Misplaced Trust

by G. K. Parks

  The white truck was the only one in the lot. The truck bed was covered in a tarp, and a stack of plastic dry cleaning bags was laid flat on top of it. However, I didn’t spot Dylan or anyone else for that matter. Knowing Dylan, he was probably huddled behind the building, smoking a joint. I approached the rear of the pickup and lowered the gate.

  Footsteps sounded behind me, but I didn’t bother to turn around. “Hey, I just needed to grab my costume for rehearsal,” I said, assuming Dylan was returning. “Do you need help dragging the rest of these inside?”

  In response, something solid slammed into my shoulder blade, sending my body careening to the ground. Turning, I saw an aluminum bat coming at my face.

  Eleven

  The bat slammed into the pavement inches from my face. Cold eyes stared down at me from beneath a mask, and he raised the bat again. He aimed for my shin, and I scissored my legs in the nick of time. The aluminum crashed into the ground with a resounding metallic thunk. The reverberation must have jarred the assailant because it took him a moment to recover, and in that time, I jumped to my feet. The man wore jeans, a grey zip-up sweatshirt, and a black mask, but he was no Zorro. He swung at thigh level, and I leapt backward. The bat struck the side of the pickup, breaking the taillight, but the assailant kept coming.

  “Help,” I screamed, fighting my instincts to engage this bastard in hand-to-hand combat. No one immediately came to the rescue, and I cautioned a glance toward the restaurant. “Screw this.”

  My focus remained on the bat. It posed a danger. It was a distance weapon, and getting too close would come with consequences. I had two options: fight or run. Running would be the safe choice. This stocky son of a bitch wouldn’t be able to catch me, but if I got away, so would he.

  “Can we talk about this?” I held up my hands while circling farther away from him. “If you want what’s inside the truck, just take it. I hate that costume anyway.”

  “Alex?” a voice called from the vicinity of the building.

  During that momentary distraction, the assailant barreled forward like a charging bull. I dove to the side, but he spun and swept the bat low. It skimmed my leg just below my knee, and I dropped to the ground, hearing rushed footfalls echoing across the pavement. Despite the fact that help had arrived, the attacker didn’t give up. He raised the bat again, determined to break my legs. I rolled over and kicked him in the stomach. He stumbled backward, glancing up for the first time at the sound of angry yells that were getting closer. Raising the bat a final time, he swung again. With no place to go, I slid beneath the truck, but my ankle got clipped by the edge of the bat while the brunt of the impact connected with the ground.

  I screamed, perhaps out of surprise, pain, or as a way of reminding myself that I was not supposed to be a federal agent. Help had arrived in the form of a stoned teenager and his cell phone. The Zorro impersonator ran, and I watched his escape from my position beneath the truck. He took off down the block, got into an old black muscle car, and drove off.

  A second later, sirens sounded, and a police cruiser pulled into the lot. I remained underneath the pickup, wondering how the hell I was supposed to play this. There was no clear connection between what just happened and our investigation into Wilde, but I didn’t believe in coincidences. I also couldn’t help but notice that the man had been intent on breaking my leg. The first hit was to get me on the ground, but after that, his focus was entirely below the belt. He must have really hated my performances, or he wanted to keep me from being able to escape. Neither thought was particularly comforting.

  Two officers exited the cruiser. One immediately went to Dylan while the other crouched down next to the truck. I pushed my way out from underneath the vehicle. I didn’t try to get up. My injuries weren’t that substantial, but I needed to buy some time to think this through. The officer offered a hand up, but I shook my head, propping myself against the front tire.

  “Ma’am, are you okay?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  He nodded. “An ambulance is on the way. What’s your name?”

  “Alice Lexington.”

  “Can you tell me what happened, Miss Lexington?”

  “I came out here to get my costume. I dance in the dinner show.” I jerked my thumb at the restaurant. “Anyway, I had my back turned, and this psycho came up behind me and hit me with a baseball bat.”

  “Did you get a look at him?”

