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

by M. L. Hamilton

  “Dr. Chamberlain.”

  “No.”

  “Abe said I had to take you, so let’s go.”

  “Abe doesn’t carry a gun, I do. Abe isn’t your captain, I am. You might want to rethink who you take orders from.”

  “Abe said to take you and that’s what I’m doing. He said to ask you if you wanted your autopsy on Quentin Greer.”

  “Abe has to give me the autopsy no matter what, so…that argument is weak sauce, Ryder.”

  Jake shrugged. “He can drag his heels on it.”

  “Not for long.” He put his head down again.

  He heard Jake come into the room and take a seat in the chair across from him. “How did it go with Amy Cook?”

  Marco looked up again. “What?”

  “How did it go? Did she testify?”

  Marco ground his teeth. “Yeah, she testified. She did exactly what I asked her to do.”

  Jake leveled a look on him. “Amy Cook faced a room of lawyers and judges…”

  “And the NRA.”

  “Damn! So that little girl faced all that and gave testimony about her own father, but you…you can’t face going to the doctor.”

  Marco didn’t move for a moment, but when he did, he grabbed his cane so violently, Jake jumped. “Fine. Let’s go.”

  “We’re taking the Daisy.”

  “We are not taking the Daisy.”

  “I get to drive.”

  “You do not get to drive.”

  Jake rose and faced him as he came around the desk. “Then I call shotgun.”

  Marco fought the laugh that sprang to the surface and glared him down. “Fine. You get shotgun.”

  * * *

  He finished buttoning his pants, tucking his shirt into the waistband. Taking a seat, he grabbed his shoes and socks and began tugging them on, feeling edgy and angry and wanting a drink so bad he could almost taste the Jack Daniels on his tongue.

  Just as he finished, Dr. Chamberlain came into the room, carrying a sleeve for x-rays. He hooked a stool and pulled it over in front of him, sitting down and pressing his hands together on the x-ray sleeve. Marco stared at those hands instead of the man who possessed them. He didn’t want to hear what Chamberlain had to say.

  Greyson Chamberlain was of average height with a full head of grey hair, a long clean-shaven face, and a prominent brow-ridge with deep-set pale brown eyes. Caucasian with a slight hint of a Bostonian accent.

  “I’m glad you came in, Captain D’Angelo.”

  “But…” He shot a glance at him.

  Chamberlain’s thick brows rose. “But?”

  “I heard a but in there.” Marco leaned back in the chair, running his hands up his thighs. “Look, I know there’s nothing you can do.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Marco hesitated. He didn’t want to believe it. He didn’t want to hope for anything. “Okay?”

  “Our first priority is pain management. The degree of pain you’re feeling must be unbearable. We’re going to work to control it, but eventually, I want to fix it.”

  “Fix it?”

  “I’ll talk about that in a minute.” He pulled out an x-ray and held it up. Marco almost couldn’t look at the metal and bone fragment mess that was his own thigh. “The second thing is to give you more stability. I’m not certain you’ll ever be without the cane, but at least we can give you more strength in that bone.”

  Black spots danced in Marco’s field of vision and he lowered his head, closing his eyes.

  Chamberlain put a hand on his shoulder. “Are you all right, Captain D’Angelo?”

  “Give me a minute.”

  He heard the stool roll away, then running water. The hand returned to his shoulder. “Here. Drink this.”

  He opened his eyes to see a small paper cup before him. He grabbed it and gulped it down as Chamberlain took his seat again.

  “I understand how you feel. Abe told me you’d pretty much given up hope.”

  Marco nodded, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

  “I’m not telling you I can give you the leg you once had, but I can improve it.”

  “If you can even take away a little of the pain, I’ll manage the rest of it.”

  Chamberlain smiled. “We can do more. So like I said, first is pain management. I want to try a TENS.”

  “Tens?”

  “Transcutaneous Electric Nerve Stimulation. We’ll get you set up with one today before you leave. It’s a battery operated unit with electrodes applied to the skin to send electrical pulses into the nerves. I’ve had good short-term results with it. It’s non-invasive, so that’s a good first step.”

