One For The Team Read online

  The young man held a melting ice cream cone in one hand. He was engrossed in the pages of a dog-eared paperback that he held across his knee. The ice cream had begun to trickle down his fingers, but he hadn’t noticed… yet.

  “Perhaps you’d better lick that,” she said, motioning with her finger.

  He looked up, uncertain whether she was talking to him, then noticed the beige goo dripping down the back of his hand and onto the cuff of his Army surplus fatigue jacket. “Thanks, I’d forgotten all about it.” He licked at his fingers, then quickly wolfed down the rest of the ice cream before it could completely melt. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and grinned. His fair hair, brown eyes, and open face reminded her of a young Robert Redford.

  Lark grinned back. “So, who is Bufo Baxteri and why does he need saving?” She placed her picnic basket on the bench beside the sign and brushed a stray strand of hair from her face.

  “Not a who. A what. Bufo Baxteri is the Latin name for the Wyoming Toad.” His gaze dropped back to the book. After a moment, he looked up again. “You’re still here?”

  “Shouldn’t I be?”

  “Most people move on when they find out Bufo is a toad.”

  “I’m not most people,” Lark said, scrutinizing him through her pink, heart-shaped sunglasses, waiting for him to elaborate.

  A group of teenage boys walked past, talking and joking as they went. One of them shouted, “Rib-bit! Rib-bit!” His friends snickered.

  “A-holes.” Lark popped a middle finger at their backs. She turned to the young man sitting on the wall and held out her hand. “Lark Pontana.”

  “Hi.” He took her hand. “Toby Beecham.” They shook.

  “So, when’s the march?” Lark asked.

  “The march?” He looked confused.

  “The protest march. To save the frog. You have a sign, don’t you? Aren’t you going to march with it?”

  “Toad. And we had the march already.” He began to look uncomfortable.

  “Oh, sorry — toad,” Lark corrected herself, then added, “Gee, I’m sorry I missed it. I would have marched along. How many showed up?”

  “Just me.” Toby looked down at his sneakers.

  Lark laughed. “You marched to City Hall all on your own? Wow. That’s what I call being truly dedicated to the cause.”

  Toby looked up and into her eyes, and after a moment, he too began to laugh. “Well, not exactly to City Hall. I just went once around the park.” He tried to keep a straight face but failed. “I don’t know what happened. There were supposed to be five of us, but no one else showed up.” He shrugged and shook his head.

  “Five? Wow. That’s quite a groundswell of support for a toad.” She giggled. “You’ll have Bufo rescued in no time, I’ll bet.”

  “You laughing at me?” Toby’s voice had gone cold. He paused, then repeated the question, only with more force. He looked left and right, and then back at Lark. “Because I don’t see anyone else here.” His narrowed eyes took on a menacing look.

  For a second, Lark was completely bewildered. Then she recognized the act. “Oh! De Niro, right? That’s pretty good. I love the old movies.”

  Toby became himself again. “You think that’s good? You should see me do other actors in old films.” He looked at Lark with a gaze that was half confident, half shy.

  Lark found herself warming to the offbeat young man with the Dead t-shirt, the amateur movie star impersonator who she strongly suspected practiced daily in the mirror. But she sensed something else also, something she had felt within herself so many times, and from nowhere, she felt the tug of another lonely heart. She sighed. An ocean breeze flicked the strand of rebel hair from behind her ear to dance across her face again.

  “Wanna walk up the hill?” she asked. “Palisades Park overlooks the beach. I have sandwiches. Do you like pastrami?” Lark regretted the words as soon as they tumbled from her mouth. She wondered what on earth had come over her. Toby would think she was hitting on him, and he was way too young for her. She hoped he would say no.

  “Sure!” Toby said without having to think about it. He jumped down from the railing, tucked his book into the inside pocket of his jacket, and bent down to pick up the sign.

  Lark couldn’t help stealing a glance at his backside in the tight blue jeans. She felt naughty, but that didn’t stop her.

  Toby paused. “Bufo will be okay without me for a while, I guess.” He chuckled, leaving his sign, certain no one would take it.

