Thick Fog (Alexis Parker Book 18)

by G. K. Parks

  “No.”

  “Alex, if…”

  “No,” I repeated, “he thought he had a chance, that I’d give in, but it never happened.”

  “Okay.” Martin swallowed. “I heard some FBI agents talking. They figured that’s why Steele’s so obsessed with you.”

  “He’s obsessed because he couldn’t have me. Kind of like you.” I quirked an eyebrow at him. “C’mon, that’s the only reason you took me to dinner almost every week for an entire year. If I’d slept with you the first day we met, we wouldn’t be together now. You would have lost interest. I would have been just like every other woman you’d ever met.”

  “I beg to differ. You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met. You’re special. Even a psychopath can see that.”

  “Flatterer.”

  “I remember what it was like when you came back from that assignment. The way you slept at the edge of the bed, skittish, ready to run or fight. It makes sense now. You had to protect yourself from him because he wanted you.”

  “He still does, but not like that. Well, like that, but not in a romantic sense. He wants to dominate me. Control me. Exude his power.”

  “And he didn’t want that before?”

  “It was different. He wanted to coerce me. He didn’t want to force himself on me. He wanted to build, I wouldn’t call it trust exactly, but something akin to that. He wanted to earn my loyalty and affection by trading in a commodity he thought I needed.”

  “Which was?”

  “Drugs.”

  Martin frowned. “Except you’re not an addict.”

  “Alexia Nicholson, my undercover persona, was supposed to be. So Steele figured out what she desired and made sure he could supply it. He tested her…me. Whatever. He wanted to earn that loyalty, to make me feel like I owed him, so I’d do whatever he wanted. Give him whatever he wanted. And he wanted me to think it was my idea, but I could see through his game. He was playing me.”

  “While you were playing him.”

  The words permeated into the recesses of my brain. “He’s repeating the pattern. He only knows one trick. He wants me indebted to him again. That’s why we were able to save Lawson. He wants me to think he’s playing fair. That he’s given me a choice. An opportunity. He wants me to be grateful. He wants me to believe I have some control. A choice. That’s what he said. I had to make a choice.”

  “He should realize after everything he’s done, you’ll never be grateful, not with all the threats he’s made.” Martin snorted. “That’s no way to woo a woman, especially you.”

  “It’s his way. He did it after we first met. He had his guys attack me, so he could save the damsel in distress. He wanted me ingratiated to him, like now with Lawson.” I remembered the threats. The violence. Steele’s temper. It was the same Steele. “He hasn’t changed. The stakes are higher now because he knows me. Before he didn’t. Before it was easier.”

  “Sweetheart.” Martin brushed my hair back, and I flinched. He could see it in my eyes that I was back in that shitty apartment with the job at the strip joint, gathering evidence and living in constant fear.

  “He had to kill someone to prove his point. To show me what he’s capable of. He meant for it to be Jablonsky, but the old bastard’s just too stubborn, thank god. So he went after an easier target. He killed Cooper for no reason other than to prove he could. And he spared Lawson’s life for the same reason. But he already had Lawson lined up as part of his plan. Saving Lawson was the key. He knew I’d do it. He knew I’d follow his instructions to a T and I’d choose saving a life over apprehending him. It’s all part of his plan.”

  “What plan?” Martin asked.

  But I didn’t answer him. I knew Steele had more in store for me. It’d all come down to a choice. Steele was the same guy, just less concerned about revealing his crazier and more violent tendencies. But his goal remained the same as it was when we first met. He wanted me to submit to him, completely and freely. This would be my choice, except he’d make sure the odds were in his favor. I just wasn’t sure how extreme he’d go to force my compliance.

  Twenty-seven

  When I entered the bullpen, Moretti caught my eye. The major crimes unit had been taken over by navy blue windbreakers. The Marshal service must have heard a fugitive was on the loose and decided to throw in their two cents. This was no longer about locating the man who killed a former federal agent and put another in the hospital; this was a manhunt. The Marshal in charge had written on the large whiteboard at the front of the room. Fugitive Recovery Task Force. Quick, somebody call Tommy Lee Jones.

