Beautiful Sacrifice (7 page)

His hand squeezed her shoulder, lingered.

“So would I,” he said. “Tell me more about Maya and masks.”

She looked into his silver-blue eyes and saw shadows. She knew he understood loss at a level as deep, even deeper than hers. She tried to remember why she should be angry with him.

She couldn’t.

“Masks,” she said, gathering herself. “Masks were an integral part of Maya rituals. The nobles/priests wearing them would take on the aspects of the god whose mask they wore, or the god would speak through the mask wearers. Either or both.”

“I don’t think the news coming from that obsidian mask would be good.”

“All masks are fearsome to some degree, because the gods are fearsome. But this one gives me chills.”

Yet I know this mask.

Or will.

A movement at the ground-level window caught her attention. Whatever it was vanished before she could focus. Just like all the other times she’d looked over her shoulder, feeling watched.

“You okay?” Hunter asked.

“Yes,” she said automatically, even as her instincts shouted
no.

Hunter’s phone vibrated against his butt. A text had just come in. He fished out the device, hit the button, and read Jase’s message:
NEED U. NEW INFO.

“I have to go,” Hunter said, gathering up the photos and stuffing them into their envelope.

“But—” she began.

“For now, you’ll have to work from your notes,” he cut in. “I’ll call as soon as I’m free. Have something good for me.”

The office door closed behind Hunter before she could say anything. The man moved like a cat.

Then she remembered why she was mad at him.

With a muttered word, Lina booted up her big computer and went to work. It wasn’t like she had a lot of choice, after all.

And if she kept telling herself that, she might not have a case of rapid pulse every time he came near her.

C
HAPTER
S
IX

W
HEN
H
UNTER LEFT THE MUSEUM BUILDING, HE DIDN’T
notice the rising, oddly dry heat of the day. His long legs moved with deceptively lazy speed as he covered ground to the parking lot where he had left his beat-up Jeep. As he walked, he speed-dialed Jase’s number.

“What’s up?” Hunter asked as soon as Jase answered.

“While you were sniffing around the sexy professor, I reviewed those warehouse tapes until my eyes started to bleed.”

“I was working, not sniffing,” Hunter said. A half-truth.

“Nice work if you can get it. I found something interesting.”

So did I,
Hunter thought as he slid into the Jeep with its open windows and canvas cover.
Her skin smells like cinnamon.

“One of the nights covered on those security tapes,” Jase said, referring to the digital record that got wiped every three weeks, “the custodian made an extra trip through the warehouse. Other than that, he was as regular in his rounds as a robot.”

“Huh.” Hunter turned the key. The engine started instantly. Only the exterior looked careless. Every working part was better than new. “You at my apartment?”

“Yeah, I don’t want Ali to suspect that anything’s wrong, that I didn’t take the bus as usual to work. Can you pick me up? It’s Ali’s shopping day.”

“Buses are a pain,” Hunter agreed, “especially with kids and groceries.”

“And pregnant.” There was a smile in Jase’s voice, the sound of a man who was pleased with his woman.

“On my way,” Hunter said.

A few minutes later he pulled to a stop in front of his apartment building. Jase was waiting, dressed in jeans, sandals, and a clean blue shirt whose sleeves were already rolled up against the heat. A light wind jacket made an unnecessary layer, which told Hunter that Jase was carrying.

“How close did the janitor get to the stuff?” Hunter asked as Jase slid into the passenger side of the Jeep.

“That’s tough to tell. The recording devices are only triggered by movement. Some of the guys had complained about that and the lack of enough cameras to cover every angle, but the brass blew it off.”

“Cameras cost money. Where we going?”

As Jase told Hunter the address, the Jeep poked out into city traffic. People and faces flowed by on all sides, shades of pale sliding into rich mahogany. Cowboy hats were common, whether they were made of leather or felt or straw.

“The janitor could’ve spent a few minutes in the area where the artifacts were,” Jase said. “I could see him come and go on the record, but not exactly what he did. That whole aisle wasn’t covered well.”

“Budget is a bitch. Is this a regular janitorial guy?”

“He’s on the crew, more or less checks out. But get this, he’s taken a few days of unannounced vacation, starting about three days ago.”

