Intended Target

by G. K. Parks

  “What do you see?” I asked, forcing Lucca to come closer. “It’s not like I have a mirror so describe my injuries.”

  “Parker,” he licked his lips, “this isn’t a good idea. You’re a victim.”

  “The last thing I want to be is a victim. This is a case, just like any other, and the first thing we need to do is determine what happened.”

  “Fine, but for the record, you’re insane.” He swallowed the lump in his throat and stood at the end of the bed. Except for two strategically placed towels, I was completely exposed. “There’s extensive bruising on the side of your right knee. It appears to be a point of impact. Lacerations run around your lower abdomen in a circular pattern.” Slowly, I shifted onto my side. “You’ve been shot?” His voice held surprise.

  “Again?” I asked, feeling panicked.

  “No, it’s a faded scar, at least a year old, I’d guess.”

  “Let’s keep the scar commentary to a minimum, okay?”

  “Yeah,” he sighed, “why didn’t you ask one of the techs to do this instead of me?”

  “Why? Does the female body make you squeamish? You’re married and have a kid, so you should know what a woman looks like by now.” I glanced down to make sure the towels were still in place. Despite the dig, I didn’t want Lucca to see the goods either. Unfortunately, I had to focus on something, or I was bound to have a total meltdown. “Continue.”

  “Extensive abrasions to your left side. They resemble road rash. Then there’s a large bruise on your upper back, between your shoulder blades, and what looks like blunt force trauma to your forehead.” He backed away from the bed. “And you can see for yourself the condition of your right hand.” I met his eyes, but he looked away. “You really don’t remember how any of this happened?”

  “No.” I shuddered. “Is Jablonsky on his way?”

  “He’ll be here soon. Right now, he’s breathing down everyone’s neck to get some answers.”

  “Sounds like Mark.” Supervisory Special Agent Mark Jablonsky was my boss, mentor, and one of my oldest friends. It also explained why he wasn’t here yet to make sure I didn’t escape the confines of the hospital. “Did he send my go-bag? I’d like to get dressed.”

  “Yeah, he knew it’d be in the trunk of your car.” Lucca’s brow furrowed. “Your car was parked underneath the federal building in your usual spot. What time did you leave work last night?”

  “I don’t remember.” He gave me a look as if my words proved that I wasn’t in any condition to be assessing these circumstances like they were any other case. “Look, you can ask all the questions you want once we get back to the office. Until then, give me a minute to process and remember. The doctor said it might come back, so don’t push.”

  “You’re the one that’s pushing,” Lucca retorted. He went to the door and spoke to someone who handed him a duffel bag. “Don’t you think the doctors would prefer you to wear a hospital gown?”

  “I’ve already had every alphabet scan imaginable. It shouldn’t matter what I’m wearing since I’m ready to get out of here.”

  Before I could ask Lucca to give me some privacy, a nurse came into the room. She brought my updated chart and stuck a few images on the lightboard in the corner. Then she ushered Lucca into the hallway, helped me dress, and said a doctor would be in momentarily.

  While I waited, my eyes closed, and I lost another indeterminate amount of time. At least that was one way to avoid the medical professionals. The sound of voices woke me, and I pulled myself higher in the bed.

  “Alex,” Mark Jablonsky strode across the room and stood beside me, “how are you feeling?”

  “Not so great.”

  Mark turned to Lucca. “Give us a minute, kid.” Mark and I had been through a lot together. Once Lucca was out the door, Mark turned back to me. “What happened?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything from last night. Did the tox report come back yet?”

  “From the preliminary results, there’s no indication that you were drugged. No chloroform, GHB, or rohypnol. They’re still looking for less common possibilities, but it doesn’t seem likely.”

  “Then why can’t I remember anything?”

  “It could be from taking that knock to the noggin’.” He frowned at the bandage. “When we found you, you were wearing what you had on yesterday. Do you remember going to a bar or restaurant after work? Did you meet Martin for dinner or drinks? He was the last received call on your cell phone prior to Lucca phoning this morning.”

