“Oh, yeah, Marco took me to dinner.”
“So are things back on with you two?”
Peyton gave Bambi a tense smile. “They weren’t ever completely off. We’re just working through some things.”
“Did he spend the night?” Bambi squeezed her arm.
Peyton gave her a surprised look, but Bambi appeared so expectant. “I’d rather not talk about it, okay?”
Bambi’s face fell. “Okay. I’m sorry. Did I cross a boundary or something?”
“No, it’s just.” She turned and faced the other woman. “It’s complicated, Emma, and I’m not sure myself what’s going on. Can we leave it at that?”
“Sure.” She flashed Peyton a perfect smile and bounded into the conference room. Peyton followed, finding Tank and Radar already seated around the long table.
“Morning,” said Tank brightly.
“Morning.” Peyton wanted to fill him in on her call, but that would have to wait. Her eyes shifted to Radar. “Good morning, boss. How’s Creampuff and Sugarpie?”
Radar glared at her. “Creampuff and Sugarpie?”
“The cats.”
“Those aren’t their names.”
“You know, eventually I’m going to figure it out, right? Why not just tell me and spare me the effort?”
“You’ll never figure it out, so why don’t you stop trying so hard.”
“That’s not going to happen,” said Peyton, taking a seat next to Bambi. “Did Mrs. Radar name them?”
“I’ll bet Radar named them,” said Bambi in an undertone.
“Don’t start!” growled Radar at her and she ducked her head, giving Peyton a mischievous smirk.
Peyton returned it, but before she could continue teasing him, Rosa appeared in the doorway, carrying a computer tablet and a file. She looked pressed and polished in her hand-tailored black suit, her dark hair wound into a neat bun on top of her head.
“We have a case.” She set the tablet on the table and opened the file, tossing crime scene photos into the middle.
Peyton closed her eyes and turned away, but not before she saw the mutilated corpse, the throat torn out, the eyes wide and filled with horror.
“There’s been three deaths, all blond women, all between the ages of 20 and 30, all killed with knives, their throats torn out.” She tapped the picture on top. “This is the first one.”
Peyton glanced at the photo. The young woman had fallen in the middle of a subway car, her legs twisted beneath her, her arms out-flung.
“Angela Evans, 25, a salesclerk at Harrods.” She pulled forth a second photo and placed it on top. “Simone Wright, 24, a cashier at Barclays.” The young woman lay face down in front of a glass door, her body sprawled over a couple of stairs, a pool of blood spreading out beneath her.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, Sarge,” said Tank, “but Barclays and Harrods, those are in the U.K.”
Peyton looked up.
“Right. These murders were done in London.”
“So why are we involved?” asked Radar.
Rosa reached for the third photo. This was different than the others because it wasn’t a crime scene picture. This was a picture taken in mid-act. The photographer had caught the young woman as she died, a blurry, shaggy form rising behind her, the knife catching the light as it plunged toward her throat. The look of terror was stark on her pale features.
“This is Rianna Cooper, 20, an American exchange student studying abroad at Oxford. She was with her boyfriend, also an exchange student, Gordon Bell. Bell’s the one who took the photo.”
Peyton shivered. “Is Cooper from San Francisco?”
“Palo Alto, but we have jurisdiction. She’s a student at Stanford. Bell’s from UCLA.” Rosa reached for the tablet. “There’s another reason we’re involved. We have security footage from the first murder on the subway.” She slid her finger across the screen and pulled up the video.
Peyton leaned forward. The grainy film showed Angela Evans, the first victim, sitting by herself in a subway car. Suddenly someone moved into the camera’s view, but his back was turned, hiding his face from the screen. Angela rose to her feet and backed up, holding up her hands. The audio wasn’t very good, so Peyton couldn’t hear what she said, but her meaning was clear. She was telling the man to stay away from her.
