Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Yes, Captain.”

  “Get Smith and Bartlet in here. I need them to go track somebody down.”

  * * *

  Peyton and Radar took the tube to Gloucester Road Station and got off. As they’d done at every station since Charing Cross, they began walking the platforms, showing the pictures of Charlie, asking people if they’d ever seen him. Gloucester Road was a smaller station, but crowded with people trying to get home. Still no one admitted they’d seen him.

  Earlier Peyton had taken calls from Caleb and Bambi reporting nothing, then Tank and Neil. It had seemed like a good plan when they first started this morning, but it was almost 8:00PM and she was getting tired.

  She took a seat on a metal bench and watched Radar moving back and forth, questioning people. London was simply too big, too vast to make finding one man an easy task. She took the bottle of perfume out of her pocket and rolled it around her hand. She didn’t know why she kept it, but she liked the feel of its smooth surfaces and sharp edges. Besides that, lilac had always been her favorite scent. Marco remarked on it whenever he hugged her, burying his face in her hair.

  Shoving the perfume back in her pocket, she tried to concentrate on the case, not the homesickness she was beginning to feel. She went back over everything in her mind, but she couldn’t think of anything new, so she started watching the people.

  One thing she’d noticed about London was men had more hair than in the states. The number of men balding here was much lower. That made her wonder if they had a special secret to prevent hair loss or if it was something in their diet. The food was less processed here, so maybe that had something to do with it.

  Her eyes scanned the platform, counting how many men had full heads of hair, versus how many were balding. Then she started studying the different ethnicities she saw. Like San Francisco, London was fairly cosmopolitan. She saw a wide range of people, many of color, all hurrying about, their strides purposeful, their intent obvious.

  Her attention snagged on one person at the far end of the platform not moving with the same hurried purpose as the others. He wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes, his brown hair spilling out beneath it, nearly to his shoulders.

  A train pulled into the station and people began moving toward the cars. Peyton stood up, but she couldn’t see him over the heads of the people. Climbing up on the bench, she searched the crowd for the man.

  She spotted him at the last car. He spotted her at the same time, his head shifting toward her. She couldn’t see his eyes, but she could feel them. And then she saw the avocado green of his army jacket.

  “Radar!”

  He whipped around and searched for her. She pointed at the last car.

  Radar’s expression grew grim, then he started shoving through the people getting on and off the cars. Peyton jumped off the bench and hurried after him.

  “Circle Line, Gloucester Road, next stop High Street Kensington. Mind the gap.”

  Radar stumbled to a stop, staring over the heads, as Peyton came to a halt beside him.

  “Where is he?” she demanded.

  “He got on the train.”

  Peyton shoved Radar toward the nearest car. “Get in. We’ll trap him at the end.”

  “He might be armed, Sparky.”

  “You have the taser.”

  “Yeah, but there’s people on that car.”

  “We’ll approach slowly, act like we’re just taking a seat. This is our chance, Radar.”

  He nodded, then hurried into the closest car. “We wait until it pulls away. Keep an eye on the platform and make sure he doesn’t get off.”

  She nodded.

  The doors closed and Peyton pressed herself to the window, watching the platform. A man ran up to the doors and pressed a button, forcing the doors to open again. She gritted her teeth impatiently and banged her fist against the metal hand-hold. This was their only chance.

  Radar stood close beside her, but he was staring toward the end of their car, trying to catch sight of Charlie coming down the train. For some reason, Peyton didn’t think he’d do that. He’d hunker in the last car and hope they missed him until they got to the next station.

  Finally the train lurched away from the platform, but Peyton kept her eyes trained on it until they were in the tunnel and it was out of sight. Turning to Radar, her eyes met his.

  “We take this slow. Try not to spook him. It would be really bad if he took a hostage,” said Radar, speaking as low as he could, but the woman seated next to him grabbed her purse and pulled it on her lap, giving them an anxious look.

