Burning Embers (Alexis Parker Book 17)

by G. K. Parks

  Burning Embers

  An Alexis Parker Novel

  G.K. Parks

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2020 G.K. Parks

  A Modus Operandi imprint

  All rights reserved.

  Print ISBN-13: 978-1-942710-19-6

  Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

  Likely Suspects

  The Warhol Incident

  Mimicry of Banshees

  Suspicion of Murder

  Racing Through Darkness

  Camels and Corpses

  Lack of Jurisdiction

  Dying for a Fix

  Intended Target

  Muffled Echoes

  Crisis of Conscience

  Misplaced Trust

  Whitewashed Lies

  On Tilt

  Purview of Flashbulbs

  The Long Game

  Burning Embers

  Thick Fog

  Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:

  Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series

  Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)

  Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)

  The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)

  Julian Mercer Novels

  Condemned

  Betrayal

  Subversion

  Reparation

  Retaliation

  Liv DeMarco Novels

  Dangerous Stakes

  Operation Stakeout

  Unforeseen Danger

  Deadly Dealings

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Thirty-one

  Thirty-two

  Thirty-three

  Thirty-four

  Thirty-five

  Thirty-six

  Thirty-seven

  Thirty-eight

  Thirty-nine

  Forty

  Forty-one

  Note from the Author

  One

  I leaned over the railing and watched the lights flash across the stage below. Normally, live music and crowded clubs weren’t my scene, but this was a special occasion. Detective Nick O’Connell and his wife Jen swayed gently to the beat a few feet away. I had never seen Nick so enamored. The detective caught my eye and leaned closer, shouting over the music, “Jen wants to get closer for the encore. We’ll meet you out front when the concert ends.”

  “Have fun,” I shouted back, nodding in case he couldn’t hear me.

  James Martin wrapped his arms tighter around my waist and brushed his lips against my ear. “Do you think they’re having a good time?”

  I turned to face him. “I think so. This was really nice of you.”

  He smirked. “Well, I’m a nice guy, and since their anniversary was last week, I thought we should take them someplace special. Jenny said they danced to this song at their wedding.” He nodded at the stage. “Of course, it wasn’t a cover. And they had a DJ, but,” he shrugged, “close enough.”

  My forehead crinkled. “How do you know that? Are you stalking them? Did you steal their wedding video?”

  Martin laughed. “It’s because I pay attention. Jen told us this last month when we went out to dinner. She used it as an excuse to wheedle details out of Nick. She wanted to know what he planned for their anniversary.”

  “I must have missed it.” I hadn’t been in the right frame of mind to pay attention to most things. I was just surprised Martin had. I ran my hands through his dark brown hair, smoothing down some of the wayward locks. Now that Nick and Jen left, the balcony was empty. We were alone. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed him.

  “It’s been a rough two months, Alex.” Martin pulled me close and hugged me. “But we’ll be okay.”

  “Yeah.” At least, I didn’t have to pretend to give a shit about the band anymore. Martin was uncharacteristically quiet, so I knew something was on his mind. “What are you thinking?”

  “At first, I was thinking I want what they have.” He pointed to the spot Nick and Jen found near the stage, and I watched them dance. Knowing Nick, he was probably thinking about pickpockets and drug dealers. That’s what I would be thinking about. “But then I realized, we already have it and more.” Martin nuzzled my neck.

  “I love you.”

  “I know.” He smiled. “And you’re all I need.”

  “You’re just saying that because I have better taste in music than they do.”

  “That’s debatable.” He nudged me with his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “You don’t want to wait ‘til the end?”

  He gave me a knowing look. “You’ve been itching to escape since the moment we arrived. I thought the private balcony would help, but you’re obviously not comfortable here. We’ll meet them outside.”

  Martin led the way down the steps and out a side exit. He nodded to the bouncer on the way out. I wasn’t sure how he’d gotten us the VIP treatment, but being a CEO meant Martin had plenty of contacts and his job and wealth afforded him a lot of perks, which he was always willing to share.

  The cool night breeze eased the pounding in my head, and I inhaled deeply, relieved to be away from the recycled indoor air. Even though the club no longer allowed smoking, the years of cigarette smoke continued to linger in the walls and furniture. I removed the earplugs, watching as Martin did the same. For a man who loved to blast rock music, he surprised me by taking steps to safeguard his hearing.

  Even with the earplugs out, everything still sounded muted. Half a dozen food trucks lined the streets near the club. They knew they’d make a killing off the drunks searching for sustenance after the concert and the few of us who remained sober but were now starving. Not that I was speaking personally.

  Martin clicked a few buttons on his phone and looked up. The glossy black of his town car stood out against the bulky, light colored trucks lining the streets. “Why don’t you grab a table before the club empties? I’ll get the champagne from the car.”

  “Martin, you’re talking about Nick and Jen. They’d be happy with beer from a can.”

