Thick Fog (Alexis Parker Book 18)

by G. K. Parks

  “You found me. Or should I say I found you?” Steele’s hot breath creeped down the side of my face. I moved for my gun, but Steele pressed me harder against the rail, making the metal rungs dig into my thighs and chest. He wrapped both arms around me, pinning my arms to my sides. “If you cause a scene, a lot of innocent people will be hurt, maybe even killed. You don’t want that.” It didn’t sound like a question.

  I stayed completely still, my heart hammering in my chest. Every cell in my body wanted to fight, but I resisted the nearly overpowering urge. “I came here, didn’t I? You said if I got here in time, I could save him. So let me save him. No one else needs to get hurt, Francisco.”

  Steele waited, his hips moving ever so slightly to the beat of the music. The sick bastard thought this was fun. He was enjoying every torturous minute.

  “Are the cops waiting outside?” he finally asked.

  “No.” Though, they’d be here soon enough.

  “Good. You listened.” He licked the side of my face.

  “Let go of me.”

  “We both know what happens if I do, so let’s go over the ground rules first.” He leaned down, resting his chin against my shoulder. “On the phone, you lectured me about choices, chica. I took that choices and consequences speech to heart. It got me right here.” He jerked his hips forward, pressing his pelvic bone harder into my back. This excited him. “I’ll give you a choice. You see that rig up there? That lump off to the side, that’s one of those FBI geeks. He’s alive, but he won’t be for much longer. If you want to save him, I’ll let you try.”

  “What did you do to him? Who is he?”

  Steele laughed. “I had some fun. Not as much as I did with Jablonsky or the other one in his apartment, but I enjoyed myself. Plastic bags are so versatile. You never know when one might come in handy, and you can get them anywhere. They’re even more fun when you combine them with a few cable ties.”

  I stared at the shape through the haze. It didn’t move. “How do I know he isn’t already dead? You suffocated him, didn’t you?”

  “Perhaps.” Steele shrugged behind me. “Perhaps not. What’ll it be? You can stop me or save him. It’s your decision. Think fast.”

  Without warning, Steele shoved a plastic bag with a pull tie over my head and yanked hard. I tore at the bag, ripping it to shreds before tugging against the thick string. Grabbing the knife from my pocket, I flicked it open and cut the tie off, gasping and turning, but Steele had vanished.

  In a split second, I shoved my way across the dance floor, went up the ladder, and out onto the catwalk. Saving a life and stopping a killer were nearly on par, but no one else could save the agent on the rig. I just prayed I made the right choice.

  Carefully, I edged across the beam. The lump on the walkway wasn’t a sandbag, which had been both my fear and hope. I knelt down, feeling the unsteady footing vibrate up through my knees.

  “Whoa, take it easy,” I yelled, hoping the man could hear me over the speakers. I didn’t need to spook him or we might both fall. “I’m here to help.”

  Just like Cooper, Steele’s latest victim had a plastic bag tied over his head. I cut it loose, revealing Agent Lawson. I didn’t know how Steele had gotten the FBI tech genius up here, but it didn’t matter. I had to get him down, but first I had to get him breathing again.

  “Lawson,” I shouted, tilting his head to the side and feeling for a pulse. Everything vibrated so much it was hard to be certain, but my gut said he was alive. Checking his airway, I tilted his head back. “Breathe.” I tried a few chest compressions, feeling his weight shift and fearing we’d both crash the twenty-five feet to the floor below. “C’mon.” I counted as I pressed down each time. I didn’t hear him gasp or notice his eyes open. But when he grabbed my hand, I stopped.

  “Parker?”

  “Thank god.” I rocked back on my heels, nearly toppling over the edge. Grabbing the rail, I let out an uneasy breath. “Help’s on the way.” Except I hadn’t called for help yet. After dialing 9-1-1, I called Cross, who patched me through to his team.

  Within seconds, two men joined us on the catwalk. “How the hell’d he get up here?” one of them asked. I didn’t know, but having this conversation twenty-five feet in the air didn’t hold much appeal. “Let’s get you down and out of the way so we can get him down. What’s his condition?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Any neck or back injuries?”

