Dying for a Fix

by G. K. Parks

  “I am so sorry. We should have done more. Acted sooner.” The apology began pouring out, but Heathcliff’s stern gaze caused my words to become clipped. “Sorry.”

  Joe had grown ashen, but he shrugged it off. Recollecting traumatic events was always difficult. I knew this better than most and shouldn’t have gone down that road. “Was there anything else you needed for your investigation, Agent?”

  “What can you tell me about Veronica?”

  “That was no mugging. She was playing both sides and got caught.”

  “Both sides?”

  “She was selling drugs for the KXDs and the Lords. From the way the KXDs started using you, I assumed Steele must have realized his girl had double-crossed him. Then she calls up, saying she’s in the hospital and won’t be back, so it wasn’t too hard to put two and two together.”

  “How do you know she was dealing for the Lords?”

  “Word travels, but I was always the last one to leave at night. It was necessary in order to check the locker room. One night, I found a label and an empty baggie inside her locker. It was a designer version of cocaine that only the Lords sell.” He shifted his gaze to Heathcliff. “It should be in evidence at the precinct since I turned it in the morning I found it.” He scrunched his face in thought. “Maybe a week and a half before her attack, so that would be…”

  He began calculating dates while my mind wandered to Jablonsky’s interview with Veronica. My brain pinged on a few inconsistencies and only when Derek waved his hand in front of my face did I blink and realize I was zoning out.

  “Let’s let Joe rest. His girlfriend and kids are on the way, and we’ve monopolized enough of his time,” Heathcliff insisted, ushering me out of the chair. “You take care of yourself, man. If there’s anything I can do for you, just holler.”

  “Hey, Joe, thank you for watching my back at the club. I hope you feel better,” I added, offering a warm smile over my shoulder.

  Back outside, Lucca was waiting in a chair in the hallway next to the protection detail. Lucca stood like a puppy waiting for his next command. Pretending I didn’t notice, Heathcliff led me down the hallway and out of earshot.

  “We need to talk,” he said but spotted Lucca bounding toward us, “off the record.”

  “That can be arranged. Are you on duty?”

  “I’m riding a desk while IA concludes their review, but I’m off duty now.”

  “All right, just give me a few minutes to lose the boy scout.”

  Thankfully, I convinced Lucca to wait in the car while Heathcliff and I grabbed a cup of coffee from a cart outside the hospital. Derek was clean-shaven and spit-shined as was his norm. It was too cold to sit on the snow covered benches, so we huddled near the building.

  “What happened after Steele dropped by to collect me?” I asked.

  “I stayed in your apartment. I thought you would come back, and when you didn’t, I began snooping around Bard’s place. He and Steele returned with two SUVs filled with drugs. And they wouldn’t let me leave after that. Steele didn’t trust me, and it was making Bard suspicious. But you have to believe I didn’t know Bard was armed or that he was about to open fire when your team breached his home.” The sincerity in Heathcliff’s eyes, mixed with his remorse over Joe, was hard to stomach. “It’s my fault that man was killed and you were almost taken out. It’s also my fault Steele escaped.”

  “Derek, don’t do that to yourself. You’re a good man and a good cop. This case has my head so twisted around, but it’s okay. I’m glad you’re okay. I didn’t know what Francisco would do to you, especially after you stuck your neck out to get me out of a jam. But it’s done. Bard’s going away for a long time, and his empire has crumbled.”

  “Then why are you asking Joe about one of the strippers?”

  “Something doesn’t feel right. I can’t put my finger on it, but something is off.”

  “I’ll tell you what, I’ll pull the records and do some digging into her history and known criminal ties, and you go have a talk with Jablonsky and find out what he knows.” A car horn sounded, and we both spun to find Lucca gesturing wildly. “Looks like you’re being summoned.”

  “Goddamn boy scout,” I griped. “Unless something major surfaces, I’ll drop by the precinct on Monday, okay?”