  I sat down at the empty desk next to Heathcliff’s, but I didn’t spot the detective. O’Connell and Thompson were whispering and working on leads while the Marshals laid out the same set of facts we’d gone over a dozen times.

  “The foreign blood and saliva found at the Cooper crime scene matches the DNA we have on file for Francisco Steele,” the Marshal said.

  I tuned him out, searching the room for familiar faces. Agents Davis, Samuels, and Keane huddled together in the opposite corner of the room. Unlike their police counterparts, they didn’t exchange whispers or take notes. This wasn’t new. This was a waste of time.

  “Psst.”

  I turned. Heathcliff inched open the conference room door, careful to remain hidden behind the blinds. He jerked his chin, indicating I should join him, and disappeared into the dark room. Getting up as nonchalantly as possible, I edged along the desk. When the coast was clear, I slowly opened the door.

  “Francisco Steele is an active gang member with close ties to the Mexican cartels.” The Marshal launched into a diatribe about the cartel, and I ducked into the conference room and pulled the door closed behind me.

  “Hey,” Derek greeted, rubbing his three-day-old beard. “The Marshals arrived at seven and took over our bullpen. I’ve been hiding in here ever since.”

  “You did all of this since seven a.m.?” Intel covered the entire front wall. Photos and string broke up the monotony of brightly colored post-its. A couch sat against the far wall in the rectangular room. Derek’s jacket was balled up, and one of the cushions hung halfway off the side. Takeout containers spilled out of the trashcan next to the mini-fridge. But at least the coffee looked fresh.

  “No, this took a little longer.” He went to the pot and held it up.

  “Thanks.” I gave the couch another look. “Does Moretti know you’ve been sleeping here.”

  “He should. He’s been in and out for the last two days.”

  “Any reason for the sudden change of address?”

  “Moretti assigned a detail to follow me. But if I don’t leave the precinct, they can focus on actual police work. So I’m staying put. It shaves a lot of time off my commute. Plus, someone has to stay on top of things here.”

  “And the lieutenant’s okay with that?”

  Heathcliff handed me a mug and refilled his. “OT’s been approved. I could use the extra money. It’s an all-around win.” He held his mug in both hands and stared at his handiwork. “Not that having Francisco Steele loose on the streets is a win for anyone.”

  “He almost killed Lawson last night.”

  “I heard.” Heathcliff pointed to a neon green string and color coordinated post-its. “Patrol brought in ‘Sarah’ this morning. She’s a lady of the night, who turns tricks for the KXDs. Steele got in touch with her four days ago. He paid her a couple hundred and gave her these.” Heathcliff searched one of the boxes piled on top of the conference table and pulled out an evidence bag. He handed the bag to me, and I read the name on the credit cards.

  “These are Mark’s.”

  “Yep.”

  “What else did she say?” I asked.

  “Not much. She needed the money. Didn’t hurt no one. Didn’t do nothing wrong. Y’know, the usual.”

  “What about the online profile?”

  “She didn’t know anything about it. That was entirely Steele. IT contacted the dating site. We served the c
ompany with a court order and got KillaDJ’s log-in information. It links back to the burner phone Steele used to contact you.”

  “So he’s KillaDJ.” Not that I had any doubts. “What about Bard?”

  “What about him? He’s locked up tight. When questioned by the FBI, he denied having any knowledge of Steele’s escape or revenge plans. We asked Sarah about it, but she said she hasn’t seen or spoken to Bard in over a year.”

  “Who’s running things on the outside now?” I asked.

  “Diego Guzman runs the girls, makes sure none of the johns get too out of line, and that they pay up. Gangs heard of Guzman, but he’s middle management. As far as we can tell, Bard’s still finding ways to call the shots. Guzman and several others are keeping everyone in line and their suppliers down south happy.”

  “How do the cartels feel about Francisco Steele?” I asked.

  Heathcliff shrugged. “You want my honest opinion?”

  “Always.”

