by G. K. Parks
“How’d we end up here? Why’d you let me get this drunk?” I asked, forcing a sip of the too sweet liquid down my throat and hoping it wouldn’t make a reappearance.
“You’re not drunk,” he replied quietly, shifting downward so I could look at him without getting dizzy. His eyes were haunted, plagued by something unimaginable. “You really don’t remember what happened?” I shut my eyes, trying to recall, but everything was jumbled. “Go back to sleep. It’ll be okay.”
When I opened my eyes again, the room was still dark, but my nausea wasn’t as prevalent. Martin’s hand was still pressed firmly against my ribs, and as my breathing shifted, he brushed my hair out of the way. His eyes were clouded in pain, and I was certain something horrible happened.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, struggling through the confusion.
He swallowed. “Nothing,” he smiled, but it wasn’t convincing. “What do you remember?”
“The car, but how did I end up here? Didn’t you drop me off at home?” He didn’t say anything as I searched the recesses of my mind for a solution. “Wait, you were at my place, and Nick was there.” I squinted, and my head throbbed. I rubbed my forehead and felt a bandage at my temple, noticing a piece of gauze rolled up and taped to the crook of my arm. “What the hell happened?” My breathing was suddenly labored, and the room was still bathed in an eerie, unnatural glow. Gasping, I fought against the panic.
“Shh. Easy.” He reached to the nightstand and put the cool compress back against my pounding skull, and I calmed slightly. “You must have dropped your cell phone in my car,” he began. “I was on my way home when Nick called to say he was dropping off some information on the case. So I figured I’d bring your phone back and save you a trip.” He still looked tortured. “You didn’t answer the door.”
“When?” I was having issues following along.
“Tonight.” He inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Thank god I have a spare key. When I entered your apartment,” his jaw clenched, and he swallowed, “you were on the bathroom floor, bleeding. You must have hit your head, but for a moment, I thought someone attacked you. And then,” he looked away, “I spent twenty minutes trying to get you to wake up. Those were the worst twenty minutes of my entire life.”
I clutched his hand over my ribs, realizing he never moved it because he needed to make sure I was still breathing. “Well, I’m awake now.” I gave him an encouraging smile. “But what happened?”
“I don’t know. You were dosed with something. Right now, Nick and Mark are tearing your place apart to determine what happened. They’ll be here in a few hours to ask you some questions.” He reached across for the glass, and I drank, familiar with this annoying routine. “How are you feeling?”
“Not great, but better than before. If this is what a residual low feels like, I have no idea why anyone uses drugs. The supposed high was equally terrible. Dizzy, vomiting, and everything was hazy. Hell, everything still is.”
“You should get some sleep,” he insisted. “It’ll help.” I shut my eyes, and his grip tightened.
For the next several hours, I would wake sporadically, and he’d force me to drink. Then I’d shut my eyes and lose unknown amounts of time. In between conscious and unconscious, I knew there was something important that I was missing. Unfortunately, I couldn’t hold onto the thought long enough to force it to the surface.
When I finally came out of the fog, it was mid-afternoon. Martin hadn’t slept, and he still looked distraught. “Sweetheart, are you okay?” he asked, getting out of bed and opening his closet. I nodded as he found a clean shirt. “I’m going downstairs to talk to the guys. They just got here.” He changed his shirt and ran a hand through his hair. “Can I get you anything?”
“I’m all right.” My head felt like it was used in a ping pong tournament, but that was to be expected. He nodded and left the room.
Taking a deep breath, I slowly got out of bed. At least the room wasn’t spinning, but there were still a few colorful blobs floating through my vision. Martin left my overnight bag next to his dresser, and I managed to get cleaned up and changed without too much hassle. I peeled the tape and gauze off my arm and checked the scrape at my temple. It wasn’t a big deal. I just wished I could remember if I hit the vanity or the floor with my head. What was I even doing before that?
Suddenly, the thought that I had been chasing all night surfaced. Ryan.
Eighteen
“Mark,” my voice sounded frantic, even to my own ears, “where’s Ryan?”
