CHAPTER FOUR

The next morning, Lennon made it her first priority to go straight to Lieutenant Byrd’s office. “You stuck me with a fed without even consulting me?” she said as she sat down in one of the chairs in front of his desk.

“Dial it down, Gray. The call came down from the chief’s office, so you’ll have to take it up with him when he gets back into town. But if it really is a serial killer we’re dealing with, we’re going to have to manage this properly. Hell, even if it’s only a new toxic street drug that just hit the market, we’ll need some assistance. Agent Mars worked in a field office outside the city and is transferring here to San Francisco. He’s never worked this kind of case, so he might need some guidance.”

Lennon felt a buzz of both agitation and anxiety. Lieutenant Byrd set his coffee aside and opened a file sitting on his desk in front of him. “You want me to train him?” Lennon asked. She was in no way interested—or qualified, for that matter—to train anyone. Half the time, she was busy managing herself . “He’s not just a fed, he’s a rookie ?”

Lieutenant Byrd’s dark gaze met hers. “I don’t know his exact background, just that he’s an agent. Apparently, he’s thorough and good at his job, and has a real way with the down-and-out. But he’s never worked in a city. He hasn’t seen crime like we see here. Get him acclimated. Help him collect the answers the FBI wants and send him on his way.”

He has a real way with the down-and-out. What did that mean? “Criminals or victims?” she asked suspiciously.

Lieutenant Byrd stared at her for a moment, obviously rewinding the conversation to determine what she was asking about. “Both.”

Both. What did that say? No wonder she hadn’t known how to read him. But at least if he’d worked with victims of any kind, he wasn’t only a paper pusher. “Anyway, I thought you were putting me with Penny.” Lennon resisted a grimace. She sounded like a brat. She was sitting there with her arms crossed and her lip jutted out, too, like a brat. She unlatched her arms and put her palms on her thighs. Why did the thought of partnering with an FBI agent rankle her so much anyway? Why did those dark, sleepy eyes make her feel ... unsteady? Like running away. She hadn’t been consulted when her last lieutenant had placed her with Tommy five years before, either, and that had ended up being the best thing that could have happened to her, both professionally and personally. Tommy was like the older brother she’d never had, and his wife was like a sister.

But she’d liked Tommy right off the bat. She’d gotten a good feeling about him, and they’d clicked immediately.

They were a natural team.

“Penny’s transferring,” Lieutenant Byrd said.

“What?” Penny hadn’t said a word about leaving. Not that they were close friends, but they’d worked together for years. “Transferring where?”

“Sacramento. There was an opening, and she applied. I wrote her a letter of recommendation. It happened quickly. I think she needed a change of scenery.”

A change of scenery. Apparently, everyone around here needed a change of scenery. “Who else is leaving?”

“Today? No one. But if your point is that everyone is leaving the SFPD, then Agent Mars is one of the only ones arriving. Let’s all be grateful. We could use the help.” He picked up his cell phone, pressed some buttons; then she heard a ding on her phone in her pocket. “I forwarded you the agent’s number, in case you didn’t get it from him yesterday.”

“Humph.”

“Is there anything else?” Lieutenant Byrd’s voice broke Lennon from her thoughts, and she looked up to see her boss leafing through the papers he’d removed from the file. Lennon sighed. She was obviously being dismissed.

“No, nothing else,” she said, standing.

“Good.”

She exited Lieutenant Byrd’s office and went back to her desk, dropping down into her chair.

“I heard you’ve been partnered up with a fed,” Adella Haffey said from her nearby desk. “Lucky you. Is he hot at least? One of those young bucks who’s eager to bust down doors?”

Lennon rolled her eyes. Whether Agent Ambrose Mars was eager about anything, she had no idea, but he wasn’t exactly a “young buck.” She’d estimate him to be midthirties. Lennon smiled but turned away from Adella, who was looking at her expectantly. With all the tragedy they dealt with constantly, one would think police officers could rise above turning the precinct into a middle school dance, but experience told her they couldn’t. Or chose not to. There was constant internal drama. She glanced over at Tommy’s empty chair for a moment and then took out her phone, ignoring the text from Lieutenant Byrd that she knew was Mars’s contact information and dialing a different number.

