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

  He held up a hand. “They’re FBI.”

  “Just her,” said Marco, picking at his salad.

  The girl came over to the table. “FBI?”

  “Investigating the zombie,” said Doug with a meaningful look.

  The girl focused on Peyton. “Do you know who it is?”

  “We’re working on it. Do you know Li Wang?”

  “I’ve seen him. I don’t really know him. He eats here sometimes. Is he a suspect?”

  “No,” said Peyton quickly. “We just want to talk to him since he works at the Harwood farm.”

  “That’s where two of the bodies were found,” she answered.

  “Right.”

  “I don’t know much about him. He works for a lot of farms around here.”

  “I already told her that,” said Doug. He tapped her arm. “I think it’s Old Man Harwood.”

  “He’s dead,” she scolded.

  “Undead.”

  Her brown eyes swung to Peyton. “You don’t think it’s Old Man Harwood, do you?”

  Peyton bit her inner lip and shook her head. She could see Marco smirking as he ate his salad. “No, I don’t think it’s Old Man Harwood. I don’t think it’s a zombie. I think there’s one type of dead and that’s just dead.”

  Doug gave her a worried shake of his head. “I’d hate to be you when that turns out to be wrong.”

  Peyton started to respond, then thought better of it. Didn’t seem to be much point in arguing. “Look, if you think of something, remember something, will you give me a call?’

  “Yeah.” He picked up the napkin and studied it. “Special Agent Peyton Brooks, I’ll call ya.”

  “Thanks,” she said, tearing off a piece of her grilled cheese to give to Pickles.

  * * *

  Peyton and Marco arrived at the church for the 10:00 Mass. The entire D’Angelo clan converged on them: Mona and Leo, Marco’s parents, his three older brothers and their wives, and an entire collection of nieces and nephews. The D’Angelos were a close knit family and not opposed to greet any occasion with a round of boisterous hugging. Peyton adored them all.

  Mona placed her hands on Peyton’s cheeks, kissing her forehead. “I’m so glad you got him to come.”

  “I can’t take the credit for that, Mona. Dr. Ferguson mandated it.”

  “Whatever reason, I’m just glad you’re here. Everything will be all right now.” She kissed Peyton again.

  Peyton forced a smile. She wasn’t sure this would make everything all right, but she wasn’t about to take that comfort away from Marco’s mother. Mona’s decision to save Marco’s leg had been a contentious one among the family, who thought he’d stand a better chance at a normal life with a prosthesis. Even Marco sometimes expressed that feeling. Still, Mona hadn’t been able to make the decision to take his leg, and her word was final.

  Raised Catholic, the adult Marco had strayed from his religion, another bone of contention with his mother. Finding a way to welcome him back into the fold had been her primary goal for many years now, and for some reason, she saw Peyton as an ally.

  Not that Peyton minded. Her parents had been ardent church goers when she was a child and sometimes she missed that connection to something spiritual, to something outside the depravity and mayhem she experienced on her job.

  Mona hooked her arm through her youngest son’s and turned him toward the church. “Let’s get seats.”

  Marco gave Peyton an uncertain look as he allowed his mother to propel him toward the doors. When Peyton moved to follow them, she caught Antonio’s gaze. Antonio was Vinnie’s oldest son and nearly a year ago, he’d been in a bad car accident. His leg had broken, but after surgery and an extensive round of physical therapy, the leg had healed well. However, now he watched his uncle with a worried expression.

  Peyton slipped her arm through his. “How are you, Tonio? How’s your senior year?”

  “Good.” He tipped his chin at his uncle. “He doesn’t look so good.”

  “It takes time. You remember that.”

  “Yeah.” He still looked worried. “I guess so. It’s just he’s always been...you know, the tough one.”

  Peyton smiled at him. “He still is. The tough has always been on the inside.”

  Antonio returned her smile and they entered the church. People milled about the vestibule, but not Mona. Head held high, she crossed the entrance hall, nodding to the greeter, then dipped her fingers into the holy water and made the sign of the cross. Without missing a beat, she walked into the sanctuary, heading right down the middle of the aisle, but a few steps in Marco halted.

