Thick Fog (Alexis Parker Book 18)

by G. K. Parks

  Who would do something like this? And why would the shooter call me? I had to figure it out. I needed to know. I had to get this guy. The bastard would pay. I’d hunt him to the ends of the earth.

  “Think, Parker. Think.” I hit myself in the head. I probably looked like a crazy person. At the moment, I wasn’t so sure I wasn’t. Rocking back and forth, I forced the tears to stop falling. It took every ounce of self-control to tamp down my emotions, an even harder feat since I was exhausted, mentally, emotionally, and physically.

  “Alex, sweetheart,” a familiar voice said from behind, “what are you doing out here?”

  I looked up to see James Martin standing a few feet away. He ran one hand through his hair and held out his other to help me up. I stared at the gauze taped to the inside of his elbow. “I don’t want to go back in there. It smells like disinfectant, disgusting cafeteria food, and death.”

  “With undertones of urine.” Martin dropped his hand and leaned against the support pillar beside me. “Hospitals always smell like piss. I’m not sure why, but they do.”

  “Did you see Mark before they took him into surgery?” I asked.

  “No, by the time I got here, they already had him past the double doors with FBI agents standing guard. According to the nurse I spoke to, the surgery will probably take a while. Hours.”

  “Do you know what happened?”

  “Two gunshot wounds. One in the chest. The other in his gut.” Martin stared across the parking lot. His expensive sports car stuck out like a sore thumb against the sea of sedans and SUVs. The sky had brightened to a drab gray-blue. “The sun should be up in an hour or so. Do you want to go home and get some rest? I’ll stay here with him.”

  “I can’t leave.” I licked my lips, and my voice cracked. “I can’t lose him.”

  “I know.” Martin sunk onto the ground beside me. “Me neither. He’s my best friend. He has been for over ten years. He was the first real, genuine person I met as an adult. I’d been through a lot of shit with my parents dying and running Martin Tech, but Jabber put everything into perspective for me. He has no problem telling me to pull my head out of my ass. He always has my back. He’s always been there for me. He brought me you.”

  I grabbed Martin’s hand and squeezed. Often, I forgot Mark was his friend first. “The person who did this will pay. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Do you know why this asshole called you?”

  “Not yet.”

  “It’s probably good he did. At least it gives Jabber a fighting chance. If he hadn’t…” Martin didn’t finish that thought.

  I ran my thumb over the solid band on his ring finger, the symbol of our commitment to one another. “Do you remember anything the caller said to me? Right now, everything’s a blur. I can’t think straight.”

  “You just told me Mark had been attacked and to get to the hospital.”

  I closed my eyes, recalling Martin tugging on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt before grabbing his car keys while I put on the closest thing, grabbed my gun, and made several frantic calls while racing to Jablonsky’s townhouse. I tried to think about what happened immediately before that. “The phone rang, and you handed it to me.”

  Martin had been wrapped around me. He liked to cuddle, and after his recent bout of separation anxiety, I let him get away with it most nights. A part of me liked to feel safe and protected, and the other part felt trapped and strangled. Right now, either would be preferable to what I was feeling.

  “It rang three times,” Martin said. “Display came up Jablonsky.”

  “He called from Mark’s home phone,” I said. “Even left it off the hook.”

  “Was he in too much of a rush to hang it up?”

  “No, he wanted the investigators to run the phone records. He wanted them to know he called me.”

  “Why?”

  “That’s a good question.” I shut my eyes, reliving the last few moments of peace before my world turned upside down. The caller’s voice played through my mind. His words sending shivers through me. Sorry to wake you, Alex. But I thought you should know, Agent Jablonsky isn’t long for this world. If you want to see him again, you better hurry.

  I knew that voice. I just couldn’t place it. I had to think. “He knows me.” I dropped Martin’s hand and stood. “The bastard called to gloat, just like Nick said. That son of a bitch.”

  Martin climbed to his feet, swaying and grabbing hold of the pillar while he squeezed his eyes closed.

  “Are you okay?”

