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“Rodrigo, I’m so glad you enjoyed your day.” I sipped the last of my white wine.
Rodrigo agreed to join Mike and me for dinner at the seafood restaurant on the top floor. He’d just finished telling us about the group of people from Kansas that he’d hung out with all day. They’d spent the afternoon on a snorkeling excursion, which Rodrigo loved. It made my heart lighten, knowing he’d gotten something good out of today. I didn’t want to bog him down with Craig’s escape. Before dinner, Mike and I agreed not to discuss the latest developments on the case in front of him. Sometimes ignorance was indeed bliss.
I sat between the two men in my new green sundress. I’d removed the bulky gauze pads and downsized to the flexible Band-Aids Rodrigo had provided me. There were two each on my knees and one on my elbow. They did a better job blending into my newly tanned skin tones. Mike had kind of freaked out when he saw the bruise on my side. It looked even worse today, and I knew I’d be wearing my one-piece bathing suit instead of my bikinis for the rest of the trip.
“What time are you meeting up with your new crew tonight?” Mike asked, picking through the lobster carcass on his plate, searching for any missed pieces of meat.
“We’re meeting in the lobby at ten and heading to Coco Bongo. Do you two want to come?”
“Um, I’m not sure. Mike, I think you ate everything that lobster had to give,” I said with a small laugh, and he looked longingly to my plate. “No luck here, pal. I know how to strip a lobster down to the bare shell. Do you want to go to Coco Bongo?”
With a sad sigh, Mike gave up on the lobster. “Where is it?”
“Downtown. Not far from the shopping area. We plan to take a taxi,” Rodrigo replied. “You know, it’s all inclusive, you can order another lobster if you want.”
Tilting his head, Mike gave the suggestion some thought. “No,” he said, shaking his head, “I’ll have dessert instead. Did you see the cart when we came in?”
“I did. I’ve been thinking about that chocolate torte since we sat down. But after the lobster, I’m not sure I can do it,” I said sadly, holding a hand to my full stomach.
The waiter came to remove our plates. “Would you like some dessert?”
“I’ll have the flan,” Rodrigo ordered without a second thought. “It’s my favorite. Oh, and a cup of coffee.”
Mike looked expectantly at me, but I shook my head and moaned, “There is no way I’ll finish it.”
“I’ll have the chocolate torte and the fruit tart.” Mike winked at me. “You can have a bite of mine.”
The waiter nodded and walked away.
I rolled my eyes. “Okay, maybe one bite.” I held up my pointer finger.
“So, Coco Bongo? Are you two lovebirds in?” Rodrigo asked, slugging back the last of his beer.
“Well . . .” The long days, short nights, and stressful adventures had worn on me. Even today’s nap did little to dispel the fatigue. Not to mention, the lovely mellow feeling the two glasses of wine I’d polished off over dinner were having on me. However, if Mike was up for it, I’d order a coffee and head out on the town. After all, I was wearing an awesome party dress. “I suppose . . . if you want to go out, Mike, I’m on board.”
Mike let out an enormous yawn. The yawn was contagious, and I mimicked it while he spoke, “Not to be a party pooper, but I’ve had a hell of a day. Even though we got in a nap, I barely slept last night trying to get here. There’s a sign in the lobby that said they are having live music in the second-floor lounge. I’d rather do something more low-key . . . if you don’t mind.”
“No, I’m fine with that.” I turned to my coworker. “Sorry, Rodrigo. Are you going to be all right with your new friends?”
“Karina, you know me,” he said with a grin, “I’ve never met a stranger.”
“Too true. Go out and have fun. You only have a few more nights to par-tay. Oh, that reminds me, your hat got crushed the other day when all hell broke loose at Chichén Itzá.” I leaned down and pulled a brown bag from beneath the table. “You tried this one on when we were getting clothes for Craig, and I thought it would make a nice replacement.”
He pulled the straw boater hat with a green and navy band out of the bag. “Aw, thanks, Karina. This is great.” He plopped it on his head. “How does it look?”
