by G. K. Parks
Bruiser gave me an uncertain look, but surprisingly, he didn’t follow me to the ladies’ room. After splashing some water on my face, I detoured to the elevator and went up to Cross’s office. His assistant announced my presence and ushered me inside. From the blueprints spread across the desk, I knew Cross was on to something.
“I was just on my way to meet with Detective Heathcliff,” Lucien said. “You should go home.”
“You found something.”
“I might have figured out how Mansfield got in and out of his apartment building undetected and perhaps where he’s been stowing his black clothing and weapons. Right now, it’s just a guess. I have to be certain before I share it with the authorities.”
“You’re helping them?”
Cross stared at me for a moment. “It’s not like you’ve given me much choice. When this is over, we need to modify our arrangement because it’s not working for me.”
“Me neither.” I noticed a wire poking out from the top of his collar. “I’m coming with you.”
He eyed me for a moment, seeing the nine millimeter holstered at my side. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We took the elevator down to the garage, and I wondered how long it would take before Bruiser realized I ditched him. To be on the safe side, I told the receptionist to tell Bruiser I was following up on a lead with Cross and would be back soon. Hopefully, the bodyguard wouldn’t call in a rescue team or order an airstrike.
Cross parked half a block from Don Klassi’s apartment building. The neighborhood looked just like I remembered it, except now I spotted Jablonsky and a team of FBI agents stationed near the rear door and Heathcliff and several police officers at the front. They remained concealed in their surveillance vehicles, but I knew what to look for. They must be waiting for confirmation before raiding the building and apprehending Mansfield.
The bastard who tried to kill me was somewhere inside, probably masterminding his escape. During my time at CryptSpec, Mansfield had remained aloof and unreadable. He was cool, never giving any indication he was a serial killer with a violent temper. No wonder it had taken years before anyone realized what he had done.
“This way,” Cross said, drawing me out of my reverie. He went around the side of the neighboring building and opened a door labeled maintenance.
“This is the wrong building.”
“We’ll see.” He flipped on a light switch. At the other end of the room was another door. “That should lead to the generator room in Mansfield’s building.”
I opened the door and found a second door. It should have been locked, but I could tell it had been tampered with. The door wouldn’t even stay closed. The lock had been bumped. Slowly, I entered. The room was small, holding the generator and not much else. We branched out to begin the search.
Cross picked through some discarded cardboard boxes and supplies, stopping to study something on the wall. “We need to hurry.”
I spotted the strap of a duffel bag hidden beneath a cardboard box in the corner. Slipping on a pair of gloves, I crouched down and moved the box. “Lucien, I found it.”
I looked up to find Cross’s weapon aimed in my direction. I let go of the box and reached for my gun, but someone grabbed me from behind. I felt the edge of a blade press into my neck.
“I won’t hesitate this time,” Mansfield hissed in my ear.
Cross’s finger flexed on the trigger. He needed to take the shot. Mansfield would kill me if he didn’t. Lucien’s eyes darted from me to Mansfield, and I had to decide just how much I trusted my boss. “Don’t do it, Mr. Mansfield. We’re both businessmen. This doesn’t have to get ugly, but if you try to kill my employee, I’ll put a bullet in you and bury you in the woods next to your former business partners.”
Mansfield’s eyes grew cold. “You shouldn’t threaten me.” He kept the knife against my neck, but with his other hand, he jabbed into my injured rib, knowing exactly where he previously inflicted the most damage.
I screamed, unable to stop my body from folding forward. The blade cut into my neck, and I jerked backward. Mansfield removed the gun from my holster and aimed at Lucien, knowing he had complete control of me and my boss.
“It’s not a threat. It’s a guarantee,” Lucien said. He reached into his jacket, and Mansfield edged backward, dragging me with him. “Easy, sparky, I’m getting my wallet. This isn’t the Wild West. How much will it take to get you to back off? You can invest it, shove it up your ass, whatever gets you off. But I need assurances that you’re done with Parker and you will stay the hell away from my firm.” He tossed the wallet at Mansfield’s feet.
Mansfield let out an ugly laugh. “I don’t want your money. I want your silence.” He pulled the knife away from my neck and ran the tip down the side of my face. It might have been a brazen move if I wasn’t in so much pain that I could barely even stand, let alone fight.
I hissed when he pressed against my bruised cheekbone. Since Cross was taking his sweet time, I had to do something. “You thought you were so clever, hacking into the security system at the art gallery. Too bad you left a digital trail,” I said.
Cross caught on to my play, remaining cool and detached, even as I frantically fought to keep still to avoid being cut. “Oh, you didn’t realize the safeguards I have in place, did you, Nicholas? You probably figured since you run a tech company and I just run an investigation firm that I would have no idea what to do with cybercrimes.” Cross grinned. “Oh, wait, that’s one of my specialties.” He stared at Mansfield. “Isn’t that why you freaked out and decided to silence Parker? She knew what you had done, how you started your company, the deal you made with Don Klassi.” He snorted. “Your best friend betrayed you, and you were afraid of what he told her. That’s why you attacked her and killed Don.”
“And since the two of you are here, I can put all of this behind me right now,” Mansfield said.
