Murder on Treasure Island (Peyton Brooks' Series Book 7)

by M. L. Hamilton

He wasn’t sure how to answer that, then he felt a little rush of anger. “We both have our pasts, Peyton. You think I’m thrilled when Devan comes skulking around.”

  “Skulking?”

  “That’s how I see it.”

  “Devan is different.”

  “How?”

  “He didn’t save my life, but she saved yours.”

  Marco drew a deep breath and pushed away from the door, moving close to her. She leaned on the counter, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly signaling that he wasn’t to touch her.

  “I don’t think she was intent on saving my life, sweetheart. I think she was focused on killing the perp and if he put a bullet in my skull while she took him down, so be it. But that’s beside the point. Now you know how I feel when Devan shows up on your doorstep all the time.”

  “Devan is different,” she repeated.

  “How?”

  “I didn’t know I loved you when I was seeing him. According to you, when you and Rosa hooked up, you already had feelings for me.”

  “You’re right, but that’s all it was between Rosa and me – a hook up. I didn’t think you were interested in me. With Rosa, it was just biology.”

  Peyton gave him a skeptical look. “She makes me feel insecure.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “My feelings are ridiculous?”

  Marco flinched. Oh, shit. “No, but feeling insecure about her is. Don’t you trust me, Peyton?”

  “You know I do, but I can’t help what I feel.” She held up a hand and let it fall. “Look, I’m not mad at you, but why did you have to sleep with her?”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  A laugh bubbled out of her, making Marco smile.

  He reached for her hand. “Look, sweetheart, whatever happened before means nothing to me. Whenever I’m with you, it’s like the world is brand new.”

  Peyton’s lips parted. “Jesus, D’Angelo, sometimes, the things you say…”

  “That was good, wasn’t it?”

  “Yeah it was. I’d think you had Abe on audio if I didn’t know better.”

  “We okay then?”

  “Yeah, but you better get out of here before someone catches us in a compromising position.”

  He leaned forward and kissed her lightly on the lips. “Then I better go. I’m sure there’s some paperwork just begging for my attention.”

  She gave him a smile and pushed him away. “Go then. By the way, in the interest of our mutual calendar, we have dinner with Maria and Cho tomorrow night.”

  “What?” he said, backing up.

  “Dinner with Maria and Cho?”

  “Why?”

  “Apparently we’re finding me a man.”

  Marco hesitated in the doorway. “Great. Tomorrow just couldn’t get any better. A funeral for a stranger, then dinner to find my woman a man. I freakin’ can’t wait.”

  Peyton’s laugh followed him from the room.

  * * *

  Peyton drove out to Bernal Heights. For the majority of the ride, Tag sat silently beside her, staring out the window, but suddenly she cleared her throat.

  “So, is everything all right between you and Lieutenant G.Q.?”

  “Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?” Peyton gave her a frown.

  “You seemed pretty upset earlier. I figured you’d give him a good whatfor.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Tag shifted on the seat. “Really? You’re really going to play me like this? Come on, Fluffy, I’ve known what’s going on since the moment I walked in that precinct. You say you want us to be partners, but you won’t trust me with what I already know.”

  “Tell me your real first name and I’ll trust you.”’

  “What?”

  “That’s how you build trust. If I give you a secret, you have to give me one as well.”

  Tag slumped down in the chair. “You’re impossible,” she grumbled. “All right. Here it is. My real name’s Tag.”

  Peyton gave her an aggravated look.

  “What? Dad secretly wanted a boy.”

  “Liar.”

  “Well, you’re not being fair. You want me to tell you a real secret, when I already know your stupid secret. And it is stupid. Everyone must know you two are hitting the sheets. He can’t stop staring at you and every time you look at him, you get a goofy smile on your face.”

  Peyton shook her head wryly. “Fine.”

  “Have you been shacking up for a long time?”

  “No. We just started...being together a few weeks ago.”

  “What? Weren’t you partners for like ten years?”

  “Eight.”

  “How many other partners have you slept with?”

  “What?”

  “I deserve to know. I mean, is this a pattern or something?”

  “I think you’re safe. He’s been my only partner.”

  “You mean workwise, right? Not sexual?”

  “I’m not really comfortable with the direction of this conversation. Can we drop it?”

  “Sure. So, you started sleeping together after you were kidnapped, right?”

  Peyton glanced over at her. “What?”

  “Right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “After he saved your life?”

  Peyton held up a finger. “Don’t you go psychoanalyzing me too, Tag. I hate it.”

  “Just saying.”

  “Well don’t.” She pulled up in front of a brown Craftsman with shakes for siding. Just as she set the emergency brake, another car pulled into the driveway behind her. Peyton shifted in her seat and watched a young boy climb out of the backseat, running to the stairs and dashing up to the front door. An African American woman climbed out of the driver’s side and went around the back of the car, reaching into the passenger door to help an older man out.

  “That must be Nelson,” she said, grabbing her door handle. She climbed out, followed by Tag and they waited beside the Mustang while the woman and the man ambled slowly toward the stairs.