It made me grin. “Very dapper, indeed.”
Mike nodded in approval. “That’s a nice-looking hat. Did they have more? I only have a baseball cap. I could use a straw hat.”
I took his hand. “They have many to choose from. We’ll find something for you tomorrow morning, before we sign up to go snorkeling.”
“Are you going to be up for snorkeling tomorrow?” Mike asked skeptically.
“Once I get a decent night’s sleep, I’ll be up for anything.”
Mike’s phone jingled and I tensed. It was the ringtone he used for his work contacts. He glanced at the screen and excused himself.
Rodrigo watched as he exited the restaurant. “What do you suppose that is about?”
I frowned. “It’s work.”
“Hm, I wonder if the Schaffhausen plan has gone into action.”
“I wonder,” I replied faintly.
“Ah, here’s our dessert.” He rubbed his hands together with delight.
By the time Mike returned, Rodrigo and I had taken tastes from each dish, and he was polishing off his flan.
“Mike, do you like flan? There is one bite left. No? Okay, then.” Rodrigo popped the last bite in his mouth. “Mmm, so creamy, it’s sinful.” He smacked his lips.
“Nah, my money is on this chocolate thingy. Oh. My. Gawd. Mike.” I held out a forkful. “You’ve got to get in on this. It’s practically orgasmic.”
Smiling, Mike sat down and spread the napkin across his lap. “Seeing as it’s my dessert, I suppose I should give it a try,” he teased, and took the bite I held out. “Wow, that is rich.” After wiping his mouth, he continued, “While you two were devouring my desserts, I was getting the good news.”
I paused with a forkful of cake mid-air. “What news?”
“Schaffhausen and his two associates have been arrested and a few hundred million dollars’ worth of stolen artwork has been recovered.” The hint of a smile hovered around his mouth.
“The sting? It worked?” Rodrigo pushed his empty plate away.
“It did indeed.” The hint turned into a full-on beam.
I grabbed Mike’s hand. “The original mask that Craig stole, was it in there?”
“It was.” He squeezed my fingers.
“How exciting. What a win for the Brazilian Museum to get an artifact returned that they thought had burned in the fire. When will the FBI return it?”
Mike’s hand slid out of mine and he picked up his fork. “Um . . . I’m not sure.”
“It’s evidence in a case. Will the FBI return it?” Rodrigo asked. “Will they return any of it?”
Of course, I’d gotten ahead of myself. The artwork would be tied up in the FBI’s case for possibly years.
“Eventually, all of the stolen items will be returned to their former owners.”
“But you don’t know when,” I clarified with censure in my tone.
Mike gave me a hard stare. “Not at this time, K.C.” I harrumphed and he frowned. “The case is out of my hands. There are protocols that will be followed. Chain of evidence is vital for a case like this. Don’t worry, once word gets out, museums and private collectors who have been defrauded will be banging on the FBI’s door to get their items returned. It will all work out in the end. It will simply take time.”
Mildly mollified, I took another bite of the torte. “Was it where Craig said it would be?”
“Yes. The DEA has been surveilling the villa for the past three months. They almost messed up our raid, but cooler heads prevailed, and, after some high-level posturing, it turned into a joint taskforce. Schaffhausen’s computer seems to be a goldmine of information, and since we’re playing nice, the DEA and FBI are sharing the information. Schaffhausen will be out of the money laundering business for good.”
“What’s the problem with DEA?” Rodrigo forked a strawberry off the fruit tart. “I thought FBI and DEA worked together.”
Mike delivered the side-eye. “There is a saying in the business that the only thing the CIA and FBI can agree upon is that they all hate the DEA.”
“I don’t get it. Why the animosity? Aren’t you all on the same team? You all fall under Homeland Security,” I replied naïvely.
Mike sighed, “It’s an ingrained habit that goes back far, and includes politics and cross agendas. Agents work fine with one another. The ‘agencies’ are another matter.”
Rodrigo sipped his coffee. “Whatever the case, it sounds like everyone got what they wanted. The information Craig supplied was true.”
