“Right back at you, sweeting.”
Commotion broke out in the kitchen. Peyton glanced over and watched as Maria carried a cutting board into the living room. On it was a line of peppers and a knife. Cho carried four glasses and a carton of milk.
Maria settled the cutting board on the coffee table and motioned everyone around. Jake gave Peyton a nervous look, sinking onto the couch beside her.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re having a little competition,” offered Maria. “Tag here says she can eat a ghost pepper. I informed her that due to my Mexican heritage, I can eat a far hotter pepper than she can.” Resting a hand on Cho’s shoulder, she gave him a condescending smile. “And darlin’ Nathan here thinks that because of his Chinese heritage and male parts, he can best both of us.”
“What about Jake?”
They all looked at Jake. Jake was staring at the peppers as if he expected them to sprout heads and talk to him. Laughter erupted.
“Hey! I’ve eaten peppers before.”
“When? Just before you went out to tip cows?” asked Cho.
Jake glared at him.
“We’ll start here and work our way up.” Maria pointed at each as she named it. “Bell pepper, pablano, guajillo, jalapeno, and finally the hottest we could find, habanero. You wanna try it with us?” she asked Peyton.
Peyton vigorously shook her head. “No thank you. I like my stomach lining just fine.”
Maria gave Abe a sultry look.
“Flirt with me all you want, baby,” he said, waving her off. “I save my internal organ damage for alcohol.”
“Okay. Everyone pour a glass of milk and take your first bite,” she instructed.
Jake gave Peyton a tense smile and popped a bell pepper in his mouth. He made a face as he chewed.
Peyton shook her head in amusement. “That can’t be hot, Jake.”
“It tastes waxy.”
Peyton laughed and watched everyone else down their bell pepper. Tag had perched herself on the edge of Marco’s chair, giving the contest her full attention, but Peyton noticed Pickles had managed to ease himself halfway onto her lap. So much for not liking dogs.
“Okay, now the pablano.”
Jake stared at the small slice of pepper, then resolved, he popped it in his mouth and chewed. After a few seconds, he stopped chewing and gave Peyton a frantic look before reaching for the milk. Cho rolled his eyes and swallowed. Maria and Tag didn’t seem to notice any effect.
“Are you out, Jake?” Maria asked with just a hint of disgust.
“No. I’m still in.”
Peyton squeezed his arm. “Don’t hurt yourself.”
“I’m in,” he said, motioning at the cutting board. “You guys out?”
They reached for the third pepper. The guajillo. Jake chewed and his face contorted into a grimace, then his eyes started to water and his ears turned red. He bolted from the couch and ran into the kitchen, spitting into the sink.
Abe chuckled beside her.
Cho made a face, but he managed to swallow, reaching for his milk.
Tag and Maria glared at each other, but they downed their bite without noticeable discomfort.
“I’m out,” moaned Jake from the kitchen.
“No shit,” grumbled Cho.
“Well?” challenged Maria to Tag.
“Bring it on, sister!” snarled Tag.
They reached for the jalapeno. Cho picked his up with more reluctance. Jake returned to the couch, wiping a napkin across his tongue.
“I feel like my mouth’s blistered,” he moaned. Peyton rubbed his shoulders and watched the others.
Suddenly Cho grabbed for the milk, gulping it down. Tag and Maria stared at each other as they chewed and swallowed. Waving his hand, Cho continued to gulp milk. “I’m out. Jesus H. Christ, I’m out.”
Maria ran her fingers over his cheek. “It’s all right, baby.”
“It’s all right, baby?” gasped Jake. “With me, I get you’re a stupid wimp, but he gets it’s all right, baby.”
“He carries a gun,” said Maria.
Cho gave him a mock glare.
Turning to Tag, Maria motioned to the habanero. “You wanna continue?”
“Damn straight, I do.” She drummed her fingers on the table, making the happy tattoo dance. “You wanna continue?”
“No problemo,” said Maria, reaching for the bite.