  Peyton marked the look, then nodded to the end of the car. “Let’s go now before this spreads.”

  Radar nodded and reached under his jacket for the taser, but he didn’t pull it out.

  They eased into the next car, grabbing the handrails to keep from falling over. Eyes followed them as they moved. Peyton could swear she heard a whisper start up behind them, spreading like wildfire.

  Leaving that car, they searched the people in the next car as they continued forward, looking for the man in the avocado coat with the ball cap. They got some suspicious glances, but this car wasn’t as heavily populated as the last one had been.

  They eased their way down it and came to the next car, which was nearly filled, but most people had found seats. Suddenly Charlie appeared in the opening at the other end. Their eyes met and Radar pulled out the taser. A collective gasp rose in the car and some people jumped to their feet.

  “Charles Howsham, you’re under arrest!” he shouted.

  That brought more people to their feet, their heads whipping back and forth between Radar and Charlie, then they started moving to get out of the car, pushing past Peyton and Radar. Charlie turned and bolted back into his original car.

  “Smooth!” hissed Peyton, shoving past Radar in pursuit, but people were trying to go the opposite way and hindered her.

  She finally pushed through them and started for the next car, but Radar grabbed the tail of her leather jacket and yanked her backward, then he shoved her up against the shifting passage between the cars.

  “Do you want to get yourself killed? You don’t have a weapon.”

  “Then go.” She shoved him off, but the train lurched suddenly and they were thrown into each other, nearly pitching to the floor. Screams filled the train.

  Radar righted himself, grabbing her elbow and pulling her up.

  “What the hell!”

  “We’ve stopped,” he said ominously.

  Peyton felt her mouth go dry. “Why? Why did we stop?”

  “I don’t know.” He leaned out of the passage and looked out the closest window. “We’re in a tunnel. I don’t like this.” Checking the taser, he turned into the next car.

  People had crowded against the right side of the car, staring at a spot in the middle of it. Peyton’s eyes swept the group, but she didn’t see Charlie. A moment later she realized a door on the left side had been forced open.

  Radar rushed toward the group of people, grabbing his badge from his belt and shoving it at them. Peyton ran to the door and looked out. Charlie had leapt from the train onto a narrow service platform that ran between the tube tunnels. The jump had to be between seven or eight feet in length.

  He paced back and forth along the platform, mumbling to himself and tapping his fist against his temple. His wild hair flowed over his shoulders and his beard obstructed his features, but Peyton could hear him muttering, even if she couldn’t make out the words.

  “Radar?”

  He came to her side, staring out with her. “Holy shit.” Slowly he replaced the taser in its holster.

  A man moved up beside them. “He forced the doors open. I’ve never seen someone do that. The train came to a stop and he just jumped.”

  Peyton rubbed a shaken hand over her mouth. “Okay. We need to get him back in the car.”

  Radar gave her an arch look. “How?”

  “Talk him in.”

  “Talk him in?�
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  “Yeah.”

  “Go for it, Sparky.”

  Peyton watched Charlie pacing. He didn’t seem to be aware of them, his muttering growing more and more animated. He kept banging his fist against his temple, then he’d reach the end of the little platform and pace back.

  “Charlie?” she called, but he didn’t act as if he’d heard her. “Charlie, I want to help you. I’m Peyton.”

  He stopped for a moment, and his eyes rose to meet hers.

  “Keep going,” whispered Radar.

  “Charlie, my name’s Peyton. I want to help you. You must be hungry, cold. We can get you something to eat. It’s dangerous out there. You need to come in.”

  His eyes shifted away from her and he started muttering again. Suddenly a shrieking alarm went up from the train and he cowed, covering his head with his hands. Rocking himself, he began talking louder, almost sobbing, as he slapped both fists against his temples.

  Peyton grimaced against the cacophony of the alarm. “We don’t have much time. Someone’s going to come investigate why we stopped.”

  “What do you suggest?” shouted Radar. “I don’t think he can hear you over this noise.”

