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 o
ld 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 chi
gnon 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?”
Mayan Gods in the Yucatan (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 5) Page 8