  He nodded. “Probably should have finished the juice they gave me. It’s just hard to drink apple in a place that smells like piss.”

  My gaze drifted to the gauze on his arm. “You donated blood. How did you know you’d be a match?”

  He tapped his arm. “Universal donor, sweetheart.” He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you know that?”

  “I guess I should have realized it since you’re so damn perfect. You’re Superman.” I wanted to hug him, but if I did, I’d crack. I jerked my chin at the entrance. “We should go back inside in case there’s news. How did you get a nurse to tell you anything? They wouldn’t say a word to me.”

  “Did you tell them you’re Jablonsky’s emergency contact?”

  “No.”

  “Well, that would explain it.” Martin took my hand, desperate for the human contact but respecting my need to maintain a barrier and keep my distance. “Come on. I’ll see what else I can find out.”

  I went back to pacing while Martin flirted with the nurses for information. I had to get out of my own head. I had to look at this objectively. Clinically. The caller knew me. A shiver traveled down my spine. This shouldn’t be that hard to figure out. I knew the voice. Why couldn’t I place it?

  I made a lot of enemies in my lifetime. And so had Mark. Obviously, the shooter knew us both. We could have crossed paths during any of the cases we worked together, so more than likely, this tracked back to my days at the OIO. How many arrests did we make? Dozens? Hundreds? Anyone still incarcerated could be ruled out, but that didn’t necessarily limit the possibilities.

  I’d have to go through my files, starting with the most recent and work backward. Luckily, Mark and Nick had helped move my files out of storage and into my new home office three weeks ago. That would make things easier.

  All right. I had a plan. Digging through my pockets, I searched for a pen. In my current state, I didn’t trust myself to hold on to my fleeting thoughts. But I couldn’t find a pen. Why didn’t I have a pen? And even if I had one, what would I write on? My arm? I took a deep breath. I needed to pull myself together.

  “Here.” Martin appeared with a clipboard, some printer paper, and a pen. “I could tell you needed this.”

  “Did you read my mind?”

  He smiled, though it still looked sad. “Always.”

  “You should be careful. My mind’s a scary place right now.”

  He snorted. “It’s a good thing you can’t read mine. You’d never look at me the same way again.” He leaned against the wall beside me.

  “What’d the nurses say?” I asked, scribbling down my wayward thoughts. I couldn’t look up, too afraid of what I’d see in Martin’s eyes.

  “We should sit tight. It’ll probably be six to eight hours before we know anything. They’re calling in an expert. Some topnotch thoracic surgeon.” He dug out his phone and tapped the screen. “I’m gonna check this guy’s credentials. They better be getting the best.”

  “And the fastest.” My thoughts returned to the pooled blood in the center of the mattress.

  Martin tapped the screen a few more times, grunting at the information displayed. Obviously, he didn’t approve of the hospital’s choice of surgeon. He looked up at the clock. “Let me make some calls.”

  While he did that, I wrote out a list of things to check, starting with OIO cases before moving on to my private sector gigs. Jablonsky always helped out whenever he could, but ever since I was hired by Cross Security, I�
��d been relying on their resources instead of Mark’s. Still, there was no statute of limitations on holding grudges. Had anyone been released from prison lately? Adding that thought to my growing list, I blew out a breath and worked through a few meditation exercises in the hopes of achieving some clarity. It didn’t help.

  “Alex?”

  I turned to find Jen O’Connell, Nick’s wife and emergency room nurse, entering the hospital. She gave me a quick awkward hug, pulling away when I stiffened and didn’t return the embrace. She grasped my arm and offered a consoling look.

  “Jenny,” Martin came up behind her, “what are you doing here?”

  She hugged him hard, something I couldn’t do, and sighed. “Nick called. He told me what happened. I’m so sorry. Have you heard anything?”

  Martin updated her on what he’d been told.

  “Let me put this stuff in my locker and check-in. Then I’ll see what I can find out. Hang here for a bit,” she said before disappearing behind a locked door.