Just when Lennon thought Tommy’s wife Sam’s voicemail was going to pick up, she answered, sounding slightly breathless. “Hey, Lennon.”

“Hey. You sound like you just ran a marathon.”

She let out a breathy laugh. “I might as well have. I left my phone upstairs and had to hustle my pregnant butt to get it. You called at a good time, though, because my two little wild men just got picked up for school. Thank heavens for carpool.”

“I won’t keep you long. You should take the opportunity to rest.”

“No rest for me. I’m in full nesting mode. How’s work?”

“Fine. Another day, another shooting, another stabbing.” She cringed as soon as the words left her mouth. She didn’t want to bother Sam with death and destruction right now when she should be focusing on life and new beginnings. “Anyway, sorry, you don’t need to know about the crime rate in San Francisco when the point was to get away from all that. How’s Tommy?”

“I want to hear about the crime rate in San Francisco because that’s part of your life and I worry about you. Tommy’s fine. He hasn’t given out so much as a speeding ticket in the two weeks we’ve been here. He’s bored, but we’re both sleeping great, and my stomach doesn’t drop every time an unknown number shows on my phone while he’s on duty.”

“You deserve that, Sam. You need it. It’s not healthy expecting constant doom all the time.” Tommy and Sam were expecting their third child, a big motivator for why Tommy had left the SFPD when the climate in the city had simply become too much for them. Tommy had transferred to a small town across the bay. It had been the right move ... necessary . And she got it—more than anyone—but she still missed the hell out of him.

“No, it’s not a healthy way to live,” Sam agreed. “And Tommy’s new department is hiring. You should think about applying.” But if your point is that everyone is leaving the SFPD, then Agent Mars is one of the only ones arriving. Let’s all be grateful.

The thing was, she wanted to transfer to a smaller department where the crime rate wasn’t dialed up to eleven, day in and day out. She wanted to be able to take a full breath during her shift; she wanted to close her eyes and sleep all the way through the night. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because doing so would feel like giving up in a way she would not allow. “I’ll take it under consideration,” she told Sam.

“Okay, good. How’s it riding with Penny so far?”

“Penny’s packing for Sacramento.”

Sam groaned. “God, how many is that who’ve left so far this year? They’ll be promoting someone new then, right?”

“If someone applies. In the meantime, I was partnered up with an FBI agent from a field office outside the city.”

“A fed? Why?”

“They’re interested in this slew of new cases involving a homemade drug. I’m not sure why.”

“Oh. Well, how do you feel about that?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not thrilled about any stranger tagging along after me. And I’m not sure about him. He’s hard to read.”

“Well, if anyone can figure him out, it’s you.”

Lennon let out a small grunt. But this was why she’d called Sam. She’d needed to hear a familiar, friendly voice, someone who knew how her brain worked. Someone who knows me well. “His position is temporary, so there’d be no point. Anyway, what are your plans for tomorrow? I hope someone is cooking that Thanksgiving turkey for you this year?”

“I am the Thanksgiving turkey this year.” Sam let out a groan that melted into a laugh.

“Stop. You do not resemble the shape of a turkey. A cute sweet potato, maybe. But not a turkey.”

Sam laughed. “Thanks. I’ll take it. But no, Tommy’s parents are hosting this year.” As Sam described a side dish she was making, Lennon’s gaze moved to the window of the station, where she could see a slip of gray sky. She had a brief out-of-body feeling, as though she should be the one talking about carpools and nesting and side dishes, and instead she’d woken up from a strange dream and found herself living someone else’s life. “You’re going to your folks’ house, I’m assuming?” Sam asked, bringing her back to the metal desk in the police department, where she’d drifted from for just a moment.

“Yeah.”

“Tell them we said hi. And hey, I’m sure it’s going to be just fine with this temporary agent.”

“It will. Call me with any baby updates.”

Lennon heard the smile in Sam’s voice when she said, “You’re one of the first on our list.”