I bounded down the stairs in such haste that my head was pounding in time with my heartbeat. Martin, Nick, and Mark were seated at the kitchen table, and from the looks of things, Martin was giving his statement. There was an expression exchanged, and my stomach flipped.
“Come on, Alex,” Mark urged, guiding me into the living room, “you need to take it easy.” He stared into my eyes. “God, you’re still higher than a fucking kite.”
“Where is he?” I asked more fervently.
I crumpled onto the couch, fearing the world would pitch again if I remained upright for too long. Mark sat next to me, studying my features. I squinted, willing my mind to process rational thought.
“He was supposed to meet with Mallick and Devereaux this morning.”
“Did he? Have you talked to Farrell? Interpol was supposed to be watching his back. You said you would watch his back.” I sounded crazed. Everything was still garbled in my head, and I struggled to filter through the static noise. “Ryan was at my place yesterday, and when I got back,” I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head, “I think he was gone.”
“Alexis, start at the beginning. Tell me everything you remember from yesterday.” I didn’t like being questioned when I just wanted reassurance that Ryan was okay, but whatever happened was part of an official investigation. He wasn’t safe. I shuddered and relayed everything I knew and the bits and pieces I remembered. Mark waited until I finished before he spoke. “Last night, you were drugged. The water bottle on your kitchen counter was laced with the same benzo derivative found in the two homicides O’Connell is investigating.”
“Oh god.”
“Are you sure Ryan wasn’t there when you got home?” he asked, drawing me from the horrible thoughts I couldn’t shake.
“No. I don’t think so.” I pressed my lips together.
“Are you sure he didn’t do this to you?”
“He wouldn’t.” Hot tears stung my eyes, and in my impaired state, I couldn’t control them. The last clear memory I had of Ryan was when he woke me from that nightmare. “They’re going to kill him. We have to find him. We have to.”
My chin quivered, and I moved to stand up. There was too much to do. I couldn’t hang around here. I needed to be out there, searching for him. How long was he gone? Who took him? Was he still alive?
Mark grabbed my arm and pulled me back to the couch, holding me still. “We will find him, but right now, you’re not in any shape to do anything. From the toxicology report, this particular cocktail lingers for forty-eight to seventy-two hours. You have to sit this one out because you’re a liability,” he said softly.
“I can’t lose someone else.”
“You won’t.” He released me and stood up. “I’ll get a team together. We’ll scrub all the footage from your building and the surrounding areas. We’ll check his hotel and do the same. We even have the surveillance feed from Barlow’s hotel room. We’ll find him.”
I nodded, holding my head in my hands and forcing my brain to retain this information. I was barely aware of Mark’s departure. O’Connell and Martin were still discussing last night in the kitchen, but I couldn’t hear them or focus on their words. I couldn’t even stay focused on developing solid leads to locate Ryan. I needed to pull it together. This wasn’t the time for fogginess.
“Parker?” Nick said, and I lifted my head out of my hands and looked at him. “Can I ask you some questions?”
“Yeah.” And obediently, I followed
him into the kitchen.
“You need to eat something,” Martin insisted. “Maybe it’ll help soak up whatever’s still floating around in your system.”
“Sure,” I could be agreeable since the only thing I needed was a clear head, “and some coffee.” He puttered around the kitchen as I answered the same questions Mark already asked. By the end, I had a basic foundation of what transpired after Martin dropped me off at my place.
Apparently, the water bottle had been dosed. It was run for prints, but the only sets on it were mine and Ryan’s. I couldn’t remember if Ryan brought it with him or if I’d taken it out of my fridge, and we had no way of knowing how the drugs got inside it. More importantly, someone else must have been in my apartment. But who? And when?
“Alexis,” Nick sighed, “just take a minute and think this through. Are you absolutely certain that Donough didn’t drug you? His prints were on the bottle. He had access to your apartment. And now we don’t know where he is.”
“He wouldn’t do this, Nick.” I bit my lip to fight back the tears. God, I was a mess. “Barlow’s guys must have him, and Devereaux wants him dead. I know it.”
