by G. K. Parks
I drank obediently, waiting for him to return.
* * *
Ryan was lying on the bed in my hotel room with his eyes closed when I got out of the shower. I had a moment of complete contempt for him and his ability to rest, but I pushed it aside as I unlocked the safe and unceremoniously tossed everything into my duffel bag. I took the bag into the bathroom and repeated the process.
“I don’t think you can fly with a taser in your carry-on,” he said. His eyes were still closed, and I was amazed he was aware of anything that was going on.
“Private jet. Rules don’t apply.” I opened the closet and threw everything else into my bag. I was fighting with the zipper when Ryan gently pushed my hands away, zipping the bag in one fluid motion.
“Would you like to explain how a former OIO agent gets to return home on a private jet?”
“Great timing and working private security for James Martin has its perks.”
“James Martin?” He eyed me strangely.
“CEO of Martin Technologies.”
“Uh-huh,” he mumbled. I was beginning to feel like a suspect. “Was it his painting you were retrieving for Evans-Sterling?”
“No. Mark Jablonsky, my OIO commander, got me hired as Martin’s bodyguard a few months back. I’ve been consulting for his company ever since.” I didn’t see why any of this was Ryan’s business, but he was a cop. Inquisitive was in his nature. “It just so happens Luc Guillot, the head honcho of the Paris branch, is flying to the States, and I figured I might as well save on airfare.”
“Guillot’s the new VP.” Ryan was more up-to-date than I would have guessed.
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“It was in the finance section of the paper.” He picked up my duffel bag, and I glanced around the room for any forgotten items before opening the door and heading to the front desk to check out. “Bodyguard work?” Admiration lined his face. “You?”
“Ridiculous notion, I agree.”
We climbed into his car, and he drove toward the private airstrip.
“I was about to say that makes you one hell of a badass. Clearly, there’s no need to rescind my lethal comment from the other day.”
“Worst experience ever,” I sighed. “I agreed to consult on Martin’s security protocols and ended up being a twenty-four hour protection detail by myself.” I was still bitter about the way things had gone down.
“Well, he’s still breathing, and you’re employed. It couldn’t have been that bad.”
“Trust me, it was.” I hadn’t talked to anyone about this since it happened. “An entire assault team was hired to kill Martin. He was shot, and I took three to the vest. I watched him nearly bleed to death.”
Ryan looked me in the eye, probably to assess how damaged I was from that experience. “No wonder you get to take the private jet. Son of a bitch almost got you killed.” That wasn’t quite the way things happened, but I didn’t feel the need to argue.
We pulled up to the airstrip with a half hour to spare. A chauffeured limousine was parked near the plane, indicating Luc and Genevieve Guillot already arrived. I didn’t know if Martin gave them the heads up about my tagging along, but I hoped to avoid them as much as possible. I looked like hell and just wanted to be left alone to sleep for the next eight hours.
“Alex,” Ryan stopped me before I could open the car door, “I just wanted to say thanks for helping out back there. It’s been a rough couple of days, but if I had to stay one more night in that apartment with the Interpol surveillance van outside my door, I would have lost my bloody mind.”
“Glad I could be of assistance.” Hopefully, Abelard had been captured. “Let me know how everything turns out.”
“Of course. I’m sure if we need you for something else, you can coordinate through your Interpol liaison.” He watched as I slipped on my jacket to hide the burns and my wounded wrists from the more civilized world. “I’m sorry we didn’t move in sooner.” His voice was softer than I ever heard.
“It’s okay. You showed up before things got really bad.”
“I don’t want to know what your definition of really bad is.”
“Do you have a pen?”
“Why? Are you going to write it down for me?” he quipped but handed me the pen from his shirt pocket.
“Paper?” I was asking for a lot. He pulled out one of his business cards, and I scribbled my home phone number on the back. “When you’re sure you have Abelard, give me a call.” I opened the car door as Ryan tucked my number into his pocket. He picked up my bag and carried it to the plane, flashing his badge to get us through the checkpoint without any real scrutiny and just a cursory glance at my passport.