Tag grabbed hers as well and they popped them in their mouths at the same time. Peyton shook her head as she watched them. Maria’s expression never changed, but Tag’s eyes started to water and she shuddered as she continued to chew.
“You’re both nuts,” she commented, but she loved this. This was what she’d missed since Marco left. She liked chaos and people breaking into her house for a taco party. She liked having the room filled to overflowing. If only he was here. If only she could curl up in his chair with him and feel his arms enfold her.
“Give?” said Maria, smiling.
Tag closed her eyes and continued to chew, her hand curling into a fist.
“Give!” demanded Maria.
Tag shook her head, but her face had gone red and sweat beaded on her brow. With supreme effort she swallowed. “Never!”
Maria’s face grew crafty. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a baggy. A bright red pepper lay in the bottom of it. “This is a red savina. Let’s make a little wager.”
Tag breathed with her mouth open, but she didn’t reach for the milk. “Name it.”
Maria smiled, but it wasn’t a happy smile. “If I win, you let me do your hair.”
Tag glanced at Peyton and Peyton grimaced. “My hair?” She brushed a hand over her short locks.
“Yep. Color, cut and style.”
“Style?”
“Curls.”
Tag reared away.
Jake gave a low whistle.
Peyton felt sure she’d cry defeat, but she firmed her jaw. “Fine, but if I win…”
“Yes…”
Tag’s gaze shifted to Cho. “If I win, Cho takes Holmes as his partner for a case.”
Cho shook his head frantically. “No, no that’s not fair.”
Tag held out her hand to Maria, but her eyes were on Cho. “Do we have a deal?”
“Maria?” begged Cho. “Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me.”
“It’s okay, baby,” she said, stroking his cheek, then she took Tag’s hand. “You have a deal.” Thrusting the baggy at Abe, she shook it. “Do the honors.”
Abe took the pepper from the bag and laid it on the cutting board. When he placed the knife against it, Maria tsked in protest. “Don’t be a wuss. Cut a good slice.”
“I’ll give you wuss, sister,” grumbled Abe, hacking off a large chunk.
Tag made a whimpering noise.
“You wanna cry defeat?” asked Maria, reaching for her own slice.
Abe punched Cho in the shoulder. “Did she put your balls in a baggy and carry them in her pocket?”
Cho glared at him, but returned his concentration to the game.
“Straight woman calling me a wuss, she-et!” Abe groused.
Peyton smoothed a hand down his arm.
“I’ll tell you who’s a wuss.” He pointed a finger at Maria.
Peyton shook her head at him.
He grumbled and sat back against the couch. “And I can get me a younger man whenever I damn well please, too.”
Peyton hugged his arm and laid her head on his shoulder.
“And women, if I wanted them. If I liked all those squishy parts.” He slashed a hand at Maria and looked out the window.
“Ready?” said Maria to Tag.
“Ready,” said Tag, tilting up her chin. She reached for her piece and popped it in her mouth. For a moment, she just sat, gripping the arms of the chair, her expression urgent. Maria casually bit into her pepper and began chewing, but Tag didn’t do anything except sit and hold it in her mouth.
Cho wrung his hands, wat
ching them, but Maria seemed unfazed.
Suddenly Tag leaped from the chair and raced to the kitchen, retching into the sink. Jake and Abe groaned, but Maria and Cho surged to their feet, leaping about in triumph.
“You did it!” shouted Cho, swinging her around in a hug. “Holy shit, you did it!”
Maria threw back her head and laughed.
Peyton smiled, watching their exuberance. Then Cho pulled her back to him and planted a kiss on her mouth.
Everyone shouted “NO!”, but it was too late. Releasing her, he fumbled for the milk and tried to wipe the pepper oil from his lips.
CHAPTER 15
Monday
Marco turned as the precinct door opened and Jake stepped through, followed by Tag…and yet not Tag. Her hair was a honey blond color, not shocking white, and it lay in soft waves around her face, making the skull tattoo on her neck stand out even more.