  Stephen Nelson had probably been over six feet at one time, but age and arthritis had bent his spine. He was African American, but lighter skinned than Peyton with dark freckles across his nose. His hands were brutally twisted by arthritis and his steps were slow. His daughter held onto his arm, supporting him, but trying not to make it obvious.

  Peyton fixated on his hands. She remembered the feel of the Janitor’s hands on her body, she would never forget it, and these were not those hands. Panic washed over her as the memory became so real she actually thought she could feel him – grabbing her, pinning her arms to her sides. She was aware that everyone was looking at her, expecting her to say something, but she was fighting hard not to swing her arms around to break the horrible sensation.

  Tag reached for her badge and held it out to Nelson. “Mr. Nelson, I’m Inspector Shotwell and this is my partner, Inspector Brooks. We wanted to ask you about Simon Olsen.”

  Nelson cut a glance at Peyton, but it was all she could do not to curl up right here on the sidewalk. “Heard he got himself strung up. Hell of a way to die.”

  “Did you work with him?”

  “He was my supervising lieutenant for two years.”

  “Do you remember if anybody got upset with him? Filed complaints against him?”

  “He treated us guys okay, but he was hell on wheels with the women.”

  “Anyone take offense at that?”

  Peyton dropped her eyes to the sidewalk, forcing herself to do the deep breathing exercises Dr. Ferguson had taught her. Her skin crawled and she’d started shivering again, but maybe if she slowed her breathing it would get better.

  “There was this one little girl. She was the receptionist, ‘bout 20 years old. He hounded her from the first day she started working. She asked a couple of us to help her, but there wasn’t much we could do, he was our supervisor, so she quit. Always felt guilty about that.”

  Peyton focused on the daughter as
she patted her father’s arm. She used to do that to her own father when they went out somewhere, just the contact, just the touch. She loved to slip her arm through his just to feel his strength and security.

  Nelson motioned to the stairs. “Do you want to come in, Inspectors? We could get you something to drink.” He nodded at Peyton in particular.

  Peyton shook her head, trying hard to find her voice.

  “No, thank you, sir,” said Tag. “We need to get back to the precinct.” She produced a business card and held it out. “If you think of anything else, call me.”

  The daughter accepted the card.

  “We’ll do that,” said Nelson. “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The father and daughter turned to the stairs and began the laborious climb upward. Tag gave Peyton a look and held out her hand. Peyton automatically deposited the keys into her grasp, then went to the passenger door and pulled it open, slumping inside.

  Tag walked around the back and climbed in beside her. She sat quiet for a moment, then shifted in the seat. “What happened, Fluffy?”

  Peyton shook her head. “His hands.”

  “Yeah, arthritis does horrible things to the bones.”

  “No, it’s not that.” Peyton laid her head against the headrest. “I can still remember the feel of the Janitor’s hands on me.” She couldn’t stop the stupid shivering. “I couldn’t fight him. I couldn’t stop it.”

  “You had a flashback.”

  Peyton looked over at her.

  Tag started the Mustang and turned up the heater.

  “This is so stupid. I can’t even do my job. I don’t sleep at night and the things I dream…”

  “Like what?”

  Peyton stared at the dashboard. “I dream that I shoot Marco.”

  Tag blew out air. “What did the shrink say?”

  “He said it was my way of taking back control.” Peyton cast a sidelong look at her. “I haven’t told him about Marco and me yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because like you said earlier, he’ll say I’m with him just because he saved my life.”

  “That wasn’t at all what I was going to say, Fluffy.”

  Peyton wrapped her arms around herself and looked over.

  “I was going to say it took a near death experience for you to admit your feelings for him. Poor bastard.”

  Peyton gave her a ghost of a smile.

  “I’m no shrink, Brooks, but it seems to me that having flashbacks are pretty normal this soon after a traumatizing event. You didn’t pull your gun on him, you didn’t run off screaming like a lunatic. You just got quiet. You dealt with it.”

  “I dream about killing the most important person in my life, Tag.”

  “And obviously this is what’s really freaking you out. Again, I’m no expert, but I don’t think it’s about you taking back control. I think it’s happening because secretly you’re afraid you’re going to get so panicked that you might make a mistake. That you might hurt someone innocent.”

  Peyton digested that. “Wow, that makes a lot of sense.”

  “I know. I’m good like that.”

  “And strangely, that makes me feel better.”

  “How?”

  “It means I don’t secretly want to off Marco. Wow! That is such good news because the sex is fantastic.”

  Tag recoiled. “Really didn’t need to know that.”

  “You know what we need?”

  “What?”

  “Milkshakes.”

  “Milkshakes? What are you five, Brooks?”

  “Marco always got me milkshakes.”

  Tag rolled her eyes, then shifted around, putting the Mustang in gear. “Fine, but if I get you a milkshake, don’t get any funny ideas about us.”

  Peyton smiled, then reached over and touched her arm. “Thank you for listening.”

  Tag shot a brief smile back at her, then pulled away from the curb. “Let’s not make a national event over it okay.”

  * * *

  “So, how about a glass of wine?” called Genevieve from her kitchen.

  “Let me guess. Pinot?”

