Past Crimes (Alexis Parker Book 20)

by G. K. Parks

  “Ms. Parker, I don’t know anything about this. I’ll speak to Lucien and find out what’s going on. Just stay the course. Continue to investigate. I’ll deal with your findings, whatever they may be. I’m sure if Lucien did something, he had his reasons.”

  Unfortunately, that’s what worried me.

  Nineteen

  Cross had me so twisted around, I wanted to scream. Stick with your gut, Parker, my internal voice berated. First impressions were usually correct, and my first thought had been Cross is guilty. But I let him and what I thought was logic dictate otherwise. Now I had no idea what to think. Cross knew a lot more than he let on.

  I thought about calling Martin, but he wouldn’t want to hear I’d just pulled a complete one-eighty. Regardless of my indecisiveness, he’d act in the best interest of his company and his employees. I didn’t believe the same about Cross, and I wondered if he’d just hung my reputation on a lie. Why did I let him manipulate me again?

  Just then, clanging metal caught my attention. It sounded just off to my right. I was a block and a half from my car. The streets were crowded. Several other people turned at the noise, giving the alleyway a wide berth.

  In broad daylight, muggings were less common, but they still happened. I reached into my jacket and removed my gun, keeping it concealed. There was no reason to cause a panic. Slowly, I peered around the corner. Several metal trash cans stood side by side. The clang sounded from behind them, causing two of them to tremble and shake.

  “Is someone there?” I took half a step forward. “Come out. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

  The cans rumbled again, and this time, I heard a squeal. The can on the end crashed to the ground. The squeal sounded again as more of a scream, as an alley cat trapped a rat in its mouth. The feline stared up at me, pleased with its kill, stuck its tail in the air, and headed deeper into the alley.

  Disturbed by the image, I holstered my gun and stepped back onto the sidewalk. Damn, if I didn’t feel like that rat. As I turned down a side street and headed for my car, I heard more rattling. Not another cat. I didn’t have the stomach to see that a second time this morning.

  As I headed down the next block toward my car, the skin on my arms prickled. Something wasn’t right. I glanced around. This street wasn’t as busy as the one I’d just left. I didn’t spot anyone immediately, but I felt as if I were being observed. The rattling had stopped, but now I wondered if I should have taken a moment to investigate the source of the sound.

  Turning around, I watched the few people who’d been behind me walk past. No one paid me any heed. They had no interest in me.

  Glancing at the other side of the street, I didn’t notice anyone tailing me. When I got close to another set of trash cans, I slipped my hand into my jacket and took a deep breath. These were pulled up against the curb. Trash day. One lid hung off to the side. Another lid remained on the ground, and three of the other cans were covered. Could the rattling have been the wind banging the loose lid?

  Despite my better judgment, I checked the three closed cans and the one with the loose cover. But I didn’t find anything inside. Parker, you’re losing it.

  Shaking it off, I hurried toward my car. A man was crouched down on the sidewalk next to my front tire. There was something familiar about him. At first, he appeared to be tying his shoe, but I knew better.

  “Hey,” I yelled, “what are you doing to my car?”

  He stood, turning away from me. He didn’t appear to be in a hurry, but something about his stance wasn’t quite right. A black baseball cap obscured most of his features. And with his jogging suit, I couldn’t quite tell if he was armed.

  The street and sidewalk around my car sparkled in the morning sun. When I was ten feet away, he pivoted, lurching toward me while swinging an empty metal trash can at my head. I threw up an arm. The impact propelled me backward, and I crashed into the empty cans hard enough to leave me dazed.

  He darted away, picking up speed as he ran. I shoved the cans out of my way and ran after him, clutching my gun by my side. He had half a block head start.

  I pumped my legs as hard and fast as I could. My thigh cramped from exertion and overuse, but I pushed on. Every bruised muscle in my back lit on fire, but I ignored it. I’d nearly closed the distance between us when he grabbed another empty trash can from the side of the road and hurled it at me.

  I tried to dodge, but it was too large. It sideswiped me with enough force to knock me off balance. Regaining my footing, I stumbled around the trash can, avoiding the other two he knocked over in his attempt to slow me down, and raced around the corner in pursuit.

  As I rounded the corner, he kicked me in the stomach, grabbed my shoulders, and kneed me hard in the solar plexus, where he’d hit me last night, knocking the air out of my lungs and sending me sprawling to the ground.

