Likely Suspects

by G. K. Parks

  “Has he woken up?” Mark asked, even though Martin was asleep or still under anesthesia.

  “Yes, he was awake and coherent when we moved him in here. He kept asking about someone named Alex, but his body’s still recovering. He’s feeling the effects of the sedation, so he’ll probably be in and out of consciousness for the next day or two. But that’s normal.” She waited to see if we had any questions before leaving the room to give us some privacy. I sat in the chair next to the bed, grateful that he was going to be okay.

  Mark found a chair in the corner of the room and pulled it over next to mine. “What happened?” he asked, and I gave him the Cliff notes version of the day. “And the reason you can’t get out of the chair is?”

  “I took three hits to the vest.” I grimaced, and he lifted my shirt to check my bruises. “I’ll be fine. I just wish they lined the insides of those stupid vests with packing peanuts or fluffy cotton. Hell, even gelatin would be better than this,” I joked.

  We sat in Martin’s room for a few hours. Mark kept trying to chitchat but finally gave up and flipped through the TV channels. It was getting late, but given the circumstances and the police presence outside the room, no one told us visiting hours were over, which I appreciated. I saw Mark glance at the time.

  “You can get out of here,” I said. It had been a long day. “Martin’s going to be fine. At least that’s what the doctors keep saying.”

  “Can I give you a ride?” he asked, even though he knew I wasn’t leaving.

  “I’m working. Can’t you tell?” Somewhere during the long hours spent waiting, I had crossed over into blaming myself for Martin being shot.

  “Don’t do this, Parker. Not again,” he cautioned. “You saved his life. And to be honest, it’s a fucking miracle either one of you are still breathing right now. Those bullets should have shredded the flak, and Marty could have easily bled to death if it wasn’t for you.”

  I pressed my lips into a thin line and shut my eyes, trying to shut out the harsh reality. “You’re not helping me here, Mark.” My vision blurred as tears threatened to fall, and I rubbed them away and blew out a silent breath.

  “Try to take it easy.” He hesitated, considering camping out in Martin’s room with me. “If you need anything, or if anything else happens, call me.” He stood up, kissed the top of my head, and walked out of the room, stopping in the hallway to talk to the protection detail.

  “Looks like it’s just you and me,” I said to the unconscious Martin. I tried to make myself more comfortable in the chair. “You know, getting yourself shot for your bodyguard is completely ass backwards. Don’t you ever do anything that stupid again.”

  Sitting in the silence, I alternated between staring at him and the walls of the room. My only companion was the constant aching that ran up the length of my back and down the front of my ribcage. Opening the ibuprofen, I took another one and settled into the chair. A while later, a nurse came in to check on Martin.

  “Husband?” she asked.

  “Not quite.” I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to continue this whole related thing or not, but with the police officers outside and me dressed in cop attire, it probably didn’t matter. “Just a pain in my ass.”

  “Aren’t they all?” She went to the closet and handed me a pillow and blanket. “I’m guessing you’re staying the night.”

  I thanked her and tried to get more comfortable. When I couldn’t take it any longer, I relented and took a few of the muscle relaxants. I was exhausted, but every time I shut my eyes, I’d see the gunman standing over me ready to fire or Martin bleeding on the floor. I turned the TV back on and found some wholesome, classic, black and white programming. It droned on throughout the night. At some point, the medication kicked in, and I fell into oblivion.

  Thirty-six

  I opened my eyes. The sun was up, and it was morning. It was the beginning of a new day, but that fact provided little relief or consolation. Martin was still asleep, but the steady beeping of the monitors eased any concern I might have. Slowly, I got out of the chair, thankful I was able to do that much, and went into the hallway. Thompson was outside, talking to the officers.

  “Hey,” I greeted him, “what’s going on?”

  “There’s a man, Marcal,” he looked slightly embarrassed, “I can’t pronounce his last name. He’s at Martin’s compound. The uniforms grabbed him, but he’s insisting he works for Martin.”

