Murder in the Presidio

A Peyton Brooks’ Mystery

Volume 6

ML Hamilton

Cover Art by Karri Klawiter

www.artbykarri.com

Photography by Jared Lugo

Murder in the Presidio

© 2013 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

First print

All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious.  Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Peyton and her friends have become such a part of my life that I think of them as actual people. This phenomena came true for me when a reader told me she saw someone who reminded her of Abe. How wonderful is that. It makes the journey so much sweeter. I didn’t know this would happen when I got the courage to show people what I wrote, but I’m so happy I took the risk. Thank you to all who follow Peyton’s adventures, thank you for your inspiration and your continued support.

And thank you, as always, to my family for never once doubting me.

I am so very blessed.

“We serial killers are your sons, we are your husbands, we are everywhere.”

~ Ted Bundy

Table of Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

EPILOGUE

CHAPTER 1

“I’m going to ask you this one time and one time only, and if you lie to me, D’Angelo, I will pull your badge.”

Katherine Defino was not a woman one took lightly. In a predominantly male occupation, she conducted her squad room with cool logic and professionalism. She never asked for more than she was willing to give herself and she was always fair.

Marco knew she expected the same treatment in return. She would not accept less than honesty from him and she had a detective’s instincts. She knew when someone was lying to her. For the past eight years, he had followed police protocol to the letter, he never shirked his duty, and he never gave her any reason to doubt him. Until now.

“Inspector D’Angelo,” said Defino in a voice heavy with import. “Are you in love with your partner?”

Marco stared at the picture on her desk, the clear acrylic stapler that Peyton always played with, the holder for Defino’s business cards, and the black desk blotter that seemed so out of place on the clear glass surface, and he knew he couldn’t think fast enough to get out of this one.

“Marco!” she said in warning.

He lifted his eyes and met hers directly.

“Yes,” he said.

She slumped back in her chair, staring at a spot just over his left shoulder.

He took a deep breath, knowing that everything depended on the next few minutes. Once she made up her mind, the odds of her changing it were slim. “Listen, Captain, nothing’s changed because of this.”

She met his gaze. “Are you sleeping with her?”

“No, Captain. Nothing’s happened. It’s just feelings, nothing more.”

“Nothing more? It better not be anything more or I can’t allow you to stay her partner.”

He drew a deep breath and leaned forward. “I have no intention of acting on these feelings and more than that, Peyton doesn’t feel the same.”

“How can you know? You haven’t told her.”

“But she’s made it clear to me. This job is the most important thing in her life and she would never risk it.”

Defino shook her head. “She deserves to know.”

“She absolutely does not.”

“There’s no way you can continue working with her the same way now.”

“Yes, I can.”

“How, D’Angelo? How the hell does that work?”

“Because I’ve been doing it for the last eight years, Captain.”

“What?” She sat forward. “Are you telling me you’ve been in love with her that long?”

“Almost from the start.”

Her face clouded over. “And you never thought to tell me?”

“It wasn’t an issue until the damn shrink started messing with my head, and reporting everything to you.”

“For eight years?”

“Yes.”

Defino stared at her desk. “I can’t believe this.”

“That’s my point, Captain. I never gave anything away. I never slipped up once in all that time.”

“It’s against protocol.”

“How?” He held out a hand. “I’ve never acted on these feelings, and that’s all they are – feelings. I can understand if I had broken protocol or done anything about it, but I haven’t.” He dropped his hand against his thigh. “The truth is, Captain, the department doesn’t own my feelings, and other than that, I haven’t done a damn thing wrong.”

She thought for a moment.

Marco took it as a good sign.

“She’s the best cop you have, Captain, better than I am. You can’t afford to lose her, not with a serial killer about to open up on the City again, but let’s be honest. She’s a loose cannon. Who else could work with her? Put up with the crap she pulls? You know I’m the best choice for protecting her, for keeping her safe.” He moved to the edge of his chair, forcing her to look him in the eyes. “You can’t chance letting her out on the street with anyone else. I’ve protected her for the last eight years and nothing that I’ve told you in the last few minutes diminishes that.”

Defino slowly shook her head. “My duty is clear, Marco...”

“It would be if anything had happened, but it hasn’t.”

She started to speak, but the door flew open and Peyton rushed inside. “Captain, Marco was with me last night.”

Defino gaped at her in astonishment.

“I can vouch for him.”

“Brooks, before you finish that, you should know he’s already told me he was home alone.”

Marco could see Peyton’s shoulders slump.

“Captain...” she pleaded.

“Brooks, get the hell out of my office before I pull your badge.” The warning in Defino’s voice was implicit.

Peyton shot Marco a desperate look. For a moment, he thought she would defy a direct order, but he refused to look at her or give her any encouragement whatsoever. Backing from the room, she let the door close behind her.

Defino didn’t move for a moment, just stared at the blotter on her desk, her fingers curling into a fist on its surface. Marco tapped his boot on the floor, waiting. Finally, he looked up and met her gaze.

“I’d swear you planned that if I didn’t know better,” she said.

“She does make my points for me.”

Defino exhaled heavily. “I can’t ignore this. I can’t ignore what Dr. Ferguson thought, but you have a point about the serial killer.”

Marco nodded, not daring to speak.

“I still think she deserves to know, but I won’t betray your confidence.”

“Thank you, Captain.” He felt the knot in his belly ease at bit.

“I’m also going to table my decision for a while, but the first sign of trouble, the very next mistake you make, D’Angelo, and I will make the change.”

“I understand.”

She moved forward in her chair so fast, he almost jumped. “I’m not kidding. You make one mistake, just one more lapse of judgment, and I pull the plug. No warning, no compromise, nothing.”

Marco forced himself to breathe in and out. Slowly, he nodded.

“And as soon as the serial killer is caught, I will be reevaluating my decision. Understand this is only because we are under a very serious threat. That is the only reason I’m not yanking you right now.”

“Understood, Captain.”

Defino leaned back in her chair. “If it were anyone else but Brooks, I wouldn’t hesitate to split you up, but Brooks...” She shook her head.

Marco dared a half-smile.

She pointed her finger at him. “Don’t be smug.”

He schooled his face. “Never, Captain.”

“You’re on leave until ballistics reports on your gun.”

“Captain...”

“Don’t, D’Angelo. I’m going against every instinct I have right now. Do not press me.”

Marco rose to his feet and ducked his head in acquiescence. “Sorry, Captain.”

“Go home and stay there.”

“I will.”

Defino gave him one last ominous look, pointing at the door.

Marco beat a hasty retreat. He didn’t need a second warning.

*    *    *

Peyton waited for him on the other side of the door. He came to an abrupt halt and pulled the door closed behind him. Her dark eyes searched his face, a curl escaping her ponytail and trailing over her cheek.

Maria sat at her desk, watching him, and Jake stood at her back, chewing on his upper lip. Marco glanced at both of them, wishing they weren’t here right now, but lately, wherever he went, there they were.

“I’m so sorry, Marco,” Peyton began, clasping her hands before her.

“Step outside with me,” he said, motioning to the front of the precinct. He didn’t wait to see if she would follow, just headed that direction, shoving open the half door and holding it for her. She ducked her head as she moved in front of him and pulled open the glass doors, stepping onto the landing.

He crossed around her, so he faced the precinct. He could see Jake and Maria watching them. A moment later, Defino’s door opened and she stepped out.

“What happened with Detective Acosta and Meilin Fan?” he asked.

She blinked a few times, shaking her head. “What?”

“Did you get a confession?”

“Ah.” She shook her head again. “No, no confession, but Detective Acosta believes she has enough evidence to get a conviction in Florida. We’re going to start extradition proceedings right away.”

“Good. Make sure it goes through. Don’t leave anything to chance.”

She lifted her head and gave him a bewildered look. “Okay?”

He watched the three people in the precinct, then glanced down at her. “We need a win, Brooks.”

Peyton hugged her arms around herself. “She wants to break up our team, doesn’t she?”

His attention fixed on her. “Did she tell you that?”

Peyton nodded miserably. “Are you suspended?”

“Yes.”

Tears filled her eyes.

Marco shifted uncomfortably. He didn’t do well when women cried, but for some reason, he did the worst when it was Peyton. He reached out and caught her arm at the elbow. “Don’t,” he whispered.

“It’s my fault. They all warned me not to go in there.”

He exhaled. “Actually, that was probably the thing that saved us this time.”

She frowned, but her eyes continued to shimmer. “What?”

He wasn’t sure how to tell her this, but he knew she wouldn’t leave it alone. “I told her no one else would be able to work with you. Then you burst through the door.”

Her jaw firmed, but her eyes still looked liquid. “You what?”

“You aren’t really going to dispute that, are you?”

She looked out at the parking lot. “Why do you keep getting suspended?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.” Then a thought occurred to him. “Wait. You didn’t ask me if I did it.”

“Did what?”

“Shoot Junior Walker.”

She waved him off. “I know you didn’t do that.”

He smiled at her, he couldn’t help it. No matter what, she always had faith in him. “I’ll be back as soon as Ballistics tests my gun.”

She nodded, still not making eye contact.

“Brooks?”

“What if she splits us up, Marco?”

“We’ll deal with it. Don’t worry about that right now. Just make sure the Meilin Fan extradition goes through.”

Finally she looked at him, her eyes swimming in tears. “How can I not worry about it? You’re right. Who else would put up with me?”

He laughed. “Not another damn soul, and that’s certain.”

She shivered in the cool San Francisco air and a tear spilled down her cheek.

He glanced at the faces behind the glass, then leaned close to her. “If we solve the serial killer case, I’ll bet you we can ask for anything we want and get it.”

She searched his face.

“You hear me?”

“I hear you,” she said.

He straightened. “Man up, Brooks. I’m going home like Defino told me, but I’ll call you tonight.”

“Will you come over and have dinner with us?”

He shook his head, his gaze fixed on Defino. “That’s not a good idea right now, but I’ll give you a call.”

She wiped the tears away. “I guess I can’t hug you, can I?”

He wanted to tell her no, but she had always been so affectionate with everyone she knew. Would walking away from her under these circumstances without giving her a hug look strange, like he was trying too hard?

He stepped closer to her and pulled her into his arms. She encircled his waist and pressed her forehead to his chest. He closed his eyes briefly. No use wanting things that would never be. Why the hell couldn’t he stop himself for both their sakes?

She pulled back first. “I better go in.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Hold your head up, okay?”

She nodded and turned away from him, lifting her chin as she moved toward the glass doors. Marco caught Jake’s eyes as she stepped back inside, then he backed to the stairs and headed for the Charger, forcing himself not to turn around again.

*    *    *

Abe tilted the wine bottle and filled her glass again. He sat at the foot of her bed, his long legs crisscrossed before him. Pickles lounged in his lap, all four paws waving in the air. Peyton sat with her back pressed to the headboard, her knees tented, her arms wrapped around them. She wore a baggy pair of grey sweats and a white tank-top. Her dark curls lay damply on her shoulders.

“I think Pickles would look fantastic in braids with different colored beads on the ends.”

She took a sip of wine. “You’re not giving my dog dread locks.”

He flashed a smile filled with teeth. “Where’s Maria tonight?”

“Date.”

“With Nate Cho?”

“Who else?”

“They’ve been together a lot lately.”

Peyton shrugged.

“And Jake?”

“He’s messing with pictures in his room. He hates it when I’m mopey.”

“We all do, sweetie.”

She kicked him with a sock-clad foot.

He leaned over and grabbed a slice of pizza, folding it with his long, elegant fingers. “Do you want me and Pickles to leave you to the mopes?”

“No, don’t you dare.”

“Then you’d best treat us with a little respect.” He nodded at the wine glass. “You need to eat something.”

She snagged a piece of pizza, but she couldn’t fold it the way he did. His brows lifted and he reached for a napkin, handing it to her.

“Probably not the best idea to eat in one’s bed,” she remarked.

“Especially if you ever want another man to share it.”

She took a bite, chewing and swallowing. “I don’t think you have to worry about that ever again.”

Abe rolled his eyes. “I love you something fierce, lil bits, but I don’t do whiney. You need to pull yourself together. I can hang with the drinking and the eating in bed, but the prison greys and the pity party are so not my scene.”

Peyton couldn’t help but laugh. “What are you – a character from one of those cheesy 60’s beach movies?”

“As entertainment goes, that is an art form many people just didn’t understand.”

“Oh, I think they understood it, all right. It was pretty much chicks in bikinis and dudes with long hair and bad dialogue.”

Abe gave a dreamy look. “Who doesn’t love dudes in bikinis?”

“Chicks in bikinis.”

“Chicks?” He made a face. “Who wants to see that?”

“Dudes with long hair.”

“This conversation is devolving. We need more wine.” He reached for the bottle and filled both of their glasses.

Peyton noticed however, that his hadn’t diminished as much as hers. “You’re not keeping up.”

He lifted his glass and studied it in the light from her bedside lamp. “Wine is just so blasé.”

“Blasé?”

“Means unexcited, jaded, unmoved.”

“I know what it means.”

“Well, why’d you ask?”

“Most people would disagree with you. Most people find wine very stimulating.”

Abe made a face. “I am most definitely not most people. I like my drinks with a bit more color.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

He settled the glass on the floor and scratched Pickles’ belly. The little dog gave a groan of pleasure. “So why are we moping in the bedroom again?”

“Marco’s been suspended and Defino wants to split up our team.”

Abe considered that for a moment, pursing his lips. “My Angel has been suspended a lot lately.”

“I know.”

“What’s the reason this time?”

“Junior Walker’s dead. He was shot in the back of the head, execution style.”

“Hm. They don’t suspect Angel’D himself, do they?”

Peyton shrugged and took another sip of wine. “I find that hard to believe, but they took his gun and badge, and sent him home.”

Abe frowned. “Wait. Defino wants to split the two of you up?”

“She hinted at it with me, and I guess she told him directly.”

“Why? Aren’t you her best team?”

“We are, but we’ve been arguing in public lately. She thinks we can’t recover from Alcatraz.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“You’re telling me. I can’t work with anyone else, Abe. I don’t know what I’d do.”

Abe gave her a quizzical look. “I think you’re missing the point, sweets. The bigger problem is who could work with you.”

Peyton glared at him, then she sighed. “You’re right.”

“I’m still confused. Why would they think Marco had anything to do with this Junior Walker clown?”

“Because Marco threatened to kill him when we went to get Maria’s things from his house.”

Abe considered that.

“It meant nothing. It was just typical cop speak. You know? To back someone down?”

“Right,” said Abe, clearly not convinced. “Personally, I like to threaten them with an autopsy, but whatever works.”

Peyton fought a smile.

“Something bothers me, though.”

“What?”

“You said Junior Walker was shot execution style?”

“Right.”

“Like the first victim of this Clean-up Crew nutter?”

Peyton’s head snapped up. “What?”

Abe pressed his fingers to his forehead. “What was his name?”

“The bum on the BART platform?”

“Yeah, Kimono or Bimbo.”

“Kimbro?”

Abe snapped his fingers. “Right. Wayne Kimbro.”

Peyton felt her mouth go dry. “Do you think you can get Junior Walker’s autopsy?”

He gave her a disgruntled look. “Really? Have you so little faith in me?”

“Sorry. Whatever was I thinking?”

“I do wonder sometimes.”

They both fell silent. Peyton stared at the sleeping Pickles, but her mind was frantically trying to piece it all together. Marco was right. If they could solve the serial killer case, the issue of their partnership would be moot. Defino would be an idiot to split them up after that.

“Still,” said Abe, his expression troubled. “What are the odds that Walker’s death and Kimbro’s could be related?”

Peyton’s eyes lifted to his face. For some reason, she had a sinking feeling she knew how that could be. Walker was a wife beater, not a pedophile, so the only connection between Kimbro and Walker was she and Maria. Therefore, if Kimbro and Walker were shot with the same gun, that meant the serial killer was someone in her own department.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said, scrambling off the bed and running to the bathroom.

CHAPTER 2

Peyton knocked on Marco’s door the next morning. He pulled it open and gave her a critical look.

“What’s with the cheap sunglasses, ZZ Top?” he asked, motioning her inside.

“Too much wine and too little pizza,” she answered, walking carefully to his little bistro set and taking a seat. Bracing her head on her hand, she closed her eyes. Three aspirins and her head still hammered like a drum.

“I’ll get some coffee going…and toast.”

Peyton grimaced. “I don’t think I can eat anything.”

“The toast will soak up the wine.”

“To be honest, I think most of it’s in my toilet.”

“Attractive,” he said with a hint of amusement. “You don’t usually tie one on with wine. What gives?”

She adjusted the shades and lifted her other hand to brace her forehead. “I don’t know. My partner’s suspended for the second time in two months, my mother’s marrying a racist, my ex is engaged to the most understanding woman in the world, and I have an abusive receptionist living on my couch with a murder suspect in the spare bedroom…”

He chuckled as he filled the coffee pot with water from the tap.

“Abe wants to put beads on the end of my Yorkie’s dread locks…Abe wants to make my Yorkie have dread locks…”

He grabbed the bread and plugged in the toaster.

“The captain wants to split me up from my partner and my partner doesn’t think anyone else could work with me.” She opened one eye and watched him spoon grounds into the coffee filter. “Actually, there seems to be a general consensus about that one.”

He nodded.

“Junior Walker was shot execution style and Abe made a connection that it’s distinctly similar to how Wayne Kimbro was shot.”

Marco went still, slowly turning to face her. “Wayne Kimbro? The bum in the BART station?”

She held out her hand.

He moved to the table and took a seat opposite her. “Is Abe going to do Junior Walker’s autopsy?”

“I asked him to request it.”

“How could Wayne Kimbro and Junior Walker be connected, Brooks?”

She reached up and lowered the shades, so she could see him over the top of the rim. “Exactly.”

He sat back in his chair. “The Janitor has ties to the police department?”

“Or, he’s in the police department.”

Marco stared at her for a minute, then he shook himself. “Okay, next time, lead with that.”

She grimaced. “As I’m reviewing our conversation in my mind, I’m realizing that should have probably come before the stuff about Pickles.”

“Yeah.” He stared at the table, deep in thought.

Peyton could smell the rich aroma of brewing coffee and her mouth watered for it. “I could really use that coffee,” she said.

He rose to his feet. She noticed he wore a pair of running shoes, athletic shorts, and a sleeveless compression t-shirt, which strained across his shoulders. She couldn’t help but mark how fit he was, an Adonis as Jake called him.

“Were you going running?”

He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Yeah, but it’ll wait.”

“I need to go running.” She hadn’t been since Junior Walker accosted her on her street. She needed to get back into her routine.

“I don’t think you’ll get very far with a hangover.”

“I barely made it up your stairs.”

He poured her a cup of coffee and grabbed the sugar, setting both in front of her.

“Do you have a little milk?”

He yanked open the fridge and grabbed a milk carton and butter, placing those on the table.

“And a spoon?”

He frowned at her. “You’re high maintenance, Brooks.”

“You don’t know the half of it, D’Angelo.”

He threw the two slices of toast onto a saucer and brought it to her with a spoon and a knife. “I think I have some idea.”

She almost burst into tears as she reached for the sugar bowl, but she fought them back. She knew how much he hated it when she cried. Not that she was the weepy sort, but lately, shit lately she’d been a freakin’ spigot.

He watched her prepare her coffee, then when she didn’t touch the toast, he spread a thin layer of butter on it and pushed it at her. She usually loved San Francisco sour dough something fierce, but she wasn’t sure her stomach could handle anything right now.

“Eat,” he commanded.

She lifted the coffee to her lips and took a sip, then grabbed a slice of toast and took a bite. It actually went down easier than she thought. “Is this bread from Fisherman’s Wharf?”

“Yep.”

“When did you go?”

“I didn’t.”

She took another bite and chewed. “Mama D’Angelo,” she said.

“That’s right.”

She placed a finger on the blue flowered sugar bowl. “I didn’t think you bought this.”

“Actually, that was a gift from Abe.”

Peyton laughed, then moaned when her temples throbbed. “Aren’t you having anything?”

“I like to run on an empty stomach.”

“Really?” She scrunched up her nose. “I don’t like to do anything on an empty stomach.”

“Except drink wine, apparently.”

She took another sip of coffee. “Not anymore.”

He smiled at her. God, he was so handsome when he smiled.

“What are we going to do about the serial killer?” She’d been avoiding any talk regarding the case, but she’d come to his apartment for that very reason.

He leaned on the table. “Don’t say anything right now. Wait until they reinstate me.”

She nodded.

“I don’t like this, Brooks. If it’s one of our people…”

She exhaled in disbelief. “I can’t even get my head around that.”

“You have to admit it makes sense.”

“I know it makes sense, but one of ours…”

“Did you say anything to Jake or Maria about it?”

“No, just Abe.”

“Call Abe and tell him to keep it under his hat, okay?”

“I will.”

“Promise me you won’t do anything until I’m back.”

“Defino’s going to put me back on the Clean-up Crew case once I finish the extradition papers for Meilin Fan.”

“Let Cho and Simons lead. Do you know how dangerous this could be, Brooks?”

“I do.”

“You can’t trust anyone right now.”

She started to protest, but he gave her a severe look.

“I’m serious. You can’t trust anyone.”

An unbidden thought popped into her mind, but she forcefully tamped it down. Even so, for the briefest moment, she almost said, Not even you?

*    *    *

After downing three cups of coffee and two slices of toast, Peyton made it to the precinct, but Marco’s words echoed over and over in her mind: You can’t trust anyone. She’d worked with these people for eight years. How could she not trust them? How many times had her life been in their hands? The thought of one of them being the Janitor made her feel physically ill, and it really didn’t have anything to do with the wine she’d consumed the previous night.

She tried to concentrate on the report she needed to finish on the Meilin Fan case. Devan had texted that he’d be by before lunch for it, so he could start the extradition process. Still, she found herself distracted by the people walking past her desk.

Jake stopped and chatted about nonsense for a few minutes. She knew he couldn’t be it. Not corn-fed, mid-western, all-American Jake with his unyielding devotion to his dead wife and his puppy dog eyes.

Maria lounged at her desk, reading a fashion magazine. There was no way she could have offed Junior Walker. The man paralyzed her with fear whenever she thought of him. Besides that, Maria was too genuine a person to be a deviant serial killer.

Smith stopped by, handing her his report on Meilin Fan’s arrest. “Pretty routine, baby girl,” he said, his bushy moustache lifting in a smile. Smith was like Marco – by the book, strictly controlled, emotionally contained. Besides that, he had a drinking problem. He was sober now, but if he’d been responsible for killing so many people, Peyton felt sure he’d go back to the bottle just to forget what he’d done.

She’d like to think it was Holmes. He stopped by, tsking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “You just couldn’t let a man handle a man’s job.”

She leaned back in her chair and stared up at him. She’d abandoned the sunglasses when she got here, figuring she didn’t need to look hung-over if Defino came by. “If you’re talking about your…” She nodded at the crotch of his pants. “You can handle that all by yourself.”

He gave her a smug smile. “I wasn’t talking about me. You had to go bust in on D’Angelo when he was with the captain. You couldn’t let him work it out by himself, and you got the poor bastard suspended again.”

Oh, she would love it if it were Holmes…except she wouldn’t. “I’m not the one who took his gun and badge from him.”

His expression clouded over. “That’s the part of the job I hate. He’s a good cop.”

“One of the best. He’ll be back before you know it, Drew.”

He nodded, then walked away. She watched him over her shoulder. Holmes might like to bust her chops, but she couldn’t see him as a serial killer. He’d come to her rescue enough times that she’d grudgingly grown to respect him.

Bill Simons trundled out of the break-room, munching on a donut. He ambled like a bear she’d seen walking along the edge of some rocks in Tahoe one time, heavy tread, shoulders swaying. He carried a second donut in his other hand. She sort of hated that they’d become clichés, but when he dumped the second donut – chocolate with rainbow sprinkles – on her desk and roughly patted her shoulder before he went on, she pounced on it. Nope, she couldn’t believe Bill Simons was a serial killer.

“Hey, Brooks, Defino says I need to help you with your report,” came Bartlet’s voice at her back.

She placed a piece of donut in her mouth and shook her curls. “I’m almost done.”

“She wants a copy of it.”

“I’ll send it to her email.”

He played with the handle of his baton and adjusted the pepper spray in his belt. “Anything else you need? She wants me to help you since…” His eyes tracked to Marco’s desk and back. “Until D’Angelo gets back.”

She took another bite of donut. “I’m fine, Jimmy.”

He nodded and wandered away.

She dismissed him as well. Too green. If he was going around killing people, he had to be the best damn actor in the freakin’ world.

She forced herself to return to the report, adding in Smith’s account of the arrest. She heard Devan’s dress shoes before she saw him. He came up on her side, grabbing a chair from another desk and sliding it over to her.

“So we’re extraditing Ms. Fan to Florida, I hear.”

Peyton pushed her mouse away and swiveled in her chair. “They have the stronger case. Detective Acosta has the actual gun that was used in the killing of her parents.”

He nodded, folding his hands in his lap. As always, he wore the most stylish of suits, a charcoal grey that fit his slim frame perfectly. “I heard about D’Angelo.”

“Yep.” She wasn’t going to share anything more with Devan. He and Marco didn’t necessarily get along.

“He’s been suspended a lot lately.”

She turned back to the computer and pressed save on the document. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fine. I have something else I want to talk to you about anyway.”

She didn’t look at him. “Your fiancée’s pregnant?”

“My fiancée’s pregnant? What?”

She glanced at him. “What?”

“Why did you say my fiancée’s pregnant?”

Peyton shrugged. “The last time you said we had to talk you told me you were getting married, so I figured this was the next shoe to drop.”

He let out his breath in a relieved pant. “You scared the hell out of me.”

Interesting. “What do you think will happen once you marry her?”

“Not right away. Besides, we pushed the wedding back to the first of next year.”

“Right.” She grabbed another piece of donut and plopped it in her mouth.

“Why do you have to make this so hard?”

She clicked on the screen with her mouse. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m a perfect delight.” She shot him an appraising look. “You want this printed or by email?”

“Email,” he answered, smoothing his pants leg. “You have never been a perfect delight and you know it.”

“Agree to disagree,” she said.

He pointed a finger at her. “That, right there?”

“What?”

“So much snark.” But he was smiling. “You keep men off balance.”

“Then men shouldn’t be so wobbly.” She clicked to attach the email, then leaned on her desk, bracing her chin on her hand. “Do you remember those toys we had as kids? The round things that wobbled?”

“The what?”

“The toys? They had faces and houses and cars, and they wobbled. Weeble Wobbles!” She punctuated it with her finger.

“Weeble Wobbles?”

“Yeah, they were shaped like an egg. My mom had some from when she was a kid and I used to play with them all the time.”

“Weeble Wobbles.” He shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“That’s what men are. They’re Weeble Wobbles.”

He just blinked at her without speaking for a moment.

She turned back to the computer and sent the document.

Rubbing a hand across his forehead, he exhaled. “Look, Peyton, Jedediah O’Shannahan is coming up for trial.”

Peyton went still. Jedediah O’Shannahan, the immensely popular televangelist who had been arrested as an accessory to his wife in the murder of Teresa Ravensong – Jedediah O’Shannahan, the bane of Peyton’s last year.

“I’m going to need you to testify.”

She nodded, not sure she could speak. She hated Jedediah O’Shannahan. Whenever she met with him, he made her skin crawl in all sorts of unpleasant ways.

“This isn’t like the Claire Harper case. I’m not sure I can win this.”

“That isn’t a very good attitude,” she scolded.

He held out his hands. “It’s the truth.”

“Who’s representing him?”

“Elizabeth Brown.”

“Isn’t she…”

“The lawyer for the mayor.”

“Great. She’s a regular ball buster.”

“Tell me about it.” He tapped a finger on her desk. “I’m gonna have to prep you for this one. We’ll need to meet a couple of times.”

“Fine. When does the trial start?”

“I’ll send you the schedule.” He gave her a frank look. “You can’t let O’Shannahan get under your skin like he does, or we’ll lose.”

“What about Brown with you?”

“Same thing goes for me.”

Turning back to her computer, she effectively dismissed him. “Don’t go all weeble wobbly on her.”

He laughed and pushed himself to his feet. Leaning close, he said, “This is why I can’t seem to move on.” Then he walked away.

She watched him over her shoulder, her fingers sliding the mouse back and forth. No way could Devan be the serial killer either. Damn, her list just kept shrinking.

*    *    *

Marco completed his jog and lifted weights, then showered. After eating a late breakfast, he picked up his cell phone and punched in a text to Abe. He knew he wasn’t supposed to ask for favors, but he needed to be cleared for duty again. The connection Peyton had made between Junior Walker’s death and the bum on BART worried him. If someone from their precinct was the Janitor, Peyton was in the direct line of fire. And as long as he was here, he couldn’t do anything about it.

Genius takes patience, Angel’D, came Abe’s response.

Marco shook his head. Does that mean you’re performing Junior Walker’s autopsy?

I was going to, but a text from you commands my instant attention. I’d be happy to issue you a set of scrubs if you’d like to spectate.

I’ll pass, he typed back. Just let me know the results.

Done and done, came the reply.

Just as he set the phone down again, it rang. He lifted it and looked at the display. Vinnie’s name flashed across the screen. Thumbing it on, he lifted it to his ear. “Hey.”

“Hey, little brother, you got time for lunch?”

Marco glanced up at the clock on his stove. 11:25. “Yeah. Where do you want to meet?”

“Somewhere close to the precinct, right?”

“That’s okay. We can meet near your office.”

“Bring your partner. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

Marco sighed. “It’ll probably just be me.”

“Okay. Everything all right?”

“Yeah. Everything’s fine.”

“You want me to pick you up?”

“No, just name a place and a time, and I’ll be there.”

“How about Freshii on Bush at 12:30? It’s a veggie place.”

“I’ll be there.”

Marco drove over to the restaurant early. Sitting idle had never been his thing. He wandered around the streets toward Battery, window shopping. Peyton’s birthday was coming soon and he always struggled to find something for her that was both personal and yet not too intimate. She would scold him for getting her anything at all, but this year she turned thirty. He figured it was an occasion that ought to be marked with something special.

He found himself in front of a jewelry store. The shiny objects caught his eye, but she would shoot him if he bought her something from here, although she did wear earrings. Earrings wouldn’t be too personal, would they?

He found a couple of pairs that he thought would look good with her wild mane of curls, but he just wasn’t sure. He wished there was another woman he could consult about this. One of his sisters-in-law would likely help him, but he didn’t need it being reported back to his brothers, or worse, his mother.

Maybe Maria would help, but that also held its own problems. Maria would feel obligated to lecture him about Peyton’s lack of concern for her appearance. He usually ignored the silly squabbling they did, but if he asked for help, he’d be inviting it.

Glancing up, he caught the eye of a woman behind the counter. She was in her mid-thirties, dressed professionally in a silk shirt and a skirt. Bracelets and rings covered her wrists and fingers. She motioned him inside with a broad smile.

What the hell, he thought. Here was a woman who didn’t know a damn thing about him and wouldn’t report it to anyone else.

He pulled open the door and walked inside, but he immediately regretted it. Something about looking at jewelry for Peyton made him feel ten kinds of ass. The woman met him in the center of the store.

“How are you today?”

“Fine,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Looking for anything specific?”

“Uh.” He glanced at the displays. The variety of engagement rings shocked him. Was that the only time a man ever entered a jewelry store? “I’m looking for a birthday present.”

“Okay. Do you have anything specific in mind?”

He rubbed the back of his neck.

She continued to beam at him. He always thought it was strange how people could feign such happiness toward a complete stranger, but he guessed when you saw other people as dollar signs, you could summon up some sort of warmth.

“I need something personal, but not intimate.” As he said it, he realized it sounded stupid.

“Personal, but not intimate? Can I assume this is for a friend then, not a lover?”

He nodded. “It’s her thirtieth birthday and she’s gonna give me hell for getting anything.”

“Got it. What’s her personality like?”

Marco frowned. Good lord, how did he answer that?

She took pity on him. “Ultra-feminine or not so much.”

“The second,” he said.

“Does she wear a lot of jewelry or just a few important pieces?”

“A few pieces and mostly when she goes out for a night.”

“Got it. I have a few ideas.”

He followed her to a display that was thankfully free of engagement rings. She showed him a selection of earrings and necklaces, and when he finally selected something, she boxed it up without making too much fuss. He couldn’t have been more grateful.

Glancing at the time on his cell phone, he paid for his purchase and wandered down the street to the restaurant. Vinnie had already arrived and got them a table. Marco took a seat across from him and settled the bag beside him.

Vinnie frowned. “You went shopping?”

“It’s been known to happen.”

“At a jewelry store?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t really want to talk about it and wished he’d taken the time to stash the bag in the Charger before he came to the restaurant.

“Something you want to tell me?”

Marco sighed. Sometimes it was a pain in the ass to have older brothers. “It’s Peyton’s birthday in a week.”

“You got her jewelry?”

“Yeah.” He looked around the restaurant. “You order yet?”

“No. Jewelry for Peyton?”

“It’s just a necklace. She’s turning thirty.”

Vinnie gave him a strange nod. “So I haven’t talked to you in a while. How are you?”

“Fine.”

“Where’s your gun?”

“What?”

“Your gun?”

“I don’t have it.”

Vinnie leaned back in the booth. “Why?”

A waitress approached and handed them menus. She gave Marco a wink. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Water’s fine,” he said, opening the menu.

She took Vinnie’s drink order and left. Marco made a production out of looking at the dishes, anything to avoid Vinnie’s question.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on or do I have to sic Mom on you?”

He looked up over the top of the menu. “I haven’t been here in a while. What’s good?”

“Marco,” Vinnie warned.

Marco closed the menu and settled it on the table. “I’ve been suspended.”

“Again?”

He shrugged.

“Why?”

Well, that was a conversation that would take all of lunch. But it would also distract Vinnie from his purchase at the jewelry store. “It’s just routine.”

“Suspension is routine? I guess it’s becoming routine for you.” He leaned an elbow on the table. “What gives?”

“A perp died and…”

“And?”

“They’re just checking my gun to make sure it wasn’t involved.”

Vinnie frowned.

The waitress returned and settled their drinks on the table. “What can I get you?”

Marco gave her a tense smile. “I’ll have the baja burrito.”

“Great choice. And for you?” She turned to Vinnie.

He glanced at the menu, then back at Marco. “Uh, I’ll have the harvest wrap.”

She gathered the menus and left.

Vinnie lifted his iced tea and took a sip. “Back up a little, okay? Why the hell would they check your gun?”

“I threatened to kill him. He was Maria’s boyfriend and he was beating the shit out of her, then he went after Peyton…”

“And he’s dead?” Vinnie’s face had lost color.

Marco glanced around the restaurant. No one was paying any attention to them. “I didn’t kill him,” he said, lowering his voice.

“What do you mean he went after Peyton?”

“He attacked her, twice.”

“Physically?”

Marco frowned. “How else?”

“Did he hurt her?”

“The first time. The second time, she leveled him.” He couldn’t keep the pride out of his voice.

“And they don’t suspect her of killing him?”

Marco sighed. In the last eight years, Peyton had never once fired her gun, well, except at a tire to keep Jake from running. “No. Besides, she had an alibi…or three.”

“And you didn’t?”

“I was home alone.”

Vinnie’s brow arched. “Alone?”

Marco rolled his eyes. “Yes, alone.”

Vinnie took another sip. “You need to quit this job, little brother. It scares me how close you’ve come a few times now.”

“How close I’ve come?”

“To biting it. And then you keep getting suspended. Something’s out of balance.”

Marco felt anger rise inside of him. “Nothing’s out of balance.”

“How do you figure? When have you had this much trouble before?”

He hesitated. Vinnie had a point. When had everything started going wrong?

“You’ve been a cop for what? Nine years now? And you’ve never once been suspended.” Vinnie shook his head. “Weren’t you one of the youngest cops made detective?”

“Yeah.” Marco studied the ice in his glass, not really hearing his brother. Everything started going wrong when the serial killer made his first kill. Wayne Kimbro, the bum on BART.

“Did you ever draw your gun on anyone before this?”

“A few times.” Actually, Kimbro’s murder wasn’t when he and Peyton had been pulled onto the case. They hadn’t been brought on until…Alcatraz. The Janitor had killed two people before Alcatraz, but on Alcatraz, he’d put the gun in the priest’s hands and the priest had shot at Peyton. He’d turned Peyton into a target.

“Marco, I’m just going to say it. Being a cop is like playing Russian roulette. Sometime your number is going to come up. I think these close calls are a warning.”

Was the Janitor playing them? Yanking them around like puppets? If there was a connection between Wayne Kimbro and Junior Walker, it had to be Peyton. She was the common denominator, the only thing he could think of that linked them.

“You’ve got to quit before something unthinkable happens. You’ve got to give this up.”

Alcatraz wasn’t the last time he’d targeted Peyton. He’d used the threat of shooting her to control Jake at Pier 39.

A sick feeling settled into Marco’s gut. Were all these deaths, all of these executions some sick way to gain Peyton’s approval? But then why target her? Why risk her if he was trying to impress her?

Because she wasn’t responding the way he wanted. She wasn’t grateful for his offerings, she was hunting him, trying to capture him. The serial killer thought they were of a like mind – two people striving to protect the wounded, the innocent, the weak, so he targeted child molesters, but Peyton betrayed him by also wanting to protect the child molesters.

“Marco!”

Marco blinked and glanced up at his brother.

“What are you thinking?”

He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t want to scare his family, but he needed someone to run his theory past, someone who wouldn’t panic and demand he quit. If he was right, if the serial killer was doing this for Peyton, Peyton was in danger and here he was, suspended again.

He forced himself to calm down. She was working on the Meilin Fan case. She’d be occupied with that all day. And the Janitor hadn’t struck in a month, not since they almost caught him at Pier 39. Maybe he’d left, maybe he wasn’t even in San Francisco. Maybe he’d decided to find someone else more worthy of receiving his offerings. Maybe it was all over and they would never hear from him again.

“Sorry. I wasn’t listening.”

“What were you thinking about?”

“I was just wondering if I should have gotten Peyton something different for her birthday,” he said. “Like a soup kitchen…”

“Or a homeless shelter,” answered Vinnie with a laugh.

Marco forced a tense smile, but Vinnie’s comment struck a little too close for comfort.

CHAPTER 3

“All I’m saying is you look like a bag lady,” came Maria’s voice through the walls of the kitchen.

Pickles cocked his head and glanced toward the doorway. Jake settled his food dish in his spot and scratched his ear. “You know better than to listen,” he told the dog, then went to the coffee pot and poured himself a cup.

“How the hell do you figure that?” shouted Peyton in return.

“No one wears a shirt tied around their waist unless they have to, so their clothes won’t be stolen from their shopping cart, Brooks.”

“Fine.” The bedroom door slammed, followed by the sound of a hair dryer.

Jake sipped his coffee and read his newspaper, leaning against the counter. Hm, the house across the street was up for rent. It had three bedrooms. Interesting.

Pickles crunched his kibble in the background. A moment later, the pounding bass of some rap artist vibrated through the walls. A door slammed open and Jake could hear banging on the bathroom door.

“Do you want to short out the electricity again?” came Peyton’s voice.

The hair dryer shut off and the bathroom door flew open, slamming into the wall. “I didn’t short it out the last time. It was Jake’s stupid Giants’ game.”

It wasn’t Jake’s stupid Giants’ game, but he sure as shit wasn’t going to defend himself.

“It wasn’t his stupid Giants’ game, it was your damn hair dryer. Why does it have to run five hours every day?”

“Because some people around here don’t go out in public looking like a bag lady! And it was Jake’s Giants’ game. Why does he have to listen to the radio when he’s watching it on the television?”

“I don’t know, but that doesn’t take up as much electricity as your straight iron, your curling iron, and your clothes iron all combined.”

“Well, sorry if I don’t want to come out of my bathroom looking all wrinkled from my head to my toes! And brown, Brooks, really, no straight woman wears brown!”

“Well, that’s good to know! At least lesbian women will know how to avoid you!”

More door slamming followed by the hair dryer kicking back on. Jake sipped coffee and turned the page. His phone began to vibrate on the counter, so he blindly reached for it and thumbed it on.

“Hello?”

“Ryder?”

“Adonis, how are you this lovely San Francisco morning?”

The hair dryer suddenly stopped, followed by banging in the hallway. “That did it. You blew the circuit again, Maria! My clock radio just went off!”

“I didn’t blow the damn circuit! Your wiring in this place is jack!”

“What’s jack is your disregard for other people’s needs! I need to go to work too!”

“Yeah, well, why don’t you try plucking those eyebrows before you go! Pretty soon you won’t be able to see a damn thing!”

Peyton appeared, stomping across the living room toward the front door, muttering under her breath. A moment later Maria followed her and they both left the house, shouting at each other.

“Jake?”

“Yeah, still here.”

“Is everything all right?”

He gave a bark of laughter. “It’s a fool’s paradise I inhabit, Adonis, a freakin’ fool’s paradise.”

“Are they fighting?”

“Is it fighting if it happens every morning?”

“Are you drunk?”

“On life, my friend, I’m drunk on life. You have no idea what you’re missing out on over here.”

“I can guess.”

Peyton came back in. “How is it practical for me to wear pumps to work? I’m a cop. I have to chase down perps, Maria.”

“When was the last time you chased a perp? When was the last time you chased a man for that matter?”

Jake turned a page on his newspaper and sipped his coffee, not even looking up. The front door slammed shut and they stomped across the room, disappearing into the hallway.

Marco’s voice came across the line. “Look, Ryder, I need to talk to you about something.”

Jake held the phone away from his face, studying the number on the screen. Yep, Adonis. “You need to talk to me?”

“Yeah, do you have time today?”

“Okay.” He drew the word out. “Anything in particular you want to discuss?”

“I’ll tell you later. Look, don’t tell Peyton we’re meeting.”

“She’s gonna be pissed at me if she finds out.”

Marco sighed. “Don’t tell her right now, okay? It’s important.”

Jake straightened. “Okay. Let’s meet around noon for lunch.”

“Fine.”

“Where?”

“There’s a Mexican restaurant about a block from the precinct. I’ll meet you there.”

“Got it.”

The line went dead.

“Talk to you soon, buddy,” Jake said into the phone, then slipped it in his pocket.

Peyton appeared on the other side of the counter. “Are you ready?”

“Ready?”

“Abe wants you to take pictures of Junior Walker’s autopsy. He’s finishing it this morning and he wants us to come down.”

“Sure.” Jake finished off his coffee and folded over the paper, dropping it into the basket by the trash can. He gave Peyton a critical assessment. “Your eyebrows look fine, but I agree with her about the brown. That is just so last season.”

Peyton burst into laughter, slipping her arm through his.

*    *    *

“You need another car,” said Peyton, stepping out of her Corolla. “I’m embarrassed to be seen driving near you.”

Jake rubbed his hand across the Daisy’s roof. “I like my car. It gets people’s attention.”

“Of course it does. It’s purple with a daisy painted on the side of it.”

“It’s very Haight Ashbury.” He reached inside and grabbed his camera case.

Peyton wryly shook her head. “Nope, it’s all Castro and Polk. Abe’s right. It’s a gay pride float.”

“It’s paid, is what it is?” he answered coming around the back of it and meeting her.

“Point taken,” she said, pressing the button to lock her car.

“Now you, you should take the Charger away from Adonis. Wasn’t it issued to both of you?”

“I’d be prying the keys out of his cold, dead fingers. Do you know they wanted him to get a new car last year and he refused? The Charger’s eight years old, but he keeps her purring like a kitten.”

“Yeah, he does.”

They headed toward the back door of the M.E.’s office. Peyton was able to cross the parking lot now without feeling like she had to duck for cover, but she still scanned every car and every tree looking for a lunatic with a gun.

“How much longer do you think you can live with Maria?”

Peyton shrugged, pulling open the door and stepping inside. A guard met them at the podium and Peyton produced her badge. “Until she gets on her feet, saves enough for an apartment of her own, or until she moves in with Nate. That might be the sooner of the two.”

The guard produced a clipboard and Peyton scrawled her name.

“The fighting doesn’t get to you?”

“What fighting?” She watched as Jake signed in below her.

Jake paused and looked up. “Really? Were you not in the house this morning?”

“That?” She waved him off. “That was just a friendly squabble.”

Jake set the pen down and adjusted the camera case on his shoulder. “Friendly squabble? She told you to pluck your eyebrows.”

Peyton glanced at the guard. He gave her a speculative look. Reaching up, she ran a finger across her brows. Jake had a point. Turning away from the podium, she headed down the hallway.

“She doesn’t mean half of what she says.”

Jake stopped her with a hand on her arm. “She means everything she says. She called you a bag lady.”

Peyton shrugged. “Roommates fight.”

“When have you and I ever fought?”

“When you called my mother.”

“That wasn’t a fight. You threatened to castrate me and I curled up in a ball like an armadillo.”

Peyton laughed. “You do that a lot.”

“I live with two women now, Peyton. It’s all I can do. Hey, did you know the house across the street is for rent?”

“Okay?”

“It has three bedrooms.”

“It’s for rent. I own my house.”

“No you don’t. The bank does.”

“Forget it. I’m not moving.” She started walking again. “Why do you listen to the radio while you’re watching the game on the television?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Damn straight I am.”

“Fine. I like the radio announcers better than the television ones, so I like to hear their version of the game, while I watch it on TV.”

They paused in front of Abe’s lab. They could see him through the window, working over a body on the table, or what was left of a body. Various organs had been removed and placed in containers and the chest cavity was splayed open. Peyton grimaced and looked away, closing her eyes.

“I’ll go in and tell him to cover everything. Wait here,” Jake said, touching her elbow.

Peyton nodded, fighting the rise of bile in her throat, grateful that Jake knew her so well. She heard the door swish open and Abe’s voice filled the hallway.

“Jake Ryder, have camera, will travel!”

“You wanna throw a drape over him. I’ve got a homicide detective out in the hall, fighting to keep down her breakfast.”

Abe chuckled. “Sorry, lil’ bits, gives us a minute, love.”

She waved vaguely over her shoulder and stared at the sterile wall across from his lab. A moment later she heard the door swish open again.

“All clear,” said Jake.

She took a deep breath and turned, forcing herself to walk into the lab. It was nearly as bad, knowing what was under the drape, but if she just looked at Abe’s dreads she could get through this.

“Poor baby,” said Abe with a wicked smile. For some reason, he took perverse pleasure in her weakness. He pulled off his latex gloves and tossed them in the trash, then came around the table and pulled her in against his side, kissing her temple. “Never gonna get over your squeamishness, are you, darling?”

“Squeamishness? It’s a dead body that you cut open, Abe. You took out the poor fool’s heart.”

“And lungs and stomach. I’m always curious about a person’s last meal.”

Peyton closed her eyes and drew a deep breath.

Abe chuckled. “You wanna know what his was?”

“No!”

“I do,” said Jake, settling his camera case on the back counter.

“Ninja boy here liked red meat and lots of it. Probably why he was such a colossal ass to women.”

“Can we not talk about this?” begged Peyton.

“Sure. Just thought you might be curious. Isn’t this the ass-wipe who attacked you, sweets?”

“Doesn’t mean I want to know what his last meal was.”

“Sorry.”

Peyton could tell by the mischievous glint in his eye that he was anything but sorry. “I thought you were doing his autopsy yesterday.”

“Well, your ex-boytoy called and wanted the autopsy reports on Hui Bai and Matthew Jensen, so I was a little busy with the last case you so effectively wrapped up. Still can’t believe that dish Meilin Fan is a murderess. Get it, dish…chef.” He gave a bark of silly laughter.

Peyton couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, well, she didn’t exactly like to pull the trigger herself, but people seemed to drop dead around her like flies.” She couldn’t resist looking at the drape. “Can we get back to Junior Walker? I hate being in the same room with a dead guy.”

Abe went around the table, motioning her to follow him. “Come back here and you won’t be able to see the body when I lift the drape for Jake.”

She followed him and took a seat on the stool that he indicated. He pulled on a new pair of latex gloves and then picked up the sheet, holding it so she couldn’t see. She could hear the sound of Jake’s camera clicking.

“Did you get the bullet out of his head?”

Abe glanced over at her. “So how’s my Angel?”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

“What’s your gorgeous partner doing today?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him yet.”

“Hm. I’ll bet he’s going stir crazy. He’s not one to stay idle for long.”

Jake glanced up over the drape, making eye contact with Peyton, then he ducked back down and returned to snapping pictures.

“Okay,” she said, then glanced over at the counter, but that wasn’t a good idea. Junior Walker’s heart sat in a container next to the sink. She quickly looked away. “Did you get the bullet, Abe?”

“Yeah. Maybe you should give him a call and see how he is.” He looked at her over his shoulder, his dreads sliding down his back. She marked that he’d tied the ends with gold beads this time.

“Why do you keep changing the subject?”

“Because the subject of D’licious is much more fun.”

Peyton narrowed her eyes. Abe was the worst liar she’d ever seen. “What aren’t you telling me?” She stood up.

Abe lowered the drape, placing it back over the body. He moved to the counter and picked up an evidence bag, holding it out to her. A bullet lay in the bottom.

She took it and held it up to the light, shifting it so she could see it from both sides. Lowering it, she felt her heart catch. “You’re sure this came out of Walker’s head?”

Abe’s expression grew serious. “Yes, Peyton.”

“It’s a .40 caliber, Abe.”

“I know what it is.”

She swallowed hard. “That can’t be right.”

“It doesn’t mean anything, sweetheart.”

“How can you say that?”

“What?” asked Jake. “What does it mean?”

“You know he wouldn’t do something like this, Peyton,” said Abe, pointing to the body. “Not our Marco.”

“It’s a .40 caliber, Abe, exactly what his Glock takes.”

“It doesn’t mean anything.”

She gripped the table, feeling dizzy.

“Sit down, honey,” said Abe, taking her arm and leading her back to the stool.

She sat and braced her forehead with her hand.

“Peyton, you can’t believe he’d do this,” said Jake, coming around the table. “Not Marco.”

Her fingers tightened on the bag. She didn’t know what to believe. Her mind wouldn’t process the significance of it.

“Peyton?”

Abe went to the sink and turned on the water. He came back and handed her a glass.

She took it, staring at the inside. “Please tell me this didn’t hold somebody’s organs.”

Abe laughed, but the laugh was strained. “No, no organs.”

She lifted it to her lips. The coolness of the water chased some of the panic away. “What if this is enough to arrest him?”

“A .40 caliber bullet? Ballistics has his gun, right?”

She blinked up at Abe. “Yeah.”

“Then they’ll clear him.”

“What if they don’t?”

“What do you mean? Why wouldn’t they?”

“Peyton, you can’t believe for a second that Marco would do this,” reasoned Jake.

She braced her forehead with her hand again. Did she? Could she? How? Not Marco, not the man she’d trusted with her life for the last eight years, the man she considered her closest friend, her confidant, her protector. And there it was. Marco, her friend, would never do something like this, but Marco, her protector, had already killed once for her.

“He told me not to trust anyone,” she whispered, and despite her attempt to fight it, the tears came once more.

*    *    *

Marco watched Jake enter the restaurant. He had the damn camera bag over his shoulder and he searched the restaurant, rising on his tiptoes to see into the back corner. Marco had deliberately chosen a booth in the back of the restaurant because a lot of the precinct ate here and he didn’t really want to be seen, but it was the easiest place to tell Jake where to meet him.

Jake caught sight of him and wandered through the tables, sliding into the booth and placing the camera case between them. “Hey, Adonis, nice of you to wave me over.”

“I figured you’d eventually locate me.”

“Always so damn helpful and charming,” he grumbled, picking up the menu. “Did you order?”

“No. Where’s Peyton?”

Jake lowered the menu and gave him a searching look. “She’s at the precinct, finishing up a few corrections Devan wanted her to make on the Meilin Fan report.”

“Did you tell her you were meeting me?”

“Should I have?”

“I asked you not to.”

“I know.” He searched Marco’s face again. “Is there something you need to tell me?”

Marco frowned. “What?”

A young man came over to the table with a green apron tied around his waist. “What can I get you?” he asked.

Jake gave him a smile. “I’ll have the two taco plate.”

“Beef or chicken?”

