Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  She placed a sandwich on a paper plate and passed it to him with one of the napkins. He opened the wrapper and lifted half to his mouth. Vegetarian with garlic sauce, just the way he liked it. He took a bite and gave her a half-smile. She reached for a soda and placed it in front of him, her eyes sliding over him and away.

  Marco felt the sandwich turn to dust in his mouth. He set it down and leaned back in the chair, swallowing the bite. “You’re leaving.”

  “What?” She shifted toward him.

  “You got a case.”

  She looked down and he knew. She could never keep anything from him. “Let’s talk about it after lunch.”

  He no longer had an appetite, but he sat next to her and listened to her share stories with her friends. She had an unconscious way about her so that no matter how long she was gone, the time fell away and it was like she was back here again, working the precinct as she had for so many years.

  He reached out and fingered a curl that fell down her back. She smiled at him and leaned into his shoulder, letting him pass the curl through his fingers as she laughed at a story Tag was telling.

  Once lunch was finished and his people returned to their jobs, he walked her to his office and watched as she took a seat in the chair before his desk. Moving to the other chair, he sat down next to her and shifted so they were facing each other.

  “Where’s the case?”

  She fussed with the zipper on her jacket, then she looked up at him. “London.”

  “London?”

  “Yeah, I have to be at the airport tomorrow at 6:00AM. The plane leaves at 8:00.”

  “London.” He looked away, running his fingers across the head of his cane.

  “I told Rosa I didn’t want to go.”

  His gaze snapped back to her. “What?”

  She nodded. “I told Rosa it was a bad time, but…” She sighed. “That didn’t go over too well.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “It’s a really bad time, though. For us. We just started talking again and trying Dr. Ferguson’s crazy ideas, and…” Her voice trailed away.

  He took her hand, bringing it to his lips. “We’ll be okay. We knew this would happen when you took the job. We prepared for it, remember?”

  “I know, it’s just…”

  “We’ll be okay.”

  “We can video chat.”

  “Yeah.” He realized his voice sounded less than enthusiastic. “Can I drive you to the airport?”

  She tightened her hold on his hand. “I think that would be really hard, Marco.”

  He nodded.

  “Will you take care of Pickles while I’m gone?”

  “Of course. I’ll pick him up tomorrow after your plane leaves.”

  “Thanks.” She clasped his hand with both of her own. “I really don’t want to go.”

  “What sort of case is it?”

  “Murder. Exchange student from Stanford.”

  “Wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “What’s the weird angle?”

  “Werewolf. Well, he looks like that and he howls after every kill.”

  “Werewolf in London?”

  “I know, right? Someone has a really sick sense of humor.”

  “You’ll be careful, yes?”

  “Yes.” She sighed again. “No sex, huh?”

  “That’s what Dr. Ferguson said.”

  “Well, then, I better go. I still have to pack.”

  He nodded and released her.

  She hesitated, then she rose to her feet and turned for the door.

  “Peyton!” He rose also and she stopped, shifting to face him again. He moved between the chairs and reached out to cup her chin, lifting her head and lowering his own. He kissed her with all of the longing and want he could summon, pressing her back against the door. Her hands slid up his chest and she drew him tighter against her, deepening the kiss.

  Finally he pulled away, pressing his forehead to hers. They were both breathing heavily.

  “Are you sure about the no sex?”

  “That’s what he says,” Marco answered miserably.

  “Right.” Her hands flattened on his chest and she pushed against him. “Then I really have to go.”

  He released her and she hurried out of his office, shutting the door behind her.

  * * *

  “Yes, Mama, I’m taking a raincoat.”

  “You don’t know how quickly the weather changes there.”

  “I think I’ll be all right. I hear it’s a lot like San Francisco.”

  “No, it’s much bigger than San Francisco. Much bigger. Cliff says fifty times as large.”

  “I don’t think it’s fifty times as large, but I was talking about the weather.”

  “Do they have phones there? What if your phone doesn’t work there?”

  Peyton closed her suitcase, bracing the phone on her shoulder as she zipped it shut. “It’s not the outback, Mama. It’s London. It has all the modern amenities.”

  “You’ve never been to a foreign country.”

  “That’s not true. Marco and I went to the Virgin Islands. Besides, I’m not sure England qualifies.” She dragged the suitcase off the bed and it bumped against the floor. “I’ll be fine.”

  “They don’t let their cops have guns there.”

  “They do in certain circumstances. We have a special dispensation to carry our weapons because we’ll be investigating a violent murder.”

  “What if they change their mind?”

  “Sarge made it clear we wouldn’t be investigating without our weapons.” Peyton didn’t know if that was true, but she figured it would relieve her mother’s fear. “We’ll be fine.”

  A knock sounded at the door.

  Peyton dragged the suitcase to a corner of her room, then padded barefoot to the door, peering through the peephole. Marco stood on the other side.

  “I’ve got to go, Mama. I’ll call you when we land.”

  “Why do you have to go? I might not be able to talk to you when you get there.”

  “You’ll be able to talk to me.” Peyton fought a wave of annoyance as she unlocked the door and nudged Pickles back. The Yorkshire terrier was barking furiously. “Look, Mama, Marco’s here and I need to talk to him.”