  “He does.” I completely forgot about Marcal. He must have come to work today and freaked out, but at least Thompson seemed relieved.

  “Okay, I’ll pass it along and let the man go about his business.” Thompson picked up his radio.

  I stumbled down the hallway toward the restroom to freshen up. A nice hot shower would have been preferable to washing up in a bathroom sink. Unfortunately, I had no other options. With my apartment trashed and Martin’s house turned into the O.K. Corral, there was nowhere for me to go. I finished up in the bathroom and went back down the hallway.

  “Detective,” I called to Thompson, “if you can tell Marcal where we are, I think he’d like to know.”

  Thompson narrowed his eyes. It wasn’t procedure, especially since Martin had an assigned protection detail outside his room, but Thompson agreed anyway.

  I went back into the room and shut the door. Taking a seat, I stared impatiently at him. “You know, I’m getting tired of talking to myself.”

  He ignored me and continued to sleep. A doctor came in to check the monitors and Martin’s vitals. He offered a friendly smile as he left the room. It was around noon when Martin finally opened his eyes.

  “Alex,” his voice sounded thick and scratchy.

  “Hey.” I smiled and carefully leaned closer to the bed, even though leaning wasn’t a good idea. “How are you feeling?” He seemed disoriented. “You’re in the hospital. You were shot, but you’re okay.” I thought about running into the hallway to get a doctor, but he clumsily reached for me with his left hand. He brushed a wayward tear from my cheek, and I clasped his hand against my face.

  “You were worried.” He smirked. Even drugged up after almost dying, he still had the strength to smirk. “I guess that means you really do care.”

  “Not in the least. I’m just allergic to hospitals.” We stayed like that for a moment. He was doing his best to remain awake, but it was a losing battle. “I’m going to find a doctor, but I’ll be right back,” I promised, letting go of his hand and gritting my teeth as I got up from the chair.

  A nurse passed by, and I told her he was awake. She didn’t seem surprised by the news, but she followed me back to his room, performed some perfunctory tests, and asked some basic questions while I waited in the hallway.

  “He’s asking for you,” she said on her way out of the room, and I went back inside.

  His eyes were closed, and I figured he had fallen asleep. But when I sat down, he opened his eyes.

  “Listen,” he sounded serious, “tell Marcal to get everything set up. He’ll know what to do.” I had no earthly idea what Martin was talking about, but I agreed anyway. His eyelids drooped, but his expression conveyed his satisfaction with my response. “Are you staying here?”

  “Of course. I am still working, right?”

  He gave my hand a light squeeze before falling back to sleep.

  Leaving the room, I needed to get in touch with Marcal. Amazingly, he had shown up at the hospital once he heard the news, and the uniformed officers told me he was in the lobby. When I got downstairs, Marcal was waiting with an overnight bag. After hearing Martin was in the hospital, he had picked up a few necessities he thought Martin would need. I really needed to hire someone who would do that for me. Yesterday had been a horrendous ordeal I wasn’t ready to revisit, so I only gave Marcal a brief rundown of Martin’s medical condition and the instructions I was told to pass along.

  “Mr. Martin has a lot of contingency plans, and his credit card is kept on file in quite a few places around the city. Don’t worr
y. I’ll take care of everything. When will he be released from the hospital?” Marcal asked.

  “I don’t know. In a few days, maybe.” I wasn’t sure about anything.

  “Okay, I’ll have lodging and necessities waiting for him. What can I get for you?”

  “Everything.” I laughed. “No, I’m just kidding. I’ll manage. Don’t worry about me, but make sure you coordinate with Detective O’Connell. The police are trying to keep Martin safe, so before you do anything, confer with them.”

  He agreed and went to enact whatever doomsday scheme Martin had devised.

