The Maya Bust Read online

  Lexi’s stomach churned and the back of her throat stung as she fought to hold back her nausea.

  Flaring his eyes, Dante pointed at them, then pulled his finger forward, tugging them toward him. Malcolm stiffened his back, but his muscles tremored beneath her hand and she tucked herself closer to him.

  Raxha shouted something, repeating Dante’s summons, but with the gun still in her hand.

  Meeting her eyes, his bleak and dark where they were usually warm, Malcolm brushed a hand down the side of her face, then kissed her lightly. They walked forward together.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  * * *

  Everything went off like clockwork at the airport in Guatemala City, Grant keeping his distance from Pamela through baggage claim and customs until she found her driver and sped off for the best hotel in town. Probably not up to her standards, but the best in any case. Jumping a taxi, Grant followed, keeping an eye on them to make sure they got there, and that she wasn’t followed. He exited his own ride not far from the hotel, and walking the short distance to his lodging, a grungy apartment with a little front porch that looked back to Pam’s hotel. The landlord hadn’t even cleaned out the prior occupant’s stash of girlie magazines. Perfect. A text confirmed Pam was installed, and he requested delivery of some of the cash she was carrying. Later.

  Now, he just needed to wait for the real reason he didn’t stay at the same hotel. Fortunately, it wasn’t long.

  When the knock came, loud and sharp, Grant opened the door, instinctively tipping his chin so the blow struck his temple instead of his jaw. It still staggered him, as well it should, sending a jolt of pain through his head and making his eyesight throb red for an instant. “Jesus, Gooney, you could start with hello.”

  “Fuck that.” Gooney lined up for another blow.

  Grant twisted out of the way behind the door, pain pulsing through his head. Few months ago, he’d had his scalp slashed open by a tumble across the floor of a van. Not sure his head had fully recovered. “Come on in. I’ve been expecting you.”

  Gooney barreled around the door. “Bullshit — if you knew I was coming, you’d be gone. Or at least, you’d be out of the way of my fist. Where’s Lexi?”

  “I can’t say.” He danced back from Gooney’s lunge, the footing a little harder than it should be. The man packed a wallop, no doubt. His left ear was ringing. Gooney surged through the door, and Grant turned about, closing it behind them, shutting out any curious eyes.

  “You tell me what the fuck is going on, or I break your fucking neck. How much is she paying you?”

  “Is it gonna feel better if we fight, Gooney? Tell me now, because I’d rather skip the beating — I got a helluva day ahead of me, and a helluva night that’s not over yet.” Grant spread his hands down low, ready to submit, or to come back swinging. “I let you land one for free because I deserve it, after that, it’ll cost you.”

  Three paces separated them. Grant had taken the precaution of moving the furniture out of the arena before Gooney showed up. The big man breathed hard, his eyes haunted, fists clenched and raised before him. His jaw worked between fear and fury. “You let me.”

  A nod. “You know how fast I can move, Gooney, you know it’s true.”

  For a moment, both men remained silent, Gooney’s breathing the tempo of the room. Grant slowly lowered his own hands from offense to defense, keeping his focus on his assailant, his friend. “Gooney, sitrep.”

  “I don’t work for you any more,” he snarled, watching Grant. “But next time, you gotta remember to revoke my privileges and seal up your internals a little better. I got your damn message, intra-office memo to the staff.” He took a harder breath. “Top secret, blah blah all that bullshit.”

  “So why’d you look? Everybody got the memo, Gooney, you’re the only one who got on a plane.” Grant spread his hands a little, but not enough to be fully caught off-guard, inviting the attack. If Gooney came in low, Grant would catch his fist and arm, slide his foot back, end with Gooney on the floor, but the attack didn’t come.

  Instead, Gooney’s face screwed up in a twist of mixed emotions. “You wrote that the detail shouldn’t include any quote-un-quote ’high-noon shenanigans.’“ A shooting glance. “High noon. I thought it was a code, a fucking call for help or something. I was worried about you, Casey! I was fucking worried about you.”

