“Most of the agents do. It builds team spirit and also helps to keep their identity secret when they’re in the field.”
“Okay, then.”
“Are you ready for your tour?”
“I’m all yours.”
Margaret motioned for Peyton to follow her. As they meandered through the cubicle jungle, Margaret pointed out different squads and what they did. They greeted a handful of people, but there were so many names floating around in Peyton’s head she didn’t think she’d ever keep them straight. Not to mention that most of the names weren’t real. It made her anxious to think what sort of nickname they’d give her.
Once they made a complete circuit of the floor, Margaret deposited Peyton back at her office. Emma Redford was sitting in the grey chair before Peyton’s grey desk and someone had deposited a pile of folders on Peyton’s grey blotter.
Peyton circled around the desk and sank into her chair, giving Emma a quizzical look. Margaret hovered at the door.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee?” she asked.
“I’m good.”
“My desk is just a few partitions down on your left if you need me. I’m the top button on your phone.”
Peyton leaned over and looked at the phone. “Thank you, Margaret,” she said, giving her a smile.
The assistant nodded and slipped out of the doorway. Peyton turned her attention to Emma.
“Hi,” she said.
Emma beamed a toothy smile at her. Peyton couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t more than sixteen years old. “You want me to show you how to tie up that gorgeous head of hair.”
Peyton touched a curl. “No, I think I’ve got it.”
“Always wanted curls. They’re adorable.”
“Thanks.”
Emma’s eyes shifted to Peyton’s left hand. “So, that’s some rock you got there.”
Peyton looked at it. She’d worn it for the last five months, but it had never drawn this much attention before. “Yeah, it is.”
“I’ve never been married. Seems like a waste.”
“How so?”
“So many men. I can’t see myself settling for just one.”
“Depends on the man,” said Peyton, not feeling comfortable with this conversation. She laid her hand on the files. “Do you know anything about this?”
“Oh, yeah, Sarge asked me to bring them. When we don’t have a case, we help run down leads for the others – you know, make calls, do internet research. These files are yours. When you get something, just pass it off to Margaret and she’ll get it to the right agent. Most of these are stalled cases. In other words, we don’t have a lot to work with and we’re just hoping for a break.”
“Got it. Hey, what did it mean when Rosa said we’re the Ghost Squad?”
“Sarge?”
Peyton gave a nod. “Yeah, Sarge.”
“Each squad here has a name. That’s ours.”
“Does it have any meaning?”
Emma smiled. “Of course it does.” She pushed herself to her feet and leaned on Peyton’s desk. “I think we’re going to be good friends.”
“Sure.”
“Nice to have another chick here.”
“Right. About the name?”
“Have fun with those!” Emma gave the pile a pat. “I’ll talk to you later.”
“Yeah, later.” Peyton watched her flounce out of the room. She still had no freakin’ idea what the Ghost Squad was.
* * *
“Domestic violence. Guy shoots girlfriend, then himself,” said Maria, glancing over the file. “Ryder gathered enough evidence at scene that Devan thinks we can just put this one away.”
Marco nodded, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck.
Maria flipped to a new file. “This one was a road rage thing. Simons and Cho got the guy to confess. He shot a hole in the other driver, but he didn’t even flee the scene.” She closed it and gave him a shrug. “That’s about all we’ve got right now. Slow couple of months after the Janitor case.”
Marco leaned back in his chair. That was good. Slow was always a good thing in homicide. But he knew it wouldn’t last. It never did. Murder rates dipped, but one thing was sure. They’d climb again.
“Can you tell everyone we’ll meet in the conference room tomorrow morning at 9:00?”
Maria rose to her feet. “I already did. I’ve also got a few interviews lined up for this afternoon for your assistant. Did you want to sit in on them?”
“I trust your judgment, just make sure she…”
“Or he.”
“Or he can handle a predominantly male squad room.”
