Burning Embers (Alexis Parker Book 17)

by G. K. Parks

  “You’re not as funny as you think you are.”

  “No? Then why am I getting my own show in Vegas?”

  “You aren’t. That’s only in your dreams.”

  “My presentation notes say otherwise.” Martin rolled onto his side so he could face me. He was the only person I knew who could wake from a nightmare and still have a pleasant disposition. Or he’d learned in the last two months there was a good chance he’d get lucky since these late night exchanges often led to cuddling and kissing which led to more than kissing. “I’m glad you’re coming with me.”

  “Am I?”

  It took a moment for his sleep-deprived brain to catch the double entendre. “That sounds like a challenge.”

  “Do you ever think maybe this is the reason for your nightmares?” I asked as he nuzzled my neck. “Maybe this is triggering a Pavlovian response. Perhaps we shouldn’t reward bad behavior.”

  “Nightmares aren’t behavior, Alex. The way I see it, making love is like an ice cream cone to distract from a scraped knee. It’s a sweet escape from the terrifying thoughts.” He stopped kissing my neck and met my eyes. “Now you’re wondering if you should be offended.”

  I punched his shoulder playfully. “Stop reading my mind.”

  He settled over me. “Fine, I’ll ask the shrink about your Pavlovian theory the next time I talk to him. Will that make you happy?”

  “What did I just say? Get out of my head, Martin.”

  He laughed. “Fine, but only if I get my ice cream and you take back what you said about my Vegas show. I was hoping you’d be my lovely assistant.”

  “You’re insane and insatiable.”

  “That’s why we’re the perfect match.” He adopted an announcer voice. “Martin the Magnificent and the Alluring Alexis will amaze you with their mind boggling chemistry and acrobatic sexcapades.”

  I shoved him onto his back, my hair brushing against his face. “Shut up.”

  “Make me.”

  Twelve

  Lucien Cross slid a blue folder across the conference table. Unsure what I’d find, I opened it while he droned on about implementing proper measures to ensure our safety and our clients’ safety. A part of me wondered if Cross’ speech had anything to do with Renner’s mishap yesterday. Perhaps I’d ask Renner about it later.

  “All right. No more mistakes, people. Take precautions. We’re a security and investigation firm. Don’t forget, we employ dozens of security personnel. You need muscle or protection, take a team with you. Is that clear?”

  A chorus of affirmatives filled the already cramped conference room. I’d heard similar speeches while working at the OIO, but the energy didn’t feel right. This felt more like a locker room speech by a coach after an abysmal practice.

  “Dismissed.” Cross leaned back. The chair squeaked as it bounced beneath him. I closed the folder and looked up, finding Lucien staring at me. “I approved your vacation days.”

  “Thanks.”

  He picked up a pen and tapped it on the table, chuckling to himself. “Y’know, three months ago, I would have assumed you asked for the time off so you could go with James to the conference and scope out the security and brief a detail.”

  “You would have been wrong.”

  Lucien nodded, the pen tapping a slow rhythm. “That doesn’t happen often.” He sat up straight, the chair letting out another ear-splitting shriek. “Tell me you don’t give a shit about his security. That you have nothing to do with it.”

  Even the two shots of espresso in my cappuccino weren’t enough to prepare me for this conversation, so I avoided it. “Renner wanted me to update you on the Easton Lango situation.”

  “Go on.” After Cross was up to speed, he rocked back in the chair again, cringing at the shrill squeak. He pulled his phone from his pocket and pressed a button. “Justin, have someone from maintenance oil the chairs in the conference room.” He disconnected, clearly finding this to be a more immediate concern than my case. He put the phone on the table. “So once again, you’ve found yourself in the midst of a police investigation.”

  “Just the break-in. The police don’t care about the rest of Easton’s allegations.”

  “Now it’s a break-in.” Lucien worked his jaw. “I take it you read the report.” His gaze flicked to the folder. “We’ll know by the end of the day who bugged Easton Lango’s house.”

  “Great.”

  “Not great. I want to know what you intend to do with that information.”