Jake glanced at Marco. “Beef.”

“And you?”

Marco wasn’t really hungry, but it was probably bad form to sit in a restaurant and not order something. “I’ll have the taco salad, no meat.”

“Do you want cheese?”

Marco shook his head.

“Anything to drink?”

“Water’s good.”

He turned to Jake.

“I’ll have a root beer.”

The waiter gathered the menus and left.

Jake folded his hands on the table and sighed. “Look, I’m not good at the cloak and dagger shit, so I’m just gonna come out with it, okay?”

“Okay?”

“Peyton’s really upset. We went to Abe’s lab this morning and he finished the autopsy on Junior Walker.”

“I asked him to call me when he was done.”

“Yeah, well, he had a lot to deal with this morning and then Peyton asked him not to call you.”

“Why?”

Jake looked down at the table, fussing with his napkin.

“Ryder, I swear to God…”

Jake glanced up, catching his eye. “The bullet Abe pulled out of Walker’s head was a .40 caliber, Marco.”

Marco went still.

Jake shook his head. “Peyton lost it. She just came apart.”

Marco blinked, unable to think straight. What the hell?

“We both tried to talk to her, but she was a mess. I’ve seen her upset, but this was bad, Adonis, real bad.”

“I told her not to trust anyone.”

“Yeah, she said that. What the hell did that mean?”

“That’s why I wanted you to meet me.”

“If you’re gonna make some big confession, D’Angelo, I don’t think I’m the right person…”

“Shut up, Ryder.” Marco exhaled in frustration. “I didn’t kill Junior Walker.”

Jake’s shoulders slumped in relief. “I didn’t think you did, but…”

“Does Peyton?”

Jake bit his lower lip.

Marco just couldn’t believe she’d think that. Not Peyton. “Ryder?”

“She freaked out when Abe showed her the bullet, Adonis. What do you want me to say? It didn’t help that you told her not to trust anyone. The one person she trusts the most and…well, come on, what would you think?”

“I wouldn’t. I would never question her on something like that.” The waiter returned with their food and settled it before them. Marco realized he couldn’t eat. Just the thought that Peyton was doubting him made him feel physically ill.

Jake didn’t immediately reach for his tacos either. “Why did you want to see me?”

Marco picked up his water and took a drink, clearing his throat. “Yesterday I had a thought. I started wondering if the serial killer is killing to impress Peyton.”

“What?”

Marco glanced around the restaurant, then leaned forward. “Peyton thinks that there’s a connection between Junior Walker’s death and Wayne Kimbro, the bum on BART.”

“They were both shot in the back of the head.”

“Right. That led us to wonder if the killer’s someone in the precinct.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”

“Twice now he’s used Peyton as a target.”

“Wait.” Jake held up a hand. “Why does Peyton have to be the link between Kimbro and Walker?”

“Who else could it be?”

“Maria.”

“The Janitor didn’t kill Walker until after Peyton was attacked by herself.”

Jake considered that. “But Peyton didn’t even get the case for Wayne Kimbro. Cho and Simons did.”

“We would have had it if Teresa Ravensong hadn’t died. Don’t you remember? They happened at the same time and we got Ravensong by luck of the draw.”

“You gambled for it.”

“Whatever. We would have had it though.”

“If he’s trying to impress her, why would he make her a target?”

“Because she’s not impressed. She’s trying to catch him. He didn’t target her until she came on the case, but once she did, he used her twice to control the situation. Maybe he’s confused. He wants to please her, but when she doesn’t seem pleased, he wants to punish her.”

“What size bullet was used to kill Wayne Kimbro?”

“I can’t remember.”

“Abe will know.” Jake fished his phone out of his pocket. He sent a quick text, then laid it on the table by his plate. “Adonis, if what you’re saying is true, it means Peyton could be in real danger.”

“And I’m suspended.”

“If Defino gets Abe’s autopsy report, you might be worse than suspended.”

Marco closed his eyes briefly. Yep, he might be worse than suspended. He might be arrested. Well, shit.

*    *    *

Peyton glanced around the precinct, but almost everyone had left for the night. She picked up the phone and dialed Ballistics. They were probably closed for the night too, but she had to try. The phone rang a number of times, then transferred to their voice mail.

She closed her hand into a fist, then hung up. She wasn’t authorized to get the results of Marco’s ballistics report, but she’d hoped to call in a favor from one of the officers on duty. She’d wanted to call all day, but honestly, she’d been afraid. Afraid she’d get in trouble with Defino and afraid to find out the results.

Hours had passed since her crying spell in Abe’s lab, and she’d come to the conclusion that Marco just couldn’t be responsible for Junior Walker’s death, but still a part of her feared that she might be wrong.

“Why are you still here, baby girl?” came Smith’s voice.

She turned the chair and glanced up at him. “Just finishing up the changes to Meilin Fan’s report. Devan wants everything in his in-box tomorrow.”

“You look tired.”

She lifted a hand and tried to smooth down her wild ponytail. She wasn’t surprised she looked tired. She felt exhausted, mentally and physically both. “I’m so used to having a partner to carry half the load.”

He gave her a sympathetic smile. “Go home and get some rest. This desk will be here tomorrow.”

She pushed herself to her feet and grabbed her jacket off the back of her chair, sliding it on. “See you tomorrow, Frank.”

“See you tomorrow, baby girl.”

She gave him a brief hug, then walked toward the front of the precinct. Maria’s desk was empty and Defino’s office door was open. All day Peyton had dreaded the captain’s reaction when she saw Abe’s autopsy report, but he’d agreed to hold it for a day or so, hoping Ballistics would come back with their report first.

She walked to the opening and peeked inside. Relief flooded her when she saw Defino’s office was empty. That gave her time to get a hold of someone in Ballistics tomorrow. She hurried to the door and pushed it open, crossing the parking lot to the Corolla.

Usually she didn’t mind the drive home. She liked the City at dusk as the lights came up on the busy streets, people bustling by on their way to dinner or a show, but tonight she was filled with nervous energy. She wished she’d gotten home in time for a run, but it would be too close to dark by the time she changed and went back out again.

And for the first time, she wished her house was empty. She didn’t want to go around and around with Maria, and even if Jake tried to give her space, after her crying fit today, he’d be watching her like a worried dog.

She spotted the Charger a block away from the house. Relief rushed through her and she pulled into the driveway, reaching for the door handle before she’d even put the car in park. Marco was leaning against the passenger door, but he rose to his full height as she climbed from the car.

She didn’t give him any warning, just launched herself into his arms, pressing her face against his chest. She could smell the faint sandalwood scent of his aftershave and feel the rough texture of the sweater he wore. Slowly his arms encircled her and she felt his hand in her hair, smoothing it down. Fighting the latest onslaught of tears, she clung to him, not wanting to speak and spoil the moment.

“Peyton, you know I didn’t kill Junior Walker, don’t you?”

She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to give in to her erratic moods, but whenever he called her by her first name, it always produced an emotional response in her.

“Peyton?” The plaintive quality of his voice rumbling beneath her ear forced her to ease back in his arms.

“I know.” And she did. He could never kill anyone in cold blood, not Marco. Not ever.

“Jake said you broke down at Abe’s lab.”

“I know.” She drew a deep breath, feeling the tightness in her chest ease. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, Marco. I’m an emotional mess right now.”

He tucked a curl behind her ear. “Maybe it’s because your partner’s about to be arrested for murder, or the fact that you have an abusive receptionist living on your couch who thinks you need to pluck your eyebrows…”

She laughed and took his hand. “Or an ex-murder suspect living in my spare room, sharing my private hell with the world.”

“When I told you not to trust anyone, you know I didn’t mean me, right?”

“Right.”

“Peyton, I’m getting really worried about this Janitor case.”

“So am I.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You don’t understand. I think he might be targeting you in particular.”

“Me?” She gave him a bewildered look. “Why would he be targeting me?”

“I think he might have been doing the killings to impress you, but when you entered the case as an investigator, it infuriated him.”

Peyton caught her breath. “What?”

“He made you a target on Alcatraz, then he used you to control the situation at Pier 39, threatening Jake that he’d shoot you if Jake didn’t back me off. And now, I’m afraid he’s eliminated me by getting me suspended.”

Peyton realized she was breathing rapidly. She glanced around the street. “You know that sounds paranoid, right?”

“Does it?”

Her eyes snapped to his face. “We don’t know that he’s connected to Junior Walker’s death.”

Marco’s look was unwavering. “Either I killed him or the Janitor did, and we both know I didn’t do it.”

Peyton shook her head vehemently. “You can’t know that. A man like Junior Walker is bound to have pissed off a lot of people.”

“He was shot the exact way Wayne Kimbro was.”

“Execution style? A lot of people get shot that way or it wouldn’t be a style, now would it?”

“With a .40 caliber bullet, Brooks?”

Peyton swallowed hard. “Very common bullet, Marco. Most law enforcement uses it.”

Marco reached out and curled his fingers around her upper arms, pulling her close to him. “Junior Walker was murdered after he accosted you on this very street.”

Peyton realized she was trembling.

“I’m not trying to scare you, but you’ve got to watch everything you do, everywhere you go. He’s sidelined me, Peyton. He’s knocked me out of the game. I can’t be there every minute, every second, like I was before.”

She placed her hands on his chest. “And I can’t live in fear, Marco. I have to do my job. I have to catch this sonuvabitch.”

“I know. I know,” he repeated. “Just…” He sighed. “Just don’t trust anyone, okay?”

CHAPTER 4

Peyton glanced around the precinct, marking where everyone was, then she hurried down the hall to the closet Stan Neumann, the tech guru, had made into his office. He had the desk turned so it blocked most of the door, but the whirl of fans always announced his presence in this inner sanctum.

Peyton leaned on the desk, peering around the corner. She could see the shelf that ran along the back wall, housing his collectibles in pristine boxes that had never been opened. He had a magazine crate filled with comic books, and a row of loose toys sitting on every surface. Two desktop computers were arranged on the front desk, and a laptop hummed next to a large laser printer on a table beneath the shelf on the back wall. Everything was where it always was, except Stan.

“Hey, Peyton.”

She jumped and whirled around, placing her hand over her heart. Marco’s warning the previous night hadn’t left her mind for a moment.

Stan stopped walking. “Did I scare you?” He held a cup of coffee in one hand and a piece of cake in the other.

She pasted a smile on her face. “A little.”

He held up the cake. “Maria brought in coffee cake. Do you want some? I could go get another piece.”

She’d already had two pieces at home before she left, which earned her a comment that she was going to have an ass like a blue whale, which, when she thought of it, didn’t make much sense because she wasn’t sure blue whales had asses, but…she was getting distracted.

“No, I’m good.”

“How about coffee?”

Jake had ruined her for precinct tar. “I’m good there too.”

She watched him squeeze past his desk into his office, balancing his breakfast in his hands. “Come in.”

She hesitated. She hated going into Stan’s tight little hole filled with toys and paraphernalia she didn’t understand, but she was about to ask him for a huge favor. She pushed past the end of his desk and waited while he pulled up a stool for her to sit on. It placed her about a head shorter than him, but she ignored it, perching on the rotating thing and clasping her hands in her lap.

He settled his coffee and cake on his desk, then sat down, swiveling to face her. Their knees almost touched. “It’s always good to see you in my cave.” He gave the room a fond look behind his thick glasses.

She nodded, forcing another awkward smile. “Stan, I have a favor to ask.”

“Ask me anything.”

She took a deep breath, preparing herself, but he leaned forward suddenly, forcing her to back up.

“It’s your birthday soon, isn’t it?”

“What?”

“Your birthday. I saw it on the birthday calendar Maria keeps in the break-room.”

She deliberately relaxed. “Yeah. I’m turning thirty, but don’t you dare tell Holmes.”

He laughed. “Do you have big plans?”

Did she have big plans? She hadn’t even remembered her birthday was coming up. Abe would likely plan something, but she hadn’t talked to him about it. “Uh, no. It’s been so busy lately here at work.”

“You should plan something. You only turn thirty once. I turned thirty-four last April.”

“I remember.” They’d had a cake in the break-room. White cake with a raspberry filling. Sad that she could remember events by what sort of cake they had. Maybe she would have a blue whale’s ass after all if she didn’t start watching what she ate. “Look, Stan. Can you pull up a Ballistics report?”

He appeared crestfallen. She realized she should have phrased it a little differently. Stan always seemed disappointed when she questioned his ability with the computer. “I can, but I’m not really supposed to do that. Is this about Marco?”

She gave him a tense smile. She could usually get Stan to do anything for her, but she didn’t feel like flirting today. “Yes. They haven’t reported back and I just wanted to see if we could speed things along.”

“Did you call over there?”

“I’m not really supposed to do that either. That’s Defino’s area, but…”

He considered her a moment behind his bottle-glass spectacles. Leaning close again, he dropped his voice like a conspirator. “They probably won’t even know I took a look.”

She let out her breath in relief as he swiveled back toward his computer. Then his fingers began flying over the keyboard and swirling the mouse around on its pad. She took the moment to view things from his angle. It was actually pretty ingenious the way he positioned his desk across the opening. It gave him a clear view into the precinct and also kept him hidden from anyone casually passing by. Even though the office was small, he could slide his desk chair to every part of it, accessing everything without having to leave his seat.

He paused and braced his chin with his hand. “Hm,” he said.

Peyton held her breath, her heart pounding in her temples. She couldn’t believe Marco capable of murder, but she also couldn’t stand the waiting, the worry, the anxiety of not knowing. “Stan…” Her voice came out more pleading than she intended.

He shifted and blinked at her owlishly for a moment. “They haven’t tested his gun yet. It looks like they’re backed up right now.”

Peyton let out her breath, slumping on the stool. “Thank you.”

“You okay?”

She panted out a laugh. Was she okay? What a loaded question, that. “Yeah, I’m just wound up over all this stuff with Marco and I need him to get back to work.”

Stan gave her a sympathetic nod. “I get that. He’s been suspended a lot lately.”

“Yeah.” She wasn’t going to discuss Marco with him. “Thank you for looking it up for me.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much help.”

She rose to her feet and placed her hand on his shoulder. He glanced at it, then beamed at her. “It means a lot to me that you tried to find out.” She patted him, then moved to the tight opening.

“Peyton?” he said, jumping to his feet.

She paused halfway in and halfway out. “Yeah?”

“If you don’t do anything for your birthday, maybe we could go to dinner. Like the Friday night before?”

Her mouth opened, but nothing came out. Go to dinner with Stan? Why not? Her actual birthday came on a Saturday this year. She could leave that night for whatever Abe would be planning.

“Sounds like a lot of fun.”

His smile grew wider. “It’s a date then.”

Date? Well, shit. “It’s a date,” she repeated, then hurried to slide out past his door.

*    *    *

Abe’s ridiculous Mini Cooper pulled into the parking lot of the M.E.’s office. Marco climbed out of the Charger and waited while he unwound his long legs and rose to his full height. He was only an inch or so shorter than Marco himself, and Marco could never understand why the hell he’d picked a clown car to call his own.

He paused when he saw Marco waiting for him, then his face burst into a broad smile. Marco envied Abe’s easy-going personality. No matter what was happening, Abe found some way to turn it into something positive.

“You told me you’d call me as soon as you finished Junior Walker’s autopsy.”

“And I was going to call you this beautiful August morning. Don’t you love late summer in the City?”

Marco hadn’t really noticed the weather or much of anything today. “You finished Junior Walker’s autopsy yesterday, but somehow you managed to call Peyton instead of me.”

Abe came to a halt in front of him. He wore a pale blue silk shirt that would have been stylish if it didn’t have some crazy geometric pattern all over it in hot pink. He actually wore a pair of jeans, but the pale blue dress shoes peeking out of the bottom threw the whole thing over the top.

And of course, the ends of his dreads were fastened with pale blue and hot pink beads.

He settled a long fingered hand on Marco’s shoulder. “I figured you probably didn’t want Peyton finding out the results as they hauled you into the precinct in handcuffs. Besides, she’s the on-duty detective right now.”

“Does Defino have your report?”

“Not yet, but I can’t hold it much longer. I’ll have to send it today.”

“You could have called me before Peyton. Jake said she freaked out when you told her.”

“Yeah, but it gave us time to calm her down.”

Marco looked out over the parking lot. “She doubts me.”

Abe dropped his hand. “She’s never doubted you for a moment, but she’s scared for you. We all are.”

Marco’s eyes snapped back to his face. “What does that mean? Why does everyone keep saying things like that?”

Abe gave him an easy smile. “I think you’re about perfect in every way, Angel. You’re the total package, but lately, you’ve been like a bear with a burr.” He paused and considered his words a moment. “Bear with a burr. Lord, I am so clever sometimes. You gotta love alliteration, especially when it happens by accident.”

“Abe!”

He blinked, then lifted a hand and placed it against Marco’s cheek. “It’s okay, Angel. You’ve been under a lot of pressure lately. Probably because you haven’t been getting enough sex.”

Marco took a step back, letting Abe’s hand fall.

Abe laughed wickedly.

“What do you mean I’ve been a…” He drew a deep breath, then released it. “…a bear with a burr.”

“You’re wound tight as a coil, you snap at people, and you and Peyton have been fighting…a lot. Now I don’t usually get involved in your lover’s quarrels…”

“Lover’s quarrels!”

Abe held out his hands. “Easy, tiger. It’s just an expression.” He gave Marco a searching look. “Anyway, you’ve been a bit hard on her lately.”

Marco looked down. “I think she’s in danger.”

“What? What do you mean danger?”

He told Abe what he’d told Jake yesterday. For once, Abe listened without comment, without silliness, without affect.

“You don’t know that Wayne Kimbro’s death and Junior Walker’s are connected. Kimbro was shot with a 9 mm, not a .40 caliber.”

“The method of execution was the same. Besides, you made the connection yourself, Abe.”

Abe nodded. “And I’m rarely wrong.”

Marco didn’t know about that, but he had to admit Abe was right more times than not.

“If you really think their deaths are connected, you’ve got to tell Defino what you just told me.”

“If I go to her now, especially after she gets your autopsy report, she’ll split Peyton and me up.”

Abe gave him a frank look. “Better that than she be in danger, Angel.”

Marco nodded, swallowing hard. “Send Defino the autopsy report. I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

Abe caught him behind the neck and gave him a quick kiss on the forehead. “That’s my Angel,” he said, releasing him, then he spun him around to face the M.E. office. Sliding his arm through Marco’s, he started moving toward the back door. “Come on, I’ll buy you a soda.”

“I need to get to the precinct.”

“You’ve got a few minutes. We need to talk about Peyton’s birthday party.”

“Peyton’s birthday party?”

“Yep, I was thinking we should get a limo…”

“A limo?” Marco slipped out of his hold.

“That’s right. And the Chippendale dancers are in town that weekend.”

“No.”

“Why not?” Abe pouted. “She’d love it.”

“You’d love it and I’m not going to a male strip-show with either of you.”

Abe giggled. “You can be so uptight, Angel, you know that?” He reached for the door and pulled it open. “So, give me some other ideas.”

“How about a nice dinner somewhere?”

“Lord, she’s going to be thirty, not eighty. Thirty’s big. You gotta do something more than dinner.” He signed in on the clipboard the guard provided. “I remember thirty. It can be a tough one. Not as hard as forty, and lord, I don’t even want to think of fifty.” He glanced at the guard.

This new guard hardly ever spoke to Marco or Peyton when they signed in.

“Hey, Brian, wouldn’t you like to take a limo to a Chippendales show for your thirtieth?”

The guy seemed speechless, giving Marco a surprised look.

Marco shrugged.

“Come on, help me out, man,” said Abe.

“Limo yes, Chippendales no.”

Marco held out a hand.

“Fine, no Chippendales. She and I can do that together, but limo, yes.”

Marco sighed. “Whatever. How about a limo to dinner at Fisherman’s Wharf?”

Abe made a face, then turned to Brian. “Fisherman’s Wharf?”

Brian shook his head. “Too touristy.”

“Brian’s right. We need to go clubbing.” Abe motioned for Marco to sign in. “You know how she loves to dance.”

Marco hated to dance, he hated the whole club scene, and he really didn’t understand why they couldn’t do something a little less loud. “Fine. We’ll go clubbing.” Then he hesitated and pointed the pen at Abe. “But not on Castro.”

Abe started to open his mouth, but Marco punctuated it with another stab of the pen. “Or Polk.”

“Fine.” He held out his hands. “See, we can compromise.”

Marco didn’t think there’d been much compromise, but with people like Abe and Peyton in his life, he didn’t expect it.

*    *    *

Peyton looked up from her half-eaten sandwich as Devan stepped inside the break-room. He beamed a smile at her, appearing pressed and polished in his Armani suit. She pushed the sandwich away and swiped her fingers beneath her eyes, hoping the dark circles weren’t noticeable.

“Not hungry?” he asked, sliding into the chair across from her.

“Not much.” She kept waiting for Defino to get Junior Walker’s autopsy report all day. It made her jumpy as a kangaroo. Somehow she had to stop Defino from having Marco arrested before the Ballistics report came back.

“Do you have a few minutes to talk about Jedediah O’Shannahan?”

Peyton exhaled. That was the last thing in the world she wanted to do. “I guess.”

He plucked the pickle out of the sandwich paper and took a bite. “I remember you’re not too fond of pickles.”

“To cuddle, yes, to eat, not so much.”

Devan chuckled. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She wasn’t going to discuss Marco or anything else of a personal nature with him.

“Don’t you have a birthday coming up soon?”

Why was everyone fixated on her birthday all of a sudden? “The first week of September.”

“That’s only a week away.”

“Yeah.”

“Big one, right?”

She looked down, folding the corner on the sandwich wrapper. “Yeah, thirty.”

“I liked thirty.”

“You would.”

“What does that mean?”

“Men like those milestone ages.” Except Marco hadn’t. He’d been bothered by it, same as she was. Thirty and neither one of them had anything to show for it – no spouse, no children, nothing but a job that made one age prematurely.

“Are you doing anything for it?”

“I don’t know.” Then she remembered her date. “Um, yeah, I’m going to dinner with Stan.”

“Stan? Neumann?”

“Yeah.”

“Stan Neumann, the tech geek?”

Peyton felt herself bristle at his assessment of Stan. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy.”

“Sure he is.”

“He is, and he’s smart as hell.”

Devan gave her a smug smile. She wished she was ballsy enough to wash it off with a good old fashioned slap across the face, but she wasn’t.

“And he doesn’t run hot and cold,” she added.

“Do you mean me?”

She gave him a grim smile.

“I don’t run hot and cold.”

“Really? If I remember right, you broke it off with me because I didn’t call you when I got shot at, then you got engaged to another woman, but the minute it got too real, you asked me out to dinner and postponed your engagement. Before you feign superiority over Stan, you might want to take a look in the mirror.”

“Feign?”

“I know things.”

“I never said you didn’t.” His look was a bit sultrier than she liked.

She chewed her bottom lip. Shit. He’d told her he liked women who challenged him and here she was challenging him. Poor Runny Misery was never going to land her lawyer this way. She needed to get them back on track. “You wanted to talk about O’Shannahan?”

“We were.”

“What?”

“He gets under your skin the same way I just did. I want to make sure you’ll fight back.”

Oh, he was good. “Very clever, Mr. Adams.”

“I know things,” he said with a smirk.

She smiled in return. He leaned forward, pushing the sandwich at her. “Look, Peyton, I don’t know all of what’s going on, but I know things have been hard lately. I can see it’s telling on you, but you’re a fighter and I want to see you fighting again. Start by finishing this sandwich. You can’t afford to get sick right now.”

She nodded.

“I’ll talk to you in a few days, okay?” He rose to his feet.

She glanced up at him. “That’s all? I thought you wanted to go over my testimony.”

“We will. I just wanted to light a fire under you first.” He nodded at her lunch. “Promise me you’ll eat.”

“I’ll eat,” she said.

“Good. I’ll talk to you soon.” He turned for the door.

“Devan?”

He stopped and looked back at her.

“Thank you,” she said, reaching for the half she hadn’t touched.

“You’re welcome,” he answered and disappeared from view.

*    *    *

Marco pulled open the precinct door and came to a halt as Devan stepped past the half-door and into the lobby.

“D’Angelo,” he said.

“Adams,” Marco returned.

“You back at work?”

Marco wasn’t sure how to answer that. He definitely wasn’t back at work, but he wasn’t arrested either. “Not yet.”

“Well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

They gave each other a nod, then passed without saying anything else.

Maria winked at him as he stopped in front of her desk. “How you doing, baby?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Managing.” He looked further into the precinct. “Where’s Peyton?”

“She was in the break-room last I saw.”

He nodded toward Defino’s closed door. “Captain in?”

“Yeah, she’s on the phone, but I’m sure she wants to see you. Go on in.”

He gave her an anxious smile, then walked to Defino’s door, wrapping lightly with his knuckles. He could hear her raised voice on the other side.

“Enter,” she shouted.

Marco nudged the door open and stepped inside. She turned from her blind-covered window, the phone pressed to the side of her head, and glared at him, then she pointed to the chairs in front of her desk.

He eased into one, keeping his eyes on her.

“I need that report by this afternoon. Right, I know. Right, but I got a serial killer just waiting to open up on us and I need all hands on deck.” She listened, glaring at him the entire time, then she let out her breath in relief. “Thank you. I appreciate it. I owe you one.”

Marco rubbed a hand along his jaw. He’d forgotten to shave this morning, he’d been so intent on cornering Abe.

Defino placed the phone back on the cradle and leaned on her desk. “Why do I have an autopsy report that says Junior Walker was shot with a .40 caliber?”

Marco lowered his hand. “I didn’t kill Junior Walker, Captain.”

“The only reason you aren’t in handcuffs right now is because I believe you.”

Marco nodded, looking away.

She sank into her desk chair, staring at the report on the black blotter. “I can’t tell you how important it is that the Ballistics report comes back clean. You’re sure you didn’t go target practicing or anything like that?”

“No, ma’am.”

“They’ll get me the report first thing tomorrow morning. You should go home and stay there. I’ll call you as soon as I get it.”

“Captain, I’m not here about the report.”

She drew a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like this?”

“You’re not.”

She motioned at him. “Give it to me.”

He shifted his bulk in the chair. He hated these chairs. They forced the body into unnatural angles. “I think the Janitor is someone in the precinct.”

Sometimes silence felt like weight. He glanced up at Defino, but it was as if she’d gone to stone.

“Captain?”

“What did you say?”

He dragged his teeth across his lower lip. “It makes sense. He’s been one step ahead of us the entire time. He knows our weaknesses and our strengths. He’s playing us.”

“Someone in my precinct is the Janitor?” Her voice carried a dangerous edge.

“It’s the only explanation I can find. How else did he know about Junior Walker?”

“Junior Walker? No Clean-up Crew cards were found on Junior Walker.”

“We didn’t respond to that call, Captain. Maybe the responding department missed it. Jake hasn’t been out there to canvass the crime scene.”

“Why would you think Junior Walker’s death is related to the Clean-up Crew killer?”

“He was shot execution style, just like the first victim, Wayne Kimbro.”

“Same caliber bullet?”

Marco shook his head. “9mm.”

She held out her hand.

“The security guard on Alcatraz was shot with a 9mm, and the priest had a 9mm floating around in his brain. Maybe he switched guns.”

“Why would he do that?”

“To get me out of the equation.”

Defino’s head lifted. “Why do I think I’m going to like the next part even less than the first?”

“Because you’re not. I think Peyton’s the real target.”

“Peyton?”

Marco scratched his forehead. The tension in Defino’s office itched along his skin. “He’s killing child molesters, now wife beaters, people the police have had a notoriously hard time putting away for good. The system isn’t built to protect people from such predators. It’s every cop’s nightmare and especially a cop like Peyton.”

“Who has a Christ complex.”

“Exactly.”

“He shot the priest on Alcatraz when she was in danger.”

Marco waited while she put things together.

Her eyes shifted and pinned him. “He threatened to shoot her on Pier 39 though. That’s how he controlled Jake, and through Jake, us.”

“I know. And he may have put a bullet in the priest’s head, but he also put a gun in his hand and turned him loose on her.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does if you think about it. If he made the killings to impress Peyton, it would have pissed him off that she joined the case herself. He’s sick, Captain. Clearly he’s not thinking rationally, so one minute he feels betrayed by her and puts her in harm’s way, the next he wants to protect her.”

“Which is why you think he offed Junior Walker?”

“Exactly.”

Defino lifted both hands and rubbed them across her eyes. “And to know how Peyton’s mind works, you have to know Peyton.”

Marco nodded.

Defino dropped her hands in her lap. “So what are these killings? Offerings to her?”

“Yeah.”

“Like a cat bringing you half a mouse?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“I have to pull her off the case.”

“You can’t.”

She gave him a bewildered look.

“He may be insane, but he’s smart, Captain. You take Brooks off the case and he’s gonna guess something’s up. Our only chance is to flush him out before anyone else dies.”

“Does she know your theory?”

“Yes, I told her last night.”

“Who else have you told?”

“Only Jake and Abe. I had to run it past someone before I brought it to you.”

“And you don’t think either of them could be it?”

“Abe, Captain?”

“Okay, not Abe, but we suspected Ryder before.”

“Yeah, we really had our heads up our asses on that one.”

“D’Angelo!”

He shrugged.

After a moment, she exhaled. “Yeah, you’re right.” Then her expression grew hard. “Tell no one else.”

“Of course not.”

She shook her head. “I just can’t believe it’s someone in my precinct. I just can’t believe that.”

“I’m sorry, Captain.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

Marco shook his head.

“How can I leave her out there? What if he swings back the other way and gets pissed at her again? He might hurt her one of these times. Or worse.”

“That’s why you need to get me reinstated, Captain.”

“I knew you were going to say that. Funny how that strengthens your bid to remain her partner.”

“It’s also the only protection she’s got.”

“And if I put her on leave, none of us will ever know where the hell she is.”

Marco couldn’t help but smile. “You don’t expect her to stay quiet, do you?”

“No.” She stared at the blotter again in thought. “But I can’t reinstate you.”

“Captain…”

She held up a hand. “Listen to me, okay?”

He nodded, forcing himself to sit back in his chair.

“If I reinstate you, he might decide to do something more violent to remove you. I’ve got to keep you on leave.”

“You can’t do that. You can’t leave her out there without someone at her back.”

“Sometimes, D’Angelo, you don’t think with your brain, you know that?”

He sucked in a deep breath and held it.

“You’ll have to go undercover.”

He gripped the arms of the chair.

“I’ll get you another car. The Charger’s too recognizable by anyone who knows you. When she’s here at the precinct, she’s safe, but when she’s on the street, you can be right behind her.”

“That doesn’t keep her safe at home.”

“I know, which is why you’ll have to move in with her.”

Marco went still. “What?”

“You spend most of your time at her house anyway, right? Just keep a low profile when you’re there and leave before she does in the morning, so you can follow her into the office. I’m authorizing you to use your secondary weapon and I’m reinstating you on a limited basis. At least this way, there’ll be two guns there at night.”

Marco looked away. How the hell was this going to work? Live with Peyton?

“Do you think you can do this?” She gave him a speculative look.

“Her house is a freakin’ circus, Captain.”

“That’s not what worries me. You’ll be living in tight quarters at a level of intimacy you haven’t shared before.”

“I know.”

“Can you handle it?”

“I don’t have any choice, do I?”

“Yes, you do. I can put someone else on her.”

“How do you know who you can trust?”

Defino made an unhappy face. “Or we can hope that you’re wrong and there really is no connection between Junior Walker and the Janitor. How convinced are you of this?”

“Very.”

“Then I guess you don’t have a choice.”

Marco scratched at his stubble again. “What sort of car are you getting me?”

Defino laughed. “Glad you have your priorities straight.”

*    *   *

Jake walked into the house and tossed his keys in the bowl, then glanced up. Peyton and Marco were sitting in the living room and resting against the window was an olive green cot with a duffle bag on top of it.

“What going on?” he said.

Pickles jumped down from Peyton’s lap and raced over to him. He picked the little dog up and scratched his ears.

“Marco’s gonna stay with us for a while.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “As in stay…here?”

She nodded.

“Here?” He held out a hand indicating the crowded living room.

Marco didn’t even bother to look up at him.

“Maria’s gonna have to take your room and you’ll take the couch,” said Peyton.

“The couch?”

“For a while.”

“When does the ring master arrive?”

“The what?” She frowned at him.

“We still have the kitchen counter. Maybe Abe wants that. Or remember the house across the street is up for rent. It has three bedrooms. Think of all the people we could pack in there.”

“Jake…” she began, but Marco lifted his head.

“There’s another solution,” he said with that smug cop attitude of his.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, we can get you a gun.”

Jake lifted his chin.

Suddenly it all fell into place. Marco hadn’t been speculating the other day. He really did believe the Janitor was targeting Peyton. “Does Defino know about this plan?”

“She came up with it.”

Jake shifted toward the door. “Where’s the Charger? I didn’t see it.”

“It’s at my place. I have another car now, but we’re gonna try to keep that one inconspicuous.”

“Are you reinstated?” He came around the sofa table and took a seat on the couch next to Peyton.

“No. As far as everyone at the precinct knows, I’m still suspended.”

Releasing Pickles, Jake glanced over his shoulder at the cot. “Nice army cot. We aren’t in basic training, are we?”

“It wouldn’t hurt you.”

“It would. It would hurt me a lot.”

Peyton touched his arm. “I’m sorry, Jake. It shouldn’t be for long.”

“Peyton, I’m not gonna lie. I definitely prefer seeing Maria in her skivvies every morning to Adonis here.”

As if summoned by his comment, Maria appeared in the hallway, wearing a pair of yoga pants and a tank-top. “What the hell are you doing, Brooks? We have self-defense class tonight.”

Peyton closed her eyes wearily.

“You promised me we’d go.”

“Okay, okay,” she said, pushing herself off the couch. “Just let me get changed.”

As she disappeared into the hallway, Jake rose as well. Hesitating, he glanced down at Marco and smiled. “I’d offer you a beer, but you’ve got a self-defense class to attend, while, me, I’m gonna watch the game in bed.” He pointed to the couch.

Marco simply gave him an aggravated smile.

CHAPTER 5

Peyton crept out of her bedroom and tiptoed toward the front door, but came up short when she saw Marco sitting up on his cot, tying his running shoes.

She shifted toward him. “It’s five in the morning.”

“I know. I didn’t think you were sleep walking, especially in your sneakers.”

Jake grumbled and rolled over on the couch, putting a pillow over his head.

She tied her hair back in a ponytail. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“You didn’t.” Marco rose to his full height and stretched. “You mind some company on your run?”

“Not if it’s you.”

He smiled at her. “I wasn’t sure you’d go after self-defense class last night.”

“Self-defense? That was mostly shouting no, sprinkled with female empowerment slogans. What I really wanted was to hit something.”

“Well, I didn’t mind all the yoga pants.”

She shoved him in the shoulder. “Apparently the female empowerment slogans were lost on you.”

“So how far do you usually run?”

“I head toward the park and go as far as I can before I get hungry. I love to stop at Peasant Pies on Irving for their blueberry pear pie and then I turn around.”

He chuckled. “Sort of defeats the point of running.”

She shrugged, bending over to stretch her thigh muscles. “At least I feel less guilty about it.”

“Oh, for God sakes, go running already. I can’t take any more cutesy conversation,” scolded Jake.

With a laugh, Peyton moved toward the door. Reaching for her gun felt strange. She’d never run with it before, but Marco had her scared enough not to take any chances.

Marco rolled his shoulders to loosen them. “By the way, Jake snores.”

“I know,” she said.

He frowned. “How do you know?”

“I can hear him through the walls.”

A pillow came sailing over the back of the couch and hit her in the side. She picked it up and tossed it back, then pulled open the door. Fog always hovered over the City in the early morning, sometimes burning off as the sun rose beyond the houses. Closing the door behind her, she skipped down the stairs and then used the brick façade of the house to stretch her calf muscles. Marco stretched his upper body and she couldn’t help but notice the way his compression t-shirt pressed tight against his flat belly and molded to his sculpted shoulders.

She deliberately looked away, thinking it probably wasn’t a good idea to compare him to the other men she knew. That was like comparing a Rolls Royce to a Buick.

After they loosened up, she led the way and began running up 19th toward the park.

Marco kept pace beside her and she found herself motivated to go past Irving and all the way to the park. She came to a stop at the entrance, eucalyptus trees rising around her, and braced her hands on her thighs, panting. She was pleased to see he was also winded.

They walked a bit farther until they cooled down and could breathe easier. She enjoyed the quiet. Few cars were on the road this early and the only other people they’d seen had been a number of joggers and a couple walking their dog.

Wandering beneath the trees in Golden Gate Park, she realized there was no one else who made her feel so comfortable. She and Marco could spend hours without talking and it didn’t seem awkward. How many hours had they spent on stake-out or working at their desks without having to fill each moment with sound? And whenever he was beside her, she couldn’t deny she felt safer.

As they walked back toward the edge of the park, he glanced down at her. “Want your pie now?”

She laughed and shook her head. “I hate to add back the calories we just burned. You up for a return jog?”

“You betcha,” he said, and they headed back the way they’d come. “You know Abe has plans for your birthday?”

She nodded, not finding it as easy to talk as he did while they jogged.

“He’s renting a limo.”

“A limo?”

“Yep, and he wants to take you to see the Chippendale dancers.”

Peyton glanced over at him, her heavy ponytail bouncing against her back. “Who all is he inviting?”

“The usual suspects.”

That would be awkward with Marco and Jake there. “I don’t know about that.”

“I vetoed the strippers.”

“Thank you.” Then she remembered her other plans. “Wait. When?”

“Either the Friday before your birthday or Saturday, unless you’re spending Saturday with your mom.”

“It’ll have to be Saturday. I have a date with Stan Friday night.”

Marco dropped down to a walk. “A what?”

She slowed as well. “A date.”

“With Stan?”

“Yeah.”

He glanced over at her. “You do know that means I have a date with Stan too, right?”

She grimaced. “I didn’t think about that. This is gonna be pretty miserable for you, isn’t it?”

“I’m not thrilled with dating Stan, no.”

She laughed. “You don’t have to come into the restaurant. I’m sure Stan would appreciate it if you didn’t.”

“I’m sure Stan would appreciate it if I never came around you again.”

She pushed him in the arm. “He’s a good guy.”

“He’s also completely smitten with you. Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“It’s just dinner and when he asked me, I didn’t know what to say. My dance card hasn’t exactly been filling up lately.”

Marco looked away.

She knew he wasn’t comfortable talking about her love life or lack of it with her. She usually left such conversations to Abe. “So should I call Abe and tell him about Saturday or will you?”

“I’ll call.”

They arrived back at the house.

Jake and Maria were still sleeping, so she crept into the kitchen and fixed Pickles his breakfast, while Marco took a shower. After taking the little dog out, she went into her bathroom and showered herself.

When she emerged, Jake was making coffee and toast in the kitchen, Marco’s cot was folded, and Maria was in the bathroom. Marco didn’t seem to be in the house.

“Where did Marco go?” she asked, taking a seat at the counter.

Jake tossed Pickles a crust of bread and pushed a cup of coffee at her. “He went to wait in his car for you. He said to take your time.”

She took a sip of the coffee, then glanced around. “Seen my phone?”

“It’s on the coffee table under the newspaper.”

After she retrieved it, she came back to the counter and Jake set a plate of toast in front of her. “Any jam?”

He went to the fridge, while she thumbed on the phone.

“Did Marco get anything to eat?” she asked.

Jake settled the jam in front of her too, then passed her a knife. “Just coffee, which he grumbled about.”

“What’s wrong with the coffee?” She glanced at her text messages. She was hoping for one from Defino about the Ballistics report, but there was nothing.

“Too freakin’ fancy,” Jake said in a fair imitation of Marco’s deep voice.

Peyton smiled and opened the jam jar, spreading a thick layer on her bread. “Did Maria come out in her nighty?”

Jake shook his head. “She actually put a robe on. With me, I get a peep show, but with Marco, she’s all demure and proper.” He leaned on the counter. “What is it about me? Do I look like everyone’s asexual uncle?”

“Asexual uncle?”

“You don’t have one of those?”

Peyton tilted her head. “No.”

Jake shrugged. “I do. For years when I was little, I couldn’t decide what bathroom he used in public.”

Peyton frowned. “Remind me not to go to the Midwest.”

Jake gave her a bewildered look. “Says the native San Franciscan.”

She laughed. “Point taken.”

“So, what is it?”

She shook her head in confusion. “What is what?”

“Do I look asexual to you?”

She drew a deep breath and exhaled. “This has got to be one of our strangest conversations, Jake.”

“Think about it. Everyone who looks at Adonis gets all hot and bothered, and not just women either, but when I come along, it’s like I’m invisible.”

“You’re not invisible.”

“Really? What happens whenever we go out? People can’t help but notice Abe. He’s usually dressed like Mardi Gras, and you, the hair stops them in their tracks. With Adonis, people just stare at him, or whisper, or wink, or simper…”

Peyton touched his arm. “I get it.”

“But me? Me, they just glance on past.” He pointed toward the hall. “For weeks, I can tell you exactly what panties Maria is wearing to work.”

“This is getting a little creepy.”

“Tell me about it, but this morning, she comes out in full make-up, her hair perfect, wearing a robe.”

Peyton smiled. “I don’t know what to tell you. Marco just gives off this…” She shook her head.

“This what?”

Well, what? Sexuality, sensuality? She didn’t feel comfortable naming it. “This vibe, but you, you’re…”

“Asexual.”

“No, just safe, non-threatening.”

“Asexual.”

Peyton rubbed her temple. “Comfortable.”

“Like an old, smelly shoe.”

“Jake, please, do you really want to come across as dangerous? Women don’t like dangerous.”

“I wouldn’t mind mildly threatening.”

Peyton covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. She didn’t know what to tell him.

“I’m vanilla, aren’t I?”

Peyton’s brows rose. “Vanilla? There’s nothing wrong with vanilla. It’s everyone’s favorite flavor.”

“No, it isn’t. It’s the safe flavor they go to when they’re afraid to try something daring.”

“What flavor do you want to be?”

Jake thought a moment, then he picked up his coffee cup and punctuated his words with it. “Rocky road.”

“Rocky road?”

“Yep, I wanna be rocky road.”

Peyton started to answer, but her phone rang. The captain’s name flashed across the screen. She snatched it up and thumbed it on, pressing it to her ear. “Captain?”

“Brooks, where are you?”

“Home.”

“Good. Ballistics came back with the report.”

Peyton felt her mouth go dry. Jake straightened across from her, giving her a worried look. “And?”

“His gun was clean.”

Peyton closed her eyes and released her held breath. She’d never really doubted him, but the threat of it had kept her on edge for days now.

“Brooks?”

“I’m here,” she said, giving Jake a nod.

He also released his breath.

“Is Jake with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Take him over to Junior Walker’s house this morning. I’ve cleared you to search the house for evidence.”

“Okay.”

“Tell Marco to stay back still, okay?”

“I will.”

“Ballistics will deliver his gun today. I’ll release it to you.”

“I’ll tell him.”

“Call me if you find anything at Walker’s house.”

“I will, Captain.”

“Brooks?”

“Yes.”

“Be careful. You better keep a weather-eye out, you hear me?”

“Yes, Captain, I will.”

Defino hung up without saying goodbye. Peyton put her head down on her arms and let the tension seep from her shoulders.

“You knew he didn’t do it, Peyton.”

“I know. I was just so scared.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

“Defino wants us to search Junior Walker’s house this morning.”

“For what?”

“A Clean-up Crew card.”

“Okay. Let me grab my bag.”

She nodded and reached for the phone again, pressing the icon for Marco’s number. “Jake,” she called over her shoulder as she put the phone to her ear.

He leaned back around the corner of the kitchen. “Yep?”

“Vanilla never waited for a ballistics report to clear him for duty. Vanilla is always steady and dependable.”

He smiled at her and disappeared from view.

*    *    *

Peyton pulled the Corolla to a stop in front of Junior Walker’s house in the Sunset. The last time she’d been here, they’d helped Maria move her things out and Marco had threatened Junior’s life. The time before that, Junior had gotten the drop on her and nearly put her in the hospital. She couldn’t lie – she wasn’t sad he was dead.

Still, they had a job to do.

She shifted in the seat and gave Jake a pointed look, but Jake was searching the side-view mirror.

“Is that what Defino considers inconspicuous?”

Peyton glanced behind her and saw the sleek midnight blue Mustang pull up in back of them. The windows were tinted so dark she couldn’t see inside, but she knew it was Marco. “I think she was going for anything that wasn’t the Charger.”

“Just what I was saying earlier. I get a gay pride float and he gets a freakin’ sex machine on wheels.”

“A sex machine on wheels?”

“I’m spit balling here.”

“What sort of sex do they have in the Midwest?”

Jake leaned his head back against the head-rest. “What’s with all this Midwest hate all of a sudden?”

“You just keep saying such odd things lately.”

“Are we going in or do I have to sit here and take more abuse?”

“We’re supposed to wait for a uniform.”

“Then turn on the radio.”

Peyton pressed the button and a local talk show came on the air. They were discussing San Francisco’s earthquake preparedness.

“No music?”

“They don’t play country or western in the City.”

Jake gave her an aggravated look, but she laughed and punched him in the shoulder.

“I’m kidding. They do.”

Jake shook his head, fighting a smile. “You’re impossible.”

“I know.” Her expression grew serious as a patrol car pulled into the driveway. A young, blond woman got out, adjusting her gun in her holster. Peyton and Jake moved at the same time, opening their doors and climbing out.

Peyton approached her, taking her badge from her belt. “Inspector Peyton Brooks,” she said, holding out her other hand.

“Officer Erin Tate,” the young woman said, shaking Peyton’s hand. “Inspector, huh? How long you been on the force?”

“Almost nine years, eight as a detective.”

“Pay better?”

Peyton shrugged. “A little.” She motioned at Jake. “This is our CSI, Jake Ryder.”

The two of them shook hands. Peyton shot a glance at the Mustang. “Full disclosure – my partner’s in the Mustang over there. He’s sort of laying low.”

Officer Tate displayed her training by simply nodding and not asking a lot of questions. “Let me show you in.”

They mounted the stairs, ducking under the crime tape, and Officer Tate pulled out a key to unlock the padlock the police had put over the doorknob to preserve the scene. Jake handed Peyton a pair of gloves on the landing and she pulled them on. She marked that Officer Tate did the same.

They stepped into the dark entryway. Peyton felt the hair on the back of her neck rise, but whether it was the memory of her time here or the eerie quiet, she wasn’t sure. Jake reached over and flicked on the light.

The first thing Peyton saw was the blood stain before the recliner where Junior Walker had sat the second time they came here. Congealed brain matter and bits of bone could been seen swimming in the mix.

Peyton grimaced and looked away.

“We went over this scene pretty carefully. What exactly are we looking for?” asked Officer Tate.

“A business card,” said Peyton.

“White with red letters,” added Jake.

Peyton glanced at the officer. “Says Clean-up Crew on it.”

Officer Tate’s mouth dropped open.

Peyton gave her a nod. “Yep.”

“The serial killer?”

“That’s the one.” She glanced toward the back of the house. She remembered the bedroom and the bathroom had been through the kitchen. “Let’s split up, so we can get this done faster. This place is making my skin crawl.”

“If you find anything, give a shout and I’ll come,” said Jake.

Officer Tate nodded. “Any idea where it might be?”

“That’s the problem,” said Peyton. “I’ll take the bedroom, Jake will cover the living room, and you search the kitchen.”

They dispersed to their various locations. Peyton figured the card was probably in the living room, where the body had been, but surely someone would have found it. Clearly Officer Tate knew of the Janitor. So would any other cop responding to a shooting. Still, it bothered her that the Janitor was deviating from form. Usually the cards were found on the bodies themselves. Serial killers were rigid in the methods they employed. She didn’t remember one going off the grid. If so, it would make this one a hell of a lot harder to catch, especially if it was someone on the police force.

She searched all the visible surfaces in the bedroom, then looked under the bedding and crawled around on the floor, scanning beneath the furniture. She tried to ignore the pile of dirty clothes in the corner, but eventually she knew she’d have to search it. After garnering enough courage to handle Junior’s skivvies, she quickly searched through the clothes, even going through the pockets on his jeans and shirts.

Leaving the bedroom, she peeked into the kitchen. Officer Tate was on her hands and knees, going through the cabinets and drawers. Peyton was pleased to see how thorough she was. Turning down the hallway, she went to the bathroom and again took it apart methodically, even dumping out the trash can and going through his garbage.

Leaving the bathroom, she headed toward the kitchen again, but her phone suddenly rang, causing her to nearly leap out of her skin. She thumbed it on. “Brooks.”

“Find anything,” came Marco’s voice.

“Nothing,” she answered, moving into the kitchen. Officer Tate glanced over at her and went back to her search. “I’d have thought it’d be by the body.”

“That’s where they’ve all been. Shit, could I be wrong?”

Peyton sighed in frustration. “Maybe. I don’t know. But you’re right. Every single card has actually been on the body.”

“Except…” said Marco, his voice faltering.

Peyton’s head lifted. “Except the security guard.” Peyton whirled around and spotted a door in the back corner of the kitchen by the stove.

“He sent that one to Ryder through…”

“…the mail,” She went to the door and unlocked it, pulling it open. “I’ll call you back.”

“Be careful,” he warned.

“I will.” She leaned in, locating the light switch and turned it on. It revealed a long row of stairs going downward. Drawing her gun, she tried to see to the bottom. “Jake?”

He appeared at her side a moment later. “What’s going on?”

“Where were the Clean-up Crew cards always found?”

“On the bodies.”

“Except.”

“Except?” Jake frowned, then his face cleared. “The security guard on Alcatraz. I got that one in the mail.”

“Precisely.” She glanced over her shoulder at Officer Tate. “Please wait here and keep an eye on the front door.”

“Will do,” she said, backing up.

“Stay close to me and don’t do anything unless I tell you to, okay?” she told Jake.

Jake’s expression grew alarmed. “What do you think is down there?”

“A creepy staircase in a dead guy’s house leading down into the dark. It could be anything.”

“Like what?”

“Body parts in freezers, women chained up behind padlocked doors…”

Jake swallowed.

“Vampires.”

“Vampires? Peyton!”

“Zombies…werewolves…” She stepped through the door and they started to go down. “Aliens.”

Jake followed right on her heels.

“Deranged mothers holding butcher knives.”

The stairs ended on a landing and so did the light. Peyton ran her hand along the wall, feeling for the switch, keeping her gun pressed to her thigh. She could sense a large open space directly below them and she could hear Jake’s anxious breathing behind her.

Just as she located the switch, Jake let out a squawk and grabbed her shoulder, bumping into her. Her heart slammed into her ribs and she threw on the light, lifting her gun. A row of fluorescent tubing came on, revealing a single car garage, a work bench and a number of tools stashed in cardboard boxes. A beat-up old Ford Escort sat in the middle of the room, its paint oxidized from the ocean air.

She glanced over her shoulder at Jake. He straightened, adjusting his evidence bag and smoothing down his shirt. Peyton couldn’t help but smile.

“Something get you?”

He ran a hand across his hair and pulled away cobwebs. “I felt something on my face.”

“Ooh, spider webs.”

He shuddered. “No, spider. Biggest freakin’ monster you’ve ever seen.”

“Right.”

“I think he tried to take my ear off.”

“Sure he did. What? No big, scary bugs in the Midwest?”

“Can we get this over with? It’s your fault with all your vampires and mothers with butcher knives talk.”

“And ghosts?” Her eyes lit up as she replaced her gun. “I’ll bet it wasn’t a spider. I’ll bet it was a ghost and…” She gave him a once-over. “Now you’re possessed.”

He pushed past her down the remaining few stairs into the garage. Just as his foot met the garage floor, something streaked past him, racing for the workbench. He threw himself back against the wall, his evidence case sliding off his shoulder.

Peyton burst into laughter.

“All right!” he said, straightening again.

Peyton couldn’t stop laughing and took a seat on the stairs. “Oh, God, Marco’s gonna love this,” she gasped out.

“All right, I said.”

“What’d you think it was?”

He pressed his lips back against his teeth. “I know what it was. A rat as big as Pickles.”

