One For The Team Read online

  In the end, Zach’s conversation with Sun left him with more questions than answers. The thin man in the grease-stained apron had taken Zach out back and shown him exactly where he was standing during the shoot-out. He’d spoken animatedly in broken English about what he’d seen in the alley, grinning and nodding vigorously in answer to each of Zach’s questions. Yes, he had been on his cigarette break when he noticed Baker running for the car. Yes, he had seen Zach close in, point his gun at Baker’s back, and shout a warning.

  “What happened then, Sun?”

  “You shoot bad man. Bang.”

  “What?”

  “You shoot bad man, bad man turn and shoot you. Bang, bang.”

  “Wait, slow down. I fired before Baker turned around?”

  “You shoot, he shoot, I think you dead. Then you shoot again. Bang, bang, bang.” Each time the old man said “bang,” he made a gun shape with his fingers and pulled an imaginary trigger.

  Zach’s belly felt full and heavy, like he’d swallowed a rock. “And that’s what you told the police?”

  Sun Shi’s enthusiastic nod was accompanied by a broad, yellow-toothed grin. Zach stared hard and long into the man’s eyes, hoping to find a lie. He didn’t. Frustrated, he mumbled his thanks, gave Sun twenty dollars for his time, and started to walk back down the alley towards his car. Fresh doubt had wrapped itself around his throat like a noose.

  “Hey, mister!” Sun Shi shouted at Zach’s back.

  Zach turned to see him pointing his fingers at Zach and pretending to shoot.

  “You good man. Shoot bad man. Bang, bang, bang!” And then he laughed.

  Chapter Ten

  “Don’t sulk now, Fish,” Lark whispered. “Toby is nice, but I’ll only ever love you.” She sprayed distilled water on the palm tree’s leaves and wiped them down with a soft cloth. Fish bristled at her touch. “Oh, come on, stop with the jealousy already.”

  Lark began to hum a gentle, caring sound; she pictured the soothing vibes passing through her fingers into the plant. A warm breeze stirred Fish’s leaves and Lark smiled.

  “See?” she said. “You can never be angry with me for long, can you, Fish baby?” She continued to hum and massage his leaves between her fingers, closing her eyes and feeling the tranquil bond that connected her and the plant. She and Fish had been through a lot, and nothing, nothing, would ever tear them apart. Lark sighed. The phone rang.

  “Zuma SEALs Investigations,” she said into the headset. “How can we help you today?”

  “Lark? It’s me, Avalon. Have you heard from Zach? I’ve been trying to reach him all morning and he’s not picking up. “

  Something was wrong, Lark thought immediately; she could hear it in the other woman’s voice. “Hi, Avalon,” she said, keeping her own tone neutral. “Last I heard, Zach was still in Tucson; seems there’s complications with the Baker case.” There was a pause. “Maybe I can help?” Lark added.

  “No, it’s nothing, really. I just needed to talk to him, that’s all. Nothing important.” Again there was a pregnant pause, and Lark could hear faint squeals and shrieks in the background. She pictured Avalon parked somewhere with children playing close by. A dog barked and someone laughed. Weird, Lark thought, shouldn’t she be at work?

  “Are you okay?” Lark said. The background noise seemed louder due to Avalon’s silence. “Has something happened?” she tried again. She looked over her shoulder at Fish, as if expecting the plant to be just as concerned as she was.

  A quiet sobbing sound came over the phone, and Lark realized Avalon was crying.

  “Avalon? What’s wrong, honey?” Lark had always admired Avalon. She thought Avalon’s strong will and self-confidence complemented Zach’s alpha male character perfectly, and hearing her crying on the phone was more than unsettling; it was a shock to the system. Avalon needed help. “Where are you?” Lark asked, already reaching for her car keys.

  “Paradise Cove.” In Avalon’s muffled reply, Lark heard an attempt to hide all kinds of emotions: guilt, shame, anger. Heaven only knew what.

  “Wait there,” Lark said firmly. “I’m on my way.”

