by G. K. Parks
“That’s not what I meant. Plus, you’re going to burn down my apartment if you leave these candles unattended for days.”
“Oh, things are gonna heat up, but it won’t have anything to do with the candles.” He tossed a sly grin my way. “Have I mentioned I’ve missed you?” He let out a sigh. “I still can’t believe you refused to come back to bed this morning,” he playfully scoffed. “It’s why I’m upping my game. I think I’m losing my touch.”
“Martin, stop.” He put the food on the table, and I decided to eat before we had a real conversation or else I might actually end up starving to death. I loaded up my plate and ate a few mouthfuls. “Delicious.” He smiled. “Please, stop pretending everything’s okay when it’s not. You’re not supposed to be here. You can’t sit still for two minutes, so the fact that you didn’t leave my apartment explains exactly why it looks the way it does.”
“Most places deliver,” he replied, chewing and ignoring the dig of my words.
“That’s fine. I love delivery. But you love work. You’re supposed to be on your rock star CEO seventeen cities in twenty days business trip.” He wiped his mouth and leaned back. “I heard you on the phone this morning. It sounded like you made a shitty deal.”
“Since when do you care about business? It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m worried.”
“Yeah, like I was when that unidentified woman ran into a hostage situation? Then I thought maybe I was wrong. Maybe it wasn’t you. So I called and called. And I tried to call Mark. And no one answered. So I finished up my meeting in Milan, made a deal to get rid of a product line that has done nothing but cost me time and money since the start, and went straight to the airport. Then I came here, and,” his jaw clenched, “I waited.” I didn’t say anything because there was nothing to say. “I know. You think I’m overreacting and being overbearing.”
“I was going to go with clingy.” We resumed eating in silence. “So you didn’t screw yourself or your company in order to cut your trip short by two weeks?”
“Not any worse than I did when we merged with Hover Designs. Francesca’s taking over where I left off, looking for someone else who will absorb the costs of their product line. Eventually, it’ll take off, but right now, it’s far too costly.” He met my eyes. “Don’t worry about my business sense. I haven’t lost that.”
“You won’t lose me either,” I said, pushing my empty plate away. My mind went to images of Wheeler, the gun, and Oster getting shot.
“I better not.” Serious Martin was hard to deal with. I hated it when things got like this, and he knew it. The classic smirk emerged on his face. “And for the record, I didn’t screw Francesca either.”
“Glad to hear it.” I smiled. “Although your ex-fiancée is probably much less insane than your current girlfriend.”
“Yes, but I like how the crazy extends to the bedroom.”
* * *
“Martin,” I said a little louder, shaking him, “wake up. You’re having a nightmare.”
It was ten a.m., and I wasn’t accustomed to him having nightmares. That was my deal. He took a deep breath, his breathing stabilizing, and he snuggled against me, not fully waking up. Hoping that I wouldn’t have to show up early for additional questioning, I stayed in bed, watching him sleep.
Somehow, a certain key fact had eluded me. I must have realized it a couple of years ago when I first met him, but I forgot about it. He didn’t have anyone. Like me, he was alone. No family, a smattering of friends, and a tendency to hide under mountains of work. Maybe I should cut him a break for being worried and occasionally clingy. Possessive was never acceptable, but if he wanted us to spend more time together or talk more often, I could consider it.
By eleven, every phone in my apartment was ringing. My home phone and Martin’s cell were going crazy. He grabbed me before I could get out of bed to get the phone. “If you leave for work, I’m calling the company to disconnect your home phone,” he teased.
“Except you’re just as popular.” He reached for his cell phone, and I went to the kitchen and pulled the cordless off the charger.
“The video encryption has been broken,” Mark said. “Do you want to meet me at the OIO building to check out the surveillance, or did you have a standing appointment at the precinct?”
“I’ll meet you at the OIO. Have you seen the footage yet?”
“No, but from what I hear, it puts everything into perspective.”
“I’ll be there soon.” I disconnected, turning to find Martin searching through his luggage. At least the good thing about his lengthy trip was he still had two weeks’ worth of clean clothes in his packed bags. “And what should I do to you if you leave me on account of work?”
He arched an eyebrow, giving me a seductive look. “You can do anything you want, gorgeous.”
A half hour later, his driver pulled up and whisked him off to the MT building while I got inside my car, which thankfully was released from impound the previous day. Life was getting back on track. Martin was going to work, and I was getting ready to help close a case. This was how things should be.
Mark was in his office, waiting for my arrival. At the moment, the five-star hotel was being scoured for evidence. Every single guest room, office, and alcove would be searched. And considering how large the building was, this would take some time and hundreds of man hours. With any luck, we’d finally discover which room Frank Costan was using, find irrefutable evidence against any other potential accomplices, and maybe discover where Alvin Hodge was actually killed.
“Ready?” Steve Lawson, the tech from before, asked.
“As I’ll ever be,” I replied, and Mark rolled his eyes.