“And what was it going to do?”

He picked up the evidence bag. “Give us rabies.”

Peyton laughed so hard, tears filled her eyes.

Jake moved toward the garage door where daylight showed around the mail-slot. Someone had affixed a cardboard box beneath the slot to catch the mail so it wouldn’t fall on the garage floor. Jake drew a deep breath, then reached inside, pulling out a stack of envelopes and catalogues.

Peyton pushed herself to her feet and walked over to him as he sorted, dropping the letters back into the box after he looked at them.

“I don’t think it’s here,” he said as he neared the bottom of the pile, but just as he lifted a catalogue for karate clothing, something slipped free and floated down to the garage floor.

Peyton and Jake went still, staring at it. The red lettering was unmistakable, glaring up at them from the concrete. Suddenly Peyton’s phone rang, making both of them jump. Jake dropped the rest of the mail as Peyton grabbed his arm.

Pressing a hand over his heart, Jake nodded at her pocket. “Answer it, for God’s sake.”

She fumbled to pull it out, watching him hunker down and begin gathering the loose mail. “Brooks,” she gasped into the line.

“Are you okay?” came Marco’s voice.

“Except for the heart attack you just gave us, yeah.”

“What’d you find?”

She watched as Jake uncovered the card again, her heart sinking. “It’s here, Marco. The card is here in the mailbox.” She closed her eyes and leaned against the garage door. “Which confirms it. The Janitor is someone in our precinct.”

CHAPTER 6

“And I will dwell in the Houz of the Lord forever,” said Jake, turning the shot glass over and placing it down on the coffee table.

Marco closed his eyes, laying his head back on the couch. Peyton sat curled up in the recliner, her arms wrapped around her knees. Pickles stretched on Jake’s lap and rolled over, going back to sleep.

“What timez it?” Jake asked. He was a little dismayed his words slurred when he spoke.

Peyton glanced toward the kitchen. “Nearly 1:00AM.”

Marco opened his eyes and rolled his head along the cushions. “Tell me again what Defino said. Why didn’t they go through the mail when they found his body?”

Jake noticed Marco wasn’t slurring, but his eyes were heavy.

Peyton pressed a hand to her forehead. “She called in a bunch of favors to get us the case and after they removed the body and bagged the evidence directly around him, they shut up the house.”

Marco nodded.

“Who do you…” Jake licked his lips, hoping that would help him form words. “Who do you think it iz?”

“Who what is?” asked Peyton.

“The Janitor.”

“I don’t know. I mentally tried to go over everyone in the precinct, but I just can’t see any of them being a serial killer. It could be anyone.”

“I vote for Adoniz here,” said Jake, then laughed.

Marco glared at him. “I vote for you.”

“Me?” He placed his hand in the middle of his chest. “Come on.”

Marco looked away. “Yeah, that’s nuts.”

“I’ll bet it’z Stan,” said Jake.

Peyton gave him an annoyed shake of her head, but Marco shifted and pinned her with a stare. She glanced at him. “It’s not Stan.”

“How do you know? He’s obsessed with you.”

“He’s not obsessed with me.”

“How can you say that? I saw him sniff your hair once.”

“I saw that too,” said Jake, then he laughed again. “It wuz creepy.”

“Shut up,” she hissed at him. “You’re drunk.”

“We’re all drunk.”

She ignored him and turned back to Marco. “It’s not Stan. He has a crush on me, but that’s all. He’d never do something like this.” She gave a shudder.

“If he thought it was the only way to win you over?”

“Really, Marco? Become a serial killer? It’s just a crush.”

“The hell it is,” he grumbled.

Jake tilted his head at him. “Be careful,” he said.

Marco visibly checked himself.

Peyton narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

Jake opened his mouth, but his brain was too clouded by Jack Daniels to think quickly.

“He’s drunk,” said Marco.

“We’re all drunk,” repeated Jake.

Peyton studied both of them, but Jake refused to meet her eyes. “Fine,” she said, climbing to her feet. “I’m going to bed.”

She started for the hallway, but the slamming of a car door outside the house brought her back around. The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. Marco was across the room and reaching for the gun in his jacket, while Peyton hurried to the peg by the front door and drew hers.

Jake gathered Pickles and shifted on the couch, watching the entryway.

The sound of footsteps on the stairs filtered through the locked door. Peyton backed up, putting the couch between her and the door and Marco stepped away from the windows. Jake felt like his heart was going to pound out of his throat.

A moment later a key went into the lock.

“It’z Maria,” said Jake, his voice breaking with tension.

Peyton and Marco lowered their weapons, both of them exhaling in relief. Maria appeared in the doorway and reached in to turn on the light. Behind her was Nathan Cho. The two of them took in the scene, then Cho pulled Maria back beside him, blocking her with his body.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

Peyton shook her head, going to the door and closing it behind them, then she put her gun back in the holster. “I didn’t think you were coming home,” she told Maria.

Maria gave her a critical look. “Are you drunk?”

“No.”

She shifted and surveyed the scene, taking in the Jack Daniel’s bottle and the shot glasses. “Are you all drunk?”

Marco moved then to put his gun away.

“Were you going to shoot us?” An edge of panic crept into Maria’s voice.

Cho put a hand on her shoulder. “Is something wrong?”

Marco and Peyton exchanged a look. “It’s late and you startled us.”

“The hell,” said Cho. “What the hell did you think was coming through that door? Obviously you weren’t expecting us.”

Peyton looked at Marco again. He shrugged and settled into Peyton’s recliner.

“Sit down, Nate,” she said, pointing to the couch. “We need to talk.”

He did as she asked, and Maria perched on the arm beside him. “Give me a shot,” Maria told Jake. “I need something after that craziness.”

He released Pickles and grabbed a shot glass, filling it and passing it to her. She downed it in one swallow. Cho gave her an appreciative look, then focused on Peyton. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“If I do, it can’t leave this room.”

“Does this have to do with work?”

“Yes.”

“And you don’t want me to tell Bill?”

Cho and Simons had been partners longer than Peyton and Marco. Jake figured they probably told each other everything. There were few relationships as close as two long-time partners, especially when your very life depended on that other person.

“You can’t say anything to Bill until we clear it with Defino,” said Marco.

“Are you reinstated now?” he asked.

“Not exactly.”

“What exactly?”

“He’s undercover, sort of. That’s why he’s staying here.”

Cho shook his head. “This isn’t making sense.”

“Want some Jack Daniels?” asked Jake.

Cho glared at him. Actually, Marco glared at him too, but that happened all the time.

Peyton hit him in the shoulder. “Why don’t you go to bed?”

“Because people are sitting on my bed.”

She dismissed him. He realized she did that a lot. “Nate, we think the Janitor is someone in the precinct.”

He went still. Jake had always been a little afraid of Cho. There was something quick and deadly about the man, but Jake especially hated it when he went still. Sure, Marco made two of him, physically, but he was mostly bluster. Nate Cho was not a cop anyone should tangle with.

“Come again.”

Peyton drew a deep breath, then launched into their theory, giving Cho all of the circumstantial evidence they had, until she came to the coup de grace – the Clean-up Crew card in Junior Walker’s mailbox.

Cho slumped back against the couch. “I can’t believe that.”

“That’s what I keep saying.”

Maria poured him a shot and handed it to him. He took it without looking and tossed it back.

“How can this be?”

Peyton rolled her shoulders and rubbed the back of her neck. “I don’t know. Do you have any idea who it might be?”

Cho shook his head, staring at nothing. “I don’t. I can’t even get my head around it.”

“Then do you think we’re wrong?” she asked.

He looked over at Marco. “No, it makes sense, but then again, it just doesn’t. How could it be someone in our precinct? Who would do something like this?”

Jake started to answer, but Peyton kicked him in the calf. He clamped his mouth shut again. Fine, but it’s always the quiet ones, he thought to himself.

“I think we should get some sleep,” said Marco. “None of us is going to be any good tomorrow. We need to come at it with fresh minds.”

Sober wouldn’t hurt either.

“So, you moving in?” Jake asked Cho.

“What?”

“You’re staying tonight, right?”

He glanced at Maria and she nodded.

“Yeah.”

“Good, ‘cause we got a bathtub just going wanting.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Preacher?”

“Bathtub, you know? To sleep in? Abe’z got dibs on the counter.”

Cho gave Peyton a bewildered look. She shook her head as if to say Jake ought to be ignored.

“Idiot,” hissed Marco.

“Cop,” Jake hissed back, sticking out his tongue. Good lord, was he ever drunk.

*    *   *

Peyton came around the corner of the kitchen and found Jake at the stove making pancakes. Jake always made pancakes when they went on a bender. She grabbed the coffee pot and poured herself a cup, then held the aspirin over his shoulder.

He took it without speaking and popped it open, swallowing two and placing it back on the counter, then he went back to flipping. Peyton noticed he had a mountain of pancakes already prepared. She guessed that made sense because she seemed to be running a bed and breakfast now.

Marco appeared at the counter, climbing onto the stool, and Pickles came into the kitchen giving Peyton a sad look, then he looked at his food bowl. Peyton poured Marco a cup of coffee and passed it to him with the bottle of aspirin. He was showered and shaved, but his eyes were a bit blood-shot. Still he made a pleasant sight in the morning with his Patrician good looks. She could get used to having him here.

Forcing that thought away, she went to the cabinet and pulled out Pickles’ food, filling his bowl.

“Any reason he has to come into the bathroom with me?” asked Marco, taking a sip.

“He’s alone in the house most of the day,” she answered.

“Must be nice,” grumbled Jake.

“He just wants company,” Peyton finished.

Jake glanced over his shoulder. “I don’t have free roaming chicken eggs or anything, Adonis, but there’s no animal flesh in these.” He motioned for Peyton to grab the dish of pancakes.

“It’s fine,” Marco said, opening the aspirin and popping three in his mouth.

Peyton gathered everything they needed for the pancakes and placed it on the counter, then took a seat by Marco. She passed out the plates and offered him a fork. He gave her a tired smile as he took it.

Jake turned off the stove, then poured himself more coffee, coming to take a seat on her other side. As they fixed their plates, he sipped his coffee and braced his head on his hand. “I’m a little unclear about last night. Did I accuse Stan Neumann of being a serial killer?”

Peyton took a bite of pancake and chewed, nodding her head. Yep, syrup was the thing to fix a hangover.

“Repeatedly,” said Marco, pouring syrup.

“You know I don’t think that, right?”

Marco used the side of his fork to cut the pancake. “I think everyone needs to be looked at, so I wouldn’t worry about it.”

Peyton gave him a frown. “Stan, Marco?”

Marco met her look. “If the serial killer is killing to impress you, Stan rides right to the top of my list. I wish you’d break your date with him.”

Jake sputtered on his coffee and began coughing.

Peyton patted his back. “Are you okay?”

He blinked his watering eyes. “Yeah.”

“What happened?”

“Tried to swallow and breathe. You have a date with Stan?” He looked so bewildered.

“It’s just dinner.”

“When?”

“The Friday before my birthday.”

Jake leaned forward so he could see Marco. Marco returned the look.

Peyton sat back. Okay, this was odd. “What’s going on?”

“Do you have to go on this date right now? With everything that’s happening?” asked Marco.

“How do I say no? I told him I’d go with him. He’d be crushed.”

“So you admit he’s obsessed with you?”

Peyton shook her head, her damp curls brushing against the sides of her face. “He’s not obsessed.”

Marco leaned back with a sigh of frustration.

“I think he’s right, Peyton. I wish you’d cancel too.”

“You just said you didn’t think he was the serial killer.”

“I know, but with the serial killer running around, it might not be a good idea to do something as public as a date.”

“Abe is planning to go out the next night for my birthday. Are you saying I should just stay indoors and go nowhere? For how long, Jake?”

“When you go out with Abe, Adonis will be there too.”

“I’ll be there if she goes out with Stan,” Marco growled, grabbing his coffee cup and going around the counter to refill it.

“Yeah, that won’t be awkward at all,” said Jake wryly.

Peyton reached for her fork again. “You’re both pissing me off right now. Let’s drop it. I’m hung-over and I don’t need to start the day in a bitchy mood.”

“Oh my God, Brooks,” came Maria’s voice behind her. “You aren’t really wearing that shirt today. It looks like something you borrowed off a homeless woman.”

Peyton bit her lip and closed her eyes.

*    *    *

Jake settled his evidence case beside his desk, closing one eye as the motion made his temple throb. Sinking into his desk chair, he braced his head with his hands and tried to still the nausea rising inside him. God almighty, he had to stop doing the ritual with Marco and Peyton.

She hadn’t fared much better, but Marco didn’t seem to be as hung-over as the two of them. Jake tried to remember if he’d seen Marco take as many shots as they had, but his head was too fuzzy to formulate a coherent thought.

Peyton came around the side of his cubicle. “Defino wants to know if you sent the business card in to be processed for DNA.”

“I sent it off yesterday afternoon as soon as we came back.” He squinted up at her. “Do you have any more aspirin?”

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a bottle, tossing it at him. Of course, he wasn’t ready for it and it hit him in the chest, landing on his desk.

“Thanks,” he said, giving her an aggravated look.

“Sorry. I’m just pissed at both of you.” She leaned closer to him. “Don’t go saying anything to anyone about Stan, all right?”

“Fine. That can be Adonis’ problem. So what’s he do all day while you’re here?”

“He’s going back to our place and sleep. I’m to call him if I leave the precinct and give him time to get here.” She shook herself in annoyance. “This is so not working for me.”

“Really? ‘Cause I figured we could probably put up a tent in the driveway if you want to have Simons or Holmes join us.”

“Take more aspirin,” she said, glaring at him. “You’re bitchy too.”

She turned away and started to walk back to her desk.

“Peyton?”

She stopped and turned slowly around.

“That blouse is a much better choice with those jeans.”

She stuck her tongue out at him and walked away.

Jake leaned across his desk to grab a water bottle he’d left there, groaning in misery, then he reached for the aspirin. His hand hovered over the top of bottle, his eyes catching on the red envelope sticking out of a cubby in his desk hutch.

He swiveled his chair around, glancing behind him, but no one was in sight. He started to reach for the envelope, but something stopped him. Bending over, he grabbed the evidence case, pulling it to him and reaching into the front slot for a pair of latex gloves.

He realized his hands were trembling as he pulled them on, but whether it was detox tremors from too much alcohol or nerves, he wasn’t sure. As soon as he had them on, he carefully pulled the envelope free. It had been stuffed between some files he kept on his desk of past cases.

The red of the envelope was exactly the same as the red lettering on the Clean-up Crew cards. Across the front was Jake in scrawling black ink. He turned the envelope over and looked at the back. It was a regular letter sized envelope, but it had been stuffed full with paper, the closing flap not quite meeting where it should.

Using the edge of a pen, he tore the envelope open. White, lined binder paper peeked out of the opening. Jake glanced around again, feeling the hair on the back of his neck rise. Picking up the envelope, he shook the paper onto his desk blotter, then searched the inside of the envelope for any shred of evidence – hair, flecks of blood, fingerprints – anything that might be used for identification. Nothing met the naked eye.

Drawing a deep breath, he reached for the aspirin and shook three into his palm, swallowing them with a sip of water, then he picked up the papers. He half expected something to fall out of the thick pile, but as he unfolded it, he spread them out and counted – ten pages full of handwritten, scrawling script.

His mouth was dry, so he took another sip of water. A cold sweat peppered along his forehead and he pressed his hand against it to ease the pounding in his temples. He knew he should get up right away and take this to Peyton or Defino, but he was captivated by the opening line.

I met her the winter she turned nine.

Dropping the papers, Jake searched through his desk, opening every drawer, rifling through every piece of paper. How had he missed this envelope? Were there more? Maybe he had an entire collection of them and he’d never known it. And how had it gotten here? Someone had placed it on his desk, someone had carried it in here and made sure it was out of sight, but right where Jake would have to see it.

When his search turned up nothing, he drew a deep breath and picked up the pile of paper again, covering his mouth with his hand. As soon as he read it, he’d take it to Defino, but she’d probably want to know why he hadn’t investigated it before bringing it to her, right? Secure in his justification, he leaned back in his chair and started reading again.

I met her the winter she turned nine. She and her parents moved into the house next door, right around Thanksgiving. My mother was big on being neighborly, so we had to take them a cake, chocolate with a cherry in the middle of it.

Her parents called her Missy. Actually, it started as Lil’ Miss, then just became Missy. It would be decades before I knew her given name. She had an older brother. He was more my age, 11 in the fall like me. In fact, our birthdays were about two weeks apart.

While my mother made coffee with Missy’s mother, I was told to go play video games with her brother. His name was Clayton and he wasn’t thrilled with meeting me. Later on I found out he was resentful of the move. They left L.A., hoping to give their kids a better life in suburbia, but suburbia was just not Clayton’s style.

Missy snuck into the family room where we were playing some racing game. Even at nine there was something about her. She had an inner light, a spark that you couldn’t deny. Sure, she was all knobby knees and elbows then, but her eyes, Lord, already she had the wisdom of the world in her eyes.

Our mothers cut us pieces of cake. You should have seen the way Missy could devour chocolate, as if there was nothing more wonderful. That was the second thing I admired about her – she could eat us boys under the table, but she was thin as a whip. She never said a word to me that first day. In fact, as my mother and I walked home, I was worried she couldn’t speak. Lord, was I wrong!

I didn’t see Missy through Christmas and winter break, but I’d sometimes see her brother out kicking a soccer ball in their front yard. My mother encouraged me to go and play with him, but whenever I ventured onto our porch, he’d glare at me, so I gave up on ever making him a friend.

When school started again, I saw Missy and Clayton in the cafeteria for lunch. They always ate together and no one else sat with them. I just assumed it was because they were new. When you go to school with the same people all your life, anyone new is grounds for ostracism.

The first time I heard Missy talk was in the principal’s office. I got sent there because I punched Tyler Harris in the throat when he took our ball at recess. I had a tendency to get into scrapes. The principal, an older woman named Mrs. Nancy, figured it was because I didn’t have a father figure in my life. Actually, it was because Tyler Harris was a giant tool, but I digress.

The secretary told me to take a seat and shut up. She knew me by name and I guess, reputation. I always sat in the same blue plastic chair closest to the window so I could watch the kids at recess, but this time Missy occupied it.

I sat down next to her. Her cheeks had tear streaks and her nose was running. I told her to wipe her nose on her sweater and asked her what happened.

The secretary snapped at me to shut up, but the phone rang, so she had to answer it. While she was occupied, I urged Missy to tell me what was wrong.

Apparently, her teacher (one of these New Method broads) was having them group colored blocks into as many different sets as they could and then guess how many they thought there were based on the number of sets. Missy dared to question why they couldn’t just break everything into sets of equal number, then count the sets and multiply it by the number in the set.

The teacher wasn’t happy that Missy knew basic multiplication at 9. That was supposed to be what she covered during that year and Missy was showing her up. When she tried to explain why Missy needed to do the grouping and guessing crap, Missy rebelled, saying she wasn’t going to do unnecessary work. This did not fly, so the teacher sent her to the principal’s office to reflect on the error of her ways.

For me, it was a pivotal moment. First of all, I was stunned Missy could actually speak, but more than that, I was amazed that you could actually get in trouble for something other than fighting.

I didn’t understand it then, but I did years later. Missy was fighting for justice, for truth, and ultimately for logic. She was fighting for her rights, Me – all I ever fought for was a red, bouncing ball on the playground.

Missy’s mother and mine became friends. Missy’s mother was a dental hygienist, so she was home the same time as my mom. They sometimes had a glass of wine together in the evenings. Missy’s dad worked for the phone company as a lineman, so he worked odd times and was often on-call.

He agreed to become the assistant coach of our Little League team, so I spent much more time with him and Clayton. Gradually, Clayton and I became friends. Whenever Clayton’s father drove us to practice, he often had Missy with him. Most of the time when I saw Missy, she had a book in her hand, but even though she hardly ever talked to me, I discovered she had a devilish sense of humor. She loved to pull pranks on her brother, like fill his jockstrap with pudding or replace the shoelaces in his cleats with pink ones. While I verbally agreed with Clayton that she was the worst sister ever, I secretly admired her devious side.

That summer everything changed, though. Her father fell off a phone pole and died on impact. In one instant, Missy and Clayton’s life was altered forever, but I’ll save that part of it for another time.

Jake finished the last page in bewilderment. It just ended. He turned it over, searching the back, but the back was blank. Dropping the papers on his blotter, he scrubbed his hands across his face. What the hell was this? He expected a confession, a testimonial, or even a manifesto like Ted Kaczynski had written, not some nostalgic account of meeting a nine year old girl.

He gathered the papers and folded them, stuffing them back in the envelope. Good thing he had detectives sitting close at hand. He rose to his feet and moved toward the front of the precinct. His instinct was to bring it to Peyton, but he was worried he’d be missing some protocol that he should probably know.

“Hey, Maria,” he said, pausing by her desk.

She gave him a lift of her brows. “You need something?”

“I need to see the captain.” He realized his nervous energy had dissipated as he read the letter. Now he was simply confused.

Maria picked up the phone and punched in some numbers. “Yeah, Capitan, Ryder’s here to see you.” Jake could hear Defino’s voice through the door, telling her to send him in.

He walked to the door and pushed it open. Defino glanced up from her laptop. “This better be as important as a call from God, Ryder. I’m ass-deep in political bull shit right now.”

Jake held up the envelope. “Does a letter from the Janitor qualify?”

CHAPTER 7

Marco and Jake already had a booth when Defino and Peyton slid into it. Jake leaned forward, looking around the diner, while Defino shifted uncomfortably and reached for a napkin, wiping the table. She hadn’t been thrilled with taking this little circus on the road, but she’d agreed when Peyton suggested they might want to update Marco.

Peyton’s attention shifted to Jake. “What are you doing?”

“Seeing if you were followed.”

“We weren’t followed.”

Defino rolled her eyes. “This is so stupid. Why can’t we meet in my office?”

“You didn’t want the Janitor knowing Marco’s back on duty,” reasoned Peyton. “We’re trying to keep our theory under wraps.”

“But the two of you have been going around telling everyone your theory anyway, so what the hell difference does it make?”

“We just told Cho, Captain.”

Defino gave her an annoyed look. “And Abe and Maria and this clown.” She held her hand out indicating Jake. “And you really believe Cho hasn’t mentioned it to Simons? This was their case to start with.” Her voice trailed off as she became distracted by Jake as well. “What the hell are you doing?”

He’d turned completely around in his seat and was peering back toward the front entrance. Swinging around again, he leaned forward, dropping his voice. “See the blond, the blond to make a man forget he has a wife. The blond to make a man forget to die. She asked us what we wanted.”

“She’s a waitress,” said Peyton.

Defino waved him off. “So I read the letter you found. Why do you think it came from the Janitor?”

Jake narrowed his eyes dramatically. “The red envelope. Red is his color. Red is the color of the blood he spills. Red like the last beat of his victims’ hearts.”

Marco stared hard at the table, trying to hide a smile.

“What?” said Defino angrily.

“I entered the office this morning. Sure, I was feeling a little run-down, but I knew the public needed me to show up, to process the evidence like only I can process it.”

Defino’s mouth opened.

Peyton covered her eyes, biting her inner lip to keep from bursting into laughter.

“Did I have a headache? Yeah, but what man doesn’t when faced with the dregs of society, the very sewer that is mankind.”

Peyton and Marco began to snicker.

“I didn’t want to give in to my weakness, but I’m only a man, so I took three aspirin.”

“Oh, for God’s sakes, Ryder, knock it off,” snapped Defino, but as Peyton glanced at her, she noticed the corners of her mouth were tilting up. “I feel stupid enough as it is. Tell me how you know it’s the Janitor and…” She pointed a finger at him. “Don’t you dare go all Sam Spade on me again.”

Jake sighed in disappointment. “Seriously, it was the red envelope. It’s the same red as the font on the Clean-up Crew cards.”

“But it was some rambling story about a nine year old girl?”

“I know. I don’t get it.”

“And it was in your desk?”

“Yeah, slipped between two files. I wouldn’t have noticed it until I was sitting down.”

Defino looked between Peyton and Marco. “What do you make of it?”

Marco had his arms resting on the table, his hands clasped. He wore a baseball cap and a baggy sweatshirt. “I think it’s another piece of evidence to confirm he has access to the inner workings of the precinct, that he’s one of us.”

The blond waitress came over. “Are you ready to order?”

“Uh.” Defino reached for her menu.

“We need a few more minutes, please,” said Peyton and the waitress moved away.

“If that’s the case, and I’m beginning to think it is, I feel pretty certain Peyton should be on leave, so she isn’t an easy target for him.”

“How would I be a target at the precinct, Captain? It’s filled with cops.”

“And one of them might be a serial killer,” Defino reasoned.

“He hasn’t tried anything at the precinct. He isn’t going to deviate from pattern.”

“No, but maybe going on dates with him is a bad idea,” said Marco.

Peyton wanted to kick him, but Jake shifted and raised his brows, causing Marco to look down at the table.

“Wait. What are you talking about?” asked Defino.

“Nothing. I’m not going on a date with a serial killer.”

“Are you going on a date with someone in our department?”

“Stan Neumann.”

Defino’s eyes swung to Marco and fixed there.

Marco held out his hands as if to say, You see?

“Have you somehow ruled out Stan?” demanded Defino.

“Stan, Captain? Do you really think he could be a cold blooded murderer?”

“I think I have a bunch of dead guys in the morgue who would probably like us to figure this out sooner rather than later.”

“Well, technically, if they’re dead…” began Jake.

Peyton kicked him.

“Okay, smartass,” said Defino, “I have an entire city of people who would probably like us to figure this out.”

Jake rubbed his shin and glared at Peyton.

Peyton glared back at him, then she gave them both a quizzical look. “Wait. Why are the two of you sitting on the same side of the booth?”

Marco let out a heavy sigh. “Sam Spade here felt it would be better to have me on the inside, facing away from the door, so I’m more inconspicuous.”

She eyed the Giants’ baseball cap. “Is that his hat?”

“Yeah, I was just grateful it wasn’t a freakin’ fedora.”

“I have a London Fog raincoat at home. I used to wear it when I worked at the bank.” Jake’s eyes sparkled with mischief.

“You mean a flasher coat,” said Peyton wryly.

Defino shook her head in disbelief. “You do know we’re meeting in this stupid diner to talk about a serial killer, right?” She braced her head with a hand. “God, I really need to retire.”

The blond waitress appeared again. “Are you ready?”

“Oh shit,” said Defino.

Peyton grabbed the menu and flipped it open. “I’ll have…uh, the tuna melt.”

“On sour dough?”

“What else?” she answered with a smile.

The waitress turned to Jake, dismissing Peyton. “What do you want?”

“I’ll take your classic hamburger with fries.”

Peyton glanced down at the menu and saw a tall, frothy confection at the bottom. “Oh, and I’ll take a chocolate milkshake.”

“Yeah, me too,” said Jake.

Defino shook her head in disbelief.

“And I’m the one you suspended,” said Marco.

“What about you, blue eyes?” the waitress asked with a simper.

Jake gave Peyton an I told you so look.

“Just a coffee, black.”

Peyton glanced over the menu again. Yep, didn’t seem to be anything vegetarian there.

She waited for Defino.

“Just give me a bowl of your soup du jour.”

“Soup du what?”

“I can feel my blood pressure rising just sitting here.”

“Soup of the day,” said Peyton quickly.

“Oh, okay.” She wandered off again.

“Oh, yeah, she’s a woman to make you forget to grow old,” Defino said to Jake.

Peyton fought her smile.

“I’ve been thinking about the letter a lot, Captain,” he said, shifting the subject. “And I think the serial killer wants to make a connection. He wants to be caught. When I’ve researched other serial killers, they all have the same modus operandi.”

“M.O. would have been fine.”

“But less fun to say. Anyway, that letter is his way of connecting with someone.”

“But what does it have to do with the people he kills?”

“I don’t think we’ve gotten there yet. He’s trying to prolong the inevitable, so he’s gonna feed me the story a little at a time to keep us guessing.”

“Then maybe I’m not the recipient of this sick, little infatuation,” said Peyton. “Maybe you are.” Although that made her almost as uneasy. She’d be responsible too if Jake was his target.

“No, it’s you,” said Jake.

Marco nodded as well.

“He’s just connecting with me because I’m safe. I’m the only one of us not packing heat.”

“Carrying a gun would have been fine,” said Defino. “Is there anyone in the department who’s made strange overtures of friendship toward you, Jake?”

“Peyton, but…”

She tried to kick him, but he moved his leg away.

“Anyone else?”

“No. Cho barely tolerates me, Simons treats me like his personal service dog. Maria thinks I’m a douf.”

“She’s not the only one,” grumbled Marco.

“Except Stan. He does seem friendlier than the others.”

“We’re getting hung up on Stan,” answered Defino. “What about the street cops? Any of them try to talk to you? Make friends?”

Jake shook his head. “They’re worse than Cho. It’s like they can’t even see me.”

Shifting in the booth, Defino squinted at Peyton. “Look, Brooks, it’s Friday. Why don’t you take the weekend off?”

“What? I can’t do that, Captain. We need to go over that letter with a fine tooth comb.”

“We’ll have the lab do the combing, but here’s my thought. If you don’t come in, maybe he gets nervous and leaves us more evidence. Maybe he’ll try to make contact with Ryder again.”

“I’m working the weekend too?” Jake whined.

“No.” Defino was surprisingly good at talking through clenched teeth. “Let’s set up a surveillance camera on Jake’s desk. Maybe we’ll catch him.”

“He’s too smart to be caught by that, Captain. We have surveillance cameras on all the entrances and we don’t have any idea who it is.”

“If it’s someone in the precinct, how would we be able to tell? We’re all on surveillance when we enter and leave,” said Jake.

“If someone’s messing around your desk, that might be a start,” reasoned Defino.

“I think we need something bigger to flush him out,” said Peyton. “He’s gonna see us setting up the camera.”

“I’m listening then.”

“I don’t have it right now, but…”

“Well, take the weekend to figure it out. You can report to me on Monday with a list of ideas. I still want a camera on Jake’s desk, and maybe we’ll have something back on the letter by then. Maybe we’ll get lucky and he left a fingerprint or DNA.”

“I tell you he’s too careful for that,” said Peyton. “I’ll bet he wrote it in gloves.”

“What about a handwriting expert?” offered Jake.

“Good idea, Ryder. I’ll call one in for Monday.”

“Do I have to stay undercover?” complained Marco.

“At least through the weekend. He made contact while you were gone.” She gave him a critical look. “But can’t Abe help you find some better clothes?”

“Abe, Captain? He’ll have me wearing a speedo in hot pink.”

For the first time, Defino laughed.

*    *    *

Peyton slumped down on the couch across from Marco. “I don’t know what to do with a day off.”

“Let’s go for a run.”

She sighed. “I guess that’s a good idea.”

After she changed, they took her normal path and for the second time in the same week, they made it all the way to Golden Gate Park. It was later than the previous day and the sun was peeking through the fog, but it was still pleasant jogging beneath the trees, along the lush avenues that wound their way through the one and a half miles of greenery.

They stopped at Peasant Pies for a single serving fruit pie and ate it with a cup of coffee, sitting in the window seat so they could watch people walking past. Once they finished, neither of them seemed anxious to leave, so Peyton sipped at her coffee and let the traffic mesmerize her.

“I can’t imagine living in another city,” she said.

He nodded. “I’d like to see New York, but it’s the west coast for me.”

“New York would be fun. I’d like to go to D.C. too.” She braced her chin on her hand. “I can’t believe how few places I’ve been. This job is so all consuming, I don’t even know what to do with myself when I get a day off.”

“Well, New York is out, but is there anything in this city you haven’t done?”

She thought for a moment. “You’re gonna think this is crazy, but I’ve never been to the deYoung Museum.”

“Never?”

She shook her head.

He rose to his feet at once. “Let’s go home, grab a couple of showers, and go.”

“Really? You wouldn’t want to go someplace more exciting?”

“What’s more exciting than doing something you’ve never done before?”

“Okay,” said Peyton, pushing out her chair.

An hour later they were wandering the brightly lit halls of the museum, looking at the exhibits and studying the works of art. Peyton enjoyed reading the placards that explained about the art, since her experience with art was limited to what she’d learned in a mandatory art class in high school.

She liked the Renoirs and Cézannes, and she was particularly fond of the van Gogh they exhibited, but some of the more modern pieces escaped her. A swatch of red color splashed over a sea of black didn’t seem very hard to accomplish. She figured Pickles could knock over a bucket of paint about as well as this fellow did.

Taking a seat on a bench in front of it, she tilted her head. “I like the French guys, but I think maybe some of this modern art is beyond me.”

Marco chuckled, sitting down beside her. “That’s the beauty of art. It’s subjective. There’s no right or wrong answer. We react to it on an elemental level, a gut level. You can’t rationalize it or attack it with logic – it just is.”

Peyton glanced over at him. “That’s pretty deep, D’Angelo.”

He smiled. “I like art. I like that no two people see it the same way.” He nodded at the piece in front of them. “When I look at this, I see a statement about humanity. We’re all fumbling around in the dark, alone in a violent, angry world.”

Peyton looked back at it. “Hm. Sort of bleak.”

“Yeah, but that one.” He pointed at the one next to it. “The bright colors, the geometric patterns – that one is trying to make sense of a chaotic world, finding light and order in all the muddle.”

She studied him. She realized she hadn’t seen him this relaxed in a long time, probably as far back as Alcatraz.

He bumped her with his shoulder. “Full disclosure. If I had any inclination toward going to college, this is what I would have studied.”

“Art?”

“Art history.”

“Really?”

“Crazy, huh?”

“No, not at all.”

“Not sure how I would have paid the bills, but it would have been fun to study.”

“It’s not too late.”

He shrugged.

“How is it you can know someone for eight years and still learn something new about them?”

“That’s probably a good thing. Otherwise, people would get boring. So tell me something about you that I don’t know.”

She thought for a moment. “This is a little embarrassing, but I love to read romance novels.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. The really cheesy ones where the woman gets rescued by the guy on a white horse.”

“Whew! I thought you were gonna tell me you were into that Mommy porn stuff.”

“Oh God, no.” She gave a shudder. “Any man who tried to spank me would wind up on the receiving end.”

“I know. I heard about Junior Walker.”

She laughed. “It’s ridiculous, isn’t it?”

“Why?”

She shrugged, kicking her feet beneath the bench. “I’m fully capable of rescuing myself. I should definitely not enjoy anything that sexist.”

“How is it sexist?”

“That a woman can’t rescue herself, she needs a man.” She shook her head. “I’m embarrassed just thinking about it.”

He reached out and tucked a loose curl behind her ear. “Everyone needs to be rescued sometimes, Peyton.”

She slid closer to him and wrapped her arms around his bicep, laying her head on his shoulder. “I have to admit as days-off go, this one ranks right up there at the top.”

He laid his cheek against her head. “I agree.”

*    *    *

Jake went to the kitchen to retrieve two beers, but as he headed back toward the living room, the doorbell rang. Pickles set off barking, leaping down from the couch and running to the entryway. Jake looked to Marco for direction. Marco hoisted himself out of the recliner, moving toward the army cot where his gun lay, but Peyton appeared in the hallway.

“It’s Devan,” she said, crossing toward the front door.

Jake followed her with his eyes. She had her hair down and had discarded her Saturday sweats for a pair of jeans and a floral sleeveless blouse that showed off her toned arms. All day she’d puttered around the house, cleaning things and complaining that there was nothing to do, but now she appeared looking like she was meeting a date.

He moved toward the couch and held the beer out to Marco. Marco ignored it, watching her cross to the door.

Clearing his throat, Jake gave him a pointed look.

Marco grabbed the beer and threw himself down into the recliner, his jaw clenched.

Peyton scooped up the little dog and opened the door, stepping back so Devan could enter.

“Hey,” he said, then bent and kissed her cheek. He held a bottle of wine in one hand.

“I thought we were working,” she said, scratching Pickles’ ears.

“No reason we can’t have a glass of wine while we work. It’s from Napa.” He offered it to her, then noticed Marco and Jake. “Oh, I didn’t think anyone else would be here.”

“Join the club, buddy,” muttered Jake, shifting back around so he could see the television.

“D’Angelo,” Devan said.

“Adams.”

Devan moved to the end of the couch and held out his hand for Jake. “Ryder.”

Jake gave him a quick shake. “District Attorney.”

Peyton set Pickles down and walked into the kitchen. The little dog ran and leaped into Marco’s lap, settling down in a proprietary manner.

“Baseball, huh?” said Devan.

“Yep.”

“Giants?”

“Yep.”

“How they doing this year?”

Jake looked up at him.

He shifted uncomfortably. He wore a pair of black slacks and a polo shirt, but the shirt was tucked into the slacks.

“Holding their own.”

Devan nodded. “Don’t watch much baseball myself.”

Jake acknowledged that with a lift of his chin.

“I like tennis.”

“Tennis?”

“Yeah, went to Wimbledon once.”

“All the way to England, eh?”

“Yeah.”

“Wimbledon’s in London,” Jake told Marco in a slow, simple voice just to goad him.

Marco didn’t respond, just continued to stare daggers at Devan.

Peyton returned with two glasses of wine and passed one to the D.A. “Let’s work at the counter.”

“Sure. Well, enjoy the game.”

Devan followed her toward the kitchen. Jake shifted on the couch until he was at the farthest end, closest to the recliner. “Might have been less embarrassing if you had a pissing match right on Peyton’s floor.”

“Shut up, Ryder.”

“Fine. Stew in your own self-imposed misery.”

Marco looked at the television.

The rumble of Devan’s voice reached them, followed by Peyton’s laugh.

Marco glanced over. “What the hell is he doing here anyway?”

Jake kept his eyes glued to the television. “He’s going over her testimony for the O’Shannahan trial.”

Peyton laughed again.

“Trial or comedy act?”

Jake frowned at him. “Comedy act?”

“What’s so damn funny?” He placed his hand on Pickles’ head and stroked him, rather hard.

“Don’t break her dog. That won’t earn you any points.”

Marco gentled his touch. “I don’t need points.”

“You need something.”

“If he’s going over her testimony, why do they need wine?”

“You could ask them.”

“I’m not asking them.”

“Then you could sit here and growl about it all night.” Jake leaned on the arm of the couch. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but aren’t you two only work partners? Isn’t that what you told me?”

“Do you have to be an ass?”

“I’m not the one sitting over here stewing.”

“I’m not stewing.”

“No, you’re about to explode. That ought to be entertaining. How are you going to explain getting so worked up over another man?”

“He’s supposed to be engaged.”

“Well, obviously, he’s uncertain about it.”

“What kind of man does that? He tossed her away, then he gets engaged to another woman, but here he is again, sniffing around.”

Jake took a sip of his beer. “What exactly did you think would happen, Adonis? Did you think no other man would find her attractive?”

Marco’s gaze lowered to him. “What does that mean, Ryder?”

“Look, I’m still not over my wife, but I’m not gonna lie to you, if I thought I had a chance in hell, I’d be bringing her wine too. Problem is she sees me as her brother and that ain’t never gonna change, but if you think I’m the only man who sees how great she is, you’re a freakin’ idiot.”

Marco’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not helping right now.”

“I’m telling you the truth. She’s smart and funny and…”

“I don’t think you better finish that and.”

“All I’m saying is someone’s gonna come along and see exactly what she is, and then it’ll be too late.”

“Someone like him?”

“She’s not gonna be a fool for him again. And you don’t have to worry about Stan either, but if this bothers you, what are you going to do when it’s someone who is willing to take a chance and isn’t afraid to tell her what he feels?”

Marco moved suddenly, setting the beer on the table and depositing Pickles next to Jake.

“Adonis?”

“I need some air,” he said and walked to the front door, yanking it open.

Peyton swiveled around on the barstool and gave Jake a questioning look.

“He’s gotta make a call,” he said, then went back to watching his game.

*    *    *

After Marco walked out the front door, Peyton figured they should probably get down to business. She pushed the wine away. “So what’s first?”

“The first and most important thing is to not let O’Shannahan rattle your cage. He’s gonna try that, and let me tell you, rattling cages is in Elizabeth Brown’s wheelhouse.”

“When does the trial start?”

“It starts Monday. You’re first on my list to call.”

“Okay.”

“Elizabeth Brown will try to discredit you. She’s gonna bring up everything you’ve ever done. You need to be on your toes because she’ll probably ask you some of the same questions that came up at Claire Harper’s trial.

“Like what?”

“Like about how Jake and now Maria are living here.”

“What does that have to do with O’Shannahan?”

“It shows that you have a weakness when it comes to victims of crime. And she’s gonna bring up Ravensong.”

“Why?”

“Because you insisted on pursuing the case when you had a viable suspect in him. She’s gonna ask you if anything happened between the two of you.”

“What?”

“We know you visited him without his lawyer at the rehab facility.”

Peyton didn’t think it was a good idea to mention she’d also spent the night. “Nothing happened between us.”

“Are you sure?”

Peyton looked away, reaching for her wine glass.

“Peyton?”

She exhaled. “He kissed me.”

Devan closed his eyes.

“It was after the case was over, and it was just a kiss.”

“Wasn’t he living with someone?”

“Yeah, but the kiss didn’t mean anything.”

“Really?”

“Well, it was mostly gratitude.”

“So there was no sexual tension between you?”

Peyton didn’t know how to answer that.

“Peyton?”

“He isn’t going to be there, is he?”

“I don’t think so. I think he’s on tour or something, but what if he is? Is this a problem for us?”

“No. Kristin O’Shannahan killed Teresa Ravensong and confessed to the murder. There’s no disputing that. Then O’Shannahan helped her destroy the evidence.”

“This isn’t Kristin O’Shannahan’s trial. This is Jedediah O’Shannahan, puppet master extraordinaire. And ranking right behind him is Elizabeth Brown.”

“Then maybe you should have Marco testify.”

“Marco doesn’t testify well.”

“How so?”

“Really, Peyton?” he said, glancing over his shoulder. “Have you ever talked with Marco?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m just saying…” He paused, reaching for his wine. He drained the glass.

“What are you saying?”

“He’s not exactly the most loquacious man.”

“Loquacious?”

“Talkative.”

“I know what it means.” She could feel irritation feather along her skin. “He testifies just fine.”

“Why do you think I rely on you?”

“I don’t know, since apparently you don’t trust me.”

“Please don’t be offended, but Marco isn’t exactly the brains in this partnership.”

“That’s low, even for you, Devan.”

“I’m just telling you the truth. I’m not saying he isn’t good at what he does, but what he does is…”

Peyton rose to her feet. “Is what?”

“Don’t make me say it.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Oh, I really think I want to hear it.”

“He’s the muscle, Peyton. That’s what he is.”

Peyton pointed to the door. “Get out.”

“What? Peyton, come on.”

“No. Get out.”

Jake shifted on the couch, looking over at them. At the same time, the door opened and Marco appeared in the entrance. Devan shot a glance at him, then focused on Peyton.

“I didn’t mean for you to get offended. I was just being honest. You gotta admit I have a point, Peyton.”

“I think you’re an uptight ass, Devan, and I want you to leave.”

“Peyton, please.”

“She better not have to tell you again,” said Marco in that low, dangerous tone of his.

Devan rose to his feet. “This is why we would never have worked.”

Peyton shook her head. “What the hell does that mean?”

Devan gave a grim laugh. “Really? You really don’t know what I mean?”

“No, but here’s the thing, Devan. You think you’re so freakin’ smart, but you don’t get it. You play with people, you manipulate them. You accuse O’Shannahan and Elizabeth Brown of being puppet masters, but you’re one yourself.”

“I still need you to testify.”

“And I will. At least I know my job.”

He sighed and turned away, walking toward the door. He had to squeeze past Marco to get out. Once he was gone, Marco shut and locked the door.

“You okay?” asked Jake.

Marco met her gaze.

She drew a deep breath and released it. Was she okay? Hell, yes. Throwing Devan out had finally released her from that last bit of hope she had that they might have been something good together.

She walked to the counter and poured herself another glass of wine. “I’m just fine,” she told him. “Want some wine? It’s from Napa and it’s freakin’ awesome.”

Jake laughed and slumped back on the couch, turning to watch the game. “Nope, I’m good.”

She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, watching Marco over the rim. “What about you, handsome?”

He gave her a wry smile and came forward, kissing her on the forehead. “I’m good too,” he said.

CHAPTER 8

Marco and Peyton jogged into the park again on Sunday morning. They made it to Stow Lake and jogged along the paths that ran around the perimeter of it. Young families were already there, bicycling or roller skating. A few people had pedal boats out on the lake, lazily meandering beneath the branches of the redwood and eucalyptus trees.

After their run, they stopped in the café and grabbed a piroshki, one of the few places that offered vegetarian selections, then sat outside and watched the ducks bob up and down with the late morning breeze.

Marco’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out, thumbing on the display. A text message from Vinnie greeted him. Dinner, Mom’s, tonight. He sighed.

Peyton glanced over. “Everything all right?”

“Mom’s having her Sunday dinner. I have to go.”

She nodded. “I’ll be fine for a few hours.”

“No way, lady. You’re coming with me. I’m not leaving you alone.”

“I’m sure your family just wants to see you, Marco.”

“They’d probably rather see you. Besides, if I have to go on a date with Stan, you can go to dinner with me.”

She laughed. “I don’t think the punishment fits the crime, since I love your family.”

“Good. I’ll let them know you’re coming.”

Peyton nodded.

While he texted Vinnie back, she took out her own phone and placed a call.

Marco shifted on the bench and watched a little boy chase after a duck, an entire loaf of bread in his hands. His father trotted along behind him. Something about watching them made Marco feel a bit melancholy.

“Hey, Cho,” said Peyton into the phone. “Yeah, just wondering if you’ve been by the precinct this weekend?”

Marco glanced over at her.

“Yeah, I know. No.” She sighed. “I was hoping there’d be something. Yeah, you’re right. He probably does know Jake’s not there. I know. It’s just this quiet makes me nervous. What’s he waiting for?” She listened. “I know. I don’t want anyone else to die either, but I want to get this bastard and I want to get him now.”

“Ask him if he mentioned anything to Bill.”

“Hey, did you say anything to Bill about our theory?” She played with the paper shield on her coffee. “Right. Yeah, okay. Hey, tell Maria that Marco and I will be gone tonight. We’re going to dinner at his folks. Okay, yeah, see you tomorrow.”

She pushed the button to disconnect the call and lowered it. “I don’t like this, Marco. The Janitor’s been too quiet.”

“How so? He killed Junior Walker only a week ago.”

“You’re right.” She rolled her shoulders. “I just feel like we’re standing on the edge of a volcano and it’s about to erupt.”

Marco couldn’t help but shoot a look around them. Suddenly he felt like they were a bit too exposed. “Maybe we should get back.”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Did he tell Bill our theory?”

“Defino cleared him to do so.”

“And?”

“He can’t believe it’s anyone in our precinct either.”

Marco placed his hand over hers. “We’ll figure it out. Don’t worry.”

She nodded, shifting her hand to clasp his briefly.

*    *    *

Mona D’Angelo pulled Peyton into a hug the moment she entered the house. “I’m so glad you came, sweetheart,” she said, kissing her cheek.

Peyton hugged her in return.

“It’s been too long.” She cupped Peyton’s face in her hands. “You need to come every Sunday. You’re looking thin.”

Peyton had to laugh at that one. After the constant barrage of complaints about her weight from Maria, she was beginning to think she could join the circus as the fat lady. “You are the best, Mona,” she said, kissing her cheek in return.

Mona released her, only for her to be captured by Marco’s father, Leo. He gave her a bear hug, then tugged on a curl.

“My favorite policewoman,” he said.

She smiled, glancing up at Vinnie. He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. “How you doing, sweetie?” he rumbled beneath her ear.

“Good and you?”

“Excellent.”

“How’s Tonio?”

“Out of rehab and thinking about going back to football.”

“Good. Is he here?”

“Nope. Both kids had last minute summer parties to attend. Just the grown-ups tonight.”

Rosa came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. “Peyton? Come in here and have a glass of wine with me.” She crossed the room and kissed Peyton on the cheek, then pulled Marco out of his mother’s arms and gave him a hug, going up on her tiptoes to reach. Releasing him, she hooked Peyton’s arm and tugged her toward the kitchen.

Peyton glanced over her shoulder at her partner, but Marco simply gave her a shrug before he was dragged into the living room.

“Bernardo and his family couldn’t make it. They took the kids to Disneyland before school starts,” said Mona, pouring Peyton a glass of red wine and passing it to her. “And Franco has something at the church. He’s going over their books for them while Sofia helps with the catechism, snacks or something. So it’ll just be the few of us tonight.”

Few? With the D’Angelos that meant something along the lines of Peyton’s current housing arrangement.

“It’s great. What are you making?”

“I’m trying a new recipe. We thought we’d eat light. Potato soup and a salad for my boy.” Mona leaned on the counter. “He still doing that vegetarian nonsense?”

Peyton laughed. That nonsense had been most of Marco’s adult life, but she didn’t think it mattered to Mona.

“Yeah, he’s still doing that nonsense.”

Mona shook her head and grabbed her wine.

Rosa shared a smile with Peyton.

“How’s your mom, dear?” asked Mona.

“My mom?” Wow, that was a loaded question. “Uh, she’s fine. Thinking about getting married again.”

“Good for her,” said Mona. “A woman shouldn’t be alone.”

Peyton didn’t know about that. Some women were a hell of a lot better off alone.

“Not every woman needs a man, Mona,” said Rosa, chopping a cucumber.

“Can I help?” asked Peyton, wanting to change the subject.

Mona waved her off. “You work too hard, sweetheart. Let us get this.”

Peyton’s brows lifted, but she didn’t argue.

“Okay, I agree not every woman needs a man, but she needs someone. Humans are social creatures. We need other people.” Mona pointed her spoon at Peyton. “Am I right?”

“Uh…” Peyton wasn’t sure how to answer that.

Rosa winked at her. “Sometimes it isn’t bad to be alone, Mona. You get to know who you are then.”

“Pfft,” Mona said, stirring the soup vigorously.

Vinnie entered the kitchen, going to the refrigerator and pulling out three beers. “How much longer?” He reached around Rosa and snatched a cucumber spear. She swatted at him, but he simply squeezed her hind-end, earning him another swat.

Peyton couldn’t help but smile.

“You’re gonna pull back a stump if you do that again,” Rosa warned.

In answer, Vinnie squeezed her bum once more, then danced away, hiding behind Peyton when Rosa went after him. Placing his hands on Peyton’s shoulders, he ducked back and forth as Rosa tried to slap him with a dishtowel.

Peyton laughed.

Mona gave her son a severe frown. “Maybe you’re right, Rosa.”

“Right about what?” asked Vinnie.

“Women not needing men.” When he reached for another cucumber, Mona smacked the back of his hand. “You ask when we’re eating in my kitchen again and you’ll get nothing.”

Vinnie gave her a pout, then gathered his beers and left the room.

Rosa went back to chopping. “How do you feel about your mom getting married?”

Peyton ran a finger around the top of her wineglass. “I told her to do it if it made her happy.”

Rosa and Mona gave her a sympathetic look. Peyton dropped her eyes. She didn’t want to talk about her mother, especially not in this family where their bonds with each other meant everything.

Rosa reached over and filled her glass again.

Once dinner was ready, everyone gathered around the dining room table. Before they could eat, Mona led them in a prayer. Peyton had eaten at the D’Angelo household many times, but something about eating with them today made her feel sad.

She truly believed a woman didn’t need a man, and that a bad relationship was far worse than no relationship at all, but still, something about a big family called to her. Her own family had consisted of three. She’d always wanted brothers and sisters, cousins to play with. Watching Marco and his brother rib each other, she felt that emptiness acutely.

When she’d been forced to have sessions with Dr. Ferguson, the precinct psychologist, he’d mentioned that she used her friends as her ersatz family. She’d denied it then, but maybe he had something. Maybe she did do that. Maybe that’s why her house was a freakin’ circus right now and she didn’t mind it.

Maybe she was tired of being alone.

Marco’s gaze lifted and fixed on her. He gave her his slow, sexy smile and it struck her how damn handsome he was. Shaking her head, she reached for her wine and took a sip. Shit, what the hell was wrong with her?