  “We have to go out there.”

  Radar gave her a disbelieving look. “Come again.”

  “We have to jump onto the platform and talk him down out there.”

  “Nooo, no way. I’m not jumping…” He looked over the side at the drop. “Ten feet.”

  “It’s not ten feet. It’s maybe eight.”

  “Eight? Eight feet? What do you think I am, Sparky, a damn kangaroo?”

  “We don’t have any choice. We have to try it. I’ll be right behind you.”

  Radar’s mouth moved, but nothing came out. He pointed outside the car to the platform.

  She grabbed his arm. “What else can we do? We have to get him now. Look at him, Radar, he’s sick. He needs help.”

  “He’s a murderer, Sparky.”

  “I know that, and we have to stop him.”

  Radar stared at her, then he stared at the jump.

  “You can do it. This is what all that ninja training’s been leading up to.”

  Radar just shook his head.

  “It’s not that far. I promise you. He made it and he’s not in the physical shape you’re in.”

  “And the minute I jump out there, this train starts moving again and I get cut in half!”

  Peyton shrugged that away. “The odds of that happening are about a million to one.”

  “And I’m the one!”

  “The train isn’t going to start, Radar. You’ll be fine. It’s just a little jump.”

  Suddenly the alarm cut off. Radar looked up at the speakers, then back at the jump. “If I die, you have to explain it to Mrs. Radar.”

  “No problem.” She patted his shoulder. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  He gripped both edges of the door and drew a deep breath. “This is so not a good idea,” he muttered, taking another deep breath. “So not a good idea.”

  “Moind the gap,” said Peyton, flashing him a grin.

  He glared at her, then he took another deep breath. Just as he shifted his weight backward to make the leap, Peyton felt the car roll beneath her feet. Her eyes flew wide and she grabbed the back of his jacket, throwing herself backward as the train lurched forward.

  She and Radar landed in a tangle on the train floor, the doors slammed closed and the train picked up speed. Scrambling to right himself, Radar threw himself at the doors, but the train was already moving away from the service platform, leaving Charlie behind.

  Whipping around, he pointed at her, but he couldn’t find the words. Peyton let her head fall back on the floor, panting, her legs too weak to support her. Staggering to a seat, Radar collapsed on it, leaning forward, his expression a mix of shock and relief.

  Peyton closed her eyes and tried to still the rapid pounding of her heart as she lay there on the floor of the car. When she opened her eyes again, they landed on the ball cap, discarded under one of the seats. She rolled to her side and fished it out, sitting up.

  “What’s that?” Radar asked, frowning.

  Peyton turned the cap over and studied the inside. A number of long brown hairs had caught in the lining. Holding it up, Peyton gave Radar a weak smile. “Charlie’s cap, Radar. We have Charlie’s cap, and you know what else?”

  “We have his DNA.”

  Peyton touched her nose with her index finger.

  CHAPTER 17

  Charlie watched her. She sat in Pret with her mates, sipping coffee, laughing. She laughed a lot. She’d said her name was Peyton. He liked that name. He hadn’t heard many women named Peyton before.

  Trish had said the little American saw them, she noticed them, she looked them in the eyes. Yesterday that’s what drew him to her. The way she looked him in the eyes. The way she didn’t pretend like he wasn’t there.

  Her mates gravitated toward her. They sought her approval. Charlie’s attention shifted briefly to the blond American woman. She was pretty. Niles’ type. But Peyton was different. She was special. He sensed that about her. She’d chased him with the dark man, but when they’d trapped him on the platform, she’d shown concern for his safety.

  Charlie had wanted to give himself up for her. He’d wanted to tell her it was over, he’d do whatever she wanted him to do, but then the train had moved on, taking her away. It hadn’t been hard to find her again. He’d huddled in the darkness outside Scotland Yard, then when she’d emerged, he’d followed her back to the hotel and slept under some bushes across the street. This morning, he’d awaken as soon as the sun came up and waited for her to appear again.

