“You okay?” Peyton asked, nudging him with her shoulder
“If you consider about to vomit okay?” he answered.
She gave him a commiserate look.
“Why are you here? I thought you didn’t testify for a few days,” he asked her to change the subject
“I don’t, but I thought you might need a friend.”
He smiled at her. “Thank you, Peyton, but don’t you have a case to work?”
“Marco’s checking out a few things, but we’re stalled right now. I’ll get to it this afternoon.”
Devan shifted and glanced back at her, lifting his hand in greeting.
She forced a smile in return.
“You okay?” Jake whispered back.
“Of course.” She gave him a look as if to say it was a ridiculous question.
“I mean…” He motioned at Devan’s back.
“Oh that, yeah, I’m just so freakin’ ecstatic for him.”
“Ecstatic?”
“Word of the day calendar,” she said, watching as the jury was led into the room by the bailiff. “Christmas gift from Abe.”
Jake watched the jury as well. Eight women, four men. He wasn’t sure what that meant. The rest of their demographics were eclectic – ranges in age, state of dress, and as expected in San Francisco, racial diversity.
He looked down at his hands and closed his eyes. He wanted to concentrate on anything else but this. “A year later and I can’t think of Zoë without feeling like I’m going to be violently ill.”
“That’s why this trial has to be over. You’re never going to move on with your life until it is.”
He glanced up at her. “This part of my life will always be here, like a wound that never heals.”
“It’ll heal. It’ll scar, but it’ll heal.”
“That word of the day calendar teach wisdom as well?”
She smiled at him. “Life does that.”
“I find it hard to believe you’re ecstatic about…” He nodded significantly at Devan’s back.
She sighed. “I’m trying to be zen about it. Then maybe I’ll believe myself. It wouldn’t have worked between us anyway. I’m too feisty.”
Jake’s gaze snapped to her face. “What?”
“Feisty. Isn’t that the word you used to describe me?”
“Freakin’ Stan.”
She laughed. “I think marriage and all those social trappings are only for certain people. We try to make it fit everyone, but it just doesn’t. I’m just not that sort of person.”
“You can’t say that, Peyton. Because one relationship didn’t work, it doesn’t mean another won’t.”
“Not for me, Jake. In my way of thinking, it’s not worth all of the turmoil and pain, but that’s just me. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it anymore. Besides, I’m still pissed at you.”
“What’s new? You mean for calling your mother?”
“Yeah. That does not happen again, Ryder.”
“I’m not gonna promise that, Mighty Mouse. If I think I need to call her again, I will.”
Peyton shifted and gave him a glare. “She thinks you and I are involved.”
Jake’s brows rose at that. “I can see how she’d think that.”
“How?”
“I’m adorable.”
A smile bloomed across Peyton’s face, transforming her into something close to beautiful. “You have your moments.”
“Damn straight.” He realized this banter with Peyton had calmed him, centered him again. “Thank you for coming,” he whispered.
She bumped him with her shoulder again. “You knew I would.”
“Yeah.” And he had. He realized he’d been expecting her to show up even though he knew she had a case to work.
The court reporter entered from a door behind the judge’s bench, followed by a clerk. Both women took seats at their appropriate places. As soon as they’d settled, the heavy wooden door creaked open behind them.
Two bailiffs entered and in between them was Claire Harper. She wore a crisp business suit in navy blue with a sharp pencil skirt, black pumps, and a short jacket with a wide lapel. A floral blouse peeked out between the lines of the jacket. Her blond hair was immaculate and her face perfectly made-up.
Jake caught his breath, his hands curling into fist.
Her eyes swept the room, then came to rest on him, her lips thinning as if she saw something offensive. Jake wished his head wasn’t buzzing so or his heart beating so erratically. He forced himself to meet her gaze. They locked eyes for as long as it took her to reach the bar, then she broke the stare, tilting her head back, her chin pointed in the air.
Jake realized he was pressing his fists into his thighs, trying to use pain to keep himself from getting sick right here, right in this courtroom. Peyton shifted toward him and reached over, covering his hands with one of her own.
Her touch grounded him as her voice had moments before and he swallowed the taste of bile in his mouth. “It’s okay. She can’t hurt you anymore,” she whispered, close to his ear. He could smell the lilac scent of her shampoo and he breathed it in, closing his eyes briefly. Unclenching his fists, he curled his fingers around hers.
“You’re wrong, you know?”
She tightened her hold. “She can’t hurt you, Jake.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
She looked bewildered. “What?”
“You said relationships weren’t worth all the turmoil or pain.”
She shook her head in confusion.
“Zoë and I had four years together.” He fought against the sudden burning in his eyes. “Four years, so short, but I’d go through it all again, just to have had that infinitesimal bit of time with her.”
Peyton’s eyes searched his face.
“Even this, even with knowing I’d lose her, I would do it again, Peyton.”
* * *
That afternoon Jake returned to the precinct. Peyton followed him into the break-room where he grabbed a soda and took a seat at the table. Smith and Maria already occupied the table, sharing a coffee-break before the end of the day. Helping herself to a piece of cake left over from Bartlet’s birthday, she sat down beside Jake and gave him a reassuring smile.
