Intended Target

by G. K. Parks

  “Because it helps. They should call it stress management instead.” He looked away and took another healthy sip.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize. You should probably know I have an innate talent of putting my foot in my mouth.” I licked my lips, slipping into interrogation mode. “What made you go to anger management?”

  “Let’s just say I didn’t have a choice,” he shrugged, looking in my direction but not quite at me, “but it was a turning point. It put a lot of things into perspective and made me realize that I shouldn’t lash out, especially toward people that don’t deserve it.” He shook his head. “God, I’m probably scaring you away. Don’t worry, I promise my baggage has been checked and has gone through security, so it’s safe to board.”

  “Aren’t you cocky?”

  He chuckled, reddening slightly. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant, but I’m game if you are.”

  “Are your roommates home?” I asked, wanting to delve deeper into what sounded like court appointed anger management and exactly who he felt deserved his wrath.

  “Yeah, it’s retro game night.” He looked embarrassed. “I don’t understand how I ended up rooming with a math geek and a closeted computer nerd.”

  “What do you do?”

  “Mostly, I try to avoid them.”

  “I meant for work.”

  “Right now, I’m a cook. Long-term, I’m not sure.”

  “No aspirations to be a boxing champ?”

  “Nah. I’m past my prime, but it’s a good way to keep in shape and meet people. Plus, the fight scene’s a blast.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out two tickets. “You were serious about going, right?”

  “If I say I’m busy, will you be heartbroken?”

  He clutched his chest. “Most certainly. But Philip will be there, so the extra ticket won’t be a total waste.” He held it out. “Are you seriously busy, or is that just a line in case you want an out after you see where the evening leads?”

  “Damn, you’re too clever for your own good.”

  “C’mon,” he pulled a twenty from his pocket and put it on the table, “let’s go have some fun. By the time I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging to spend the weekend with me.”

  “What exactly did you have in mind?” His place was definitely off-limits because of Facini.

  “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

  “Why should I trust you? I barely know you.”

  “It’ll be fun and exactly what an adrenaline-junkie like you will love.”

  Thirty-two

  “What the hell are we doing here?” I asked, feeling a little panicked as he opened the rear door to Coker’s gym and led the way inside.

  “You’ll see.” He took my hand and gave it a squeeze.

  It was after eight, and the women’s boxing class had wrapped up a few minutes ago. Brad flipped on the lights and led the way from the back of the gym to the main room, walking past the locker room without even the slightest stumble. Although, since he knew how to get in after hours, it probably meant he could pick up the money at any time without anyone ever being the wiser.

  He led the way to the front desk, dropping my hand as he ducked into the office on the side. “I just wanted to make sure everyone was gone. Sometimes, Ron and Linka hang out for a while.”

  “I don’t understand. Why did you bring me here?” My eyes darted around the room, but we were alone.

  “You said you wanted to blow off some steam by hitting things, so let’s hit things.”

  He grabbed the shoulder strap on my purse, taking it and tucking it into a compartment beneath the front desk. Then he glanced around the room, finding two pairs of training gloves hanging from a peg on the wall.

  “Isn’t this illegal? We’re trespassing or breaking and entering or something.”

  “Does that turn you on?” he asked, a teasing quality to his voice “Because if it does, then yes, we’re doing all kinds of illegal things, but if it freaks you out, then Coach Coker gave me a key so I can practice whenever I want.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He and my pops were friends from way back.” A dark cloud settled over Brad’s features. “Coker has a lot to make up for, and this is the least he can do.” He tightened a pair of gloves and ran through a ten hit combo on the closest heavy bag, making it swing easily from side to side. “Your turn,” he rasped, inhaling and making sure he was back in control. After an outburst like that, I wasn’t positive that those anger management sessions worked.

  I slipped on a pair of gloves and danced around the bag, taking easy swipes that barely made it move. The fact that I was alone with a murder suspect that had an aggressive streak was slightly unsettling, particularly since my gun and badge were across the room. Brad was leaning against the ropes of the center ring, watching the way I moved. When I stopped, he smiled and clapped, the relaxed, laidback exterior once again in place.

