by G. K. Parks
“Bruiser?” His bodyguard’s name was Jones, but I always insisted on calling him Bruiser. I was surprised Martin referred to him this way too.
“Yes.” I glanced at him before returning my gaze to the road. “Why didn’t he make sure no one drugged you or murdered your escort? I’m pretty sure that’s bodyguarding 101.”
He snorted derisively. “It was a charity function. I didn’t think I needed a babysitter at a party.” I cast a sideways glance at him. “Fine, I was wrong,” he admitted. “And just so you know, she wasn’t my escort.”
“Doesn’t matter to me.” His remarks and behavior from earlier annoyed me, and I realized I was trying to pick a fight. The problem was I couldn’t help myself. A month ago, we agreed to try again. That didn’t entail going to parties and scoping out models. “I’m just curious,” my tone was flippant, “since you can’t remember too much about last night, how do you know you didn’t screw her? The police assumed you did, which was also why they figured you were good for the murder.”
“I didn’t kill her,” he snarled. “And I didn’t sleep with her.”
“I know you didn’t kill her,” I responded matter-of-factly. “But if you were with her, would you even tell me? It’s okay if you were. It’s not like we’re together.”
“Unbelievable. You make it sound like this is my fault when you’re the one who decided we were taking two weeks apart, so you could go back to the OIO for some moronic reason, even though you didn’t want to be there in the first place. You said I needed time to recover in peace from my surgery, which was just another pathetic excuse to avoid me. Then I don’t hear from you for a whole fucking month. If I hadn’t gotten arrested last night, you’d probably come up with some other reason why this wouldn’t work. You show up out of the blue today for god knows what reason, and you get me out of trouble. I appreciate it, but right now, I’m not sure if I can stand to be around you.”
“The feeling’s mutual.” The rest of the drive to his house was in total silence.
Four
I pulled to a stop in front of Martin’s compound, located on the outskirts of the city, and parked in front of the southern garage entrance. Martin got out of the car and entered the security code, so the door would open. He glanced inside and then turned back to me, unsure of exactly what to do now that we were at his house.
“Is Bruiser here?” I asked through my rolled down window, prepared to make a quick getaway.
“No. Neither is Marcal.” Marcal was his driver and valet.
Leaving him alone didn’t seem like a good idea after everything that happened in the last twelve hours. Even though his estate was situated at the end of a long driveway that connected to a private road which linked the residence to the main highway, someone from the press would eventually track him down, and god knows who else might be looking for him.
I blew out a breath. “If you want me gone, I’m gone, but I’d feel more comfortable if you weren’t here by yourself. There’s a good chance the hounds will be barking at your door soon enough.” Or maybe the murderer might want revenge since you made a pretty pathetic patsy. However, he would deem this comment too dramatic and impractical, so I let it float around the paranoid recesses of my mind instead of saying it aloud.
“Fine.” He was less than pleased by being stuck with me, but he got back into my car and indicated that I should pull into the garage.
I hadn’t been to his house since my days working as his bodyguard. A team of mercenaries was sent to eliminate him, and part of his residence had been decimated in the resulting firefight. The house had been restructured, but I still found it unsettling. Too many bad memories.
Parking my car, I turned off the engine. Martin was already out the door and halfway up the stairs to the main level. I steeled my nerves and followed, noticing that the first floor not only contained the garage, with all of his expensive sports cars on display, but a new gym area complete with boxing ring, heavy bag, and the like. Maybe he was taking up a new hobby or planned to once his shoulder rehab was completed.
I emerged onto the main level to find everything looked as it had before. Martin was in the kitchen, pouring a glass of water. Pulling out a chair, I watched as he picked up his prescription bottle from the counter.
“I wouldn’t,” I stated, and he turned. Maybe he was surprised I was still here. “I know you must feel like shit.” I was trying to be sympathetic, not that the bastard necessarily deserved it, but maybe his remarks hadn’t been a hundred percent unwarranted. “But you should let the Rohypnol and the remaining alcohol work their way out of your system first. You don’t need to mix any more drugs with what’s already inside of you.”