  Peyton released Antonio and moved closer to him. He was staring at the white altar with the golden cross dominating the center of it. Two columns of gold filigree rose on either side of it and stained glass windows along the pews spilled muted golden light into the chamber. A number of people were sitting in groups, but the majority of the vast room was empty.

  “What’s wrong?” asked Mona, instinctively dropping her voice.

  “We’ll sit back here,” Marco said, pointing to the last pew.

  “Nonsense. We always sit in the front on the right side.”

  Marco shook his head. “No.”

  Peyton placed her hand in the small of his back. She could feel the tension. “It’s okay, Mona. You go up front. We’ll stay back here.”

  Mona shook her head. Peyton was coming to recognize that stubborn D’Angelo look. She waved the family around her. “Go take your seats. I’m sitting in the back.”

  Marco gave Peyton an aggravated look as everyone hesitated, confused. Then Vinnie took over. “Let’s go. We’re blocking the aisle.” They filed around Marco and his parents, moving for their usual spots.

  “Let’s sit down,” said Mona, motioning to the pew Marco had chosen.

  “I need to sit on the aisle,” he grumbled.

  “All right.” She and Leo slipped into the pew and Peyton followed.

  Finally Marco limped over and sank down, extending his bad leg into the aisle. Peyton reached over and curled her hand in his.

  Mona leaned over Peyton. “Did you take confession yesterday?”

  Marco briefly closed his eyes. “No.”

  Mona’s face fell, then she reached over Peyton and patted his knee. “It’s okay. Next week, yes?”

  Marco blew out air.

  Peyton gave Mona an encouraging smile and tightened her hold on Marco.

  People gradually came in and took their seats. A few moments later the priest appeared on the altar, resplendent in his robes. He held out his hands and the congregation stood. At the sound of the organ, they began to sing.

  Peyton leaned against Marco. She could feel the tension in him and it concerned her. This was supposed to do the opposite. This was supposed to eliminate some of the tension, let him gain some measure of peace and acceptance. Beside her, Mona and Leo lent their voices to the hymn, but not Marco. He stared straight ahead, his jaw clenched.

  Once the song had ended, the priest signaled for them to take their seats again. He was an older man, white haired, stoop shouldered, but when he stepped up to the altar and made the sign of the cross, Peyton could feel the power in him.

  Everyone around them made the sign of the cross as well, including Marco.

  “The Lord be with you,” the priest said.

  “And also with you,” answered the congregation.

  “Welcome on this glorious Sunday. Let us take a moment to reflect on our past week and the need for salvation.”

  The organ filled the sanctuary with sound and the congregation burst into song again. Mona reached into the slot on the pew before them and removed a hymnal, opening it. She pointed to the top of the page and handed it to Peyton. Peyton took it with a smile and followed along as they sang Glory to God in the Highest.

  As the song finished, Peyton realized this was her favorite part of Sunday service – the voices all raised in song, joining together to praise the mysteries of faith and wors
hip. She missed it and it made her miss her father. This might not be working for Marco, but it was working for her. She could feel some of the tension leave her.

  “Join me now in prayer,” said the priest.

  Mona reached for the hassock and pulled it down, then she and Leo eased onto their knees and clasped their hands. Marco glanced down at the black bit of cushion and went still. Peyton searched the congregation. Almost everyone was kneeling.

  She didn’t know what to do. He vibrated with tension next to her, but her brain just couldn’t come up with an appropriate platitude to soothe him and clearly touching him wasn’t solving it. Before she could collect herself, he grabbed his cane and rose, sliding out from the pew and heading for the doors.

  Mona gave Peyton a panicked look and started to rise, but Peyton caught her. “Mona, let me handle this, please.”

  Mona looked like she might protest, but Leo reached over and took her hand. “Let her handle it,” he said.

  Peyton didn’t wait for a response, but slipped out of the pew and followed after Marco.

