by G. K. Parks
“Funny how things work out,” he said, picking up one of the beers from the table and taking a sip. “I’m confused. What kind of girl doesn’t want to make a few thousand dollars just by giving head?”
“I’m a thief, not a tramp. Even I have standards.”
“Everyone has a price.” He was cold. His rationality was probably so calculating that he could find justification for anything. Sociopath, my mind filled in the blank. I reached across the table and picked up one of the beers, feeling the reassuring shift of the gun against my side.
“I’m sure one of these lovely ladies would be accommodating.”
“Are you gay?” he asked, still trying to comprehend the rejection.
“No.” We analyzed one another in silence. Talking too much would lead to trouble, so I kept my mouth shut, hoping Ryan would come back soon and not wanting to think what could be bought for three hundred dollars.
“How long did you work for Robert Gregson?”
“A few weeks.” My heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t a long time, and after the raid, it’d be easy to assume the newest member of the team squealed to the authorities, but I couldn’t risk lying either. Reginald Barlow had plenty of time to update his team about me before his incarceration. “How long have you worked for Barlow?”
Something sinister passed behind his eyes. “Not long. Every now and again.” He shifted his focus to the newest main attraction taking stage. “Reggie’s in a bind this time.” His cold eyes met mine. “Any idea how that happened?”
“Not in the least,” I responded automatically, annoyance and ire just below the surface to mask my involvement. “And now I’m forced to deal with assholes like you and yours to unload this smoking gun.” He snorted as if it were a joke. “Your two guys are upstairs getting laid, and I’m sitting here getting interrogated by you. How is that fair?”
“Strippers have standards,” he threw my own words back at me. “They’re getting lap dances while we have a conversation. I don’t deal with strangers. It’s an unsavory business to work with someone you can’t trust.”
“I agree.”
“So how come you approached Hoyt?”
Hesitating, I took a slow breath and repeated the story Ryan and I worked out. When I was finished, I caught the look on Devereaux’s face. He fell for it. Ryan was back in their good graces, and my role in all of this was almost over. We watched the girls spin and gyrate while we waited for Hoyt and Mallick to return.
“Everything okay?” Ryan asked, following Mallick through the detached velvet rope barrier.
“Lovely,” Devereaux replied, and I gave a barely perceptible nod. “Let’s take this conversation someplace private to work out logistics.”
Ryan picked up one of the untouched beers and took a swig. “Are you ready to get out of here?” he whispered in my ear. It was part of the code we devised in case things went sideways.
“Whenever you’re ready,” I replied casually. Devereaux bought the story. All systems were go.
* * *
“Is Barlow picking up the tab?” I asked as Mallick ushered me into the suite at one of the five-star hotels. No one said a word, so I entered and strolled through the room as if I’d never seen anything quite so magnificent before. “Hell, I guess I was working for the wrong guy.”
“Quiet,” Devereaux ordered. He went to the window and looked outside, opened both bedroom doors, and scanned the room for signs of tampering before taking a seat on the couch. He was cautious, maybe slightly paranoid. Was that just his nature, or did something spook him? Ryan took a seat on the opposite couch, and I sat next to him. “Okay,” Devereaux said, “it will take a couple of days to locate a buyer. Make delivery on Wednesday, and you’ll get your cut then.”
“That’s thirty grand,” I leaned forward, “wire transferred to an offshore account.” He nodded. “Don’t fuck with me.”
“Thirty grand,” he repeated. From the way Mallick blended into the background, it was apparent Devereaux was taking over. “What’s your account number?”
“No,” I shook my head, “you’ll get it Wednesday, and once the money is verified, you’ll get the car. I don’t know you, and I don’t trust you. I’m not giving you the opportunity to sell me out.”
He cast his eyes to Hoyt. “You’ve seen the merchandise?”
“It’s clean. The VIN’s been removed. No trackers or identifiers. It’s ready to move.” He briefly turned and appraised me. “She’s a thing of beauty.” It was part of the cover, and I had to hand it to Ryan, he was excellent at the slight nuance.
