Here and there, drawers had been pulled from her dresser and highboy, but she told herself that only made packing easier. She grabbed clothes and other items that would do for one of her exploring trips, stuffing them into the backpack and satchel with little wasted motion while Bill stood by, offering silent support. When both bags were zipped and ready to go, she tossed the backpack over her shoulder and demurred when Bill went to reach for the satchel. “I can handle this on my own.”
Bill examined the determined set of her features and the way she tossed her shoulders back the way a bantam rooster might puff itself up against a larger opponent. He suspected Deanna had handled quite a lot on her own since her mother had left her, but that didn’t mean she had to continue to go it alone.
“It’s okay to get help on occasion,” he advised, worried that if she held too much in, it would be even worse when she eventually released all that pent up emotion.
Her sole response was to tighten her grip on her bag and stride past him as if she was on a forced march.
With a shrug, he followed her into the hall where she waited for him by the door as he gave final instructions to his men. “Process the scene. Hopefully someone left a print. Call me with any developments.”
When he was done, he met her gaze and said, “Normally it’s ladies first, but—”
“I understand. I’ll follow your lead, Special Agent.”
Despite her conciliatory tone, there was nothing demur about her demeanor. Nodding, he made sure the hall was clear and they left. As they waited at the elevator, he hoped there would be no more surprises before they reached the safe house.
Deanna’s father and two other agents were waiting for them when they arrived at the apartment building that contained the safe house. The building was located along the West Side in the mid-Sixties in an area that was relatively residential and easier to protect.
As coldhearted as Deanna seemed to be about her mother, the same apparently didn’t hold true when it came to her father. The long hug she gave him was warm and heartfelt. “
Papi
, I was so worried,” she murmured and kissed him on the cheek.
“I was in capable hands,
mi’ja
,” he replied and stood on tiptoe to glance over Deanna’s shoulder to him. “Are you hurt, Special Agent?”
Truth be told, his side was beginning to ache like a bitch, but before he could attend to it, he had to make sure a guard was posted and the safe house was secure.
“I’ll be fine, Dr. Vasquez. Thank you for your concern.” He shot a pointed look at Deanna, although she had shown a little bit of worry on his behalf earlier. But only a little.
A flush worked across her cheeks at his actions and she jerked her head in the direction of the short hall at the opposite side of the room. “I assume I can grab one of the bedrooms?”
He nodded. “There are two bedrooms along an interior wall. You can take one of those. Dr. Vasquez, you can have the other if you haven’t already made yourself at home.”
“He’s all set, Special Agent,” one of his men advised and Deanna didn’t wait for any further instructions.
She marched off, her father waddling behind her on his shorter legs.
“She’s going to be difficult,” his man said and the second agent chimed in with, “Put money on it.”
Bill smiled because their assessment wasn’t off in the least. Deanna was proving to be difficult on various levels, including personal ones. “Luckily we won’t be with you long. For now I want you to alternate with Mitchell and Evans. Take turns with tours of the perimeter and the main hall outside. I’ll man the interior watch. Eight hour shifts for now.”
His men confirmed the instructions and then headed outside for the first watch.
After securing the door, he finally allowed himself to relax a bit. A big mistake. With that release the pain in his side intensified, but before he could deal with it, he had to do a few other things.
He swept through the room to make sure all windows were secure and then walked down the hall. A worn black suitcase sat on the bed in the one room. Deanna’s father’s luggage, he presumed.
In the next room, Gonzalo Vasquez sat on a wing chair close to the bed as his daughter unpacked a change of clothes. As she went to tuck them into the plain pine dresser, she noticed him. “Is there anything you need?”
I need you to cut me some slack, lady,
he thought, but bit back the response. With a shake of his head, he said, “Just checking to see if you were okay. I’ve posted the guard and when their relief comes, we’ll order some food for dinner.”
“Thank you. That’s very thoughtful of you,” her father said, his eyes owl big behind the thick glasses he wore. His salt-and-pepper hair slightly disheveled.
“Yes, thank you,” Deanna chimed in grudgingly.
“Then I’ll give you some privacy.”