  * * *

  Over the course of the next two days, I spent most of my time sitting in a very uncomfortable chair at Martin’s bedside. The doctors were impressed with the rate of his recovery and hinted he would be going home soon. Finally, on the third day, Martin was discharged from the hospital. I was instructed on how often to change his bandages and when he should take his antibiotics and pain medications. My new job was to play nursemaid. I couldn’t complain. It was a much better position than eulogy writer. O’Connell and Marcal retrieved my phone and car from Martin’s compound and set up a room reservation at a five-star hotel.

  We arrived at the hotel and were given the entire top floor for security purposes. Martin and I were splitting the presidential suite, and our constant police presence was given the room across the hall in order to keep a watchful eye on things. As promised, Marcal had stocked the closets and bathrooms with all the necessities — clothing, shoes, and toiletries. I wouldn’t have been surprised to find the fridge chockfull of food, but I resisted the urge to look.

  “Home sweet home,” Martin declared, entering the lavish suite with his arm in a sling. Despite his weakened state, he was back to being full-on Martin.

  “It’ll do for now,” I grumbled, looking around the room.

  There was a master bedroom suite with a private bathroom, a common living room, kitchenette, dining area, bathroom, and a smaller bedroom. I was dying to take a nice hot shower and lie in a real bed after the last three days of washing up in a hospital bathroom and sleeping in a chair.

  “Do you want me to order room service?” he asked. “After eating nothing but green gelatin and some slop they insisted was food, but most definitely could not be considered food by anyone still in possession of their taste buds, I could go for some actual food. Maybe a steak or a lamb chop, something solid and tasty. Hell, a shoe with the proper seasoning and cooked to a decent texture would be preferable to hospital food.”

  “Before you call down to the kitchen and order a shoe medium-rare, hang on.” He was being particularly absurd in order to shake me out of my foul mood. I gave him a fleeting smile before going across the hall and knocking on the door. “Check out the room service menu,” I told the uniformed officers, “whatever you want. We’re ordering dinner.” They happily placed their orders, and I relayed the message to Martin.

  “Anything in particular you would like?” he asked.

  “Steak, chops, whatever you’re having. Just no shoe. And you can take theirs out of my paycheck too.” I knew what it was like to be stuck on a stakeout, and while this was a protection detail, it was still the same monotonous waiting around.

  He waved my offer away and picked up the phone. “Hi, I’d like to order some room service,” he said into the phone, but they put him on hold or were transferring the call.

  “The cops are out front to keep an eye on things, so I’m going to take a shower.” I retreated into my bedroom and found some clothes hanging in the closet. The tags were still attached, and I wondered if they had been taken from the closet at Martin’s or if they were brand new. Either way, I was grateful. Thank you, Marcal.

  Entering the bathroom, I took off my shirt and checked my reflection in the mirror. The blue and red bruises were now a deep purple, almost black, tinged with green. Just beautiful, I thought sarcastically. Stepping into the shower, I let the hot water work its way through my sore body. When it ran cold, I got out and dressed, wrapped my hair in a towel and returned to the living room. The only things left to do today were eat and sleep. Not necessarily even in that order. The last three days had been hell.

  Martin lay on the couch with his eyes closed. Following my new routine, I sat down in an overstuffed chair next to him, not wanting to disturb his rest.

  “Thanks for staying,” he said without opening his eyes.

  “Just doing my job,” I replied automatically. I didn’t want to think about the firefight or him bleeding, but I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “You know, what you did back at the house, pushing me out of the way, I wish you hadn’t.” I wasn’t being very expressive, but he was smart enough to get my point.

  “I had to.” He opened his eyes and stared with a fierce intensity. “You were my best chance of survival. Plus, I wouldn’t have been able to live with myself if I didn’t do something.”

  I dropped the subject, but he continued to stare with those soulful green eyes. Thankfully, there was a knock at the door, and I got up and glanced through the peephole. I opened the door, and the uniformed officers wheeled in the dining cart.

  “Dinner is served,” one of them said, and I thanked them.