The hidden file contained video feed from room 709. The angle was shit, but three people moved on and off screen, Rodney Wheeler, Sean Svenstak, and Gordon Russell. They were discussing something, but the words were muffled. Lawson clicked a few keys and adjusted some of the sound levels. The words became clearer, and from what we could gather, they were discussing eliminating the threats. Alvin Hodge’s name was tossed around, and Svenstak agreed to take care of that problem. After that, Wheeler and Russell went into detail about Frank Costan. Apparently they didn’t trust Costan since one of his associates was informing to the feds. They planned to find out how much he knew before silencing him.
“When was that made?” I asked. Rachel was threatened weeks before Costan’s arrival, and according to what everyone said, Oster didn’t set up the surveillance camera until after Costan was already at the hotel, which was two days before the conference.
“That part was dated Sunday,” Lawson said.
“The day before the conference,” Mark added. “But there’s more.”
“Goody.” I shifted my weight to the other leg and waited. The video footage blanked out and came back a few seconds later.
“This is dated Thursday,” Lawson clarified. “It was saved as a single file, but the date’s in the bottom corner.” He tossed a look back at us. “This one gets a little gruesome.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Mark muttered.
It was already apparent what was going to happen. Frank Costan was on the ground in the middle of the room, blood dripped from his nose and mouth, and Wheeler kicked him hard in the ribs. I diverted my eyes for a moment, realizing the sniper’s bullet was exactly what he deserved. The beating continued for the next twenty minutes until Costan remained motionless on the ground. The entire time, Wheeler questioned him about the FBI investigation and how Costan could sell him out, but Costan denied it. He didn’t know anything about Hodge’s deals or the FBI surveillance assigned to Wheeler.
“Here’s where things get interesting,” Lawson said. His voice broke through the morbid silence that settled over the room like a dense fog.
Someone entered from the bottom corner of the screen, glanced around the room, and picked up the hotel phone. When he turned, I recognized the man as Gordon Russell. He spoke a few words, ask
ing to be redirected to the security office. He asked to speak to Jason Oster, and then he gave orders to disable the cameras on level seven and make sure the elevators remained clear.
“Oster helped him hide the body,” Mark commented.
We continued to watch the screen, showing the arrival of Sven, some preparation to conceal Costan’s body for the short trip to the subbasement, and then the room cleared out. The feed stopped, and the screen went dark.
“Oster helped them dispose of the body,” I said, letting out a breath. “And from the recording, there’s no way to tell if he did it intentionally. I’m guessing Russell, Wheeler, and Sven would have had no problem saying he was working with them, even if he wasn’t.”
“Which explains why he didn’t go to the authorities,” Mark added.
“Well, at least we know.” I nodded goodbye to Agent Lawson and went into the hallway, pondering the violence and brutality of the human race. It was sick. We all had that inside of us, but to beat a man to death because of unsubstantiated suspicions was nothing more than malicious. I glanced down at my own knuckles, remembering we assumed Wheeler didn’t do it himself, but he did, at least once Costan was already on the ground. “I’m guessing Sven started it, and Wheeler finished it.”
“From the ME’s report I read yesterday, Sean Svenstak had excessive bruising to his knuckles which was in a late stage of healing, so your assumption seems correct.” Mark offered a wan smile. “They usually are. Plus, I heard they found the caterer’s stolen I.D. card among Wheeler’s belongings. The photo matched Svenstak, so he’s definitely our killer.”
“Some good that did.” The video made thinking about everything else difficult. “I’m gonna head to the precinct and see if they got anything new out of Rachel. Do you know how Jason is?”
Mark shook his head. “Do you want me to find out?”
“If it’s bad news, I don’t think I can handle it at the moment. So no.”
Forty-five
The precinct had been sent a copy of the footage, and from Detective Jacobs’ attitude today, I suspected he was just as disgusted as I was. We didn’t chitchat or make small talk. Instead, we got straight to business. Officer Taylor didn’t discover anything damning at Rachel’s, but a protection detail was still outside her house. There was no need, but Jacobs wanted to make sure she wasn’t part of it. Although at this point, that seemed highly unlikely.
“Gordon Russell’s been brought up on numerous charges,” Jacobs offered. “We’re helping in the search of the hotel, but so far, we’ve found Frank Costan’s room. Inside was a key, probably to a safe deposit box. It’ll be a few days before we determine what bank it’s for and where the bank is. It’s all about evidence collection now.”
“Do you know when Rachel told Jason about the man that threatened her?” I asked. “Because from the dates on the tape, he might have been in on it. Or maybe she was.”
“He helped dispose of the body, but we don’t know if he did it knowingly. Only he can answer that, and he can’t answer anything at the moment.” Jacobs looked grim. “I hope that changes.”
“Me too.”
Jacobs flipped through the copy of Rachel’s statement. “She said after Jason told her Alvin died, she told him about the threat.” He shrugged. “So it could go either way, but I think she’s clean. An idiot for taking matters into her own hands,” he looked up, making sure I caught the double meaning, “but innocent still the same.” He skimmed through the various papers on his desk. “Looks like we don’t need you for anything else.”
“Did you ever figure out what Hodge allegedly did with the money he stole from Wheeler since that was the impetus for Rachel to be threatened?”
“We’ve checked into his financials and hers. I’d say there was never any stolen money. It might have just been an excuse to manipulate her into giving them information on Hodge and Eastman.”