Hunter’s eyebrows lifted. “Interesting.”

“Yeah. So let’s go knock on his door, ask a few questions.”

“How’d you get the address?”

“Usual way.”

“A warrant?” Hunter asked.

“Ha-ha. I told the head of PR of DeWatt Industrial Solutions that he could talk to me or I’d come back with a warrant for his personnel files, checking so-called Social Security numbers against government databases.”

“Oh. That usual way. Thought you weren’t supposed to show your badge.”

“Brubaker can sit on it and spin.”

Hunter smiled. “You do know where the address is?”

“Dirtbag central,” Jase said.

“Just so you know.”

“Why do you think I wanted company? Going in there solo would be stupid. My mama didn’t raise no stupid kids.”

When Hunter finally beat his way through traffic to the address, he was glad he and Jase were bilingual. In this area, English wasn’t even a second language.

“I get to be the bad guy,” Hunter said as he parked the Jeep.

“You always get to be bad.”

“People look at your big brown eyes and trust you with their firstborn.”

Jase grinned. “I always knew you were jealous. Serves you right for those icy Anglo eyes.”

Hunter parked along the cracked, dirty curb a block away and half a block down a side street. Bits of paper trash lifted on the occasional breeze. With an automatic motion, he pulled the Jeep’s key, shoved it deep in his front pocket, and got out. He didn’t need to worry about locking up. Most of the time there was nothing inside the Jeep but dirt from both sides of the border. No radio, no antenna, no tire iron, no tools, no baggage. Nothing worth stealing.

A few minutes later Jase studied the two-story apartment building. “Hard to imagine it new.”

“Instant slums, built to sag and lean and rust overnight.”

“Bet the rooms smell like mildew on a good day, cat piss the rest of the time.”

In the heat, the smell reached right out to the curb.

“Tell me this is the wrong address,” Hunter invited.

“I never lie to you.”

“What about the blonde, the redhead, and the Siamese twins?”

“What about them?” Jase asked.

Hunter shook his head and walked around the broken glass security door that hung drunkenly, allowing wind, dirt, and anyone who was interested into the hallway beyond. Inside, an aggregate concrete stairway held up by rusty iron gave access to the second floor. Every step was broken, cracked, or both. A ragged pyramid of Tecate cans stood unevenly off to one side of the bottom step, waiting to fall.

“If this guy’s a thief,” Jase muttered, following Hunter, “he’s lousy at it. Like a pickpocket with no hands.”

“Poor impulse control has been the downfall of more than one master criminal,” Hunter said dryly. “Is this call hard or soft?”

“Soft. Just wondering how he is, we haven’t heard from him, blah blah.”

The steps up from street level grated underfoot. The crumbling stoop was crusted with dirt and greasy debris.

Behind an apartment door, a dog barked madly. The dog’s bark changed to hysteria when he caught their scent. Someone yelled in Spanglish for the dog to
cállete
the hell up. The dog yipped and went silent.

Hunter scanned the upper balcony for unpleasant surprises. Nothing moved.

“Looks like everyone’s tucked in with TV and cerveza,” Jase said.

Hunter grunted.

“You armed?” Jase asked.

“The usual.” For Hunter, that was a knife in his boot. “What’s the dude’s name?”

“LeRoy Ramirez Landry. First door on the right.”

“Let’s hope Mr. Landry doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“Paying rent here is stupid,” Jase said.

“You take the door,” Hunter said. “I’ll cover you.”

Jase stepped past Hunter, whose narrowed eyes were scanning the other closed doors. Landry’s apartment was closest to the stairs. That would make a fast retreat easier.

Feeling watched from behind, Hunter looked over his shoulder and out at the street. His neck had felt like he was in someone’s crosshairs since he’d left the lecture room with the professor on his arm. It wasn’t a good feeling.

Nothing moved below but a feral cat scrounging for fast-food scraps and slow rats.

Jase knocked on Landry’s apartment door. The door sounded dry and hollow, empty as a cracked bone.

“It’s been kicked out of the jamb,” Jase said in a low voice.

“Saw it from the stairs.”

“Cat eyes. You’ve been out in the jungle too long.”

“I like being in one piece,” Hunter said.

“Not arguing, just saying.”