  Lark heaved a sigh. She felt her reservations giving way to his good looks and reminded herself that age was just a number and it was only ten years —maybe. They walked side by side towards the park on Ocean Boulevard. The breeze disappeared just as swiftly as it had arrived, and the sun blazed down from an ice-blue sky.

  Toby took off his jacket and swung it casually over his shoulder. “Let me get that.” He took the picnic basket from Lark’s arm.

  “Why thank you, kind sir,” Lark said with mock coyness and fluttered her eyelashes.

  “Oh, no, please don’t call me ‘sir.’ It reminds me too much of my father.”

  “You call your dad ‘sir’?” Lark asked, curious.

  “Ever since I learned to talk. He insists on it.”

  “He sounds a little strict.”

  Toby stopped abruptly and looked at her with an intensity that took her totally by surprise. “Strict?” He shook his head. “Lark, you have no idea. That bastard…” He ran his hand through his hair.

  For a moment, she wondered what actor he’d chose to impersonate this time. But when she saw the torment in his eyes and the way his mouth twisted as he tried to find the right words, she realized this was no impersonation. The contrast with the easy-going, ice cream-licking guy she had met only a few moments ago was frightening. Lark held her breath and froze, rooted to the sidewalk as Toby paced from side to side, clenching his fists. But like the breeze, the moment passed. Toby shook his head and smiled again, and Lark could only watch, speechless at how quickly the transformation had come and gone.

  Without warning, he kissed her, wrapping his free arm around her waist and pulling her against him with a strength and passion that astonished her. He tasted like vanilla ice cream, and she closed her eyes, struck by the heat of his kiss.

  He broke off, mumbling an apology and twisting away, but Lark wasn’t ready to let him go. Feeling numb, as if she were dreaming or sleepwalking or experiencing some kind of out-of-body experience, Lark reached out, caught Toby’s arm, and pulled him back towards her. “It’s okay.” She didn’t want him to be embarrassed.

  *

  Toby, as it turned out, lived in a high-rise condo at the far end of Ocean Boulevard. They passed the park and walked the couple of extra blocks to his building. He unlocked the door and invited Lark in with a flourish of his hand. The efficiency, although upscale, could be considered minimalistic, with few furnishings and no personal touches. He took the duvet cover from the too-narrow bed and laid it out on the floor, and they lay side by side, listening to music from the sound system on a side table. Beneath the music, the low, steady hum of the air conditioner battled against the unseasonable heat and stale air.

  “Heights used to freak me out,” Toby confessed.

  “How come?” If he was afraid of heights, she understood the window coverings that blocked out any clue as to whether it was day or night… and incidentally hid what might be quite a nice water view.

  Instead of answering, Toby said, “I’m not much of a host. I’ve got beer and water.” He stood and crossed to the refrigerator.

  Lark rolled onto her side. She hated the effects of beer and would have to be careful not to let out a loud burp, but seeing he had a can already in his hand, she nodded. “Beer sounds good.”

  He popped the tops on both cans, handing her one and sitting down next to her.

  “I’m glad you asked.” Toby rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling with one hand behind his head. “When I was thirteen…
” He stopped and glanced at Lark from the corner of his eye. “You okay?”

  “Me? I’m great.” Lark snuggled her face into the crook of Toby’s neck before he could see her blush. She tapped a drumbeat on his chest with her fingers. On an impulse, she swung a leg over his.

  “One day, I was shooting hoops in our back yard… and somehow, the damned ball ends up on the roof. You know, like it got caught in the gutter? So, I get the ladder from the garage…” Toby’s voice began to falter. His breathing became heavy. “So, I’m totally afraid of heights, right? Remember that. That fact is pivotal to the anecdote.”

  “Pivotal to the anecdote,” Lark mumbled into the side of his neck.

  Toby groaned, and the noise he made came exactly in between the songs blaring from the speakers. Loud in the silence, the primitive sound made them both laugh.

  “Please, go on,” Lark said, and the vibrations from her lips tickled Toby’s neck.