“Speaking of, what’s going on with Eastman?” I asked.
“He’s being brought up on a few charges. Nothing too major. He’ll be able to plead most of them down to misdemeanors, especially with that attorney of his. I’d wager he’ll be out on bail by the end of the week.”
“Okay.” I stood, ready to call it a day. “Let me know what you find and what happens with Jason.”
He nodded. “Parker, thanks for the assist. But don’t do anything that risky again, especially for someone as questionable as Eastman.”
“I didn’t do it for him.”
“So why’d you do it?” He looked confused.
“I don’t know. It’s just how I’m wired, I guess.”
* * *
It had been about a week, and Martin was still living out of my apartment. On the plus side, he wasn’t spending every waking moment there. He was working, signing papers, dissolving the merger he made with Hover Designs a few months earlier, and dealing with the Board. On the plus side, his elevators worked, regardless of fire or flood.
The police department and FBI finally closed their case on Wheeler and Costan. Gordon Russell was facing dozens of serious charges from financial crimes to accessory to murder. He wouldn’t be getting out anytime soon. The hotel had been searched from top to bottom. The safe deposit box key that was discovered must have been what Russell was looking for the day of the hostage situation since inside was hundreds of thousands of dollars and information on dozens of overseas accounts. It was the money Costan embezzled and passed to Wheeler. At least that was over with.
Jason Oster was still in the hospital. He was hooked to numerous machines, but he was conscious and able to answer a few questions. From what Detective Jacobs told me, Oster wasn’t involved. He confronted Wheeler and Russell about the crimes after Rachel told him of her threat in relation to Alvin’s death. Jason hoped to use the files as insurance to guarantee Rachel’s safety and his own. Wheeler promised if he turned the information over to the police, that he’d go down for the murders. After all, dating Alvin’s ex was motive, and the cord used to strangle Alvin was actually the hotel security’s uniform belt. So Jason would have had motive and access to the murder weapon, which is why he didn’t cooperate. He looked guilty, even if he wasn’t.
I stopped by the OIO to share this information with Mark. He informed me Walton’s investigation was concluded, and the FBI was finished piecing together the financial crimes related to Wheeler and Costan. The parties that were ripped off by Costan’s scheme would be reimbursed with the funds that were discovered in the safe deposit box. At least someone would benefit from all the murders and mayhem.
“Are you planning to talk to the Director?” Mark asked as I got ready to leave. “You promised you would.”
“I did, didn’t I?” I sighed. “Fine. I’ll stop by. With any luck, he’s busy.” Something flitted across Mark’s face. “What now?”
“Look, when I don’t give you the heads up, you get pissed at me. And since you just gave me that nice bottle of scotch, I probably should return the favor. There’s been an incident recently involving some of our undercover operatives. Needless to say, a lot of missions had to be scrapped because their identities were compromised.”
“Okay, so you need the name for a computer security specialist?” I asked, not understanding.
“No. We’re bringing in some inactive agents to take over.”
“I see.”
“I’ll let Kendall explain the rest. But you wanted to come back. So here’s your chance.” Mark led me out of his office and down the hall. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”
* * *
That night, Martin was still staying at my apartment. He was on the couch with a sea of paperwork. I curled up on the other end, thinking about everything that occurred over the last week. He put down the report he was reading and put a pillow on his lap.
“Come here,” he said, patting the pillow.
I sprawled out. “You need to go home,” I said. “My invitation for you to hide in my apartment forever didn’t actually mean I was asking you to move in.�
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“Yeah, I know.” He ran a hand through my hair. “But we’re pretty good at this cohabitation thing. We’d probably be better at it if we weren’t stuck in such close quarters.”
“And for the last time, I don’t want to move in with you.”
“Why not?” I didn’t have to say it. He had my answer memorized. “Because you think it’s too dangerous for me.”
“It is.”
“Then come back to work at Martin Technologies. You fixed the elevators. You’ve revamped the security protocols. You’re an obvious asset. I’ll pay you whatever you want. Hell, you can have the same benefits and healthcare plan the board members have, if you want.”
“And that’s exactly why I can’t work for you. Because you’d treat me like your girlfriend and not like your employee. It’s precisely why I don’t want to mix work with play.”
“So you’re going to keep taking these gigs for shitheads like Paul Eastman?”
Martin had overheard my conversation with Paul earlier in the day. I sent him my invoice, and he phoned to say he got it and the check was in the mail. I told him I appreciated it, and in the future, it’d be in everyone’s best interest if he lost my number and never mentioned my name again.
“No, I’ve got something else lined up.”
“Is it dangerous?” The worry etched his forehead.
“It’s not anything I can’t handle.” I brushed my fingertips against the stubble on his jaw. “It’s not anything we can’t handle.”
Dying for a Fix, is now available. Here’s an excerpt:
Picking up the black leather case, I flipped it open to reveal the shiny metal and photo ID. I’d looked at it a hundred times in the last few days, but I still couldn’t determine how I felt. Closing my federal agent credentials, I shoved them inside my top desk drawer, hoping that the old adage out of sight, out of mind would be proven true.