  “I don’t remember talking to him.” Squinting, I tried to recall our last conversation, but it made my headache worse.

  Mark sat on the edge of the bed, quietly studying my right hand. My thumb, pointer, and middle fingers were bloodied and damaged at the tips, complete with torn nails. The space between my thumb and knuckles was badly bruised with a large blood blister beneath the skin. On top of that, my wrist had been severely sprained, so the doctors had bandaged and wrapped the entire mess in a temporary cast. And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  “I spoke to your doctor. You’ve obviously sustained some head trauma, but the scans came out clean for fractures and bleeds. They aren’t certain if the short-term memory loss is due to physical or psychological trauma, but there’s a good chance you’ll eventually remember what happened.”

  “Psychological trauma, my ass. I’ve been through hell, Jablonsky. I doubt that whatever happened last night was any worse than what I’ve already experienced.” I was angry and, admittedly, a bit afraid.

  “Until then, the forensic lab is working on the most likely scenario to explain your current state.” He patted my shoulder and stood. “We’ll figure this out. In the meantime, I’ve assigned a detail for your protection. A few agents are reviewing your case files and making a list of possible enemies. The techs are combing through DOT camera footage of the surrounding area for some hint as to how you ended up outside that parking garage.”

  “I can help,” I insisted, making another attempt to sit up, but Mark gently pushed me back against the pillow.

  “Do whatever the doctor says, and once you’re released, Lucca volunteered to take you home and question you.”

  “I thought he couldn’t stand me. Are you sure he volunteered? Maybe he’s planning to take advantage of my weakened state and suffocate me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t necessarily blame him,” Mark smiled, “but then he’d have to off the protection detail too. And that would be a lot harder to explain.” He crossed the room. “Is there anything you need?”

  “Yeah, I need to know what happened.”

  He nodded and left the room. A few seconds later, Lucca returned to find me struggling to get out of bed. He watched while I wrapped my left hand around the bar and pulled myself up, hissing when the lacerations on my back and torso started bleeding again.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Getting out of here.” I reached for the FBI emblazoned windbreaker that someone left for my use.

  “You shouldn’t be leaving,” Lucca said from the doorway as I fought to get my cast into the sleeve. “The doctors want to monitor you overnight. You could have internal bleeding that they missed or…”

  “I don’t care. We have work to do.”

  “You’re in no condition to work. You can barely stand. We can handle this.”

  “You don’t even know what this is,” I spat, “and I won’t be able to relax until I know what happened.” My memory was a blur. Blocking out trauma was the body’s way of protecting itself, but the horrific things I imagined were sickening. “How long until we get the full toxicology report back?” I wasn’t a blackout drunk, so there had to be an explanation for my fogginess.

  “Soon. Probably by tomorrow.”

  “Have a complete copy of my medical report, including the scans and tests, sent to our lab techs. Our FBI field office has a stellar crime lab. They’ll be able to determine the most likely cause of my injuries.”

 
“Jablonsky’s already done that.”

  “Great.” Teetering, I leaned back so I wouldn’t fall forward. “Now go find a nurse and get my discharge papers. I’m not sure I’m capable of tracking anyone down at the moment.”

  “You should stay here, Parker. The point of this place is to make people feel better.”

  “A lot of bad things happen in hospitals, so I’d rather take my chances out there.” I looked pointedly at the window. “C’mon, you promised to take me home, and I’ve been assigned a team of babysitters. It’ll be fine.”

  “All right, but if Jablonsky asks, I want plausible deniability.”

  “Deal.”

  Two

  As soon as we made it up the six flights of stairs to my one bedroom apartment, Lucca insisted that I get into bed. Normally, I’d protest or make some type of inappropriate quip, but I felt like shit and didn’t have the energy to waste. After propping myself up against the pillows and readjusting into the least painful position since none of them were comfortable, I sighed.