  The oceanside cove dipped down to the vivid blue waters of the Pacific, offering private beach access to the handful of residents that lived there and overpriced parking to those who didn’t. There was a waterfront cafe that boasted outside dining and an unparalleled view. Lark parked her Peugeot beside Avalon’s shiny, spotless Lexus, and hurried from the parking lot, walking quickly across the sand-covered asphalt driveway. A handful of picnic tables were scattered around on the sand, which was where Lark found Avalon sitting under the glare of the late afternoon sun. The warm weather had propelled a smattering of sun-lovers out into the fresh air and onto the beach. Several people lounged in beach chairs, and one man threw a Frisbee, which his barking dog chased with a wagging tail. It was a glorious day, Lark thought, and in the midst of it all sat Avalon with her shoulders hunched and her head down. She looked dejected, lost. At first, Lark wasn’t sure what to say. In the end, she said nothing and simply sat down beside Avalon on the bench.

  “Oh, Lark! Thank you for coming.” Avalon gripped Lark’s hand in both her own, squeezing so tight it hurt.

  “What’s going on, Avalon; why are you so upset?”

  Avalon stared at her from behind large sunglasses that, despite their size, failed to hide her blotched makeup. The two women stared into each other’s eyes, Lark’s narrowed in tense concern.

  After a long moment, Avalon took a deep breath and began to talk. “Did you know I’ve been seeing a therapist?”

  Lark shook her head. “No, I didn’t.”

  “Zach hasn’t said anything?”

  “Zach wouldn’t. He’s a very private person. But you know that already,” Lark said, and Avalon nodded. “Why are you in therapy, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  Avalon shrugged and waved a hand in the air, as if to signify that the why was not important. “Oh, nothing really, just a recurring bad dream I’ve been having. It was stupid of me to go seek help, but I thought, what harm could it do?”

  Lark leaned closer and put her hand on Avalon’s shoulder. “You can tell me. I’ll help if I can.”

  “My therapist, the bastard…” Avalon began, her face and mouth twisted as she tried to formulate the words. “He tricked me. Hypnotized me and then did things to me, Lark — awful things.”

  “Oh, my god!” Lark gasped. “Did he rape you?” she asked in a horrified whisper.

  Avalon shook her head quickly. “No. Not that. It’s probably what he planned, but he never got that far.”

  “Thank goodness.” Lark shuddered.

  “He did other stuff, though,” Avalon said.

  A small kindergarten group traipsed down the bench, the procession of toddlers holding each other’s hands elephant style, followed by a skinny girl in her late teens shouting, “Stay together. And away from the water.” She was drowned out by the kids’ squealing.

  Lark waited until they had walked out of earshot. “What did he do to you?”

  Avalon stared into Lark’s face and opened her mouth to speak but couldn’t find the words. She sighed, gave up her attempt to articulate it, and instead reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of folded paper. She pushed it into Lark’s hands and then looked away across the ocean.

  Lark took the piece of paper and held her breath as she unfolded it. The picture was grainy. The printer controls had been set way too dark and the contrast was off; it had obviously been printed in a hurry. But the image was still clear enough to make Lark’s skin crawl. It showed Avalon standing in front of a desk with her eyes closed, a weird, dream-like expression on her face. Her jacket and blouse were open, her breasts protruding from the cups of her bra, and her skirt hung just low enough on her thighs to reveal her flimsy white panties. Beside her in the picture was a man with a round face, bald head, and glasses. The therapist, Lark assumed. He was dressed in a suit, but his fly was open and his penis hung
from the crevice of the zipper. Lark refolded the sheet of paper and gave it back to Avalon. She felt sick, unable to speak, her hands clenched in tight balls of anger and disgust.

  When Lark regained enough control of herself, she turned to look at Avalon. “How could this happen?” she asked, and her question was laced with disbelief. “Even if you were hypnotized. No one can force you to do something you don’t want to do. Everyone knows that.”

  Avalon shook her head. “I don’t know, Lark. Maybe it was the combination of the acupuncture and the hypnotism, maybe he drugged me; I can’t explain it. Do you believe me at least?” Avalon’s eyes pleaded for understanding.

