,” said Peyton, removing her little notepad from her pocket. She snagged a pen from a cup by the door just as Radar appeared again with the coffee. She took it from him and brought it to Rosa, holding it out. “Take a sip.”

Rosa glanced up at her, her expression tortured, her eyes blank. She blinked at it, then took the cup. “I don’t want coffee.”

“Take a sip,” Peyton urged, hooking a chair and setting it up in front of Rosa. “It has a little something in it.”

Rosa took a sip, then coughed. “What is it?” she said, giving Peyton an arch look.

“Hundred-year-old Scotch.”

“Twenty-year-old Scotch,” corrected Radar.

Peyton ignored him. “Take another sip.”

Rosa did as instructed, coughing again. “Twenty-year-old Scotch tastes like feet.”

Radar looked stricken, but Peyton laughed. “Imagine what hundred-year-old Scotch must taste like.”

Rosa’s shoulders relaxed a little.

Peyton drew a deep breath. This was so damn hard for her. Rosa Alvarez still intimidated the hell out of her. Something about this woman brought out all of Peyton’s insecurities and she hated that.

“Sarge, we need you to go back to the beginning and tell us everything.” She held up the pad. “I’m gonna take some notes, if that’s okay with you.”

Rosa studied Peyton’s face for a long moment without speaking, then she took another drink of the coffee. “I know that’s his heart,” she whispered.

“Igor’s on the scene and Darren called Dusty up to take the boxes, see what he can get off them.”

“Joe had a DNA swab taken, we both did, when we went undercover, so if something like this…” Her voice choked off and she closed her eyes. Stryker shifted uncomfortably. “He has kids, Brooks. Little ones.”

“I know.”

“What are they going to do without their father? What’s Celeste going to do?”

“Rosa,” said Peyton firmly and Radar stood up a little taller. “Let’s focus on the evidence. Right now we don’t have evidence that the heart is Miller’s. Radar will let Igor know Miller had a DNA swab. He ought to be able to get that and compare it, but until then, we have to operate on what we know.”

She didn’t want to be firm with Rosa, but they didn’t have much time to mourn. This situation was escalating and they were already behind in the count.

Damn, she had to stop watching baseball with Jake and Marco.

Radar rubbed the back of his neck like he did when he was uncomfortable, but Rosa nodded, setting the mug on the table and focusing on Peyton. “What do you want to know?”

“When was the first text message and what was it?”

Rosa shook her head. “I can’t remember. I’m sorry. I just can’t remember.”

Stryker moved away from the counter and held something out in his hand. “You left your cell phone, so I picked it up.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes on her past trainer. Where had Rosa left it?

Rosa took the cell phone, thumbing it on. She spent a few minutes looking at her messages, then she gave Peyton the dates and times she asked for and the exact content of each message.

“When did you get the Isabel Allende quote?”

Rosa frowned at her. “How do you know who said it?”

“I looked it up while Igor was…” She paused, remembering the way Igor had handled the heart. “Um, working the scene.”

Rosa stared at her phone. “Last Wednesday. Almost a week ago.”

“And do you think it was Joe?”

“It came from his number.”

“But do you think it was Joe? Had he ever sent something so esoteric before?”

“Esoteric?”

“Secretive, right? I used that right, didn’t I?” She shifted and looked back at the men. They exchanged a look and shrugged.

Rosa burst into laughter, then it turned into a sob.

Peyton picked up the coffee and shoved it back into her hands. “Take another sip.”

Rosa did as she commanded and that, more than anything, made Peyton know how distraught she was. After she’d finished, she cradled the mug in her hands and stared into it. “Joe wasn’t poetic, if that’s what you mean. He was a straight shooter, no embellishments.”

“Did he speak or write Spanish?”

“No, but if he was trying to send me coded messages, that might be the way he would do it. It would be so out of character, I’d know something was wrong. It isn’t too hard to get a translation now.”

Peyton frowned at that and looked at her notes. “Do you think he was sending you coded messages?”

Rosa shrugged. “I think it’s a possibility. The messages were weird – nostalgic, but weird, and he never responded to my text. If I didn’t know better, I’d say…” She stopped and stared into the mug again.

“If you didn’t know better, what?”

Rosa’s eyes lifted and speared Peyton’s. “I’d say they were pre-set.”

“What do you mean?”

“Cued up to send at certain intervals.”

“Programmed?”

Radar shifted weight at that.

“Yeah programmed. I need to know how long that heart has been…” She shuddered. “How long it’s been out of the body,” she forced herself to say.

“Okay. Anything else? Any other clues?”

“No, I need to call the chief inspector, but I’ve got to know if the heart is Miller’s.” She closed her eyes and tilted up her head. “I can’t believe this is happening. He was always so careful, so vigilant. How could this have happened to him?”

“We still don’t know if that’s him, Rosa. We’ve got to wait for Igor to confirm it. Until we know, there’s still hope. Until we have proof, we can still believe it isn’t Miller’s heart.

*    *    *

It was Miller’s heart.

A few hours later, Igor had proof. He met them in the conference room, placing a piece of paper down in the center of the table. Rosa sat at the head of the table, but Stryker stood by the window, leaning on a credenza. He was too high energy to sit for long periods of time, Peyton knew. Radar sat in his usual spot at the other end of the table with Bambi and Tank on either side. Peyton took the seat closest to Rosa.

She looked pale and her eyes were swollen and red. Any makeup she’d worn had been wiped away. Even her usually perfect ponytail was mussed. Stryker watched her with a concerned look on his face. Yep, definitely something going on there, Peyton thought.

Tank leaned forward and studied the paper.

Rosa glanced at it, then up into Igor’s face. They’d all known what he’d found the minute he walked into the room, but Rosa seemed to need to hear the words. “Is it Miller’s heart?”

Igor gave her a sad nod. “I’m afraid it is, Sarge. I’m sorry.”

“Are you sure?” she said, her voice devoid of all inflection. Peyton shot a worried look up at Stryker.

Igor pointed to his paper. “Using PCR to amplify the DNA sample taken from the heart, we were able to compare it to Joseph Miller’s DNA sample he provided to the DEA a number of years ago. The STR bands on the two samples, along with a control sample that Agent Campbell provided, indicates that Joe Miller and the heart are genetically linked.”

“How accurate is this, Igor?” asked Radar.

“I don’t like to deal in absolutes, but nearly 100%, Radar.”

Rosa shivered, but she made no other sound.

“How long ago was the heart taken from his body?” she asked.

“I need to do more tests, but I would estimate at least three days. Internal organs begin to decompose between 24 to 72 hours after death. There was evidence of necrotic tissue on the heart, so it had to be more than 24 hours.”

Rosa swallowed hard, then she nodded. “Good work, Igor.”

He picked up the DNA evidence and clasped his hands before him, staring at Rosa through his thick glasses. “I’m sorry, Sarge. I wish I could have brought you better news.”

She blinked. “You brought me the truth. Thank you for that.”

He nodded and left the room.

“Did you call Hanson?” asked Radar.

“I did, but I couldn’t get him. I left a message for him to call me as soon as he can.” She stared at the table. “I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. What else were we researching?”

“I was finding out who Dorothea Clark is in Miami,” offered Tank.

Rosa glanced up at him, frowning. “Dorothea Clark? What?”

“The return address said it came from Dorothea Clark,” reminded Tank.

“Right. What did you find out?”

“Dorothea’s an 83 year old widow. Her wallet was stolen and her identity as well. Her credit cards and now apparently her address have been used by thieves.”

Rosa filed that away. “What else?”

“I went down to see who signed for the package last night,” offered Bambi. “It came in the regular way with a courier who signed in at the desk. I have the courier’s name, but I don’t think he had any idea what was in the box.”

“Who signed for it at the desk and brought it up here?” asked Rosa.

“Mike Edwards,” said Bambi, shooting an uncomfortable look at Peyton.

Peyton frowned at that. What the hell? He wasn’t her responsibility. Besides that, signing for packages was sort of in his job description, wasn’t it?

“I want to see the courier on the surveillance tape. Call back to Express Shipping and ask them to send us a photograph of the guy who was supposed to deliver here. I want to compare the two and make sure they’re the same guy,” said Radar. “Bambi, you call Express Shipping for the photo, and Sparky, you go over the surveillance tape. Get us a copy of the video.”

She didn’t know why he was making her do that part of it, but she knew with Radar, he had something up his sleeve.

“Sarge?” said Darren, sticking his head into the conference room. “Chief Inspector Justin Hanson is on the line for you.”

Tank rose and retrieved the heavy black phone from a sideboard, setting it before Rosa. She stared at it a moment without moving. Stryker shifted weight, staring down at his feet. Lifting her hand, Rosa reached for the receiver, then stopped, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I can take the call,” offered Radar.

Rosa shook her head, then drew a deep breath and picked it up. “Chief Inspector Hanson, thank you for returning my call. I have my team assembled. I’d like to put you on speakerphone, so they can be in on the conversation. Is that all right with you, sir?” She listened for a moment, then said, “Yes, I understand.” She nodded at the door. “Close it, will you, Tank?”

Tank moved to comply.

Rosa pushed a button. “Chief Inspector, you’re now on speakerphone,” she said clearly.

“SAC Alvarez, based on your message, you said you had concerning news for me. Is it about Agent Miller?”

Rosa glanced around the table, then drew a deep breath. Tank came back and took his seat again. “I do, Chief. Today someone delivered a package to my office.”

“A package?”

“From a woman in Miami who had her identity stolen.”

“I’m not following you, SAC Alvarez. Since we spoke, there have been some developments here that require my full attention. I have an undercover agent, who has expressed grave concern for his partner. That partner has been missing for more than a week. My undercover agent has asked for more agents to search for his partner. In the meantime, I get an esoteric call from you. I don’t like secretive dealings, SAC Alvarez. If you remember, I asked you to call me if you’d heard from Joe Miller. Have you heard from Joe Miller?”

“Esoteric,” Peyton whispered to her team, nodding her head. “See, I got it right.”

“Is the missing agent Joe Miller, Chief?” Rosa asked, her voice leaden.

“As a matter of fact, it is, SAC Alvarez. Now what do you have for me?”

“We have his heart, Chief.”

There was a pause on the line, then Hanson cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you right. Come again. What do you have?”

“His heart, Chief Inspector. Someone sent his heart to me in an Express Shipping Box.” Rosa continued to outline everything they knew about the case.

Hanson was silent for a long time, and when he spoke, his voice was weary. “God, I was hoping for a different outcome. I suppose the FBI will now be getting involved in this case?”

“I’d like to work with you on it, Chief, yes.”

Hanson was quiet again. Finally he cleared his throat. “I hate losing a man,” he said.

“I know,” answered Rosa, woodenly. “He was my partner for many years.”

Hanson made a grunt of agreement. “We’ll be happy to share the case with you, SAC Alvarez,” he finally said and Bambi clapped her hands. No one else made a move. “His partner will want to work with you as well. I’m sure of it. I’ll appoint him as the liaison between our departments.”

“Is his partner still in Mexico?”

“Yes, but I’ll have him fly up as soon as he can to debrief you and give you the information you need.”

“Who is it?” asked Rosa.

“Kazander Bass,” said Hanson. “He and Miller were partners on a drug cartel case in Cancun, Mexico. In fact, you might know Kaz Bass yourself.”

“I do,” said Rosa, nodding. “I remember him very well. In fact, I called him about Joe, but he never returned my call.”

“Bass has been undercover for a while now, trying to break up a drug ring, but I’ll let him fill you in when he gets there. I’ll have my assistant get to work on bringing him home.” He hesitated. “He’s going to be devastated, Agent Alvarez, so…”

“We all are,” Rosa answered. “We all are.” She flattened her hand on the table. “What about Miller’s wife, Celeste? Someone needs to tell her about Joe.”

“We’ll take care of finding her. Concentrate on bringing Joe Miller’s killer to justice, SAC Alvarez. He was a good man.”

Rosa didn’t respond for a moment, closing her eyes for composure. Peyton reached over and touched her hand. Rosa didn’t remove herself from Peyton’s touch, but she tilted up her chin and nodded. “He was a good man, Chief, that he was, and we will find out who did this to him. I promise.”

*    *    *

“We’re going to Mexico,” whispered Bambi to Peyton as they left the conference room. The other woman bounced around, wringing her hands in excitement. “I just know it. We’re going to Mexico.”

Tank came out after them, giving Peyton a commiserate smile.

Bambi grabbed Peyton’s arm. “Aren’t you excited?”

“I guess, but this whole heart things gives me the willies.” She shuddered.

“The Mayans did blood sacrifices,” said Tank, “to honor the gods. During the postclassical period, around 900 to 1524AD, the most common type of human sacrifice was heart extraction. It’s believed they learned it from the Aztec, but they would perform it most often in a temple at the top of a pyramid. After the heart was removed, the priests, usually four of them, representative of the cardinal directions, would throw the body down the steps of the pyramid where priest would skin…”

“Okay!” said Radar, coming out of the conference room. “That’s enough of that.”

Tank ducked his head. Peyton felt a little sorry for him, but she was getting a bit queasy. Bambi touched Tank’s arm. “You can tell me the rest later.”

“No,” said Radar, wagging a finger in front of her face. “We’re not going all ghoulish on this one. Joe Miller was a fellow agent and we’re going to show some respect.”

“They know that, Radar,” said Peyton, defending her teammates. “It’s just hard not to get caught up in the sensationalism of it.”

“Yeah, well, today I got to see a heart in a box.”

Peyton shrugged. “I’ve seen a head in a box, so once you’ve seen that…”

Radar glared at her. “Not you too.”

Bambi clasped his hands. “This is really exciting, though, Radar. It’s not like it’s a made up monster this time.”

“A made up monster?” asked Radar.

“Like zombies in the Delta,” said Bambi.

“Or mermaids in the Pacific,” said Tank.

“Or werewolves in London,” offered Peyton with a shrug. “That was a little cliché, don’t you think?”

“No, vampires in Hollywood took top billing,” said Bambi.

Peyton laughed. “I see what you did there.”

“That was clever,” said Tank, smiling.

Radar crossed his arms over his chest. “And just what the hell do you think this one is?”

The three of them thought for a moment, then Peyton got a glint in her eye. “Chupacabra in Mexico.”

“No,” said Tank, holding up a finger. “Chupacabra in the Yucatan. See the Yucatan peninsula separates the Caribbean Sea from the Gulf of Mexico…”

“Enough.” Radar pushed through them, pointing back over his shoulder. “Surveillance video, now, Sparky.”

“You’re welcome, Radar!” she called after him.

*    *    *

Bambi walked with Peyton to the elevator. “I’ll call Express Shipping and get a photo of the guy who delivered the package, but they might demand a warrant.”

“No problem. I really don’t think the shipping company had anything to do with it. They were just the couriers.”

“Literally,” said Bambi.

Peyton smiled at her. “Did you have a good break, Emma? You seem rested.”

“It was nice. I love spending time with the folks, but I’m glad to be back here again. I like work.” She grabbed Peyton’s arm. “Oh, goodness, how’s Marco? You said on the phone that the surgery went well, but how’s the rehab going?”

“He’s home now, so that’s a lot better and physical therapy seems to be going well. They’re letting him swim.” Peyton pressed the button for the elevator.

“When you say he’s home, do you mean home with you?”

Peyton nodded. “Yep. He’s back where he belongs.”

“How’s it going?”

Peyton considered that. How was it going? Well. Really well. “It’s good, Emma. Actually, it’s really good. Things between us seemed to have sorted themselves.”

“Is the wedding back on?”

“No, we’re not there yet, but you know what, I’m okay. I like where we’re at and I’m sleeping better at night, I can tell you that.”

Bambi rubbed her arm. “I’m glad for you, Peyton.” She dropped her hand and gave Peyton a serious look. “How’s Jake?”

That question took Peyton by surprise. Bambi and Jake had gone on a dinner date, but Peyton had prevented anything else from happening between them. She knew Bambi’s track record with men and she didn’t want Jake to be another notch on Bambi’s headboard. Jake hadn’t been very happy about that and they’d fought. It had never occurred to Peyton that Bambi might actually be interested in the goofy CSI.

“He’s good,” she said, but she didn’t really know. He hadn’t come to Sunday night dinner and he’d spent most of his time barbecuing outside at dinner on Saturday night. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”

The elevator arrived and Peyton stepped inside.

“Talk to you soon,” said Bambi, waving as the elevator closed.

“Talk to you soon,” Peyton called through the crack in the door.

She got out in the lobby. Mike Edwards, the craggy faced blond security guard, beamed a smile at her as she approached the counter.

“Hey, Peyton, how are you?”

She laid her arm on the counter. “I’m good, Mike. How are you?”

“Just dandy. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I need the surveillance footage from last night. You accepted a package from Express Shipping around 5:30, right?”

“I did. I do almost every night.”

“Right, but I need the surveillance video from last night. Can you pull it up for me?”

“Sure. You wanna come behind the counter.” He lifted the section to his right and Peyton moved through into the tight back space where security kept watch over the front entry hall. “Take a seat.” He pulled a stool over and indicated she should sit.

She had to squeeze past him, the space was so tight.

“Your hair smells like flowers,” he said, his face too close to her wild mane.

She looked up at him, spearing him with a warning glare. He held out his hands in a motion of surrender.

“You can’t blame a man for noticing,” he pleaded.

Peyton propped herself on the stool. “Control it,” she grumbled.

He gave a laugh and turned to the computer. She watched while he used the mouse to click on the computer screen. “Tank was down here earlier. What’s going on? Was something broken in the package?”

“You could say that,” she replied. For some reason, she didn’t want to give him too much information.

As he looked for the video, Peyton studied him. He had a pleasant face, weathered but that added to his appeal. His eyes were kind, his expression always upbeat and happy to see her, but she sensed something in him, some undercurrent of worry or sadness, she wasn’t sure what.

“Mike?” she asked.

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Hm.”

“Your mother lives in the Bay Area, right?”

“Right.”

“What about your father?”

“Dead.”

“Any siblings?”

“Nope.” He clicked some more.

“After you left the army, what did you do for work?”

He turned, bracing his arm on the counter. “What do you mean?”

“Employment? What did you do?”

“I worked for an NGO.”

“An NGO?”

“Yeah, we dug wells and taught farming techniques to Iraqis devastated by the war. We did good work.”

“Who ran the NGO?” she asked, feeling a prickling of suspicion.

“Some multimillionaire, I forget his name…um, Arlo Granger, I think.”

She filed that away. “What was it called? The NGO?”

“Um, we always called it ICA, but it was the Iraqi Conservation Association.” He gave her a serious look. “What’s with the interrogation?”

She shrugged. “I just realized we haven’t ever had a conversation about our past before.”

“Can I ask you a question?”

She felt warnings go off inside of her, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to deny him his turn. He’d answered her questions without hesitation. “Okay?”

“Is Marco living with you again?”

She bristled at that. “Mike,” she began in a warning tone.

“Just hear me out, okay, Peyton?”

“Fine.”

He leaned on the counter, bringing himself closer to her. “I saw guys all the time in Iraq and Afghanistan. They were good guys, had families they loved, women they would have died for, but they got PTSD and they changed. It wasn’t their fault. They weren’t responsible for what happened to them, but it changed them.”

She looked away.

“I’m talking about guys who would have killed themselves rather than hurt a woman, but they suddenly found themselves in blackout rages where they beat their wives and didn’t even know it. I can’t tell you how many marriages I saw break up because of that.”

Peyton clenched her jaw, curling her hand into a fist. She should never have tried to open up a conversation with him. It was a mistake. “Just leave it alone, Mike, okay?”

“I’m worried about you. You keep trying to make this relationship work, but he isn’t the same man he used to be. Why can’t you see what the rest of us see? He clearly has PTSD from his gunshot, Peyton. He could really hurt you.”

“The video, Mike!” she said through gritted teeth.

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He clicked some more and pulled up the video.

Peyton leaned forward, studying it. The courier walked through the doors at 5:27 and crossed the entrance hall, coming to a halt at the security desk. He held up a hand in greeting, a large bag slung over his shoulder. Mike appeared from the back, moving to the counter and setting a clipboard on it. The Express Shipping driver signed the clipboard, then reached into his bag. He pulled out a number of red, white, and blue envelopes, placing them on the counter, then drew out the box and set it beside the envelopes. Mike grabbed the box and waved goodbye to the driver. The driver turned and walked back to the doors as Mike disappeared into the back.

“What happens once the packages go in back?”

“We have a kid, college student over at State, who delivers all the mail after 6:00PM.”

“Is that the same Express Shipping courier who delivers here everyday?”

“Yeah, unless he’s sick or on vacation, but he’s delivered here since I started working here.”

“I need that part of the video sent to Radar.”

Mike nodded. “I’ll get right on it.” He frowned, creating lines in his forehead. “What’s going on, Peyton? Was something wrong with the contents of the box?”

“You might say that, but I can’t tell you what.” She rose to her feet. “Get that video to Radar now, please.”

“On it.”

She squeezed past him and he let her go, holding up the counter for her, but once she was on the other side, he placed a hand on the counter to stop her. “Peyton?”

She looked over her shoulder at him. He was a nice guy. She might have been interested in him if Marco hadn’t come along, but once Marco had entered her life, all other men had paled by comparison. It was hopeless. Marco was the only man for her.

“I’m serious about PTSD. I’m not blaming the people who have it, but those that love them, those that are close to them, sometimes they get hurt.”

She faced him, sighing. “Marco can handle it. He’s been handling it for quite a while now.”

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

She moved closer to the counter, dropping her voice. “I’m the one with PTSD, Mike, and you know it. You were there when I freaked out in the bar that night. I’m the one who wakes up swinging, not Marco. He’s the one that calms me down again. This topic is a nonstarter, so can we drop it? Because if we can’t, if you keep pursuing it, then we can’t be friends and I would hate that.”

He straightened. “You’re right. I’m sorry. We’re friends. I won’t say anymore.” He gave her a sheepish smile. “But you can’t blame me for wanting to be the one to calm you down at night.”

She gave him a shake of the head; still she couldn’t help but laugh. He smiled and waved as she walked away again.

Once she was back in her office, she pulled out her cell phone. She needed to tell Maria and Abe and Jake that she was probably leaving town again, then she had to find a way to tell Marco – dinner and sexy lingerie – best way to avoid an argument, she’d discovered.

She called Jake first, just because Bambi’s questions had made her a little concerned about him. He picked up. “What’s up, Mighty Mouse?”

“Hey, Jake, how are you?”

“I just saw you on Saturday, so I’ve been fine in the two days since then.”

“Well, I just wanted to call because I have a feeling I might be leaving town for a bit.”

“Another case already?”

“Yeah.”

“And you want me to take care of Adonis.” He gave a heavy sigh. “God, I hate it when you’re out of town. He gets so damn grumpy.”

“No, he can take care of himself, Jake. He’s driving again and he’s figured out how to navigate on the crutches, but it wouldn’t hurt you to look in on him once in a while and make sure he’s all right.”

“Fine. Anything else?”

“I wondered if you wanted to come over for dinner tonight.”

He hesitated and that was weird for Jake. He usually jumped at the chance to have dinner at her house. “I think I’ll just go home and watch the game, Mighty Mouse. We can go to lunch or something before you go.”

She frowned, staring at the display. “What’s with all the game watching, Jake? Is it the Super Bowl or something?”

“What?”

“All these games. Are you watching the Super Bowl? Are the Giants in the Super Bowl?”

He sighed. “World Series, Mighty Mouse. It’s the World Series and no, the season just started.”

“Then why don’t you want to come over?”

“I just wanna relax. With my dog. That’s all. Please don’t go spinning it into something more than it is. Sometimes a guy just wants to relax.”

Peyton blew out air. “Okay, fine. I guess I’ll talk to you later.”

“Sure thing, sugarpop.”

Now that sounded more like her Jake. “Bye, Jakey Poo.”

“Bye.”

She called Maria next. “I need to go shopping for lingerie. Can you get off work now?”

“Lingerie?” asked Maria, then she made a disgruntled noise. “You have a case!”

“Not yet.”

“But you think you’re getting one, don’t you?”

“I might be.”

“Does my wedding not mean a damn thing to you?”

“I did the bachelorette party…”

“Abe did that.”

Fair enough. “Maybe I can help Marta do the shower.”

“From where? Azerbaijan?”

“Azerbaijan? What?”

“Is that where you’re going? Do you know I get married in less than a month, Brooks? Do you know that?”

“I know, Maria.”

“But you don’t care.”

“I do care, but I have to work. I promise I will be at your wedding, even if I have to fly in from Azerbaijan.”

“Fine. Lingerie, huh?”

“Yeah, you like shopping for that.”

“You’re still giving him the milk for free, though.”

Peyton sighed. “Maria, this isn’t the 1950’s. Women can like sex as much as men.”

“Fine. Don’t listen to me. Who am I to tell you how you’re screwing up your life? Go on, just keep sleeping with him without a commitment and then when he takes off to start a family with Betty Homemaker across the street, don’t be surprised.”

“Betty Homemaker moved. Suzie Stereotypical Gender-roles is living there now.”

Maria snorted out a laugh, despite herself. “You’re impossible, Brooks, you know that? That’s why we make such kickass best friends.”

“Sure,” said Peyton, letting out a relieved sigh. “So about the lingerie…”

“Come pick me up. If I leave it to you, you’ll get boxer shorts and a baseball jersey.”

Peyton laughed. “Thank you, Maria,” she said.

“Whatever,” came the answer, then the call disconnected.

CHAPTER 12

Adrian leaned on the doorjamb of Rosa’s office. “Rosa, I need to talk to you.”

“Give me a minute, Adrian,” she said. “I just want to check on the arrangements for the Ghost Squad. They’re heading out to Cancun tomorrow. As soon as I finish, I’ll drive you to the airport.” She picked up the phone receiver to call Margaret.

“Actually, that’s what I want to talk to you about.”

Rosa paused and looked up at him. “What?”

“I canceled my flight.”

“You did what?”

“I canceled my flight.”

She set the phone in the cradle. She’d spent most of the night on the phone to Kazander Bass and Chief Inspector Hanson. The three of them had finally agreed it was best for her squad to meet Bass in Cancun, rather than have him come to San Francisco. That way they could hit the ground running as soon as the Ghost Squad arrived. Time was the enemy in finding Joe Miller’s killer, especially in a foreign country with a different legal system.

She realized she’d missed out on spending Adrian’s last night focusing on their relationship, but Joe Miller’s death was personal. Rosa felt like she’d lost a family member and she just couldn’t get her head around it. When she woke up this morning, for a glorious moment, she’d believe it was all a nightmare.

“What do you mean you canceled your flight?”

“I think you need to go to Mexico with your team.”

She wasn’t sure she heard him correctly. She hadn’t gotten much sleep and most of it was broken. She didn’t have emotional outbursts very often, she thought they were a weakness, but yesterday she’d lost her composure. She was a little embarrassed by it, especially the way she’d been just after finding Joe’s heart, but she consoled herself with believing only Adrian, Brooks, and Darren had been witness to her weakness. Today, although she was a little muddle-headed, she felt in control, her emotions carefully tamped down again. Until Adrian said he’d canceled his flight. She couldn’t believe how badly she wanted him to stay, how badly she didn’t want to take him to the airport.

“Hold on a minute. Did you really cancel your flight?”

“I did.”

“Did I hear you say you think I should go to Mexico with the Ghost Squad?”

He took a deep breath. “You did. I think you need to work this case yourself.”

“I’m SAC here, Adrian. I can’t just leave the rest of the teams without supervision.”

Adrian nodded. “I know, which is why I pulled in some markers and asked to be allowed to stay as your temporary replacement. I just received permission an hour ago and canceled my flight.”

“What about your work in Quantico? The training sessions?”

“They’ll do them without me, or they’ll wait until I get back. It’s self-defense training, Rosa. Anyone can do it.”

She sat down heavily in her chair, staring at him. “You think I should go to Mexico?”

“Yes. Joe was your partner. You owe it to him to find his killer.”

A flush of emotion swept through her and she felt her eyes filling with tears. She blinked them away. She hated anyone who cried, but having Adrian tell her she ought to go on a case meant the world to her. It meant he trusted her skill as an investigator and he trusted her to take care of herself.

“You hate office work,” she said in bewilderment.

He came forward and took a seat across from her. “So?”

“You’re gonna fill in as SAC.”

“Yep. I’m qualified. I’ve been a SAC before.”

“I know, but…”

“But what?”

“You hated it.” And he had. They’d taken him out of the field and moved him into the SAC position in Baltimore. He’d done it for about four years before he decided he hated supervising people. When the training position opened at Quantico, he’d jumped at it, even though it meant a drop in pay.

“Yeah, but it won’t be forever. Just until you get this case solved and get back here.”

She leaned back in her chair, watching him. “The Ghost Squad is gonna hate it if I go.”

“I don’t think that’s their choice,” he said.

She continued to study him. She liked his square jaw and slightly crooked nose. His nose had been broken a few times in training. A lock of his dark brown hair fell over his forehead and she wanted to brush it away. Last night, he’d made her dinner, then he’d just sat with her feet in his lap, listening to her talk about her years with Joe, while she drank wine and alternated between crying and laughing. She’d never done that with another man. She’d never let him see her so vulnerable. She consoled herself with saying the wine had contributed to the weepy moments, but she knew it was mostly Adrian Tréjo . He made her feel safe.

“I can provide a service to you and I’ve been given permission to do it, so let me help you.”

“Ooh, Brooks is really going to hate me going with them.”

“Buttons will be fine. She’s tough.” He leaned forward. “Look, you hardly slept at all last night, you’ve barely eaten. Like you said, Joe Miller was family. You gotta be part of this investigation, Rosa, and I can help you get that.”

She motioned between them. “What do we call this thing we have between us?”

“A hell of a lot of fun.”

She laughed. “Seriously, Adrian, what, exactly, are we doing? You’re missing work because of me.”

He braced his arms on his thighs and gave her a serious look. “Rosa, we’re whatever you want us to be. I’m okay without a label, but I’m also fine with one. I know you’re gun shy, so I’m not gonna push, but I know that last night I would have given anything to take away your pain and right now, my heart is pounding like a bitch, hoping you take me up on my offer. I wouldn’t be any good to you in Mexico, but here, here I can do some good.”

She smiled, taking such pleasure in just looking at him. “Okay, I’m gonna do it.”

“Good,” he said, smiling back at her.

“I’ll bring you back a souvenir.”

“Tequila,” he said.

She shook her head. “I was thinking of a jellyfish.”

He made a face and she found herself laughing again.

*    *    *

Stan waited for Marco on the other side of the counter when he entered the precinct. He held the half-door open for him as Marco crutched through to the other side.

“Stan, how are you this morning?” Marco noted that Lee wasn’t at his desk.

“Fine, Captain, how are you?” He pushed his thick glasses up on his nose. “How was physical therapy?”

“It’s good to be back in the water and they’re letting me start on upper body weights again,” he said, crutching toward his office.

Stan trailed him. “Yeah, I’ve been lifting weights myself. I benched 90lbs. the other day.”

Marco paused, glancing up at him, then he lowered himself into his chair. “90lbs. That’s good, Stan. You’re on your way.”

Stan beamed a smile at him as he took a seat and Marco tried to keep his amusement hidden. “So, did you find anything in Murphy’s cloud accounts?”

“No photos of the mayor. A few photos of his roommate, Kurt Foster, and a lot of what I assume are his family. He was pretty careful. I went back over all the entries on the dating sites and he never revealed who he was meeting. It was always Sugar Bear and Beta Wolf.”

“Beta Wolf?”

“That was Murphy’s name. On some of these sites you don’t want to use your legal name. Especially the hook-up sites. It’s best to remain anonymous.”

Marco gave Stan a pointed look. “How do you know that, Stan?”

“I’m pretty well versed in all things internet, Captain.”

Marco wasn’t sure. He sure hoped Stan wasn’t resorting to hooking up with people on these sketchy dating sites. Stan deserved a real relationship, someone who would appreciate him for the genius he was. Of course, that made Marco think of Peyton. Stan had had a crush on Peyton for years and he’d been unhappy when Peyton and Marco had started their relationship. Thinking of Peyton made him remember the previous night – how she’d seduced him so he wouldn’t be upset that she was leaving again. As if he could stay angry at her. He knew he was completely wrapped around her finger.

“Captain?”

Marco blinked and realized he’d almost forgotten Stan was there. “Sorry, lost in thought.”

Stan gave a slow nod.

Another thought occurred to him. “Hold on. Can you monitor who Sugar Bear contacts?”

“Not without a warrant and then I think the odds of getting one are slim.”

Holmes poked his head inside Marco’s office. “We got the pocket watch and turned it over to Ryder to look for fingerprints, Captain.”

“Good. Tell Ryder to also report to me if he finds anything.”

“Sure,” he said, moving back out.

“Drew?”

Holmes appeared again. “What’s up?”

“I was just asking Stan if we can monitor Sugar Bear’s contacts on the dating website where he met Murphy? He thinks it’ll be difficult to get a warrant.”

“He’s probably right, Captain. This is the mayor we’re talking about.”

Marco blew out air. “Then I have a plan B.”

Holmes moved forward and took a seat next to Stan. They both looked at him intently.

“When Adams and I went to the mayor’s fundraiser, he pulled me aside and asked me to start a task force to increase communication between the neighborhoods and the police.”

Holmes frowned. “What do you mean, a task force?”

“He has an idea that if the police had more personal connection with the neighborhoods, people might be more willing to report crimes or act as witnesses.”

“Okay. Why you?”

“I’m not sure, but we were supposed to connect and discuss it. I’m thinking of calling him to set something up. It might be a way to get on the inside where I can ask him some questions about Murphy without him triggering a gag order. And it serves another purpose. Cho and Simons aren’t getting any traction on their case.”

“The Jamaad Jones’ murder?” asked Stan.

“Right. They’re pretty sure people saw who shot the boy, but no one will come forward. I thought we might do a neighborhood event, a barbecue or something, and put up an information booth at the event.”

“When would we do that?” asked Holmes.

“What if we could pull it off this weekend? Maybe we’d even be able to get some of the other precincts involved and the mayor might come out. Jamaad Jones’ mother wants to help us. Having her there might bring witnesses out.”

Stan and Holmes nodded, thinking. “Will you contact the mayor today?” asked Stan.

Marco nodded. “I think the faster we get on this the better.”

“I’ll mention it to Tag,” offered Holmes.

“Lee and I can get some literature pulled together, and stickers for the kids. We’ve got some stuff like that lying about,” said Stan. “Maybe some fliers with hotline numbers on it for reporting crime.”

“Good,” said Marco.

“Do you think the mayor would cough down some money to buy food and drinks?” asked Holmes.

“I’ll ask him.”

Holmes considered that. “It seems weird to ask a murder suspect for help finding another murder suspect.”

“These are the times that try men’s souls,” muttered Stan, staring off into the distance.

“Shakespeare?” asked Holmes.

“Thomas Paine,” said Stan.

Marco didn’t answer. His thoughts had turned to Peyton again and the fact that she was leaving the next day for Mexico to hunt down a murderer who had ripped out a man’s heart. While that gave him concern, what worried him most of all was that he wouldn’t be there to back her up once again.

*    *    *

Marco removed the card from his desk that Harlan Osborn had given him at his fundraiser a few weeks ago. He stared at the number, then reached for his phone and dialed. It rang just twice before the mayor himself was on the line.

“Hello?”

“Mayor Osborn, this is Captain Marco D’Angelo. We met at your fundraiser a few weeks ago.”

“Of course, Captain D’Angelo, I remember you. I’m so delighted you called me. How is one of San Francisco’s finest this bright June day?”

“I’m good, Mayor. How are you, sir?”

“Excellent. So what can I do for you, Captain?”

Marco tapped a pen on the pad of paper he had sitting on his blotter. If he opened up this avenue and Osborn turned out to have been Murphy’s murderer or ordered his murder, what would that do to their case? Would a defense attorney call Marco’s involvement with the mayor into question? He didn’t know, but he truly did think a task force wasn’t a bad idea and he needed someway to get into Osborn’s inner circle.

“I’m calling you about the task force you suggested, Mayor. I was wondering if we could meet to discuss it.”

“The task force, Captain?”

“The one to better communication between the neighborhoods and the police.”

“Oh, yes, yes, that task force. I’m particularly excited about starting something.”

“Well, my precinct is currently investigating the Jamaad Jones’ murder in Hunters Point, sir, and Mrs. Jones, Jamaad’s mother, came to see me. She wants to be part of helping the police communicate with the citizens.”

“I heard about that murder, Captain. Terrible thing. The boy was very young, wasn’t he?”

“Seventeen, sir.”

“So young, too young. That makes me so very sad.” Marco heard him shuffling something. “Okay, let me look at my calendar. When were you thinking of meeting with me?”

“Well, to be honest, sir, soon. We want to plan a barbecue in the neighborhood, pass out information, hopefully get enough of a presence out there that someone might come forward with information about the young man’s murder.”

“I see. Okay, then we’d best meet in the next couple of days. How about Friday at noon? We can meet at Original Joe’s on Union Street. It’s one of my favorite steakhouses.”

Marco resisted telling him he was a vegetarian again. He needed to get this meeting on the books. “Sure, I’ll be there.”

“In the meantime, Captain, start planning your barbecue in Hunters Point for this weekend. Call the Smokestack on 3rd Street and tell them I authorized you to order enough food for…what do you think? Two hundred people? I’ve worked with them before and they’ll bill me for it. I have a little put aside for this task force, Captain, so let’s hit the ground running. You can bring me the proposed menu and costs to our meeting on Friday.”

Marco scribbled a few notes on the pad of paper resting on his blotter. He couldn’t believe the mayor was moving this fast, but he wasn’t going to question it. This played right into his plans perfectly.

“I don’t know what to say, Mayor. I’m stunned and delighted.”

The mayor made a scoffing sound. “No worries, Captain D’Angelo. Like I said, I’ve been looking for the right man to spearhead this project and now that I’ve found him, I don’t want to delay. I’m looking forward to a long working relationship with you, young man. I’ll see you for lunch on Friday.”

“I’ll be there, Mayor, and again, thank you.”

“Thank you, Captain. See you soon. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir,” Marco said and disconnected the call. He stared at his notes for a moment, then picked up the receiver again and called Lee.

“Yes, Captain?” came the man’s cheerful voice.

“Can you get Stan Neumann and both of you come in here for a moment? I have something I need the two of you to work on.”

“Be right there.”

Marco sat back in his chair. Okay, so he’d accomplished something at least, but he hoped that getting into bed (figuratively of course) with the mayor wasn’t a decision that would come back to haunt him someday.

*    *    *

In the break-room, Marco poured himself another cup of coffee and reached for his crutches. He was getting annoyed with the crutches, but Dr. Chamberlain still didn’t want him putting weight on his leg. He had an appointment tomorrow to get a bone scan and see if the graft was taking hold.

“Sexiest one-legged man in the universe,” came a sultry feminine voice.

Marco glanced over his shoulder and smiled. “Hey, there, sweetheart, come to slum with us small town cops.”

She crossed the room and rose on tiptoes, bringing her mouth to his. “Nope, I came to get my man and take him to dinner.” She kissed him. “Abe’s meeting us at the Fly Bar on Divisadero. He wants pizza.”

Marco sighed. “I thought we could have a nice private dinner, just the two of us, and Pickles.”

She kissed him again, lingering this time. “What if I promised you a nice private dessert at home?”

“Wearing that little number you bought yesterday?” he asked, waggling his brows at her.

She moved closer still, fitting her petite body along the length of his. “Wearing whatever you want.”

He started to lower his head again, but a voice drew them apart.

“Geez, you two get back together and it’s like live-action porn,” said Jake, actually shoving between them and grabbing the coffee pot. “Get a room, will ya?”

Peyton stopped him from pouring coffee. “We’re going to dinner at the Fly Bar on Divisadero, so don’t bother getting a refill. We’re leaving now.”

“We’re?”

“You, me, Marco and Abe, just the four of us. I leave for Mexico tomorrow.”

Jake gave her a curious look. “You wouldn’t rather spend the night doing inappropriate things with Adonis here?” He pointed at Marco over his shoulder. Marco rolled his eyes.

Peyton gave Marco a sultry look. “Oh, don’t worry about that. I’ll do inappropriate things with him later.”

“Gross,” said Jake, making a face.

She grabbed his arm, tugging him away from the counter. “Come on, we’re leaving now.”

Jake tugged back. “Peyton, I’m tired. I’m just gonna go home and get some rest.”

She put her hands on her hips. Marco fought a smile, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it, but even on Jake, she only came to his shoulders. Her expression was fierce and Jake was a goner. There was no refusing her when she got that look.

“You’re coming to dinner with us and that’s final. No more sulking around your house, watching football.”

“Baseball,” Jake corrected.

“Everyday,” she finished. “We’re going to the Fly Bar.”

“Really unfortunate name for a restaurant,” he grumbled.

Peyton grabbed his hand and marched him out. “You can ride with us in the Charger, then Marco can pick you up and bring you to work tomorrow.”

“Hold on a freakin’ minute,” said Marco, crutching after them. “What’s Marco doing?”

She turned and gave him the same look she’d been giving Jake. “You can pick him up for work tomorrow, so he can leave the Daisy here in the parking lot.”

“Marco’s taking you to the airport, then going to a doctor’s appointment, and finally he has physical therapy,” he said, giving her his firmest stare.

“Marco’s also talking like Bob Dole in the third person,” muttered Jake.

She quirked one brow at him. “Jake might want to drink tonight, so he needs someone to drive him. He can go with Marco to the airport, the doctor, and physical therapy.”

“No, he can’t,” said Jake.

“Now who’s talking in third person?” Marco sneered at him.

“I don’t want to go to all those places. I’m not even sure I want to go to the Fly Bar tonight. Besides, I can’t leave the Daisy here. Someone might steal her.”

The Daisy was Jake’s 1982 Dodge Omni, painted purple with two huge daisies embellishing each door. Jake loved his car, but no one else wanted to be seen in it, outside of the gay pride parade as a float.

“No one’s going to steal her,” said Peyton and Marco together. They’d both said the same thing many times before.

“I’ll just drive over and meet you there, like Abe,” he finally capitulated.

Peyton poked a finger in his face. “You’d better come.”

“Say it in Spanish, muchacha,” he quipped, walking away from them.

“Mejor venir,” she said.

Jake’s steps faltered, but he kept walking.

Marco smiled at her. God, he loved her so.

They drove over to the Fly Bar and parked. As they were crutching down the street, they met up with Abe and Jake. Abe wore red leather pants, red dress shoes, and a silk shirt with…Marco blinked and looked closer…steaks all over it.

“Um, steaks?” he asked, motioning at Abe’s getup.

“I know you’re a vegetarian, Angel’D, but I’m wearing this ironically. It’s to prove a point.”

“And the point?”

“That I can pull off a steak shirt.”

Everyone laughed.

He flashed a leg, twisting this way and that. “What do you think of these adorable shoes? Patent leather monk-strap dress shoes with silver buckles.”

“They’re stylin’,” said Peyton.

Abe gave her a satisfied smile.

They walked to the restaurant and took a seat. The Fly Bar was located on the corner of Divisadero and Fulton –  a two-story tan building with an apartment over the top of it. The interior was dark, one entire wall of original brick, with ceiling fans and pendant lighting over the bar. Candles on the tables provided task lighting. Along one wall was a green leather banquette with tables spaced at regular intervals before it, and in the back was a raised platform with a pool table. Glowing stars hung over the pool table, bathing everything in a soft glow. Modern art from local artists lined the walls.

Since it was early, they took seats at a round table in front of the windows. Marco and Peyton instinctively positioned themselves with their backs to the brick wall with an unobstructed view of the street beyond the floor to ceiling windows. Abe and Jake sat across from them.

A young waitress approached with jet black hair hanging nearly to her waist. “Welcome to the Fly Bar,” she said, passing out menus. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Abe studied the menu. “Oh, shoot, it’s just beer and wine.”

“We have a full bar at the Sutter location,” offered the waitress. Her eyes shifted to the others.

“I’ll try the Ace Pear Cider,” said Peyton.

“Same,” said Jake.

She gave Marco a smile.

“Just water,” he said, setting the crutches behind him.

Abe continued to study the menu, his fingers pressed to his bottom lip. “Do I want the Sake or the Sangria? Am I feeling Japanese or Spanish? Oh, I can’t decide.”

“He’ll have the Old River Cabernet and we’ll have an x-large whatever you’ve got that’s vegetarian pizza,” said Marco.

“Shroom pie?” she asked.

“That works for me,” said Marco, closing the menu and handing it back to her. He felt everyone staring at him. “What?”

“That was so forceful, Angel, I just need a minute to cool off.” Abe fanned himself.

“Look,” Marco said, pointing at Jake and Abe, “I get one night of dessert before Peyton’s gone, so we’re eating and getting out of here.”

“Dessert?” asked Jake, frowning.

“You remembered I like Cabernet,” said Abe. “It’s the only…”

“Wine worth drinking,” Marco finished, then glanced over at Peyton.

She was giving him an amused look.

“What do you mean it’s the only night of dessert?” pressed Jake.

“Sex,” said Abe and Peyton together.

“He means sex,” finished Peyton.

Jake grabbed a napkin out of the holder on the table and twisted it. “At least he gets it,” he grumbled, refusing to meet their looks.

Abe patted him on the back. “I know you’re going through a dry spell, Jakey.”

“Dry spell? It’s a freakin’ drought.”

“Is that what’s wrong with you?” demanded Peyton. “Why you keep brushing us off?”

“I’m not brushing you off. I did barbecue at your house on Saturday.”

“But you missed Sunday dinner at Mama D’s.”

Jake nodded, twisting the napkin some more. “I know. Was she really upset?”

Marco shrugged.

Peyton nudged him with her elbow, then nodded her head at Jake.

“Uh, yeah, sure.”

Abe and Peyton rolled their eyes.

The waitress returned with their drinks, passing them out. Marco tried to be content with his water, but times like this he really missed a cold, icy glass of beer. He could almost taste it. He turned his attention to the artwork instead.

“Jake, I know it’s hard.”

“You don’t know. Now that you and Adonis are back to pawing all over each other, you can’t understand what it feels like for me, Mighty Mouse. Zoë’s been gone a long time and to be frank with you, I have needs, Peyton.”

“Don’t need to hear this,” said Marco, staring hard at the artwork.

They ignored him.

“Everyone has needs, Jakey. We get that,” said Abe. “I have needs too.”

“Really don’t need to hear this,” mumbled Marco, closing his eyes.

Peyton curled her hand around his forearm where it rested on the table. He knew she did it to quiet him, but he didn’t care. Sharing this small intimacy with her was nice and he hated the thought that she was leaving again the next day.

“I know you have needs, Jake,” said Peyton, “but you can’t just go slumming for a one-night stand. That isn’t you, now is it?”

“No,” he said reluctantly and took a sip of beer. “I guess you’re right.”

“You’ll meet someone. You’ve just got to give it time, but I know you’ll meet someone.”

“How? How am I going to meet someone? I work at a precinct where the penis ratio just keeps going up and the only woman working there now thinks men are icky.”

Marco frowned at him.

“Did she say that, Jakey? Did Tag say men were icky?” asked Abe.

“No, but it’s implied every time she hits me with her happy fingers.” Tag had a tattoo on her hand that read happy if she held all her fingers out.

Peyton stifled a laugh. “You’re right. You need to get out in the real world. What about a dating site?”

“No,” the men all said.

“Why not? Lots of people meet on dating sites.”

Marco pointed at doofy Jake. “Ryder, Peyton, really? This fool is a prime target for catfishing.”

“Mmhmm,” said Abe, drinking his wine.

“Hey!” protested Jake. When Marco raised an eyebrow at him, he relented. “They’re right. I’d either get catfished or I’d make contact with someone underage without knowing it and get my fool self arrested.”

“Word,” said Abe, shaking his head. He pointed at the wine glass. “You know just what I like, Angel, don’t you?”

Marco gave him a closed-mouth smile and nod.

“Okay, so not on-line dating,” remarked Peyton, curling her hand around her chin. “Maybe you’re gonna have to do it the old fashioned way.”

“Have my parents arrange a marriage?” asked Jake, his voice dripping sarcasm.

“No, barhopping.”

Jake narrowed his eyes on her. “And who would I go barhopping with? Cho’s getting married. Holmes is skeevy…”

They all shuddered at that.

“Besides the women he dates have bigger muscles, more tattoos and a lot more leather than he does. They also ride Harleys. Not really my scene.”

“No,” said Peyton, thoughtfully.

Marco found himself distracted by that thought too. Hm, made sense why Holmes and Tag actually got along. He’d been wondering about that, knowing what a colossal tool Holmes could be.

“Bartlet and the new kid Price are more interested in sorority girls than I should be at my age, and Simons is married.” He jabbed a thumb in Abe’s direction. “Every time we go bar hopping, I do get my share of offers.”

“He does,” said Abe, holding his wineglass to the candle and peering at the flame through the liquid.

“But I just don’t swing that way.”

Peyton nodded.

“So, unless you want me to take Adonis here out to some bars while you’re in Mexico…”

“No!” she said quickly.

Marco gave her a speculative look.

She glared at him, then glared at Jake.

“Then I don’t know what you want me to do.” He waved her off. “Don’t glare at me now. I’m not taking him to a bar to pick up chicks. I don’t need to be reminded of my physical imperfections.”

Peyton covered his hand with her own. “You don’t have physical imperfections, Jake. Not at all. You’re a ten in my book.”

Jake gave her a disbelieving look. “Seriously?”

“Yeah, sweets, even I didn’t buy that,” said Abe. “I mean, I love me some Jakey, but next to this…” He held out a hand to Marco. “…Jakey’s at best a five. No offense, brother.”

“None taken,” said Jake with a heavy sigh.

Peyton thought for a moment. “What about Stan?”

“What?” they all asked.

“What about going to some of Stan’s superhero comic book thingies? I love Stan, he’s the sweetest thing, but next to Stan, Jake, you are a ten.”

Jake considered it for a moment. “Yeah, and some of the girls who go to those things are pretty hot.”

“Well, there’s more to women than physical looks, Jake…” Peyton began.

Marco laid his hand on her arm now, stopping her. If Jake Ryder wanted meaningless sex, he should be able to make that decision for himself. Peyton was always so damn protective of her little rehabilitation project and it annoyed Marco. He didn’t know why Jake meant so much to her. Not that he was threatened by her feelings for Jake, he promised himself.

“And those kind of women are smart too,” said Jake, giving Abe a look.

Abe nodded and held up his glass for Jake to clink against. “Here’s to finding a nerd girlfriend, Jakey.”

“Here’s to finding a nerd,” echoed Jake, tapping Abe’s glass with his own.

CHAPTER 13

Rosa stood in the airport terminal watching Peyton and Marco say goodbye to each other. They had their foreheads pressed together, which was an awkward position for both of them since there was such a height disparity between them, but Marco leaned heavily on his crutches, bringing him down to Peyton. Rosa watched him lift his hand and caress her cheek before leaning forward to kiss her. It wasn’t a groping, passionate kiss, but one that showed his undeniable love for his woman.

“Buttons’ man is something else, isn’t he?” said Adrian, stepping up beside her. He handed her a paper cup of coffee. “He looks like he should be on a magazine or something.”

Rosa smiled and lifted the coffee to her lips, taking a sip. “Yeah, they were partners for a long time. I mean SFPD partners. They’ve been through a lot together.” She turned to face Adrian. “He was shot on a case, nearly died. His femur was shattered. He’s got more metal in there than bone, I think.”

“He’s still on crutches?”

“They just tried another reconstructive surgery.”

Adrian studied Marco. “Wait. Is he the one…”

Rosa nodded. When she and Adrian had become intimate, she’d told him about all of her past experiences, especially Marco. The odds of him meeting Marco at some point were fairly good considering Peyton worked with her.

“Buttons is okay with that?”

Rosa shrugged. “I honestly don’t know. She and I have such an awkward relationship with one another. I think I intimidate her.”

Adrian smiled. “You intimidate me.”

“Do I?” she purred, wanting to touch him, but knowing that Tank and Bambi were sitting a few feet away.

Radar hadn’t arrived yet.

“So, was there any trouble when you told them you were going to Mexico with them?” Adrian asked.

“None. Radar said he understood. He lost his partner, Arthur, a few years ago, so I think he gets it.”

Adrian nodded, his eyes moving back to Peyton and Marco. “Are we going to get a private goodbye?” He cut a look at her.

She smiled. Why was it that he made her feel so happy all the time? She’d never felt this way with anyone else and it terrified her. She actually wanted to kiss him, right here, right in front of her people, and she’d never let something like romance cloud her judgment before.

Radar appeared, striding down the terminal, his sunglasses in place, wearing a black suit with a black leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Sarge,” he said, then he shook hands with Adrian. “Stryker, here to see us off, eh?”

“Yep. And to get last minute instructions.” He released Radar and gave Rosa a pointed look. “You have everything arranged in Cancun? Where you’re staying? Who you’re meeting?”

“Kaz will be at the airport. Darren and Margaret took care of the lodging and transportation.” She focused on Radar. “You ever drive in Mexico before?”

He sighed. “Yeah, and it took ten years off my life.”

“Well, you may not have to. I guess Kaz Bass has been down there for six months now, working this case.”

“Do we have any of the particulars on what he and Miller were doing?”