  His voice rose again, hard, as if each word could pound a nail in the coffin of their nascent friendship. He gasped another breath. “The tone of it. I saved your ass big time back in Arizona. I just had to know what the hell you signed up for this time. So, yeah, I went to the private server. Your damn encryption’s not as strong as you think. D.A. didn’t do that folder, did she?”

  “I was pressed for time.” Besides, the private messages to D.A. and Nick had expressly reassured them, in terms he believed each of them would respect. He knew from experience that Gooney respected nothing.

  “The Dionne case? You didn’t think I’d notice? Maybe you need to change your damn file naming protocols, too. Pamela Dionne hired the Bone Guard to retrieve her daughter, Alexandra Dionne, through the delivery of a specified artifact, or by whatever means necessary, for the consideration of five hundred thousand dollars, a third up front, the rest on delivery. You flew down here first-fucking-class, after, what, waiting around a few hours? You couldn’t even be bothered to take the first available? This is my daughter we’re talking about.” Those fists still loomed, knuckles scarred, and arms tensed to follow through and send Grant solidly into next week.

  Grant pinned him with his gaze. Trust me, trust me, trust me. Gooney almost had the truth, he just need to calm down enough to know it. “The NDA,” Grant prompted. “Did you read the whole file before you got on that plane?”

  “I got a little distracted by the fact my ex is paying you a half a million dollars.” His nostrils flared with a few more breaths, then he swallowed. “Okay, yes, I read the damn thing. Neither you, nor anyone in your employ, should inform one Anthony Gonsalves — that’s me — that my own daughter was kidnapped. I figured you had a price, Chief, I just thought it might take more than a half million to get you to screw me over that hard.”

  “I know,” Grant said softly. “I know.”

  “You don’t know shit!”

  Let it go. Let the blast of anger rush past. “You’re a detective. You followed the clues —”

  “Better believe I did.” Green eyes flashed up, slid away: that thing he did, as if he could review the paperwork on a screen inside his head.

  “Then you know, and I know, I didn’t tell you anything.”

  A longer breath that time, one that shuddered through him. “Oh, shit.”

  His whole body clenched, he stood there as if the one thing that sustained him had been pulled away. “You wanted this. You made this happen,” gruff and under his breath. Fists wavering, Gooney shut his eyes, swaying a little on his feet, trying to catch his breath. “It wasn’t my best night.” Then, even softer, “One of the worst.”

  Not an apology, but pretty close. “So. Are you ready to move on?”

  Gooney finally nodded once, then stumbled back against the wall opposite the couch and slid down, knees bent, forehead caught in his hands. “It’s so fucking exhausting being that angry for that long.”

  Grant crouched not far away from where he sat. “You haven’t seen your daughter for years, and now it looks like I’m conspiring with your ex against you so you’d never even know she was in trouble. I get it.”

  “You don’t get it.” Gooney’s head shot up. “You don’t even have any children.” His breathing hitched, his green eyes bloodshot. So angry, for so long. Longer than the plane flight, angry at more than just Grant.

  “I don’t want children,” Grant told him. “That’s one of the reasons Jessica didn’t stay.”

  “Seriously?” Gooney blinked, then snorted. “Jesus Christ, Casey — you treating me like your informant — I give you something, you give me something? What
the Hell?” He kicked at a box of magazines.

  “Gooney. I’m trying to treat you like a friend. Sharing confidences. I think that’s what friends do, but I haven’t got a lot of intel on it. If you’re up on the research, I’d love a briefing, ’cause I got nothing.”

  His head dipped. “Yeah,” he breathed, more evenly. “Me, either.”

  Turning, Grant put his back to the same wall, side by side with the man he’d so often said he hated. His temple throbbed, and he touched it gently. No blood, but tender. Needed some ice.

  Gooney cast him a glance and winced. “Am I supposed to apologize? ’Cause I gotta be straight with you here —”

  “When are you not?” Grant rested his wrists on his knees, letting his hands dangle.

  That earned him something like a laugh. “I’ve been wanting to hit you pretty much since we met.”

