Zombies in the Delta (Peyton Brooks, FBI Book 1) Read online

  Zombies in the Delta

  Peyton Brooks, FBI

  Volume 1

  ML Hamilton

  Cover Art by Karri Klawiter

  www.artbykarri.com

  Photography by Jared Lugo

  Zombies in the Delta

  © 2014 ML Hamilton, Sacramento, CA

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means without written permission from the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed by a newspaper, magazine or journal.

  First print

  All Characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  As I embark on this new adventure with Peyton, I want to thank my loyal fans who have been with me since the beginning and I want to welcome my new readers. I hope to turn you into fans. As always, my family deserves the most credit for encouraging the pursuit of a lifelong dream.

  And finally, to Cousin Gail, here be your zombies.

  “I also have always liked the monster within idea. I like the zombies being us.”

  -- George A. Romero

  Table of Contents

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  CHAPTER 3

  CHAPTER 4

  CHAPTER 5

  CHAPTER 6

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  EPILOGUE

  CHAPTER 1

  Marco slipped his arm around Peyton’s waist and brushed back her mane of wild curls with his other hand, pressing his lips to her throat. She lowered her mascara brush and leaned into him.

  “Come back to bed,” he said. “Let’s play hooky today.”

  “Hooky? What are you? From the 1950s?”

  His lips trailed down to her shoulder. “Come on.”

  “We’ve played hooky for two weeks. Did you forget?”

  He looked up at her in the mirror, his blue eyes smoky and undeniably sexy. “Let’s go back to the islands.”

  “We have to work, so we can afford trips to the islands.”

  “No we don’t. We just need enough to get back there, then we’ll live off the land.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll fish and you can collect coconuts.”

  She smiled. “The vegetarian’s going to fish?”

  “Okay, I’ll collect coconuts and you fish.”

  She turned and ran her hands up his chest. He wore a white, ribbed tank-top over his suit pants. “I don’t want to be late on my first day. And you can’t be late either.”

  “I can.” He pressed her back against the sink, his eyes lowering to her mouth. “I’m the captain.” Then he kissed her.

  She returned the kiss, arching into him. He was tempting her and she was weak where he was concerned. Breaking away, she laid her hands flat against his chest. “Well, I’m not captain. I’m a lowly grunt and I need to get ready. Please, Marco, don’t make me late.”

  He gave a sigh and backed away, limping into the other room. She turned to the mirror and picked up her mascara brush, but hesitated. Grabbing her phone off the top of the toilet, she thumbed it on and looked at the time.

  Maybe they had a few minutes to spare after all.

  Replacing the mascara brush, she hurried into the other room, searching for him.

  * * *

  “You’re late!”

  Peyton grimaced.

  Her new boss gave her a scowl. She had her arms crossed over her chest, her booted foot tapping on the marble tiles. Her crisp black suit was pressed perfectly and her dark hair was gathered in a tight bun at the back of her head. Although the suit was sexless and boring, Rosa Alvarez was a beautiful woman.

  Peyton always felt short and bedraggled by comparison. Then there was Marco’s sexual history with this woman. She pushed her briefcase to the side and smoothed her hands down her own black suit.

  Rosa gave her a severe once over. Six months ago, she’d showed up in Peyton’s precinct looking for FBI recruits. Peyton hadn’t given it much thought, but after they’d solved a serial killer case, Rosa offered her a special dispensation. Five months of training in Quantico and two weeks vacation in the Virgin Islands later, and Peyton was reporting for her first day of work.

  By the look on Rosa’s face, she wasn’t impressed.

  Peyton knew she shouldn’t have been late, but it was hard to regret the reason or the man who had put her in this position. “I’m sorry. I misjudged the traffic.”

  Rosa’s scowl deepened. “It won’t happen again.” It wasn’t a question.

  Peyton nodded.

  “Do something with that hair.”

  Peyton reached up and touched her curls. “Okay.”

  “Worry about it later. Right now I want you to meet the team.”

  “Okay.”

  Rosa narrowed her eyes. “I hope you haven’t forgotten all words except okay.”

  Peyton opened her mouth to respond, then thought better of it. She was already regretting her decision to accept Rosa as her boss. And Peyton knew herself well. If Rosa didn’t back off, at least a little, Peyton was liable to say something that would get her fired.

  “Let’s go.”

  The elevator had let Peyton out into a cubicle jungle. People wandered through the maze of partitions and half-walls, carrying folders, talking on cell phones, or walking rapidly. She could see glass windows along the periphery that she assumed led to offices or conference rooms.

  Rosa circled around the outer edge of the cubicles moving toward the wall opposite the elevator. The partitions were utilitarian grey, the carpet under foot grey with black checks, the chairs and desks and flat screen computers all varying shades of grey. And every person she saw was dressed in the same unisex black suit, white shirt and black tie.

  She herself had chosen not to wear a tie, but now she felt under-dressed. Not to mention that not a single woman had her hair down. She started to gather the heavy mass in her hand as she jogged along behind Rosa, but she remembered the only clip she had was in her briefcase.