  She found him sitting on the stairs of the church, holding the cane in his hands and staring at the silver top of it. Peyton sank down next to him, sliding her arm through his and resting her head on his shoulder. For a long while, they didn’t talk, just watched the traffic speed past on the street in front of them.

  Peyton didn’t know what to say, what to do. Nothing seemed adequate. Nothing seemed reasonable.

  He released his held breath and closed his eyes. “From my earliest memory, I’ve gone to mass. I’ve known the litany since before I could talk. And now, I can’t even kneel.”

  She tightened her hold, but didn’t respond.

  He opened his eyes and looked over her. “I don’t know who I am anymore, Peyton.”

  She felt her gut twist. She wanted him to talk. She’d always felt he played it too close to the vest, never giving any of himself away, but now she felt an overwhelming sense of dread. She wasn’t equipped to deal with this, not with him. He was a part of her, he was her partner in everything, but now she couldn’t stop his hurting, she couldn’t make it go away.

  “What do you mean?” she prompted, but selfishly, she’d give anything not to have this conversation. It scared her and she didn’t know what to do. Damn it, she didn’t know what to say.

  “I had this self-image, you know? I was your partner and my job was to watch your back. Every day, that was my job.” He paused and looked at the traffic. “Then we became more, but the job was the same. Be your partner, protect your back. Now…”

  She leaned away from him and looked at his profile.

  “Now, I don’t know who I am. I hate the job. I hate being weak. I hate the way everyone treats me.” He met her gaze. “Even you.”

  “Even me?”

  “I did the protecting. Now everyone wants to protect me. I see the worry in your eyes. I see it everywhere I look. People are always pulling out chairs for me to sit, or asking me if I need something. I can’t walk Pickles around the block without you watching me to see if I’m in pain. Yesterday, you found a way to keep me from climbing the stairs.”

  “Marco…”

  “No, wait. I know you’re trying to help me. I’m not stupid, but I hate that I need that help. I hate that everyone sees me as weak.” He looked back at the cane. “And this job? I’m a glorified yard duty supervisor. I keep people from getting into pissing matches over territory. I’m a God damn traffic director. Yesterday, when you questioned the guy at the restaurant – that was the most alive I’ve felt in months.”

  He motioned toward the church. “Ferguson tells me I have to go to church, but I can’t even worship the way I used to. I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin in there and it isn’t just the kneeling. I’m so angry inside, Peyton, I’m so angry and scared and I can’t believe in a God who takes a man’s life away from him like this.”

  Tears filled her eyes. “I don’t even know what to say.”

  He gave a miserable laugh. “I know. I didn’t want to dump this on you. I’m sorry.”

  “No!” She clutched his arm. “I just feel so inadequate to deal with this.”

  He met her gaze and his own eyes swam in tears. “Why are you staying with me, Peyton? You’ve gone way beyond me. Why are you still here? I can’t be who I was. I can’t watch your back. And…”

  “And?”

  “I don’t want to be one of your projects.”

  “My projects?”

  “Like Jake or Venus or Ravensong. I don’t want to be rescued by you, but nothing else makes sense.”

  Venus had been a hooker Peyton tried to save, and Joshua Ravensong was the drug addicted rock star she fought so hard to prove innocent. Of course, Jake had been the first perp she couldn’t just leave alone. After proving him innocent of killing his wife, she’d gotten him a job and allowed him to live in her house, something that Marco had never understood.

  She swiped the tears away. “Well, how about this? I love you. You aren’t my project. You aren’t a rescue. You’re the man I love, and have loved for eight years. You’re my partner, D’Angelo, in all aspects of my life, but it isn’t because you physically protect me. You’ve never understood that. I don’t need a bodyguard. I need you. You have my back in the only way that matters. You are my partner because you are a part of me.”

  He reached up and slid his hand into her hair at the temple. “That was so damn cheesy, woman. God, I love you.”