She didn’t have time to worry it though, because her phone suddenly buzzed. She fished it out of her pocket, excusing herself from the table. Nate Cho’s number flashed on the screen and she pressed the button to answer the call.

“Hey, Nate.”

“Brooks, where are you?”

“At Marco’s parents.”

Cho blew out air. “Look, I need you to come down to a condo on Clay.”

“Clay?”

“Yeah, I’m sending you the address right now.”

“Clay? Nob Hill?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“We got a guy hanging from his dining room chandelier.”

Peyton felt her mouth go dry. Marco left the table and came over to her. “Is there a card?” she asked.

“In his bound hands.”

Closing her eyes, she ducked her head. “Did you call Jake?”

“He’s my next call.”

“Do you know who the man is?”

“Yeah. Peyton, it’s one of the council members, a district supervisor by the name of Simon Olsen. He used to be the commander for the Ingleside Station. Defino wants Marco here too. He’s not undercover anymore.”

“Send me the address. We’re on our way.”

*    *    *

Councilman Olsen’s townhouse was an ultra-modern, upscale three bedroom in a high rise on the corner of Van Ness and Clay. The lobby of the building was swarming with police when Peyton and Marco arrived, and they were immediately escorted to the mirrored elevators, which rose to the eighth floor.

The townhouse’s open-concept design was punctuated by windows that took in the City’s skyline on three of its four sides. Decorated in a white on white motif, the furnishings were crisp, angular, and minimalistic.

Cho and Simons met them in the entryway. Cho took Peyton’s arm and pulled her to the side. “It’s bad. Why don’t you wait here and let Marco take a look?’

She gently extricated herself. “I’m a big girl, Nate.”

He held up his hands in surrender. “Suit yourself, but I’m guessing they don’t want to clean up vomit off their pristine white marble floors.”

“I don’t think the Councilman will be cleaning up anything if he’s dangling from a noose.” She stepped away from the men and walked boldly into the center of the vaulted room. A sleek chandelier hung above a dining room table and hanging from the chandelier was a man.

He was turned away from her, so Peyton couldn’t see his face, still it was bad enough to watch his slow oscillations. She took in the sight, breathing through her nose to chase back the instant rise of nausea. No way was she giving in to her weakness now. “Who found him?” she asked Cho.

“Neighbor heard a struggle and reported it to the front desk. Guard knocked on the door, but heard banging, so he went down and called the cops. When they finally forced their way into the townhouse, they found him there.”

“Was anything disturbed?”

“Yeah, the living room’s a mess.” Cho pointed to their right.

Peyton could see overturned tables and chairs, and a smashed blue crystal vase.

Marco moved past her toward the body, walking around the table to see his face. Peyton forced herself to follow. Holmes and Bartlet were standing to the side, and Bartlet looked like he was about to be sick, staring at the body with a horrified expression on his face.

“Drew,” Peyton said, nodding at Bartlet. “Take him outside to get some air.”

Holmes gave an aggravated sigh, then pushed Bartlet in the shoulder. “You need to go with us too, princess?”

“No, as soon as your ugly face leaves a room, I feel immensely better.”

Holmes smirked at her. “Come on, sunshine. Let’s go.” He motioned for Bartlet to follow him.

Bartlet met Peyton’s gaze. “How do you ever get used to it?”

She smiled and rubbed a hand up and down his arm. “Sometimes you don’t, Jimmy, sometimes you don’t.”

Marco walked a circle around the body. “Are these defensive wounds?” he asked Simons and Cho.

Simons nodded. “Councilman Olsen did not go easily.”

Peyton walked to the living room and peered around. “There are toys in here. Where are the kids?”

“We’re trying to locate his family right now.”

Jake appeared in the doorway, stepping into the townhouse. “Woowee,” he said in appreciation. “Nice digs.”

“Yep.”

He walked toward the body, settling his evidence case on the ground, then he frowned as he surveyed the victim’s face. “Who is this?”

“Simon Olsen,” said Cho.

“The councilman?”

“Right.”

Jake turned his attention to Peyton. “He was just in the newspaper on Thursday or Friday. I can’t remember.”

Peyton moved back toward the dining room. “Why?”

“His wife left him about a week ago. Packed up the kids and moved out. Then she filed for divorce.” He glanced around the circle of detectives. “There were accusations of domestic violence.” He tilted his head, studying the body. “Wasn’t he an ex-police officer?”

“Commander of Ingleside a few years ago,” said Simons.

Jake met Peyton’s gaze.

She stepped closer to the body. “Did you mention anything to anyone at the office about the newspaper article?”

Jake thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, but I didn’t read the article at home. It was sitting open in the break-room when I went to get coffee. It was open to that very page.”

“Was anyone in the break-room when you went in there?”

“No.”

Peyton curved her hands around the cushioned top of a chair. “What day did you get the letter from the Janitor, Jake?”

“Friday.”

“What day did you read the newspaper article? Think hard.”

“Friday.”

Cho hit the back of a dining room chair. “He was in the precinct. He was right under our noses.”

Marco shifted weight. “There’s a bigger problem here. He’s a councilman, which means he has direct ties to the mayor. We’re not gonna keep this one out of the papers.”

“Uh, guys?” came Bartlet’s voice from the entryway.

Peyton looked over at him.

“Olsen’s wife is here. They’re trying to keep her in the lobby, but she’s demanding we let her up.”

Simons placed a heavy hand on Peyton’s shoulder. “You should take this.”

“Me?”

“You’re better at questioning the victims,” said Cho.

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. “Why?”

“You can relate better to her, especially if she starts crying.”

“Really? Because I’m a woman?”

“Yeah,” said Simons without hesitation.

“Did the two of you take a sexist pill or something?”

Cho gave Marco a bewildered look.

“Do they have those?” asked Jake in feigned innocence.

“Yeah, it’s called testosterone. All us women are hoping for a cure.”

Jake frowned. “If it’s a pill, isn’t it supposed to be the cure?”

“Shut up, Ryder,” she snapped, heading for the door. “You coming, partner?” she called over her shoulder.

“Sorry,” she heard Cho say under his breath.

“It is what it is,” replied Marco.

Peyton stopped in front of the elevators, punching the button. Marco moved up beside her. “It is what it is,” she mimicked, glaring at him.

“Isn’t it?”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“You’re pissed at Cho and Simons, and Jake, for that matter, but I get the brunt of it.”

She turned to face him, narrowing her eyes. “You get the brunt of it? Bitchy female picking on a poor, innocent male?”

He sighed.

“What? I don’t have a point? They aren’t being sexist asses?”

“You do and they are.”

“And you’re just agreeing with me because you think that’s what I want, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am. I’m not as stupid as Devan thinks.” He gave her a pointed look.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened. They stepped inside and Peyton pushed the button for the lobby.

“Jake told you why I threw Devan out?”

“Yep.”

“I’m not taking it out on you, but did you have to agree with Cho about me?”

He turned to face her. “Look, Peyton. They’re sexist assholes. You’re right, but they also have a point. You are better at questioning people than any of us. Is it because you’re a woman? Yeah, it probably is.”

She thought about it for a moment. Maybe he had a point. Maybe they just wanted her to play to her strengths. “I don’t want them to think I’m not capable of being the same caliber cop that they are.”

“You’re a better cop than they are and they know it.”

She looked up at him. “Do you know it?”

“You know I do.”

She realized his approval meant more than anyone else’s. “I guess it isn’t bad that men and women are different.”

“It’s one of the things I personally like best.” His voice took on a husky note.

Peyton smiled. “Do you now?”

He chuckled.

The door opened and they stepped out. Holmes was waiting for them. “This way,” he said, leading them toward the security counter. A glass paneled conference room opened behind the counter and they could see a woman pacing back and forth, guarded by two uniformed officers.

Peyton reached for her badge and stepped around the counter, entering the room. The woman whirled to face her. She was middle aged with a stylish bob haircut and a running suit that probably cost more than Peyton’s entire wardrobe.

“I want to see my husband.”

Peyton motioned for the uniforms to leave. They filed out around her. “Mrs. Olsen?”

“I want to see my husband now. You can’t keep me down here.”

Peyton held out her badge. “I’m Inspector Brooks of the SFPD and this is my partner, Inspector D’Angelo.”

“Why are you keeping me down here?”

“Would you please take a seat?” Peyton motioned to a chair at the conference table.

“They said something happened to my husband. I demand to know what it is.” Her face clouded over and she started crying.

Peyton placed a hand against her arm and gently directed her to the chair. She sat heavily and Peyton glanced around for a tissue. Marco retrieved a box from the security desk as Peyton sat down next to her.

Taking the box from him, she offered the woman a tissue. She took it, but just sat, crying, holding the tissue crumpled in her hand. Peyton leaned toward her partner. “Can you find some water?”

He left again.

Peyton let the woman cry herself out, then offered her another tissue. She brought it to her face and blew her nose, then wiped the tears from under her eyes. Finally, she looked up at Peyton. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

“Yes.”

She swallowed hard and fought to control herself.

Marco returned with a glass of water and passed it to her. She took it, her hand shaking, and drank a sip, then set it on the table.

“How?”

“Hanging.”

“Hanging? He committed suicide?”

“No.”

Mrs. Olsen gave her a bewildered look. “What do you mean no?”

“I mean someone hanged him. He fought back. He has defensive wounds and there are signs of a struggle in the living room.”

“I don’t understand.”

“We’re trying to figure it out.”

“Is that why you won’t let me see him?”

“Yes. We’re processing the crime scene right now.”

She started crying again. Peyton waited patiently for her to stop, but Marco shifted uncomfortably. She glanced over at him. “Can you see if they have a video feed of the lobby and the elevators?”

“Good idea,” he said and left.

“I’ll be right back,” she said and rose, slipping out to the security desk to grab a paper and pen. She’d left her notebook at home. Coming back into the conference room, she found Mrs. Olsen calmer, sipping at the water and staring at a spot on the table.

Peyton sat down again. “Do you mind if I ask you a few questions, Mrs. Olsen?”

“It’s Sally,” she said.

“Sally. Do you mind if I take some notes while we talk?”

Sally held out a hand, indicating she didn’t care. Peyton figured she didn’t care about much right now.

“The first thing I need to ask you is if your children are safe.”

Sally blinked at her, then released her breath in a shivery pant. “They’re with my mother.”

“How many kids do you have?”

“Two, boy and girl.”

“And their ages?”

“Samuel’s ten and Sarah’s twelve.”

Peyton jotted it down.

“I don’t understand how someone can hang another person, Inspector Brooks.”

“I know. The M.E. should be able to give us some insight into that.” She shifted so she faced the other woman. “You and your husband were separated?”

Sally nodded. “I left a week ago.”

“How long have you been married?”

“Fifteen years.”

“That must have been hard.”

“It wasn’t what I planned, but he left me with no choice.”

Peyton looked down at her paper. “You filed for divorce?’

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me why?”

Sally met Peyton’s gaze. “I really don’t need anything else getting into the papers, Inspector Brooks.”

“Believe me, Mrs. Olsen, I don’t want it in the papers either.”

She swallowed and looked away. “Simon had a temper. He’d fly into rages and he couldn’t control it. He’s been in therapy for years.”

“Did he hit you?”

She met Peyton’s eyes. “Our entire marriage.”

“For fifteen years?”

“Yeah. The therapist said I was an enabler for taking it, but I didn’t know what else to do. I never finished college, I never held my own job, and then his political career started and he said I’d ruin him if I left.” She closed her eyes and shook her head. “I must seem like such a fool to you.”

“Not at all. A lot of women don’t feel safe enough to leave, or feel that they can’t make it by themselves.”

“Thank you for saying that. Too many people judge without putting themselves in anyone else’s place.”

Peyton scratched some notes on her paper. “Sally, I have to ask you why you left though. A week ago, you took a huge risk and filed for divorce. Why?”

She rubbed a hand across her forehead.

Peyton waited. She didn’t want to push too hard and lose her cooperation.

“He hit my son.”

Peyton reached over and placed her hand on the other woman’s. “That was a brave thing to do, leaving him to protect your children.”

“All these years I’ve thought about doing it, planning, scheming, praying, but in the end, it was so easy. I just walked out.” She wiped a tear away. “Still, I didn’t want him dead. He was the father of my children. We spent fifteen years together.”

“Did your husband have enemies? Did he ever receive threats?”

“He was a councilman. Before that he was a cop. He was bound to piss someone off.”

“Did he receive any threats though?”

“A couple times a year. Someone always investigated them and it always turned out to be nothing.” She scratched at the side of her face. “Why would anyone hang him? I can understand a gun shot or a knife attack, but hanging? Who hangs another person?”

Peyton’s head lifted and her mind raced. Who hangs another person? Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Who was the second victim? What was his name? He’d died before she and Marco came on the case. It started with an A. Alfred, Albert. She racked her brain, trying to remember.

Turning to the piece of paper, she scrawled an A. Shit. What was his name? Arnold. Alvin. Allen. Allen Brill. The man who was hanged by the Janitor.

“Excuse me for a moment,” she said and jumped to her feet. Hurrying out to the security desk, she looked around for Marco. He was in another room across the lobby with computer monitors showing video feeds from all of the elevators and floors. A security guard was keying in the various feeds for him.

She raced to the doorway and grasped the molding. Both men looked up at her. “He’s repeating his pattern.”

Marco straightened. “What?”

‘The recent killings? They’re just like they were before. Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style. Then Allen Brill was hanged.”

Marco’s expression sobered.

“The third victim was the priest on Alcatraz, Marco.”

He glanced down at the monitor.

“Please tell me you’ve got him on video,” she said.

He shook his head. “He knew where the cameras were and how to avoid a direct shot. He wore a hat, like the one he wore at Pier 39. We can’t even be sure of his height.”

“But you can see him enter the building?”

Marco drew a deep breath and released it. “Yeah, Peyton, we can see him enter. He came in with Simon Olsen and they were talking as if they knew each other. From the lobby to the area just outside his townhouse, Olsen never once indicated he was in trouble. It’s like he was talking to an old friend, someone he’d known his whole life.”

Peyton ran a hand across her forehead. “What do we do now, Marco?”

He looked at her over his shoulder. “We shut down Alcatraz.”

CHAPTER 9

“You want to do what now?” said Defino. Most of the time the captain squinted, but right now, if her eyes got any bigger, they might fall out of her head.

Marco shifted weight and glanced at his fellow detectives. “We want to shut down Alcatraz to tourists.”

They were all standing before Maria’s desk, filling Defino in on the councilman’s murder the previous night. Peyton wasn’t a fan of Mondays, but this Monday felt particularly bleak. She was going to be thirty in a week, and here she was trying to convince her captain to shut down one of the largest and most famous tourist attractions in the City.

“And just how do you expect me to begin that conversation with the Chief of Police and oh, yeah, the Mayor, who right now isn’t our biggest fan? Then there’s the national parks department.”

“It’s for public safety,” said Simons.

“And what am I going to say is this safety risk? A serial killer?”

“I think that genie’s out of the bottle, Captain,” offered Peyton.

Defino exhaled. “They’ll never agree to shutting down Alcatraz, especially on a hunch, but we can beef up security. Did you get anything off the surveillance video?”

“Not that we can see, except it appears Simon Olsen knew his killer,” offered Cho. “We took it to Stan to see if he can enhance it.”

“Stan, the same Stan you two suspect?” She pointed at Marco and Peyton.

“I never suspected him,” said Peyton.

“It can’t be him. The guy on the video is too…” said Marco.

“Too?”

“Muscular.”

“I see. Did Abe get our councilman’s body for autopsy?”

“Yes, he said he’d get to it as soon as he could,” said Peyton.

“Where’s Ryder?”

“At his desk.”

“I have his handwriting expert in the conference room.” She looked over at Maria. “Get the Chief on the phone for me, okay?”

“On it.”

She pointed at Cho and Simons. “You two, get down to Ingleside and pull Olsen’s employment records. Have Devan start working on a warrant.”

Cho and Simons immediately left to do as she commanded.

Defino pointed at Marco and Peyton. “You two sit with Ryder and the handwriting expert. See if you can figure anything out.”

“I have to testify at Jedediah O’Shannahan’s trial today, Captain,” said Peyton.

“That is just awesome.”

Peyton glanced over at Marco, but he didn’t offer any help.

“When?”

“Whenever Devan calls me.”

“Okay. You go prep for that. D’Angelo, you’re with Ryder.”

Marco nodded, but as soon as Defino disappeared into her office, he caught Peyton by the arm. “When you have to go, you tell me, all right? I’m going with you.”

“You don’t have to do that anymore, Marco.”

“Have we caught the serial killer and I don’t know it?”

“It just seems silly for you to keep following me around. He’s clearly not gone and he’s still killing.”

“Which is why I need to be there.” He tugged her around to face him. “Do you remember the last time he used death by cop?”

It hadn’t been out of Peyton’s mind for a moment. The minute her alarm clock woke her it was all she could think about, worry about, fear. He had used her to make Marco kill. Would he do it again?

“Just tell me, okay, Brooks? Don’t try to outthink this crazy bastard. Not right now.”

She nodded and he released her.

*    *    *

The handwriting specialist was a woman who looked like she came straight out of the Haight Ashbury. She had long, wavy blond hair and wore a flowing floral print skirt that brushed the floor. Her loose blouse was cinched at her waist with a belt made of rope and when she rose to greet them, Jake caught a glimpse of the flat sandals she wore.

He shot a look at Marco and held out his hand. She grasped it in both her own, rubbing her thumb across his palm.

“I’m Jake Ryder, CSI, and this is Inspector Marco D’Angelo.”

“Yes,” she said breathlessly, then turned to Marco, but she pulled back at the last minute without touching him. Instead, she pressed her fingers to her forehead in greeting and then rubbed her hands along her skirt.

Jake’s brows rose at that. He’d never seen a woman not anxious to touch Adonis. Marco didn’t seem to care. He threw himself down into a chair across the table from her and glared at its surface.

“Please, have a seat.” Jake motioned to the chair.

“Yes,” she said again, taking a seat. She glanced nervously at Marco from the corner of her eyes, then smiled at Jake. She didn’t wear makeup, but her face had a wholesome, scrubbed look to it.

Jake sat down at the head of the table, perpendicular to her. “I didn’t catch your name.”

“Rain.”

“Rain?”

Marco looked up at that.

“Short for Rainbow.”

“Really?”

“My parents lived in a commune for a while. In Berkeley.”

“Did they now? Last name?”

“Moon.”

“Rain Moon.”

“Yes.” She leaned closer to the table, dropping her voice. “My father’s name was really Monroe, but he had it changed to Moon. They wanted to start with an unfettered history.”

“Unfettered?”

“By the weight of their ancestors.”

Jake nodded, unable to stop the smile that bloomed across his lips. “Yeah.” His eyes lowered to the letter resting on the table before her. “Did you have a chance to look at the letter?”

“I did.” Her hand hovered over the top of it without touching it. “There is some serious negative energy trapped in this paper.”

Marco let out his breath and slumped down further in the chair.

Jake bit his lower lip to keep from laughing. “Well, it is from a serial killer.”

“That’s probably what I feel.”

“Probably. Could you be a bit more specific?”

She used a pencil to shift the paper around so he could see. “Do you see the strokes on the letters t and l?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you see the violence of the down-strike?”

“The violence of the down-strike?”

“See how much darker it is than the other letters.”

Jake picked up the letter and looked closer. “Okay.” Marco made a grumble of annoyance, but Jake ignored him. “What else?”

“See the loops on the d, the b, and the o?”

“Yeah?”

“Tight, narrow, not round and full like most people. This is a man who is tightly controlled, disciplined. Probably ex-military.”

“Ex-military or cop?”

“Could be cop.”

Jake felt Marco’s glare. “Did you have a chance to compare it to the signatures I gave you?”

On Saturday, Maria had pulled samples of signatures from everyone in the precinct.

“I did.”

“Did you find any matches?”

“A lot of the loops are rigid.”

Jake paused, tilting his head. “The loops are rigid?”

She picked up a sample on the top. It was Marco’s. Figured. “See. Same problem as the original letter. Tightly controlled loops. Rigid.”

Jake couldn’t help but smile. “See, Adonis.” He slid the paper to Marco. “Tightly controlled and uptight loops. That fits you to a…pardon the pun…t.”

She snickered, covering her mouth with her hand.

Marco didn’t look amused. “Finish this,” he growled.

Jake turned back to her. “What I really need to know is if you found any similarities between the signatures and the letter? We’re trying to find a match.”

“Unfortunately no.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m very sure. No matches.”

Jake picked up the sample signatures and rifled through them until he came to Stan Neumann’s. “Not even this one?”

She looked at it again, then picked up the pencil and pointed to the a and u. “Actually, this was the only sample without rigid loops.” She took the papers from him and searched through them herself. “And one other.” She pulled out Peyton’s and set it before Jake. “This one. This one is filled with beautiful complexity and realness.”

Marco sat forward at that.

“Realness?”

“A pure soul.”

Jake glanced at Marco. Marco met his gaze, then looked away.

“Thank you, Rain. I appreciate you coming down.”

“It was my pleasure.” She gave Marco her sidelong look again, then smiled at Jake. “You have a blue aura.”

“A what?”

“A beautiful, clear blue aura.”

“Um, thank you.”

She looked at Marco directly. “Yours is cloudy…and red…very red.” With that she rose and glided from the room.

As soon as she was gone, Jake burst into laughter.

“Are we done with your freakin’ séance, Ryder?” said Marco, pushing himself to his feet.

Jake couldn’t stop laughing. “Every woman we see gets all hot and bothered around you, but her. She saw right through you. Uptight loops and cloudy red aura. You’re a hot mess, Adonis.”

“Shut up, Ryder.”

Jake wagged a finger at him. “Oooh, be careful. Your aura’s getting cloudier.”

“Idiot,” Marco growled and walked from the room.

*    *    *

Peyton reached for her phone without looking at it, her eyes fixed on the report she’d written after they arrested Jedediah O’Shannahan. She wanted to be sure she had everything clear in her mind. One slip and she knew Elizabeth Brown would be all over her.

“Brooks,” she said into the device.

“This Janitor nutter is really starting to piss me off,” came Abe’s voice.

“Fan of the Councilman are you?”

“When you start bumping off public officials, it makes my skin itch.”

“Don’t go beating up on women or doing other unsavory things and you should be just fine.”

“That’s not the whole of it. He’s unoriginal.”

“How so?”

“This is the second chap he’s hung. Where’s the innovation, the je ne sais quoi?”

“The what?”

“Je ne sais quoi. Means I don’t know what.”

“I know what it means, but I don’t know what you mean. We can’t catch this bastard as it is and you want him to be more innovative in the way he kills people?”

“I don’t want him to kill people, but it’s like he’s just going through the motions now.”

Peyton rubbed her eyes. “Was there something serious you wanted or did you just want to give me a headache?”

“Actually, I have something serious to discuss, but first of all, I have a bone to pick with you.”

“Of course you do.”

“When did you plan to tell me that Angel’D is living avec vous?”

“Could we stop with the French?”

“Could we stop with the deflecting?”

“I didn’t think I had to clear my household arrangements with you.”

“Ooh wee, the little kitten has her claws out.”

“Abe, I have to testify at Jedediah O’Shannahan’s trial in a little while. Can you get to the point?”

“Why wasn’t I made privy to these living arrangements?”

“It’s not an arrangement. He’s just staying there until this Janitor nutter, as you call him, is caught.”

“And you have this Grade A, prime hunk of man sleeping on a military cot?”

“Where would you have him sleep?” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wanted to snatch them back. “Please, please don’t answer that.”

Abe peeled off into laughter, forcing Peyton to smile. “You know me so well.”

“We all know you so well,” she said, scratching her forehead. “Abe, have you finished Simon Olsen’s autopsy?”

“Yes, he died of asphyxia.”

“Kind of figured that out myself.”

“He also fought back. He had defensive wounds on his hands and forearms.”

“Did you get any skin cells from under his fingernails or anything?”

“Not much to speak of. The Janitor keeps it clean.”

Peyton exhaled in frustration. “We just can’t seem to catch a break.”

“Well, Simon Olsen did not go gentle into that good night.”

“What do you mean?”

“In order to string him up, the Janitor had to subdue him.”

“How?”

“He has taser marks on his side.”

“Okay. Can you send the report over today?”

“Done and done. So, about your birthday?”

“I’ve gotta go. I’ve gotta testify in about an hour.”

“I was thinking Chippendales.”

“We’ll talk about it later,” she said.

“Just tell me. Yes, Chippendales?”

“No, Chippendales. Let’s keep it simple.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“I know. Let me be specific. No strippers, no naked men of any kind. No sky writing. No hot air balloons.”

“Well shit.”

“No trips to Paris for dinner, or rockets to the international space station.”

“Now you’re just tying my hands.”

“Simple.”

“I’ll pick you up at 6:00PM on Saturday.”

“In a car. Not an army tank, or a jet, or a golf cart. You hear me?”

“What about a limo?”

Peyton paused. Her last limo ride had been for her father’s funeral. “Does it have to be a limo?”

“That or Muni, baby, ‘cause we ain’t driving. Wait until you see the drink I picked out for your birthday. Three or four of those and you won’t remember your last name.”

“Just awesome.”

“Oh, it will be. Later, toots,” he said, and then he was gone.

*    *    *

Peyton found herself distracted as she sat in the courtroom behind Devan’s table, waiting to be called to the witness stand. Of course, at first she couldn’t stop bristling just being in the same room as the Reverend O’Shannahan. Surrounded by his legal team, he glanced over his shoulder as she and Marco entered, making a scene by sighing dramatically.

He wore a suit that probably cost more than Peyton’s house and his blond hair was perfectly coifed as Abe would say. In fact, he didn’t look like a man who was suffering under the weight of the judicial system, but then again, he’d made bail within hours of his arrest and had been lounging around his multi-million dollar Pink Lady for the last couple of months, waiting for trial.

However, once Peyton sat down, she’d been able to dismiss him from her mind. Abe’s autopsy results were front and center. Simon Olsen had been subdued with a taser. The Janitor hadn’t used a taser at any other time in his other murders. Why now?

The answer she kept circling back to was he hadn’t needed to subdue the others. They’d all gone willingly or he’d gotten the drop on them, but Simon Olsen had fought back. Which might mean the Janitor had been injured in one of the other attacks or people were now becoming more aware and not allowing themselves to be preyed upon as easily? Either reason might make it hard for him to do his next kill. They might be getting closer to a window of opportunity to catch the bastard.

The bailiff called the courtroom to order and the judge entered the room. Judge Angela Tate was in her late fifties, early sixties with her grey hair arranged in a stylish pixie cut. She immediately called both lawyers to the bench.

Peyton took a moment to glance over at the jury. Eight women and four men. Was that a good mix or bad? She couldn’t decide. Glancing over at Marco, she nodded toward them.

He shrugged, then shifted in his chair. “Try not to look at O’Shannahan. He can rattle you without saying anything. Just keep your eyes focused on the jury or the lawyers.”

She smoothed her hands on her navy blue pantsuit. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. I never get nervous for these things.”

“You’ll do fine.” He curled his fingers around her forearm and squeezed. “Just keep your head.”

When he moved his hand away, she found herself wishing he hadn’t. Something about his touch actually calmed her. Hm. Maybe their living arrangements weren’t the best idea after all. She was coming to depend on his steadying presence a little too much.

Devan and Elizabeth Brown walked back to their tables. Peyton watched Brown. She’d seen her before, but she’d never been questioned by her. She was tall and thin, her features angular. Her black suit hung off her frame and turned her figure into something resembling a box. Her short brown bob was slicked back from her face and she wore no makeup or jewelry. She was probably fifteen years older than Peyton herself and everything about her said competence and focus. This was not a woman who would miss anything.

Devan stopped at the bar and gave Peyton a nod, drawing her attention. Peyton rubbed her hands along her trousers again and drew a deep breath. How the hell was she going to keep from messing this up?

“Mr. Adams, are you ready?” asked Judge Tate.

Devan faced forward again. “Yes, Your Honor.”

“Call your first witness.”

“I call Inspector Peyton Brooks of the San Francisco Police Department.”

Peyton rose and went to the front of the courtroom, raising her right hand as the clerk swore her in, then she climbed into the witness box and took a seat. She focused her attention on Devan and resisted the impulse to wipe her hands on her pants again.

Don’t look at O’Shannahan, she told herself.

“Please state your name and position for the record,” said Devan.

“Inspector Peyton Brooks of the San Francisco Police Department, Homicide Squad.”

“And how long have you been with the force, Inspector?”

“Almost nine years.”

“Thank you.” He picked up a file and opened it. “Were you the arresting officer of the defendant, Jedediah O’Shannahan?”

“I was.”

“And what crime were you investigating when you arrested Reverend O’Shannahan?”

“We were investigating the murder of Teresa Ravensong.”

“Based on your investigation did the Reverend O’Shannahan commit the murder?”

“No, he did not. Based on evidence gathered and a sworn confession, his wife, Kristin, committed the murder.”

“What was the Reverend arrested for then?”

“Withholding evidence, tampering with evidence, and as an accessory to a murder.”

“What exactly does that mean in laymen’s terms?”

“He helped his wife cover up the murder by destroying evidence. In particular, the murder weapon.”

“How do you know the Reverend was involved?”

“We have his fingerprint in a blood stain on the weapon.”

“Was the blood his?”

“No, it was his wife’s, but the fingerprint matched his fingerprint records at the DMV.”

Devan picked up a piece of paper. “Your Honor, I’d like to enter this into evidence.”

The judge nodded, and Devan brought it to the clerk.

“That is all. Thank you, Inspector.”

Peyton nodded.

“Your witness, Ms. Brown.”

Elizabeth Brown rose to her feet and picked up a pen, holding it between the fingers of both hands. “How old are you, Inspector Brooks?”

Peyton frowned.

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Devan, “Irrelevant.”

“Ms. Brown?” said the judge.

“I’m trying to review the Inspector’s credentials, Your Honor, that’s all.”

“Fine. Please answer, Inspector Brooks.”

Peyton drew a deep breath, studiously avoiding looking at O’Shannahan. “I’ll be thirty this Saturday.”

“Happy birthday,” said Brown without any warmth at all in her voice.

Peyton inclined her head.

“Thirty. So young. And you stated that you’ve been a police officer for nine years? In fact, weren’t you and your partner…” She pointed the pen at Marco. “…two of the youngest detectives on the force?”

“Yes.”

“You’re quite the dynamic duo, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You have an impressive arrest record, one of the best in the City, and more than that, you have…hm, what is it now?” She glanced down at a paper on her table. “An 89% conviction rate.”

Peyton shot a look at Devan, but he wouldn’t return it.

“That is quite impressive, Inspector.”

Peyton didn’t know where she was going with this, so she chose not to say anything.

“What do you attribute your success to, I wonder?” She looked up at Peyton and smiled slowly. “Clearly, it’s solid police work, but you also have a reputation of being something of a bulldog.”

“Objection, Your Honor.”

“Where are you going with this, Ms. Brown?” said the judge.

“I certainly didn’t mean that in any derogatory way, Your Honor. I’m just trying to establish that Inspector Brooks has a reputation for being a very thorough and determined investigator. If you’ll allow me, I promise it has direct bearing on my case.”

“Allowed.”

“Would you say you are determined, Inspector Brooks?”

“I do my job.”

“Actually, you go a bit beyond your job. When most investigators would probably give up, you keep pursuing your suspect, don’t you?”

“Most people would still call that doing their job.”

That earned her a few snickers from the jury.

“You don’t like the Reverend, do you, Inspector Brooks?”

“Objection!” said Devan.

“Again, Your Honor, it directly relates to my case.”

“It had better,” warned the judge.

Brown turned to Peyton and gave her a mirthless smile. “Do you, Inspector?”

Peyton met O’Shannahan’s gaze for the first time. He wasn’t smiling, but something about his expression seemed smug. “I’m not a fan.”

“This case isn’t the first time you’ve dealt with him, is it?”

“No.”

“Describe the other encounter.”

“He reported suspicious activity at his neighbor’s house.”

“And was he right?”

“He was.”

“And yet you still don’t like him. Why?”

Peyton narrowed her eyes on Brown. “He is a charlatan, a liar, and a cheat. He also covered up a murder and would have sent an innocent man to prison to protect a false empire, built on the backs of vulnerable people.”

“You object to his televangelism?”

“That’s one thing I object to.”

“Do you go to church, Inspector?”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Devan, rising to his feet.

“Ms. Brown?”

“Again, Your Honor, it directly relates to my case.”

“Over-ruled.”

“Do you go to church?”

“I used to.”

“But you stopped?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Peyton looked over at Devan.

“Objection, Your Honor. Inspector Brooks is not on trial. O’Shannahan is.”

“I want to hear where this is going, Mr. Adams,” said the judge.

Devan held out his hands to Peyton. He wasn’t going to be able to help her. She shifted in the chair. “I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you stop after your father was murdered?”

Peyton thought about that one for a moment. She didn’t know how Brown found out, but she was right. “Yes.”

“He was a cop and he was killed in the line of duty, wasn’t he?”

“Yes.”

“Is that why you are so relentless? Why you strive so hard to solve your cases and get a conviction?”

“I don’t understand.”

“To live up to your father’s legacy?”

“No.”

“We can debate that, I suppose, but isn’t his death the reason you stopped going to church?”

“Your Honor?” pleaded Devan.

The judge held up a hand, silencing him. “I want to hear this, Adams. I want to know where this is going. Don’t object again.”

“Inspector?”

Peyton swallowed hard. She had no idea what the hell this proved or what it did for O’Shannahan, but it was making her feel sick inside. “I suppose,” she said, her voice hardly above a whisper.

Brown clasped the pen in both hands and gave her best facsimile of a sympathetic nod. “We call that a crisis of faith, Inspector Brooks. One event shakes us so deeply that we question what we’ve always believed.”

“It doesn’t change the fact that O’Shannahan helped his wife cover up a murder.”

“You’re right, it doesn’t.”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

“Just like you, Jedediah O’Shannahan is human and he also had a crisis of faith, a moment when his usual good judgment failed him. He violated the trust of his wife and he had an affair. So tragic was this lapse that it inadvertently caused the death of another. Just as you lost your way, Inspector, my client lost his. He helped his wife cover up the evidence of her terrible crime, but he did so to protect her, to save her from herself.”

Peyton’s mouth fell open.

O’Shannahan bowed his head at that moment, looking humble and contrite, and Peyton felt her stomach roil. From the corner of her eyes, she could see Devan slump in his chair, the very picture of defeat.

Elizabeth Brown held out her hands, pretending to talk to Peyton, but her every word was directed at the jury. “Surely you can understand that, Inspector, surely you know how powerful the human need is to serve and protect those we love?”

CHAPTER 10

Marco pulled the Mustang into the precinct parking lot and turned off the ignition, shifting toward Peyton. “You’ve been awfully quiet the entire way back. You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She reached for the door handle, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm.

“Brooks, not only are you the worst liar in the freakin’ world, but you’re a really bad actress.”

“What do you want me to say, Marco? That I’m pissed that I was manipulated by O’Shannahan’s lawyer into giving him a reason for covering up a murder?”

“Yeah. That’s exactly what I want you to say. She manipulated the entire courtroom.”

She laid her head against the seat. “Sometimes it feels like we’re fighting pointless battles. Even if we arrest a suspect, there’s a lawyer who would do anything to get him off and a twelve person jury that can be as variable as the weather. We have a flawed judicial system in this country.”

“Yeah, we do.”

Peyton held up a hand and let it fall on the center console.

“But whenever I start thinking like this, I wonder what part of it I would change or eliminate.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The defense lawyer? Would you really not want anyone representing the rights of the accused?”

“I guess not.”

“The judge? Would you not have someone overseeing the entire proceeding?”

Peyton shrugged.

“The jury? Would you rather it be only wealthy people who hear cases or maybe those that have land, or just white males?”

“I get you.”

“It’s flawed, but you heard Brown today. We have an 89% conviction rate. 89%? Most of the time they get it right –  89% of the time they get it right. What else has such a high percentage in its favor? The president wins by 51% and we call that a landslide.” He gave her his sexy-Marco smile. “So, yeah, it’s flawed and arbitrary and sometimes bad guys get off, but compared with other judicial systems, I’d say it’s about as good as humans get.”

Peyton smiled back at him and reached over, taking his hand. “You got some depth to you, D’Angelo, you know that.”

“Don’t tell Devan. I sure as shit don’t need him putting me on the witness stand after your performance today.”

“Hey!” She pulled her hand free and hit him with it.

He laughed. “You ready to get back to finding this Janitor bastard?”

“Yeah, I’m ready.” They climbed out of the Mustang and walked toward the precinct. When they arrived inside, they heard voices coming from the conference room. Maria settled the phone back in its cradle.

“I was just calling you.”

“Something happen?” Peyton asked.

“Brooks, D’Angelo, conference room now!” came Defino’s voice.

Peyton and Maria exchanged a wry look as she headed for the doorway. Cho and Simons were sitting at the conference table, while Stan and Jake were huddled around a laptop at the other end, and Defino was pacing.

She glared at them as they entered. “How did the trial go?”

“Not good.”

“Well, get over it. We’ve got bigger problems.”

Peyton glanced at Jake, but Stan looked up, beaming a smile at her. “Hey, Peyton.”

“Hey, Stan.” She focused on Jake. “What’s going on?”

“I got another letter from the Janitor.” He pushed it across the table at her. Peyton picked it up. It was still handwritten, but someone had copied it.

“Where’s the original?”

“No idea,” said Simons.

“Wait. What?”

“It came through my email.”

“Your email?”

“We figure he wrote it, scanned it into his computer, and then emailed it to Jake.”

“Why?”

Defino squinted at her. “To avoid the camera at Jake’s desk.”

Peyton resisted the impulse to tell the captain she’d been right about that camera, but it was hard.

“I’m trying to trace the IP address he sent it from,” said Stan.

“Great idea. What does the letter say?” asked Peyton, pulling out a chair and taking a seat.

“Here’s an idea. You could read it,” offered Jake.

Peyton stuck her tongue out at him. Marco sat down next to her as she leafed through the pages. When she got to the end, she turned back to the first one.

I hardly saw Missy after her father died. My mother and I went to the funeral, but Missy wouldn’t talk to me. I spent that summer hanging out on the porch, watching their house. I’d never had a father, so I didn’t know exactly what they were feeling, but I couldn’t imagine a world without my mother in it.

Clayton stopped playing baseball and soccer. I never knew if it was because they couldn’t afford it now or if playing sports without his dad was too hard.

School started again and although I saw Clayton and Missy waiting for the bus or sitting by themselves at lunch, I didn’t make any more overtures of friendship. They didn’t seem to want or need anyone else.

In fact, the next time I actually talked to Missy was in high school. It’s funny that you can live next door to people for years and never really see them, never talk to them, never make more than a passing contact.

Missy came to the high school as a freshman. I was a junior. She was spectacular. Tall and curvy, beautiful curly hair, big brown eyes. People always talk about love at first sight. Well, let me tell you, it happens. I decided the best way to make Missy notice me was to show her around campus.

She’d always been shy, but her face lit up when she saw me. By the time lunch was over, I had her laughing. I agreed to meet her after school, but as I walked her out to the bus, Clayton came up and grabbed her arm. He was not happy I was there. By that time, though, I was pretty big – played football and lifted weights, so I was not intimidated by skinny-assed Clayton. I told Missy I would see her the next day.

But when I got home, I was miserable. I had stopped hanging out on the porch years ago, but I found myself doing it again, hoping to catch a glimpse of Missy.

While I stood there watching, I saw a blue Chevy Nova pull into the driveway and a man got out. I asked my mom about it because she’d stayed friendly with Missy’s mom. She said Missy’s mom had started dating again.

The next day at school, Missy didn’t meet me for lunch. I wandered around campus all day, hoping I’d see her, but I didn’t. After school I had football practice. Once, during a break, I looked up in the bleachers and I saw Missy there. It was impossible to miss her. I was so excited, I couldn’t wait for practice to end, but when I came out of the locker-room, Missy was gone.

When I went home, I noticed the same Nova in Missy’s driveway. Getting up the courage, I went over to her house. A man answered the door. He was big and rough looking…

Peyton stopped reading and looked up. “This isn’t a manifesto. It’s a confession.” She passed the next page to Marco.

Defino nodded. “I know.”

“He’s telling us why he kills.”

“Which probably means he wants to stop,” said Cho.

“We’ve got to make contact with him. We’ve got to open a dialogue. We might be able to get him to turn himself in.”

“I’ve almost got it,” said Stan, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “I think I have the Wi-Fi connection he used.”

“Where did he send it from, Stan?” she asked.

“Give me a second.”

Peyton looked back at the letter.

He was big and rough looking. I asked to see Missy. He told me she was busy doing homework, but I could see Missy on the stairs behind him, watching me with those big eyes of hers. She never said a word, but she slowly shook her head as if asking me to leave.

I got to school early the next morning, waiting at the bus stop. I would have missed her if I didn’t notice the same blue Nova pull up in front of the school. Clayton and Missy climbed out. I waited for the Nova to pull away, then I hurried over to them, calling Missy’s name.

She looked at me, but Clayton stepped around her to block me. I could have knocked him on his ass, he was that skinny, but I didn’t feel like that would earn me any points with Missy.

Clayton told me to leave them alone, then he grabbed Missy’s arm and dragged her into the school. I followed them. In fact, I followed Missy all that day, so I could map out her classes. In between, I hid in the boy’s bathroom and wandered around my locker, pretending I was getting out a book. I knew my mom would kill me for cutting, but it was worth it.

At football practice, I noticed Missy in the bleachers again, but just like before, she left before I could get over to her. The next day, I met her outside her first class. She told me to leave her alone, but I said I wouldn’t talk, I’d just walk her to her next class. I did that for every single class all day. She never talked to me, she would hardly look at me, but by the last class of the day, she was waiting for me to show up.

And that night she was in the bleachers again. I told the coach I needed water, but I ran over to her and asked her to wait for me after practice. She nodded she would. That earned me extra laps around the track, but it was worth it.

Missy was waiting when I finished. We sat in the bleachers and I tried to talk to her, but no matter what I said, she wouldn’t answer. She just sat there, clutching her backpack and staring at the toe of her sandal.

I offered to drive her home. It was getting late and I didn’t want her taking the bus. She agreed, but the minute I pulled in front of the house, the door flew open and the Nova guy came out, demanding to know why the hell she was so late.

She jumped out of the car and raced up the walkway, her head bowed. I started to get out, but I saw Clayton on the porch and he was violently shaking his head no. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I sure didn’t want to get them in trouble.

The letter ended. Peyton sat staring at it. That was all? She figured she knew where the story was going, but why was he feeding it to them a little at a time?

“Got it,” said Stan.

Peyton looked over.

“He sent the email from Starbucks.”

“Which one?”

Stan looked up through his heavy lens. “The one on 20th, close to Mercy High School.”

“Whose name is registered on the email account?” asked Defino.

Stan went back to typing. “Jillian Cera.”

“Jillian?”

“Hold on. I’m searching to see if I can find anything on Jillian Cera.”

Peyton exchanged a look with Jake.

“Jillian Cera is a high school student at Mercy.” Stan clicked, then looked up. “She reported her laptop stolen yesterday.”

“From where?” asked Simons.

“Starbucks.”

“Cho, Simons, get out there and see if they have any surveillance tapes, then make contact with the kid at Mercy.”

Marco shifted in his seat. “Captain?”

She turned to him. “What?”

“The Starbucks is on 20th.”

“Yeah?” Then she hesitated, her eyes shifting to Peyton. “Shit. That’s in your neighborhood, Brooks.”

Peyton looked down at the letter, anything to avoid the many eyes focused on her. Did they think she hadn’t noticed the significance of that?

*    *    *

Maria hurried to the door and let Cho in, leaning in for a kiss. Peyton glanced over her shoulder. She was grilling burgers at the stove.

“Hey, Nate, you hungry?”

“Yeah.” He came to the counter and took a seat between Marco and Jake, while Maria returned to making a salad.

Abe’s wooden spoon made a dull thudding noise as he vigorously stirred the concoction in Peyton’s glass pitcher. Before Abe, Peyton would never have thought to purchase a glass pitcher.

“Did you go to Starbucks?” asked Marco.

“Yeah. Starbucks doesn’t have any surveillance, but the strip mall does. While they pulled the video, we went to interview the girl. She stopped at Starbucks in the morning to grab a coffee and set her laptop on a table. Someone came in that she knew, so she left it and went to talk to him. When she came back the laptop was gone.”

“Could she tell you what time she was there?” asked Jake.

“Yeah, the teachers had a meeting that morning, so school didn’t start until 9:00. Her mom dropped her off at Starbucks around 8:30.”

“Did she notice anyone messing around her table?”

Cho shook his head. “It was crowded in there.”

Peyton finished grilling the burgers, moving them to a plate and storing them in the oven to keep warm, then she grabbed another frying pan and went to the refrigerator to get Marco’s veggie burgers. Abe was trying to get by at the same time and he grabbed her hand, spinning her around in a silly dance as he went to the cabinet and began pulling out glasses. She laughed and swatted him away.

“Did you see the surveillance tape?” asked Marco.

Abe came back to the counter, giving him an air kiss as he arranged his glasses next to the pitcher.

“Yeah, but it’s impossible to see anything. The quality isn’t good, the location isn’t right, and a lot of people went in and out of there. There were a number of guys with hats, but nothing that would trigger any recognition. I sent about fifteen minutes of it to my email around the time the girl said she was there, but I don’t think there’s anything on it.”

“Can I see it?” asked Jake.

“Sure. Get your tablet.”

Jake left the counter.

Peyton offered Cho a sympathetic smile. “This is frustrating.”

“It’s beyond frustrating. If it’s someone at the precinct, you’d think we’d recognize him even with a hat on.”

Abe started pouring drinks.

“What’s that?” asked Cho.

“It’s called Lemon-Orange Fizz.”

“What’s the alcohol in it?”

Abe pouted. “They told me I couldn’t put alcohol in it. They said we’re all drinking too much.” He leaned on the counter. “I only agreed because wait until you see the drink I have planned for Saturday night. You’re coming, right?”

“For Brooks’ birthday, hell yeah.”

“To see Chippendale dancers?” asked Marco.

Cho looked alarmed. “Wait. I thought we were going clubbing.”

“We are,” said Abe. “The Chippendales is for my date with Angel next week.”

Peyton laughed at the look on Marco’s face.

“I wanna see Chippendales,” complained Maria.

“Really?” asked Cho.

Peyton nudged her in the back and shook her head.

“No,” she answered quickly. “I thought he meant the cartoon.”

She looked at Peyton and Peyton nodded.

Jake returned with his tablet, handing it to Cho. As Cho worked to bring up the video feed, Abe continued pouring his drinks, topping each with a slice of orange.

“So I guess Stan isn’t a suspect anymore?” asked Peyton.

“That would be beyond strange. He helped us break into the computer that the Janitor used to send the letter, so he’d be trying to crack his own crime.”

“That’s happened before,” said Jake. “It’s a great way to throw off the fuzz.”

“The fuzz?” Cho gave Jake an annoyed look. “Anyway, the letter said he was big, played football and lifted weights. That’s not exactly Stan.”

“No, that’s Adonis here,” said Jake. “Didn’t you play football?”

“Yeah, you got me, Ryder. I’m the serial killer.”

Abe made a scoffing sound. “You’re too handsome to be a serial killer, Angel’D, unless it’s a slayer of hearts.” He beamed a pleased smile at Peyton, but she grimaced and shook her head. He gave her a frown and went back to messing with his drinks.

The doorbell rang, sending Pickles into a fit of barking. Marco climbed off the barstool and scooped him up, going to answer it. Peyton leaned on the counter, so she could see who it was. She was more than a little surprised when Devan stepped across the threshold.

He had undone his tie and it hung loose about his neck, his suit jacket tucked over an arm and the tails of his white shirt hanging around his thighs. As he wandered toward the counter, Marco gave Peyton a questioning look. She wiped her hands on a dishtowel and shrugged. She had no idea why he was there.

“Hey, everyone.”

“D.A. Delicious,” said Abe, patting the counter. “Come take a seat. You look like shit.”

“Thanks.” Devan slung his jacket over the back of the barstool and sat down.

“What’s going on?” asked Peyton bewildered.

“I hope you don’t mind. I didn’t feel like going home.”

“What about your fiancée?”

“I told her I was working late.”

Peyton and Marco exchanged a look. “Are you hungry? Do you want to have dinner with us?” she asked.

“Yeah, do you mind?”

“No. I’m just a little confused.”

“The rest of the trial went really badly. Elizabeth Brown turned all of my witnesses back on themselves.”

Peyton couldn’t deny she was relieved to hear that. She hated to be the only one to screw up the case.

“She told the judge she’s going to file a request for a dismissal.”

“Can she do that?”

“She can try. I don’t think Judge Tate’s going to allow it, but the jury sure isn’t on my side. I get a feeling for these things.”

Marco was watching the video over Cho and Jake’s shoulders, but he glanced at Peyton again.

Peyton turned away and went back to her stove. Just hearing that made her stomach knot. The idea that Jedediah O’Shannahan was going to get away with this rankled. She hated to lose cases, but this one was personal.

“Do you recognize anyone in the video?” asked Cho.

“No,” said Jake with a heavy sigh. “What’s the point of having a surveillance camera if it isn’t of high enough quality to capture anything?”

“I can’t believe how many men walk around this City with hats on their heads,” said Marco.

“Tell me about it,” said Cho.

“They’re trying to cover their bald spots,” said Maria.

“Sad really. Nothing like a full head of glorious hair on a man,” said Abe. “You’ll never have to worry about being bald, will you, Angel?”

Marco didn’t answer.

“How the hell are we going to catch this guy? He’s wily as all hell,” said Jake.

“Wily?” said Cho.

“Sneaky, cunning.”

“I know what it means, I just have never heard anyone but Elmer Fudd say it.”

“I don’t think Elmer Fudd said wily. That was the coyote,” remarked Devan.

“The coyote didn’t say he was wily. His name was Wily,” answered Jake.

“Besides that, Elmer Fudd didn’t go after the coyote. He went after Bugs Bunny,” said Devan.

“That’s right. The coyote chased the road runner,” said Cho.

Peyton frowned, listening to their ridiculous conversation. A serial killer was loose in the City and Jedediah O’Shannahan was probably going to get away with covering up a murder, but here they were discussing Looney Toons.

Abe brought her a drink and settled it on the counter by her left hand. Peyton looked at it, noting the way it fizzled and sparkled in the glass. “We’re gonna need alcohol,” she said.

Abe clapped his hands with excitement and hurried to the opposite counter where she kept her booze.

CHAPTER 11

Jake took a sip of his coffee and flipped a page on the newspaper. Cho wandered into the kitchen, going straight for the coffee pot. Since he and Marco had been staying here, Jake’s coffee expense had doubled. He was going to have to take a collection or else go back to whatever he could find in the discount grocery store.

“Who’s in the bathroom?” Cho grumbled, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“Adonis. You better be on your toes though. He doesn’t take long, but once Maria gets in there…”

“Don’t I know it.” He leaned on the counter next to Jake. “But I like the results.”

Jake took another sip of coffee. He wasn’t touching that.

“I actually thought we’d spend more time at my house than here. She always acted like she hated Brooks.”

“Acted is the operative word there.”

“Yeah, but it’s less crowded at my place.”

Jake glanced up at him. “I’ll stay there with you. I like less crowded.”

Cho laughed and pushed away from the counter. “Now that’s definitely not happening, Preacher.” He looked down the hall, then took a seat at the counter. “Still, whenever I tell her let’s stay at my place, she wants to come here.”

“You got dirty socks all over?”

“No.”

“Porn in the bathroom?”

“No.”

“Cockroaches?”

Cho gave him an arch look.

“I’m just trying to help out here. As a general rule those are the things that drive women away.”

“It’s nothing like that. Actually…” He leaned on the counter, lowering his voice. “I think she likes it here.”

Jake wasn’t sure why Cho was treating this as clandestine information. “I see.”

“This house is a wormhole.”

“A wormhole?”

“You get in and you can’t get out again.”

“That’s a black hole, but…” He held up a hand.