  Rosa stopped in front of an office. The name placard on the door was empty, but Peyton could see beyond her to a grey desk, grey desk chair, and grey file cabinets. “Your office,” she said, giving Peyton a frown.

  Peyton dropped her hair.

  Rosa’s eyes zeroed in on her left hand and she reached out, catching her wrist and pulling her hand toward her. “You’re engaged?”

  “Uh…” Peyton felt a moment of panic. Was that not allowed? It had to be allowed. The FBI didn’t own her. “Yeah.”

  “To Marco?”

  The panic solidified. “Yeah.” She tamped it down and lifted her chin. “Is that a problem?”

  Rosa narrowed her eyes. “No, he just doesn’t seem the type.”

  Peyton wasn’t sure what to do with that.

  Rosa looked back at the office. “Drop your briefcase off and come on. Your name plate should arrive in a few days.”

  Peyton wanted some time to look around the office. She’d never had an office before, but Rosa was tapping her foot again. She squeezed past her and laid her briefcase on the L-shaped desk. A row of upper cabinets lined the wall to the right of her and beneath that was her computer and a telephone with what looked like a million lines.

  “We also ordered business cards. If you need anything else, tell Margaret. She takes care of the clerical needs fo
r your unit.”

  “Margaret.” Peyton nodded.

  Rosa made an impatient motion with her chin. “Come on. I’ve got a lot to do today and you’re only one unit I supervise.”

  Peyton followed her back into the cubicle jungle. Rosa made a sharp left and continued along the back wall.

  “So, I can’t believe he asked you to marry him,” she said.

  Peyton didn’t feel like talking about this with Rosa Alvarez of all people. “Yep.”

  “When’s the wedding?”

  “Uh, this October.”

  “Six months from now, eh?”

  “Yep.”

  Rosa gave her an arch look. “You used to be more eloquent. What happened to you in Quantico?”

  Peyton shrugged. It wasn’t Quantico. It was Rosa Alvarez.

  “So, where you having the wedding?”

  “I don’t know yet. My friend Abe’s planning it.”

  “A man?”

  “Well, he’s gay.”

  Rosa gave a short nod. “And you don’t have a place picked out yet? Don’t you usually need to book them a year ahead of time?”

  Peyton gave her a bewildered look. “I don’t know.”

  Rosa shook her head, then pushed open a door on their left. It opened on a conference room with a square table and a bank of windows that looked out over Golden Gate Avenue. Three other people occupied the room, sitting in armchairs around the table – two men and one woman.

  They rose as Peyton and Rosa entered.

  “Peyton Brooks, these are your team members.”

  She pointed to a middle aged man, mid-forties, Hispanic heritage, with thick black hair, clean shaven face, deep set penetrating black eyes. He was about 5’10”, lean and fit. He dressed like everyone else she’d seen, except he had a pair of sunglasses tucked into the neck of his shirt.

  “This is Carlos Moreno. He’s the lead. We call him Radar.”

  Peyton stepped forward and shook his hand. “Nice to meet you,” she said, offering him a smile. He didn’t return it, but one black brow quirked as he looked her over.

  Next Rosa pointed to the woman. Up close she didn’t look like she could be more than sixteen years old. Her skin was clear and dewy, her eyes a brilliant shade of blue, her blond hair gathered in a thick ponytail halfway down her back. She had to be as tall as Carlos or taller, a perfect hourglass figure, large breasts, small waist, curvy hips. She would have been Marco’s type just a few months ago.

  “This is Emma Redford. She’s the explosives expert. We call her Bambi.”

  Shit, thought Peyton. Bambi’s right.

  She beamed a huge, gorgeous smile and clasped Peyton’s hand in both of her own. “Aren’t you adorable? I love this hair.” She reached up and bounced her hand against Peyton’s curls.

  Peyton took an involuntary step back.

  Rosa rolled her eyes, then motioned to the other man. He might not have been as tall as Marco, but he was at least 6’ 3”, and he had Marco by a good fifty pounds. That tonnage was all solid muscle, however. He had a crew-cut and a square blocky face, and he reminded Peyton of a truck.

  “Meet Thomas Campbell, also known as Tank. He’s our white collar expert. Well, general expert of any kind.”

  Peyton couldn’t deny she felt intimidated as she gave him her hand. He shook it vigorously and released her, but he didn’t speak.

  “Good,” said Rosa, “now your team’s complete.” She gave Peyton a slow appraisal. “Welcome to the Ghost Squad, Special Agent Brooks.”

  Peyton frowned. She didn’t know what the hell that was supposed to mean.

  * * *

  Marco stood in the middle of Captain Defino’s office, taking it all in. The glass desk had been replaced with a solid oak number he’d picked out of storage. It had a million drawers he didn’t know what to do with. A leather blotter covered the surface, but Marco wasn’t about to keep that. Same with the leather desk chair.

  The blinds over the window had been replaced with curtains in navy blue, heavy and masculine, but right now they were drawn back, so sunlight filtered into the room. Two navy armchairs sat before the desk and behind it was an oak credenza with more drawers and cabinets.

