by G. K. Parks
“Sure,” I looked at the clock, realizing the session was wrapping up, “I was just about to grab some dinner.”
“Good girl. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Twenty
Popping two ibuprofens, I leaned back in my desk chair and stared at the computer screen, making sure my vision wasn’t impaired. Ron hadn’t been joking when he said not to pull any punches. Glancing at the stupid recommended weekly diet, I balled it up and tossed it into the recycle bin. I had no desire to bulk up and become a professional fighter. In two days, the blackmail was expected to be paid. Detective O’Connell was working on that angle. Lucca had come up with a feasible alternative to identify our killer, and my money was on Will Briscoe to come through. Right now, Gavin Levere was number one on our suspect list.
“How’s plan B going?” I asked when Lucca emerged from the elevator. He arched an eyebrow and knelt next to my desk, reaching out to touch my face. Immediately, I pulled away. “Any progress?”
“Did you try to knock a confession out of someone by smacking his fists with your face?” Lucca asked, detouring to his desk.
“No, especially since you would probably turn me in for brutality or unnecessary violence. My head hurts, so can you please stick with yes and no answers?”
“No, we haven’t made any progress.” He removed the lid from a Styrofoam cup, shook the contents, and pulled a microfiber cleaning towel from his bottom desk drawer. Flipping the cup upside down, he rolled the towel around the water and melted ice and pressed it against my eye. “Hold that there.”
“I’m fine.” But I did what he said. The last thing I wanted was to go home looking like this. Adding it to the list of drawbacks related to cohabitation, I skimmed the updated reports concerning the lack of progress on the sniper rifle. “Have they finished scrubbing the traffic cam footage from the day of the shooting?”
“Yep. Our suspect walked two blocks east of the courthouse before hopping into a cab. Due to the sun’s glare, we had trouble identifying the plate, but we ran the medallion.” He checked his watch. “Want to tag along?”
“Sure.”
Lucca drove to the cab company’s garage while I filled him in on the gym and how I came to resemble a panda bear. From the skeptical glances that he tossed my way, I knew exactly what the former analyst was thinking. These were dangerous people, and I shouldn’t be screwing around with professionals who put people in the hospital for sport. Luckily, he had gotten to know exactly what type of reaction voicing such an opinion would elicit and kept his mouth shut.
I slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses, checked my reflection in the mirror, seeing the other darkened spot prominently featured along my jaw, from my ear to my chin, but there wasn’t anything I could do to conceal that one without stage makeup. Instead, I took up a position two steps behind Lucca and let him do the talking.
Thirty minutes later, we were back inside the car. The cabbie didn’t want any trouble and willingly turned over his records and receipts. While Lucca drove back to the OIO building, I skimmed through the information for a familiar name.
“He recalled the Yankees’ cap and sunglasses, but he didn’t remember anything else about the guy. He says he didn’t recognize any of the men from the photos we showed him either,” Lucca said, darting through traffic. “Do you believe that?”
“I believe that he probably asked where the guy wanted to go and started the meter. It was a sunny day. The guy had a cap and glasses on. Would you have remembered anything else about him?”
“Yes.”
“If you hadn’t been trained to remember minute details, I doubt you would.” As I suspected, none of the names for credit card users matched any of our suspects. “Our guy must have paid cash.” Checking the timestamps and location pick-ups, I found which suspect was ours. “Damn, we should have thought of this sooner. Weren’t you a fucking analyst before vying for a field assignment? Shouldn’t you be conditioned to think of these things?”
“I’ve been busy, dealing with a particularly difficult agent. It must have slipped my mind,” he retorted. “Where was he dropped off?”
“A few blocks from a residential area with half a dozen bus stops and a few subway terminals within walking distance. The location isn’t even remotely close to Gavin Levere’s known address, but since it’s taken this long just to get to this point, I’m assuming he switched cabs or hopped onto public transportation to cover his tracks.”
“How about you ask the computer techs to scrub the footage this time? Agent Lawson threatened to hack into my bank account and drain it if I asked him for another favor.”
“And you didn’t report him to Jablonsky for that type of insolence?” I pretended to be flabbergasted, opening my mouth wide in shock. “Ouch.” I gently massaged my jaw.
“Serves you right, Parker.” Lucca snickered.
Ignoring him, I sent a text to Lawson, requesting that he and his team track our suspect through additional traffic cam footage and the city’s CCTV grid whenever they got the chance. Then I readjusted in the seat, attempting to get comfortable.
“It’s almost nine. Are we calling it?” Lucca asked.
Checking my phone for a response, I read the message from Lawson saying it would take at least twelve hours to access the footage and identify the unsub. “Yeah, I’m done for the night. It’s been a hell of a day.” My mind was reeling from talking Will Briscoe down from the roof and getting flattened on the mat. “Hopefully, tomorrow will be better.”
“Want to grab a drink?” Lucca asked, pulling into the parking garage.
“No.”
“C’mon, Parker, I’m buying. We’ll share our leads.”
“That’s what we’ve been doing all day.” I didn’t want to socialize with him. That could lead to friendship, which could lead to disaster.