  Lark felt her heart crumble from the sheer helplessness in that look. She reached out and hugged Avalon close. “Of course, I believe you,” she whispered. “I’m on your side, silly.”

  They sat for a moment, not speaking, simply holding each other. Lark felt Avalon’s trembling body slowly relax with the relief of knowing she was not alone. Lark broke off the embrace, smiled, and rubbed a tear from Avalon’s face with her thumb. “Okay,” she said, trying to sound firm. “Let’s talk facts. How many pictures does the sleazy scumbag have?”

  “I don’t know. He has them on his phone and his computer. He could have hundreds. And some of them could be a lot worse than this one. I don’t know what to do, Lark. I can’t go to the police. Dr. Phillips threatened to send the photos to the newspapers; he said he also has videos he could post on the internet.” She ran a hand through her hair and shook her head.

  “Why now?” Lark asked. “Why is this Phillips guy blackmailing you now? You said he didn’t get as far as he wanted to go, that he’d wanted to do more things with you. Why did he stop?”

  “Because I woke up,” Avalon said flatly. “I had another session with him earlier. The picture I showed you is the last one he took. It was taken about ten seconds before I came to. I realized what was going on and slapped him across the face. That was when he threatened to expose me if I didn’t keep my mouth shut. He did a quick print-out of the picture and said I should keep it as a souvenir.”

  The two women fell silent. Around them, the beach slowly began to empty as the sun lost its strength and long shadows crept across the sand.

  Abruptly, Avalon stood up and turned to look down at Lark with an air of finality about her that said she had made up her mind. “I have to tell Zach.”

  Lark jumped to her feet and grabbed Avalon by the arm. “No!” she almost shouted. “You can’t do that.”

  Avalon was stunned by her reaction. “Why on earth not?”

  “Think about it,” Lark hissed, fighting to keep her voice to a whisper. “Zach is a former SEAL. An elite fighting machine.” Avalon continued to stare at her as if she didn’t understand what Lark was talking about. Lark took a deep breath. She would have to spell it out. “He’s a trained killer, Avalon. What do you think he’ll do when he finds out someone has been sexually abusing his girlfriend?”

  Avalon stared into Lark’s intense face while her words sank in. When they did, her stomach flipped and the breath caught in her throat. She understood now why she could never, ever tell Zach about Phillips.

  “Zach would kill him,” she said. The words drifted from her mouth out over the water and were lost on the gentle waves lapping the shore.

  Chapter Eleven

  Cable pulled into the parking lot of Harvey’s Eat-N-Sleep Motel, got out of his navy blue ’67 Mustang, and stretched his enormous frame towards the fading light of the cloudless sky. It had been a long drive, and he still had quite a ways to go to get back to Zuma Beach. He needed to eat, and he needed to sleep.

  “Just like the sign says,” he said aloud and grinned. He grabbed his duffel from the trunk and marched into reception.

  A small, wiry man with horn-rimmed glasses and a goatee entered his registration details for one night, handed Cable a key, and asked if he was really a genuine Native American.

  “Nope. Eskimo,” Cable replied and left the man standing behind his desk with a baffled look on his face.

  The room was sparse and the bed was too small, but that was something Cable had gotten used to over the years. Many a time, he had simply slept on the floor, his huge bulk stretched out on invariably cheap and itchy nylon carpets. Cable squeezed himself into the shower, then changed into some fresh clothes and headed off to the diner. His empty stomach rumbled like the hooves of a heard of buffalo on the parched prairie. He found a booth by the window and ordered a pitcher of beer and three steaks, medium rare, with extra mashed potatoes and a salad, to be served one at a time.

  “I don’t like cold steak,” he explained to the wide-eyed, open-mouthed waitress, who shook her head and waddled off back to the bar, scratching her head with the end of her pencil. It was a weeknight, and the place had the standard crowd of muscle-packed truckers, hairy bikers, and sweaty salesmen with rolled-up shirtsleeves. The obligatory prostitute sat alone at the end of the bar. Cable gave her a once-over and approved of her smart but smutty attire. He wondered if he could get her past Zach’s eagle eye on his expense account. Probably not. Cable wasn’t in the habit of paying for sex — hadn’t, in fact, paid since he was a green teenager just before enrolling in the US Navy, where such things were an almost mandatory tradition.

