Mermaids in the Pacific (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 2)

by M. L. Hamilton

  You asked if I like living in Santa Cruz. Well, I don’t actually live in the city, but whenever we go, I like it a lot. Except there are a lot of people. That makes us all nervous. So many people. And they look at us strange. I think it’s because we wear clothes that aren’t bright colors. I told Thatcher that we might blend in better if we went to the thrift store, you know, where you can buy used clothes, but he said that blending was almost the same as lying.

  When we go to Santa Cruz, we take the big van. I asked Thatcher if I could learn to drive it since I’m sixteen and all, but he said that the government doesn’t let people with asthma drive. He said it was considered a danger to society because I might have an attack and pass out. I tried to look it up in the library, but I couldn’t find anything about it. I did find something that said they could restrict your license for health reasons, but it wasn’t very specific. Do you know if I can drive or not with asthma?

  I’m still working the garden, but sometimes it gets hard for me, especially in the spring when the grass gets a little high. Lately, I’ve been helping my sister out with her baby. She’s just a little thing, hardly more than four pounds, and she cries a lot. My sister isn’t getting a lot of sleep, so I trade off with her. Thatcher said this was okay, since I’m not much good doing the other things that the boys do. At least I can help.

  Thatcher says it’s important for each of us to find our calling. My sister has found hers and now maybe I have too, since she needs my help. Maybe this will be enough to let me stay here when I turn twenty-one. Even though I sometimes think I’d like to be part of the world in Santa Cruz, I’m afraid of it too. It seems so big and busy. How did Jeff make the adjustment when he left? Was it hard for him? Looking forward to hearing from you again.

  Your friend,

  Finn Getter

  CHAPTER 3

  Monday

  Marco could hear voices in the conference room as he walked into the precinct. He let the outer door close behind him and moved toward the half-door, pushing it open, his ears straining to catch the sounds. He recognized Katherine Defino’s voice, his past captain, now Deputy Chief of Police, but the other female voice was unfamiliar to him.

  His Administrative Assistant Carly wasn’t at her desk and he didn’t sense anyone else moving about the rest of the precinct. Did they have his entire staff in the conference room with them?

  “Inspector Cho,” came the unfamiliar voice, “do you have anything to add to this discussion?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Silence.

  Marco knew he shouldn’t snoop, but he couldn’t help it. If he crossed to his office now, they would see him from the open door. Cho had warned him that Internal Affairs would be at the precinct this morning, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d had to make his appointment with Dr. Ferguson and that put him at the precinct after Internal Affairs had already arrived.

  “Inspector Shotwell?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “You’re the newest member of this precinct. You must have a less biased view of the situation. Do you feel your interests are being properly represented at this point? Do you have confidence in the leadership Captain D’Angelo is providing you?”

  Marco tightened his grip on his cane. They certainly knew how to divide and conquer. He wasn’t entirely sure of Tag yet. They’d had their run-ins when she’d first come on and she hadn’t gotten along with Peyton.

  “I have complete faith in Captain D’Angelo,” she said.

  “No concerns of any kind?”

  “Not a one.”

  Marco released his held breath.

  “Well, I can see the blue wall is firmly in place.” Marco could hear some shuffling of papers, then the woman gave a heavy sigh. “You all have my card in case you’d like to talk in private. Please feel free to call, but unless you have anything you’d like to add, you are dismissed.”

  Marco wasn’t sure what to do. Did he go back out the door and pretend that he was just coming in, or did he move toward the conference room as if he’d just arrived?

  “Mr. Ryder, please stay,” came the voice.

  Marco went still. Crap. His officers might not give him away, but Jake wouldn’t feel that same sort of loyalty, and he was pissed because of Peyton. Before Marco could decide what to do, his people began filing out of the conference room. They all came to a halt when they saw him, but they didn’t say anything, just gave him significant looks.