“Whatever, but ask yourself, why are you still here?”

“It’s better than living in the Tenderloin.”

“Bull shit.”

Jake narrowed his eyes.

“Why’s D’Angelo still here? When I stay over, he doesn’t have to and I’m here most nights now.”

Another topic Jake was so not touching. He flipped a page on his newspaper.

“It’s like a party all the time.”

“Well…”

“No, it is. Every time the freakin’ bell rings, I have no idea who’s gonna be coming through that door and…” He lowered his voice even more. “I’m starting to hope it’s that flaming, crazy-ass Medical Examiner.”

Jake laughed. “That’s not a good sign at all.”

“Tell me about it.” Cho leaned back. “How do you get out of a black hole?”

“First of all, I guess you have to decide if you want out.”

Cho chewed on his lower lip. “I’m even starting to think about getting a dog and naming it Relish.”

Jake laughed again. Nate Cho still scared the snot out of him, but he wasn’t half bad after all. He lifted his coffee mug and took another sip, staring down at the newspaper. A familiar name caught his eye and he set the coffee aside, picking up the page.

“Oh shit,” he whispered.

“What?”

Jake hurried around the counter and banged on Peyton’s bedroom door. “Peyton?”

She pulled it open at the same time Marco opened the bathroom door. “What’s wrong?”

“Look at this.” Jake moved past her and placed the paper on the bed. Her open windows allowed enough light into the room for them to see.

Jake pointed at the article.

Peyton leaned over, scanning it as Marco came to the doorway.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Peyton didn’t answer, she was too busy reading. Jake straightened and turned to face him. “Genevieve Lake’s got a new by-line.”

Marco’s face grew deadly. “Another article about Brooks?”

Jake shook his head.

Peyton turned to face him. “She printed part of the Janitor’s first letter to Jake.”

“She what?”

Cho appeared in the doorway beside him. “What did she do?”

“Somehow she got part of the first letter and she printed it. She’s calling it From the Mind of a Serial Killer.”

No one said anything, but Jake felt the tension in the room rise exponentially. When Peyton’s phone suddenly buzzed on her dresser, they all jumped. Peyton scrambled to pick it up, staring at the display.

“It’s Defino,” she said, glancing up at Marco, then she turned the phone so the display was visible to all of them.

Jake could easily read the message.

BROOKS, IN HERE NOW!

*    *    *

Peyton entered the interrogation room, followed by Devan and Marco. Genevieve looked up, surveying the scene. She was clothed in a stylish blue dress with black pumps, her dark hair in loose curls around her shoulders. Her hands were folded in her lap and her legs were crossed one over the other. She kicked her foot up and down, clearly unconcerned by the entire situation.

“I’m Peyton Brooks.” Peyton took a seat diagonal to her and Devan sat down on her left. Marco leaned against the wall, folding his arms over his chest.

“I know who you are.”

“I thought I’d formally introduce myself, since we’ve never actually met.”

Genevieve didn’t answer, but her eyes lifted to Marco and she gave him a sultry smile. “Hello, Inspector D’Angelo.”

“Hello, Freelance.”

“You’ve cause quite a bit of trouble, Genevieve. Can I call you Genevieve?” asked Peyton.

“Whatever.”

Peyton tilted her head. “Is the whatever for the trouble you’ve caused or for your name?”

“Both.”

“I see.”

Genevieve continued to kick her foot.

“How did you get the Janitor’s letter?”

“He sent it to me.”

“To you specifically?”

“Yes.”

“At your house?”

“No, at the newspaper. You do realize I’m not freelance anymore. They offered me a full position as a reporter because of that article.”

“A few weeks ago the Janitor threatened you and it scared you. Now, you’re okay with this?”

She spoke to Peyton slowly as if she were dense. “He got me a job at the newspaper.”

“So it doesn’t matter to you that the entire City’s in a panic and calling every precinct for information?”

“I have First Amendment Rights, Inspector Brooks, Freedom of Press and all that. Your precinct should’ve been informing the public long before this.” She gave Devan a glance. “Who’s the suit?”

“The District Attorney who’s here to protect your First Amendment Rights.”

“Attorneys make me uncomfortable.”

“Well, as I see it, you’ve got two choices. He can stay in the room with us, or he can go behind our two way mirror – either way he’s going to oversee our conversation. You decide where he does that.”

“I don’t need him here. I know my rights.”

Peyton glanced over at Devan. He shrugged and rose to his feet, turning toward the door. When he was gone, Genevieve nodded at the two-way mirror. “He’s handsome.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Just not my type.” She leaned forward, glancing up at Marco as she spoke. “I like them dangerous, like your partner there.” She braced her chin on her hand. “You ever wonder?”

“Wonder?”

“What it would be like?”

Peyton figured she could probably guess what she meant, but she wasn’t about to entertain her and give her an advantage. “I think we should stick to the topic.”

Genevieve smiled. “Come on. You must have thought about it. Fantasized about it. Every women wants to take a dangerous man to her bed. Be honest, Inspector Brooks, you must have fantasied about a man like him a million times.”

Marco shifted uncomfortably, but Peyton gave Genevieve a slow smile. “Is that what this is about?”

“What?”

“This reckless pursuit of a cold blooded murderer. Do you have fantasies about what it would be like to be with the Janitor?”

Genevieve sat back, licking her lower lip. “Of course not.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” She crossed her leg again. “Anyway, calling him a cold blooded murderer is a bit much, isn’t it?”

“Excuse me.”

“Are you going to sit here and tell me you really think he’s doing something wrong?”

“I think he’s a murderer.”

“Who disposes of the worst in our society. Honestly, he’s performing a civic duty.” She narrowed her eyes on Peyton. “Be honest, Inspector. You’re not sad Junior Walker’s dead.”

Peyton drew a deep breath, then slowly released it. “Here’s where you and I differ, Genevieve. You’re still young enough to believe in superheroes. You think he’s Batman, protecting Gotham City, but he’s really just a vigilante, a dangerous, dangerous man.”

“You can try to diminish me by mocking me, but you’re lying to both of us, Inspector Brooks. You’re glad Junior Walker’s dead. You’re glad you don’t have to look over your shoulder for him. Admit it.”

“Emotionally, yes, Genevieve, I’m not sorry he’s dead, but intellectually, I realize how dangerous that is. Vigilante justice has an inherent problem.”

“What problem? Since the cops can’t do their job, he does.”

“And where does it end?”

“What?’

“Where does it end? His brand of justice? He might think he has a line he won’t cross, but maybe that line isn’t the same line as yours or mine.”

“You’re not making sense.”

“Really? Think about it. First it was child molesters. Everyone said the same thing you did. Who cares? He’s doing a social service. Then it was wife beaters. Once again, no great loss, right? I’m not lying. Emotionally, I feel better knowing Junior Walker’s dead, knowing he can’t touch me again, but intellectually…” She tapped a finger against her temple. “I’ve gotta wonder, what’s next? Who’s the next group worthy of his attention?”

“No one misses child molesters and wife beaters, Inspector Brooks.”

Peyton held out a hand in acquiescence. “Granted, but what if the next time, it’s the physically disabled?”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Or the mentally challenged?”

She made a scoffing noise.

“Or what about the gays?”

Genevieve looked away and didn’t answer.

“Or,” said Peyton, shifting into her line of sight. “Why not the Jews?”

Genevieve’s mouth opened, but she didn’t say anything.

“It’s a slippery slope and any way I look at this, I don’t see a good outcome. I have eight bodies, eight dead men, in the morgue and God knows how many more in the next few days, and you’re publishing his freakin’ letter in the paper as if it was a Sunday comic!” She slammed her hand down on the table.

Genevieve jumped. “I’m not doing anything wrong. Publishing his letter is not going to make him kill again. He sent it to me, so I could publish it.”

“He’s trying to justify his actions, and you’re helping him. This serial killer possesses a sick and agile mind. Even if you believe you’re in step with him, I can promise you you’re not. He will manipulate you and control you just like he’s doing now. And if he kills another person, that’s on you.”

“How? I’m simply publishing his manifesto. Other journalists have done the same thing – think of Ted Bundy or John Wayne Gacy.”

“Those books were done after a trial, after a conviction, not when the case was still under investigation.”

“Semantics, Inspector Brooks.”

“It’s not semantics, Genevieve. It’s the law and if you continue, I’ll have no choice but to bring you up on charges of obstructing justice.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Why do you think the District Attorney’s here?”

Genevieve stared at Peyton, but Peyton didn’t look away. Finally, her shoulders slumped. “You’re destroying my career.”

“Not at all.”

“Publishing his letters could earn me the Pulitzer.”

“Publishing his letters before he’s caught could cost me my conviction. I’m not playing here. Your career is not worth another life and I won’t sit by and let you jeopardize my case.”

Genevieve hesitated, then narrowed her eyes on Peyton. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Wow, that’s cliché.”

“I don’t care. You get in my way again and I’ll take you down.”

Genevieve looked up at Marco. “Make me a deal.”

Peyton frowned. “What?”

“I’ll agree not to publish anything else until he’s caught and tried.”

“Okay?”

“But once that’s happened, you help me get access to him so I can interview him.”

“I can’t promise he’ll want to talk to you.”

“He will. But should he be killed in the line of fire, I get access to the case notes.”

Peyton glanced over her shoulder at Marco. He shrugged. “You can’t publish another word about him then, not until he’s had a fair trial.”

Genevieve waved her off. “Fine, I won’t, but I want one more thing.”

Peyton’s brows rose.

“I want a date with your partner.”

Marco straightened, but Peyton shook her head. “I’m not pimping out my partner. I guess we’ll see you in court.”

“Wait.” She gave an uncomfortable laugh. “I was joking.”

Peyton cocked her head. Sure, she was joking.

“As soon as this is over and you have your conviction, I get to publish the letters and I get to interview you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you and your partner and anyone else associated with the case.”

“I’ll have to get that cleared with the captain.”

“Whatever it takes, but I want your promise you’ll work on it.”

“You have a deal.”

“Good. Then I guess we’re done here.”

Peyton rose to her feet and leaned on the table, bringing herself close to the reporter. “Listen to me and listen to me good. You write one more article about me or the Janitor and I will arrest you. I’m still not convinced you haven’t romanticized this entire thing in your mind and that worries me very much, so let me be expressly clear. If I find out you’ve contacted him again for any reason, I will put you on a psychiatric hold for as long as I can. Do we understand one another, Genevieve?”

“Yes, Inspector Brooks.”

“Good. Now you can go.”

Genevieve rose to her feet and sauntered out of the room, giving Marco a sultry look as she went past.

*    *    *

Marco followed Peyton into the observation room where Defino and Devan waited. Devan smiled at her and shook his head.

“You were brilliant.”

“Can we bring her up on charges of obstructing justice?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s tricky with the press. I hate getting tangled in First Amendment cases.”

“It was a good threat whatever way you look at it and it backed her off,” said Defino. “Good job, Brooks.”

“Thank you, Captain.”

Devan shook his head again, smiling at her. “You are amazing.”

Marco could feel tension race up his spine. What the hell was the guy doing? He was engaged to another woman. Why the hell did he keep sniffing around? And Peyton seemed pleased by his praise.

“If she thought I was a bitch before, she probably has a worse impression now,” she laughed, glancing at Marco.

He smiled at her. “I think you made her piss herself.”

She laughed again. “That’s the fun part of the job.”

“It worries me though what the Janitor might do if she doesn’t publish any more of his manifesto,” said Defino.

“Can we find out if the newspaper has a surveillance camera in their offices? If not, maybe we can put up one of our own.”

“Good thought. I’ll have Cho and Simons go over there and canvass the place.”

Devan touched Peyton’s arm. “Can I talk to you in the hallway?”

She shrugged. “Sure.”

Marco realized he was grinding his teeth as they walked out the door. He couldn’t believe she’d be stupid enough to fall for Devan again after the way he treated her the last time, but he was sure pouring on the charm lately.

“You okay?” asked Defino.

Marco glanced over at her. “Yeah.” He moved away from the door and went to the two way mirror, staring at the interrogation room.

“You sure?”

“Why the hell is he messing around her again? He’s engaged to someone else.”

“That’s his business. And hers.” She shifted to face him. “If you can’t handle this anymore, I can make changes.”

Marco focused on her. “No, I can handle it.”

“Really? Because it doesn’t seem like that from here.”

“I’ve handled it for eight years, Captain.”

“Things change, D’Angelo. People change.”

“I don’t. I can handle it.”

She studied him a moment, then sighed. “Yeah, that’s obvious. You’re the Dalai Lama right now.”

“The what?”

She shook her head and walked to the door.

*    *    *

“You really were amazing in there,” said Devan as soon as they stepped into the hallway. “I forget how good you are at that.”

His praise was making her a little uncomfortable. And she couldn’t help but notice the way Marco had reacted. The tension coming off him had been palpable. She knew Marco didn’t like Devan, but his hostility had been a bit more obvious this time.

“You wanted to talk to me?”

“Your partner doesn’t like me much, does he?”

She shrugged. “What did you want to talk about?” She glanced over as Defino walked out of the observation room and disappeared down the hall.

“Thanks for letting me stay for dinner the other night.”

Looking back at him, she frowned. This is what he wanted to tell her? “Okay?”

“I really needed a distraction.”

Yeah, well, her house definitely qualified for that. “No problem.”

“I forgot how fun it could be.”

“Fun what could be?”

“Your place, your friends. It was nice. I don’t have a lot of friends. Lawyers tend to stick to themselves mostly.”

Where was he going with this? “Maybe you and your fiancée can make some friends with other couples?” Why was she giving him tips on dating?

“We probably will, but at my level, it’s about making connections, not friends. It’s all so blasé.”

Peyton immediately thought of Abe. Wine is just so blasé. Lawyers are just so blasé. Runny Misery is so blasé.

“What are you thinking?”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“You’re smiling.”

She schooled her face. “Sorry. Short attention span. So, make friends that aren’t lawyers. Doesn’t Runny…”

“Rani.”

“Rani know anyone?”

“Mostly she associates with her father’s clients and partners.”

“Maybe the associating is the problem? Making friends is different than associating. Honestly, I don’t know what to tell you, Devan.”

He took a step closer to her. “What are you doing for your birthday?”

She stepped back. “Oh, um…”

“Besides going on a date with Stan.”

“Abe has this ridiculous thing planned…” She waved her hand airily.

“Abe? Is Jake going?”

“Probably.”

“Who else?”

“Ah, Cho and Maria and Marco.”

“Of course.” He straightened and gave her a tight smile. “You wouldn’t do anything without Marco.”

What the hell did that mean? “He’s my partner, Devan.”

“Right.”

Peyton frowned. “Was there a point to this conversation?”

He slipped back into his lawyer’s persona. “Jedediah O’Shannahan is testifying at his own trial on Thursday.”

“Really? Wow, he’s ballsy.”

“Yeah. I was hoping you’d come.”

“Me? Why?”

“I thought maybe it would shake him up, rattle his cage to see you sitting in the courtroom. Do you think you can make it?”

“Sure.”

“Great. I’d appreciate it.”

“What happened with the motion to dismiss the case?”

“The judge threw it out, but it doesn’t mean it’s going well. Elizabeth Brown would never agree to put him on the stand if she didn’t think he could sway things in their favor. Honestly, I think we’re in trouble.”

“I’m sorry, Devan.”

He shrugged. “I told you I was worried about this case.”

“I know.”

“He’s a slippery eel.”

“I know.”

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, looking at the display. “It’s Rani. I gotta take this.”

Peyton nodded.

He thumbed it on and turned away. “Hey, sweetheart, how are you?”

Peyton leaned against the wall, watching him. Men, they were so damn flaky sometimes.

“You okay?”

She looked up into Marco’s blue eyes. He was standing in the doorway of the observation room. “Yeah.” She sighed. “Why are all men such asses, Marco?”

He glanced at Devan’s back as he moved down the hallway. “All men?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s painting the brush strokes a bit wide, isn’t it?”

She rolled her head on the wall wearily. “Okay, I guess Jake’s all right. And Cho. He seems like a decent enough guy.”

“Really? Jake and Cho?”

“And Abe, but Abe’s gay, so he’s definitely better than other men when it comes to treating women right.”

“Jake and Cho and Abe?”

“And Pickles, but I think he’s got his eye on the Poodle down the street and then I saw him checking out the Pomeranian next door.”

Marco laughed, leaning on the wall next to her. “Maybe the problem isn’t with the men, but with women.”

“No, that can’t be it.”

“Of course not. But here’s just a thought. When a man reveals himself as an ass, maybe a certain woman should avoid him and not be taken in by his charm.”

“I’m not taken in.” She bristled a little at that. “And I’m not stupid, Marco.”

“I didn’t say you were.”

“What did you say?”

“That Devan’s an ass.”

“Damn straight.”

“A total and complete ass.”

“A gigantic, colossal ass.” She paused and looked at him closely. “Why don’t you like him?”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “What?”

“You’ve never liked him. Even when we were dating. Why?”

“Uh…”

She shifted on the wall so she faced him. “What is it that you don’t like?”

“Brooks…” he started, but her phone rang.

She reached for it and glanced at the display. Mom. “Hey, Mama,” she said, pressing it to her ear. “Is everything all right?”

“Of course, everything’s fine, sweetheart. I’m calling about your birthday.”

“My birthday?”

“Yes, it’s Saturday. I was hoping you’d come to dinner that night.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mama. I have plans.”

“Well, what about Friday?”

“Again, I have plans.”

“You don’t have any time for your mother?”

Cue the guilt. Peyton studied Marco’s face. “How about Thursday night? I can come for dinner that night.”

“That’s wonderful. Cliff’s so excited to celebrate with you.”

I’ll bet, she thought, then a brilliant idea occurred to her. “Hey, Mama, would it be all right if I brought my partner with me?”

“Marco?”

“Yeah.”

“Of course.”

“Great. What time?”

“6:00?”

“Sounds great. We’ll see you then.”

“Oh, I’m so glad, sweetheart. See you then.”

The line went dead and Peyton shoved the phone back in her pocket, beaming a smile at Marco. “You know what I want for my birthday?”

“I’m sure I’m not going to like whatever it is.”

“Oh, you’ll love it. I want you to have the whole Cliff Martin Experience with me.”

He sighed. “Is this my punishment?”

She gave him a sultry look. “Not at all. This is your reward,” she said, patting his cheek.

CHAPTER 12

Jake found himself anxious whenever he brought up his email. Today he sat and stared at the message from Jillian Cera. Did he open it? Did he get Peyton? Did he tell the captain? Why was the Janitor focused on him? He had his reporter. Wasn’t she enough?

His hand shook as he reached for the mouse, then he stopped himself, wheeling back from the computer. Why hadn’t he stayed a banker? Messing with people’s money didn’t really bring you face to face with serial killers.

Scrubbing a hand over his mouth, he reached for the mouse again and opened the email, then the attachment. He didn’t allow himself to read it as he printed two copies. While he waited, he reached for his water and took a sip.

There had been times working at the bank when he thought his brain would melt from boredom and ooze out his ears. This job was certainly not boring, but boring wasn’t bad, right? When he got up in the morning to go to work at the bank, he didn’t have to walk through a tangle of cots set up in his living room and fight with a crowd for a few minutes in the bathroom. And most important of all, he didn’t have serial killers sending him cryptical messages about his childhood.

His sister, Faith, had called last night to see how he was. She wanted him to come to Nebraska for a visit. He’d heard himself tell her he couldn’t go, not right now, not with the case they were working. Insanity. He should have been on the next plane out of SFO. He should have jumped at the chance to take a break from the sea of crazy surging around him, but he said no. He said he couldn’t go. What the hell had happened to him?

He gathered the papers and made two separate piles, then carried them to Peyton. She and Marco were working at their desks. She looked up at him with a smile, then her face fell when he held the papers out to her.

Jake swallowed hard and passed the second copy to Marco, then hooked a chair and sat down so he could read the Janitor’s words over Peyton’s shoulder. She didn’t say anything, just sat staring at them without moving for a moment, then she held them up and began reading. So did Jake.

Missy stopped meeting me at the bleachers after that. I would wait around outside her classes, but she’d hurry away, keeping her head down and refusing to respond to me no matter what I did.

Clayton cornered me once and begged me to stop. He told me it only made things worse for them at home. Unsure what to do, I went to my mother, but she wasn’t any help. She told me she hadn’t been able to talk to Missy’s mom for weeks.

Then one night Missy woke me up, banging on my window. I told her to meet me at the front door. The minute the door opened, she threw herself in my arms, sobbing. I tried to calm her down, but I couldn’t understand what she was saying.

It woke my mother and she took over, getting Missy to the kitchen and making her a cup of hot chocolate.

What Missy told us that night stripped the last of my innocence from me. I’m sure you’ve already guessed what was happening in that house, and I’m shocked I didn’t know earlier, but I had been pretty much sheltered from the seedy side of life by my mother.

The Nova man had been after Missy from the moment he moved in with her mother. Her mother worked such long hours, she hadn’t been aware of what was happening, until that night. She’d come home from the swing shift and found her boyfriend in Missy’s bed.

The house had erupted in screaming and accusations. In her confusion, Missy’s mother had first blamed Missy, then her boyfriend, ordering both out of her house. Missy had run to our place.

As my mother calmed Missy down, a knock came at our door. It was Clayton and he begged Missy to come back home. Missy didn’t want to go, but Clayton pleaded with her. My mother tried to interfere, but Clayton told her to mind her own business. I came as close as I ever came to decking Missy’s brother that night, but I didn’t because I was afraid that would ruin things with Missy.

A little later, Missy’s mother came to the house and begged to talk to her daughter. She promised she’d thrown the Nova man out and she’d pleaded for her daughter’s forgiveness. Eventually Missy agreed to go home.

Even after a trauma like that, people continue on. Missy and Clayton went to school, so did I. Graduation was coming and for me, I had already decided I was going into the Marines. College just wasn’t in my future. I was barely able to complete high school.

Missy and I would see each other in the hallways of the school, but she didn’t seem to want any contact with me. I was devastated. I was sure I loved her, but she obviously didn’t feel the same. My mother explained that after the trauma she’d experienced, it was probably better if I kept my distance. I tried, but one night I couldn’t help it.

I saw the Nova man’s car in the driveway.

I went to the house and I peeked in at the window. Missy’s mother was talking with him in the living room and beyond him, I could see Missy sitting on the stairs, staring down at them.

The look in her eyes will haunt me forever. Terror, pure and simple. She seemed so small, so fragile, like a puff of smoke that would dissipate in a slight breeze.

I had to save her. I had to protect her. No one else would, no one else cared. I wouldn’t let this man steal any more of her soul. She belonged to me and I would make sure no one ever harmed her again.

The Nova man was my first kill.

Peyton made a gasping sound and lowered the papers. Jake placed a hand on her shoulder. How the hell long ago was that? Shit, how would they search for a murder that happened an indeterminate number of years ago?

Peyton ran a hand across her eyes and pressed her fingertips to her temples. “How many people has he killed?”

“Keep reading,” said Marco, glancing up at them.

Peyton reached for the papers again as Jake took a deep breath and picked up where they had stopped.

The Nova man was my first kill.

It’s surprising how easy it is. To kill, I mean. Once you determine you have no other choice, humans are easy to eliminate. Even though he was big, I was bigger and muscular thanks to football. I knew I had twenty or thirty pounds on him. When he went to get in his car, I was waiting on the side of the house.

I grabbed him around the throat with my forearm. I figured that would keep him from screaming. Then I just squeezed. He fought me, but he wasn’t big enough or else I was more determined than he was. Eventually I think I broke his neck, because he just stopped fighting. I made sure he wasn’t breathing and I threw him in the backseat of his car.

I had a moment of panic then. What do you do with a body?

I went back to my house and grabbed some old baseball gloves, then I took his Nova and drove him into the City. I figured if I left him in Hunter’s Point or the Tenderloin, no one would look too far to find his killer. And they didn’t.

I think they came out once to question Missy’s family, but they didn’t know anything, so the cops went away. Eventually I went to the Marines, but that’s a story for another time.

Right now, I think I’ll take a walk and meet up with a friend who recently got out of jail. Ironic, really, this friend of mine, he was like the Nova man. He liked having sex with sixteen year old girls too.

Well, who knows? It’s always good to get some fresh air, especially at noon. Something about San Franciscan architecture has always fascinated me. So eclectic, so unique. In one spot you have the beauty of an old Victorian mansion and in another Greco-Roman colonnades – such diversity in one city.

What’da ya say, Handsome, interested in round two!

Peyton dropped the letters and jumped to her feet. “The Palace of Fine Arts,” she told Marco. “He’s going to strike at the Palace of Fine Arts.” She reached for her phone and looked at the display. “It’s almost noon.”

Jake’s mouth dropped open as they went into motion. He’d seen them muster out before, but nothing like this. The precinct exploded in a flurry of activity as uniforms were dispatched and the detectives suited up in flak jackets and weaponry.

Jake didn’t even have a chance to warn Peyton to be careful before she was running toward the front doors. He followed behind in a haze as they spilled out into the parking lot, sirens blaring in the foggy August day. At the door, she paused and looked back, giving him a lift of her hand, then she was gone. Jake sagged against the counter, his heart pounding a frantic tattoo beneath his ribs, wondering again why he hadn’t jumped at the chance to go home to Nebraska where things moved at a comprehendible pace.

*    *    *

The man was about thirty, African American, dressed in a navy blue hoody and a pair of baggy jeans. His hair was combed out in a huge afro and he had a tattoo on his neck. He stood beneath the dome in the Palace of Fine Arts, both hands in the air, but in one he held what looked like a Colt revolver.

Peyton and Marco crept up next to Holmes and Bartlet. They were hiding behind a large planter box on the edge of the trail leading up to the dome. “What’s going on?” she said.

“He’s been like that for fifteen minutes. Calls started coming in from civilians, and when cops arrived on scene, he threw up his hands and started shouting. He gets quiet for a while, then he starts shouting again. Whenever they try to get close to him, he puts the gun to his temple,” said Holmes.

“Who is he?”

“I don’t think anyone’s asked.”

Simons ran over, keeping his head down. “Defino wants you to try talking to him, Brooks.” He handed her a megaphone. “See if you can talk him down.”

“I’m not a hostage negotiator, Bill.”

“They’re more than an hour away, Brooks. You’re all we’ve got right now.”

Peyton glanced around. They were on the path leading into the Palace of Fine Arts, just off the parking lot. There was plenty of cover, but there were also plenty of places for a gunman to be hiding. She surveyed the houses around the reflecting pool. They were a distance away, but that didn’t mean the Janitor wasn’t watching from one of them.

Her eyes caught on Cho, shielding himself to her left behind a colonnade. A number of uniforms were positioned around the reflecting pool, all with their guns drawn and pointed at the man pacing beneath the dome.

“We need to search every single house,” she said, nodding at them.

“We gotta get a lot more backup in here for that. Cho’s requested a helicopter.”

Bartlet was also looking around, his young face anxious. “Do you think the Janitor’s watching us right now?”

“Probably,” said Peyton. “Keep your head down.” She glanced at Marco. “This is just like Alcatraz.”

“And yet it’s not. Get him to put the gun down, Brooks, and maybe we end this without him dying.”

Peyton nodded and took a deep breath, then she lifted the megaphone to her lips. “This is Inspector Peyton Brooks from the San Francisco Police Department,” she said, her voice echoing back at her. “Put down the gun and we can talk.”

The suspect wheeled around toward her voice, both hands pressed to the top of his head, the gun pointing upward. “I don’t want to shoot anyone! I don’t want to shoot!”

“Okay, put the gun down and no one gets shot.”

“I can’t! I can’t! He’ll kill me!”

Peyton shared a look with Simons. “Who? Who will kill you?”

“Don’t shoot me! Please, don’t shoot me!” His voice was pitched at a level of absolute panic. Peyton could tell he wasn’t going to be able to stand this much more.

“We won’t shoot you if you put the gun down.”

“I can’t! I can’t put it down!”

Peyton closed her eyes. She didn’t know what to do. He was beyond the point of actually listening to her. Panic had taken over and he was in flight or fight mode. Either outcome would get him killed.

Suddenly her phone rang in her pocket. She grabbed for it and glanced at the screen. Defino’s number flashed at her as she pressed it on. “Captain?”

“Peyton, it’s Jake.”

“Jake, not a good time right now!”

“Peyton, Handsome is Marco.”

“What? What the hell are you saying? Handsome is Marco?”

Marco looked over.

“The letter. The Janitor’s letter said what’da ya say, Handsome…”

“…interested in round two,” Peyton finished. Oh God, it was Alcatraz. She met Marco’s eyes. For some reason, she couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs. “How do you know? How do you know he means Marco?”

“That’s what he called him when he talked to me at Pier 39. I’ll never forget it. He was surprised Marco had thought up the sting and he called him Handsome.”

Peyton shook her head. This couldn’t be happening again.

Marco’s jaw hardened and he lifted his gun, checking it. Peyton reached over and grabbed his shirt sleeve.

“No,” she managed to get out.

“Brooks, this has to end. He’s either going to shoot himself or the Janitor will. I’m sick of picking up his dead bodies.”

“Marco, no!”

“I’m not going to take any chances. I promise you.”

“Marco!” She started to grab for him, but Holmes stopped her, then she felt Simons’ hand encircle her upper arm, holding her back.

Marco rose to a half crouch and moved around the planter box, then he ran over to the first colonnade and slipped behind it. Peyton grabbed Simons’ hand and tried to push it off. “Let me go!” she ordered.

“Brooks, think! Talk him down. Get him to lower the gun!” hissed Simons in her ear.

She watched as Holmes followed the same path as Marco, moving toward the dome, and a moment later Bartlet went after them, fanning out to cover more area.

Peyton lifted the megaphone, her hand trembling. “We want to help you! Help us! Tell me your name!”

The man paced back and forth, doing a strange shaking motion with his head. “I don’t want trouble! I don’t want to shoot anyone!”

“What’s your name?”

“Irving, Irving Jones!” he shouted.

Simons turned away and began talking into his radio, but he still kept a hand firmly latched around Peyton’s arm. Peyton struggled against him, trying to see where Marco was. He had slipped around a column and was out of her line of sight.

“I can’t see him, Simons. I can’t see Marco.”

Simons ignored her, still talking into the radio.

Overhead she could hear the sound of the helicopter coming, the rotors cutting through the dense late summer fog. Once the helicopter arrived it would make communicating more difficult. Not to mention the sirens echoing in the distance. She was running out of time.

“Irving! Put down your gun and we’ll talk. I promise you. Please, just put down your gun!”

“He said he’d kill me. He’s got a gun on me right now. I don’t know where he went, but he’s got a gun on me right now!”

“What direction did he go, Irving? After he left you, what direction did he go?”

Irving said something, but his voice was swallowed up by the sirens as more police cars arrived. Peyton wrenched Simons’ hand free and started to crawl toward the end of the planter box. She had to get closer to them.

Simons reached out to grab her, but she evaded his grasp and ran to the first column, throwing herself behind it. The helicopter wheeled in overhead and Irving began screaming, waving his hands in the air.

Peyton lifted the megaphone to tell him to stop, but suddenly Marco lunged out from behind a column and tackled him. At the same time, gunshot ricocheted off the colonnade around the dome and sent pieces of concrete flying.

Peyton hit the deck, covering her face with her hands. The sound of the helicopter was deafening and the sirens continued to wail as she closed her eyes and prayed it would soon end. After a few moments, she heard the helicopter begin to fade away and someone was grabbing her under the arms, hauling her to her feet.

She briefly marked that it was Cho, then they were running toward the safety of the parking lot, keeping their heads down. As soon as they were beneath the cover of the eucalyptus trees, she shook off Cho’s hold and turned back toward the Palace of Fine Arts.

Police were swarming the area, uniforms racing everywhere. She searched frantically for Marco, but the area was covered in cops, closing everything down, securing the location. She started up the path again, but suddenly he was there, surrounded by uniforms who were urging him to safety. At his side was a traumatized and weaponless Irving Jones, very much alive.

*    *    *

“I was just going to get some cigarettes, and he come up behind me, stick something in my side. All a sudden I can’t move, like I’m jelly or something. Next thing I know he throws me in this van.”

“What’d the van look like?” asked Cho.

A male paramedic was taking Irving’s blood pressure while he sat in the back of the ambulance. Peyton hugged her arms around herself, trying to hide the fact that she couldn’t stop shaking.

“I don’t know. I was whacked out, man. He hit me with something.” He turned and pushed up his hoody, showing them two burn marks on his side.

“Taser,” said Simons.

“Yeah, he tazed me, crazy bastard. He tazed me.”

“Where did he park the van?”

“I don’t know. I was banging on it and banging on it. Then he throws open the back and tells me to get out. I can’t even see the crazy bastard, but he tells me he’ll kill me if I don’t get out. Then he makes me start walking. We walk forever. Every time I try to get a look at him, he hits me on the back of the head and tells me he’ll kill me if I turn around again. He stays right on my back. I ask him if he’s gay or something and he hits me so hard I almost black out.”

Cho scratched his cheek. “What race was he?”

“I don’t know. I never looked.”

“Did you see his hands? Anything?”

“No, man, he’s got gloves on. The whole time the freak’s got gloves on.”

“Did anyone see you?”

“I don’t know. I was practically shitting myself I was so scared. We just keep walking and walking and we get to that crazy Greek place. He shoved me in the back and knocks me down, then he leans over me and puts the gun in my hand, tells me if I drop the gun, he’ll shoot me in the back. Then he tells me not to get up for five minutes.”

“Did you kneel there for the whole five minutes?” asked Simons.

The paramedic cut the sleeve of Irving’s hoody, searching his inner elbow. Peyton figured he must be looking for signs of IV drug use. Tattoos ran down the length of his arm. Peyton looked over at the parking lot. Cops still swarmed the area, searching every inch of it, cataloguing evidence. She knew more searched the houses, but she was fairly sure the Janitor was gone. She caught a glimpse of Jake with his camera snapping pictures. Standing to the side was Marco and Defino, having a heated conversation. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to him yet, but it was just as well. She wasn’t sure what she’d say.

She shivered and hugged herself tighter. One of these times she was going to watch him get shot and she didn’t think she could stand it. Too many close calls, too many narrow escapes. One of these times his number was going to come up.

“I sat there, counting Mississippis forever. I damn near shit myself again. I didn’t plan on ever moving again, but this guy comes up and asks me if I’m okay. I lost it. I grabbed the gun and I jumped to my feet, then I don’t remember too good what happened. I musta stood there for hours, just screaming that I wasn’t gonna shoot no one.” He looked around. “Where’s that cop?”

“What cop?”

“The one who took me down?”

“He’s busy,” said Simons.

“He saved my life, man. He saved me. The crazy bastard shot at me. He was gonna kill me. I felt the bullet go past my face. I felt it!”

Peyton flinched and looked away.

Cho and Simons exchanged a look. “Do you have any idea where the shot came from?”

“No. I couldn’t see or hear anything. That cop was all over me, but I felt it. I felt the bullet.”

“I’m ready to transport, Inspector,” said the medic.

“We’ll get you a police escort. Hold on.” Cho walked away to make the arrangements as the medic helped Irving climb into the ambulance.

Simons lumbered over to Peyton and placed his hands on her shoulders. “You okay?”

She nodded up at him. “I’m fine, Bill.”

“He did good, Brooks, you know that, right?”

“Who?”

“D’Angelo. He saved that guy’s life.”

She glanced over at him. “He could have been killed.”

“We can all be killed, sweetheart. That’s the job.” He chucked her under the chin. “You did good too. You got old Irving Jones talking.”

“And the Janitor got away again.”

“Yeah, but one of these times we’ll get him. Don’t you worry. And today, today we saved a life.”

She nodded and forced a smile. Simons gave her a smile in return and walked back to the ambulance, hoisting his bulk inside.

Peyton watched as Marco disengaged from Defino and came toward her. He walked with that long, loose gait of his, almost a swagger. She studied his features, searched his face, and she realized she didn’t want to talk to him right now. Her emotions were too raw, sitting on the surface, and she didn’t know whether she wanted to scream at him or punch him or throw her arms around him and hang on for the rest of her life. For the last eight years, he’d been a permanent fixture in her life, her rock, her support, her best friend, but since he’d moved in to watch over her, she found herself seeing different things about him, things she couldn’t process right now and the thought that he’d almost been shot created even more confusing feelings inside of her.

She swallowed hard and tightened her hold on herself. “Are you suspended again?”

He shook his head, stopping in front of her.

“Good.” She looked at a spot above his shoulder. She couldn’t meet his eyes just now.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

He shrugged. “You’re shaking.”

“I always shake after a shoot-out.”

“Okay. Why don’t you take the Mustang and go back to the precinct? I’ll finish up here.”

She met his gaze. “I don’t need you to take care of me.”

He blinked and held out his hand. “I wasn’t doing that, I just thought…”

“What? That the stupid woman couldn’t handle the action. That I was about to fall apart.”

He narrowed his eyes on her. “Are you?”

“Go to hell, Marco.”

He drew a deep breath. “Brooks, look I don’t know what’s going on, but I’d appreciate it if you’d tell me.”

She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on. I just want this to be over.”

He took a step toward her, but she held out her hand, stopping him. “Please don’t. If you touch me right now, I don’t know whether I’ll coldcock you or hug you.”

“Fair enough.” His lips lifted in a wry smile. “I appreciate the warning.”

A nearly hysterical laugh escaped her and she pressed a hand to her forehead. “We missed him again, Marco.”

“I know.”

She looked into his eyes. He did know. He understood what she couldn’t put into words. He wasn’t like the other men she worked with who felt the need to give her platitudes and pat her on the head as if she were a puppy. He understood. No one had ever understood her the way he did, and it suddenly struck her that without him in her life, she wouldn’t know what to do.

She loved her mother and her friends, but Marco, Marco had a special place in her life, a special place that belonged to him alone. Still hugging her arms around herself, she stepped forward and pressed her forehead to his chest, closing her eyes. The familiar scent of his aftershave enveloped her and she released her held breath.

When his arms came around her, she let the tension slip from her shoulders and for a moment, for a moment it was enough just to stand here and let him support her…just for this moment and nothing more.

CHAPTER 13

Peyton slipped into the seat behind Devan, surprised to find Abe already sitting there. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, watching as the clerk swore O’Shannahan in.

“I wanted to see the clown at the circus.”

“How did you know he was going to testify?”

“I called Angel’D to see how he was after the excitement yesterday and asked to talk to you. He said you were on your way down here to the trial, so here I am.”

Peyton frowned at him, taking in his orange silk shirt and brown pin-striped slacks with a pair of brown loafers. She had no idea where the hell he got his clothes, but they were always something to behold.

“So, how are you?” he asked.

“What?”

“After yesterday? How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine.” She faced forward, concentrating on O’Shannahan. He had his blond hair perfectly combed back from his strong features. He wore a black suit with a navy blue shirt and a black and white striped tie. He certainly didn’t seem to be any worse for the length of this trial.

“How close did he come?”

Peyton glanced at Abe. “What?”

“My Angel, to getting shot.”

Peyton looked away again. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Too close then.”

Peyton ignored him.

“Your witness, Ms. Brown,” said the judge.

Elizabeth Brown rose to her feet. She made a striking figure today in her navy skirt and white blouse. This one seemed tailored to fit her and didn’t hang off her slender frame. She wore a pair of earrings which helped to soften her angular features.

“Reverend O’Shannahan, let me start by acknowledging for the jury that you’ve taken the rather unusual option of testifying on your own behalf.”

“Yes.” He ducked his head, then gave the jury a sad look. “I felt it was necessary in light of everything that’s happened.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“As it states in Ephesians, therefore, having put away falsehood, let each one of you speak the truth with his neighbor, for we are members one of another.”

Elizabeth Brown looked down at her papers, then gave him a patient smile. “Can you explain what that means?”

“Certainly.” He folded his hands and his face took on a beatific expression. “I am a man and therefore, I am a sinner. I have sinned before my congregation and I have sinned before my God, and I am here to atone for those misguided failings of the flesh.”

Peyton rolled her eyes. It was a wonder that his God didn’t smite him whenever he opened his mouth.

“Exactly how have you sinned, Reverend?”

O’Shannahan shifted in his chair and looked directly at the jury. “I gave into temptation and violated the sanctity of my martial bed.”

“In other words, you had an affair.”

O’Shannahan closed his eyes and shook his head. “Let marriage be held in honor among all, and let the marriage bed be undefiled, for God will judge the sexually immoral and adulterous.” He pressed his hands together. “So sayeth the Lord, my God in Hebrews.”

Abe snickered beside Peyton. She nudged him with her shoulder and gave him a glare.

The motion drew O’Shannahan’s attention. “I forgive you, Inspector Brooks, for you know not what you do. You follow the laws of our great country, but not the laws of our savior. If we confess our sins, He is faithful and just and will forgive us our sins and purify us from all unrighteousness.”

“Oh, for Heaven’s sake,” muttered Peyton, causing Abe to snicker again.

“Objection, Your Honor,” said Devan, rising to his feet. “While this might make for good theater, this doesn’t get to the real issue at hand, the reason why the Reverend is on trial.”

“Objection sustained, Mr. Adams. Please control your client’s…ah, religious fervor, Ms. Brown.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” She closed her folder and folded her hands before her. “You had an affair with Teresa Ravensong. Is that correct?”

“It is. I gave in to temptation…”

Elizabeth Brown held up a hand before he could continue. “Just stick to direct answers, Reverend, please.”

“Of course.”

“And that same young woman, Teresa Ravensong, lost her life. Correct?”

“She did.”

“How?”

O’Shannahan turned his head to look at the jury again. “My poor misguided wife in her pain did the unthinkable. In a fit of rage, she struck her with an object and caused her demise.”

“Her death?”

“Correct.”

“Were you present when Teresa Ravensong died?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“Then how were you involved?”

“My wife called me. She was frantic and begged me for help.”

“Did you help her?”

He gave a dramatic sigh. “For the wages of sin is death, but the free gift of God is eternal life in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

“Reverend!” scolded Brown before Devan could object.

“I did. I helped her.”

“And what did you do?”

“I disposed of the murder weapon.”

“Did you know that was an illegal act?”

“It was a desperate act by a desperate man.”

“Did you know it was illegal?”

He shook his head, staring out as if he was seeing beyond the courtroom. “I wasn’t thinking about manmade laws. I was distraught that my weakness, my momentary lapse of righteousness, had resulted in such harm. And no wonder, for even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.”

Brown looked down at the table, hesitating for a moment. “No more questions, Your Honor.”

“Mr. Adams?”

Devan rose to his feet and straightened his suit. “Reverend O’Shannahan?”

O’Shannahan shook himself as if he just remembered where he was. “Yes?”

“You admit you destroyed the murder weapon?”

“I disposed of it, yes.”

“What did you think that would do?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Disposing of it? Did you think you would hide the murder?”

O’Shannahan’s eyes went distant again. “I wasn’t thinking. I was in a moment of spiritual crisis, a moment of doubt and shame. But let him ask in faith, with no doubting, for the one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed by the wind.”

Devan didn’t move for a moment, then he looked at the judge. Judge Tate slowly shook her head.

“He’s bat-shit crazy,” whispered Abe.

“Crazy like a fox,” said Peyton, glancing over at the jury. A number of them were staring at O’Shannahan with pity in their eyes.

“Come on. No one’s that good an actor.”

Peyton wasn’t sure. One didn’t build a religious empire if he was having imaginary tea parties with the Mad Hatter.

“Reverend O’Shannahan, why did you try to dispose of the murder weapon?”

O’Shannahan looked over at the jury again. “I betrayed my wife, I destroyed her trust in me, I let down my congregation, I let down my faith, and worst of all, I let down my savior, the Lord God Almighty.”

“You tried to cover up a murder.”

O’Shannahan shook his head. “No, I wasn’t trying to cover up a murder. I was trying to do what I should have done all along. I was trying to do my duty as a husband.”

He paused and his unfocused eyes shifted to Devan. When he spoke, his voice shook with emotion. “I was trying to save my wife.”

The jury erupted in murmurs and Devan sighed, lowering his head.

As Devan shifted weight, O’Shannahan’s gaze locked on Peyton and the unfocused look left his eyes. For just a fraction of a moment, so brief that Peyton wasn’t sure she didn’t imagine it, O’Shannahan seemed to smile.

*    *    *

Peyton moved briskly down the hall of the courthouse, wanting to get outside. She felt like she needed a shower, like she needed to scrub herself clean of that courtroom. O’Shannahan had played the jury and both lawyers like a fiddle and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Abe loped along beside her, smart enough to know not to say anything just yet.

“Inspector Brooks?” came a feminine voice.

Peyton stopped and slowly turned around. She recognized that voice.

Rani Misra was sitting on a bench outside the courtroom, but she rose to her feet as Peyton stormed past. “Peyton? Hi.”

Peyton frowned at her. Hi?

“Do you have a moment? I really need to talk to you.” She came forward, towering over Peyton in five inch heels. Her Vera Wang skirt and silk blouse probably cost more than Peyton’s entire wardrobe and she didn’t even want to guess what the open-toed peach colored pumps must run.

“You need to talk to me?”

“If you don’t mind.” She looked at Abe, holding out her hand. “I’m Rani Misra, Devan’s fiancée.”

Abe’s mouth dropped open, but he took her hand. “Aren’t you adorable?” he said.

Peyton glared at him.

“Thank you.” She beamed a smile, shaking back her long, straight black hair. “I love your shirt.”

Abe placed his hand against his chest. “This? I got this at a delightful little boutique on Castro. It’s the perfect place for gay men and straight women.” He shot a glance at Peyton. “I mean, with a sense of style.”

They both peeled off into laughter.

“Abe!” Peyton snapped.

“Sorry,” he said, forcing a serious face.

Rani shifted her attention to Peyton. “Can I buy you a soda or something, so we can talk?”

“No.”

“Be nice,” hissed Abe.

“No, thank you,” said Peyton. “What do you want?”

Rani clasped her hands at her waist. “This is so awkward.”

“Just spit it out.”

Rani’s jaw firmed. “I need you to stay away from Devan.”

“What?”

“I know you have a history and it must be hard to see him move on, but you’re confusing him right now.”

“I’m what now?”

“Confusing him. When you aren’t around, he’s sure of his future…our future, but then you start luring him away and he forgets what’s important to him.”

“Luring him away?”

“Oh, shit,” muttered Abe.

“Look, I understand how hard this is, but think about it for a moment. You know it wouldn’t work.”

“What wouldn’t work?”

“You and Devan. He has political aspirations, Peyton. Did you know that? He’s planning to run for state senate, then enter politics at the national level.” She gave Peyton a sympathetic half-smile. “How would you fit in on the national stage? A Congressman’s wife has to be willing to subsume herself for her husband’s success. She has to be willing to give up her own career pursuits in order to further his. I don’t think that’s something you would want. Honestly, I’ve been groomed my whole life for this, but you haven’t. You wouldn’t fit in very well in Washington. You’ve got to see that.”

Peyton took a step closer to her.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Abe said to Rani.

“I wouldn’t fit in very well in Washington?” said Peyton.

“I’m not trying to offend you. I’m just being honest.”

“Well, let me tell you something, Runny…”

“It’s Rani.”

“I prefer Runny.” She moved again until she was standing toe to toe with the taller woman. “Let me make something perfectly clear. I don’t have any designs on your fiancé. You are welcome to him. And you’re damn right I wouldn’t give up my career for him, but it isn’t because I wouldn’t fit in on the national stage.”

“I really didn’t mean any offense…”

“I’m speaking and you’re not,” Peyton said through clenched teeth.

She could see Abe shaking his head at Rani as if telling her to shut up.

“I would fit in just fine in Washington. In fact, I would be the talk of the town. Wherever I went, that’s where the news would be.”

“I don’t…”

“You think I wouldn’t make a Congressman’s wife. Well, let me tell you something, sweetheart, I would own that city, I would own the country, and whenever someone mentioned Jackie O after I got there, everyone else would say Jackie Who!”

Rani gaped at her, her mouth hanging open.

“Oh, you poor girl, you just got schooled!” said Abe, tsking his tongue against his teeth.

Peyton gave her a final glare, then turned on her heel, continuing down the hall.

As she neared the elevators, she heard Abe say, “But seriously, those shoes are a-dorable!”

“Abe!” she shouted.

“Later, darling,” he said, then he appeared beside her, easily matching her angry stride with his long gait. “Everyone else would say Jackie Who,” he repeated. “Oh, that’s a classic.”

“I know, right? It just felt so good.”

Abe nodded, the beads on his dreads dancing. “I’m guessing Runny Misery’s getting more tarnished silver for her wedding, isn’t she?”

“Damn straight she is,” Peyton answered without looking back.

*    *    *

“I’m so glad you could make it,” said her mother, pulling open the door. She held out her arms and Peyton stepped into them, letting her mother enfold her in a hug. “Come in, Marco,” she said, offering him her hand.

Marco took it and let her draw him into the house.

Cliff was waiting at the edge of the living room. “You knocked up yet?” he said, patting Peyton on the belly.

“Cliff!” scolded Alice, taking both Peyton and Marco’s coats.

“I’m joking, but come on, you’re thirty now. You ever gonna pop one out? If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were a lesbian.”

“Cliff!”

He waved Alice off. Peyton met Marco’s gaze, then forced a smile. “Always a pleasure to see you, Cliff,” she said, letting her mother guide her into the living room.

“Make yourself at home,” she said. Alice had put out a platter of Humus and crackers. “Can I get you something to drink?”

Before they could answer, Cliff punched Marco on the arm. “How about a shot of tequila?”

“Ah, no thank you, just a beer.”

Cliff frowned. “A beer?”

“Yeah, I’m driving.”

“So? You’re a cop.”

Marco’s bewildered gaze shifted to Peyton again.

“Just a beer, Cliff, for both of us,” she intervened.

“See what I mean?” he said with a laugh, slapping Marco in the belly with the back of his hand. “Bossy like a lesbian.”

“Cliff, behave!” said Alice.

“I’ll behave.” He trundled off to the kitchen.

“Come sit down.” Alice motioned Peyton onto the couch and sat down beside her. That left the two recliners. Marco perched uncomfortably in the one closest to the door. Peyton was feeling a little guilty bringing him, but she just couldn’t face a night with Cliff on her own.

“How are you, sweetheart?”

“Good, Mama. How are you?”

“I’m doing great. Work is good. I really enjoy it. I get to meet so many interesting people and I like talking to them.”

“That’s good.”

Alice looked over at Marco. “I made this delicious vegan casserole with cauliflower and almonds. I think you’ll really like it.”

Marco started to answer, but Cliff returned at that moment and passed out the beers. “Vegan? What the hell is that?”

“It’s like vegetarian, Cliff, only they don’t eat dairy either.”

“Vegetarian? Why the hell are we eating that crap?”

“Marco’s vegetarian.”

Cliff threw himself down in the other recliner, then stared at Marco. “Big guy like you? What are you, gay?”

“There it is,” said Peyton, taking a swig of her beer.

Marco just sat there with his mouth open, staring at Cliff.

“Well?”

“Cliff, please.”

“I’m just kidding. It’s okay if you’re gay.”

“Cliff!”

“Well, come on, Alice, the guy’s pretty as a girl.”

“Cliff!”

“It’s okay, Mama,” said Peyton, patting her hand. She’d promised Marco the whole Cliff Martin Experience and he was damned and determined to deliver.

“So how tall are you?”

“Um.” Marco visibly tried to collect himself. “Six four.”

“Whewee! You play football?”

“Yes, sir.”

“In college?”

“No, high school.”

“Linebacker?”

“Defensive End.”

“You like to sack the fruity boys, huh? The quarterbacks?”

“Sure.”

“I’ll bet you did.”

A buzzer went off in the kitchen and Alice started to rise.

“I’ll get it,” said Cliff, waving her back down.

“I need to sprinkle it with the breadcrumbs on the counter and put it back in for another five minutes.”

“I can sprinkle some breadcrumbs. You visit with your daughter.”

After he was gone, Alice reached over and brushed Peyton’s curls off her shoulder. “He gets wound up when we have company.”

Like a freakin’ miniature poodle, Peyton thought.

“He just told me this morning how much he was looking forward to celebrating your birthday, sweetheart.”