  “Oh, goodness, go then. I’ll talk to you in London.”

  Peyton hung up the phone, shaking her head, and set it on the sofa table, then pulled open the door. Marco had changed into jeans and one of his ribbed sweaters, but Peyton thought he still looked gorgeous.

  “Hey,” she said.

  “Hey,” he answered.

  Then they were both moving, surging against each other. Peyton felt his hands on her cheeks, then sliding into her hair as she melded herself to him, trying to merge with him. He pushed her back into the house, somehow managing to close and lock the door.

  Her hands tugged at his sweater as his pulled at her jersey, but she drew away, placing a hand in the center of his chest and holding him off. “Hold on a minute!” she panted, trying to regain her composure. Beneath her palm she could feel his heart pounding.

  “You’re killing me, Brooks,” he moaned.

  “Let’s at least try Dr. Ferguson’s idea before we give in.”

  His eyes opened wide in a look of disbelief. “Are you serious?”

  “Let’s at least have some sort of conversation before we get to the bedroom,” she said, trying to sound reasonable. The memory of his mouth on hers, his hands on her body was making concentrating hard. “What were some of the topics he wanted us to discuss?”

  “Um…” Marco shook his head, running a hand through his dark hair. “Politics.”

  “Okay, good. What about politics?”

  “I don’t know.” Marco moved closer to her, but she held him off.

  “Come on, D’Angelo, think.”

  “Okay. Um, should the president be elected by popular vote or the Electoral College?”

  She gave him a skeptical look.

&n
bsp; “You wanted to discuss politics.”

  “The Electoral College though?”

  “Fine, forget it.” He moved toward her, but she danced back, keeping her hand fisted in his sweater.

  “No, okay. Let’s see. Um, popular vote.”

  “Why?”

  “Everyone wants to be popular.”

  “Great.” He reached for her, but she danced back again. She realized they’d worked their way from the entryway into the living room.

  Pickles jumped on the couch and crashed on a pillow, giving a sigh. Clearly they weren’t going to pay any attention to him.

  “What else?”

  “Jesus, Brooks.”

  “Jesus?”

  “No, um…hold on. Uh, should the First Lady wear white after Labor Day?”

  Peyton frowned at him, stopping her backwards waltz. “Really?”

  “You wanted something.”

  “You’ve been living with Abe too long.”

  “Tell me about it. I’m dying here, Brooks.”

  She gently pushed him back a step. “Okay, white after Labor Day. Um, let’s see. I think ivory’s okay, but anything in the snow variety’s just gauche.”

  “Gauche?”

  “Unsophisticated.”

  “And I’ve been hanging out with Abe too long. Okay, fine. Awesome, actually. I’ll send her an email.” He pushed at her hand, trying to dislodge it. They’d reached the middle of the room now, his limp more pronounced without his cane.

  “What else?” Peyton asked, buying time.

  “Money.”

  “Money, good. What about money?”

  Marco gave her a pained look and scratched at his forehead. “How do you feel about the penny?”

  “The penny?”

  “Sure.”

  “Honestly, I’m a fan, but the silver dollar’s ridiculous.”

  Marco frowned. “Why’s it ridiculous?”

  “It’s pretentious.”

  “Fine.”

  “What else?”

  “Do you think ATMs should offer other denominations besides twenties?”

  Peyton shifted her hand, holding it out palms up. “Absolutely, if I get a twenty for chocolate, you know damn well the whole thing’ll be spent and then no one wins.”

  He laughed.

  Peyton went still. She realized it was the first time she’d heard him really laugh in a long time.

  “I love you,” she said softly.

  His blue eyes narrowed and then he was moving, sweeping her up into his arms. Peyton didn’t give a damn after that about what Dr. Ferguson would say. Right now there was only one person in the world who mattered, and that was Marco.

  CHAPTER 7

  Leicester Square was always crowded on the weekend. People lounged around the lawn or wandered through the shops and restaurants.

  He huddled beneath a tree on the edge of the square, hoping he didn’t see the blonde woman with her mates, having a picnic around the fountain.

  But it was already too late. He’d spotted her quite a while ago and was working his way around the perimeter of the square, trying to get to her. There was no way he wouldn’t be caught this time. The square was filled with people. They’d see him grab the woman, they’d stop him. They wouldn’t let him kill her. Or if they did, he wouldn’t get away. Either way, the killing would stop. Police would come and arrest him. No more killing. No more victims. No more death.

  Finally, it would be over.

  It’s not over. She’s going to die.

  Covering his ears with his forearms, he buried his head against his knees. No matter where he went, the deaths kept happening. He couldn’t get too far from the tube lines because that was where he was most likely to get a few spare pounds, but as long as he stayed on the tube lines, he found him.

  But today it would end. He’d gotten bolder and the killings were happening in public places now. If he killed the blonde at the fountain, someone would see him, remember him, report him. He’d be caught and it would be over.

  She has to die.

  He moaned and rocked himself.

  “You all right, mate?” came a voice above him. “You all right?”

  He lifted his head and peered up at the young man in the knit beanie. “Fine.”

