Thick Fog (Alexis Parker Book 18)

by G. K. Parks

  Thick Fog

  An Alexis Parker Novel

  G.K. Parks

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2020 G.K. Parks

  A Modus Operandi imprint

  All rights reserved.

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1-942710-22-6

  Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

  Likely Suspects

  The Warhol Incident

  Mimicry of Banshees

  Suspicion of Murder

  Racing Through Darkness

  Camels and Corpses

  Lack of Jurisdiction

  Dying for a Fix

  Intended Target

  Muffled Echoes

  Crisis of Conscience

  Misplaced Trust

  Whitewashed Lies

  On Tilt

  Purview of Flashbulbs

  The Long Game

  Burning Embers

  Thick Fog

  Warning Signs

  Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:

  Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series

  Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)

  Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)

  The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)

  Julian Mercer Novels

  Condemned

  Betrayal

  Subversion

  Reparation

  Retaliation

  Liv DeMarco Novels

  Dangerous Stakes

  Operation Stakeout

  Unforeseen Danger

  Deadly Dealings

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  One

  The ambulance raced past me, the red of the taillights leaving a streak in my rearview mirror. They were in a hurry. That meant he was still alive. They wouldn’t rush if he wasn’t. At least, that’s what I told myself.

  For the briefest moment, I thought about turning around and following them. But I might be wrong. The now distant sirens could have received another call. A different address, a different victim. It might not be him. I swallowed. Get a grip, Parker.

  Pulling to a stop in front of Mark Jablonsky’s townhouse, I jogged toward the open front door. The flashing red and blue lights painted the walkway beneath my feet. A cop stood guard at the entrance, but I didn’t care. I held up my credentials, a move I’d perfected years ago, except private security didn’t pack nearly the same punch as federal agent. So I retracted the ID quickly and pushed past like I owned the place. Like I was supposed to be here.

  “Is anyone else from the Bureau here?” I asked, noting the officers standing awkwardly in the living room. They must have been first on scene.

  “Not yet,” the cop said.

  “They’re on their way.” I headed for the stairs, unprepared for what I was about to find.

  The first door on the right was Mark’s bedroom. I’d been here often enough to know my way around. The sight before me nearly brought me to my knees.

  “Oh god.” Sucking in a breath, I forced myself to remain upright. The air smelled like copper, and the once white sheets were now spotted and streaked. I took a step forward and then another. The center of the mattress was solid red. The blood had pooled, penetrating through the various layers of bedding. And it was still wet.

  How much blood could that be? A liter? Two? How many were in the human body? I should know. Why didn’t I know?

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I tried to focus. The room spun, but I ignored it. Focus, do your job, Parker, Jablonsky’s voice said.

  The scene had been compromised. I didn’t know how many cops and paramedics had tromped through the house, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was they got here in time to save him, but I didn’t know if that was true.

  I looked down at the carpet, seeing the path the gurney had taken. The wheels carved out a line from the bed to the doorway. The sheets were thrown to the side and left in a ball. I wondered if they’d been like that before the paramedics and police arrived. There was a lot I didn’t know, but I did know one thing. The attack happened right here. Jablonsky didn’t fight back. I didn’t see any blood droplets or spatter to indicate otherwise.

  Going to the nightstand, I put on my gloves and opened the top drawer. His gun remained where he left it each night. He didn’t even try to get to it. He probably never even woke up.

  I went to the window and peered out. No signs of forced entry. The killer didn’t come in this way. I knew Mark. He would have made sure the doors were locked before going to bed. None of the windows appeared broken, but I didn’t check the back of the house. Too many cops had been in my way, and once the detectives and Feds showed up, I’d be kicked out. So I had to learn as much as I could as quickly as possible.

  The phone beside the bed hung by the cord off the table. It needed to be printed, but that didn’t stop me from reaching for it. I was almost certain what it would reveal, but I’d been trained to verify facts and not make assumptions. So I carefully depressed the switch hook and hit redial. A moment later, my cell phone rang. I pressed the switch hook again and left the phone dangling. Forensics should start with the phone.

  Mark’s cell sat on the dresser beside his wallet and credentials. His cash and credit cards were gone, but this wasn’t a robbery or home invasion. I felt it in my bones. This was revenge.

  I put the wallet down and checked his badge and government ID. They remained. I glanced back at the wallet. Law enforcement would track the charges. Perhaps they’d get lucky.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Alex,” Detective Nick O’Connell said from the doorway. “This is an active crime scene. You should be waiting outside.”

  I put Mark’s badge down. “I know, but I had to see for myself.” I turned to look at him. “The asshole who did this called me.”