  “Sounds good.” Heathcliff hugged me, and for once, I didn’t cringe quite so much at the physical contact. It was a side effect of working at the Black Cat, but I was getting past it. “And the next time you decide to do something as stupid as go undercover, give me the heads up.”

  “Right back ‘atcha.”

  We parted ways, and Lucca attempted to make small talk the entire ride back to the office. I deflected on each count, and he finally gave up after threatening to inquire about the cause of my less than personable attitude to which I had replied that he do something anatomically impossible. At least the remark encouraged him to leave me alone while I wrote my finalized report.

  “It’s Friday night, Alex,” Mark said, interrupting my filing. “Take off. The rest of that can be done on Monday. You’ve had a long week. Go home.”

  “Hey, I’ve been meaning to ask, where did you put the file on Veronica Kincaid?”

  “She doesn’t have a file. There’re a couple pages of notes stuck inside the operation folder. We didn’t arrest her because there wasn’t that much evidence against her, and we didn’t want to risk tipping off the KXDs that we had a mole inside their organization.”

  “Well, I’d like to read through it again. The facts just don’t jive.”

  “It’s probably because the PD hasn’t shared everything with us,” he complained, “but I’ll pull it and leave it in your desk drawer for Monday.”

  “I could work the weekend,” I offered.

  “You can’t avoid Marty forever. The man is incorrigible, and he loves you. You need to see him.”

  “I need to tell him the truth.”

  “You can tell him Monday. Until then, I’m sure he’ll be happy to spend time with you. It’s been a couple of weeks since you barged into his house covered in bruises and with a police escort.”

  “Oh, god, as if things weren’t bad enough, he’ll expect an explanation about that too.”

  “Go home, Alex. This is nothing compared to what you’ve been dealing with for the last six weeks.”

  Thirty-nine

  Cooking, cleaning, or perhaps hiding, those seemed to be the only three options currently available. Martin was supposed to be dropping by after work and staying the weekend. Okay, so maybe the weekend part was pushing it, but I couldn’t tell him no. He made up a large part of my non-work life, and I wanted to see him. I really did. Conversely, I also wanted to avoid the situation and hope it would go away. The fact that I wasn’t exactly a fan of physical contact at the moment was a problem, and the bigger problem was my absence over the last several weeks. Even now, I still couldn’t tell him the truth. Our relationship had turned into deceit and lies, and that was my decision. Sure, I did it because it would shield him from danger, but maybe I just wanted to protect myself from the cross-examination he would put me through when it came to resuming the one career I swore against.

  “Knock, knock,” Martin called from the hallway, and I jumped, realizing that if I was going to hide, my escape routes were now limited.

  Without saying a word, I went to the front door, took a deep breath, unlocked the two deadbolts, slid the security bar out of the way, and opened the door. He was holding two grocery bags and had a bottle of wine tucked underneath his arm. His bodyguard lingered in the hallway, and I smiled at him.

  “Ms. Parker,” Bruiser said, returning the smile, “nice to see you again.”

  “You’re just dying for a rematch, right?” I quipped.

  “Anytime you’re ready.”

  “Well, it won’t be this weekend, Jones,” Martin replied, stepping inside my apartment. “I’ll see you at the office Monday afternoon. Enjoy your time off.”

  “Tha
nks, have a good night.” Bruiser waved and disappeared toward the stairwell.

  “You need to hire more staff,” I said, closing the door as Martin attempted a kiss. Stepping away from him, I cleared off the counter. “Poor Bruiser’s overworked and clearly underpaid.” Martin was a generous boss, even toward the employees that he had no interest in dating, and he let out a good-natured laugh at the comment.

  “Yes, I’ll make a note to stop being such a tyrant.” He put the bags and bottle down and enveloped me in his arms. “Hey, gorgeous,” he whispered. When he broke the kiss, he cocked his head to the side. “Is something wrong?”

  “No.” My gaze diverted to the bags. “What’s with the groceries?”

  “I thought I’d make dinner. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m guessing your fridge is empty.”

  “I have ketchup.”