“He’ll give us a debriefing when we get there, but as far as I could get out of Hanson, they were investigating a cartel that was operating out of the hotels, especially those frequented by coeds on spring break. They were selling them drugs, then recruiting some of them to transport drugs back across the border into the U.S. It was a pretty sophisticated operation and they were just getting the organizational structure down when Miller went missing.”

Radar nodded, absorbing the information. “Bass doesn’t want to risk sending us any documents?”

“He’s scared, Radar. With Miller’s death, he feels like he has a target on his back.”

“He probably does,” said Radar. Then he slapped Adrian on the shoulder, “Take care, Stryker. See you when we get back.”

Stryker saluted him.

Rosa watched Radar walk over to Tank and Bambi, shaking hands with Tank and giving Bambi a quick hug, then he moved beyond them to Peyton and Marco. Marco turned and shook hands with him, placing his free hand on Radar’s elbow.

“Radar knows Buttons’ fella?” asked Stryker.

“Yeah, Marco helped them out on their last case. He went undercover as a male model. There are billboards in Hollywood with his picture on them,” she said with a laugh.

Adrian shook his head, studying Marco. “And yet you’re with me,” he said with a sigh.

She turned, placing her hand on his arm and pushing him backwards. “Come on. Let’s find a private place where I can show you why I’m with you,” she said, giving him a sultry look.

He backed up, turning around and walking rapidly beside her.

*    *    *

Peyton gave Marco one last kiss, watching him crutch away, then she slowly walked over to the chairs where her team was waiting. As Marco passed Rosa and Stryker, who were talking intently on the other end of the terminal, he held up a hand and waved to Rosa. She waved back, then she motioned for Stryker to follow her and they walked out of the terminal, disappearing from sight.

Bambi watched after them as well, one leg crossed over the other, her hands clasped on her knee. She glanced up at Peyton as Peyton stopped beside her. “Are Sarge and Stryker…”

“Oh, yeah,” said Peyton, nodding.

Bambi nodded as well.

Radar took off his mirrored glasses. “Hold on a moment,” he said, pointing the glasses at Peyton. “Are Sarge and Stryker what?”

“Sleeping together.”

“Mmhmm,” said Bambi.

“Now just a damn minute,” said Radar, dropping his crossed leg to the floor. “Just because they’re going over last minute details doesn’t mean they’re sleeping together. Don’t go starting rumors, Sparky.”

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. “Really? He came out here for more than two weeks to train us.” She made air quotes with her fingers. “And now he’s just filling in for her as SAC out of the goodness of his heart. And speaking of hearts, he just happened to be in her office the morning she got the Joe Miller delivery. Need I go on?”

Radar considered what she said for a moment.

Tank glanced between the two of them. “Radar?”

“They’re sleeping together,” he grumbled, slumping back in his chair, “but don’t you go spreading rumors!” He pointed the sunglasses at her again.

Peyton gave him an exasperated look, taking a seat between him and Bambi. She tried to occupy herself with looking at her email, but she kept thinking about Marco and wishing she didn’t have to leave. He was finding out about the bone graft today and she wanted to be with him when he got the news. She knew he was frustrated with the crutches and wanted to begin walking once more.

Rosa appeared a few minutes later. Peyton marked her lips seemed swollen and her blouse was a little wrinkled, not to mention a few strands of her usually perfect ponytail had escaped to curl around her neck. Peyton and Bambi shared an amused look, then Peyton hid her smile.

Radar made a warning sound and pushed her shoulder behind Bambi’s back. She ignored him.

“So, Brooks, how much Spanish do you know?” asked Rosa.

Peyton looked up. “I don’t read it so well, but I know quite a few phrases in everyday speak.”

“Bambi?”

“I took French in high school and college, Sarge, I’m sorry.”

Rosa waved that off. “Tank?”

“Spanish is a romance language, which has its origin in Latin. I’m fluent in Latin, both spoken and written, so I think I’ll be able to hold my own in Spanish. However, I’m told that Mexican Spanish and Spanish Spanish are very similar with a difference in pronunciation of the c and z. Of course, colloquialism will be vastly different, but since I’m unfamiliar with Spanish colloquialism as well as Mexican, I’ll probably avoid engaging in them.” He trailed off when he saw Rosa’s open mouth.

Peyton hid her smile again.

“Right,” she said, then looked at Radar. “You’re fluent, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Kaz Bass is fluent as well, so we should be good, but the DOJ has offered us translators if we think we need it.”

“Do you speak Spanish, Sarge?” asked Bambi.

“No. My parents are both fluent, but they wanted their kids to speak English only. I took Spanish in high school, but I don’t remember much of it, and I took sign language in college, so I might be able to wing it a bit, but it’ll be a challenge.”

Tank made a motion with his hands and Rosa smiled, then motioned back at him.

Peyton frowned. “You know sign language, Tank?”

“Yes, it’s come in handy on a few cases.”

Peyton shook her head, but before she could say anything else, their flight was called. Shouldering their carry-on luggage, they made their way to the line of people waiting to board the plane. Their flight was on a 737, which had three seats on either side of a central aisle. Margaret had managed to arrange for them to sit all in the same row.

Peyton got stuck sitting with Radar, while Bambi, Tank and Rosa occupied the row across the aisle. As they stowed their luggage in the overhead bin, Peyton gave the seats a critical once over. “I prefer riding first class with Gwen,” she complained.

“Well, Gwen’s not here and we’re not riding first class,” grumbled Radar, starting to slide into the seats.

“Hold on! Why do you get the window seat?”

“Because I’m your boss.”

“You’re not my boss. Sarge is and she’s not taking the window seat. She’s taking the middle.” She pointed at Sarge. Bambi had the window seat on her side.

“Because Tank needs the legroom in the aisle,” said Rosa.

Radar sneered at Peyton. “And we all know you don’t need the legroom.” He dropped into the window seat.

“Which is why I should be there.” She pointed at the window.

“Take the aisle, Sparky. That way when you have to get up every five minutes for the bathroom, you won’t be bothering anyone else.”

“Good point,” said Tank, plopping into his seat.

“Fine,” said Peyton, tossing her suit jacket onto the aisle seat. “But I hope some four hundred pound guy gets the middle and has halitosis or something.”

“Then you get it too,” said Radar, putting on his sunglasses and shutting the shades.

“See, you don’t even want to look out!” Peyton complained.

“I’ve seen it before. Cement and asphalt. And I’ll see it again. Leave me alone. I’m going to sleep.”

Peyton made an aggravated sound and dropped into the aisle seat. A moment later, a tall, thin man stopped at their row. Peyton glanced up at him. “Let me guess? This is your seat?”

He nodded.

She eyed his long legs, then slid over into the middle seat. She sat for a while, staring at her hands, then reached over and threw up the shade. Radar’s brow lifted over his sunglass-covered eyes, but he didn’t say anything.

She leaned over and looked out the window. “Man, that is some sexy cement and asphalt,” she said.

Across the aisle, she could swear she heard Rosa laugh.

*    *    *

Peyton woke with a start when the flight attendant’s sweet voice came over the intercom. “Aterrizamos en diez minutos,” she said. Peyton scrubbed a hand over her eyes, blinking the sleep away. She’d taken a few antihistamines before they left, hoping to sleep on the plane, and boy had that worked. Unfortunately, now she felt fuzzy headed.

She looked to her left. Radar still had his sunglasses on, but he was staring out at the aisle. With a flush of embarrassment, she realized she’d been sleeping with her head on his shoulder. She straightened in her seat and scrubbed her hands over her face again.

“What did she say?”

If he cared about her laying her head on his shoulder, he didn’t give it away. “We’re landing in ten minutes.”

She shook her head, trying to clear it. “Have you been to Cancun before?”

“Many times.”

“What’s it like?”

“Paradise.”

“With drug dealers and ripped out hearts?”

The guy next to her looked over in alarm.

Radar tilted down his glasses and glared at her. “She’s still half asleep,” he told the man.

The man eyed them both, then went back to looking at his tablet.

Peyton shifted, so the man couldn’t hear, although that was silly. They were practically sitting in each other’s laps. “Why do you think Miller died? What went wrong?”

“He found something and they took him out. He got sloppy or something. I don’t know. Things go wrong, Sparky. Look what happened to Marco. Look what happened to Arthur. Despite all our precautions, things go wrong.”

“Who has jurisdiction in something like this?”

“What do you mean?”

“Is it the FBI or the DEA?”

“We’ll share it. Ultimately, the DOJ will decide how to proceed. Right now, we work with the DEA the same way we work with the police departments. We offer our resources, but it’s their rodeo.”

She lowered her voice. “How do you feel about Sarge coming with us? Is that a conflict of interest?”

He eyed her behind his mirrored sunglasses. “If things had turned out differently in that warehouse on Treasure Island, Sparky, would you have wanted someone to sideline you?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean it would be the right decision.”

“Sarge is a professional.”

“Who’s compromised emotionally.”

He didn’t answer for a moment.

“You stayed in the background during our last case for that reason, Radar. You felt you might be a distraction for us with Gwen.”

“I felt that I might be recognized by her inner circle as her husband.”

“I call bull shit on that. You were emotionally involved because Gwen was emotionally involved. You saw that and let us handle it.”

She could see his eyes move past her to the opposite row. “And we’ll handle this. Sarge hasn’t been in the field in a long time. She’ll know to defer to us.”

Peyton sat back in her seat. The seatbelt sign had come on and the pleasant flight attendant said, “Abróchense los cinturones de seguridad.”

“Fasten your seatbelt,” said Radar.

“Yeah, I got that.” She pointed to the sign that flashed in English. She gave him a stern look. “You’d better take your own advice ‘cause I’m worried we’re in for a bumpy ride.”

He made a face. “Really? That’s the metaphor you’re going for?”

“Is it a metaphor? I always get that mixed up with similes. What’s the difference between the two?”

“The difference is the level of my annoyance over this conversation,” Radar grumbled, clicking his seatbelt into place and staring forward.

The man next to Peyton clicked his own seatbelt on. “A simile is a comparison using like or as. A metaphor is just a direct comparison,” he said.

Peyton held out a hand, giving Radar a pointed look. “See, was that so hard?”

Radar sighed. “I’m beginning to understand why the Mayans practiced human sacrifice,” he grumbled.

*    *    *

Kaz Bass met them at the end of the tunnel as they stepped off the plane. He didn’t hold up a sign or give them any other way to identify him, but Peyton would’ve known him either way. He oozed Federal Agent from his nondescript black suit, polished black dress shoes, short-cropped blond hair and mirrored sunglasses. His tie was thin and black, but it sported an American flag pin in the center of it. His square jaw was clean-shaven and he had to be at least six feet tall. He wasn’t as bulky as Tank or as wiry as Radar, but he had a slim build that seemed coiled to spring into action. Peyton immediately marked the bulge under his left arm from his gun holster, strapped to his shoulder, and the leather holder for his badge affixed to his belt.

Rosa led the way over to him, holding out her hand. “Kazander Bass,” she said warmly. “It’s good to see you again. It’s been a long time.”

He took her hand, holding it. “It has. I wish the circumstances were better.”

Rosa’s expression fell. “So do I.” She turned to her team and introduced them all.

Bass greeted them with warmth, his handshake firm. “Thank you for coming down here.” He motioned to the other end of the terminal. “I have a colleague from the AFI waiting for us with a car. Federico Vega is a good guy and he’ll be your liaison between the US and the PFM.”

“PFM?” asked Peyton.

“The Policî Federal Ministerial or Federal Police,” said Bass.

“Wait,” said Rosa, falling into step next to him. “Won’t you be with us?”

“Yes, but Vega will arrange transportation or any other things we might need. He’s also a lot more familiar with the area than I am. He’s lived in the Yucatan all his life.”

They gathered their bags from the carousel and Bass led them to Customs. Radar took over here because the Customs Agent didn’t speak any English. Bass revealed that he knew a little Spanish himself as he tried to speed things along, drawing Rosa’s attention.

“How long have you been down here, Kaz?” she asked.

He tucked his hands in his pants pockets, watching the Customs Agent scan Tank’s passport again. “Almost six months.” He motioned at his suit. “I’m not usually so conspicuous. Most of the time it’s shorts and a t-shirt.”

Rosa absorbed that. “What exactly were you investigating?”

Bass gave her a quick glance. “We’ll discuss all of that when we get to the station. I’ll tell you everything, show you all the evidence I’ve collected.”

Rosa accepted that and they moved beyond customs, following in Bass’ wake like ducklings, while Rosa asked him questions about Cancun – weather, altitude, and local cuisine. Peyton fell into step next to Radar.

“He didn’t flirt with Bambi,” she remarked in a low voice.

“So?” Radar looked up from his mobile phone where she suspected he was texting Gwen.

She needed a moment to text Marco and her mother, so they wouldn’t worry about her. “Everyone flirts with Bambi.”

Bambi and Tank were marching along behind Rosa and Bass, neither one of them speaking.

“And the point, Sparky?”

“She didn’t flirt with him either.”

Radar raised a brow at her. “And?”

“She flirts with everyone. Something’s up with her. She didn’t flirt with that cute flight attendant on the plane. The one with the dreamy eyes. Or that hunky pilot when we disembarked.”

Radar shook his head, tucking his phone back in his trouser pocket. “It’s just a three-ring circus in that curly head of yours, isn’t it?”

“I guess,” she said, chewing on her lower lip. Why hadn’t Bambi flirted with Bass? He was tall, blond, good looking in a federal agent sort of way, just Bambi’s type, which meant he was most likely a heterosexual male, yet she hadn’t even spoken when he shook hands with her. “I’m telling you something’s up with that girl.”

“Okay, well, when you figure it out, you clue me in, all right?”

“I will,” said Peyton.

Radar grunted.

They stepped out of the airport into a suffocating heat. Peyton gasped, it was such a drastic change from the air conditioned interior. Immediately she wished she had on any other color besides black. The heat pressed down on them, damp and stifling, as they made their way over the concrete walkway to the waiting black Volkswagen Tiguan. A tall, dark skinned man got out of the driver’s seat and smiled at them. He looked like Bass’s polar opposite – dark short-cropped hair, dark eyes, square jaw, six feet of lean, athletic muscle.

“Federico!” called Bass, holding up a hand.

“Amigo!” shouted Vega in return. “You didn’t tell me you would be escorting so many beautiful women.” He moved to the sidewalk.

Peyton marked he wore a short sleeved white button-up shirt with white embroidery down the front of it and black slacks with black dress shoes. She could tell he wore his gun around his waist, although it was hidden by his shirt. He was dressed a lot more casually than the Americans, and Peyton could understand why. It was too hot to wear a suit.

She stripped off her jacket. Her gun was in her suitcase, so she didn’t have to hide her holster.

Bass motioned Rosa up beside him. “Federico, this is SAC Alvarez from the San Francisco branch of the FBI.”

Federico took her hand and bent over it, kissing it. Rosa exchanged a look with Radar. “Bienvenido a Cancún, bella.”

“Gracias,” she answered, extricating herself.

He turned immediately to Bambi. “¿Y tu?”

“This is Agent Redford,” said Bass, impressing Peyton that he’d remembered her name, except Bambi was hard to ignore with her lush figure, thick blond hair in a ponytail, and sparkling blue eyes.

He kissed Bambi’s hand. “Las estrellas deben tener envidia.”

Bambi drew her hand away. “I don’t speak Spanish,” she said coolly and stepped back beside Tank.

Peyton nudged Radar with her elbow, but Vega gave Bambi a slow, sultry smile. “Ah, coquet, eh?” he said, laughing. “I said the stars must be envious.”

Bambi shook her head, looking pointedly away.

Peyton nudged Radar again, but he nudged her back, harder. The motion drew Vega’s attention. “And this one with the mysterious eyes, who is she?”

“Agent Brooks,” said Bass, again impressing her.

Vega reached for her hand and pressed his lips to the back of it, then he looked up at her. “Los misterios del universo están en sus ojos.”

Peyton gave him a tolerant smile. “The mysteries of the universe are in my eyes? Really?”

Vega and Bass began laughing. “¿Hablas español?” asked Vega.

“Un poco,” said Peyton.

He released her, shaking a finger in her face. “This is one to watch, amigo,” he said to Bass. “She has the mysterious eyes.” He gave Tank a wide-eyed stare. “And this must be the Hulk, is that the way it is said in your country? The Hulk?”

Before Tank or Bass could answer, Radar cleared his throat. “Do you think we can continue the introductions in the car? It’s a damn inferno out here and I can feel the soles of my shoes melting.”

Vega laughed again, motioning to the SUV. “Ciertamente. Where are my manners? You Americanos are not used to our humidity.” He gave Bambi a wink. “It may be only 80 degrees, but it is 100% of humidity. ¿Muy uncomfotable, no?”

“Sí,” said Bambi, narrowing her eyes on him.

He barked another laugh and moved toward the Tiguan, pressing the button to unlock it. “Por favor, get inside and I will turn on the air conditioner.”

“Rosa, you can ride with me,” offered Bass. “Then we can talk about Joe.”

Rosa gave her team a look, then nodded. “Fine.”

He motioned to the parking structure and she followed him, dragging her luggage behind her, as the rest turned to Vega’s SUV. Tank and Radar arranged the luggage in the back as Vega started the engine and a blast of cold air filled the interior of the car. As Peyton expected, she was forced into the middle seat, her ponytail touching the ceiling, but she didn’t complain. Air conditioning was far more important than legroom at the moment.

*    *    *

The AFI in Cancun was housed in a nondescript two story building. Vega pulled into the parking lot beneath the building, waving a badge at the security guard in the booth. Peyton had only gotten a few glimpses of the landscape as they drove because of her position on the hump and she was anxious to get out of her suit and put on shorts, then go see the Caribbean. She’d seen pictures of the crystalline blue ocean, but she suspected the reality was vastly superior.

Vega put the SUV in park and held out his hand for Bambi to climb out. She ignored it, hopping out of the back without any trouble. Reaching in, Vega caught Peyton’s hand and assisted her in working her way off the center hump.

They left the luggage in the SUV. Vega told them he’d drive them over to the hotel as soon as they were done with their debriefing, then he motioned for them to follow him inside. As they walked to the elevator and pushed the button, another SUV pulled into the parking lot with Bass behind the wheel.

The elevator arrived, but Vega held it until Bass and Rosa joined them, then they all stepped inside and rode the elevator to the second floor. When they got off, they found themselves in a wide open space, similar to the FBI offices in San Francisco, but rather than cubicles, the agents had desks and people moved back and forth between them with a frenetic energy. Phones rang and the murmur of human voices speaking in lilting Spanish made the building hum.

Vega called a greeting to a few fellow agents, lifting his hand, as he led them across the cavernous room to a door on the opposite wall. He pushed the door open and lights automatically winked on, flooding the room with light. He motioned Rosa and the Ghost Squad inside.

Peyton was grateful for the cool interior, but there were no windows in the room and the walls were painted a deep navy, which made it feel dark and enclosed. A faint smell of mildew met her nose. She couldn’t deny she was disappointed. She kept hoping for her first glimpse of the Caribbean, the legend of pirates and treasure hunters throughout the ages.

Four tables positioned into a square made up the center of the room. Around the perimeter at regular intervals were office chairs upholstered in blue fabric. The fabric was threadbare on the edge of the seats and the lower back. A white board completely covered the back wall with photographs of serious looking men with a lot of tattoos and piercings arranged on it, lines drawn between them showing affiliations, Peyton guessed. Across the top in bold black letters were the words Dioses Mayas followed by a list of dates and locations.

“Mayan Gods?” Peyton asked, turning to look at Vega.

His eyes went to the white board and he sighed. “You’ve no doubt heard of the Zetas and the Sinaloa Cartels.”

Peyton nodded.

“This is our latest battle. These Dioses Mayas are a new cartel, trying to make a name for themselves in Quintana Roo. They operate out of the hotels, preying on Americanos here on vacation, joven Americanos.”

“What?” asked Bambi.

“Young,” said Radar. “You mean college kids on spring break?”

“Si, and how you say, escuela secundaria?”

“High school,” said Bass, moving into the room next to Vega. “Seniors on their senior trips.”

Vega nodded grimly, then motioned to the chairs. “Take a seat. I will get refreshments, no?”

“Thank you,” said Rosa, moving toward the whiteboard and studying it. The rest took seats around the table with Bass sitting down in front of the board.

“Is this what you came down here to stop?” asked Rosa.

Bass sighed and pointed to a photo of an oblong white pill. “The Dioses Mayas sell fake Norco pills that are pure Fentanyl. Seven American students have died from using it, and I can’t even keep count of the number hospitalized with overdoses.”

“Fentanyl?” asked Peyton.

“It’s a synthetic opioid that’s 50 to 100 times stronger than morphine,” said Tank. “There have been deaths in California from it as well.”

Bass nodded. “Some of those deaths may have been caused by Fentanyl coming across the border. In fact, they may have come from the Dioses Mayas.”

Rosa turned and looked down at him. “You came down here six months ago, Kaz. This stuff must have been crossing the border for at least that long.”

Bass shook his blond head. “That’s the thing. When I came down, we were trying to stop the selling in the hotels here in Cancun – one hotel in particular – the Hotel Excelencia.”

Vega returned with a tray bearing plastic water bottles and a plate of irregularly shaped, flat bread. “The agua en Cancun esta limpia...uh, clean, yes? You can drink it, but I brought bottled agua and buñuelos. You must be hungry. Food on the plane is not so good, no?”

Peyton reached for a bottle of water, but she wanted to hear what Bass had to say. “You were looking into one hotel in particular,” she prompted.

“Ah, yes, Hotel Excelencia,” said Vega, using a small pair of tongs to place a buñuelo on a paper plate and offering it to Rosa. She accepted it, taking a seat next to Bass at the head of the table. “We believe for very long that the Dioses Mayas were operating out of there, but we were not having the luck finding the connection.”

“Some American college students were hospitalized back in January, one of them died. That’s when I got sent down here,” said Bass. “I have a condo very close to the Excelencia and I spend most of the day surfing and walking the beaches, talking to the patrons of the hotel.”

“And you still can’t find the connection?”

“They make contact with the tourists somehow, but I haven’t been able to break the system down. I don’t know how the tourists know who to contact for the drugs, or how the contact in the hotel knows who wants to buy drugs.”

“We also do not know the players in the Dioses Mayas. They keep a low profile. They do not do the shooting like the Zetas and the Sinaloas,” said Vega, offering Bambi and Peyton both a paper plate.

“Federico’s right. Even if we found the contact in the hotel, we’d just be shutting down one avenue for the drug distribution. I’m pretty sure there are multiple ways the buyers are contacted. One I’ve been watching lately is the parasailing. In fact, I was about to try making contact with that suspect when Joe disappeared.”

“Wait,” said Rosa, twisting off the cap on her water. “You suspect the guy running the parasailing outfit of being a Dioses Maya?”

“Yeah. The two kids who wound up in the hospital had both been parasailing the day they overdosed.”

“But that might not be their only connection,” said Radar, waving off Vega’s snack. “Why couldn’t it just as easily be the bartender?”

“It might. We are concerned the hotel may be owned by the Dioses Mayas,” said Vega, passing out the rest of the plates and taking a seat. “Which would mean the dealers are en todos lados, yes?”

Bambi gave Peyton a confused look.

“Everywhere,” she translated, pulling apart her buñuelo. “So you come down here undercover before Joe Miller?” she asked Bass.

He nodded, tearing at the label on his water. “He’s been down here a few weeks.” He stopped and briefly closed his eyes. “Sorry, I still can’t get my head around it. Um, he was down here only a few weeks.”

“Why did the DEA send in another agent?” asked Bambi.

“The deaths in California happened and they tracked some of those drugs back to this area,” said Bass. “We needed more manpower.”

Vega nodded. “This cartel, they are…how you say…troublesome?”

“More than the Zetas or the Sinaloas?” asked Radar.

“No, excepto they are savvy, yes? They know how to work the internet.” He made a motion with his hand for Bass.

“They’re on social media.”

“Then they should be easy to nail down,” said Rosa.

Bass gave her a frank look. “Federico’s right. They’re savvy. They know how to hide their profiles, operate in the dark web, Rosa. They are virtually invisible.”

“Es verdad,” said Vega. “Son fantasmas.”

Bambi gave Peyton another confused look.

Peyton tightened her grip on her water bottle. “They’re ghosts,” she said and shivered.

CHAPTER 14

Rosa stood on the balcony the next morning, staring out at the brilliant blue water of the Caribbean. She’d never been to Cancun before, she’d never seen water this blue or sand this white. It looked impossible. She marveled that nature could make anything this beautiful.

She sipped at her coffee and let the warm wind rifle through her damp hair. As Vega had suggested, she’d traded her heavy business suits for a pair of shorts and a halter top. They weren’t staying at the Excelencia, but they needed to blend in with the tourists. It wouldn’t do any good to look like Federal agents. Someone had gotten wise to Joe Miller’s occupation. Rosa couldn’t believe his death was anything less than a shot across the DEA’s bow, a way to warn them off the case.

She shivered, thinking of Joe, of what they’d done to him, and she wanted to shut this cartel down, but they weren’t here for that. They were here to find Joe’s murderer. Stopping the cartel was up to Vega and Bass. She had to keep that front and center in her mind. Her people had to focus on Joe Miller and nothing else, no matter how badly she wanted it to be otherwise.

Her phone rang. She stepped back and picked it up off the glass table on the balcony. Adrian’s name flashed at her and she smiled, thumbing it on. A moment later his face filled her screen.

“Don’t you look tropical,” he said.

“Good morning to you.” She recognized her office behind him. “How’s your first day back in the saddle?”

“Quiet. How’s Cancun?”

“Beautiful,” she said and turned the orientation so he could see her view of the ocean. “Have you ever seen water that blue?”

“I have. I’ve been to the Caribbean before. It almost doesn’t look real, right?”

She turned the orientation back to her and took a seat on the lounger. “I know. It’s like a painting.”

“How are you?” he asked and his voice had taken on a serious quality.

She blew out air. “I don’t know, Adrian. I haven’t been in the field in a long time. I’m rusty. And I’m having to force myself to remember why we’re here. They were talking about this new cartel, the Dioses Mayas, operating out of a hotel down here, or they think the hotel may be owned by the cartel, but Bass has been here six months and he can’t find a direct link to the cartel yet, or even discover how the American kids are getting the dope. You know the recent Fentanyl deaths in California?”

“The ones in Northern California?”

“Yeah.”

“I heard something about them.”

“They believe it was drugs brought in by college students who were approached by the Dioses Mayas. My past with the DEA makes me want to pursue that avenue, but we’re here for Joe.”

“And just keep that front and center, Rosa. Some of these drug cartels take decades to bring down. If they were easy, we wouldn’t be in a drug war.”

“I know and Bass says this cartel is savvy on social media. They operate in the dark web.”

Adrian shook his head. “It’s like swatting at flies.”

“I know.” She gave him a smile. “I miss you already.”

“Same here. Solve Joe’s murder and come home.”

Her smile fell. “Then you go back to DC. How is that any better?”

He leaned closer to the phone. “Maybe we need to discuss that, eh?”

She frowned, but a knock at her door distracted her. “Someone’s here.”

“Okay, I’ll talk to you later.”

Another knock sounded.

She turned back to him. “I heard what you said, Adrian, and I’m willing to talk about it.”

He flashed a white toothed smile. “That’s all I wanted to hear.”

She blew him a kiss and disconnected the call, climbing out of the lounger and stepping through the French door into the tiled interior of her room. Crossing the floor, she peeked through the peephole on the door. Kaz Bass stood on the other side, wearing an unbuttoned Hawaiian shirt, khaki shorts, a baby blue t-shirt, and leather sandals. She pulled open the door, motioning him inside.

“Good morning,” she said.

He entered, glancing around the hotel room, taking in the floral print bed with its white wicker headboard and white wicker furniture, the open balcony door.

“Would you like a cup of coffee? I have a pot brewing in the bathroom,” she said, giving him a shrug.

He shifted and the look on his face stopped her. His mouth was turned down and his eyes looked haunted. “Rosa, maybe we should sit down.”

She clasped her hands before her, wringing them. “What is it, Kaz?”

He looked away. She could feel the tension in his every muscle.

“Kaz, tell me!” she demanded, using her best SAC voice.

He met her gaze with his dark blue one. “They found the rest of Joe’s body.”

She felt the room tilt. She hadn’t been prepared for that. Kaz caught her elbow.

“I’m sorry, Rosa. I didn’t know of any better way to tell you.”

She nodded, then pulled away, walking out to the balcony and dropping into the lounger. Kaz followed her, taking a seat in the other chair, but turning to face her.

“Are you okay?”

She stared out at the sparkling blue waves. “They found the rest of his body?”

Bass nodded. “Just this morning. Just today.”

She looked over at him. “Where?”

He chewed on his inner lip, then squared his strong jaw. “Chichen Itza.”

“Chichen Itza?”

“The Mayan ruins. It’s about three hours by car from here.”

“Chichen Itza? I don’t understand.”

Bass closed his eyes for a moment. “He was found in the great pyramid, El Castillo, stretched on the altar like a human sacrifice from ancient times.”

Rosa shivered. “What?”

Bass nodded.

“He’s been dead for more than a week, Kaz. No one found the body before this? No one checked the site?”

“They didn’t have any reason to check it. Tourists aren’t allowed on the great pyramid any more, so there was no reason for anyone to find him. Yesterday, a tourist used her binoculars to look at El Castillo and she noticed a dark liquid staining the top stairs. She asked a tour guide about it. The tour guide wasn’t sure, but he called one of the archaeologists who curate the site. The archaeologist climbed the pyramid and found him. He called the authorities, who called Federico. Joe’s DEA badge was found on his body. Federico asked them to seal the scene and leave it for us to investigate.”

“They left his body there all night?”

“Federico and I thought we’d want to canvass the scene, do our own investigation. He’s been dead a week. Another night…” His voice trailed off.

Rosa stared at him in horror. “Is the body…is it…” She forced herself to continue. “Is it decaying?”

He nodded, closing his eyes again.

Rosa felt sick to her stomach. She’d had fruit and yogurt for breakfast, brought up from room service, and she feared she would lose it if she thought about Joe’s rotting corpse too long. Bass reached over and covered her hand with his own.

“I’m so sorry, Rosa. I know how hard this is.”

She shook her head, forcing herself to regain control. “Let me assemble my team, then we’ll head out. You said three hours away?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, we’ll meet you in the lobby.”

Bass rose to his feet. “I’ll see you in the lobby. Federico’s coming with us as well.”

“Fine.”

“We’re gonna get these bastards, Rosa,” said Bass, his voice trembling. “I promise you. We’re gonna get them.”

She nodded, but she didn’t look up. All she could think about was Joe Miller, dying in a brutal way, realizing he’d never see his wife or kids again. It was almost more than she could stand. Finding his killer would not bring him back, right this wrong, comfort his widow. Joe Miller was gone.

*    *    *

Marco grabbed the cellphone and pressed the button for the video chat. Peyton’s face filled the screen.

“Hey, sweetheart!” he said, so damn happy to see her. Her hair was down, damp from a shower, and she wore a floral print tank top. She smiled at him.

“Hey, yourself. How’s my dog?”

“How’s your dog? That’s the first thing you ask me?” He noticed the reflection of glass behind her and could hear the sound of waves. “Are you outside?”

“On the balcony of Bambi’s and my room.”

“You’re not sharing with Rosa?”

“Nope. She has her own room.” She turned the camera. “Take a look at this.”

A brilliant blue expanse of water filled the screen. In the foreground, he could see a white sand beach and in the distance a waving palm tree. She turned the camera back to her.

“Isn’t that amazing?” she asked.

“Gorgeous. Reminds me of the Virgin Islands.”

After she’d come back from her training in Quantico, they’d taken two weeks to vacation in the Virgin Islands. It was one of the best memories he had.

“I know.” She braced her chin on her fist. “I wish you were here.”

He smiled at that. “What’s the first order of business today?”

“Not sure. I got up, got showered. I haven’t even had breakfast yet.” Her eyes narrowed. “By the way, when we talked yesterday, you didn’t tell me what Dr. Chamberlain said about the bone graft.”

“It’s good, sweetheart. He says everything’s progressing well.”

“When will he let you walk?”

“Not for another couple of weeks, but he thinks it’ll be sooner than we expected. Joyce said my left leg was kicking almost as much as my right when I swam today.”

“Joyce, huh? How is your girlfriend?”

Marco smiled. “She’s great. Really gets me, you know?”

“Very funny, D’Angelo. Maybe I don’t wish you were here.”

“Yes, you do. Remember the night we went skinny dipping.”

Her smile lit up her face. “Do I ever.” Her expression sobered. “What do you have planned for today?”

“I have a lunch meeting with the mayor over the task force. Tomorrow we’re hosting a barbecue out in Hunters Point for Jamaad Jones. I’m hoping we get some information on his shooter.”

“So do I.”

A knock sounded at the door behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, then looked back at him.

“Do you need to get that?”

“Nope. Bambi’s getting it.” She leaned closer to the phone, dropping her voice. “Something’s up with Bambi.”

“What do you mean?”

“The DEA agent we met down here, Kazander Bass, he’s really good looking.”

“Is he now?” Marco said, narrowing his eyes on her.

“He’s not my type. He’s sort of a Malibu Ken, you know?”

“Sure.”

“Anyway, she didn’t even flirt with him.”

“No way,” he said in a mocking tone.

“She didn’t flirt with the good looking AFI agent either and he’s tall, dark and handsome.”

“Now that is your type. Do I need to be worried?”

Peyton considered a moment. “You’re right. He is my type. And he’s flirty as hell. Hm.”

“Brooks!”

She laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a thing for guys with a limp.”

“Ah, well, just remember that, okay? No skinny dipping.”

She pretended to cross her heart. “Anyway, she didn’t flirt with him either.”

“Something is definitely wrong with her,” he said dramatically.

Peyton shook her head. “Scoff all you want. Oh, and by the way, Rosa’s sleeping with Stryker.”

“Wait, what?”

“Yep.”

“Your trainer from Quantico?”

“Same one.”

“How do you know she’s sleeping with him?”

“Well, I actually think it’s more than sleeping. I think they’re in a relationship.”

“What? Rosa doesn’t do relationships.”

“She does now, so if you ever thought of going back, that ship has sailed, D’Angelo.”

Marco leaned back in his chair, feeling a rush of emotion for this feisty woman who had his heart. “You know you’re the only one for me, right, sweetheart?”

Her expression softened. “Same goes for me, Marco,” she said. “You know that, right?”

“I do.”

“Sparky!” came Radar’s voice from inside the hotel room. “Get a move on! We’ve got a three hour drive ahead of us and there’s a middle seat with your name on it!”

Peyton rolled her eyes. “I gotta go. Gramps is bellowing.”

“I can hear,” he said.

“Love you,” she said, making a kissing motion.

“Love you,” he answered and she was gone.

Glancing at the time on his phone, he realized he needed to get going if he wanted to make the mayor’s meeting on time. Honestly, he wanted to grab the table at Original Joe’s before the mayor got there, so his crutches wouldn’t be as obvious. He didn’t want Harlan Osborn to think for a moment he wasn’t on his game.

He levered himself out of his desk chair and grabbed the crutches, then he moved around the desk and out of his office. He almost ran into Jake as he came through the door.

Jake braced a hand on his shoulder. “Whoa, Adonis, slow your roll.”

Marco glared at him. “Slow my roll? Are you serious?”

To their right, Lee snickered and went back to typing on his computer.

Jake still had his hand on Marco’s shoulder, but now he gave him a slight squeeze. “Damn, man, you are buff. How do you keep it up with your leg all hamburgery?”

Marco slapped Jake’s hand away. “Stop squeezing me like a damn tomato, Ryder.”

Jake held out his hands. “Can you believe this guy?” he said to Lee. “Blow out one of his legs and he’s still a Greek god.”

Marco’s expression grew grim. “Do you want something?”

Jake took a step closer to him, shooting a look at Lee and lowering his voice. “Do you remember what we talked about at the pizza parlor the other night?”

Marco remembered something about Jake being lonely, but honestly, he tried to ignore that kind of conversation, especially where Jake and Abe were concerned. “I guess. Look, I gotta go.”

“I’ll walk you out.”

“That’s not necessary. Can’t you just bug Abe about this crap?”

Jake backed up and held open the half door for him. “I already bugged Abe about it and he’s in, but I want you to go too.”

Marco frowned, then he glanced at Lee who was pretending not to listen. “I’ll be meeting with the mayor,” he told his assistant.

“Got it.”

“I’m on cell if you need me.”

“Okey dokey, Captain,” said Lee, saluting him.

Marco crutched through the half-door. Jake let it close and hurried around him, pushing open the outer door as well. Marco consigned himself to being walked to his damn car. He hated navigating the stairs outside when he was alone, but it was worse with Jake hovering over him. He gritted his teeth and began his careful descent.

“So I talked to Stan Neumann about going to one of his superhero conventions. You remember? To meet women?”

“I remember,” Marco gritted out.

“There’s one tomorrow night. It’s the Wizard of Shadynotch Convention.”

“Awesome.”

“I don’t know much about that comic book series, but I did some online research.”

“Good for you.”

“It’s mostly wizards, and elves, and ogres.”

“Well, there you go,” said Marco, fighting to hide his annoyance. The whole crutch thing was starting to make him angry, and Jake wasn’t helping. Jake never helped.

Jake stopped in front of him. “Do you want me to help you with the barbecue in Hunters Point tomorrow?”

Marco looked up, narrowing his eyes. Damn him. Jake always had an angle, always a tactic to weasel his way. He knew Marco couldn’t stand that long to barbecue, and the others were needed to canvass the scene. “What do you want?” he growled.

“A little enthusiasm…”

Marco gave him his most murderous stare.

“…but,” he held up his hands. “I’ll take you going with us. Please. And I’ll do all the barbecuing tomorrow.”

“Fine. I’ll go to the Wizards of Shadynight or whatever…”

“Shadynotch.”

“Right. What time?”

“It goes all day, but Stan wants to go at night because he says that’s when the hottest girls come out. We thought we’d get there around 8:00PM. It goes until midnight, but we probably won’t stay there that long.”

Marco exhaled heavily. “Why do you want me to go to this with you?”

“We have to dress in costume and I’m worried that if I just go with Stan and Abe, I’ll look…”

Marco’s brows rose in question. “You’ll look?”

“Desperate.”

“Fine.” He started crutching again, then stopped as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Hold on.” He shifted around on the stairs. “You said and I quote, we have to dress in costume.”

“Right.”

“We? Costume?”

“Right. So, here’s the thing.” He held out his hands, palms down as if he were placating Marco. “We’re meeting at Stan’s apartment tonight. He’s got a lot of good costumes that he’s willing to lend us.”

Marco’s jaw clenched. “Costumes? I’m six four with a bum leg, Ryder.”

“I know, but Stan assures me he can figure something out. If nothing else…” He nodded his head a few times, but didn’t speak.

“If nothing else?” said Marco, enunciating each word.

Jake jerked his head to the side. “There’s makeup.” He waited for a reaction, but Marco just stared at him.

Suddenly, Jake bolted, running back up the stairs and into the precinct.

Marco braced the crutch under his arm and rubbed his forehead. Then he couldn’t help it. He laughed. Damn Jake Ryder anyway. He actually had him curious about Stan’s apartment. Marco realized he’d never been there before. What technicolor fantasy land might that prove to be?

*    *    *

Marco arrived at Original Joe’s about five minutes before noon. He entered the building and smiled at the maître d’ waiting at a podium at the front of the restaurant. The maître d’, a tall man wearing a black suit with a bowtie, black hair cut short with a neat beard and mustache, inclined his head.

“Good afternoon, sir,” he said.

“Good afternoon. I’m meeting the mayor for lunch.”

“Ah, yes.” He gave Marco a quick once-over, then glanced at his reservation book. “Captain D’Angelo?”

“Yes.”

“The mayor hasn’t arrived yet, but let me show you to his favorite booth. He’s quite a regular in our establishment.”

Marco gave a chin jerk in agreement. “He comes with his wife, I suppose? She mentioned she loves your grilled salmon salad.” He’d glanced at the menu before coming over here, hoping there’d be something he could eat, and he figured a woman like Irene Osborn probably wasn’t a meat and potatoes gal. Any information he could glean about Osborn would help their investigation.

The man hesitated, his smile growing brittle. “Of course. Mrs. Osborn is always a delight.”

Mmhm, thought Marco. Mrs. Osborn likely wasn’t a regular nor was she a delight.

They made their way through the restaurant. Large copper light fixtures hung from the ceiling, illuminating the brown checkerboard floor and red leather upholstered booths. Spotless white table cloths covered the tables, decked out with a full service of white china and sterling silver place settings.

The maître d’ stopped before a booth in the center of the room and gave Marco’s crutches a critical gaze. “Will this be a problem for you?”

Marco shook his head and pulled out the wooden chair arranged before the table, sinking into it and laying the crutches on the floor beneath the chair out of the way. Of course, this put his back to the room and the cop in him squirmed at this arrangement, but sliding into the booth would be even more awkward.

He adjusted his suit jacket and looked up at the other man. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure. The mayor should be here shortly. Can I get you a glass of wine or some other beverage while you wait?”

“Just water please.”

“Certainly. Would you like to look at a menu?”

“No, thank you.”

The maître d’ inclined his head and started to move away, but Marco stopped him. “Does the mayor always choose such a conspicuous place to sit?”

“Of course. His constituents recognize him and come over to offer him their greetings or suggestions. He’s a man of the people.”

“How often does he meet people here?”

“A few times a week.”

Marco gave him his most disarming smile. “Do you recognize any of the people he meets?”

The man clasped his hands before him. “Some, and some I do not. This, of course, is his favorite restaurant in the City. Now, let me get you that water.”

The maître d’ hurried away. Marco felt his spine crawl. He hated sitting exposed like this. He was just thinking about forcing himself into the booth when he felt a hand on his back. Mayor Harlan Osborn peered over his shoulder, a broad smile lighting up his face.

“Goodness, you didn’t have to wait long, did you?”

Marco smiled back at him. “No, sir, I just got here.”

“Good, good,” said Osborn, patting him on the back. “My lord, Captain, you do stay in shape, don’t you?”

Marco tried not to squirm. Finally, Osborn moved around the table and slid into the booth. He grabbed his napkin and placed it in his lap, clasping his hands over his plate. Marco’s eyes were drawn to the gold wedding band on Osborn’s left hand. How little that symbol meant to some people?

“I am so glad you decided to meet with me,” Osborn said, beaming again.

Marco nodded. “I’m glad you invited me.”

The maître d’ appeared, setting a glass of water before Marco and an amber colored drink before Osborn. Osborn clapped his hands. “You know me so well, Nando.”

“Yes, sir.” He offered Marco a menu. “I assume you’ll have the regular, Mayor, yes?”

“Oh, yes.” Osborn leaned forward and lowered his voice. “I always get the prime rib dip. Mrs. Osborn would scold me for it, but it’s Nando’s and my little secret. Isn’t it, Nando?”

“Yes, sir,” said Nando, smiling at him.

“You’ll love it. And bring Captain D’Angelo a Manhattan too.”

Marco’s gaze flashed up to the maître d’. “No, thank you, sir, I’m on duty.”

Osborn waved him off. “One drink won’t hurt you, Captain.”

Marco drew a deep breath and held it for a moment. “Actually, Mayor, it will. I’m an alcoholic.”

The mayor’s face registered surprise.

Marco shrugged. “And a vegetarian.” He glanced at the menu. “I’ll have the eggplant parmesan.”

The mayor sat back in the booth, eyeing Marco with renewed interest. “You are a basketful of mysteries, aren’t you, Captain? Very intriguing.”

Marco didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Nando gave a short bow and walked away. A few other people entered the restaurant, spotted the mayor and waved. Osborn waved back at them, but his attention was fixated on Marco.

“So, how are things with Abraham Jefferson?”

Marco scratched the back of his neck. How was he going to steer this conversation to the task force and then to Lowell Murphy? “Abe’s good.”

“You live with him, don’t you?”

“Not anymore. I moved out.”

“Oh, got your own place now?”

“No, sir, I’m living with my past partner, Peyton Brooks. We’re in a relationship.”

Osborn’s expression sobered and he picked up his Manhattan, taking a sip. “I see. Well, good for you, young man. Brooks? Why is that name familiar?”

“She solved the Janitor serial killer case.”

“Right. She’s with the FBI now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Huh. The two of you must struggle to find time to be together.”

“We do. She’s in Mexico right now.”

He nodded and sipped some more. “It’s difficult maintaining a relationship when your job is as demanding as ours.” His eyes drifted over Marco’s shoulder and he waved again.

Marco glanced back, noticing another group of people moving toward a table. “It is, but it’s rewarding, especially when we solve cases, like the ones we have now.”

Osborn’s gaze snapped back to his face. “Yes, the Jamaad Jones case. What a tragedy. Are you going ahead with the barbecue tomorrow?”

“Yes.”

“Did you contact the Smokestack for catering?”

“No, sir. We actually thought we’d do the barbecuing ourselves. It might accomplish more than paying for it to be catered. We’re buying hamburgers and hotdogs in bulk and my CSI has promised to man the grill.”

Osborn smiled again, his good humor returning. “That’s brilliant, Captain. Much more personal.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I have a fund set aside for this task force. In fact, there’s enough money to hire a few permanent employees. A secretary and you can give yourself a stipend from it. I’ll have my secretary send you all of the information about that tomorrow.”

“I was thinking more that I’d get it started, then maybe see if I could bring on a community organizer to get it running on a permanent basis.”

“Even better.” He sipped his drink and leaned forward again. “That’s the problem, isn’t it, Captain?”

“What, sir?”

“The networking, the getting out there and meeting people. Who has time for it? But if we don’t establish relationships, we don’t get information. We gotta shake hands and talk to people. Then they’ll be willing to come forward with information. Like in the Jamaad Jones case. You’ve got to establish trust with the neighborhoods, you’ve got to rub elbows with the people on the street, or they aren’t going to tell you what you want to know.” The mayor sipped his drink, his gaze moving toward the door again. He held the drink up in a salute.

“Like Lowell Murphy,” said Marco, taking a chance.

Osborn’s eyes slowly moved down and pinned him. “Lowell Murphy?” A muscle beneath his eye ticked. “Another tragic death.”

“It was.”

“I thought his roommate did it. Wasn’t it a homophobic act of rage?”

Marco kept his gaze steady on Osborn. He marked the slight shaking of his hand as he lowered his empty drink. Nando appeared a moment later with a refill. Interesting. Clearly Osborn was used to tossing back a few at lunch.

“The roommate was released. He had an alibi.”

Osborn tilted up his chin. “Then do the police think it was a home invasion gone bad?”

“No,” said Marco, knowing that he might lose everything he’d gained if he wasn’t very careful. “They think it was an execution.”

Osborn swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “An execution?”

“One bullet, back of the skull.” Marco made a gun with his hand and fired it. Osborn jerked. “With a silencer, no less.”

“How can you know that?”

“The neighbors were home. No one heard anything.”

Osborn rubbed a hand over his mouth. “This is grim talk for a luncheon, Captain.”

“I’m sorry, sir. Is it bothering you? I was only trying to make the case for why this task force is so important.” He held out his hands. “Our job is only as good as the intelligence we get. If witnesses don’t come forward, if people don’t tell us what they heard or saw or…know…we can’t solve these cases.”

Osborn reached for the new drink, but his hand was shaking. He closed his fingers around it, but didn’t lift it to his lips. “I can imagine, Captain D’Angelo.”

“So, you see, it’s imperative that we know everything we can about a case, make every connection we can. Otherwise, murderers go free and…well, Mayor, sometimes they commit other murders.”

Nando appeared at their table, setting down their meals. The mayor stared at his for a moment as if he didn’t remember ordering it. Then he fumbled in his pocket for his phone and pulled it out, looking at the display.

“Is there anything else I can bring you, Mayor?” Nando asked.

Osborn’s head jerked up and he stared at the man, then blinked a few times. “I’m sorry,” he said, wiping a bead of sweat from his upper lip. “I have to go.” He met Marco’s gaze. “I have an emergency back at City Hall. Can you box this up for me, Nando?”

“Certainly, Mayor.” He picked up the plate.

“Put both meals on my tab, please.” Lifting his Manhattan, he downed half the glass. “I’ll square up with you tomorrow.”

“Of course, Mayor.”

Marco looked down. He’d hit a nerve and possibly ended the task force before it began, but one thing was clear. Mayor Harlan Osborn knew more than he let on about Lowell Murphy’s murder.

Rising halfway, Osborn brought himself close to Marco. “Captain D’Angelo?”

Marco looked up at him.

“I have faith you’ll find out who committed both murders. Jamaad Jones was a boy, just starting his life. He deserved a future and it was robbed from him. As for Lowell Murphy, he served his country. He was a patriot. He deserved better than he got.”

Marco narrowed his eyes in confusion. What the hell was this?

“I will have my secretary send you the financial information on the task force and all the information you need to hire whoever you see fit. I trust you will pick the right people to run such an important venture. Let me know if you need anything else, Captain.”

Marco didn’t know how to respond. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. Osborn had blindsided him with a magnanimous gesture. Was it to disorient him and throw him off Osborn’s trail or was it genuine?

“Thank you, Mayor,” he said, trying to hide his confusion.

Osborn nodded and moved out of the booth. He held his hand out to Marco and Marco took it. Osborn covered it with both of his own. “Find out who killed those young men, Captain D’Angelo. We can’t have such tragedies in our beautiful city, now can we?”

Then he released Marco and walked away, stopping to exchange a few words with people as he headed to the door, any semblance of an emergency forgotten. Marco thought about the encounter for a moment. He still believed Osborn knew something about Murphy’s death, but he wasn’t sure what. And if he’d committed it himself, he was the most cold blooded murderer Marco had ever seen.

*    *    *

Stan’s apartment was a walk-up in the Outer Richmond District, one of the less expensive places to live in San Francisco. The building was cream colored, four stories tall, the bottom floor a garage and ground level entrance. Stan’s apartment was on the floor above the garage – a two bedroom flat with a small galley kitchen, a living room with three small windows overlooking the street and a roommate, who wore thicker glasses than Stan and still had acne.

As Marco, Abe and Jake entered the apartment, they were met with the smell of pizza. An open pizza box sat on the square coffee table. A futon couch and two armchairs made up the rest of the furniture, but the most remarkable part was the floor to ceiling glass cabinets that displayed action figures of every variety in their original boxes. Between the glass cabinets were movie posters in lacquered black frames of superhero movies, and on a wall next to the kitchen entrance was a massive oak bookcase, bursting with paperback novels. Interspersed between the novels were black boxes with labels that listed various comic book series and the dates for the issues.

Jake stared, open-mouthed, turning a complete circle in the middle of the room. Abe hung back with Marco in the doorway, a hand on Marco’s shoulder as if he wasn’t quite sure it was safe to enter.

Marco gave Stan a tight smile. “Hey, Stan.”

“Hey, Captain,” said Stan, then he motioned to the man sitting in one of the armchairs. “This is my roommate, Douglas Archer Brown.”

Douglas Archer Brown unfolded himself from the chair and held out his hand. His palm was damp, but Marco resisted the impulse to scrub his hand on his pants leg. He stood about six one or six two, thin with rounded shoulders and a concave chest. His jeans were hiked high around his waist and he wore a button-down shirt tucked into his trousers. A pair of white athletic socks covered his long, narrow feet. His brown hair was shaggy and hung in his eyes, and his black rimmed glasses made his dark eyes seem enormous. He had a lean face, a narrow chin, and a faint dusting of hair above his upper lip. Acne scars marred his cheeks and chin and forehead.

“This is Captain D’Angelo, Jake Ryder, and Abe Jefferson. Abe’s the M.E.”

Douglas shook hands with Jake and Abe. Abe smiled politely, but Marco noticed he rubbed his hand on Marco’s shirt sleeve after he released Douglas’ hand.

“Come in. I ordered a pizza for us,” said Stan, motioning to the table. “Take the chair, Captain. It’s easier to get out of than the futon.”

Marco started to move toward the chair, but Abe clutched his arm. Shaking him off, he crutched over to the seat by the window and sank into it.

“I got vegetarian,” offered Stan.

“Thanks,” said Marco.

Stan looked at Abe and Jake. “I have soda or I think there might be beer in the fridge. What can I get you?”

“Beer,” said Jake, plopping onto the couch and helping himself to a slice of pizza.

“Just water,” said Abe, perching on the edge of the futon next to Jake. He gave the Southwestern pattern a dubious look.

“Captain?” Stan asked.

“Water. Thanks, Stan.”

Douglas went back to his seat. “So, Stan says you got shot.”

Marco glanced over at him, distracted by Abe’s shifting back and forth on the futon. “Yeah.”

“Cool,” said Douglas.

Jake stopped eating, the pizza nearly in his mouth. Marco quirked an eyebrow at the young man. “What do you do for a living, Douglas?” he asked, trying to keep the aggravation out of his voice. Why the hell was he here again, damn it!

“I’m a computer engineer for Google.”

“I see.”

Douglas nodded, then grabbed a piece of pizza, shoving the end in his mouth without worrying about a plate. Abe made a little gasping sound. Stan returned and gave them their drinks. “Help yourself,” he said, reaching for a paper plate and piling it with slices.

