Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  It wasn’t the driving on the wrong side of the road, although she didn’t love that, it was the speed and braking. Still, Peyton chose to say nothing, trying to keep from gasping every time they came within inches of a traffic accident. Forty minutes later, she didn’t much care if Caleb killed them in a fiery crash. Her legs were cramping and acid was making her stomach ache.

  Finally he wheeled the sedan into a covered parking lot and yanked it into a parking space, setting the brake. Radar immediately shoved open the door, climbing out. When he offered Peyton his hand, she accepted it. Pain was radiating from her toes to her knees.

  Caleb opened the trunk and dragged their suitcases out, piling them beside the car. “We have showers in the gymnasium that you’re welcome to use if you so choose. I’m sure you’d like a change of clothes and some real food.”

  Peyton perked up at that, but getting her body moving again was difficult. They crossed the parking structure and Caleb pressed the button for the elevator. “I’ll have my assistant drive you over to the hotel this afternoon.” He removed a card from his pocket as the elevator doors opened and motioned them inside. It was a tight squeeze with their luggage and Tank’s bulk, but they made it.

  Caleb swiped his card against a reader and punched a button on the display. The doors closed and the elevator began to rise. Holding up the card, Caleb showed it to them. “You’ll each be given one of these. They work the front doors from the street and the lift inside the parking structure.”

  Radar nodded.

  The elevator let them out on the first floor. Another glass door blocked their way and Caleb again used his card. The door swung open, admitting them into a reception area. Peyton could see the street beyond the bank of glass doors. A counter stretched across the length of the room and behind it was a bank of elevators.

  A young man in a dark suit sat at a terminal behind the counter. Caleb walked up to him and the young man nodded, typing on a keyboard. “Inspector Abbott, welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Neil. These fine people are our American counterparts.”

  Neil gave them each a smile. He had close-cropped blond hair and very blue eyes. “We have copies of your badges and other documentation.” He set four clipboards on the counter before them. “Now, if you’ll just sign here, I’ll take your firearms.”

  Peyton exchanged an alarmed look with Bambi. “What?”

  “Your firearms, please. We’ll store them here for you while you’re in London.”

  Radar turned to Caleb. “That’s not what I understood from Special Agent in Charge Alvarez. I was told we’d be given special dispensation to keep our guns while we work this case.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Caleb. “There’s been a misunderstanding. You will be given your firearms when you’re in active pursuit of the suspect, but while we investigate, there’s no need for weapons.”

  Radar looked like he might argue, but he opened the flap on his luggage and pulled his gun out, setting it on the counter. “Give them your guns until I get this worked out with Sarge,” he ordered them.

  “Please don’t fret for your safety,” offered Caleb. “Neil here has been instructed to issue each of you a taser.” He pulled back his sports coat to reveal the taser strapped to his belt.

  Peyton’s eyes fixated on the device and she felt her face drain of blood.

  Tank and Bambi produced their guns. Peyton’s hands trembled as she found hers and laid it on the counter. Neil logged each of their weapons on the clipboards, then passed them pens and asked them to sign. Peyton’s hand shook so badly, her signature looked wobbly. A cold sweat had peppered the skin between her breasts and along her hairline.

  Neil ducked under the counter, swiped a card across a reader, and opened a cabinet. He produced a box and used a key to open it. Inside were six tasers. He lifted one out and checked it to make sure it was charged, then wrote something on Radar’s clipboard.

  Peyton felt her mouth grow dry and acid roiled in her stomach.

  Tank was next and he immediately unhooked his belt, sliding the taser holster into place.

  “You’ve received training, am I right?” Caleb asked Radar.

  “It’s part of the process.”

  Peyton hadn’t received training. They’d given her a special pass during that part of her time in Quantico. She knew the basics from her employment with the SFPD, but it had been a long time since then. Not to mention the fact that just the sight of the weapon made her feel like passing out.

  Bambi received her weapon and immediately removed it from the holster to inspect it. Neil held the clipboard out to Peyton.

