Warning Signs (Alexis Parker Book 19)

by G. K. Parks

  “I don’t want pills.”

  “I understand, but this isn’t long-term. I just want to see if it helps. They’re mild sedatives. They should help you relax and induce sleep. I’m hoping they’ll take the edge off your nightmares.” She returned to her desk and rummaged through the drawers for a box. She tossed it to me. “That’s a sleep tracker. It should give us a general idea of how much sleep you’re getting and if the pills are working.”

  “This will stop me from seeing crazy things?” I asked.

  “It should, but once we get this sorted, we need to address the underlying causes. This isn’t a quick fix. Grief and guilt are strong emotions.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “Follow the directions. If you have any questions or problems, call me. If not, I’ll make you an appointment for next week. You can let me know if the hallucinations have stopped and if you’re still having frequent panic attacks. We can assess our next steps from there.”

  “Great.”

  “Asking for help doesn’t make you weak, Alex. You recognize something is wrong, and you’re strong enough to take steps to change it. Keep that in mind.” She nodded at the bottle in my hand. “Give the pills a try. They might make you groggy for a few days until you adjust. If you can avoid early mornings or driving yourself to work, I’d recommend it.”

  “All right.” I sighed. “What do I have to lose?”

  Twenty-four

  I went home, casting furtive looks at the bottle on the seat beside me. Pills bothered me. I’d seen so many people become addicted, and without knowing my family history, I didn’t want to tempt fate. Plus, I was a control freak. Any substance that altered my perception or ability to function meant I wasn’t in control. Unfortunately, these last few days proved that was already the case. How much worse could it get?

  When I arrived at Martin’s house, I didn’t find any panel trucks or construction workers in the driveway. Marcal wasn’t standing guard in front of the garage, so I entered the code and pulled the car inside, grabbed my bag, and went through the door.

  The boxing ring Martin had in the center of the room had been moved to the left. The other equipment in our home gym had also been moved, expanding outward into the lounge area where Martin had his workbench and other gadgets with which he tinkered.

  The entire back of the room had been cleared. Polished wood flooring spread across the padded tile. Floor to ceiling mirrors covered two of the walls, and a barre had been mounted along one side. Beside the treadmill sat a brand new reformer. I examined the pulleys and cables. Martin built me a dance studio and bought pilates equipment to make my rehabbing easier. If I hadn’t been so sore, I might have given it a try.

  I ran my hand over the polished barre, recalling the hours wasted while I practiced. From the time I could walk until I turned thirteen, ballet had been my life. My adopted parents insisted on having a prima ballerina. They hated that I didn’t live up to their expectations, and no matter how hard they tried, they just couldn’t love a failure. That’s when I decided I hated dance of any kind. I probably hated it before that, resented it for dictating every aspect of my life, but I’d been conditioned to believe life was about dance and training and nothing else. I didn’t know any better until everything crumbled, and the two people who were supposed to love and protect me no matter what gave up on me. I’d learned an important lesson that day: I had to be the best, and if I wasn’t, lives were destroyed. Apparently, I was still learning that same lesson.

  “Alex,” Martin startled me, “you weren’t supposed to see this.”

  “Why aren’t you at work?” I watched his reflection in the mirror.

  “I took the afternoon off. I wanted to get rid of this before you got home. I didn’t mean for you to see this.”

  I turned, resting both hands on the barre and leaning back to test its sturdiness. “You built me a ballet studio.”

  “It was a mistake.”

  “Why would you do this?”

  “You wanted to use your dance training and pilates to recover from your injury. So I thought I’d help. But I didn’t think it through all the way. I’ve been trying to get the construction crew back here to remove it, but that’s a joke.” He glanced at his workbench. “I figured I’d just grab a claw hammer and do it myself. I was upstairs changing when you came in. I thought you said you wouldn’t come down here. You weren’t supposed to see this. Go upstairs. I’ll get rid of it. You won’t have to lay eyes on it ever again.”