  “Step into the ring.” he insisted, prying open a space between the top two cords so I could slink through. “No one’s around. Let’s play.”

  We circled around each other, feigning punches and landing a few taps. Thankfully, Brad had no intention of hurting me, but that might change if he found out who I was. He stepped forward, throwing a right cross, and I ducked down. He danced around, circling and launching himself in my direction. I slid to the right, and he threw his arm out, wrapping it around my waist and taking us down to the mat.

  Immediately, I rolled on top of him, pinning him to the floor using a self-defense hold. He snickered, thinking it was part of the game, and I eased the pressure, unlocking my knees from his sides. I dropped down to his chest and then rolled off of him.

  “Sorry, I tend to get carried away.”

  “I’ll bet.” He brushed my hair back behind my ear. “Are you feeling less stressed out now?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good.” He climbed to his feet and offered his hand. “Do you want to go another round?”

  “Not really.” I raised an eyebrow. “Did you have something else in mind?”

  “We do have the entire gym to ourselves.” He adopted a mischievous grin and dragged me away from the ring and into Coker’s office.

  “We shouldn’t be in here,” I said, but my words sounded hollow since I wouldn’t get an opportunity to search the place again.

  “I know. That’s what makes this fun.” He took a seat in Coker’s chair and swiveled back and forth. “What do you think he keeps in here besides dozens of shattered dreams and the broken hearts of failed fighters?”

  “Cognac.” I nodded at the bottle on a shelf above the trophy case.

  “Figures.” Brad opened the desk drawer, finding Coker’s ledger. “Goddamn, business isn’t what it used to be. Clearly, he shouldn’t have kicked you out. He can’t afford it.” He flipped through a few more pages. “I’m one of the only idiots actually paying to attend. Do you seriously think he makes enough on contingency?” Brad’s questions were making me suspicious.

  “We shouldn’t be looking at this.”

  “What’s the harm?” He replaced the ledger and continued going through the drawers. “Do you think he really makes enough to keep this place open, or do you think he’s doing something under the table? Most of his fighters are crappy.” He looked over his shoulder at me. “Didn’t you ask if he was betting on the fights? How would we find out?”

  “I don’t know. Didn’t you say that was none of our business?”

  “Maybe I changed my mind.” The wheels were turning in his head, and there was a good chance I’d been made.

  “Do you think he bets on the side?” I asked, hoping to derail whatever suspicion was circling through his head by making this seem like his idea. After all, his roommate would know.

  “I don’t know. Like you said, this isn’t any of my business.” His gaze came to rest on the framed photo above the trophy case. “What a joke.” The photo was upsetting him, and he crossed the room to get a closer look. “Ca
n you believe this?” He pointed an accusatory finger at the frame and corresponding newspaper article. “That fucking bastard.” Without warning, he slammed his fist into the glass, shattering the frame. “He’s proud of it. Of that night.” He swallowed and fought against tears, his voice cracking when he spoke again. “He killed my dad.”

  “What?”

  “Coker fought him in the ring, and he died the next day from a brain bleed. I never even had a chance to know my father.” He wiped his eyes, noticing the shards of glass stuck to his bloody knuckles. He took an unsteady breath and let out a nervous laugh. “I guess I don’t quite have that baggage checked just yet.”

  “I’m so sorry, Brad.” Lucca had been wrong, which didn’t seem that surprising. “How can you come here every day and see the man that did that to your father?”

  “I’m trying to learn forgiveness.”

  “Is it working?” Or did you possibly lose it and go on a shooting rampage? In which case, Coker should have been your only target.

  “It was until today.” He snorted. “I should clean this up.”

  “Go clean your hand first. You don’t need to bleed on everything. Why did you bring me here if this place is so difficult for you?”