  Marco could only nod. His throat felt too tight to speak.

  “Then I want to send you back to physical therapy. I want you to start water therapy and add in ultrasound. This will also help with strengthening the leg. Finally, you need another surgery.”

  “Surgery?”

  “The TENS isn’t going to permanently solve your pain, and it isn’t going to answer the instability of the bone. You need a bone graft and I think you need a nerve-block. I’m recommending a three-in-one nerve block of the femoral, obturator, and sciatic nerves.”

  “How long is recovery?”

  “It’ll be much the same as it was before, but without the pain, you’ll be able to do physical rehabilitation with better results.”

  Marco rubbed a hand over his forehead. He couldn’t process everything the doctor was saying. “I’m never going to remember all of this.”

  Chamberlain laughed. “With your permission, I’ll explain it to Abe, then he can discuss it with you when you’re over the shock.”

  Marco nodded, staring at the x-ray in Chamberlain’s hand. He felt tears threaten in his eyes. “I didn’t think there was hope.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  He looked up at the doctor, blinking hard. “I don’t know how much Abe has told you.”

  Dr. Chamberlain smiled. “Let’s say Abe’s not a man who believes in secrets.”

  Marco laughed. “Let’s say that.”

  “I know you’ve been drinking.”

  “I haven’t drank in nearly a week, but it’s a daily battle.”

  “And that may still be a battle, but hopefully by the end of this, you won’t be reaching for the bottle because of pain.”

  “I left my fiancée because of this, because I didn’t feel like I was the same person anymore.”

  Chamberlain sighed. “Like I said before, Captain D’Angelo, I’m not able to give you back the leg you once had, but I’ve found that people get a lot of clarity once the pain is managed. Pain makes us lose ourselves. It becomes so consuming that we can’t focus on what’s important in life.” He gave a short chuckle. “I’m not a marriage counselor, but I am proud to say I’ve saved a few marriages in my time just by eliminating someone’s pain.”

  Marco smiled. “Thank you, Dr. Chamberlain. Thank you for seeing me.”

  “It’s my pleasure, Captain D’Angelo. Besides, seeing Abe Jefferson in my office always gives me and my staff endless pleasure.”

  “Is he out there now?”

  “Yeah. He has the office staff rolling on the floor.”

  “What’s he wearing today?”

  “It looks like parachute pants in red, blue and yellow bands of color going down his legs and a sky blue colored shirt with hot air balloons all over it.”

  Marco burst into laughter. “That’s new.”

  “I’ll bet.”

  “Here’s the really sad part. Every morning before I leave for work, I hang back just long enough to see his latest outfit.”

  Chamberlain laughed as well. “It must be like living in a carnival.”

  “A circus.”

  “Mardi Gras.”

  Marco looked down, trying to contain the sudden emotion filling him. Dr. Chamberlain rose to his feet and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s get you fitted with the TENS and help you take your life back.”

&nb
sp; Marco couldn’t answer, just nod.

  CHAPTER 18

  Tuesday

  Peyton bolted awake, her heart crowding her throat, her body drenched in sweat. She tented her knees and raked her fingers into the hair at her temples. The dream was always the same. She found herself locked in a box of some kind, the walls closing in on her, the heat stifling. Bang, kick, punch with all her might and she could never escape. Gradually breathing would become difficult and she’d find herself giving up. Always she reach the point of giving up, but just when she did, Marco would rescue her. Not tonight. Tonight she’d hit that point where she lay down on the ground, curling into a fetal position, but no one came. No one opened the door.

  Angry with herself, she tossed back the covers and swung her legs to the floor. The bedside clock said 5:30AM. Might as well give up on sleep for tonight. Pickles looked over at her from the comfort of his bed, but with a groan of doggy suffering, he rolled onto his back and went to sleep again.

  “Typical man,” she said to him as she walked into the bathroom. He didn’t respond.