Mike delivered a rueful smile. “It was.”
“That should make his Aunt Milly happy. It turns out Craig wasn’t a complete crap weasel. All’s well that ends well.” Mike and I exchanged a look that Rodrigo missed as he raised his hand to flag down a passing waiter. “A bottle of champagne, por favor.”
****
THE MARIACHI BAND IN the lounge was top notch, and very loud. However, I couldn’t keep my eyes open any longer. As a matter of fact, I dozed off and fell against Mike’s shoulder. At the end of the set, Mike made a unilateral decision to call it a night. His arm curved around me as I contentedly leaned against him on our ride up the elevator.
“Wait a minute.” Exiting the elevator, I turned right, rather than left toward my room. “The VIP lounge has these chocolate chip cookies to die for. Let me get a few.” I tugged Mike into the salon and waved at the concierge manning the room. “Hi.”
“May I help you?” The uniformed man rose from behind the desk.
“I wanted to get some of the cookies,” I said, pointing to the sideboard, which held a coffee carafe and a platter of sweets.
“Of course, allow me.” He pulled out a small white baggie and loaded half a dozen cookies inside, then handed it over. “Enjoy your evening.” He smiled and gave us a slight bow.
“Thanks.”
I listed against Mike, carrying our treats as we trekked down the hall to the Lady of Tikal suite. After handing him my little purse to search for the keycard, I reclined sleepily against the wall.
“You sure can shove a lot of crap in this tiny bag. What is this?”
I opened my eyes. “Some sort of Mexican breath spray. Do I need it?” I breathed out, sniffed, and stiffened. There was a scent that sent my pulse racing.
“Your breath is fine. It smells like wine. Mine probably does too.” He continued to search the bag, finally locating the keycard. “Ah, here we are.”
Sobered and wide awake, I pushed upright. “Mike! Wait!” I stayed his hand before he could put the card in the slot. I took another whiff. “Do you smell that?”
Mike drew in a deep breath. “Very faintly. Perfume?”
“Men’s cologne.”
“What about it?”
“It’s the same cologne the Dinapoli brothers wore at the exchange. The question is, which one?” I tapped my temple.
“Or . . . it could just be one of your neighbors.” Mike quirked a brow at me and pointed to the doors across the hall and the one at the end.
“You think I’m being paranoid?”
“I think you’ve had a hell of a week. Your senses are over heightened and looking for trouble around every corner. Think. Are you positive that is the exact same cologne?”
“Um . . . ninety—” Mike frowned at me and my confidence dropped. “—eighty percent positive?”
He took a beat and his jaw flexed. “I’ll tell you what, I will enter first and make sure the apartment is clear. Will that make you feel better?”
“Here.” I took my purse back and dug my hand straight to the bottom. “You better take this with you. It’s a stun gun.”
His mouth twisted. “I thought Joshua took all his toys.”
“I might have kept this behind.” I shrugged. “You never know.”
“I suppose when it comes to your world, that is the truth.” Mike took the weapon and entered. “Your lights are on. Did you leave them on?”
“Turn down service leaves some of the lamps burning. It’s a nice touch, don’t you think?” I asked, peering over his shoulder. The lamp on the foyer table let off a soft glow.
Mike crept further into the apartment, checking left and right.
“Do you see anything?” I whispered.
“Not yet,” he replied in low tones. “Everything looks normal in the living room. I’ll check the spare bedroom. Wait there.”
I allowed the door to close gently behind me and placed my handbag and cookies on the table. “Anything?”
“Not yet.” I heard him open the bathroom door.
Sniffing, I could still smell the weak scent of the cologne, but I couldn’t tell if that’s because it was in my suite, or if it was stuck in my nostrils from the hallway. A faint click had my attention turning to my right. The light didn’t throw far, and the closet remained in the shadows. I squinted.
Is the door moving? “Mi-ike . . .” I whimpered.