Abe bit his bottom lip, then he grabbed two plates and put a slice on each of them, carrying one to Marco in his chair. Then to Marco’s surprise, he took a seat on the arm of the chair, crossing his long legs.

They ate in silence for a few minutes, then Jake cleared his throat, reaching to gather the used plates. “So about the Wizards of Shadynotch Convention…”

“The WOS?” said Douglas. “You’re going to the WOS?”

Abe blinked rapidly. “Wuss?”

“No,” said Stan with a laugh. “Not wuss, WOS.”

Abe placed a hand at his throat. “Forgive me. The distinction is obvious.”

Marco hid his smile.

“Yeah, we’re going tomorrow night.”

“You didn’t tell me? Am I not invited?” complained Douglas.

“Of course you’re invited.” Stan looked over at Marco. “We always go to the WOS together.”

“Sure.”

“Jake’s interested this year and I thought it might be fun to get a larger group together,” Stan explained to Douglas.

“You’re going as Wizard Straycloud, right?”

“Of course.” Stan turned to Marco. “I always go as Wizard Straycloud. Douglas is Wizard Stormharbinger.”

“Sure,” he said again.

“What can I be, Stan?” asked Jake.

“Let me get out our costumes.” Stan rose to his feet and disappeared into the hallway.

“I’m always Wizard Stormharbinger,” Douglas told Jake.

Jake nodded. “He’s cool. He controls the weather, right?”

“No, he controls lightning. Wizard Straycloud controls the clouds.” Douglas gave Marco a seriously look.

“Sure,” Marco said once more.

Abe nudged him with his foot. “He means that’s fascinating.”

Stan came back into the room, pulling a rolling clothing rack with him. Abe reached out and grabbed Marco’s arm, squeezing it, and Jake leaned forward, his eyes going wide. Marco wasn’t sure what the hell he was looking at. He recognized some uniforms that might be Star Trek and some that might come from Star Wars, but that was about it. He saw wizard’s robes, leather pants, leather vests, hats, and fake beards. On the bottom of the rack was a black case that Stan removed and placed on the coffee table next to the empty pizza box.

“What about Tanner Darkarrow?” suggested Stan, pulling out some leather pants and a leather vest. “We’re about the same height, Jake.”

Jake rose to his feet and took the leather gear. “He’s a hero, right? He has a sword?”

Stan rifled through the garments on the rack and came up with a sheath. The hilt of a sword stuck out of the top. Jake quickly dropped the leather stuff and drew the sword, exclaiming over the scrollwork on the blade.

“Wow, this is amazing.”

“It’s just a cheap replica,” said Douglas. “I have a real replica of the Darkarrow sword hanging over my bed.” He gave Marco a knowing nod. “I can show it to you later. It’s worth a thousand any day.”

“Sure,” Marco heard himself say again, wondering why Douglas seemed intent on commiserating with him.

“What about me, Stan?” said Abe, watching Jake handle the sword. “I think I’d make a great wizard, don’t you?”

“Oh, definitely.” Stan pulled out a robe in royal blue with glimmering silver and gold stars and half-moons all over it. It was definitely something Abe would treasure. “You remind me most of High Wizard Sunchaser. He’s the leader of all the wizards.”

Abe nudged Marco with his hand. “Hear that? High Wizard? That’s me.”

“Sure,” Marco said and sighed.

As Abe rose and tried on his robe, Stan gave Marco a once-over. “You’re just so much taller than the rest of us,” he said, “it’s gonna be hard to find anything to fit.”

“What are you thinking of having him go as?” asked Douglas.

“All of our wizard robes will be too short.”

“Yeah.”

“And there’s no way he’ll fit into the leather pants.”

“Nope.”

Marco’s gaze volleyed back and forth between them in alarm.

“Does he have black jeans?”

“Do you, Captain?”

“Sure?”

“He could wear black jeans and a vest. I can probably adjust one of my leather vests for his shoulders. Then he could go as an ogre.”

Abe made a mewl of protest, but no one paid him any attention.

Stan nodded, then turned to the rack, rifling through it again until he pulled out a large rough cotton shirt with ties at the throat. “This is huge on me. It might fit him.”

“He can’t be an ogre,” complained Abe. “He’s too pretty.”

“Ogre is good,” said Marco, immensely relieved he wouldn’t have to wear the leather vest without a shirt. He didn’t give a damn what he went as.

“I have a prosthetic nose and brows that will make over his looks,” said Stan, handing Jake the cotton shirt. He opened his case and lifted out a bulbous nose and heavy brow ridge.

“No!” protested Abe.

“Fine,” said Marco, realizing no one would recognize him in that get-up.

“Hell yes!” said Jake.

Stan made a face. “Although, the rubber from the prosthetics always gives me a terrible rash.”

Marco sighed.

Abe reached over and cupped Marco’s chin. “You can’t give this face a rash, Stan.”

“You’re right. It actually makes me blister, and pus comes out.”

Marco’s eyes widened, but Jake gave him a gleeful grin. “So? It might not affect him that way.”

“I can’t get blisters and pus, Stan,” Marco said as reasonably as he could.

“I know you can’t, Captain.”

“What about an elf?” said Douglas. “He’d make a good elf. I have a green shirt like the cotton one he can borrow and I’ve got a long blond wig and a leaf crown.”

Abe clapped his hands.

Marco’s eyes shifted around the room. “What?” he said.

Stan reached into his box. “And I’ve got eyeliner.”

Abe clapped some more and jumped up and down. “Please, please, please!” he cried. “I’ll buy you a brand new sword, Stan, if you can get my Angel in eyeliner!”

Marco glared at Jake and found the idiot smirking madly. “You are so dead, Ryder!” he growled under his breath.

CHAPTER 15

Rosa crossed one leg over the other and bounced her foot up and down. Staring out the bus window, she watched the jungle go by, a wild tangle of green. With CSIs and both Mexican and American federal agents making the trek to the Mayan ruins, Vega had thought it was best to take a small AFI bus. At least it had air conditioning.

Once they left the coast, the vista had become a wash of trees and vines and thick green undergrowth. Since they’d been in Cancun, they’d experienced a number of quick thunderstorms. The sky would darken and the clouds would burst, pounding down a flash of rain, then dissipating, becoming sunny again.

As she stared out the window, she saw huts and people moving back and forth through the jungle – little outcroppings of civilization cut from the dense vegetation. Occasionally she saw children waving at the bus as it went past.

Sitting in the bench seat before her was Vega. Bass occupied the seat directly to their right. She leaned forward and tapped Vega’s shoulder, wanting anything to keep her mind off what they were going to find in Chichen Itza.

“Federico?”

“Sí, hermosa?”

“Have you lived in Quintana Roo your whole life?”

“Ah, sí, I was born and raised here. I went to universidad at Instituto Politécnico Nacional en Ciudad de México.”

“Mexico City?”

“Sí.”

“Then you came home?”

“Sí, to work in the policía, no?”

She nodded.

He shifted in the seat and looked at her. “Tu familia? Son Mexicano?”

“Yes, my grandparents on my mother’s side came from Guadalajara. My father’s family lived in Mexico City. My parents met in Nogales, Arizona.”

“Ah, sí. No habla Espanol?”

“No, they wanted their kids to be fluent in English.”

“This work for the FBI? You trabaja allí mucho tiempo?”

She glanced at Bass.

“You work for the FBI a long time?” he translated.

She nodded in understanding. “No, I worked with Bass and Miller at the DEA most of my career.”

Vega gave her a sad smile, patting her hand as it rested on the back of his seat. “This must be muy difícil, no?”

Rosa leaned back in her seat and stared out the window. “Yeah.” She glanced at Bass and he gave her a solemn nod. “Muy difícil.”

They arrived in a dirt parking lot and piled out of the bus. The oppressive sticky heat settled over them and Rosa felt like it was difficult to breath. Radar immediately removed his sunglasses from his pocket and put them over his eyes. She pulled the pair on top of her head down and rolled up the sleeves of her white shirt. She’d changed into a white long-sleeved shirt and black trousers, but she just couldn’t put on the jacket. Everyone else had done the same thing, their badges affixed to their belts. Rosa could already feel a pepper of sweat beginning to bead under her gun’s shoulder harness.

A man in khaki shirts and shorts approached Vega and Bass, speaking to them in Spanish. A number of tour buses sat in the parking lot, their engines running, filled with tourists who were not being allowed to disembark.

Rosa tried to understand what the man was telling the agents, but he spoke rapidly and gesticulated wildly. Vega nodded and asked questions in return. Moving over to Radar, she nodded at the man.

“What’s he saying?”

“Miller’s body is in the temple of Kukulcan at the top of El Castillo. We have to climb the pyramid to see it. They’re planning to take him out by helicopter as soon as we’ve collected our evidence.”

“Helicopter?”

“A rescue basket.”

She shuddered. “Is the site closed to tourists?” She pointed at the filled buses.

“Now it is. As soon as the tourist spotted the blood, they evacuated the site. Some of the buses arrived today, but they’ve not been allowed to disembark. As far as the temple goes, no one’s been allowed to climb the pyramid for years, which is why…” He caught himself, bracing his hands on his hips.

“Which is why no one discovered Miller’s body?”

“Right.”

“How did his body get inside the temple?”

Radar shrugged. “That’s a good question.”

Tank moved up beside them, Bambi and Peyton a step behind. “In 1972, the Mexican government put all pre-Columbian monuments, like Chichen Itza, under federal ownership. The INAH closed the temple of Kukulcan in 2006 to tourists when a woman fell to her death. Now tourists can only walk around it. The site has an armed guard at night, but something must have failed in their security.”

“The INAH?” asked Rosa.

Tank nodded at the man in khaki. “The National Institute of Anthropology and History.”

Vega and Bass motioned the man over to the Ghost squad. He was middle aged with strands of grey in his black hair. He had a moustache, no beard, and large dark eyes.

“Agents, this is Manuel Ramos. He is a…how you say…arqueólogo?” said Vega.

“Archeologist,” said Bass.

“Sí, archeologist with INAH. He will show us to escena del crimen.”

“The crime scene,” said Bass.

Ramos offered his hand to each of them in turn, bowing a little. “Bienvenidos, bienvenidos.”

“Bienvenidos,” said the team as they each shook his hand.

“Ven conmigo,” he said, motioning to a pathway between two piles of dirt.

Bass and Vega fell into step behind him with the Ghost squad trailing at their backs. The CSI team Vega had assembled brought up the rear. As they passed a public bathroom and another outbuilding that read Oficina de la Arqueología, they entered a dense jungle with trees draped with vines. A few feet beyond that and Chichen Itza opened up before them.

Stone buildings in various states of collapse rose out of the cleared jungle, towering far over their heads. Rosa stared up, feeling the weight of ages pressing on her as she studied the buildings. The brown stones enclosed derelict courtyards or dark rooms where bats fluttered by in the shadows. As she stared into the buildings, she could almost imagine people working and playing, carrying on their daily lives just as the modern world did in its cities.

She glanced at her companions and saw the same sense of wonder and awe etched on their faces as they stared around them, marking intricate carvings in the sides of buildings. She paused and studied a round circle with a skull carved into it, the forked tongue of a snake slithering out of its mouth.

And then they stood before El Castillo, the massive stone pyramid rising in the midst of this Mayan city, an emblem of time immemorial. Vega muttered a prayer and crossed himself. Rosa swallowed hard, her mind struggling to comprehend what she was viewing.

The pyramid consisted of nine square terraces of stone with a steep staircase bisecting the front of it. At the base of the balustrades were the carved heads of stone serpents. At the top of the pyramid was a small stone structure with open doorways leading into the temple.

“Kukulcan, the feathered serpent deity,” whispered Tank. “During the equinoxes, as the sun fades, people say a serpent wriggles down the staircase, giving the temple its name.”

Ramos turned to them, pointing at the pyramid, and let flow a string of Spanish.

“Manuel says that the Mexican government ordered the excavación of El Castillo in the 1930’s,” said Vega. “Inside they found una pirámide más antigua.” He motioned to Bass.

“An older pyramid, smaller.”

Ramos continued in Spanish.

“Inside the temple chamber or the throne room they found the famous Chac Mool statue, I’m sure you’ve seen it, and the red Jaguar throne,” Bass translated.

Ramos turned and pointed northwest, continuing his recitation.

“In that direction is the Great Ball Court, where it’s assumed the Mayans played sporting games, and to the east is the Temple of the Jaguar, which also has the feathered serpent motif.”

Ramos continued. Bass listened, then shifted weight, glancing up at El Castillo.

“What?” asked Rosa.

Bass chewed on his bottom lip and didn’t immediately answer.

Radar turned to her. “The archeologist says the carved frescos on the ball court depict a decapitated head with snakes coming out of the neck like blood. The history of the Mayas is a violent one and Miller’s death is symbolic.”

“Symbolic?” said Rosa, unable to keep the edge from her voice.

Tank sighed. “He was sacrificed in the temple of Kukulcan as Mayan captives of old were.”

“Let’s get on with this,” said Rosa, moving forward. Enough history lesson.

Peyton caught her arm, turning her around so her back was to El Castillo. “I don’t think you should go.”

“What?” Rosa planted her hands on her hips. A trickle of sweat ran down between her breasts and she felt her aggravation rising. While they were standing out here getting a damn history lesson, Miller’s body was rotting in that temple.

“It’s too hard, Rosa. He was your partner.”

Rosa narrowed her eyes behind her sunglasses. “I can handle it, Brooks.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think you can.”

“I have to identify the body.”

Peyton shook her head. “No, you don’t. I can, I’ve met him, or Bass can, but you don’t.” She stepped closer to her, clasping her at the elbows. “He was family, Rosa. Don’t let your last memory of him be this.”

Rosa looked away.

“She’s right, Sarge,” said Radar. “You don’t need to do this.”

She glanced up into Bass’s grim features. He gave a slight nod. “Fine,” she said, tugging out of Peyton’s hold. “Just get it over with and get him out of there. I can’t stand thinking of him lying there like this.”

Peyton nodded. “We will.”

Rosa didn’t turn around as they walked beyond her, headed toward El Castillo, but a shiver of premonition raced up her spine. The history of the Mayas is a violent one and Miller’s death is symbolic. It seemed pretty obvious that Miller’s death was a warning. She jumped as a flurry of wings flapped in the dark interior of the ruin directly in front of her.

*    *    *

The CSIs headed for the temple and began the treacherous climb, their gear packed in backpacks slung over their shoulders. They made a straight line and grabbed a hold of the chain running from the top of the pyramid to the bottom, affixed in a stone block at its base. Peyton paused next to Bambi, staring up at the pyramid, trying to take it all in.

The moment they’d walked out of the jungle into the clearing, she’d felt a frisson of energy race over her, peppering her skin like goose bumps. She’d never felt time the way she did right now, pressing in on all sides. If she hadn’t believed in ghosts before, she did now. She could feel the indelible imprint of a civilization far more ancient than her own, but still a people who went about their daily chores, preparing food, raising children, building monuments…and worshipping at those monuments, praying for their families to have health and happiness.

From an engineering standpoint, it was mind-boggling – the massive pyramid set enormous stone upon stone until it towered over the jungle, cowing it. The frescos and carvings and intricate designs crafted by artisans for no other purpose than to record their lives, their passage, their presence. These were a people who wanted to be remembered, who built monuments to their existence, who drove back the encroaching jungle to say we’re here. We lived, we loved, we conquered.

She shivered and wrapped her arms around her waist.

“It’s daunting, isn’t it?” said Bambi in a strange voice, her eyes fixed on the pyramid. “It’s numbing.”

Peyton looked at her. Her pupils were dilated and she was breathing rapidly, watching the crew slowly pick their way up the massive steps, clinging to the chain as if it would prevent them from falling to their death.

“Are you okay?”

Bambi nodded, once, sharply, but she didn’t remove her eyes from the temple.

Peyton turned toward her and touched her arm. She jumped, her eyes flashing to Peyton’s face. “Stay here with Sarge.”

Shame touched color in Bambi’s cheeks and she swallowed hard. “I should go.”

“No, you shouldn’t. You should stay here with Sarge. She needs someone right now.”

Bambi glanced over her shoulder at Rosa, where she watched the progress up the face of the pyramid. “This is stupid. I can conquer this,” Bambi whispered to Peyton. “I should conquer this. I hate weakness.”

“This isn’t weakness, Emma. We all have our things. My heart’s pounding about out of my chest when I think of what’s waiting for us up there.”

“Which is why I should be with you.” Bambi clutched Peyton’s hand in both her own.

“Radar and Tank will be there and Bass can identify the body. I’ll just provide a secondary identification. It’ll be fine.” She squeezed Bambi’s hand. “Stay here with Sarge, please.”

“I hate that I’m afraid to climb it.”

Peyton smiled at her. “Are you kidding me? That just made you more interesting.” She leaned closer to her. “Perfect people are boring.”

Bambi’s lips trembled, but she smiled. “Okay. Go. Radar’s gonna yell at you for being the last one up there.”

Peyton released Bambi and waved her comment away. “I’ll beat Radar to the top every day and twice on Sunday. Just watch me.” She started to turn toward the pyramid, but Bambi called her back around.

“Be safe, Peyton,” she said.

Peyton nodded, then jogged to catch up to the others. Grabbing the warm, dusty chain in her hands, she started climbing. The stairs were not built for human feet. The tread was too short, her heel hung off the back, and the risers were too high. She didn’t even want to think how hard it must be for someone as large as Tank, and she wouldn’t let herself remember that she had to come down again.

She went as quickly as she could to catch up to Radar and Tank. As she moved to Radar’s right side, he gave her a glare from behind his sunglasses. “Nice of you to join us, Sparky,” he grumbled. He wasn’t even breathing hard, although a sheen of perspiration shown on his forehead.

“I figured I had a few minutes to take in the sights, old man. You’ll be out here by the time night falls again.”

Tank gave her a quick smile, then focused on his climb again.

“Good lord, the Mayans had tiny feet. They needed OSHA to oversee things,” she said, pulling herself up another stair.

Above them, Vega laughed, nudging Bass with his hand. “OSHA? Sí, I have heard of your OSHA here. Where is the rampas para, uh…” He motioned with his fingers pressed together. “The wheelchair, sí?”

“Sí,” said Bass, nodding, but his expression was grave.

Vega laughed again, pointing down at Peyton. “Eres divertido.”

Peyton nudged Radar with her shoulder. “You hear that?”

“No,” he said, not looking up.

“Yes, you did. He said I was funny.”

“No, clearly he said estas loco.”

Tank barked out a laugh.

Peyton pushed him in the back. “Oh, now you speak Spanish, eh?”

Tank laughed again, but didn’t comment.

“Where’s Bambi?” asked Radar.

“She’s staying with Sarge.”

Radar paused on the next step, bracing his forearm on his thigh. Peyton felt the climb burning in her own muscles and the humidity was making her feel lightheaded. Wouldn’t do good to get lightheaded at this height. She glanced down behind her, but Radar grabbed her shoulder and forced her back around.

“Don’t look down.”

She stared at the steps again. He was right.

“Bambi’s afraid of heights,” he said matter-of-factly.

“So? She had to have some sort of flaw.”

Radar gave Peyton a speculative look. “You certainly have become her cheerleader all of a sudden.”

She shrugged. “Emma saved my life.”

“I’ve saved your life and all I get is grief.”

“You get what you sow or something like that.”

“For whatever one sows, that will he also reap. Galatians 6:7,” said Tank.

Peyton felt a chill shiver over her. Those who seek the truth run the risk of finding it.

After a brief rest, they started climbing again. Peyton didn’t look at her watch, but she estimated it took about three minutes for all of them to make it to the top of the pyramid. Just before she climbed up the last step, Radar stopped her. The CSIs were unpacking their gear, Vega was talking into his radio, and Bass had stopped, bent over, his hands braced on his thighs, trying to get his breath back.

Radar was winded now and sweat glistened on his face and throat as he faced Peyton. She struggled to get air herself. Fanning her shirt away from her body, she wished a breeze would blow through the jungle, but the air remained oppressive.

“Wait here until I call you,” Radar said. “Do you understand?”

She nodded. She knew he wanted to investigate first and prepare her for what she was going to see before she got in there. Her eyes strayed toward the temple and she could see the dried blood, appearing black in the heat of the day, staining the top stair and down the riser.

Tank placed a hand on her shoulder, then he turned and followed the CSIs into the temple. Vega nudged Bass with his hand and pointed toward the temple, but Bass glanced back at her for a moment before he followed.

“Wait here until I call you, Sparky. Got it,” warned Radar again.

“I got it,” she said, fanning her shirt. She glanced down the pyramid and took a deep breath, amazed at how small the people looked on the ground. She could make out Bambi and Rosa standing at the base of the pyramid, staring up at them.

A flurry of motion pulled her attention back to the temple. Bass stumbled out of the structure, the back of his hand over his mouth, then he hurried around the side. Peyton could hear retching sounds as he got sick over the sheer drop.

Well, that wasn’t good, she thought, rubbing her damp hands on her trousers. That wasn’t good at all.

Tank came to the edge and motioned to her. She climbed up the rest of the way and stopped in front of him.

“Is it bad?” she said, but she could already smell decay.

He handed her a mask. “Put this over your mouth and nose.”

“Is it bad, Tank?” she asked again.

He glanced over his shoulder toward where Bass slumped against the right side of the pyramid. “It’s bad, Peyton.” He motioned to the mask. “Put that over your mouth and nose.” He took a second one out of his pocket and put it over his own face.

She pressed the mask to her mouth and followed him to the edge of the stone temple. It was a square box on the top of the pyramid, open on four sides to the elements. Radar blocked her at the entrance.

“Keep your eyes down, Sparky,” he said behind his own mask. “Don’t look up until I tell you.”

She nodded because just the smell alone was making her ill. He took a firm hold of her elbow and led her into the interior. Shadows fell over her face. She was aware of many people in the small enclosure and a trail of black blood where it had flowed down toward the edge of the room, dropping off the stairs. She could see a man’s shoes and the black of his suit trousers. His legs hung off something, splayed, the sheen on his dress shoes incongruous with the location.

She saw a hand, flies crawling on it, and she fought her gag reflex. The hand was bloated, the skin splitting and turning black. The smell was even worse, decay and rot and the metallic tang of blood.

“Just take a quick look,” came Radar’s voice, his hand tightening on her elbow.

She glanced up. The body was lying on its back, the head hanging off a stone altar, the chest splayed open. She could see maggots and flies moving in the opening, the flesh flaking away, rotting, putrefying. She made a strange sound in her throat and tried to force her eyes away from his gaping chest, the ribs white in the mass of mutilated flesh.

“Sparky?” said Radar.

She looked at the dead man’s face. The features were distorted, the flesh swollen and mottled, the mouth open in a scream.

“Is it Miller?”

Even though the flesh was badly disfigured, she recognized the taciturn man with the kind smile and the everyday American good looks. “It’s Miller,” she said, pressing a hand over her mouth.

Radar pulled her toward him, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as he guided her to the door. He brought her out of the temple onto the upper tier of the pyramid. Vega stood there, his dark eyes sympathetic. He reached out and squeezed her elbow.

Radar moved in front of her, taking the mask off his face. He kept her back to the temple. She lifted trembling hands and pulled the mask away. The sight of Miller’s mutilated body would be with her forever.

Radar closed his hands on her shoulders. “I have to go back in and help Tank take pictures. Are you okay?”

She was touched by his concern. “I’m fine,” she said, straightening her back.

Vega passed her a water bottle out of his pack.

“Are you sure it’s Miller?” Radar asked. “I need you to be sure.”

“Did Bass identify him?”

“He did, but he lost it pretty quickly. I need to hear it from you.”

Peyton forced herself to think about his facial features once again. She drew a deep breath, pressing the cool water bottle to her throat. “It was Miller.”

“Okay. I’m going back in. You stay out here.”

She nodded. There was nothing that could make her go back inside that temple with its bloodstained, macabre altar where human sacrifices had taken place centuries before. Radar glanced at Vega as he untangled the loops on his mask.

“Call the helicopter.”

Vega nodded and began speaking Spanish into the radio. Peyton looked over to where Bass sat around the corner. His legs dangled off the pyramid and his forearms were braced on his thighs. Walking over to him, Peyton took a seat at his side, passing him the water.

“Thanks,” he said, breaking the seal and taking a gulp. He swished the water around in his mouth, then spit it over the side. “I’m sorry I lost it.”

“No problem. I almost lost it myself.”

He took another gulp and rinsed, spitting it out again. He leaned over and looked down the side of the pyramid. “It would be so easy just to pitch forward,” he said in a low voice.

Peyton grabbed his arm and hauled him back. “What?”

He gave a self-deprecating laugh and closed his eyes. “I’m not gonna do it, but…”

“But what?”

He opened his eyes again and played with the cap on his water bottle. “No one would miss me.”

“Bass!”

“No, listen to me a minute. I’m serious. Life…this existence is shit. Miller had a wife and kids, he had parents. They all loved him, depended on him, but he’s dead.” His hand tightened on the water bottle. “They cut his heart out.”

Peyton didn’t respond, staring out at the jungle rising in the distance, brilliantly green, lush, alive.

“They cut out his heart and left him like an offering to the gods. What gods? What god can allow that to happen?”

“It wasn’t God. It was man, Bass. Men that need to be stopped.”

Bass didn’t respond for a moment, just stared out and squeezed the water bottle. “He had people who loved him and he died. I have no one and I’m still alive. There’s no sense in that. No reason. I…” He shook his head and bit his bottom lip. “I don’t know what to do with that.”

Peyton watched him without speaking.

He pointed back over their heads at the temple. “It should be me. I’ve been down here for six months. It should have been me.”

Peyton fanned her shirt away from her body once more, but it didn’t seem to be doing any good. She didn’t know how to respond. She was as raw as he was. She couldn’t stop seeing Miller splayed across the altar that way, his body rotting.

Bass blew out air. “Is it okay if we just sit here and not talk?”

Peyton glanced over at him. “Do you want me to leave?”

He shook his head, giving her a sheepish look. “I’m afraid to be alone with myself right now, but I just don’t want to talk.”

That was fine with her. She didn’t feel like talking either. She nodded. “Yeah, that’s fine.”

And they sat like that, on the edge of the pyramid, staring out over the jungle, listening to the birds cry, watching the clouds slide across the sky. When rain pounded down, they still sat without moving as it drenched them, then moved on and the sun reappeared. A few minutes later, they could hear the rotors of the helicopter cutting through the sounds of the jungle, drawing closer to them.

Peyton shifted and looked back as the helicopter banked toward the pyramid, a metal basket swinging from a cable beneath its belly. Vega and Radar grabbed the basket, removing it and carrying it inside the temple. The helicopter swung out and waited while the men secured Miller inside it.

A few minutes passed, then the helicopter returned, swinging its cable. A group of men carried the basket out of the temple and affixed it to the cable, then the helicopter lifted, carrying the basket with it off into the jungle, disappearing from sight before the sound of its rotors faded away.

Peyton glanced back at Bass, but he was rubbing his eyes, his shoulders slumped alarmingly.

“It should have been me,” he whispered.

*    *    *

The ride back to the hotel was a silent one. Everyone sat lost in their own thoughts, not speaking, not whispering, just sitting and letting the air conditioning wash over them. When they got back to the hotel, Vega wished them a buenas noches, but Bass hung back.

“I’m going to the Excelencia tonight,” he said. “I can’t wait anymore for a break in this case.”

Rosa studied him, then she looked away. “I’m going to my room.” She started to walk, but Radar called to her. She half-turned toward him. “Give me a night, Radar,” she said. “I’ll be back at it tomorrow, but I need tonight. I have to talk to Celeste.”

Radar nodded and looked down. Without another would Rosa walked into the hotel and disappeared through the automatic doors. Peyton glanced at Bass. “I’m with you. What are you thinking?”

“There’s a cantina in the Excelencia that most of the college and high school students go to for drinking and dancing. It opens on the beach. Radar mentioned the bartender might be a potential contact point and I think he might be onto something. Let’s split up and cover as much ground as we can. If pills are being distributed, it makes sense it might be where there’s alcohol and music.”

“I want a shower and a change of clothes,” said Peyton.

Everyone agreed.

“If we’re splitting up, it doesn’t matter if we arrive at the same time,” she reasoned.

“Maybe you and Bambi could go together – two girls just looking for a good time,” said Bass. “Dance and see if you can get some of the guys to buy you drinks. Tank and Radar, you shouldn’t be seen together. If anyone sees the two of you hanging out, they’ll think cop for sure.”

“We’ll use the comlinks and I can stay at the hotel to coordinate,” said Radar.

“No, I think we should all be there. Maybe just sit in the back, having a drink. You could be a wealthy Mexican tourist on vacation. Your wife went to bed early and you just wanted a drink.”

Radar nodded. “That works. Come up to our room and get a com, so we can communicate.”

Bass agreed and they all entered the hotel, going up to their rooms. Peyton took a lukewarm shower, dried off and dressed in a floral print long summer dress with a halter top. She added strappy sandals and left her hair down, pinning back one side with a silk floral barrette Bambi loaned her. Then she added a little makeup and put on some red lip-gloss.

Bambi wore a mini-dress in lime-green, her long legs accentuated by sandals with straps that wound up her calves. She braided her hair into a fishtail braid and added another floral barrette to the end to hold it in place. A seashell necklace dangled in the center of her chest, drawing the eye to her impressive cleavage.

Peyton handed Bambi her chunky metal bracelet with the comlink inside and the earpiece. Bambi placed the earpiece in the ear covered by her braid. Peyton also picked up her own bracelet and put the earpiece in, hiding it with her hair.

Bambi lifted the bracelet to her mouth. “Agent Redford checking in,” she said into it.

They waited and Radar’s voice came through their ears. “Agent Redford, Agent Moreno checking in.”

“Where are you?” she asked.

“I’m already at the bar in the hotel. I have a table near the outdoor restaurant.”

“Agent Campbell checking in,” came Tank’s voice. “I’m having a drink at the outdoor bar.” They could hear steel drums in the distance.

Peyton lifted her arm. “Agent Brooks checking in. We’re headed to the Excelencia now.”

“Agent Bass checking in,” came Bass’ voice. The sound of music was very loud, a pumping rhythm, and people laughing. “I’m sitting at a booth in direct line of sight to the bar. The dance floor is to my left.”

Bambi gave Peyton a nod and they headed out. The night was mild as they walked down the white sand beach toward the Excelencia. They saw Tank sitting at the outdoor bar, sipping a beer, appearing to listen to the steel drummers. A few couples sat at tables, their faces illuminated by candlelight, drinking and whispering to each other. Tank gave them a chin lift as they made their way toward the interior.

The inside was crowded as people jockeyed for a position on the dance floor or stood three deep at the bar, trying to get the bartender’s attention. Waiters meandered through the crowd, holding trays aloft as they brought drinks and food to the people stuffed into the booths around the perimeter of the room. Strobe lights in a rainbow of colors waved back and forth over the crowd and the music was loud.

A group of college boys at a tall table caught sight of them almost immediately. Bambi nudged Peyton as the boys waved them over, then she led the way across the room. The boys elbowed each other and one tall, buff blond held out his hand to Bambi.

“I’m Jordan.”

“Emma,” she purred, then looked into his drink. “What’s that?” she asked vapidly.

“Watermelon margarita. Want one.”

“I sure do,” said Bambi.

An equally muscular young man with dark skin and a brilliant white smile moved close to Peyton. “Can I get you a drink?”

She started to answer when Bass’s voice came over the com. “Can one of the women come over to me and keep the co-eds at bay?”

Bambi met Peyton’s gaze. Peyton turned to the boy. “Maybe next time. Actually I need to find a restroom.” Bambi gave her a short nod as she stepped away from the table.

Threading her way back through the crowd, she glanced back at Bambi. Something was definitely up with that girl.

She found Bass just where he’d said he’d be, in a booth watching the bar. A group of young women at a table to his left were waving at him and simpering. Peyton paused by his table and gave him what she hoped passed for a sultry look.

“Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” he said and flashed a smile at her, his arm draped across the back of the booth. He wore a Hawaiian shirt, open over a yellow tank top and khaki shorts, his blond hair spiky on his head. He patted the booth next to him. “You wanna take a seat so I don’t have to dance with that entire table over there.”

Peyton shot a look at the girls, then she slid into the booth next to Bass. The girls shot daggers at her.

“Oh, you’re getting so much shade right now.”

Peyton laughed and slid closer to him. He reached out and fingered a curl, then motioned for a waitress. “When she comes over, order something real.” With his other hand, he twirled his shot glass around.

Peyton could smell the tequila on his breath. Was he doing shots? He looked clear-eyed, his gaze shifting to a table of young men off to his right. “See those boys?” He nodded his head at the group.

“Yeah.”

“They’ve been putting pressure on the one with acne to approach the bar.”

“They’re too young to drink.”

“I know, but they might have an illegal ID.”

The waitress appeared in front of them.

“Un trago de tequila,” said Bass. “Get whatever you want,” he told Peyton.

“Margarita,” she said, smiling.

“Blended or rocks?”

“Blended.”

The waitress nodded and walked away. Bass’s attention returned to the boys, but he continued to finger Peyton’s hair. The boys kept nudging the one with acne and pointing at the bartender. The boy kept shaking his head no, staring down at the table, the color high in his cheeks.

“Talk to me,” said Bass.

Peyton didn’t know what he wanted her to say. He looked at her. “Pretend you’re trying to pick me up and if one of them moves toward the bar, tell me.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“How long have you worked for Rosa?”

“Not even a year.”

“She recruited you, though. That’s what she told me.”

“I was working for the police in San Francisco. We’d just solved a serial killer case when she got the position with the FBI.”

The waitress appeared with their drinks. Bass nodded at her and tossed some money onto her tray, then he waved her off. He pointed at Peyton’s drink. “Take a sip. Make it look real.”

She leaned forward and sipped at the margarita. The bite of tequila was evident. This was no typical bar drink of watered down booze. Bass tossed back his shot and ran his finger over the rim, the other hand flattened on Peyton’s shoulder. She took another sip, her attention captured by the boys. The boy with acne had started to rise, but a woman bumped into him as she went past. He sat back down again, making all the boys laugh and prod him some more.

Peyton glanced at Bass. “I’m sorry about Miller.”

Bass’s hand flexed on her shoulder. “Don’t talk about Miller. Keep talking about yourself.”

She didn’t know what more to say. “Tell me about Cancun?”

“What’s there to tell?”

“You’ve been here six months. What’s the best thing about it?”

“Besides the crazy beautiful ocean,” he said wistfully.

“Yeah, besides that.”

“The fish tacos at the taqueria down the street in the open air market. It’s a little restaurant called ironically Pescados.”

“Fish?”

“Yep. Best food in Cancun.”

Before she could think of something else, the boy got up the courage again. This time he made it to his feet and walked over to the end of the bar where there were less people. He motioned at the bartender. When the harried man eased over to him, the boy leaned forward and whispered something. The bartender nodded and moved back down the bar to get someone else a drink.

“He said something to the bartender,” she told Bass.

“What’s he doing now?”

“He’s just standing there, waiting. The bartender’s serving drinks.”

Bass lifted his hand from Peyton’s shoulder and talked into the watch on his wrist. “Radar, Tank, get ready. Bambi, do you have eyes on the bar?”

“I do,” she said. “Who am I looking for?”

“Boy, about eighteen with brown hair, shaved on the sides, acne, wearing a Michigan State t-shirt.”

“I got him,” she said.

The bartender went to the cash register behind him, turning his back on the bar, and placed some bills inside, then he took something out of a slot in the drawer and came over to the boy, placing the thing on the bar and covering it with his hand. The boy set a few bills on the bar surface, took the thing under the bartender’s hand and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he walked away from the bar.

Bass and Peyton tracked him, but he didn’t go back to the table with his friends. Instead, he headed around the perimeter of the dance floor. “Got him!” Bass muttered fiercely. “Bambi, do you have a visual?”

“I do. He turned into a hallway on the other side of the dance floor. I can’t see him anymore.”

“What’s back there?” Peyton asked Bass.

“Bathroom.” He lifted his watch again. “Tank, he’s headed for the bathroom. Intercept him and see what the bartender gave him.”

“On my way,” came Tank’s voice.

Bass motioned for the waitress again. She came over after she delivered a number of drinks to Bass’ female fans at the other table. “Uno mas,” he said, pointing at his shot glass.

She nodded and weaved back into the crowd.

Bass watched the rest of the boys at the table. They were huddled together, their heads almost touching as they discussed something. Drumming his fingers on the table, Bass clenched and unclenched his jaw.

“This is it. I feel it. We’ve got them this time.”

Peyton watched him with concern. Miller’s death and the frustration of this case had clearly taken a toll. Bass’ eyes were bloodshot and she could see dark circles bruising the skin beneath them.

“Come on, Tank,” he muttered.

The waitress returned with another shot and Bass tossed it back before he even paid her. Peyton shared a concerned look with the other woman.

“Uno mas,” said Bass, nodding.

Peyton started to say something, but Tank’s voice filled her ear. “Got him.”

“Yes!” whispered Bass, closing his free hand into a fist.

“What is it, Tank?” came Radar’s voice. “What did he get from the bartender?”

Tank didn’t immediately answer.

Bass clenched and unclenched his jaw again, his eyes fixed on the candle in the middle of the table. Peyton shifted, hating the tension.

Bass lifted the watch toward his mouth. “Tank, update!” he hissed.

They could hear a mutter of voices, then Tank came back on the com. “It’s a business card.”

“For what?” asked Bass, leaning forward. “For what?”

“Una prostituta? I’m guessing that’s a prostitute because the other thing he has is a condom.”

Bass slumped back against the booth.

Peyton let out her held breath.

“A prostitute?” came Radar’s voice. “A freakin’ prostitute. Forget it. I’m going to bed.”

“Me too,” said Bambi.

“I’m sorry,” said Tank.

Bass didn’t respond. He just sat in the booth, staring at the candle. The waitress returned with his shot and he didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge her. Peyton paid for it and gave her a smile. She smiled in return, shot a look at Bass, and walked away.

“We’ll figure it out, Kaz,” said Peyton, shifting to face him.

Bass didn’t respond, just drummed his fingers on the table near the shot.

“Kaz?” She touched his arm.

He looked up at her, his expression bleak. “You know what keeps running through my mind?”

“What?”

“Shakespeare.”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

“Before I went to work for the DEA, I thought about acting, but not just any acting.” His words slurred just the slightest amount. “I wanted to be a Shakespearean actor.” He said it like act-tor.

“Okay?” She wasn’t sure where he was going with this.

“Not many opportunities for that, especially in the states.”

“Why a Shakespearean actor?”

He curled his fingers around the shot and glanced up at her. “He awed me. His work has stood the test of time for more than 400 hundred years. Can you believe that? His words speak to people centuries beyond when he wrote them.”

Peyton leaned back in the booth and listened to him.

“His most famous play’s Hamlet. His most famous soliloquy is To be or not to be. Everyone knows that monologue. Everyone in the world can quote it. A monologue about suicide and people four hundred years later can identify with that character, can relate to what he’s feeling at that moment. That’s power.”

“It is,” Peyton agreed.

“But that’s not the one running through my head. The one I can’t get out of my head is from Macbeth. Are you familiar with the play?”

Peyton nodded. “We saw it performed at the Globe in London.”

Bass’ eyes met hers. “You did? That must have been incredible.”

“It was.”

“Then you know Macbeth’s soliloquy in Act 5 after Lady Macbeth commits suicide?”

“I know it.”

“Tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow,” he began quoting, his eyes returning to the candle, “creeps in this petty pace from day to day to the last syllable of recorded time, and all our yesterdays have lighted fools the way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” He shook his head. “Signifying nothing. He’s right. Life means nothing.” He reached for the shot glass.

Peyton stopped his hand. “Life isn’t nothing,” she hissed at him. “Today, I got up and walked onto my balcony and I saw an ocean so blue, so crystalline and clear, that nothing man can create is its equal. And this afternoon…” She took the shot from him. “This afternoon I stood at the base of a pyramid eons old and I felt the presence of the people that once lived there all around me.” She narrowed her eyes on him. “That’s not nothing, Bass.”

He stared at her, then he reached out and smoothed back a curl from her eyelashes. “Federico’s right, you have mystery in you, girl.”

She gave a sad laugh and shook her head. “And you’re drunk.”

“Yeah, I am.” He reached for the shot and tossed it back.

Peyton lifted her bracelet to her mouth. “Tank, you still out there?”

“I’m back at my place in the outdoor bar.”

“Good, I need help getting Bass home.”

“Is something wrong?”

She looked at the agent sitting next to her, staring at the flickering candle again. “No, he’s just in mourning, that’s all.”

“Gotcha. I’ll meet you on the beach.”

“We’ll be there,” she said, then she nudged Bass with her hand. “Come on. You’re entitled to a night of wallowing, then tomorrow…”

“And tomorrow and tomorrow,” he said, giving her a mischievous smile.

“Right. Tomorrow we get back to work.”

He made a flourish with his hand. “If music be the food of love, play on.”

“Shakespeare?”

Bass nodded and began sliding out of the booth. “Twelfth Night. If music be the food of love, play on, give me excess of it; that surfeiting, the appetite may sicken, and so die.”

Peyton followed him out of the booth, pushing him in the back when he staggered a bit. “God, you’re a dark one,” she said, bringing a laugh bubbling out of him.

CHAPTER 16

Rosa went down to the hotel restaurant the following morning. Half of the restaurant was open air, adjacent to the pool. Some kids were already swimming, splashing around and having a good time, while their parents sat on loungers, sipping coffee and keeping an eye on them. The pool was a huge structure that wound around small islands with palm trees planted on them. It also had a swim up bar. The location would have made a nice retreat at any other time and she couldn’t help thinking about Adrian. She felt surprised at how much she missed him.

After returning from Chichen Itza last night, she’d gone up to call Celeste and check in on her. She’d tracked her through her parents and finally gotten a hold of her. Celeste was still laying low with her kids in Maine at her parents’ cabin. No one had told her Miller was dead, so the task fell to Rosa. Celeste went into meltdown and Rosa spent the next hour trying to get her calm enough to go back to taking care of her kids. Celeste made her promise to keep her updated, which she did.

After the call, she’d been too upset to sleep, and although it was one in the morning in San Francisco, she’d called Adrian on the video chat. She needed to see his face.

He’d picked up on the first ring, his voice heavy from sleep, his hair mused. She’d wanted to be there with him, curled in his arms, and that surprised her too. He’d talked to her for more than an hour, listening and offering his support in any way he could. She couldn’t deny, she liked having someone there for her, someone who would get up in the middle of the night and comfort her.

She shook the thought away and looked into the restaurant, hoping to see one of her team there. She didn’t want to eat alone. Bass was sitting at a table, his back pressed to the wall, drinking coffee and watching the kids.

She walked over to him and took a seat. Today she’d put on a long sundress in yellow with birds of paradise embroidered on it. The spaghetti straps and loose fit were a lot cooler than the black suit she usually wore. She noted that Bass had on a pair of navy blue shorts, a blue tank top and a white collared shirt unbuttoned in front.

“Buenos dias,” she said.

“Buenos dias,” he answered, rubbing a fist against his temple. He made a motion to someone beyond her line of sight and a moment later a waiter appeared.

“Café?” asked the waiter, carrying a silver carafe.

Rosa turned over the mug sitting on the table. “Por favor.”

He filled it, then motioned to the laminated menu resting in a silver holder in the center of the table. “Cuando esté listo para ordenar,” he said.

Rosa glanced at Bass. “When you’re ready to order,” he translated. “I ordered the huevos rancheros. Muy bien,” he said for the waiter’s benefit.

The waiter inclined his head.

“I’ll have that too,” she said.

“Ella también,” said Bass and the waiter nodded, moving away. Bass sipped at his coffee some more. “Do you know what happened last night?”

Rosa poured a little cream into her coffee. “Radar debriefed me this morning. I’m sorry it didn’t work out.”

Bass shook his head, looking out over the pool. He was just as polished as ever, his spiky hair styled, but he had dark circles under his eyes. “I thought we had them this time.”

“Now what do we do? Do you want to pursue the parasailing angle?”

“I think that’s a good idea, but we’ve got to be careful. Radar and Tank just ooze cop.”

Rosa laughed. “I know. We talked about that. Radar and I are going to pretend to be a Mexican tourist couple on vacation. I think your idea of Bambi and Brooks pretending to be college girls on the prowl isn’t a bad one. We thought Tank could rent a metal detector. I saw they rent them on the beach. That would give him an opportunity to snoop around.”

“Brooks and I pretended to hook up last night, so we could keep playing that up and Bambi could hang out with us as Brooks’ girlfriend.”

“Sounds good.” She picked up her mug and took a sip. “Look, Kaz, I know how hard this is for you.”

He held up a hand. “I lost it yesterday and it was totally unprofessional. And then I got drunk at the bar when we were on duty. I can understand if you want to file a complaint with my superiors.”

Rosa shook her head. “It hit us all hard. It took my legs out.”

“How did Celeste take it?” He ran his fingers over the top of his mug.

“Bad. Really bad.”

Bass looked away, watching the kids play. “We need to do something to make sure his kids get to college.”

“We will. After we solve this case and find his murderer.”

Bass nodded, still not looking at her. “I should have handled it better.”

“Well, by that same token, I should have been the one to identify him.”

Bass looked back at her. “No, no, Brooks was right about that. You were closer to Miller than any of us. I wouldn’t have wanted you to see him like that.” His expression grew haunted. “I couldn’t handle it. I puked my guts up, but that Brooks of yours. Man, that little spitfire is tough. She identified him and didn’t flinch, then she kept me from throwing myself off the pyramid. She is something else. She sure handles Radar well.”

Rosa gave him a frown. “She’s also in a serious relationship with a six foot four street cop with a body like the Rock.”

“Of course. All the good ones are taken.”

Rosa laughed.

Bass studied her a moment. “Why didn’t you ever get married?”

“No reason to. What about you?”

“Same.”

She thought of Adrian, feeling a pang of longing, but she tamped it down. “Why do you suspect the parasailing guy?”

“When he’s working the shack, he has a steady stream of college kids and high school graduates flocking to him. They’re always acting furtive.”

“Okay.”

“Then, when he goes on break and this girl takes over, she gets hardly any attention. The girl’s pretty, cute figure, while the guy’s just your average Joe and he attracts a lot of male attention.”

“How old are both of them?”

“I estimate the guy to be around 25 or so. The girl’s in her early twenties.”

“Do the kids ever go up in the parasail?”

“That’s the other thing. Some do, some don’t.”

“Maybe they’re just scheduled for a later time?”

“Money seldom exchanges hands.”

“Does anything change hands?”

“I can’t tell.”

“Have you questioned him or gone up there when the kids are there?”

“I don’t want to blow my cover. I did buy a group of college kids beer after one of them went up to the guy. We played volleyball together. During the game, I asked the kid if he was going parasailing. He said no and shut me down. I was afraid to push. I’m a little old to get in with them, but I was hoping maybe Bambi or Brooks might have better luck.”

Rosa nodded. “I think Bambi played volleyball in college and she looks like she’s about sixteen.”

“Good. Maybe we’ll get a break this time.”

Their huevos rancheros arrived and the smell was heavenly. Rosa thanked the waiter, then lifted her fork, but Bass didn’t move. “Aren’t you going to eat while it’s hot?”

He gave the eggs a worrisome look. “I don’t know if I can. That tequila really packs a wallop.”

Rosa shrugged and dug in. Having a plan always made her ravenous.

*    *    *

After physical therapy and a few stolen moments to touch base with Peyton in Mexico, Marco drove out to Hunters Point. They’d decided to hold their barbecue in the Youngblood Coleman Playground, where he found an impressive collection of baseball diamonds, soccer fields, and tennis courts. The park itself was constructed on tiers so there was plenty of room for all activities.

Marco spotted the blue police canvas flapping from their aluminum shade cover. A table had been set beneath it covered in stickers and pamphlets and pens to give away to anyone who wanted them. Danté and Bartlet stood behind the table with Jamaad Jones mother, Mavis, and her 68 year old mother, Maeve. Marco crutched over to them, nodding at his officers and holding out his hand for Mavis.

She grasped it in both her own. “Captain D’Angelo, how kind of you to come out here.”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he said. “It looks like a good turnout.”

“It is.” She motioned to the woman next to her. “This is my mother, Maeve.”

He shook hands with the older woman. She had bony fingers and prominent veins, white close cropped hair and thick glasses, and when she smiled at him and patted the back of his hand, Marco couldn’t deny she had a welcoming, pleasant face.

“Jamaad’s father and brother are out in the crowd with Inspector Simons and Cho, talking to the people,” Mavis told him. Then she laid her hand on Bartlet. “These young men have been very good about helping us give out information.”

“They’re some of our finest,” Marco said. Bartlet beamed, but Danté was too busy canvassing the area. Marco didn’t think he was moved by empty compliments.

His eyes slid past Mavis to Jake and Tag where they manned dual barbecues, surrounded by kids and teenagers of various ages. Stan stood at another table covered in condiments, keeping everything filled and helping those who needed assistance. At the moment, he was helping a tiny girl in braids put catsup on her hotdog. Glancing around Marco saw a good number of people eating at picnic tables or chatting in small groups.

Mavis had placed a photograph of Jamaad on the table, one with him and a pitbull from the shelter. He glanced at it and away. The sight of the young man with his whole life ahead of him bothered Marco and he didn’t know why. He’d had cases where the victim was young before and he’d never lost focus on what was important – solving their murder. Maybe it was having Peyton so far away that made him feel Jamaad’s senseless death so powerfully.

Danté pulled up a lawn chair next to Mavis. “Sit down, Captain,” he said.

“Yes, he’s right. Sit down,” said Mavis, motioning to the chair. Marco hadn’t intended to stay, but he knew it wouldn’t look good to be too quick about leaving. He probably should be at the precinct, since only Smith, Holmes and Lee were holding down the fort, but he owed it to Mavis and the community to stay for a while.

Maeve came around the table and took his elbow. “Sit down, please. Having a captain here will make people take this more seriously.”

Marco crutched to the chair and sank into it. Maeve pulled her chair over to the side of his and sat next to him, placing her hand on his arm. “Did you know Jamaad wanted to be a dog trainer?”

“I did. I understand he was quite talented at it.”

“He was,” she said, shaking her head. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Mavis put a hand on her shoulder. “How about I get you a burger, Mama?” she said to stop the conversation. Marco looked up at her and could see the toll the last few days had taken on her.

“I’d rather have a hotdog,” she said.

“I’ll get it for you, ma’am,” said Bartlet. “Would you like something?” he asked Mavis.

“No, I’m good. I’ll get something later.”

“Captain, you want anything?”

Marco shook his head.

Bartlet nudged Danté. “Come on.”

“I’ll stay here,” said Danté, shooting a look at Mavis. “But bring me back a soda, okay?’

“Sure enough.”

A young couple approached Danté at the table. The boy, around sixteen or seventeen, had close cropped black hair with a zig-zagging line cut into it by a razor and dark skin. He wore low slung jeans and a t-shirt of some rapper Marco didn’t know and he had on immaculate white sneakers. The girl was lighter-skinned with large dark eyes, her hair in natural curls to the middle of her back. Something about her reminded him of a younger Peyton. Taking a closer look at her, Marco realized she had eyes like Peyton – dark, heavily lashed, exotic.

The boy fist bumped Danté, then he shot a look at Jamaad’s picture, one arm thrown over the girl’s shoulders. The girl crossed her arms and cocked a hip, staring up at the canopy of the shade cover.

“I went to school with Jamaad,” the boy said.

Mavis perked up, her eyes whipping to the boy’s face.

Danté shot a look at Marco. Marco nodded for him to talk to the boy.

“What’s your name?” asked Danté

“She-et, don’t tell no cops your name,” said the girl, looking over her shoulder dismissively.

“Dwane,” said the boy, ignoring her.

“I’m Danté.”

“How long you been a cop?”

“This is my first year. Actually, this is my first case.”

Dwane nodded. “Jamaad was…” He shot a look at Mavis, who’d moved closer to the table. “He was cool, man. He helped me out in our health class.”

“Were you friends?” asked Mavis. “Did you hang out together?”

Dwane looked like he might bolt and the girl gave Mavis a cold look. “Naw, we didn’t hang together, but we had the class together, you know?” He studied the picture. “Sucks, you know, what happened.” He looked up at Danté.

“Yeah, it does.” Danté motioned to Mavis and Maeve. “This is his mother and grandmother. His father and little brother are out there talking to people.” He extended his motion to include the entire park. “We’re all here trying to get information about Jamaad’s death.”

Marco kept silent, watching the boy and girl, watching Danté handle them.

“Do you know who Jamaad hung out with at school?”

“I know a couple a guys, but they ain’t got nothing to do with this.”

The girl pulled out from under his arm and gave him a furious look. “What you doing talkin’ to no cops for?”

“Cool it, Cashea. That’s Jamaad’s mama.”

“I don’t care if it’s Oprah Winfrey. You don’t need to be givin’ them nothin’.” She gave Danté an arch look. “They’s still cops. They don’t care. It’s all publicity.”

“I care!” said Mavis sharply. “I planned a funeral for my son this week.” She turned to the boy. “If you know anything at all, son, please tell us.”

“He don’t know nothing!” said Cashea, leaning forward and enunciating her words.

