by G. K. Parks
“You do realize by inviting Feds into a cop bar, we’re totally losing our street cred right now,” Thompson teased.
“I’m not a Fed. Plus, I’m buying, so it wouldn’t hurt if you could show some appreciation. A tiny bit of gratitude might be nice.” I winked.
He lifted his tequila shot in my direction before downing it. O’Connell chuckled and sipped his beer. He had been quiet all night, but I wasn’t going to ask why.
Thompson eyed the girl across the room, who he had been flirting with most of the evening. “Thanks for the drinks, Parker.” He got off the barstool. “I’m outta here.” He walked over to the girl, and the two of them left together.
Mark waited a reasonable amount of time for them to leave before getting up and patting my shoulder. “Thanks for buying,” he said. “I have an early morning, so I should probably head out too. You’re coming back next week, right?”
“Yes. Kendall seems to think two weeks is ample time.”
Mark was killing my buzz with shoptalk. He nodded to O’Connell and started for the door.
“What?” O’Connell called after him. “You don’t want to find a badge bunny to take home, too?”
I rolled my eyes. Men could be pigs, and I found the whole badge bunny concept particularly degrading. It gave women a bad name, or maybe I was just jealous that scantily clad men didn’t clamor about for women in uniform.
“I have three ex-wives collecting alimony. That would be the last thing I need,” Mark said, leaving Nick and me alone at the bar.
“So,” I finally decided to broach the subject, “how did this come down on you?”
“It wasn’t too bad.” Nick turned to face me. “The hostage situation the day before the shooting might have been a blip on the radar. Y’know, looks like a cop was out for revenge, but the fucker had it coming.”
“That would be an understatement.”
“I got my balls busted a bit, but the mayor was impressed. He’s throwing some award ceremony.” O’Connell shrugged as if this were nothing new or special.
“Congratulations. Maybe you will get that promotion, after all.” We sat in a comfortable silence, drinking our beers. “Shouldn’t you be at home with your wife?”
He glanced at his watch. “She’s working graveyard at the hospital tonight. I’ll pick her up in the morning and take her out to breakfast to celebrate. It’s a Saturday night. Shouldn’t you be having a late night security consulting meeting with Martin?”
“No, I don’t think that would be a prudent idea. After you called and told him to pick me up at the ER,” I gave him my annoyed look, “it’s just, I don’t know.”
“Great use of the English language.”
“You know how this life is. There are days we go to work and might not come back in one piece or at all. It’s not fair to put someone through that. Honestly, I don’t think he can handle it.” O’Connell tilted his head back and laughed. “What?” I asked, completely bewildered.
“You don’t think he can handle it? What the hell kind of Fed were you, Parker? I always thought you were more competent than that.” I remained silent, waiting for some elaboration. “Look, I don’t know him that well, but the few times we’ve met, he can be very intimidating, particularly when it comes to you.” I snorted and gave him my best ‘yeah, right’ look. “Let me put it another way, if you let him, he would walk through fire for you.”
“Maybe that’s the problem. What if I don’t want him to get burned?” I understood what O’Connell was saying. “It’s not fair for any of us to expect someone to be there waiting or risk getting caught in the crossfire.”
“You have to realize you can’t control everything. You cannot make these decisions for him or anyone else. The only thing you can decide is if you want him there or not, and if not, then just say so. I know you have a history, but honestly, you don’t owe him a damn thing.” O’Connell had a point. “I wouldn’t be doing this without my wife,” he continued, lost in his own story. “Seven years ago, I got grazed, and she was the nurse working the ER. We got to talking, numbers were exchanged, and one thing led to another.” He smiled at his memory.
“Do you worry?”
“I have to, but at some point, you realize life’s just too damn short. There are too many negative possibilities and not enough time for anything.” He got up from the barstool. “And now that you’ve made me this damn nostalgic, I’m going to see if she can get off work a little early tonight.” He headed toward the door.