  Twisting around, I swept my leg out, knocking his feet out from beneath him. He landed and rolled until he was next to me. The lower portion of his face was concealed beneath a bandana.

  He pinned my arm with his shoulder and knocked the gun out of my hand. I grabbed for him, but he slid off of me and kicked me a few times while I gasped to get my lungs working. I threw up my arms to block and curled into a ball to protect my midsection while I inched toward my gun.

  Once I was close enough, I stretched out and grabbed it. The moment he spotted the gun in my hand, he slammed another trash can down on top of me and ran. By the time I knocked it off, he’d vanished.

  This can hadn’t been as thoroughly emptied. A busted bag of trash had spewed all over me. “Ugh. Disgusting.” I picked my way through the mess, keeping an eye on the direction he’d escaped.

  “Are you okay?” A woman ran across the street toward me. “I saw what happened.”

  “Did you see who did this? Or where he went?” I tucked my gun away, afraid it would frighten her.

  “Not really.” She picked a piece of rotten banana peel off my arm. “I already called 9-1-1.” The gash on my arm had started to bleed again. “You look like you took quite the beating.”

  “I’m okay.” I could feel every place my body collided with the stairs, but I couldn’t let that stop me. I’d been through far worse than some scrapes and bruises.

  “Are you sure?” She stared down at the mess.

  “Yeah.”

  “Why did he attack you?”

  The better question was how did he know I’d be here. “He seems fond of trash. Maybe he hates that I recycle.”

  She laughed nervously, picking bits of who knew what out of my hair. She reached for the metal trash can, but I stopped her.

  “There might be evidence on that. I’m hoping he left a few fingerprints behind.”

  “Oh, I hadn’t thought of that.” She gave me an odd look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

  “Would you mind hanging around until help arrives, just in case.” I didn’t need the help, but I might need a witness statement. I didn’t know how much she’d seen, but I didn’t get a good look at the guy. That damn bandana and cap had made determining his identity impossible.

  Three minutes later, a police cruiser pulled up. An uneasiness spread through me. That was fast. Too fast. Was the attacker one of these cops?

  “What’s going on here? We got reports of an assault in progress. Did one of you call it in?” one of the officers asked.

  “I did.” The woman pointed to a spot on the other side of the street. “I just came out of the nail salon when I saw this woman getting beaten with a trash can.”

  The officer led her across the street, asking questions, and entering the nail salon to see if anyone else had seen what happened, while his partner assessed the damage and checked me out.

  “Is that what happened?” the other officer asked me.

  “More or less.” I wondered how he’d look with a bandana. The jogging suit could have been on over his uniform. The cruiser could have been parked a block away. But was he too short to have attacked me?

/>   He shined a flashlight in my eyes. “Paramedics should be here soon.” He tucked it away and tore open a packet and blotted the scrape on my chin with antiseptic he’d taken out of the first aid kit. “Are you dizzy or nauseous?”

  “I’m nauseous from the smell of trash.”

  “What were you doing when he attacked you?”

  “I was heading back to my car.” I’d forgotten all about it. “I have to check something. You might want to come with me.”

  The bastard hadn’t vandalized the company car, but he vandalized my car. Driving my personal vehicle was supposed to make it more difficult for someone to link me to Cross Security and for my coworkers to track my movements. But apparently what I drove made little difference to this asshole. Again, I couldn’t help but wonder how he knew I’d be here. I’d told Almeada what I planned to do, but who else had I mentioned it to?

  “Where were you when the call came over the radio?” I asked suspiciously. I’d been stuck in the bank for a long time. The manager had called the precinct to verify my identity. All a cop would have to do is search DMV records for the make, model, and color of my car, show up, run a few plates, and bam, he’d know exactly what windshield to break.

  “We were performing our normal patrol.”

  “So you were in the area?”

  He smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” That was supposed to reassure me. Instead, it made me even more uneasy.

  At the sight of the damage, I stopped dead in my tracks. Besides the smashed windshield, the unsub had keyed a message into the side of my car in large, unmistakable letters. You’ve been warned.

  “Is this your car?” the cop asked, hitting his radio and requesting a support unit.

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Do you have any idea who did this?”

  “I know exactly who did it.”

  “Who?” The officer looked unsure, possibly even a little apprehensive.

  “I don’t know his name.” I pointed to the various garbage cans scattered around the sidewalk. “Those need to be printed. He touched them, especially the one I pointed out earlier. The one you put beside your patrol car.”

  “But you said you know him.”