The door burst open. A man erupted out of the closet like a rabid dog, and, with an unintelligible yell, he charged me. I stepped to my left, grabbed his outstretched right hand with both of mine, and pushed his fingers and wrist backward. He went down to his knees. I took that hand around front and wrapped him in a choke hold. Mike rushed out of the bedroom at the commotion, but it all happened in an instant, and I had the intruder under control by the time he entered the foyer.
“Who the hell is this joker?”
“This” —I tugged the chokehold a little tighter, and he gagged— “is Adolfo. Not the brother I was expecting. Quick, search the rest of the apartment. His other two brothers won’t be as easy to subdue.”
While I held Adolfo in a viselike grip, Mike rushed through the rest of the suite—stun gun at the ready—checking closets, bathrooms, behind furniture, and any other nooks where a human being might hide.
“Jesus, did you bathe in that cologne? I thought your brother was the one who wore it.” I turned my head aside from the onslaught of odor.
“He . . . is,” Adolfo gasped out, and I loosened my grip slightly. “The bottle spilled,” he let out in a whoosh.
I tsked. “You should have washed. The scent gave you away.”
Mike returned and forced Adolfo to lay flat on the floor. “Josh left the duct tape behind.” He held up the half-used silver roll.
“Don’t move.” I placed my high heel against our intruder’s neck while Mike trussed him up. Adolfo went limp in defeat.
“How on earth did he get in here? I’m supposed to be on the safest floor of this building,” I cried, throwing up my hands. “For that matter, how is everyone getting up here, much less into my room? Hernandez, Mr. and Mrs. Smith, hell, even you got onto my floor.” I listed off. “How did you know what room I was in? I didn’t tell you—did I?”
Mike turned Adolfo onto his back and rummaged through his pockets. For the first time, I realized he wore the top half of the resort’s bellhop uniform. It didn’t surprise me when Mike pulled a plain white keycard from one of the pockets and passed it to me. A small black alphanumeric code was etched at the bottom.
“Another hotel passkey?”
“Looks like it. Up with you.” Mike pulled Adolfo to his feet.
“Cripes, I might as well post an ‘Open for Business’ sign on my door.” I flipped the key onto the foyer table.
“Where do you want him?”
“Put him in the dining room.”
Mike shoved him onto a chair at the foot of the table. Adolfo did not look happy. As a matter of fact, his crumpled face looked as though he was about to cry.
“Should we expect more company? Will your brothers be joining us, Adolfo?” I leaned over his shoulder.
He shook his head and whispered, “What did you do with it? Did Craig take it?”
I sat to his right. “The death mask? It’s not here.” My gaze scanned the room, and I noticed small things out of place. One of the kitchen cabinets remained slightly open. The ficus plant had been moved to the right and the baby grand piano lid, which had been closed during my stay, was now propped open. “Which I’m sure you’ve figured out, since you’ve already searched the place.”
“Craig promised. He promised me.”
“What did Craig promise you?” Mike sat on the other side of our prisoner.
Adolfo sniffed. “He promised to pay me. All I had to do was keep it out of my brothers’ hands. I had it at the ruins and he took it from me.”
“Adolfo,” I said kindly, “why didn’t Craig pay you sooner? He’d already sold the original and received payment.”
Adolfo’s pitiful eyes, brimming with unshed tears, squinted up at me. “He wasn’t paid in cash. He said he had to liquidate the assets.”
Mike leaned forward. “Assets? What kind? Diamonds? Jewels? Drugs?”
“Not drugs. He assured me of that.” Adolfo shook his head. “I don’t know if it was diamonds. He wouldn’t explain. He just said that he needed to be back in the states before the end of August — when he’d be able to liquidate them.”
“Liquidate how? At an auction?” Mike pressed.
Adolfo shrugged. “Auction? Expo? Fence to a buyer? I don’t know. Craig wasn’t very forthcoming.”
I tried a different tactic. “Adolfo, where are your brothers?”
“They were called back to Italy.”
“Called back? By whom?”
“My father. They work for his import business. Once you texted them the FBI was involved, they figured Craig got pinched and gave up on the escapade. Only . . . my debt still needs to be paid.”