Dwane pulled her back. “Don’t go talkin’ for me.”

She shook off his hold. “Fine. Get your fool head blowed off. See if I give a shit.” And she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

An awkward silence fell as Dwane looked down, kicking the asphalt with the toe of his sneakers. Finally, he looked up at Mavis. “I’m sorry, ma’am. She just gets bent around cops.” He looked back at Danté. “I hope you figure out who killed Jamaad.”

Danté picked up a brochure with their anonymous tip line on it. “If you or someone you know has information, they can call this line. It’s anonymous, so no one will know who you are.”

“You got a card or something. I mean, not this anonymous thing. Your card.”

Danté glanced at Marco. Marco reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a card, handing it to the young cop. Danté passed it to Dwane. Dwane looked at it.

“Cool dog,” he said, pointing with the card at the picture of Jamaad and the pitbull again. He shifted weight.

“Jamaad wanted to train dogs for a living. He wanted to teach people how to handle them. That was his life goal,” said Mavis.

Dwane looked at her and nodded. “Yeah, I remember him talkin’ about that. He worked at the shelter or something, right?”

“Right.”

The kid rubbed the back of his neck. “Sucks, man. You just walkin’ home and tha’s it. It’s not right, you know?”

Mavis’ eyes filled with tears. Maeve took her hand. “No, it’s not right.”

Bartlet returned with three hotdogs on paper plates and Danté’s soda under his arm. He hesitated, sensing the mood. The kid stared at him a moment, then he motioned to the scar on Bartlet’s throat where the Janitor had shot him.

“Dude, what’s that?”

Bartlet handed Maeve one of the hotdogs, then set the others on the table. He handed the soda to Danté. “Got shot.” He motioned to Marco’s leg. “Captain too.”

“Damn,” said the kid, looking horrified. “How you survive that?”

“Almost didn’t,” said Bartlet.

“Damn,” the kid said again. “Respect, dude. Respect.”

Bartlet gave him a shy nod.

“Anything you remember, anything you can tell us about Jamaad might help,” said Danté. “It takes all of us to make the neighborhoods safer.”

“Well said,” came a voice.

Marco shifted and looked over his shoulder. Harlan Osborn and an entourage of supporters had come up behind them. He came to the table and shook hands with Mavis and Maeve as Marco struggled to his feet. He noticed a number of cameras among the group and in the back was Harper McLeod, her notebook open.

“Captain D’Angelo!” said Osborn, grasping his hand with both of his own. “This is a wonderful turnout for our first neighborhood event. I’m impressed.”

“Mayor Osborn, I didn’t expect you here.”

“I wanted to come show my support.” He pulled a man up beside him. Like Osborn, the man was tall and lean. He had salt and pepper hair and a strong, square jaw. “I want to introduce you to my son, Paul.”

Marco shook hands with the man. “Pleasure to meet you.”

“Same to you. I’ve heard a lot about you from my father. He’s very impressed with your career, Captain.”

“Thank you.”

Osborn’s eyes went to Danté and Bartlet, both wearing their uniforms. “So good to see some of our handsome young men in blue at this event.” He looked down at the two hotdogs Bartlet had set on the table. “I’m just going to have to get me one of those.” He nudged Paul. “Just don’t tell your mother.”

His entourage chuckled obligatorily and Paul smiled.

Marco put a hand on Mavis’ back. “This is Jamaad Jones’ mother, Mavis, and his grandmother, Maeve.” Maeve didn’t bother to get out of her chair – just lifted a hand in greeting and went back to eating her hotdog. Mavis, however, accepted his hand.

“I appreciate you taking crime in our neighborhood seriously, Mayor,” she said.

Osborn patted her hand with both of his own and gave her a sad look. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Every death in our city diminishes all of us. I’m glad I can be but a small part to put things to rights.”

Marco caught Harper’s roll of her eyes, then she shoved her way forward through the crowd. “Mayor Osborn, I have a question. Just how much money have you set aside for this neighborhood outreach program of yours, and is Captain D’Angelo your man to spearhead it?”

“Captain D’Angelo is my director at this point. We are discussing the organizational structure. We just had lunch the other day,” he said, his smile poised, but just a little tense.

“How much money have you set aside for this program, Mayor? I’m sure the community would like to know.” She glanced around the park. “While it’s nice to give people hamburgers and hotdogs, that doesn’t really get to the heart of the issue. People are dying in our neighborhoods. Kids can’t walk to school without being shot. We need more cops, more police presence, not…” She cast a disparaging look at the stickers on their table. “Stickers.”

Osborn opened his mouth to speak, but Marco touched his arm. “Let me, Mayor,” he said, then he focused on Harper. “Ms. McLeod, you’re right. We need more cops, more police presence, but we also need things like this. We need to establish relationships with the citizens in the City, we need to make connections in the neighborhoods where kids are dying, so people know it’s okay to come to us for help. More police presence means nothing if people aren’t comfortable coming forward and asking us for help, giving us information about what they’ve seen. We have to be seen as members of the community – all of us working together to make San Francisco a safer place to raise our families, all of us working together to stop violence, to make our streets safe for kids to walk to and from schools. We aren’t a military state, we’re a community and we have to know that all of us have a vested interest in that community. If we don’t, we all lose.”

Mavis smiled at him. “I know your intentions are good, Ms. McLeod, and I appreciate you taking an interest in what’s happening here, but while you see hotdogs and stickers, I see a chance to show my neighbors that my son was a valuable human being, that he deserved a life, that he had dreams and hopes and aspirations. I see a chance to make people understand that when they stay silent, the violence wins, the perpetrators win. I know we have problems, but if we don’t join forces with the police instead of fight against them, we won’t find any solutions. What I see here is a chance for us to have conversations, to air our differences, and for me personally, I see a chance to make Captain D’Angelo and his officers know who my boy was and that he mattered. That’s all I got left.”

Harper looked down.

Osborn put an arm around Mavis’ shoulder. “And that is the reason I suggested this task force. I’m so proud to be part of the solution, not part of the problem.” He reached over and patted Marco’s shoulder. “Carry on, Captain D’Angelo.” He released Mavis and turned toward the barbecue. “Now, Paul, let’s get me a hotdog.”

Harper glanced up at Marco as the mayor and his entourage moved away.

“Why didn’t you warn me he was coming out here?” Marco asked her.

“Why didn’t you tell me about your meeting with him? If we’re gonna have a quid pro quo, Captain, you gotta throw me a bone too.”

Marco glanced over his shoulder and marked that Dwane had disappeared when the mayor approached. “He left?”

Danté nodded, giving Harper an accusatory glare. “Yeah, I think that circus spooked him.”

“Hey, don’t blame me. I didn’t bring the Mayor here, Mr. Spock.”

“Mr. Spock?” sputtered Bartlet, nudging Danté with his shoulder. “She called you Mr. Spock.”

“I heard her,” he said, offering a polite closed-mouth smile to his partner.

A couple of people approached the table. Mavis moved to greet them, so Marco took the opportunity to crutch away from the table, motioning Harper to follow him. She stepped back a few paces and then started digging in her purse.

“How did you know Osborn was coming out here?” he demanded.

She continued digging in her purse. “He has an intern working for him who has the hots for me. He gives me the scoop. Why didn’t you tell me about your meeting with him?”

“We just talked about the neighborhood task force, that’s all. I didn’t think it was important to you.”

“You didn’t ask him about Lowell Murphy?”

“We talked about him a bit. He got nervous and took his food to go, then he beat a hasty retreat.”

She glanced up from the interior of her purse. “What did you ask him? Did you ask him if he killed him?”

“Not in so many words.”

“Then what spooked him?”

“The mention of Murphy’s name. You know this doesn’t go beyond us, right? This is off the record.”

She waved that away. “Sure. Hey, you got gum? I just…”

“Quit smoking, I know. No, I don’t.”

“Hey, Mr. Spock, you got gum?” she called to Danté.

He exhaled in exasperation, but Bartlet handed him a pack and he walked over, offering it to her. She took a piece and handed the pack back, unwrapping it and popping it in her mouth, then she handed the wrapper to him. “Be a boy scout and throw this away for me.”

Danté clenched his jaw, but he took the wrapper. “You’re welcome,” he said in aggravation.

“Right. Thank you.” She looked back at Marco as Danté went back to the table. “He’s cute, but man, is he square.”

“Square?”

“Uptight. Boy needs to get him some.”

Marco fought his amusement. “Do you have any news about the Russian graffiti?”

“I did some snooping into Victor Maziar. Three of his past clients have had unfortunate ends.”

“What do you mean?”

“One died of a heart attack at a Giants’ game. Grabbed his chest and keeled over, damn near fell on the Dugout and took out Lou Seal.”

Marco shrugged. “Why’s that suspicious?”

“Victor Maziar was sitting right next to him.” She smacked her gum. “The next drove his car into the guardrail on the Golden Gate, caused a ten car pile-up.”

“Victor Maziar was in the car?”

“No, but they’d had lunch just prior to him heading back to Marin.”

“And the third?”

“His car exploded on him. Boom!” She made exploding motions with her hands, drawing a look from everyone at the table. “ATF said it was a faulty gas tank, but the night before, three people said he had dinner with Maziar at L’Ardoise and they got into a heated argument.”

Marco frowned. It did seem suspicious. Three people dying around the same man. His mind went to Brad Peterson, whose truck had exploded in his driveway, but then he’d run afoul of the Russian mob over a gambling debt. “I need the names of the three men who died.”

Harper smacked her gum. “What do I get in return?”

“What do you want?”

“I want the name of the guy who shot Jamaad Jones before any other reporter.”

“Why does this case interest you so much?”

She transferred her gum to the other side of her mouth. “I have a sixteen year old brother.” She looked at Mavis. “I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. Besides, I like dogs and he wanted to do something to help dogs, so…”

Marco sighed. It was as good a reason as any other. “Fine. We have a deal,” he said.

*    *    *

The Cow Palace had originally been built to house a livestock exhibition, but over the years, it had become an event location as well. In fact, during the late sixties and seventies, it hosted the Golden State Warriors as their primary stadium. Hockey, roller derby, rodeos and even the Republican National Convention of 1956 had been held within its rounded steel form. Of course, when Marco had been a teenager, he’d attended rock concerts with his brothers in this location. That was the only history he knew until Jake and Stan made him aware of the rest of it on their drive to the WOS convention.

The Charger was filled with people. Abe rode shotgun because his long legs wouldn’t fit in the back with so many people in the car. Jake, Stan, and Douglas rode in the back seat, stuffed in so tight Jake complained he couldn’t breathe. Marco was hoping he’d eventually pass out, so he didn’t have to hear anymore whining, but Jake managed to get enough oxygen for that. He always managed to have enough oxygen for that.

To complicate matters, the three wizards, Abe, Stan and Douglas, had staffs which didn’t really fit in the Charger. In fact, the three staffs were bisecting the entire car from front to back, lying on Marco’s dashboard and ending against the rear window, resting along Stan’s shoulder.

Marco had suggested taking two cars, but Douglas had informed him they all intended to drink mead, so they needed a designated driver. Abe had clapped in delight at the mention of mead, but Marco suspected he was apt to be disappointed. He was fairly sure mead might actually be Bud out of tin cans.

And then there were the costumes. Abe wore the sparkly royal blue robe with stars and half-moons on it. He also had a wizard’s hat, which he insisted on wearing, and the ends of his dreads had sparkly silver beads. Douglas wore a black robe with yellow lightning bolts all over it and Stan had on a pale blue robe with silver clouds embroidered on it. Jake wore a leather vest, no undershirt, his pale white arms glowing, and tight leather pants. He had his sword strapped around his waist and he kept complaining that it was poking him in the thigh, but when Marco had suggested putting the sword in the trunk, he’d protested.

After much prodding by Abe, Marco had agreed to wear the forest green rough cotton shirt which was open damn near to the middle of his chest, the laces conveniently missing to tie it up, and he even let Abe put some eyeliner on his eyes – that was in exchange for not wearing the damn white wig that went nearly to his ass. Because the eyeliner wasn’t enough of a compromise, they’d forced him to wear brown suede boots that came up to his knees. Of course, they were tight and too small and the left one had to go under his brace, which ruined the whole fantasy, Abe declared, but in the end, he’d gotten away with a lot less nonsense than he’d feared.

He was surprised at how many people were in the parking lot as he pulled up to the kiosk where a kid dressed in battle armor asked him for $40 for parking. Marco paid it, grumbling under his breath, and they parked the car. As he eyed the long walk to the Cow Palace, he wondered if they’d agree to let him just sit in the car for the night, but watching them strap on their various weapons and other paraphernalia, he figured he’d gotten his way for the last time. Stan and Douglas almost vibrated with excitement and Jake kept saying, “This is so much fun. Why haven’t I done this before?”

As they made their way toward the building, Abe positioned himself at Marco’s side and leaned close, the tip of his wizard’s hat hitting Marco in the eye. “You know what a wizard wears under his robes?”

Marco blinked at him in alarm. “Please don’t tell me.”

“The same thing a Scotsman wears under his kilt.” Then he pealed off into laughter.

Jake walked right in front of them, swinging his sword and making feinting motions. Marco was sure he was going to stab someone or else gut his own fool self. On the other side of him, Stan and Douglas were waving their staffs around, saying incantations or…what the hell did he know? Maybe they were cursing people. He sure felt cursed himself.

“Peyton owes me so much for this.”

“What’s that, Angel?”

“Nothing.”

They arrived at the Cow Palace and paid their entrance fee. Marco realized this adventure was costing him a lot of money. Once they passed inside, it was like they’d entered a different universe. He saw men dressed as wizards or warriors or some sort of hairy monster with fangs. Ogres, Douglas informed him. “Those are ogres. They’re different than goblins. Bigger and uglier and with larger fangs.”

“Does the size of an ogres’ fangs correspond to the size of the ogres’ nether regions?” asked Abe.

“Yes,” answered Douglas with a decisive nod of the head.

Abe made eyes at Marco.

In addition to the male attendees, there were a surprising number of female convention goers. Some of the women were dressed in flowing robes, their long hair loose and intertwined with vines or flowers or metallic bands.

“Sorceresses,” said Stan.

“I like sorceresses,” said Jake, turning around to watch a curvy blond saunter past.

Some wore earth colors, some skimpy bustiers and tight pants, and some in tight gowns that shimmered as they moved. A large number carried swords strapped to their sides.

Jake nudged Marco in the side. “I like a woman who carries a weapon.”

Marco glared at him. “Lower the creepy factor a little, Ryder.”

Jake laughed. “You gotta admit that damn, some of these women are h-o-t hot.”

Marco closed his eyes briefly. Between Abe wearing nothing under his robes and Jake panting like a dog, they were either going to be thrown out or arrested.

They finally made it onto the main floor, which had been broken up into streets like a medieval market. Vendors hawked their wares – pewter cups, comic books, costumes, weapons, and action figures in pristine boxes. Others sold food – kidney pie, whole turkey legs, mutton stew – and finally, the most crowded spot was the pub at the end.

By this time, Marco’s arms ached from the crutches and his good leg was tired. The pub was situated in front of the main stage. Wizards had spell battles on the stage, while warriors defended them with sword fighting. An announcer called out color commentary, his microphone disguised as a wand.

Abe found them a table, sensing Marco needed to rest, and they sat down, watching the combatants circle each other on the massive wooden stage. The wizards would shout out spells and point their staffs and their opponents would react, either falling on the ground, writhing or ducking and striking back. As each new attack commenced, the crowd would react with shouts and catcalls.

“I’ll get the first round of mead,” said Jake.

Abe clapped his hands. “I’ll take a pink mead if they have it, Jakey.”

Jake hesitated. “It’s probably just brown, Abe.”

“That’s a shame.”

“Ask for a potion to put in it,” said Stan. “They have potion.”

Abe’s eyes sparkled. “What’s in a potion?”

“It enhances the power of the mead,” said Douglas.

“So Jack Daniels?” said Marco, wishing he could have a potion himself.

“Get me a potion too, Jakey,” called Abe.

“You want anything, Adonis?”

“To go home.”

They all laughed, but he wasn’t kidding. A giant, nearly seven feet tall, had just walked by wearing the head of a bull.

“I’ll get you a soda.”

“Yeah, that’s authentic,” he grumbled.

Jake and Stan hurried off to get their drinks and Abe fussed with his wizard’s hat. “It just doesn’t sit right on my dreads.”

“Medieval world problems,” Marco said.

“Actually,” said Douglas, giving him a bored look. “This isn’t medieval. This is a different world. Shadynotch is located outside the Milky Way in the Drabasian Universe. They can teleport from planet to planet through the use of weather magic. For instance, my wizard Stormharbinger appears in a bolt of lightning.”

“Sure.”

“What do I appear in, Douglas?” asked Abe, running his hands down his sparkly robe.

“A beam of sunlight.”

Abe nudged Marco. “You hear that, Angel, I’m a beam of sunlight.”

Marco smiled grimly. “You certainly are,” which sent Abe into titters of joy.

Stan and Jake returned with the mead and potion (which turned out to be a shot of something, just as Marco predicted) and a soda in a wooden cup. “That’s root elixir,” said Jake, pointing at it.

Marco took a tentative sip. It was rootbeer. He watched longingly as Abe tossed back his shot, then chased it with the beer. God, he missed drinking sometimes.

“I think I’m going to mingle,” said Jake, looking around. “You wanna come, Abe.”

“Sure.” Abe unfolded his lanky frame from the table. “What do you say, Angel? Wanna go shopping for some gems for your lady?”

“My lady doesn’t need gems, but you go. I’m gonna watch the battles for a while.”

Abe and Jake ambled off, sipping from their mead.

Douglas jerked his head back in the direction they’d come. “Let’s go look at the weapons. I need a new Dagger of Reckoning.”

Stan gave Marco a worried look. “Captain?”

“Go. Let me know if you see a lasso of truth or anything.”

“That’s Wonder Woman,” said Douglas.

“He knows,” said Stan. “He was being ironic.”

“That’s not being ironic. Clearly Wonder Woman is a DC comic and this is…”

Marco stopped listening as they walked away. He took another sip of his root elixir and watched the crowd, wishing that Peyton were here to see this. When a young woman went by wearing a black leather bustier, black knee-high boots, and leather trousers, Marco missed Peyton even more. He could just see her in that sort of get-up, her dark eyes surveying him mischievously.

He shook himself and went back to watching the battles on the main stage. He wasn’t sure if the two sides choreographed the battles or if they were just ad libbed. Some were more entertaining than others. He couldn’t deny that the teams that really hammed it up were the best.

“Marco D’Angelo?”

Marco looked over, seeing a man of average height, wearing wire framed glasses, his brown hair stylishly cut, his collared shirt and jeans most likely sporting designer labels, his boots highly polished. He carried a leather jacket slung over his shoulder. Weasel Williams. Marco would never forget that thin nose, that full lower lip, but damn, this man had style. He wasn’t Weasel Williams anymore.

“Wendell?”

Wendell gave a bark of laughter. “I thought it was you.” He came toward the table. “How the hell are you?” He held out his hand and Marco took it.

“Good. Take a seat.”

Wendell dropped into the chair on the other side of Marco’s table, slinging the leather jacket over the back of it. “Marco D’Angelo.” He shook his head. “When I saw Bernardo, he said you’d become a police captain.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Weasel Williams had gone to high school with Bernardo, which made him seven years older than Marco, but Marco still remembered the acne plagued kid with the greasy hair coming by the house to tutor Bernardo in math. He always wanted to hang out with Bernardo, but Bernardo didn’t have time for him. “Bernardo said you’d become a millionaire.”

“That’s right too,” said Wendell with a laugh, but it wasn’t an arrogant laugh in the least. His expression sobered. “He told me you’d gotten shot.” He nodded toward the crutches.

Marco absently rubbed his leg. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

Marco waved it off, bracing his forearms on the table. ‘Tell me about you.”

And Wendell did. He explained how he’d gotten out of college and decided to go to work for a startup in the Silicon Valley. At first they hadn’t been able to pay him a salary, but he’d lived with his parents, so he could afford that arrangement. They’d paid him in stock options at first. A few years later, the company had gone public and Wendell had made his first million.

“The rest, as they say, is history.” He stopped and gave Marco a searching look. “I’m sorry, but I’m sorta surprised to see you in a place like this.” Then he peered closer at him. “And are you wearing eyeliner?”

“How much would it cost me for you not to mention that to my brothers?”

Wendell shook his head. “You can’t afford me, D’Angelo. I’m a multimillionaire.”

Marco laughed. “Yeah, it was the eyeliner or a long white wig.” Marco gave Wendell a closer look. “What are you doing here? You’re not in costume.”

“I’m here for business. I’m thinking of opening up a card store.”

“Card store? Greeting cards?”

Wendell laughed. “Now I know you don’t belong here. No, these are fantasy gaming cards.” He pointed at the stage. “Each one has a wizard or a hero on them and they battle, kinda like this, but at a poker table. It’s big money. Some of these guys will throw down half their paychecks for paraphernalia.”

“Yeah, I’ve seen it,” he said, thinking of Stan’s apartment, Stan’s cubicle, and he suspected, Stan’s car. “So, rather than coming to conventions like this, they would go to your store to buy their toys?”

Wendell glanced around, feigning alarm. “Don’t call them toys here. You’re a big guy, but they’ll take you out for calling them toys.”

“Sorry.” Marco laughed again. He’d always liked Weasel Williams. He’d seemed a gentle soul. Marco’s mother, Mona, had made it her life goal to put some weight on the kid, so despite their age difference, he and Weasel had often been in the kitchen together, while his older brothers had been out playing basketball.

Wendell waved it off. “Can I buy you a mead?”

Marco held up his wooden cup. “I’m drinking root elixir.”

“Right. Can I buy you another root elixir?”

“Sure.”

Wendell went and purchased Marco another soda and got himself a mead with potion. Marco realized he wasn’t wanting the potion as bad as he had a moment earlier. He actually enjoyed talking to Wendell. Wendell tossed back the shot and then curled his hands around the cup.

“So, here’s my idea.” He pointed a finger at Marco. “Don’t you go stealing it now.”

Marco shook his head. “Man, have you taken a look at me. I’m not exactly suited to this sort of thing.”

“Right. So, these stores would be meeting places for people who follow this stuff. I’d set up some tables in the store and they could play their games. I’d also sell the merchandise, but the main part would be a social section. I’m thinking of having food and coffee, or maybe even…” He held up his glass.

“Mead?”

“Yeah.”

Marco shook his head in admiration. “I think you’re onto something.”

“So what about you? You’re kinda young to be a captain, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, but I think I got it because they didn’t know what to do with me after I got shot.”

“I can’t remember what Bernardo told me, but are you married?”

“Not yet. I’m living with a woman, my partner on the force for years, but we’ve been through some rocky times.” He turned his cup around. “After I got shot, I started drinking a lot to deal with the pain, then there was another surgery and…it got complicated. I almost lost her.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.” He shrugged. “Things are better now. We’re back together, but I think we’re both a little gun-shy.” He flinched. “No pun intended.”

Wendell laughed. “Why the hell are you here?”

“It’s her fault. She takes in strays.”

“Dogs?”

“And people. One of her strays lost his wife a few years ago. He’s lonely and he thought this would be the place to meet women.”

Wendell looked skeptical.

“So I went along for moral support.”

“You really must love this woman.”

“I do.” He sighed. “So what about you? Are you married?”

“No, I’ve been too busy to really focus on anything but work. I’ve bounced around to four different startups, same situation each time, and I’ve amassed more money than I know what to do with. I’m bored and lonely, and I suddenly realized I just wanted to do something smaller, get into the community and interact with people. Maybe meet someone and settle down.”

Marco thought of his taskforce. “I get that.”

Wendell shook his head and took a sip of his mead. “But I keep getting blocked every step of the way. The latest setback is really pissing me off.”

“What’s up?”

“I found a location for the first store – this pawn shop on West Portal that was going out of business.”

Marco sat up straighter. “Pawn shop?” Why did that location sound familiar?

“Yeah, Expo something. Anyway, I put in a bid. We were actually in escrow when the deal fell through.”

Marco felt a shiver race up his spine. “What do you mean it fell through?”

“The owner of the shop got a better offer, so he backed out of our deal at the last minute.” Wendell shook his head. “I’m telling you we were right at the point of no return, then I got the rug pulled out from under me.”

“Wendell, what was the name of the pawn shop?”

Wendell reached into his jeans and pulled out his cell phone. “I got it in here.” He pressed on the screen a few times. “San Francisco Buyers Expo.”

San Francisco Buyers Expo? The pawn shop where Danté and Bartlet had found Lowell Murphy’s watch with the Sugar Bear engraving.

Wendell leaned closer to him. “The whole deal stinks to high heaven.”

“Why?”

“I know I’m not supposed to know this, but I found out who made the other offer and he’s a snake in the grass. A lot of funny dealings.”

Marco’s jaw clenched. “Who?”

Wendell leaned back, alarmed by his intensity. “I’m not gonna get in trouble or anything, am I?”

“No,” Marco said, trying to appear less urgent. “I think I know what you’re going to say, but it’s important, Wendell. It might have something to do with a case we’re working, a homicide.”

“Okay, I just don’t want to end up in cuffs or something because I have information I shouldn’t.” He laughed.

Marco forced a laugh as well. “We’re homicide, so unless you’re going to confess a murder…”

“Just of ogres.” He nodded at a guy going by looking like he just climbed out of a swamp.

Marco laughed again. “Right. Well, I don’t have jurisdiction in the Drabasian Universe, so we’re good.” He leaned toward Wendell. “Who bought the pawn shop, Wendell?”

Wendell curled his hand around his glass. “A guy named Victor Maziar.”

CHAPTER 17

Rosa adjusted her sunhat and reached for the sunscreen, squirting a dollop into her hand. She felt ridiculous working in her bikini, but it would look even more strange if she sat in the lounger on a Caribbean beach in her black suit. Besides that, she’d die of heat stroke.

As she smoothed the sunscreen up her arms, she surveyed the beach. Kids built sandcastles in the sand. Jet skis went by, spraying up plumes of water. A few young college students tried windsurfing, spending more time in the ocean than on their boards. Many families had arranged entire camping sites in the white sand – shade structures, chairs, coolers, music. Steel drums could be heard coming from the Excelencia and waiters strode up and down the beach in tropical clothes, bringing people drinks or snacks.

Sitting next to her, Radar had a panama hat pulled down low over his eyes. He wore Bermuda shorts, leather sandals, and a tank top, his brown arms heavily muscled for a man of his age. He appeared to be sleeping.

A little way down the beach on her right, she could see the parasailing hut, but no one stood in line before it. An attractive young woman worked the hut, leaning on the bamboo counter, thumbing on her cell phone. Behind the hut, along the water’s edge, strode Tank in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, wearing rubber water shoes. He swept a metal detector across the sand, glancing up from under the brim of his oversized hat to survey his surroundings.

To Rosa’s left was a stretch of beach roped off for volleyball. Bambi, in a sports bikini, was playing with some of the young men she’d met in the bar the previous night. She had on a sun visor and a pair of sunglasses. Her microphone was affixed beneath a hair scrunchy on her left wrist, an invention Tank had come up with at the last minute.

From where she sat, Rosa couldn’t see Bass or Peyton, but she knew they were also sitting in loungers on the opposite side of the parasailing hut, continuing the pretense that they’d just hooked up the previous night.

She shifted again and dropped the lotion in her bag. She forgot how much she hated stakeouts and waiting for something to happen. Bass had promised her the boy would be running the parasailing hut, but he wasn’t here. What if he didn’t show? What if they never got a lead on the Dios Mayas? What if she couldn’t make good on her promise to Celeste to find Joe’s murderer?

“Relax, Sarge,” said Radar, obviously not asleep. “Go for a swim.”

“And miss something?”

He pointed at the expanse of crystalline blue water. “The ocean’s right there. If something goes down, it isn’t going to be that dramatic.”

She shifted to face him. “How do you stay so calm?”

“I meditate.”

“Is that what you’re doing now?”

“Yep.”

“Teach me how.”

He gave her a skeptical look from above his sunglasses. “Sarge, people have been meditating since 1500BC, but you want me to give you a crash course on it today.”

“Yes!”

He sighed. “All right. You need to get into a comfortable position. It’s best to have good posture, but when we’re on stake out, you need to be inconspicuous, so I just try to get as comfortable as I can.”

“I thought you had to be cross-legged.”

“If that works for you, sure.”

She crossed her legs. “Don’t I have to put my index and thumb together, then lay my hands palms up on my knees?”

Radar gave her the same look. “If that works for you.”

She did that pose.

“Now, I find it easiest to close my eyes.”

“What if something happens?”

“That’s why we have our coms.”

“Right.” She closed her eyes, but that made her feel anxious, her shoulders tensing.

“How about I keep my eyes open while your eyes are closed?” Radar offered.

“Good.” She forced her shoulders to relax. “Now what?”

He didn’t answer for a moment and she opened one eye, looking over at him. He shook his head in amusement. “If anyone needs meditation…” he began.

“Don’t finish that if you value your job, Radar.”

He smiled. “Yes, ma’am. Now, close your eyes and breathe in. Envision that you’re taking in a white light and it’s cleansing your soul.”

She opened her eyes and shot him a look. “Seriously?”

“You wanted to meditate.”

“All right. All right,” she said, closing her eyes again. “White light in.”

“Breathe out the dark energy, all the worries, the sadness. Envision it leaving your body.”

She thought of Joe Miller’s heart in a box on her desk and breathed out.

“White light in,” said Radar in a steady, soothing tone.

She had trouble envisioning this white light. She wasn’t a religious person, so she thought about the thing that made her happiest. Adrian. She breathed in the memory of his scent, his smile, the light in his eyes.

“Breathe out.”

The sight of Joe’s body swinging from the bottom of the helicopter.

“Breathe in.”

The blue of the Caribbean sea. The clarity of it, the whiteness of the sand.

“Breathe out.”

The sound of Celeste’s sobbing in her ear.

“Here comes the kid,” came Bass’ voice in her ear. “He’s wearing a lime green t-shirt that says Excelencia on it.”

Rosa’s eyes opened and she glanced toward the parasailing hut.

“And there’s the problem with meditation on this job,” said Radar, still looking like he was half asleep.

“What?”

“You never get to finish it.”

*    *    *

Bass nudged Peyton with his hand. She looked over at the parasailing hut, adjusting her sunglasses. A young man wearing a lime green t-shirt, floral print Bermuda shorts, and sandals opened the door on the side of the hut. He was carrying a beach towel slung over his shoulders, his black hair cut short and neat around his ears.

He and the young woman who’d been working the hut exchanged a few words, then she gathered a water bottle and her own towel, opening the door and striding away, back toward the Excelencia. The boy pulled up a stool and sat on it, reaching over to straighten a stack of brochures.

Peyton could see Tank behind the hut, moving toward it, waving the metal detector back and forth. She couldn’t see Bambi or Rosa and Radar, but she knew they were off to her left. Leaning back on her lounger, she picked up her magazine and pretended to read.

A waiter came by and Bass ordered two mango juices. She looked longingly at the water, wishing she could take a dip. Surveillance hadn’t been one of her strongest skillsets, but when she’d been partners with Marco, it hadn’t been that bad. They could talk for hours, or just sit quietly together, enjoying each other’s presence.

Bass wasn’t like that. He was tense and fidgety and he didn’t want to talk. Every overture she made, he shut down with either yep or nope. Great conversationalist. It occurred to her he’d been down here for six months, doing much the same thing. No wonder he was jumpy as a rabbit. It had to be getting old.

Dropping the magazine, she adjusted her bikini tie around her neck and fixed the end of her floral wrap. A few young men approached the hut, but she tried not to look directly over at them. They fist-bumped the attendant and leaned on the counter, talking. The attendant picked up a brochure and opened it, explaining something, but Peyton couldn’t hear.

The waiter returned with their mango juices and Bass moved to pay. Peyton figured it was her chance. “I’m bored,” she said, loudly enough for the waiter to hear. “This isn’t what I want to do with my day.”

“What do you want to do?” Bass said, glancing over at her as he counted out bills.

“We could try windsurfing. I’ve never done that before.”

Bass made a face, handing the bills to the waiter. “I’ve done windsurfing a million times. What about something more exciting? I keep wanting to try parasailing.”

The waiter smiled at them and turned on his heel, heading back toward the hotel.

“We could see how much it costs,” said Peyton, just as loudly for the benefit of the people sitting around them.

“Fine,” said Bass. He climbed out of the lounger and waited for her.

Peyton slipped her feet into her sandals and jumped up, adjusting her wrap around her waist. This morning Bambi had begged to style Peyton’s hair into a French braid. Pulling the end of the braid over her shoulder, she moved to Bass’ side. He dropped his arm over her shoulders and directed her toward the hut. He wore his typical board shorts with a tank top and an open collared shirt.

A couple of the young men walked away from the hut. Peyton marked that one shoved something in his pocket. She tried to find a distinguishing characteristic about the young man and saw he had a large beauty mark on his right cheek. Maybe she’d be able to find him later and figure out what he’d slipped into his pocket.

Reaching the hut, Bass picked a brochure off the pile and opened it. He moved until he’d banded Peyton with both arms, laying the brochure down in front of them. The attendant smiled over at them and went back to talking to the group of three college-aged boys standing at the counter.

The counter was high and Peyton couldn’t easily see over it, but she pretended to listen as Bass read from the brochure. Instead, she focused her attention on the boys.

“No, man, skiing is the best. You get you some powder and it’s like heaven,” said one boy.

“Snowboarding. Forget your stupid ass skis. You ever been snowboarding, Miguel?”

The attendant shook his head. “No snow,” he said and they all laughed.

Peyton wondered if they were talking in code.

The young men glanced over at her and one gave her a wink. She smiled in return.

“Can I help you?” asked Miguel, moving in front of them.

Bass cleared his throat. “We were wondering how much it would cost to parasail and if you need experience.”

“No, it is easy.” He turned the brochure and showed them the prices, then he gave Peyton a smile. “Like floating,” he said.

She tilted her head a little. “I don’t know. It seems scary. How far up do you go?”

“That depends.”

“On what?”

He leaned on the counter, bringing himself closer to her. “How high you want to go?”

Peyton gave him a flirtatious look, but she couldn’t help but wonder if he meant something else.

“It’s a little expensive,” said Bass. “Let’s talk about it,” he told Peyton.

She turned toward him, pouting. “But I’m bored. You promised me something exciting.”

He gave a sigh. “Let’s try windsurfing.”

“You said you’ve done windsurfing a million times.”

“But this will blow the majority of our money.”

She rolled her eyes and looked back at the young college men. “This vacation blows.”

Bass slammed a hand on the counter, making them all jump. “You’re costing me a fortune,” he grumbled and walked away, headed back toward their loungers.

She glanced back at him as if she was undecided, then pretended to be embarrassed and looked at the brochure again. Miguel shot a look toward Bass, then leaned on the counter by her. “There are many exciting things to do here without much money.” His English was surprisingly good.

“Like what?” she said, smiling at him.

“Like…”

“Hey, Miguel, catch you later!” said one of the college kids. He gave the attendant a chin jerk. The other two had started to wander off.

“See you later, man,” said Miguel.

The young man, a blond haired, blue eyed kid of about twenty-two or three, hesitated and looked down at Peyton. “Come play volleyball with us. I’m Brett.” He fit the frat boy stereotype perfectly. He held out his hand.

Miguel’s expression grew grim as Peyton accepted his hand.

“I’m sure I could find all sorts of exciting things for you to try,” he said. Then he brushed along her side as he stepped around her, heading for the volleyball court.

Peyton looked back at Miguel. “I should get back to my boyfriend,” she said, motioning to Bass.

Miguel watched the college boys go. “Be careful around them, chica.”

“Why?” She laughed.

“They are not nice.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just be careful,” he said. “A lot of these college students are here for one thing and one thing only.”

“So, you’re not?”

He smiled, his teeth a bit crooked, but white. “You want excitement, chica, I can get it for you. We would have a good time, yes?”

“Yes,” she said, then she looked anxiously over her shoulder at Bass. “But I have to be careful.”

“Right.” He glanced at Bass as well. “You get away from him and come see me. I work the front desk at night.”

She smiled. “Maybe I will.”

He nodded, then glanced at Bass again. “See you soon.”

Peyton walked back to Bass and sank onto the lounger. Bass shifted on the seat, leaning close to her and giving her a stern look. “Pretend we’re arguing,” he said under his breath.

She looked away from him, as if she were shunning him.

“What did he say?” Bass said, reaching out and grabbing her arm as if he were trying to get her attention.

“He wants me to meet him tonight at the desk. He works there at night. He says he’ll show me something exciting.” She glared at him as if she didn’t like being handled and wrenched her arm out of his hold. “One of the college boys, the blond, blue eyed walking frat boy stereotype, invited me to play volleyball with them. He said his name was Brett. Then Miguel warned me off him.”

“Why?”

“He said Brett and his buddies weren’t nice boys, that they want only one thing.”

“What one thing?”

“He didn’t say.”

“Did Miguel give them anything?”

“Not that I saw, but the boy with the birthmark earlier put something in his pocket.”

Bass considered that. “Would you recognize him if you saw him again?”

She nodded.

“You can’t go meet up with this Miguel by yourself.”

“I can with the intercoms and my gun.” Her eyes went back to the hut where a pair of college boys had approached the counter, talking to Miguel. “You’re right about this being shady, Bass. Way too many young males for it to be coincidence.”

Bass settled back on his lounger as if their fight was over. “I know, I’m just worried that our buddy Miguel wants to show you more than a few pills.”

She watched the young men talking furtively, glancing around as they conversed. “I don’t think we have much choice. This is our first real lead.”

*    *    *

Peyton laughed. “You’re kidding, right?”

Marco sighed. “I wish I was, sweetheart. I saw a guy walking around with a bull’s head on. They have these mock battles on the stage, wizards and warriors against ogres and the bull people, I never figured out what they were.”

“I want that picture, D’Angelo. Send it to me right now.”

He picked up his phone and angled the laptop screen a little better, then he messed with something on his device. Pickles sat on his lap and Peyton waved her fingers at him, then made kissy faces. The little Yorkie tilted his head at her.

“I miss you.”

“Me or the dog?” asked Marco, looking into the screen.

“Both of you, but the dog mostly.”

“Thanks.”

She laughed. “I wish I’d been there tonight.” Her own phone buzzed and she lifted it, pressing her finger against the text message. An image opened on the screen of Jake, Abe, Stan and a guy she didn’t recognize, all hamming it up for the camera, wearing wizards robes and hats and Jake wearing leather. “Does Jake have a sword?”

“Yep.”

She made the image bigger. “Where are you?”

“Taking the picture.”

“Uh un, I want the one I know Jake took of you.”

Marco sighed again. “Brooks.”

“Send it or I go directly to the source.”

Marco gave her a narrow-eyed glare, but she thought it was sexy, not intimidating. “Fine.” He messed with his phone some more. A moment later, her phone buzzed again.

She pulled up the message and caught her breath. Marco glared at the camera, much the way he had a few minutes before, but he was dressed in this rough hewn green shirt that was open nearly to his waist, showing off his six-pack abs. She made a whistling sound, then expanded the picture and looked closely at his face.

“Are you wearing…”

“Don’t even say it.”

“Marco, you’re wearing…”

“Please, Peyton…”

“Eyeliner?”

Marco closed his eyes and stroked Pickles’ head.

She laughed. “Oh my God, Abe got you to wear eyeliner?”

“It was that or a blond wig that went down to my ass!”

She fell back on the bed, giggling hysterically. “Oh my God, Abe got you to wear eyeliner!”

She could hear his laugh over the video feed. At that moment, someone knocked at the hotel room door. “Hold on, I gotta get this.”

She rolled off the bed and answered the door. Radar, Bass, Bambi, Rosa and Tank all filed in. Rosa took a look at the laptop and went over to it. “Hello, D’Angelo.”

“Hello, Rosa.”

“Tell your woman goodbye, we got work to do.”

Peyton hurried over and picked up the laptop. “I gotta go.”

Marco’s expression had gone grim. “Be careful, sweetheart.”

“I will. I love you,” she said, blowing him a kiss. “Kiss Pickles for me.”

“Talk to you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, good night.”

“Night.” He hesitated, then said, “Peyton?”

She lifted the laptop again.

“I love you.”

She nodded and disconnected the call, then she closed the laptop. Bambi had taken a seat on the end of her bed. She pulled Peyton down next to her, sliding her arm through Peyton’s.

“Okay, we need to get our ducks in a row,” said Rosa, taking a seat at the table by the window. Outside the window, the lights had come on and the sound of the surf filtered into the room, but everything else was dark. “Close the curtains, Tank.”

Tank closed the slider and yanked the curtains shut.

“Brooks has her date with Miguel. Bambi has a bonfire with the frat boys.”

Peyton looked over at her. “You do?”

She nodded.

“Neither one of you is going alone.”

Bass shifted weight. “I think I should go with Brooks. That way if I get caught, I can act like the jealous boyfriend, following my girlfriend.”

“Okay,” said Rosa.

“I called Federico to back me up,” he finished.

“Good. I think Radar and I should take a walk along the beach near the bonfire in case Bambi needs us. That won’t look suspicious.”

“What about me?” asked Tank.

“You’ll coordinate everyone from here,” said Radar. “If anything goes south, you can pull either team to the other location. We’ll all have our trackers turned on in our phones.”

“And the com links,” added Tank.

“When are you supposed to meet Miguel?” asked Rosa.

“Whenever. He works the desk in the evenings.”

“Peyton and I need time to get ready,” said Bambi.

“Okay. Meet in Tank’s room before we head out to check all of the equipment.” Rosa gave them all a grim look. “Neither one of you get into a vehicle with your marks. Stay in the open. No one takes chances. Remember, Miller was pulled off the street.”

Peyton and Bambi nodded.

“I’ll be right there,” Bass told Peyton. “I promise you.”

She knew he felt guilty that he hadn’t stopped Miller’s abduction, but she could take care of herself. She had no intention of letting anyone get the drop on her. Still, it was nice to know he’d be there if she needed backup.

“Thanks.”

He nodded, then headed for the door with the rest.

Bambi put her head on Peyton’s shoulder. “I’m sorry they cut short your talk with Marco.”

Peyton shrugged. “It’s okay. We’ll talk tomorrow.” She lifted her phone. “You wanna see something?”

Bambi nodded, her head still on Peyton’s shoulder. “Show me.”

Peyton showed her the picture of Jake with the others. Bambi grabbed the phone from her hands, laughing.

“Oh my God, look at Jakey,” she gushed. “He’s so funny. He knows how to have a good time.”

Peyton smiled at the silly photo.

Bambi’s expression sobered and she handed it back. “Thanks for showing me.”

Peyton shifted and looked at her friend. “Okay, dish. What’s going on with you? You’ve been mopey and down this entire trip.”

“It’s stressful. And gruesome.”

“Bull shit. You love gruesome. Why are you all like this?” She motioned at Bambi. “I’ve seen men flirting with you, but you ignore them. What gives?”

Bambi grabbed Peyton’s free hand. “You know me so well. We really have become best friends.”

Don’t tell Maria that, Peyton thought. “Uh un, you’re not getting off that easy. Spill.”

Bambi looked away. “We don’t have time for this. We still need to get showers and get dressed. By the way, the maid left us more towels. I put a tip under the pillow every morning and we get twice as many towels as we should.”

Peyton knew she was trying to change the subject, so she rose and tugged Bambi to her feet. “You can do my makeup and dish. Come on.” She dragged Bambi into the bathroom where there was an entire case holding pallets of eyeshadow, vials of mascara, even false eyelashes. There were hair baubles and powders and brushes and lipsticks, nail polishes and eyeliners and eyelash curlers.

“Do you ever wonder what’s the point of everything?” asked Bambi, rifling through her case and pulling out the colors that she felt went best with Peyton’s skin tone. “I mean, I date so many men. So many, and for what? What do I get out of it?”

The obvious answer to Peyton was sex, but she figured Bambi might not appreciate it.

She clasped Peyton’s hand again. “Don’t get mad at me, Peyton, please.”

“Get mad at you? Why would I get mad at you?”

Bambi sighed. “Because I know how protective you are of him.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

Bambi went back to rummaging in her case, but Peyton stopped her.

“Tell me.” Peyton reached over and closed the case.

Bambi stared at her a moment, then she sighed. “Since I met Jake, I started wondering if I’d ever find a man as fun or as great as he is.”

Peyton blinked, tilting her head. “Jake? Jake Ryder?”

Bambi nodded.

Peyton held up her phone, showing Jake striking a warrior’s pose in leather pants and a leather vest, no shirt, his white arms glowing. “This Jake Ryder?”

Bambi smiled, looking at the picture, then she looked Peyton in the eyes. “Have you ever seen a more perfect man in your life?”

Peyton’s mouth dropped open, but she didn’t know what to say. Bambi was supermodel pretty, Stanford educated, a weapons and explosives expert, and Jake was…well, she loved him dearly, but Jake was Jake, doofy and silly and smart as hell, but so very different from Bambi.

She blinked a few times, then she cleared her throat. “What now?” she asked.

*    *    *

After she and Bambi had primped and polished themselves, they dressed in summer dresses with halter tops and long skirts so they could both hide a small gun strapped to a holster on their inner thighs. Peyton had worn the same type of rig in L.A. when she went undercover in the sex-club sting.

Bambi had done both of their hair in a fish-tail braid, so the comlink wouldn’t show in their ears, while Tank had fashioned a second hair scrunchy for Peyton to wear on her wrist to hide the microphone.

Radar pulled them both aside, while Rosa and Bass discussed technical issues with Tank. “Don’t get in a car. If either mark tries to force you into a car, start screaming.” He glared at Peyton. “I mean this mostly for you, Sparky. You may be on the street and you won’t have one of us at your back like usual.”

For the first time, she realized that her team would be elsewhere. She’d never operated without her team before, but Bass and Vega would be there. And she could take care of herself. Before she could think more about it, Bambi threw her arms around her neck and hugged her.

“Be careful, Peyton, please. Keep your eyes open. Radar’s right. We won’t be there.”

She patted Bambi’s back and looked up at Radar. “I’ll be fine. I have backup and I’ll be vigilant.”

When Bambi released her, Radar shook a finger in her face. “You think Joe Miller wasn’t vigilant?”

She swallowed hard, then she went up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’ll be fine, old man, I promise you.”

He gave her another stern look, then Bass approached.

“You ready?”

She nodded.

“There are two main ways out of the lobby at the Excelencia – through the back to the beach or through the front to the street. Make sure you signal us which door you’re leaving out of. Federico will be at one and I’ll be at the other. Federico’s already in place, sitting at the bar beachside.”

“Got it.” She took a deep breath, then squeezed Bambi’s hand. “You be careful.”

“I will,” said Bambi, squeezing back.

Peyton smiled for Rosa’s benefit and the other woman came over, staring her down.

“Listen to me, Brooks,” she said. “I want Miller’s killer, but not at your expense. Do you hear me. Anything feels off, anything feels hinky, you abort immediately.”

“Got it.”

“Be careful,” she warned.

Peyton nodded, then gave Tank a small wave. Before they could give her anymore warnings, she turned and left the room, walking down the hall to the elevator.

“You need me, you just call,” whispered Tank’s voice in her com.

She smiled and pressed the button for the elevator. She took it to the first floor and headed for the beach. A short walk brought her to the Excelencia. Vega sat at a table in the corner and nodded at her as she passed. She nodded back. As she headed for the door leading to the lobby, a group of three young men stepped in front of her. One of them stopped the other two and motioned for her to go ahead of them. She found herself face to face with the kid from the beach earlier today, the one with the large beauty mark on his cheek. He was with two of his buddies, who all smiled at her. She stepped inside, wondering if she should try to make contact with them.

Before she could find an opening, they moved past her toward the front desk.

The lobby of the Excelencia had palm trees in large terracotta pots arranged around the perimeter. The floor was terracotta tile and each wall was painted a different color. Directly behind the front desk, the paint was a deep purple, to the left a burnt orange, to the right, navy blue and behind her, leading to the beach, brick red. The reception desk itself stretched the length of the purple wall and was made from zebrawood.

Miguel stood at a computer on the far left side and another young man stood at a computer on the far right, checking in a couple. Birthmark boy and his friends went immediately to Miguel, so Peyton hung back. Miguel looked up, smiling at them, then his eyes went beyond them to Peyton and he smiled wider.

“Buenas noches,” he said.

“Buenas noches,” the boys said in unison.

One of the boys, an African American with a short afro, nudged birthmark boy.

Peyton tensed, wondering if they were going to request something for a night of partying. Birthmark boy took some American money from his wallet and laid it on the counter.

“Um,” he said.

Peyton was close enough to notice his hands were shaking.

“I’m in position,” came Bass’s voice in her ear.

She didn’t reply, holding her breath. The kid sure did seem nervous.

“Um,” he said again.

The other kid nudged him and gave him a significant look. He looked like he might be mixed blood – Asian and white. Miguel arched an eyebrow in waiting, then he smiled at Peyton again, shrugging his shoulder. Peyton shrugged her shoulders in return.

“Tengo que cambiar dinero.” Birthmark boy said it with the most distinct American accent she’d ever heard.

“You need to exchange money?” asked Miguel.

“Sí,” said the boy, nodding quickly. “Necesito billetes pequeños, muy pequeños. Monedas.”

“¿Monedas?” asked Miguel.

“Monedas,” said the boy firmly.

Peyton narrowed her eyes, but Miguel just made change for the boys. Birthmark boy quickly pocketed it and they turned, headed toward the beach exit. Miguel beamed at Peyton as she approached the desk.

“Hola, chica. You ready to go.”

She leaned on the desk, smiling back at him. “Where are we going?”

“It is a surprise.” He held up a hand and she noticed the Mayan calendar tattooed on his inner wrist, then he walked over to the other young man and said something to him. The young man nodded and went back to helping his customers. Miguel grabbed a button up shirt from beneath the counter and swung it over his lime-green t-shirt, then he came around the counter to meet her. “You look very nice.”

“Thank you.” She lifted the hand with the hidden microphone and smoothed down her braid. “Which way are we going?”

“Out the front to the street. I want to take you to a club where the locals go.”

“Out the front, huh?” she said.

“Got it,” came Bass’ response. “We’ll be behind you.”

Miguel smiled again and leaned close to her. “You need to get away from the tourist spots to really appreciate Cancun.”

A frisson of anxiety went through her, but she reminded herself that Bass and Vega were right behind her. She smoothed her hair again as they walked toward the front doors. “Is this place far?”

“No,” said Miguel, placing a hand in the small of her back and directing her through the door. “We can walk to it.”

“We can walk,” she repeated. “Good. I need some exercise. I spent too much time sitting today.”

Miguel laughed. “You are on vacation. It is what you are supposed to do.” He kept his hand in the small of her back as he directed her across the front courtyard to the street, where they turned right toward town.

“Your English is as good as mine,” she remarked.

He laughed. “I went to high school in Texas, but I came home when I graduated. I lived with my aunt in the states, but I always wanted to come home to the Caribbean.”

“Do you have dual citizenship?”

“I do. Where are you from, chica?”

“San Francisco.”

“Ah, I have been there many times. It is a beautiful city.”

“It is.”

“You have not told me your name.”

“Paige,” she said, using her cover from Hollywood. “Paige Sparks.”

He leaned closer, his hand snaking around her waist. “Paige Sparks, beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”

She laughed. She half-expected some comment from Bass. Radar would never have let something like that go without comment, but Bass was silent. She hoped the link was still working. Suddenly she felt alone on the street.

Cars buzzed past, and they’d reached a part of the street where the nightclubs began, but Miguel didn’t seem intent to turn into any of them. For the first time, she worried. What if he wanted her to go into a crowded nightclub? How was she going to do that? Her PTSD might be better, but it wasn’t gone.

As they walked past the nightclubs, she heard a lot of English being spoken, but the further and further they got from the hotels, the less busy the clubs were. Suddenly, Miguel turned left into a side street. She could hear music coming from a cantina in the middle of the block. The building was made of cinder blocks, painted in bright pinks and blues. A large patio dominated the front of it and a number of people sat on the brightly painted chairs, sipping cervezas or margaritas. A group of young men in the corner jerked their chins at Miguel. He held up a hand, then guided Peyton into the interior.

It wasn’t crowded, but a number of people occupied tables or sat at the bar. A band had set up in the back corner and they were playing and singing in Spanish. Miguel pulled out a chair for her and she sat down. He dropped into the seat across from her.

The band was actually quite good, she decided, as he leaned closer to her so she could hear him over the music. “What do you want to drink?”

“Cerveza,” she said, smiling. She figured that would be safe as long as it came in a bottle. It would be harder for him to slip her something.

Miguel waved to someone beyond her sight. “Dos cervezas,” he called, holding up two fingers.

A beautiful, curvy woman brought the drinks and Miguel paid. After she walked away, he picked up his beer and pointed the neck at the band. “My uncle plays the drums. He’s good, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said, picking up her own beer.

“The band is called Las Tortugas and sometimes they play for the hotels. He gets lots of women because he is so handsome.”

“Las Tortugas? The turtles?”

Miguel turned and looked at her. A candle flickered in the middle of the table. “You speak Spanish?”

“Just enough to get me in trouble.”

“Ha!” he said, laughing. “You learn it in high school.”