“I’ll tell you what I wrote in my report from today’s mishap,” he wheedled.
“One drink, boy scout.” I checked my watch. “I’ll meet you there in twenty minutes.”
“Why do I get the feeling you might stand me up?”
I shrugged. “It could happen.” Closing the car door, I went around to the driver’s side and leaned into the open window. “Lemon drop martini, and if you have a hankering for some type of appetizer, you better be prepared to share.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smirked.
“And the next time you call me ma’am, I’ll let you smack my fists with your face a few times. Understand?”
“Yes,” he restarted the engine while I went to the elevator, barely hearing him say, “ma’am.”
“Dick,” I muttered, continuing on my way upstairs to grab the rest of my belongings and make sure the tech team couldn’t put a rush on my request. After everything was completed for the day, I returned to the garage, climbed behind the wheel of my car, and went to the bar that my predecessors had claimed for the OIO years before I ever signed up to be a federal agent.
At one of the side booths, Lucca sat with an order of chips and salsa, an untouched lemon drop martini, and a Manhattan. He waved, and I slid into the booth across from him, finding a bag of ice on the table. Holding it against my jaw, I took a sip of my drink.
“Were they out of Shirley Temples and near beer?” I asked, nodding at his drink.
“I didn’t think to ask.” He took a long sip from his glass, shutting his eyes briefly and sighing. “I heard you talking to Briscoe on the roof. Is that why you left the OIO? Because someone you loved died?”
“Wow.” I gulped down the martini, ignoring the burning in the back of my throat. “Don’t you think I’ve been beaten up enough today?” I snorted, playing it off as if it were a ludicrous statement. “You seriously believed that line of bullshit? Damn, I ought to become an actress.”
“So it was a lie?”
“You were an analyst. Aren’t you supposed to be able to read people? So read me, Lucca. This is a one-shot deal.”
He drank the rest of his drink, remaining silent. “Wha
tever. I’m not playing this game with you. You’ll tell me when you’re ready.” He glanced around, nodding at a man who just came inside. “I thought things would be different after today.”
“What did you write in your report?”
“That Agent Parker displayed exemplary behavior in negotiating and calming the suspect until the situation could be safely deescalated.” He picked up a chip and took a bite. “Why do you think I’m out to get you? What the hell have I ever done to you?”
“You always point out my flaws and the rules that get bent. Clearly, you have an ulterior motive for doing that.”
“I’ve seen missions get botched by overzealous field agents, and you definitely seem like one of them. It’s just a habit I picked up when I was an analyst.”
“How long did you do that?”
“A year. They had a shortage of analysts when I graduated from Quantico, and based on my aptitude, they altered my path. Two years training, one year analyzing, and then two years training to be a field agent. Frankly, we’ve been at this for almost the same amount of time, so don’t treat me like a newbie.”
I snatched a chip from the basket, biting down and regretting it. Soup would have been a better idea. However, it served its purpose of buying time. I washed the rest of the chip down with the martini and shifted the ice bag from my jaw to my eye.
“Thanks for having my back,” I slid out of the booth, “and thanks for the drink.”
He nodded, understanding that this conversation was over for now, perhaps forever. “We’ll get him tomorrow, Parker.”
“I’m counting on it. I’m getting really sick and tired of having my ass kicked.”
* * *
“I told you it’s creepy when you watch me sleep,” I murmured, forcing my eyes open. The room was bathed in a grey blue that seeped in from behind the drapes. The sky was brightening, but the sun wasn’t up yet. “Why are you awake this early?”
“I just came to bed,” Martin whispered. He was propped up on one elbow, and his fingers played with the lock of hair that framed my face. “Are you enjoying my pillow and my side of the bed?”
Inhaling deeply, I smiled. “We don’t have sides. We always end up in the middle. And I hate to admit it, but being close to you or something of yours helps me sleep. Maybe if I confuse your pillow for you, I’ll be less likely to hurt you. The pillow might not make it though.”
Gently, he touched my bruised cheekbone. “Did you get into a pillow fight?” I turned onto my side to face him, and he traced the sore spot on my jaw. “Is this going to become a common occurrence?”
“This is nothing. You’ve seen me in worse shape.”
“I have, but that doesn’t make this any better.” He looked around the room. “I should add a mini-fridge to the list of bedroom upgrades. That way, I won’t have to go down to the second floor to get you an icepack every time this happens.”
“Well, if you weren’t insistent on sharing a bed, I’d be asleep downstairs, that much closer to the kitchen.” I ran my hand along his side. “I’m fine. Go to sleep.”
“What happened this time, slugger?” He wasn’t ready to let it go, and I was too tired to fight.
“My sparring partner got carried away. I went to a gym under the pretense of becoming a fighter, and the coach socked me in the eye and followed through with an uppercut.”
“Gloves wouldn’t have left that kind of mark.”
“He wore training gloves. Y’know, the fingerless ones. They aren’t padded very well.”
Martin sighed. “At least you came home and decided to give our bedroom a try.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I sat up and rubbed my good eye.
