Chapter 18 #2
“You think I don’t know that?” he growled, narrowing his eyes on Donovan. “You think I’ve worked my fingers to the bone for over a year to track this guy down and bring him in just to tear down the case I built over a woman?”
“Yes,” Donovan said without wavering or blinking. “Because you’re too close to this thing. It’s impairing your judgment.”
“My judgment has never failed me. Not when I was in Afghanistan trying to decide between shooting armed child terrorists or talking them down. Not when I joined the bureau and learned just how a man like this thinks, what drives him. And while I was doing those things, what were you doing? Flirting with cheerleaders and scoring touchdowns on a high school football field? Pissing off daddy by stealing his car and taking it for joyrides?”
Donovan’s stoic veneer finally cracked. He sneered, pointing an accusing finger at Mateo. “Hey, you don’t know shit about me.”
“Yeah?” Mateo countered. “Well, here’s the only thing you need to know about me. I always get my UNSUB. Always. I’ve got the jacket to prove it. So, if you want a record like mine, pay attention, fall in line, and shut your mouth. Maybe you’ll learn something.”
He spun on his heel and stormed away, desperate to be out of this room, out of this building. It had taken every ounce of his strength and will to bring himself here today. That strength and that will had burned themselves out within an hour. He couldn’t be here right now.
“Where are you going?” Donovan called after him.
Mateo paused at the door, looking back. “I’m taking the day off. I can’t do anything until I get the green light for surveillance on Korenic.”
He didn’t wait for a response. The door swung shut behind him, and within seconds, he was standing outside, breathing fresh air.
He snatched his tie off while bounding down the steps, one hand already going into his pocket for the keys to his rental.
He didn’t know where he would go or what he would do with the time he had decided on the spur of the moment to give himself.
It might not be fair, with the rest of the team working overtime to push the case forward.
But then, life wasn’t fair, and he understood that more than most. He needed this time.
He needed space to breathe. He needed a day to get his head on straight so he could do what needed to be done.
Mateo spent his afternoon wandering aimlessly around the French Quarter, allowing himself to drift as his mood dictated.
He returned to his hotel long enough to change into more casual clothes and drop his laundry off to be cleaned.
He left his work cell behind, and brought only his wallet, keys, and personal phone.
Having no more tolerance for enclosed spaces and silence, he went for a walk and gorged himself on the sights and sounds of the city.
He’d hardly had the chance to observe his surroundings with the case and Melody consuming every bit of his time.
But he enjoyed it now—the Victorian architecture with French and Spanish influence, the music that drifted on the air in a tangle of Country, Bluegrass, Hip Hop, and Jazz, the little nooks and courtyards tucked away off this side-street or that.
He found a barber shop and submitted himself to a haircut and a close shave.
He ducked into a boutique and bought himself more clothes, having only brought enough to get him through a week.
He wandered through gift shops looking for the perfect trinkets to give Angelica when they were reunited.
Leaving one of the shops with a heavy bag, he smiled for the first time in a while.
The Mardi Gras mask and doll with a painted porcelain face were going to earn him a few brownie points for sure.
She would probably add the mask to her dress-up trunk and display the doll with the rest of her collection.
He sat on the edge of a stone fountain for an hour savoring a café au lait on ice, listening to a group of street performers blast sultry and upbeat jazz numbers with brass and horns.
When he got tired of carrying around his shopping bags, he returned to the hotel to drop them off, but found he still wasn’t ready to be isolated.
So, he went back out, taking the rental car this time and venturing further away from the Quarter.
He paid no particular attention to his surroundings at first, simply allowing himself to circle here and there, taking stock of the shops and restaurants within walking distance of his hotel.
He’d been eating like crap this entire trip and hadn’t really taken the time to try the local cuisine.
Of everything he’d learned about New Orleans, the food was what he’d heard talked about the most.
Then, the familiar shop on one corner caught his attention, and he swerved to turn into a parking space with a sudden thought.
Yanking open the glovebox, he retrieved the plastic evidence bags he had stored there after the raids.
One bag contained powder residue from inside one of the BAZ-024 inhalers.