  “The hell you will.” I stared at him, flabbergasted. “You built me a dance studio.”

  “I know. Bad idea. But I’m going to fix it.”

  “Martin, stop.” I pushed away from the barre. “You’re insane.”

  He wasn’t listening. “You always bitch when I make unilateral decisions, but you’ve been so, y’know, I just wanted to do something to help. Shock you out of it. But after seeing you yesterday, I realized what a terrible idea this was.” He moved toward the hammer, but I intercepted him.

  “Step away from the tools.”

  He moved closer to me and ran his hands up and down my sides. “Let me fix this.”

  “You’re not listening, handsome.” I took his face in my hands. “I want to keep it.” I stood on my tiptoes, keeping most of my weight on my left foot, and kissed him. “Right now, I’ll do anything to get on top of my game. This will help me get there.”

  “At what cost?”

  “Whatever it takes.” I sunk back on my heels.

  “We’ll see.” The wheels turned in his head. “If this makes things worse, it’s gone. I will not be the cause of your pain.”

  “Is this the part where I make a comment about my ass hurting?”

  “I wasn’t joking.”

  “Neither was I.” I headed up the steps, turning around halfway when I felt his unwavering gaze. “Stop staring at my butt.”

  “You said it hurt. I wondered if that was discernible to the casual observer.” He smirked. “You’ll be happy to know it is not.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Charmer.” He waited until we were up the steps before enveloping me in his arms. He buried his nose in my hair, running the tip of it against my earlobe. “How was your night? I missed you.”

  “Not good.” I told him what happened and about my consultation with the psychiatrist.

  He lifted my hand away from his face and kissed my palm. “You’ll be fine. You just need to sleep, preferably not in the bathtub.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  He gave me a final reassuring kiss. “Have you eaten anything today?”

  “Does coffee count?”

  “No.” He took my hand and led me into the kitchen. “You should probably eat before you take those pills. They’re mild, but it’s you.”

  “Are you calling me a lightweight?”

  He grinned, grabbed my hips, and lifted me onto the counter. “I stopped by Giovanni’s on my way home and had them wrap up some chicken parmigiana. I’d prefer to take you out to dinner, but I’m tired of hearing no. So I brought dinner to you.”

  “It’s lunch.”

  “Close enough.” He opened the fridge and took out two aluminum containers and removed the cardboard lids. “Unless you’d rather have the beef braciole.”

  “Giovanni’s chicken parm is my favorite.”

  “I know.” He put the containers in the oven and pulled out a large plastic container with fresh salad tossed with an Italian vinaigrette. On the other side of the counter was a paper bag with breadsticks. He put them in the warming tray and set the table. Then he lit the crystal candlesticks and dimmed the lights.

  “Where’s the accordion player? Are you going to roll a piece of braciole across the plate with your nose?”

  “Only if we do the spaghetti kiss.”

  “No wonder I hallucinate things. I live with a madman.”

  “You need to relax. We haven’t had a date night in weeks. You haven’t taken any time for yourself.”
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  “That’s not true. I watched cartoons, remember? But you cut me off.”

  “I would say we should open a bottle of wine, but that’s not advisable.” He picked up the pill bottle and read the instructions and warning labels. “No alcohol.”

  “What about ibuprofen?”

  “It doesn’t say.” He checked the facts on his phone. “No, that’s fine. They don’t interact.”

  “Good.” I took one of the painkillers, so I wouldn’t have to deal with the constant ache. Then Martin and I sat down for a romantic mid-afternoon meal. When we finished, I popped one of the sedatives, put on the sleep tracker, which looked like a defunct watch, and went upstairs to change for bed.

  Martin had some work calls to make, but he brought in my tablet and propped the case on the bedside table so I could watch something from one of the streaming services. “I better not find you using this for work.”

  “Says the man with a list of calls to make.”