  “Just initial here.”

  She started to reach for the pen, but she knew this just wasn’t going to happen. “I can’t. I can’t use a taser.”

  Neil and Caleb exchanged looks. “Excuse me,” said Caleb.

  Peyton’s eyes rose to Radar’s. “I can’t.”

  Radar grabbed her arm and pulled her away from the counter. She didn’t want to disappoint him, but she couldn’t use a taser.

  “Take slow, deep breaths,” said Radar. “Just take slow, deep breaths.”

  “I know,” she gritted out between her teeth.

  “I know you know, but hearing the monotony of my voice will help it pass quicker.”

  The roar gradually died in her head and her heart slowed down to its normal rhythm.

  He passed her an open water bottle.

  “Take a drink.”

  She did as he commanded and swallowed a gulp of water, still shivering.

  “So, what was it this time? Turning over your gun?”

  She shook her head, running her thumb over the label on the bottle. “The taser.” She lifted the edge of her sweater and showed him her side, where two white scars marked the spot where the Janitor had tagged her.

  Radar studied them, then lifted his dark eyes to her face. “Tell me.”

  She lowered her sweater. “My last case with the SFPD was a serial killer, called the Janitor.”

  “I read about it.”

  “Yeah, well, we chased him for months. He stayed one step ahead of us the entire time.”

  “He terrorized the City for quite a while as I remember.”

  “He was an ex-cop, so he knew all our moves.” She swallowed hard and looked up at him. “He fixated on me for some reason, squatted in a house across the street from my own. I didn’t know he was there. No one did.”

  Her voice failed her and Radar tapped the water bottle. “Take another drink.”

  She did.

  “One day I went for a run and he followed me. He trapped me and used…” She drew a deep breath, unable to continue.

  “A taser on you.”

  Peyton nodded. “He shoved me into a cargo van and took me to the Presidio, where he left me to die. If Marco hadn’t found me…”

  “He’s dead, Sparky.”

  “Yeah, well, that might be, but I still remember. I still remember his voice in my ear.”

  Radar glanced up at her.

  “I still remember him telling me how he was going to rape me, then kill me, leaving my body for Marco to find.” She tightened her hold on the water reflexively. “And I still remember...I will never forget...how it felt when he shot me with that taser, how helpless I was, how I couldn’t fight back. I will never forget that as long as I live, Radar. Never.”

  He put a hand on her shoulder. “He can’t hurt you anymore, Brooks.”

  She gave Radar a grim smile. “He already did,” she said.

  Radar dropped his hand.

  “You don’t need this, do you?” she said.

  “What?”

  “Me. All the work you have to put in on me.”

  He shrugged. “You think I didn’t know most of this already?”

  She gave him a surprised look. “Really?”

  “You think I’d take you on our team without knowing exactly what we were getting, Sparky. I’m not going to risk my people that way.”

 
; “Still, you like things simple. You like people who just do their job and leave you alone.”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Like Tank and Bambi?”

  “Exactly like Tank and Bambi.”

  Radar shrugged. “Since you’ve been on our team, you’ve solved two cases in a little over a month. I’d say that’s pretty impressive, Sparky. So you need a little handling now and then…”

  “Handling?”

  “TLC.”

  She frowned at him. “I don’t need TLC.”

  “Right.”

  “Does that mean you trust me at your back?”

  “If you’re armed. I’m not loving the idea of you at my back without a weapon.”

  Peyton shook her head. “I’m not carrying a taser, Radar. I can’t do it, I can’t carry one of those things.”

  Radar chewed on his inner lip. “How do you feel about a switchblade?”

  “A switchblade?”

  “A broken-off beer bottle...a sharpened stick?”

  Peyton laughed. “I am more trouble than you wanted.”

  He turned her back toward the counter. “Everyone has their own shit, Brooks, everyone.” He pointed at the team. ‘Freakin’ Bambi can sleep on a fence rail like a damn cat.”