  “Well…” Toby paused. He was finding it difficult to concentrate. It was true, he thought, arousal really did suck all the blood from the brain. “I climb up the ladder. Like, I’m all alone, right? My father had gone to the store, I’m up on the roof all by myself, and I’m more scared than I’ve ever been, right?”

  “Right, scared, sorry.” Lark mewled and bit his neck, playful as a kitten.

  Toby barred his teeth and groaned again but did not pull away. He put down his beer bottle and turned on his side to face Lark. “Kiss me, dammit.” Toby pushed Lark onto her back and loomed over her, his mouth inches from hers.

  “Not yet,” Lark said coyly. “Finish the story… um, anecdote.”

  “I’m on the roof,” Toby said, struggling to remain coherent. “I’m scared, edging along the gutter to reach the ball. Then I look down. I’m totally scared out of my wits.” Toby swallowed, and his Adam’s apple jerked violently in his throat. “But I don’t care. I see Mrs. West, the next-door neighbor, come outside. I’ve always had the hots for her. I don’t even care if the neighbors can see me. A part of me hopes she’s watching… I wave to her like a madman.” Reliving the moment, his face drained of color. “I fall off the roof,” he mewled.

  “That’s horrible. So sorry that happened to you.”

  Toby lay so completely still and silent that Lark had to check to see whether he was dead or just sleeping. He stared up at her and grimaced. Satisfied that he was still breathing, she disentangled herself and got up to go to the bathroom.

  “I hate that memory,” she heard him whisper.

  She padded barefoot past his music and book collections — a mass of albums, cassettes, DVDs, and old, worn books that covered most of the wall — and found her way into the bathroom. It was three times the size of the postage-stamp bathroom she had back in her rented bungalow in Topanga Canyon, where she had to close the door to turn around. This room sparkled with chrome and porcelain. She tiptoed across to the handbasin, the floor tiles wonderfully cool beneath the soles of her feet. She washed her hands and held her wrists under the cold water while she studied her reflection in the wall-to-wall mirror above the sink.

  Unable to restrain her natural curiosity, Lark opened the door to the medicine cabinet on the side wall and peeked inside. A small gasp escaped her. It had three shelves. A toothbrush in a plastic cup, a tube of toothpaste, shampoo and soap, a bottle of cheap aftershave, and a bottle of acne treatment occupied the lowest shelf. The middle shelf was empty. The top shelf was a hypochondriac’s dream. Bottles and bottles of anti-depressants, legal highs, legal lows, sleeping tablets, and slimming tablets, some with brand names Lark knew and many more that she had never heard of, were lined up on the shelf as neat as soldiers on parade. She stared at the arsenal of pills for a moment, then closed the cabinet door. Toby’s face appeared behind her in the mirror, and her heart jumped.

  “Dammit, Toby! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Lark yelped, completely unnerved by his sudden appearance.

  He moved forwards, wrapped his hands around her waist, and kissed the back of her neck. Her skin prickled at the hot touch and the wetness of his lips. “I’m sorry,” Toby said. “I didn’t mean to do that. It was just so nice, I couldn’t help myself.” He avoided her eyes in the mirror but couldn’t hide the dark crimson stain of deep embarrassment on his cheeks.

  Lark turned in his arms and reached up to hold his face in the palms of her hands. “Were you hurt?” she asked. “When you fell off the roof?”

  “Yeah, I was in the hospital for a month. Broken bones; and it took me a few days to regain consciousness. How did you know?”

  “I guessed. I’m happy you survived.”

  Toby buried his face in her neck. He started to shake, and Lark felt fat, warm tears roll down her neck and onto her shoulder. Toby’s words came out mumbled and muffled: “Please, Lark, please, help me. I need a friend.”

  Chapter Four

  “Are you dead, Boss?” Cable asked.

  Zach opened his eyes and groaned. “You keep asking me that.” He tried to sit up, but Cable pushed him back down on the pillow.

  He never should’ve answered the phone. Should’ve let it go to voicemail and snuggled up to Avalon. He’d missed her from the moment he got out of bed and set his feet on the floor. But he’d already signed onto this job, so when the call came that the criminal they were hunting had shown up in Arizona, he didn’t have time to waste.

