by G. K. Parks
“And like I told you before, it would be stupid if they use me as a witness. We’re in a serious relationship. We live together. There’s no way in hell that I’d ever say or do anything that would hurt you. I’m a federal agent. I’d pull some strings and find a way to get out of it, if need be.”
“Alex,” Martin said my name, but I continued to blabber on about the unlikelihood of Francesca’s lawyers finding me of any use in their case. “Alex,” Martin said again more urgently, “you remembered.”
“Remembered what?”
“Our conversation.”
“Oh my god,” I felt momentarily overcome with emotion, “that’s what we talked about on the phone the last time we spoke.” Bolting upright, I flipped on the lamp and reached for the pad of paper. “What time was it?”
“Around eight.” In the light, he was able to see more of my bumps and bruises, but he didn’t comment. “You don’t need to make notes. Mark already has the relevant information.”
“Did I tell you where I was going or what I was doing?”
“Alex,” he said my name slowly, like he was hiding something, “I don’t think—”
“What?” My eyes searched his. “You know something.”
He took a moment before saying, “You said you were on your way to meet a police informant.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” He hesitated for a moment. “Jablonsky thinks it’d be best to let you remember the details on your own.”
“That son-of-a-bitch.” I snatched the phone off the nightstand, barely giving Martin time to wrestle it from my grip before I could call Mark. “I have to know what happened.”
“Sweetheart, he doesn’t know.” Martin’s eyes screamed out sympathy, and I turned away from the look. Pity was the last thing I wanted right now. “I told him everything I know, and I just told you the same thing. He’s checking into it. I wish I could tell you more. I wish I knew. I want to fix this, Alexis. I’d do anything for you.”
“I know.” Swallowing, I wasn’t good with the mushy stuff, and I dropped back to the pillow, placing my casted arm against his chest. “I don’t understand why I can’t remember, and the possible reasons why terrify me.”
He kissed my hair, and we fell silent. My mind considered the reasons I would have needed to meet with a police informant, and I thought about the detectives from the major crimes unit, O’Connell, Thompson, and Heathcliff. But it felt wrong. None of my cases had any overlap with their current cases. The last time Heathcliff and I worked together was a joint venture on the Bard drug case, but I had no reason to speak to an informant about that. Something was missing.
For the next few hours, thought wisps twisted through my mind. The truth was there, buried underneath mounds of useless dribble. How did I happen upon a police informant? There had to be a connection or something that would trace back to the CI’s handler. Perhaps a phone call or e-mail message. Fear and dread settled in the pit of my stomach the more I thought about it, but I pushed it away, believing it was part of the terror that I’d been experiencing since this nightmare began.
While recalling the list of open cases that had crossed my desk and tips that had been phoned in, I kept losing my train of thought. My mind had a habit of traveling in wayward directions when I was tired, and the need for sleep was clouding my memory. Eventually, I let my mind and body relax into an uneasy sleep.
Something moved nearby, and I jolted upright. Reaching for my gun, I remembered it was gone and let out an audible growl. Martin turned around from where he was standing in front of my mirror, knotting his tie, and returned to the bed.
“Hey,” he whispered, “I’m right here. You’re okay.” He pressed his lips against the top of my head. “Mark just arrived. He’s in the living room. Do you want me to stay?”
“No, you should get back to the grind.”
“Okay, but I’ll be back later.”
“No,” I shook my head for emphasis, “we’ll conduct a threat assessment. As soon as this is over and I don’t have a bunch of bored federal agents outside my door, I’ll come home.”
“You told me last night that you are home.” Martin’s quip was intended to gain reassurance or spark an argument. At the present, I couldn’t decide precisely what his goal was.
“Don’t be a jackass.” I climbed out of bed, and he noticed the small bloodstain on the side of my t-shirt. “I should have known better than to wear white.” Turning away from him, I took the bandage off, looking down at the partially scabbed, slightly oozing scrape that covered the length of my side. It was starting to heal, but it wasn’t pretty.
“How do you feel?” He buttoned his jacket. “Can I help with anything?”
“I’m fine. I got this.” Pulling my t-shirt down, I turned around to face him. “Aren’t you sick of playing doctor yet?”
He smirked. “We haven’t seen each other in nine days. It would have been nice to play doctor.” He leaned down and kissed me. “Promise me that the next time I see you, you’ll be in better shape than you are now.”
“I’ll try.”
“That’s not a promise.” He glanced at the calendar hanging on my wall. “In case you forgot, I’ll be back to my regular work schedule in two days.”
“Ha ha.” I glared at him. “That doesn’t give me much time to figure this out and heal. Are you sure you don’t need to continue this ridiculous late night schedule?” Truthfully, it was easier when he didn’t realize I wasn’t around that way he didn’t worry about me, and it eased the guilt that I felt for putting him through a lot more than any sane person would typically tolerate.
An annoyed look crossed his face, but I didn’t think it was meant for me. “I hope not.” Before he could say anything else, there was a loud knock at my door. “Asshole,” Martin muttered.
“Parker, are you decent?” Jablonsky called from the other side of the door.
“Am I ever?” I opened my bedroom door. “We need to talk.”