  He whispered some filthy promises in my ear of what he’d do once he was finished and disappeared out the door. Watching a movie didn’t sound appealing. Truthfully, nothing appealed to me. I sunk into the pillow and stared up at the ceiling. A warmth slowly spread within me, and my muscles relaxed. Within an hour I was out, and I slept for the next sixteen.

  8:53. I stared at the neon display, unsure if it was night or morning. Martin wasn’t in bed, but he left a note on the pillow.

  I love you. Take it easy today. Marcal’s at your disposal. ~ JM

  After stretching, I pulled the curtain away from the French doors. The morning sun shone brightly over the swimming pool. My head hurt from too much sleep or not enough sleep. It felt like a hangover but not as severe.

  Finding my phone, I called the office to see if there had been any updates on the case. Since Andre hadn’t phoned again, I’d stay the course and start surveilling Eve. I itched to hear from O’Connell, but I resisted the urge to call him for an update. He’d let me know once they made an arrest or if they needed my help. Hopefully, he’d gotten the hotel’s complete guest list and was running down possible suspects and witnesses from the fourth floor. But that was no longer my problem, even if it continued to eat away at me. Instead, I focused on my other case.

  According to Eve’s planner, she’d be in the office until four today, so that gave me some time to exercise. I changed into a pair of leggings and an oversized t-shirt, put my hair into a sloppy bun, and grabbed a cup of coffee and a bottle of water before making my way to the ballet studio. My ballet studio.

  The coffee alleviated my headache, which might have been partially due to caffeine withdrawal. I started out on the reformer. It helped me stretch and strengthen while working everything from my arms and legs to my back and core. After a few reps in various positions, I slid off the machine.

  I cycled through the exercises from the papers Cross’s medic had given me and approached the barre. I did some pliés and variations on squats. Then I moved through a few of the positions. Halfway through my workout, the tremor returned, but I pushed on until my muscles completely gave out. I stretched again and crawled up the stairs, trying to figure out if ice or heat would be beneficial.

  After a brief rest and shower, I changed into Cross-approved attire and went into the garage. Marcal was buffing one of Martin’s sports cars.

  “Going somewhere?” he asked. “Mr. Martin said to drive you wherever you need to go.”

  “I’m conducting surveillance. This is a solo mission. I’ll be fine. Blame me. You can tell Martin I snuck past you.”

  Marcal didn’t like it, but he knew better than to argue. “Please be careful, Ms. Parker.”

  “Always.”

  Twenty-five

  Surveilling Eve wasn’t as difficult as I imagined. Unlike me, she didn’t lack focus. She stuck to her schedule with pinpoint accuracy. I knew every place she’d be and when she’d be there. It really took a lot of the guesswork out of my job. Of course, all this structure in her work life probably meant her home life was utterly unpredictable.

  The first day, I tailed her from the office to a meeting at a venue. While she toured ballrooms and conference centers inside one of the hotels, I meandered from the hotel bar, to the lobby, to the restaurant in order to maintain eyes on her. She didn’t disappear upstairs or lock herself into any room with a stranger, handsome or otherwise. At the end of the meeting, she signed a contract and waited at the valet stand for her car. From there, she made a few more stops before returning to Andre’s.

  Once they were settled for the night, I went to the office, checked the details I had, and went home. Despite sleeping more in one day than I had in the last week, I was even more exhausted. So I took another pill and went to bed.

  This time, I didn’t sleep sixteen hours, only eleven. I didn’t bother working out. Eve had a pilates class, so I grabbed my gym bag and my membership card and waited for her to arrive. Since she spent the night at Andre’s and this was her first stop the next morning, I didn’t think she’d have time to rendezvous with anyone else. Given her punctual arrival, I decided my assumption was correct.