“So have you made any wedding plans?”

Alice shrugged. “We’ve talked about it.”

“Do you want all these breadcrumbs?” Cliff shouted from the kitchen.

“Yes.”

“Put it back in for five?”

“Yes.”

“Same temperature?”

Alice gave Peyton an uncomfortable smile and rose to her feet. “I better go check it.”

Peyton nodded and watched her go, then she slid to the end of the couch, closest to her partner. “Want that shot of tequila now?

“I want the whole freakin’ bottle.”

“Did I tell ya?”

“Yeah, but this is one that has to be experienced to fully comprehend.”

Peyton laughed. He could always make her laugh. “It’s your fault.”

“How so?”

“You are awfully pretty.”

Marco chuckled and shook his head. “I wouldn’t talk. He’s got you marrying another woman. No wonder you’re not knocked up.”

Alice returned, trailed by Cliff. She held a box in her hands wrapped in shimmering blue paper. “Here, sweetheart. I can’t wait for you to open it.”

Peyton accepted the present. “Thank you, Mama.” She settled it on her lap and began to carefully tear it open. Alice perched beside her again, watching her with anticipation and Cliff threw himself down in the recliner, stuffing his face with crackers. At least he wasn’t talking when he was eating.

Peyton pulled the wrapping paper off and reached for the lid on the box. As she opened it, she could hear the crinkle of tissue paper and smell a faint hint of her mother’s perfume. Setting the box top on the coffee table, she peeled back the tissue paper.

Nestled inside was a picture of her and her father. She remembered this photo. She’d been five, just headed off to kindergarten in Mary Janes and white stockings, wearing a navy blue cardigan and a little pleated skirt. Her mass of curls had been tamed into two huge pigtails.

Her father was in his police uniform and he was kneeling before her, his hands on her shoulders, his forehead pressed to hers. The picture had been shot in profile, but the smiles were visible on both their faces.

Peyton blinked, realizing her eyes were filled with tears. The ache of losing her father was never completely gone, but it came raging back, choking her. She carefully traced the line of his face with her fingertip, barely touching the glass. If she thought about it, she could remember this very day, how he’d told her a silly joke so she wouldn’t be scared of going to school.

“Where did you find this?” she said, blinking rapidly to chase back the tears.

Alice reached up and brushed a tear off Peyton’s cheek. “Cliff found it in the attic. It was his idea to give it to you for your birthday.”

Peyton looked over at him, swallowing hard. “Thank you.”

He shrugged. “Your daddy loved you something fierce.”

Peyton nodded.

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” said Alice, but her own eyes were shimmering in tears.

“It’s priceless, Mama. I love it.”

Alice leaned forward and kissed her. “I’m glad,” she whispered.

The buzzer on the oven went off and Alice sprang to her feet. “Just let me set the table.”

“I’ll help,” said Cliff, following her.

Peyton sat staring at the picture, filled with a mixture of happiness and gut-wrenching hurt. She wasn’t sure which emotion was stronger. She felt Marco’s hand curve over her shoulder and she reached up, grasping his fingers.

“I was so scared to start school, so he told me a joke. I remember exactly what he said.” She used her free hand to wipe away the dampness beneath her eyes. “Why did the picture go to jail?”

“Why?”

“Because he was framed.”

Marco chuckled.

“Dinner,” called her mother from the kitchen.

Peyton took one last look at the photo, then covered it with tissue paper again. As they walked into the kitchen, Marco draped his arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head. She leaned into him for a moment, but moved away as soon as they were in view of Cliff. She didn’t need any more stupid, crass comments.

However, he seemed to settle down once they were seated around the table. Alice talked about the shop as she dished up the food and Cliff occupied himself with shoveling it into his gut, despite his protest that it was squirrel food.

Peyton’s mother had an unconscious charm about her. She was funny without really trying and her observations of people was oftentimes hysterical. Peyton found herself enjoying just listening to her, watching her engage all of them with her animation. She realized she didn’t spend enough time just observing her mother.

“So, tell me about your housemate,” Alice said, placing her chin on her hand.

“My housemate?” Peyton knew where this part of the conversation was headed.

“Jake. Have you two finally admitted your feelings for one another?”

Marco made a choking sound, drawing her attention. He fumbled for his water and took a gulp.

“Is Jake a man?” asked Cliff.

“Of course, he’s a man,” said Alice. “He’s so delightful and charming. He really cares about you, sweetheart.”

“Uh.” She felt Marco’s eyes on her. “We’re just friends.”

“Men and women can’t be friends,” said Cliff, picking up his shot glass. “That never works.”

“I don’t agree with that,” said Peyton.

“You don’t have to agree, but you know I’m right.”

“Men and women can be friends,” said Alice, “but that’s not the vibe I got when I was over there.”

Peyton shot a look at Marco. He was frowning at her.

“We’re just friends, Mama. Jake’s not my type.”

“So not her type,” echoed Marco.

Peyton found that strange. She wasn’t sure who was her type, but that didn’t mean Jake couldn’t be.

“Well, we’ll see,” said Alice. She tossed her napkin on her plate. “I have chocolate birthday cake.”

Even though she was turning thirty, Peyton couldn’t deny hearing chocolate cake sent a flush of happiness through her.

After the cake and coffee, Alice led them back into the living room and dug out an old photo album from when Peyton was in grade school. Peyton sat between Marco and her mother, looking at the old pictures and reminiscing about the past, while Cliff dozed in his recliner. All in all, it was a pleasant evening.

She kissed her mother at the door, holding her photo tightly in her arms. “Thank you for dinner, Mama.”

“Thank you for coming over. I’m so glad you found time for me.”

Peyton smiled and kissed her again. “We’ll start doing this more often.”

“I’d like that.” She caught Peyton’s cheeks in her hands and kissed her forehead. “I love you, baby girl.”

“I love you too, Mama.”

She separated herself from her mother and followed Marco down the stairs into the foggy darkness. She leaned against the Mustang as he pressed the button to unlock her door, then reached down to open it for her.

“Thank you for going with me, Marco,” she said as he straightened.

He leaned on the top of the door with his forearms. “It wasn’t that bad.”

She smiled. “Especially once Cliff fell asleep.”

Marco chuckled. “That did help.”

She clutched her present tighter. “I just don’t understand it.”

“Understand what?”

“What she sees in him? He’s so different from my father.”

Marco shrugged. “Maybe that’s why.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe when you’ve loved someone that much and you’ve lost them, maybe you look for someone completely different to fill the void.” He focused on her eyes as the fog eddied around them. “Maybe it’s the only way you can go on. You can’t stand being alone, but you don’t want to profane the memory of the person you loved.”

Peyton searched his face, those familiar features that were so dear to her, and she realized she was breathing a bit faster, her heart quickening a little. Sometimes he said things that left her speechless, left her feeling a strange sort of energy from him. Sometimes it was like she was seeing a whole new person and this person…God help her…this person…

“Peyton,” he said softly, so softly it was almost a breath of sound.

She took an involuntary step closer to him, uncertain what she meant to do, but she was pulled by this strange energy between them.

“Peyton!” came a second voice.

She blinked, the moment shattered.

“Peyton!”

She looked past Marco’s shoulder to see her mother climbing down the stairs with a tin-foil wrapped bundle in her hands. She went to meet her, trying to still the racing of her heart. “What, Mama?”

“I wanted you to take the cake.” She pressed it into Peyton’s free hand. “Good night, sweetheart.” Then she hurried back to the stairs and began climbing up again.

Standing on the sidewalk before her childhood home, clutching a picture of her father and half a chocolate cake, Peyton watched her until she entered the house, realizing that she wasn’t sure how to face her partner of eight years right now, realizing that she wasn’t sure what almost happened between them.

Drawing a deep breath, she turned, but he was already crossing behind the car, reaching for the driver’s side door. Pulling the door open, he paused and looked up at her, giving her a wistful smile.

CHAPTER 14

Marco glanced up from his computer monitor and studied Peyton. She was working at her own computer, typing the report from the Irving Jones incident. She’d been quiet the entire ride into the precinct this morning, making Marco want to squirm.

He knew she’d felt the strange energy between them outside her mother’s house last night. Jake and Defino kept pressing him to tell her his feelings, but he’d almost done it and now he wished to hell he hadn’t. While she wasn’t exactly avoiding him, the easy-going camaraderie between them was strained. Why the hell hadn’t he listened to himself? He knew she didn’t feel the same way about him. He knew it and yet, he’d begun to hope that maybe things could change.

He stared unseeing at the screen. Although change would mean that he couldn’t be her partner, and that would be bad…very bad, but he wasn’t sure how much longer he could go on pretending they were just friends.

“Brooks,” said Maria, stopping at Peyton’s desk.

Peyton glanced up.

“Defino wants you to get the white board and wheel it into the conference room, then assemble everyone. She wants to go over everything you know about the Janitor and put it on the board. The mayor’s been bugging her for updates.”

“Okay.” Peyton turned back to her computer, reaching for her mouse.

Maria walked to Marco’s side and placed her hand on his shoulder. “Defino wants to see you in her office right now, baby.”

Peyton’s gaze snapped to his face. He sucked in a deep breath. Here it was. She was going to remove him, probably suspend him again, and then ask that he be transferred to another precinct.

“I’ll go with you,” Peyton said.

He shook his head. There was nothing that could save them now.

“Marco…”

“She only wants to see him, Brooks,” said Maria, intervening.

Peyton rose to her feet as he pushed his desk chair back and stood. “This isn’t right.”

He gave her a grim smile. “It’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”

“Don’t worry? Marco, let me go with you.”

“You can’t, Peyton. Please stay here.”

She looked like she might protest, but he turned away and followed Maria to the front of the precinct. “Go on in,” said Maria, motioning toward the door.

Marco walked across those familiar tiles, feeling like he was going to his own execution. Eight years of his life spent in this department and he was going to be shunted aside like unwanted baggage. All because he’d had the misfortune to let his feelings get the better of him. Shit, this was why it was so much easier to keep everyone out. He’d been right the first time he walked through those doors. Keep everyone at arm’s length and then shit like this didn’t happen.

Even as he curled his fingers around the doorknob, he knew he was lying to himself. There was nothing in the world that would make him trade away the last eight years, trade away the serendipity that brought Peyton into his life. She was the single best thing that had ever happened to him.

He pushed open the door.

Defino was seated behind her desk, staring at the wall, but her eyes shifted and fixed on him.

“Captain?”

“Sit, D’Angelo.” She motioned to the chair before her desk.

Marco sank into it and gripped the arms with both hands.

“I’ve been instructed to discuss Wednesday’s incident with you by the Chief.”

Marco nodded. “Am I suspended?”

Defino gave a humorless laugh. “No…no, you’re not suspended.”

Marco frowned. That didn’t sound right. “Then what?”

Defino bit her inner lip. “He wants me to promote you to lieutenant.”

“What?”

“You’re to be promoted to lieutenant, effective immediately.”

For some reason, Marco couldn’t get his head around this. He was being promoted, not suspended. “I don’t understand.”

“Your heroics on Wednesday did not go unnoticed and with your action on Alcatraz, the Chief feels you are well past due for a promotion.”

Marco shook his head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Defino sighed. “What doesn’t make sense?”

“I’m getting a promotion to lieutenant over more experienced cops like Cho and Simons, over Peyton? She’s the best cop you have.”

Defino held up a hand.

Marco’s eyes narrowed on her. “This is how you’re getting me out, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a legitimate promotion. You’ll stay here until we finish the Clean-up Crew Case, but you’ll act as supervising lieutenant, then as soon as an opening comes up, you’ll move into a permanent position either for this precinct or another.”

“And my partner?”

“Effective immediately, we begin looking for a new partner for her.”

Marco felt his anger rise. “This is bull shit.”

“Be careful what you say, D’Angelo.”

“Be careful? Why? I’m right. This is complete bull shit.” Then he hesitated as realization dawned on him. “It’s because I’m a white male.”

“D’Angelo!”

“Isn’t it? Peyton’s the better cop, but she’s a black woman. Cho’s Asian and Simons is out of shape. I’m the freakin’ poster child for the status quo in the police department.”

“I don’t think that’s what this is.”

“Really? Really, Captain? You of all people can’t possibly believe that.”

“I do believe it. Look, I’m not saying that we don’t have more work to do to get true equality, but I don’t think that’s why you’ve been given this opportunity.”

“Bull shit.” He shook his head, staring at the blinds on her window. “This is more of the status quo. Well, I don’t accept it. I don’t want the promotion.”

Defino rose to her feet, leaning on the desk. “Don’t be stupid, D’Angelo.”

He looked back at her. “This whole thing stinks, Captain.”

“I don’t care. When you’re offered an opportunity like this, you don’t walk away from it. You accept it.”

“So I can sell out for keeping things the way they’ve always been?”

“No, so you can change it from the inside.” She sank back in her chair. “And I’m going to be frank with you, Marco. I don’t really believe this is moral outrage on your part.”

“Well, it is.”

“Maybe a little, but this is more about Peyton than anything else. You can’t accept that you won’t be her partner anymore.”

“How can you send her out there without me at her back?”

“Because I have no choice. No matter what you decide, promotion, no promotion, I can’t let you stay as Brooks’ partner. It’s becoming a distraction.”

“You said we could be partners as long as I didn’t make any more mistakes. I haven’t made a mistake.”

“Are you going to sit here and tell me this isn’t wearing on you? That you aren’t feeling the strain?”

Marco went still. She planned this. All along, she’d planned it. Throw them into a tight situation by forcing them to live together, expecting something to happen between them, then she could split them up without feeling guilty about it. She was protecting herself.

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“I’m trying to help you, you damn fool. I’m trying to advance your career. Did you really think you could sit here as a detective for the rest of your life? Don’t be an idiot, Marco. Take the promotion. Move on. If you aren’t going to tell Peyton what you feel, at least do something for your professional life.” She shook her head. “Shit, you and Brooks are the only two people who could make something bad out of something good. You deserve each other.”

Marco looked down at her desk. What the hell! How was he going to explain this to Peyton and the others? How was he going to tell Peyton they were no longer partners?

“What’s it gonna be, D’Angelo? I have a serial killer to catch.”

“I need to think about it.”

“Fine. You have until Monday to make your decision.” She leaned forward on the desk, pointing at him. “But you better think long and hard. You better be very careful before you turn down an opportunity like this. Ask your partner. I’m pretty sure I know what she’ll say.” She rose to her feet. “Now get out. I need you to get your head in the game, so we can catch this Janitor bastard.”

*    *    *

“Okay, Brooks, what do we have?”

Peyton watched as Defino and Marco entered the room. He glanced at her, then away, slumping into a chair at the end of the table. Simons and Cho looked over at him as well. Peyton felt her heart sink. There was no way he had good news for her, but if he was suspended, she didn’t understand what he was still doing here.

Jake walked through the door a moment later, carrying his tablet. He settled it on the table and sat down on Marco’s right side. “I’ve been going over the letters again. The Janitor mentions that the man who assaulted Missy drove a Chevy Nova.”

“So?” said Cho.

“Well, the first model year for the Nova was 1962 and the last year was 1988. There hasn’t been one made since.”

Marco looked over at him.

Peyton drew a deep breath, forcing herself to concentrate on the white board. She’d put up the names of each victim and their method of death. She’d also added Irving Jones to the list, even though he was still alive. Next to the names she wrote, Chevy Nova 62-88.

“If we take those years into consideration, he mentioned that he was going into the Marines after high school. Since we suspect that he’s a police officer, we can search employment records for men who entered the force in the late 80s or early 90s with a military background,” she said.

“And who also worked at the Ingleside Station for some part of their career,” said Simons.

Peyton pointed the pen at him and added it to the board.

“Do you have his last letter on that thing?” asked Marco, nodding at Jake’s tablet.

“Yeah.” He tapped on it with his fingers, then slid it over to Marco.

Marco picked it up and started reading.

“So, the first victim, Wayne Kimbro was shot execution style,” said Cho.

Peyton nodded and checked that information on her board.

“Alan Brill was the second, and he was hung.”

“Right.”

“Father Reynolds was suicide by cop. Lewis Booker had his throat slit.” Cho rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Bruce Weller was strangled with a dog leash.”

Peyton sat down at the table, bracing her arms on it. Everyone studied the white board, except Marco, who was still reading. “Then Junior Walker was shot execution style.”

“And Simon Olsen was hung,” added Jake.

“He tried to off Irving Jones with suicide by cop,” said Simons.

“Which means our next victim will have his throat slit,” said Defino, closing her eyes in weariness.

“How many cops do you think have a military background?” asked Cho.

Peyton shook her head. “A lot. And we’re talking about searching more than twenty-five years of records.”

“If he ever went into the military,” said Jake, giving her a grim smile.

“Right.”

Marco looked up, shifting so he could meet Peyton’s gaze. “What about cops with a military record who also worked in the jail system?”

“What do you mean?”

“In the letter, the Janitor said he was going to meet an old friend who recently got out of jail, not prison, jail. I looked up Irving Jones’ record. He served a reduced sentence for statutory rape of a 16 year old.”

“Why reduced?” asked Cho.

“They both claimed she was his girlfriend.”

Peyton shuddered.

“However, our pal Irving has been a guest of the county jail system most of his life on various charges – drunk in public, marijuana possession, shop lifting. Nothing big enough to earn him a strike, but he’s got a very colorful history.”

Defino smiled grimly. “So the Janitor must have worked at the jails at some point in his career. We need to cross check the employment records for cops that served in the military and then at the jails before coming on the force.”

Peyton nodded.

Defino pushed herself to her feet. “Good work, everyone. I feel the noose tightening around this bastard’s neck. Cho and Simons, get to work on a warrant to search the employment records. I’ll get Maria started on the database, pulling all the matches as soon as we have the go-ahead.”

Cho and Simons rose and headed out of the room.

Defino paused and gave Marco a nod. “You’d better think long and hard, D’Angelo,” she said and then she left the room too.

Peyton stayed where she was, her eyes fixed on her partner. Marco shifted and met her look. Jake glanced between the two of them, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll go get some coffee,” he said. “Anyone want anything?”

“No,” said Peyton.

Marco shook his head.

“Alrighty then.” He pushed himself back and rose, picking up his tablet. “Sure wouldn’t want to disrupt the awkward right now.”

“Go get your coffee, Jake,” said Peyton.

“Yes, ma’am.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Get out!” snapped Marco.

Jake beat a hasty retreat.

Peyton rolled the white board pen across the table with the palm of her hand. “Are you suspended?”

He shook his head.

“What are you then?”

He chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then looked over at her. “She offered me a promotion.”

Peyton stopped rolling the pen. “A promotion?”

“To lieutenant.”

“What do you mean she offered it to you?”

He looked down at the table. “Just that.”

“Did you take it?”

He shook his head.

Peyton thought about that for a moment. He didn’t take a promotion to lieutenant? “Why the hell not?”

He glanced over at her. “Do you know what that means? Do you understand all the implications of it?”

“It means we won’t be partners anymore.”

“Yeah.”

Her fingers tightened on the pen. “That was going to happen anyway. We’ve been on borrowed time since Alcatraz and we both know it. Defino made that clear to both of us.”

His expression grew pained.

She had to look away. She couldn’t maintain eye contact with him or she would burst into tears. A tightness banded across her chest, making it hurt to breathe, but she had to make him understand he had to take the promotion. She would never do anything to hold him back, even when this felt like it would shatter her.

“Marco, you have to take the promotion.”

“Over you? Over our partnership?”

She swallowed hard. Why couldn’t he make this easier on her? If he’d taken the promotion, it would have hurt to know he’d put his career before their friendship, but it would have made this less agonizing.

From somewhere inside of her, she found the strength to speak. “You have to take it. She’s going to break up our partnership no matter what. You can’t turn down an opportunity like this.”

“Peyton.”

She held up a hand and closed her eyes. “Please don’t.” Sucking in a deep breath, she forced herself to exhale. “Promise me you’ll take it.”

“If I take it, I’m feeding into the stereotype of the police force being a good old boys club.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say.”

“Really? She offered me a promotion over Cho and Simons. They’ve been detectives longer than I have.”

“And they don’t have our record of conviction either.”

“Fine. Then she gave it to me over you. We both know you’re the better cop.”

“I didn’t save my partner’s life on Alcatraz and I didn’t save Irving Jones just this past week.” She couldn’t believe how angry she was at him. “I’m an inspector at 30, Marco. I don’t have a damn thing to complain about and neither do you. Take the damn promotion.”

He stared at her as if she’d slapped him across the face, his expression so wounded, so hurt.

Be cruel to be kind, she told herself, but if her chest got much tighter, she was going to suffocate.

Suddenly Devan appeared in the doorway. “Hey,” he said, then paused when he sensed the tension in the room. “Sorry, bad timing?”

Marco looked down, then he pushed himself to his feet and turned away from the table. “No, perfect timing,” he said and stalked out of the room.

Peyton tightened her hand on the pen, forcing the edge of the lid into her fingers. The pain helped her gain control, helped her keep from screaming or crying or hitting something. Her mind couldn’t accept a world where Marco wasn’t her partner, and yet, she cared too much for him to let him sacrifice his career for something that was already coming to an end.

“I’m sorry, Peyton. I didn’t know I was interrupting anything.”

“It’s fine,” she gritted out and then she opened her eyes, looking up at him. As always, he wore a crisp, charcoal grey suit with a purple silk shirt and a pinstriped tie. She realized he had to be coming back from the courthouse. Rising to her feet, she put the dry erase pen on the white board and crossed around the table, coming to a halt in front of him. “Did you need something?”

He sighed. “I wanted to apologize for Rani the other day. She had no business confronting you like that.”

Peyton frowned. Rani and Devan were the last people she gave a damn about right now. “She told you?”

“Yeah, she’s surprisingly honest like that.”

“I’ll say.”

“It makes it difficult to be mad at her, but still, I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

“No, it isn’t. And it’s my fault. She’s feeling insecure and I’m not giving her any reason to feel otherwise.”

Peyton crossed her arms over her chest. Why the hell was the entire male gender so freakin’ stupid? The lot of them pissed her off. “Well, I can imagine she’s feeling insecure. What the hell is going on with you anyway?”

He blinked in surprise at her sudden anger. She realized she wasn’t angry at him, but he was as good a target as any right now. “I don’t know.” He shifted weight. “Actually, I do. I thought you and I had a chance.”

“Wait. What?”

He exhaled. “When I broke it off, I thought you’d fight for us. I thought you’d come back and tell me you wanted a relationship and you were willing to do anything necessary to work it out.”

Peyton wished she hadn’t asked. She couldn’t follow that logic right now. All she could think about was Marco.

“Then I realized you weren’t coming back, you weren’t taking the bait. You were okay that it was over.”

“I wasn’t okay…”

“No one likes rejection, I get that, but you were okay.” He scratched the back of his neck, using his other hand to push back his jacket. “I wasn’t.”

“Instead of playing games, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I was so surprised. I thought we had something and I couldn’t believe that you’d just walk away like that. So I started seeing Rani, hoping that might make you reconsider.”

“Wow, that is so stupid.”

“Fine.” He gave her an exasperated look.

“Is that why you asked her to marry you?”

“No. When you didn’t respond, I took a good look at her and as far as my career goes, she’s a really good choice for a wife.”

“Because of your political aspirations?” She couldn’t keep the contempt out of her voice.

“Do you really think you’d be happy being the wife of a politician? Giving up your career for mine?”

“No.”

“Exactly.”

“Then why have you been coming around again?”

He shook his head slowly. “I started wondering if my career was enough to compensate for happiness.”

“I don’t understand.”

He smiled at her. “I was happy when we were together. Sure, you frustrated the hell out of me, but things were fun, exciting. I liked that. I missed that. I missed you.”

“So I guess Rani isn’t getting her lawyer then?”

He gave a sad laugh. “No, she is. You were right the other day.”

“When?”

“When you asked me if she’s pregnant.”

“She’s pregnant? Wait. How the hell did you do that? You’re a grown-ass man.”

He laughed easier this time. “She told me she was on the pill.”

Peyton shook her head in bewilderment. “I thought I couldn’t hear something stupider today, but you just topped it.”

“I know.”

“Even so, you don’t have to marry her, Devan. You have to support the child, but you don’t have to marry the mother.”

“I do.”

“If you want to be a senator?”

“The sex scandals are supposed to happen after you’re elected, not before.”

“Cute.”

“I’m open to an affair.”

She gave him a disgusted look.

“I’m joking.” He held out his hands. “I’m joking. You know I’m not the cheating type.”

“I hope not. I’m not a fan of Runny.”

“Rani.”

“Right, but she deserves better than you’ve been showing her.”

“I know.”

“I hope you do.”

“If not, I figure I’ll still have you around to give me a swift kick in the ass.”

She smiled at him, then she went up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I really do wish you happiness, Devan. You don’t know, a baby may change everything between the two of you.”

“I can hope.”

She stepped away from him and started toward the door.

“Peyton?”

She hesitated, looking back at him.

“I came to tell you something else. The jury for the O’Shannahan trial went into deliberations today. They agreed to deliberate through the weekend if necessary.”

“Why?”

“Pressure from the mayor.”

“Whatever.” She waved it off.

“Do you want me to let you know the verdict?”

“Sure.”

“Okay.” He hesitated, then gave her a wistful smile. “I’m sorry things turned out this way between us.”

She could honestly say she wasn’t, but she didn’t think he wanted to hear that and she really didn’t want to hurt him. Any animosity she’d once felt toward him was gone. Unfortunately, Marco was front and foremost in her thoughts right now.

“I’m sorry too, Devan,” she said, then she disappeared out the door.

*    *    *

Peyton sat on the little bench in the precinct bathroom, staring at a spot on the tiled floor. If she stared at it long enough, it looked like a woman crying with her hands over her face. She’d been sitting here for a while, wondering why she’d never noticed it before.

The door opened and Maria stepped inside. She halted when she saw Peyton. “Oh God, Brooks, what the hell are you doing sitting in a bathroom?”

Peyton glanced up at her, then went back to studying the spot. “Just thinking.”

Maria sighed. “Don’t do this to me, Brooks. I don’t do girl talk.”

Peyton frowned. “That’s the one girly thing you don’t do?”

Maria let the door close behind her and came over, dropping down on the bench. “I hate it. I’ve never had many girlfriends and even when I did, I didn’t give a shit about their problems.”

“You’re a regular angel of mercy, aren’t you, Maria?”

She leaned back against the wall. “Don’t make me pull it out of you, please. Just tell me what’s wrong, I’ll tell you what to do about it, and then we can leave the freakin’ bathroom.” She pointed a finger at her. “And don’t you cry.”

“Now that you’ve set the ground rules for our girl talk…”

“Brooks!”

Peyton exhaled and closed her eyes. “Defino offered Marco a promotion to lieutenant.”

“I know.”

“He didn’t take it.”

“He has to. It would be stupid of him not to.”

“That’s what I told him.”

“But we’re still sitting in the bathroom. Why?”

Peyton swallowed, fighting the rush of tears. She didn’t want to violate Maria’s one rule. “We won’t be partners anymore.”

“You had to know that’s been coming for a long time.”

“I did. Intellectually, I guess. I just kept hoping it wouldn’t happen.”

“I’m sorry about that, but I still think he has to take the promotion.”

“I know. It’s just…” She splayed her hands on her thighs and rubbed them against her jeans. “I don’t know.”

“What?”

She shifted until she faced Maria, tucking her leg under her. “He’s been a daily part of my life for eight years. We spend hours together every single day. Whenever I go on a call, he’s there for me. I feel safer with him than anyone else. All that changes when he takes this promotion.”

“It doesn’t change. He’ll still be there for you.”

“Not in the same way. We won’t spend our days together anymore. We won’t have the time like we do now.” She let out a shivery pant. “For eight years he’s been my rock, my support, my one constant.”

Maria reached over and took one of her hands. “And he’ll still be that, but I guess you’re going to have to ask yourself if maybe it’s time for this relationship to evolve.”

“What?”

Maria squeezed her hand. “You play it safe, Brooks. Sure, you have this crazy dangerous job, but in your personal life, you play it safe.”

Peyton shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Look at the people you surround yourself with. They’re all safe.”

“How so?”

“Jake? Jake Ryder’s a house cat, Brooks.”

“Well…”

“And Abe? Who could be safer for a woman than a gay man? And a gay man like Abe who is all refined and cultured.”

Peyton was beginning to see her point.

“And then there’s me. How much safer could I get? I need you to rescue my ass, and beyond a few criticisms of your hair and butt, I am easy-going to a fault.”

Well, she didn’t know about that.

“For God’s sakes, Brooks, you’re going on a date tonight with Stan Neumann.”

“Hold on. They thought he might be the serial killer.”

“For all of five minutes and they were clutching at straws.”

Peyton nodded. She had a point.

“The only dangerous thing in your life is Marco, but you put a collar on him and called him domesticated.”

“What?”

“Eight years ago, you decided you were going to make him into a pet, and the damn fool let you. Now, the way I see it, you’ve either got to let him go, or you’re going to have to stop playing it safe and evolve that relationship.”

Peyton searched her face. “He’s my best friend.”

Maria shrugged.

“For eight years, he’s been my best friend, my partner. What are you suggesting?”

Maria gave a little laugh. “I’m not going to spell it out for you, Brooks. Obviously, you’re not ready…”

Ready? Ready for what?

“But ask yourself this. I eavesdropped on that conversation with Devan about Runny Misery being pregnant.”

Peyton was getting more and more confused. “Yeah?”

“Your ex-boyfriend tells you he got another woman pregnant, but rather than being upset about that, you’re sitting in the bathroom, upset over your partner getting a promotion, and it’s not because you didn’t get one.”

Peyton sighed and looked at their clasped hands. “I’ve got a headache.”

“It’s probably from sitting in the bathroom.”

Peyton laughed. “You know, for someone who doesn’t do girl talks, you did pretty good.”

“Shut up.” She pulled her hand away.

Peyton caught it again. “You know what this makes us?”

“Don’t say it.”

“But it’s true.”

“Please, Brooks, don’t.”

“We’re girlfriends!”

Maria rolled her eyes and pulled her hand free. “God help me.”

“That’s right. We’re officially girlfriends.”

Maria rose to her feet, shaking her head.

“You know what we need to do to seal the bond?”

“I’m afraid to ask.”

“We need to go shoe shopping.”

Maria gave her a pointed look. “Now that I agree. We have got to do something about those dyke boots you wear.”

Peyton laughed and reached for her hand. “Thank you.”

Maria squeezed her hand in return. “Thank you for taking me in when you did.”

Peyton smiled. “My pleasure. Sometimes you’re all right, you know?”

“Nice. Now do you mind? I’ve gotta pee something horrible.”

Peyton nodded and watched her walk away. You’ve got to evolve that relationship. Well, shit. That required some serious thinking.

CHAPTER 15

“Ta-da,” said Abe, coming out of the hallway, waving his arms in the air.

Marco looked up from the couch as Peyton stepped from her room in a burgundy wrap-around dress, strappy open-toed heels with her curls wound up in an elegant chignon. Sitting in the recliner next to him, Jake let out a whistle and rose to his feet, going over to her and taking her hand.

“Ooolala, sexy lady!” he said, twirling her around.

She laughed and pirouetted for him.

“You are one hot babe!” he continued. “Stan’s gonna have a heart attack.”

She smiled, then her eyes fell on Marco. “Is it too much? I don’t want to give him the wrong idea.”

Marco returned her smile, shaking his head. “It’s not too much.” He wanted to say more, tell her what he really thought, but that would just make things tense between them again.

Abe had done something with her make-up, bringing out her eyes. They looked large and smoky, unbelievably exotic and sexy, and the way a few curls trailed down her neck made him wish he could follow them with his fingertips. He needed to stop staring at her, but he couldn’t.

She finally broke eye contact. “I forgot my wrap.” Turning on her heel, she dashed back into her room, followed by Pickles.

“Wow! You did wonders, man,” said Jake to Abe.

“I had a good canvas to work with. She’s adorable when she’s made up, isn’t she?”

“Yeah, she is.”

“Ryder!” Marco snapped.

“What? It’s true. That is one knock-out of a woman.”

Abe laughed. “So, what should we drink tonight, Jake my man?” He moved toward the kitchen.

“You’re not drinking anything,” said Marco, picking up Jake’s newspaper and shaking it out. He leaned back on the couch and crossed his ankle over his knee.

“Why am I not drinking?” Abe asked, stopping in the entrance.

“Because you’re going to dinner with me.”

Abe gasped and placed his hand over his heart. “Our first date.”

“It’s not a date,” growled Marco. “Ryder’s coming.”

“Ryder is not coming,” said Jake, shaking his head. “Ryder is parking himself on that couch and watching baseball.”

“If Ryder enjoys walking, he might want to reconsider.”

“Wait,” said Abe, moving back into the living room. “Why is Ryder coming on our date?”

“It’s not a date.” Marco snapped the paper and folded it, tossing it on the coffee table. He couldn’t concentrate on it anyway. His thoughts kept returning to Peyton. “Both of you are coming because I’m not going to sit in a restaurant by myself. It’s pathetic.”

Before either of them could protest further, the doorbell rang. Marco pushed himself to his feet and stalked over to it, yanking it open. Frustration darkened his mood. He couldn’t believe Stan Neumann was taking Peyton on a freakin’ date, while he got stuck with Abe and Jake Ryder.

Stan took an involuntary step back as he came face to face with a glowering Marco. He was dressed in a checked navy blue suit with a white shirt and a brown tie. He had a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a wrapped present in the other.

“Stan.”

Stan edged past him and into the house. “Hey, Marco. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“I’m going with you tonight.”

Stan turned to face him, frowning. “I’m sorry. What?”

“I’m going to dinner with you.”

Stan shifted uncomfortably. “Um, why?”

“To watch out for Peyton.”

“Uh, I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Peyton, Marco.”

“Not you, Stan. The Janitor.”

“Oh.” Stan looked over his shoulder at Jake and Abe. “Hello.”

“Hey, Stan. Bet you didn’t know you were taking all of us out tonight,” said Jake, throwing himself into his chair again.

“I am?”

“No,” said Marco. “They’re coming with me. We’ll be at another table.”

“Oh.” Stan gave them all a bewildered look. “You don’t think the Janitor would bother Peyton on a date?”

“Are you worried about it?”

“No, no,” said Stan quickly. “I can protect her, but I just want to be prepared.”

Marco closed the door and walked over to the barstools, taking a seat. He couldn’t help but smirk a little. “How ‘bout I be your backup?”

“If you think that’s necessary, but I think…” His voice trailed off. Peyton appeared in the hallway. “Oh, wow!” he breathed.

“Hello, Stan,” she said, coming up to him.

He offered her the flowers and then the present. She smelled the flowers. “They’re beautiful.” She passed them to Abe to place in a vase. “Thank you. You didn’t have to bring me anything.”

“It’s your birthday.” He nodded at the present. “Open it. I think you’ll like it.”

“Okay.” She draped the wrap over a barstool and began carefully unwrapping the box.

Stan stared at her in adoration as she did so, his eyes looking enormous behind his glasses. Jake snickered in his recliner and swiveled around so he could watch them. Marco shot him a glare.

Peyton unwrapped the box and handed Marco the paper. He balled it up and chucked it at Abe, who dropped it. Then she settled the box on the counter and carefully lifted the lid. Marco leaned over to see what Stan had picked out for her.

It was some sort of transparent sheet with a drawing of an Asian girl on it, encased in a glass frame.

“It’s an animation cel,” said Stan.

Peyton lifted it out, studying it. “An animation cel?”

“Yes, from a Disney movie. It’s an original. You can see the number on the bottom.” He pointed to a small metal plaque.

“Oh, yes, I see it now.”

“I got you Mulan.”

“Mulan?”

“Yeah, you remind me of her. A warrior princess.”

Marco shifted to look at Stan. Damn him!

“Wow, Stan, that is so neat. I love it. Mulan’s my favorite Disney movie.”

“Really?”

“Yes.” She settled it back in the box and went to him, kissing his cheek. “Thank you so much. What a thoughtful gift!”

“Smooth,” said Ryder with a wicked smile for Marco’s benefit.

Marco glared at him again.

“You look beautiful, Peyton,” said Stan a little breathlessly.

Peyton beamed at that. Marco felt his gut tighten. Damn the little geek, he was making him look bad. He wanted to tell Peyton she was beautiful too, but it would sound ridiculous now.

She reached for her wrap and shook it out.

“Let me.” Stan took it from her and as she turned, he draped it over her shoulders, letting his finger trail briefly down her neck.

Marco rose quickly to his feet, forcing them to separate. “Okay, let’s go.”

“Don’t make me go,” moaned Ryder from his chair.

“Shut up, Ryder!” he growled.

“Wait. Why is Jake going?” she asked.

Abe leaned on the counter, bracing his chin with his fist. “I’m going too, sweets, and apparently this isn’t a date.”

“Wait.” Peyton shook her head. “Why are you going?”

“To not have a date with my Angel.”

Peyton briefly closed her eyes. “What?”

“They’re going with me,” said Marco, moving around her and grabbing his jacket off the peg. “I’m not eating alone.”

“Excuse me, Stan,” she said sweetly, then she went to the door and opened it, reaching in to grab Marco’s arm and drag him out onto the stoop with her. “This is ridiculous.”

“You agreed to the date, not me.”

“I don’t mean the date. I mean you taking the entire house with us.”

“Maria and Cho are out, so it’s just the three of us.”

“Marco!” she said, planting her hands on her hips.

He didn’t want to fight with her, so he reached up and swept a curl off her cheek. “You do look beautiful.”

She went still and her lips parted. Oh God, he wanted to kiss her so badly, he ached with it. A faint flush rose in her cheeks and her breathing quickened a little, then she took a step back. “Okay, I guess we’re all going to dinner then.”

Without another word, she turned and went into the house. Marco considered that. Usually they went round and round, arguing about everything. However, this was an interesting development. Maybe he could get his way once in a while if he remembered this.

*    *    *

Peyton found herself studying the back of Marco’s head as they sat in the Zuni Café. He was sitting, facing the bank of windows that fronted Market, watching everyone who entered, while she and Stan had been given a smaller table toward the back. Something was changing between her and Marco, and it both excited and terrified her.

She knew she should be worried about the case, or about the fact that he would no longer be her partner, but she couldn’t help but think about the other things that had been happening – the strange energy between them whenever they were together lately. When he’d told her she was beautiful on the stoop, her crazy heart had started pounding and for a minute, for a minute she thought he might…

“Peyton.”

She blinked and looked at Stan.

“You seem really distracted.”

“I’m sorry, Stan. I’m not being very good company, am I?”

“I guess you’ve got a lot on your mind.”

The waiter arrived. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

Stan looked at Peyton. “Do you want wine?”

Peyton smiled. “Sure.”

“What do you recommend?” Stan asked the waiter.

He opened the wine menu and pointed. “We have a delightful Syrah from Sonoma or a Grenache that has a wonderful hint of orange. I would recommend either of those.”

Stan gave Peyton a bewildered look.

“Either of those is fine,” she told the waiter. “We’ll let you decide.”

“Excellent.” He wandered away.

“Have you eaten here before?”

Peyton looked around the restaurant with its rustic metal work, the copper counter on the bar, the splashes of modern art on the white walls, and the red brick breaking up the two story planes of glass. In the center of the restaurant was a giant brick oven that cooked whole chickens for patrons to share.

“No, but I’ve heard about it.”

“They say the chicken’s their specialty. Would you like to try it?”

“Sure.”

The waiter returned with the wine and uncorked it, then poured a little into Stan’s glass. Stan lifted the glass and made a good show of swirling it around before tasting it. He gave a little shiver, then nodded at the waiter. The waiter poured both of them glasses, then folded his hands behind his back.

“Can I tell you tonight’s specials?”

“Actually we think we’ll try the chicken.”

“Excellent choice, sir. You do know the wait is approximately an hour.”

“Oh, uh.” Stan gave her a worried look.

“It’s fine.”

“Fine,” Stan repeated.

“May I recommend the Cesar Salad while you wait?”

“Great.”

He nodded and walked away.

Stan leaned on the table. “Marco’s going to be mad that we ordered the chicken.”

Peyton smiled. “That’s Marco’s problem. It’ll give Abe more time to enjoy his date.”

Stan gave Peyton a mischievous wink, then he lifted his glass and held it up. “Happy birthday.”

Peyton touched her glass to his. “Thank you, Stan.”

He took a sip and settled it on the table again. “Thank you for going out with me, Peyton.”

“Thank you for inviting me. This is fun.”

He smiled and looked down at the table, running his finger over a wrinkle in the white tablecloth. “I know I’m not really your type of guy.” He glanced over his shoulder at the other table where Marco sat. “I know everyone thinks I’m ridiculous for having a crush on you.”

“Why do you say that?”

He glanced up at her. “Clearly you’re way out of my league, Peyton.”

“That’s not true.”

He adjusted his glasses on his nose. “You’re always so nice to me. You never treat me like I’m some pathetic nerd.”

“Because I don’t think of you like that, Stan. Where is this coming from?”

He gave her an uncomfortable smile. “Look, I know this isn’t going anywhere, but I just wanted you to know that when we walked through those doors together just now, I felt about 50 feet tall.”

Peyton settled her glass on the table. “Stan, you are a great guy. You’re wicked smart, and funny, and very interesting.”

“Interesting?”

“Yeah, all of your hobbies. You’re not afraid to be yourself and I really admire that about you. And I believe that you will find someone someday who sees you exactly as I do, and she’s gonna be one of the luckiest women in the world.”

His smile lit up his face, then he looked down again. “Can’t fault me for wishing that woman was you.”

Peyton gave a little laugh. “I’m a handful, Stan. Look at me, I’m 30 and I’ve never been able to make a relationship work my entire life.”

“Maybe you’re just looking at the wrong men, Peyton.”

She hesitated, reaching for her wine. Marco had said the same thing to her recently.

“You need someone who sees you for who you are and doesn’t want to change you. Someone who can accept your strong personality and get pleasure from it, not want to curb you.”

Involuntarily, her eyes tracked over to Marco. Shit, she thought, grabbing her wine and draining the glass.

*    *   *

“There is nothing but wine on this menu,” complained Abe, dropping it on his plate.

Marco glared at him. “Pick one or don’t. Stop whining!”

“Wine is so not my style, Angel’D. I need something with panache, with flair…”

“With 80 proof,” said Jake.

“All right, you pick one that matches my personality.” He passed the wine list over to Jake.

Marco regretted asking them to join him. Did it really look so desperate to eat at a nice restaurant alone?

Yeah, he knew it did, but then the maître d had seated them so far from Peyton that he couldn’t hear what they were saying. All in all, the evening was turning into a nightmare. He was actually hoping the Janitor would make an appearance.

“Oh, they have Dom Perignon here.”

Marco glanced over at the menu. “For $200 a bottle!”

“That’ll do,” said Abe, nodding enthusiastically.

“What?”

Abe placed a hand in the middle of his chest. “You should know that when you ask me on a date, Angel, I don’t come cheap.”

“That’s half my paycheck!”

“How bad do you want to shut me up?”

Marco sighed. “Bad.”

Abe went back to looking at the menu. “Oh, they have whole chickens for two. We can split one.” He winked at Marco.

“I’m vegetarian.”

“Oh, right. Well then, Jake and I can split one. You can munch on lettuce.”

Marco glanced at his own menu. “Oh, no, that takes an hour to prepare.”

“They’re on a date,” said Abe, waving airily over his shoulder. “How long do you think they’re going to take? Besides when you go on a date with me, it lasts all night.” He made a kissing motion with his lips.

Jake snickered into his water.

Marco wanted to kick him, but this was too nice a restaurant for violence.

The waiter approached. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“We’ll have a bottle of the Dom,” said Abe.

“Excellent choice. I’ll get that right away.”

Marco glared after him as he left.

“So what’s put you in such a bad mood, D’lightful?”

“How can you tell?” grumbled Jake.

Marco glared at him as well. “I’d rather be anywhere else in the world right now.”

“Ouch. That hurts.” Abe clutched at his chest.

Marco drew a deep breath and held it, then forced himself to exhale. “Sorry. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”

“Like a promotion to lieutenant that you didn’t take?” said Jake.

“How do you know that?”

“I hear things.”

“Wait. You were offered a promotion and you didn’t take it?”

Marco shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

“It’s not complicated,” said Jake. “You just don’t want Peyton to have another partner.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s it,” said Abe, nodding.

Marco stared hard at his water glass.

The waiter returned and began the whole production of letting them taste the wine. “No need,” said Abe, waving him off. “It’s Dom. We aren’t sending it back.”

“Very good, sir.” He poured out three glasses and set the bottle on the table. “Are you ready to order?”

“We’ll have the whole chicken,” said Abe, motioning between himself and Jake. “And this brooding hunk of gorgeous will have a plate of rabbit food.”

“We have a lovely salad with marinated beets, avocado and a coriander dressing. Pared with a bowl of our cranberry bean and tomato soup and you’d have a very filling meal.”

“That’s fine.”

“I do have to let you gentlemen know the chicken will take an hour.”

Marco closed his eyes.

“Perfect,” said Abe, shutting his menu.

“May I suggest a salad to hold you over? We’re famous for our Cesar salad.”

“I’m fine with my Dom,” said Abe, reaching for his glass.

The waiter turned to Jake.

“I’m good.”

“Very good, sirs,” he said and walked away.

Abe leaned back in his chair and sipped at his Dom. “Oh, this is too good.”

“It better be,” growled Marco.

Abe pushed a glass at him. “Try some.”

Marco lifted it and took a gulp.

“Savor it, Angel, savor. Like good sex.”

Marco took another gulp. He wasn’t much of a wine drinker, but he had to admit this was some damn good wine. The bubbles were just enough to give it a light, airy taste and it flowed over his tongue with a clean, sharp flavor.

“Oh God, if I die tonight, I die happy,” murmured Jake, his eyes closed as if he were making love to his glass.

“Knock it off!” Marco grumbled.

Jake opened his eyes and settled the glass on the table. “Here’s why you’re always so damn uptight, Adonis. You can’t loosen up and enjoy the pleasures in life. Like good food and wine, and…” He gave a lusty sigh. “…fine women.”

“And you do?”

“I’m learning.”

“That’s right, Jake. You’re learning.”

Jake clinked his glass against Abe’s. “You’ve been a mighty fine teacher, sir.”

“Why, thank you, sir.”

Marco shook his head in bemusement. “Unfreakin’ believable.”

“Now, this is why you’re in the mess you’re in. You may be a big, tough cop, but you’re really a coward.”

Marco clenched his jaw. “I have a gun on me right now, Ryder.”

“Yep, it gives you a false sense of bravery, but really, you’re a scared little boy inside.”

Marco gave him a disbelieving look.

“You have a point,” said Abe, studying the wine in his glass. “I never really thought of it that way.”

“Let me ask you something, Abe. If you had an intelligent, beautiful woman right in front of you…”

Abe made a face. “Better analogy, please.”

Marco gave Jake the death stare. “I wouldn’t continue that if I were you.”

Jake waved him off. “It’s too crowded in here for you to kill me. Besides it would upset Peyton.”

“Go on,” urged Abe.

“If you had a prime piece of property available to you. It was in the best location, had the finest amenities, valet parking…”

Marco looked at him in bewilderment.

“And they were practically offering it to you for a song, would you walk away from it because you were afraid you might have to do a little remodeling, maybe retrofit it for earthquakes?”

“Wait,” said Abe, reaching for the Dom bottle. “Are we talking about a woman or a piece of property?”

“Piece of property.”

“Do I already have a piece of property?”

“No, you don’t. Actually, you’ve been renting out properties for a number of years now, but none of them are right for you. After you’ve stayed with them for a while, you find they just don’t satisfy your needs for a permanent home.”

“I see. But I sense that I’m reluctant to make a 30 year commitment to a mortgage, right?”

“Right. And actually, this property is so special, you’d probably be willing to make that commitment, but you’re not sure the property’s ready.”

“Ah, is the property courting other buyers?”

“No, not anymore. In fact, the property is really tired of being on the market.”

Marco slumped down in his chair, rubbing a hand across his forehead.

“So, what do you think is holding me back? I mean what have I got to lose?”

“Exactly. It’s mostly an ego thing, I think. You’re afraid of rejection, so afraid that you might let this prime piece of turf get away from you.”

“You mean the bank might decline my loan.”

“Right.”

“Well, seems to me I won’t know unless I put in an application. I’m told that once you own your own home you can never go back to renting again.”

“That’s true. Besides, I hear home owners live longer than renters, anyway.”

“Well, that’s a bonus.”

Marco shook his head. “You wanna stop now?”

“Sure. I thought we could talk about how smooth Stan was tonight with that gift of his.”

Abe rolled his eyes. “Could you believe it? Little nerd boy brought his A-game.”

“Yeah, he did.”

Marco didn’t care if they were in a fancy restaurant. He kicked Jake’s shin under the table, but unfortunately Jake had anticipated him and moved his leg behind the chair. Pain speared through Marco’s foot and he hunched over, grimacing.

Jake tsked his tongue against his teeth. “You’ve really got to do something about these dark moods of yours, Adonis.”

Abe held up his wine glass. “I agree.”

CHAPTER 16

Peyton jogged down the stairs of her house, pausing at the bottom. Marco stood in the driveway, his legs braced as he stretched his arms over the back of his head. He turned and gave her a smile, rolling his shoulders to loosen them. She hesitated, marking the way his running jacket strained against his upper body and pulled tight across his chest. No man had a right to look this good in the morning, especially after sleeping on a military cot all night.

“Happy birthday, partner,” he said.

“Thank you.” She forced herself to stop admiring him and glanced out at the beautiful September Saturday dawning around them. The sun was filtering through the morning fog, promising a day filled with late summer warmth.

A motion in the window of the house across the street caught her attention and she squinted at it, but it was just the curtain sliding back into place. Strange, she’d thought the house empty. About four months ago, the family who owned it had moved away and although it had been for sale, eventually it was taken off the market when no one was anxious to pony up the exorbitant amount the previous owners wanted.

“What’s wrong?” Marco turned to see where she was looking.

“Nothing. I think you had an admirer watching you stretch.”

“Hm.” He turned back and pressed his palms to the wall, focusing on his calf muscles.

Peyton found herself focusing on them too, and shook herself. Damn, she needed to figure out what the hell was wrong with her lately.

“We going running or not, Brooks?”

She made a few half-hearted attempts at loosening her muscles, then began jogging up the street. She really didn’t feel like running today, but it was the only way she was going to get any alone time with Marco. Abe had a big celebration planned and as soon as that was over, she needed to get back to work. They had to solve this Clean-up Crew case before anyone else died.

She couldn’t stand to watch the news anymore. The Janitor dominated the local stations and she kept fearing it would eventually draw the attention of the national media. The mayor feared the same and pressed Defino for an arrest.

However, solving the case would take Marco from her for good. Defino had given him until Monday to make his decision about the promotion. She knew they needed to discuss it some more, but he deflected any attempt she made. At some point, she was going to have to force the issue.

They jogged into the park and Peyton dropped down to a walk. As they did so many mornings, they wandered until they came to Stow Lake.

Marco nudged her in the side. “Let me buy you a chocolate donut in the café.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of jogging?”

“Not on your birthday, it doesn’t.”

“Okay.” She smiled at him, pushing a stray curl behind her ear. The action brought the previous night to mind, when he’d done the same thing on her stoop. She looked away and followed him into the building.

He bought her a donut and a cup of coffee for each of them, then they went back outside and sat on the deck, watching the ducks and geese on the lake. She braced her elbows on the table and held her coffee in both hands, enjoying the warmth of it. She felt his eyes on her, but she just wanted to sit still for a moment, enjoying the quiet before they had to talk about everything that was changing around them.

“So, how was your date?”

The rumble of his voice was as familiar as her own, but there was an edge to it she didn’t remember noticing before. She glanced at him over her shoulder. “It was actually fun.”

His brows rose at that. “You make plans for another one?”

“No.” She rubbed her chin against the fabric of her jacket. “He told me I wasn’t his type.”

Marco frowned. “I find that hard to believe.”

She shrugged. “That’s pretty much what he said. How was your date?”

“Jake ordered Dom Perignon.”