Jase knocked again. He didn’t want to shout out “ICE” if he didn’t have to. No reason to get trampled in the stampede out of the building.

A gust of wind licked through the broken street door, toppling the empty beer cans at the bottom of the stairs. Across the hallway, a dog whined once.

Silence spread like dirt in the hallway.

Hunter and Jase knew that all the televisions had just been turned down.

“Dude isn’t home or he’s hiding,” Hunter said in a low voice. “Everyone else knows we’re here.”

“What a surprise.”

“Yeah. If you happen to lean on that door and it gives way, technically it isn’t breaking and entering,” Hunter offered.

He pointed to the finger-wide gap between the barely open door and the frame.

“Man, and I was hoping to get in another misdemeanor today,” Jase said.

“Stay tight. A felony might be just around the corner.”

Jase scratched at the spot where his reversed baseball hat met the back of his head. “Well, I’m concerned about the well-being of this citizen who may or may not have become involved in a crime. We really should check out the place. I mean, it’s for his own safety.”

“You’re such a good citizen,” Hunter said. “How do you do it?”

“Clean living.”

“You forgot constant prayer.”

“That’s Ali’s job.” Jase put the back of his hand on the door, pushed. It scraped open. “Oops. Look at that. Busted. We better check that Mr. Landry is okay.”

Jase pushed the door wide open and stepped to the other side of the frame. Hunter was already at Jase’s blind side. They had both been trained the same way, by the same life.

Nothing was behind the door. No one was within sight. Curtains shifted. They were dirty enough to have been used as napkins.

Not one sound came from inside the apartment.

The cramped room seemed to cringe at the afternoon sunlight flooding through the open door. A coffee table was littered with envelopes torn open carelessly. Empty bottles of malt liquor stood sentinel by crushed cigarette packs and overflowing ashtrays. Cigarette butts stuck out of the ashes like finger bones.

“Guess he lives on nicotine and alcohol,” Jase said. “No fast-food trash.”

“Lotto tickets,” Hunter said.

The colorful stubs were ripped up, tossed everywhere in a kind of loser’s confetti.

Jase walked a bit farther into the room. Hunter’s movements mirrored his partner’s.

The television was off, and Hunter could see where the screen had been dusted with an open palm. The ring of grime at the edges clung. He moved the back of his hand close to the screen. Cold. Like the room, despite the cracked door. Air-conditioning hummed and rattled as it came on.

“Looks like he hasn’t been here for a while,” Jase said. “But I’m not going to open that fridge to check expiration dates.”

“How long?” Hunter asked.

Jase understood the rest of the question. “Feels like days. Maybe more.”

“It smells bad, but not dead-body bad. Back room?”

Nodding, Jase headed farther into the apartment.

“Unmade bed,” Jase said, looking into the tiny bedroom.

“I’d be surprised if it was made.”

Jase pushed the door wide open, flat against the wall. Nothing

“No obvious signs of struggle.”

“Just the everyday fight to keep in beer, cigarettes, and lotto tickets,” Hunter said. “No sign of any artifacts either.”

“Man, I really don’t want to wreck this place to find them,” Jase muttered. “Just standing here makes me want to wash my hands.”

He pulled a wad of exam gloves from his jacket pocket and handed a pair to Hunter. Both men snapped them on. Jase opened what he could of the closet’s sliding door before it jammed on the gritty rails.

“A few shirts, pants, some of the clothes have DeWatt janitorial service logos,” Jase said quietly. “Ratty tennis shoes. Flip-flops. Dirty socks.”

Hunter was glancing around the coffin-size bathroom. No cupboards. Drawers half open, empty of everything but used razors and crusty soap. The bathtub held the rest of the dirty laundry, but there wasn’t enough of it to hide anything interesting underneath.

“Do we toss the place?” Hunter asked neutrally.

“Son of a bitch,” Jase snarled, ripping off his hat and slamming it onto the dirty linoleum floor near the bed. A faint ring of dust rose and spread from the impact.

“Take it easy,” Hunter said, approaching Jase. “We’ll find the artifacts. If not here, somewhere else.”

He crouched down, reaching for Jase’s hat. As he grabbed it, he spotted something.

“We need a warrant to take anything from under the bed?” Hunter asked.