  Martin ordered steak and potatoes for both of us. He wasn’t kidding when he said he wanted solid food. We ate in silence, and when we were finished, I tried to get up from the chair. Unfortunately, the plush factor worked against me, and I didn’t quite make it. I slumped down, wincing. Shutting my eyes, I tried again. Success, I thought as I pushed the cart to the door and left it in the hallway outside our room.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, concerned.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” He scrutinized my face before shifting his gaze to my arms wrapped tightly against my aching sides. “What happened?”

  “Just some bruises. It’s no big deal.” I went into the kitchenette and retrieved his pills. I brought the bottle over and tried to hand him the pill. “Take this.”

  He refused to give me his palm, deciding instead to use his stubbornness for his own personal gain. “I’ll trade you.” He was back to being insufferable. At least he was feeling better. “I’ll take my pill if you tell me what’s wrong.” His gaze moved pointedly to my torso.

  “You are a piece of work, you know that?” I couldn’t help but grin. Despite everything, he was okay.

  He saw my grin. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shook my head, trying not to laugh. The novelty of him being alive would wear off quickly if he kept this up. “I’m just bruised.” He didn’t believe me, so I raised my shirt.

  “Jesus.” He was shocked by my multi-colored midriff and ribcage. “How?” I didn’t have to say anything because the light bulb went on inside his head. “Alexis, I am so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. Things could have been worse. After all, you saved my life, almost at the cost of your own.” I picked up his hand and put the pill in his palm. “Now if you don’t mind, I am going to get some sleep in an actual bed.”

  Without waiting for a response, I went into the bedroom and climbed into bed, still wearing my clothes, but I left the door open in case he needed anything. The TV played for a little while, and then he went into his room. It had been a long three days.

  The next morning, I woke up actually feeling rested and less achy than I had been. I took a leisurely shower and put on some comfortable clothes and dried my hair. I made coffee in the hotel-provided coffeepot and went across the hallway to see if the boys in blue wanted anything for breakfast. They politely declined, and I went back to the suite and sat in the chair, flipping through channels. I heard the water running in Martin’s bathroom and hoped he remembered the instructions the doctors had given him. After some cursing, he emerged, dressed from the waist down. A button up shirt hung from his good arm, and he held a bandage in his hand.

  “Need help?” I asked.

  He reluctantly sat on the couch, and I took the bandage and changed the dressing o
n his shoulder. Once it was secured in place, I helped him slide his shirt on and buttoned it for him.

  “I’ve never had a woman dress me before. Usually, it happens in reverse.”

  “First time for everything.” I brought him some coffee and his pills. Alex Parker, R.N., it definitely didn’t have the right ring to it.

  After ordering breakfast, he spent most of the day asleep on the couch. The blood loss and surgery had taken a lot out of him. I spent the day playing phone tag with Mark, who was still working but had called for an update on Martin’s condition. O’Connell hadn’t checked in, but I dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Hopefully, he was putting the final nails in Blake Denton’s coffin.

  After realizing there wasn’t anything else to do, I decided to take a nap too. If you can’t beat them, join them, but closing my eyes brought images to my mind that I didn’t want to focus on. I tossed and turned until I heard Martin moving around in the living room. Getting out of bed, I went to see if he needed anything.

  “You know, those child safety caps were designed to keep intoxicated people from taking medication,” I remarked as he unsuccessfully attempted to open his pill bottle using only one hand.

  “Really? I thought they were meant to torture people with only one good arm.” He obviously wasn’t feeling too great. Being shot could do that to a person. I opened the bottle for him. “I hate feeling like an invalid,” he commented, swallowing his pill.

  “Join the club. Unfortunately, we’re stuck here for the time being, which means you’re stuck with me pretending to be your nursemaid.”

  “Does that include sponge baths and a sexy outfit? Maybe some white stockings and a garter belt?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, but no,” I mocked regret. “I’d hate to make you feel any more like an invalid than you already are.”

  “Me and my big mouth.”