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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “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, es
pecially 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 sh
e’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.