“I will,” he promised. He handed over my bag and hugged me. “Take care of yourself.”
“You, too. Watch your back. And no more deep cover because I’m not coming back here to get Delacroix’s surveillance off your ass again.”
Climbing the stairs, I flashed my passport and my Martin Technologies ID card at the flight attendant.
“Mademoiselle Parker, so lovely to see you again,” Luc Guillot greeted from one of the plush seats in the back of the cabin. “James called last night and said you might be traveling with us today.” I gave him a tentative smile, hoping I could talk the flight attendant into letting me sit in the separated area reserved for the crew instead of with the Guillots. “This is my wife, Genevieve.”
“Vivi, please,” she said.
I nodded at her and smiled, so as not to appear rude. “Alex,” I introduced myself. “Pleased to meet you, but if you’ll excuse me, this is kind of heavy.” I indicated my bag and followed the flight attendant to the storage area at the back of the plane. After properly stowing my bag, I re-emerged into the main portion of the cabin where the Guillots were seated comfortably on some bench seats.
“Please,” Luc indicated the seat across from them, “make yourself comfortable.”
“I appreciate it, but I’ll stay out of your way,” I said politely. “Enjoy your flight.” I headed toward the other end of the cabin, but Vivi stopped me.
“Alex, are you feeling well?”
“I’m okay. I didn’t sleep last night.” It was enough of the truth to suffice.
She nodded, believing she understood the implications. “We won’t disturb you.”
The flight attendant pulled a curtain, separating me from the Guillots. They were talking, but I couldn’t make out the words. Leaning my seat back, I turned on my side and pulled the small shade over the window before closing my eyes. Once we took off and stabilized at the designated altitude, I relaxed and let the drone of the engines and the mumbled chattering of the Guillots lull me to sleep.
“Mademoiselle,” the flight attendant woke me, “we’ve landed.” I sat up and winced, amazed that I slept through the landing. I wasn’t a bad flyer, but takeoffs and landings tended to be somewhat dicey.
“Have the Guillots disembarked yet?”
“They are in the process at the moment.”
“Would you mind letting me know once they’re gone? I don’t want to get in their way.” I hoped my request sounded reasonable, even though I just wanted to avoid exchanging more pleasantries. Would Martin be outside waiting for them?
“No problem.” A few minutes later, the flight attendant returned with my bag. I hefted the duffel over my shoulder, almost falling over in the process. It didn’t seem this heavy in Paris. Maybe the U.S. had a higher level of gravity, and that was the reason for our levels of obesity. It had nothing to do with supersized, fast food, processed meals.
Putting on my sunglasses, I exited into the bright morning sunlight. Mark’s government-issued SUV was parked near the fence surrounding the runway, and he stood next to a familiar town car, chatting with Bruiser. The Guillots were helping Marcal load their luggage into the trunk. Martin was nowhere to be seen, which left me feeling oddly disappointed. When Mark spotted me, he pulled out his badge and waited on the other side of the checkpoint.
“Government business.” It wasn’t often he got to throw around his power just for show. “Miss Parker,” he greeted, taking my bag and studying me from behind his aviator sunglasses, “did you escape from a motorcycle gang?” He mocked my wraparound sunglasses and leather jacket.
“Not quite.” I followed him to his SUV. “Did I tell you to pick me up?” It had been a long couple of days.
“You were supposed to.” He shoved my duffel into the trunk. “Farrell called this morning and told me what time you were getting in. He wants to debrief you immediately, if not sooner.” I sighed loudly and fought against the seatbelt while desperately trying to get my jacket off. It was rubbing my skin raw. “Also, the director wants to see you.”
“What director?” Wrestling my jacket off and pulling it free of the seatbelt, I was finally ready to go.