“Nick,” I called after him, “thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Thirty-five
The next morning, I planned on staying in bed for the majority of the day and doing the proper hangover thing. Unfortunately, the universe didn’t agree with my carefully laid plans. My phone began buzzing around ten o’clock that morning, and whoever was calling refused to stop until I answered.
“Parker,” I growled into the receiver.
“The biometric locks have seized up,” announced a panicked voice.
“What?” I wasn’t awake enough for that grouping of words to make sense.
The phone on the other end was shuffled around before I got any type of response. “Miss Parker, hi, this is Jeffrey Myers. I’m sorry to bother you on a Sunday morning. It appears the new biometric locks you approved are malfunctioning, and we have no way of getting into the security office.”
“Did you call Heller?” I didn’t provide the equipment, so why exactly was this my problem?
“Yes, but it’s the weekend. She’s trying to find someone to fix it, but we thought maybe you’d have a solution in the meantime?”
“Did you call Mr. Martin?” There was mumbling in the background.
“He thought you might be able to bypass it.”
“Fine. Give me the model number, and I’ll get some equipment and be there as soon as I can.” Performing some quick searches, I made a few calls to a couple of security specialists, grabbed my own lock-picking gear, and stopped by the local electronics store.
Arriving at the MT building an hour and a half later, I planned to break into the security office. Worst case, the lock could be shot off. It was a good thing I collected my weapon from evidence lock-up on Friday afternoon. Flashing my MT credentials at the man guarding the front door, I went to the security office.
“Call Mr. Martin and let him know he needs to notify your security firm that any recorded breach is not a break-in. I don’t want the cops all over my ass when I screw up,” I informed Jeffrey.
“Um,” he stammered, “maybe you should tell him yourself.” He jerked his head at one of the armchairs across the room. “Just so you know,” he whispered, “the lock on his office isn’t working either.”
“Great.” I sighed.
“Morning,” Martin greeted, sounding rather annoyed.
“I’m glad you decided to leave the word good out of that salutation,” I said. “I don’t know if I can bypass the system or not, but I’m willing to try if you’re game.” He was in agreement. “Did you give your security firm or the police the heads up? I’m not qualified to do this, and there’s a good chance I’ll trip the alarm.”
“I’ll make the call.” He was in total business crisis mode, which would explain why he was being short with me.
“You might want to tell Heller exactly what you think of her shoddy equipment,” I snapped.
It took almost forty-five minutes to disconnect the biometric reader from the door and manually jimmy the lock open. Jeffrey Myers and the other two security guards applauded, and I rolled my eyes.
“I’m not sure what to do in the meantime, but you might want to get an actual locksmith to install a regular lock until Ms. Heller replaces this one.” I was less than pleased with how my recommended security improvements had gone awry.
“I’ll check with Mr. Martin and see what he wants to do,” Jeffrey said. Glancing at the armchair across the lobby, I realized Martin was gone. “Oh, if you can unlock his office,
he’d greatly appreciate it.” Wondering when Martin disappeared, I went to the elevator and debated if I was intentionally getting the cold shoulder or if I was just imagining things.
Forty minutes later, I was still standing in the hallway outside Martin’s office with an electronic reader in my palm, a metal lock-pick hanging from the corner of my mouth, and a pair of wire cutters sticking out of my back pocket.
“Don’t ask me why I find you incredibly sexy right now. I just do,” Martin came up behind me and whispered in my ear. I ignored the distraction and continued to adjust the scanner to detect which wires to disengage. Pulling the wire cutter from my pocket, I short-circuited the biometric sensor. It had taken almost half an hour to get the front panel off just to expose the wires. Whoever made these faulty locks should have considered making it easier to bypass them.
“Do you say that to all the locksmiths or just the ones you want to sleep with?” I teased, clipping a few more wires. “My office key is in my pocket if you want to wait in there until I finish.” Even though the biometric sensor was inactive, the electronic lock was still fully engaged, and there was no way to determine how to manually disengage it.