  “It depends.”

  “On what?” Lucien found the conversation intriguing, like a game of chess, but I sensed he was leading me into a trap.

  “Our client’s wishes take top priority. We’ll see what he wants to do.”

  “But it’s a police matter. You’d be withholding valuable information in an active investigation. That could be construed as obstruction of justice.”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Fuck, Parker, everything matters. But you already know that. You’re just giving me the answer you think I want to hear. How about you try that again? And this time, I’d like the truth.”

  Rage boiled to the surface, probably for no other reason than lack of sleep. “Listen, I’m not some goody two shoes. I’ve done this private sector thing before. Hell, I did it behind Jablonsky’s back when I worked at the OIO. I get that not everything is black and white. I am so fucking sick and tired of you treating me like a snitch, especially when you’re the one who tasked Kellan Dey to tattle on me.” We discussed this before. More times than I wanted to think about, but I hadn’t gotten past it. As the days went on, it festered, fueling my annoyance and rage with Cross and this job. Truthfully, I didn’t trust any of them, not even Renner. “What are you so afraid of, Lucien? What do you think’s going to happen if I ask the police to step in and make an arrest?”

  “Worst case, you’ll take this firm down, along with whoever’s after your client.” My boss cleared his throat, but otherwise remained unfazed by my outburst. “Bridget Stockton is a formidable woman. She’s educated, brilliant, and invincible. She knows enough about police procedure and law to do whatever she wants and remain untouchable. It’s also possible she’s angry and vengeful that some blue-haired asshole who couldn’t get his shit together for the first five years of their marriage stepped out on her with a waitress he met at work while she was slaving away to make a life for them.”

  I made the conscious effort to keep my jaw from dropping. I never fathomed Bridget Stockton, Easton’s ex-wife, would still hold a grudge. As far as everyone was concerned, she took Easton to the cleaners with their divorce settlement. She was successful. He wasn’t. Doing something insane, like tossing a brick through his window or potentially setting his restaurant ablaze, could cost her everything. And smart women normally thought about the consequences of their actions before doing something criminal. That’s why most offenders were men. Like my friend Kate used to say, it was a biological deficit on account of the stupid stick.

  “You believe Bridget Stockton’s involved?” I asked.

  “I’ll save you some time. Fast Lanes doesn’t have any tricked out or modified cars in their inventory. They would never bastardize a piece of machinery like that.”

  “What does that have to do with Easton’s ex?”

  “Bridget drives a steel grey ’67 Shelby. I don’t know if it has undercarriage lights, but I thought you should know.” Cross studied the expression on my face. “Don’t look surprised. We both know ex-lovers make prime suspects.” He stood up. “Do what you have to, but if the techs trace the camera back to Bridget or a party she or her firm have been known to use, I’ll need you to tread carefully. Cross Security is vast, but I’m not a fool. There are very few entities with the ability to bury me, and Reeves, Almeada, and Stockton might be one of them.”

  “Yes, sir.” I collected my belongings and strode to the door.

  “Alex,” his commanding voice had grown softer, less harsh, “I’ve apologized for the
deception and the things you’ve endured since coming to work here. I am not your enemy. It’s important you understand that and believe it.”

  I didn’t bother to turn around. “How can I?”

  “You choose to.”

  * * *

  “How is it you look worse than I do?” Renner let me inside. “Did you stay at the office all night?”

  “No, but I did some digging.” I went into the kitchen and splayed the folders out on the counter. “Where’s Easton?”

  “He’s in the shower.”

  “Okay.” It was easier to discuss matters without the client present. “We haven’t gotten anything back on the bug yet, but Lucien thinks Bridget Stockton might be involved.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.” Renner poured a cup of coffee from the French press and took a sip. “Did he order us to stand down?”

  “Not yet. She drives a dark-colored ’67 Shelby. After I leave here, I’ll see if it has any modifications, but I don’t think she fits the profile. You know her, right? What do you think?”