With a quick about-face, he took the two steps across the hall to the third bedroom where he would be staying. A serviceable room, Bill thought, not that he would be spending that much time in it. He’d take up a position outside in the living room for his watch. Not to mention that once they had identified the shooters, they could better prepare themselves for that trip to Mexico. But first he wanted to remove the bulletproof vest and change into something more comfortable. His body was starting to feel the strain of the last few hours. Pain radiated from his side, growing stronger with each minute that passed.
He sat on the edge of the bed and he heard the murmurs of their voices from across the distance of the hall. The father’s appeasing. Deanna’s slightly sharp at first, but growing more loving as the exchange wound down.
Deanna might not have had a mother’s love, but from what he could see, she had been doubly blessed with her father’s. Something he had never had in the assortment of foster homes in which he had been raised.
Driving such self-pity from his brain, he started removing his suit jacket, but a shard of hurt as cutting as a knife tore through his side and midsection. Black circles danced before his eyes and a cold sweat erupted across his body. The adrenaline in his body had masked the pain earlier making him underestimate the extent of his injuries.
Closing his eyes, he sucked in a shallow breath, unable to do more without another explosion of discomfort throughout his body.
“Are you okay? Can I help you with anything?”
Bill opened his eyes. Deanna stood at the door, dressed casually once again. The light from the room across the hall limning her body. She looked like an angel standing there in the golden warmth from the illumination.
“No angel, Special Agent. Let me help you,” she said and was immediately at his side.
“Not sure I can move my left arm,” he replied, shocked by the way his voice was colored by his distress and the way he had lost control and spoken out loud.
“I understand,” she said and was soon capably removing his suit jacket without any excess motion. His holster came off next and she placed it beside him on the bed within easy reach. Then she kneeled in front of him and went to work on the buttons of his shirt, but he brushed her hands away.
“I can do this,” he said abruptly since even with the pain, his mind was heading to a naughty place where she would be removing his shirt for other reasons.
“It’s okay to get help on occasion,” she teased, parroting his earlier words to her.
“Please,” he said, needing to muster some control before he embarrassed himself.
With a nod, she rose and left the room. Bill somehow managed to get one arm out of his shirt, but his suffering prevented him from going any further. Luckily, Deanna had returned, holding a small jar that she placed on the bed beside him. She immediately assisted him once again despite his earlier protestations.
The shirt came off and then she tackled the bulletproof vest. Each zip of the Velcro straps seemed louder than the one before and then she was lifting the vest over his head and tossing it aside onto the mattress.
She sucked in a surprised breath as she took note of his side.
Bill tracked her gaze and realized why. There was a large reddish patch along his ribs that was already showing signs of a deeper purplish bruise at the point of impact. The blow was closer to his midsection and the tip of his rib. He wondered if the intense pain was because it had broken. Not a good thing. Any wrong movement could drive the tip through something vital.
“Don’t move,” she said, apparently realizing the same thing.
“Not sure I could right now.”
As she had earlier, she kneeled before him and reached for the jar. When she opened it, a mélange of tantalizing aromas wafted to him. She scooped out a glob and then smeared it on a spot along the far edge of his injury. Immediately a weird hot/cold sensation penetrated his skin.
“What is that?” he asked, watching as she carefully spread the lotion along his ribs, inching ever closer to the worst part of the bruise.
“A mix of botanicals known for their healing properties. I take it with me for when I get any aches and pains on a trip,” she explained while she continued smoothing it along his skin. She paused for a moment when she neared his midsection and then more carefully traced the line of his abused rib. With each careful stroke, the lotion slowly dispelled some of his discomfort.
“That feels good,” Bill said. As he met her gaze, the furrow of worry between her brows communicated her state. “I’ll be okay. I’ve been hurt before and survived.”
Deanna didn’t doubt it. His body told a tale of assorted injuries as she continued to explore the bone in the hopes of determining if it was broken. There was a stellar-shaped silvery scar up close to one shoulder. A bullet wound, she realized. Bisecting the middle of his trunk was a thin white line from a knife, she assumed. A network of smaller scars crisscrossed both sides of his body.
With a final stroke along his rib, she pulled her hand away because she was too tempted to examine more of his superb torso. “I don’t think it’s broken, but we should bind it to be on the safe side.”
She didn’t wait for a reply, returning to her room and her knapsack to pull out her medical kit. She returned to the room with it and earned a surprised look from him.
“You travel prepared.”