“I was roofied?” He seemed genuinely amused by this fact. “Guess that’s what I get for ordering two of the same drink and trying to be a gentleman. Clearly, no man should ever order a cosmopolitan. They’re too girly and apparently come with the added bonus of containing date rape drugs. The FDA really should take a firm stand against that.” He shook his head. “I knew I should have stuck with the scotch, but it was some cheap ass scotch, though.” He was talking to himself.
“Get some sleep. You need to get your priorities in order. I’ll wait until Bruiser shows up, and then I’ll go, like you asked.”
Without another word, he went upstairs. I put my head in my hands and shut my eyes. The kitchen was neutral territory; nothing traumatic had occurred here. I willed myself to sit quietly and wait for Bruiser. Unfortunately, I wasn’t particularly patient. Also, I was easily distracted.
About fifteen minutes later, I was rummaging through my purse, looking for a pen. Once the pen had been located, I began searching for paper. Finally, I located a small notepad in one of the kitchen drawers. Martin’s kitchen was still familiar as was being this close to him. We had been friends for a year, ever since he hired me, but our one month hiatus had made everything awkward. Or maybe that came from our attempt to cross the line into something more than friendship. Now we were back to square one. He was insufferable, and I was employed by his lawyers to get him out of a jam.
Focusing on work, I jotted a few notes concerning Skolnick’s murder. Lists were an integral part of my process, and I wrote down all the necessary information needed to conduct a proper investigation: surveillance footage from the charity event and from the cameras posted at the marina, witness statements, an interview with the bartender, Skolnick’s phone records, the Coast Guard’s report regarding the location of the yacht and their initial scene impressions, background on Skolnick, a list of her friends and enemies, a list of everyone at the party, the ME’s report, the tox screenings, and the official case file.
When I couldn’t come up with anything else, I paced the kitchen. Why wasn’t Bruiser there last night? All of this might have been prevented if Martin’s bodyguard had intervened. Maybe the girl would still be alive. Why didn’t Bruiser insist on going? And where the hell is he now?
I thought about calling O’Connell, Mark, or pretty much anyone since I was spinning in circles with no place else to go outside of this fourteen by eighteen foot room. I freed Martin from his holding cell to simply put myself into a prison of my own design. Sliding to the floor, I pulled my knees to my chest, staring at nothing.
Martin was angry with me. He was feeling the leftover effects of the Rohypnol and the alcohol. That combination mixed with his painkillers probably created a god-awful headache which was compounded by being processed and booked at the precinct, interrogated, and locked up for a few hours. His odious demeanor likely had more to do with his current physical discomfort than with my failure to see him for the last four weeks, but he had a point. What good did any of this do? I left him in an attempt to protect him, and yet, that plan completely backfired. Now I was stuck in a purgatory I created. Damn ethics. Some lines should never be crossed, and we never should have tried to become more than we were.
A few hours later, Bruiser arrived. His sudden appearance jerked me out of my self-inflic
ted mental torment, and I automatically pulled my nine millimeter from its holster and pointed it at the sound of the disturbance.
“Parker,” Bruiser acknowledged as I lowered my weapon, “I didn’t mean to scare you.” He was a large, burly man with vast amounts of tactical training. He was hired as Martin’s bodyguard after I insisted someone competent and well-trained be my permanent replacement.
“Yeah, well,” I sighed, “where the hell have you been?” I tried not to sound angry.
“The boss gave me a couple of days off.” I stood up stiffly from my place on the floor and leaned against the counter, waiting for the feeling to return to my legs. “In fact, I’m actually twenty minutes early.”
“Martin failed to mention that. It seems he’s failed to mention a lot of things. I’ll get out of here and leave everything in your capable hands.” I picked up my purse, moments away from escape. “Did you hear the news?”