“It won’t end here,” Cross warned. “I have contingencies in place. Should anything happen to me, evidence will be released against you. Now put down the weapons.”
“If that were true, the cops would have arrested me.” Mansfield didn’t lower the knife; instead, he held it against my throat, preparing to cut me open.
“The only reason you’re still free is because of my obvious dislike for law enforcement and my reputation. I won’t let my bias stand in the way again. If you refuse my terms, I will go to the police and the FBI, and you’ll be fucked up the ass.”
“Do it,” Mansfield said, calling Cross’s bluff, “but she’ll be dead. And so will you.”
Cross pulled out his phone. He hit speed dial and put it on speakerphone. “Justin, prepare the files for release. I want copies sent to the local FBI field office and the PD.”
“What about the witness to Don Klassi’s murder? Are we disclosing that information as well?” Justin asked.
“Yes, and make a few extra copies of the footage from the hidden video surveillance camera from Don’s apartment, just in case we—”
Mansfield fired at Cross. The bullet whizzed past him, just to the left of Lucien’s ear. “I changed my mind. Hang up,” Mansfield ordered.
“On second thought, that might not be necessary. I’ll call you back.” Cross ended the call. “Did you think I was bluffing?” He rolled his eyes at the gun. “There’s no need to point that peashooter at me.”
Mansfield fired again, hitting Lucien center mass. He squeezed off two more shots, and Lucien dove to the right. I jerked my head back and knocked into Mansfield’s chin. The edge of the knife nicked me, but the move surprised him. Reflexively, he threw up his hands, lifting the knife away from my throat.
“Down,” Lucien bellowed, and I dropped to the floor. He fired, and Mansfield staggered backward, falling to the ground.
I lunged for the gun, but Mansfield wasn’t down for the count. Despite the bullet in his shoulder, he was determined to see me perish. We fought over control of the gun. It skittered across the floor, and I reached it just as he gr
abbed the knife. He held the blade high, intent on plunging it into me. He stabbed at my stomach, and I narrowly managed to roll to the side just as the door behind Mansfield burst open.
“Drop the knife,” Heathcliff bellowed.
It clattered to the floor just as Jablonsky and a team of agents burst into the room from the door Lucien and I used to enter. “Parker, are you okay?” Jablonsky asked.
Mansfield fell to the floor, and I scooted away from him, but my gun didn’t waver. If he twitched, I’d shoot him. The psychopath looked up at me, uncontained rage burning in his eyes.
“Give me a reason,” I said.
He let out a huff. “I should have killed you.”
“Yep.”
The thought went through his head. The gravity of the situation set in. He was caught. There was no escape. He stared at the knife, inches from his fingers.
“It’s never too late,” he said.
“Don’t even think about it.” Heathcliff kicked the knife away and cuffed him. “Clear.” Heathcliff eyed me. “It’s okay. We got him, Alex.”
I held out my gun for one of the officers to take and glared at Mansfield. “You fucking asshole.” I got to my feet and kicked him. None of the police or FBI agents tried to stop me, and I would have kept kicking him if Cross didn’t grab me by the hips and pull me away. I made another attempt to get to Mansfield, and Lucien pulled me into his chest, flinching as I struggled against him.
“It’s over, Alex. It’s done,” Cross said.
I watched Jablonsky drag Mansfield to his feet, knocking him hard against the doorframe on the way out of the room. By the time the bastard was booked, he’d probably have a concussion to go along with the bullet wound. Maybe it would knock some compassion into the cold-blooded killer.
“What the hell took you so long?” Cross released me and tugged off his shirt before pulling at the Velcro straps on his vest. Beneath that, he wore a wire, which he plucked off his already bruising skin and handed to one of the cops.
“We couldn’t find the access point into the room.” Heathcliff knelt beside the cardboard box, lifting it up to find the guns and dark clothing Mansfield used during the commission of his crimes, along with a set of car keys. “I thought you were going to confront him inside his apartment.”
“I had a hunch,” Cross retorted, “and Parker wanted to tag along.” He sneered at the police. “You’re welcome.”
Derek turned to me, seeing the new cuts. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the trickle of blood off my neck, checking to see how serious the injury was. “You’ll be okay. It’s just a scratch.”
I cradled my side. “Yeah, well, I’m not going to refuse an ambulance if you’re offering.”
“No problem.” He radioed it in and gave me a look. “Cross said he had this handled. What are you even doing here?”
“Closing a case.”
Heathcliff grinned. “Me too.”
* * *
Over the next couple of weeks, everything came to light. One of CryptSpec’s co-founders was Ashley Billings, a nobody from Wyoming who lived in utter obscurity until he discovered his first computer at the local library. Soon after, he started coding and programming, practically building machines from scratch. That’s when his life inevitably changed. He moved across the country, found several like-minded individuals, and dreamed of starting a tech company.
Noah Ryder, born Dale Billings, was Ashley’s brother. The two had always been close, and Ashley had told Noah all about his new friends, the computer geniuses. They wanted to create a tech start-up, and one of the five found Steinman. He was a lonely old man who lived a simple life. He was sitting on a fortune and had no idea what to do with it, so they convinced him to invest in CryptSpec.