  Martin took a seat, and I dropped into the chair beside him. I closed my eyes, analyzing Jablonsky’s house and the crime scene from my memory. The only damage to the rest of the house was the front door, which the police bashed in when they entered. The back was undisturbed, even locked. But unlike the front, the back door didn’t have a deadbolt, so the shooter could have flipped the lock on his way out.

  “Jablonsky used to keep a hidden key in the frog out back,” I said. “Do you know if he still does that?”

  “I thought it was a turtle,” Martin said.

  Opening my eyes, I fixed him with the full force of my glare. “Does it matter?”

  Martin held up his palms. “As far as I know, it’s still there. He never gave me a spare key to his place.”

  “I used to have one, but that was years ago. Before he moved.” I bit my lip and tapped the pen on the paper. “The key’s gone. I checked out back, but it wasn’t inside the frog or turtle. Whatever it is.”

  “Is that how the asshole got inside?”

  “Probably. There were no signs of forced entry, at least not that I saw.” I tapped the pen a few more times, wondering if the assailant knew about the hidden key when formulating his plan or if he just happened upon it once he arrived. A lot of people hid keys under doormats and in fake rocks. That wasn’t uncommon. Every fiber in my body told me this was premeditated, but how much planning went into the attack? Was the break-in opportunistic?

  Doing nothing was killing me. I couldn’t sit this one out. In fact, just waiting for an update on Jablonsky’s condition was giving the culprit more time to escape. This asshole didn’t have the right to walk free, not after what he’d done.

  “How do you do it?” I asked, turning to face Martin.

  “Do what?”

  “Wait.”

  He arched his eyebrows while his shoulders bunched. “What else can I do?”

  “So you’re biding your time? Waiting for him to let his guard down?”

  “We’re not talking about sitting here, are we?” he asked.

  I shook my head and got up to pace. I knew that voice. How did I know the caller? Who was he? I’d give anything for a recording, a playback, something I could listen to over and over. Maybe if I heard it again, I’d be able to identify it. But the shooter didn’t leave a voicemail, so the chances of that were slim.

  I spun to face Martin. “I can’t figure out why he called me.” My eyes flicked toward the double doors as another idea formed. “Y’know, he could have killed him.” A shudder went through me, and Martin grabbed my hand. “Mark was asleep. As far as I can tell, he didn’t wake up. The bastard could have put one in his head.” My chin quivered, and my voice shook. I tugged out of Martin’s grasp, covered my mouth, and faced the wall, taking slow, measured breaths until I regained control. “He wanted him to suffer.”

  Martin stood beside me, so close I could feel warmth emanating off his skin. But he didn’t touch me. “Are you sure he doesn’t want you to suffer too?”

  Three

  “Have some coffee,” Agent Davis said, placing it in front of me. “I think I remembered how you like it.”

  “In a cup?” I asked, not bothering to look up as I scoured the reports for tidbits that would help me identity the shooter. Since Davis was a friendly face, Kendall sent him to pick me up at the hospital and bring me to the federal building for questioning. Martin remained, promising to update me the second he heard anything. As of yet, my phone hadn’t so much as beeped.

  Davis snorted. “We miss you around here, Parker. And now with everything that’s happened, we could use you.”

  “Tell that to Kendall.”

  “Don’t you think I have? But it’s a no go. However, this bastard called you, so anything you can tell us is bound to help.” Davis ran a hand down his face, his gaze drifting to Jablonsky’s empty office. “I’m not the enemy. Help me out here.”

  “I don’t know.” I pushed the reports away. “Fuck.”

  “All right, just take it easy. You know more than you realize.”

  “Don’t do that,” I warned. “I had the same training when it comes to handling witnesses.”

  “Like it or not, Parker, you’re a witness. You possess the intel I need, so whatever it takes to jog your memory or connect the pieces is what I’m going to do. Tough tits.”

  “What’s Jablonsky working on right now?” I asked.

  Davis stared out the conference room door. “You know I can’t tell you that.”

  “Well, you wanted my help, so that’s where I’d start if I were running this.”