“And I picked it up here and there. I don’t read very well.” She leaned on the table. “Is your whole family in Cancun?”

He nodded, sipping his beer. “My mother is in Leona Vicario, but my father is here. He works the hotels too.”

“So you have an uncle and your father here. Any other family members?” she said, positioning the microphone so Bass could hear.

“My cousins – one drives a tour bus out to Chichen Itza. The other does diving tours.”

“Your cousin drives a tour bus to Chichen Itza?”

“Interesting,” said Bass.

“Yes, have you been? It is one of the tourist things you should do.”

“I haven’t been, but I’m thinking of going. Maybe you can tell me the name of his tour and I can take that one.”

Miguel laughed. “He likes pretty women. He’ll be happy I sent you to him.”

She smiled. “Do you have a brochure?”

“Yes, at the front desk. I’ll leave one for you.”

“Nice, Brooks,” said Bass in her ear.

“What about your other cousin? Where does he do diving tours?”

“Xel-Há. It’s very touristy. You can snorkel or cliff dive or zip-line. You can even swim with dolphins. My cousin leads the scuba diving expeditions.”

“Four male relatives all in the same location,” said Bass. “I think we’ve got our man. Suggest you want something more exciting.”

Peyton took a sip of her beer. She wished she didn’t have to do this. She actually liked Miguel and she was enjoying listening to the band.

“The blond, older man,” Miguel said suddenly. “He is your boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. We hooked up the other night.”

“You didn’t come with him?”

“No, I met him in the club.”

“Who did you come to Cancun with, chica?”

“My friend. We’re on summer break.”

“You go to college?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Keep it as close to reality as you can, she told herself. “San Francisco State.”

“What is it you study?”

“Social work. I want to help people who are having a difficult time.”

“That is good. I do social work too. I help them unwind from their lives.”

Peyton laughed. “You have a point.” She braced her chin on the hand that had the microphone. “So, what other things do you think I should do while I’m here?”

“How long do you have?”

“We’re here for two weeks.”

“There’s the underwater museum.”

“The what?”

“An artist…um…” He thought for a moment. “Jason de Caires Taylor made these statues and sank them. They help create a natural sea reef. They’re eerie and beautiful at the same time. You should see those.”

“What else?” she said, enchanted by the tone of his voice. He obviously loved his home, much the way she loved San Francisco.

“Xcaret. You can ride the underground river. Or you can watch a reenactment of the ball games played by the ancient Mayas in Chichen Itza.” His eyes shown in the light from the candle. “Do you like animals?”

“I do.”

“You could go to the Crococun Zoo. They’ll let you touch the animals there.”

“Really?”

“Don’t get caught up in his charm, Brooks,” came Bass’ warning.

She licked her lower lip and Miguel followed it with his eyes. “What if I want nightlife?”

“You mean clubs where the Americanos go?”

She shrugged. “Maybe I want something different.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I’ve heard things. I’ve heard you can get things down here.” She leaned closer. “Things that help you have a good time.”

He reached out and ran his index finger down the side of her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said. “Be careful, chica. You can get yourself in trouble looking for things that you shouldn’t. You may be American, but the government does not look kindly on Americans coming to our town to do dangerous things. Drink your tequila and leave it at that.” He leaned closer still. “I don’t want to see you in trouble with the police, or worse. And I won’t be a party to taking you down that path.”

She leaned back. Lost him, she thought. Damn it!

CHAPTER 18

Rosa strolled down the beach next to Radar, her arm through his, pretending they were a couple. She looked at her watch, also a communicator, and marked the time. Midnight.

“It’s Sunday now,” she said, looking out over the water. They walked along the water’s edge, where the surf came in wetting their feet.

Radar looked at his own watch. “So it is. Sometimes I think I’m getting too old for this.”

She squeezed his arm. “Nonsense. You’re the best agent I’ve got. Why are you saying that?”

“This is a young man’s game. Tank, Bass. They can handle the tension.” He rubbed his free hand against his belly. “This is giving me an ulcer.” He looked up the beach where Bambi and the frat boys were having their bonfire. “It’s waiting and more waiting and then action. I don’t know. Gwen might be right. It might be time for both of us to retire and head some place quiet.”

“You’re not even fifty-five, Radar. You can’t retired yet. Besides I need you. Your team needs you. Who am I going to hand the Ghost Squad over to?” She looked out at the ocean again. “Besides, don’t you love coming to all these exotic locales? I think I’m missing out, staying behind in San Francisco.”

He smiled at her, then motioned a short distance up the beach where there were some lounge chairs. It would put them near Bambi, but not too close to be suspicious. “You’re a good SAC, Rosa. I haven’t told you that enough. You’re fair and even tempered. I enjoy working for you.”

She knew the previous SAC had been difficult. He hadn’t trusted his people, he’d always second guessed their decisions, and for someone like Radar, who should have probably been a SAC himself, it rankled. She’d been determined to trust her people and their decisions until they’d proven otherwise.

They took seats on the loungers. Rosa glanced over to where she could see the gleam of Bambi’s blond head. The frat boys were passing a bottle of tequila around and laughing loudly. Bambi acted like she was one of them, laughing just as loud and passing the bottle, but Rosa hadn’t actually seen her drink anything so far.

“Why didn’t you apply for the SAC position when it came open, Radar?” she said, glancing over at him.

He shook his head, folding his hands on his belly. “It’s not my thing.”

“Why?”

He met her look, then rubbed a hand over his square chin. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Sarge, please.”

“I won’t.”

“I don’t like sending people into danger. The fact that Brooks is out there tonight without us at her back has me in knots. I hate it.”

She absorbed that. Did it say something about her that she didn’t have a problem doing that? Not that she wouldn’t do anything to protect her people if necessary. She would go to any lengths necessary to make sure they were safe, but she didn’t agonize over sending them on missions. For instance, she trusted Brooks to keep her head in a tense situation and she trusted Bass to have her back. Beyond that, what more could she do?

“A good SAC has to send her people wherever they’re needed and she has to know they’ll handle themselves. That’s why you’re a good SAC, much better than I’d ever be.”

She nodded, thinking. “I protect my people,” she said, trying not to sound defensive. “I mean I try not to send people someplace that I feel will be unduly dangerous.”

“I know that.”

“I always ask myself if I’d be willing to go into that situation before I send you. If I feel like I wouldn’t make it back, then I’d insist we not take the case.”

Radar touched her arm. “Rosa, stop. I know that. That’s why I supported your application for SAC. There’s no one else I’d rather serve under. I know you protect us. I know you’d never send us some place where it’s too unpredictable.”

She looked back at the bonfire. “Losing Joe has shaken me up a little. And the way he went. I just can’t stop thinking about it.”

“We’re going to get his killer, Sarge. I promise you. I don’t intend to leave until we do.”

She smiled at him. “I appreciate that, Radar.”

“We lost him,” came Bass’ voice over the com. “Brooks laid it all down, but he slipped off the hook. We’re headed back.”

Rosa grimaced and looked away.

“Don’t give up,” said Radar. “We’ll get a break. I know it.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t sure. Bass seemed so certain that Miguel was the drug connection and she knew how good Brooks was. If she couldn’t hook him, then what the hell were they going to do?

Suddenly, the frat boys jumped to their feet and raced toward the water, shoving and pushing each other to see who would make it first. A few girls raced after them. When they reached the ocean, they leaped into the surf, swimming away from the shore. Bambi lingered behind.

“I’m going back to base,” she said into her wrist. “Have Vega meet me there.”

“Roger that,” came Bass’ voice.

“Sarge, I’m going to walk alone. I don’t want to blow my cover,” she added.

“Roger that,” said Rosa into her own link, then she and Radar exchanged a look as Bambi started walking away from the beach by herself.

“She’s got something,” said Radar.

Rosa curled her hands around the lounger’s arms. She wanted to follow Bambi immediately, but she knew they had to preserve her cover. In the ocean, the college students were screaming and splashing each other. They didn’t seem to notice that Bambi had left them.

When they’d determined enough time had passed, Radar and Rosa climbed to their feet. Rosa again took Radar’s arm as they strolled leisurely toward the hotel. When they got back to Tank’s room, Bass, Vega and Brooks had returned. Bambi stood by Tank, while he looked at something in a small petri dish with a magnifying glass.

“What’s going on?”

Bambi turned toward Rosa. “Brett passed these out to everyone before they went into the ocean.” She pointed to the oblong white pill on the dish. “I told him I wanted to share it with my friend, that I was going back to the hotel to find her. I said Peyton and I promised to meet up later and party. He told me it was fine as long as I promised to party with him tomorrow night.”

Vega shifted weight. “Did he tell you…uh…” He motioned to Bass. “¿Donde obtuvo los medicamentos?”

“Where he got the pills?” translated Bass.

She shook her head. “He told me not to worry my pretty little head about it. He’d get more for tomorrow night.”

“He says nada about el traficante?”

Bambi looked to Bass.

“About the dealer, the trafficker?”

“He wouldn’t tell me. He said he’d promised not to reveal his source.”

Vega slapped a hand against his thigh.

“Are there any markings on the pill? What do you think, Tank?” asked Rosa.

“It looks just like a prescription hydrocodone pill. It has the same M367 identifier stamped on it of hydrocodone. Same size, same color. I wouldn’t know the difference if I saw it.” He looked at Vega. “Can your lab test it for fentanyl?”

“Sí, we will test it. I will bring the results tomorrow. I’ll, how you say, put a rush on it.” He looked at Bass. “Esta es una mala noticia. Se propaga muy rápido.”

Bass nodded. “Y todavía no sabemos nada.”

Tank put the pill in an evidence bag and handed it to Vega.

Vega took it, giving them a grim look. “Nos vemos más tarde,” he said, patting Bass on the shoulder. “Buenas noches.”

“Buenas noches,” they all said together.

“I’ll walk out with you, Federico,” said Bass. “Good night, everyone.”

As soon as they were gone, Rosa turned to Radar. “What did they say to each other?”

“This is bad news. It spreads very fast.”

“It? The drugs?”

“I think so.”

“And what did Bass say?”

“We still know nothing.”

*    *    *

Marco fed Pickles, washed a few dishes, then walked the little dog down to the driveway. With his crutches, it was too hard to take Pickles for the walks Peyton usually did. Maybe he should have Jake come over and give the little dog a proper walk. He was looking a little pudgy around the middle.

Pickles did his business and gave Marco a sad eyed look. Marco sighed. He’d been gone so much lately, and with Peyton out of town, he knew Pickles was lonely. He started to crutch back into the house, but decided Pickles could go to work with him.

He was just going to check in on things at the precinct, then head over to his mother’s house for their usual Sunday dinner. He opened the Charger’s door and awkwardly bent down, picking the little dog up and depositing him inside.

Pickles hopped over to the passenger seat and wagged his tail happily. Marco eased the crutches inside, then slid in behind the wheel, pulling his bad leg in last. Joyce mentioned on Friday that he might be able to put weight on the leg in a few days. He was so ready to be done with the crutches.

“Let’s go to work,” he told the little dog, stroking a hand over his head, then he started the car and drove into the precinct.

As he crutched his way across the parking lot, he met Danté coming in. The young man smiled, reaching down to stroke Pickles’ head. Pickles’ tail wagged like a propeller.

“Hey, Captain,” Danté said. “Cool dog.”

“He’s Peyton’s best buddy.”

Danté nodded, jogging up the last of the steps and pulling open the precinct door. “I guess he didn’t want to stay home on a Sunday, huh?”

Marco felt a little silly. He’d always thought large men and tiny dogs looked ridiculous, but Pickles was lonely at the house. “I’m going to my parents’ house for dinner and I have about a billion nieces and nephews. They love dogs.”

“Got it.” He held the door for Marco to go through.

“Why are you here?”

“Bartlet and Smith both have the day off. I thought I’d come in and process some of the contacts we made. Inspector Simons said he’d meet me here. Inspector Cho is busy doing last minute wedding things.”

“You know you can just call them Simons and Cho or Bill and Nate, right, Danté?” Marco said, crutching through the half door toward his office.

“I’d feel disrespectful, Captain.”

Simons came around the corner, carrying a mug of coffee. “Hey, Captain. Want some joe.”

“No, I drank way too many cups this morning,” he said. “Danté told me the two of you are going to go over your contacts from yesterday’s barbecue. Does anything look promising?”

“Some. We found an old lady who was washing clothes in the laundromat a few doors down from where Jamaad was shot. She remembered a partial plate. I’m gonna run that and see if I get a hit,” said Simons.

“Good. Anything else?”

“Someone mentioned to Tag that a couple members of the Big Block gang hang out at the Stop and Rob on the corner. They’re the gang most active in the area.”

“Did this person think they might be responsible?”

“Tag said the guy mentioned that a rival gang is trying to push into the area. They call themselves the Mainline Gang.”

“How big are they?”

“Her source didn’t know. When she tried to get the guy’s name, he bolted.”

“Mainline just started moving into Hunters Point. If they run up against the Big Block, that could mean problems,” said Danté. “When Inspector Cho and I walked the neighborhoods, a number of people mentioned being worried about a gang war breaking out.”

Marco braced himself against the front counter. “Did you get any information that Jamaad Jones was part of either gang? Talking to anyone about joining, anything?”

“Everyone said he avoided them. He went to school, went to the animal shelter, and came home,” said Danté.

“Once in a while, he played street ball, but that was it,” said Simons. “His mom kept a tight leash on him and his brother. The kid never even served detention at school.”

“Inspector Simons is right.”

“Could someone have approached him about the gang while playing ball?”

“No one mentioned anything,” said Danté.

“Okay, go through your contacts and let me know if you find anything.”

They both nodded.

“Go on back to my desk,” Simons told the young man. “I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Sure.” Danté headed to the back without questioning Simons. Marco liked that he could follow an order.

Simons watched him go, then faced Marco again. “He’s a damn good cop already, Captain, and smart.”

“I know. He has a photographic memory, Bill. He’s really an asset to us.”

“But a kid like that isn’t going to last long as a street cop, Captain.”

Marco felt a frisson of dread. He didn’t like the direction the topic had taken. “Don’t start in about retirement.”

“I’m not. Silvia and I talked it over. With Bobby a senior next year, we’ve got college to think about. I can’t retire, but I could be promoted.”

Marco tilted his head. “I’m listening.”

Simons glanced over his shoulder. “Nate and the kid get along. Nate’s a damn good cop and he’d be perfect for training the kid. I know it’s too soon. Shit, the kids still wet behind the ears, but eventually, maybe you could make me a lieutenant and have the kid take the test to become an inspector.”

Marco smiled. “Have you talked this over with Nate?”

“Yeah, he agreed. He’s not ready to push papers yet. He still likes being on a case, but…” Simons looked down at Pickles, then reached down and picked up the little dog, rubbing his ear. “I think I might be.”

“How long are we talking about waiting?”

“What about six months? I’ll feel better that the kid’s cut out for this line of work by then.”

Marco nodded. “Okay, I’ll agree to that, as long as you don’t talk about retiring on me anymore.”

“Deal.”

*    *    *

Marco created a bed for Pickles out of a box that paper came inside by cutting a door in the front of it and lining it with a towel he’d found in the storage room. Pickles happily curled up inside of it and took a nap, while Marco answered some emails and made some inquiries on his own.

An hour later Devan Adams appeared in his doorway, wearing khaki pants, a polo shirt, and a white baseball cap that said The Olympic Club. He carried a pair of gloves in one hand and plopped down into the chair across from Marco with a weary sigh.

“It’s hard being you, isn’t it, Adams? Golf on Sunday at The Olympic Club. Were you forced to have the duck buns in plum sauce?”

“I had the crab sandwich.” He stretched his legs out and folded his hands on his belly, clasping the gloves between them, then he looked over at Pickles who ignored him and went on sleeping. “Why’s he here?”

Marco didn’t want to tell Devan that he suspected Pickles was lonely. “My nieces and nephews want to see him at dinner this afternoon.”

Devan gave him a skeptical look. “Can’t you at least buy him a decent bed?”

“No, I don’t have lunch at The Olympic Club after 18 holes.”

“Do you know who I played those 18 holes with?”

“The governor?”

“Close, the mayor and his son Paul, and Norris Barber.”

“The spin doctor?”

“That’s the one.”

“And?”

“Osborn told me about the barbecue for Jamaad Jones yesterday.”

“Yeah.”

“Any leads?”

“Maybe. Simons and Price are looking at the information they gathered yesterday.”

“Price, the new kid?”

“That’s the one.” Marco swung his chair around and picked up a pen on his blotter. “You get any information from the mayor?”

Devan slapped his gloves against his hand. “Just that Barber asked me what we’d found out about Lowell Murphy’s death. I said I didn’t have much to tell. He said he thought Kurt Foster, Murphy’s roommate, had been arrested for it. When I said Foster had an alibi, Barber wanted to know if we had any other suspects. I said we were working on a few possibilities.”

“And?” Marco tapped the pen on the desk.

“Osborn got visibly upset and walked away, got into the golf cart and ordered his caddy to drive to the next hole. Paul, the mayor’s son, hurried after him, but Barber stayed behind. Have you met Osborn’s son?”

“He came with Osborn to the barbecue. What’s he do for a living?”

“He’s an attorney. Corporate law, I believe. Anyway…” Devan smacked the gloves some more. “Barber asked me to drop the conversation. He said Osborn only gets one day a week to unwind and he doesn’t want that taken from him.”

Marco frowned. “Interesting. He’s the one who brought it up.”

“I thought the same thing. Then why the hell bring it up if you want me to drop it?”

“No idea. Sounds strange.”

“He said he especially didn’t want me talking about it in front of Paul.”

“Why? What difference does that make?” asked Marco.

“Do you suppose Sonny Boy knows something of Daddy’s predilections?”

“How? I thought Osborn kept his predilections secret.”

“Are they though?”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe we should take a look at Barber. Why’d he want to know about the case? Why bring it up at all, and then ask you not to talk about it?”

“Osborn’s his bread and butter. He might not want him creating a scandal that would deny them the governorship. Maybe he was hoping we’d actually arrested Kurt Foster.”

Marco made a note on his legal pad. Check Norris Barber for a gun license. “I’ll have Tag and Holmes look into Barber.”

Devan pushed himself out of the chair. “Well, I gotta go home and shower. Rani wants to look at houses. She says my condo’s too small for the family.”

Marco smiled. “She wants the white picket fence, eh?”

Devan wearily shook his head. “I don’t know, but when I questioned why we needed more room when Amira can still be carried in a backpack, it didn’t go so well.”

Marco laughed. “I can imagine.”

Devan glanced at Pickles again. “Come on, D’Angelo. Get the mutt something better to sleep in or I’m gonna have to rat you out to Peyton.”

Marco looked over at Pickles who seemed perfectly content. “Seriously? Do you have any idea how many points I just racked up by taking the fuzz ball to work with me? Don’t even try, Adams. Clearly you’re an amateur in the romance department, while I’m a stone cold professional. We ain’t even playing in the same league.”

Devan laughed. “Touché, D’Angelo. Touché.” And he walked from the room.

*    *    *

Marco decided to check out Norris Barber himself. He searched for a gun permit, but came up with nothing. He checked his driver’s license. Not even a parking ticket. He did a google search for the man himself and came up with a website. The website listed him as a political aid – Need help crafting the perfect public image, I’m your man! – and went on to enumerate the many things he was able to do for his client; ie., press releases, public events, meet and greets, etc.

Marco wondered if it was possible murder was a hidden benefit to hiring Mr. Barber. Could it be possible that the spin doctor had discovered the mayor’s adulterous ways and decided to take the matter into his own hands, eliminating the problem? Honestly, that seemed like a long way to go for an employer. Would Barber really chance risking his own career, his own freedom for a job, no matter how well it paid? That didn’t seem likely.

“Hello!” came a female voice from the lobby.

Pickles leapt from the bed and started barking. Marco grabbed his crutches and levered himself to his feet. “Bed,” Marco commanded and Pickles retreated to his box, sulking inside.

“Is anyone here?” came the voice again.

Marco crutched to the opening of his office. “How can I help you?” he said, then hesitated.

The young woman who’d been at the barbecue the previous day stood on the other side of the counter. She jumped when Marco appeared and glanced over her shoulder. Marco marked that she was alone.

“I wanna talk to the cop from yesterday. The black guy.”

Marco picked up the phone on Lee’s desk and pressed the buttons for Simons. Simons picked up on the second ring. “What’s up, Captain?”

“There’s a young woman here to see Danté. She approached the table yesterday and talked to us.”

“On our way,” said Simons, disconnecting the call.

Marco moved closer to the counter. “I’m Captain D’Angelo,” he said, offering her his hand. She accepted it reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t remember your name.”

“Cashea Thompkins.”

“Cashea, thanks for coming in.”

“I’m not talking to you. Get the black kid. Danté. I’ll talk to him.”

Pickles walked out of the office at that moment, looking up at the girl. Her expression softened. “Is that yours?” She pointed at him.

Marco bent down and picked up the dog, holding him so Cashea could reach over and pet him. “This is Pickles.”

“Pickles?” She laughed and Marco realized just how young she was. “That’s a funny name.”

“I know.”

Danté and Simons appeared from the back and Cashea’s eyes darted to them.

“Hey, Cashea,” said Danté. “I’m glad you came in.” His easy going demeanor was the perfect match to an anxious witness, Marco noticed.

“I got something to tell you, but only you.”

Danté pointed at Simons. “Inspector Simons is the one investigating Jamaad’s murder. He needs to hear what you have to say. And this is my captain. You can talk to them too, Cashea.”

She chewed on her inner lip and glanced at the door again. Marco was afraid she just might bolt.

“We can give you anonymity,” he said quickly, stroking Pickles’ ear. She watched him, smiling slightly at the little dog.

“That means no one has to know I come here.”

“Right,” he answered.

“But I gots to testify if you arrest someone.”

“We’ll do everything we can to protect your identity.”

She looked at Danté again. “I talk to you. I don’t care if they in the room, but I only talk to you.”

Danté glanced up at Marco for approval.

“Agreed. We’ll be in the room, but you can talk to Danté.”

“And no interrogation room. I don’t want no light shined in my eyes.”

Marco jerked his chin toward the conference room. Danté walked over to the half-door and held it open for her. “We’ll talk in here,” he said, motioning to the room with the tables and chairs arranged in a rectangle.

Simons took Pickles and followed them with Marco crutching behind. Marco grabbed a legal notepad off Lee’s desk and carried it into the conference room with him.

Once they all took a seat, Cashea held out her hands to Simons. “Can I hold him?”

Simons glanced at Marco for permission. Marco nodded and the big man passed the tiny dog over to the girl. She settled him on her lap, stroking his head. She continued to chew on her bottom lip, but petting Pickles seemed to calm her. Pickles laid his head along her arm as if he sensed her agitation.

Marco slid the pad of paper over to Danté and the young man removed a pen from his uniform pocket. “Can you tell me your full name?” he asked the girl.

“Cashea June Thompkins,” she said, staring down at Pickles.

“And your address?”

“Why you need that?”

“For our records.”

“You said I be anonymous.”

“You will be,” said Marco. “We need an address where we can find you. Danté won’t put it in any public record. It’ll be for our internal use.”

She thought about that for a moment, then she rattled off the information.

Danté asked for her phone number and a few other bits of information – where she went to school, her age, whom she lived with. She provided him with everything, but she didn’t seem comfortable with it.

“I know you’re nervous, Cashea, but I want you to know our priority is protecting people and we’d never do anything to hurt you.”

“How I know that? Jamaad got hurt, didn’t he?”

“Was Jamaad working with the police?” asked Danté.

“No, I just saying, you don’t know what you talking about. I still got to live in the same place. I still got to go to the same school. You think people there don’t want you to find Jamaad’s killer? They do, they’s just scared. And they got reason to be.”

“Why?” asked Danté.

She looked away, her hand still stroking Pickles. “The Mainline Gang. They just coming into the neighborhoods. They tag their M and G on everything. One day you think you outside their line, next day they take that street too.”

“And they’re threatening people?”

“She-et,” she said with a grim laugh. “They gots to make their reputation somehow.”

“How are they doing that?”

“They knock off the Stop and Rob. They go to the barber shop, make Lou cut they hair and then they walk out. He says something, they send him to the hospital. You goes in the laundromat, you gonna get shook down. They says they own that place now.”

“Do you know who they are?”

She pressed a hand to her temple. “I tell you this, they kill me.”

“Okay,” said Danté, holding up a hand. “Don’t tell us names yet. Do you think they killed Jamaad?”

She lifted Pickles in her arms and held him close to her chest, then she rubbed her face on his fur. “He’s a good dog,” she told Marco.

“He is,” Marco said, giving her a smile.

“Jamaad like dogs. He always talking about them. He really wanna help dogs who don’t got a home.”

“I know.” Marco couldn’t believe how much holding Pickles seemed to help the girl. “You were friends with Jamaad?”

“We had most all our classes together.” She gave a laugh, then looked up at the lights, trying to compose herself. “He had dog stickers on his binder. No guys do that. They puts half-naked women on there, but not Jamaad. It was dogs, but no one bother him about it. You knows, it like they understood. Dogs is cool.” She shrugged, swiping a hand under her nose. “I like that, you know? He weren’t fake.”

Marco nodded. “I know you’re afraid, Cashea, but we need your help.”

“If they finds out, I’m dead.”

Danté glanced over at Marco.

“Just coming here was stupid. Someone might tell them.”

Simons rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. “I have a kid Jamaad’s age, Cashea. Sometimes, that kid just pisses me off. He leaves dirty dishes and socks everywhere and let me tell you, no seventeen year old boy’s socks smell like roses. Sometimes I think something died in that boy’s room.”

She laughed, rubbing her face on Pickles again.

“But if something happened to him,” said Simons, his voice going grim. “I would feel like most of me died.”

She went back to chewing on her bottom lip. “Like Jamaad’s mama.”

“Like Jamaad’s mama.”

She fell silent for a moment, then she lifted her head and firmed her jaw. “They calls him Chicago. I don’t think he mean to do it.”

“Do what?” asked Marco. “Kill Jamaad?”

“Yeah, I think he doing a driveby, shooting into the laundromat. They says someone disrespected him in there, so he’s gotta show ‘em who’s bad, right?”

Marco frowned. There didn’t seem to be much logic in that. “Wait. The person who disrespected Chicago was in the laundromat?”

“No, jus he feels disrespected by someone who go there, so he drives by and shoots out the windows. Problem is Jamaad walking there right at that time.”

Marco closed his eyes. Jamaad was walking there right at the time someone decided to shoot off his gun on a crowded street. The boy had nothing to do with it, probably didn’t even know what was going down, and bang, he was dead. Marco couldn’t get his head around the senselessness of it.

Simons made a sound and bowed his head.

“What’s Chicago’s real name, Cashea?” asked Danté.

“I tells you this, they gonna kill me.”

“They’ll never know you told us. I promise you. Your name doesn’t leave this place.”

“They gonna know I left the neighborhood when I come home on the bus. They all over the bus stations too.”

“Then I’ll drive you home.”

“In a cop car, yeah, that not gonna draw attention.”

“I’ll drive you home in my personal car.”

“No, we have some beaters in impound we can use,” said Marco. “The license plates won’t track that way. I’ll go with you.”

“No offense, Captain, but you sort of stand out in that neighborhood. The idea is to get in and out, so no one notices,” reasoned Danté.

Marco nodded, thinking. “Okay. Cashea, you give us the name and where you think he is, and we’ll go in after him, take him and as many of the gangbangers down as we can. I’ll put a call into a friend who works the gang task force and see if he wants to help us. While we’re doing that, Danté will get you home in an unmarked car.”

She went back to lip chewing. “Serious? You gonna take Mainline down like that?”

“I wish that was true, but they could be back on the streets in as little as twenty-four hours if they make bail, but we’ll have a shot at the guy who killed Jamaad.” Marco leaned toward Cashea. “It’s not a perfect fix, but it’s a start. I know this is terrifying, but you can either keep living in fear, Cashea, or you can do something about it. I think we should do something about it.”

She looked at Danté. “You promise to take me home, while they messing with Mainline.”

“I promise.”

She drew a deep breath and released it, cuddling Pickles close. “His real name Roscoe Butler, but they calls him Chicago ‘cause that where he come from. He and the other Mainliners, they flop in an abandoned warehouse off Nimitz Ave. You can’t miss it. It the first one when you turn off Blandy Street.”

“How do you know this?” asked Simons.

She brushed her face against Pickles once more. “My brother got jumped into Mainline ‘bout six months ago. Big Block gangsters caught him walking by hisself one night. They beat him so bad, he got brain damage. He can’t walk, can’t talk, can’t eat for hisself. My mama has to feed him, change his diapers. We get money from the state for his care, but it ain’t enough. When she go to work, guess who gets to take care of him?”

“I’m so sorry, Cashea,” said Danté.

She shrugged. “School the only time I get a break. I like talking to Jamaad about his dogs. It was nice.”

Marco couldn’t believe how much this young woman had been through. Her strength humbled him. There had to be something the mayor’s task force could do for a family like this. He needed to know just how much money he had at his disposal.

Simons glanced over at Marco. “You gonna call Javier?”

Marco nodded. “Yeah.” Javier Vargas had worked with him and Peyton when they went after the Aztecas more than a year ago. During the same case, they’d met DEA agents, Rosa Alvarez and Joe Miller, who were on alert that the Aztecas had some deep pocket funding from Mexico. As far as gangs went, no one knew more about them in San Francisco than Javier. “Take the rest of Cashea’s statement, Danté. Simons, you arrange for a loaner car for Danté to use and call everyone in. I’m gonna go make a few calls and see what sort of firepower we can get.”

Simons lifted his bulk to his feet. “On it.”

Marco rose also and leaned over, holding out his hand to Cashea. “I appreciate all that you’ve done for us. I know it took courage and you showed you have it. Thank you.”

She accepted his hand and gave him a grim smile, then she held out Pickles. “Dogs is cool,” she said. “Jamaad knew that.”

*    *    *

Marco called his mother first of all and begged off dinner. Abe and Jake were already there, so he talked to Jake and got him to agree to standby in case they needed him to come out to the warehouse on Nimitz. Then he called Javier.

“I’ll be right over,” said Javier before Marco could tell him everything.

By the time Javier arrived, Marco’s people were in place, suited up in riot gear and flak jackets and ready to roll. Simons had secured a car for Danté and the kid was ready to leave. Danté was heavily armed.

Javier shook hands with Marco. “Hey, Marco.”

“Hey, Javier.”

Javier turned and lifted his hand to greet Marco’s team. “Hello, everyone.”

They all nodded.

He stepped back so he could talk to all of them. “I have men waiting to roll as soon as I’m done debriefing you. Our job will be to go in, neutralize the situation, and drag out anyone we can find in the building. They’re trespassing on private property, so we have probable cause to go in there, but just to be safe, I also pulled a warrant.”

“What are we facing?” asked Cho.

“They’re heavily armed, but the guns are Saturday Night Specials mostly. They don’t have much money yet, haven’t really established themselves, and are constantly being swatted by the Big Block Gang. Up until recently, the Big Block has treated them as an annoying gnat, buzzing around their territory, but lately, the Mainline Gang has moved into traditional Big Block territory.”

“Gang war?” asked Tag, adjusting her flak jacket.

“That’s why we’ve been keeping an eye on them. Jamaad Jones’ murder may be a response to something that went down six months ago.”

“What?” asked Marco.

“Six months before Jamaad was killed, one of the Big Block gangster’s girlfriend was using the laundromat. Two Mainline gangsters came in, recognized her, and hassled her. Three days later, the Big Block Gang caught a Mainline gangster, beating him so bad, he has brain damage. About six days before Jamaad was killed, Big Block tagged the laundromat with their sign. Four days later, a large group of the Big Block gangsters showed up at the laundromat and sat there all night. Two days later, a Mainline gangster shot and killed Jamaad right in front of that laundry. Jamaad Jones was collateral damage.”

Javier gave Marco a grim look. “I’ve been trying to figure out who the gangster was that pulled the trigger, but until today, I was coming up empty.”

“After this is over, you and I need to talk,” said Marco. “The mayor’s starting a task force to better communication between the neighborhoods and the police. I think you could help me out.”

Javier nodded. “Definitely.”

“So how are we going to play this?”

“We go in and surround the warehouse.” He pulled a map out of his pocket and unfolded it on the counter. “There are doors here and here, plus the rolling door. We break the smaller doors in and we enter. Then we arrest anyone who’s there and haul them out. I’ll take the bulk of them to my precinct and you get Chicago.”

Marco glanced over at Danté. “In the meantime, you get Cashea home and get out of there. Got it.”

Danté nodded. “Yes, Captain.”

“Everyone stay in touch on radio.”

Javier agreed. “All right, let’s move out.”

As everyone filed from the precinct into the vans, Marco looked back at Pickles who waited in the doorway, watching them. He figured it was safest to leave the little dog here. He could come back for him when it was over.

Lee had come in at their call to hold down the fort. He glanced at Pickles. “Don’t worry. We’ll keep things running here.”

Marco smiled at the huge man as he picked up the tiny dog. “See you soon,” he said, crutching toward the front door.

“Be careful, Captain,” said Lee.

*    *    *

Marco and Javier stared at the warehouse in the distance. It was run-down, siding falling off, holes in the roof. Debris lay piled up beside the rolling door and there was no electricity. Marine air had caused much of it to rust and some of metal I-beams holding up the front looked like they’d collapse during a small earthquake.

“Be careful,” Marco told Javier. Then he glanced over his shoulder at the rest of his people as they climbed out of the van.

Javier nodded and climbed out of the driver’s side after them, slapping a helmet on his head. “We’ll alert you by radio.”

Marco hated that he couldn’t join them, but his leg was more liability than aid. He watched the rest of the black clad police officers flow out of the vans, heavily armed, covered in gear. They sprinted over to the building, keeping low. Commands were called through the radio, but he could also see hand motions as well. He knew his people were out there. He could have stayed in the precinct, but he wanted to be here, with them, supporting them.

At a cue from Javier, they used handheld battering rams to knock in the doors, then they streamed inside. Marco could hear a jumble of shouts, commands being issued as only seasoned cops could issue them. He waited to hear gunfire, but it never came and he relaxed against the seat.

Thank God it seemed to be over and quickly too. He knew it would take a long time to catalog the weapons and secure the gangsters, but if there was going to be gunfire, it should have come before now. Everything seemed to have gone well. They’d come out with enough manpower and they’d neutralized the situation.

Rolling his head on the headrest, he stared at the warehouse. A flutter of motion caught his eye and he squinted. Someone had come out on the roof and was walking across it. The person came to the edge where there were dumpsters and dangled over the side.

Marco knew he could call to one of his people inside the building, but he wasn’t completely sure they had everything secure yet. Pushing open the van door, he grabbed his crutches and got out, then he hurried as fast as he could across the street, toward the warehouse.

The escapee still dangled from the building, trying to judge how far the drop was to the dumpster and if it could be made without breaking anything. Just as Marco reached the site and drew his gun, the person dropped into the dumpster and disappeared.

Marco braced himself on the crutches and steadied the gun with both hands. “Come out with your hands up!” he shouted at the person in the dumpster. He heard rustling, but the perp didn’t appear. “I said, come out with your hands up!” Pressing the radio at his shoulder with his chin, he said, “I need backup on the left side of the building.”

The radio crackled, but he couldn’t make out the response. Suddenly the dumpster exploded in garbage and the perp leapt out of it, landing on the ground. He glanced back at Marco and Marco couldn’t help but notice he couldn’t be more than 14. Then the kid bolted toward the other end of the alley.

Marco didn’t want to shoot him, but he didn’t want him getting away. “Stop!” he shouted, aiming the gun at a spot above the kid’s head. He shot and the bullet went through a rusted piece of hanging sheet metal. The metal released and fell, nearly dropping on the kid. The kid threw himself to the side and slipped on something wet in the alley. He landed hard on his side, knocking the wind out of him.

Keeping the gun trained on him, Marco dropped the crutches, praying his damn leg would hold him and using the side of the building for support, limped over to the kid, pointing the gun at his head. “Don’t move!” he snarled.

A moment later, Holmes raced around the side of the building, his gun drawn. He skidded to a halt beside Marco, panting. “You okay, Captain?”

“Fine. What’s going on inside?”

Holmes reached down and checked the kid for a gun, then he yanked him to his feet. “We got him.”

“What?” Marco asked, lowering his own weapon. “You got who?”

“Chicago, Captain. We got Chicago.”

CHAPTER 19

Rosa sipped her coffee and stared across the resort to the pool. The sun was bright and the air was cool, but she could already feel the humidity climbing. Besides dipping her feet in the Caribbean on her walk last night with Radar, she hadn’t gone swimming. She wanted to, but she didn’t think it looked professional. Not that a Cancun t-shirt and khaki shorts screamed professional, but she had to look the part of a tourist.

This morning as Adrian filled her in on everything in San Francisco, he’d remarked that she looked tired. She was. After the late night they’d pulled last night and the fact she couldn’t stop playing everything over in her mind, she was getting at most three to four hours of uninterrupted sleep. Talking with Adrian didn’t help. She missed him and that missing of him was beginning to be  a problem. He said he missed her. They were definitely beyond the fun, casual part of their friendship.

She thought about swimming again. She could say it was part of her workout routine. No one would question that. Radar had the Ghost Squad in the weight room this morning, running them through a workout. Since they’d come here, she hadn’t done her regular work out – she liked to attend spin classes at the gym down the street from her house, then some light weights -- but swimming wasn’t a bad substitute.

Before she could get up the energy to go, Bass appeared, wearing his tank top, button-up over shirt, and navy shorts today. His spiky blond hair gave him a relaxed appearance, added to his tan. He sank into the seat across from her and reached for the coffee carafe, filling a mug that sat there waiting.

He didn’t speak until he took a gulp, then he set the mug down and looked at her. “Buenos diás.”

“Buenos diás,” she repeated.

“I talked with Federico this morning.” He curled his hands around his mug.

“And?”

“He put a rush on the pill Bambi got from the kid last night.”

She leaned forward. “Did he get results already?”

Bass nodded. “It was Fentanyl, Rosa. Not as high as some of the pills they’ve tested lately, but still dangerous.”

“Should we pull the kid in for questioning?”

“If he clams up or demands a lawyer, we blow our cover. I’ve been down here six months. I don’t want to blow my cover unless we have a sure thing. We need to get more evidence.”

She nodded. In the DEA, sometimes you had to play the long game, but it didn’t work that way in a murder investigation. In a murder investigation, every hour made it that much more difficult.

“I’m trying to solve Joe’s murder, Kaz. You understand that. If we can break open this drug case for you, I’m willing to help, but we can’t stay down here that long. We’ve got to find out who murdered Joe and get back home. Time is critical in our business.”

Bass took another sip of his coffee and then turned to watch two kids shooting water cannons at each other. After a moment, he turned back and gave Rosa a serious look. “Here’s the thing, Rosa. I have a feeling you aren’t going to solve Joe’s murder until I solve this drug case and that’s the truth. Our cases are irrevocably entwined.”

She drew a deep breath and released it. He was right of course, but that didn’t mean she had to like it.

*    *    *

They took their same positions on the beach as the previous day. Peyton sat with Bass, watching the parasailing hut. Miguel hadn’t arrived yet and the girl was running the reservations. Bambi was playing volleyball with Brett, while Tank went back to scanning the beach for treasures.

Yesterday, he’d actually found a ring – cubic zirconia – but he said the Professor would find it interesting. He’d collected bits of sea glass and pretty shells for her as well. He said she didn’t like store bought souvenirs.

Radar and Rosa had taken up their position on the other side of the parasailing hut, continuing to play the vacationing Mexican couple. This morning Radar had insisted his squad work out with him and he’d run them through a few self-defense positions before he’d let them get breakfast.

Peyton couldn’t deny his training regime was a lot more dictatorial than Stryker’s. Stryker didn’t shout obscenities at his students or call them names, but Radar did. He justified it by saying that an opponent wouldn’t ply them with compliments when he was trying to kill them.

In the end, Peyton had kissed his cheek to make him stop, which prompted Bambi to do the same. When Tank pretended like he was also going to kiss him, Radar ended their training session. As they took the elevator back to their room, Radar glared at her. Of course, she got great joy in poking the bear, so she asked him what was wrong. He grumbled something about her ruining his people, that Bambi and Tank would never have been so forward before she came along.

She smiled now, thinking about it. She hoped she’d ruined them. It was so much more fun if you liked the people you worked with. It made the time go so much quicker. Speaking of which, Bass was back to not talking. She fidgeted in her seat, wishing she’d drawn the straw that would have let her play volleyball instead of this. During Marco’s quiet times, she’d known how to bring him out of it. She’d make some ridiculous claim and he’d be forced to debate it with her. Bass wasn’t like that, or so she didn’t think. Maybe he was. She hadn’t really tried.

“You know, they say there could be a Megalodon still alive now.”

Bass glanced over at her. “You don’t say.”

“Yep, you know what the Megalodon is?”

“Something from Jurassic Park, right?”

“Well, it was a prehistoric shark that they thought went extinct, but there may be one out there,” she said, pointing to the ocean. Tank would have corrected her already and told her there was no evidence of that, but Bass just nodded and went back to watching the parasailing shack.

“Interesting,” he said.

“You ever wonder what might happen if, you know, it came on shore.”

“I guess people would get eaten.”

“Seriously eaten. I’m mean, can you imagine if it was walking around just eating people? Who could stop it?”

Bass shot another look at her from behind his sunglasses. “The military, I guess.”

The military? Was he serious or was he ignoring her? She slumped in her lounger, gripping the arms. Maybe she could go swimming until Miguel came for his shift. Staring out at the crowded beach, she looked for Tank, but he’d disappeared. She wouldn’t mind giving the metal detector a whirl.

Her heart caught and she gripped the arms of the chair tighter. Then she reached up and took off her sunglasses. A man, walking along the shore where the sand was wet, looked familiar. She tracked him with her eyes, noticing his bushy beard, completely bald head. He wore shorts and a tank top, his arms covered in tattoos, and carried his sandals in his hand. He also had on sunglasses which hid his eyes, but his head swept the beach as if he were looking for someone.

Peyton casually lifted the comlink to her mouth. “Sarge, Radar, see the guy walking down the beach toward your direction. Bald, big beard.”

Bass looked over at her, then looked out at the surf. He sat up a little straighter, suddenly on alert.

“I don’t see him,” said Rosa.

“Just wait. He’s coming around the back of the parasailing shack right now.”

Silence descended as both she and Bass followed the man with their eyes. Peyton realized goose flesh had erupted all over her skin.

“I see him,” came Radar’s voice. “He sure looks like our friend from SFO.”

“That’s what I thought. Sarge?”

“I’m fairly certain it’s him.”

“Who?” said Bass in a low voice.

“He was following Celeste Miller,” Peyton said. She rose from the lounger and walked toward the parasailing hut, angling around behind it, so she could keep him in view.

“I’m gonna confront him,” came Radar’s voice. “Sparky, Tank, you got my back.”

“Roger,” said Peyton into the com.

“Roger,” came Tank’s voice.

She glanced to her left and saw Tank sweeping the sand with his metal detector, a floppy hat on his head. He held up a hand to her and she did the same. Suddenly, Peyton spotted Radar heading down the beach toward the water.

Beardy McBeardson spotted him as well and hesitated. Peyton thought he might actually wait for Radar to reach him, but suddenly he turned and stepped into the ocean, tossing his sandals into the sand.

“Stop!” shouted Radar, beginning to run, but Beardy McBeardson dove into the waves and began stroking out into the open water. All of a sudden a boat, coasting along the shoreline, swung in toward land and Beardy McBeardson headed toward it.

Radar stumbled to a halt at the water’s edge as the bearded man was hauled onto the boat.

“Let him go, Radar,” said Rosa through the com. “You don’t want to get into a scrabble in the water. It’s too dangerous and you have expensive equipment on. I took some more pictures of him.”

Radar slapped his hands against his thighs and turned a circle.

“Can we get DNA off his sandals?” asked Peyton into her com.

“Probably not, after they’ve been dropped in the ocean, but he’s definitely connected to Joe’s murder,” came Rosa’s voice.

Peyton watched the boat speed off into the open water. Who the hell was this guy and why wouldn’t he let them talk to him?

“When I get my hands on this bastard, I’m gonna strangle him,” said Radar into the com.

“Well, that’ll be good. A strangled Beardy McBeardson is gonna give us all kinds of information,” said Peyton.

She thought she heard a laugh from Rosa.

“Beardy McBeardson?” Rosa asked.

“Hey, it’s the FBI. You guys are famous for your brilliant nicknames. I’m just taking a page out of the playbook.”

A second later, she knew she’d made Rosa laugh.

*    *    *

By noon, Miguel still hadn’t shown up. Bass had ordered them a couple of mango smoothies and Peyton needed to use the facilities. Besides, she was bored to death. Stakeout on a street in San Francisco or stakeout on a beautiful beach in Mexico was no different. She hated inaction, she hated sitting still, and the humidity was making her sleepy.

She stretched. “I’ve got to use the bathroom,” she told Bass. “I think Miguel might have the day off.”

“Did he mention that to you yesterday on your date?”

“No, but it was a first date, so we stayed pretty much on the surface. When I go into the lobby to use the bathroom, I’ll look to see if he’s working the counter.”

“Okay.”

She pushed herself off the lounger, tightened her wrap around her waist and slid her feet into her sandals. She glanced at the girl working the parasailing booth, but she was busy texting on her phone.

Angling up into the hotel, she crossed the tiled lobby, eyeing the front desk. Two young men worked the computers, but neither was Miguel. Both of them were busy checking people into their rooms and only one glanced up, giving her a nod of greeting. She didn’t recognize either of them.

She turned left into the hallway leading away from the lobby and came to los baños. The room was empty, so she picked the last stall and went inside. A moment later, the door opened and someone came into the room.

“He’s not there. I looked,” said a young woman’s voice.

“Are you sure? Richie said he’d be there. Are you sure you remember what he looks like?”

“He has short black hair and he has a Mayan calendar tattooed on his right inner wrist.”

Miguel had a Mayan calendar tattooed on his wrist.

Peyton rose and fixed her suit, but she didn’t flush the toilet.

“His right wrist?”

“Inside.”

“And what do you say to him again?”

The girl didn’t immediately answer. Peyton could hear her moving down the row of stalls. She reached over and flushed the toilet, then opened the door. The girl, a curvy African American girl with a pretty face and hair done up in a French braid, jumped back.

“Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was in here,” the girl said. She looked old enough to be in college, probably not high school.

“No, problem. Too many Mojitos,” Peyton said with a laugh, moving toward the sink.

The girl laughed as well. Her companion was a Caucasian girl with wavy brown hair and big brown eyes. Her eyes almost swallowed up her face. Both girls wore bikinis so small they left little to the imagination.

The second girl smiled at Peyton. “Mine’s pineapple daiquiris,” she said and both girls giggled.

“I haven’t tried those.” Peyton pressed the soap dispenser and lathered up her hands. “That’ll be my next drink.”

“It comes in a pineapple. It’s so much fun.”

Peyton smiled over her shoulder at her as she continued to lather. The African American girl began fussing with her braid, while the other girl adjusted the straps on her bikini top. Peyton knew they were waiting for her to leave, which made her all the more reluctant to hurry. What had they been talking about? Whatever it was, it clearly had to do with Miguel.

“So, what do you want to do now, Alex?” asked the brown haired girl.

“I need to exchange money,” said the other girl significantly.

Peyton turned on the water.

The brown haired girl looked up and met her companion’s eyes in the mirror. “Okay. How do you say it again?”

Alex shook her head in annoyance. “How many times do I have to tell you, Jenna?”

“I don’t know. I don’t speak their foreign language.”

Peyton’s eyes met Alex’s in the mirror and they smiled at each other. Their foreign language? Did the girl realize she was the foreigner?

“Tengo que cambiar dinero.”

Peyton went still, holding her hands under the running water.

“Right. I’ll do it. It’s my turn to exchange money,” said Jenna.

“Fine,” said Alex. “Just don’t forget to ask for coins. Monedas.”

Then they turned and walked out of the bathroom. Peyton grabbed some towels, quickly dried her hands, and followed them. She found them in the lobby, standing together, staring at the counter. Peyton walked past them and went to the rack, pretending to look through the brochures, but after a few minutes of whispered debate, both girls turned and walked out of the lobby without getting their money.

Shit. What did it mean? Twice now she’d heard college aged kids asking for change. Monedas. Was that code for pills? If so, she hadn’t seen any pills pass between Miguel and birthmark boy the previous night. Miguel had clearly counted out the money in front of all of them. She hadn’t seen any of the pills Bambi had discovered, but hearing the same thing twice had to be significant.

She knew she should tell Bass, but what would she tell him? That twice she’d heard young people talking about exchanging money? Americans probably exchanged money at the hotels all the time. Still, she knew she was onto something.

As she moved out toward the beach, she decided she wasn’t going to say anything to Bass. She’d talk to Bambi instead and if Bambi thought it was significant, then she’d clue everyone else in.

*    *    *

“Tell me what they said again?” asked Bambi as they walked toward the Excelencia. Rosa and Radar had decided to go down to the cantina that Miguel had taken her to the previous night. They were hoping that they might discover something if they played their roles well, that or talk to Miguel’s drummer of an uncle. Maybe the customers would let their guard down if they thought the two FBI agents were just another wealthy Mexican couple vacationing in paradise.

Bass decided to take the night off. Peyton suspected it was with a bottle of tequila. The frustration of learning nothing wore on him. Vega wanted to spend a night with his family. He’d been working a lot of hours and they missed him. Tank agreed to run the equipment for Peyton and Bambi as they decided to head back to the hotel, searching for Brett, the two girls Peyton had seen in the bathroom, or birthmark boy.

Miguel had not shown up today at all. Peyton had been tempted to ask for him at the desk, or the parasailing hut when a new kid showed up to relive the girl, but Bass had warned her off that. She didn’t want to look too eager and they had no way of knowing if Miguel was their real mark. They didn’t want to tip anyone off. She didn’t agree. She thought her date with Miguel gave her the perfect opening, but she didn’t work drug cases as often as the DEA agent, so she had to defer to his better judgment.

“They both said they needed to exchange money,” Peyton told Bambi now. “Tengo que cambiar dinero. And that they wanted monedas.”

“Monedas? What’s that?”

“Coins.”

“Coins? Why do they want coins? I’ve got so many coins I don’t know what to do with them and they’re worth nothing. I jangle when I walk I’ve got so many coins.”

“That’s what made me suspicious. Who wants coins?”

“But when the birthmark boy exchanged the money yesterday, you didn’t see any pills?”

“No,” said Peyton, “I was standing pretty close and from where I was, it looked like money.”

Bambi considered that. Tonight she wore shorts and a gauzy top with a camisole under it. Peyton had opted for shorts as well, the long sundress restricted her movements too much, but she had on a pink halter top. She wore her hair loose because it had cooled off, but Bambi had hers in another elaborate braid.

“Did Brett tell you anything more when you played volleyball with him and the other frat boys?” she asked Bambi.

“No, he won’t tell me the source. He wanted to know how you and I liked the pill, but that was it. He and the others were going on a party boat tonight. They asked me to go, but it’s just a drinking excursion. I told him when he got some more pills to give me a call. We’d have a private party then.”

“That’s good, but you’d better be careful. You know how these frat boys can be.”

Bambi gave her a fallen angel look. “I’ve castrated bulls many times on my uncle’s Texas ranch. Can’t be any different castrating frat boys.”

Peyton shot an alarmed glance at her. Was she serious? Had Stanford educated Emma Redford castrated bulls or was she shitting her? She never knew with Bambi.

“You talk to Marco tonight?”

“Every night and every morning. They think they might have caught the guy who killed the kid in Hunters Point. Marco actually had to chase down a perp. Makes me so damn nervous.”

“What do you mean? He chased him down on crutches?”

“Apparently. He was being sketchy with the details, which means he’s not telling me everything.” She shook her head and sighed. “I’m not gonna lie. When he got the job as captain, I was relieved. I thought it would keep him out of danger, but then he goes out on a raid with the rest of his precinct and he’s back in the thick of it again.”

Bambi laid a hand on her arm. “He must feel the same way about you.”

Peyton knew he did, but that didn’t make her feel any better. “I’ve got a whole team watching my back.”

“And so does he.”

Peyton hesitated and faced her. “You don’t know what it was like, Emma, when he got shot. I thought he was going to die right in front of me and then his heart stopped and they had to shock him to get it started again.” She shuddered. “I woke up in a panic again last night, but it was Marco on that altar, not Miller.”

Bambi pulled her in for a hug. “I wish I loved someone that much,” she whispered in Peyton’s ear.

Peyton laughed, hugging her in return. “I just told you I wake up in a cold sweat, imagining my boyfriend dead on an altar and you envy me?”

Bambi held her off, her hands on her shoulders. “Don’t you get it? You have someone who you’d give your life to save. He feels the same way. That’s amazing. Who would care if something happened to me?”

“I do,” Peyton said fiercely. “I care. And Radar and Sarge and Tank. And your parents and your brother.”

Bambi kissed her cheek. “That means everything, but sometimes, sometimes I want what you have with Marco and Tank has with the Professor and Radar has with Gwen. And now even Sarge. Sarge has Stryker.”

“You said you didn’t want that, remember? You said you liked being independent and free.”

“And then I met Jake.”