  “And then you called me. Glad to know I’m still your favorite,” he said, even though neither of us was in a joking mood.

  “You’re not so special. I called everyone. 9-1-1, you, Heathcliff, Director Kendall. The only person I didn’t call was my boss. This is all-hands.”

  “I know. I called Thompson. He’s outside coordinating patrols and setting up a perimeter. The shooter might still be in the vicinity.”

  “You really believe that?”

  “No, but we gotta do something. It’s Jablonsky. We have to try.”

  “Yeah.”
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  O’Connell circled the room. “Shit.” He rubbed a hand over his mouth. “Did you find it like this?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Did you see him?”

  I shook my head. “I saw the ambulance.” The thought I’d been fighting against played through my mind again, and I teetered. “Any word on his condition?”

  “No one’s said anything to me, but I jumped out of bed and came straight here. You’re lucky I remembered to put on my pants.” He rubbed his eyes. “I spoke to the officers downstairs, but it just happened. I’m guessing they got here a few minutes before you did. A detective hasn’t even been assigned yet. I doubt anyone in the department knows anything at this point.”

  “Did the responding officers notice anything when they arrived? Maybe they caught a glimpse of the assailant.”

  “Police cleared the house. The shooter was gone by then.” O’Connell watched the phone sway back and forth, inches from the floor. “He probably made the call and ran. He must have known you’d call in the troops.” He crouched down, peering beneath the bed. “No casings?”

  “I didn’t find any.”

  “He took the time to clean up his brass.”

  “Does that mean something to you?” I asked.

  O’Connell shrugged. “Just an observation.”

  “Mark’s wallet’s been emptied. The shooter wanted to make this look like a robbery. But it wasn’t.”

  “I know. Robbers don’t call to gloat.”

  “Nick,” I said, “will you take the case? You’re the first detective on scene. That makes this yours, and I’ll need whoever’s handling this to loop me in. Please.”

  O’Connell was a good cop. He did most things by the book. But he knew me. He trusted me, and we’d been in enough scrapes that he’d bend a few regulations here and there if it served the greater good.

  “You know I will, but I’m guessing Lt. Moretti wants to handle this one personally. He and Jablonsky have a history. They go way back. You don’t need to worry. Everyone in major crimes will be focused on catching this son of a bitch. We’ll get him. I promise.”

  The sound of sirens grew louder, and I looked out the window. Two government issued SUVs screeched to a stop. Four men in FBI jackets got out of one of the SUVs, and two men got out of the other. A black sedan with government plates parked behind them, and Director Kendall stepped out.

  “Looks like the gang’s all here,” I said. “More than likely, they’ll want to take over since Mark is one of theirs. I don’t want this to turn into a pissing match. We don’t have time for that kind of nonsense. Mark doesn’t…” I swallowed the lump in my throat, unable to continue.

  “I’ll update them and see how they want to handle this,” O’Connell offered. He patted my shoulder on the way out of the room. “Whatever you need to do, you better do it fast.”

  Casting a final look at the blood-soaked sheets, I marched down the stairs and headed for the back door. Again, no signs of a break-in. The front door was open when I arrived, but if the assailant bashed the door in while Mark was asleep, surely the sound would have woken a supervisory special agent. No, the asshole found another way in.

  “Did you check the locks?” I asked the officer standing near the kitchen counter.

  “Yes, ma’am. No signs of tampering. The door was locked when we got here.”

  The word ma’am sent my mind reeling back to the memory of my first partner dying in the back of an ambulance. Aside from his last words, the only other thing etched into my brain from that day was that one horrible word, and right now, that was the last thing I needed to hear from anyone.

  I unlocked the door and stepped out onto the patio. The cool night air did little to calm the inner turmoil. Again, I pushed the terrible thought away, refusing to let it fully form in my mind. Once it did, I’d be paralyzed. I had to keep moving. To keep going. I had to stay one step ahead, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to outrun it forever. I just needed a few more hours. Then it could crush me.

  With shaking hands, I reached into the mouth of the frog statue. Nothing. The hidden key Mark kept inside was gone. I told him to get rid of it. Maybe he finally listened.

  “Identify yourself,” an FBI agent said.

  I turned slowly, keeping my hands where he could see them. I didn’t recognize him. But it’d been a while since I’d worked at the OIO, and even then, I didn’t spend a lot of time socializing with the other branches of the Bureau. “Alexis Parker.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I called it in,” I said.

  “You can’t be back here. You need to wait out front. Someone will need to question you.” He gestured at the door, waiting for me to go through it.

  “Thank you, Agent Keane,” Director Kendall said the moment we stepped into the kitchen. “I’ll take over from here.”