  “I’m a little surprised it’s taken you this long.” He rubbed at the ache. “It’s sure not the first time I deserved it.”

  “Hmm.” Gooney straightened his legs and let his head lean back against the wall. “You wanna talk about deserving. When I met Pamela, I was pretty sure I didn’t deserve her — you’ve seen her. The only reason she’s not still modeling is she wanted a career where she could make her own schedule.” Grant offered a noncommittal noise. “We met at this photo op. I was a couple of years into the service, and I’d been injured in one of the early actions in Iraq. Flown home for treatment, no big deal, gave me a medal because half the squad died. You know the kind of thing.”

  Softly, “Oh, yeah. They want to make the war look good, so everyone who lives gets to be a hero.”

  A glint of green eyes. “Threw me this big homecoming party. I was what, twenty-one? Two? Maybe the same age as when you joined up. Patriots cheerleaders, big fucking rally. I could still smell the cordite and I couldn’t get the sand from the explosion out of my hair. Next thing I know, I’m on stage, everyone’s cheering, and this —” another laugh, more incredulous this time — “this freakin’ goddess has her arm around me. There’s more cheering, and I think maybe this hero shit’s not so bad, right? How else does a guy like me end up standing next to a woman like this. She’s waving to the crowd, then she kisses me. I was so startled, I almost forgot to kiss her back. Then I was like, what the Hell? So I slid my arm around her, and dipped her, and she was all in. We did that Life Magazine pose, with the sailor and the nurse, y’know that one? Oh, my God, you couldn’t think for the cheering and the flashbulbs. Fifteen minutes of fame, right there, and that was plenty for me. Turns out she was in it for the photographers, looking to transition to a new career. She made me her ticket. The romance of the century, this spontaneous kiss, that turned into dating — always super public, always getting seen with the local hero.” He ruffled his hands into his hair. “I fell for it. For her. Wouldn’t you, at that age, woman like that who wants to hang all over you? By then, I’m recovered, and reassigned. To the Unit. We had the best attended courthouse wedding Boston ever saw. Right before I shipped out.” A slight smile played over his lips. “By the time I got my next leave, she was famous.”

  His smile fled and he ran his hands over his hair, then clutched his head with one hand like a basketball. “Twelve years in, I’m finally out of the service, going home to be with my family, and we just — all we ever did was fight. She was out of the house half the time, or more. I was having a blast with the kids, teaching them self-defense stuff, going camping, Lexi and I playing Ninjas, because we could speak in sign. Pam looked at me like she wished I never came home. Or worse. It was rough, being on the outside after so long.” He trailed off, looking into the past.

  Rough was a weak word for the transition from the armed forces to civilian life. “I think it is for everybody.”

  “Thought I was handling it alright. Some nightmares and shit, kinda jumpy, but not, y’know, nuts the way some guys are. Pam acted like I was though, like any sign of my past was the precursor to a psychotic break or something. I dunno. Maybe she was right.”

  His voice sank low, and Grant murmured, “What do you mean?”

  Gooney cut him a green-eyed glance. “I did go nuts. Never happened before or since, just the once.” A breath of laughter, without a hint of humor. “In the courtroom, during the custody hearing.”

  Grant absorbed that quietly, keeping his face and demeanor smooth. Interested, not appalled. Gooney having a meltdown in court of all places? He’d have to see video before he believed it. “Bad?”

  “The worst. Could’ve sworn somebody followed me in there, planted a bomb, maybe a sniper. I flipped out. Shouting. Barricade. Firearm. Everything but a hostage. When I came to my senses, Pam was weeping, the judge was terrified, and her lawyer was suggesting I sign away my rights or end up in prison.”

  “Prison would’ve killed your career.”

  “Yep. Signed away my kids instead.” Gooney gave a heavy sigh that brought his shoulders up to his ears and back down low. “Some days, I don’t know that I made the right choice. At least in prison, I could’ve seen them.”