  “I don’t know.”

  The team leader held the same expression. “We’ll take it from here.”

  When I reached the ground, the other two members of the first team were on standby. “Where’s Steele?” I asked.

  “Is your friend okay?” one of them asked.

  “I think he will be. He’s talking.”

  “That’s good. That’s really good. Ambulances are on the way, but Cross is sending his own mobile medical unit in case the paramedics take too long.”

  “That’s great.” I searched the area, surprised to find so many people still dancing. How could they be so oblivious? “Where’s the other team? Did they detain Steele?”

  “They’re working on it.”

  I didn’t like what that meant. But before I could ask anything else, the other two members of the security team carried Lawson down the ladder. They laid him on the floor, assessed his injuries, and made certain he was in no immediate physical danger.

  “How’d this happen?” I asked as the other two men had the music shut down and the dance floor cleared. The lights came on. I didn’t see any visible wounds on Lawson’s body. “Didn’t anyone warn you about Steele?”

  Lawson’s cheeks turned red, purely from embarrassment. “I’m a moron.”

  “A lot of that going around lately.” I settled onto the floor beside him. “Start at the beginning.”

  “Not much to tell.” Lawson glanced up at the Cross Security team who had turned their focus outward to monitor for additional threats. “Steele catfished me.”

  “How?”

  Lawson sat up, coughing a little as he took a few breaths. Aside from the embarrassed flush on his cheeks, he looked pale. His lips were purplish, or maybe that was from the lights. “Dating app. She found me online, or he did, I guess, and asked me to meet her,” he winced, “him, here. That was before anything happened. Before Jablonsky. We postponed a few times. I didn’t think it could be related. I just didn’t think.”

  “Okay. So you came here tonight because you had a date?”

  “Yeah, so I’m at the bar, waiting and figuring she got one look at me and changed her mind, when this knockout comes up to me. She apologizes for running late, tells me she had a problem with the equipment, and asks if I can hang around and wait.”

  “What equipment?”

  “Oh, her profile said she’s a DJ. So she said the sound system and lights were bugging out. Naturally, I offered to take a look.”

  “Did she know computers are your thing?”

  “Yeah, my job’s included on my profile, right along with my Ph.D. in idiocy.”

  I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. We all did dumb things from time to time. Hopefully, Lawson learned from his mistake. “Then what?”

  “She points me to the speaker system, says she thinks something must have gotten unplugged from above, and she’s waiting for the rigging guy to show up.”

  “So you volunteered to go up there? Did she go up with you?”

  “No. That was the weird part. She disappeared while I was checking the connections. The next thing I know, Steele’s coming at me. I had nowhere to go. I tried to fight him off, but you’ve seen what it’s like up there. He locked me in a chokehold. I was out before I knew what was happening.”

  That must have been moments before Steele grabbed me. “I need to know everything.”

  “That’s it, Parker.”

  “Tell me about the woman. Even if Steele catfished you online, he had some chick stand in as your date. Describe her. What’s her name an
d the handle she used online? Did her profile pic match the woman you met here?” I noticed red and blue flashing lights illuminate the club. The cavalry was here to put an end to this party.

  “Sarah, no last name. She was goth. Black leggings, black top with a silver print design, it might have been a middle finger. I’m not sure. Her handle’s KillaDJ, but her profile pic was taken of the entire club. You can’t make much out.” Lawson blinked. “Parker,” he clutched my hand, “thank you.”

  The paramedics rolled in with a stretcher, and they pushed me out of the way while they got to work. Lucca came up beside me while four FBI agents and two police officers pushed their way into the club.

  “You’re alive,” Lucca said. “Wonders never cease.”

  “So is Lawson, which is all that matters.”

  “Did you see Steele?”

  “We danced, but he left before the song ended.”

  “You should have had backup. Real backup, not these rent-a-cops.”

  “Cross doesn’t hire rent-a-cops.”