  Splashing water on her face, she fixed her ponytail and stripped off her tank top and sleeping shorts. Then she forced herself to tug on her jogging clothes. As she was lowering the shirt, she caught sight of the two scars in the mirror from where she’d been tasered. A shiver raced over her, but she fought it off and returned to the bedroom, grabbing her sneakers. Tugging them on, she realized she was angry. And Marco was the target.

  He’d left her to fend for herself. After all the years they spent together, he left her to focus on himself. She depended on him. She needed him. He was her rock, her stability, her center, and now that center had removed himself, leaving her behind.

  She viciously tugged on her shoelaces. She hated weak women. She hated women who said they couldn’t live without a man, so why wasn’t she getting over this loss? Why wasn’t she moving on?

  Rising to her feet, she walked into the living room and forced herself to cross to the door. She hesitated with her hand on the doorknob, then reached over and grabbed her gun, strapping it on. As an added precaution, she picked up her badge and tucked it into her waistband, then opened the door.

  The San Francisco fog met her. It was a welcome friend that curled around her and enveloped her in its familiarity. She jogged down the ramp and paused at the bottom, stretching. Memories of Marco came back to her. How many times had they done this very thing together? Well, until he’d been hurt. Then the jogging had stopped.

  Anger bled away, replaced by sadness. An ache bloomed in her chest whenever she thought of all he’d lost, of all he’d been forced to give up. Marco was a man who depended on his physical size and prowess, but he’d been robbed of it. And she’d hadn’t realized how much he was hurting because she’d started her new job.

  She didn’t want to think about that, so she forced herself to start running. Still the thoughts wouldn’t be banished so easily. She’d left him struggling, so she could work the job with the FBI. Shit, she’d left him to train at Quantico when he’d just started his physical therapy. Had she stayed with him would things be different? Had she been there when he needed her most, would he have chosen to stay with her when he felt himself slipping? Maybe this was all her fault. Maybe he couldn’t trust her to stay with him during the most difficult times because she hadn’t been there before. Maybe he had to leave because he knew she couldn’t handle it.

  She made him into her rock, but she hadn’t been a rock for him.

  Running harder, she tamped the thought down as deep as she could, but it kept pushing its way to the surface, until the cadence of her run almost seemed like an accusatory voice whispering that she’d left him over and over in her mind.

  Returning to the house, she fed Pickles, took him on his customary one block walk (he refused to go farther unless he was carried), and returned to take a shower. As she was applying a quick swipe of mascara, her cell phone rang.

  Missing Marco had become a weight in her chest, so she didn’t even look at the display as she answered it, hoping it was him. Maria’s voice filled the line.

  “Hey, girlfriend.”

  “Hey, Maria.”

  “What you doing tonight?”

  “Probably working.”

  “You gots to eat at some point, right?”

  “Sure.”

  “Cho and me want you to meet us at Dosa on Valencia for dinner.”

  “Dosa?”

  “Indian restaurant. You like Indian food?”

  “Sure.” When she’d dated Devan, he took her to a different ethnic restaurant almost every night. They’d eaten more than their share of Indian food. “Can I ask why?”

  “We want to see you.”

  “You saw me on Saturday, Maria.”

  “So I gotta make an appointment or something?”

  “Well...you did call to ask me to clear my schedule for dinner.”

  “Why you do this to me, Brooks? I’m your best friend. Best friends go to dinner. Will you meet us or not? We got reservations at 6:30.”

  “Okay! Okay. I’ll be there. Shesh. Does anyone ever say no to you, Maria?”

  “Not twice. Later, Brooks.” Then she hung up.

  Peyton gave a little laugh and shook her head, returning to the bedroom to change into her suit. Before she had her shirt buttoned, the phone rang again. She looked at the display this time to avoid the stab of disappointment she felt when it wasn’t Marco.

  “Hey, Abe.”

  “Hey, little soul sista, how are you this beautiful, foggy San Francisco morning?”

  “I’m fine. Just trying to get ready for work.” She hesitated, then blurted out what she wanted to know. “How’s Marco?”

  “Oh, so you do remember him.”