  “I’ve never been in here alone. I…I didn’t have the nerve to look by myself. But you wanted to hit something, and I wanted to see what else Tim’s hiding.” He wiped his nose with the back of his undamaged hand. “You must think I’m crazy.”

  “Sanity is overrated. I’m a little crazy myself.”

  He went into the men’s room, and I took the opportunity to check the office for something that might lead to our shooter. I wasn’t positive that Brad wasn’t crazy enough to open fire on the courthouse, but the targets didn’t coincide with his sob story, unless he was covering his tracks. Facini could have told him what was going on, and Lucca confronted Philip earlier. My call for a date might have seemed just as suspicious.

  There was a thud and then a clang. Brad opened the bathroom door and looked in the direction of the sound. His neck rotated around like an owl, making sure I was still in the office.

  “Did you hear that, or am I really losing it?” he asked.

  “No, I heard it too.” I stepped toward my purse, but Brad was already halfway toward the locker room.

  “Hello?” he called.

  “Hey, man. It’s just me,” Elias Facini said, and I immediately ducked back into Coker’s office. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m hanging out with a friend, and you freaked her out.”

  “You’re such a dog,” Elias replied. “I’ll see you back at the apartment.”

  “Wait. What are you doing here?”

  “Eh, I forgot something in my locker. It’s no big deal. Oh, I had a problem getting the door to open. Can you give me a hand real quick? It’ll take two seconds.” There was a pause. “She can wait a minute.”

  “Yeah, okay.” Brad raised his voice and said, “Alex, it’s okay. It’s just my nerdy roommate. I’ll be back in a minute.”

  “Sure,” I called back, uncertain if Facini would make the connection. Mainly, I wanted to get into the locker room and see if he just picked up the blackmail. If he did, I’d make the arrest since the PD couldn’t be bothered.

  Before I could step into the locker room, Philip Dennison stepped out. He was tucking the envelope into his back pocket, and he froze like a deer in headlights. He’d been caught, and he knew it.

  “Philip, right?” I asked, putting on a friendly smile. “Alex, from the other night. Y’know, with Brad.”

  “Oh, yeah. What are you guys up to?”

  “Not much. Sparring, drinking the coach’s cognac, things like that.” I nonchalantly edged backward toward my purse which contained my gun and credentials. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were into boxing. Brad made it sound like you only watched the fights.”

  “I do a bit more than that.” He moved closer, and from the way his jacket fell, it was clear he was armed. “I’m guessing you already know that.”

  I made a move for my purse, and he rushed forward, knocking me into the office and against the trophy case. I kneed him in the groin, but the bastard was wearing a cup. Who the hell shows up that prepared? He barely flinched and slammed me harder into the wall. I got my knee between us and pulled it to my chest, digging my heel into his stomach. For a future accountant, he was built.

  His hand went for his gun, and both of my hands wrapped around his, shoving the gun upward. It fired into the ceiling, covering us with drywall and plaster. He backhanded me, but I didn’t let go. Instead, I kicked his shin, and his grip on the gun loosened. He went to one knee, and the gun fell on top of the trophy case behind me. I didn’t dare turn my back on him, but I clawed behind me, feeling for it. My fingers brushed against it, but it clattered to the floor behind the case. He blocked my next kick which would have broken his jaw. Getting back to his feet, he grabbed me in a bear hug and lifted me off the ground.

  “Freeze, FBI.” The words echoed in the room, and I shook away the tunnel vision to find Lucca in the doorway. “Let her go.”

  Philip squeezed harder, forcing the air from my lungs and slamming his shoulder into my sternum as he tried to flip our positions in order to use me as a shield. I locked eyes with Lucca, encouraging him to fire, but he hesitated. Philip tried to spin us, and then the world seized as waves of fire shot through my nerve endings. The burning ebbed, only to hit with renewed vigor, and when it finally calmed, I was staring at the hole in the ceiling.

  “Easy, Parker. Stay there. Don’t move.” Lucca knelt on the ground next to me. “Shit.” He pulled the radio from his pocket. “Agent down. We need an additional support team and paramedics. The suspects are subdued.” He pressed his palm beneath my sternum, pushing gently until my muscles stopped spasming and I was no longer hyperventilating.