“Our director. My boss. Kendall.” He watched my expression out of the corner of his eye.
“Oh, that director.” The last time I had any interaction with Director Kendall was when I resigned, and he chewed me out.
“I’ve been reading the reports coming out of the Paris Interpol offices.” Mark waited for a response.
“Good, you’re up to speed.” Without my jacket on, I was freezing and reached to turn on the heat. He stared at my unbandaged wrists as I adjusted the vents. “Eyes on the road, Jablonsky.”
“You’re going to make me ask?”
“No. I just don’t have much to tell. Everything is in the report. I spent some time hanging around until the Police Nationale arrived.” I didn’t want to talk about it, and Mark dropped it. The silence continued until we reached the freeway.
“Did you get checked out afterward?” He could act very fatherly sometimes.
“Of course. A medic cleared me. No muscle damage.”
“Last chance for an ER check-up,” he offered as we approached the exit for the hospital.
“I’m good.” I still felt like crap, but I didn’t want to start my morning, sitting in an ER waiting room for several hours to hear I was fine. I already had to deal with a debriefing and getting yelled at by Director Kendall.
We made it to the OIO offices a little before noon. Mark escorted me to Agent Farrell’s office where I was then ushered into a conference room and forced to give an entire account of everything that occurred over the last week. Since it was already on record and properly filed, I had a sneaking suspicion Delacroix pulled some strings just to torment me further. Agent Farrell was kind and thanked me numerous times for the assistance I provided.
By two o’clock, I was waiting in Mark’s office for Director Kendall to tear me a new one. Mark was behind his desk, working on some reports.
“Any idea what Kendall wants?” I asked, hoping to be prepared for whatever was about to happen.
“I have no idea. Are you sure you’re okay?”
I hated being female when it came to these law enforcement types. A majority of them tended to think I was some weakling who needed looking after. I could hold my own, thank you very much.
“I’m fine. A bit anemic and slightly dehydrated but fine otherwise.” I tried very hard to keep the annoyance from my voice.
“I didn’t mean it that way.” He watched my expression. “Although now that you mention it, you do look rather ghostly. Or ghastly.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. Before our conversation could continue, the intercom beeped, and our presence was requested in Kendall’s office. Following Mark down the hallway and into the director’s office, I took a seat and waited patiently for the impending barrage.
As I predicted, Kendall proceeded to rip into me for running amok in a foreign country, not considering any of the potential ramifications my actions could have on this office, and the lack of concern I exercised toward my own well-being. I sat quietly, trying to look ashamed. He was right on all three accounts, but I couldn’t have cared less. When the yelling portion of the meeting was over, I glanced up cautiously at Kendall. Mark was seated next to me, looking stern. Teacher’s pet.
“Parker, what the hell are you doing?” Kendall asked, adopting a more relaxed posture and flexing his fingertips against the tabletop.
“Wreaking havoc in Paris?” I was unsure what the right answer might be but wanted to demonstrate I paid attention to his tirade.
“That much is obvious.” He wasn’t pleased with my answer. I guess it must have been the wrong one. “What the hell do you think you’re doing? You walk into my office several months ago and resign. Now you’re in France working with Interpol. Before that, you were involved in some kind of shootout at a CEO’s house. You’re more on my radar now than you were when you worked here.”
I glanced at Mark. His eyebrows raised, and he nodded in agreement. “I’m in the private sector now, sir. There’s some overlap.”
“Come back to work. We’ll reinstate you,” Kendall said.
I gaped at him. “With all due respect, I left for a reason.” I was shocked he just offered me my old job back.
“You weren’t responsible for those two agents getting killed, Parker. Things happen. You can’t control everything.”
“Too much bureaucracy and red-tape, sir.” I ignored his comment since I wasn’t ready to think about the last mission I worked at the OIO. Mark watched the exchange, hoping I would relent and accept the offer.
“Offer’s on the table. Think about it,” Kendall said.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” I moved to stand, but Mark put his hand on my forearm.