  “Dark jeans, heather grey hooded sweatshirt, a black mask. He was white, five eight, five nine,” I shrugged, feeling the sting in my back that I hadn’t had time to process during the fight, “stocky build. I’d say around one eighty. He got into an old muscle car. Black. I don’t know the make, but I can tell you it didn’t have a front plate. He was headed that way.” I pointed down the road.

  “Wow,” the cop smiled, but his eyes narrowed slightly, “it isn’t every day we get such a thorough description.”

  “Do you want me to describe the bat too? It was aluminum. Silver.” I pointed to one of the areas that it had come into contact with the concrete. “I think that might be paint transfer.” I cracked a weak smile. “I watch a lot of cop shows.” It wasn’t true, but it was a better explanation than saying I was on the job.

  While I was speaking to the officer, the choreographer and owner came outside. The owner was on the phone, probably with an attorney or the insurance company to determine if they were liable. The other was answering questions. Dylan had finished giving his statement, which I imagined wasn’t nearly as in-depth as mine, and edged over to us.

  “You okay?” he asked.

  “I hope so.” I bit my lip and looked back at our bosses. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to dance tonight. God,” I swallowed, making this my newest priority, “I can’t afford this right now.”

  “It’s cool. I’ll talk to Mr. Lowery. I’m sure he’ll give you the night off.” Dylan’s eyes went wide when he noticed the broken taillight. “Shit. Did you see what that asshole did to my truck? Dammit, my dad is going to kill me.” He looked down at the officer. “Are you going to have to take it in as evidence or something?”

  The cop gave him a stone-faced stare. “No. We’ll take a few photos to include in the report. That’ll be about it. You can pick up a copy and forward it to your insurance. They should cover the repairs, minus your deductible.”

  Dylan looked like he was about to protest but changed his mind. Without saying another word, he went into the cab, pulled something out of the glove box, and stuffed it into his pocket. I was fairly certain it was his stash of weed, but I doubted the DEA would be interested in that. I also imagined he’d claim he had a prescription, but he didn’t want to leave it behind in the event that the police impounded the vehicle.

  A moment later, the ambulance arrived, and the EMTs circled around to me. After the perfunctory flashlight in the eyes routine, they put me on a board and got me into the back of the rig. I had no intention of going to the hospital, but I needed to buy time. If the cop ran my alias, it’d get flagged by the DEA and Agent Eckhardt would be on his way.

  “Y’know,” I said to the paramedic who was taking my vitals, “I can’t afford this. I don’t have insurance.”

  “Don’t worry about that.”

  A second car arrived, and I had to fight the suspicious look off my face. Jace got out of the passenger’s side a second later, and he peered into the ambulance, surprised to see me inside. Tim went straight to the congregation of employees and police officers, and Jace came around to the back of the ambulance.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, glancing pointedly in Wilde’s direction.

  “Someone wanted to make sure I couldn’t dance. They must have seen the show.”

  “Are you going to the hospital?”

  I gave a barely perceptible headshake. “I can’t afford it.”

  The nearest EMT started to explain that I would be treated regardless of my lack of insurance or financial status, but I tuned him out. That wasn’t the pro
blem. We needed to figure out who this masked man was and how Tim knew to show up at the restaurant at such a precise time.

  Jace practically pushed his way into the rig, forcing the EMT to back away. “Can you give us a minute?”

  “Only if you promise to try to talk some sense into her,” the EMT replied, stepping out of the rig.

  I looked out the open doors, keeping an eye out for Wilde. Decker shifted his gaze outside briefly before turning back to me. “What the hell happened?”

  “Some asshole came at me with a bat. I’m pretty sure he wanted to break my legs.”

  “But you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine, but I don’t think I’m supposed to be. He meant business, and he didn’t expect me to duck and cover. How do you want to play this?”

  Decker worked his jaw, lost in thought. Without elaborating, he unhooked the strap that was holding me against the board. “Follow my lead. Do you think you can remember to limp?”