  I turned my head to see Philip on the ground, cuffed and barely conscious. One of the darts from Lucca’s stun gun was lodged in Philip’s back, and the other was stuck in my arm. Lucca pulled it out, but my nerve endings were too busy misfiring to register.

  “I’m going to fucking kill you,” I growled.

  “It was just a stun gun. You’ll be fine.” His eyes focused on the area beneath me. “Seriously, Parker, you need to lie still.” He took his jacket off and brushed some of the broken glass away from the edges. “Are you in pain?”

  He practically lit my nerve endings on fire. “You’re kidding, right?” I asked, realizing I had crashed through the trophy case. Something warm and wet was on my back. If my bladder released because of the electrical shock, I’d shoot Lucca before we even made it out of the building.

  He lined the edges of the case with his jacket and lifted me out of the trophy case, laying me against the floor and pushing me onto my side. The warmth on my back was blood, and he placed a gentle hand against my arm as my synapses randomly fired, igniting another wave of fire inside my body that made me gasp. On the bright side, Philip Dennison was handcuffed and appeared to be down for the count.

  Thirty-three

  “This is a place of business, not a brothel,” Jablonsky said, approaching my desk. I was practically lying on top of it with my shirt off while a medic dug shards of glass out of my back.

  “Isn’t a brothel a place of business?” I asked, unable to lift my head to look at him.

  “Shush. How do you feel?”

  “Like I ran two full marathons after spending eight hours lifting weights.”

  “Your shirt took the brunt of the impact with the glass, but your nervous system needs to reboot. The stun gun disrupted your muscle function, and the sudden seizing formed an automatic build-up of lactic acid, which is why you feel like you worked out too hard,” the medic offered. “Luckily, you don’t have any large pieces of glass lodged in your back. There are just a few cuts and nicks, but nothing that requires stitches.”

  “Oh, I know exactly where to lodge a piece of glass.” My body was t
ingling with the occasional shooting pain, and the adrenaline surge only made it worse. I felt jittery and exhausted at the same time. No amount of caffeine could combat the muscle fatigue.

  “How’s your heart?” Mark asked, sounding fatherly.

  “They hooked me up to a monitor inside the rig, but everything looked normal. That’s why I came back to work.” I closed my eyes, trying to focus.

  “I need to check on our suspects and get an update on Brad. Stay here,” Jablonsky ordered.

  “That’s basically all I can do,” I retorted.

  The medic finished and handed back my shirt. Instead of regulation white, it was now polka-dot red. Whatever. It would suffice. I struggled to sit up and clumsily shoved my arms through the sleeves. My thumb was twitching, and I gave up on the buttons, propping myself sideways in the chair in order to rest my head against the backrest.

  “Parker,” Lucca approached my desk, “are you okay? I didn’t realize with the glass that—”

  “Where was your gun?”

  “I couldn’t shoot the suspect. The bullet would have gone through him and into you.”

  “I didn’t need your help. I had things under control, but you could have shot him. I’d rather get hit with a piece of lead than be zapped. You hesitated. You were in the doorway, and you hesitated, which is why both darts didn’t go into Philip. How many times have I told you that you can’t hesitate?”

  “Parker—”

  “Dammit, Michael.”

  His face darkened. “Eddie.”

  “What?”

  “My name’s Eddie. I can’t believe you don’t even know my first name.”

  “I know your first name.”

  “Then why the hell did you call me Michael?”

  “Agent Lucca, go wait in my office and stay there until I tell you otherwise,” Jablonsky ordered, appearing from behind. I bit my lip and fought back tears. “Alex, you need to go home after an ordeal like that. I’ll drive you. There’s a ton of shit that has to get sorted tomorrow, so I need you back here early in the morning.” Without another word he helped me out of the chair and looped my arm around his shoulders as we went to the elevator. “You should have gone to the hospital given your history.”