“Dom Perignon? How the hell much did that cost?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“Jake doesn’t have that kind of money.”

“Obviously.”

“You don’t either.”

“It was the only way to get Abe to stop bitching about the wine.”

“Oh, yeah, Abe doesn’t like wine.”

“Yeah.”

Peyton gave a laugh. “How much was your dinner?”

“Don’t ask.” When she gave him a speculative look, he shook his head in amusement. “Abe split the bill with me.”

“Did Jake pay?”

“No, apparently it was my punishment for making him come with us. Oh, and for trying to kick him.”

Peyton laughed again. “You tried to kick him? Why?”

“He was being Jake.”

“I see. Sounds like your date was more fun than mine.”

“Well, my date was Abe.”

“Point taken.”

He nudged the donut at her. “Are you going to eat your birthday breakfast?”

“Only if you have some too.”

“Okay.”

She split the donut and passed him half on a napkin, then she placed a bite in her mouth. How many time had he brought her something sweet over the years? How many times had he gone out of his way to surprise her with some little something? And all that would be ending soon.

She pushed the plate away, fighting the sudden rush of tears.

“Not hungry?”

She drew a deep breath, holding it until she could get control of her emotions. “You know you have to take that promotion, right?”

He settled his coffee cup on the table. “Look, let’s not talk about this today, okay? Let’s just enjoy the day without worrying about our jobs.”

“Today is Saturday. When are we going to talk about it?”

“Tomorrow.”

“You can’t keep putting it off, Marco.”

“Peyton, do you realize that our whole lives revolve around our jobs? How many weekends have we spent working a case? How many nights have we stayed at the precinct until it became the next day? We’re letting it consume us.”

“We work homicide, Marco. Other people depend on us to do this job.”

“To what end? We’re both thirty now. Neither one of us has a life outside of work. How many more years do you think we can do this? Shutting out everything else?”

She searched his face. God, he was right. The job was eating her alive. She spent every moment away from it feeling empty and lost and alone.

“No matter how hard we work, how many hours we dedicate to it, there will always be one more homicide to solve. One more murderer to arrest. One more victim to get justice for. Every single day we concentrate on death. Can’t we just take one day to enjoy life?”

She smiled at him, tamping down the sadness, the agony of knowing how much she was going to lose without him as her partner – the days spent together, the hours of knowing he was there, always a step away.

He wanted one day and she was determined to give it to him. She could block the worry, the fear, for that long. She could pretend that everything was going to be okay and she wasn’t losing him.

“So, is Abe getting me a stripper?” she said.

He visibly relaxed. “God, I don’t know, but if you see an abnormally large birthday cake, I think I’d run.”

Laughter bubbled up inside of her and she reached for another piece of donut, placing it in her mouth.

*    *    *

Maria smoothed the lines of the dress yet again, then stepped back beside Abe and gave her a once-over. “Not bad.”

“Not bad? She’s gorgeous,” said Abe. He came forward and kissed Peyton’s cheek.

Maria swatted him. “Don’t. You’ll ruin her makeup.”

Peyton wrapped her arms around Abe’s waist and pressed her cheek to his chest. “Thank you, both of you, for this.”

The red halter dress and the black sandals were a present from Abe and Maria for her birthday. The dress fit her like a glove and came to mid-thigh showing off her legs. They might not be the longest legs she’d ever seen, but in this dress and heels they weren’t half bad.

Then they’d done something with her hair. It was down around her shoulders, but one part over her left ear was bound up in an elaborate braid with a sparkly piece of fabric woven into it. A pair of tear-drop earrings in silver hung from her earlobes.

Maria pulled her in front of the mirror, putting her hands on her shoulders. “Look at yourself,” she said in Peyton’s ear.

Peyton couldn’t believe the woman staring back at her was the same one who threw on sweats and gathered her hair into a ponytail every day.

“You’re a knock out. The men are going to go crazy when they see you.”

Peyton smiled and touched Maria’s hand. If she were honest with herself, there was only one man she wanted to go crazy and he would never look at her that way.

“Okay, come on. It’s time.” Abe went to the bedroom door and pulled it open. Peyton let Maria draw her into the living room. Cho and Jake were sitting on the couch with Pickles between them, while Marco sat in the recliner. They were all watching the Giants game.

Three pairs of eyes shifted to her.

Peyton bit her lip, suddenly feeling ridiculous.

“Holy crap!” said Cho. “Brooks, you are hot!”

She felt a blush paint her cheeks. Maria beamed at her.

“Damn. I’m sure glad I contributed to that present,” he added.

Maria put her hands on her hips. “That’s enough!”

He got up and came over to her, kissing her cheek. “It’s just you always look this hot, baby.”

“Not smooth,” said Jake, shaking his head, then he focused on Peyton, climbing off the couch as well. “He’s right though. You are one hot lady, Mighty Mouse.” He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, kissing the back of it. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you, Jake.”

He tugged her toward the kitchen. “I have a present for you.”

She glanced over at Marco as Jake led her to the counter. Marco hadn’t moved, but he was staring at her intently. She worried he thought the dress was too much, too daring, too bold. Maybe he thought she looked cheap.

She tried to concentrate on Jake as he handed her a gift bag. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Yes, I did. Besides, it’s not much.”

She settled it on a barstool and rifled through the tissue paper. The hard edge of a frame met her touch and she gave a happy little gasp. She’d been hoping he’d give her one of his photographs, something personal from him alone.

Lifting it out, she caught her breath. It was a picture of her and Marco during the 4th of July celebration just this past summer. They were in silhouette against the night sky. Her back was to him, but they were both laughing, their faces caught in profile. Behind them in the sky exploded a rain of red and blue lights – fireworks.

Tears filled her eyes and she blinked rapidly to stop them. She couldn’t find her voice to tell him what this picture meant to her, especially now.

Jake put a finger under her chin and lifted her face. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

She shook her head, fighting the tears.

“Great. Ruin her makeup, will you?” said Maria. “Let me see it.” She leaned against Peyton’s shoulder, looking at the photo. “Oh, wow! That’s amazing, Ryder.”

Peyton nodded. “It is.”

Jake smiled happily. “I’m glad you like it.”

Peyton nodded again, not trusting herself to speak.

Cho looked over Peyton’s other shoulder. “Damn man, you got talent.”

“Thank you.”

Abe pushed between them and took the photo from her. “Come on, lil’ bits, no tears tonight.” He set it on the sofa table, making a noise of admiration in his throat as he looked at it, then he turned back to her. “Dry your eyes, sweetie.”

Maria handed her a tissue and she carefully dabbed beneath her eyes, then she moved close to Jake and rose on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, hugging him.

He hugged her back, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Anything for you, Mighty Mouse.”

Abe pulled her out of Jake’s arms and steered her into the kitchen. “Now let’s get this celebration started.”

He released her at the counter and went to the refrigerator, pulling it open. Reaching in, he drew out a tray covered in beautiful crystal wine glasses filled with a frothy white drink. Sitting on top of the glacially white liquid was a sprig of mint and three brilliant red raspberries, almost a perfect match for Peyton’s dress.

Abe settled the tray on the counter and reached for the first glass, handing it to Peyton.

“What is it?” she asked.

“This is called Raspberry Le Flor, made with Svedka Raspberry Vodka, elderflower liqueur, lemon juice, simple syrup, and water. An elegant cocktail for an elegant lady.”

Peyton smiled at him and watched as he passed the drinks around.

“Care to join us, Angel,” he called.

Marco had moved to the sofa table and was staring at the photo Jake had given her. He glanced up and caught Peyton’s eye, then he came to the counter and accepted the drink from Abe. Finally, Abe lifted his own drink and saluted Peyton with it.

“On this auspicious occasion, I thought we’d each say something about our darling friend, the divine Miss P. Of course, I’ll start.” He cleared his throat and stood up straighter. “Peyton, my sweet, you are the most kick-ass woman I’ve ever met and if I weren’t gay, I would so marry you.”

Peyton laughed.

“Here, here,” said Jake.

They each took a sip.

“Who’s next?” asked Abe.

“I’ll go,” said Cho. He held up his glass. “Peyton, when I first met you, I felt so damn glad not to be saddled with you as a partner…” He nudged Marco in the stomach with his elbow and everyone laughed. “But over the years, I have come to admire you for the caring, generous woman you are.” He started to take a sip, then stopped. “Who also looks smoking hot in red!”

They laughed again, but Maria gave him a mock glare.

“Your turn, sweet cheeks,” said Abe, nodding at her.

She held up her glass and took a deep breath. “Peyton, I am so glad that I finally got to do something with that hair.” She shook her head, laughing. “No, seriously, not a day goes by when I don’t think about what you did for me.” Her eyes filled with tears and Peyton’s did as well. “You saved my life and then you gave me a new start. I will never forget that.”

Peyton smiled through her tears and moved toward Maria, who enveloped her in her arms.

“Stop!” she scolded, hugging her tight, then pushing her away. “You’re gonna ruin your makeup.”

Peyton stepped back and they all took a sip.

“Okay, Jake-o,” said Abe.

“Great, now we get a sermon,” said Cho.

Jake scowled at him, then turned to Peyton. “Like Maria, I was one of your lost sheep. I didn’t know how I was going to go on without my wife, but you showed me that there’s still so much to be experienced and lived, so much crazy to be had.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips and blew him a kiss.

“Saving the most gorgeous for last, Angel,” said Abe with a flourish.

Marco drew a deep breath and looked down. “Unlike Cho who thanks his lucky stars every day to have Simons as his partner, eight years ago I was cursing fate for placing me with a flighty ball of energy as mine.” He looked up and captured her eyes. “But it wasn’t long before I came to realize that I was blessed.”

“Aw,” said Maria.

“You make me laugh every single day. You teach me patience and compassion, and humanity. You are my partner and my best friend, and I know I’m a better man today, eight years later, because you came into my life.”

Peyton’s lips parted and she locked eyes with him. For a moment, she could almost forget there was anyone else in the room. Then the doorbell rang, shattering the moment. He dropped his gaze and lifted his drink for a sip.

“That’ll be the chauffeur,” said Abe, moving toward the door. “Get your wrap, sweets, it’ll be chilly out there.”

Marco glanced at her, then went to the peg by the door and grabbed his coat, as Abe pulled open the door. A man in a chauffeur’s uniform greeted him.

“Bring your drinks everyone and let’s go. We’re on the clock now!” said Abe, swinging out the door and disappearing from sight.

Marco followed him, then Cho and Maria. Peyton lifted Pickles onto the couch and walked to the door. Jake met her, holding her wrap for her. He handed her his drink and then placed the wrap around her shoulders.

She stepped out onto the landing, waiting for him while he got his coat. He took his glass back and shut the door behind him, locking it, then he took her elbow and guided her down the stairs. She was grateful for his steadying hand on her arm.

“You okay?”

She nodded, not wanting to speak.

“That partner of yours can surprise you sometimes, huh?”

“Yeah.”

They reached the bottom and he released her. A long black limo waited across the driveway. Abe poked his head out of the sunroof and waved at them. “Hurry up, you two!”

Peyton smiled at him, but a motion in the window across the street stopped her. Jake hesitated at her side.

“Something wrong?” he asked.

“Someone was in that window across the street just now. I could see their silhouette.”

“Yeah, I told you it was rented out a few weeks ago.”

“Have you seen the people who rented it?”

“No, they keep the blinds closed all of the time. For a minute, I thought it might be Defino.”

“I could swear I just saw someone standing there looking out. I also thought I saw someone there this morning when Marco and I went for a run.”

Jake shrugged. “They’re probably just curious about the limo.”

Peyton gave him a distracted nod, watching the windows to see if there was any other movement.

“Come on, you two!” moaned Abe, sprawling the upper half of his body across the roof of the limo.

Peyton dismissed her curiosity about the neighbors and walked over to the car door. The chauffeur opened it for her and helped her step inside. The interior was covered in red velvet upholstery with wood accents on the door and roof. She took a seat beside Maria as Abe popped back inside.

“Isn’t it plush?” he said, throwing himself down across from her.

“Like a whore house,” she said.

Abe touched the bottom of her crystal glass. “You need to finish your drink.”

She took another sip, watching as Jake climbed inside.

“Dear God, is this Satan’s go-to vehicle?” he said, looking around.

“Something like,” grumbled Marco from the far back.

“This is a chariot for a beautiful Nubian queen,” said Abe, leaning over to kiss Peyton’s cheek.

She laughed and took another sip. What the hell! Might as well enjoy it. At least there hadn’t been any abnormally large birthday cakes just yet.

*    *    *

Abe instructed the chauffeur to drive to Japan Town. Once they arrived, he ushered them into Benihana’s. Peyton hadn’t been here since she was a little girl with her mother and father when they’d taken some out of town cousins. The restaurant had fascinated her, the way the chefs threw their knives around, chopping meat and vegetables with a flourish right in front of the patrons. She delighted in watching them cook and the fact that you got to sit with strangers, sharing an experience.

“Benihana’s?” complained Maria. “I thought we were going somewhere really nice.”

“I said nice and fun, fun being the operative word,” said Abe.

They were shown to their seats and the demonstration began. Abe ordered sake and made sure the entire staff knew it was Peyton’s birthday. She was squeezed in between Abe and Jake with Marco at the other end of the circular table. In order to talk to him, she’d have to shout, but he gave her a shrug and an understanding smile.

With the whirl of the knives, the laughter of everyone at the table, a photographer who kept snapping pictures, and the continual flow of sake, Peyton found her head spinning by the time they brought her a dish of green tea ice cream with a candle in it. The entire restaurant sang her happy birthday, making her blush, and then they were out the door again and into the limousine where Abe opened a bottle of champagne and passed it around.

Once again, she found herself on the opposite end of the limo from her partner. She wasn’t sure she should drink any more champagne, but Abe was making ridiculous toasts, so she didn’t have much choice.

“As the good Irish are so fond of saying, in all this world, why I do think there are five reasons why we drink: good friends, good wine…” He made a face. “Lest we be dry and any other reason why.”

They all laughed and drank.

“Or this one –there are several good reasons for drinking and one has just entered my head. If a man can’t drink when he’s living, then how the heck can he drink when he is dead.”

“Enough,” said Peyton. “Where are we going now?”

“That, my darling,” he said, touching the tip of her nose with his long finger, “is a surprise.”

She glanced over at Marco and he mouthed, Abnormally large cake. She laughed and tried to cover her glass as Abe filled it again. “No strippers, Abe.”

“Don’t you worry your purty head now, sweets.”

She settled back and listened to them all laughing, coming up with some more really bad toasts. Their levity was infectious and she realized she was having a good time, but a part of her wouldn’t have minded a much quieter night.

Which was something she was not going to get.

They wound up on Folsom at the Cat Club, an 80s retro nightclub. Abe bounded out of the limo and nearly dragged Peyton to the door. Before they even made it inside, she could hear the boom of an 80s rock anthem. Stepping inside, she found herself in a crazy amalgamation of rockers in leather and chains, Goths in heavy eyeliner and black spandex, and men in drag.

A particularly beautiful drag queen wearing nine inch heels and a hot pink mini-dress caught sight of Marco and ran his hand up Marco’s arm, blowing a kiss at him. Marco closed his eyes and gave a tense nod before sidling away.

Abe peeled off into laughter, wrapping his arm around Marco’s shoulders and pulling him close. “He’s mine,” he told the drag queen.

The other man rolled his eyes and wandered into the crowd.

“I got you, Angel,” Abe said, patting his chest.

“Thank you,” said Marco with a tight smile.

Somehow Abe managed to wrangle a table in the midst of the blaring music and the pulsating lights. Peyton was intrigued by the massive disco ball rotating on the main dance floor. Marco took a seat at the table and glowered at anyone who appeared like they might approach him – male and female alike.

Peyton wanted to sit with him a moment and just people watch, but Abe dragged her to the bar to order drinks for everyone. She really didn’t need to drink anymore, but Abe was undeterred.  She found herself transfixed by the woman gyrating in a go-go cage wearing a collection of black strips over her unmentionables.

Abe placed something in her hand and she looked down to see it glowing a fluorescent green with a splash of blood red in the middle of it. “What is it?” she shouted.

He said something in return, but she couldn’t hear him. He made a drinking motion with his hand and she took a sip. The blast of astringent alcohol hit her palate and she tugged on Abe’s sleeve, rising on tiptoes to shout in his ear.

“What is it?”

“It’s called a Wolf Bite.”

“And what’s in it?”

“Absinthe and Midori.”

“What is the red?”

“Grenadine.”

“Isn’t absinthe the stuff that makes you go blind?”

“And hallucinate.”

“Wonderful. Always felt fortunate to keep my sight until 30.”

He placed another drink in her hand and motioned back to the table. “It doesn’t have that much absinthe in it.” He carried three more drinks in his long fingers with a beer under his arm.

“Can I have the beer?”

“That’s for Angel’D. I figured there was no way he’d try a Wolf Bite, although it looks like half the club is angling for a bite of our boy.”

Peyton glanced over and saw a pretty blond leaning down to talk in his ear, giving him a flash of cleavage, which was straining out of a sequined halter dress. Jake sat beside him, listening to the conversation and studying her assets, while Cho was trying to look anywhere else.

Peyton felt annoyance rise inside of her and took a gulp of her Wolf Bite, shuddering at it blazed down her esophagus. She deliberately angled into the table near the blond. “Excuse me,” she said, forcing her to back up.

She gave Peyton a glare, but Peyton turned her back, settling the drinks on the table.

Abe passed Marco the beer, then gave the blond a wave of his fingers. “Scat,” he said, shooing her off. “This is a private party.”

She threw back her hair and wandered into the crowd. Peyton could have kissed Abe at that moment. Before she could settle herself at the table, Abe grabbed her hand, reaching over to take Jake’s wrist.

“Dancing first!” he shouted, then dragged them into the pulsating, throbbing crowd of half-dressed people. Cho and Maria followed, but looking over her shoulder, Peyton noted that Marco didn’t and as soon as they left the table, the blond was back, taking a seat next to him and leaning against his arm.

*    *    *

“So, what’s with the gay guy and the tiny chick with the big hair?” said the blond.

Marco shook his head, lifting the beer to his mouth. “Nothing.”

“I’m Zephyr.” She held out her hand.

Marco sighed, and shook it briefly. Not long ago, her blatant come-on would have been enough, but the Zephyrs and Ambers of the world were starting to bore him. He’d actually been glad when Abe shooed her away and he wished she’d stayed shooed.

“So, don’t you love this club? I come here every weekend. I’m all about the 80s.”

Marco started to say something, then stopped himself. How could you be all about the 80s when you’d never even saw the decade? “Yep.”

“What’s your name?”

“Herman.”

She made a face. “Wow, so doesn’t fit you.”

“Yep.”

“You don’t talk much, do you?”

“Nope.”

“That’s okay. I’m not much interested in talking, if you know what I mean, Herman?”

Oh, he knew. She announced it to every male in the place. Unfortunately looking around, he guessed there weren’t a lot of prospects. A guy in black leather freak-danced right in front of him, his greasy hair flying about his head, his face covered in tattoos and piercings. A few people over from him was the drag queen towering above everyone in his heels. A guy with spikes on his hands wandered through, his eyes completely rimmed in black eye liner, which wept down onto his cheeks.

Besides Marco himself, the only non-homicidal looking men in the room were Cho, who was obviously taken, and Jake, who looked like a dork doing his white boy bounce next to Abe and Peyton.

Marco’s gaze fixed on Peyton. She was dancing with her arms in the air, shaking that cute little body of hers, her hair flowing down her back. He couldn’t help but smile, especially when Abe picked her up and spun her around, her head thrown back as she laughed. Where other women seemed pale and plastic, she seemed to glow with life and vitality.

“Do you want to dance?”

Marco blinked and looked over at Zephyr. “Sorry. No.” He grabbed the beer and rose to his feet, walking away from the table. He found a spot at the end of the bar and took a seat on a barstool. Bracing his arms on the bar’s surface, he twirled the beer, keeping his back to the room. The blare of the music enveloped him, cutting him off from the people on all sides. It was true. There was nothing lonelier than being in a crowd.

He sat, staring at the beer label for a while, thinking about everything that had happened in the last few months and wondering what he was going to do. Nothing was the same, everything was changing, and the life he thought he wanted, that he fought so hard to maintain, seemed empty and shallow now.

A hand touched his back and he looked over his shoulder.

Peyton smiled at him. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He motioned to the bar stool next to him.

She perched on it, her legs hardly touching the bottom rung. “Dinner was fun, but this isn’t really what I wanted to do tonight.”

He looked out, spotting Abe dancing through the crowd, zig-zagging back and forth. “Abe’s having a blast.”

She looked at him as well and laughed. “Yeah, he is.”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the present he had for her, setting it on the bar. He couldn’t believe how nervous he was, giving it to her, and he was grateful everyone else was occupied.

She glanced down at it. “What’s this?”

He shrugged.

“You weren’t supposed to get me anything.”

“Neither were you, but that didn’t stop you.”

She smiled and picked up the gift, carefully starting on the end. He watched her slowly open it, then lifted his eyes to her face as she studied the velvet box, reaching for the lid. She opened it, then gasped when she saw the locket nestled in the silk.

“Marco.”

“Open it.”

She carefully lifted it out of the box and pressed on the latch. Her eyes filled with tears and she clutched it close. “How did you get this picture of Pickles?”

He exhaled. “It wasn’t easy. Little shit hardly sits still when you have a camera.”

She lifted her eyes to him. “Thank you. I love it. It means the world to me.”

He reached out and brushed a tear from beneath her eye. “I’m glad.”

She caught his hand and placed a kiss in his palm, then she came forward and kissed his cheek, lingering. He closed his eyes and breathed in the lilac scent of her hair. Shit, he was no better than Stan when it came to her.

She drew away slowly. “Help me put it on.”

He took the locket from her hands and she turned, lifting her hair. He slid the chain around her neck and clasped it, then he smoothed her hair around her shoulders when she let it fall again. He wanted to sink his fingers into it, he wanted to run his lips up the back of her neck, he wanted to pull her against him and hold her for just a moment, but he forced himself to turn back to the bar and grab his beer, downing the remainder.

Maria suddenly appeared behind her. “Come on, Brooks. They’re starting a dance contest.” She grabbed Peyton’s arm and pulled her toward the dance floor.

Peyton looked back at him.

He nodded for her to go and gave her a smile.

It was nearly one in the morning before Abe had enough of the nightclub. They tumbled into the limo, all much drunker than Marco was, still he was grateful for Abe’s foresight in getting someone else to drive.

For the first time all night, Peyton found a spot next to him. Quiet descended in the vehicle as they made their way back to her house. Halfway through the ride, Marco felt Peyton’s head rest against his shoulder. He looked down at her and could see her eyes were closed, her breathing even. She’d fallen asleep. The others were also dozing, except Jake, who gave him a speculative look with a lift of his brows.

Marco ignored him and pressed his cheek to the top of Peyton’s head, closing his eyes as well and reveling in the moment.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” he whispered to her.

CHAPTER 17

Peyton sat with her back against her headboard, her knees tented under her covers, holding the picture Jake had given her braced against her thighs. Pickles lay on his back next to her, letting her scratch his belly with her free hand.

It was such a remarkable picture, artistic, capturing both of them in a moment of pure happiness, the sky erupting behind them in brilliant swatches of light. But it had captured something more -- her complete joy in this one person. Who else made her feel the way Marco did?

She lifted her hand and ran her fingers across the locket he’d given her. It was a simple gift -- a picture of her dog. She knew she shouldn’t read anything more into it. He knew what mattered to her and he’d been thoughtful enough to respond to that. It didn’t mean anything else. She was letting her emotions get away from her.

Losing him as her partner coupled with her own loneliness was making her see things where there was nothing. Marco viewed her as his best friend. He’d never given any indication, said anything to make her think otherwise. If he felt differently, he wouldn’t have paraded so many women past her over the years.

And the truth was, she wasn’t like any of the women he usually dated. How many times had he told her he liked things simple, uncomplicated and God knew, she was anything but uncomplicated.

She traced her fingers over his profile in the picture. She wished she knew if her recent feelings were getting confused with their partnership ending. Still, when she thought about it, she realized she’d always hated the women he saw, she always hated the way he bounced from bed to bed. Maybe it was more than just moral outrage. Maybe it was jealousy. Maybe she hated those women because they had a part of him she didn’t.

She braced her head with her hand. She’d drank too much the previous night and a headache hammered in her temples, making thinking hurt. Anyway she looked at this situation, it didn’t end well. If she told him what she was feeling and he rejected her, she’d lose him forever. If she didn’t tell him what she was feeling, she would wonder for the rest of her life. And somewhere in the last few days, she’d come to a realization.

No man would ever measure up to him in her mind.

It was why her relationship with Devan failed. It was why she would never seriously consider anything with a man like Stan. When she looked at the men in her life, she couldn’t help but compare them to him, and they always came away wanting something.

A knock sounded at the door.

She quickly shoved the picture under the covers and smoothed her hair. “Come in,” she said.

The door opened and Marco stuck his head inside. “You okay?”

She ran a hand over her ponytail again. Just the very person she didn’t want to see right now. “Yeah, just a little hung-over.”

He opened the door wider and stood in the entrance. “I was getting a little worried. You didn’t even come out for coffee this morning.”

“I know. I’m sorry. I know better than to drink Abe’s concoctions.”

“Can I bring you anything?”

“No, Pickles and I are just going to have a lazy day, I think.”

Pickles rolled over at his name and placed his head on his paws as if he had a hangover as well.

Marco nodded. “Vinnie just called. He’s got tickets to the Raiders’ game. Then we’re all going over to Mom’s for Sunday dinner. You feel up for a little football?”

“He has enough tickets for me to come?”

“Yeah, his boss gave him a bunch of them.”

“I don’t feel like going all the way to Oakland, Marco, but you go. I’m just gonna stay in bed today, I think.”

“I can stay if you need me.”

“No, go. Tell Mama D’ that I’m sorry I didn’t come.”

“I will.” He hesitated. “You sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah, Marco, I’m fine.”

“How ‘bout I bring you something to eat? You know she’d love putting together a plate for you.”

“That sounds really good.”

“Okay.” He started to leave.

“Marco?”

He looked back, his features silhouetted against the light from the outer room.

“We need to talk about your promotion.”

He gave a brief inclination of his head. “We’ll see. Only if you’re feeling better. Get some rest, okay?”

“I will.”

He left, closing the door softly behind him. Peyton listened until she heard the front door close, then she scrunched down in the bed and rolled to her side, hugging Pickles against her. The tears came then, hot and wrenching, tearing up from inside of her. She gave over to them, pressing her face into the pillow as she sobbed.

Once the wave was over, she dozed a little, only to be awakened by the buzz of her cell phone on the nightstand. She brushed her fingers over her eyes and rolled to her back, reaching for it. Devan’s name flashed across the screen, followed by a texting icon.

She ran her thumb over the display and the text opened on the screen.

Jury came back yesterday. Didn’t want to ruin your birthday. O’Shannahan acquitted of all charges. Sorry.

She sat staring at the message for a moment, her mind unable to comprehend what she was reading. O’Shannahan acquitted? How the hell could that happen? The bastard admitted to disposing of the murder weapon.

All of their work, all of their time spent on that case, and the jury acquitted him. Rage spiraled through her and she reached for the phone, beginning to text back, but she stopped herself. Devan couldn’t do anything about it. The judge couldn’t do anything about it.

She was giving up her life for a job that didn’t matter, where justice wasn’t served, where men like Jedediah O’Shannahan walked free. For a moment, she simply stared at the phone, wanting to cry again, but she was sick of crying, sick of feeling miserable.

Throwing back the covers, she climbed out of bed and changed into her running clothes. If she didn’t do something with this negative energy, she was liable to hurt someone. She wasn’t a person who wallowed in self-misery for long. The pity-party was over.

Going into the bathroom, she smoothed her hair, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, then she sat on the edge of the bed and tugged on her shoes.

Pickles crawled over to her, placing his head on her thigh. She paused and scratched his ears. “I’m sorry, buddy, I don’t mean to scare you. Maybe if I go for a run, I’ll feel better.”

With a final pat, she grabbed her cell phone and pulled open her bedroom door, walking into the living room.

“Hey, roomie, you finally decided to get up?” said Jake from the couch. He was holding a bag of potato chips and watching yet another freakin’ Giants’ game.

“I’m going for a run.”

“What?” He dropped his legs to the floor and settled the bag on the coffee table. “Marco went to the Raiders’ game.”

“So? The last time I looked at my license, it said I was thirty, well beyond the age when I need a chaperone.”

He gave her a bewildered look.

She shoved the phone into her jacket pocket and went to the door. “Do I have to take my keys or will you be here?”

He shifted on the sofa, placing his arm on the back. “I’ll go with you.”

She frowned at him. “You don’t run.”

“I can start.”

“I can go for a run by myself, Jake. I don’t need a man to protect me.”

“Peyton.” He rose to his feet.

“Leave it alone, Jake!” she snapped. “I want to be by myself.”

Without another word, she pulled open the outer door and stepped out, slamming it behind her again. She hurried down the stairs before he’d be able to follow her and turned up her usual path toward the park.

Immediately she regretted getting angry at him. It was wrong and she knew she’d have to apologize to him when she got back. Maybe she could take him to dinner to make it up. She knew he was trying to protect her. Marco was probably going to give her hell when he came home.

Her thoughts returned to the jury and their acquittal. How the hell could that have happened? How do you hear a man admit he’d disposed of a murder weapon, then acquit him of doing the very thing he admitted to doing?

Oh, Jedediah O’Shannahan was a slick mother. His wife was rotting in prison because he’d had an affair. She would never have a chance to raise a family, have children, enjoy all the things most women did, because she’d had the misfortune to marry such a man.

Why the hell did she think she herself needed a man? They only caused trouble. Here she was pining for something that couldn’t be, wasting energy on it when she should be thinking about advancing her own career, improving her own life.

Except whenever she went down that train of thought, she came full circle. The joy in her life was Marco.

Even this. Even running was better with him.

She came to Lincoln Way and crossed the street, deciding she’d jog up to the running path that bordered MLK Blvd. She had no problem making it into the park now, ever since she’d started running with Marco. The late afternoon sun was bottled behind the clouds, but people still meandered through the park, watching kids on bicycles, walking their dogs, or like her, jogging. A cool breeze blew into her face, a faint sprinkle of mist gathering in her ponytail.

Everywhere she looked there were families, laughing and enjoying each other, having a picnic or simply reveling the beauty of nature around them. Elementary school aged kids kicked a soccer ball to her left, parents sitting on the benches watching. She longed for this, she wanted this. She wanted to have something good and pure to come home to after the day was over, some reminder of why she dedicated her life to being a police officer.

A cry of alarm sounded in front of her and she slowed, glancing up. An older model white cargo van was coming up MLK, driving too quickly. It had almost clipped a couple and their dog as they crossed the street.

She shook her head and started running again. Idiot drivers. The cargo van came toward her, then unexpectedly swerved up on to the sidewalk, blocking the walkway. She stumbled to a halt, alarm rising inside of her as the driver’s side door open and a man in a black ski mask stepped out. He held something in his hand, but Peyton didn’t wait to see what it was.

She turned and started to run in the opposite direction, but she was so close to the van when he jumped the curb that she didn’t make it two steps before something slammed into her right side. A jolt of electricity speared through her, making her heart leap, then her legs went liquid and she felt herself falling.

He caught her around the waist before she landed, hoisting her up against him. She tried to gain control of her arms to fight him, but nothing seemed to be working correctly and she couldn’t catch her breath. Pain radiated along every nerve ending and her muscles felt like jelly.

“Hey!” said a man from across the street. “Let her go!”

“Ah, chivalry,” came a voice in her ear and she saw the muzzle of a gun lift next to her shoulder, pointed at the man.

The man stumbled to a stop and held out his hands, his eyes wide with terror.

Peyton wanted to call out to him, but she was finding it difficult to breathe.

Her attacker turned and dragged her back to the van. She willed her muscles to struggle, but she still didn’t have control over them. He opened the back door, then threw her against the fender. A little feeling was beginning to radiate into her limbs, but he suddenly heaved her upward, striking her head on the opposite door. Then he tore the probes out of her side. An involuntary scream escaped her.

A moment later, the doors slammed and darkness descended.

*    *    *

Pickles crept out of Peyton’s room, his tail between his legs, his ears back. He walked over to Jake and sat down in front of him. Jake bent down and picked the little dog up, scratching his ears, then settling him on the couch beside him.

“She yell at you too, buddy?” he said, soothing him.

Pickles let out a sigh and placed his head on his front paws. Jake studied him, finding his behavior strange, but the announcers on the game were suddenly exclaiming in excitement. He glanced up at the television and watched the replay of the Giants’ homerun over the right field fence, landing in the bay.

Leaning back on the couch, he concentrated on the game. Peyton was out running, Marco was at the Coliseum, and Maria and Cho had gone to catch the Sunday concert in the park like he and Zoë used to do. He had the house to himself. It didn’t happen often, but boy, it was nice sometimes.

A siren suddenly went by, rushing down 19th Avenue. Pickles let out a little howl as it passed the house. Jake glanced over his shoulder at the window, then dismissed it, turning back to the game.

The television cameras were panning the fans at the Giant’s ballpark – a sea of orange and black. He should think about getting tickets for one of these games. Marco complained he didn’t care for baseball much, but he still watched the games with him. He’d probably want to go.

Another siren rose over the sound of cheering at the game. Jake reached for the remote and muted the sound. He wasn’t like Peyton. He couldn’t tell the difference between an ambulance and a police car. It sped past the house like the previous one had done.

Hm, they were headed toward the park.

He looked down at Pickles again, reaching out to scratch his ears. The little dog was listening as if he expected to hear something more. Or as if he already did. Jake could now make out the distant sound of another siren coming this way.

He jumped to his feet and hurried to the window, pulling back the curtains. The siren grew louder and then a black and white police car sped past the house, definitely heading toward the park.

Fear snaked up Jake’s spine and he ran for the door, grabbing his sneakers and throwing them on his feet. He gathered his cell phone and car keys from the bowl on the sofa table, and yanked open the door, struggling to close it and fix the heel of his shoe at the same time. Then he ran down the stairs and out to the street where the Daisy was parked.

As he fumbled to open it, another police car sped past him, sirens ablaze. He yanked the door open and dropped into the driver’s seat, shoving the key into the ignition. The Daisy sputtered, but didn’t start.

He slammed the heel of his hand against the steering wheel and the ignition caught. He turned the wheel hard and punched the gas, racing down 19th toward the park. He told himself that he’d likely see Peyton jogging back or he’d find all of the cop cars surrounding another house a few blocks away. Peyton would probably scold him for being paranoid, but he could live with that as long as she was all right.

Before he made it to Lincoln, he could see people running toward the park. A cop had the intersection of 19th and Lincoln blocked off with his patrol car. Jake yanked the Daisy hard and double parked near the curb, then he jumped out and ran to the officer.

“Hold up there, buddy!” the cop said, extending a hand, his other on his billy club.

Jake stumbled to a halt and scrambled for his wallet, pulling out his precinct ID card and shoving it at the officer.

The officer took a look at it, then nodded. “Straight up MLK. Just at Mother’s Meadow. You know? The field?”

Jake wasn’t sure what that meant, but when the cop motioned him to pull around the patrol car, he ran back to the Daisy and followed his directions. He had no trouble getting up MLK and found the field almost immediately. Pulling over to the side, he saw a number of cops wandering the area, canvasing it.

A uniform came over to him and Jake showed him his ID.

“They call you?” said the uniform.

Jake glanced at the cop’s name tag. Hodges. “No, my housemate’s Inspector Peyton Brooks and she went for a jog in this direction. She hasn’t come back.”

The cop’s expression shifted and he reached out, grabbing Jake’s shoulder and dragging him across the street. Officer Hodges led him to a plain-clothes officer who was questioning a man in running shorts.

The man was sitting on the sidewalk, looking shaken. Black skid marks started in the street and went up and over the sidewalk.

Officer Hodges touched the plain-clothes officer’s shoulder. “Tell him what you told me,” he said to Jake.

The plain-clothes officer stood and held out his hand. “I’m Sergeant Logan.”

“Jake Ryder. Look, my housemate is Inspector Peyton Brooks. She went for a jog a while ago and she hasn’t returned.”

Sergeant Logan’s attention focused on him. “What does she look like? The name’s familiar.”

“Short, maybe 5’4” if that, African American, her hair was in a ponytail…” Before he could finish, the man sitting on the sidewalk nodded his head.

Sergeant Logan immediately turned away, speaking into the radio on his shoulder. Jake felt his knees go weak and he almost collapsed. Oh, God! What the hell happened? He searched around the area for a body, for some sign of her, but there was only the tire tracks.

His hands shaking, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone, thumbing it on. Then he pressed Marco’s number and put the phone to his ear.

A moment later, the phone stopped ringing, going to Marco’s voice mail.

“D’Angelo, this is Jake. I need you to call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important.”

*    *    *

Peyton realized she could move her hand. She lifted it to her head and pressed it against her temple where she had struck the closed door of the van. Her fingers came away damp.

The van leaped over a rut in the road and landed hard, throwing her to her back. She moaned and lowered her hands to her side, pressing against the ache from where the probes had been torn from her flesh. More dampness covered the tips of her fingers.

She carefully pulled her shirt up, trying to inspect the damage, but it was too dark to see anything. Still the wounds didn’t seem to be actively bleeding. She touched her temple again, grimacing at the ache all along the back of her skull, but that didn’t seem to be bleeding badly either. Another flesh wound.

Carefully rolling to her side, she got her knees under her. Her limbs still felt wobbly and the bouncing of the van wasn’t helping. It was so dark in back, she couldn’t see anything, but she had the sense that they were traveling at a pretty good clip.

Sliding to the back doors, she ran her hands along them, searching for handles, but nothing met her probe. In fact, she found two round metal discs where she figured the handles should have been. Pressing her shoulder to the doors, she pushed, hoping at the very least to break the seal and get some light into the cargo area, so she could assess the situation.

They didn’t even budge. Then again, she couldn’t get any traction on the smooth surface of the cargo van floor. Another bounce of the suspension and she was thrown to her back. She closed her eyes and grappled with the pain, then rolled over again.

Searching methodically on her hands and knees, she felt for anything she could use as a weapon. Tire iron, tools, anything that might give her an advantage when the crazy bastard inevitably brought this thing to a stop.

She cursed herself as she went, furious that she’d gone running by herself without her gun.

Suddenly she remembered her cell phone and she scrambled for her pocket to pull it out. Collapsing against the side of the cargo van, she let out a sob of frustration. Her cell phone must have fallen out of her pocket when he grabbed her.

Feeling around until she located the doors again, she put her feet against them, then kicked as hard as she could. No use pretending like she was going to go easy, she decided.

*    *    *

Jake glanced at Sergeant Logan from the corner of his eyes. He couldn’t just stand around doing nothing. Peyton needed their help, but they were more concerned about keeping the public away from the crime scene. More cops had converged at this location and Logan was barking orders. Unable to help himself, Jake approached the man on the sidewalk, taking a seat beside him.

“Hey, I’m Jake,” he said, holding out his hand.

The man shook it. “I’m Jim.”

“Hey, Jim, I guess you saw what happened?”

“Yeah, he took that woman. Was she a cop?”

“Yeah. Did you get a look at her attacker?”

“He had a black ski mask covering his face.”

“What exactly did you see?”

“He shot her with a taser, then grabbed her. I yelled at him to stop, but he pointed a gun at me.”

“What kind of gun?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know guns.”

Jake nodded, trying hard to still the panic in him. “He put her in a car?”

“Cargo van.”

“Did you get a license plate number?”

“It was a commercial plate. That’s all I remember.”

“What about the color?”

“White.”

“Any idea the year?”

“Old. I don’t know.”

“Could you estimate how tall the guy was?”

“Bigger than her.”

“Right, but as tall as you?”

Jim hung his head. “I don’t know. It all happened so fast. I thought he was going to shoot me.”

Jake forced himself to take a calming breath.

Sergeant Logan approached him. “Do you know if Inspector Brooks had her cell phone on her?”

Jake’s heart leaped and he jumped to his feet, digging his own cell phone out of his pocket. “She did.” He started to call, then stopped himself. “Are you sure I should call it? What if it makes him mad and he hurts her?”

Sergeant Logan’s expression grew grim. “I think that’s the least of our worries right now.”

Jake’s fingers tightened reflexively on the phone and he went still. His brain wouldn’t work for a moment.

“Ryder, make the call!” urged the sergeant.

Jake eased his grip on the device and pressed the icon for Peyton’s phone. He didn’t bother to put it to his ear, just pressed the button for the speaker. The haunting play of music echoed somewhere behind them.

Jake turned, staring into the undergrowth beneath the trees. Sergeant Logan walked over to the spot and bent, lifting Peyton’s phone out of the dirt. He carried it back to Jake and Jake disconnected the call, feeling his stomach clench.

Pressing the button on the bottom of the display, Sergeant Logan stared at the screen. The phone didn’t go back to the home window. Instead it went to the contact’s list -- one contact in particular.

Turning the phone so Jake could see, Logan gave him a searching look. “Who is Marco?” he said.

*    *    *

Marco couldn’t get the Mustang anywhere near Peyton’s house. Cops and news vans had 19th blocked off. He yanked the car over to the curb, shut off the ignition, and jumped out. Reaching back in, he hooked his cell phone and dug his badge out of his pocket, then he started running.

He’d been calling Jake for a good half-hour now, frantically trying to get any information he could. Jake knew less than nothing, nothing more than he had when he’d first called Marco. The police radio wasn’t any better.

They were searching the City for a white cargo van, early model, commercial license plate number, no marking on the sides, driven by a nondescript man who might or might not be wearing a ski mask. Marco still couldn’t believe this was happening. He kept thinking it was some joke, some cruel prank to make him finally confess his feelings for Peyton.

Yet he knew it wasn’t.

A cop tried to stop him, but he shoved his badge in his face and kept running. If they wanted to stop him, they were going to have to put a bullet in his back. Nothing was keeping him from her house.

He made it to the walkway and dashed up the stairs.

The interior crawled with cops. Defino, Cho and Simons, Stan with his computer set up in her window. Abe paced the kitchen.

His gaze zeroed in on Ryder and he crossed the room in two strides, grabbing him by the throat of his sweatshirt and hauling him up. “What the hell happened?”

Jake grabbed his wrist, trying to break his hold. Then Cho and Simons were there, pulling him off, stepping between him and Jake.

“Calm down, D’Angelo!” said Cho, pressing his hands against Marco’s chest.

“How the hell did this happen? She was in her room!”

“She went for a run,” said Jake.

“A run! Why didn’t you call me?”

“She was insistent. I offered to go with her, but she got angry at me. Besides that, you weren’t exactly answering calls, were you?”

“Where is she?”

Defino moved up beside Cho. “We don’t know, D’Angelo, but you’ve got to calm down.”

Marco took a step back. Everything fell into place, all of the horrible things he’d been thinking suddenly coalesced. “He’s got her.” The agony in his own voice shocked him.

“That’s what we think,” said Defino.

“He’s been watching her all this time.” He ran a hand through his hair and paced to the window. “Oh, God.” He realized he was hyperventilating and bent over, bracing his hands on his thighs.

Abe came over and placed a hand in the middle of his back. “Sit down.” He guided him to the arm of the couch. “Keep your head down.”

Marco tried to fight the black spots that danced in his peripheral vision, but he felt like he might pass out.

“Take slow, deep breaths, Angel.”

“How long has it been?” he said.

“We figure it’s been two hours,” answered Defino.

“He could be out of the City by now!”

“I know.”

He’d left as soon as he’d gotten Jake’s message, but that had been almost an hour after he called. He hadn’t heard the phone with the noise from the game and then he’d been clear across the bay. There just wasn’t a quick way to get back into the City once you left it, especially with two sporting events occurring on either side of it. Hours had passed and in that time, anything could have happened to her.

“He was watching her. He knew exactly what she did.” He couldn’t believe he’d been so stupid to leave her. All this time, she hadn’t gone anywhere without him, but the one time he left her, the one time he let down his guard…

He realized he was clutching the middle of his chest, his heart was pounding so.

“I’m going to give you a sedative,” said Abe. “Your pulse is racing.”

“NO!” He pushed Abe off and stood. “We need to shut down all of the highways. Search every cargo van.”

“We’re already on it,” said Simons, gripping his shoulder.

“He was watching her,” he said again. “All this time, he’s been watching her.”

Jake lifted his head and made eye contact. Marco knew immediately that he had something. “He has been watching her,” he repeated. He walked to the window and yanked back the curtain. “The house across the street.”

Defino’s expression hardened. “Go!” she ordered Cho and Simons.

They were moving even before she spoke. Marco started to go after them, but Defino stepped in front of him. “Not you!” she commanded.

“Captain!”

“Don’t screw with me right now, D’Angelo, or I swear I’ll have you arrested! I can’t have you messing up a crime scene!”

“Captain, please!”

“No! Sit your ass down or I’ll have Abe give you that tranquilizer.” She pointed to the couch, then looked over at Jake. “Get your evidence kit and go.”

Jake met Marco’s eye, then he ran to grab his bag.

Marco watched him race out the door, then he went to the window and watched as he ran across 19th and up the driveway. Dropping the curtain, he paced away. There was no way he was going to be able to stay still.

“Can you get anything off her phone, Stan?” said Defino, moving over to him.

“Just her text messages. She got one just before she left from Devan.”

Marco looked over at them.

“What does it say?”

“Something about a jury.” He glanced up at the captain. “Jedediah O’Shannahan was acquitted.”

Marco looked away. That was why she went for a run. Damn it, he’d known there was something wrong with her, something more than being hung-over. His gaze fell on Pickles. The little dog was hiding beneath the sofa table, trembling.

Marco walked over to him and bent down, dragging him out. He pressed him close against his chest, stroking the little dog’s head. Oh, God, if anything happened to her, he didn’t think he could stand it. He closed his eyes and fought for composure. Who the hell was he kidding?

If anything happened to Peyton, Marco knew without a doubt that he wouldn’t be able to survive it.

CHAPTER 18

Smith pulled up at the house across the street from Peyton’s in his police cruiser and waited with Jake, while Simons and Cho secured the house. Smith paced, but Jake stood still, gripping the evidence bag with both hands. He couldn’t help but relive his own nightmare of Zoë’s death. Looking into Marco’s anguished eyes brought back everything he’d felt – the helplessness, the despair, the desire to believe it wasn’t happening.

“All clear,” came Simons’ voice over Smith’s radio. “You have to go around the back. There’s a lock box on the front door.”

“Wait. Why is there a lock box?” Jake asked Smith. “I thought the house was rented.”

Smith shrugged, then moved toward the side entrance to the backyard. Jake followed, his eyes scanning the yard, searching for any clues. It was very overgrown, neglected, something else he found interesting if the house was rented. Surely the rental company would have hired a gardener.

The house was dark as he stepped over shattered glass and into a hallway. He marked that a pane in the back door had been broken out. He looked around for a light switch, but Cho appeared from the kitchen.

“Don’t bother. Powers off.”

“But the place was rented? How can the power be off and why is there a lock box?”

“I don’t think it was rented. See the broken pane. We think he got into the house through there and has been squatting here ever since.” Cho walked across the living room and pulled back the curtains, letting light into the room.

Peyton’s house was the first thing Jake saw.

He swallowed hard and followed Cho into the room. Except for a folding chair right before the window, there were no other furnishings.

Cho pressed the button on his radio. “Can we get the power company to turn on the power?” he asked.

The radio cracked. “On it,” came Defino’s voice. “What did you find?”

“Nothing. Not a damn thing. It looks like he’s been squatting here.”

“Have Jake dust for fingerprints.”

“We’ll do.”

Cho gave Jake a pointed look.

Jake walked over to the chair and settled his case on the floor, then he bent and began unbuckling it.

“I’m going into the garage to see if I can find anything.”

Jake nodded.

Cho stepped beyond him and moved toward the kitchen door again.

“Cho?” said Jake, shifting on his heels.

Cho stopped and looked back.

“Why would he hurt her? She hasn’t done anything to him.”

Cho drew a deep breath and released it. “If we knew that, we’d be able to stop this bastard, Ryder. The best thing you can do is find us some evidence.” He glanced down the hallway. “Look, Simons is searching the bedrooms and Smith is looking over the backyard. Call if you need one of us.”

Jake nodded, then went back to his case. Before he could get it open, his phone rang. He dug it out of his pocket, realizing his hands were trembling. “Ryder.”

“Jake, it’s Stan.”

“Yeah, Stan.”

“Do you remember the name of the rental company who listed the house?”

“Uh.” Jake rubbed a hand over his eyes. “God, I can’t remember. Ask Marco or Maria, they might remember.”

“Already did.”

“Shit.” Jake glanced out of the window, trying to recreate the lawn sign in his mind. “It was listed in the paper. I remember seeing it. That’s how I knew the house had three bedrooms.”

“Okay, I’ll look.”

Jake started to hang up, then pressed the phone back to his ear. “Stan?”

“Yeah?”

“It was Bay City Properties.”

“Got it. Thanks!”

“Keep me informed.”

“Will do. Bye.”

The phone went dead. Jake stared at it for a moment, then he went back to his case. He knew he wasn’t going to find anything in this house. The Janitor was too careful for that, but it gave him something to do. Inaction allowed all sorts of horrible thoughts to crowd his mind.

*    *    *

Exhaustion forced Peyton to stop her assault on the rear doors. They hadn’t budged and she was still sitting in complete darkness, her heart pounding nearly into her throat. She had crawled back to where she guessed the cab was, tenting her knees and resting her aching forehead on her folded arms.

A few minutes later, she realized that the van had stopped moving. The engine was still running, she could feel it rumbling beneath her, but the violent swaying of the cargo bed had stopped. Fear crowded into her throat, making her want to vomit.

What was he going to do to her now?

She scrambled to the back doors and gave a few more kicks, but nothing happened. An answering bang started by the cab and continued all the way down the length of the van, heading toward the rear.

Peyton crawled to the left of the cargo doors and pressed her back to the cold metal. If he came in, she hoped he’d be momentarily surprised not to find her huddled in the middle of the floor. Maybe she could get the drop on him. Either way, it was her only chance.

The muted sound of voices reached her and she pressed her ear hard to the crack of the doors, straining to make out words.  The voices grew louder, coming toward her, then suddenly something slammed into the back of the van, making her yelp with fear, followed by a strange gurgling noise and then silence. Complete and total silence.

Peyton drew her knees up to her chest and hugged them, closing her eyes and waiting for the Janitor to appear.

*    *    *

The Janitor pulled the van up in front of the storage building and placed it in park, then he jumped out, grabbing the bolt cutters and shooting a quick look around. There weren’t many people about; it was getting late, people would be going home for dinner. The weather had taken a cold turn and fog billowed in from the bay.

He cut the padlock on the storage building doors and pulled them open, then walked back to the van and hopped inside, tossing the bolt cutters on the passenger’s seat. Then he pulled the van into the building and left it idling. The building was just big enough for the van with little room to spare. In fact, his door struck the wall as he pushed it open and climbed out, leaving the key in the ignition.

Glancing around the roof of the building, he noted that it was solidly constructed as only the military could do. That would work well for his needs. He’d driven around for a long time, risking discovery just to find the perfect location.

The minute his feet hit the floor, she started banging on the back doors again.

He chuckled and walked down the side of the van, banging his fist against it in rhythm to her kicks. Too bad he didn’t have time to play with this one a little. She was such a spitfire, so full of life and fight. He knew she would have taken him apart if he hadn’t used the taser on her. This was not one to go meekly into that good night, that was certain.

He rounded the back of the van and found a man standing in the parking lot, wearing a park ranger khaki uniform. He reached into his back pocket and closed his fingers around the switchblade he carried.

“You can’t park in there,” said the ranger.

“Really? I didn’t know that.”

Another kick came against the back doors. The Janitor glanced over his shoulder at it.

The ranger’s face grew alarmed. “Is there someone in there? Do you have a woman in there?” He started toward the doors, brushing the Janitor aside.

