Murder in Chinatown (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 5)

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Wait,” said Maria, looking over her shoulder as she stirred the pot. “I thought there were witnesses who vouched that she was in the kitchen the night Matt died.”

  “There are. A lot of them.”

  “Then how come you think she did it? How could she have done it?”

  “Don’t you think it’s strange four people have died around that woman, Maria?”

  “Strange, yes. Criminal, I’m not sure.”

  “She has a point, Brooks,” said Marco with a sigh. He crossed his arms on the counter. “Neither one of us think she pulled the trigger with Matt and I think that’s the same problem the detective in Florida is having with Meilin’s parents. She probably didn’t pull that trigger either. At worst, she’s an accessory, not a murderer.”

  “What about Hui?”

  “How’re you gonna prove that?”

  She twirled her beer on the counter. “I don’t know, but there has to be a link. There has to be evidence to connect her. She knew he was allergic to peanuts. If she knowingly gave them to him, that’s murder.”

  “Adonis is right. How are you going to prove that?” asked Jake. “And what was her motive in killing him?”

  “Let’s say he shot Matt.”

  “Then Hui Bai is guilty of murder, not Meilin.”

  “But what if he shot Matt because she asked him to do it? Then she eliminated Hui because he was going to tell someone what he did.”

  Marco shook his head. “A jury’s really gonna have to stretch to convict her of that. Hui Bai was a grown man. Why the hell would he kill another man for her?”

  “Because she’s manipulative. The minute she saw you, she went on the prowl.”

  Marco rubbed the back of his neck. “You have a point. She sure tried to manipulate me that night that...” His voice caught and he shifted, looking down at the counter.

  Peyton turned toward him and Jake leaned over so he could see him better.

  “What did you say?” asked Peyton, feeling her stomach drop.

  “It’s nothing.”

  “Marco, what the hell happened with that woman?”

  Maria turned around, staring at them.

  “It was nothing.”

  “What was nothing?”

  He glanced at Jake and Maria. “Can we talk about this somewhere else?”

  Peyton climbed off her barstool. “D’Angelo, you had damn well better tell me you didn’t sleep with that woman!” Her voice vibrated with rising fury.

  “I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “But what did you do?”

  “Brooks, listen. It was nothing, all right?”

  “Nothing. Nothing. What exactly was the nothing?”

  He sighed. “She called me one night and told me someone tried to get into her hotel room. She begged me to come over.”

  Jake made a strangled noise. Maria’s mouth dropped open.

  “You didn’t go, did you?” demanded Peyton.

  “Brooks...”

  “Tell me you didn’t go.”

  “I went, but nothing happened.”

  “Why do you keep saying that?”

  “Because I know what you think. Because I can see by your look that you think something did.”

  “Did anyone else go with you to her hotel room?”

  “No.”

  Peyton felt her rage almost slip her control. “No? No? You went alone and she made a pass at you, didn’t she?”

  “Brooks.”

  “Tell me!”

  “Peyton, easy,” said Jake, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  She moved out of his hold into the middle of the living room. “Easy? Do you know what you’ve done?” she said, turning on Marco. “You’ve compromised our case.”

  “Nothing happened, Brooks.”

  “Nothing had to happen. The minute we bring her in for questioning, she’s going to lawyer up and tell that lawyer you were in her hotel room by yourself.”

  “And I’ll testify that nothing happened.”

  “And what good do you think that’ll do, D’Angelo? A good lawyer will drag out every woman you’ve slept with over the years and just how is that going to look to a jury? When he’s done with you, who the hell do you think the jury’s going to believe?”

  “Brooks,” he said, reaching out to her.

  She swatted his hand away. “No. I can’t believe you did this.”

  “I didn’t do a damn thing!” He rose to face her.

  Placing her hands on her hips, she leveled a glare at him. “Really? Because if you really believe you didn’t do anything, why are you just telling me now? Why am I just now hearing about it?”

