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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “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 Ame
rican 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?”