“Yes, we do,” Mark said. He watched Martin straighten his cufflinks but blocked him from leaving my room. He extended his hand. “Marty,” Mark said, “I’m sorry for all of this. Thanks for the help.”
Martin stared at Mark’s hand for an uncomfortable moment, and then they shook. “You better take better care of your people, Jabber.”
Mark nodded. “Agreed.”
Clearing my throat loudly, I gave the two overprotective men in my life a dirty look, crossed the hall to the bathroom, and slammed the door. If they wanted to act like macho dickheads, I could act like a prima donna. After stepping into the shower, Martin slipped into the bathroom to say good-bye, catching a glimpse of the extent of my injuries. Fortunately, he was running late, and I was in no mood for any of this. Head injuries were known to cause irritability. Maybe that was my problem.
Five
“Marty said you had a breakthrough last night,” Mark said when I emerged from the shower with my hair in a towel. “Did anything new come to mind this morning?”
“I kinda hate you. Does that count?”
“I don’t think that’s new.” He held out a coffee cup as a peace offering, but I shook my head. He hid the concerned look, knowing that caffeine was like oxygen to me. “So what did you remember?”
“Nothing helpful,” I said, but Mark continued his inscrutable stare until I finally told him about my private phone conversation. “Like I said, it’s not useful. What’d you find on the police informant? Does the CI have a name? Do we know who’s handling him?”
“Are you certain it’s a him?”
I sighed. “No.” Taking a seat on the couch, I sifted through the files that Lucca had left behind. None of my cases dealt with the police department or local jurisdiction. “Did you check the call log and my work e-mails?”
“You’ve been burning the midnight oil again. There’s a lot to go through. Lucca’s doing his best, but frankly, I’m wondering how we got anything done during those two years that you were on sabbatical.”
“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Scanning the room for my cell phone, I was focused on finding a new lead. Then I remembered my phone was missing, along with my other personal effects. “Can’t you put a rush on my side arm and badge? I’d like to have them back before someone decides I’m not fit for duty. I’d also like my phone back. I should recognize an odd number faster than the computer techs.”
“With that wing of yours, you won’t be cleared for field work until the cast is off,” Mark said, “but that doesn’t mean you can’t come to the office and help out, if you’re up to it.”
“You know I’m chomping at the bit to do something productive. So don’t give me this ‘if you’re up to it’ crap, or I might start believing that you are being manipulative.”
“Marty’s still pissed?”
“I’m pissed. How could you drag him to the federal building for an interrogation? Did you handcuff him too?”
“No, it was informal. I knew he’d want to know what happened to you, and it was best to clear him of any suspicion before anyone else started asking questions. You have to believe that I had his best interest and yours in mind.” While I went into my bedroom to change into something slightly more professional than running shorts and an oversized t-shirt, Mark boxed up the files that had been deemed irrelevant. “I’m doing this by the book, Parker. Someone did this to you, and when I find out who, their ass is mine. I won’t risk getting jammed up because of some procedural issue. If that hurts Martin’s precious ego, so be it.”
Emerging from my room, I gave my boss a dark look. “You better hope you get to them before I do because, at the moment, I don’t give a flying fuck about procedure. I want answers.”
“We’ll find them.” Jablonsky gave my apartment another brief glance and then opened the front door. “I told you that I’d take care of it.”
“Yeah, well, tell that to Lucca. He thinks I dreamt the whole thing,” I retorted, grabbing my spare keys. I felt naked without a weapon, but hopefully, that would be rectified soon enough.
The drive to the federal building should have been boring, but from the second I climbed into the SUV, my heart raced. Jablonsky’s driving wasn’t to blame, but the reason for my apprehension eluded me. It was a good thing I skipped the coffee this morning.
“You okay?” Mark asked, glancing at the death grip I had on the armrest.
“Yeah.” I swallowed.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” I blinked a few times. “Butterflies.” I shook my head. “It’s nothing.”
“If you’re not ready,” he began, but one look silenced him. “Can you keep it together? Frankly, a meltdown in the office would be understandable, but I wouldn’t advise it.”
“It’s not that. This feels different.”
“Well, this is the first time you’ll be walking into the OIO as a victim instead of a pain in my ass. That might explain it.”
“Just park the damn car.” Once I exited the SUV, the pressure in my chest eased and my racing pulse returned to normal. Narrowing my eyes at the vehicle, I fought to recollect what happened. Lucca’s theory concerning a possible hit and run came to mind, but I didn’t recall being mowed down by a speeding car. “Did forensics come up with any other viable theories to explain my injuries?”
“One thing at a time,” Jablonsky said, leading the way to the elevator and pressing the button. “You don’t want to overdo it.”
“I’m fine. Really.” I forced him to look at me, and he realized that I was no longer white as a sheet. “Apparently it’s your driving.”
“Very funny.”
When the elevator doors opened, I expected something to look different, but things were the same. My fellow agents were hard at work, tracking leads, writing reports, and updating our intel. In the last few days, I was the only one who had changed. Jablonsky headed to his office, and I detoured to my desk. Lucca was situated behind my computer, tapping at the keys.