“How’d it go?” she asked, placing a bite of cake in her mouth. The blissful taste of chocolate bathed her tongue.
Maria grimaced at her, motioning that her ass was going to balloon. Peyton smiled back at her as she took another bite.
“Not much happened,” said Jake, setting down his soda. “Opening argument. That’s about it.”
Peyton nodded, then looked up as Marco enter, going to the counter and pouring himself a cup of coffee. He also carried it to the table, sinking into the chair across from Peyton.
“Did you find out anything about Matt Jensen? Any records? Run-ins with the police in New York?”
“No, but I also put in a request for anything on Meilin. They said they’d have to get back to me on that one.”
“For a burner case, this is proving really annoying,” she said. “Does that mean they have something on Meilin?”
“Not necessarily.” He lifted the coffee to his lips and took a sip. “How was the trial?”
Jake shrugged. “Stressful.”
“I’ll bet.”
Peyton gave Jake a wry grin. That was about as much sympathy as he could expect from Marco.
“I don’t think I could do it,” said Smith. “I’d want to off the crazy bitch without waiting for a verdict.”
Maria nodded, adjusting the strap on her shoulder brace. “What was it like, Jake, seeing her?”
Jake sighed. “I thought I was going to be sick.”
They all grunted in understanding. Peyton took another bite, wishing she had something comforting to say to him. She knew this was the hardest thing he’d ever gone through and it made her petty little problems seem so unimportant.
Just as she was about to comment, a woman poked her head inside the break-room. Peyto
n had never seen her before. She was of Middle Eastern descent with long, straight black hair, a full mouth and almond shaped black eyes. She wore a stylish suit in pale pink with a pair of high-heeled, open-toed pumps in glacial white. She held a white clutch in one hand and an envelope in the other.
Maria rose to her feet. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Peyton Brooks?”
Peyton stopped with her fork halfway to her mouth. She set it down and rose, dusting her hands on her jeans. “I’m Peyton Brooks.”
The woman’s heavily-lashed eyes ran over Peyton from curly head to combat books. “You’re just as he described you.”
Peyton frowned. “He?”
“Devan.” She stepped into the room and flashed a smile. Her teeth were brilliant white and straight – her smile making her beautiful face positively breath-taking. “I’m Rani Misra, Devan’s fiancée.”
Marco choked on his coffee, setting it down. Jake leaned back in his chair, his mouth hanging open, and Smith ducked his head. Maria whirled to look at Peyton, her eyes wide with amazement.
“You’re what now?”
“Rani. I’m engaged to Devan.”
Peyton’s mind went blank. She didn’t know how to respond to this.
“I know this seems…” She gave a little laugh and glanced at the men. “Irregular, but I really wanted to meet you. Devan talks about you all of the time.”
“Devan talks about me?”
“All the time.”
“All the time?” Her voice was climbing in register.
“Yes.” She flashed that perfect smile again. “You mean the world to him.”
“I mean the world to him?” Why couldn’t she stop repeating what the blasted woman said?
“Yes.” She took a step into the room. “I wanted to meet you myself. I know people think it’s awkward for…well, two significant others to meet, but I want to break that silly social custom. I feel like we learn so much from every relationship we have. They all combine to make us the person we are today.”
Peyton’s brain just would not process the words. She looked helplessly at Marco. His face was as blank as her own. “I don’t know what to say,” she forced out.
“I understand. It’s probably a bit of a shock, so I won’t stay. I just wanted to introduce myself and meet you. Also…” She looked at the square envelope in her hand. “I wanted to invite you to my wedding.”
She held out the invitation, but Peyton couldn’t summon the will to take it. Instead Maria took it for her.
Rani smiled at her. “Please feel free to come as well. I didn’t get your name.” She held out her hand.
“Maria.”
They clasped hands briefly, then Rani turned her smile back to Peyton. “I know this seems shocking to you right now, but after you think about it for a while, I hope you’ll agree with me that we can start a new tradition between women and learn to accept each other openly.”
Peyton still couldn’t find any words to describe the turmoil in her brain.
Rani glanced at the men once more. “Well, I’ll let you get back to work.” She stepped forward and held out her hand to Peyton. “It really is a pleasure to meet you.”
Peyton saw herself extend her own hand and clasp the other woman’s. Then Rani was gone in a swirl of pink linen.
* * *
Silence descended at Rani’s departure. Maria turned the envelope over in her hand and studied the back of it. Peyton didn’t move, just stood looking at the door as if she’d been suddenly turned to stone. Marco stared intently at the table and Smith rubbed a hand over his thick mustache again and again.
Jake didn’t know what to do or say to break the tension. He gave Marco a pointed look and nodded his head at Peyton, but Marco wouldn’t meet his eye. Smith seemed a lost cause himself.
Finally Peyton shifted weight. “That bitch! Can you believe her?”
“No, what a skank,” said Maria, holding out the invitation.
Peyton took it with a sneer, as if it were tainted or something. “I should have ripped out her hair.”
“You should have snatched that bitch bald-headed.”