He gaped at her as she gave him a wounded look, pushing open the half-door and slumping past him toward the inner part of the precinct. “Wha—” he said, following her with his eyes, but she never stopped, just slowly walked away without speaking.
He turned to Jake.
“Red savina.”
“What?”
“You don’t want to know. I used to have taste buds…” His eyes drifted away like he was looking into the abyss. “...but they died.”
Marco opened his mouth to respond, then decided it did him no good.
Shaking his head, Jake followed the path Tag had made toward the break-room.
Marco frowned, his gaze coming to rest on Carly’s empty desk. Of course. Why would he expect his assistant to be in before him on a Monday?
“D’Angelo!” came a loud voice as the outer door flew open. “Let’s talk NRA.” Devan loomed on the other side of the counter, vibrating with hostility.
Marco drew a breath and released it. Well, hello Monday!
He motioned into his office and Devan followed him inside. As he crossed around his desk, Devan took a seat.
“The NRA wants the case against Will Cook dropped. They want him released without charge and the shooting declared self-defense.”
Marco hesitated before taking his own seat. “No.”
Devan glanced up at him. “No? I need something more than that.”
“Hell no.” He sat down.
Devan scooted forward in his chair, unbuttoning his suit jacket. “Rani wants a house on Nob Hill. With a yard, and a swing-set and gates. Do you know how much swing-sets cost on Nob Hill?”
Marco shrugged.
“And five kids. Five kids!” He gave a frantic shake of his head. “She wants five kids, D’Angelo.”
“And Gavin Morris’ parents want their son back.”
Devan slumped in his chair. He held up a hand and let it fall. “The NRA are very persuasive.”
“Because they carry guns.”
“There’s that. And other things.”
“The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.”
Devan lifted his head. “Edmund Burke.”
Marco shrugged.
“I don’t need a conscience.”
“Are you sure of that?”
Devan clenched his jaw. “Well, I sure as hell don’t need you to be it.”
“I’ll have the ballistics report on the gun today. If Amy Cooks’ epithelials are on the barrel of that gun, you have to take it to the Grand Jury. If her skin is on that gun, if her fingerprint is there, Cook knew who he was shooting, Adams. He knew and he shot four times.”
“And what about the NRA?”
“Ignore them.”
Devan shook his head. “That’s easier said than done.”
“Then stand up to them. Look, Devan, I believe in the second amendment. I carry a gun, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be held hostage by them. They have the right to fight for what they believe in. So do I, and I believe that Gavin Morris was murdered.”
“Okay. Okay. You win, D’Angelo, but I wish this case never came across your desk. I wish I never heard of it.”
Marco shrugged. “We can wish for many things, Adams, but it’s what we do with the things that lay before us that matter.”
Devan pushed himself to his feet and leaned on the desk. “I hate it when you’re deep.”
Marco smiled and watched him walk from the room.
He knew Devan faced a battle, but it was the right battle and it had to be fought. Will Cook had shot an unarmed boy in his house, a boy who had been invited there by his girlfriend. This wasn’t a gun rights issue. This was murder.
If Cook had used the gun to scare him, or warn him, they wouldn’t be here, but he’d shot to kill. The kid never had a chance. He never had a chance to defend himself. He’d tried to flee and he’d been shot in the back.
It might be different if he’d faced Cook. If he’d been trying to defend himself. If he’d done anything that remotely looked like an attack, but he hadn’t. Of all the cases Marco had seen, there were two things humans did. They fought back and they ran. Gavin Morris ran.
Marco’s thoughts came into focus. Humans fought back. They didn’t stand around and let you douse them with gasoline and they didn’t let you set them on fire. They fought back, but Quentin Greer hadn’t fought. He hadn’t put up a struggle. He’d allowed someone to torch him and he hadn’t done anything about it.
Marco punched the intercom button. “Carly?”
No answer.
Grabbing his cane, he climbed to his feet and limped into the precinct. Carly’s desk was empty, so he made his way through the precinct to Cho and Simon’s desk. Simons rocked forward in his chair when Marco appeared, and Cho sauntered over, carrying coffee from the break-room.