  Marco didn’t answer, just gave her a pleading look.

  Peyton felt like she was going to be ill. She clenched her fists at her side. What the hell had she just thought? That maybe they were getting back to normal. This latest omission of his felt like a slap in the face. And for the first time, as she stared into his blue eyes, she doubted him. She doubted his honesty. Maybe he was lying. Maybe he’d really slept with Meilin.

  Tears burned in her eyes, but she blinked them back. She was not going to cry in front of him, but just standing here with him, seeing the agonized look on his face, she couldn’t help it. She felt betrayed.

  “Peyton?”

  God, she’d always hated when he called her Peyton, but so much better to have him say it in anger or frustration, not pleading.

  “No, not this time. This...” She pointed at him. “This I can’t forgive.” Turning, she hurried to her bedroom and slammed the door, pressing her back against it so he couldn’t follow her.

  * * *

  Marco didn’t know what to do. He heard the bedroom door slam, but the finality of it made it pretty clear she didn’t want to be disturbed. He looked over his shoulder at Maria, but she simply went and turned off the stove, moving past him toward the bedroom. Except for a reproachful look, she wouldn’t make eye contact.

  He sure as shit didn’t need any condescension from Jake, so he walked to the front door and pulled it open. He was halfway down the stairs before he realized he couldn’t leave like this. Not with Peyton. He couldn’t leave and let this hang between them. He had to fix it. He had to make it all right.

  But he didn’t know how.

  Sinking down on the stairs, he braced his forearms on his thighs and stared at his hands. What the shit was he going to do about her? She was his partner, his best friend, but lately, he couldn’t get them back to the way it had been before Alcatraz.

  The door opened at his back and he dared to hope it was her, but Jake stuck his head out. Turning back toward the street, he prayed the idiot would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. Pickles ran down the stairs and curled against his side. He stroked the little dog to comfort him, but felt his own back stiffen as Jake shut the door behind him and walked down the stairs, taking a seat.

  He handed Marco a beer. He took it automatically, lifting it to his lips. He downed half the bottle, then closed his eyes and tried to still the wicked pounding of his heart. Peyton often got pissed at him, but he’d never seen such a look of pure disgust on her face before. It cut him to the core.

  “You are a hot mess, Adonis, you know that?”

  “I don’t need your shit right now, Ryder.”

  “Really? ‘Cause it seems to me you need something. How about an observation?”

  Marco didn’t answer.

  “You haven’t been right since Alcatraz.”

  “Why the hell does everyone keep saying that?”

  “Because it’s true. Why don’t you stop denying it and just admit it?”

  “I don’t feel like talking right now.”

  “Then don’t talk. Listen. I get that you aren’t good at either one, but...”

  Marco glared at him.

  Jake laughed and took a drink. “Someone needs to be honest with you and despite what you think, I’m not really afraid of you, so I guess it falls to me.”

  Marco tr
ied to draw a calming breath, closing his eyes. “I swear to God, Ryder, you’re gonna make me shoot you someday.”

  “No, you’re not. Because I know what’s wrong with you.”

  Marco tightened his grip on his beer. “Really?”

  Jake shifted, so he was facing him on the step. “Everything changed on Alcatraz.”

  “No, it didn’t.” He knew he kept saying that same thing, but maybe if he said it enough, it would eventually be true.

  “The hell it didn’t. On Alcatraz, you came face to face with what extremes you will go to in order to protect Peyton.”

  “What?”

  “You killed for her, Adonis, and suddenly you realized there is nothing you wouldn’t do to keep her safe.”

  “She’s my partner.”

  “Bull shit. It had nothing to do with her being your partner.”

  “Ryder, I really...”

  “Just shut up and listen.”

  Marco felt certain he didn’t want to hear this. He could feel the knot in his gut tightening. If others were seeing things, what the hell was he going to do? He blamed the damn shrink. He’d caused this, not Alcatraz. He’d brought all this out in the open with his damn prying, prying at things that were better left buried deep, deep inside.