Devereaux’s unyielding stare was harsh. “It better be exactly as you say.” I sensed the power play. Chase was trying to assert his dominance over Ryan too. But from what I knew of Hoyt, he was Barlow’s right-hand man for the better part of six months and would make a stand to knock Devereaux down a few rungs.
Ryan leaned back, his posture open and his lips curled back in a silent laugh. He shook his head slightly. “Chase,” his voice was rich with malice, “who the bloody hell left you to run things?” Without warning, he kicked the coffee table across the expanse into the couch Devereaux was occupying. “Barlow left me in charge, and I’ve let you get away with a lot since I was delayed. But don’t you think for a bleeding moment that’s the new status quo. You work the business angles and make the connections, but this is my fucking show now.” Ryan barely moved, but Devereaux cowered slightly. I spotted Mallick, hand resting closer to his hip, but he decided not to intervene. If a fight were to break out, I wasn’t certain if it’d be every man for himself or if Mallick was Devereaux’s bitch. “Right now, we’re regrouping and licking our wounds.” He tossed a glance at me. “But our priority is Reggie’s release. These damn yanks are planning to deport him, and we’ll get him freed on our end. In the meantime, behave in front of our guest.”
“Yes, sir.” I felt the loathing and hatred in Devereaux’s words. There was no doubt in my mind he wouldn’t cut Ryan’s throat in his sleep if he thought it would eliminate the competition. Ruthless, that’s what he was.
“Brilliant,” Ryan spat, standing and offering me his hand. “I’ll let the two of you keep this suite. I have someplace much more welcoming to stay and a side deal that needs closing.” I took his hand, and he escorted me to the door. Tommy would be so infuriated to know that Hoyt was getting into Riley’s panties tonight. “Wait in the lobby,” he ordered. I didn’t like leaving him alone with two potential killers, but it was his operation.
I went to the elevator and pressed the button, listening for sounds of a struggle or weapons discharge. There were some raised voices, but it all sounded business related. By the time the elevator car reached our level, Ryan exited the hotel suite. The door was ajar, and he was still very much in character.
“I told you to wait downstairs,” he snarled.
“I was waiting for the goddamn elevator. Did you want me to take the stairs?” I retorted.
“No.” His voice was low and angry, and I signaled with my eyes that Mallick was watching us from the doorway. “I’m sorry about my partners.” He grabbed my wrist and spun me into the elevator, pressing me against the wall, and covering my mouth with his as the doors closed. Once the elevator started to descend, he released me. “Sorry,” he apologized, back to Donough.
“It’s all right. They’ll probably be monitoring us as we leave the hotel,” I mumbled. He nodded, drained from acting as Hoyt.
“We’ll take a cab back to my hotel, and then you can grab a ride home from there. They’ll be less able to track you just in case.”
“Ryan,” I began, but he shook his head.
“Not now,” he growled, a mix of Hoyt and Donough, as the doors opened and we left the hotel. His dual personality was giving me whiplash. He didn’t relax again until he let himself into his hotel room.
“If you still need a place to crash,” I began, but he shook his head.
“Not tonight. In case Devereaux tries something, you don’t need to b
e caught in the crossfire.”
“What if you need support?” I asked.
“Farrell has agents positioned throughout the hotel. It’s secure.”
“Okay.” He took a seat at the table, his back to me as if he was isolating himself from everything and everyone. Maybe it was how he coped. I didn’t know everything that happened tonight, and now wasn’t the time to ask. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” He nodded but didn’t turn around.
I let myself out of his room. Leaning against the wall to collect my thoughts before heading home, I heard the chair squeak against the floor and the lock slide into place. Being Hoyt was destroying whatever was left of Donough. This needed to end soon while there was still something left to salvage.
Sixteen
“You don’t need to be present for the wire transfer,” Ryan argued. We were in Farrell’s office, being debriefed about yesterday’s meet. “Since Hoyt’s screwing Riley, I can easily instill upon Devereaux and Mallick that you trust me enough to make the transfer.”