All Peyton could see of the man was a massive avocado-colored coat and brown shaggy hair that fell to his shoulders. Angela turned to run, but the man closed with her, grabbing her around the waist and pulling her back to his chest. Peyton half-closed her eyes as the young woman screamed and the knife came down again and again, slashing her throat until the scream died.
The man dropped her, the bloody knife hanging from his hand, then he tipped back his head and released a howl like a wolf.
Peyton and Bambi jumped.
“Holy shit!” breathed Radar.
The howl went on and on, echoing through the car.
Rosa reached over and pressed it off. “Bell, the last victim’s boyfriend, reported the same howl. The media’s calling him the Werewolf of London.”
Peyton realized her mouth hung open and she snapped it shut.
“Is this a joke to them?” demanded Radar.
“Not in the least. I’ve been contacted by the Metropolitan Police, an Inspector Caleb Abbott. He suspects these three deaths are not the first, there’ve been others outside of London. He’s requesting our assistance.”
“Metropolitan Police?” said Tank. “You mean Scotland Yard.”
“Exactly.”
Bambi clapped her hands. “We’re going to London!”
Rosa nodded. “I’ll have Margaret make the arrangements. You’ll have tomorrow to get ready, then you leave Saturday bright and early. It’s a ten or so hour flight.”
“What?” Peyton felt her heart sink. London? She couldn’t go to London now. Not with things so uncertain with Marco. They were just starting to make headway in their relationship.
“Is there a problem, Agent Brooks?” asked Rosa in that tone that suggested there better not be.
“I don’t understand. If Scotland Yard’s involved, why do we have to go?”
“We have a partnership with the British government. They’ve asked for our help and we’re going to comply. Are you suggesting we ignore the request of an ally, Agent Brooks?”
Peyton slumped back in her seat.
“I’ve always wanted to go to London,” said Bambi. “I love the accents.”
“Great,” said Rosa, “Settle any cases you’re currently working on and go home. Get rest, pack, and be prepared for an early departure on Saturday.”
She gathered up the photos and the tablet as Tank and Bambi left the room. Radar gave Peyton a pointed look, then he turned for the door.
Peyton splayed her hands on the table. “Rosa?”
At the door, Radar hesitated and Peyton could see him tilt back his head.
Rosa’s eyes lifted. “Excuse me?”
“Sarge,” Peyton amended. “I can’t go to London.”
Rosa straightened to her full height. “I’m sorry, I’m certain I didn’t hear you correctly.”
“Please understand, I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just there’s some things going on here that I need to work on and I…”
“What things?”
Radar turned and shook his head behind Rosa’s back.
Peyton opened her mouth, but nothing came out. What was the best tactic to use? Confess what was going on and hope Rosa had an empathetic bone in her body, or lie? What would be a good lie?
“Brooks, what things are preventing you from doing your job?” Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave Peyton a narrow-eyed look.
“It’s personal.”
“Personal? As in your personal life? As in your love life?”
Peyton started to answer, but Radar came back in the room, crossing around the table to where Peyton sat. “No, she didn’t mean that.” He hooked Peyton under the arm and pulled her
to her feet. “What she meant was she’s afraid to fly.”
“Afraid to fly?”
“Yeah, and she’s embarrassed to tell you, but she’s getting therapy.”
When Peyton started to protest, he tightened his grip on her elbow and propelled her around the other side of the table toward the door.
“Don’t worry about it, Sarge. The doctor will prescribe a tranquilizer for the flight. We’ve got it under control.”
“I sincerely hope so because we can’t have agents who have…” She fixed Peyton with an unyielding eye. “...a fear of flying.”
“It’s not an issue,” said Radar, shoving Peyton out of the conference room and marching her down to her office. He didn’t let go until he’d guided her through the door. Taking a bewildered look around, he released her arm. “What the hell is this? It’s a freakin’ greenhouse in here.”
Peyton whirled on him. “Why did you stop me?”