  “Great. We can play spin the bottle.” He stepped backward. “Maybe you’ll get lucky and can kiss the toaster instead.” He took off his jacket, shed his tie, and rolled up the sleeves on his dress shirt. “Would you care to explain why you go rigid every time I touch you? I won’t hurt you, Alex. Not intentionally. Are you still scraped up from the attack?” His forehead creased, and thankfully, he began to unpack the bags, dropping the accusatory stare. “How are you, sweetheart? The last time we were together, you weren’t doing so well.”

  “I’m fine. The leg’s on the mend, but the cuts and bruises have healed.” Swallowing, I took a seat at the counter and watched him unpack bags of leafy green things. “Work has been causing some anxiety.”

  “What kind of work is it? Home security or something?”

  “Or something.”

  He washed his hands in the sink, reached below the counter to grab a pan, and poured some olive oil in it to heat while he began chopping. “Is that why you look like you haven’t eaten in a month?” I didn’t say anything, and the chopping grew angrier. “Would you tell me if something was wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong.”

  The chopping stopped, and he looked straight in my eyes. “I’m not an idiot. I’ve seen the needle marks. Your face is sunken in. And if I didn’t know you better, I’d think you were an addict, especially with the way you’ve disappeared for weeks at a time, avoided me, and are uncomfortable answering simple questions. What aren’t you telling me?” I stifled my laugh. Hell, my act was much more impressive than I ever realized. “Are you okay? Are you sick? Did something happen? Is that why you stiffen every time I get close?” I glared at him, so he abandoned the inquisition. “Because I know something else that stiffens every time we get close.” He smirked, adding some lighthearted, juvenile flirtation to the accusations.

  “None of those things. I’ve been working. That’s it. And I can’t give you any other details until Monday.” I searched my mind for something that would make sense.

  “Why Monday? Why can’t you tell me now?”

  I snickered. “Because if I tell you, I’d have to kill you.”

  “Oh, so you’re an international spy, and this home security firm you work for is just part of your cover identity?” He had no idea how close to the truth he was. “I heard the CIA was recruiting.” He went back to chopping, casting the occasional glance at me. “A woman of mystery. Jane Bond or something like that?”

  “Sure.” Sliding off the stool, I went around the counter and leaned next to him. “Do you find that sexy, Mr. Martin?” My pathetic attempt at a British accent earned a chuckle.

  “I find you sexy.” But he didn’t sound pleased by the delay in learning the truth. “But I’ll give you space. That’s what you want.” He flicked his gaze to me, making certain that despite our proximity, we didn’t accidentally touch. “And I promise not to make a single move on you, so if you’re suddenly jonesing for some affection, you’ll have to initiate.”

  “Stripper rules,” I retorted, realizing that Alexia Nicholson was still stuck in my head. He gave me a questioning look as he began sautéing the vegetables. “Random question, have you ever been to a strip club?”

  “That has to be a trick question. So I’m pleading the fifth.”

  “Have you ever closed a deal at one of those places?”

  “Alex, I haven’t been with any strippers or prostitutes. What’s this about?”

  “I meant legitimate business deals.” I rolled my eyes. “Speaking of, how are things concerning the lawsuit?”

  “To answer your first question, gentlemen’s clubs aren’t conducive to a work environment. I have no intention of getting investors or possible business partners intoxicated on cheap liquor and fake tits just to sink a deal.” He smirked. “Do you think I’m a whore?”

  I held my thumb and pointer finger close together. “A little bit.”

  “In that case, you can’t afford my hourly rates.” I slapped his arm. “Normally, that’s a little extra, but I’ll let it slide just this once.”

  “Maybe we should get back on topic before I have to break out the handcuffs.”

  “Handcuffs definitely cost extra, but they could add a fun dynamic to enforce your no touching dictum.” He gave me a sexy smile. “Well, more fun than you completely zoning out while I talk about business and the problems MT’s facing with Hover Designs.”

  “I have a confession.” He stopped what he was doing and turned serious. “I didn’t exactly zone out on the phone. I fell asleep.”