The diner near the precinct, where Mars told her he was when she texted him, had several empty tables, the breakfast crowd dwindling now that it was midmorning. Lennon spotted him immediately. She supposed he was hard to miss. Tall and dark, with broad shoulders and that come-hither stare. She pressed her lips together, disturbed by the fact that she kept thinking of Mars’s visible attributes. Highly inappropriate, Gray. As it turned out, she was as much of a middle schooler as the rest of them.

She also couldn’t help noticing the way the server’s gaze hung on him as she passed by the table he was sitting at. Apparently, she wasn’t the only woman who noticed his physical appeal. Which, strangely, made her feel much better. Mars didn’t seem to notice the server’s heated glance, however, his attention focused solely on his plate of food as he carefully speared a piece of cantaloupe from the fruit cup next to his eggs.

She slid into the chair across from him, and he looked up. “You’re not very observant for an agent of the law,” she said.

He tilted his head and considered her.

“You didn’t even notice me come in the door until I was right in front of you.”

He slid the piece of fruit in his mouth and chewed for a moment, appearing to intensely consider what he was eating as though he might deem it unsatisfactory and spit it out. “I didn’t think I needed to be on high alert sitting in this diner eating my breakfast. And I did notice you.”

“So you say,” she mumbled. She had a feeling he was telling the truth, however. He’d noticed her enter. He just hadn’t reacted.

“Are you always on high alert?”

She sighed. “Not always, but probably too often. A hazard of the job.” And the fact that her nervous system was apparently hyperactive. The server stopped by and held up the coffee carafe in her hand in question. Lennon nodded and scooted her mug across the table so the server could more easily fill it. “Thanks,” she said as the young woman moved away.

“Well. Now that we’re going to be working together, do you have any questions for me?” she asked.

“What’s your opinion on mandarin oranges in a fruit cup?”

She ripped open a tiny cup of creamer and poured it into her coffee. “Generally speaking, mandarin oranges can work with the right combination of fruit. Unfortunately, there are far too many crimes committed on the fruit salad scene. Syrupy canned fruit isn’t the worst offense.”

His lip twitched, his eyes squinting slightly. “Crimes?”

She nodded.

“Such as?” He leaned in minutely, as if highly interested in this conversation and also surprised that she’d unhesitatingly engaged in banter. But while her inspector persona didn’t necessarily come naturally, this did.

She shrugged one shoulder. “Some flavors and textures obviously don’t go together, but that seems to be lost on some. It’s a simple art, but it does require at least some amount of thought and planning. This summer, my parents had a grill-out, and one of their neighbors brought a lackluster concoction of cantaloupe and seeded grapes, and as if that wasn’t bad enough, they put sliced bananas on the top. It sat in the sun, and the bananas all turned brown and mushy. If it were me, I’d think long and hard about whether that neighbor should ever be invited back to any potluck event.”

His mouth tipped, and she had this little shiver in her stomach that strangely felt like panic. “I see.”

“Of course, my parents aren’t nearly as judgmental as I am. My mom could find something delightful about bad bananas. She probably plucked them off the top and made banana bread out of them. It’s hard to believe we’re related sometimes.” Her heart warmed even as she poked fun at her mom to this virtual stranger. She wasn’t exaggerating about her mother. The woman probably had made banana bread, but not only that, she’d likely delivered the loaf to the soup kitchen and served it by hand to hungry children. Because that was her mom.

She took a big sip of her coffee and then cringed as she swallowed, the drink too hot for such a large mouthful. “Sorry, I’m rambling. And I can be opinionated.”

“That’s a good thing,” he said, spearing a sausage link and bringing the whole thing to his mouth. “You know who you are. Not everyone is as lucky.”

She thought about that. Did she know who she was? She supposed she did. She just didn’t necessarily like it all the time. Her life choices didn’t seem to align with her personality, and that made her feel ... lost, when she’d chosen the career she had for the exact opposite purpose—to feel found. But the man was looking at her in that assessing way again, and so she waved her hand slightly, as much to brush off the sinking feeling in her stomach as to distract him. “Well, I’m not sure luck has much to do with it. My parents spoiled me rotten.” That was also a lie, and now she was really on a roll. Her parents loved and adored her, but she’d always had tough rules. They had taught her to be sure of herself, however, and comfortable in her own skin, so she supposed it was because of them that she wasn’t afraid to express herself. At least when it came to matters of fruit salad.