“What news?” he responded uninterestedly.
“Your boss was drugged last night and arrested on suspicion of murder. You did a real bang-up job as his bodyguard.” Martin’s resentment had leaked into my own tone. Obviously, that was another hazard of the two of us being in close proximity to one another.
“Hmm.” He looked smug, and I halted my retreat. “You realize what the problem is, right?”
“Enlighten me.” I stormed back into the kitchen, feeling the overwhelming need to yell at someone.
“James doesn’t listen to anyone. He does what he wants, when he wants. When he tells me to take the night off and leave him alone, I take the night off.” He furrowed his brow thoughtfully. “We aren’t all like you, Parker.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He tried to ineffectually hide the slight grin on his face. “You’re just like him, too damn stubborn to listen.” I narrowed my eyes, trying to make him take his remark back, but he wasn’t intimidated. At least that was one point in his favor. “By the way, good luck getting out of here.” He jerked his chin in the direction of the front yard. “There are five news vans parked near the entrance to the private road.”
“Lovely.” I sighed. “So how’d you get here?”
“I drove around, parked about two miles away, and came on foot through the back. If I didn’t have to go through all that extra trouble, I might have been a couple hours early instead of twenty minutes.” He chortled. Apparently he didn’t listen to orders very well either, regardless of what he wanted me to believe. “Now it makes sense why the news people were outside. I thought they were lost or looking for aliens.”
“Aliens?” Martin commented, entering the kitchen. “Resident or unidentified?” He looked a bit better. He changed his clothes and smelled of soap and expensive cologne. A few hours of sleep had hopefully improved his attitude too. He looked at me. “I thought you were leaving,” he said, awaiting my reaction.
“I was.” I reached for my list, but he grabbed it before I could, reading it quickly and placing it back on the table.
“And I thought you couldn’t work this case,” he challenged. Bruiser sensed the tension in the room and quietly excused himself.
“Just an exercise in killing time.” I snatched the paper off the table and shoved it into my pocket. “If you’ll excuse me,” I said bitterly, brushing past him. He stepped out of my way, and I headed for the garage.
“Unfortunately, Miss Parker, I believe you missed your window of opportunity.” Story of my life. “Since I don’t need any more speculation or news coverage regarding my presence at a crime scene, you’ll have to stay here and wait it out.” I assessed his expression, knowing he was a world-class manipulator. He also tended to believe his unilateral decisions were all that mattered. “Plus,” his tone shifted to something slightly more pleasant, “a brilliant security consultant I know might have mentioned that one person cannot be a twenty-four hour protection detail. It looks like Bruiser might need some help.” He tried to fight the grin off his face, but the corners of his lips curled upward.
“You son of a bitch.” My tone was somewhere between playful and incredulous. “You promised that there would be no more bodyguard work ever.”
“Things change,” he surmised, pulling an icepack from the freezer and tucking it under the strap of his sling so the cold could ease the pain in his shoulder. “By the way, how long do you think it’ll be before I get some actual relief from this infernal headache and painful throbbing?” He was making an incredibly dirty joke in his mind, but given his vile comments today, he decided to keep it to himself. Classic Martin, full of inappropriate jokes only a teenage boy would find amusing.
“Apparently, someone’s already feeling better,” I retorted, tossing my purse on the counter in defeat.
Five
Later that afternoon, Martin’s team of lawyers arrived at the compound which unfortunately encouraged the news vans to idle even closer to the house. I snuck a peek out the window and figured if any of them were foolish enough to actually encroach on private property, they could be arrested for trespassing.
“Miss Parker.” Ackerman’s voice interrupted my thoughts, and I turned to face him. Along with Ackerman, there were two junior partners from the firm seated at the kitchen table. “Would you care to join us?”
I regarded Martin. This wasn’t my business. As far as I was concerned, none of this was my problem. Maybe he wasn’t attempting to bully or persuade me to get out of his house, but there was still an unpalatable tension between us. The slight reprieve didn’t last.