“How would it look for me to be rummaging through your pockets?” I could hear him smirking, but he had a point. “Can I help?”
I handed him the electronic reader and my wire cutters. “I’m sorry the biometric locks aren’t working. If I had known they were glitchy, I never would have recommended them.” Best to remain professional while at work.
“It’s not your fault. Dani’s called five times to apologize and offered a full refund in addition to new upgraded locks which are being installed tomorrow.”
Failing to turn the tumbler in the proper direction, I growled at the door before starting over. Martin remained silent and let me focus as I finally managed to pick the lock and pry the door open.
“There,” I said resolutely, sliding my lock-picks into their case. “Sorry, it took so long.”
“That’s okay.” He entered his office, waiting for me to join him. I was paranoid the door would close and the lock would reengage, trapping us inside, so I found a doorstop and propped the door open, just to be on the safe side. “It’s been a hell of a weekend.”
“Now that your office is functioning again, I’m going to go. But just to be on the safe side, don’t close the door,” I said. He nodded, staring at the paperwork on his desk. “I know you’re busy, but do you think you might have some free time tonight? Maybe we could have dinner.”
He looked up, smiling. “I’d like that. Giovanni’s at seven?”
“I’ll be there.”
* * *
I went home, took a shower, and tried on almost every single article of clothing I owned. I didn’t know why I was so nervous. Martin and I had been to dinner almost every week for the last few months, but tonight felt different. On the one hand, it was kind of like our first date, and on the other, I knew we needed to address the tension between us. Once again, I replayed the intended conversation over in my head. It was time to take a step back, especially when he would be incapacitated with the surgery and busy transitioning Guillot in as vice president. I would be equally busy, tormenting myself with what I hoped would be a brief consulting gig at the OIO. Needless to say, we both had a lot on our plates for the foreseeable future. Slow meant almost total avoidance, at least while I was working for the OIO.
After finding something appropriate to wear, I went to the restaurant to meet Martin. Requesting a table in the back as secluded as possible, I ordered a white wine while I waited. I was nervously spinning my glass on the tabletop when he arrived. He glanced at his watch and then at my empty glass.
“I thought I’d be on time for once,” he remarked, sitting across from me and ordering a bottle of wine for the table.
“You are. I was just early. How are the locks?” I wanted to avoid having a real conversation for as long as possible.
“They’re being installed first thing in the morning. I’ve been assured this will never happen again.” He folded his menu and leaned back in his chair. “We don’t have to talk about work though. You look amazing.” He lifted his eyebrows suggestively. His gaze shifted to the stitches on my wrist and then to my neck. The ligature marks from the garrote had finally vanished.
“Thank you.” It didn’t seem important to mention it had taken over an hour to figure out what to wear. Our conversation was temporarily halted as the waiter arrived and took our orders.
“I’m glad you invited me to dinner.” His green eyes sparkled. “I was positive you didn’t want to see me anymore.” It was meant to be a joke, but he knew something was wrong.
I bit my bottom lip, and the mood shifted. “I have missed you.” I hoped he would take what I had to say the way it was intended. “But we need to talk.” He waited patiently for me to begin. “These next few weeks will be crazy for both of us. You have surgery and Guillot, and I’m supposed to be back at the OIO on a temporary basis. It might be best if we don’t plan on seeing one another until things calm down.”
“This isn’t working, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out why.” He pressed his lips together. His eyes turned dark as they met mine. “Then again, I have my suspicions where the problem might be.” I remained silent, and he searched my eyes. “Do you want to call things off?”
“No. Not at all.” I reached across the table for his hand. “We said we would take things slow, and after Abelard,” I looked at him, hoping for some type of understanding, but I was met with frustration, “it’s just, we’re either all or nothing.”
