Taylor said, “If you don’t want to go, we understand.”
“We do,” said Brodie, “but we won’t be happy.”
“Scott—”
Luis said, “I will see you tomorrow.”
Taylor asked him, “Will you be okay going home at this hour? I can arrange for you to stay here tonight.”
“Thank you, señora, but I do not have far to go.”
Brodie said, “Thy Glock and thy cross will comfort you.”
“Sí…”
A doorman appeared and opened the front and rear passenger doors. Brodie and Taylor wished Luis a good evening and got out. The doorman looked at Luis’ low-rider pulling away and inquired, “Are you registered guests, or are you here for dinner?”
“Both,” Brodie replied.
“I am sorry to say, the restaurant is closed.”
“We’re actually registered at the bar.”
“Yes…? Good. It is open.”
Brodie and Taylor entered the hotel and Taylor said to him, “You’re a bully.”
“And arrogant. And we have a job to do. Also, I need a drink.”
They went to the lobby lounge, which was almost empty, and sat where they’d met Worley.
A waiter appeared immediately and they both ordered the local rum.
They sat in silence awhile; then Taylor asked, “Are you very cool in a dangerous situation, or do you just not understand what’s going on around you?”
“Sometimes one, sometimes the other.”
“That’s very comforting.”
Their drinks came and they touched glasses. Brodie said, “You did good today.”
“Thank you, but I don’t need your affirmation.”
“Right. Well, I think we made some progress today.”
She nodded.
“Why is Kyle Mercer here?” Brodie asked.
“I think we’ve been through this.”
“Okay.” He looked at her in the dim light. “Why did Captain Mercer desert?”
“We’ve been through this too.”
He nodded, then thought a moment and said, “Here’s something new. I’m starting to think that there’s more to this case than bringing a fugitive to justice.” He asked her, “Do you have that feeling?”
“Tell me what you base that feeling on.”
“A dozen years of detective work.”
“Okay. But maybe you’ve developed an overactive imagination.”
“Maybe.”
She sipped her drink. “This is pretty good.”
“Better than Tennessee moonshine.”
She smiled. “Hardly.” She asked, “What more could there be to this?”
“I’m glad you asked.” He leaned toward her. “Two things about this case make absolutely no sense. One is that a Delta Force officer deserted his men in a war zone, surrounded by hostile forces. Two, that deserter went through hell in captivity, and then wound up here in the shithole of the Western Hemisphere.” He looked at her. “Also, I’ve been through a hundred case briefings, but I’ve never been through one like General Hackett gave us.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning I was sure he—and maybe Dombroski—knew more than they were saying, and I was also sure Hackett didn’t want us to know anything more.” He added, “Hackett specifically told us not to question Mercer.”
“I think you need another drink.”
Brodie kept looking at her. “Do you know anything I don’t know?”
“I should be insulted.”
“Sorry.”
“Look… what you say may… be correct. A lot of this doesn’t make sense. This case is complex. But our mission is simple: Find and apprehend Captain Kyle Mercer.” She added, “Don’t complicate it with… conspiracy theories.”
“I watch too many TV series.”
“Apparently.”
“You want another drink?”
“No. I’m drained and beat.” She stood. “Don’t drink too much. And don’t knock on my door.”
“What if I figure this all out?”
“Tell me in the morning.”
“Breakfast at eight?”
“Sounds good.”
“Buenas noches.”
She smiled. “You too.”
Brodie watched her as she walked toward the elevators.
After twelve years on this job, he was good at reading people. Maggie Taylor meant it when she said don’t knock on my door. But when she said she was insulted by his question, she was lying.
CHAPTER 20
Brodie had another rum, which put him in the right state of mind to call his boss. He headed up to his suite and entered through the common sitting room, in case Taylor had decided to have a drink and wait up for him. But the sitting room was empty. And the door to her bedroom was closed. Don’t knock on my door.
That sounded like good advice, even after two drinks. He went to the minibar to fix himself a third.
He found a miniature bottle of local rum and emptied it into a glass, then—noisily—added ice from the bucket and glanced back at her door, which remained closed. What are you doing, Brodie?
He went into his room, closed and locked the door, then stepped out to his bedroom balcony.
He set his drink on a table and took out his smartphone. It looked like he had reception and his phone was connected to the local cellular data carrier, so he didn’t have to