Radar focused on her again. “You were about to get yourself fired.” He pointed out the door. “You think Sarge gives a damn you’re having trouble with your boy toy? You took this job knowing it might entail travel, so knock it off.”
“I’m going to lose him for good if I go now. It’s really not a good time for me to leave, Radar.” She felt tears start in her eyes.
“When is it? You think I want to get on a damn plane and go to foggy-ass London.”
Peyton frowned. “We live in San Francisco, Radar, so…” She held out her hands.
“Well, right now you’re part of a team and that means if we go to London so do you, so get over it already.” Peyton started to protest, but he held a finger in her face. “No more. Now meet me in the gym in ten minutes.”
“What?”
“Instead of mouthing off, let’s work on your self-defense.”
“I don’t want to work out.”
“And I don’t care. Get your ass downstairs in ten.” With that he turned and left the room.
* * *
“You’re fired! You’re fired! You are fired!” Marco paced the break room, ignoring the throbbing in his thigh. “It’s not you, it’s me. We’re just not working out. I need someone who can answer the phones, put through a call, take a message.” He hesitated. “Owns a watch.” Raking his hand through his hair, he turned and found Cho standing in the doorway, smiling at him.
“You firing her or breaking up with her?”
Marco dropped his hand. “Breaking up would be easier.”
“You want me to do it?”
“And how would that look? Ryder already thinks someone shellacked my balls and is wearing them as a necklace.”
Cho grimaced. “I don’t even want to know what that means.”
“I’ve never fired anyone before.”
“I suspect no one’s getting fired here either.”
“Why do you all think I can’t fire someone?”
Cho drew a deep breath. “With all due respect, Captain, she’s been here a month and she should have been fired the first day she arrived. In fact, she shouldn’t have been allowed to sit down. She was a hot mess from the start, but you were so determined to make her work out.”
“Who can’t operate a phone, Nathan?”
Cho gave him a sympathetic look. “Remind me I have a bridge to sell you, okay?”
“What does that mean?”
“You answered your own question. Everyone knows how to work a phone, including…”
“Carly.” He clenched his hand into a fist. “You’re right. She’s manipulating me.”
“Got it in one.” Cho touched his finger to his nose.
“Well, that’s it. She’s fired.”
Cho gave a condescending nod. “Right.”
Marco frowned at him. “Did you want something?”
“We got a call. Some idiot shot and killed an intruder on Snob Hill. Patrol just wants us to head out there and confirm the break-in.”
“You let Ryder know?”
“Yep, he’s putting his purse together.”
Marco chuckled. “Call me if you need anything.”
“No problem. We should be out of there before lunch. Just enough time for you to fire Carly.”
Marco tilted up his chin. “Cute.”
“We’ll keep in touch, Captain.”
“You do that.”
Cho disappeared through the door.
Marco reached for his cane and headed after him, angling toward the front of the precinct. Time to get this over with. He’d been holding off long enough. He caught sight of Carly’s ass before he saw the rest of her. She was fishing her purse out of the bottom drawer of her desk. Her skirt was so short, he could tell she was wearing a thong without any effort on his part. He deliberately looked away and cleared his throat.
She snapped upright, turning to face him. “Oh, there you are. I was just going to find you.”
He chanced a look back at her, hoping she was semi-decent again. “Look, Carly, we need to talk.”
“Can it wait? I’ve got a lunch date and I thought I’d take off a few minutes early, if it’s all right with you. We just got a call and I gave it to the Asian guy.”
“The Asian guy?”
“I can’t remember his name. There’s so many people working here.”
There wasn’t. Not really. He could count his employees on two hands. “I’d like you to call people by their names.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“Maybe not, but there’s no reason you can’t learn people’s names.”
“Right. I’ll make an effort to do that. So, about lunch? You don’t mind, do you? I mean I’ve been trying to get a date with this guy for months and he finally noticed me. I had to knock over an entire display in the grocery store before he did.”