  “You’re a coward, you know that?” said Jake.

  Marco tried to ignore him.

  “You think you’re protecting yourself by keeping everyone at arm’s length, even Peyton, but it doesn’t work. People get in no matter what we do to protect ourselves, they sneak in under the wall.”

  “You’re blabbering.”

  “I’m not and you know it. You thought you could make all these rules for yourself, set up all these boundaries, but once one came down, they all did. Now you cling to your last one - cops shouldn’t get married, shouldn’t have serious relationships, but then Alcatraz happened.”

  Marco felt a cold sweat creep across his skin. “You aren’t making a damn bit of sense,” he growled.

  Jake gave him a patient smile. It was all Marco could do not to pop him one. “I was scared to death when I first met Zoë. I knew right away that it was serious, that she wasn’t like anyone else I’d dated.”

  “What the hell, Ryder!”

  “Shut up and listen.”

  Marco finished his beer and stroked Pickles to calm the raging panic rising inside of him.

  “We got four years, Adonis. Four years. God, do you know how freakin’ short that is, how quickly it goes? And then she was gone. I lost her.”

  Marco looked at him over his shoulder.

  “Here’s the thing. Even knowing what I know, even knowing how it ends, I’d do it again. I’d take those four years without a bit of hesitation.” He leaned toward him. “If you’re very, very freakin’ lucky, you get that. Maybe once. Maybe one time in your entire life.”

  Marco looked back at the street, his hand tightening on the beer until his knuckles went white. “Here’s the problem, Ryder. I’m not you and Peyton sure as hell isn’t Zoë.”

  “Really? You’re gonna keep saying this bullshit that even you don’t believe?”

  “There’s nothing to believe. There’s just this. We are what we are and what we are is all we’ll ever be.”

  “She’s your best friend...”

  “Exactly. Which is why you sure as shit won’t say a word of this foolishness to her, do you hear me?”

  “How can you just pretend that’s all there is?”

  Marco whirled on him, startling the dog. “Because that is all there is. Shit, Ryder, you’ve seen too many romantic comedies. This doesn’t end happy, this doesn’t end with love songs and happily ever after wedding bells.”

  “Look me in the eye and tell me that’s all you feel – friendship. Look me in the eye and tell me there’s nothing more.”

  Marco met his gaze. “I’m telling you there can’t be more.”

  “Why?”

  “Because!” He closed his eyes, fighting for control. “We’re partners, Ryder.”

  “You don’t have to be. You can change that.”

  “And then what? What happens the next time someone points a gun at her, Ryder? What then? Just who do you want to be there beside her when that happens? Tell me!”

  “You.” He exhaled and looked out at the street. “Maybe we can get her to quit.”

  Marco made a choking laugh. “I wish you luck tackling that conversation with her. You really don’t value your balls, do you?” He shook his head. “Let it go. It is what it is.”

  “What it is sucks. How can you stand it?”

  “I don’t have a damn bit of choice and neither do you. This conversation never gets back to her. Never, Ryder. Swear to me.”

  Jake didn’t immediately answer.

  Marco stood and braced his leg on the stair, looking Jake directly in the eyes. “Don’t make me beg, Ryder. She can’t ever know we had this conversation.” If Jake didn’t promise him, he didn’t know what he’d do. He couldn’t lose this. He couldn’t compromise their partnership. It was all he had.

  “I hate this, D’Angelo.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Talk to her. She has a right to make her own decisions.”

  Marco reached down and scratched Pickles’ ear. “She already has.”

  “How? When?”

  Marco looked up, meeting his gaze. “Twice now, she’s told me that her job is the only thing that matters to her, the only thing she values and she will never give it up.”

  “But she didn’t know what she was giving up.”

  “And she never will. Swear to me, Jake. Please don’t make me beg.”

  Jake’s shoulders slumped and he shook his head. “I hate this.”