  “She’s a shark. She hates Easton. There’s no question about that. The last thing she’d ever want is for him to be successful. I just don’t know if she’d go to the extremes.” Renner took an uneasy breath, rubbed his collarbone, and rotated his shoulder. “But even if she wouldn’t do it herself, she’s a defense attorney. She knows people who might do it for her.”

  “You think she would risk everything just to fuck with her ex?”

  A cynical chuckle sounded from behind me. “You must be talking about Bridget.” Easton grabbed two mugs out of the cupboard, filled them, and handed me one. “She’s a lot of things, but this isn’t her style. She would set my hair on fire before she’d burn down my restaurant.”

  “You’re sure?” I asked.

  “Absolutely.”

  I glanced at Renner who took a sip. It seemed the three of us were in agreement about Bridget Stockton, but one of her unscrupulous clients could have done her a favor. “She drives a ’67 Shelby. Is it possible that’s the car you saw last night?”

  “No, I would have recognized her car. We used to drive around in that thing all the time.” He went to the cabinet and found a bottle of whiskey and poured some into his mug. “We had some great memories in that car. I’d know it anywhere. Plus, she’d never consider picking up a brick. She’d be afraid of breaking a nail and ruining her manicure.” The tiniest bit of loathing crept into his voice, and he took a sip. “Maybe I fucked around, but that was only after she fucked us up. She put her career above everything else, especially me. Even when we were together, her mind was on work and climbing the corporate ladder. She didn’t care about my career when we were together, and she doesn’t give enough of a shit now to do something like this. The only reason she would want me to fade into the background is so the reasons for our divorce never come to light.”

  “She’s afraid you’d make her look bad,” Renner said.

  “Or worse, she’d look like a victim.” Easton took a big gulp, probably burning his mouth on the hot coffee.

  “I’m glad to hear you’re not bitter or resentful,” I said.

  Easton snorted and took another sip. “Give me a break. After the things that bitch did, I can be resentful. I never did anything to hurt her.”

  Renner and I exchanged a look. We had photographic proof to the contrary.

  Sensing this, Easton amended his statement. “I never flaunted my affair in her face.” He looked at Renner. “She asked you for proof. She wanted to see who I was with and what I was doing. I didn’t parade it in front of her. I never set out to hurt her.”

  “Did she do that to you?” I asked.

  Easton drained the mug and put it in the sink. He stared out the window. “A few weeks after I landed my dream job at Bouillon, she makes a reservation and nearly gets me fired by goading me into a knockdown, drag-out fight. Then the day after our divorce was finalized, she comes back to Bouillon with some guy, probably a male model she hired. They couldn’t keep their hands off each other. She wanted me to know she won.”

  This changed things. “She tried to sabotage your career before. What makes you think she’s not responsible for doing it again?” I asked.

  “It’s not her.” Easton leaned against the counter. “I’m sure of it.”

  “Why, man?” Renner asked. “I know what it’s like to have a crazy ex-wife. I wouldn’t put anything past mine.”

  “I haven’t seen Bridget since the day after our divorce. She’s moved on.” I heard the sadness in his voice. Despite everything, a part of him still loved her. “She wouldn’t waste her time. She showed up at Bouillon in an attempt to force me to show my true colors. She thinks I’m a no-good loser or the devil. Either way, she’s convinced I’ll destroy myself. She wouldn’t get any satisfaction out of my failure if she had to orchestrate it.”

  “That’s messed up,” Renner mumbled.

  “That’s Bridget.” Easton looked at me. “Does this mean you didn’t have any luck identifying who planted the bug?”

  “We should know tonight.”

  Normally, Cross Security techs were better at tracking signals and IP addresses, and I wondered if Lucien intentionally delayed them from getting me the intel. Dammit, I shouldn’t even think like this.

  Renner turned and glanced at the time. “Have you heard from Jake?”

  “Not today,” I said.

  “Let me give him a call. Maybe the PD has something for us.”

  While he spoke on the phone, I told Easton about my trip to Bouillon and asked about his former colleagues. He didn’t recall any of them driving muscle cars, but that could have changed in the last few months. However, he found it strange Strader left work in the middle of a shift.