  “Jen would prefer champagne.”

  “Fine, but when Nick kicks your ass for flirting with his wife, don’t expect me to intervene.”

  “Do you think I’m flirting with her?”

  “Yeah, but I’m used to it. You’re always so damn charming. You flirt with everyone. I saw you making eyes at the bouncer. You just can’t help yourself.” I jerked my head toward the car. “Go get the champagne. I’ll be waiting.” He turned, and I called to him, “If you’re lucky, I’ll let you charm the pants off me when we get
home.”

  He turned back around, a devilish glint reflecting in his green irises. “Maybe we should ditch the O’Connells. They don’t need us chaperoning their date.”

  “I thought you said you were a nice guy.” I walked backward toward the picnic tables set up in the vacant lot at the side of the club, never taking my eyes off him.

  “I am, unless you’d prefer a bad boy tonight.”

  I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. For once, things felt normal. I hadn’t seen normal in so long, I barely remembered what it looked like. But it looked damn good. “I just want you, handsome.”

  Pleased, Martin grinned and jogged to the car. I turned around before I tripped over my own feet and headed for the closest picnic table. Two dozen round, plastic-coated tables were crammed together, blocked on three sides by the tour bus, an equipment van, and one industrious food truck which partially blocked the street exit.

  Taking a seat, I read the sign on the truck, Easton’s Eats. It didn’t tell me anything about the cuisine, but I assumed the man inside the truck was Easton. He wiped his brow with his forearm as he completed the prep work. He finished chopping what might have been onions. From this distance and angle, I couldn’t be sure, and then he went to the back door, cracked it open, and glanced out. He looked nervous. Maybe he was afraid of getting ticketed or having to move once the band was ready to leave.

  Martin slid into the seat beside me and placed the champagne bucket on the table. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  He followed my gaze to the truck. “Do you know who that is?”

  “Some guy named Easton.”

  “Chef Easton,” Martin corrected. “He’s supposed to be incredible. He’s in the running for a Michelin star.”

  “The food truck guy?”

  Martin squinted at the truck. “That’s him.”

  I gave Martin a suspicious look. “Did you plan this?”

  He held up his palms. “I swear I had no idea. I just checked the food truck app, but there’s no mention of him. It must be one of those secret pop-ups chefs do sometimes when they want to experiment with the menu or gain a new following.” Martin glanced at the tour bus. “Maybe the band hired him. I should find out if he caters.”

  Before Martin could cross the lot, the club doors opened, breaking the serenity. The rumble of the crowd grew louder as more and more people filed out. Lines started forming at the other trucks, and the surrounding tables quickly filled with our fellow concert-goers. Martin dropped back into his chair, waving to Nick and Jen, who pushed their way through the crowd. The line grew in front of Easton’s Eats, snaking around the clustered tables. Even from this distance, I felt the anxiety radiating off the chef. Something wasn’t right.

  “James, Alexis, thank you so much,” Jen gushed. She brushed the damp tendrils of hair out of her face and reached back to redo her ponytail. “That was a blast. That’s the best gift anyone has ever given us.”

  “You’re welcome,” Martin said. “We’re glad you had fun.”

  “You never told me you danced, Nick. What was that? Salsa? Mambo?” My gaze darted from Nick’s face back to the chef. Maybe I was projecting my anxiety onto the man.

  “You’re always such a buster, Parker,” Nick muttered, but I recognized his playful tone instantly. “Don’t be jealous of my moves.” O’Connell put an arm around his wife. “Seriously, though, thanks. This brought back a lot of memories.” He kissed his wife and eyed the champagne. “Not to sound ungrateful, but don’t you think that’s a little cheesy?”

  “Nick,” Jen elbowed him, “be nice.”

  “I tried to tell Martin you’d be happy with beer from a can, but he wouldn’t listen,” I said.

  “I do prefer longnecks, but a can’s fine too.” Nick winced as Jen dug her nails into his arm.

  “We can’t take these two anywhere,” Jen said to Martin. “Just ignore him. This is lovely, but you shouldn’t have gone to this much trouble.”

  “It’s nothing, really.” Martin chuckled. “Plus, assuming we’re eating something Chef Easton prepared, the champagne will be the perfect accompaniment, unless you have your heart set on a beer. Then I’ll grab you a beer, Nick.”

  “Nah, man. This is great. I was just giving Alex a hard time.”

  “Yeah, someone ought to.” Martin squeezed my side, and I gave him a sideways look, knowing the wordplay running through his mind without him having to say it. “Are you guys game for some of Easton’s Eats?”

  “I’ve heard great things about him,” Jen said. “How about James and I get the food while the two of you hold our table?” She leaned over and kissed her husband. “If people try to steal our chairs, you can threaten to arrest them.”

  “Okay.”

  Martin zeroed in on me. “What would you like?”