  “Yes, sir.” Keane excused himself and rejoined the other members of the team.

  From what I could tell, they were establishing a grid. They wanted to flush out the shooter, but knocking on doors and asking questions at this time of night would be met with hostility. However, a federal agent had been shot in his bed. We didn’t give a fuck about proper etiquette.

  “He called you,” Kendall said. “What did he say? Did you recognize his voice?”

  “No. I don’t know. It happened so fast. One minute the phone’s waking me up, and the next I’m being told if I ever want to see Jablonsky alive again, I better hurry. At first, I thought it might be a sick joke. I tried calling Mark, but…” I swayed.

  “Take it easy, Parker.” Kendall pulled a chair out and waited for me to sit. “Do you want a glass of water?”

  “No.”

  Kendall took a seat across from me. “I know you and Jablonsky remained close even after your resignation.”

  “Which one?”

  The director snickered a little. “Either. Both.”

  “We’re friends. More than friends. Mark’s been watching out for me since the first day I set foot in his office.”

  “That’s his job. He trained you.” Kendall looked uncomfortable. “Do you know any reason why someone would want to hurt him?”

  “You should know the answer to that.”

  “I know you talk. On occasion, I’m sure he’s shared intel and information with you that civilians shouldn’t be privy to. Is there anything I need to know? Now’s the time, Parker. Are you working something together? Something off the books?”

  “No, nothing like that.”

  Kendall thought for a moment. “Any idea why the shooter called you?”

  “I don’t know.” I told Kendall about the phone off the hook upstairs. “Maybe I’m on Mark’s speed dial.”

  “Did he use your name?”

  “I think so.”

  “And you were at home when he called?”

  “Yes.”

  “But he called your cell?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What exactly did he say to you?”

  I put my head in my hands, leaning my elbows against the table, and pressed my palms against my eyes. This was important, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember the phrase he used. Eyewitnesses were rarely reliable. I never thought that would apply to me.

  Kendall pulled one of my hands away from my face, forcing me to look at him. “It’s okay. What time did he call?”

  “Right around three.” I reached for my phone and pulled up the call log. “3:02. I was asleep.”

  “I don’t see how this would be relevant, but if it came down to it, could anyone vouch for your whereabouts at the time of the shooting?” Kendall asked.

  “James Martin.”

  Kendall nodded, scribbling it down in the notepad he carried. “Anything else you remember about the caller? His voice? Background noise? Anything?”

  “I don’t know. It sounded familiar.”

  “All right. Take some time to think about it. We have a mess here. We need to lock this place down, comb through everythi
ng, run a threat assessment, and figure out what’s what. You should go home and get some sleep. I’ll have plenty of questions for you come morning.”

  “You can’t expect me to sit this one out.”

  “You’re not an agent anymore, and I told you when you quit, I can’t reinstate you. Even if I wanted to, my hands are tied, and under the circumstances, I wouldn’t want to.”

  “Sir,” I began, but he held up a hand to silence me.

  “No, Parker, it’s Jablonsky. You can’t see this one clearly or rationally. You’re too close. You said it yourself. He’s more than a friend. He’s practically your family. You need to take a step back.”

  I bit my lip. Regardless, Kendall needed me, and he knew it. “Have you heard anything yet? How is he?”

  Kendall looked away. “They rushed him into surgery. That’s all I know.”

  “Did you assign a protection detail to the hospital?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay.” I pushed away from the table.

  “I’ll let them know you’re on your way.”

  Two

  I paced the waiting room. No one would tell me anything. I wasn’t family or an agent. Maybe I should leave. I had to do something, and this wasn’t doing anyone any good.

  Checking the time, I practically counted the seconds. I hadn’t even seen the protection detail. They had been posted outside the OR, as if the bastard might come here to finish what he started. Additional police personnel had been called in to supplement hospital security, but I didn’t recognize any of those officers either.

  How could this have happened? I tried to think, but my mind wouldn’t focus on anything except Jablonsky’s condition. Flashes of his bedroom surfaced, and I gasped.

  “Don’t die. Please don’t die,” I whispered, my voice a strangled groan. Dammit. I couldn’t escape the thought any longer. The fear gripped my insides like a vise, squeezing the air from my lungs and leaving a painful empty hollow in my gut.

  I ran out the front doors just before a sob burst from my throat. Swallowing it back down, I found a spot at the end of the curb, sat down, and hugged my knees to my chest. This couldn’t be happening. This was a bad dream. One of my nightmares. It wasn’t real. I’d give anything for it to not be real. But it was. And I had no idea how the world would continue to turn without Mark.