“You replaced me already?” I asked. “That was quick. If you hand me the back-up nine millimeter in the bottom drawer, that should take care of having to box up my personal effects.”
“What personal effects?” he replied, not bothering to look up. “As far as I know, you’re the only person who actually uses her work desk for nothing but work.”
“You went through my drawers?” I asked, feigning shock. His eyes darted to me for a moment, but he didn’t say anything. I knew the answer to that question already. Everything had been searched. My drawers, my computer, my work e-mails, nothing was sacred, which was why I made sure everything at my desk was work-related or completely innocuous. “Then you must have found my stash of hooch.”
“Parker,” he exhaled, ceasing his typing, “what are you doing here?”
“I want my gun,” I repeated, jerking my chin toward the bottom of the desk. “I also want you to get out of my chair.”
“Fine.” He held up his hands and pushed away from the desk. “Do what you want. It’s not like I was in the middle of something.”
Taking the seat he just vacated, I glanced at the computer monitor. He was cross-referencing my call sheet and e-mail correspondence with closed cases and recent prison releases to determine who might have been responsible for an attack. Snorting, I unlocked the drawer, removed my back-up nine millimeter, checked the clip, and pulled out my spare holster.
“Did anyone perform a threat assessment?” I asked.
“What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Your due diligence.” I smiled and stood. “You can have the chair back now.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Anytime.” Taking a deep breath, I looked around the room. “Did anyone phone in any threats or tips?”
“No.”
“Do you still think that this was unintentional or an accident?” I asked, resting my hips against the side of the desk so I could simultaneously see Lucca’s expression and wait for Mark to leave his office.
“Parker,” his eyes honed in on my abdomen, “lift your shirt a few inches.” Before I could respond with a quip, he added, “Please.”
Pulling my shirt up, he studied the scratches along my stomach. “You don’t have any bruises in front, just scrapes. That doesn’t make much sense.”
“Nothing does.” I shook off the annoyance. “I take it you’re reconsidering your theory.”
“I don’t know. This morning, I was upstairs with the techs, and from the computer models they ran, it looked like if you had taken a tumble, the bruising would be even, like the scratches.” He sighed. “What do I know? I’m sure they can explain how your sprained wrist and bruised knee played a part.”
“In other words, you don’t know what to think.” Normally, I’d enjoy a moment of smug superiority, but this time, I would have preferred Lucca to have an actual answer. “Neither do I,” I admitted.
“We’ll figure it out, Parker.” He offered a tight smile and nodded at Jablonsky, who had just joined us. “Working on the threat assessment, sir.”
“Keep me apprised,” Mark said, noting my newly acquired weapon. “Feeling better?”
“A little bit,” I replied. “Hopefully, the ridiculously intelligent men upstairs can make me feel even better since you boys just can’t cut it.”
Lucca reddened slightly at my innuendo, probably waiting for the chance to report me for sexual harassment. At this rate, I’d need to see if Martin’s legal team did any pro bono work. My brain made a particularly bad joke, and I smiled at my own idiocy. Obviously, things were returning to normal.
“Parker,” Jablonsky barked, probably afraid I was having a psychotic episode, “are you coming?” I gave him a wicked grin, and he cringed. “Stop wasting time. We have work to do.”
“Yes, sir.”
He grabbed my elbow and led me to the elevator. “It’s nice to see you’re in a better mood than you were earlier, but I’d prefer if it wasn’t at my expense.” The doors closed, affording us some privacy. “
Did Lucca make any progress?”
“Not that I can tell. I think he’s abandoned the theory that this was self-inflicted, so that’s a plus. But no one has taken credit for roughing up a federal agent, and it looks like he’ll be working on that threat assessment for a while.”
“Okay.” From that single word, I could tell Mark had something on his mind, but he didn’t budge. And the ride in the elevator was too short to wheedle it out of him. “Why don’t you see what the lab’s found and we’ll take it from there?”
“Where are you going?” I asked, wondering why he would drag me upstairs and then abandon me.
“I have to give Director Kendall a quick update. I’ll be right back.” He jerked his chin toward the glass doors. “Go on. They don’t bite.”
He pressed another button, and the elevator doors closed, leaving me alone with the lab techs and forensic experts. The last time they’d seen me, I’d been naked in a hospital room. With any luck, this encounter would be more pleasant.
“Agent Parker,” Thomas Ridley greeted, “your partner warned me that you’d be showing up soon.”
“He’s not my partner,” I grumbled.
Ridley gave me an odd look. “I thought you and Agent Lucca were working together. Didn’t he find you that morning?”
“Fine, he’s my partner.” Letting out a huff, I jerked my chin at the equipment in the lab. “Any idea what happened to me?”
“We have some idea, but our models haven’t accounted completely for the extent of the evidence we collected.” He stood up from his chair. “Sasha,” he called, “hey, Davenport, I’m talking to you.” He waved at the woman seated at a desk across the room. “I swear, sometimes I think she does that on purpose.”
Davenport pulled earbuds out of her ears and glanced up, offering a smile. “Agent Parker,” she said, “nice to see you up and around.”
“Yeah, well, they forgot to lock the zipper on the body bag,” I joked.