“Nothing. I just know how you are, and hiding away so I wouldn’t notice you were hurt seems like something you might do.” He wrapped an arm around my middle, urging me to lie back down.
“Well, the thought did cross my mind, but last night, I was reminded of how much better I sleep when you’re around. Plus, I wasn’t positive you wouldn’t show up at my apartment or decide to sleep downstairs again. God, you’re worse than the NSA, tracking my every move. You’d make a wonderful spy or a deranged stalker.”
“Thanks, but since I own a tuxedo, I’m hoping that means I’m more spy than stalker.”
“Spies don’t watch their girlfriends sleep.”
“Are you sure? They might just exercise more finesse or utilize state-of-the-art equipment. Infrared scanners and shit like that.”
“Go to sleep, Mr. Bond,” I retorted, pressing my body against his chest, “and before you embark on any other clandestine maneuvers, you should know I have to get up for work in forty-five minutes.”
He kissed my forehead. “Alexis, how often should I expect you to come home injured?”
“Scrapes and bruises aren’t a big deal. They’re fairly common.” It wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“Have I seen the frequency of the major injuries firsthand?”
“Martin, I’m okay. Any day that doesn’t involve an ER visit is a good day. The majority of my days are good days.” I felt an uneasy pang in my chest, probably a result of yesterday’s drama. “But you know there are dangers. It’s possible that one day will be a very bad day.”
“Don’t say that, sweetheart.”
“It could happen.”
“No.” His tone was hard, and his hand gripped my side tighter. “Don’t you dare put that out there.”
“Yesterday, I tried to talk a kid out of committing suicide. I have no idea if I got through to him. Lucca cuffed him, but realistically, there’s no way to stop that kid from finding a way to get what he wants. When he’s released, if he decides to end it, he will. It won’t matter what anyone says or does. It’s out of our hands. That’s just how it is.”
“Why the hell are you this goddamn philosophical at five a.m.?”
“It has to do with my serotonin levels.” I pulled myself away from his chest and kissed him. “You know I won’t blame you if you want to walk away. This isn’t exactly what you signed up for when we started dating. I told you then how dangerous and volatile my life was, but it’s only gotten worse. Most of my stuff is still packed. I can load up the boxes and go home. Maybe give you some space to think about this.”
“There’s nothing to think about. I love you. I just wish that getting hurt didn’t happen so frequently that you have a blasé attitude toward a black eye and bruised jaw. This is the second time in the past week that you’ve come home slightly disfigured. Should I hire a bodyguard to follow you around?”
“First, I’m not disfigured, and second, I don’t think the federal government would like their agents to have private bodyguards. That scenario screams out lawsuit waiting to happen.”
“Do you think I give a shit?”
“Not really. All you millionaires are alike, believing money can solve everything,” I said dramatically. “And I love you too, which is why I moved in and do what I can to keep you safe, even if it means stealing your pillow.”
“But you won’t let me return the favor.”
“You can have my pillow.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know, but you can’t. It’s a hazard of my job.”
“And I can’t persuade you to make a career change?” he asked, kissing that sensitive spot on my neck. “I can be very persuasive at times.”
“Martin, I’m where I belong. It’s taken a long time to piece myself back together in order to return to the life I left behind. The bruises will fade in a day or two, and we’ll find our balance.”
“I’m glad to hear you say that.”
Twenty-one
Traffic cam footage identified our shooter heading down the steps to the subway. He was lost in the crowd, and it would take a lot of time and money to figure out where he went from there. Frankly, he could have gone anywhere. It was another dead end.
“Any other brilliant ideas?” Lucca asked. Somehow, this was my fault.
“I’ve dug through everything, but I haven’t found a solid link between him and William Briscoe or Stan Weaver.” Lucca shook his head. “No matter how hard I try, I can’t wrap my head around someone deciding to commit a murder out of the blue. There were no warning signs or indications. The guy doesn’t have a rap sheet or a history of violence.”
“He’s a boxer. Isn’t that violent enough for you?” Picking up my desk phone, I dialed O’Connell. We needed to work this out. “Too bad Will Briscoe freaked out at Gavin Levere’s photograph and not Elias Facini’s.” I listened to the ringing through the earpiece. “Go find out if there’s any way we can speak with Will or have his doctor ask him a question.”
“Parker, I don’t even know how admissible that would be,” Lucca warned, but I waved him off when Nick answered on the sixth ring.
“Hey, Nick, I thought you said you were going to call with an update. What’s the verdict? You have two suspects in custody, or you did the last time I checked.”
He exhaled audibly. “It’s a clusterfuck.”
“Okay, I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”
“Gavin Levere is being held for manslaughter. Elias Facini on assault charges, and since they’re against an officer of the court, his court appearance has been delayed, buying us a bit more time. Tim Coker is an accessory, accomplice, or something else that starts with an A.”
“I’ll agree with that.”
“The problem is, aside from the assault and Levere contributing to the death of Hector Santos, we have nothing. A few uniforms are serving search warrants at the gym and our suspects’ residences, but unless we find a smoking gun, they’ll be cut loose, pending a hearing.”