  “I can do more than that.” Standing, I looked down at the ankle that the bat had come into contact with, but there was no obvious swelling or bruising. Without missing a beat, I kicked my foot sideways into the metal support, biting my lip and hissing. That would definitely bruise. With any luck, it might even swell a little. Decker’s eyes flashed to mine, but he didn’t say a word. His look said more than enough. “I might need to borrow a shoulder.”

  He nodded, stepping out of the rig and offering me a hand down. The EMT tried to protest, but I waved his words away. Leaning against Jace’s shoulder, we crossed the parking lot to join the group.

  “Alex,” Lowery said, “I’m so sorry this happened. Is there anything we can do?”

  “Can I have the night off?”

  He chuckled uncomfortably. “Of course. If you need a couple of days, just let us know. Whatever we can do.”

  The owner nodded, promising to help the police apprehend this asshole. The officers followed him inside to get the security tapes from the parking lot, and Lowery disappeared to tell the others not to postpone rehearsal on my account. Dylan looked at me uncertainly and offered to grab my belongings from the dressing room.

  “Alice,” Tim brushed a strand of hair away from my face, studying the way I was favoring my right side and leaning against Jace, “you should be at the hospital. Are you hurt?” He looked down, assessing my swelling ankle. “This could be serious. It could be broken.”

  “I don’t have health insurance, and even with this job, I’m barely making ends meet. I can’t afford the emergency room.”

  “I told her about that free clinic in the city,” Jace interjected. “It’s where I went when I dislocated my shoulder.” He shifted his arm to support some of my weight. “I think she needs x-rays.”

  Tim nodded. “Alex,” he soothed, crouching down a little so we were on eye level, “I know you and Jace didn’t actually get off on the right foot, no pun intended, but he’ll give you a ride to the clinic. I’d take you myself, but I’m leading a group tonight.” My gaze had dropped to the ground, and he lifted my chin and stared into my eyes. “Is that okay?”

  I nodded.

  “Do you need my car?” Tim asked, shifting his focus to Decker.

  “Alex said I can take hers,” Jace replied.

  Wincing, I closed my eyes and inhaled slowly. “Why is it you show up every time I’m in trouble?”

  Tim smiled. “Perhaps I’m being sent where I’m needed. Or at the very least, it’s serendipitous.” Dylan returned with my belongings, and I pulled my keys out of my purse and handed them to Decker. “Everything will be okay, Alex. You just have to believe it,” Tim insisted.

  “We should go,” Jace said. He eyed Tim. “Shit, I’m leaving you in the lurch tonight.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Tim shook his head. “This is more important.” He squeezed my hand. “I’ll pray that everything goes well.”

  Once we were out of earshot and away from the mark, Decker whispered in my ear, “Tell me that you didn’t really break your ankle for Tim’s benefit.”

  I stifled my laugh. “Let’s hope my bones aren’t that brittle.” He helped me into the car, waved to Tim and Dylan, and got behind the wheel. Once we were out of the parking lot and back on the interstate, I shifted in the seat. “Don’t you think it was incredibly convenient that Wilde showed up a few minutes after the attack?”

  Decker looked at me from the corner of his eye. “Not when he orchestrated it.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew a burner phone. Dialing a number, he put the phone on speaker and stuck it in the cup holder. “Matt, the police just responded to an assault. They have a description of the assailant, but to save time here’s what we know.” He looked at me, and I repeated everything for Agent Eckhardt. “Find this guy and put him on ice. I’m positive Wilde put him up to this. We need to solidify that connection.”

  “No problem. Are you okay?” Eckhardt asked.

  “We’re fine. Patch me through to Eve,” Jace ordered. A moment later, she came on the line. “Hey, I need you to create a phony medical report for Alex. She has trauma to her left ankle. Come up with some diagnosis that will keep her from dancing for the next few weeks but isn’t serious enough to require a cast or anything like that.”

  “Bone bruise it is,” Eve chirped. “No dancing for the next month or two and strict adherence to RICE. Any particular medical office you want these records to originate?”