  Stan was the last to leave and he pulled the conference door shut behind him, staring at Marco with enormous worried eyes.

  Tag leaned close to him, dropping her voice. “You need to get in there. They’ve got Ryder and you know what a wuss he is. They’ll have him talking in no time.”

  Marco gave her a weary shrug. He couldn’t do anything about what Jake might tell them.

  “She’s right, Captain,” said Cho. “You need to stop this.”

  “I can’t stop it. I brought it on myself.”

  “What about Ryder?” demanded Holmes. “Tag’s right. He’ll spill everything.”

  “If he does, he does, and if they pull each of you aside individually, you tell them the truth. Do you hear me? No lies. No holding back. You answer their questions.”

  “The hell you say,” grumbled big Bill Simons.

  “That’s a direct order, Bill. Do you understand me? All of you? You tell them the truth. This isn’t just Defino involved now. This is Internal Affairs.”

  Before they could answer, Marco shifted and walked to his office, disappearing inside.

  * * *

  A knock sounded at the door half an hour later. Marco blinked, realizing he’d just been sitting behind his desk, doing nothing. Well, that wasn’t exactly true, he’d been grappling with the pain in his thigh and thinking about Peyton. God, he missed her almost as much as he’d miss breathing if it were taken from him.

  “Come in.”

  The door opened and Defino poked her head inside. “Can I talk to you for a moment?”

  Marco motioned to the chair on the other side of his desk. It seemed strange to welcome Defino into the office that had been hers for so many years, but she came in and looked around, giving him a nod of approval.

  Sinking into the chair, she studied him a moment, her hands clasped, her eyes narrowed in concentration.

  Marco drummed his fingers on the blotter, then met her gaze. “Am I relieved of duty?”

  She tilted her head. “Should you be?”

  He held out his hands in a gesture of futility. He couldn’t really answer that. Logic dictated that they probably should remove him, but without the job, he’d go crazy. He needed a distraction.

  She crossed one leg over the other. “It was hard for me to leave the field. Did I ever tell you that?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She nodded. “I wasn’t sure what the hell I was doing. I felt so unprepared to take the reins and then the thought of sending my people out into potential danger scared me to death. That first year I must have thought about quitting a million times.”

  “I get that.”

  “I know you do.” She looked around the room. “But gradually, it started making sense, what I was doing, and my people became so loyal to me that I realized what a responsibility I had to them. I started seeing that we were all that stood between chaos and madness, and if we didn’t do our job, people got hurt, they died, they didn’t get justice. My people are the ones who did the protecting, the serving, the justice, but without me here to guide them, to direct them, chaos would rule.”

  Marco didn’t know how to answer her. He wasn’t feeling that at the moment. He was still longing for the street, for the fieldwork, for Peyton as his partner. That’s all he’d ever really wanted and now it was gone.

  “You have that loyalty, D’Angelo. You have that dedication already.” She pointed over her shoulder to the door. “Sam Watson tried and tried to get them to tell her what was going on. She threatened, she cajoled, she pleaded
, but they stood by you, every last one of them. They stood fast, declaring their loyalty. Even Jake. Even Jake.”

  Marco lifted his head and looked at her.

  She gave a chuckle. “I thought for sure he was the weak link. She’s good, Sam, she zeroed in on him at once, holding him back without the others, but he didn’t break, not even for a moment. He gave you his complete trust and devotion.”

  Marco swallowed hard. He didn’t know what to do with that.

  “Don’t you think such loyalty deserves something in return, D’Angelo? Don’t you think your people deserve to know that when you send them out on a call, you are sending them with full confidence in the job they have to do? Don’t you think they deserve a captain who is clear headed and focused on their safety?”

  Marco nodded, staring at the blotter.

  “Don’t you think they deserve a captain who’s sober and focused and dedicated to his job?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said.

  “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Marco. I don’t begin to understand what you’re facing, but pull it together, man, because if I have to come out here again…” Her voice trailed away.