  “I guess he figures he can do whatever he wants since we’re no longer vying for the position of head chef.” Easton rolled his eyes. “But the Galen I know wouldn’t walk out of the kitchen without having a damn good reason. You think he paid me a visit last night?”

  “I shouldn’t speculate.”

  Easton let out a string of expletives and slammed his palm on the countertop. “Son of a bitch.”

  “Hey, now,” Renner returned to the kitchen, “don’t jump to conclusions. Detective Voletek’s on the way. Hopefully, he’ll be able to shed some light on this matter.”

  “Whatever.” Easton stormed out of the room. A moment later, the bathroom door slammed.

  Renner poured another cup of coffee and grabbed a carton of cream from the fridge. “You need to be careful,” he warned. “Easton Lango is a loaded gun. You don’t want to point him in the wrong direction.”

  “I wasn’t pointing him anywhere. I asked a question.”

  “Same difference.” Renner took a seat and reviewed my notes while we waited for Voletek to arrive. After I left last night, Renner asked Easton about the employees and crew from Sizzle and had Cross Security put together profiles. We’d have to follow-up, but at least it was a start.

  The doorbell rang, and Renner and I met the detective at the front door. “Come outside,” Voletek said. “There’s been a break in the case.”

  Thirteen

  “I found the car.” Voletek pointed at the screen. The MDT, or mobile data terminal, displayed footage from the city’s camera system.

  “The lights aren’t green,” I said.

  “Just wait a minute.” When the car slowed and eventually came to a stop, the undercarriage lights changed colors. When the car accelerated, the lights beneath the car changed again. “Each color represents a different gear. When the car isn’t in motion, they remain green.”

  “Did you ID the driver?” I asked,

  “Not yet. We couldn’t make out the plates. It looks like he sprayed them or used a plastic cover to prevent the cameras from reading the numbers. However, this is where my genius comes into play.”

  “And your modesty,” Renner said.

  “Don’t be jealous, Ben.” Voletek nudged Renner, elicit
ing a groan from my fellow P.I. “There are only three area shops that specialize in these particular lights. This morning, we subpoenaed their records. Uniforms are combing through them now. Once we get a match, we’ll know who paid Easton a visit.” Voletek glanced at me. “If you wouldn’t mind, maybe you could speak to the nosy neighbor across the street and get some corroboration for when I make an arrest.”

  “You’re a cocky bastard, aren’t you?” I teased.

  “I’m not finished yet,” Voletek said. “The brick and note were a bust, but we found duck fat on the tarp.”

  “Duck fat?” It was a common ingredient in many gourmet dishes. “It could have come from Easton.”

  “Sure,” Voletek agreed, “but it preserved a perfect fingerprint.”

  “Way to bury the lead, Detective.” I waited for Voletek to elaborate.

  Renner shook his head. “The print’s not in the system. If it was, Jake would have led with it.”

  “Yeah, well, I don’t see either of you making any progress.” Voletek’s gaze shifted from Renner to me. “Unless you’re holding out on me. I thought we were in this together.”

  I stepped out of the police cruiser. “I should see if the neighbors are feeling chatty.” I left it up to Renner to update Jake. It was his case. His friend. His decision. However, even though the print didn’t give us an ID, it did rule out a lot of suspects. Basically, the entire kitchen staff at Bouillon was in the clear with one obvious exception, though with Strader’s record, his prints should be in the system. So he couldn’t have left the print on the tarp. Things were getting more complicated by the second. Who paid Easton a visit last night?

  Not surprisingly, the neighbors wouldn’t talk to me either. They probably saw how chummy I was with the police, figured I was one of them, and not so politely slammed the door in my face. “Thanks for your help,” I bellowed, unsure if they could hear me through the thick wood door.

  My gaze lingered on the drug den down the street. Five cars were parked out front, and four tough guys lounged on the porch. With the police car out front and Voletek’s unmarked cruiser in Easton’s driveway, I didn’t think canvassing the neighborhood would hurt. Backup was too close for anyone to try something.