  She hadn’t disappointed him.

  If he could get her alone, he’d be able to tell her about Niles. He knew she’d understand. He knew she wouldn’t judge him. He’d seen it in her eyes. He’d seen it in the way she fretted over him on the service platform. She’d been afraid he’d get hurt.

  He just had to get her alone. He had to find some way to get her away from the dark man. Charlie shivered, remembering the way the dark man had been prepared to leap out after him. He was not a man to take lightly. No, it wouldn’t do any good to try talking to her when the dark man was around. He’d never allow it.

  Charlie had to get her off by herself.

  But that brought up another problem. He had to make sure Niles didn’t find her too.

  * * *

  Marco stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his middle, then he limped over to the sink and drew a comb through his short, dark hair. Once it had been long enough to tie into a ponytail. No longer. Not since he’d taken the job as captain. He had to admit it was easier this way.

  He heard his phone ringing on the nightstand by Peyton’s bed. He went to retrieve it, finding Pickles sprawled out in the middle of her bed on his back, his head on her pillow. Marco smiled at the little dog, rubbing his belly with one hand as he reached for the phone with the other.

  Simons’ number shown on the display.

  Marco thumbed it on and brought it to his ear, taking a seat on the bed and absently rubbing his thigh. “Hey, Bill.”

  “There’s been another shooting at the Petersons’ house.”

  Marco frowned. “What?” His heart began pounding. “Which house?”

  “The one on Nob Hill. Dispatch just called. They’re sending a uniform out there right now. I’m about ten minutes out.”

  “I’m on my way. Have you called Cho?”

  “Dispatch called him as well.”

  “Call Ryder and get him out there too.”

  “On it.”

  Marco opened Peyton’s closet. He’d moved most of his suits over to Abe’s, but he still had jeans and some casual shirts here. He grabbed a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved t-shirt, then his worn work boots, dressing hurriedly.

  Reaching for his phone, he dialed Abe’s number. Abe picked up on the first ring.

  “Hello, Angel.”


  “Look, Abe, I’ve got to go. There’s been a shooting at the Petersons’, but I haven’t had time to walk or feed Pickles.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Be careful, Angel.”

  “Yeah.”

  He glanced back at the little dog who was now lying with his head on his paws, watching him. Then he grabbed his cane and hurried into the living room, stuffing his wallet and badge into his pocket, tugging on his gun, and grabbing his car keys.

  Fog was teasing around the streets as he climbed into the Charger, but the sun was curving over the horizon, getting ready to burn it off and reveal a beautiful late spring day. The Charger roared to life and he threw her in reverse, pulling out onto 19th.

  Placing his phone in the cup holder, he kept waiting for someone to call, to update him on the situation. A sick feeling had settled into the pit of his stomach. This case had gotten much larger, much more complicated than it should have. And he was too involved. He probably should have done exactly what Devan wanted from the start – punt it off to Central and wash his hands of it.

  But he hadn’t and now whatever happened was on his head. Peterson and Zonov had been on a collision course and he’d thrown them at each other. He should have had the house on Nob Hill staked out, so he could take Brad and Carol into custody as soon as they showed their faces, but he honestly thought they were leaving the state, going back to New York.

  The street was choked with news vans by the time he pulled onto it. He flashed his badge at a uniform and was motioned through the barricade. He stopped the Charger next to Jake’s derelict car and climbed out.

  Police swarmed the entry. They refused to look at him as he stepped into the house. Simons waited for him on the bottom stair. Marco’s eyes rose to the upper floor where he could see more police standing in the hallway, talking softly to one another.

  “What the hell’s going on?” Marco demanded of Simons.

  “Let’s go into the living room, Captain,” said Simons, reaching for his shoulder.

  Marco shrugged him off and started up the stairs, his thigh screaming in protest at his speed. His heart was pounding furiously and he felt light headed. The cops on the landing parted, allowing him to walk between them and he turned left.