What was this Jake obsession? Bambi didn’t seem to understand Jake had just wanted sex, like every other man in the world. He hadn’t really been looking for a relationship. Still, Peyton didn’t have the heart to tell her that now.

“What’s going on?” came Tank’s voice in their ears. “You’ve stopped moving. Is something wrong? You’re not in the hotel.”

Peyton and Bambi exchanged a smile as Peyton lifted the com to her mouth. “We’re on our way. We were just talking about relationships.”

“Why?”

“Because we all want someone like you, Tank.”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“We want someone to collect sea glass and shells and cubic zirconia rings for us,” Peyton said. “Not buy us diamonds or silly chachkies we’ll never use.”

“God, I’d love for a man to collect sea glass for me,” moaned Bambi as they started walking again.

“Have you guys been drinking?” asked Tank.

They both laughed. A few moments later, they reached the hotel and angled through the outside bar toward the club. A mariachi band was performing outdoors and Peyton noted they were actually quite good. She would have preferred sitting out here tonight. It was cool and the live music appealed to her more than the techno noise in the club, but the younger crowd was definitely not out here.

The pounding pulsation of the bass assaulted their ears as they opened the door and stepped into the dark, crowded club. The smell of mildew and sweat was cloying. Peyton tamped down on her immediate desire to bolt. There were too many people and too much bumping and grinding going on.

Sensing her distress, Bambi reached back and grabbed her hand, directing her to the bar. They found an open spot at the end and a ridiculously handsome man with his shirt open nearly to his navel came over.

“¿Qué quieres beber? What do you want to drink?” he asked.

“Two pineapple daiquiris,” said Bambi. “They serve them in an actual pineapple,” she said to Peyton.

“I know.”

He nodded and went away to prepare their drinks. Peyton took a seat on the stool, but Bambi stood, bopping in place to the music as she surveyed the scene.

“Maybe we should have checked the front desk to see if Miguel came in for a nightshift or something,” she said to Peyton.

Peyton nodded. “I’ll go. I don’t know how long I can stay in here.”

Bambi gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry. I know this is hard,” she shouted above the music.

The bartender returned with their drinks, setting them on the bar. Peyton waved Bambi off when she started to pay, pulling out her own money. She suddenly had an idea. She gave the bartender a little over what she owed and when he went to take it, she kept her hands over the bills.

“Tengo que cambiar dinero.”

He gave her a strange look. “Cambio de dinero en la recepción.”

She sighed and nodded, releasing the bills to him.

“What did he say?” asked Bambi.

“Exchange money at the reception desk.”

He brought her back her exact change and she left a tip on the bar for him, then she lifted her pineapple drink and sipped it. It was a little sweet for her, but Bambi moaned in pleasure as she drank her own.

“I’ll go see if Miguel’s at the front desk,” Peyton said, hopping off the barstool, but she stopped, her eyes landing on birthmark boy and his two friends. She nudged Bambi with her shoulder. They were sitting at a table on the other side of the club.

Bambi immediately picked up her drink. “Let’s go talk to them,” she said, heading off in their direction.

Peyton grabbed her own drink and followed, fighting down her impulse to bolt through the crowd for the open air outside. The moment Bambi appeared at their table, she had their attention. The three boys scrambled to get her and Peyton chairs, snagging some from a nearby table. Most people seemed to be on the dance floor, not sitting at the tables, but these boys were alone.

As Peyton sat down between the Asian kid and the Black kid, she realized they could hardly be out of high school, but they each had a drink. Bambi had immediately captivated their attention, but she focused on Birthmark Boy.

“I’m Bambi,” she said, using her affected bubble-headed voice. “And this is my best friend in the world, Paige.”

Peyton smiled.

Birthmark boy said, “Hey, Bambi, I’m Trevor and this is Tran and Darius.”

“How long are you in Cancun?” she asked.

The boys exchanged looks, laughing nervously. Trevor wasn’t as slick as Brett and he was a little younger. Maybe they could get something out of him. “We’re just here for the week. We leave Friday.”

“Graduation present?” asked Bambi, leaning close to him.

“Yeah. Our parents paid.”

“So.” She put her hand under her chin. “Tell me what is the funnest thing you’ve done since you’ve been here.”

“Parasailing,” said Darius.

“Scuba diving,” said Tran.

Trevor smiled at her. “I liked going out in the glass bottom boat. I like seeing all the fish.”

Bambi laughed. “They’re cool. I saw a lot of them snorkeling.”

“What about clubs? You guys go to a lot of clubs?” asked Peyton.

“Meet a lot of girls?” added Bambi.

The three of them blushed and looked down. “No,” laughed Trevor. “We been coming here mostly.”

“So why aren’t you dancing? Handsome guys like you?” asked Bambi, leaning against Trevor’s shoulder.

They laughed self-consciously again.

“We don’t really dance.” He gave the bumping and grinding couples a sideways look. “Not like that.”

Darius turned to Peyton. “I could try if you want.”

Peyton knew she wouldn’t be able to handle that much human contact in that close of a space. “I don’t really dance either.”

Bambi finished off her drink. “Aw, I’m all out, Paige.”

“I’ll get you another one,” said Trevor excitedly. “What was it?”

“Pineapple daiquiris.”

“I’ll get it,” said Tran, leaping off his chair. “How about shots all the way around?”

“That’d be so much fun,” said Bambi, resting her head on Trevor’s shoulder. If his eyes got any bigger, they’d fall out.

Tran slapped Darius with the back of his hand. “Come on. Help me carry everything.”

Darius reluctantly got off his chair. Peyton knew he thought he might have a chance with her and didn’t want to leave before he’d sealed the deal. She smiled at him and winked. He beamed back at her, then followed the other boy to the bar.

“I’m getting bored with the club scene,” said Bambi dramatically. “It’s the same every night.”

“I saw you playing volleyball on the beach,” said Trevor. “Where are your other friends?”

“They went out on a drinking cruise. I wasn’t interested.”

“Why not? That sounds like fun,” said Trevor. “I want to go on one of those, but they’re expensive.”

Someone bumped into Peyton and she fought an irrational surge of anger. She needed to keep her composure. They couldn’t afford to blow their cover now, especially as Bambi was laying down the situation for this kid.

“It’s just more drinking.”

“Man, I don’t mind. I mean we can’t drink at home, so we might as well take advantage of it.”

Bambi shrugged, bracing her chin on her hand again. “After you’ve done tequila shots ten times, what’s the point? I get a headache. I like something that doesn’t give me a headache. You know what I mean, Trevor?”

Careful, Peyton silently willed her.

“I guess. I mean, if you drink water, you won’t really get a headache.”

“But I don’t want to worry about it. I mean, I heard you can get anything you want down here.”

“Like what?” said Trevor.

“Like…”

Suddenly Darius appeared at Peyton’s side. “Dude, we need some money. We don’t got enough.”

Trevor reached into his shorts pocket. “How much do you need?”

Darius rattled off a number and Trevor pulled out a wad of crumpled bills and a handful of coins. He dumped them on the table before him and began counting out what Darius said he needed. Peyton’s eyes were caught by the unusual coin with no markings on it. The side facing up was a completely blank surface, except for a small hole drilled into the top of it.

As Trevor gave Darius the money, Peyton reached over and picked up the coin. Darius raced back to the bar, but Trevor went still. Peyton slowly turned the coin over in her hand. On the other side was an engraving of El Castillo.

“What’s this?”

Trevor blinked rapidly a few times. “Just something I picked up.”

“Look at this, Bambi.” Peyton passed her the strange coin. It was about the size of an American quarter – one side polished smooth, the other side embossed with the main pyramid at Chichen Itza. The hole drilled into the top of it might have been for slipping onto a piece of twine. It was certainly not a peso. The color was a highly polished silver and thicker than a peso.

Bambi passed it back and forth in her fingers, studying it. “Is that the pyramid at Chichen Itza?”

“Yeah,” said Trevor, scooping up the rest of his money and shoving it back in his pocket. “They give you so many coins.”

“Yeah, but this isn’t a peso,” said Bambi.

Trevor reached for the coin, but Bambi deftly handed it back to Peyton.

“Wouldn’t this make a cute necklace? I mean it already has the hole in it and everything,” said Bambi.

“It’s perfect. You could use that really thin silver chain you bought in the market down the street,” said Peyton.

Bambi turned to Trevor. “Have you been to the market?”

“No. Can I have that back?” he asked Peyton.

“You can bargain down there, you know, for the stuff you want. We had so much fun there today. I got a t-shirt and Paige got a switchblade for her boyfriend.” Bambi pursed her lips. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

Trevor’s eyes roved back to Bambi and he licked his lips. “Really?”

“No.”

Trevor forced himself to look at Peyton again. “I need that back.”

“Why?” pouted Bambi. “You said you don’t remember where you got it.”

“But I still need it.”

“What’s it for?”

“The arcade. It’s just a token for the arcade,” Trevor blurted, holding out his hand. “It’s for the arcade.” He gave a tense laugh. “I didn’t want to say anything ‘cause that seems…well, you know.”

“What?” asked Bambi, running her hand over his arm.

“Childish, but it’s for the arcade.”

“Then can I have it?” asked Bambi, pursing her lips again. “It would make such a cute souvenir for me. Please?”

Trevor started to protest, but Darius and Tran returned with the shots. Peyton slipped the coin into the pocket of her shorts and rose to her feet. “I’ve got to go to the bathroom.”

Bambi met her gaze. “Sure, I’m gonna stay and do some shots.”

Peyton nodded and turned away from the table before Trevor could protest. She walked rapidly to the door leading to the lobby, but just as she was about to step outside, she ran into Bass coming through the door.

“Hey!” he said in surprise.

She pushed him in the chest back into the lobby and shut the door behind her, muting the music. “I thought you were staying in.”

“Then I felt guilty about taking a night off. Rosa explained to me how important time is in a murder investigation, so I called over to the room, but Tank said you were here, so I thought I’d try to find you and Bambi.”

Peyton fished the coin out of her pocket. “Have you seen one of these?”

Bass took it, turning it over in his hand. “What is it?”

“Birthmark boy, whose name is really Trevor, had it. I saw him exchanging money with Miguel the other day. What if this is what he was exchanging for? I specifically heard him say he wanted monedas.”

“Coins?”

“That’s what made me suspicious.”

“Hm.” Bass turned the coin over in his hand. “It’s pretty weird that it has nothing on one side, but the other side has El Castillo on it.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What did he say when you asked him about it?”

“He wanted it back. He got pretty agitated. Bambi distracted him, but he definitely didn’t want me to have it.”

“What did he say it was for?”

“The arcade. He said it was a token for the arcade.”

“What arcade?”

“I don’t know. Is there an arcade here?”

“Let’s find out.” He handed the coin back to Peyton and they headed for the lobby. Miguel was not working the desk.

Bass went up to the young man Peyton had seen the previous night when she and Miguel went on their date. “¿Dónde está la sala de juegos?” Where’s the game room?

“En el segundo piso,” said the desk clerk.

“Gracias.”

“De nada.”

“Second floor,” said Bass, putting a hand in the small of Peyton’s back and directing her toward the elevators.

They hurried down the hallway and Bass pressed the button for the elevator. The doors opened and a couple stepped out, giving them polite smiles, then Bass and Peyton stepped inside. Bass pressed the button for the second floor and the elevator doors closed.

“Okay, so let me work this out. Somehow these kids figure out Miguel has drugs.”

“Right,” said Peyton, watching the numbers above the door.

“How do they figure that out?”

“Word of mouth? How does anyone ever figure out where to get drugs? Social media?”

“Yeah, Federico said these drug dealers operate in the dark web. Maybe that’s how the kids exchange the information too.” The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors opened. They stepped out and Bass looked at a sign on the wall. He pointed to the left. “This way.”

They hurried down the tiled hallway.

“So they go to Miguel and they ask to exchange money, being very careful to ask for coins too.”

“That’s what I’m thinking.”

They came to a door labeled sala de juego. Game room.

“That would be a pretty clever way of distributing the drugs,” said Bass, opening the door.

Bells and cartoonish music filled the room, along with black boxes sporting scantily dressed women on the outside and flashing neon lights. A number of pre-teens were at the machines, playing without even looking up to acknowledge the newcomers.

Both Peyton and Bass looked around, then Bass located a machine affixed to one wall. A sign above it read token de juego. Bass removed his wallet from his back pocket and pulled out a bill, then he fed the bill into the machine. Four round golden coins dropped into the dispenser and Bass picked them up, spacing them out on the palm of his left hand.

Peyton picked up a coin and turned it over. The words Hotele Excelencia was written in script on one side, while the back sported a picture of the hotel. It was definitely not the coin that Peyton had taken from Trevor.

She and Bass exchanged a look.

“So how do they get from the coins to the drugs?”

Peyton shrugged. “Someone else must take the coin then. First contact is Miguel, who exchanges money minus the amount for the drugs, right? And it’s American money, so in a sense he’s laundered it.”

“I’m thinking yeah, good point.”

“He gives them the coin with their change.”

“Then who gets the coin?”

“Damned if I know. Have you noticed anything else since you’ve been down here? You picked up on the parasailing hut. Any other strange exchanges?”

Bass scratched the back of his neck in frustration. “No, I can’t think of anything.”

“Peyton,” came Tank’s voice in her ear.

She lifted the com to her mouth. “Here, Tank. What’s up?”

“Just picked up an emergency relay. Two American college students have been picked up from Playa del Carmen on their way to the hospital. They were coming in from a party boat.”

Peyton relayed the information to Bass.

“Shit. What happened?” Bass demanded.

“Tank, do you have any information about their condition?”

“Suspected drug overdoses,” said Tank.

“I need the name of the hospital,” demanded Bass, pulling out his cell phone.

“Bass wants the name of the hospital where they’re transporting the kids.”

“I’ll text it to him.”

Bass stepped away, speaking Spanish rapidly into the phone. He was speaking too fast for Peyton to follow, but he hung up a moment later and came back to Peyton. “Federico’s coming to pick me up. We’ll go over to the hospital to find the kids.”

“Do you want me to go with you?”

“No, stay here and see if you can track this coin thing with Bambi.”

Peyton nodded.

“Peyton?” came Tank’s voice once more.”

“Yes, Tank,” she said into her com.

“One of the boys had identification on him.”

“And?”

“His name is Brett Enticott.”

Peyton closed her eyes. Brett Enticott, the kid Bambi had been playing volleyball with for the past two days.

CHAPTER 20

Rosa sat on her balcony, her tablet positioned on her knee as she smiled at Adrian. “And what did Jennifer say then?”

“She told me she only answers to you. I said she could either do what I said or she could take an unpaid vacation at home until your return. She gave me a long lecture on how I was wasting her talents by asking her to babysit a teenager.”

“The Japanese Prime Minister’s daughter isn’t just any teenager.”

“That’s what I told her, but she said the girl was just going to look at some paintings at the MoMA and the Secret Service could provide the protection then.”

“So what did you do?”

“I gave the job to Daryl, her partner.”

Rosa laughed. “I bet that pissed her off.”

“It gets better,” said Adrian, giving her a wicked grin. “I asked Darren, your assistant, if he had any filing for Jennifer to do. He said he didn’t, but that Myron Hammersmith in Evidence always needed someone to dust boxes.”

Rosa laughed again. “Brilliant. Myron will make her wish she was looking at paintings in a kindergarten class.”

Adrian smiled in return. “I miss you.”

She hesitated, surprised at how easily he’d said the words. Then she couldn’t help the smile that blazed across her own face. “I miss you too.” She shifted to make herself more comfortable. A prickle of sweat had started on the back of her neck and she realized she was afraid. Afraid he’d reject her, afraid he wasn’t in the same place, afraid he wouldn’t feel the way she did. “Adrian, what if we made this a little more permanent?”

He didn’t respond for a moment, then another smile lighted his face. “Seriously? As in you come to Virginia?”

“If that’s what you want.” She realized she meant it. She would put in for a transfer to Quantico if he wanted her to do that.

“Or, what if I came to San Francisco?”

“Would you consider becoming an agent again?”

He shook his head. “What if I did something else? What if I quit the FBI?”

“What? Are you serious?” He’d give up his career for her.

“I can’t go back to being an agent, Rosa.” He’d never told her why and she hadn’t pried, but she knew something had happened to make him ask for a job that didn’t put him in the field. “I’ve done the training to death and I hate being SAC. What if it’s time to do something new?”

“Like what?” she said, trying to tamp down on the excitement she felt.

“What if I opened a martial arts studio or something? I’ve got some money saved up. I could take some time off and figure it out.”

Before she could answer, a knock sounded at her door. She felt torn between duty and her personal life and right now, her personal life had gotten a whole lot more exciting.

“Go ahead and get it. We’ll talk later. Just think about it,” he said. “I promise, we’ll talk about all of this soon, Rosa.” And he was gone.

She sat for a moment more, staring at the blank screen, then she climbed to her feet and laid the tablet on the side table as she walked back into the room and pulled the door open. “What!” she demanded, feeling more put out than she meant to.

Bass started back, but Radar just pushed into the room, followed by the rest of his team. Brooks came last and gave her a sympathetic look. “How’s Stryker?” she asked as if she knew Rosa had been talking to him.

“Fine. What’s going on?” She placed her hands on her hips and glared at Radar.

Radar motioned to Bass. “I’ll let him explain.”

Bass went on to tell her about the previous night – how feeling guilty, he’d called Tank and found that Peyton and Bambi were in the club, so he’d gone there, how he and Peyton had gone to the arcade to see if the coin they found was really a token, and then how he’d been called to the hospital on a potential drug overdose.

“Brett Enticott and his college roommate Chad Renton were the victims.”

“The same guys Bambi spent two days playing volleyball with? The same guys Bambi got the fentanyl pill from?

“Right.”

“How are they?”

“Renton’s dead.”

Rosa’s expression sobered. “And Enticott?”

“Barely clinging to life. He’s on life support. His parents are on their way from New Jersey. The doctors don’t expect him to live.”

“What about his friends? Did you question any of them?”

“Federico interrogated them. Two lawyered up and the others swore they never knew where Enticott got the pills. He wouldn’t tell them.”

“He wouldn’t tell me either,” said Bambi, “no matter how much I begged or flirted.”

Bass shifted weight. “They found three of the coins on him.”

“The coins? The ones Brooks and Bambi found?” she asked.

“The same ones.”

“So the coins are the way they alert someone to give them the pills.”

“It looks that way,” said Tank. “When I pulled up evidence for two other deaths from fentanyl that happened in the last three months, I found a record of the coins being listed under things confiscated at the scene.”

“So if they purchase the coin from Miguel when they exchange money, who do they give the coin to in order to receive the pill?”

“Someone getting a tip. Someone very specific so it won’t wind up in the wrong hands,” offered Radar.

“But who?”

No one seemed to know.

“Who do you give a tip?”

“Waiters?” said Bambi.

“Bartenders? Who knows? So much money exchanges hands. It could be anyone,” said Bass. “Masseuses, hair stylists, nail stylists.”

Rosa rubbed her hand on her chin. “Let’s pull this Trevor kid in and demand some answers.”

“And if he gets scared, we blow our cover,” protested Bass. “What if he demands a lawyer?”

“We gotta make him not demand one,” said Rosa.

Radar looked over at Peyton. “Bring the kid in and turn Sparky loose on him. No one can resist Sparky during interrogation.”

Peyton stuck her tongue out at him, but Rosa nodded. “Good. I like this plan. Bass, can you and Federico bring this kid in for questioning?”

“I guess, but I still think it’s premature,” said Bass.

“What else do we have? We’re running out of time on a murder investigation. We can’t keep pussyfooting around, Kaz,” she said.

“All right,” he answered reluctantly. “I’ll call Federico.”

After he left the room, Peyton made a face. “Why can’t Bambi question him? She made a connection with him last night.”

“Then we’ll leave Bambi in reserves. Right now, we need to figure out the distribution racket and you’re our man, Brooks.”

Peyton glared at Radar. “I’ll get back at you, old man.”

“Of course you will,” he said, but he didn’t look worried in the least.

*    *    *

Joyce positioned his hands on the parallel bars. “Since you’ve already taken your first step, it’s silly for me to pretend that you aren’t ready.”

He looked down at her as she adjusted his hands again. “What did the x-ray show?”

“You didn’t do any damage, so I got clearance from Dr. Chamberlain to move to the next level of your rehabilitation. When I tell you, lift yourself out of the chair. I want you to walk to the end of the bars, but whatever you do, do not let go. If you feel like you might fall, I want you to stop until I can get a chair behind you. Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

She moved in front of him, placing her arms at the ready to catch him if he started to fall. Marco would have thought it was amusing, if it wasn’t so ridiculous. He made two of her and he’d crush her if he fell on her.

“Okay, go.”

He levered himself to his feet by the power of his arms and shoulders, bracing most of the weight on his right side instinctively.

“Balance yourself,” she commanded. “Let’s see how much your left side can take.”

He blew out air and then shifted, letting his weight come to rest on his left leg.

“Do not take your hands off the parallel bars.”

He had no intention of doing that, so he didn’t know why she kept telling him.

“Now, keeping hold of the bars, I want you to walk to the end. I’ll be here to catch you if your leg gives out.”

He barked out a laugh at that, but she glared at him, so he sobered. Gritting his teeth, he eased his left leg forward, surprised when it responded for him. Then he shifted his weight forward. He could feel the muscles in the left leg shake as he put weight on it, but it held as he brought his right leg to match it. For a moment, he stared at his feet.

He’d always taken his size and his power for granted. It had always been his to command, but now he was having to learn to walk all over again. This was bullshit, but it didn’t do any good to keep dwelling on that. At least the pain was gone and he seemed to have some control over it.

He took another step and Joyce stepped back. Before he realized it, he’d made it to the end of the bars and Joyce was instructing him on how to turn around. It was then his phone rang. He’d left it in his bag on a chair across the room, but he looked up at it and nearly fell, catching himself with his arms.

“I told you to turn the ringer off,” Joyce scolded. “That’s the rules.”

He knew he should ignore it, but he couldn’t. “We’re working a homicide case right now. I need to see who’s calling. Besides that, my girlfriend’s working a case in Mexico. I need to talk to her if she’s on the line.”

Joyce gave him an annoyed look, but Marco wasn’t missing a call from Peyton for anything. With a grumble about the rules, Joyce retrieved his gym bag and carried it over to him. He fished the phone out of the bag, resting all his weight on his right leg, and glanced at the display.

Cho.

He thumbed it on and held it to his ear. “What’s going on, Nate?”

“They just released Chicago to us. We’ll get our first crack at interrogating him in about an hour. Javier just got him printed and booked and his mug shot taken. He’s wanted in a convenience store robbery off Market last year. A clerk died in that robbery.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there. Put in a call to Devan and have him stop by to watch the interrogation. Wait for me to get there.”

“Sure thing, Captain,” said Cho and disconnected the call.

Marco gave Joyce a sheepish look. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Block out twice as much time for me tomorrow,” she said. “We’re getting a full workout in, I’m telling you.”

“Got it,” Marco said and reached for the crutches as she passed them to him, his thoughts already preoccupied with Chicago’s interrogation.

*    *    *

When Marco got back to the office, Tag and Holmes were waiting for him. Tag pulled open the half-door and held it for him as he crutched inside.

Lee, sitting at his desk, gave him a half-smile. “ADA Adams is in your office, waiting for you,” he said. “You want some coffee?”

“Sure,” Marco said, glancing between Tag and Holmes. “What’s up?”

“Sugar Bear made contact on the gay dating site last night,” said Tag. “I finally got a judge to agree to give us a warrant for his online activities, then had Stan set up an alert if he made a post.”

“And he did?”

“He’s looking for his next hookup,” said Holmes. “He spent over an hour talking to…” He pulled his little notebook out of his pocket. “…a guy named Puerto Rican Lambchop.”

“Seriously?” Marco couldn’t believe it. Damn Harlan Osborn. Couldn’t he give it a rest while they solved the last murder?

“What do you want us to do?” asked Tag. “We could bring Osborn in for questioning.”

“On what? On wanting to hook up with a guy who goes by the handle Puerto Rican Lambchop?” He sighed. He was sick to death of Harlan Osborn and his indiscretions. “Okay, what if we warn Lambchop off the mayor?”

“There’s the whole innocent until proven guilty thing,” said Devan, appearing in the doorway. “What are you going to tell this guy? You suspect the mayor of killing his last boyfriend? You have no jurisdiction to do that. The warrant for his online profile lets you see who he contacts, not interfere with them. You’re lucky you even got a judge to agree to that.” Devan crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides that, do you really think Osborn’s the killer?”

“Everyone’s a suspect until they’re not,” Marco told Tag and Holmes, ignoring Devan, “but he’s right. I don’t think he killed anyone. I want you to look into Victor Maziar and Norris Barber. Have Stan get any information he can about either of them. I did an initial search on Barber, but it didn’t turn up anything, not even a traffic violation. Tell Stan to go deeper.”

Devan put his fingers in his ears. “I’m not hearing this. La! La! La! La! La!”

However, Tag and Holmes both nodded and started to turn away, but Marco called them back. “And tell Stan to keep monitoring Osborn’s dating site too. I wanna know if Osborn and Lambchop plan a meet and greet.”

“Got it,” said Tag, motioning for Holmes to follow her back to their desks.

Marco watched them go, then looked over at Devan. “Ready to go watch Chicago’s interrogation?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” said Devan, pushing away from the doorjamb. “Let’s go make him fess up.”

“Fess up? Where the hell did that come from?”

“My daddy always said we had a little Mississippi in us.”

Marco shook his head. “Mississippi my ass.”

“Oh, you too,” Devan said, then gave him a wink. “So, what’s this I hear about incriminating pictures?”

Marco frowned, crutching alongside of him toward Cho and Simons’ desks. “Of Sugar Bear?”

“No, not of Sugar Bear,” said Devan, rolling his eyes in disgust. “You in eye makeup?”

Marco stopped crutching. “Ryder!” he shouted.

Jake walked out of the break room next to Lee, carrying a cup of coffee. Lee carried three, handing one to Devan and keeping the other two. “You bellowed, Adonis,” said Jake, taking a sip from his mug.

“Captain!” growled Marco.

“Captain Adonis,” Jake said, motioning for Marco to hurry up with his other hand.

“You told Adams about Saturday night?”

Jake glanced between the two of them. “I said I had pictures.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing it on.

“When I can walk again, Ryder…”

“Oh, by the way, I heard you chased down a perp with Pickles,” said Jake, holding the phone out to Devan.

Devan took it and stared at the picture.

Marco frowned at Jake. “Pickles stayed here with Lee.”

“He did,” offered Lee.

“I notice you didn’t deny chasing down a perp.”

Marco glanced at Devan, who looked up at him, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Damn, D’Angelo, you even make eyeliner look hot. What the hell!”

“Sickening, isn’t it?” said Jake.

“Captain,” called Cho, stepping around the partition. “We’re ready if you are.” He had a file folder in his hand.

“We’re coming,” Marco said, watching Devan hand back Jake’s phone.

“Here, I’ll take Captain Hook’s coffee,” said Devan, giving Marco a wink and accepting the second cup from Lee.

“Don’t do that.”

“What? You’d make a pretty pirate, D’Angelo,” said Devan, drawing a laugh from Jake as he walked back to his desk.

Marco glared after Jake, then turned back to see Lee fighting another smile. “Don’t make me get even with you, Adams, because I will.”

“Not after I tell Peyton you took her dog on a raid,” said Devan.

“And chased down a perp!” called Jake over his shoulder.

“Right, and chased down a perp.”

“I’ll vouch for you, Captain,” said Lee, still fighting the smile.

“Thanks,” Marco said, moving toward the interrogation room.

Cho and Simons waited for them in the observation room, while Danté and Bartlet guarded a young African American man with tattoos covering his body. They even climbed his neck and snaked across his forehead. He had piercings in his eyebrows and running up and down either ear lobe from the top to the very tip. A bolt went through his lower lip and he played with it as he glared at the metal table in front of him.

He wore an orange jumper from the county jail and slip-on shoes without laces. His hair stood up in a large afro and he had a day’s growth of beard on his young jaw. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen or nineteen, Marco figured.

“Roscoe Butler, aged twenty, has a sealed juvenile record from Chicago, Illinois,” said Cho, reading from the file in his hand. “Brought in for questioning for a robbery on Market of a convenience store. The clerk died in the robbery. Roscoe here wasn’t the gunman, but he was there.”

“So he’s an accessory,” said Devan.

“Exactly.” Cho closed the folder. “How do you want to play this, Captain?”

Marco watched Danté instead of the perp, thinking about what Simons had told him, how he thought Danté would make a good detective. “Simons, you wait here. Cho, you question him, but send Bartlet out. I want to see how Price handles the situation.”

“Okay,” said Cho, turning for the door.

Simons gave Marco an imperceptible nod as Marco leaned against the table, settling his crutches beside him. Devan passed him his coffee and he took a sip. As Cho entered the interrogation room, he motioned for Bartlet to leave, but he told Danté to stay, then he took a seat at the table. Simons reached over and turned on the audio.

Danté positioned himself off to the side, but close enough to the perp to react if he needed.

The perp glanced at Danté, then stared at Cho, slumping in his chair. “I don’t talk to pigs. Get me a lawyer.”

Cho sighed and opened the file. “I can get you a lawyer, Roscoe, but that means I can’t help you anymore. I’m just guessing, but you probably can’t afford one on your own, can you?”

“Get me a lawyer. I ain’t got nothing to say. And the name’s Chicago.”

“Look, all I want to know is what happened with the kid in front of the laundromat. Tell me that and I bet I can get you a deal, but if you lawyer up, I gotta go for murder one and you know what that means, Roscoe, that means the death penalty.”

Roscoe turned cold eyes on Cho. It was like looking into the eyes of a crocodile, devoid of remorse. “Get me a lawyer.”

“Fine,” said Cho, slamming the file shut. He got to his feet and headed for the door.

Marco glanced over as he stepped inside the viewing room.

“I’ll go call a public defender,” said Cho.

Marco nodded his eyes going back to Danté. Bartlet moved to go back inside the interrogation room, but Marco stopped him. “Stand by the door,” he told the younger man.

Bartlet did as instructed.

Devan sipped his coffee. “What’s in your head, D’Angelo?”

“Just curious,” said Marco, watching the room.

Roscoe fidgeted with his handcuffs a little, shooting a look at Danté, who stood with his back ramrod straight, his eyes trained at a distant point over Roscoe’s head, his hands clasped behind him. The difference between the two young men stood out glaringly – Roscoe in a jail jumpsuit, Danté in his cop’s uniform.

“How you stand it?” said Roscoe after a few more minutes of brooding silence.

Danté glanced down at him. “Stand what?”

“Working for the man.” He shook his head in disgust. “You’re one of them.”

Marco tensed, waiting to see how Danté would react.

“Your lawyer will be here in a while,” he said calmly.

“What difference that make. It’s a public defender. He ain’t gonna waste no time actually representing me.”

Danté didn’t respond.

“You know that. Yeah, you know I’m right.”

Danté narrowed his eyes on the young man. “Then why did you do it?”

“Do what?”

“Shoot at the laundromat.”

Roscoe made a scoffing sound. “I don’t talk to pigs.”

“Fine. Wait for the public defender then.” Danté lifted his chin and went back to staring above Roscoe’s head. “You shouldn’t be talking to me anyway.”

Roscoe fidgeted some more, glancing at Danté from time to time. “They disrespected us,” he said after another few minutes passed.

“Who?” asked Danté in a bored voice without even looking at him.

“The Big Block. They don’t respect our territory.”

“That’s not the way I hear it,” said Danté, still not looking at him. “I hear you’re invading their territory.”

Roscoe made another scoffing sound. “They messed up Jupiter bad. He can’t even shit by hisself, gots to wear diapers now. That’s not right.” He messed with the bolt in his lower lip. “You look that up, you wanna know the truth. His name’s LeJohn Thompkins. We calls him Jupiter. Man, he was big as a planet, no doubt. How his mama gonna keep lifting him? It’s not right.”

“What about Mavis Jones? You wonder how she feels?”

“Who’s Mavis Jones?” Roscoe reared away as if he smelt something bad.

“Jamaad Jones’ mother. She gets to bury her son.”

Roscoe jerked his head, staring at the table. He didn’t respond for a long time, but Danté didn’t move, just waited patiently at attention. No one in the observation room spoke. They barely breathed.

Roscoe played with the bolt some more, then he shifted in the chair. He tugged on the cuffs as if he were pulling down his sleeves. Finally, he shot a look at Danté.

“I wasn’t aiming at him,” he said. “I didn’t mean for him to die.” He scrubbed a hand on his forehead, his cuffs jangling. “I didn’t mean to shoot no kid, no doubt,” he whispered, “but I did.”

*    *    *

“We got a full confession,” said Marco, shaking his head in wonder.

Peyton braced her chin on her hand. She was sitting on the balcony of the hotel, her face illuminated by the decorative lights strung along the railing. “Seriously? A full confession?”

“Yeah. He didn’t mean to kill anyone, certainly not a high school kid, but it doesn’t matter. He was in possession of an illegal gun and he admitted to shooting at the laundromat.”

“You’re not going for the death penalty, are you?”

“No, but Adam’s wants to go for murder one, not manslaughter.”

“No deals?”

“I don’t think so. Javier talked with Adams and made it clear we need to start taking the gang problem more seriously. Asking for stiffer punishments is a start.”

Peyton nodded. “I get that. What about Jamaad’s family?”

“I’m gonna go out with Danté tomorrow and talk to Mavis in person. She deserves that much.” He rubbed the back of his neck and adjusted Pickles on his lap. “I’m thinking of asking Mavis if she’ll help out on the taskforce. I might even be able to pay her a small salary.”

“Is there enough money for that?”

“Osborn said there was enough to pay me a full salary and for me to hire an assistant. I don’t want the job, but after I get it going, I’m gonna hire someone. Maybe Mavis would want the paid assistant position. I think the director should go to someone with law enforcement experience, though.”

“It doesn’t hurt to ask Mavis. She might feel like she’s doing something positive with Jamaad’s death.”

“She might.”

“I agree with you about the director, though. It should be someone who knows the law.”

“I had to call that young reporter, Harper McLeod, and tell her Roscoe’s name before it hits the papers. She’s been giving me information on Harlan Osborn.”

“Ah, quid pro quo, the bane of law enforcement.”

He nodded, then scrutinized her over the video chat. “You look tired.”

“Frustrated and homesick. We got a break in the case, but another kid died last night.”

“God, I’m sorry, Peyton. Overdose?”

“Yeah. And a second one’s critical.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Bambi played volleyball with both of them for the last two days. She’s a little shaken up. Anyway, we figured out how they make initial contact with their buyers.” She explained about the single-sided coins. “But we can’t figure out how they make the exchange from the coins to the drugs. The other kid we met, Trevor, bought drugs this way, I’m sure of it, but he won’t talk to us. He’s being held by the AFI, and he refused to even see us until his parents get here tomorrow.”

“So you didn’t get a crack at him?”

“Not yet. Federico thinks his parents will convince him to cooperate with us, but I can understand, in a way, why they might not. He’s terrified. He’s been buying drugs in a foreign country and people are dying from those drugs.”

“That’s frustrating.”

“I just wish he’d tell us how the coin works. We think the buyer offers it to someone face to face and somehow the drugs exchange hands, but we don’t know who that contact point is. It could be anyone – waiter, bartender, store clerk.”

Marco considered that for a moment. “What if the exchange doesn’t happen face to face?”

“What do you mean?” she asked, frowning.

“You know the purchase of the coin is face to face, so it would be natural to assume the exchange of coin and drugs is also face to face, but what if it isn’t? What if the buyer leaves the coin somewhere and the dealer picks it up, leaving the pills in its place?”

Peyton considered that. “Then the buyer would never have to see the dealer’s face and both parties would be protected. The only weak link is the exchange of the coins.”

“But that’s not even a weak link, Brooks. The coin gets hidden in the rest of the coins during the exchange. If anyone questions it, both parties can act surprised to find a strange token. And it’s not illegal to exchange a token like that between two people, so what could you arrest the guy with the coins for?” He shifted again. “You’ve gotta find the person who picks up the coins and leaves the drugs, but since the buyer never sees that person, it’s gonna be hard to identify them.”

“Which is why we need to know who’s making that secondary exchange.” She gave him a slow smile. “You are brilliant, D’Angelo. Do you know that?”

“Yep, I’m not just another pretty face in eyeliner,” said Marco with a heavy sigh, and Peyton burst into laughter.

CHAPTER 21

Rosa answered the door to Radar the next morning. “Hey?”

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside the room as she motioned him through the door. “I’ve been thinking about the bearded guy.”

“Beardy McBeardson?” said Rosa with a slight laugh as she moved toward the small table where she’d ordered room service.

“You’re letting Sparky get to you, Sarge. You better be careful.”

“She has a way about her.” She picked up the coffee carafe. “You want some?”

“Sure.”

As Rosa poured, Radar took a seat at the table. She handed him the mug and he sipped. “So what have you been thinking?” she asked.

“At first I figured he was part of the Dios Mayas.”

“The drug cartel? So did I.”

“Now, I’m beginning to doubt everything.”

Rosa sat down, pulling her own mug to her. “What do you mean?”

“He followed Celeste Miller to San Francisco. Now he’s down here watching us, but he only showed up after Miller’s body was found.”

Rosa curled her fingers through the handle and cradled the cup against her palms. The warmth seeped into her skin, calming the riot of anxiety Radar’s words provoked. “What are you saying, Radar? Just come out with it.”

“I want your permission to look into Miller’s background.”

“Why?”

Radar scratched the back of his neck, then he leaned forward, looking her directly in the eyes. “Rosa, are you sure you knew Miller as well as you think you did?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, is there a chance…” His voice faltered.

“That he was dirty?”

Radar shrugged.

“None.”

“Sarge.”

“I’d bet my life on it. Miller was the most upstanding agent I’ve ever seen. He would never have done anything shady.”

Radar looked down into his coffee as Rosa fought to regain her composure. She finally did, holding out a hand to him.

“Okay, let’s pretend there was something. After a long career in the DEA, why would he suddenly do whatever you think he might have done? And how does that connect to the bearded guy?”

“To answer your first question, he has kids. He has a family. They have needs. Eventually those kids will go to college and he wasn’t getting any younger. Maybe he figured a pension from the government wasn’t enough for putting his life on the line all these years.”

Rosa wanted to vehemently deny it, but she’d told Radar she’d play this game with him. “Why would you think that? Why him?”

“Because he’s the one who died, Sarge. Because he clearly crossed the wrong people.”

“You’re victim blaming, Radar!” she said incredulously.

He held up a hand. “I’m just trying to figure this thing out. Why did Miller come down here later than Bass? Why was the bearded guy following his wife all the way to San Francisco? The common denominator is Miller.”

“Then who is the bearded guy?”

“I still think he might be a Dios Maya.”

“You just said you didn’t know who he was. Okay, then, why follow Celeste? Why show up here?”

Radar drew a deep breath and released it slowly, his fingers tightening on his cup. “I think Miller stole money from the cartel, Sarge. I think that’s why he died, and I think Celeste has it.”

Rosa sank back in her chair, her hands falling limply into her lap. “I can’t believe that, Radar. I just won’t believe it.”

He gave her a level look. “Then let me dig into Miller’s finances. Let me see if there’s anything there.”

She closed her eyes, fighting tears. She hated to cry. She rarely did. And she’d never believe that Miller would do something like that, and yet…and yet, there was a tiny sliver of doubt. Swallowing hard, she opened her eyes again.

“You have my permission.” She pinned him with her gaze. “You and Tank can look into Joe’s finances, but I want it kept on the down low.”

Radar nodded. “Just the two of us. No one else.”

“Fine, and when you find nothing, I want it dropped. Got it. I want your entire focus back on the case before us.”

“You’ve got it,” he answered, and Rosa felt like she’d just betrayed her own family.

*    *    *

Bambi waited by the door as Peyton rushed around, trying to find her badge and slip on a pair of pumps. Today, they both wore their FBI black suits with their hair neatly pulled up in a bun. They were on their way to interrogate Trevor Wellington. The boy’s parents had arrived and Vega had convinced them it was in Trevor’s best interest to cooperate with the FBI.

Rosa planned to meet them in the lobby with Vega and drive them to the AFI station to question Trevor. Radar and Tank were staying here, working on something that no one would tell them about, and Bass was meeting them at the station.

“Come on, Peyton,” said Bambi impatiently. “Rosa’s waiting and she makes me nervous.”

Peyton hesitated. “You too?”

“Yeah, she makes me almost wet myself.”

Peyton located her badge and affixed it to her belt, then grabbed her wallet.

“Leave a few bills for the maid under your pillow,” said Bambi.

“Why do we keep doing this?”

“Because she leaves us extra towels. I’ll go push the button for the elevator.”

Peyton opened her wallet and fished a few bills out, lifting her pillow to place them beneath it, then she hesitated, her hand hovering over the fabric. What if the exchange doesn’t happen face to face? What if the buyer leaves the coin somewhere and the dealer picks it up, leaving the pills in its place?

The maid. What if the maid was the invisible link? What if they put the coins under their pillows with a tip and the maid, in turn, left the pills?

Peyton shoved the money under the pillow and hurried from the room, pulling the door closed behind her. She wanted to tell Bambi what she’d discovered, but for some reason when she saw the other woman holding the elevator for her, she hesitated.

She stepped inside and the doors shut. They rode the elevator to the first floor and met Rosa in the lobby. Rosa whisked them out the door and into the waiting Tiguan, where Vega beamed a smile at them.

“Buenos días, las mujeres hermosas,” he said.

“Buenos días,” they answered and they were off.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the AFI building, especially the way everyone drove in Mexico. Vega guided them inside and through the many cubicles to a hallway with a wall of windows and a number of offices or conference rooms on either side.

Vega directed them to a conference room at the end. Inside the conference room were a middle aged couple, dressed casually, the boy Trevor Wellington, and Bass. Bass rose as soon as he saw them. He picked a folder off the table and carried it to the door, pulling it open and stepping outside. The middle aged couple immediately began talking to the boy in an urgent fashion, while the boy stared up at the ceiling, his arms crossed over his chest.

“Hey,” said Bass.

“Hey,” answered Rosa. “So those are the Wellingtons?”

“Yeah, beaucoup bucks, those people. They paid for an all expense trip for their kid and to have a private room once he got here. He went to a private school in New York where he just graduated, and this trip was a graduation present for him and his two friends.”

“Where are the other boys?”

“We’ve got them stashed away, waiting for their parents to arrive, but they both say Trevor’s the one who got the drugs. In fact, he’s the one who figured it all out – how to get them, who to approach, even what hotel to stay at.”

Rosa looked at the kid. “What does Trevor say?”

“He admitted it after his parents ordered him to cooperate with us. The parents are terrified of the Mexican authorities.”

Vega snickered. “Whatever works, as you Americanos say, hermano.”

“They’ve hired an international attorney, but he won’t get here until tomorrow,” continued Bass. “The parents want to cooperate, but I can tell you that they won’t be cooperating once that attorney gets here. We’ve got a very narrow window of opportunity to get something going.” His gaze shifted to Peyton. “Rosa says you’re the best to get him talking. We’re willing to cut him a deal on the drug charges if he cooperates with us, helps us bring down this cartel.”

Peyton exchanged a look with Rosa, then she shrugged. “I’ll do my best.”

Bass held out the folder to her. “I took pictures of Chad Renton in the morgue and Brett Enticott in intensive care. Use them as you see fit.”

She accepted the folder, but she didn’t look at the pictures. No use getting sick before she even began questioning the kid.

“You’ll do great,” said Bambi, rubbing a hand down her arm.

Peyton swallowed hard, then nodded. “I’m ready.”

Bass reached back and opened the door, admitting everyone into the room. Trevor’s parents looked up. “Mr. and Mrs. Wellington, this is Special-Agent-in-Charge Rosa Alvarez, Agents Brooks and Redford, and you remember AFI Agent Federico Vega.” They all shook hands and took seats around the table.

Peyton picked the seat directly to Trevor’s left. Trevor sat at the head of the table, still inspecting the acoustic tiles in the ceiling.

“Hi, Trevor,” Peyton said, laying the folder before her. “I’m Agent Peyton Brooks.”

He rolled his head on his shoulder and stared at her. Gone was the shy boy of a few nights before. This kid was annoyed and arrogant. Probably afraid, and using bluster to hide it. “You lied.”

“Well, I lied for a reason. My colleagues and I are here because there’ve been a lot of deaths surrounding overdoses of fentanyl gotten from the Excelencia, a lot of young people and one DEA agent have died.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“We need to know how the drugs are distributed, how you get them, so we can shut the operation down.”

“People are having a good time. What’s the harm?”

Peyton frowned. Hadn’t he heard her say people were dying?

“Trevor!” hissed his father. “Tell the agent what she wants to know.”

“So she can arrest me, ruin my future. Or maybe so she can get drug dealers after me. No. I’m not saying anything until the lawyer gets here.”

Peyton shifted in her chair. “We’re prepared to make you a deal, Trevor, for your cooperation. It’s a generous offer, but if we wait for the lawyer to get here, that deals off the table and you’re right, we’ll bring the full force of the law down on you.”

He gave her a bored look.

“More than that, you’ll face charges here in Mexico.”

“Tell her what she wants to know, Trevor!” demanded his father.

“No.”

The father turned to Vega. “What’s the deal?”

“We want to…how you say…shut down the operations in the Excelencia. We want to run a sting.” He looked at Bass. “Is that right?”

“Yes,” said Bass.

“What do you want Trevor to do?” asked his father.

“First of all, we want him to tell us how the operation works. Who does he take the coin to? How does he get the drugs? Then we want him to purchase another coin from the dealer at the hotel. If we’re lucky, we can shut the whole operation down in one night,” said Bass. “We need to catch the dealer in the act. We also want to catch the drug distributer.”

“But you need to know how he exchanges the coin for the pills?” asked his father.

“Yes.”

“Tell them, Trevor.”

“No, Dad. If I do, I’m dead.”

“Is he right? If he makes the purchase at the hotel, will he be in danger?”

“We’ll arrest him with the cartel members, haul him in at the same time. That way they won’t be suspicious. We’ll also be stationed all over that hotel, so we can pull him out if anything goes wrong.”

“We’ll have the place surrounded,” said Vega. “Rodeado, sí?”

“Sí,” said Bass. “And a number of agents from the U.S. will be stationed in the hotel itself.”

“And if he does this, if he helps you shut down the cartel, you won’t press charges against him?”

“No, we won’t.”

“You’ll put that in writing?”

“As soon as the lawyer gets here, yes.”

The father and mother looked at each other, then the mother gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “He’ll tell you everything,” said the father, “and he’ll help you bring down the cartel as long as you protect him.”

“Done,” said Bass. He nodded at Peyton.

“Well, Trevor? You’re not going to get any better deal than this. You’ll be able to go to college and resume your life in the States with no consequences,” she said, tapping her fingers on the folder.

Trevor shook his head. “I don’t believe it. You’re gonna get me killed.”

“We’ll protect you during the sting, we’ll arrest you with the rest of the drug dealers, then you’ll be immediately flown back to the states.”

“Why can’t you get the coin yourself?”

“Because you’ve already done it. They’ll expect you to come back for more. When I tried to ask about it, I was warned off.” She sighed. “Look, I know Miguel’s the first contact. When I tried to ask him about it, he refused to even talk about it with me. But he’s already interacted with you in that fashion, so there’s no reason to believe he won’t do it again. And we need to catch them in the act, Trevor. It’s our only chance.”

“What about Darius and Tran?”

Peyton glanced over at Bass.

“They’re being held in protective custody until their parents arrive, then they’ll be flown back to the US.”

“And they’re not in any trouble?”

“They didn’t buy the pills. You did. You admitted as much.”

Trevor shook his head, staring at the table. “The pills are just for fun. It’s no big deal.”

“You’re lucky you’re alive!” shouted his father.

The kid flinched.

Peyton held up a hand to back the man off. “He’s right, Trevor. You’re lucky you’re alive. Others haven’t been so lucky.”

“They were stupid then. They combined the pills with alcohol.”

“No,” said Peyton, shaking her head. “That’s not true. Sometimes the pills were enough. That’s the problem with manufactured fentanyl. The doses aren’t the same – some are more potent than others, and some are deadly.” She opened the folder, fighting a rise of revulsion when she saw Chad Renton on a metal table, his body draped with a green sheet. She picked it up and laid it down in front of Trevor. “This is Chad Renton. He died yesterday from a fentanyl overdose.”

Trevor gave the picture a horrified look.

Peyton picked up the other picture of a young man on life-support, tubes and monitors all over his body. “This is Brett Enticott. Doctors don’t believe he’s going to make it either. His parents are coming to Cancun to watch him die.”

Trevor closed his eyes.

Peyton picked up the third photo of Joe Miller’s identification card from the DEA. “This is Agent Joe Miller. He was murdered by the Dios Mayas. He has a wife and two children. Sorry,” she corrected. “He had a wife and two children. He was doing his job, trying to protect young people like you from this fate, and they killed him.” She tapped the picture of Renton and Enticott. “You got lucky, Trevor. You survived. Now you owe it to them to help us stop this cartel.”

He looked down at Miller, then reached out and pushed the pictures away. “You swear you’ll get me out of here as soon as I make the exchange for you?”

“You have my word, and as soon as your lawyer gets here, we’ll put it in writing.”

He met her gaze. “What do you want to know?”

Peyton nodded at Bass, who pulled out a small recording device and set it in the middle of the table. “How do you know who’s selling the drugs? How do you find out?”

“There’s a place on the internet. The website’s called Mayan Dance Fever.”

“Dance Fever?” asked Peyton.

“It’s one of the street names for fentanyl,” said Bass.

Trevor nodded. “He’s right. Most of the site’s nothing. They got pictures of clubs, places to go if you want different kinds of music, but if you join, you get an access code.”

“And what does the access code get you?”

Trevor licked his lips, glancing at his parents. “Access to the chat rooms.”

“And once you have access to the chat rooms?”

“They tell you what hotel to stay in.”

“Will you give us your access code?” asked Peyton.

He nodded. “Yeah, but the big hotel, the main one is the Excelencia.”

“And you knew this when you asked your parents for the trip?”

“Yeah. I didn’t think anything about it. I mean taking fentanyl’s just like taking Norco and I took that when I got my wisdom teeth out.”

His mother moaned and covered her mouth with her hand.

“Okay, so you went in the chat room and you found out the Excelencia was the hotel with the best chance to score fentanyl?”

“Right.”

“What else did it tell you?”

“Talk to Miguel and ask for an exchange of money. Specifically, ask for coins.”

“And the coin would be among the change?”

“Yeah. They didn’t even say what it would look like on-line, just that you’d know it when you saw it.”

“And then do what with it?”

Trevor pushed the pictures closer to Peyton again, so she put them back in the folder and closed it.

“What do you do with the coin once you have it, Trevor?”

“There’s a couple of ways. If you rent a locker at the beach for your stuff, you give the attendant the coin with your payment. Then the pills will be in the locker when you return.”

“Okay. How else?”

“If you go up in the parasail, you give the boat driver the coin. When you get back in the boat, the pills will be in the plastic bag they give you for your stuff.”

“Any other way?”

Trevor rubbed the back of his neck. “When you leave the room in the morning, you put the coin on the table by itself. Nothing else on the table. When you come back, the pills will be in the safe.”

Peyton had been right about one mode of transfer.

“Do you know how many people at the Excelencia are in on this?”

Trevor shook his head. “Could be ten, could be all of them. You just don’t know.” Trevor curled his hand into a fist. “And even if you take down the entire hotel, you’re not going to get them all. They’re everywhere, they own everything.” He gave Vega a disparaging look. “They don’t answer to any laws or police or government. They’re gods down here. They’re gods.”

*    *    *

Peyton got a text message from Rosa, asking her to meet in the restaurant at the hotel for dinner. Peyton frowned at that, not certain what it meant. She and Rosa had a very clear cut relationship. Rosa was her boss and that was it. Maybe she’d invited the whole team?

Walking from the balcony into the room where Bambi was reading, Peyton held up her phone. “Did Sarge invite you to dinner?”

Propped up by a number of pillows on the bed, Bambi glanced at her phone. “No, did she invite you?”

“Yeah. That’s weird. I thought maybe she invited the whole team.”

“Maybe she wants to praise you for your interrogation of Trevor Wellington?”

Peyton frowned. “It wasn’t even that complicated an interrogation. His parents did the heavy lifting. I just asked some questions.”

“Well, I don’t know. I wouldn’t overthink it. It’s just dinner.”

“I guess.” Peyton gathered her room key and her credit card. “I’ll see you later.”

Bambi lifted her book again, settling deeper into the pillows. “See you later.”

Peyton found Rosa sitting on the outside patio, her back to the restaurant wall. She was watching a group of kids playing chicken in the pool, a faint smile on her face. And she was alone. Peyton slid into the seat to the left of her, so her back was also partially to the wall and she could see the pool as well.

“Hey,” said Rosa, picking up her margarita and taking a sip. “You want one?”

“Sure.”

Rosa motioned to the waitress and the woman came over. “How do you ask for another one?” Rosa questioned Peyton.

“Tenemos otro,” Peyton said, pointing at Rosa’s drink.

“How do you do that? Why wasn’t that on your resume?”