“Would you be willing to consult for us?” Mark asked.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“We could use more people like you, Agent Parker.” Kendall was laying it on thick. “If you don’t want to be here full-time, consider a consulting position. Or even a temporary consulting position. Come back and work a few of the more complicated cases. Think about it. Give me your answer in a couple of weeks.”
“Thank you, Director.” Leaving his office, I stood perfectly still, trying to detect if hell was in the process of freezing over. Before I could positively conclude there was at least some snowfall accumulating in Hades, Mark met me in the hallway and escorted me to his office.
“You knew,” I accused.
“Maybe. Come on, Alex. You live and breathe this. All you have to do is sign some paperwork, pass the psych eval, and take the physical, and you’re back in. I want you back here.”
I squeezed the bridge of my nose and opened my eyes, staring at the rope burns and cut marks on my wrist. “Do you think I’d pass the psych eval right now?” I didn’t deal well with talking things out. I didn’t deal well with emotions and processing trauma properly either, or so I’d been told.
“Just think about it,” he insisted. “I need you here.”
I laughed bitterly and went to get a cup of water from the cooler in the hallway.
Twenty-four
Mark gave me a ride to my apartment where I quickly unpacked and changed into a low-cut tank top. Today had been enough of an annoyance without the constant chafing of cotton against my blistered and burned skin. He was flipping through a two week old newspaper, when his phone rang.
“It’s for you,” he said as I emerged from my bedroom.
“It’s your cell phone.”
“Trust me, it’s for you.” He shoved the phone toward me, and I awkwardly answered.
“You’re home.” Martin’s voice contained a hint of a smile. “Just for the record, I wasn’t at the airport because I was working and wearing a suit.”
“Well, that’s one way to avoid getting arrested for indecent exposure.”
“Dinner tonight?” he asked. Mark offered to buy a few rounds, probably hoping some libations would lower my inhibitions about going back to work for him.
“Mark’s taking me out for drinks, but feel free to join us. I could use someone on my side,” I said for Mark’s benefit.
Martin took down the address and agreed to meet us at five or as soo
n as he could tear himself away from work, whichever came first.
* * *
Mark and I were seated at the bar. I ordered a glass of white wine, and after one sip, I realized how incredibly stupid the idea was. Even though I slept on the plane, I still felt off. The room wobbled a little as I glanced around at the lively environment. Exhaustion and maybe a tad of dehydration wouldn’t mix well with alcohol, especially given my pallor. I pushed the glass away and asked for water instead. Mark continued to stare, probably expecting me to collapse.
“Alex,” he began in a tone I knew meant a lecture was on the way, “you need to talk it out.”
I sighed and looked at him. My head was beginning to throb, and I intended to write it off as Mark’s fault. “Why? So I can pass the psych eval and come back to the office?”
“No,” his voice shifted to a kinder tone, “you were tortured. You can’t just pretend it didn’t happen. It will fester and eat you alive.”
“The only thing torturous is this conversation.”
He ignored the embellishment. “I didn’t say this to you when Michael and Sam were killed. Instead, I let you disappear. You resigned and holed up in your apartment for months. If I didn’t get you a position working for Marty, you’d probably still be hiding out.”
“We are not talking about this right now.” My blood pressure spiked, and the room spun. I propped my head in my hands to get the spinning under control.
“It wasn’t your fault. You were coordinating the operation from the office. You had no way of knowing it was a setup. Nothing indicated the building was booby-trapped. There wasn’t anything else you could have done.”
Before I could respond, Martin appeared as if out of thin air. “Sorry, I’m late. I had some final plans to make with Luc. We’re having a business dinner tomorrow night.” He slid past me. Pressing his palm gently against the small of my back, he kissed my cheek in greeting. I had yet to turn or acknowledge him since I was still reeling after Mark opened this particular can of worms. “Did I interrupt something?”