The other held a scrap of fabric. The items had already been tested by the crime lab, but some of the inconclusive results had made Mateo curious enough to consider bringing them here, to Marchand’s Botanica.
He remembered Donovan saying that Aveline was knowledgeable about obscure herbs and their uses.
The forensic tests had identified a plant compound containing certain alkaloids, but they had been unable to identify the plant itself.
Mateo wasn’t sure how important it might be, but he would leave no loose end untied.
Since Williams had discovered the Solstice matchbook at the Arkansas crime scene, he had come to value even the smallest scrap of evidence.
He found the shop empty, as it had been when he and Donovan visited before. Yet, other times he had driven past the shop, he’d seen people coming in and out. It seemed like fate that the place would be empty every time he arrived, needing Aveline’s expertise.
He found a sign near the register instructing customers to press a button if no one was downstairs.
So, Mateo pushed it and then turned to inspect the crowded shelves and displays.
He found a similar array of things to his last visit, though the offered herbs were different.
He opened a few jars, sniffed them, closed them and put them back.
Eventually, Aveline’s footsteps sounded on the staircase.
Then she stood in front of him, her strange two-colored eyes boring into him.
“Agent,” she said, inclining her head at him. “I assumed you would be back, but didn’t expect you to come alone. Where is my nephew?”
Mateo wrinkled his brow. “Nephew?”
“I see Jackson didn’t tell you. Yes, I’m his father’s elder sister.”
It made perfect sense now that Mateo thought about it. Last time, Aveline had taken Donovan to task for not visiting more often.
“Donovan’s busy today, but I was hoping you could help with our case again.”
He reached for the bags under his arm, but her hand fell on his wrist, stilling him.
“Come upstairs with me. We will talk there.”
She crossed to the front door and flipped a sign to display that the shop was closed, then turned three deadbolts before leading him up the stairs.
Mateo detected the aromas of something being cooked.
It grew stronger when they entered the apartment, overwhelming him with the scents of garlic and onion.
Other savory aromas tickled his senses, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything all day.
As if it had heard his thoughts, his stomach trembled and gave a loud rumble that produced a chuckle from Aveline.
“Just in time for lunch,” she murmured.
“Oh, no,” Mateo replied, suddenly embarrassed. “I couldn’t—"
“I wasn’t expecting visitors, but after raising five kids, I don’t know how to cook for one person. There’s plenty, and I’ve heard enough about my nephew’s job that I know you probably haven’t had a proper meal in days.”
Mateo hesitated for only a moment. The smell of whatever she had cooked was so good his belly trembled with longing.
He had walked past several cafes today but had been too mentally distracted to consider going into one for a meal.
Now that he had allowed himself to settle a bit, he registered the weakness in his limbs, the twisting of his insides.
“If you insist, I … thank you.”
She gestured for him to precede her into the kitchen.
The heat inside the bright, airy space would have been oppressive if she hadn’t opened the windows, allowing in a current of cooler air.
He sank into a chair at the little round, wooden table and laid the evidence on the surface.
The kitchen was small but efficiently organized, with spice bottles lined up on racks along one wall, while produce was nestled into hanging baskets.
A rack of pots and pans hung overhead, and the door to a small pantry hung open.
The corner of his mouth twitched in a smile at the sight of glass bottles filled with peppers drowning in vinegar and oil.
His mother made her own pepper sauces and oils, and her kitchen was much like this one.
Aveline placed a steaming bowl in front of him. Mateo almost shed tears as that steam assaulted him. He couldn’t pick up the spoon fast enough.
“Red beans and rice,” Aveline said, her hazel-green eye twinkling as she watched him take the first bite. “A New Orleans staple.”
It might just be the best thing Mateo had ever put in his mouth. The flavors of chili and paprika and bay leaves danced on his tongue, and the familiar ingredients of beans and rice made him feel like he sat in his abuela’s kitchen.
“It’s incredible,” he murmured between bites. It was all he could manage when every bite invited him to take another, until he was scraping the bottom of the bowl with his spoon with a sinking heart.