“I see. And you were hoping . . . what? To find Craig? The mask?” I shifted, crossing my legs.
“Any of those things.” He stared miserably at the tabletop.
I waited for Mike to say something, but when he didn’t, I continued, “What’s your relationship with Craig? How did the two of you meet?”
“We met at the Royal College of Art, in London. I was working on my graduate diploma in art and design. Craig was on summer holiday from Oxford, where he was studying archeology and anthropology. He was taking a curating course at the Royal College.” Adolfo threw back his head, and his long hair hung down behind the chair as he glared at the ceiling. “Our professor asked graduate students to teach a few classes while he traveled to Copenhagen. In the biggest mistake of my life, I befriended Craig.”
I bit my lip to keep from laughing at the poor boy’s dramatics. “How many ‘jobs’ have you done with Craig?”
Adolfo didn’t answer, simply shaking his head.
“Was this the first time?” Mike asked.
His eyes scrunched shut. “This was the first time. Craig had gotten me a couple of commissions replicating other artifacts for legitimate buyers. The work paid the bills while I waited for my own art to take off. I thought my copy of the funerary mask was supposed to go to the buyer.” He opened his eyes wide and faced forward. “It wasn’t until later . . . I found out the truth.”
I couldn’t decide if I believed him. “You’d best give it up. The FBI has the mask, and Craig . . .” I glanced up at Mike.
“. . . is in custody,” he finished for me.
Adolfo’s features crumpled.
Mike folded his hands together. “Adolfo, do you know where Craig keeps his monetary holdings? His bank accounts?”
The kid lifted his shoulders. My fingers tapped out an irritated drumbeat, but then he perked up and said, “I remember that he spent a Christmas in Grand Cayman with his mother.”
“When?” Mike rested his chin in his palm.
Adolfo searched his mind. “I would say 2012, maybe 2013.”
Pulling the phone from his pocket, Mike excused himself and departed to the balcony.
Once the door closed, Adolfo returned his attention to me. “What will you do?”
My brows rose. “Do? About what?”
His face returned to misery, and those big brown eyes sheened over. “With me? Turn me over to the police?”
I gazed at Adolfo. The damn fool had allowed himself to be led on a merry chase by Craig. I swore, if I ever saw Craig again, I would slap the shiznit out of him. Too many lives had been disrupted by his tricks. Sighing, I answered, “I’m not sure. You see, that man out on my balcony is an FBI agent. And it’s going to be up to him to determine your fate. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do.”
Speaking of the devil, Mike reentered the suite. “There is a team en route to take custody of Adolfo.”
“Is that really necessary?” I asked.
Mike’s eyes bugged out at me.
“What? He didn’t hurt me. He’s taken nothing from the suite.” I spread my hand open, palm up.
“How about kidnapping? Conspiracy? Breaking and entering?” he listed off. “Not to mention INTERPOL has a Red Notice on him. K.C., he attacked you!”
I grimaced with embarrassment over allowing this twerp to con me with his sad pound puppy eyes. He did lie to me. Steal the mask from me. Attack me. The wine must have gone to my head. I stiffened my spine. “Right. Sorry, kid. Nothing I can do.”
The misery turned to anger faster than the flip of a dime. “Vaffenculo!”
“Watch your language,” Mike reprimanded.
I wasn’t sure what that meant, but I had a fair idea. All my pity dissolved in the face of his hatred. “Temper, temper.” I shook a finger at him.
Adolfo, much like Craig, left the resort in custody. Only this time, since Adolfo wasn’t an American citizen, he left under the hands of some very nice INTERPOL agents and local police.
****
MIKE AND I LAY ON THE balcony lounge chairs, admiring the twinkling stars overhead while eating the most sinful chocolate chip cookies I’ve ever tasted.
“How many fakes do you think he’s really designed for Craig?” I asked.
“More than one. I don’t believe for a minute this was his first.”
“No?”
“As a matter of fact,” Mike mused, “I’m wondering if we’ll find more of Craig and Adolfo’s handiwork among Schaffhausen’s stash.”