The server approached their table again and asked if Lennon wanted to place an order, shooting another not-so-furtive glance at Ambrose. “No,” Lennon said. “Just coffee.”

“You already ate?” Ambrose asked when the server departed.

Lennon nodded. “I’m an early riser.”

His eyes hung on her for a moment, and she resisted fidgeting under his heavy stare. She could see his wheels turning as he considered her, and though he remained still, he almost reminded her of the way her parents’ dog, Freddie, tipped his head back and forth when she said a whole string of words he recognized but was working out the context. She doubted the agent would appreciate being compared to a dog, however, so she didn’t mention it to him.

Again, though, the guy was different, and she wasn’t sure if it was good different or not-so-good different. Whatever he was, he was trying very hard to size her up, and she had this feeling he was getting at least some of it right.

Apparently done assessing her, he picked up his orange juice and took a long drink, draining it and setting it back down. She noticed a white scar on the top of his hand, right in the middle.

“So, Agent Mars, tell me about you. Lieutenant Byrd said you worked at a field office? Where exactly?”

His eyes remained on his plate. “Pleasant Hill. And call me Ambrose.”

She lifted her chin. “Are you from Pleasant Hill?”

He lifted his fork again and resumed picking through the cup of fruit. “No. San Francisco, born and raised. But I moved out of the city ten years ago to take a job as a correctional officer. I did that for a couple of years, and then applied to the FBI. When I graduated, I wanted to come back to the Bay Area, and so I put in a request and was sent to the field office in Pleasant Hill. I’ve been there for several years now.”

That was a lot of back-and-forth, but two things stood out to Lennon. One, he was a local, too, and for some odd reason, even though there were almost a million residents in San Francisco, she was surprised she’d never come across him. Which made no sense at all. So she moved that aside, on to the second thing that had caught her attention. “You started your career as a correctional officer?”

“Yeah.”

Her respect notched up, even if she didn’t necessarily want it to. There weren’t too many more pressure-filled jobs than that, where you had to be on constant alert. She’d only been somewhat convinced he’d noticed her enter the diner before, but she was certain of it now. You had to be observant—to say the least—if you wanted to survive in that environment. “That had to have been rough.”

Ambrose shrugged and tilted his head. She waited for him to provide more details, but in the end, he simply put a strawberry in his mouth and looked into the distance as he chewed. Ambrose set his fork down. “So, since you’re here, asking questions, you obviously weren’t successful in shaking me.”

She almost felt embarrassed. Almost. He’d obviously sensed her initial dislike or ... suspicion? It wasn’t like he’d actually done anything wrong. But if he hadn’t just reminded her about the weird vibes he put off, she might have blushed. Instead, she shrugged. “No. I was unsuccessful in shaking you. I guess I’m stuck with you. For now.”

Ambrose smiled, but there was no cockiness in it. No gloating, or even annoyance that she obviously was far from overjoyed to have been partnered up with him. There was almost an understanding in it, like he didn’t blame her for trying to get rid of him.

Which in itself was odd. Most people sought to make a good first impression. They wanted to be liked, or at least welcomed. Most people would take offense at being dumped right off the bat—or at minimum the attempt.

Maybe he was only here to make a report about the unknown drug found at three murder scenes and the possibility of a serial killer in San Francisco. Beyond that, it was anyone’s guess at the moment if Ambrose could even—professionally speaking—handle the mean streets of the city. Some days she barely could, and she carried this vague assumption that she’d put her guilt aside and transfer somewhere else sooner or later. Somewhere with less crime and more emotional stability. Bored, like Tommy, but able to sleep at night without reliving visions of the constant depravity city cops were confronted with. And that wouldn’t really be giving up, would it? She’d still be doing the job, even if she was only doing accident reports and responding to minor thefts?

Ambrose signaled the waitress for the check. “Since you’re stuck with me for now,” he said, “should we go see what the medical examiner has to say about the three latest victims?”