  “Nurse says you better not move. Lie still awhile. Have a grape.” Cable produced a bunch of ripe green grapes from a paper bag, plucked a couple off the stem, and popped one into Zach’s mouth and one into his own. “Juicy and sweet. Just like me.” He grinned.

  Zach chewed and swallowed. Early morning sunlight streamed in through the open window, and dust danced in the sterile air of the Tucson County hospital room. Outside the window, a blackbird on a low-hanging branch sang its heart out. “I’m going to shoot that friggin’ bird.” He touched the thick bandage wrapped around his head and winced. “Do I look like crap? No — don’t answer that.”

  The door opened, and a nurse stuck her head into the room. “Everything okay in here, Mr. Lazarro?” The eyebrows on her round tanned face arched upwards to emphasize the question.

  “How much longer are you going to keep me here?” Zach tried to turn his head towards the door, but his skull was gripped by what felt like icy fingers and he winced at the pain.

  The nurse frowned, and her eyebrows dropped. She took the few steps to the end of Zach’s bed and picked up his medical chart. “Tell me again, Mr. Lazarro. Exactly which part of forty-eight-hour observation do you not understand?”

  Zach guessed the nurse to be in her fifties and a no-nonsense tell-it-straight battleaxe who hid her compassion behind a veneer of sarcasm. She’d probably seen every kind of medical emergency imaginable. And some that weren’t. “I feel like I’ve been in here longer than that already.” He sighed.

  “Well, at least you’re still alive,” she said without looking up from the chart.

  “What does that mean?” Zach asked sharply.

  “Your friend didn’t make it. He passed twenty minutes ago.” She replaced the chart and looked down to meet his stare with a cold gaze of her own.

  Zach couldn’t hold it. His eyes drifted across to the window. “Baker wasn’t my friend.” He watched a cloud drift across the small square of bright, blue sky.

  “Whatever. You came in at the same time, involved in the same incident. In my book, that makes you an item. And once you come through my doors, we’re all friends, Mr. Lazarro.”

  Zach didn’t care for her logic, but the emphasis she put on “my book” and “my doors” left him in no doubt about who was in charge.

  She turned to leave, but stopped at the door. “I’ll be back to check on you later. In the meantime, try not to dirty up the room. And don’t use the emergency buzzer unless you’re absolutely certain you’re dying.”

  “Thanks,” Zach said, still staring out the window. “Appreciate the hospitality.”

&nbs
p; The room descended into silence when the door closed behind her. Zach was unable to take his eyes off the square of blue sky. Cable sat in the chair beside the bed, chain-munching grapes. Even the blackbird had gone quiet.

  “Damned shame,” Cable said, breaking the silence. There was a hardness in his voice that made it clear he didn’t mean it.

  Zach tore his eyes from the window to look at his friend, but the movement was too quick, and he grimaced as the sensation of icy fingers gripped him again. “What are you talking about?” he asked when the pain had passed. “He was twenty years old, Cable. Just a kid.”

  “You did what you had to do, Boss. It was you or him.” The grapes were gone. Cable scrunched up the paper bag in one huge hand and tossed it into a shiny chrome bin in the corner of the room. “Slam dunk.”

  “You’re a cold-assed bastard, Cable.”

  “And you’re getting soft, Boss. You gave him fair warning; he didn’t have to shoot.” Cable held up his finger and thumb about two inches apart. “You came this close.”

  Zach exhaled a grunt and dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand. In his mind, he relived the scene in the alley. They’d tracked Baker using a trace Slice had put on his cell phone. The alley had turned out to be a popular meeting place for junkies and dealers, and while Cable drove around to cut off any possible escape, Zach had pressed ahead from the other end of the alley. He recalled vividly the stench of the steaming drains and the roar of traffic from the nearby freeway overpass. Suddenly, Baker had appeared from the shadows, running towards his stolen Mercedes. Zach shouted for him to stop, to put his hands up and turn around. Baker spun around with frantic eyes and pulled a gun from the waistband of his jeans. The bullet had scraped across Zach’s scalp, hot blood pouring down his face and into his eyes. The rest was blank. Zach sighed. He hated not being able to remember.