  Marco didn’t answer.

  He sighed heavily. “I swear, Adonis. Okay, God dammit, I swear.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Gabby sat down at the table in her kitchen and looked out at her garden. Picking up her coffee cup, she took a sip. She loved her garden. Besides her job, she spent most of her time out there. After Sam died, she’d felt so lost and alone. The garden had been her only solace.

  He’d always complained about the time she spent weeding and pruning and planting, but whenever she’d wanted to find him, that was where he’d been. After his illness, after the months of chemo and radiation and then the wasting away, this was the place where she felt him still.

  And this was when she missed him most of all.

  She threw herself into her work. Cold Case was so good for that. Cold Case allowed her to spend hours researching cases that others had given up on. Cold Case allowed her to fill the empty hours without Sam.

  But sometimes, like with this case, she wondered how much longer she could do it. She was looking at the back side of 40 now. Too damn old to change careers, but too damn young to have nothing else in her life but a job.

  She and Sam used to talk of all the places they would travel when they retired. He’d had a dream to move to the south of France. She liked the idea of Hawaii, instead, but she’d never discouraged his dream. She figured he was too practical to spend the money on an extravagance like a villa in a foreign country, so they’d sat in their kitchen, sipping coffee and dreaming things that would never be.

  Her cell phone rang, startling her out of her thoughts, and she picked it up. Billy’s name flashed across the screen. For a second, just a second, she thought to ignore it, but then she thumbed it on.

  “Hey, Pup,” she said, smiling despite herself.

  “Gabs, how ‘bout I come over for coffee?”

  “Not for a moment. Why are you bothering me on my beautiful Sunday?” She could almost see his phony pout.

  “What do you want more than anything right now?”

  “A peaceful Sunday to drink coffee and take a nap.”

  “Really? That’s what you want?”

  Gabby set down her coffee cup. “You got the warrant for the Sandersons’ house?”

  “I got the warrant for the S
andersons’ house.”

  “How?”

  “I put a call into Judge Janice Halloway and explained how important it was that we took a look inside that house before twenty-year old evidence is finally covered up.”

  “You charmed her?”

  “I charmed the robe off her, Gabs. How much do you love me now?”

  “Quite a bit. Quite a damn bit, kid.”

  “Meet you there.”

  “In half a shake.”

  “Awesome.”

  When he hung up, Gabby grabbed a quick shower and got in her car. She couldn’t deny that the rush of excitement she always felt at such moments was intoxicating and probably the reason she continued to do this job.

  Billy was parked across the street with a uniform when she arrived. He climbed out before she put the car in park, waving the warrant in the air. She took it from him and read it, then she gave him the high-five he so desperately wanted.

  “You did good, Pup.”

  “Don’t I know it.”

  Before they crossed the street, Mr. Sanderson was standing on his porch. “I hate the idea of suing the police, waste of taxpayer dollars, but you’re making me get over that aversion but quick, Detective Lucott.”

  “I’m sorry about that, sir,” said Billy, “but we got us a warrant.” He pointed at the paper in Gabby’s hand.

  Sanderson’s face blanched, then he held out his hand, demanding it. Gabby climbed the stairs and gave it to him, feeling a small bit of triumph as he read it. He looked up at Billy, then at the uniform, passing the paper back to her.

  “Why don’t you take a seat inside, Mr. Sanderson, and Officer Dent here will keep you company,” said Billy, motioning the uniform to escort Sanderson into the house.

  When they entered, they found Andrea Sanderson coming down the stairs. Her husband gave her a withering look as he passed.

  “What’s going on?”

  “We have a warrant, ma’am,” said Gabby, showing it to her.

  She stared at the paper for so long, Gabby felt certain she wasn’t reading it, just holding on to the last of her son. She sank down on the stairs and as Gabby reached for the warrant, she made eye contact.

  “Grant’s room is the third one down the hall on the right.”