Marco just stared at her. He didn’t know what to say.
She hurried up to him and squeezed his arm. “You’re a doll. Thank you.” Then she was gone.
Marco watched her scamper out to the parking lot, wondering where he’d lost control of the conversation. “You’re fired,” he said to himself.
Cho, Simons and Jake walked past him for the outer door. Cho simply shook his head.
“Who’s fired?” Simons asked his partner.
“No one,” said Cho.
“Poor damn bastard,” muttered Jake with a smirk.
* * *
Peyton faced off against Radar. “I don’t want to do this, Radar, please.”
He came at her, shoving her in the shoulder. “Is that what you’re going to tell a perp?”
She staggered back, then straightened, holding up her hands. “Look, I’m not in the mood.”
He shoved her again. “Tell it to someone who cares.”
She knocked his hand away. “This is stupid. You’re just trying to get me pissed.”
“No, I’m trying to get you to defend yourself.” He aimed a kick at her shoulder and she ducked to avoid it, dancing out of the way. “Fight back, Sparky.”
“No!” She deflected another kick with her hands. “I’m not in the mood.”
He feinted to her right, then came back with a jab that cuffed her shoulder and sent her reeling. Anger sparked in her and she slapped his next kick away with more force. He danced on the balls of his feet, motioning her to come at him.
She didn’t want to do this, but he wasn’t going to give up. Damn it, why did all the men in her life have to be such stubborn asses? She aimed a kick at his knee, hoping to tag him and make him want to stop, but he caught her leg and sent her sprawling on her hands and knees.
Before she could scramble to her feet, he hauled her up and yanked her back against his chest, his arm around her neck. She could feel the thundering of his heart against her spine and the weight of his arm pressing against her trachea.
Shoving his arm downward, she tried to break his hold, but he simply clamp his other arm across the back of her neck, pinioning her. Struggling, she tried to wriggle away, but he had her securely trapped.<
br />
Sweat trickled down her temples and her breathing grew ragged. Black spots danced in her peripheral vision and she could feel the edges of a panic attack creeping up on her. “Let me go, Radar!” she gasped, clawing at his arm. “Let me go now!”
“Think!” he said, shaking her. “What do you do? Get out of this!”
“No, Radar, you don’t understand. You need to let me go!”
He brought his mouth close to her ear. “I understand. The PTSD is making you panic. Fight through it, Brooks. Get out of this!”
“Radar!” She felt tears blind her and she tried to pry his hand loose.
He shook her, making her teeth chatter. “Think, Brooks!” he shouted at her. “How do you break a choke hold?”
She tried to ram her head back against him, but he moved, shaking her again. “I know that maneuver.”
She tried to kick backward and catch him between the legs, but he forced her head forward and knocked her off balance. She heard a whimper escape her and she realized she was trembling.
“Think, damn it!” he growled in her ear. “Where is my arm?”
“Around my throat,” she panted.
“Now break my hold!”
She yanked down, but he didn’t budge.
“You’re too small to do that. What else can you do?”
“I don’t know!” she sobbed.
“Always be unpredictable! Always do the unexpected! Think, Brooks! Think! Where’s my arm, damn it!”
Around her damn throat, she wanted to scream at him, but her heart raced so hard she felt nauseated. Around her throat!
Do the unexpected!
Without warning, she shoved upward, forcing his arm within range of her mouth.
“Good!” he snarled at her. “And what do you do now?”
“Use my teeth.”
“That’s right. You bite and you don’t let go!” He released her suddenly, spinning her around, then yanked her forward with a hand at the back of her neck. He placed his forehead against hers and his eyes bore into her. “Never give up! Never stop fighting! Not until they beat the last breath from your body! Never stop! Never give in! Not in your job and…” He glared at her. “Not in your personal life, do you hear me?”
She nodded, her breath hitching.
Werewolves in London (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 3) Page 8