A nonchalant crunch of her shoulders answered him. She placed the kit on the bed and rooted through it for a long enough wrap for his ribs. Pulling out the carefully rolled bandage, she said, “Raise your arms midway if you can.”
That he could, although it was obviously painful, confirmed to her that the rib was only badly bruised in a very awkward place. “Exhale slowly and then hold,” she said. Once he had done as she asked, she efficiently bandaged his ribs, wrapping the bandage around and around to offer support.
When he finally drew a breath, he said, “That feels better already.”
He reached for his damaged shirt and she asked, “Do you need to run out to the Secret Spy Store for another one?”
He grinned and a boyish dimple emerged along the right side of his face. “Like you, my bag is already packed. I’m just waiting for the next watch to bring it from my office.”
She supposed that he thought the reminder of the violence troubled her. He’d be right, but what bothered her more was how the sight of him half-naked caused her innards to twist with need and her mind to go to mush. She sensed she was not alone since she’d experienced the slight tremble of his body beneath her fingers that had nothing to do with pain.
She also supposed that she could now do one of two things about what was happening: choose to hide her attraction or confront it like an adult.
Inhaling deeply, she considered her plan of action and then plowed on.
“Glad to hear. The holey shirt is a little disconcerting.”
The dimple deepened when his smile broadened and he rose from the bed. The action brought them nearly face-to-face, separated only by inches. There was no denying the impact of his masculinity or the shiver that tracked across her body. He ran the back of his index finger along the gap of bare skin exposed by her T-shirt.
“So is this,” he admitted, clearly the bigger man both physically and emotionally since he wasn’t unafraid to voice his thoughts like she had been.
She tugged down her T-shirt and he reciprocated by slowly buttoning his shirt as she said, “We’re two adults. We can deal with this.”
“Yes, we can,” he said wholeheartedly, but there was challenge in that tone. Challenge she wasn’t prepared to handle at the moment.
She stepped back from him and folded her arms across her chest. “What do we do now?”
“You mentioned on the ride to your apartment that a law firm sent you a key. Now we find out what that’s all about.”
Deanna nodded, reached into a small pocket in her yoga pants and removed the key. “Here it is.”
Bill took the key from her fingers, careful not to touch her. He might have told her he could deal with the physical attraction, but there was no sense testing that promise unnecessarily. He had to remain neutral around her or risk compromising the objectivity he needed for this assignment.
Laying the key in the palm of his hand, he examined it. A simple brass key with a number, postal service stamp and “Do Not Duplicate” warning. Clearly a key for a PO box, which would make it easy enough to find the address for the post office where the box was located.
Snagging his BlackBerry, he called ADIC Williams to provide him an update. Williams answered before the first ring had finished.
“Rumor has it you were shot today.”
Bill skimmed his hand across his side. The rough surface of the bandage registered against his palm and even the light pressure awoke sensitivity. “The vest did its job, so I’ll be fine. I’m more concerned with the attack and the deadly force necessary.”
“Typical for the Los Leones cartel. They’re new to the game, but determined.” Williams went on to provide him information on the identities of the two men and their criminal histories.
Bill cursed. The Mexican drug cartels were exceptionally vicious and many had infiltrated government agencies, the military and law enforcement. That would only complicate their security once they got to Mexico.
“Are we sure the cartel sent those men on this operation?”
“No, we’re not. But we do have some indications that cartel members are involved in Primera Mexica and vice versa. We’re trying to confirm how these two were connected to both groups,” his ADIC advised.
Although he knew about the connections, Bill continued to hope that the cartel was not actively participating in the Primera Mexica fringe group and it was just a case of some common members. Nevertheless, that still made the fringe group more dangerous since it meant they had men who were armed and violent. The two he had dispatched today only served to confirm that fear.
“Deanna Vasquez received a letter today from a Mexican law firm. It contained a key for a post office box.”
“Let me have the number and we’ll get you an address,” Williams said, totally in sync with Bill.
Bill read him off the number. “Call me as soon as you have it. In the meantime, Deanna and I are going to touch base with the law firm about their contact with her mother.”
“I’ll make sure Mitchell and Evans bring you a new vest,” Williams indicated and signed off.
Bill tucked the BlackBerry into its holder on his belt. With care, he eased his gun and holster back on and then went into the living room.