  “Abe!”

  “I just wasn’t sure, seeing as you were already moving onto a new dressed-up dude.”

  “Abe!”

  “Come on, sweets, what are you thinking?”

  “Nothing. I told you he’s just a friend.”

  “Um hm. I know how you collect them strays, sugar, and that particular stray isn’t feeling the friend zone with you.”

  “It’s fine, Abe.”

  “No, it’s not. Think about it, sweets. The damn fool fell off a bicycle. He’s a full grown man, sugar. What full grown man falls off a bicycle and gets hit by a car in a grocery store parking lot?”

  Peyton laughed. It was a bit ridiculous. “He wasn’t paying attention.”

  “Really? He got Alzheimer’s or something?”

  “That’s not very nice.”

  “I’m not the one who’s gotta be nice, sugar. That’s your job. That’s why you collect all us strays.”

  “You’re terrible.”

  “Now you listen to me, little girl. Even the SPCA gets full sometimes. You gotta stop doing this. You don’t need any more sad-eyed puppies following you around. Cut this one loose.”

  “Abe.”

  “I’m not playing, sugar. This Mike guy isn’t all there. I didn’t say a word when you took in Jake. I love me some Jakey. And Maria’s my girl. Tag was a bit of a stretch, but her happy tattoo makes up for a lot of crimes. But this guy…this guy…”

  “Is what?”

  “He fell off his bike in a grocery store parking lot, Peyton!”

  A laugh bubbled out of Peyton again. Damn, Abe always knew how to cheer her up. “Okay, okay, I get it. I won’t see him again.”

  “Whew! Damn it, girl, you don’t have to make it so hard. Between you and Angel, I’m a busy man.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “You take care and I’ll call you later, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “Love you, sweets.”

  “Love you too, Abe.”

  Then he was gone.

  * * *

  Peyton scrubbed a hand across her face and grabbed for the coffee Margaret had left them all, taking a sip. Hers had four packets of sugar in it, but Margaret had added the sugar in the break-room so
the others couldn’t see. Peyton was becoming more and more attached to Margaret.

  “Okay, what else? He hasn’t shown up at shelters, he hasn’t gone to any of the churches we’ve called.”

  “I’ll look in the police database and see if he was picked up for vagrancy,” offered Bambi, clicking away on her laptop.

  “Good.”

  Tank scratched at his crew-cut. “What about unemployment offices? I’ll check and see if he filed a claim.”

  “Better.” Peyton chewed on her bottom lip. “What if he didn’t stay in San Francisco?”

  They glanced over at her.

  “What if he had to leave? Or what if he’s still in Santa Cruz? What else does a person need to become a full-fledged member of society no matter where they are?”

  “Driver’s license,” said Bambi.

  “Social Security Card,” offered Tank.

  “I’ll look those up.” Peyton began clicking away. The Driver’s license turned up nothing, but she decided to try his birth certificate where she finally got a hit. He’d been born in Ogden, Utah to Susan and Henry Getter. Upon his birth, his parents had applied for a Social Security card. Peyton followed that to see if maybe Finn had applied for Social Security benefits. Nothing.

  His letter said his mother died. She went searching for a death certificate. She found the record from the County Coroner’s office about her cremation. She searched for Finn himself, but with a sigh of relief, didn’t find a death certificate.

  “I got nothing in the police database,” said Bambi.

  “And the unemployment office is a bust.”

  “No death certificate, so that’s something. I have a social security number and a birth certificate. Let me see if I can locate his father. He was born in Utah. Maybe Finn went there.” She clicked on the website and searched for Henry Getter. A death record appeared on the screen, showing he died when Finn was three. He wouldn’t have even remembered his father. “His father’s dead too.”

  “What about grandparents? Aunts? Uncles?”

  “That’s going to take a lot more searching.”

  “I’ll try Facebook,” offered Bambi and she went back to clicking.

  “I’ll try the other social media sites that young people go on. Maybe once he was away from this Thatcher guy, he decided to enter the modern world as a full-fledged member,” said Tank.