Jake felt like he should defuse the situation. “She seemed…nice…enough.”
Marco kicked him under the table, then held out his hands and gave the women a wide-eyed stare.
“Nice!” Peyton whirled on him. “She was nice?”
Although his mouth was open, no words were coming out of it.
Peyton focused on Marco. “Is that what you think, Marco? Was she nice?”
Marco shook his head frantically. “Noooo, she’s a bitch.”
“Yeah, a class-A bitch,” echoed Smith.
Peyton glared at them both, but Maria touched her arm.
“You know what we should do?”
“What?”
“We should buy her some silver for her shower.”
Peyton gave an evil laugh. “I like it. Get her a serving bowl or something.”
“Yeah, we could go to one of those higher end thrift stores, you know, the ones that sell stuff from estate sales.”
“Yeah, and get some real old silver.”
“Right, the shit that turns yellow when you blow on it.”
“With all those ornate swirls and shit that just trap the tarnish.”
“And you have to use a cotton swab to get it out.”
“Let’s go right now.”
“Just let me get my purse.”
The two women walked out, side by side. As soon as they were gone, Marco reached over and slapped Jake upside his head.
“Stop hitting me! What the hell did I do?”
“You got me in trouble with Maria and Peyton both.”
“What? How? I said it.”
“And they’re going to blame me.”
Smith shook his head in commiseration. “You are in deep, man.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
“You could get away with buying flowers for Maria, but what the hell are you going to do with Peyton?”
Marco stared at the table, shaking his head. “I’m gonna have to take a swing at Devan, or shove him, or something.”
“Yeah, that’s about the truth of it.”
Marco pushed himself to his feet and loomed over Jake. Jake ducked, covering his head. “Thanks a lot, Ryder.”
“I didn’t do anything.”
The two men followed the women out into the precinct, grumbling as they went.
“Freakin’ assed cops,” Jake muttered, rubbing the side of his head.
* * *
Marco had never been in the Marriott Marquis before. He knew the iconic structure from the outside – half-moon windows arcing on all sides of the tower, broken up like wagon-wheel spokes. He’d heard about the spectacular view from the top, the entire City rolling away before you from a height of 39 stories, and he’d suspected the interior would scream luxury.
Standing in the hall on the 15th floor, he watched a couple head for the elevator, dressed in evening clothes, and wondered what it would be like to have so much disposable income that the cost of such accommodations never entered your mind.
He knocked and stared down at the checkered carpet in burgundy and burnished gold. He was definitely in the wrong business to be thinking about luxury, that was certain. Besides that, his tastes leaned more toward a rustic cabin in the redwoods, some place quiet and remote, some place very different than the bustling City he made his home.
The door opened and Meilin peeked out. Her long, black hair was loose and hanging far down her back, a silk robe wrapped around her slender figure. She wasn’t much taller than Peyton, her round face and exotic dark eyes seeming delicate and fragile in the half-light of the room.
“Inspector D’Angelo, thank goodness. I’m so glad you came.” She pulled open the door and motioned him to enter.
He stepped inside, looking around. The bed was piled high with pillows and stark white coverings. A small table lay to the left of the door
, accompanied by two chairs in deep chocolate leather cushions. A flat screen television and a cherry-wood credenza marked the area directly across from the bed. The heavy brocade curtains were drawn back and the City gleamed beyond the windows, twinkling lights and bustling traffic, the sounds muted behind privacy glass.
He turned to face Meilin, dismissing the enchanting view. “Tell me what happened again.”
“Someone tried to get into the room. Thank God I had the extra lock on, but it scared me horribly.”
Marco glanced at the digital clock beside the bed. Almost nine. “Did you work tonight?”
“I left early. I couldn’t concentrate.” She shut the door and came toward the table, sinking into the chair. Her robe pulled up, giving him a view of her thigh. “All I can think about is Matt.”
He deliberately forced himself to look away.
“Please sit. Have a drink with me?” Lifting a wine bottle on the table, she motioned at an empty glass. He noticed there were exactly two glasses sitting there.
“No, thank you. I’m technically on duty.”
She set the bottle down and lifted her own glass, taking a sip. “You can at least sit on duty, right?”
He couldn’t deny the situation made him uncomfortable. She’d called him on his way home, frantic that she thought someone was following her, even up to her room in the hotel. She’d begged him to come over. He should have called Peyton and asked her to come with him, but Peyton had gone off with Maria, intent on making Devan’s life a living hell. Now he realized being alone in this hotel room with this woman was probably a bad idea, but he wasn’t sure how to get out of it. Sometimes Peyton was right about him – where women were concerned, his brain often wasn’t the first organ he consulted.
He took a seat, shifting the chair so the entire table was between them. He was very aware that Peyton thought Meilin might be caught up in a love triangle, that she enjoyed male attention just a bit too much.
Meilin turned the bottle so he could see the label. Lot of good it did him, he didn’t read Chinese. “Too bad you won’t try some. This is Mao Tai Jiu, one of the oldest wines in known history, made from sorghum.”
He nodded. He didn’t know what that meant. Beer was made from hops, but that meant about as much to him as this did.
Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5) Page 13