  “The Marshals are wrong. This isn’t about the cartels or the KXDs or Bard.”

  “So what’s your take on this?”

  “Steele busted out and is making everyone’s life miserable because he wants to prove he can. Steele always had to be the biggest badass. Getting locked up knocked him down a few pegs. You saw his prison record. He behaved. Good behavior, that’s what every report said, right up until the time he flew the coop. He wasn’t vying for an early release. He had to keep his head down and mind his business because no one inside trusted him. He’s a rat. Rats don’t survive in prison.”

  “Was he ever attacked?”

  “Not officially.”

  “Threatened?” I asked.

  “He’s a big guy and a known killer. They aren’t that easy to threaten.”

  “What did Vega say?”

  “Steele’s the one who did the threatening.” Heathcliff put his mug down and hooked his finger around a red string, following the length to the right side of the wall. He tapped on a photocopy. “Vega got his ass handed to him on a daily basis. Steele offered protection in exchange for a favor, but if Vega reneged, Steele would make his life a living hell. I won’t go into the specifics. It’s a little too gruesome for so early in the morning.”

  I skimmed the statement to get the gist. “Didn’t Vega realize the protection would end as soon as Steele escaped?”

  “I guess he didn’t spend a lot of time thinking about the future.”

  “What about targets? Lucca said Vega named me and Mark.”

  “It was a short list. Cooper wasn’t on it. Neither was Lawson.”

  “Who else was on it?”

  Heathcliff puffed out his cheeks and blew out a breath. “Tough to say, really.”

  “You?”

  He nodded. “Don’t freak out.”

  “I’m not.” I braced myself for whatever else was to come. “Anyone else?”

  “Joe the bartender and Vee. Those are Vega’s words.”

  “Officer Aronne and Veronica Kincaid?”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  “No other OIO or FBI agents?”

  “Not that Vega recalls.”

  “Can I talk to Vega?”

  “Ask Deputy Marshal Douche. He’s running the task force now, but I don’t think it’ll help. At four a.m. this morning, Vega started howling like a banshee. He didn’t want counsel. He wanted help. Begged for it. Was willing to say or do anything to get it.”

  “Help?”

  “Pain meds. He said he was in pain. He was running a fever, vomiting, diarrhea, nasty stuff. We called in some medics. He got transferred to the hospital. They have him hooked to IVs. They might have knocked him out. There’s not much else we can do except wait for him to ride it out and finish detoxing. DA isn’t happy about the turn of events. Everything he said was said under duress.”

  “He didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already know.”

  “I guess not,” Heathcliff said.

  I studied him, wondering if this had anything to do with why Derek hadn’t gone home. Again, I thought about the spray paint on his front door. “Are you worried?”

  “Mainly about you and Joe. The witness is in WitSec, so that might be how the fugitive recovery team got wind of this. Kendall contacted them about the increased threat. But they’ll take care of her. That is their specialty. We just have to focus on taking care of our own and finding Steele.”

  “Steele won’t kill me. He wants to drag out the torture. He’s getting off on it. He’ll only end this when he’s no longer having fun.”

  “Speaking of getting off, we found Steele’s semen, saliva, and skin cells inside that vacant dress shop.” Heathcliff stared into my eyes. “He’s working himself into a lather. Don’t fool yourself, Parker. This is about you. He’s fixated on you. You can’t let your guard down, even for a second.”

  “You’re one to talk. He’s already brought you up in conversation. He wants to know where you are.”

  “The same could probably be said about Joe. The KXDs nearly killed him the first time. I should have done more to help. You wanted to, but I stopped you.”

  “ESU was on the way. You made the right call.”

  “Did I?” Heathcliff rested his hips against the table. “At the time, you didn’t think so.”

  “It would have been suicide. The second we moved in, they would have killed Joe and then us. I wasn’t thinking straight. You know me and suicide missions.” I crossed my middle and pointer fingers. “We’re like this.”

  He swallowed, and I regretted my choice of words. Heathcliff’s partner committed suicide years before I met him. He hadn’t been paired with anyone since.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled.