“And you honestly believe that Devereaux wouldn’t put a bullet in the back of your skull and keep the car and cash for himself,” I retorted.
“It’s better than having him put a bullet in both of us,” Ryan growled. His eyes were puffy and dark. I didn’t think he slept last night. I know I didn’t, and the lack of sleep was making both of us edgy.
“Parker,” Mark said from behind, and I swiveled to see him standing in the doorway, “do I have to separate the two of you?” I glared at the insult. “I’m going to take that as a yes. Now walk with me.” Farrell jerked his chin at the door, and I went with Mark.
“What?” I asked as he closed his office door.
“Give me the unofficial version of things. How stable is Donough?”
“He hasn’t flipped. How many times do I have to say it?”
“No,” he shook his head for emphasis, “that’s not what I meant. I’ve been listening to the two of you argue for the last forty-five minutes.” He looked like he wanted to say something but thought better of it. “The man looks like he went through hell, and frankly, you don’t look much better. I need to know if this operation should be scrapped.”
“There’s a contract killer on the loose.”
“That detail is not what I asked.”
“Ryan can hold it together for now, but the other two men that Barlow employed,” I pressed my lips together and took a deep breath, “they’re sharks that smell blood in the water. He needs support. Tactical support.”
“You’re not it, but we’ll figure something out.” He assessed my expression for a moment. “What aren’t you saying?”
“He’s pushing the envelope. He’s fighting so hard to be Hoyt and to separate out his own humanity. I don’t think he can keep it up much longer. It’s killing him. On the inside, it’s killing him.”
Mark swallowed and shifted his gaze to the door. “Only you would recognize the signs in others.” The implication of his words resonated in my gut, but I brushed it away. “Finish up with Farrell and go home. This building doesn’t agree with you.”
“Well, I’m not overly fond of it, either,” I muttered.
* * *
“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier,” Ryan admitted. After he finished the debrief and strategizing with Interpol, he detoured to my apartment. “God,” he put his head in his hands, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” He let out a harsh breath. “Mallick called this afternoon. We’re supposed to figure a way out of this predicament. He said Devereaux has some connections. He’s lining up papers and IDs as we speak.”
“When are you supposed to see them again?”
“Tomorrow morning, and don’t worry, Farrell and Jablonsky are keeping eyes and ears on me. Agents are stationed throughout my hotel.”
“Where do they think you are now?” I was asking about Barlow’s goons, but it took Ryan a moment to realize that.
“With you. Well, Riley. You expertly sold that line of bullshit to Devereaux.”
“I do remember a couple of tricks. And you’re one to talk.” I sighed. “Hoyt is one scary motherfucker.”
“But is he scary enough to make a power play?”
I sat on the coffee table directly in front of Ryan. “What are you doing?” The concern was evident in my voice. “How is pushing Devereaux’s buttons going to force the Camel’s hand? Have you lost sight of the reason for all of this?”
He made eye contact. “Either I can force Devereaux to give up all of his connections and one of them will lead to the Camel, or he’ll have to do something to remove the obstacle.”
“Dammit,” I growled, getting up and pacing. I knew last night that was exactly what he was thinking, and I was in no position to stop it. “Why would he waste the time and resources? Why wouldn’t they just end you the same way they ended Grenauldo?” I didn’t mean to say it, but the words tumbled out before I could stop them. The pain those words caused ripped through him, but he hid his flinch masterfully.
“Regardless,” he sounded cold, Hoyt-like, “it will lead somewhere.” I stopped mid-stride to determine what to say or do. “Alexis, I don’t want you anywhere near this. You gave me the perfect cover story and reason to be distant, but Interpol and I will finish this.”
“Understood.” I offered a wry smile. “I didn’t sleep last night,” I began out of the blue, “so I’m going to try to get in a catnap, and then I’m meeting with O’Connell to discuss the current findings on the two bodies that were discovered. If you want to crash here, I’ll give you an update later tonight before you meet with Chase and Virgil tomorrow. More information couldn’t hurt, right?”