“Speak Spanish?”

Rosa nodded.

“Because I don’t have any formal training. I couldn’t show it to you on a college transcript or anything.”

“But you’re pretty fluent.”

“Only speaking. Can’t read it for shit. Well, I mean if I think about the words verbally, maybe a little.”

“How did you pick it up so easily?”

“I had a friend in high school who spoke Spanish at home. I spent a lot of time there and his parents were pretty patient with me when I tried to talk to them. I also took it in high school around the same time. It was one of the few classes I actually liked, so I studied. I don’t know, it always came easy to me.”

“Was the guy your boyfriend?”

“Nope. He was gay.”

“Huh,” said Rosa, sipping at her drink again. “Where is he now?”

Peyton considered that. “I don’t know. We lost touch after high school. He was a better student than I was and he went to college in Boston, I think.”

“Hm. No girlfriends?”

“You mean did I have girls as friends?”

“Right.”

“I didn’t get along with other girls too well.”

Rosa gave a grim laugh. “You and me both.”

Peyton picked up her fork, turning it over in her hand. “Funny thing is I have more girlfriends now than I did growing up.”

Rosa glanced over at her. “I have none.”

Peyton didn’t know how to answer that. She still felt Rosa was scary as hell.

Rosa looked at the table where a bowl of pico de gallo sat next to a basket of corn tortillas. “I wanted chips and salsa,” she said, motioning at it.

“I think chips and salsa is American.”

“I get that now.”

The waitress arrived with Peyton’s drink and set it in front of her. Peyton took a long sip.

“¿Desea pedir?” the waitress asked.

Rosa glanced at Peyton. Peyton wasn’t entirely sure about this one, but the waitress pointed at their menus.

“I think she wants to know if we’re ready to order.”

The waitress nodded vigorously to indicate that was right.

“I’ll have the chicken quesadillas with queso blanco sauce.”

“I’ll have the same,” said Peyton.

The waitress nodded and walked away.

Rosa played with her straw. “I talked to Bass before I came down.”

“And?”

“Vega thinks they’ll have enough manpower in place by tomorrow night to take down the Excelencia. By this time tomorrow, it might be all over. Maybe we’ll finally know who killed Joe.”

Peyton breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I’m ready to go home.” When Rosa looked over at her, she added, “This is a beautiful place, but I miss my home.”

“You miss Marco.”

“And my dog and my friends and my bed.”

Rosa made a sound of agreement. “I miss Adrian.”

Peyton took another long sip of her drink. She hadn’t expected that. “So, is it serious between you and Stryker?”

Rosa slowly shook her head. “I just don’t know. It might be, but I don’t really have a frame of reference for it. Besides Joe, I don’t let a lot of people get close to me.”

No shit, thought Peyton. She took another long sip. She could feel the tequila warm a path to her belly and wondered if she should slow down. She hadn’t eaten much today. They’d spent most of the day at the AFI office, planning their raid.

“Adrian’s thinking of leaving the FBI.”

That took Peyton aback. “Really? He told you that?”

“Yeah, he wants to stay in San Francisco. We’re thinking of moving things to the next level.”

“But he’s going to leave the FBI?”

“He says he can’t be an agent again. Something happened, he’s never told me what, but that’s why he became a trainer. He says he wants to try something new now, something outside the FBI.”

Peyton mulled that over. Things must be very serious with Rosa if he was thinking of giving up his career for her, but then again, although Stryker had taken their training seriously at Quantico, she’d always got the sense that his heart wasn’t in it. Maybe that’s why she’d liked him so much. He wasn’t all gung-ho for the bureau like some of the other trainers she’d met.

“Radar’s investigating Joe,” Rosa said suddenly. Then she lifted her hand to the waitress, pointing between the two margarita glasses and holding up two fingers.

Peyton was torn between concern about another margarita on an empty stomach and Rosa’s comment about Radar. She realized she’d never attempted to have a real conversation with Rosa before, but did she always bounce around on topics like this, blurting out very serious comments like she was discussing the weather?

“Wait. What? Radar’s investigating what about Joe?”

“He thinks Joe may have been skimming off the top.”

“As in what? You mean selling the drugs himself?”

“Or taking money to look the other way. That’s the only explanation Radar can come up with for why your Beardy McBeardson was following Celeste and came down here. He thinks Joe’s the common denominator.”

“Do you believe that?”

Rosa shook her head. “I don’t, but is that because I don’t want to believe it, or is it because I really knew Joe that well?”

“You knew Joe that well. He was your partner for years, Rosa. You’ve got to believe in what you know about him. Nobody understands what it’s like between partners. That’s a deep bond, an unbreakable trust. If you believe Joe wouldn’t do something like that, then he wouldn’t.”

Rosa looked over at her. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Have such absolute trust in people?”

“I don’t. There are a lot of people I don’t trust.”

“Name one?”

Peyton drew a blank. “I can’t think of anyone off the top of my head.”

Rosa narrowed her eyes on her. “Do you trust me?”

Peyton realized she did. “Yes.”

Rosa nodded. “See.”

The waitress arrived with their second drinks, removing the first, then hurrying off to another table.

“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust you?”

“I don’t know, Brooks. Can you ever really know someone?”

“Yes.”

Rosa glanced over at her again. “How?”

“I know Marco.”

“He left you.”

“And some part of me knew that was coming. I knew Marco would never stay while he felt he was unhealthy for me, but I also knew he’d do everything in his power to get healthy again.”

Rosa lifted her brows. “That’s one person.”

“I know Radar.” Peyton stirred her drink with her straw. “I know that Radar would protect any of us with his life. I know he is completely and totally devoted to his wife, and I know that no matter how much I annoy him, he still likes me.”

Rosa smiled.

“And I know Stryker’s a good man.”

Rosa’s smile dried and she reached for her drink, taking a gulp. “He is a good man.”

“So was Joe Miller.”

Rosa looked out at the pool again.

“Can I ask you a question?” said Peyton.

“Ask away,” she said with a flourish of her hand.

“Why did you ask me to dinner?”

Rosa regarded her a moment without blinking and Peyton resisted the impulse to squirm. “You’re interesting.”

“I’m interesting? What does that mean?”

“You’re damaged, Brooks. You have PTSD and you never recovered from your father’s death. Marco nearly died in your arms and that broke something in you. You have an unhealthy relationship with him.”

“In what way?”

“You’re too dependent on him for your happiness, but he’s the same way, so you’re both damaged. Maybe your two broken halves make one whole, who am I to judge.”

“Please go on,” Peyton said wryly.

“You’re intelligent, but you don’t always use that intelligence. You are too damn trusting, which is a contradiction when you think about how damaged you are. You like people.” She made a sneer. “All people – white, brown, black, pink, blue, gay, straight, asexual – and you try to accept them for who they are, but you also have a very prosaic code of ethics. Don’t lie, don’t cheat, don’t commit murder. I’d say it almost bordered on religious fervor, but you’re too open minded. Another contradiction.”

Peyton didn’t bother asking her to continue. She just sipped steadily at her drink and let Rosa keep speaking.

“You even accept me and I’m the last person you should accept. I slept with the man you adore, I scare the hell out of you, and I make you feel insecure. You don’t like to feel insecure. In fact, you like to be in control and yet, you defer to anyone who has a stronger will than you.” She stopped and drew a deep breath. “You are interesting.”

Peyton pushed the drink away. She’d drank too much, too quickly and her head felt fuzzy. “I can’t imagine why you don’t have any friends,” she quipped.

Rosa burst into laughter. “And you’re funny, so there.”

So there, thought Peyton, immensely relieved when the waitress finally appeared with their dishes.

CHAPTER 22

Rosa turned off the hairdryer, thinking she might have heard a knock on her hotel room door. She stood with the brush and hairdryer poised, waiting for confirmation. It came again, a quick rap three times. She knew it was Radar by the staccato rhythm and her heart sank. She didn’t want to open the door. Maybe if she didn’t, he’d go away and she could avoid hearing what he had to say.

When the knock came a third time, she knew he’d heard the hairdryer. There was no getting out of this. She placed the hairdryer back on its holder and lowered the brush to the sink, grabbing her hair-tie. She stepped out of the bathroom and crossed to the door, gathering her thick hair into a ponytail. Pulling open the door, her heart sank further. Tank stood behind Radar, carrying a laptop in his hands.

Radar stepped into the room, motioning Tank to the table in the corner by the French doors. Tank slipped past her and sank into the chair, giving her a sheepish look, but Radar looked determined. Grim and determined. This was definitely not good news.

“I’d ask you if everything’s all right, but I get the sense it isn’t.”

Radar took the other chair, leaving her the end of the bed. She sank onto it.

“Pull the bandage off, Radar. Don’t pussyfoot around. I hate it,” she demanded.

Radar removed his shades and tucked them into the neck of his polo shirt. “Joe Miller had an off-shore account in the Bahamas.”

Even though she’d tried to prepare herself for it, she still felt like she’d been gut punched. “What do you mean he had an off-shore account?”

“It was opened by a third party with a large deposit. Only Joe and his wife Celeste can withdraw from it,” said Tank.

For some reason her brain wouldn’t process this information. “What do you mean a third party deposited a large sum of money into it?”

“It was done through an untraceable wire transfer,” said Tank. “I can’t even get the country of origin.”

“How much?” she said, gritting her teeth. She felt like she might be sick.

“$250,000,” said Radar.

“When?”

“When?” echoed Radar.

“When was this done?”

“A few days after Joe arrived in Quintana Roo,” said Tank.

“Has anyone withdrawn the money?”

“Not yet.”

She rubbed her forehead, closing her eyes. “I can’t believe this.”

“I’m sorry, Sarge,” said Radar. “I was afraid there was more to this than there appeared.”

She thought of what Peyton had said to her the previous night, about how she had to trust herself, trust her belief in Joe. “I don’t believe it.”

Tank and Radar exchanged a look.

“The proof is there, Rosa,” said Radar gently. “Tank can show you the account.”

She shook her head. “I don’t care. Something doesn’t add up. Why would they kill him? If they were paying him off to…what?” She wasn’t even sure she knew.

“Look the other way,” said Radar. “Not solve the drug case. Let the cartel keep operating out of the Excelencia.”

“Then why did they kill him?”

Radar held up an empty hand and let it fall again. “Who knows? These things go bad, especially when you’re dealing with bad people. He crossed the wrong person.”

“It still doesn’t make sense. He came down here after Bass had been here for six months, but a few weeks later, he has an offshore account and then he’s dead. Why not kill Bass? Bass has been here for six months. They’ve had a hell of a lot more opportunity to eliminate him.”

“Bass didn’t get into bed with them,” Radar suggested. “Miller did. Then something went horribly wrong.”

“No, he wouldn’t do that!” She touched the center of her chest. “I knew him, Radar. I knew Joe Miller. No one was more above-board than Joe. No one was a better agent. He would never have taken a bribe, he would never have gone into business with drug dealers.”

Radar looked down. She knew there was more.

“What?”

Tank focused on the computer screen, fussing with the keys and refusing to make eye contact with her.

“Tell me!” she ordered.

“He was in trouble, Rosa. He had a lot of debt and they were about to lose the house. They’d made some bad investments and his salary couldn’t cover the outflow,” said Radar.

“Celeste was trying to find work. I found a resume posted on an on-line headhunter site with her name and address,” added Tank.

Rosa felt her shoulders slump. “He never told me that.”

Wisely, Radar and Tank didn’t respond.

“He never said he was in trouble. I would have helped him, I would have done anything I could to make things easier on him.”

Tank typed on the keys and Radar rubbed the back of his neck.

Rosa tried to process what they’d told her, but she couldn’t. What would Celeste do now? She didn’t have a job, she was about to lose her house. How would she make it? As soon as they finished this case, the federal government would freeze the offshore account and she wouldn’t have access to that money either.

Why hadn’t he told her how bad things were?

“It doesn’t make a difference, Sarge.”

She glanced up at Radar, her thoughts a million miles away. “What?”

“It doesn’t make a difference what he did or why. We have the same job we had when we came down here. We have to shut this cartel down and find the people who murdered him. Nothing changes that.”

She nodded, but she wasn’t really focused on the case anymore. She felt betrayed and hurt and confused. She would have bet everything that she knew Joe Miller, that he’d never be capable of something like this. She would have staked her life on it.

Now it made her wonder what other miscalculations she’d made.

*    *    *

Marco had Lee call Simons into his office Thursday morning. The big man lumbered in and sank into one of the chairs across from his captain. Marco noted that the dark circles under his eyes didn’t seem as pronounced as they had a few days before.

“I’m headed out to see Mavis Jones and let her know we caught Jamaad’s killer. I was wondering if you wanted to go with me.”

Simons smiled. It was a rare thing. “Yeah, I’d like that, Captain.”

Marco reached for his crutches. “Then let’s head out. She’s expecting us.”

As they left the precinct, Marco told Lee where they were going and then they climbed into the Charger. Pulling out onto the street, Marco fought his impulse to fill the silence with conversation. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist himself, Peyton had usually carried it for the two of them, but Big Bill Simons was even less of one than he was.

After pulling onto the freeway, headed toward Hunters Point, Marco glanced in the rearview mirror and adjusted his side mirrors. Besides Simons’ breathing, no other sounds filled the car. Marco couldn’t help but wonder if he and Cho spent all day like this, not speaking, not looking at each other. It didn’t seem to bother Simons.

“So, Cho’s getting married real soon,” he finally said, when he couldn’t take it any more.”

“Yep.”

Marco looked at him from the corner of his eyes, but Simons was staring out the window, his fingers drumming on the Charger’s door handle. “To Maria.”

Simons glanced over at him. “Yep.”

Marco nodded, dragging his teeth over his lower lip. “That’s kinda wild.”

“I guess. He’s crazy ‘bout her, and she seems to love him, so…”

So? So, what? At least finish a thought.

Marco slapped his palms against the steering wheel. “Peyton says she might be home in a couple days.”

“Good.”

“Bet Maria will be glad. She keeps calling me to see if I’ve heard from Peyton. I think she’s nervous she won’t be here for the wedding, but I told her I’d have Ryder wear the dress if necessary.” Marco laughed, but Simons didn’t. He felt Simons’ gaze on him. Marco realized he was babbling and that was a first. He never babbled. He never made small talk. Is this how everyone else felt around him all the time? Hm, that was worth considering.

He fell silent, thinking about Peyton, thinking about her coming home, and wishing it were today. Although he had Pickles, her house seemed horribly quiet without her. When she was home, people just dropped by without warning. In fact, he couldn’t string two nights together when someone hadn’t popped by and stayed for dinner. When he was there alone, no one stopped by. Maybe it was his inability to make conversation. Maybe people felt it was unpleasant to spend time with him.

He tried to remember hanging out with people if Peyton wasn’t around and the only time that happened was if Jake or Abe instigated it. Maybe he should make more of an effort. Maybe he should try to be a little friendlier. Then he dismissed that.

It was too much work. Honestly, while he didn’t mind all the other people hanging around, the only one he really wanted to spend time with was Peyton. His own family was so much better when Peyton was there with him.

Because thinking of Peyton made him feel so lonely, he turned his attention to the task force. He’d finally gotten around to calling the mayor’s assistant and finding out exactly how much had been set aside for his use. It was more than he’d thought – enough to hire a director, an assistant and maybe a part-time clerk. He could also afford a lot more neighborhood barbecues and community events, maybe even hire some local bands to play music. Of course, the task force needed a name. Harlan Osborn had dubbed it the San Francisco Neighborhood Partnership. He supposed SFNP might be an okay acronym, but it felt a little official. He leaned toward something that would be easily remembered. In fact, he was coming down on CCAP, the City Community Action Plan, but he wanted to run it by a few people first.

This topic of thought carried him until they rolled up before Mavis Jones’ front door. The Jones had a small house up a short flight of stairs. The front opened directly on the street, but brick planter beds on either side of the staircase lent color to the otherwise drab tan of the structure.

The window shades were open and someone glanced out the front pane, looking down to the street. Marco thought it might be Jamaad’s grandmother, Maeve. They climbed out of the car and moved toward the house. A few young men hung out on a stoop a few doors down. Marco couldn’t help but wonder if they belonged to one of the two gangs fighting for territory in this neighborhood. Young men hanging around with nothing to do, no matter what neighborhood, was probably not a good thing, especially since it was eleven in the morning. Why weren’t they in school?

As they reached the stairs, Marco felt the familiar annoyance. Stairs were his bane and it made him feel vulnerable. Simons stopped, waiting for him. Marco shifted the crutches to one hand and gripped the handrail, then he gradually settled weight on his left leg. It held. He was getting stronger.

Leaning heavily on the rail, he climbed the stairs without the crutches. Simons walked up a step behind him as if he was afraid Marco might fall, but Marco made it to the top, even if he was a little winded.

Mavis stood on the landing, smiling at him. She steadied him with a hand on his arm as he fixed the crutches in place again. “You’re walking.”

Marco tried to control his panting. He wasn’t in bad shape, but swimming didn’t require the effort of walking up stairs. Still, he needed to get back his wind. “Just started this week. It’s been a long time. Never thought I’d have to learn how to do something like that again.”

She rubbed a hand up and down his arm. “But you’re doing it and that’s all that matters.”

Marco realized he really liked Mavis Jones and he hoped she’d take the job he had for her. He hated that something as horrifying as losing her son had happened to her. He didn’t think a parent ever recovered from something like that.

“Come in,” she said, motioning into the house. “Mama has some ice tea already prepared. Hello, Inspector Simons.”

“Hello, ma’am,” said Simons.

“How’s your son?”

“Doing well, ma’am.”

Marco and Simons entered a pleasant living room in blues and greys. Everything was tidy and neat from the magazines on the coffee table to the books in the bookcases. Marco made a mental note to tidy up Peyton’s house before she returned. He’d started living like a bachelor again, dishes in the sink, towels on the floor in the bathroom. She hated towels on the floor.

Mavis directed him to a large recliner positioned before the television. “This is Jonah’s favorite chair. Jonah’s at work, unfortunately. I know he’d like to talk to you himself.”

“No problem, Mrs. Jones.”

“Mavis, please,” she corrected, keeping a hand on Marco’s arm in a motherly fashion as he lowered himself into the recliner. He breathed out a sigh of relief, it was so good to sit. “Jonell’s in school, of course. I didn’t want him to miss anymore time.” She motioned for Simons to sit on the couch and she took a seat next to him. “What do we owe this nice visit to, Captain D’Angelo?”

Maeve appeared, carrying a tray with a pitcher and four glasses on it. Simons rose and took it from her, setting it on the coffee table. Mavis reached for the pitcher and began pouring.

“Sit, Mama, I’ll get this.”

Maeve took a seat in a second recliner, this one smaller and more worn. It didn’t really go with the rest of the decor, sporting a faded floral pattern. “Hello, Captain,” she said warmly. “Inspector Simons.”

“Ma’am,” both he and Simons said.

“They were just about to tell me why they’d come,” said Mavis, offering the first glass to Simons, who passed it on to Marco.

Marco settled the cold glass against his knee. “We arrested Jamaad’s killer.”

Mavis’ hand shook and Simons reached out to steady the glass. She gave him a tight smile and released it. Maeve put a hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears.

“Are you sure you have the right person?” asked Mavis, lowering her hands to her lap and clasping them.

“Yes, ma’am,” said Marco. “He confessed.”

“He confessed?” She looked over at her mother and a tear slipped out, running down her face. “I thought I’d feel such relief when you finally told me that.” She swallowed hard, her eyes swimming. “Why don’t I feel relief, Captain D’Angelo?”

Marco didn’t know what to say, but Maeve got to her feet and came over, sitting on the couch next to her daughter. She put her arms around her and stroked the side of her head.

“Because it’ll never bring Jamaad back,” said Simons, setting his glass on a coaster. “But at least, his killer is off the streets. He can’t hurt anyone else.”

Mavis nodded. “Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you that until he’s tried,” said Marco.

“Will I be allowed to attend his trial?”

“If you’d like. I’ll have the ADA contact you once it’s set to begin.”

She nodded, staring at him. “Thank you, Captain.” She patted her mother’s shoulder, then went back to pouring the tea. “I know this will be a relief to Jonah.”

Marco stared at the spotlessly clean grey carpet. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about, Mavis.”

She looked up from taking a sip of her tea. “Yes?”

“Catching Jamaad’s killer was only one part of this, but there’s still a lot of work to do.”

“You mean with the gangs?”

“And the neighborhoods. There’s still a lot of distrust for police out there, a lot of crimes that go unreported. I want that to stop.”

“What are you suggesting, Captain D’Angelo?”

“I told you about the task force the mayor asked me to start.”

“I remember. The barbecue was the first event.”

“Right, but I don’t want it to be the last one. I want us to continue that work, maybe even expand it.”

Mavis and Maeve exchanged a look. “What are you suggesting?”

“There’s enough money in the budget to hire a permanent director, someone with law enforcement background, but not a cop.”

“Not you?” she said.

“Right.” He thought through his words before he spoke them. He realized he really wanted her to take the job. Not only would she be good at it, but he couldn’t imagine anyone who had more concern or caring. “There’s also enough money to hire that person a permanent assistant.”

“An assistant?”

“Someone to organize the events, work phones, file the necessary permits.”

Maeve curled her hand in her daughter’s. Mavis straightened her back. “And?”

“And, Mavis, I was hoping you’d take that job. I think you’d be perfect for it and I can’t imagine a better way to continue this work than with someone like you, with your background and your caring to front it.”

She didn’t answer for a moment, just stared at him.

He shared a quick glance with Simons, then he shifted in the recliner. “We need to do something more. It isn’t enough to arrest criminals and put them behind bars. We need to start doing something to change that, to stop crime before it happens. Too many times as a cop, I’ve had to come out and tell a parent their child is gone. If this task force saves even one life, if it prevents even one crime, then I’ll consider that a success.”

“What are you calling it?” asked Maeve. Mavis still didn’t seem able to respond.

“I’ve tried out a number of ideas. I’ve come down on CCAP for right now.”

“What does that stand for?”

“The City Community Action Plan,” he said, grimacing. That also sounded too formal, too distancing.

Maeve tilted her head. “That doesn’t really get at what you’re trying to do here, does it?”

“No, not really.”

“Hm,” she said, then she rose and moved to the floral recliner, taking a small pad of paper from a magazine holder next to the chair. A pen lay in the spiral coil at the top and she shook it out, beginning to write something on the pad.

Marco shifted his attention back to Mavis, but she was staring at the table without speaking.

“Mavis?”

“I miss my son, Captain D’Angelo.”

Simons shifted uncomfortably.

“I know you do, ma’am,” Marco said.

“I had all these dreams for him. Parents do that. You make plans for their future and you never think about what might happen if they don’t make it.”

Marco nodded, but he didn’t speak. He sensed she didn’t need any other encouragement.

She reached over and patted Simons’ hand. “You know what I mean, Inspector?”

“I do, ma’am. Honestly, I was thinking of leaving the force. I just can’t stand seeing anymore loss, but then I thought of my boy and how I want him to go to college, and I realized, I can’t quit. I want him to have a better future than I did.”

She nodded.

Marco was impressed. That was a long speech from Simons.

“I got laid off during the recession,” said Mavis, “I spent months looking for another job, but Jonah told me to just concentrate on raising the boys. He drives a truck for Express Shipping and he makes pretty good money. It hasn’t been easy, but I liked the opportunity to stay home, keep an eye on the boys.”

Maeve looked up, watching her daughter.

“What good did it do me?” she said with a sad smile, holding out her hands. “I didn’t stop something from happening.”

“Sometimes I’d like to put my family in a bubble. You know, lock them away where no one can get at them,” said Simons. “When Bobby started driving, I had night sweats.”

“But you can’t do that, can you?” she said, smiling at Simons.

“No, you can’t.”

“I know this is cliché, Mavis, but this task force could be a way to make Jamaad’s death have meaning. It could be a chance to make change out of horrible loss. We could dedicate the task force to his name,” said Marco.

She considered that.

“When you tell your story, people listen far more than if a cop says something. And as long as we work toward stopping street violence, Jamaad is sort of making his mark, through you.”

She released her held breath. “I need to talk to Jonah and Jonell about it.”

“Of course.”

She gave him a half-smile. “But I like the idea. I’ll definitely give it my utmost consideration.”

Marco smiled too. “Thank you. That’s great.”

Maeve held up her pad. “I think I’ve got it. We should call the task force Citizens in Partnership Against Crime or CIPAC for short.”

“Works for me,” said Marco. “CIPAC it is.”

*    *    *

Marco got back to the precinct with Simons and tried to answer some emails, then read the report Cho and Danté had written about Roscoe’s confession. He couldn’t help thinking about Jamaad Jones and Roscoe Butler, or Cashea’s brother LeJohn. Jamaad had had a future. He had a family who loved him, a calling he loved, and he was working toward setting himself up with a career. Roscoe Butler already had a record before he was an adult. He was headed to prison for the rest of his life and he wasn’t even twenty-five. LeJohn Thompkins would never walk again, was a burden on his family, his future cut short for absolutely no reason. It was hard to make sense of it all. It was hard to reconcile himself with the outcome. No one won. No one benefited. It was all for nothing.

He understood where Simons was coming from. He understood why Simons thought leaving the force might be the answer. Why did anyone pick this job? Why did anyone want to go into law enforcement? This thought brought him to Danté Price – handsome, brilliant, gifted Danté Price. If he were any kind of a captain, he’d tell the kid to turn in his resignation and go do something where he made a difference.

But Danté thought he was making a difference. He thought this was his calling the way Jamaad Jones had thought training dogs was his calling. Who was Marco to decide he wasn’t right? Who was Marco to decide he should do something else? Danté had made a difference in Jamaad’s case. He’d given his mother and father closure. He’d taken a dangerous, gun-wielding lost soul off the street. Maybe that was enough. In this small corner of the world, maybe that was as good as it got, and maybe if there were enough ripples in the system, it would eventually mean something.

His phone rang and he grabbed it up, thumbing it on without looking at the display.

“D’Angelo,” he said.

“Captain, this is Irene Osborn, Mayor Harlan Osborn’s wife.”

Marco frowned and held the phone away from his ear, looking at the display. He didn’t recognize the number, but it sounded like her. “Yes, Mrs. Osborn, how can I help you?”

“Captain D’Angelo, I have a rather unusual request.”

“Okay.”

“I’d like you to have lunch with me and my son, Paul, tomorrow at our house.”

“Lunch?”

“Yes, Captain. Will that be acceptable?”

“Um, Mrs. Osborn, I’m a little confused. Why am I coming for lunch? Will the mayor be there?” Was it a good idea to have another lunch with a man who might be a suspect in a murder trial? The first lunch could be ignored since it was in public and specifically regarding the task force, but this was in private.

“Captain D’Angelo, I’ll be blunt. I’m afraid my husband is being blackmailed and I’m asking for your help.”

“Blackmailed?” Marco tried to keep the incredulity out of his voice.

“Yes, we’ve suffered some vandalism on our house and well…I’m getting concerned. When I bring it up to Harlan, he tells me not to worry. You know my husband, Captain D’Angelo…”

Not really, he thought.

“And you are the only officer I feel comfortable with talking about this. Will you please come to lunch tomorrow?”

Since Harlan Osborn wasn’t officially a suspect in Murphy’s murder and since Marco was still a sworn officer of the law, he didn’t see how his going to lunch could be a problem. Besides that, he was curious. What did she want to ask him that she wouldn’t discuss with her husband directly? Would it have anything to do with Murphy’s murder? Maybe she knew more than he thought she did.

“Captain D’Angelo?”

“Yes, Mrs. Osborn. Yes, I’ll come to lunch tomorrow.”

“Do I need to send you the address?”

“That would be good, yes. What time?”

“Noon.”

“I’ll be there.”

“Good.” And she hung up. No goodbye, no have a nice day. Irene Osborn was anything if not direct.

Marco stared at his phone for a few minutes wondering if he should call Devan and ask him about it. Probably. Just to cover all bases. He picked up the phone and dialed Devan’s number. Devan answered on the third ring.

“What is it, D’Angelo? I’m about to go into court.”

Marco told him about his phone call and the request that he go for lunch the next day. Devan was silent for a moment, then he exhaled.

“Okay, look, I think I better go with you just to keep everything above board. That way if you get into a he said, she said thing, you’ll have someone to back you up. These Osborns are slippery as snakes.”

“I agree,” said Marco.

“Let me shuffle some stuff on my calendar, then I can go with you.”

“Should I call her back and tell her you’re coming?”

Devan was silent for a moment, then he cleared his throat. “No, don’t do that. It might be better to catch her off guard. We can explain that I insisted on coming once we get there, but I don’t want her to prepare or call it off. I don’t think Harlan Osborn killed Murphy, but I wouldn’t put it past him or her to have something to do with it.”

“Fine. I’ll pick you up at your office tomorrow at 11:30.”

“Sure, but we’re taking my BMW, not that ancient penis compensator you call a car.”

“Right. My Charger’s the penis compensator over your $50,000 beamer. Whatever you need to tell yourself, Adams. Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

*    *    *

It was nearly 9:00PM by the time Marco got a chance to call Peyton. She answered the video chat, curled up in the hotel bed, wearing his 49er’s jersey. He smiled, wishing he was there with her. She looked sleepy and warm and so damn tempting.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said.

“Hey, yourself. You look tired.”

“Long day. I just got back from the support group meeting.”

“How’d that go?”

“All they want to know is if we have a suspect in Lowell Murphy’s death. I wish I had more to tell them.”

“Hey, Marco,” called a voice out of eyesight, then Bambi popped her head next to Peyton’s.

“Hey, Emma,” he said.

“Well, I’ll just hop out for ice and give the two of you some privacy.” Then she was gone.

Peyton shook her head in amusement. “She’s a character.”

“That she is. How’re things going?”

“Let me see my dog.”

Marco lifted Pickles so Peyton could see the Yorkie. She made smoochy noises at him and his ears pricked forward.

“He needs to go to the groomer, D’Angelo. He’s looking a little scruffy.”

“What groomer? I don’t know where you take the fluff ball.”

“Abe knows. He can take him.”

“Of course he does. So, anything new? Are you coming home?” He didn’t want to seem desperate, but he was beginning to feel that way.

“We’re doing the sting tomorrow, so I’m hoping we can wrap it up, get a confession on Miller’s murder, then come home to work on extradition papers.”

“Do you think Miguel actually did the killing?”

“I don’t know. Someone in the Dios Mayas did. If we bring the cartel down and they think they’ll be facing charges in two countries, someone might sing.”

“You’re right.”

“How’s things going there?” she asked, propping her head on her hand.

“We’ve got a name for the task force finally.”

“What is it?”

“CIPAC, Citizens in Partnership Against Crime.”

“That’s better than the other one you were thinking of.”

“Yeah, and I might have hired an assistant.”

“Jamaad Jones’ mother?”

“She’s talking it over with her husband and son.”

“What about the director position? You don’t have time to do both jobs, especially when I get home. Whatever time you don’t spend at the precinct is mine.” She waggled her brows at him.

He laughed. “Believe me, I know, sweetheart. I just don’t know who would be qualified or want the position.”

She sat up suddenly. “Hold on. What about Stryker?”

“Your trainer at Quantico?”

“Yeah.”

“The guy who’s sleeping with Rosa?”

“Apparently, it’s a little more serious than sleeping. He’s thinking of quitting the FBI.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, and he’s looking for something new. He doesn’t want to be an agent, but all he’s ever known is law enforcement. This just might be perfect for him.”

Marco considered it. “You really think he’d be interested in a step down like this?”

She shrugged. “He wants to stay in San Francisco. He doesn’t want to be an agent and he’s bored with training. It might be the very thing he wants. Call him. I’ll send you his number.”

Marco didn’t see how it could hurt to ask him. Not that he expected he’d be interested in a job that paid less than he’d been making with the FBI, but it was worth a shot. “Okay.” He lowered his voice. “So, while Bambi’s out of the room, why don’t you tell me what you have planned for me when you get back? You know, when I’ll be too busy to worry about the task force.”

Peyton gave him a slow, sultry smile. “Well, first of all,” she purred.

“Yeah?” he said, raising one brow.

“The gutters on the house need to be cleaned,” she said, and they both burst out laughing.

CHAPTER 23

Federico Vega wanted one last review of the plan before they executed it. They all met in the conference room at the AFI building at 5:00AM. Rosa took a seat at the head of the table, her team spread out on either side of her. She felt tired and anxious and wanted to go home. She hoped this sting would lead to ending this case in the next few days so they could catch a flight back to the U.S.

Vega had called in a number of his fellow agents, but Rosa worried it wasn’t enough. Clearly he didn’t have the firepower she would have been able to call on in San Francisco. Bass also eyed them anxiously. He’d been pacing back and forth all morning.

Vega had obtained a map of the bottom floor of the hotel. He marked the exits with yellow highlighter. The two largest ones were in the front, which led to the street, and the back, which led to the beach. Four more were down hallways and were primarily fire exits. If anyone used them an alarm would sound.

The first order of business was to film the actual swap. They had to have proof that Trevor had given them at least one way the drugs were being distributed. Peyton and Tank would set up in the room adjoining Trevor’s. Darius had occupied it until yesterday when they removed him. They had gotten agreement from his parents to leave his stuff behind, so it looked like the room was still occupied.

Peyton and Tank would slip into the room by 7:00AM, put a do not disturb sign on the door, while Trevor went back to his own room to open the adjoining door. Peyton and Tank would set up the surveillance equipment, Trevor would plant the coin, and by 9:00AM, meet up with Bambi in the restaurant for breakfast, placing the sign on the door for maid service. That way the boy would be in full view of witnesses when the sting went down.

In the evening when Miguel moved from the parasailing hut to the front desk, Trevor would again approach him, asking to exchange money. By now, Peyton and Bambi would be positioned just off the beach door. The rest of Vega’s men would be ready to storm the hotel the minute the exchange happened. Peyton and Bambi would slap cuffs on Trevor and arrest him as the rest of the people in the hotel were subdued.

Vega’s men would enter the building and secure it, rounding up all of the employees and shutting things down for the night. Each employee would be checked and those that were obviously not involved in the drug trade would be allowed to return to work. Until there were enough employees to run the hotel, Vega’s men would stand guard. The restaurants and the nightclub would be closed until further notice and guests would be given the opportunity to move to new hotels.

During the initial raid, while Vega’s men secured the hotel and rounded up employees, Rosa’s people would man the exits and prevent anyone from leaving. Vega issued his assignments with grim resolve, his usually flirtatious nature subdued. He’d also resorted to speaking mainly in Spanish. She didn’t know if it was harder to speak English when he was nervous or if he was speaking Spanish for the benefit of his men, but she found herself trying to piece things together through pantomime. Whatever the case, Rosa got the distinct impression Vega’s men hadn’t taken down anything quite so big as a hotel before and it made her nervous.

No matter how often they went over the plan, something was bound to go wrong, and when things went wrong, people got hurt. There were a lot of civilians in the hotel, not to mention her own people, two of which wouldn’t be able to wear riot gear since they had to remain undercover until the last minute to protect Trevor. She also didn’t like using the kid as bait, but she knew they didn’t have any choice.

“Okay, let me make sure I have this right,” she said, pulling the map over to her. “Brooks and Bambi will cover the beach exit and get Trevor out of there.”

“Sí .”

“Tank and Radar will each cover one of the fire exits on the east wall.”

“Sí .”

“And Bass and I will cover the other two on the west wall.”

“Sí una vez.”

“You and your men will enter from both the front street entrance and the beach entrance as soon as Brooks gives the signal.”

“¿Esto es bueno, sí?”

Rosa looked at Radar.

“It’s good, isn’t it? The plan?” he translated.

She eyed Vega carefully. “I wish you had more manpower available.”

“This is, how you say, as good as it gets, sí?”

“Sí,” she said. “Here’s hoping they don’t have AK47’s stashed under that desk.”

Vega exchanged a look with Bass.

Bass nodded, his expression grim. “Here’s hoping like hell,” he muttered.

*    *    *

Peyton and Tank used the keycard from Darius to enter the hotel room by 6:30AM. The bed was made and the curtains open. Peyton went to the curtains and yanked them shut as Tank set up his equipment on the table in the corner. Going back to the door, Peyton put the do not disturb sign on the outside and as an added precaution, she threw the privacy bolt on the door. Finally, she helped Tank unpack all of his gear.

At 6:45AM, they heard a knock on the inner door to Trevor’s room. She went to the adjoining door and unlocked it, pulling it open. Trevor stood on the other side, looking absolutely terrified. Peyton pulled him into Darius’ room and pushed him down onto the bed as Tank went past her into Trevor’s room, carrying the tiny camera and microphone.

“You’ve got to get ahold of yourself,” she scolded, bending down to look in his face. “You look like you’re going to piss your pants.”

“I feel like I’m going to throw up.” His face was so pale, his beauty mark stood out starkly on his cheek.

Peyton grabbed a chair and pulled it up in front of the kid. “And you weren’t scared when you bought drugs in a foreign country or when you took that drug and you had no idea what you were taking?”

He swallowed hard, rubbing his hands on his shorts. “I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Well, you had courage enough for those things. You have courage enough to make it right again for Chad Renton and Brett Enticott, and any of the other young people who’ve died from fentanyl overdoses.”

He nodded vigorously.

“Peyton, I could use some help,” called Tank from the other room.

Peyton rose to her feet, but she fixed her hand in Trevor’s shirt and yanked him up with her, dragging him into the other room. She was a little afraid he might bolt if she didn’t. She pointed to his bed.

“Get in there and pretend like you slept there last night.”

He went over and yanked back the covers, while she helped Tank affix the camera to a painting of a palm tree that looked down on the table where Trevor would place the coin when it was time. Then he put a microphone under the table and one under the nightstand.

“Stay here,” he told them and went into the other room. He called to them a few minutes later, “When I tell you to, have Trevor say something, then you, Peyton. I want to calibrate the microphone.”

Peyton studied Trevor, who lay with his back propped on the pillows, picking at his cuticles. How the hell had this kid ever gotten up the courage to buy drugs?

“Walk over to the table slowly, Peyton. I want to see how far away you are before I pick you up.”

Peyton slowly walked toward the table.

“Good,” called Tank. “Now, Trevor, say something.”

“I don’t know what to say,” he answered.

“Good,” said Tank. “Now, Peyton, you speak.”

“Tank, does the Professor truly know what a wonderful man you are?”

She heard his chuckle through the open door. “Good. And yes, she does, but I’m the lucky one.”

“Not by half,” she muttered.

“Ha! I got that too.”

Peyton smiled, giving the camera a thumb’s up, then she turned to the boy. “Take the coin out and put it on the table the way you’ve been doing it.”

He rose to his feet and pulled the coin from his pocket, then he placed it in the middle of the table. Peyton noticed his hands were shaking. She put an arm around his shoulders and guided him back into the adjoining room.

There they waited for another two hours, Tank fiddling with the equipment, Peyton trying to nap in a chair. To her surprise, Trevor curled up on the bed and went to sleep. At 8:30AM, Tank affixed a wire to Trevor, tested it, and by 9:00AM, they were ready to send the boy on his way. Peyton placed her hands on his shoulders, looking up at him.

“Just go down and have breakfast with Bambi. When it’s over, go to the beach and sit in the sand for the day. Bambi will stay with you. Then tonight, I’ll be there too. The only time you’ll be alone is right now as you walk out of the room and get in the elevator.”

“And what if I just keep walking out the front doors?” he said with a laugh, but it sounded almost hysterical.

“We’ll find you and after you’ve served a decade in a Mexican prison, you’ll serve another in an American one.” She patted his cheek. “Go have breakfast with a pretty girl and by tonight, this nightmare will be behind you.”

He nodded, swallowing hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Drawing a deep breath, he released it. “When this is over, can I get a hug?” he said, flashing her a smile. And there was the cheeky, privileged kid who had the balls to buy drugs in a foreign land. She was surprisingly glad to see it.

“Sure.”

He beamed.

“Tank gives great hugs.”

His smile fell. Peyton looked over her shoulder to see Tank give the kid two thumbs up and a grin. Peyton laughed and pushed him toward the door. “Don’t forget to put the maid sign on the door when you leave.”

He nodded and smoothed down his t-shirt, then he walked to the adjoining door and pulled his closed behind him. Peyton shut the other door, then went over to the computer monitor and watched him walk to the room door, pulling it open. He grabbed the sign and placed it on the knob, then he shut the door behind him.

Tank handed Peyton an ear-piece and she put it in. She could hear the bell for the elevator ding, then elevator music. Finally she heard the ding again. A few minutes later, she heard Bambi greet the kid. She and Tank both breathed a sigh of relief, then drew up chairs around the monitor, prepared to wait for the maid’s arrival.

The maid arrived at 11:00AM. She was younger than Peyton expected with a slim figure, black hair pulled up in a bun, and large dark eyes. Although she wore a maid’s uniform, it hugged her curves. She came into the room carrying towels with bathroom necessities on the top – shampoo, conditioner, soap. She disappeared into the bathroom and they could hear her moving around, but they couldn’t see her.

After a few minutes, she came out, carrying dirty towels, which she carted into the hallway, disappearing off camera again. When she came back in, she was holding sheets. Peyton held her breath, waiting for her to notice the coin in the middle of the table, but if she did, she didn’t give anything away.

She stripped the soiled sheets from the bed, dropping them in a pile, then she began putting the new sheets on. Tank and Peyton exchanged a look. If she didn’t take the coin, they were dead in the water. They had no evidence, no way to prove the method of drug distribution.

After the bed was made, she came back into the room with a vacuum cleaner and ran it over the tiled floor, then she casually picked it up and walked out. Peyton held her breath. One thing about the Excelencia, they were thorough in their cleaning, but not once had the maid made a move to take the coin.

Maybe they had the wrong maid. Maybe this one didn’t do the drug exchanges. They couldn’t hear any sound in the room, but the outer door into the hallway hadn’t closed either. Peyton tiptoed across the room and peered through the peephole in the door. She could see the maid’s cart parked in front of Darius’ door, not Trevor’s. She was fussing with something in the front of the cart, then she bent down and pulled open a metal door on the bottom of it. Peyton couldn’t see what she was doing, but a moment later, she straightened.

Grabbing a duster, she turned and went back into Trevor’s room. Peyton crept back to Tank, her attention riveted on the tiny screen. The maid went over the headboard, the nightstand, and the two arm chairs with the duster, then quicker than the eye could follow, she whisked the duster over the table and also whisked the coin into the pocket of her uniform apron.

Peyton looked up at Tank in question. He shrugged.

The maid moved toward the door and they could see just the back of her pause by the small alcove that functioned as a closet. They heard a metallic clank and then the maid was out the door. Peyton crept back to the door and watched her bundle everything onto her cart and move down to the next room.

She and Tank waited until the maid was busy in the room two doors down from them before they moved to the adjoining doors and opened them. Pulling gloves on, Peyton went to the safe in the alcove with Tank behind her, a camera in his hands.

As she reached for the safe door and pulled it open, Tank began snapping pictures. Peyton pulled the door all the way open and the two of them stood there and stared for a moment. Lying on the piece of red velvet inside the safe was a baggie containing four oblong white pills. Fentanyl.

*    *    *

Peyton and Bambi sat with Trevor in the lounge chairs just outside the back door of the Excelencia. They all wore resort clothes, and no one watching them would have guessed they were about to run a sting. Vega’s men had moved into position, hugging the shadows at the back of the hotel, hiding in the palm trees. Most people had left the beach by this time. It was almost 8:00PM and the clubs were just getting active.

Trevor bounced his leg, clasping his hands on both knees. He kept glancing into the darkness, trying to see the armed AFI agents ready to descend on the hotel lobby. Peyton reached over and covered his hand with her own.

“It’ll be over before you know it,” she said.

“What if they start shooting and I’m right in the middle of it?”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

“You don’t think?” His voice came out a little hysterical. “You don’t think!”

“Calm down.”

“Easy for you to say. You have a gun.”

She shared an annoyed look with Bambi. “Here’s the thing, Trevor. You’re lucky you’re alive. The amount of fentanyl in those pills killed one kid this week and brain damaged another. He’s probably not going to live, so man up and knock it off. You’re the lucky one.”

“Easy for you to say,” he grumbled again, his leg continuing to bounce.

Peyton didn’t know what to do to get him calm. She’d tried being kind and she’d tried being tough. Neither one seemed to have worked.

“We’re ready to rock and roll. The fox is in the coop,” came Radar’s voice in her ear, meaning Miguel was at the desk. “The dogs are in place,” referring to Vega’s men.

“Send the kid in,” said Rosa through the com.

Peyton turned to Trevor. “I’m gonna go in and look at the brochures in the display case next to the front desk. Then you come in and ask Miguel for the coin.”

“What if he isn’t working tonight?”

“He is. We have visual confirmation.”

Trevor’s leg shook and he swallowed hard, his face draining of color. Shit. She should have tried to do the exchange. The kid was too terrified. Swinging around to face him, Peyton took his hand in both her own.

“You have to get control over yourself, Trevor. If you make the exchange, we’ll get you out. Then you can go home and go to college. No harm, no foul. We need to get these guys. People are dying from this stuff and you have the chance to make a huge difference in this war. Please, Trevor, please pull yourself together.”

“We’re counting on you,” added Bambi. “Without you, we don’t have a way to shut this operation down.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her. “Okay. Okay, I can do this.” He scrubbed his hands on his pants. “I can do this just like I did before.”

“Just like you did before.” Peyton rose to her feet. “Let me get in place. Wait for Bambi’s signal and go in.”

“Okay.”

“Just like you did before.”

“Just like I did before.”

Peyton gave him a final nod and walked into the lobby. Miguel was helping a customer, an older woman who wanted more towels, but he lifted his head and shot her a smile. She raised a hand to him and smiled back, then she walked to the display case and picked up a brochure for scuba diving, pretending to read it. Lifting her hand to push her hair behind her ear, she said into the com, “Send him in.”

A moment later, Trevor entered. Miguel had moved into the back room behind the front desk and he came out, carrying a handful of towels which he gave to the woman.

“Oh, gracias!” she said. “Gracias!” She was a heavy-set woman wearing a floral print muumuu and sandals. She had grey puffy hair and spoke loudly as if she might be having trouble hearing.

“De nada,” said Miguel, glancing up at Trevor.

The boy shifted weight from one foot to the other as the woman slowly picked her sunglasses off the counter with her room card, then clutched the towels to her ample bosom. Bambi entered the lobby and crossed to Peyton. Peyton pretended to show her the brochure and she made some random comments about how fun it would be to go on such a trip.

As the woman left the counter, Trevor stepped up and slapped some American money on it. He was breathing rapidly and Peyton could see the back of his hair was damp from sweat. He was a mess.

“Tengo que cambiar dinero,” said Trevor loudly. Too loudly. The older woman turned to look at him.

Miguel narrowed his eyes. “¿Qué?”

“Tengo que cambiar dinero,” Trevor repeated. “Necesito billetes pequeños, muy pequeños. Monedas.”

At that moment, the older woman dropped the towels, her room card, and her sunglasses. “Oh, goodness,” she said, bending over to pick them up.

Trevor shot her a panicked look, then turned back to Miguel. He was breathing so hard he was almost hyperventilating and a sob came out of his mouth.

“Please, por favor. Just give me the coin. Just give it to me.”

“Oh shit,” whispered Bambi.

Miguel’s affable smile dried and he glanced up, looking around the lobby.

“Please!” pressed Trevor, placing his hand over the money. It visibly shook and Miguel zeroed in on it.

“Bastard!” hissed Miguel, then he lunged for the boy.

Trevor threw himself backward into the older woman. She shrieked, causing the other clerk to look up in alarm, then Miguel vaulted onto the counter. Peyton reached for the gun at the small of her back at the same time Bambi did, just as Miguel swung off the counter, landing on Trevor and the older woman, taking them both to the ground with him. A couple of young girls entering the lobby from one of the corridors screamed and the clerk immediately ducked under the counter.

“Move! Move! Move!” Peyton shouted into her com.

A moment later, AFI agents in riot gear flowed into the hotel from the beach and the street, but Miguel regained his feet and raced into one of the corridors on the west side of the building as Peyton and Bambi ran toward Trevor and the older woman.

Peyton watched Miguel duck into the corridor and she tried to remember the layout of where everyone would be stationed. Grabbing Trevor under one arm, Bambi on his other, they hauled him to his feet as Peyton shouted into the com.

“He’s coming your way, Bass!”

“Roger,” came Bass’s response.

“Do you have this!” Peyton said to Bambi, shoving Trevor at her.

“Got it,” she answered, reaching down to help the older woman up. “Be careful.”

Peyton nodded, then raced to the corridor after Miguel, motioning some of the AFI agents to follow her. As they sprinted toward the exit at the end, Peyton could hear Bass shout, “Freeze or I’ll shoot!” Then there was commotion in her ear and shouting. As they reached the conflux of the two corridors, she and the two AFI agents threw themselves back against the wall, holding their guns in position. They could hear grunting and the sounds of a struggle. Then suddenly the alarm on the door sounded, blaring loudly in the tight corridor, and they hurried to see what had happened.

Bass lay in the corridor, struggling to right himself, blood streaming from a cut in his scalp as the door slowly closed. Miguel was gone.

“Man down!” Peyton shouted into the com over the shriek of the alarm. “Man down!” She dropped beside Bass, still holding her gun and pushed him down. “Lay still!”

He collapsed back on the carpet, moaning, his hands rising to press against the wound in his scalp. She stopped him and searched him over for any other wounds.

Damn it, they’d made their move and it had failed. Miguel had gotten away and Bass was hurt. They had no choice but to shut down the hotel, missing the opportunity to close down the drug ring. The enormity of their failure nearly made her scream, but she didn’t have time before Rosa arrived, her expression stricken.

*    *    *

No one spoke in the hospital waiting room. They sat in the hard plastic chairs, drinking stale coffee, and trying to find patterns in the stained linoleum. Everyone felt defeated. Miguel had escaped. They hadn’t even gotten surveillance video of him exchanging the coin for Trevor’s money. Peyton felt guiltiest. She should have tried to make the exchange herself. They should never have left it for a kid.

Vega walked into the waiting room. “Bass is going to be okey dokey,” he said, smiling grimly. “Concusión, sí? They’re keeping him overnight para observación.”

“Can we talk to him?” asked Rosa.

“Ah, no, he is resting. They give him the morfina. Él está dormido.”

“He’s sleeping,” translated Radar.

Rosa nodded.

Vega gave her another grim smile. “Ah, bonita, I know it is decepcionante, disappointing, sí?”

“Sí,” said Rosa.

“But we find we have shut down a source, yes? No más drogas a Excelencia.”

“We didn’t catch anyone in the act,” said Radar, pushing himself to his feet. “And we still don’t know who murdered Joe Miller.”

Vega nodded in understanding. “Es decepcionante, sí? But tomorrow, I work again. We have the cantina. We have Miguel’s familia in the area. It is something. That is all that can be done.”

They nodded in return.

“Let’s get some sleep,” said Rosa, motioning toward the door.

“Come, I will drive you home,” said Vega. “You must be cansado.”

They walked out of the hospital without speaking and Vega drove them back to their hotel. They climbed out of his Tiguan with only a meager goodbye and went inside, still avoiding all discussion of the night as they went to their separate rooms.

Miguel may have gotten away with his crime, but the Excelencia would never be the same.

CHAPTER 24

Rosa entered Kazander Bass’ hospital room the next day to find him on his feet, pulling on his black uniform shirt. He had a bandage on his head where he’d struck the door frame and he was squinting like he was in pain.

“Are you supposed to be up?” she asked.

He winced. “They wanted me to stay another day to make sure I’m not going to suddenly die of a brain bleed, but I told them I’d be responsible for my own health.”

“They give you stitches?”

“Three. Just enough to make me feel sorry for myself, not enough to seem heroic.”

She laughed, but she didn’t feel very good about anything at the moment.

He sobered and studied her, placing his hands on his hips. “I’m sorry, Rosa. I screwed up. I was ready for him, Brooks told me he was coming my way, but he still got the drop on me.”

“That’s not your fault. We all get blindsided at times.”

“How did you get down here?” he asked, taking a seat on the edge of the bed and reaching for his shoes.

“Vega brought me. He’s talking to Brett Enticott’s parents. They want to fly their son home to the states to see if any treatment might help him, but they need Vega to sign off on the papers to let him go, since he’s a material witness.”

“Not gonna make much of a witness,” Bass said grimly.

“No, he’s not, which is why Vega’s letting him go.”

He pulled on the second shoe. “Have you discussed with Vega what else you plan to do?”

“We’re going back to San Francisco, Kaz. We have a flight out on Monday. That gives us just enough time to wrap things up. Joe Miller was killed by the Dios Mayas. Somehow I’m going to have to make peace with not getting the actual guy, but this isn’t our fight. This is for the DEA and the AFI, not the FBI.”

He nodded. “I get you.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ve got to call my direct supervisor, Brenda Doyle, see what she wants me to do. My cover’s blown, but I hate to give up. I’d like to keep working the case with Federico. There still might be something we can do. Maybe go back to that little cantina Miguel took Brooks to, see if anyone’s willing to talk. Find his cousins who work in the tourist industry. I’ve got this feeling that if we could just get this Miguel character, we might unlock the whole Dios Mayas.”

“I hope you do, Kaz. I really hope you do.”