But Mansfield didn’t want a nobody owning his company or dictating terms. He convinced Steinman that cryptocurrency was money of the future, and they were just exchanging the cash hidden in the secret wall of his bedroom for something just as practical.
Inevitably, Mansfield feared the fraud he and his partners committed would come to light, and on a weekend trip to Steinman’s cabin, something happened. Mansfield must have snapped, or one of his partners suddenly grew a conscience. Mansfield held his partners hostage for months, forced their signatures, and had them cut ties with their family and friends before killing them and burying the bodies. Then he took sole control of CryptSpec.
Before that happened, Ashley had given his brother some of the bogus cryptocurrency and the flyers, perhaps as a joke or because he wanted to confide in someone. When Ashley disappeared, Dale decided to find the truth. For five years, Dale searched for Ashley. When money ran tight, he decided to use his own variation on the fraud scheme, and that inevitably caught Mansfield’s attention. But Mansfield couldn’t risk confronting Dale, a.k.a. Noah, on his own, so he monitored Noah from a distance, waiting for the perfect opportunity.
Don Klassi idolized Mansfield since the tech genius created something from nothing and a company was born out of it. Don wanted nothing more than to emulate Mansfield. Eventually, that friendship led to Don asking for a loan to get out of his own messy business problems. But that loan came at a price. At the same time Don was getting himself in deeper with a killer, his constant calls and proximity to Mansfield caught the attention of Ian Barber, who figured Klassi was another big fish he could gouge with his ransomware scheme and indirectly stick it to the boss all at the same time. However, Don didn’t care about the ransomware. He had bigger problems.
When Don couldn’t repay the loan, Mansfield led Don right to Noah. Mansfield either wanted his cash back or all of Noah’s cryptocurrency. Having no idea how much the grifter possessed, Mansfield knew the maximum amount of coin couldn’t exceed ten million, so he decided he wouldn’t settle for anything less. But when Don couldn’t get ten million, the threats began.
Fearing for his life, Don hired me to persuade Noah to give up the cryptocurrency. When that backfired, Don tried to buy himself some time by insisting I knew the truth about CryptSpec and Noah was helping me.
Mansfield was a killer. He wore nice suits and blended in with society, but he always had the darkness within him. Maybe slaughtering his business partners made him lust for blood. Or it was just another way the arrogant egomaniac could demonstrate he was the smartest man in the room. He was never caught. No one suspected him of a crime, be it murder or fraud.
So when problems arose half a decade later, Mansfield figured he could solve them. And he almost did. Only he knew about Steinman’s cabin and car. So he came up with a plan to eliminate Noah and me, but it failed. And since he hadn’t paid the rest of the hitman’s contract, he thought Martin’s unmarked money would be perfect. In the event the cash was being tracked, it would link to Gifford’s killer and not to Mansfield. But that also backfired.
It was over now. Mansfield was facing multiple life sentences. Noah could finally lay his brother to rest, and my life could go back to normal.
“So where did we land on that vacation?” Martin asked, rubbing his thumb against my cheek.
“You missed doing that.”
“I like you better when you aren’t bruised.” He stole a kiss. “So vacation?”
“The only place I want to go is home.”
He gave me a confused look. “Okay, I’ll give you a ride to your apartment.”
“That’s not home. Our home. Have you fixed the walls yet?”
He sat on the edge of the bed and stared at me, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “Are you serious? You want to move back in with me?”
“As soon as the walls are fixed.”
“I’ll have someone start on that tomorrow.” He looked utterly content. “I’m proud of you. You kept your word. You didn’t pull away or try to send me to Monaco without you. I guess I better keep my word too. I believe I owe you a striptease.” He winked. “Be right back.” He returned with the remote to the stereo and keyed the music. “I hope you have plenty of singles. Y
ou’re going to need them.”
Note from the Author:
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this book. I hope you enjoyed Alex’s latest case as much as I enjoyed writing it. If you have a few extra minutes, please consider leaving a review. They are always appreciated.
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The next novel to be released by G.K. Parks will be the fifth in the Julian Mercer series, coming November 2019. If you haven’t read that series yet, please enjoy this excerpt from Condemned (Julian Mercer #1). Scroll to the next page to start reading.
One
Everything had become interchangeable. The cities, the women, the jobs, none of them were special. They all blurred together in an indecipherable haze.
Julian Mercer stood on the balcony of his hotel room, staring out over the city. If it wasn’t for the Ferris wheel, he might not have realized he was in London. He chuckled at the absurdity. Having been born an hour outside the city and spending his youth at the most prestigious preparatory academies, one would have assumed he would recognize home. But he didn’t. Not anymore.
The woman he spent the last twenty minutes fucking opened the door and joined him on the balcony. “You got a match?” she asked, holding up an unlit cigarette. She was completely nude, and her breasts were barely concealed underneath her tousled red locks.
“No.” He assessed her as if he had never seen her before. She was pretty. Ginger, as his mates would call it. Pale skin, freckles, and auburn red hair. The reason she left the pub with him was a complete mystery, but he didn’t complain an hour ago. “Smoking will kill you.”