He smiled, one of the brief glimpses into the Donough I knew. “You just want to make sure I keep your couch cushions warm.”
“Absolutely.” I smirked. “Get some rest, Ryan. You need to keep it together,” I turned in the doorway of my bedroom and added, “and you need to stop yelling at your only friend in North America. Mark was afraid we might come to blows.”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time you’ve knocked me around.”
“And it probably won’t be the last if you keep being so boorish and surly. But let’s just make sure it’s the last time you hold me at gunpoint and handcuff me to a table,” I threatened, giving him a wink and shutting my bedroom door.
Since I exiled myself to the bedroom for Ryan’s benefit, I reread my notes and the limited information I was given on the two bodies from the double homicide. The Camel’s bank account must be traceable. We just needed to figure out where to look or how he passed along the accounting information. Right now, I didn’t know much about the crimes, other than the victims were turned into blood soup, and O’Connell still didn’t give me copies of the report. Hopefully, he’d remember to bring them tonight.
As usual, the men in my life had the misguided notion of wanting to protect me, and I was bumbling around in the dark. Stupid macho dickheads. It felt like the only thing I’d done since Ryan arrived was argue, and I argued with everyone. Sighing, I put my notes away and flattened out on the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. No matter how I tried to spin it, I knew the problem wasn’t anyone else. The problem was me. For the last two years, I swore off the OIO and insisted on being rooted in the private sector, and I had nothing to show for my efforts. I quit my only stable civilian job at Martin Technologies, and I consulted for the PD and OIO enough to know my heart was still in law enforcement. I was doomed.
Closing my eyes, I curled up on my side and dreamt about my final assignment at the OIO almost three years ago. I saw the explosion and felt the fear and dread grip my insides as I raced to the warehouse. Not Michael, please, not again. Agent Sam Boyle was already dead, bloodied and burned under a sheet, and Michael was in the ambulance dying.
“Alex, wake up,” Ryan commanded. His hands pressed into my upper arms, and he held me against the mattress as I thrashed and screamed. “Alexis,” he repeated more forcefully.
I open
ed my eyes and stopped fighting. Inhaling swiftly as I fought to catch my breath, I brushed the tears from my eyes and tried to shake off the nightmare. “Sorry,” I mumbled.
“Jesus Christ,” he sat on the edge of the bed, “I thought someone was killing you.”
“Not me.” I shut my eyes, embarrassed. Only Martin knew how bad my nightmares were, and even he didn’t know exactly what they were about. “Someone I lost when I was still on the job.”
“I’m sorry about Michael,” he whispered, and my eyes shot to him, confused how he knew. “You were screaming his name.” He stood, comprehension dawning on him as everything gained perspective. “That’s what this is about.” He frowned. “Tu comprend.”
“What did I tell you about keeping your comments in English?” I snapped to cover the frantic, debilitating upset that my dream caused. “Were you asleep?” I crinkled my nose. “This is why I don’t normally have houseguests.”
“How long have you had that nightmare?” Maybe he was asking out of morbid fascination or because he was suffering from the same infirmity.
I let out a nervous laugh. “They’re so many. It’s hard to keep track. This is the longest running at over two years. But my subconscious likes to mix it up every now and again. Some of my other greatest hits are fighting mercenaries, Martin almost bleeding to death,” my chest constricted on that one, “and of course, let’s not forget Paris and being tortured.” He looked grim. “I don’t typically talk about this stuff, so if you don’t mind.” I shifted my gaze to the door, and he nodded.
Taking a few deep breaths, I looked down at my hands. The tremors were subsiding. Checking the time, I climbed out of bed and rummaged through my closet, pulling out a pair of dark jeans and a black sweater. Dressy enough for a Saturday night at the bar, but casual enough to be comfortable. O’Connell sent a message and asked if we could meet at six at the Irish pub. I didn’t know why he didn’t just come over or make plans to meet at our normal bar across from the precinct or the one near my place, but maybe he didn’t want to talk about the case at one of our usual haunts.