“Take a seat.” He reached over and pushed a chair out. I didn’t like being told what to do, but at the moment, I was stuck.
“The district attorney’s office has issued a formal apology,” one of the junior partners mentioned. I missed the introduction, so I was simply referring to them as Frick and Frack. Frick was perusing a copy of the apology. “The story will be made public, per your request. There should be minimal fallout since the turnaround was less than twelve hours.”
“I’ll have the PR department handle the related business issues,” Martin replied. He picked up his phone and sent a quick e-mail to the vice president of his company, Luc Guillot, so things at the office could be set in motion between now and Monday.
“At least there are no criminal charges to consider,” Ackerman sounded pleased and winked at me, but I pretended not to notice since I really hadn’t done anything. “However, we don’t want to risk any of this getting away from us. There is a strong possibility Skolnick’s estate will file civil charges. Assuming you want to get ahead of this, we’re prepared to hire our own investigative team in order to be proactive.” I was beginning to understand why I was asked to sit at the table with all the legal eagles.
“Alex?” Martin said my name cautiously, hoping I would offer my services. I knew what he was asking, and I wanted to behave and not fight with him in front of his lawyers. In the event I slapped him, there didn’t need to be witnesses who were also officers of the court.
“What about ethical issues?” I asked Ackerman, ignoring Martin for the moment. Ackerman looked from Martin to me and back again.
Martin shook his head and interjected, “I think we’re in the clear.” I stared at him, ready to protest. “Oh, come on,” he rolled his eyes, “you never gave us a chance to get off the ground. What’s the worst that can happen? In the unlikely event any of this ever goes to trial, what are they going to do? It’s not like our business relationship is tainted with scandal. They’ll throw you on the stand and ask if we had an intimate relationship. Obviously, the answer is no.”
“Yeah, and if they ask for details, what do I say? I’m sorry, your Honor, but he just couldn’t get it up.”
“Ha!” We were in the middle of a very ugly argument at the worst possible time. “How ‘bout I couldn’t even touch you without you wincing or freaking out over my damn bullet wound.”
“Says the guy who couldn’t tear his eyes from the electrical burns on my chest, who stood in the
doorway of my apartment hypnotized by the bloodstain left by someone he never even met.”
“We’ll give you two a minute,” Ackerman muttered, and he and the other lawyers quickly extricated themselves from the kitchen.
“You never gave me a chance to process everything that happened before you blindsided me. I’m sorry I had difficulty accepting the fact that you forced me to stay away, even though you almost died.” Martin was still arguing, even though we both needed to calm down and act more civil. “The only thing I asked was that you not shut me out again, and you said you couldn’t do it. You had to protect me. Is this how you protect me?” He gestured obliquely to the room, the lawyers, and the entire situation.
“I told you I would try. We would try, once we both had a second to breathe. You had so much going on at work, and I had…” I stopped. Why were we fighting about this now?
“You had what?” He pushed for an answer.
“We can discuss our personal life later. Right now, we scared off your lawyers.”
“You had what, Alexis?” He wouldn’t let it go.
“I had to figure out if I could walk away from the OIO and not go back. I had to choose. It or you.” My voice was a low growl, and my breathing was harsh. If I were a dragon, smoke would be coming out of my nostrils.
“What’d you decide?” His green eyes bore holes through me.
“At the moment, neither.” My voice was deadly.
“Fine.” There was a self-satisfied expression on his face. “Then there’s no reason why you can’t be lead investigator.” My jaw dropped at his insanity, and I made the conscious effort to close my mouth. “Ackerman,” he called into the living room, “I think we’ve settled things.”
The trio re-entered the room, having enough sense to pretend our screaming match didn’t just happen and they couldn’t hear every single hideous word we uttered to one another. Immediately getting back to business, Ackerman produced copies of my previously signed documents, which he double-checked.