Father and daughter sat at the table in the dining room, heads buried in a book. When he entered the room, Deanna raised her head and met his gaze.
“If you have time, we should call the law firm that sent you that key.”
She nodded and rose, ran a gentle hand across her father’s back. “Let me know if you find anything.”
“I will,
mi’ja
,” her father replied without ever lifting his head from the text he was reading.
Bill arched a brow in question and once again, Deanna quickly responded, apparently in a more cooperative mood than when they had first met. “
Papi
is reviewing some of the accounts of Montezuma’s reign. We’re hoping something there may give us a clue as to what might be in his tomb.”
“Thanks. It would nice to not have so many surprises. FYI, my FBI contact confirmed the identities of the men.”
He motioned for her to sit on the couch and then took a spot in a nearby chair.
“Are they Primera Mexica members?” She rubbed her hands on her thighs anxiously.
“We’re still trying to confirm that. We’re also trying to find out if they were members of the Los Leones cartel.”
She stopped the nervous motion of her hands and gripped her thighs tightly. “That cartel was responsible for beheading a police officer recently, weren’t they?”
“Different cartel, but Los Leones have been involved in at least one similar incident. They’re new on the scene and seem to think that being more violent will establish them as major players,” Bill answered. The truth might be difficult to handle, but she deserved to know the risks she would run by continuing to assist him on this assignment.
“So we’re dealing with people who will stop at nothing for Miranda to lead them to this tomb and whatever is inside?” She met his gaze and while there was a hint of fear in her hazel-green eyes, determination held greater sway.
“We have to go with that assumption. Are you still in?” He wanted to confirm that he had not misread her.
“I’m in. If there is something dangerous in that tomb, the last place it should be is in the hands of Primera or the cartel,” she said and gave a confirming pat to her thighs.
“Good. Do you have the contact info for the law firm?”
“In my room.” She was immediately in action, rising from the sofa and hurrying down the hall. Providing him a very nice view of her deliciously formed backside which had him looking away and reminding himself about staying objective.
She returned with the letter, sat and unfolded it onto the coffee table before them. He read the correspondence, but it had little to say. They had been instructed to mail the key to Deanna if her mother had not contacted them by a set date. Clearly that deadline had come and gone.
The law firm was located in the Santa Fe area of Mexico City, one of the newer and more upscale business areas that had been developed in the past two decades. The firm itself had been around for nearly a century.
Setting his BlackBerry to speaker mode and laying it on the coffee table, he dialed the number and when the receptionist answered, he indicated in Spanish that he wanted to speak to Señor Juarez. The attorney’s secretary came on a second later, and once again he identified himself and asked for the attorney who had written the letter to Deanna. The man answered immediately this time, his English flavored by a slight British accent, likely from the school he had attended to learn the language.
“Special Agent Santana. How may I help you?” Señor Juarez responded.
“
Licenciado
,” he said, using the title of respect for attorneys in Mexico. “I have
Doctora
Vasquez with me. We wanted to speak to you about her mother, Dr. Adams.”
“I’m hoping your call may explain the burglary we had two days ago,” the attorney advised.
“You had a break-in?” Deanna asked, leaning toward the cell phone, obviously intent to hear every word and their nuances.
“Someone knocked out our night guard and damaged one of our file rooms. Stole some video equipment and computers in the area.”
Shooting a half glance at Deanna, Bill asked, “You say they damaged a file room. Are any files missing?”
“I understand where you are going, but unfortunately I do not know if Dr. Adams’s file is missing. Even if it was, there is little information they would get from the papers or anything on the computers.”
“Why is that,
Licenciado
?” Deanna jumped in.
“Your mother refused to provide any information. She insisted on speaking to the Ministry official in person first.” Before anyone could ask the next most obvious question, he continued. “Dr. Adams did not make the meeting in our offices with the Ministry’s representative. That’s why we shipped the key as we had been instructed.”
Bill shook his head in frustration. Based on when Deanna’s father had phoned the embassy and the missed meeting, it confirmed Dr. Adams had been in the hands of PM for at least a week. If she was still alive. Since PM and their associates were attempting to gain additional information through other avenues, that might mean Dr. Adams had outlived her usefulness.
“Is there anything else you can tell us about Dr. Adams? State of mind? Names of associates?” Bill asked, hoping for additional clues. The attorney delayed and Bill understood. Besides attorney-client confidentiality questions, he likely didn’t want to speak ill of a client.