  “Maybe you want to move on that way.” The young man pointed to the street beyond the square. “Lot of people here today, isn’t there? And they’re probably disturbing you.”

  He knew what the young man meant. He was disturbing them. No one wanted to look at a homeless man if they didn’t have to. The young man held a pound out to him.

  “Here. Go get something hot to eat.”

  He reached up and took the pound. Not because it would get him a damn thing to eat, but because it alleviated the young man’s guilt just a bit.

  “Sorry, mate,” the young man said with a shrug. “It’s just easier, you understand?”

  Easier. Sure. Yeah, he understood.

  He pushed himself to his hands and knees, levering himself upright. The young man started to take his elbow to help him, but that earned him a glare and he backed off, holding up his hands in a gesture of futility. Gaining his feet, he started to say something to the young man, but the howl had him ducking again, wrapping his arms around his head and closing his eyes.

  It ululated over the square, echoing off the storefronts around them. People screamed and then they were running, trying to get out of the square as fast as they could.

  The young man bolted from his side, racing for the street and disappearing into the crowd. Looking over at the fountain, he gasped as he saw the lifeless body of the girl slump to the ground, a puddle of red spreading out beneath her.

  * * *

  The alarm shrieked. Peyton reached over and slammed her hand on top of it, turning it off. Then she snuggled back into the bed. She hadn’t slept this well in weeks, but having the weight of Marco’s body wrapped around her held off the nightmares.

  He nuzzled her shoulder and pulled her back into the circle of his arms. She let her eyes close and wondered if Rosa would really fire her if she missed her plane. She could fly out tomorrow and meet the others, give herself another day to spend with Marco. They might not even leave the bed.

  Even so, guilt rose inside of her. They’d be waiting at the airport, expecting her to show up. She was part of their team now and they depended on her.

  “I have to take a shower before I can even think of getting on a plane.”

  Marco’s hand slid down her body, creating a tingle in its wake, but then he rolled to his back and the heat of him left her. “I’ll make some coffee, then I’m driving you to the airport.”

  Disappointment slammed into her, but she threw the covers off and sat up on the edge of the bed. His fingers traced down her naked spine.

  “I don’t want to go,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

  He toyed with a curl. He looked sleepy and rumpled and delicious. Curling his hand around her arm, he tugged her down to him. “I don’t want you to go, but we’ll be okay, Peyton.”

  She braced a hand in the center of his chest and kissed him. “I’d better get that shower before I really change my mind.”

  He smiled at her and brushed the hair back from her cheek. “Yeah, you’d better. Beside it takes me forever to get this leg moving in the morning. If you want coffee, you’d better not distract me.”

  She kissed him again, then rose and walked to the bathroom. He made a whistling sound that brought a laugh out of her and eased some of the dread she was feeling. She showered quickly and ran a comb through her hair, then dressed in her most comfortable jeans, a V-necked t-shirt, finally pulling on a light sweater. It was as hard to pack for London as it was to live in San Francisco. You had to prepare for any range of weather.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed, she tugged on her boots. Her thoughts went to the previous night and she smiled. Why couldn’t it just work between them? They obviously had deep feelings for each other. The ph
ysical part of their relationship was ridiculously hot. Why couldn’t the rest be just that easy, that wonderful?

  Chewing at her inner lip, she wondered if Dr. Ferguson was right. They masked their other problems with sex. Maybe sex was all they had? But that couldn’t be. They’d spent eight years as friends, talking about everything. They’d hardly fought during that time and they could spend hours in each other’s company without feeling bored or annoyed. Why couldn’t they do the same now? Had the sex replaced the friendship they’d once had?

  She grabbed her coat and dragged the suitcase out into the middle of the living room. Marco and Pickles were in the kitchen, Pickles scarfing up his kibble and Marco sipping coffee. She climbed on a barstool and he shoved a coffee mug over to her with a plate of toast and jelly.

  “You need something on your stomach. Airline food is the worst.”

  She smiled and picked up the mug, taking a sip. Sweet, just the way she always wanted it. He knew exactly how much sugar to add. That had to be something. Picking up a piece of toast, she broke off a corner and placed it in her mouth.

  “So are you flying directly into Heathrow?” he asked, tearing off a piece of his own toast. She noticed he didn’t have jelly on his.

  “No, we fly into JFK, then change planes and fly into Heathrow.”

  “How long will you be flying total?”

  “Eleven hours.”

  He blew out air. “Will you call me when you land?”

  “Yeah.” She tore another piece off the toast, but didn’t put it in her mouth. “Do you think we could continue our conversation from last night?”

  He frowned at her. “About the penny?”

  “Yeah.”

  He leaned on the counter. “What’s going on, Brooks?”

  She tore the bread some more. “What if sex has replaced our friendship?”

  He raised an eyebrow at that. “Is that what you think or are you allowing Ferguson’s psychobabble to get to you?”

  “He got to you or you wouldn’t have wanted to try it.”

  Marco picked up his mug and sipped it. “I just don’t understand why we keep passing each other. Why we aren’t able to make it work easier. I feel like I’m sabotaging something really great with you and I can’t stop myself.”