  She laughed. “Yes, is that okay? I think I have some vodka if you want something a little harder, but I don’t have beer.”

  “Wine is fine. I have to drive,” came his response.

  Unless you don’t, she thought with a smile. She poured two glasses, then lifted them in one hand as she picked up the wooden cutting board with the block of cheese on it. Carefully balancing both, she walked to the kitchen door and pushed it with her back.

  He was standing in front of the windows, looking out. “You have a nice view.”

  She settled the cheese on the coffee table and handed him one of the glasses. “Costs me a damn fortune, but I like the security. In full disclosure, it costs my parents a fortune. They’re sort of subsidizing me right now.”

  He accepted the glass, smiling at her. She was beginning to really like his smile. It was artless and pure. He liked her and it showed on his face. She enjoyed not having to guess things with him. “Thank you,” he said, taking a sip.

  “Oh, I forgot the crackers.” She settled her own glass on the coffee table and hurried back to the kitchen.

  Just as she reached for the bowl on the counter, she heard her phone ring. She stopped, gripping the counter with both hands. Oh God, why had she ever agreed to this deal?

  “Do you want me to answer it?” he called to her.

  That spurred her into motion. She raced to the door and threw it open just as he reached for the phone. “No!”

  He looked up, his expression puzzled.

  “It’s my dad. I haven’t told him about you yet. He’s a little old fashioned.”

  “Okay,” he said, straightening.

  She hurried around the couch and snatched it up. “I’ll just be a moment.”

  He nodded, watching her as she thumbed it on and hurried for the sliding glass door that led onto the balcony. She pressed the phone to her ear as she stepped out and shut the door behind her.

  “Hello?” The moment she spoke, she realized how edgy she sounded.

  “Does Boy Wonder know who’s calling you?”

  She felt her stomach clench. “You know he’s here?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Are you watching me?”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “Of course it does. God, I can’t do this anymore.” She leaned on the railing, placing her hand on her forehead.

  “That’s fine. We can end our deal.”

  “No!” She said it before she realized what she was going to say. “No, don’t end our deal. No one dies.”

  “Fine.”

  She closed her eyes and fought for composure. She had to think this through. She had to keep her head. She couldn’t let him know how he terrified her. “I don’t like you watching me.”

  “If I’m watching you, I’m not killing anyone. Consider me your body guard. You don’t really think Boy Wonder is up to the task, do you?”

  Bile rose in her throat. “Please don’t hurt him.”

  “He’s an innocent right now. He doesn’t even know how to wipe his own nose yet.”

  She released her held breath. “He’s a good man.”

  “He’s a cop. He wants to be a good man, but the very reason he carries a gun makes him vulnerable to corruption. He will be twisted and tainted by the things he’ll see on this job. Just give him enough years.”

  “Is that how you feel about Inspector Brooks?”

  He paused. “She’s different.”

  “How?”

  “She just is.”

  “Like Missy?”

  “Yes, like Missy.”

  “Ambrose, how did Missy die?”

  “She had cancer.”

  “I know she had cancer. Did she die of cancer?”

  “No. Do you know what they do to you when they give up?”

  “No, what do they do?”


  “They send you home to die. They wash their hands of you.”

  “They sent her home?”

  “In pain.”

  “Did she have pain killers? Medications?”

  “At some point it doesn’t work anymore.”

  Genevieve turned and looked through the windows at Jimmy. He was wandering around her living room, looking at her pictures and knickknacks. He gave her a smile. She smiled back.

  “How did she die?”

  Silence.

  “Ambrose, how did Missy die?”

  “Sometimes those we love the most ask us to do things we can’t.”

  “What did she ask you to do?” Genevieve was afraid she could guess, but she wanted him to tell her. It might give her an insight into his psychology, or maybe it would give her leverage to talk him into turning himself in. If nothing else, she might be able to figure out who he was if she could figure out who his wife was.

  “I’m tired,” he said. “Enough. You should enjoy your date.”

  She started to speak, but he interrupted her.

  “You never know when things will change.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Just as Jake disconnected the call from his sister Faith, Marco walked into the break room and headed for the coffee pot, pouring himself a cup. He was wearing a black suit with a silver tie. Damned if the man didn’t look amazing in everything he wore. Jake settled the phone on the table beside the files and documents all containing correspondence from the Janitor, leaning back in his chair.

  “Want some?” asked Marco, holding up the pot.

  Jake shook his head. “Can’t drink the amount of swill you drink.”

  Marco carried his mug to the table and pulled out a chair. “Not gonna lie. I miss your fancy shit in the morning.”

  “You can buy some for yourself.”

  “Seems like a waste of money and a bit froufrou.”

  “Peyton likes it. You could say it was for her.”

  Marco saluted Jake with the mug and took a sip. “You might have something there.” He motioned to the papers. “What’s this?”

  “The obsession of my life. It’s all the correspondence from the Janitor. The lab results from the bit of latex glove we found on the bolt from the van. All the physical evidence we have from the different crime scenes. He never makes a mistake. He never gets caught.” Jake held up the lab report on the glove. “Even when we get lucky, he’s luckier still. No traceable DNA on the glove fragment.”