  He snorted. “Wonderful. My work and life are so boring that hearing about them literally puts you to sleep.” Something disconcerting flitted across his face, and he went back to cooking. “I’ve been doing my best to keep it together and not pester you, but obviously, I’m out in left field. You have to confide in me at some point, Alexis, because whatever’s going on has everything to do with you and nothing to do with me.” His words resonated in my gut, painful and true. “The only thing I’m not quite clear on is where it leaves us.”

  “Hey,” I took the spatula from his hand and pushed him away from the stove and against the island, suddenly needing to be close to him, “where do you think it leaves us?”

  “God,” he rubbed his face, “I don’t know. I can’t do this forever, so at some point, you’ll have to stop this twisted carousel because it’s making me crazy.” My fingers went to work on the buttons of his shirt, tugging on the fabric and pulling him closer. “Although, I don’t particularly mind this type of delay tactic, but I should warn you that it’s unlikely we’ll be interrupted like we were last time. So are you sure you’re not starting something you can’t finish?” His eyes twinkled deviously.

  “I trust you’ll make sure that doesn’t happen.”

  * * *

  I woke with a start. My heart was pounding, and it took a few moments to realize I was in bed. Martin was on the other side of the mattress, only his fingertips grazed the ends of my hair. He was doing exactly what he said; he wasn’t initiating any physical contact. Considering the fact that he was sleeping soundly, the reason for my sudden wakefulness must have been the result of a bad dream that I just couldn’t remember. But I couldn’t shake the unease, and I sat up in bed, pulling my knees to my chest and reaching across to the nightstand for my handgun, another of Nicholson’s habits.

  My room was dark. Normally, one of the living room lights would filter in, but it was possible that in our haste we didn’t bother to flip a light on. It was a miracle that we even remembered to turn off the stove.

  After a few minutes of waiting for the hairs on the back of my neck to relax, I knew there wasn’t a chance in hell I’d be able to fall asleep. So I slipped into a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, tucked the gun at the small of my back, and went into the living room. Maybe I could get some work done. Most of the Bureau’s reports were accessible from any internet connected computer, provided the user possessed the proper log-in information.

  Going to the end table, I pushed the switch on the table lamp, but nothing happened. The damn bulb must have burnt out. I moved to my desk, repeating the process, but still
nothing happened. Power outage?

  Glancing at the kitchen, the digital clock on the microwave glowed blue, and a chill shot through my body. My instincts kicked in, and I reached for the gun. But a man wrapped his arms around me.

  “Chica.”

  Steele. I tried to pull away, so I could grab the gun, but he felt it against his stomach and held me tighter in order to keep it lodged between us. My mind screamed that I relax and play it off, so I leaned against him, no longer struggling.

  “Francisco,” I sighed, “how did you find me?”

  A growl rattled through his chest. “What did I tell you about carrying?”

  He walked us toward the couch and coffee table. In the pitch black, I had the home court advantage and banged against the arm of the loveseat. The move didn’t inflict any damage, but it surprised him. He steadied himself, and his grip loosened slightly. I barreled forward, reaching behind my back and yanking the gun free.

  He pounced, knocking us to the floor. The force of his momentum slid us across the hardwood, lodging my shoulder beneath the couch. Steele didn’t waste any time and grabbed the coffee table, slamming it against the inside of my arm, pinning my limb between the couch and table. The impact loosened my grip on the gun, and it skittered just inches out of reach.

  Steele’s grin was deadly as he held my other arm down and knelt on my legs to keep me still. With his free hand, he reached inside his pocket and pulled out a capped syringe. Holding it between his teeth, he tapped the inside of my elbow, looking for a vein.

  “Francisco, what are you doing?” If I could just get one leg free, I could kick him, wrap my legs around him, or throw off his balance in order to get myself out of this predicament. “Please, don’t.”

  My begging stunned him, and he leaned back on his haunches, pulling the capped syringe from his mouth. “So it’s true then?”

  “What’s true? What are you talking about?” I could play dumb with the best of them, and I needed to cast doubt in his mind to throw him off his game.