  “You need fluids,” he said, leaving my room and heading toward the kitchen.

  “I’m not sick.”

  “You have no idea what you might have been exposed to or how long you were out cold, so it’s not a bad idea to rehydrate.” The cabinets opened and closed, followed by the refrigerator. “Really? This is ridiculous.” He came back into my room with a glass of water. “How can you call yourself an adult? With the empty fridge and impractical amount of sugary cereals in your pantry, I would have expected to find a futon and a couple of beanbag chairs, most definitely not that expensive living room set. Did you buy it just to appear to be a normal adult human?”

  “The furniture’s not mine.” I squinted.

  “Figures,” he scoffed.

  “You do realize I’m suffering from a head injury, so you could be a little nicer.”

  “Fine, I’ll order dinner since you don’t seem to understand the concept of grocery shopping.” He handed me the glass and produced a pill bottle from his pocket that I had tried to leave at the hospital pharmacy. “It says take one with food. Do you want it now or when the food gets here?”

  “I don’t want it at all,” I reached for the bottle and put it on my nightstand, “and I’m not hungry.”

  “My two-year-old daughter isn’t as difficult or stubborn as you.” He made a face. “You have to eat, and you need to rest.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. Disappearing from my bedroom, he returned a minute later with one of the chairs from my kitchen table. He took a seat and pulled out his notepad and pen. “What do you want for dinner?”

  I snorted. “For a second, I thought you were actually planning to do your job.” Rubbing my eyes, I gave in. “The corner deli knows my standing order for soup and sandwiches, and they deliver. There’s a magnet on the fridge with the phone number.”

  “See, that wasn’t so hard.” After dinner was ordered, Lucca returned to the chair beside my bed. “Whenever you want a break, just say so.”

  “I’m okay.” I looked pointedly at the paper. “Where should I begin?”

  “What did you do yesterday?”

  “I had a meeting with the district attorney.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m testifying in court against DeAngelo Bard on that drug case we worked. We finished the interview around noon. Then I ran some errands and came to the office. I spent the day analyzing intelligence we collected on that suspected terrorist cell that’s been exporting heavy artillery out of the Balkans.” I narrowed my eyes. “We worked together on that, but you left before I did.”

  “I called it quits at five. How much later did you stay at work?”

  I shrugged. “Jablonsky might know. His light was on, but I didn’t see him. I wanted to ask him a question.”

  “About what?”

  “I don’t remember. It wasn’t important. It was something about passport codes.” Shaking my head, I couldn’t tell if that bit of forgetfulness was the norm or part of the blur.

  “Then what happened?”

  Blinking, I leaned back against the pillow, gasping at the stabbing pain between my shoulder blades. “I woke up outside.” My mind raced through the possibilities of how I ended up there. “Any idea what might have happened? You’ve seen the aftermath, so what’s your best guess?”

  He took my left hand in his, turning it over. “No defensive wounds. I don’t know what caused the damage to your right hand, but your injuries aren’t symmetrical. It could have been an accident.” His brow furrowed. “Maybe you fell down the stairs.”

  “What stairs?”

  “I don’t know. It was just a guess.”

  “How about you use the evidence you collected to make an educated guess instead?”

  “I will once we analyze the internal cameras at the OIO and figure out what time you left, but since your car was parked in the garage beneath the federal building, you either had a ride waiting or you took off on foot. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”

  “Where did you find me?” I asked.

  “You were wedged between a retaining wall and a city parking garage on a dead end street about a mile and a half from work.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I go there?”

  “You tell me.”

  “I don’t know,” I snapped, agitated. “I need a map. What’s nearby? There has to be a logical explanation why I would go there.”

  He softened, realizing that our normal semi-hostile exchanges weren’t appropriate at the moment. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.” The doorbell rang, and he went to get the food. “Your only concern is getting better.” More drawers and cabinets opened and closed, and then Lucca returned with a foam container of soup and a spoon from the kitchen. “I could drag one of the end tables in here, but I’m guessing you must have some TV trays stashed out of sight, probably with a dozen lava lamps.”