  Marco met her gaze.

  “...it’ll be to remove you permanently from duty.”

  Then she pushed herself to her feet and walked to the door, yanking it open.

  Before she left, however, she paused and glanced at him over her shoulder. “If you need anything, you’ve only to ask.”

  Marco watched the door close behind her, then he swiveled around and reached blindly for the bottle of Scotch, but the credenza was empty. He stared at the spot, then searched through his desk, looking for anything, but someone had cleaned him out. He figured he could guess who that might be. Damn him. Abe had no right to interfere in this part of his life.

  He slumped in the chair and forced himself to draw a deep breath, holding it. His thigh ached horribly, as if someone was using a dull spoon to gouge at the muscles. He rubbed his knuckles against it and deliberately released his held breath.

  A knock sounded at the door and Carly poked her head inside. “Tag wants to see you.”

  “Send her in.”

  Tag pushed through the door and stood on the other side of his desk.

  “Take a seat,” said Marco, pointing to the chair.

  “If I want to sit, I’ll sit.”

  Marco frowned, but didn’t bother rising. Let her stand if she wanted.

  “We got a call.”

  “Okay?”

  “Father shot an intruder in his daughter’s bedroom last night around 2:00, but the cops who responded think it’s strange that there’s no sign of forced entry. Do you want me and Holmes to take it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fine.” She flipped around and moved to the door. Marco sensed tension in her

  “Tag?”

  She stopped and slowly swiveled to face him. “What?”

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Nope.” She gave a firm shake of her head, but Marco could tell it was a lie.

  “Tag, tell me what’s wrong.”

  She took a step back toward his desk. “Permission to speak freely, sir.”

  “Permission granted.”

  “Peyton’s my friend and I’m having a hard time accepting the way you dealt with her.”

  Marco leaned back in his chair. Damn it, he wanted a drink. “I see. Well, what happens between Peyton and me is personal and has nothing to do with my job as your captain. You’re disappointment in me is noted, but I would expect you to put that aside because when it comes down to it, I am your captain and I deserve your respect.”

  “As my captain, you are right.”

  Marco caught the double meaning of her words. She didn’t have to respect him as a man. She just had to do her job. “Good, I’m glad we understand one another.”

  She nodded, then went to the door and exited without a backward glance.

  Marco waited a moment, then he went back through the desk again, looking for any booze that Abe might have missed.

  * * *

  By the time Marco got back to Abe’s condo, his leg felt like it was burning from the inside out. He stripped off his suit and gun, forcing himself to hang them up, believing that such a mundane chore might trick him into believing he was okay, but he wasn’t. Slipping on a t-shirt and his athletic shorts, he was confronted with the twisted rope of scar tissue that had now become his thigh. In a moment of weakness, he searched through Abe’s cupboards for a drink and found nothing. He knew there’d be nothing. He’d watched Abe throw the booze away himself. Steeling his resolve, he walked out of the kitchen and went to his room. Sinking down on the bed, he grabbed the thigh with both hands and pressed on it, hoping the pressure would make the burning sensation ease. Nothing was helping.

  Leaning back against the headboard, he tried the breathing exercises Dr. Ferguson had taught him, but he could feel panic beginning to edge up inside of him. He couldn’t handle the pain. Not on his own. Not without help. He was going to have to go out and get something to dull it. Still, he knew this was a path back into the despair he’d been feeling the last few days. Drinking was a way to dull the other pain he felt, the pain of losing Peyton, but in an ironic twist, he knew that as long as he kept drinking, he couldn’t have her. He was in a vicious cycle of self-destruction, but the damn pain was gnawing at his control, making his heart pound.

  He didn’t even hear the door open, but Abe suddenly loomed at the end of his bed. He knew he was breathing too fast, sweat beading on his temples, but he couldn’t slow his heart or stop the panic.

  “What’s going on, Angel?” Abe said, coming to the side of the bed.