I rolled on my side to face Mike. “Do you think he knows how to find Craig?”
“He likely has some sort of information that could be valuable. We have contacts in the Caymans on alert. I expect INTERPOL will share any information they get out of him.”
“You’re sure INTERPOL will share?”
He sighed, “No.”
I waited for Mike to elaborate. When he didn’t, I changed the subject. “You never did explain how you found out my room number.”
He slowly chewed a cookie and swallowed.
“Mike?”
“I. . . uh . . . hacked the hotel’s database.”
I rolled my eyes. “Mike! Really! Wouldn’t it have been easier to text and ask me?”
“I had some time on my hands during the flight. And I wanted to surprise you,” he cried in a defensive tone.
I snorted with derision. “I’m not sure who was more surprised, you or me.”
“Touché.” He held up a half-eaten cookie.
“Okay, so you knew the floor. How did you get up to the tenth floor without a keycard? Or did you steal one?”
“I rode up with a nice couple staying in room 1021. They are celebrating their fortieth anniversary.”
“Was it just luck?”
He rolled his head back and forth on the lounge pillow. “No, I overheard the wife tell the front desk to bring up a package they were expecting.”
“You were eavesdropping!”
“I wouldn’t say that. She spoke rather loudly. I’m fairly certain anyone within a hundred-yard radius heard her room number. I . . . uh . . . rode up with them.”
“Cripes. Is there any security on this floor?”
“If I were you, I’d be more worried about the nefarious characters you’ve been gathering in your wake.”
“True.” I tapped a finger against my chin. “I wonder if Adolfo’s brothers actually left Mexico as he claimed.”
“According to my sources, they boarded a flight this morning on Air Italia, stopping over in Madrid. Look!” Mike pointed to the sky. “A shooting star.”
I ignored his attempted diversion. “Then I won’t be having anymore unexpected guests drop by?”
Turning away from the heavens, he sent me a stern glance. “You tell me.”
“You’re right. Let’s go through the list. I’m assuming the FBI picked up Mr. and Mrs. Smith during their raid of Schaffhausen’s place.”
“Correct.”
“Adolfo walked out with your friends from INTERPOL, and I assume their agents will be a little more diligent in retaining the suspect in custody than the FBI’s efforts.”
Mike winced, acknowledging the hit.
“You said Adolfo’s brothers have left the country.” I ticked off each suspect. “And, while I don’t trust Craig, there is no benefit for him to return here. Especially with you in residence. So, I do believe we are out of nefarious characters who might leave their calling card.”
“What about your Silverthorne pals?”
“Josh? Hernandez? Pft. No, they decamped upon your arrival. Probably glad to wash their hands of me. Hmm, now that I think about it, it’s probably a good thing Josh and Hernandez weren’t here to deal with Adolfo.” My mind recalled our harrowing ride through the Mexican jungle.
“Oh?”
“I don’t think they were too pleased with any of the Dinapoli crew. Adolfo might not have left with his face intact.”
Mike didn’t respond for a few minutes and I wondered if I would be getting another lecture about Silverthorne’s questionable tactics. “Speaking of Silverthorne—”
“And here it comes,” I muttered.
“—who taught you those moves?”
Taken by surprise, I gaped for a moment before regrouping. “You mean, the one I used on Adolfo?”
Mike nodded.
“I believe it was Jin. He’s taught me some very good self-defense tricks to use against an attacker. Although, Adolfo is clearly inexperienced when it comes to hand-to-hand combat. A ten-year-old could have taken him down.” I popped the final bit of cookie into my piehole and chewed. “No, it isn’t the move that I am proud of. It’s my quick thinking. He came at me like the Tasmanian devil. I guess Josh was right, if I don’t allow the fear to take over, the training will kick in when I need it.” I yawned. “What time is it?”
Mike checked his phone. “Half past midnight.”
“I do believe the adrenaline has finally worn off. I’m hitting an energy low.” I reached across and took his hand as another yawn escaped.
He tugged me to my feet. “Come on. Time for bed, Rip Van Winkle.”