“Quentin Greer didn’t fight back.”
“What?” asked Cho, handing Simons a mug.
“He didn’t fight back. He let someone douse him with gasoline and set him on fire, but he didn’t fight back. How does that happen?”
Cho exchanged a look with Simons. “I’m not sure.”
“I want to see the crime scene photos.”
“Now?” asked Simons, sipping at his coffee.
“Yes, now.”
“Sure thing, Captain,” he said, rising to his feet. “I’ll get Ryder.”
Marco nodded. It felt good to have someone do what he wanted for a change.
* * *
The crime scene photos were a horror show. The charred remains of Greer sat in the middle of the shop and around it the wooden floors, plaster and counter had all been burnt to cinders. Greer’s hands were raised, the fingers clawed, what remained of his mouth open in a scream.
Marco picked up the photo and looked closer at it. Greer’s hands weren’t raised, they were pressed against his upper stomach between his pectoral muscles. Marco frowned, reaching for the magnifying glass Jake had laid out on the conference room table by his evidence bag.
Greer was on his back, his hands pressed to his sternum.
Marco lifted his gaze to Cho and Simons. “He’s on his back.”
They exchanged a look with each other. “Right?”
“He must have been on his back when he was doused with gasoline.”
Cho sat forward, holding out his hand for the picture. Jake hopped off the table at the back of the room and looked over his shoulder. “Shit.”
“Look where his hands are. They’re not in a defensive posture, they’re pressed to his chest.”
Simons leaned over and looked as well. “Damn it. How did we miss that?”
“Where’s Abe’s autopsy report?”
Cho passed Simons the photo and reached for the file, locating it and sliding it across to Marco. Marco searched the report, but Abe had concluded Quentin Greer had been killed by the fire.
“He was facing his attacker,” said Jake, taking the photo out of Simons’ hand. “He must have known him.”
“Or he wasn’t threatened by him. If someone brings a gasoline can into my
store, I’m going to feel threatened.”
“Which is why the torching happened after Greer was dead, or almost dead. It was an attempt to hide the crime,” said Marco. “Get Abe on the phone and tell him to redo the autopsy. He needs to look for a stabbing wound somewhere around here.” He pressed his fingers to his own chest.
Cho jumped to his feet and hurried out of the conference room.
Jake looked up at Marco. “I’m sorry I missed this.”
“You?” said Simons. “I’m a seasoned investigator. I shouldn’t have missed it.”
“Everyone missed it, including Abe, and Abe doesn’t miss anything.” Marco drew a deep breath. “This is my fault. I caused a distraction for all of you and this is the result.” He held out his hand, indicating the photo. “Let’s go back over the current customer files. This is looking more like a crime of passion than premeditation. And Ryder, see how Stan is coming with that image in the glass. I’m not sure we have the right time of death.”
Simons leaned forward in his chair. “We have Calvin Delacruz’s father coming in this afternoon. Delacruz is the last on our list of dead. He’s the kid who was shot by gang bangers and robbed.”
“He had AIDS?”
“Right. Do you want us to call the father and tell him to forget coming in?”
“Yeah. That’s not gonna get us anything.”
Simons rose to his feet and moved past Jake into the precinct. Jake gave Marco a piercing look as he gathered his things. “You know, you’re a good captain, Adonis. This job suits you.”
Marco turned toward the door. “Just see what Stan has, okay?”
“Why can’t you just accept a compliment when you get one?”
Marco looked over his shoulder at him. “I don’t want approval, Ryder. I just want people to do their job and come back safe. They don’t need distractions in this line of work, and I caused one. What the hell good does a compliment do? What does it mean? Nothing.”
Jake gave him an unyielding stare. “It means you have people at your back, Captain. It means that when you send them out into danger, they trust that you are doing the right thing. It lets you know that you are.”
Marco didn’t answer, but damn it all, Jake had him yet again.
Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2) Page 21