  “The pain’s making me crazy,” he said between clenched teeth. “You threw out all the booze, but I can’t do this, Abe. I can’t do this without Peyton.”

  Abe turned on a heel and left.

  Marco closed his eyes, fighting the panic, fighting the pain, and knowing he was losing. He couldn’t do this. Not without Peyton. She gave him strength to face each day – a reason to get up and keep fighting. So he drank to dull the pain, but at least then he’d been functioning. This wasn’t functioning. This was slowly going insane.

  Abe was back, holding a pill and a glass of water out to him. “Take this.”

  “You don’t want me to drink, but you want me to take pain pills?”

  “It’ll take the edge off. Take it.”

  Marco glared at him, but he grabbed the pill and popped it in his mouth, following it with the water. Abe took the glass from his hand and set it on the nightstand, then he reached for Marco’s wrist with his long fingers and felt his pulse, while he studied his watch.

  Marco knew his pulse was racing. He could feel his heart pounding in his ears.

  Abe released him and sat down on the bed. “You’re having a panic attack.”

  “You think?”

  “Look at me. You’ve got to calm down. I want you to take a deep breath and hold it.”

  Marco forced himself to comply.

  “That’s good. Hold it. Now slowly release it.”

  His breath left him in a shivery pant.

  “Good. Now take another and hold it.”

  Marco kept his eyes fixed on Abe’s face, the purple and silver beads on the end of his dreadlocks. He sucked in air and held it.

  “Good. Now release.”

  Marco did what he told him. The pain still raged from his knee to his groin, but it wasn’t quite as all-consuming now.

  “Close your eyes, Angel.”

  “Abe.”

  “Just do it. Close your eyes and imagine the ocean.”

  “I hate this shit,” he said, but he closed his eyes.

  “Good. Now imagine the ocean. Can you see the waves? Can you hear the surf?”

  Marco tried to pull an image into his mind.

  “Hear the surge of the water.” Abe’s fingers closed over his wrist again. “That’s it. Watch the waves rise, recede
, back and forth, back and forth.”

  On and on droned Abe’s voice and Marco allowed himself to be lost in the imagery, the imagination, the calm.

  “That’s good. Keep breathing. Slowly. In and out. Watch the waves. Hear the surf.”

  The bed shifted as Abe rose to his feet. Marco was vaguely aware that he went to the door and stepped out into the hallway, but he tried to keep the calm folded about him, tried to keep his breathing steady, focusing on the visual picture Abe had given him. The pain had become something he could battle, something he could ignore.

  Marco opened his eyes. He could see Abe silhouetted in the doorway, talking on his cell phone.

  “Hey, Grey, it’s Abe.” He chuckled. “Yeah, how’s Sarah and the boys? Good, yeah, good. Busy. The dead are always needing their internal organs removed. Yeah, I know, but you smoked me the last time. I’m just not golf material. Can’t see any reason to wander around trying to hit a stupid little ball into a metal cup. I think it’s a straight man’s gig anyway, although I do love the pants.”

  Who the hell was he talking to?

  “Listen, Grey, I’m calling in a favor. Yeah, I know, but I got you a discount on that casket. Come on, man, that beauty was top of the line. Dracula would have loved that casket, right?” He laughed again. “Actually, no, this is for a friend, a very good friend.” Abe paused. “Ha, I wish, but my Angel’s straight. The entire gay community held a wake over that one, let me tell you. No, look, Greyson, I really need your help with this.”

  Abe’s voice trailed away as he moved toward the kitchen. Marco figured he should probably follow him and find out what the hell he was doing, put up some sort of fight, but whatever Abe had given him was beginning to work and he felt as boneless as gelatin. He couldn’t summon up the energy necessary to stand and he wasn’t sure he’d be able to stand even if he tried. Closing his eyes again, he brought up the image of the ocean and listened to the rhythmic sound of the waves.

  * * *