“Got it.” She rose to leave the office. “Oh, and Holmes wants to talk with you. I scheduled him for tomorrow morning.”
“Good, and leave the office door open. I want to have an open door policy for now.”
She nodded and left.
Marco reached for his cell phone, hoping for a message from Peyton, but there wasn’t anything. He didn’t want to call and disturb her, but he really wanted to hear her voice.
“Hey, Adonis.”
Marco looked up at Jake Ryder, the murder suspect turned CSI and Peyton’s personal rehabilitation project. “Captain.”
“Captain Adonis? Isn’t that a bit pretentious?” He came into the room and threw himself down in the armchair. Marco was already rethinking his open door policy.
“What do you want, Ryder?”
“Just to welcome you back. How’s it going?” He glanced around the office. “I like the window, but you need some pictures or something in here.”
“I’m working on it.”
“Yeah. So how was the trip to the islands? Peyton posted some photos. Looks like you two had fun. Do much sightseeing?”
They’d spent a lot of time seeing the hotel room. Marco smiled in memory. God, he wanted to go back.
“Yeah, it was great. How’s your new apartment and Tater?” Tater was Jake’s German shepherd, a dog Peyton had adopted for him.
“Tater’s awesome, but he misses Pickles.”
Jake had watched Peyton’s Yorkshire terrier, Pickles, while they were on vacation.
Marco’s phone rang and he snatched it up. Peyton’s name flashed across the screen. “I’ve got to take this.”
Jake gave him a slow smile and pushed himself out of the chair. “Tell my ex-roomie I said hi.”
Marco gave him a nod. “Hey,” he said into the phone.
“Let’s go back to the islands,” she said.
Marco reclined in his chair and watched Jake leave. “Won’t fly. My fiancée said I had to be responsible and go to work.”
“I don’t think she said that at all, I think she said you couldn’t fish.”
“Well, that and something about coconuts. I like coconuts.”
He could hear the smile in her voice. “I love you.”
“Right back at you, babe. When will you be done?”
“Well, since I got chewed out for being late this morning, I’m not sure when I’ll get out tonight.”
“Was it worth it?”
“Being late or getting chewed out by Rosa Alvarez.”
“Both.”
She hesitated. “Yeah, it was worth it.”
He smiled. “So, any interesting cases?”
“Not a one. I’ve been going over other people’s cases all day. That’s apparently what we do when we don’t have our own case.”
“Sounds like my day. Did you know there isn’t much to do in homicide when you don’t have a homicide?”
“That’s terrible. Hey, what do you think it means that I’m the fourth and final member of something called the Ghost Squad?”
Marco frowned. “Ghost Squad?”
“Yep, and get this. My new partners are named Radar, Tank and Bambi. Makes Tag seem downright normal.”
Tag Shotwell had been Peyton’s last partner before she was offered her position with the FBI.
“What happened to Dopey, Sneezy and Doc
?”
“Exactly.”
“I don’t know, Brooks. Ghost Squad, huh? Maybe your partners should be named Daphne, Fred and Shaggy.”
“That makes me Velma, D’Angelo, the nerd girl with the bowl cut and glasses.”
“Own it, baby,” he said with a laugh.
CHAPTER 2
Peyton arrived at her office early the next morning. Her hair was neatly combed back in a proper bun, her suit was pressed, and her boots were polished. She still couldn’t bring herself to wear a tie. Just watching Marco struggle with his had been enough to convince her it wasn’t a necessity.
A steaming cup of coffee, a miniature cup of creamer, and a sugar packet greeted her. She went to the door and walked down to Margaret’s cubicle. The assistant smiled at her.
“Thank you. I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to do that. How did you know what time I was coming in?”
Margaret gave her a patient smile. “You have your ways and I have mine.”
Peyton smiled in return, although it was a little unsettling. Was there a camera on her or something?
Margaret leaned toward her. “If you tell me what you like for breakfast, I can get that too.”