  He didn’t say anything, his attitude shifting to the stoic, no-nonsense Heathcliff. The way he morphed into different people, shutting off his emotions or turning them on, blew me away. It’s why he’d been perfect at undercover work, and it’s what had gotten him into hot water with Steele. Briefly, I wondered if I even knew who the real Derek Heathcliff was.

  “Overnight, patrol brought in every person and raided every business Steele contacted,” Heathcliff said. “He wasn’t at any of the locations. But we found a car matching the description Cross Security gave us. Forensics is analyzing it now. I don’t know if anything’s come back yet.” He pulled out his phone and sent a text to O’Connell. A moment later, he got a reply. “They are still analyzing it. So far, a partial print came back as a match to Steele’s right index finger. The print was found on a plastic Stop N’ Shop bag tucked beneath the passenger seat.”

  “What is Steele’s deal with that convenience store?” I asked.

  Heathcliff left his phone on the table and went back to the wall, following a blue string to an array of photographs. “It appears the Stop N’ Shop is a front. This one location in particular.”

  I leaned closer so I could read the address. It was the same one Jacobs had visited. “What about the other five locations Steele phoned?”

  “They were clean. Perhaps Steele warned them, but since we found cash and guns here, I’d say this is the Stop N’ Shop where Steele stops and shops.”

  “That would mean he didn’t know which convenience store was the right one.” I let that thought bounce around in my brain for a while. “Was he on the security cam footage?”

  “Maybe.”

  “What does that mean?”

  Heathcliff flicked a printed photo from the footage. “Just what I said.”

  I bent down to get a better look. For the first time since stepping into the dark conference room, I realized the lights weren’t on. “Guess we’re running dark on this one.”

  “We want to keep it in-house if we can. The Marshals are focused on tracking Steele, his cartel and KXD connections, and addressing the issues with the prison. As far as we’re concerned, that well’s already run dry. We can’t waste more time on it, but they can.”

  “Good.” Narrowing my eyes, I examined the photograph. “Is this
the best angle we have?”

  “Yes.”

  “It could be him.”

  “Hard to say for certain. The clerk didn’t ID him. Neither did the store manager.”

  “Did you run backgrounds on them?”

  Heathcliff stared daggers into my back.

  “I take it they don’t have any known ties to Steele, the KXDs, or anyone else who could be involved,” I said.

  “That would be correct, but we’re holding them anyway. A lot of shit went down in the rear storeroom. The manager and clerk said that door was always locked. The overnight guy had a key and did the restocking.”

  “Where’s the overnight guy?” I asked.

  “In the wind. We issued a BOLO. We’ll find him.”

  I examined the photos taken of the storeroom. “That’s a lot of cash and guns.”

  “Almost a million, all in twenties. A case of automatic rifles, and two cases of handguns, nine millimeters. No serial numbers on any of them. Ballistics only tested a couple so far, but they came back clean. They aren’t in the system.”

  “That’s where Steele got the gun he used to shoot Mark.”

  “That’d be my guess.”

  I dropped into a chair, my brain overloaded with too many new facts to process. If it hadn’t been for Cross Security, we might not have gotten any of this information, at least not this quickly. “So Steele has access to cash and guns.”

  “It looks that way.”

  “But we don’t think Bard had anything to do with it?”

  “We can’t prove he did.”

  “Do you think the KXDs would help Steele after he turned over evidence on so many of their connections?”

  “The ones on the outside don’t know that he did. Even if they heard rumors, those would just be rumors. Whispers on the street say Steele’s telling the KXDs he wants to get revenge on the pigs who put Bard away. They’re practically falling over themselves to help him.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I asked around.”

  “No wonder we haven’t been able to find Steele. He’s liquid with lots of firepower.”

  “Moretti spoke to Kendall late last night. We’re certain the KXDs are still getting their supplies and product from the cartels. The guns look like a fresh shipment. Kendall thinks Jablonsky’s investigation triggered something, but I think it’s a coincidence.”