He finished tying his other shoe and rose to his feet, grimacing in pain and placing a hand against his forehead. “You think Vega will mind giving me a ride back with you?”

“Not at all. Are you checked out?”

“Yep, I’m free to go. I was going to call a taxi, but I’d rather not.”

She motioned to the door. “Let’s go see Vega.”

He hesitated, reaching down to grab his flak jacket. “Look, Rosa, you’ve got a couple of days before you head back to San Francisco. Why don’t you let me take you to dinner tonight? My treat.”

She smiled wearily. She wished they could have gotten an earlier flight out, but this gave them time to shore up a few loose ends and work on transporting Miller’s body back to the states once it was released from evidence. She just wanted to go home, but she hadn’t really taken any time to enjoy the culture here or the beauty of this place.

“Sure. If you’re feeling up to it, we’ll go to dinner tonight.”

He stepped up beside her, nudging her with his shoulder. “They gave me some magic pills, so I’ll be fine.”

She winced, acutely aware Vega was talking at that moment with grieving parents whose son would never be the same again.

“Sorry, too soon, huh?” He gave her a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, Kaz, too soon,” she said, then nudged him back.

*    *    *

Marco took a seat in the booth at the Cliff House, looking out over the ocean. It wasn’t the cop’s seat with his back to a wall, but he liked looking at the ocean when he came here, so he always picked this spot. The busboy put a basket of warm muffins and a carafe of freshly squeezed orange juice in the middle of the table, then the waitress appeared, smiling at him, carrying a pot of coffee.

He turned his cup over on the saucer so she could pour, then he reached for the carafe of orange juice and filled his glass. “Thank you,” he said, smiling in return.

“Are you ready to order?”

“No, I’m waiting for someone. I’ll just sip my coffee and look at the view while I wait.”

“Very good. Just signal when you want me to take your order.”

He agreed and lifted the orange juice, taking a sip as she walked to the next table waiting to be served. He shivered in pleasure. Few things were as good as fresh squeezed orange juice in the morning.

The Cliff House was one of his favorite restaurants in the City, which is why it made a natural choice when he decided to hold this meeting. He’d called Stryker because Peyton had wanted him to, but he’d never expected the man would be interested in the job. It was a cut in pay, a cut in prestige, and frankly, Marco didn’t know how long it would last. Working for local government could be an iffy prospect. If a new mayor decided CIPAC wasn’t a worthy expenditure, they could be disbanded.

His phone rang and he marked Devan’s name on the display. “What’s up, Adams?”

“Good morning to you, D’Angelo.”

“What do you want? I’m about to have a meeting.”

“On the weekend, eh? Well, I won’t be able to come to the mayor’s house with you.”

“Why?”

“Gotta go look at houses or my marriage may be over.”

Marco laugh.

“Laugh all you want, I’m serious.”

“Sorry. Go look at houses.”

“Do you have this? You aren’t going to compromise the case, are you?”

“I’ll do my best not to.”

A man appeared next to him. He was about six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, lean, and fit, his shoulders straining at the polo shirt he wore. Marco realized he’d seen him with Rosa when he’d dropped Peyton off at the airport.

“Hey, I got to go.”

“Call me and let me know what happened after it’s over, okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he said, then he disconnected the call.

“Adrian Tréjo,” the man said as Marco accepted his hand, “but most people call me Stryker.”

“Marco D’Angelo.” Marco shook his hand and released him, then motioned to the chair across from him. “Sorry I didn’t get up, but…” he said, laying a hand on his crutches.

“No problem.” Stryker took a seat and unfolded his napkin.

Marco lifted the juice. “Fresh squeezed orange juice?” he said.

“Sure,” answered Stryker, smiling. He glanced around the room as Marco poured, then over his shoulder where the ocean frothed against an overcast sky. “This City gets under your skin, doesn’t it?”

“It does, which is why I’ve never been able to escape.”

Stryker laughed. His voice was deep and masculine, but he gave off an easy-going vibe. Marco was surprised how at ease he was with him. Stryker lifted the menu and glanced over it as he reached for the orange juice and took a sip. “Wow, that’s good.”

“Yeah. Try the muffins. They’re also amazing.”

Setting down the glass, he reached for a muffin and broke off a piece, placing it in his mouth. “I could get used to this.”

Marco smiled.

“What’s good here?”

“I always get the sautéed vegetable scramble.”

“Really? You pass up the Johnson omelet with Dungeness crab and avocado? I thought you people in California ate avocado on everything.”

Marco laughed. “The avocado isn’t the problem. It’s the crab.”

“Don’t like seafood?”

“Vegetarian.”

Stryker raised an eyebrow. “Man, I admire that. I’ve tried for so many years to go vegetarian, but I always fail.”

“It’s hard to give up meat.”

“No, man, it’s the bacon. I could give up all other meat. I just can’t give up my bacon.” He glanced at the menu again. “Which is why I’m having the bacon, mushroom and cheddar omelet.”

Marco relaxed. Stryker might not take the job, but he liked him. “So I guess you’ve heard from Rosa?”

“Yeah, she said they’re coming home on Monday. Guess things haven’t gone so well down there. You heard from Buttons?”

“Buttons?” Marco arched a brow.

Stryker laughed and held up a hand. “Sorry, Peyton.”

“Yeah, she told me what happened. It’s hard going into another country and trying to solve a crime. There’s no way you’re going to be viewed as anything but an outsider, even from the police.”

“I know. I just feel bad about it. Rosa really wanted to get the guy who killed Joe. Joe’s death shook her up.”

“I know it did. Joe Miller was a nice guy.”

An awkward silence fell between them, the first one, but Marco had been expecting it. It was strange to be sitting across from Rosa’s current lover when he had his own history, albeit brief, with her. They were both aware of it and talking about Miller only brought that to the foreground.

Thankfully, the waitress arrived. “What can I get you gentlemen?” she asked brightly.

They ordered and the waitress poured Stryker some coffee. Marco leaned back in his chair and fingered the handle on his own mug. “Look, Stryker, I appreciate you meeting with me. Peyton was all fired up that I call you, but I know the job I have is nothing like what you’re used to doing. I can’t pay you anywhere close to an FBI salary and the benefits probably won’t be as good.”

“Tell me about the job.”

Marco narrowed his eyes in surprise, then he decided what the hell. He went over the job description, the salary and the benefits, then he told him about Mavis Jones and that she was considering coming on as an assistant. Stryker listened without comment, then he picked up his orange juice and drained the glass.

Setting it back down, he clasped his hands before him on the table. “Here’s the thing, Marco, this thing between Rosa and me, it’s getting serious or I hope like hell it is. I’m not as young as I used to be and I’d like to see where it’s going, but I can’t do that if I’m in Virginia. Once I loved the FBI and I couldn’t imagine doing anything else, then…” He looked down at the table, his voice trailing away. After a moment, he looked up again and said, “Listen, I haven’t even told Rosa this yet, so I’d appreciate it stay between the two of us.”

Marco frowned. “Sure.”

“Six years ago, my partner and I were on a case, a gun smuggler. He had this grand scheme to arm the detainees in Guantanamo and help them start a revolution. Complete nutjob. He was moving guns across state lines, so we went out to stop him. He got warning we were coming and opened fire…” His voice trailed off. He rubbed at his temples with one hand. “We were told the storage facility was cleaned out, but it wasn’t. He was hiding inside, waiting for us. He shot my partner in the head. He didn’t even have time to draw his gun and he was standing right next to me. I got…I got his brains on my flak jacket.”

Marco grimaced. “God damn,” he whispered.

“Yeah. I wanted to quit the next day. I didn’t want to play FBI anymore, but my supervisor talked me out of it. I tried being a SAC, but I hated it. Then I went to Quantico as a trainer.” He paused and reached for his coffee, drinking some.

Marco looked out at the ocean to give him time to get his composure again.

“Sorry,” he said, setting the cup down. “See why I haven’t told Rosa. It’s easier to talk to someone I don’t know so well, but with her, well, I’m scared of the way she’d look at me afterward, wondering if I’m gonna go all crazy on her.”

“I don’t think she’ll do that.”

Stryker nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“You need to tell her.”

Stryker nodded again. “You’re right.”

Marco tapped his fingers on the table. He couldn’t believe he was about to say this. “I’m in a support group on Thursday nights for people who’ve been in traumatizing situations, life altering situations. How’d you like to go with me?”

Stryker’s eyes shot up to Marco. “Seriously?”

Marco shrugged.

Stryker thought for a moment. “You know what, I will. I’ll do that.”

“Good.”

“Buttons go with you?”

“No, she won’t. I asked her to, but she won’t do it.”

Their meal arrived and they spent the next few minutes eating, not talking. It wasn’t an awkward silence and Marco sensed Stryker needed the time, the quiet. Once they were both finished and the waitress had taken away their plates, she poured them another cup of coffee and they settled back, staring at each other.

“I know this job isn’t what I was doing when I was an agent,” Stryker began. “I didn’t mind the training, especially when I got students like Buttons, but I’m bored with it. I thought of opening my own gym, but how is that any different than what I’m doing now for the FBI?” He held out a hand. “This seems like something I would like. I get to be out in the community, but I don’t have to carry a gun, and most importantly, I get to stay in San Francisco.”

Marco couldn’t believe it. He might just have found himself a director, and a good one at that. “I have to run things by the mayor for final approval, but he pretty much lets me run with this on my own. Are you sure you want it?”

Stryker thought for a moment, then he smiled. “Yeah, I’m sure I want it. I think the change will do me good.”

Marco held out his hand. “Welcome aboard.”

“Thank you.” Stryker took it in a firm grip.

“You know, as we’re talking, I’m thinking we might be able to do some self-defense classes in the communities, offer them in the high school gym or something.”

“That’s what I was thinking and maybe a gun exchange program for a gym membership and I could run some classes there. We might be able to get some local gyms in on the idea.”

Marco smiled. “I think this is going to work out.”

“So do I, and I appreciate the opportunity. I owe Buttons lunch or something.”

“Chocolate. You get her chocolate and you’ll have a friend for life.”

Stryker laughed. “Good to know.”

“I have to ask,” said Marco, shaking his head, “but Buttons? Where did that come from?”

“Ah, don’t get upset, but she was my favorite student in Quantico. A little slip of nothing, more hair and eyes than substance, but she was all piss and vinegar on the inside. I always used to say, she was cute as a button, hence Buttons.”

Marco laughed. “God, I miss her.”

Stryker nodded. “I’m right there with you, man.”

“You give Rosa a nickname?”

Stryker looked appalled. “Are you shitting me, man? She’d castrate me if I tried.”

*    *    *

At noon, Marco made his way to the mayor’s mansion. Somehow Mayor Osborn had purchased the home in Pacific Heights, but even so, when Marco pulled up in front of it, he was stunned. The massive cream colored European style house with its ornate marble lintels over every window and door took his breath away.

Parking the Charger on the street, he climbed out, grabbing his crutches, then he made his way to the white wall running around the perimeter of the property. This was the wall where Harper McLeod had shown him the graffiti. Someone had carefully painted over it and there was no trace anything had marred the gleaming surface.

A wrought iron gate broke up the expanse of white stucco and an intercom had been built into the post next to it. Marco pressed the intercom button.

“Yes?” came a voice he thought might be the mayor’s wife, Irene.

“Captain Marco D’Angelo,” he said into the box.

The gate buzzed and he was let into a courtyard with a cherub fountain in the middle of it, spewing water out of a jug held in its arms. Beyond that was a short flight of stairs into an enclosed entrance with double glass doors.

Marco had to wonder how the hell Harlan Osborn afforded this on a mayor’s salary as he crutched his way up the stairs. Before he got there, a pretty Hispanic woman opened the door, wearing a maid’s uniform. She smiled at him and inclined her head, motioning for him to enter. He crutched the remaining way into the house and she closed the door behind him.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she answered. “Mrs. Osborn will be here momentarily.”

Marco gave her a nod, then looked up when he heard heels on the white marble floor. Irene Osborn turned the corner into the large entrance hall, wearing a smart pantsuit in pale blue, her grey hair perfectly coiffed. Marco resisted the impulse to check if his own business suit was rumpled.

The entrance hall was a perfect square with hallways jutting off on either side and a grand staircase rising before him. The balusters were edged in gold and the handrail in a rich wood that gleamed. Above him was a massive crystal chandelier with teardrop crystals hanging off it and in the middle of the room was a table made of the same wood, topped with a massive crystal vase and real flowers.

“Bring lunch to the library, Eva,” Mrs. Osborn told the young woman, who nodded and hurried off down the right hallway. “Good afternoon, Captain D’Angelo,” she said, offering him her hand. “I love to see a man who knows how to keep an appointment on time.”

He accepted her hand. “Thank you for inviting me, Mrs. Osborn.”

“How’s your leg?”

“Better. They’re allowing me to walk on it in physical therapy. Pretty soon I’ll be able to lose the crutches and go back to my cane.”

“Will you ever be free of the cane?”

“It’s too soon to tell.”

“Well, I’ll hope for your full recovery,” she said brightly.

Marco didn’t bother to tell her that wasn’t a possibility. What did this woman know about his injury and really, what did she care?

She motioned to the left hallway. “Come, we’ll talk in the library. Paul will join us soon. Harlan’s out on the golf course.”

“Does he know I’m here?” Marco asked, following her into the wide hallway with its marble floor and paintings of people he didn’t recognize.

“No, he doesn’t and we’d like to keep your visit a secret. You’ll understand why once we’ve had a chance to talk to you.”

Marco didn’t like cloak and dagger and he didn’t like secrets, but he followed her into a masculine room with forest green walls, heavy wooden bookcases from floor to ceiling, and a bank of windows which looked over the front courtyard. A red carpet with forest green scallops covered the highly polished wooden floor and leather armchairs were arranged around a table. In one corner sat a desk, but no papers or other paraphernalia marred its gleaming surface.

She motioned him to an armchair and he sank into it, the vegetarian in him rebelling at the amount of animal products in this room. His eyes were drawn to the top of the bookcases where stuffed pheasants had been arranged around the entire perimeter of the room.

Mrs. Osborn followed his gaze. “Dreadful, aren’t they?”

“Mayor Osborn’s a hunter?” Interesting. Marco hadn’t found a gun license in his name.

She laughed. “Goodness no. Harlan has never fired a gun in his life. Those were left to me by my late father. I inherited the house from him on the single request that I keep the trophies. He had a sense of humor, my father, and I think that was a grand joke to him. I always hated them.”

“You grew up in this house?”

“I did. Born and bred San Francisco.”

“How did you meet the mayor?”

“We went to college at Princeton together, studied law. Even then, Harlan knew he wanted to run for public office and I had the wealth and prestige to help him in that goal.”

Huh, Marco thought. Didn’t sound like a love match, but at least it explained that the mansion didn’t come via the taxpayer dime.

Eva arrived with a tray of finger sandwiches and a pitcher of iced tea. She set the tray on the table and began pouring the tea into three tall glasses that rested next to the pitcher. She gave the first one to Mrs. Osborn, then Marco, but left the third on the tray.

“Paul will be along shortly. He had an important call to take.”

Marco nodded.

“Would you like me to serve?” asked Eva, lifting a small tong.

“Certainly. Captain, no food allergies?”

Marco wasn’t really hungry after his breakfast with Stryker and as he looked at the sandwiches, he noted they appeared to be made of pate or foie gras. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Osborn. I should have told you. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Oh, dear. Of course, there are traditional cucumber sandwiches, but I’m afraid they’re made with cream cheese.”

“That’s fine,” he said and Eva efficiently dished him up a plate.

He settled the glass of ice tea and the small china plate on his thighs and shifted uncomfortably. The leather protested his every move. Before he could say anything, Paul walked into the room, looking flustered and annoyed.

He stopped and kissed his mother on the cheek. “I’m sorry I’m late.” Then held out his hand for Marco.

Marco didn’t know what to do, his hands were full. Undaunted, Paul squeezed his shoulder and threw himself into the chair on Marco’s left. When Eva handed him the glass of ice tea and a plate, he waved the plate away.

“No thank you, Eva. I already ate.” He looked at Marco. “Mother loves her finger sandwiches. I think they’re pretentious.”

Marco wasn’t sure how to respond, but Mrs. Osborn gave him a fond shake of the head and looked back at Marco. Leaning forward, Marco set the iced tea on a coaster and laid his plate beside it.

“I’m a little confused about why I’m here, Mrs. Osborn,” he said.

Irene’s eyes cut to Eva and she waved the maid off. The young woman retreated to the double doors, which were also made of glass, and closed them behind her, then she disappeared from sight. Once she was gone, Irene looked back at Marco. She hadn’t touched her food or drink.

“You’re investigating Lowell Murphy’s death.”

“Yes.” His instincts went on full alert.

“As I understand it, you arrested Mr. Murphy’s roommate, Kurt Foster.”

“We never arrested him. We brought him in for questioning.”

“And you released him?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“He had an alibi.”

“I see.” She curled her long fingers around the handles on her chair. “Do you have another suspect?”

“I can’t discuss an ongoing case.”

“Is my husband a suspect?”

That took Marco aback. He blinked at her a few times.

She gave him a smile, but it was a predatory smile, a chilling smile. “Do you think I don’t know what my husband is, Captain D’Angelo?”

“Um…” he began, completely flummoxed. “I’m not sure I understand.”

She exchanged a look with her son. “I know my husband’s bi-sexual.”

Marco lifted his head. He glanced over at Paul, but the other man didn’t have any reaction on his face.

“Well,” she said, smiling that brittle smile again. “Let’s be honest. He’s most likely gay.”

Marco tried to speak, but he didn’t know what else to say.

“You’re shocked, I can see. Are you shocked that I know or are you shocked because you didn’t know?”

“I knew,” he said carefully, “but I didn’t know you knew.”

“As I told you, Harlan made it very clear that he wanted a career in politics. When we both started, homosexuality wasn’t as accepted as it is now, and honestly, outside of San Francisco, there are still places where it is not accepted even today.”

He glanced at Paul again.

“Oh, I’m his biological son,” he assured Marco.

“Yes, that was part of my bargain. Well, a portion of it,” she clarified. “I had only three rules. He must never ask me for a divorce, he must give me at least one living child, and he must be discreet.” Her upper lip twitched. “He’s kept two of the three.”

“Meaning he wasn’t discreet with Lowell Murphy?”

She stared him straight in the eyes and Marco couldn’t suppress the shiver that went down his spine. Her eyes were cold and emotionless.

“No, he wasn’t. He was fond of Murphy. He even brought him to a fund raising event. Of course, it didn’t take much for people to realize who the young man was. He even flaunted Harlan’s present in front of everyone. He was very indiscreet and Harlan didn’t seem to care.”

Marco swallowed hard. Was she about to confess to a murder?

“Harlan has built his career on being pro-family. Of course, no one understood why he pushed that so much in a place like San Francisco, but he had his sights on bigger things.”

“The governor’s mansion?”

“And then Congress. Or the presidency. Who knows where he might have gone.”

“And you think that’s over because…”

“Because once people tie him to Lowell Murphy’s death, he’ll be forever tainted, and believe me, that will happen. That young reporter shows up here often and soon others will start coming.”

Harper? She was talking about Harper McLeod.

“So maybe he should get out ahead of this and come clean?” suggested Marco.

Paul shifted in his chair. “That’s exactly what we’ve told him, but he’s terrified.”

Marco frowned. Huh? They’d told him to out himself? “I’m sorry. You told your father to admit he’s gay?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Osborn nodded.

Marco scratched his forehead. For some reason, his damn brain wasn’t processing this. “Okay, let me see if I have this right. You want him to come out of the closet?”

“Yes,” they both said.

“And admit he’s been lying about being a family man?”

“That’s not necessary. He’s still a family man,” said Mrs. Osborn.

“He’ll never divorce Mom,” said Paul. “But we believe that if he admits his indiscretions without being outed by a reporter, people will get behind him and support him even more.”

“You want him to admit he had an affair with Murphy and that Murphy was murdered?”

“That’s where things get complicated,” said Paul.

That’s where it got complicated?

Mrs. Osborn leaned forward, clasping her hands. “Captain D’Angelo, what we say to you now must not get back to Harlan and you must do everything in your power to keep it out of the media.”

“I am a sworn officer of the law, Mrs. Osborn, so if you’re going to confess to a crime…”

“Nothing like that,” she said airily.

“I just want to be sure you understand. Whatever you tell me is subject to the fact that I’m a cop.”

“Which is why we’re coming to you, Captain D’Angelo.”

Marco blew out air. “Okay?” he said with a mountain of trepidation. “What do you want to tell me?” Devan should definitely be here for this.

She exchanged a look with her son and Paul nodded for her to continue. She drew a deep breath, squeezing her hands tightly together. “We believe Lowell Murphy was executed.”

Marco believed that too. He didn’t think the kid shot himself in the back of the head. “Okay? Why do you believe he was executed?”

“To keep Harlan from seeing him anymore. To keep Harlan from coming out.”

“Why? By who?”

“Harlan has done business with people who have an active investment in his future. They want certain things, so they give him money. Since they give him money, they want to have influence over him. Are you following me, Captain D’Angelo?”

“I think so. Are these people involved in illegal activities here in the City?”

“I believe they are.”

He glanced at Paul, who also nodded.

“The problem with negotiating with such people is eventually they want more than you’re willing to give. They expect more and more, and some of these people are willing to do anything to get their way.”

“Even murder?”

“Even murder.”

“My father has always courted influence with people that Mother and I would rather he avoid,” said Paul. “Most of the time, they were on the fringe asking for him to look the other way while they bent the rules.”

“Like what?” demanded Marco.

“The tearing down of a historical building for a new high-rise,” said Paul.

“The cutting down of heritage trees for a golf course,” said Mrs. Osborn. “Things that, while admittedly wrong, were done with the best interest of the City in mind, but unfortunately, he’s gotten a reputation as a man who’s willing to dance for a buck.”

“And now?”

“And now, he’s become embroiled with men that are much more than rule breakers.”

“They’re thieves and murderers and assassins,” said Paul bitterly.

“And they have resources we can’t imagine,” offered Mrs. Osborn.

“They believe they own my father. They believe he must do what they want.”

“And what they want is to do their business across the state of California. They don’t want to be restricted to the City. If Harlan’s in the governor's mansion, they feel sure they’ll have carte blanche.”

“But while San Francisco may accept his unconventional lifestyle, much of the state is a bit more conservative. If he comes out as gay, he may not win another election,” finished her son.

Marco absorbed all of this. “Okay, so if you know all this, you must know who these people are.”

Again Mrs. Osborn and her son shared a look, then Paul gave her a slight inclination of his head.

She looked back at Marco, leaning forward, her arms braced on her thighs, her hands clasped. “The Russian mob,” she whispered.

CHAPTER 25

Rosa answered the door, letting Kaz into her room. After she got back from the hospital, she and Radar had spent the day making the arrangements to transport Joe Miller’s body back to the US. Tank, Bambi and Peyton had gone over to the Excelencia, helping Vega and his men interview the workers and the hotel guests before the guests were allowed to make arrangements to go to another hotel.

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 did 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.

*    *    *

“Do you promise not to scream?” said the man, holding her pressed against the wall.

Rosa nodded, thinking as soon as he let her go, she was going to gut him and watch his entrails pile out on the tiled floor, then she went still. She knew this man. This was Peyton’s Beardy McBeardson. As soon as this thought registered, his hold eased and she yanked his hand from her mouth.

“What the hell is going on?”

Without completely releasing her, he glanced down the hall toward the restaurant, then pulled a badge out of his pocket and showed it to her. She saw the DEA seal immediately and shoved him away.

“You better tell me what the hell is going on or I will do such terrible things to you!” she said.

“I’m Special Agent Emilio Arroyo. I was sent to investigate Agents Kazander Bass and Joseph Miller.”

“Joe Miller? You were investigating him?”

“Joe Miller and Kazander Bass have offshore accounts with significant deposits. We’ve been looking into Bass for months. As of yesterday, Bass had nearly five million dollars in his account. As soon as our department became suspicious of Bass’ dealings, Agent Miller was sent down here to investigate, but a week later, an account appeared in his name with a quarter of a million dollars in deposits. The account is from the same bank in the same country as Bass.”

“Why were you following Celeste then?”

“We thought Miller was funneling money to her. If she was knowingly involved, we figured it might be a way to get Miller to roll over on Bass. Bass was our real target.”

“But she didn’t use any of the money?”

“Not that we can trace.”

“Well, Bass is the one who killed Miller or had him killed!” Rosa said sharply, shoving away from Arroyo and picking up her purse. The battery had fallen out of her phone, but she didn’t bother to put it back together again. Instead, she dug out her gun and shoved the pieces of the phone into the bag, sliding the strap over her head.

Arroyo stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “There are civilians out there. You can’t storm out there and arrest him with a loaded gun. We need to think this through, make a plan. I don’t want him hurting someone because we bungled this.”

“Well, I’m not letting him get away, so we’re at an impasse it seems.” She pointed to the restaurant. “That bastard betrayed one of our own. He killed a brother in arms.”

“I know that. I’m just saying let’s do this with clear heads. That’s all.” He held out his arms and she could see the butt of his gun poking out of the back of his pants.

Rosa pushed her bangs off her forehead. “Damn it! Why didn’t I see this all along? He set Miller up. He betrayed him.”

Arroyo gave her a moment to calm herself, then he said, “Okay, here’s what I want you to do. Go back to the table and finish your dinner.”

“Finish my dinner! Are you kidding?”

“Okay, forget that. Tell Bass you’re sick and need to go back to the hotel.”

She shook her head. “Damn it! I have text messages that Miller sent me, naming Bass as his killer.”

“He named him?”

“Not specifically, no, but he told me things that only he, Bass, and I would know. Things that could only point to Bass. I missed the clues. I was so stupid!”

“Okay, that doesn’t do us any good right now. Go out there and tell Bass you’re sick and you need to go back to the hotel. As soon as we get him away from the public, we’ll take him down. Can you do this?”

Rosa closed her eyes, fighting for composure. “I can do this,” she said, more for herself than Arroyo. “I can do this.”

He nodded and stepped back so she could pass him. “Keep your cool. Just ask to go back to the hotel.”

“Ask to go back to the hotel.” She could do this. She could remain calm. Shoving the gun back into her purse, she straightened and smoothed down her hair. “Just ask to go back to the hotel.”

Then she walked around Arroyo and turned the corner, stepping out into the restaurant, but her determination to stay calm evaporated immediately.

Bass was gone.

*    *    *

Peyton found the open air market easily enough, striding through the brightly painted tents, watching the tourists haggling with the vendors. There were an awful lot of tourists out, meandering around as if nothing could go wrong. It made Peyton nervous.

She searched the area for Pescados and she found it, tucked into a back corner of the market with no easy exit except through the vendors set up before it. Very bad location if anything were to suddenly go down. She really hoped Rosa and Bass were not having dinner here.

Before the thought fully formed, Bass appeared, hurrying down the stairs, glancing over his shoulder as he went. Peyton reached behind her and pulled the gun out of the back of her shorts, glancing down to see if her badge was affixed to her belt, then she advanced on the special agent, bracing the gun with both hands.

“Halt!” she shouted.

Bass looked up, stumbling to a stop, as Peyton moved closer to him, pointing the gun directly at the middle of his chest. “Just give up, Bass. It’s over,” she said, feeling a wash of sorrow and betrayal rush over her. “There’s no way out.”

He slowly held up his hands as she moved closer, his eyes following her face.

“Where’s Rosa?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“Tell me where Rosa is! I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I’m telling you the truth, Peyton. Rosa got up to go to the bathroom and left. I don’t know where she is.” Peyton was close enough to him now to see his features in the dim light of the tiki torches burning at the edge of the restaurant. He seemed sincere.

“Okay, put your hands on your head and turn around. Real slow!”

As Bass lifted his hands, Peyton’s com crackled. “Sparky, identify your position,” came Radar’s voice in her ear.

At the same time, Rosa and the bearded man burst out of the restaurant, their guns drawn.

“Bass!” shouted Rosa, bracing her feet on the top stair and her gun with both hands.

Peyton’s attention shifted to her momentarily, but it was enough distraction for Bass. He dropped his hand and grabbed the barrel of Peyton’s gun, wrenching it from her hand. In the next moment, he had his other arm around her throat, hauling her against his body, as he placed the muzzle against her temple.

“Don’t come any closer, Rosa!” he shouted.

Neither Rosa nor the bearded guy moved, but they didn’t lower their guns either. Peyton cursed herself for every type of fool. She knew better than to get distracted, especially when she was holding someone at gunpoint. Bass’ arm shook and Peyton could smell his sweat. Her own heart was trying to pound its way out of her throat, while Radar’s voice in her ear kept demanding her location, but she didn’t dare respond.

Bass brought his face close to the top of her head. “I don’t want to shoot you, Brooks, so please, please don’t make me. There’s enough blood on my hands.”

Peyton tried to drag his arm away from her throat, but he was too strong. “Let me go, Bass. Don’t let there be any more blood. It’s over. You don’t have to do this.”

“I almost had enough,” he said, his voice breaking on a sob. “I was almost there.”

She didn’t understand him, but it might be because her head was buzzing with panic. He had a gun to her head. He had a gun pointed at her head!

“Bass, let her go!” said Rosa. “She didn’t do anything. This isn’t about her.”

Bass took a step back, dragging Peyton with him. “I’m sorry about taking her, Rosa, but I have no choice. I didn’t mean for Miller to die.”

“Okay. We can talk about that. Just let Brooks go.”

Bass took another step back, while Rosa and the bearded guy took a step down. Peyton didn’t want Bass to make it to the market because panic would ensue. In her ear, Radar was shouting at her to respond.

She had to think. She had to figure out a way to get out of this.

As she lifted her eyes to Rosa, she thought of Stryker, of his last lesson with her before she left for Cancun. Think, Buttons. Think your way out of this. You’ve got to control your breathing. You’ve got to conserve your energy and when the moment is right, you react. She could almost hear Stryker’s voice in her ear, talking over Radar’s panicked shouting and Rosa’s pleading with Bass to let her go.

Bass’ arm had moved down a bit over her shoulders, but he still held her in an iron grip and he continued to back toward the market. She was running out of time to react. Think, she told herself. What had Stryker’s lesson been about? What had he taught her to do?

Sometimes the best way to fight is not to fight at all.

She heard his voice, saw him staring at her with intensity, and she reacted.

She let her body go slack against Bass’ imprisoning arm. He’d just been about to take a step back when she did it and the movement unbalanced him. He overcorrected and stumbled forward, releasing Peyton. She tumbled to the ground, just as a gunshot echoed in the still night. The bullet struck Bass and sent him over onto his back, the gun falling out of his grasp.

Peyton was up in a flash, snatching her gun and pointing it at his head, while he writhed on the ground, clutching his chest. Rosa and the bearded man raced up, skidding to a halt next to her.

Suddenly screams went up from the open air market and people were scrambling to get out of the open. Sirens could be heard coming in the distance and Radar’s voice continued to bellow in Peyton’s head. Peyton lifted her comlink to her mouth, still keeping her gun on Bass.

“Suspect neutralized,” she said. “You can stop screaming, Radar!”

“Is everyone all right!” demanded Bambi.

Peyton looked over at Rosa who gave her a weary nod. “Everyone’s fine,” she answered. “Everyone’s just fine.”

EPILOGUE

Bass lay in a hospital bed in a room with windows across one whole wall. Guards stood at attention outside his door. He looked pale, his chest swathed in a bandage, his eyes closed, a monitor running from him to a machine and back again, an IV in his arm.

He was lucky he wasn’t dead. Or that’s what Rosa thought as she stared at him.

Vega stood beside her, and gathered at her back was her team. “You will take him back to San Francisco, sí?”

“Sí,” said Rosa. “If you wish to bring charges against him here, you’ll have to file with the DOJ.”

Vega shook his head grimly. “We were amigos. Estoy impactado.”

“He shocked us all,” said Radar. “This is not what I expected.”

Rosa closed her eyes briefly and then opened them. “Has he talked to you at all?” she asked Vega.

“No, he says nothing.”

“I need to question him.”

Radar shifted weight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

She whirled to face him. “I need to know what happened. I need to know why he betrayed Joe, why he betrayed everything we stand for. Are you worried about his rights, Radar? Well, I’m not. He gave up his rights as an American citizen when he did what he did.”

Radar didn’t respond, just stood staring at her.

She looked away, slapping her hand against her thigh. “I should have just shot him in the head and this would all be over.”

Everyone pretended to look anywhere else but at her. She turned back and stared in the windows at him. What happened? What went wrong? She needed to know. She had to know. If they got him back in the States, Chief Inspector Hanson would take over and she didn’t doubt she’d never be allowed to question him.

“What if I let Brooks question him?” she said without turning around.

“I’d prefer that over you. And if he asks for a lawyer, we stop.”

Rosa nodded, but she didn’t much care about preserving Bass’ civil liberties as much as she didn’t want to screw this up. Bass had to pay for his betrayal and she would not rest until he did.

*    *    *

Bass opened his eyes and rolled his head on the pillow as Peyton and Rosa entered his hospital room. Peyton felt acutely aware of Rosa behind her and she didn’t much like being in the same room with a man who’d held a gun to her head, but she didn’t have much choice. Bass was cuffed to the bed, two armed guards stood outside the doors, and he’d been shot in the chest just the day before. He hadn’t been out from under anesthesia for twenty-four hours yet.

Rosa wouldn’t look at him, staring at anything else but the man in the bed. Peyton grabbed a stool used by the doctor and pulled it up close to the end of the bed, out of his reach. He watched her as she took a seat and took out her notepad.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he said.

She glanced up at him. “That’s a little hard to believe after last night,” she said.

“I was desperate last night.”

Rosa made a snort of disgust.

“Rosa…” he began.

“Don’t!” Rosa stalked toward him, jabbing the air with her finger. “Don’t you dare call me by that name!”

Peyton watched her warily until she paced away again. Shit. This wasn’t going to be easy with her in the room. She returned her focus to the DEA agent. “Bass, I want to make this as formal as I can. Will you state your name and occupation for the record?”

“Special Agent Kazander Ward Bass, DEA,” he said, laying his head on the pillow again.

“I’m going to ask you a few questions. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel you are of sound mind to answer them?”

“Yes.”

“Do you know your rights?”

“Yes.”

She drew a deep breath and glanced over her shoulder at Rosa. Rosa had turned her back and was staring out the windows into the corridor where the Ghost Squad and Vega stood. Peyton turned back to Bass.

“Did you kill Special Agent Joseph Miller?”

“No.”

“Liar!” spat Rosa, spinning around. She started for the bed, but Peyton rose and blocked her.

“Rosa, please. I can’t do this this way. Will you go wait in the hallway?”

“He’s lying!” she said, jabbing her finger at Bass again. “I can’t stand to hear him lie like that!”

“Rosa, please.”

She dropped her arm, closing her eyes to compose herself. “Okay, I’m sorry. I won’t interfere.” She moved back to the windows and leaned against them, crossing her arms over her chest.

Peyton watched her for a moment, then she took her seat on the stool once more. “Let’s try this again. You say you didn’t kill Joe Miller?”

“No.”

“Do you know who did?”

“I don’t know their names, but I was there…I was there just before he died.”

“How?”

Bass tilted his head as if the memory hurt him. “You have to understand the way things were before I can answer that.”

“Then tell me.”

“When I came down here, it was just a token gesture. The Mexican government was requesting help from the US, but the focus was on the Sinaloa Cartel to the west. They weren’t that concerned about Quintana Roo, so I was undermanned, underfunded, and out gunned.”

“Go on.”

“One night I was coming back from a club where I’d heard some Dios Mayas operated and a black sedan pulls up next to me. They tell me to get inside.”

“Who was it?”

“I don’t know, but they take me to this warehouse. I’m sure I’m gonna die, but this one guy – they called him El Monstruo – he tells me they’ll make me a deal. If I’ll just cool my heels, pretend to help Vega, and sit on the beach sipping margaritas, they’ll set me up.”

“What did that mean? Set you up?”

“They’d give me money. He shows me they’ve already set up an offshore account in the Bahamas in my name and they’ve put a quarter of a million dollars in it. They have my social security number, my driver’s license number, and my mother’s maiden name.”

“How did they get all of that?”

“Some of their guys are real savvy. They know how to operate on the internet. They hacked my accounts, got my information. I mean, come on. Our social security numbers are everywhere. Nothing’s safe anymore.”

“Okay, so they show you they’ve already set up an account in your name.”

“I know I’m screwed. Just like that, I’m f-ed up. Once Homeland finds out I’ve got an offshore account, I can kiss my retirement goodbye. Besides that, they make it real clear what’ll happen if I go back on the bargain. I’m not getting out of that warehouse in one piece. They tell me they believe in the old ways. The Mayan ways.”

“What did that mean?”

“I didn’t know. Not then.” He stopped and shuddered. “I do now.”

“Okay, so you go to work for them.”

“Not really. I just drag my heels on the investigation. I mean, it doesn’t take long for me to figure out who’s in their cartel at the Excelencia. I pick up on Miguel right away, but I don’t move forward. Every time Vega questions me, I have some reason why I haven’t found anything.”

“Is Vega in on this?” She knew this was a risky question, but she had to ask it.

Bass’ gaze went to the window where Vega stood, watching. “No, Federico’s a good guy. He really tries, but it’s like holding back the tide with a teaspoon. He doesn’t have a fraction of the men he needs and he doesn’t have the equipment. There just aren’t enough hours in the day to solve this with what he’s got.”

“Okay, go back to you. You get the money and you agree to look away as they continue their operations.”

“Right.”

“What changes? Why did your handler in the US get suspicious?”

“I don’t think it was Brenda as much as it was Hanson. There were those fentanyl deaths in Northern California and they could trace the drug back to Quintana Roo. People were scared and they were demanding something be done. Suddenly they wanted me to produce results, but I couldn’t.” He sighed, closing his eyes. “I almost had enough.”

“You almost had enough?” She remembered him saying the same thing the previous night with his gun pointed at her temple. Peyton shifted, resting the pad on her other leg. “What do you mean you almost had enough?”

“To get away. I had five million saved up. They kept giving me more money for every major transaction that went down. I planned to disappear, buy an island, I don’t know, but I planned to just vanish. I don’t have a family, no living mother or father, so no one would miss me. I planned to get away and live a quiet life where no one knew me.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He stared at her. “It was never enough. At first I told myself, I’d go when I had a million. Then it was two and three and suddenly, it was too late.”

“Okay, go back. The fentanyl deaths happened in Northern California and Hanson wanted to see some results?”

“Exactly. They finally realized I’d been down here for six months and I had nothing to show for it. Then they did a little more snooping and they found the offshore account.”

“So they sent Miller to see what was going on?”

“Right. Miller came down and I pretended to work the case with him for about a week, but he was getting closer and closer to the heart of it. I wasn’t sure what to do. I knew the Dios Mayas would be pissed, but I knew Joe Miller had too much integrity to ignore what was really happening.”

“He was twice the man you are!” said Rosa.

Peyton shot her a quelling look, but Bass just stared at her. “You’re right. I don’t know what more to say.”

Rosa jerked her chin up and pretended to ignore him. Peyton reviewed her notes.

“Okay, so Hanson sends Miller to investigate you?”

“Right. Miller starts putting some pressure on the Dios Mayas, so one night we’re coming back from dinner and this black sedan pulls up next to us, just like last time. A group of armed guards gets out and tells us to get in the car. Miller wants to refuse, but I tell him, it’ll be just like last time. We’ll talk to El Monstruo, strike a deal, and we’ll be on our way back to the States to figure out what we should do to shut this cartel down.” Bass tried to lift his hand, but his cuffs jangled. “They take us to the same warehouse. They don’t even try to hide where they’re going. They know they operate with impunity.”

“Because Vega and the other AFI agents are overworked?”

Bass’ gaze went to Vega on the other side of the window. “He’s a really good guy, but what can he do when the cartels run everything?”

“What happens in the warehouse?”

“They force us into chairs and handcuff us. Miller threatens them that if they touch us, the American government will tear them apart, but the cartel knows…” His voice choked off and he closed his eyes.

“The cartel knows what?”

“The American government does not negotiate with terrorists.”

“Okay, but you’ve told Joe to go along with the setup until you can get back to the States?”

Bass nodded, but he didn’t seem able to speak.

“Bass, I need to know what happened after you got to the warehouse.”

Bass clenched his fist. “I asked him just to go along with it. I wanted him to agree just so we could get out of there alive. If he’d just done that…”

“What happened in the warehouse?” Peyton pressed.

“They show him the account. I don’t know if he panicked or what. I know he must have been thinking they know everything about his family – his wife’s name, his kids, his parents – they had it all. He realizes that the account makes him seem culpable. Just like that, just in an instant, everything he’s worked for is gone. No matter what he does, he’s going to seem guilty.”

Peyton could imagine the panic, the terror of that moment. The fear they might retaliate against his family, the knowledge that no matter how much he might deny it, it was going to look guilty that he had so much money in an offshore account.

“Go on,” she said.

Now that Bass had begun, it seemed he couldn’t stop. “They tell him to agree to their demands, but Miller refuses. I couldn’t believe it. I was so scared, I was about to shit myself, but he refuses. He tells them to go to hell, he won’t be blackmailed. He tells them to release us or the American government will destroy them.”

“And how did they react?”

Bass didn’t answer for a moment. He stared at Peyton, but she suspected he wasn’t seeing her. He was still in the warehouse, had been in that warehouse since the moment it happened, and she actually felt a pang of mercy for him.

“Bass?”

“They laughed. They laughed at him.”

“Then what?” she said, dropping her voice.

Bass’ haunted eyes rose to hers. “They asked me if we still had a deal. I said yes.” The delivery was wooden, emotionless. Rosa made a mewl of distress. “I was so scared they were going to kill us both, I said yes. I betrayed a fellow agent. I betrayed him because I knew if I didn’t I would die.”

“Keep going.”

“They uncuffed me and pulled me up, headed toward the door. Miller never said a word. He just watched me go. He just…watched me leave.”

“What do you think happened then?”

“I can guess. I can speculate, but all I know is before we reached the sedan…” Bass made a strange sound and closed his eyes.

“Bass, before you reached the sedan?”

Bass opened his eyes and met Peyton’s gaze. He trembled, his complexion growing more pale.

“Bass, before you reached the sedan?” Peyton pressed.

“Miller started screaming.”

Silence fell in the room, then abruptly, there was commotion in the hallway. Peyton and Rosa turned to look as Beardy McBeardson and four armed DEA agents marched past the AFI guards and into the hospital room.

“Stop questioning the suspect!” said Beardy.

“Arroyo, what the hell do you think you’re doing? We have jurisdiction here. This is an FBI matter now.”

Arroyo slapped a sheaf of papers against Rosa’s shoulder. “Not anymore. He’s our man, our problem. We’re extraditing him back to the U.S.”

Peyton had moved up beside Bass without realizing it. He grabbed her hand tightly. She looked down at him as Rosa reviewed the papers.

“I’ll never make it back to the US alive if you let him have me.”

Peyton stared into his face aghast. What the hell was he saying?

Arroyo came toward the bed. “We have a medical chopper waiting on the roof.” He motioned to a man in scrubs waiting in the hallway. “Unhook him.”

Peyton stepped between Arroyo and the approaching medic.

“Out of my way,” said the DEA agent, reaching to shove Peyton aside, but Rosa was suddenly there and a moment later, Radar and the rest of her team had crowded into the room.

“Don’t touch my agent!” said Rosa, pressing into Arroyo and moving him back a step.

“Is everything in order?” asked Arroyo, nodding at the papers in Rosa’s hand.

“For now, but I promise you this, Arroyo, if anything happens to Bass in transit, I go straight to the top. Do you understand me?”

“What’s going to happen to him? He will be tried for treason in his own country, then if the Mexican government wishes, they can apply for extradition to try him here as well.”

“He’d better make it to the United States, Arroyo. He’d better be in good health and his rights had better be preserved!”

Peyton felt a flush of pride as Rosa spoke. Earlier she hadn’t given a damn about Bass’ rights, but now, she was fiercely defending him.

Arroyo smiled slowly. “Why would he be anything else?”

Rosa glared at him for a long moment, then she reached back and took Peyton’s arm, drawing her off to the side. Peyton met Bass’ gaze and she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow at the terror in his expression.

*    *    *

Rosa waited for the video chat to connect. A moment later Chief Inspector Hanson’s face appeared in her screen. He was in his late fifties, early sixties, grey-shot black hair, very dark eyes and lean. He wore an expensive suit with an American flag pin affixed to the lapel of his jacket.

“SAC Alvarez, nice to see you. How are you doing?”

“Cut the bullshit, Hanson,” she said. She held up an envelope. “I’m sending you a transcript of Bass’ interrogation and the other evidence we uncovered down here. I’m also sending it to the Attorney General.”

“That’s unnecessary, SAC Alvarez, we can handle the situation ourselves.”

“You set me up,” she said.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“You didn’t tell me you sent Miller down here to investigate Bass.”

“It was an internal affair, SAC Alvarez.”

“Then you didn’t tell me about Arroyo.”

“It was an internal affair, SAC…”

“You almost got one of my people killed, Hanson!” she said in a chilling voice. “You had an obligation to tell me exactly what was going on and you didn’t. You almost got one of my people killed!”

“The DEA takes care of its own problems.”

“No, that’s not the way it works. You take care of your own problems, Hanson, just you and it costs lives. I’ve prepared a very detailed report that I will send to the Attorney General, then I go to the media.”

“Are you blackmailing me, Alvarez?”

She smiled coldly. “Not at all. The report goes to the Attorney General. You have twenty-four hours to get in front of this story, announce your retirement, and walk away with your pension in tact. If you do that, we can keep the whole thing quiet with one condition.”

Hanson’s jaw clenched. “You’re overstepping yourself, SAC Alvarez,” he said finally.

“Is that your answer?”

“I saw a problem in my organization and I neutralized it.”

“You caused the death of one of your agents and you nearly cost me one of my own. I call that negligence.”

“The DEA takes care of its own.”

“I was DEA! You should have told me about Bass!”

He smiled, his smile just a chilling as Rosa’s had been. “You left the DEA. You were no longer one of us.”

Rosa lifted her chin. “I protect my people, Hanson. I protect what’s mine. Do not get in my way.”

“You should have some respect…”

“And so should you.” She glanced at the time. “As of ten minutes ago, the Attorney General received everything I’ve collected on this case. In addition to that, the same evidence is about to be sent to every news organization in the U.S. All I have to do is press a button.”

Hanson’s attention was snagged by a light flashing on his office phone.

“I suspect that’s the Attorney General as we speak.”

He looked back at her. “What do you want?”

“Exactly what I said. Retire immediately, tell them you’ve suddenly developed a health condition, but before you go, you had better contact Arroyo and tell him that Bass arrives alive or everything is exposed. I’ll be checking up on Bass in the next few days.”

Hanson’s eyes strayed to the flashing light on the phone, then he looked back at Rosa. “I won’t be blackmailed.”

She smiled a slow, calculated smile. “Then have a nice day, Chief Inspector Hanson,” she said and disconnected the call.

*    *    *

Adrian waited for her outside the gate as she and the Ghost squad made their way down the terminal. Rosa surprised both of them by launching herself into his arms, kissing the side of his face. He spun her around, laughing.

She placed her hands on either side of his head and kissed him on the mouth. “I missed you,” she whispered.

He laughed again and kissed her back. For a person who did not believe in public displays of affection, she knew she’d shocked her whole team. “I missed you,” he said, then he pressed his forehead to hers. “I took the job with the CIPAC task force.”

She reared back and looked at him. “You did?”

“I did. I’m moving to San Francisco.”

“Awesome,” said Radar, wearily. “Can we go now? I’m exhausted and I’d like to see my wife, if you don’t mind.”

Adrian motioned to the baggage claim area. “Of course, your chariot awaits, sir.” Then he reached out and chucked Peyton under the chin. “How are you, Buttons?”

“Better now that we’re home.”

Dropping an arm around Rosa, he led them to claim their baggage. “So there was an interesting development in the DOJ today.”

“Was there?” asked Rosa, looking over at him.

“Yes, quite surprising actually. The Chief Inspector of the DEA, Justin Hanson, suddenly announced his retirement.”

Radar stopped walking and looked over his shoulder at them.

Rosa gave him a wink and pushed him in the back to get him going again. “Did he now? Why, that is truly unexpected.”

Adrian squeezed her closer and kissed her on the temple. “Is it now?” he said.

*    *    *

Radar pulled his Corvette up outside the physical therapy building and put the car in park. “Why didn’t you just have him pick you up at the airport?”

Peyton stared up at the building, realizing she was so damn glad to be home. “I wanted to surprise him.”

“But here?” He held out a hand, indicating the location.

“Yeah, here.” She leaned over and kissed his cheek. “Go home, Radar, and spend time with your wife. I’m sure the kitties miss you something awful.”

Radar shook his head as she pushed open the car door. Before she could get out, however, he grabbed her arm. “Look, kid,” he said, tightening his hold briefly. “I’m glad you’re okay. You scared the hell out of me.”

She leaned back over and kissed his cheek again. “Thank you, old man.”

He laughed and released her. “Now get out!”

“Yes, sir,” she said, climbing from the sports car. She pushed forward the front seat so she could grab her bag. “See you soon.” Then she closed the door, patting the roof, and stepped up on the sidewalk.

He lifted a hand out the window, and then he sped away.

Carrying her bag, Peyton walked through the automatic doors, turned into the corridor on her left and walked to the physical therapy office. She checked in at the front desk, and the receptionist agreed to hold her bag behind the counter as she headed toward the gym.

A wall of windows marked the area where the equipment was. Peyton saw Marco and Joyce before she got to the doorway. He stood at the end of a set of parallel bars, Joyce at the other end. He wore athletic shorts and a tank top, the brace on his left thigh. As he held himself up on the bars, his arm muscles strained. Then he balanced himself and lifted his hands. A moment later he was walking on his own, moving down the bars without touching them.

Peyton’s eyes welled with tears and she eased to the opening, not wanting to break his concentration, but Joyce noticed her and looked over, a smile of triumph on her face. She motioned Peyton into the room.

As he got to the end, Marco caught the bars and closed his eyes briefly, breathing out a sigh of relief. When he opened them again, Peyton stepped into his line of sight, her hands clasped at her breast.

A smile blazed across his face. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said, the joy in his voice unmistakable.

As Peyton moved closer to him, Joyce moved back. Emotion swamped her, filled her to bursting with love for this man. He had worked so hard for this, fought so hard to walk again. And she knew that no matter what happened, she wanted this for as long as she could have it. She wanted him and she wanted their life and she wanted their future.

“I love you!” she said, tears spilling over and running down her cheeks. “I love you more than anything!”

He gave her a bewildered, but happy look.

“Marry me, Marco D’Angelo. Marry me and make me the happiest woman alive!” she blurted out.

Joyce squealed and clapped her hands, but Marco looked stunned.

“Come again?” he asked in bewilderment.

Peyton laughed through her tears and moved forward, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Marry me, you silly man! I love you!”

He gave a bark of laughter and wrapped one arm around her waist, drawing her closer to him. “Are you sure about this? You know I’m wickedly possessive. I’ll run background checks on all your boyfriends.”

“Will you now?” She looked up into his handsome face. “Well, we’ve all got our crosses to bear. You know Homeless Bob on the corner?”

“The one with the tattoo of boobs on his arm, just boobs?”

“That’s the one. He’s moving in.”

“Is he now? Well, it’ll be a bit crowded. He’s got about five people living inside him already.”

“Six, actually. There’s a new one.”

“Really?”

“Yep. His name’s Jesus.”

Marco laughed and crushed her against him, pressing his cheek to her hair. “I love you, Peyton.”

“Well, what do you say? Do you accept my proposal?”

He leaned back and looked her straight in the eyes. “Yes, sweetheart, yes, I accept your proposal.”

Then he kissed her.

THE END

Now that you’ve finished, visit ML Hamilton at her website: authormlhamilton.net for more information on her novels.

All ML Hamilton titles available in ebook and paperback formats.

The Complete Peyton Brooks’ Mysteries Collection:

Murder on Potrero Hill Volume 1

Murder in the Tenderloin Volume 2

Murder on Russian Hill Volume 3

Murder on Alcatraz Volume 4

Murder in Chinatown Volume 5

Murder in the Presidio Volume 6

Murder on Treasure Island Volume 7

The Peyton Brooks, FBI Series

Zombies in the Delta Volume 1

Mermaids in the Pacific Volume 2

Werewolves in London Volume 3

Vampires in Hollywood Volume 4

Mayan Gods in the Yucatan Volume 5

The Zion Sawyer Cozy Mystery Series

Cappuccino Volume 1

The Avery Nolan Adventure Series

Swift as a Shadow Volume 1

Short as Any Dream Volume 2

Brief as Lightning Volume 3

Momentary as a Sound Volume 4

The Complete World of Samar Collection:

The Talisman of Eldon, Emerald Volume 1

The Heirs of Eldon Volume 2

The Star of Eldon Volume 3

The Spirit of Eldon Volume 4

The Sanctuary of Eldon Volume 5

The Scions of Eldon Volume 6

The Watchers of Eldon Volume 7

The Followers of Eldon Volume 8

The Apostles of Eldon Volume 9

Stand Alone Romance Novel

Ravensong