  “It’s Jablonsky. You know how it goes. He supervises everything going on in and out of this office, so it could be any number of things. He’s been looking into traffickers and the cartels, allegations of money laundering and fraud involving several judges, and a ring of armored truck heists.” Davis searched my face. “Does anything overlap with whatever you’ve been doing at Cross Security?”

  “No.”

  “Mind if I ask what you’ve been doing?”

  “I don’t mind, but Lucien Cross will.” Despite my boss’s insistence that we avoid law enforcement and cooperating with them, I didn’t have the same qualms, which would explain why I was now considered an independent contractor at the company instead of a full-fledged Cross Security employee.

  “Tell me anyway.”

  “I haven’t worked on anything like what you described. The last big case I worked was an arson investigation. The bastard burned my apartment to the ground. Since then it’s been background checks, cheating spouses, and security overhauls.”

  “Any chance the arsonist could have gone after Jablonsky to hurt you?”

  “Nope.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Completely.”

  “Anything else?” Davis asked.

  “You’re starting to sound like a broken record. But no, nothing that would implicate Jablonsky or the OIO. And before you ask, I keep him clued in when and if the situation calls for it, but the last time Mark saved my bacon, it was from a serial killer. And as far as I know, the psychopath is still in prison.” Plus, the killer’s voice didn’t match my recollection of the caller from last night, but I didn’t necessarily trust my memory at the moment. “Has anyone checked to make sure? Jablonsky made the arrest. There should be a record somewhere.”

  “We looked. That was the last case we found where you and he overlapped. The serial killer is in solitary. No visitation. No outside contact. Nothing links last night’s shooting to him.”

  I nodded, though my mind had gone to Mark riding to the rescue. Why couldn’t I have done the same for him? Reaching for my phone, I looked at the screen. No news was good news, right?

  “Hey, Alex, we’ll figure this out. Don’t worry, Jablonsky’s a tough son of a bitch. He’ll pull through.”

  Blinking away the tears that threatened to fall, I blew out a breath. “Have any arrests been made recently on his current cases? If someone’s
out on bail, now’s the perfect time for them to strike.”

  “No recent arrests. Jablonsky has us collecting intel and keeping watch, but we always have court cases pending.” Davis wrote himself a note. “I’ll look into that possibility. Eliminating the agent who built the case is one way to get out of jail.”

  But something else Davis said struck me funny. “You said he’s been looking into the cartels?”

  “Yeah, there’s been a recent influx of drug activity. The DEA asked us to keep an eye out.”

  “Focus there.”

  “Why?”

  “Shooting a federal agent in his bed seems like something they’d do. They don’t have the same hang-ups as most criminals when it comes to hunting law enforcement officers. They treat it like sport. It stands to reason they might have wanted to halt Jablonsky’s investigation before it turned into a full-blown raid, so shooting him would buy them enough time to finish their business and move on before we get our ducks in a row.”

  “Okay, I’ll buy that if you tell me which cartel hitmen have your number memorized. You’re not on Jablonsky’s speed dial, so the shooter must know your number by heart.”

  I thought for a long time, but no one came to mind. Even when I’d gone undercover with the DEA, I hadn’t crossed paths with anyone that high up in the cartel. I’d been interested in human traffickers and dead mules, not the head honchos. “No one comes to mind.”

  “Would you tell me if someone did?” Davis asked.

  “Yes.”

  He studied me for a moment before nodding and moving on. “Okay, so let’s run through this one more time from the top.”

  “Let’s not.” I pushed away from the table, desperate to move, to act, to do something. “Kendall said he ordered a threat assessment. What did that turn up?”

  “Not much. As far as we know, Jablonsky hasn’t been greenlit.”

  “So we’re assuming the shooter wasn’t contracted. Makes sense. A hired hitman wouldn’t have called me to gloat. And he wouldn’t have shot him in the chest and stomach. He would have delivered a headshot. It’d be simple enough, especially on a non-moving target. Why would he risk leaving Mark alive?”