“I’m good. They stressed diet in Quantico, so I’ve been trying to avoid my usual breakfast foods.”
Margaret nodded. “But a treat now and then wouldn’t hurt.”
“I’ll think about it.” She retreated back to her office and unzipped her briefcase. Lifting out a frame, she settled it on the desk. It was a photo of her and Marco in the Virgin Islands, sitting on a brightly colored blanket on a white sand beach. Marco had his arm draped around her shoulders and he was giving a half-smile to the camera.
Peyton touched his face, then reached back into the briefcase and pulled out a blue squishy ball and settled it beside the photo. Captain Defino had given her the ball when she’d been offered the FBI commission. A quote on the ball read I will seize fate by the throat – Ludwig van Beethoven. Peyton liked it for a number of reasons.
Closing the briefcase, she slipped it into her desk. The briefcase had been a present from her mother and her mother’s boyfriend, Cliff, when she completed the academy. Right now she didn’t have much use for it, but it was nice to surround herself with things from those she loved.
Reaching for the first file, she opened it and began her review, looking for anything that the previous agent might have missed. She was nervous about getting her first case, but reviewing someone else’s files was bound to get old in a hurry.
Curling her fingers in the coffee mug, she dumped the cream and sugar into it, then took a sip, grimacing at the bitter taste. Not enough sugar by half. Pushing it away, she sighed and went back to the file.
A half hour later, Rosa Alvarez poked her head inside. “Like the hair,” she said.
Peyton glanced up. “Thank you.”
“How was your first day?”
“Fine. Just reviewing files. What exactly am I looking for?”
“Whatever the previous agent missed. These cases are stalled and that makes us look bad. Let’s try and get something new on them.” She turned to go.
“Rosa?”
Rosa swung back around. “What?”
Damn, something about this woman intimidated Peyton, made her want to crawl under the desk, and Peyton didn’t like being intimidated. “Emma called you Sarge.”
“Right.”
“Is that what I’m supposed to call you?”
“It’s better than Rosa.”
“Good to know.”
“Fine.” She started to leave.
“Sarge?”
She swung back around again. “What?”
“What does the name Ghost Squad mean?”
“What do you take it to mean? It’s a name.”
“Right, but does it have significance?”
“Yes.” Then she was gone.
Peyton braced her chin on her hand and stared after her. This whole Ghost Squad thing had to be a load of crap, right? Except the other nicknames fit. Tank was a tank and Bambi was a porn star waiting to happen.
Peyton was beginning to have a bad feeling about this Ghost Squad moniker.
* * *
A bottle of Scotch was waiting on Marco’s new eco-friendly blotter. He limped over to it and tilted it so he could see the label.
“Congratulations!” came a deep, rumbling voice and Big Bill Simons appeared in the doorway. “That’s from Cho and me.”
Simons had been an inspector longer than Marco had been on the force. He liked his job and never aspired to anything more. He and his partner, Nathan Cho, were two of the best cops Marco had ever worked alongside. Bill Simons was a big man, barrel-chested and a solid mass of muscle. Marco had him by a few inches in height, but Simons could take him in a fight.
“Thanks.” Marco turned to face him, holding out his hand. They shook and Simons patted Marco roughly on the shoulder. Marco almost staggered.
“Sorry we didn’t pop in yesterday, but I had a doctor’s appointment and Cho had to testify on our last case – road rage shooting.”
Marco nodded. “No problem.”
“How’s Brooks?”
“She’s great. Little intimidated by her new job, but you know Brooks.”
“Yeah, she’ll have her coworkers begging to move in with you in a few weeks.”
Marco laughed. “We just got the last lot moved out.”
“Don’t I know it. Cho was so damn happy to have his own bathroom again, I had to hear about it for a week.”
“Having a woman free zone in the bathroom is a blessed thing.”
“So, meeting at 9:00?”
“Yeah.”
“Good.”