  “Whatever they are, they didn’t stop Steele from escaping. He got away.”

  “Can’t Amir track his phone?” I’d seen Cross’s tech work plenty of miracles. By now, he should have Steele’s exact coordinates. “Amir will give us the location, and all we have to do is pick Steele up. Easy peasy.”

  “Not exactly. The signal went dead right after you left. Amir tried to access the phone remotely, but nothing worked. Steele must have destroyed it or pulled the battery. Either way, he’s gone. You let him get away.”

  “I didn’t let him get away. I made a choice to save Lawson. Deal with it.” Because I sure as hell had to.

  Twenty-four

  “Eight men. You had eight men positioned at the club. What happened?” Moretti asked.

  Cross glared at me. “Four of them remained with Parker. The second team tracked your suspect on foot. They didn’t know he had a car waiting several blocks away. How could they have known that?”

  “Two follow on foot. Two follow in the car. It’s basic, Lucien.”

  Cross held up his palms and stepped back. “Quite frankly, this is none of my business. I want nothing to do with any of this.”

  Moretti squinted in Cross’s direction. “I just want to know what happened, son. That’s it.”

  “I’m not your son,” Cross snarled.

  I looked up, wondering where that came from. I’d seen Cross lose his temper, most of the time with me. It usually involved a lot of throat clearing, slightly raised tones, and plenty of unfulfilled threats. This was different. It was personal.

  “So Steele got into a car and drove off. Did they get a plate?” Moretti asked, unperturbed by Cross’s uncharacteristic outburst.

  “No plate.”

  “Make and model?” Moretti asked.

  “You have that information. They provided it to the officers at the scene. Grey, four-door, with a mismatched right corner panel. It was blue.” Cross went behind his desk and sat down. “Anything else? My patience is wearing thin.”

  Moretti worked his jaw. “Not from you.” He faced me. “On the other hand, you and I need to have a conversation in private.”

  “I’ll take you to my office,” I said.

  “Alex,” Cross called before we made it out the door, “when you’re finished with official police business, I need a word.”

  “Yes, sir,” I said.

  Moretti eyed me as we went past Cross’s assistant. “I have a word for him.”

  “Usually I have two.”

  Moretti stifled a chuckle. He watched the illuminated light above the elevator, waiting for the doors to open. “Where’s the phone? You were supposed to turn it over to us in the hospital, but things got crazy when the Feds showed up. I’m guessing you forgot all about it.”

  “Would you believe I misplaced it?”

  “No.”

  “How about my dog ate it?”

  “You don’t have a dog. Cut the Don Adams schtick.”

  “Steele’s tracking it. He gave me specific instructions not to turn it over to the cops. If I do, he’ll know because he can monitor its location.”

  “Why don’t you turn off the tracker?” Moretti asked.

  “That leaves too many possibilities.”

  “So you’re going to take it home with you?”

  I hadn’t thought that far ahead. “No.”

  “We need to monitor it. When he calls, and I know he will, we can track his location. We need that phone, Parker. It’s what’s best for everyone.”

  The elevator came, and we stepped inside. Instead of pressing the button for my office, I pressed the button for the floor which housed the labs. “It’s already being done.”

  “By Cross Security.” Moretti blew out a breath. “Didn’t Cross just say he wasn’t helping?”

  “Welcome to my world. According to what I understand, I have full use of the resources here. The police department hired me to consult on this case. So what I bring you should be gold, even if it comes from Cross Security.”

  “I need to contact the DA’s office and make sure.”

  “You should,” I said, “but pissing off Steele isn’t advisable. The phone is the only connection we have to him. I’m not sure why, but he won’t call my phone again. If he stops communicating, we’re SOL.”

  “He’s not stupid. He knows we’re monitoring your phone. That’s why he doesn’t want us monitoring this one too. It worries me that he’s so desperate to speak to you.”

  “I’m his favorite person.”

  “Didn’t he shoot at you earlier today?”

  “Francisco has an odd way of showing his affection.”