  “Surprise me.”

  Our conversation from earlier returned to his mind. “I intend to.”

  Nick watched Martin and Jen get in line while I stared at the chef. He was busy filling orders, but he kept sneaking glances out the back door. The hair at the back of my neck prickled, and I tore my eyes away from him and studied the crowd. They were clueless. Even the drunks didn’t appear belligerent. The concert had mellowed them. A few were even singing quietly or humming. I wasn’t used to being around such happy people; it freaked me out.

  “What is it?” Nick asked.

  “I don’t know. I’m getting a weird vibe.”

  “Me too.”

  His words increased my anxiety tenfold, and I turned to check the street. The picnic tables left us out in the open and completely exposed. Threats could come from anywhere.

  I scanned the row of food trucks. Each had a line, but those crowds seemed just as docile as this one. Maybe I was losing it. But Nick felt it too, and even if my private investigator instincts were on the fritz from recent disuse, Nick’s cop instincts should be spot-on.

  “I think it’s our chef.” I jerked my chin at the food truck parked in front of us. “He’s nervous.”

  “You’re right. I’ll go around the side and see what he’s looking at through the back door. Stay here and guard our table.” He walked away before I had a chance to protest.

  I kept my focus on Nick as my hand drifted to my purse and slipped inside. Dammit, my gun was in the car. Club security wouldn’t allow me inside with it, and since I didn’t possess federal agent credentials anymore, they wouldn’t make an exception. At least O’Connell had his off-duty piece with him.

  He returned a moment later. “I don’t know. I didn’t see anyone suspicious nearby, but it’s too crowded to tell. Maybe we should wait and see how it plays out.”

  “With your wife and Martin here?” I didn’t like the possibilities going through my mind.

  O’Connell glanced back at the bouncers who were now keeping tabs on the growing line of fans congregating near the rear exit. Between club security and the band’s personal bodyguards, the chance of a legitimate threat decreased substantially, but more people meant more chances for violence to break out. One person with a gun or knife could cause a lot of damage in a short amount of time.

  “I don’t like it either.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll ask dispatch to send some units to work crowd control. If someone is planning something, that should make him think twice.”

  I studied the crowd, the cars on the street, and the other food trucks. The only person exhibiting suspicious behavior was Chef Easton. “Why is he so nervous? Do you think he’s planning an attack? He could have anything inside that truck.” Thoughts of exploding food carts went through my mind. That happened during the first case Nick and I worked together. It’s how we met.

  “Maybe he’s not used to working such a large crowd on his own. Didn’t Martin say he’s a legit chef? Like poofy hat, white jacket wearing chef?”

  “So?”

  “They usually have staff and helpers.” Nick fell silent. Neither of us believed that was it, but befor
e we could continue our paranoid musings, Jen and Martin returned with our food. “Hey, hun, this looks great. Any problems ordering?”

  “None. You wanted the cricket burrito, right? I thought you pointed to it when you went to read the menu at the side of the truck.”

  “Hell no.” Her teasing demanded Nick’s full attention, and he carefully unwrapped the fanciest burrito I had ever seen and checked the contents. “Was that a joke?”

  Jen giggled and dug her fork into her plate of scallopini. “We’ve been married ten years, and you actually believe I’d feed you crickets?”

  “I wouldn’t put it past you, woman, especially if you read a medical study saying crickets are healthy.”

  “They are healthy,” I said, my eyes roaming the area, “and good for the planet. Eat up.”

  Martin put the tray down and studied me. “Alex, what is it? What’s wrong?” He knew me better than anyone and could read my body language like a children’s book.

  “I don’t know.”

  He took a seat and scooted closer. “Talk to me.”

  “It’s nothing.” I shook my head and reached for a fork. “What are we eating?”

  “Vegan ceviche.” Martin didn’t believe it was nothing.

  “No crickets?” I asked, watching as the crowd lessened.

  Martin grinned. “Relax, Nick. Crickets weren’t on the menu. Jenny’s just pulling your leg.”

  Jen gave Martin an annoyed look. “You’re no fun.”

  “Good.” Nick rolled up his fancy burrito, which probably wasn’t actually a burrito, and took a bite. A patrol car went down the street, and he gave me a pointed look. He surveyed the crowd. I kept my focus on the chef, but the car had no effect.

  As the crowd dwindled, and the band slipped out of the club and into their tour bus, the area cleared. A few uniformed officers arrived to check on the few who remained and made sure none of the drunks drove home. No shots were fired, and they didn’t find anyone suspicious enough to hassle.

  Three of the food trucks pulled away, and I watched Easton fill a few sacks with food and hand them to a tall man with an earpiece. Based on the tight black t-shirt and crewcut, he had to be security. He took the bags and entered the bus. One of the cops placed an order, dropped by our table to say hello to O’Connell, and went on his way.