  And then, of course, she knocked on the door.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  * * *

  You knew this would happen. That he’d come after you.” Pam perched on the edge of the shoddy chair — best chair in the house, and the Goodwill wouldn’t’ve taken it.

  “He showed up a little before you did, Pam, I had no idea.”

  “How?”

  “Could ask you the same question,” Gooney said, but they both ignored him. Pam because she apparently couldn’t stand the sight of him, and Grant because he had to talk her down from doing something stupid. If he even could.

  “He was on my payroll for a special project last year.” Grant tried a little of the charm she’d asked for, as if they now had a common enemy. He half-smiled and worked his fingers into his hair. “You might appreciate this, Ms. Dionne: I needed somebody to play Nazi, and I couldn’t think of anyone better.”

  “He’s perfect for that.”

  “I guess he never got removed from the priority comms list — he got nosy, and hacked into the system back end, broke the encryption for the contract. The urgency of the timeline precluded proper precautions.” Deliberately hitting the same syllable. The more he learned about her, the more her beauty struck him like a perfect lawn that required poisons to stay alive. Rein it in. He had to convince her to keep him on the job. “As I said, my bad. My HR director had a fling with him once, long time ago, she didn’t purge his access when she should have.”

  “I see.” She stared at the far wall, continuing to avoid the corner where Gooney leaned.

  “Now that he’s here, I’d like to be able to use him. He’s an experienced operative, with a stake in the search.”

  “A stake that’s likely to make him volatile and belligerent. You must know what he’s like.”

  “I’m right here, y’know.” Gooney pushed off from the walk and stalked closer. “Lexi needs help, of a very particular kind, which I am well-placed and prepared to deliver. You can’t keep me out of this — that bird’s flown. It’s high time we worked together to get her safe.”

  “You’re in violation of the restraining order, and I could have you arrested.”

  Grant cleared his throat. “Not under local law. The restraining order isn’t valid off US soil.” Grant was gambling on their mutual interest in Lexi’s safety to overcome the wounds of their divorce. Now, seeing them together, he was starting to think he’d lose that bet.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “How hard was it to set all this up? To get him here? Why would you jeopardize this job for him?”

  “He didn’t do anything, I did. Because I’m her father, and I deserved to know.” Gooney kept his hands open, as if approaching a dangerous enemy. “We’re wasting time, Pamela —”

  “He has no right to my name.”

  Gooney bared his teeth. “Who was she traveling with?”

  Pamela shook back her hair and regarded Grant.
“So far as I know, she’s alone. She delayed at the airport for some reason or another, and her friends never saw her again after that.”

  “What about Malcolm?” Gooney asked.

  “What?” Pamela jerked and finally looked at him, hard. “She’s not with him. My daughter identifies as bi-sexual, if you must know. If she wanted companionship, she would’ve taken Sunita with her.”

  “Yeah, she’s bi. She took Sunita to the prom back in May, now she’s dating a guy. That’s what bi-sexual means. A Black guy,” he added, “Is that what really bothers you?”

  “It could be helpful to know about anyone she might have spent time with,” Grant began. It might be helpful if they could stop sniping at each other and focus on how much they both wanted their daughter safe.

  “How do you know so much?” Pamela lunged to her feet. “You’ve already violated the restraining order; how else could you know all of this?”

  “Social media. Just because you wouldn’t let me be there doesn’t mean I don’t care. It’s not a violation to view items of public record as long as I don’t interact. You know what I do, you know my background — you really think you could keep me from watching my kids grow up?” His voice cracked.

  She gave a harsh bark of laughter — a sound, Grant was willing to bet, that she’d adopted from her ex. “In all those years, you never even tried. No calls, no email, no letters, no birthday cards. I was stunned. It was as if our marriage, and our children meant nothing to you at all.” She moved in a languorous step, forcing him to turn and back away to keep from brushing against her. “You dropped off the face of the earth.”

  “It’s a restraining order! I’m a cop — I know what that means, what it would mean if I —” he broke off, gaping. “You expected me to call. Don’t tell me you barred me from seeing my kids as, what, some kind of crazy-ass courtship prank?”