“I’ll do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen,” he promised, squeezing my shoulder and heading out the door. “Get some rest. Once you’re functioning, we could use your help.”
Martin put a plate in front of me, and I forced down a few bites. But I was too queasy and upset to eat, even though I’d try anything to feel normal. Unfortunately, breakfast had little effect on my woozy state. My head ached, and I didn’t want to take anything for it. Who knew what kind of interaction that would cause? Martin was stingy with the coffee, believing a stimulant mixed with the depressant mixture wasn’t smart, so I drank two glasses of juice, ate a banana, and drank some water. The only thing I could do was rest and give it time. Too bad that was something I couldn’t spare at the moment.
* * *
After spending all day and night practically incoherent, I was ready to pound the pavement. Hopefully, it wasn’t too late. Martin refused to leave my side, but he still looked plagued. The constant throbbing in my skull hadn’t stopped, but my ability to focus and process thoughts was back, and the world was no longer turning itself into a swirling, glowing haze. Checking my pupils in the mirror, they were reactive to the light, signifying my drug-induced hiatus was over.
Reaching for the phone, I dialed Mark. When he didn’t answer, I tried Nick. “Come on,” I begged, hoping the ringing would be answered. I hit end call and gritted my teeth.
“Give them a minute,” Martin insisted, “I’m sure someone will call you back.”
“We don’t have time for this. We have to find him.” I inhaled an unsteady breath. “This can’t be happening.” Maybe I should go to Mallick and Devereaux’s hotel suite as Alexandra Riley. I bet they know where Ryan is. Devereaux probably ordered the hit himself. I considered the precinct and questioning Claxton or Gregson about the possibility of Barlow being able to identify the Camel or pinpointing some of his buyers. Someone had to know something that would lead to Ryan. Suddenly, images of the two victims popped into my mind, and I shuddered, swallowing the bile that tried to escape my body. That could be Ryan. “Oh god.”
“Alexis,” he cautiously touched me, “they’ll find him.”
“Before or after?” I couldn’t finish my statement.
Angrily pacing the room, I stared at my phone. Someone needed to provide a solution. I didn’t have time to wait around. At this moment, Ryan could be turning into human soup. Rubbing my face, I fought back the tears. Those goddamn drugs left me raw, emotional, and weak. Whoever did this would pay, especially since I didn’t like being out of control.
“Sweetheart,” Martin embraced me, “stop.” I tried to push him away, but he held on tighter. I fought against him, but he wouldn’t let go. Soon, I was sobbing uncontrollably, and we sunk to the floor. “Let it out.” I clung to his shirt front. This wasn’t helping, and it wasn’t bringing us any closer to locating Ryan, but I couldn’t stop. “It’s going to be okay.” His voice sounded so convincing that I chose to believe it. Those words had to be true. They just did.
After crying myself out, I was sedate. No longer frantic and much more capable of dealing with the crisis. Yes, there was a ticking clock, but missing something would be just as detrimental as running through all leads half-cocked. The first thing I needed to do was get back to my apartment, read through the investigation Mark and Nick conducted, check the surveillance feed to see if I could figure out who drugged the water, where it came from, and where Ryan went. Did someone drug and abduct him from my apartment? Or did he accidentally drug himself with the contaminated water and blackout on his way out of my apartment?
My gut still said this was all Chase Devereaux’s fault, but going straight at him wouldn’t save Ryan. It might kill him faster. Remembering the few facts about the Camel’s M.O., his victims were kept for a few days in order to become that dehydrated before he reversed his process and drowned their cells. We had a small window, but we’d find him. There was no other option. That twisted piece of shit fucked with the wrong person this time.
“I’m sorry.” I pulled away from his drenched shirt. “I know I scared you the other night, and the last thing you want is for me to chase after the asshole responsible. But he has Ryan.” I bit my lip. “Every time I step foot in the OIO building, someone ends up dead. I promised myself after Michael and Sam that this would stop. I quit my job because they were never coming back, and I wasn’t going to either. But this is happening all over again.”