  Peyton laughed again, feeling the tension ease inside her. “You’re funny when you don’t get sleep, old man.”

  He put his arm around her shoulders. “Just wait until tonight, Sparky, when I’m really exhausted. Then I’ll be freakin’ hysterical.”

  * * *

  Marco took a seat on the half-circle couch near Cho. A bank of mirrors sat at angles in front of them and Big Bill Simons stood on a raised circular platform before the mirrors, while a middle aged woman in an apron took his measurements.

  Jake wandered around the dressing room, snapping pictures with Maria giving him orders, pointing to what she wanted photographed next. Maria’s sister, Marta, leaned against the wall, sipping champagne and watching the chaos unfold around her, while Abe flapped around the seamstress, offering her advice on how to do a job he’d never done in all his life.

  “Why does everyone have to be here for this?” Marco asked Cho.

  Cho gave Maria a fond shake of his head. “She wants everything perfect. And she wants Ryder to document all of the perfection.”

  Marco gave a grunt.

  Cho shifted on the couch and draped his arm along the back. “So, Ryder believes our John Doe intruder was actually invited into the house?”

  “Yep.”

  “Central wants us to put this one to bed.”

  “I know, but that’s not how we work.”

  “So we’re going to investigate?”

  “Yep.”

  Cho shifted on the couch, plucking at a loose thread on a cushion. “Do we have a problem with this case, Captain?”

  Marco looked over at him. “A problem? How?”

  “Ryder mentioned you played football with Peterson and you know the wife.”

  Marco frowned. “So?”

  “He said she was pretty familiar with you.”

  “We don’t have a problem, but I’ll run it by Devan in the morning anyway just to be sure. I’m not turning this over to Central to just sweep under the rug because Peterson’s a local hero.”

  “I agree. I’d just feel better about it if we get the ADA’s rubber stamp.”

  “I know.” He watched Simons trying to button a vest over his barrel-shaped chest. He had a pained look on his face. “Maria seems happy, Nate.”

  Cho smiled. “I hope so. I want to make sure she’s happy for the rest of her life. I just feel so damn lucky to have her.”

  Marco gave him a smile in return. “I’m glad for both of you.”

  Cho started to say something, probably something about Peyton, then he clearly thought better of it and looked back at his bride-to-be.

  Marco frowned at Abe as he stepped up on the platform and tried to help Simons button the vest. “Is Abe wearing giraffes on his shirt?”

  “Yep, it’s part of his animal collection.”

  Marco’s brows rose at that.

  Cho gave an uncomfortable shrug. “He’s been spending a lot of time at the house, prepping for the wedding.”

  “Right.”

  Bouncing off the platform, Abe stopped in front of them. “Let’s go, Angel.”

  “Go?”

  “We’re headed to your folks’ house for dinner.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I promised Mama D’Angelo I’d help her make a traditional Ethiopian feast.”

  “What?”

  Abe grabbed Marco’s cane and held it out to him. “Come on, we’re late. We’re making gomen, azifa, and if I don’t make the injera myself, it just doesn’t turn out right.”

  Marco glanced over at Cho, but the other man simply gave him an awkward smile. “You’ve got to get the injera just right. If it’s not spongy enough, I can’t eat it,” said Cho.

  Marco gave up trying to figure out what the hell was going on.

  “You’ll have to drive, Angel. I left the Mini at home.”

  “Well, I’m not cramming myself in the Mini anyway,” he grumbled.

  Maria hurried over to him and kissed his cheek. “Come to dinner next week, okay?”

  “I’ll see,” he told her, nodding at Simons. “Nice to meet you, Marta,” he called to her sister.

  “Nice to meet you, gorgeous,” she said, giving him a wink.

  “Bye, Adonis.”

  Marco scowled at Jake as he followed Abe out of the shop. Abe blathered on about injera the entire way over to Marco’s parents’ house. Once they arrived, he practically leapt out of the car and hurried up the steps. It took Marco a bit longer to make the trek and when he got to the top, his leg was spasming with pain. Vinnie was waiting for him and swept him into a bear hug.