  “Stop it.” I reached for the container, holding it awkwardly with my left hand. “You’ve done more than enough. Why don’t you go help Jablonsky figure out what happened between last night and this morning?”

  “I can’t go anywhere until your security detail is stationed outside. Plus, someone’s supposed to wake you up every few hours.”

  “I have no plans to sleep.” Glaring at the spoon which I couldn’t manipulate because of the cast, I took a small sip from the container. “How did this happen?” My head hurt, and I was tired, scared, and pissed. “This is bullshit.” I gestured wildly, and he confiscated the soup before I could add second degree burns to my list of injuries. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve woken up with no fucking idea where I am or how I got there?” I blinked, fighting to keep my emotions in check.

  “Is that rhetorical, or were you some crazy party girl?”

  “Twice,” I said, ignoring the dig, “and both times I remembered more or less how I’d gotten there once I was coherent. So why can’t I remember what happened last night?” My voice sounded desperate to my ears. “I need copies of my medical report and whatever’s been pieced together so far.”

  “All right, after you finish your dinner, I’ll see what progress we’ve made.” He bit his lip. “By then, security should be here, so if you need anything, you will let them know.”

  “Great.” I held out my hand for the soup. A few sips in, I raised an eyebrow. “Are you on a diet or something?”

  “No, I just thought you might need some help to eat.”

  I continued to glare at him until he went to the kitchen and returned with a sandwich. We ate in silence while I tried to determine what happened last night. After we finished our meal, Lucca took the empty containers into the kitchen and checked to see that the detail was posted outside my door.

  “I’ll be back in an hour. Two, at the most. If you remember anything or start to exhibit any of those symptoms the doctor warned you about, you will call for help immediately. Is that clear?” he asked.

  “Who put you
in charge?” I deadpanned.

  “Jablonsky, and if anything happens to you, he’ll kill me. So don’t screw around.” Lucca put my cordless phone on the bedside table next to the glass of water and pill bottle. “I mean it, Parker. Stay healthy.”

  “Yes, sir.” I shifted and groaned. “Hey,” I stopped him in the doorway, “thank you.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  Once Lucca was gone, I eased out of bed, found some pajama shorts and a t-shirt, and took a shower. The water stung my skin, but I had to wash away as much of today as I could. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I stared at my reflection. What the hell happened? After staining my towel with blood, I rebandaged the nasty scrape that covered my left side, attempted to dry the cast that I wasn’t supposed to have gotten wet, and went back to bed.

  Frustrated that my body wasn’t cooperating, I threw the notepad and pen across the room and gave up on the list of facts that I possessed. Instead, I ran through as much of yesterday as I remembered. Even the tiniest detail from the time I woke up to the coffee breaks I took to changing out of my professional attire and into a button-up blouse and a pair of jeans after getting back from the district attorney’s office because I didn’t like sitting behind my desk in a skirt while reading through threat assessments proved to be unhelpful in determining what happened after I left work.

  I reached for the phone, intent on checking the timestamp of my last received call, only to remember that I didn’t have my phone. Dammit. Glancing at my nightstand, I saw my gun and credentials were also missing. With any luck, Lucca or Jablonsky would think to return them once they were evaluated for evidence. I flattened out against the mattress, hoping to dull the pain in my head and the ache in my wrist that had begun to radiate up my arm.

  Thirty minutes later, I reached for the pill bottle. It was my only option since the possibility that I had suffered a concussion meant no ibuprofen or aspirin. Swallowing half a dose, I forced my mind to focus on the things I knew in order to avoid the debilitating fear of the unknown. It would be stupid to jump to conclusions, but my rapid heartbeat and slight tremors weren’t as easily dissuaded. It was shock brought about by the aftermath of a trauma. Unfortunately, I didn’t know exactly what that entailed.