  “Do you remember that free clinic we used as a drop?” Decker asked. “That’s what we want.”

  “I’ll get right on it. Are you on your way back?”

  “Yep.”

  “In that case, you owe me a hundred bucks, Alex,” Eve teased, disconnecting.

  Decker gave me a confused look, but I didn’t bother to supply an answer. It was pointless. We had much more important things to discuss, and now that I had the boss all to myself, I wasn’t entirely sure where to start.

  “Did you know ahead of time that this was going to happen?” I asked. “You were distracted during our briefing. You said Wilde would do something to further ingratiate Lexington to him. So did you know?”

  He snorted. “I wouldn’t do that to anyone on my team.” He turned and gave me a look. “Was that a serious question?”

  “You’re the shrink. Shouldn’t you be able to tell? It seemed that you had no problem ripping me wide open during our initial meeting. What’s changed?”

  He gripped the wheel harder, rolling his shoulders back. “You’re angry because you were targeted.”

  “No, I’m annoyed because you knew something was up, you didn’t share it with any of us, and even now, you still won’t say why your panties are in a bunch.” I sighed. “Believe me when I say that I get it. I get being a lone wolf, changing the play as you go and rolling with the punches. I also know that it’s hard to trust an outsider. But I’ve been here for a month now. I’m not going away, and after what just happened, things are about to get serious real fast. So you either tag me in or cut me loose. It’s your choice.”

  “That’s not it.” His eyes shot to mine. “It’s not about trust or being a glory hog. Wilde has classic hero syndrome. He creates these situations in order to come to the rescue. Personality wise, I can tell when he’s planning something, but I never know what it is. I didn’t know he was targeting you. It’s too soon, like he’s desperate. I don’t like it, but without any proof, I don’t want to put the others on edge because they’ll react differently if they expect something. That could compromise the op.”

  “You seem to forget that you’re not the only one in the field.”

  “You were on the periphery. I didn’t expect this. Honestly, I feared another body would pop up.” He inhaled deeply. “I hate not having any proof, just these gut feelings. It makes me crazy.”

  “Apparently, it’s catching.” I offered a smile and leaned back against the seat.

  “I can tell. I don’t actually know anyone who would make an injury seem that convincing. You’re hardcore.”


  Flashing back to the look he gave me when I did it, I couldn’t help but reassess what I saw in his eyes at that moment. “Do I scare you?”

  “Your reasoning might.” He narrowed his eyes but didn’t look away from the road.

  “You’d do the same to nail this bastard.”

  He smirked. “I’ve been at this for nine months. It’s different.”

  “Maybe it isn’t.”

  “We’ll see.”

  Twelve

  “I need to tell Tim we’re back,” Decker announced when we entered my cover apartment.

  “Have you always been his bitch?”

  Jace snorted, running a hand through his shaggy surfer hair. “Pretty much. I did mention he has a savior complex, right?”

  “I thought it was hero syndrome.”

  “Both, really.” He pulled another phone from his pocket and dialed. After exchanging a few words, updating Tim on my health status, and attempting to voice a protest that didn’t seem to be going anywhere, he hung up. “Tim instructed me to stay here and take care of you.”

  “Wasn’t that sweet?” I deadpanned. “Do you think he’s on to us?”

  “Not a chance in hell. This is what he does. If he can’t be somewhere, he sends one of his disciples to do it.”

  “Okay, Judas, you better do what you’re told, but fair warning, I’m not much for being taken care of.”

  “Unfortunately, I don’t have a choice. Tim said he’d call later and let me know when he can pick me up. He likes people to depend on him. It makes him feel powerful, needed, in control.” Decker surveyed the cover apartment. It remained in an eerily similar state to when I first arrived. “You’re careful. That’s good. I take it you have your gun and ID hidden somewhere safe.”

  “Underneath the grate in the fireplace. The gas has been disconnected, so I figured there wasn’t much chance it would burn to smithereens.”