Page 39 of The Broken Places

He nodded again.Maisie.The voice and the song and the back and the forth were a woman named Maisie. And she held his hand in hers.

“What should I call you?” she asked.

His head swam. He had a name. Someone had given him a name. A woman. She’d smiled when she’d said it. “Jett,” he answered.

“Jett,” Maisie repeated. “Okay, Jett. And now, sweetness,” she said, giving his hand another squeeze as he took his foot from the water and placed it back on the bumpy pebbles. “It’s time to choose a guide.”

“A guide?” He heard his voice. It sounded cracked and unused. He had to push it from his chest.

“Mm. An animal, maybe a bird? Your guide will stay with you even when I’m not here. Your guide will never ever leave you, no matter what.”

Fear. He squeezed her hand tighter. “But I want you. I don’t want you to go.”

“Not yet. And I won’t ever be far. But I can’t come with you where you need to go. Only your guide can. What should that be?”

A guide?He didn’t understand. Where did he need to go? He wanted to stay here, under the sunshine, feeling his skin and his toes and his hand in Maisie’s. Safe. Warm. He wanted to use his voice, to test different words and different sounds. To feel it rush over his tongue and whisper between his lips.

“You can do it,” Maisie said. “I know you can. Focus. Close your eyes and call your guide.”

He did as she said, closing his eyes. But he didn’t know what to focus on, didn’t know who or what to call.

“There it is!” Maisie said. “Open your eyes. There it is.” She sounded happy.

He opened his eyes and saw what she was looking at. A white dove spread its wings and flew from the branches of a tall tree, gliding nearer. He blinked in wonder and raised his arm, and it landed on his wrist. “A dove?” he whispered. A dove with snowy feathers and glossy black eyes.

“A dove, yes,” Maisie agreed, her voice soft and sweet. “Beautiful. Doves signify peace. Did you know that?”

Peace.Yes. He’d wished for peace in a time and space he couldn’t now recall. Somewhere different. “Peace,” he repeated softly. Then the dove spread its wings again and soared into the sky, gliding above the trees.

“Follow it, sweetness.Go.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

The call that four more bodies had been found came in just after 5:00 p.m. the next day as Ambrose was leaving for the ring. He’d tossed his equipment aside and pulled on his dress pants, button-down shirt, and tie. Then he’d taken a minute, just one, to sit there with the situation in front of him. Lennon was off, and so he’d likely be at the scene alone, at least for a few minutes. This was a good opportunity, one he hadn’t thought would present itself. And he had to look at the bigger picture, because lives were involved, ones he felt responsible for.

He glanced at his phone, and for a moment he thought about giving in and calling her. Fuck, he’d practically had to sit on his hands all day not to pick up the phone just to hear her voice. But he’d already made a complicated situation even messier, and so he gathered his resolve and reached for his jacket, wallet, and keys before heading for the door.

Thankfully, an Uber was available immediately, and he was at the crime scene in less than twenty minutes. The abandoned building at Pier 70, located a few miles from downtown San Francisco, looked industrial and was likely once used for ship manufacturing. It had obviously been vacant for many years, however, and was now in a state of advanced deterioration.

Chain-link fences encircled the area, andNO TRESPASSINGsigns were posted everywhere. Clearly someone had disregarded those warnings. The officer at the door greeted him when he arrived, and Ambrose flashed his badge at the young woman. He felt mildly guilty. In his earlyyears, it’d been somewhat surprising how easily a badge and the right name could get you through a guarded door. But he was used to it now. “Agent Mars. Lieutenant Byrd sent me.”

The woman stepped aside, and he gave her a nod, ducking under the crime scene tape. He smelled the death even before his brain had fully parsed the situation in front of him. Bodies. Bloody. Mangled.

“We meet again,” the crime scene tech he thought he remembered as Teresa said, from where she was kneeling next to one of the bodies to his left.

Dammit. He’d hoped he’d be the only one here. “Teresa, right?”

“Yes. Agent Mars.”

“Ambrose. Have you been here long?”

“Fifteen minutes or so. Just enough time to take stock of the scene.”

“What’s the preliminary cause of death?” he asked.

“These people got violent. They were all stabbed and beaten. It was a melee, Agent. There’s blunt-force trauma and deep lacerations, and the woman near the door back there was practically decapitated.” Teresa pointed to the bloody footprints leading from the center of the room to where the woman now lay. “It looks like she managed to hold her head on as she staggered to the corner and died.”

He grimaced. “Drugs?”

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