  “Hey, little brother, you look pale.”

  Marco couldn’t answer him at the moment, he was gritting his teeth too hard, but he let him guide him into the house. The moment he was inside, his mother and sisters-in-law pounced on him, smothering him with kisses and pressing various foodstuffs into his hands to taste. Finally Vinnie extricated him from the mix and the women went off to the kitchen to be with Abe.

  Marco limped over to his father in his recliner and squeezed his shoulder. Leo covered his son’s hand with his own, then patted the recliner next to him. “Sit, Marco, watch the game with us.”

  Laughter bubbled out of the kitchen and Marco looked toward it.

  “Don’t ask,” said Vinnie, offering him a soda. “Sit and relax.”

  Marco eased himself into the recliner, noticing his brothers and father all had soda instead of beer. He felt bad that they’d changed their habits for him. “You know, you can drink. I’m okay.”

  “Naw,” said Franco, waving him off. “We need to cut back. Sofia says I’m getting a gut.”

  Marco looked around. Except for the kitchen, the house was unusually quiet. “Where are the kids?”

  “Tonio and Cristina took them to the park. They were making us crazy,” said Vinnie, plopping down on the couch between his brothers.

  “That’s a lot of kids for them to handle.”

  “Naw, Tonio’s a pro,” said Bernardo. “So, you haven’t been over for a long time. How’s work?”

  Marco shrugged. “Fine.”

  “Abe said you’ve been seeing Peyton,” Bernardo continued.

  “How often does Abe come to Sunday dinner?”

  The brothers exchanged looks.

  “He’s been here the last couple of weeks,” said Leo. More laughter leaked out of the kitchen. “So much silly.” He shook his head. “So much silly.”

  Marco smiled.

  “So, you been seeing Peyton?” persisted Bernardo.

  “Some. She’s out of the country right now. London.”

  “Wow. She has a case there.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So you don’t know how long she’ll be gone?”<
br />
  “No.” He played with the tab on the top of his soda can.

  “Brad Peterson’s been all over the news,” said Franco, eyeing him closely.

  “Yeah?”

  “You get that case?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And?”

  Marco gave his brother a quelling look. His family knew he couldn’t discuss an on-going case with them.

  “You talk to him?” asked Bernardo.

  “Peterson?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Not yet. It’s Cho and Simons’ case. They’ll probably do the interrogations.”

  “What about his wife? You talk to her?” asked Franco.

  “I saw her, yeah.”

  “She still looks good, doesn’t she?” said Franco, waggling his brows. “We saw her on the news with him.”

  “Yeah, she still looks good.”

  Vinnie studied him closely. He could never put anything past his oldest brother. “You sure you should be handling this case?”

  Marco shrugged. “I’m gonna talk to the ADA tomorrow and see if it’s okay.”

  “Why shouldn’t he handle the case?” demanded Leo.

  “We went to school with Peterson and his wife, Papa,” said Franco. “Marco played football with Peterson.”

  “So, a man can’t play football with another man now.”

  “It isn’t really Peterson who’s the problem, Papa. It’s the wife.”

  “The wife? Why’s the wife a problem?”

  “Marco and Carol have...um...history with each other,” said Franco, grinning wickedly.

  “What you mean, history?” said Leo, leaning forward in his recliner. Then his eyes widened and he reached over and swatted Marco’s arm. “I know about history.”

  “Ow!” said Marco, rubbing his arm. “It was more than 15 years ago.”

  Leo swatted him again. “You’re too easy with the history. All the time with you, it’s history this and history that.”

  His brothers started laughing.

  “I didn’t say anything. They’re trying to start something.” He pointed at his brothers.

  “It doesn’t matter. They’re married like good boys. They don’t do the history.”

  Marco started to protest, then stopped. What was the use?

  His father slapped his arm again. “You make things right with Peyton and no more history. You hear me? Your mother hear about the history and she’s going to be saying her rosaries for days.”