‘Tell me her last name and I will.’
‘Sorry, my friend, you have to earn your reward. Find out what I need to know and I’ll fill you in on everything else. And let me tell you, Maria is just your type.’
‘In other words, she’s a woman.’
‘Exactly.’
Raskin groaned. ‘OK, OK, I’ll help you out. But only because I crave oestrogen. Do you know the last time I talked to a woman who wasn’t my mother?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘Well, I don’t know, either. That’s how long it’s been.’
Payne tried not to laugh. ‘Sorry.’
‘But it’s not my fault. I swear it isn’t. You’ve been to my office. You know what’s it’s like down here. My co-workers are all nerds. If I was a woman, I’d stay away, too.’
Payne remained silent for the next few seconds. ‘Are you done whining?’
Raskin nodded. ‘For now.’
‘Good. Because I need this information ASAP.’
Raskin cracked his knuckles. ‘Fire away.’
‘I need background information on a Dr Terrence Hamilton. He’s an American professor who specializes in anthropology.’
‘How deep?’
‘Give me everything. Personal, criminal, financial and social. He disappeared from this hotel sometime last night. If anything stands out, and I mean anything — credit card, cell phone, ATM — I want to know immediately.’
‘Easy enough.’
Payne walked across the room and grabbed Hamilton’s gun. ‘I also need you to trace a weapon for me.’
‘What kind?’
‘Smith & Wesson single-action revolver. It’s a long-barrelled thirty-eight. Probably fifty or sixty years old.’
‘Let me guess: a Mexican special.’
‘Well, we are in Mexico.’
‘Got a serial number?’
He carefully read it to Raskin. ‘Hamilton was carrying it in his briefcase. I don’t know if he owns it, found it, stole it, or built it himself. Any info would be appreciated.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. Might be tough, though. A gun like that will have a lot of history that isn’t available online. Our amigos to the south are slightly behind in their data entry.’
‘Would a picture help?’
‘Of Maria?’ he asked excitedly.
‘Of the revolver.’
‘Oh.’ Disappointment filled his voice. ‘Sure. Can’t hurt.’
Payne snapped one with his phone. ‘I’ll send it as soon as I hang up.’
‘Anything else?’
‘That’s it for now. We just landed a few hours ago, so we’re still playing catch-up. If we need something else, I’ll let you know.’
‘Great,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘By the way, DJ sends his love.’
‘I don’t want his love. I want a photo of Maria.’
‘Sorry. Ain’t gonna happen.’
‘In that case, I’ll settle for a random chick in a bikini.’
Payne smiled. ‘Fine. I’ll see what I can do.’
20
Dressed in khaki shorts, a cotton blouse and leather sandals, Maria Pelati looked like she was heading out for a day’s shopping. Instead, she was on her way to the parking lot to break into Hamilton’s car. The absurdity of the situation put a smile on her face.
‘I have to admit,’ she said to Jones, who studied their surroundings with a suspicious eye, ‘things are never boring when we’re together.’
He grinned. ‘That’s because you keep getting into trouble.’
‘You don’t have to be so happy about it.’
‘As a matter of fact, I do. Without trouble, we never would have met.’
A few years earlier, Maria was a graduate student on an archaeological dig in Umbria, a landlocked region in central Italy. Led by Dr Charles Boyd, her long-time professor and mentor, they were searching for the Catacombs of Orvieto, the legendary safe haven of the popes of the Middle Ages, when they stumbled across a discovery that threatened to destroy the foundation of the Catholic Church. Fearing the damage it would cause, some high-ranking members of the Vatican tried to silence the problem by manufacturing false evidence against Boyd and leaking it to police agencies around the globe. In the blink of an eye, he went from respected academic to one of the most sought-after fugitives in Europe.
And Maria was labelled his accomplice.
Known for their ability to track and eliminate targets, Payne and Jones were coerced by the CIA to find Dr Boyd and Maria before anyone else could grab them and capitalize on their discovery. Using their unique skill set and vast network of connections, Payne and Jones found the fugitives in Milan and were threatening to turn them over to the authorities when they realized they had been set up by the men who had hired them. Over the next week, Payne and Jones protected the fugitives — and their shocking secret — like precious cargo, battling a private brigade of henchmen in Italy, Austria and Switzerland, while staying one step ahead of the law.
Many had been killed to keep Maria alive, including her brother.
During that period, Jones had saved her life on multiple occasions, and their romance had blossomed from there. It started with innocent flirtations, followed by dating, and eventually a long-distance relationship that had shown a lot of promise. The attraction was obvious, and so was the chemistry — which was clear to everyone — yet the timing couldn’t have been worse for the couple. Between Maria’s graduate studies in England and the steady growth of Jones’s detective agency in Pittsburgh, they didn’t have enough time or energy to work through the main issue that eventually tore them apart.
An issue that had been kept from Payne.
Out of respect for Maria, Jones had concealed the information from his best friend because he didn’t think the three of them would ever be forced to interact again, but a late-night phone call had changed all of that. Suddenly the three of them were in close proximity again, which put Jones in a situation he had hoped to avoid. Although he was excited to see Maria, he knew her re-emergence in their life would force him to have a difficult conversation with Payne, one that would test their friendship in a whole new way.
Jones had wanted to discuss it during their flight, but had chickened out.
Some things scared even him.
Payne took the elevator to the lobby, where he hoped to find a map of the resort. If none was available, he would have to get directions from the front desk.
Guests of all ages scurried past him, the sound of flip-flops and bratty kids echoing in the atrium. Payne ignored the noise and admired the view. Green ferns dangled from the floors above, a splash of colour clinging to the white walls that climbed all the way to the ceiling. Scattered throughout the lobby was artwork depicting native life in the region. Some statues, some paintings and a few modern pieces he didn’t understand.
But that was common for Payne. Art wasn’t his thing.
‘Excuse me,’ he said to a passing valet, who was pushing an empty luggage cart towards the front entrance. ‘Do you speak English?’
The valet nodded. ‘Sí.’
‘Where’s the security office?’
Without saying a word, he pointed towards a side corridor that led to a private office. It was near the main lobby, just out of view of hotel guests.
Payne smiled. ‘Gracias.’
The valet replied in perfect English. ‘You’re welcome.’
Payne laughed at the exchange because it reminded him of many conversations he’d had around the globe. Although language skills were never his strength, he had learned long ago that native speakers were far more likely to help a foreigner who attempted to use the native tongue during the conversation. It didn’t matter if they completely butchered the language. All that mattered was the effort, because effort was viewed as a sign of respect.