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, w
ill 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 fo
r 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.
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 3