  She clasped his hand with her own and kissed his palm. “I don’t know what to do about the way people treat you. I don’t know what to do about my worry. It’s there, Marco, but I know that I’m willing to go through this with you. Every step of the way. If you hate the job, quit. We’ll figure something else out. If you want to move to the islands and gather coconuts all day, I’ll pack tonight. Just don’t give up on us. Don’t give up. We’ve faced so much together, and we’ll get through this too.”

  He didn’t respond, just searched her face.

  “I don’t know why this happened, Marco. I can’t make sense of it either, but it did. Here’s an opportunity to start over, to redefine that self-image you talked about, but you don’t have to do it alone. I’m not going anywhere. I love you, and that’s why I stay.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Rosa called the Ghost Squad into the conference room bright and early Monday for an update. She looked pressed and polished in her tailored black suit, her ponytail smooth and professional. Peyton glared at her over a cup of coffee, hating her.

  Margaret had left three packets of sugar for her this morning. She was getting closer. Not quite there yet, but closer.

  Peyton felt irritable and out of sorts. Her hair just wouldn’t be tamed and for some reason, the more expensive suits Abe had foisted on her didn’t seem to be fitting quite the way they did on Rosa.

  “Where are we on this zombie case?” Rosa demanded.

  Radar began filling her in, but Peyton’s mind wandered. After church yesterday, Mona had insisted they come to her house for dinner. Marco declined, which set up an argument between him and his family. Finally, he’d walked away mad. She’d tried to apologize, but she was in a difficult position, apologizing for his behavior to his own family. Following him to the Charger, they drove home and he went inside without speaking. He threw back two shots of Jack Daniels while she watched from the doorway, then he limped to their room and threw himself down on the bed.

  She took Pickles for a long walk, trying to sort through this mess, then returned to the house and made dinner for them. He was silent as he ate, mostly pushing the food around his plate, then he watched television. She curled up next to him, hoping he’d talk to her, but he didn’t. Finally she went to bed alone. It was the first time since they’d started living together that she’d gone to bed by herself and she hated it.

  “Brooks?”

  She blinked and looked up at Rosa. “What?”

  “You seem distracted. Is something wrong?�
��

  Peyton glanced around at the team. Emma offered her a friendly smile. “No.”

  “Do you have anything to offer?”

  “To what?”

  “The case.”

  Peyton drummed her fingers on the wooden surface, then picked up a coffee stir from the tray in the center of the table. She broke it in half and then in half again. “Not really, except…”

  “Except?”

  She broke the stick again, creating a pile in front of her. “Well, Marco and I took a drive into Locke this weekend.”

  “And?”

  “We met this guy named Doug. He thinks the zombie killer is Old Man Harwood.”

  “Old Man Harwood?” asked Rosa.

  Radar gave Peyton a critical look, then swiveled to face Rosa. “Old Man Harwood owned the farm where the first two bodies were discovered.”

  “Well, is he a suspect?”

  “He’s dead,” offered Radar.

  Rosa frowned at Peyton.

  “Doug thinks he’s undead.”

  “Undead?”

  “You know, zombie?”

  Rosa’s shoulders fell. “Really, Brooks?”

  “I know, but I’ve got nothing.”

  Tank cleared his throat. “It’s not a bad thought. Zombism actually originated in Haiti and was tied to the voodoo religion. Practitioners believed that if you led a good life while on earth, you were taken to heaven, but if you led a bad life, committed suicide or something, you were doomed to wander the earth forever in an undead state.”

  “And this applies to Old Man Harwood how?” asked Rosa.

  “If the deaths are racially motivated, in particular all three victims were Hmong, it makes sense. Some theories discredit zombism as a fear response from Whites toward non-Whites, a social anxiety of desegregation and loss of power. If we deduce that the location of the bodies may have been a warning to the Harwoods, it could be a reason why they were left on their land.”

  “A warning to the Harwoods?”

  “The Delta is primarily a white community, Sarge. The Harwoods may have crossed a line by bringing in a Hmong work crew. The bodies could have been a warning to them, to scare them into compliance with the social mores of the area or maybe, just to sell the land.”