Pulling out the switchblade, the Janitor pressed the button and the blade sprang free, brilliantly sharp, deadly. He came up behind the ranger and threw him into the van, cracking his forehead against the metal, then he wrapped an arm around his shoulders, slashing the switch blade across his throat.

The ranger didn’t even have time to grab for him. He slumped in the Janitor’s hold, dragging him forward. His hand hit the bumper on the van hard. He sucked in air and struggled to drag the ranger off to the side, dumping him on his face beside the van. For a moment he was transfixed watching the exhaust turn white against the chill September air, wafting over the spreading puddle of deep, ruby red.

Squatting by the body, he carefully closed the switchblade against his knee and replaced it in his back pocket. Rubbing the back of his hand, he shook his head. “Too bad. A day filled with futile chivalry. No one will even know what you tried to do. You’ll just go down in history as another victim of the Clean-up Crew.” He drew a business card out of his shirt pocket and flicked it on the ranger’s back, then he rose to his feet again, placing his hand on the side of the van.

She’d grown quiet.

He resisted the impulse to check on her, walking out of the building, then pushing the two doors shut. He didn’t bother to replace the padlock. In the end, it probably wouldn’t matter. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone and lifted the display, exposing the keypad.

As he saw it, there was only one way out.

*    *    *

Marco settled Pickles on the couch and wandered into Peyton’s room, mostly because he didn’t know what to do with himself. Defino thought she was keeping him out of trouble, but she was just giving him room to let his mind conjure horrible images.

He sank down on Peyton’s bed, his knees giving out on him, and reached out to run his hand over her pillow. Why hadn’t he stayed with her? Why hadn’t he insisted she come with him?

Glancing down, he noticed the dark edge of something peeking out of her covers. He pushed the sheets back and found the photo Jake had given her for her birthday, the photo of the two of them last July 4th. He picked it up and closed his eyes, fighting the growing desperation inside of him. He couldn’t stand it. He couldn’t stand not knowing what was happening to her.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He frantically yanked it free, pressing his thumb to the display. A text message opened before him.

Don’t you ever get sick of it.

Marco felt his heart kick into overdrive and he settled the photo on his thighs, typing back. Who is this? Get sick of what?

You dedicate your life to this job, but it doesn’t matter. The scum always rises to the top.

Marco’s fingers tightened on the phone. Please don’t hurt her.

That, Handsome, is entirely up to you.

What do you want me to do? Anything. Name it. I’ll do it. Just don’t hurt her.

I want it to be over. I’m tired.

Come in and we’ll talk. Tell me where she is and we can end this. I promise you.

I don’t mean by surrendering.

Marco realized he was breathing too fast. He tried to slow his pulse. What do you mean?

You. Me. One shot. It ends.

Tell me where she is first.

No. We do this my way.

Marco glanced over his shoulder. He should tell Defino.

As if the Janitor read his mind, the next text message blazed across the screen. Don’t bring anyone else into this. You. Me. That’s it. Those are the terms.

Okay. What do you want me to do?

Get out of the house. Don’t get a tail on you. Once you’ve done that, text me. If you text me before you’re free of the house, you know what happens.

Marco stared at the screen, unsure how he was going to accomplish this.

Before he could decide, another message appeared. I like her. More than like her. You wouldn’t want me to like her too much. You wouldn’t want me to make her scream.

Marco leaped to his feet and turned for the door, only to come up short. Abe had just stepped into the entrance.

“You okay, Angel?”

Marco could see his wild look in the mirror over Peyton’s dresser. He tried to slow his breathing. “I can’t stay in this house anymore.”

“Defino said…”

“I know what she said, but I’ve got to do something, Abe. Anything. I need to go to the crime scene and look around.”

Abe shook his head, glancing down at Marco’s hand. Marco forced himself to put the phone back in his pocket. “Did someone call?”

“My family. They wanted an update. I couldn’t talk to them.”

“Look, Angel. No one’s more panicked than I am, but…”

“Let him go,” came Maria’s voice from the hallway. Marco hadn’t even known she was home. She must have been hiding in the bedroom.

Abe shook his head again. “Defino…”

“What can it hurt if he goes to look over the crime scene? Maybe he’ll see something they missed. Maybe not, but I can understand how he can’t just sit here.”

“He’s not going to the crime scene. He’s going over to the house across the street.”

“So? Let him go.”

Abe turned back. “You’re going to get yourself suspended again.”

“What difference does that make, Abe? He has her and that’s all that matters right now.”

Abe considered this for a moment. Marco wondered how far he’d get if he just broke for the front door. He didn’t have time to waste like this.

“All right,” Abe said, then he reached out and gripped his arm. “Be careful. You aren’t thinking straight.”

Marco nodded, stepping into the hallway and giving Maria a grateful nod. He looked out at the living room. Defino and Stan were huddled over his computer, trying to reach the rental company.

“I need a distraction.”

“Okay.”

Abe took a deep breath, then he walked over to the table where Defino and Stan worked. “There’s got to be something more you can do. If you shut down the park, shouldn’t the police be searching every inch of it?”

Defino squinted at him and Stan blinked owlishly, adjusting his glasses. “We’re doing our best,” said Defino.

“It’s not enough. You should have found her by now.”

“You’re blocking the monitor,” said Defino, straightening.

“I’ll get out of the way as soon as you tell me what you’re going to do. If he makes it out of the City…”

“Abe, you need to let us do our job. Please move.”

Marco started forward, but Maria touched his arm. “Be careful,” she whispered.

He nodded, then moved toward the open front door.

Abe made a frantic motion with his hands. “I can’t. There’s got to be something more we can do to help her.”

Defino put her hands on her hips. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” He sat down on the edge of the table Stan had set up, closing his eyes. “I can’t take this. My heart is pounding. Why haven’t you been able to find her?” He pressed a hand against his chest.

That did the trick. Stan rose to his feet and Defino moved close to him, placing her hand on Abe’s shoulder.

“Calm down, Abe, this isn’t helping anyone. Just take deep breaths,” she said. “That’s it. In and out. In and out. We are doing everything we can.”

Marco didn’t listen for anymore. He hurried across the room, slipping out the door and running down the stairs. Once he was at the bottom, he paused in the driveway, out of sight of the living room windows, and pulled out the cell phone again.

I’m out. Now what?

He could feel his heart racing again, waiting for the response. He removed his gun and checked it, then looked back at the display. Just as he was going to type another message, the phone buzzed.

Get in your car and drive north on 19th.

I can’t get up 19th. The entire park is filled with cops looking for you. Tell me where to meet you.

No response.

Marco was just getting ready to try dialing the number directly when a new message flashed across the screen.

Get in your car and start driving north. I’ll text you in a bit.  But hurry. I figure she’s got at most a half hour.

*    *    *

Jake finished dusting the chair in front of the windows, placed everything back in his evidence kit, and pushed himself to his feet. His gaze happened to go out the window. Marco was standing in Peyton’s driveway, texting on his phone. Jake frowned, then reached for his own cell phone.

He dialed Marco’s number.

Marco looked at the display, then lifted his eyes, meeting Jake’s gaze. Slowly he lifted the phone to his ear and connected the call.

“Have you found anything?” he asked. His voice was strange, tense and unsteady.

“No. What are you doing?”

Marco glanced down the street. “Defino gave me permission to check out the crime scene, so I’m headed there.”

“She did?”

“Yeah, I can’t stay in that house.” He gave Jake a pointed look. “Look, Jake. You’re clever. You can figure this out. Who the hell is this bastard and where did he take her?”

“I’m trying, Adonis. There’s just nothing here. You’re the cop. How do these things usually go?”

“That’s the problem. He’s not keeping to a pattern, or the pattern he’s keeping keeps changing. Think, Jake. You and Stan are her best chances. I’m the guy you go to when there’s a person in front of you. You and Stan put the puzzle pieces together. Please, Jake. You’ve got to figure something out. I can’t lose her.”

“I know. I’ll keep trying.”

Marco nodded, then he disconnected the call and started up the street, away from Peyton’s house. Jake finished buckling the straps on his evidence case, then took another pass around the upper part of the house. There was nothing here.

No pizza boxes, no soda cans, nothing to indicate the Janitor had been using this as a flop house.

He wandered down the stairs into the garage. Simons and Cho were standing in the middle of the room, staring at a black spot of oil on the concrete floor. They looked over as Jake arrived.

“Find anything?” Jake asked.

“Just this.” Cho pointed at the oil. “That cargo van of his leaks. Must really be an older model.”

“He was keeping it in the garage?”

“Looks that way.”

Jake shook his head. “I don’t understand any of this. There’s no sign he used the house to live in. At best, I figure, he sat in that chair and watched Peyton’s house. There’s no food, no drinks, nothing that indicates he was actually using this place for shelter.”

“I know.”

“Then why break in and risk getting caught?”

Cho shook his head. “Best we can figure, he planned to do surveillance from the van.”

“Then why did he break in here?”

“It was easier to watch Peyton’s house from inside. Less suspicious. Plus he could stash the van here.”

“Then what was the original plan?”

Cho shrugged.

Simons gave a grunt. “Most crimes are 80% desire and planning, 20% opportunity. Without the opportunity, you don’t have the crime. He got lucky when the house went up for rent, so he jumped on it.”

“And then what? He just watched her for hours?”

“Her house is always crawling with people,” said Cho. “He was probably waiting for enough of us to leave, so he could go after her.”

Jake’s head lifted. Not enough of them, he only needed to wait for one of them to leave. Marco. “Oh, shit.”

“What?”

“We’ve been thinking Peyton is the target all along, but it’s not. It’s Marco.”

“Marco?”

“Call Defino and ask her if she gave Marco permission to go to the crime scene.”

“Wait. What?”

“Please, Nate, just call her.”

Cho pressed the button on his radio. “Captain?”

“Do you have something for me?” came her response.

“No, there’s nothing here but an oil stain. Hey, Captain, is D’Angelo with you?”

“Of course he is.”

Jake gave Cho a pointed look. “Tell her he’s gone.”

“Captain, Ryder says he’s gone.”

“Hold on.” The radio chattered with other traffic, then the captain’s voice broke through. “God damn it, does Ryder know where he went?”

Jake felt his heart start to pound. Both Cho and Simons were staring at him. “He told me he was going to the crime scene, but I don’t think that’s where he’s going.”

“Why?” asked Defino.

“When I saw him, he was texting someone.”

The radio went dead. Cho and Simons gave him disbelieving looks. He knew he probably should have questioned Marco more, but he wasn’t thinking straight. Fear for Peyton was clouding his thoughts.

“Did he just say D’Angelo was texting someone?” asked Defino.

Cho pressed the button again. “Yes, he did.”

Silence. Feedback from other radios. Then Defino’s voice, low and deadly.

“Come back over here right now,” she said.

*    *    *

Marco hit the lights on the Mustang and drove as fast north as he could. Wracking his brain, he tried to figure out where the Janitor might have taken her. His cell phone rang in the cup holder. He glanced at it. Defino. Reaching down he disconnected the call, then pressed the redial button for the Janitor’s phone.

It rang without answer. He was probably using a throw-away, so the call couldn’t be traced. Still, if Marco could get him talking, Stan might be able to get a location from a cell tower.

Defino called again and Marco disconnected.

He felt guilty thwarting her this way, but he didn’t have a choice. He couldn’t chance missing an opportunity to connect with the serial killer.

Slamming on his brakes, he narrowly missed a car that had stopped right in front of him. The driver waved and pulled over to the side, so that Marco could get past. Sweat ran down his spine and made his grip on the wheel slick. His heart was pounding so hard, he felt like he could feel it in his temples.

As he swerved to go around the bewildered driver, he glanced down, seeing another text message. Briefly taking his eyes off the road, he glanced at the display.

I hope you’re on your way. Time is running out.

He dialed the number again and let it ring. The call never went through. As soon as he punched it off, a text message appeared.

Have I mentioned how much I like her? She has spirit. Fire. Zest for life. It’s intoxicating.

Marco grabbed the phone and braced it against the steering wheel, typing frantically. Damn you, don’t touch her.

Then stop trying to call. I know what you’re doing.

Fine, Marco texted back. Tell me where the hell you are!

Presidio. Call me when you arrive, but hurry. She has less than 20 minutes now.

Marco dropped the phone back into the cup holder and gripped the wheel so tight, his knuckles turned white. Damn it, he should have guessed Presidio. The Janitor had murdered there before.

*    *    *

“He keeps disconnecting my calls.” Defino slammed the phone down. “Get a trace on him now, Stan.”

“On it. It’ll take me a bit, but…”

“Just do it.”

Letting Cho and Simons go in front of him, Jake hesitated on the landing of Peyton’s house, afraid Defino was going to blame him for this. And he did feel responsible. He knew it didn’t sit right that Marco was outside in the driveway.

“Where the hell is Ryder?”

Jake drew a deep breath and went inside.

Defino always looked like she was ready to spit nails, but he’d never seen her in such a towering rage before. Glancing around, he marked that Abe was hiding behind the counter in the kitchen.

“What do you mean he was getting texts?”

“I saw him standing in the driveway from across the street and he was texting on his phone.”

“You didn’t think that was strange?”

“I did. That’s why I called him.”

“Why didn’t you get Cho or Simons?”

“Because he said you gave him permission to go to the crime scene.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Captain, I don’t know, but you didn’t really expect him to stay here, did you?”

She took a step closer to Jake. He involuntarily stepped back and ran into Bill Simons. “I have one cop missing. Now it’s two. I damn well expected him to stay put. I need everyone to use their damn heads right now. Who was texting him?”

“He had the phone out in Peyton’s room,” said Abe, peering meekly over the counter.

“Who was he talking to?”

Abe shook his head, his beads clacking against each other. “He said it was his family, calling for an update.”

Jake drew a deep breath and released it.

Defino focused on him again. “You know something, Ryder. If you do, you damn well better spill it!”

Jake glanced around the room. Everyone was focused on him. “I don’t think it was his family, Captain. I think it was the Janitor.”

“Why do you think that?”

“Because when Lieutenant Logan found Peyton’s phone, the display showed her contact list.”

“And?”

“Not just her contact list. It showed Marco’s number. I think he’s been the target all along.”

Defino didn’t move for a moment, then she whirled, startling Jake. “Forget the damn phone. Track D’Angelo’s car.”

*    *    *

Peyton felt her head fall forward and touch her knees. She jerked upright again, forcing her eyes open. Exhaustion pressed on her, making it hard to think. She placed a hand against her temple, touching the spot where she’d struck the door. Maybe she had a severe concussion. Hadn’t she read that people got sleepy when they had a concussion?

She’d lost track of time. The Janitor hadn’t come. She’d tried to push open the doors until her shoulder and feet ached, but they didn’t budge. She had no idea where she was, where he was, or how she was going to get out of this.

She forced open her eyes again, blinking in the darkness. She hadn’t even been aware that she’d closed them until she realized she was dreaming of her father. Ben Brooks had always told her, You can think your way out of anything, Sweetness. Just use your head for something other than growing hair.

Clearly, that was one bit of advice that didn’t always work, especially when your head wasn’t working properly.

Still, she was so tired. She just wanted to lay down for a moment, but she feared if she did, she wouldn’t wake up again. Weren’t head injuries like that? Didn’t you try to keep a person awake with a head injury?

But she didn’t think she had hit her head that hard. She hadn’t blacked out. She had a headache, but it wasn’t because of the impact – it was because of the smell.

The smell.

Her thoughts came into focus. She could feel the engine rumbling in the cargo van. It vibrated beneath her, and the smell was a mix of gasoline and oil – exhaust. She forced her weary mind to think. Exhaust contained carbon monoxide and carbon monoxide made a person very sleepy, so sleepy that eventually that person stopped breathing.

The van was filling with carbon monoxide.

She pinched her arm, hoping the pain would drive out the confusion. How did she escape the gas? How did she survive this? Think. Think. Gas rose, so if she kept her face low, she might be able to get enough oxygen to breathe.

She stretched out on her stomach and covered her mouth and nose with her arm, hoping it might filter some of the fumes. God help her, if someone didn’t come soon, she was going to die in this damn van.

Even as the thought formed, she found the lull of sleep to be almost irresistible. She pinched herself again, but the pain seemed detached, not a part of her anymore. Her eyes closed involuntarily and this time she didn’t have either the strength or the will to open them again.

CHAPTER 19

“Got him,” said Stan, pointing to a dot on the map.

Jake and Defino moved closer to the screen. “What street is that?” asked Defino.

“Arguello, just past Geary,” answered Stan.

“That’s past the park. Where the hell is he headed?”

Jake studied the little red dot that Stan indicated was Marco’s car. “Can you back the map out a little, Stan?”

Stan nodded and made some clicks with the mouse. The screen expanded outward, the lines shrinking, the words becoming indistinct. Defino frowned, but Jake felt his heart hit his stomach.

“He’s going to the Presidio,” he said.

Defino looked up at him. “The Presidio?”

“The Janitor has killed there before,” said Simons.

“Get a squad car to intercept him. We need to stop him before he gets in there. We’ll never find him if he does.”

Jake turned to her. “Captain?”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like this, Ryder?”

“Because you’re not, but here it is. I wouldn’t stop him. It might be our only chance to save Peyton. You can send squad cars into the Presidio, but you have no idea where the Janitor has her. The Presidio is what – 2 square miles?”

“2.956,” corrected Stan.

Jake scowled at him. Stan shrugged and pointed at the screen, where he had information about the Presidio open.

“Okay, almost three. That’s worse. If you go in there without knowing where he is, he’ll kill her.”

Defino glanced at him. “What are you suggesting, Jake?”

“Surround the area, shut down the roads leading into it, but do it quietly, then as soon as D’Angelo locates the Janitor, you can go in, but you’ve got to narrow the choices down to have any chance of saving either of them.”

“He’s right, Captain,” said Cho.

Defino thought for a moment, staring at the red dot on the screen, then she closed her eyes. “God damn it, get our people in place and await my signal.” She paused, then continued, “And send an ambulance in on standby.”

Jake released his held breath.

Cho and Simons nodded, then moved out onto the landing to give the orders. Defino walked over to the table and braced her hands on it. “I sure hope you know what you’re doing, Ryder.”

Jake hoped so too. The thought of losing someone else as close to him as Peyton was made his guts knot. He just couldn’t lose her the way he’d lost his wife. Not when Zoë’s death was still so fresh in his memory. Worse still, he knew Marco wouldn’t be able to survive it.

*    *    *

Marco glanced down at the cell phone, catching the text message as it flashed across his screen.

Go towards the Marina Green. There are some utility buildings there. Red brick, beneath the dismantled over pass.

Marco knew exactly where that was. He pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the Mustang jumping over the ruts in the road, the siren screaming. The violence of the drive, the speed, the turns, the badly paved roads distracted him from the panic he was beginning to feel. The Janitor said she had twenty minutes. It had been nearly that long. There was just no good way to get anywhere in this City in a hurry.

He couldn’t allow himself to think about what the Janitor might be doing to her. His mind kept touching on the previous murders. The Janitor was repeating them and Marco knew that Lewis Booker, who died after Father Reynolds, had his throat slit. He forced that thought from his mind, but other insidious fears crept in.

I like her. More than like her. You wouldn’t want me to like her too much. You wouldn’t want me to make her scream.

He slammed his fist against the steering wheel and yanked it hard to the left, the tires squealing. If he hurt her, if he touched her, Marco would make him die slowly. He would tear his intestines out, he would cut his heart from his chest, he would carve him into pieces so small they would never find him…and what the hell good would it do? If he hurt Peyton, revenge would mean nothing.

He realized he hadn’t prayed in years, really prayed. He made a mimicry of it at holidays and in church, but soul-wrenching, gut-aching prayer hadn’t come to him in a long time. He needed it now. He needed something or else he was going to lose his mind.

He started, faltering at first, but he started. He picked Peyton’s favorite prayer -- the 23rd Psalm. The lines were so familiar, they came to him easily. They came to him without hesitation as if he could hear her speaking them with him. How many times had they recited the 23rd Psalm together? It was their thing, something that drew them to each other in the most difficult times of their lives. Something that gave them comfort.

The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.

He should have told her he loved her. He should have taken the risk.

He maketh me to lie down in green pastures.

For eight years, he’d guarded that secret like it was precious, keeping it from her.

He leadeth me beside the still waters.

And for what? Because he was afraid.

Jake was right. He was a coward.

He restoreth my soul.

He’d contented himself with meaningless encounters, when what he wanted was there all along.

He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.

And now if he lost her...if he lost her…

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death

I will fear no evil.

For thou art with me.

He tore the wheel to the left and bounced into the parking lot. The red brick buildings rose all around him, many of them, too many to search, but a wash of calm went through him. He was not leaving this place without her. For thou art with me.

He slammed on the brakes, grabbed his cell phone, and threw the car in park, then pushed open the door. He dialed the Janitor’s number, listening for the sound of a ring. A couple of joggers, a man and a woman, ran toward him as he reached for his gun, pulling it out.

“Is something wrong, Officer?” asked the man.

“Get out of the Presidio, now!” he said firmly, holding the phone to his ear. They shied away from him, quickening their pace toward the Marina Green. Marco scanned the area with his eyes, but he didn’t see a cargo van. He forced the panic down again.

The phone stopped ringing. He could hear breathing through the line.

“I’m here,” he said through gritted teeth.

“One shot. Make it a headshot. If you miss, she dies.”

Marco tried to place the voice, but he couldn’t. “I want my partner first.”

“No. One shot. One chance. You screw this up and you don’t get another.”

Marco spun around, searching the area, straining his ears to hear a sound, a voice carrying on the foggy air. “Tell me where she is!”

“I guess that’s your decision then.”

“No!” Marco heard the raw panic in his own voice. It sounded like it belonged to someone else. “No, I’ll do it your way. Just tell me where she is.” He tightened his grip on the gun. “I’ll do it your way.”

For a moment there was no answer. Marco spun again, searching frantically.

Then he heard it. The sound of sirens approaching, cutting through the fog and the gloom, cutting into him.

“You screwed up,” came the voice in his ear. “Too bad.”

Then he was gone.

“NO!” Marco threw the phone down, then he started running. He didn’t know what he intended to do, but he raced to the first building and tugged on the door. A padlock kept him from opening it, so he raced to the next, repeating the same action.

His heart beat frantically against his ribs, his thoughts had occluded to one thing, movement, but somewhere in the back of his mind he realized he was repeating the 23rd Psalm over and over again, obsessively.

The sirens were growing closer and as he glanced over his shoulder, he could see police cars streaming into the Presidio from every avenue, lights ablaze. He stumbled to a stop in another parking lot, watching them. Gradually, he became aware of another sound, so faint, he wouldn’t have heard it except his every sense was on hyper alert.

He closed his eyes and held his breath, listening. There it was again. Faint, but unmistakable. The sound of a car engine.

He whirled around and his eyes landed on the double doors – the only building without a padlock. He tore over to it and wrenched the doors open. An involuntary sob escaped him as he caught sight of the cargo van, idling inside. He glanced briefly at the slumped form beside the van, only long enough to mark that it was a man, not a woman, then he grabbed the handles on the van’s back doors, and threw them open.

Peyton lay, facing away from him, in the bed of the van. She didn’t move when he hovered over her. Placing his gun in the bed, he curled his arms under her body and lifted her. Her head lolled against his shoulder as he carried her out into the parking lot and sank to his knees, holding her close.

“Come on, sweetheart,” he said, pressing his fingers under her chin, searching for a pulse. “Come on, breathe, Peyton, breathe!”

Her lips were tinged blue. Panic threatened to overwhelm him. He pressed his knuckles hard against her arm, trying to draw a pain response. She gave a little gasp and sucked in air, so he did it again.

“Come on, sweetheart, breathe!”

A police car swerved into the parking lot in front of him and he tore his eyes from her pale face, looking up. A uniform threw open the car door and started to climb out.

“I need an ambulance! Now!” Marco shouted.

The officer talked into the receiver on his shoulder.

Marco lowered his face to Peyton. “Come on, sweetheart, breathe.”

The officer hurried over. “Where’s the suspect?”

Marco shook his head, not bothering to make eye contact.

“I need to know where the suspect is!” the officer demanded.

“Leave me alone!” Marco growled.

Something in his tone must have registered because the officer backed away.

He was only half aware that the parking lot was filling with patrol vehicles. He couldn’t get a response out of Peyton, but then he heard the rumble of an ambulance pulling up in front of him. When the paramedic jumped out of the passenger’s door, he focused on him.

“Get an oxygen tank!” he shouted.

Suddenly two medics surrounded him, pulling Peyton out of his arms. He didn’t want to release her, but he gave way under their superior experience. They immediately fitted an oxygen mask over her face and then lifted her to a gurney. Marco followed them as they rushed her to the back of the vehicle and lifted her inside. He climbed in next to her, not waiting for them to ask him.

One of the men slammed the doors shut and ran to the driver’s side, climbing behind the wheel, while the other stripped down an IV. “What’s her name?” he said.

“Peyton.” He reached over and brushed a curl off her cheek.

“Peyton, I need you to wake up,” said the medic.

The ambulance began to pull forward. Marco braced himself, muttering prayers under his breath. Her chest was beginning to rise a bit more, but she still looked so pale, so ashen.

“Peyton, I’m going to start an IV.”

He turned her elbow out and pushed up the sleeve of her running jacket. When he pressed the needle into her skin, she gave a little gasp, sucking in more oxygen.

“That’s a good sign,” said the medic, reaching for the tape.

Marco bent over her. “Come on, sweetheart, wake up!”

The medic pressed his knuckles hard into her sternum, between her breast. “Come on, Peyton! Wake up now!”

She shuddered and her eyes snapped open, searching frantically until they landed on Marco. He heard a sound escape him, something suspiciously like a sob, and he ran his hand through her hair, smiling.

“That’s a girl,” said the medic, going back to the IV.

She fixated on Marco’s face as tears welled in her eyes and ran down her temples. She couldn’t talk with the mask over her mouth.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he said, stroking her hair. “You’re safe now. You’re safe.”

*    *    *

Marco paced back and forth in the waiting room from the window to the television and back again. A crowd suddenly appeared – Cho, Simons, Jake, Abe, Defino, Maria, Cliff…Peyton’s mother. They surrounded him, asking him questions. He didn’t have any answers. They’d taken her beyond a door where he couldn’t follow and no one had been out to tell him anything.

There were other people in the waiting room, sitting in little groups, speaking in whispers. They kept their eyes on him, watching him, staring at his empty gun holster. He didn’t remember where he’d stashed his gun, but at this point he didn’t give a damn.

Defino stepped in front of him. “Tell me what happened.”

He studied her face, her short cropped hair, the faint lines around her mouth, and he couldn’t process what she was asking. “I don’t know.”

“The Janitor contacted you?”

Marco nodded. “Yeah, text. I don’t know how he got my number.” He looked toward the door. “She’s been in there for a long time.”

“I’ll go see if I can find out anything,” said Abe.

Maria stepped between Marco and Defino, putting her arm around Marco’s waist. “Captain, can’t this wait until later?”

Defino squinted at her, then she nodded. “Yeah, it’ll wait.”

Marco gave Maria a grateful look, then pulled away and walked to the window.

Alice followed him.

“What did he do to her?” she asked, putting her hand on his arm.

Marco glanced down at her. “He had her in the back of a van. The van was idling in this building and…” His voice failed. He swallowed hard. “The van was filling with carbon monoxide.”

Alice closed her eyes. Marco put his arm around her shoulder and she leaned into him, resting her head in the middle of his chest. He realized Alice Brooks wasn’t much taller than her daughter.

Jake walked over and leaned on the window sill, watching him. More than anyone else, Jake understood what he was going through, how surreal it all felt, how unreal.

“She’s strong,” Jake said.

Marco nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“She’s a fighter,” he continued.

Alice tightened her hand in his shirt and gave a shudder.

“Angel,” came Abe’s voice from the doorway.

Marco turned, watching as Abe led a doctor in green scrubs into the room. Alice clung to him.

“This is Dr. Reynolds,” he said, indicating the short, balding man with close-set eyes and a long, hooked nose. “This is Peyton’s partner and mother.”

The doctor gave them both smiles. “She’s doing well.”

Marco felt like his knees were going to give out. Jake placed a hand in the center of his back, steadying him.

Alice sobbed.

“She got a bit combative with us.”

“That’s our girl,” said Abe, his eyes watering.

“I gave her a strong sedative and we had to tie her hands because she kept trying to take out the oxygen, but she’s breathing on her own and she’s alert.”

“When can she go home?” asked Alice, smiling through her tears.

“We want to keep her on oxygen for a full day, make sure all of the carbon monoxide is out of her system, but we’ll probably release her tomorrow.”

“Can I see her?”

The doctor glanced at the crowded waiting room. “Only immediate family right now, and only two at a time, but I’ll have a nurse come and show you to her room.”

“Thank you, doctor,” said Alice, grabbing his hands.

“Thank you,” echoed Marco.

The doctor nodded, squeezed Alice’s hands, then left the room.

Alice turned to Defino. “When she’s released I want to take her home to my house, so she can recover. Can you give us police protection?”

“Of course,” said Defino, glancing up at Marco. “I’ll make the arrangements. I’m also going to get a uniform outside her door while she’s here.”

“Thank you,” said Alice, moving toward Cliff. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head.

Marco watched them. He wanted to go to Peyton. He wanted that privilege, but he wasn’t family. Jake squeezed his shoulder, giving him a commiserate look. Abe came forward and pulled him into a bear hug.

“Don’t look so scared, Angel. I promise you our girl is going to be right as rain in a few days,” he whispered in Marco’s ear, then kissed the side of his face.

Marco nodded, watching as the nurse entered and led Alice away. He wanted to go. He wanted that privilege, but what the hell did he do about it now? Did he tell her what he felt? Did he confess everything and pray she wouldn’t end their friendship when she found out?

Abe released him and he backed up to the closest chair, taking a seat. Defino wandered out of the waiting room, talking into her phone, while Simons slumped into a chair. Cho and Maria held a whispered conversation in the hallway beyond the waiting room.

“I’ll be back,” said Abe, moving toward the hallway where the nurse had taken Alice.

Jake sat down next to him. “You okay?”

“No.” He clasped his hands between his knees. “I almost lost her.”

Jake nodded.

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You have to tell her what you feel.”

Marco looked over at him. “What if I lose her? What if she can’t see beyond that and she decides we can’t even be friends?”

“It’s a chance you’re going to have to take.”

“He’s still out there.”

“The Janitor?”

Marco nodded. “He gave me a chance. He wanted it to end. He was going to give me one shot to end it, and…”

“And?”

“The Presidio filled with cops. He said I screwed up and he was gone.” Marco met Jake’s eyes. “He said I screwed up. What does that mean? What if he goes after her again?”

“We have to be more careful. She has to be more careful.”

Marco shuddered, remembering the texts. “He said he liked her. A lot. He threatened to…” His voice failed him.

“To what?”

Marco couldn’t say it. It made him feel sick inside.

“To rape her?”

“In so many words.”

Jake’s jaw tensed. “This bastard has to die.”

“He was right there. I had a chance and I blew it.”

“You didn’t blow it. You didn’t have a choice.”

“I picked her over ending it. I could have gone after him, but I picked her.”

Jake clutched his arm. “I would have done the same.”

“If other people die, it’s my fault.”

“Right now, if you had to make the choice again, what would you do? Right now, Adonis. What would you pick?”

Marco met Jake’s gaze. “I’d pick her.”

Jake gave him a pointed nod. “So would I.”

“Marco?”

Marco looked up to see Alice standing before him. He rose to his feet.

“She wants to see you.”

Marco nodded, unable to speak. Here was his moment. Here was his chance. Could he take it?

Alice led him down a side corridor, the walls painted in austere hospital white, no artwork, no color to break up the coldness. She pulled open a glass door and led him into a small room. Peyton lay in the bed, a nasal cannula in her nose, her wrists tied down to the rails, an IV running out of her arm.

Her wild curls lay across the white pillow and she wore a pale blue hospital gown. She looked small and fragile in the large bed. As he stepped inside, her eyes opened, but they were glazed and heavy.

He took a seat on the edge of the bed and forced a smile, reaching out to run his fingers through the wild curls. “Hey, partner,” he said, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Can you untie me?” She tugged at the restraints. “And take this damn thing out of my nose?”

“That’s why they have you tied up, sweetheart. You need the oxygen right now to get the carbon monoxide out of your system.” He reached across the bed and loosened the right tie. “If you promise not to remove the tubes, I’ll untie you.”

“I promise,” she said.

He worked at the buckle and freed her right arm, then turned to the left. He felt her eyes searching his face, but he couldn’t find the courage to meet her look.

“I thought he was going to kill me,” she whispered.

His gaze snapped to hers.

Tears filled in her eyes.

“I thought I was going to die.”

He released her other hand, then stroked her hair at her temple.

“You saved me again.” The tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks. “You found me.”

He brushed them away. “Always,” he said. “I will always be there.”

Her eyes closed involuntarily. “They drugged me again. Why do they always drug me?”

“Because you cause them trouble.”

She gave him a faint smile. “I’m so sleepy.”

“Then go to sleep, sweetheart.”

“Don’t leave until I do.”

“I won’t.”

She was quiet for a long time. He watched the rise and fall of her chest, stroking her hair to soothe both her and himself. He wanted to lay down beside her and wrap her in his arms. He wanted that almost more than he wanted his next breath, but he contented himself with what he had. He was always contenting himself with the minimum where she was concerned.

She gave a little moan, her fingers tightening in her covers.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You’re safe now,” he whispered, bringing his lips close to her ear.

She blinked sleepily at him, trying to make eye contact. “Marco,” she said, her voice a whisper of sound.

“Yeah.”

“Marco, I love you.”

Marco went still. “What?”

Her eyes closed again.

“Peyton, what?”

Her breathing leveled off.

“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this to me. What did you say?”

She didn’t respond. Her body went slack, her head sinking deeper into the pillows.

“Peyton?” he pleaded.

“Hey, big guy,” came a male voice.

Marco glanced over his shoulder. His heart had started to pound again.

Cliff stood in the doorway.

“If you’re done, her mother really wants to stay with her.”

Marco stared at the other man, unable to formulate a thought. What the hell!

“Sorry, sport. Mama bird is needing to protect her little chick right now.”

Marco glanced back at Peyton, but she was obviously under the influence of the drug.

“You can come over to the house and see her in a few days, after she’s released. Alice plans to take her home with us.”

Marco closed his eyes. Peyton had told him she loved him before, but she always used his last name. This was the first time she’d said it and used his first name. It was probably the drugs. It probably meant nothing, but he couldn’t believe they were going to deny him the right to stay with her.

He trailed his fingers through her hair again. It was his own fault. He didn’t really have any rights where she was concerned because he was such a monumental coward. Even now, even when she’d asked for him, he was afraid to tell her the truth.

He sighed and leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. For the rest of his damn life, this was all he was going to get because he couldn’t risk losing this. Losing even this small part of her.

He rose to his feet and turned away, walking toward the door.

“Thanks, sport,” said Cliff, patting him on the shoulder.

Marco stepped out of the room and marked the uniform taking a seat on a metal chair beside the door. He gave him a nod. The uniform nodded back.

Then without allowing himself a look back, he walked toward the hall, turned right instead of left, and exited the hospital without saying a word to anyone. Right now, he had nothing to say and he sure as hell didn’t need to see any more sympathetic faces.

CHAPTER 20

Jake reached for the remote, but hesitated when he heard a key enter the lock on the front door. Pickles started barking, racing across the wood flooring to bounce up and down at the entrance. Jake frowned. There was only one person who made the little dog act like that.

He stood up as the door opened. Peyton stepped inside, followed by her mother and Cliff. Her hair was loose on her shoulders and she wore a clean pair of jeans and a teal colored t-shirt, but she still looked too pale for Jake’s liking.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, coming around the couch.

Her eyes went immediately to the spot where Marco had kept his bag and his army cot. It was empty. Jake had found all of Marco’s stuff missing when he got back from the hospital. When he called him, Marco told him he didn’t want to talk. Jake left it alone.

“I live here,” she said, bending to pick up the little dog. She cuddled him, but she kept staring at the empty spot by the window.

“I know. I thought you were going to stay with your mother for a while.”

Alice pushed past her, carrying a hospital bag with Peyton’s running clothes. “She refused to stay with me.” She settled the bag on the floor and gave her daughter a worried look.

“She also refused the patrol officer,” said Cliff, tucking his hands in his pockets.

“I’m fine,” she said, “I just need some sleep. I just wanted to come home.” She glanced around again. “Is Maria here?”

Jake shook his head. He figured she wasn’t really interested in Maria. He figured he knew who she really wanted to see. “I think she’s at Cho’s. She was pretty shaken up yesterday.” He walked around the couch, touching Peyton’s arm. “We all were.”

She gave him a grim nod and stepped into his arms. He hugged her, kissing the top of her curly head. He could smell the usual lilac scent of her shampoo.

“I’m so glad you’re home,” he said softly.

“So am I.” She stepped back and gave him a forced smile.

“I could make dinner,” offered Alice.

Peyton hugged Pickles, then settled him on the floor. “I’m not hungry, Mama. I just want to go to bed.”

Alice nodded, her eyes watery. “I guess Cliff and I will leave then.”

“Thank you for everything,” said Peyton, kissing her cheek.

She turned and cupped Peyton’s face in her hands, kissing her forehead. “You call me if you need anything. Anything at all, no matter what or when.”

“I will.”

Cliff touched her shoulder. “Take care, kiddo.”

“Thank you, Cliff.”

He pointed at Jake. “You watch our girl, you hear?”

“Yes, sir,” said Jake.

Peyton walked them to the door and then shut it, placing her back against it. She let out a heavy sigh. “When did he leave?”

“Last night.”

“Did you talk to him?”

“I called him. He didn’t want to talk.”

She sank her fingers into her hair at the temples. “Oh, God, Jake, I screwed up so bad.”

He wasn’t sure what she meant. Did she mean when she went running by herself or something else? “Come again?”

“With Marco.”

He frowned.

She walked around the couch and took a seat on the coffee table. He sat down in front of her.

She clasped her hands in her lap and stared at them. “These last few weeks, I guess I’ve been getting confused.”

“What do you mean confused?”

“Since he’s been living here, I’ve started to have these…” She touched the spot between her breasts, looking up at him. “…feelings, seeing him differently.”

Jake’s mouth opened, but he stopped himself from saying anything, waiting to see where she was going.

“All these years, he’s been my best friend. He’s been the one constant, the person I rely on most of all, but lately...lately, I’ve been wondering if I’m so bad at relationships because…”

“Because?”

She chewed on her lower lip. “Because I compare every man to him.”

Jake gave a slow nod.

“Twice now he’s saved my life.”

“I know. Could that be where the confusion is? It’s a pretty heavy debt, knowing someone has saved your life.”

“I thought about that. I’ve spent hours the last few weeks thinking about it, wondering if that’s why everything is so strained between us, but that’s not it. Whenever I think about dating a man, I find myself looking at all the things he doesn’t have, and every one of those things are what he has.” She closed her eyes. “Then last night, I screwed up.”

“How?”

“They had me so drugged, I wasn’t even sure what I was saying and I was so emotional.”

Jake waited, not speaking.

“When he walked through those doors, I...I don’t know. I mean, I know how he feels about me. I know I’m not at all the sort of woman he dates. I’ve watched him for the last eight years bed one woman after another and I’m not like any of them. He’s never lied to me, he’s always been very clear about what he doesn’t want, and what he doesn’t want is any attachments.”

Jake slumped back on the couch, letting his hands dangle beside him. These two were a piece of work.

She looked up and met his gaze. “I told him I love him.”

Jake’s brows rose, nearly to his hairline. “You did what now?”

She sank her fingers into her hair. “I know. Oh, God, I know. How stupid! I’d blame the drugs, but I wanted to say it. I didn’t regret saying it. Except now...now, I’m so scared. What if he doesn’t want to be friends anymore? I’ve lost him as my partner and now if I lose him as my friend…”

Jake briefly closed his eyes. “The two of you are going to kill me,” he moaned.

She went still. “What?”

He shook his head in disgust. “Peyton, how can a woman as smart as you be so damn stupid?”

“You better follow that with something but quick, Ryder.”

He leaned forward and took her hands. “Peyton, just think for a moment. What man goes through what he does for a friend? He risked his career yesterday. Hell, he risked his life. He would have done anything to save you. Anything. Even die trying.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What are you saying?”

He leveled a look at her. “You know what I’m saying.”

He’d never seen her be so still. Then she was moving, heading toward the door. Jake jumped up after her. “Peyton, wait!”

“No, Jake. I’m not waiting anymore. I’ve spent eight freakin’ years waiting.”

“You need to think this through.”

She grabbed her keys and shoved her wallet in her pocket. “I’ve spent too damn much time thinking. I almost died yesterday and that bastard is still out there, just waiting. I’m not wasting any more time.”

“Peyton, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know, but I’ll come up with it as I go along.”

“At least let me drive you over there.”

“No.”

“Peyton, this isn’t safe.”

She patted her pockets, then seemed to realize she didn’t have her phone. It had become evidence. “Let me borrow your phone and I’ll call you when I get over there. You’ll know I’m safe then.”

He sighed and took his phone out of his pocket, carrying it to her. He placed it in her hands and covered them with his own. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

She bit her lip, then nodded. “Yeah.”

He reached behind her and hooked her gun, passing it to her. She took it without speaking. “Be careful and call me when you get there.”

She lifted on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I will.”

*    *    *

Peyton later wouldn’t remember much about the drive to Marco’s apartment. She kept replaying everything over in her head, analyzing things he’d said, things he did. She touched the locket at her throat. How could she have so misread him?

For eight years, they’d been partners. They’d spent every day with each other. How could she have missed it if there’d been something more?

She wasn’t lying when she told Jake no other man would compare to Marco in her mind. Last night after the sedative wore off, she woke to find her mother sitting beside her. They’d finally had a meaningful conversation, the first one since her father died. Alice had told her what she wanted for her, how badly she wanted her to quit the force and settle down. She brought Jake up again. In Alice’s mind, Jake was the perfect mate, the perfect life-partner. If Peyton thought about it logically, she could see what Alice saw.

Jake was loyal.  Jake was dependable. Jake would always be faithful. And yet, she would never consider Jake. Because, she realized, Jake wasn’t Marco.

Devan wasn’t Marco. Stan wasn’t Marco. There was only one Marco, one man who embodied everything she wanted, and until now, she’d been sure that had meant nothing. She’d been sure that this same man would never consider someone like her.

She pulled into his complex and parked next to the Charger. He hadn’t been driving it in weeks, but he still kept it immaculately maintained, the dark paint gleaming.

She reached for the phone and dialed her house number. Jake picked up on the second ring. “Peyton?”

“I’m here,” she said.

“Make sure you know what you’re doing.”

She smiled at the phone. “I do. I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay,” he answered and the line went dead.

A part of her wished Jake could be the one, like her mother wanted. Jake would be easy. Jake was the most uncomplicated person she’d ever met and he’d subsume himself into a relationship with little problem. Jake was meant to be monogamous, committed, a husband. Marco was not. As Maria had said, she’d slapped a collar on Marco and called him tame, but all along she’d known that he would never be. Still, he was worth the risk.

She was surprised she wasn’t more nervous as she pushed open the Corolla’s door and climbed out. She pressed the button to lock it and walked with determination toward his building. She would have run up the stairs, but her bout with carbon monoxide had left her feeling a little light headed still.

Even so, she arrived at his door and stood studying the number on it, praying he was home. She realized she hadn’t looked for the Mustang once she saw the Charger. He might be out and then what would she do?

She rubbed her hands against her thighs, swallowed hard, then reached up and knocked on the door. She felt like she was standing on a precipice and either she would survive the fall, or she’d be dashed to bits at the bottom. Still, she was determined to take the leap. She was done with playing it safe.

The lock turned and the door opened. Marco filled the entrance, his chest straining the t-shirt he wore, his black hair touching his shoulders. His blue eyes widened when he saw her and she couldn’t help but notice how damn handsome he was.

She felt her heart accelerate, pounding in her throat, in her temples. How had she not realized what she felt for him all this time? It filled her now until she worried she might suffocate.

“Hey, partner,” he said, giving her a lazy smile.

She reached out and curled her hand in his shirt, tugging him forward, then she went up on her toes and kissed him, angling her head so their mouths met perfectly. He hesitated in surprise for a second, just the briefest of seconds, then he was kissing her back, curling his arms around her, crushing her against him, deepening the kiss.

Somehow he pulled her back with him into his apartment and kicked the door closed without lifting his mouth from hers. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed up into him, wanting to meld with him. He shoved her back against the wall beside the door, his hands sliding into her hair, anchoring her mouth beneath his as he stole her breath with his kiss.

Gradually, he pulled back, pressing their foreheads together. They were both breathing hard, their bodies entangled. She looked into his blue eyes, searching him, and she saw what she wanted to see.

“Take me to bed,” she whispered against his lips.

“Yes, ma’am,” he said breathlessly.

EPILOGUE

Genevieve sat down in the booth across from the cop. He looked like a boy with his smooth face and his wide-set brown eyes, like a puppy who was hoping for a treat from its master. She shifted, crossing her legs, and he fixated on them, glancing up at her nervously.

“Hello, Officer Bartlet.”

“Hello, Ms. Lake. Thank you for meeting me. What can I get you?” He wasn’t wearing his uniform, but if possible, the silly 49er ball cap and the oversized jersey made him look even younger.

“I’d love a glass of Pinot.”

He motioned to the waitress.

“Are you sure we should be meeting here? Isn’t this where Inspector D’Angelo usually comes to drink?” She glanced around the crowded interior of the Fiddler’s Green.

“He won’t be here tonight.”

She licked her bottom lip. He followed it with his eyes. “I heard about Inspector Brooks. Is she all right?”

“She’ll be fine. She’s taking a few days of leave right now.”

“And the Janitor got away again?”

Bartlet nodded, then looked up when the waitress arrived. “A glass of Pinot and a rum and coke for me,” he said.

She nodded and walked away.

“Do you think Inspector Brooks will come back?”

“To work?”

“Right.”

“Of course she will. This isn’t going to stop her. This sicko isn’t going to scare her away.”

“What about D’Angelo? Will he be suspended again?”

“Why would he be suspended?”

“Didn’t he break protocol? Go after her when he was told to stay?”

“How do you know that?”

She smiled. So simple. Poor boy. “I have a police scanner. It lit up like a Christmas tree yesterday.” She leaned forward. “How do you think he got away?”

“Who?”

“The Janitor. The Presidio was surrounded. How did he escape?”

Bartlet shrugged. “We think he’s got military training.”

Genevieve gave a slow nod.

Bartlet shifted uncomfortably. “Can we talk about something else?”

“Sure. What do you want to talk about?”

The waitress returned with their drinks and settled them on the table. Bartlet placed a twenty on her tray and she nodded, then backed away.

Genevieve lifted her drink and took a sip.

Bartlet gave her a shy smile. “I just wanted to have a drink with you. That’s all. I don’t want to talk about work. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“It’s just, I like you and I was hoping, maybe, you like me.”

“Of course I do.”

He glanced at her and smiled, then looked down. “Just, sometimes I feel like all you’re interested in is getting a story out of me.”

“Is that what Inspector D’Angelo told you?”

He gave a soft laugh and nodded. “Yeah, pretty much.”

She leaned forward. “Don’t listen to him. He’s just jealous because I rejected him.”

“You rejected him?”

She sipped at her wine. “You sound surprised.”

“Uh, yeah. I didn’t think any women rejected a guy like him.”

“Well, I did.” She gave Bartlet a sly smile. “I like guys who are less full of themselves. No woman wants a man who’s that arrogant, who thinks he can have whatever he wants.”

Bartlet returned her smile. “I’m glad. I mean, it’s nice.”

She gave him a sultry wink. “So not to talk about work, but are you assigned to the Clean-up Crew case yourself?”

“Pretty much the entire precinct is focused on it. It was bad enough when he was messing with child molesters, but now he went after one of our own.”

“It’s so scary realizing a serial killer’s running around the City and no one seems able to stop him. He pretty much does what he pleases.”

“He’s not going to be running around much longer. Not now. We’re closing in on him. In fact, pretty soon we’re gonna know exactly who he is.”

“Really?” She placed a hand over her heart. “I’m so relieved. It scares me to death to think of it. I don’t know how Inspector Brooks isn’t a complete wreck.”

“She’s pretty strong.”

Genevieve nodded. “She has to be. I would have had a heart attack the second he grabbed me.”

“Don’t worry. You’re safe.”

“Thank you,” she said. Her phone rang in her clutch where it lay on the table. “Excuse me for a second. Just let me check it. It sounds like my work cell.”

He nodded and sat back.

Genevieve fished the phone out and looked at the display. No number, just the words Unknown Caller. She frowned, but thumbed it on, lifting it to her ear.

“How bad do you want that Pulitzer?”

She didn’t recognize the voice. It was gravelly and low.

“Excuse me? Who is this?”

Bartlet frowned.

She shrugged.

“Boy Wonder seems curious.”

Genevieve felt her heart slam against her ribs and she turned, searching the bar for anyone else on a cell phone. No one else seemed to be talking. “Say that again?”

“How bad do you want the Pulitzer?”

Genevieve faced forward again, clenching her jaw. “Bad.”

“Good. Then we need to talk.”

Bartlet was giving her a pointed look. She forced a smile for him, but blood was rushing to her head.

“Oh, Uncle Leo, so nice to hear from you,” she said. She pointed to the phone and mouthed sorry, gotta take this. Then she rose to her feet and walked away from the table, moving toward the back where the bathrooms were. She scanned the crowd again, searching for anyone with a cell phone. “How did you get this number?”

A low, deep laugh echoed through the line. “The paper gave it to me. I said I was supposed to have an exclusive interview with you and they immediately turned it over. Didn’t really ask many questions. Ironic for news people.”

“What do you want with me?”

“I want to know if you want a Pulitzer for some real journalism, or do you want to continue pumping green cops for information they never had?”

She paused at the entrance to the bathroom hallway, staying in the main part of the tavern. “Fine, but they’re going to get you eventually. You really pissed them off by taking one of their cops. She almost died.”

“If we’re going to have a working relationship, you’ve got to stop being bitchy. I don’t like it.”

Genevieve realized she was shaking. What the hell was she doing, talking to a serial killer? “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Afraid, are you? And here I thought you were one of the old fashioned journalists, you know, the ones who stare into the face of death for their story. The ones who aren’t afraid to brave war, natural disaster, famine for that by-line. I guess I was wrong.”

Her grip tightened on the phone. She did want to be one of those journalists. Real journalists, not the yellow news propaganda hounds most journalists had become nowadays. “What are you proposing?”

“I tell you my story. You write it down. When this is over, you have my permission to publish it.”

Genevieve considered for a moment. “You’re going to give me your story. You’re going to trust that I’m going to write it exactly as you say without making an editorial comment about it. Without calling you a sociopath or a psychotic butcher.”

“I don’t care what you call me, baby. It doesn’t matter to me. I don’t much care what the general public thinks of me. Psychopath is fine by me. But we both know who the real psychopaths are.”

Genevieve shook her head, staring out at the busy tavern, knowing that any one of these men could be him, could be a serial killer. “What exactly do you get out of this, then? I mean if I can say whatever I want about you, what the hell do you gain?”

“Immortality, baby,” he said and hung up.

THE END

Now that you’ve finished, visit ML Hamilton at her website: authormlhamilton.com for more information on the Peyton Brooks’ mysteries and her other contemporary fiction novel, Ravensong.

If you missed the first three novels in the Peyton Brooks’ mystery series, Murder on Potrero Hill, Murder in the Tenderloin, and Murder on Russian Hill download them now!

Then check out her fantasy series, The World of Samar, at worldofsamar.com.

All ML Hamilton titles available at Amazon in Kindle and paperback formats.

The Complete Peyton Brooks’ Mysteries Collection:

Murder on Potrero Hill Volume 1

Murder in the Tenderloin Volume 2

Murder on Russian Hill Volume 3

Murder on Alcatraz Volume 4

Murder in Chinatown Volume 5

Murder in the Presidio Volume 6

The Complete World of Samar Collection:

Emerald Volume 1

The Heirs of Eldon Volume 2

The Star of Eldon Volume 3

The Spirit of Eldon Volume 4