“To be honest, I was concerned at first with taking on Dr. Adams as a client. This is a reputable firm and so we are careful about whom we represent. Dr. Adams had, let’s say, a colorful past which was known to us.”
“And yet you still accepted her business,” Deanna challenged.
“Miranda was quite convincing and speaking with her was…exciting,
Doctora
Vasquez. Her presence and conviction were contagious and against my better judgment, I decided to assist her,” Señor Juarez informed, the glow of his infatuation obvious even across the distance of the phone line.
Bill looked over at Deanna and noted her surprised confusion. He wondered how many more times she would be getting a picture of her mother that didn’t fit in with the persona that she had created over the many years of Miranda’s absence. Deciding there was little else to be gained from the discussion, he said, “
Muchisimas gracias, Licenciado
. If you think of anything else, please don’t hesitate to call me. I’ll send you contact information via email.”
“
Gracias
, Special Agent.
Doctora
Vasquez. I wish you all the best and please give Miranda my regards when you see her,” the attorney replied and disconnected the call.
Bill leaned back into the comfy cushions of the chair, but the action pulled at his side, making him wince.
Deanna noticed, but as she met his gaze, she must have realized he’d rather she keep silent. Instead she also leaned back and folded her arms across her body in a clearly defensive posture. “I don’t know what to make of his comments. He seemed almost…smitten.”
“A beautiful and intelligent woman can be quite enticing,” he said offhandedly.
“How do you know Miranda’s beautiful?” she said with a moue of annoyance.
Before his brain could function, he blurted out, “Because the fruit couldn’t be that different from the tree.”
Fuck,
he thought, wishing he could pull the words back. Although a flush worked across the line of her high cheekbones, she restrained herself and opted not to comment on his gaffe.
“Where do we go from here?” she asked instead, for which he was grateful.
“We’re going to keep your dad here for a bit. As for the two of us, I’m waiting for the location of the PO box that the key will open.”
“Will that take long?” Deanna questioned, finding that she was already feeling antsy about being cooped up for any length of time. She had been looking forward to the end of the school year and an adventure. Now that was botched thanks to Miranda.
“I should have the info in the next couple of hours. If we’re lucky, we can pick up whatever your mother sent you before the end of the day,” Bill said.
“Do you mind then if I go back to helping my dad?” she asked, needing to do something and wanting to be away from him. He challenged her with his physical presence and she suspected that if she allowed him even a small opportunity, he could do the same emotionally. She’d worked too long and too hard to protect herself to allow that.
“Feel free. I’ve got some calls to make.” Seemingly sensing her thoughts, he rose awkwardly from the chair and strode down the hall toward the third bedroom.
She walked to her father and he peered at her from the corner of his eye. “He seems nice.”
Nice was not a word she would use to describe Special Agent Guillermo Santana. Capable. Protective. Intelligent. But nice? She suspected that was only a thin veneer over his dangerous core.
“Have you found anything?” she asked and sat beside her father, leaning toward him to read from the text he had been reviewing.
“Nothing new,
mi’ja
. Just the same old conjecture about what really happened at the end of Montezuma’s reign.”
“According to the Spaniards, he died from being stoned by his own people. Aztec accounts, on the other hand, say the Spanish strangled Montezuma and tossed his body out of the palace,” Deanna said, recounting the conflicting legends.
“Regardless of the mode of death, virtually all accounts indicate his body was taken by his people to Copulco and burned on a funeral pyre. There seems to be no argument that Montezuma’s body was cremated,” her father finished.
“Or maybe that’s what the Aztecs wanted the Spaniards to believe,” Deanna offered.
“You’re saying that Montezuma was not dead when he was carried off?”
Rising from the chair, Deanna paced as she laid out her hypothesis. “The Spaniards claim that Montezuma was struck by three stones thrown by the Aztecs when he pleaded with his people to surrender.”
“One on the leg, one on the arm—”
“And one on the head,” she said and motioned to her temple. “According to Castillo’s account of the incident, Montezuma lay dying for two days while the Aztecs fought Cortez and his men.”
“If we believe the Spanish account, Montezuma refused food or treatment and died shortly after Cortez returned to the palace,” her father replied, confirming the history they both knew well.