  The only other object in the room was a phone, sitting on the corner of the desk.

  Defino always had a number of things around the edge of her desk – picture frames, staplers, caddies for paper clips – all things Peyton hadn’t been able to resist touching whenever she was in here. Marco smiled and leaned heavily on his cane. He was already missing Peyton.

  She’d tell him what to do now.

  Maria stuck her head inside the door. She’d been Captain Defino’s secretary, but she’d agreed to stay for a bit, to get him settled and to hire a new secretary. Then she was moving to Captain Defino’s new office with the Chief of Police. Actually, Captain Defino was now Deputy Chief of Police and he needed to remember that.

  “Hey, baby, just checking in. Anything you need?”

  He glanced over at her. “I need a new blotter and desk chair. Those are leather.”

  “Got it. I’ll place the order before I go. Do you want me to remove the old ones and get you something in the meantime?”

  “I can do it.”

  She stepped into the room and snatched the blotter off the desk, then circled around to the chair and wheeled it past him. “That’s what your Administrative Assistant does, baby.”

  As she pushed it past him, Marco felt sure his Administrative Assistant didn’t need to move furniture for him, but Maria would feel he couldn’t do it himself, not with his leg the way it was. The gunshot wound that had shattered his thigh bone had also robbed Marco of his belief in his own invincibility. And it made everyone else doubt his strength.

  He drew a deep breath, trying to tamp down on his frustration.

  Looking around again, he didn’t know what he was supposed to do. For the last six months, he’d been out of the loop. He wasn’t sure he even knew what cases they had.

  Maria appeared a moment later, pushing his old desk chair before her. She swung it around the desk, then gave him a smile.

  “You look lost.”

  “I am.”

  “Come sit down.” She patted the back of the chair.

  He wanted to tell her he didn’t need to sit down, but he was worried it would come out testy. He also wasn’t thrilled with gimping his way to the chair in front of her, but she wasn’t budging. Gritting his teeth, he caned his way to the chair and sank into it. He ran a hand over his thigh, sliding it under the desk and hooking the cane over the arm of the chair.

  Abe, the precinct’s M.E. and Peyton’s best friend, had gotten him an ornately carved blackthorn walking cane with a silver handle. Although he found it ridiculous, he used it because it held up better than anything else they’d given him and right now, his leg wasn’t strong enough to bear his weight without help. Still, it made him feel like an old man.

  He fussed with his tie. Damn, he missed being an inspector, wearing what he wanted to wear, spending as little time as possible at his desk. Most of the time he’d spent out with Peyton. Hours running down leads, talking in the car, locating people who didn’t want to be located – just being with her, breathing the same air, occupying the same space.

  He thought he missed her when she was in Quantico, but in some ways this was worse. He missed knowing that his day belonged to her and her alone. The two weeks they’d had in the islands wasn’t enough. They needed a lifetime together, a century of just being with each other.

  Maria moved around the desk. “Tell me what you need.”

  He looked up at her. She gave him a patient smile and he forced himself to focus on the job, not Peyton. “I need all of the case files we’re working right now.”

  “On it. There isn’t much, but I’ll get what we have.”

  “Good. Then I need to know where everyone is. I should probably have a meeting or something, right?”

  “Right. Let me get the case files, then I�
��ll call a meeting for tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon I’ll have an Administrative Assistant in place and start training her for you. Any preference?”

  “Preference?”

  “On assistants? Old, young, ugly, pretty?”

  Marco gave a laugh. “I’ll let you decide that.”

  “Young and pretty it is,” she said, giving him a wink and backing from the room. “That’ll keep your fiancée on her toes.”

  Marco chewed his inner lip. Actually, that probably wasn’t the best plan, but Maria was already gone.

  * * *

  A woman in her late fifties poked her head inside Peyton’s office. Peyton turned from the window where she was watching the traffic and smiled at her. She had short hair feathered back from her face and plastered to her head with a gallon of hairspray, a white sweater buttoned at the neck over a floral silk blouse, and black slacks. She wore sensible flats and a string of pearls around her neck.

  “Special Agent Brooks, I’m Margaret Jones, I’ll be your assistant.”

  Peyton moved around the desk and held out her hand. Margaret took it and gave her a warm smile.

  “Just call me Peyton, please.”

  “Not a problem. I’ve ordered you a placard for your door and a new set of business cards. They should arrive in a few days. I’ve stocked the desk with paper and pens and paperclips. Is there anything else you’d like?”

  Peyton shook her head. “I can’t think of anything.”

  “How do you take your coffee?”

  “My coffee?”

  “Yes, I like to have it waiting for you when you get in.”

  “Oh, that’s not necessary. I can get my own coffee.” She didn’t want Margaret knowing exactly how much sugar she took.

  “I don’t mind.”

  “It’s all right, Margaret. I don’t drink a lot of coffee.”

  “Well, Sarge asked me to show you around. You know, all the essentials? Bathroom, break room, etc.”

  “Sarge?”

  “Special Agent in Charge Rosa Alvarez.”

  “Does everyone have a nickname?”