  One of the truckers got up and fed a coin into the jukebox; egged on by his buddies, he strolled across to the woman and asked her for a dance.

  “One dollar,” she said with a smile that was almost as warm as the ice cubes in her double martini.

  The trucker lost his nerve and returned to sit down with his colleagues, who welcomed him with slaps on the back and taunts, joking that he’d gotten turned down.

  Cable grinned and nodded his approval at the woman, who nodded back and raised her eyebrows in the age-old question. Cable shook his head: no thanks. She frowned, looked sad for a nanosecond, then turned back to the bar and ordered another drink. Cable’s first steak arrived, and the waitress hung around until he took his first bite.

  “Thanks,” he said, still chewing. He dabbed a trickle of juice from his chin with a paper napkin and took a swig of beer to wash the mouthful down. “Not bad at all.”

  The waitress appeared relieved. “The chef’s new,” she confided in an exaggerated whisper. “We’ve had some complaints. Can’t seem to find good help these days.”

  “You sound like my boss,” Cable said, and the waitress laughed. He grinned; the steak and the country music from the jukebox had put him in a good mood. “This is fine,” he told the waitress. “Keep ’em coming.”

  She left him to eat in peace, and Cable attacked his meal with the enthusiasm of a bear awakened from hibernation. He cleared his plate within minutes and took a swig of beer while he waited for part two. He looked out the window and noted the approaching clouds in the black sky — barely visible, just a lighter shade of black in the darkness — and thought, it’s going to rain. Even before the waitress brought his second steak, fat droplets had begun to pelt the glass.

  In between steaks two and three, Cable considered calling Zach. He hadn’t liked being sent back home and leaving his boss behind, but Zach had insisted. There was no point in both of them hanging around, he’d said, and Cable had reluctantly complied.

  The Baker case had Zach sorely vexed. It was supposed to be a routine case of search and find. Baker was a two-bit drug dealer with a low threat assessment. They’d expected him to be armed — who the hell wasn’t these days? — but no one could have foreseen him pulling a weapon the way he had. Cable knew his friend well enough to know he would take on the entire responsibility for Baker’s death, no matter how justified the killing had been. It was what Zach did, how he was: he carried the world on his shoulders and blamed himself every time someone slipped off.

  It got late and the diner gradually drained of customers until it was just Cable and the lone woman at the bar. He found himself staring out the window at the rain, the empty plate from his third and final steak on
the table in front of him. The waitress came and handed Cable the tab for him to sign. The cost of his meal would be added to the price of the room, she explained; he could pay when he left the next morning. Cable signed his name and gave her a cash tip. She cleared the table, asked if he needed anything else, and disappeared into the kitchen when Cable shook his head.

  He changed his mind about the woman at the bar. Even he couldn’t live in solitary all the time. Cable caught her eye in the bar mirror and flashed the key with his room number on the fob.

  She looked surprised but nodded, then pointed at her still half-full glass and held up her hand with her fingers splayed. Five minutes, she mouthed silently to her reflection. Cable smiled; she was one cool cookie.

  He wondered how much she would cost. Cable had no idea what the going rate was in these parts, but he decided he didn’t care. Live a little, why don’t you? He got up from the booth. Without glancing at the woman at the bar, he left the diner and walked back to his room.

  “It’s open,” Cable called when he heard a knock on his door ten minutes later. He was naked and sitting upright in bed. The woman came into the room and stopped in her tracks when she saw the sheer size of him. “What’s your name?” he asked to break the ice.

  “Whatever you like.” She tore her eyes away from his crotch just long enough to strip down to her silky underwear. She kept her shoes on as she climbed onto the bed, straddling Cable, pausing at his knee to check him out more thoroughly as she made her way up his tree-trunk legs.