He nodded, his green eyes understanding. “Fine. Where do you want to start? I’m coming with you.”
“No.” My jaw clenched, and I shook my head vehemently. “I can’t risk losing you.”
“So you’d prefer to put me through more torment? I thought our history of traumatic near-death experiences was over, but it sure as hell didn’t feel like that two days ago.”
“That’s different. You’re a businessman. This isn’t the life you signed on to. I’m a…” I wanted to say federal agent. More than anything else, at this moment, I wanted that to be true because I needed the resources, the badge, the gun, and the power to change things. “I’m…nothing.”
“Jesus Christ,” he swore, “no wonder you’ve always been so adamantly opposed to drug use. You’ve gone off the deep end.” He was attempting to lighten the morbidity, but it wasn’t working. “You’re not nothing. I know you’ll do whatever it takes to bring him home alive, but don’t forget for a single moment that he isn’t the only one depending on you. You saved my life once, and you make it worth living.”
“Martin,” I whispered, taking his face in my hands and kissing him, “I could use a ride.”
* * *
“What’ve you got?” I asked, sitting in Det. Thompson’s chair and swiveling to face O’Connell. Martin lingered unobtrusively nearby. Nick glanced up, first at me and then at my escort.
“Do you realize you have a shadow?” he asked.
“Hazard of passing out on a bathroom floor and not being able to operate heavy machinery. Are you going to read me in, or do I have to go downstairs and request a copy of the report you filed? By the way, I’m missing a couple of nine millimeters, and I need them back, preferably now.”
“How are you feeling?” He softened, digging out a folder with the full report concerning my dosing and sliding it across the desk.
“Long division’s no longer kicking my ass.”
“All right. Read this while I get the paperwork on your private property.” He disappeared down the corridor, and Martin sat in his empty chair as I skimmed through the report.
The water bottle contained a cocktail of heavy sedatives, hallucinogens, and paralytics. Thankfully, my immediate reaction was to purge as much of it from my system as possible. Perusing my toxicology screening, I noted the small quantities of each in my blood system, along with alcohol from dinner. It was estimated that less than t
wo hundred milliliters were missing from the bottle, so Ryan couldn’t have consumed much. Unfortunately, even a small amount knocked me on my ass, and it probably did the same to him.
“Sign this,” Nick said, and I dropped the folder and filled out the release form. When it was complete, he disappeared again, and I resumed reading.
There were no prints in my apartment besides Martin’s, O’Connell’s, and mine. The only sign of Ryan ever being in my place was on the water bottle. Did they dust everywhere for prints or just the bottle? Putting the folder down, I rested my chin in my hand.
“What is it?” Martin asked.
“Ryan’s prints weren’t in my apartment.” Squinting, I flipped through the pages, searching for photographs. “Do you remember seeing a blanket? Since he was staying with me, I pulled some sheets and blankets out for him, so he could sleep on my couch. But,” I shook my head to shake away the cobwebs, “they’re gone.”
“I don’t remember seeing them, but I was preoccupied with you.”
“Here,” Nick produced a single evidence bag containing my two handguns, unloaded, and the bullets removed from the magazines, “ballistics checked to see if they had been fired or if any prints were on the casings. Nothing.”
“Did you dust my entire apartment?”
“Top to bottom. Your prints were on the doorknobs, all over the kitchen, the tables, the window to your fire escape, and the bathroom. Martin and I both left our prints on your front door, bathroom, and living room. But no unfriendlies or unknowns.”
“And no sign of Donough except for the bottle.” I rubbed my forehead. “Ryan’s been all over my place. The bathroom, my bedroom, the kitchen, living room. Whoever took him must have spent some time cleaning up after themselves. What about the trashcans? Maybe they left something behind.”
“We checked everything, Parker. Whoever’s responsible is a professional. They didn’t make any stupid mistakes.” I sighed heavily. This wasn’t helping. “Jablonsky’s working on security cam footage from your building and nearby locations. They can run through the data faster than we can.”