  She entered the room and took a spot near the front. She had probably been a straight-A student. I’d been the same, but I wasn’t the raise your hand to answer the question type. I preferred blending into the background. Eve wanted to stand out. Everything about her screamed it, from her neon pink leggings and sparkly black tank top to her perfectly applied makeup and stylish braid.

  I scanned the surrounding area, wondering who she wanted to impress. Several men eyed her when she walked in. A few smiled when she glanced in their direction. Some even said good morning. They weren’t bad looking. One of them added a few more plates to the bar while watching Eve in the mirror. She watched him perform a few squat lifts before turning to stretch on the other side.

  Based on Andre’s physical attributes, muscly men were right up her alley. I paid attention to see if anyone else caught her eye, but Eve had turned her entire focus to the instructor as she guided the class through some basic floor exercises to warm us up. I followed along while keeping an eye on the men working out on the nearby machines and lifting the free weights.

  Forty-five minutes later, class ended. Eve spoke briefly to three other women, all brides-to-be, about their big days and how hard it was to stay in shape with so many showers and parties and tastings. I remained on the floor, stretching, while I waited for the chatter to die down. Once they left the room, I gathered my things and ventured out into the main gym area.

  Two of the women had gone to the juice bar, carrying their own large thermoses filled with green sludge. The one with the pigtails pulled a binder out of her gym bag. It had lace around the edges. Weddings, ick. I shook off the horror and headed for the ellipticals.

  Eve had gotten onto one of the treadmills, again near the front of the room. She picked the one directly beneath the television showing DIY decorating techniques. That probably counted as research for her business.

  Ten minutes later, when my leg threatened to give out, I stepped off the elliptical and took a seat on one of the recumbent bikes. Instead of peddling, I pulled out my earphones and pretended to tinker with the controls. The weightlifter from earlier climbed onto the treadmill beside Eve. He smiled at her before turning the dial.

  They ran side by side, racing, for the next five minutes. Eve spun the dial and stepped off the machine. She wiped her face on a towel. The man brought his machine to a stop and hopped off. He leaned against the railing.

  I couldn’t hear their conversation, but he looked friendly. Too friendly. From this angle, I couldn’t see Eve’s face, so I had no way of knowing if she was flirting back. Her body language remained neutral. Deciding it was too hard to tell what was going on from back here, I headed toward them.

  Eve ran her hand against his bicep, giving it a little rub, before heading to the locker room. I lifted my phone, hit the camera, and snapped a shot of the guy before he had any idea what I was d
oing. Then I pretended to answer a call and followed Eve into the women’s locker room.

  While she showered, I changed into my street clothes. Other women came and went, but no man entered the locker room. I unbraided my hair, letting the brown waves cascade freely down my back. After Eve emerged from the shower stall, I pulled on my hooded sweatshirt, left the hood up to conceal my features, and knelt down to tie my shoe.

  She dressed and primped in front of the mirror. When she was finished, she slung her gym bag over her shoulder. I stepped out of the locker room ahead of her and went to the juice bar. She emerged a few minutes later, stopping to speak to the two women from earlier. She oohed and ahhed over the photos in the binder.

  “Where’d you get your linens?” Eve asked.

  “From Gary.” The lady with the binder flipped to the back. “Have you used him?”

  “No, never.” Eve examined his business card. “Do you mind?”

  “Not at all.”

  Eve took out her phone and entered Gary the Linen Guy’s information. “Thanks, Steff. Let me see what I can do. Vendors give me great discounts. I’m sure we can work something out.”

  “I hope so.”

  Eve bid them goodbye and left the gym. I caught sight of the guy she’d spoken to earlier. He was flexing in front of the mirror. I gave careful consideration to making an approach, but Eve was on the move. And Muscle Man didn’t appear to be in any rush to leave. I’d catch up with him later.

  After the gym, Eve picked up lunch for the office. Thankfully, she didn’t go to the same place her assistant did. I left my hoodie in the car, put on a pair of oversized sunglasses, and waited for three other people to enter before I went into the café.