After Simons left, Marco limped around the desk and sank into his chair. He put the bottle on the credenza behind him, then sat staring at his empty blotter. God, if this was the way it was going to be, the rest of his career was going to crawl by.
He turned on his computer and stared at the screen. So much had changed in the last six months. He still didn’t have his equilibrium. The biggest change, his worthless damn leg, caused him the most problems. Six months and he still couldn’t get used to the fact that he never knew when it was going to give out on him. And although the constant pain had retreated to the back part of his mind, when he had nothing else to occupy him, it came front and center again.
“Hey, Captain,” came a voice at the doorway.
Marco swiveled, praying he didn’t look too eager for a distraction. “Holmes, come in.” Usually he would stand to greet someone, but sometimes the damn leg didn’t cooperate and he couldn’t afford to look crippled here at work.
Holmes came forward, offering him a smile.
Marco held out his hand and Holmes shook it. “Take a seat.”
Holmes sank into the armchair and glanced around. “I like the changes. Having light coming in is nice.”
Marco looked over at the open curtain. For some reason, Captain Defino had always kept her office dark, the blinds drawn. “Yep, I’d go stir crazy in here otherwise.”
“How are you?”
Marco hated the way people asked him that as if they knew he’d never be fully right again. “Good.”
“How’s Brooks?”
“Good.”
“You two still engaged?”
“Yep.”
Holmes gave a nod. “You’re a brave man.”
Marco laughed. Holmes and Peyton had a love/hate relationship. He loved to tease her mercilessly and she hated him for it. Well, not exactly hate. Peyton didn’t hate anyone to his knowledge, which caused a lot of their problems. She collected strays unlike anyone he’d ever known.
“I miss the little spitfire,” said Holmes.
Marco nodded. “It’s weird without her here.”
“Yeah, boring.”
Marco leaned back in his chair, absently rubbing his thigh. “So, you wanted to talk to me?”
Holmes shifted in the chair. He was ab
out six feet tall, thin with sharp features and a hooked nose. His blond hair was thinning on top and he wore it in a crew-cut, pink scalp showing through. “I want to apply for Brooks’ job. I’ve been studying the last six months for the Inspector’s exam and I think I’m ready. They have one this Saturday and I signed up for it, but I need your signature to be able to take it.”
Marco drummed his fingers on the blotter. “I think it’s a good plan, Drew. You’d make a good inspector.”
Holmes blew out air. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Why don’t you shadow Tag for the week?”
“Yes, sir. I dropped the form with Maria for your signature, but I wanted to talk to you about it before she brought it in.”
“I appreciate that.”
Holmes nodded, then tapped his fist on the desk. “I really mean it, Marco. Thanks for this opportunity.”
Marco shrugged. “It’s a good move for you and the department. Did you tell Bartlet?”
Bartlet was the young officer who’d been wounded in their last case. In fact, he’d almost died, and now he sported a huge scar on his throat. He and Holmes had been partners while Bartlet learned the ropes.
“Yeah. Are you going to put him with someone else?”
“No, he’s ready to go out on his own.”
Holmes pushed himself to his feet. “I’ll let Maria know you’ll sign the form.”
“Thanks.”
Holmes walked to the door.
“Good luck on the test, Drew.”
Holmes turned and gave him a lift of his hand.
* * *
Peyton leaned back in her chair, scrubbing her hands over her face. She was getting so damn sleepy reading these files, and without coffee to artificially stimulate her, she worried Rosa Alvarez would come in and find her napping. That had to be worse than having untamed hair.
Swiveling the chair toward the window, she looked out at the unusually blue San Francisco sky. Not a cloud, not a shred of fog, nothing but a beautiful sunny day and she was inside, reading files that offered up no secrets. No wonder these cases were stalled. They were burners and she’d been given them to keep her out of trouble.
Suddenly Peyton felt a presence behind her and she wheeled the chair around. Carlos Moreno stood on the other side of her desk.
Zombies in the Delta (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 1) Page 2