“Funny, unless you’re confusing me with someone else, I don’t remember us ever actually doing much of anything. If we were going any slower, we’d be in reverse.”
“I didn’t mean physically.” This wasn’t going the way I hoped. “I’m sorry I have to ask you to stay away, but I worry about what could happen to you. I can’t separate what’s already happened,” I glanced at his shoulder, “from where we are now.”
“I’m only saying this once, and we are not talking about this again, understand? When I said we were even, I was wrong. We aren’t even. You saved me twice, once from the explosion and once from bleeding to death in my own home. That means I still owe you. So do not sit here and give me this goddamn song and dance about how you have to protect me. It’s fucking bullshit and incredibly emasculating. You were hired to protect me. You did, and now it’s done.” He stopped to get his tone under control.
“Martin,” I tried to interject, but he put his hand up to silence me.
“I want to spend time with you, Alexis, and it’s not because I think you’ll pull me out of the way of a speeding taxi or jump in front of some sniper’s bullet. So do not sit here and tell me you have to protect me, or we will be done.” I leaned back in my chair and swallowed uneasily. His eyes smoldered. “Is that what you want?” he asked in a slightly more civil tone.
I replayed the conversation I had with Nick over in my head as I considered my options. I was at a crossroads. I could walk out that door and ensure Martin would be safe from the hazards associated with my life, or I could agree to let him stick around until we could no longer stand one another.
“I was hoping we could start fresh once our lives have settled down.”
He stared unnervingly at me as his green eyes burned through my soul. “What happens afterward when life gets complicated again? Will you tell me to stay away and cut all contact?”
“I don’t know. I can’t promise you I won’t.”
He looked despondent and poured another glass of wine. “At least we’ll always have Paris,” he attempted to joke, but his words lacked any hint of mirth. Our meals arrived, and I picked at mine as we sat through the rest of dinner in complete silence. We were at an impasse. The check arrived, and he put his credit card on the tray, ignoring my attempt to pay for dinner.
“When’s your surgery?” I asked quietly, fearing I no longer had any right to this
information.
“Thursday morning.”
“How long,” I swallowed; my throat had gone dry, “are you going to be there?”
“It’s a day procedure. Hopefully, I can get back to work by Tuesday or Wednesday. Not a big deal,” he said mechanically. “When do you start working for Mark?”
“Friday, I think.” I couldn’t figure out what was going on, if we were back to just friends or if we had yet to decide. “I have to pass the evaluations, but at least the paperwork is finished.”
He produced a small smile that didn’t make it to his eyes. The waiter returned with the receipt, and Martin stood up.
“Well.” He paused, contemplating what to say. His tone sounded cordial, and I suspected saying thanks for a lovely evening was obviously too phony a comment to utter.
“Martin.” I crushed my body against his in a tight embrace. Now that he was leaving, I didn’t want him to go. I fought so long against this and never gave it a chance, and now I was perplexed by how much I would miss it. Miss him.
He held me tightly. “You don’t have to do this.” His voice had a pleading quality to it. “We can…” He stopped, probably realizing there was no simple solution. I pulled back and kissed him. It felt like goodbye. “Alex.” He rubbed his thumb across my cheek.
“Goodbye, Martin.” I pulled away and turned around, walking out of the building and back to my car alone.
Thirty-six
Over the next three days, I stayed buried under the covers, regretting what happened but unwilling to do anything to change the outcome. The truth of the matter was if I crossed paths with another sociopath like Abelard, I would do the exact same thing, even if it was emasculating and inconsiderate. This fact didn’t keep me from running to the caller ID every time the phone rang, hoping it was Martin. I missed him more than I cared to admit and more than I even thought possible. We had barely even started dating, and despite the many nights we spent together, due to my vast number of injuries, we never even had sex. Maybe it was a good thing. I would have been more attached to him, but somehow, I felt gypped. How did we miss the carefree fun part of the dating process? Oh yeah, Abelard, how could I forget?