  “Any idea why he didn’t kill Agent Lawson? Frankly, he had him dead to rights. Had you not realized where they were, the FBI tech would be dead now.”

  “It was a test. Steele wants to see if I’ll follow his rules. Saving Lawson’s life might have been a reward, or it just served as the perfect distraction for Steele to slip away. But this is far from the end. He’ll make contact again, as soon as he picks out his next victim, unless we find him first.”

  “I dunno, Parker. He could have killed Lawson and left his body on the catwalk. It wouldn’t have made a difference. Why spare him? Steele’s already proven he’s a cold-blooded killer. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “He didn’t kill Nurse Andrews either.”

  Moretti sucked some air in between his teeth, making a whistling sound. “Andrews had nothing to do with any of this. Wrong place, wrong time.”

  “Does that matter to a cold-blooded killer?”

  “You tell me. You know Steele. You know how he thinks.”

  “Lawson’s just a tech. He rarely ventures into the field, and when he does, it’s because he has to collect evidence or hack something. He spoke at Bard’s trial and Steele’s, basically to explain how evidence was processed. Steele shouldn’t have a beef with him. My gut says Lawson would be a low priority target.”

  “Okay, so he used Lawson as bait to lure you out and get you to play his game. Why didn’t he take advantage of the situation? He could have killed you and Lawson. Frankly, I’m not sure anyone at the club would have noticed right away.”

  “A woman dead on the dance floor might have gotten some attention,” I said. “After all, they’d have to dance around me. And that would just be an unnecessary inconvenience.” I thought for a moment. “Steele doesn’t want to hurt me yet. He has plans. Big ones. Somehow, tonight will factor into them. I’m just not sure how.”

  “That’s why I’m keeping Heathcliff chained to his desk and narcotics has units watching out for their compromised undercovers. It’s the best we can do until we remove Steele from the equation. We’ll know more once witnesses are questioned and we review the club’s surveillance footage.” The elevator opened. “I’ll do whatever it takes to find Steele, even if it means getting a court order for that phone and every bit of intel Cross Security possesses. Steele’s a menace, and he
’s killing cops. Local, federal, it doesn’t matter. He shot Mark for fuck’s sake.”

  “You don’t need a court order.” I led the way into the lab, spotting Amir immediately. After a brief introduction, he gave me the breakdown on the phone and caller.

  “Francisco Steele isn’t new to the game. He used a burner phone registered to an alias and purchased with a prepaid credit card, also registered to the same alias. The reason for doing that is to make it harder to flag. The info matches up on the phone and card. It wouldn’t have gotten a second look, except Steele’s chatty.” Amir clicked a key, revealing the list of cell numbers pinged in the vicinity of the first two crime scenes. “He thought he was clever, blocking the number.” Amir highlighted it on the screen. “This places Steele in the vicinity of the Jablonsky shooting and the Cooper murder, in case you had any doubts.”

  “We didn’t,” I said.

  “If Steele was clever, he would have left Dodge after breaking out of prison,” Moretti said.

  “That would have been preferable,” Amir agreed. He highlighted the name. “He’s using the alias Tom Collins.”

  “Wow, real original,” I muttered. “Fuzzy Navel must have been taken.”

  Amir quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t understand the reference. “Tom Collins lives at this address. He’s seventy-one. Widowed. No children. He doesn’t have a record, and as far as I can tell, he would have had no reason to cross paths with the KXDs.”

  “Can you get a look at his medical records?” Moretti asked.

  Amir’s eyebrows knit together in consternation. “Is this a trick question?”

  “What are you thinking?” I asked Moretti.

  “That either Steele pulled a name out of a hat or off a bar menu and just happened to steal this guy’s identity, or the septuagenarian has a chronic pain condition and can’t afford his medication.”

  “Or he’s an opium addict.”

  Moretti shrugged. “You said he’s widowed. He could have been buying for her if she had a terminal disease. Doctors and pharmacies have been cracking down on painkillers. Mr. Collins might not have had much of a choice.”