  “The man who did this threatened me yesterday. He’s going to get caught. I’ll make sure of it.”

  The officer sighed. “How about we start with a few basics? Height, weight, skin color.”

  His partner came to meet us. The woman who he’d spoken to must have finished giving her statement and left. I hoped he had taken down her details. If I’d been thinking clearly, I would have asked for her name so I could follow up on my own if necessary.

  The second cop whistled. “The offender did this too?”

  “Yeah.” I studied the other cop, but he was too lanky to have attacked me. Still, his partner fit the bill. “When did you guys last take a break?”

  “Don’t worry about us, we’re fine,” the officer I’d been speaking to said. “Let’s get some basic info while we wait for the ambulance to show up. How about we start with your name?”

  “Alexis Parker.” I wondered if they might have a jogging suit and baseball cap hidden somewhere in their vehicle. The trunk would be a good place to hide it. “Would it be okay if I made a call first?” I waited for him to nod before I reached into my pocket and pulled out my phone. By some miracle, it wasn’t broken.

  I tried Heathcliff, but it went to voicemail. A 9-1-1 text from me with the address and details would get a response, but I wasn’t feeling too keen on the police department. I must have caught that condition from Cross. Instead, I decided to use my phone-a-friend.

  After dialing Mark Jablonsky, I told him I might be late for lunch and gave him an abbreviated version of what happened and where I was. We hung up just as the ambulance arrived.

  I didn’t need one, but I let them check me out anyway. Luckily, nothing appeared broken. While they cleaned my scrapes, I answered the officers’ questions. By the time we were done, a government-issued SUV double-parked beside my car. The flashing lights would keep the annoyed motorists from becoming too belligerent.

  Mark stepped out and came around the side. “Are you okay?”

  “Just pissed off.”

  He lowered his sunglasses so he could stare over the rim at the two cops. “Did you canvass the area and see if anyone spotted the offender?”

  “Not yet. We’re waiting for backup.”

  “What did I tell you?” Mark mumbled to me. Before he could tear them each a new one, a second police cruiser pulled up. “Amazing timing.” He watched the two men shut their doors and join us on the sidewalk. Now we had a party.

  In short order, crime scene collection was called to fingerprint the trash cans. The mobile scanner didn’t turn up anything but useless smudges.

  Under Jablonsky’s unyielding gaze, the four officers took to knocking on doors and questioning people on the street. Several surveillance cameras covered the area, but since the attack happened two blocks from the bank, their security would be useless. Luckily, the area was teeming with other businesses and plenty of cameras.

  “At least we won’t have a shortage of footage,” I said.

  “The next time I say we should meet for lunch, let’s make it breakfast instead.” He surveyed the area, noting the relevant cameras and jotting down the addresses. “That might have kept you out of trouble.”

  “I’m not even sure why I’m in trouble.”

  He nodded at the side of my car. “You’ve been warned.”

  “Apparently, which means it’s the same asshole from yesterday.”

  “Unless we’re dealing with multiple assholes who are working together.” Mark asked the cops to pop their trunks. Despite their confusion with his request, they complied. Not a single jogging suit or bandana was in sight. “Satisfied, Parker?”

  “Not really.” At least that ruled out four patrol officers from the list of thousands. The nagging thought returned. Who knew I’d be here? Almeada knew, which meant Cross knew. And he’d visited the bank Monday afternoon, before the police had any idea what was going on. A sick feeling came over me, and I wasn’t sure it was from the smell of trash.

  Mark reached for his phone. “An assault isn’t Bureau jurisdiction, but police corruption is. After everything you’ve told me about the incident inside the precinct last night and the attack on you today, I think it’d be best if we opened an investigation. Don’t you agree?”

  “I don’t want you getting roped into anything dangerous.”

  He snorted. “This wouldn’t be the first time you dragged me into one of these.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  He relayed the information and hung up. “We’ll perform our own investigation in addition to whatever the cops decide to do. I doubt this is a top priority for them.” He stared at the side of my car. “You’ll need a new paint job. I’ll have it towed to the lot so we can check it for evidence.”

  “And trackers.”

  He put on a pair of gloves and felt around the front and rear bumper, but he didn’t find anything. “I’ll have one of the techs go over it with a fine-tooth comb. You really think someone’s tracking you?”

  My hand went to the charm hanging from the chain around my neck. Martin kept a tracker on me as part of his acceptance of my career. It was supposed to be something only he could access. But Cross had given it to him, which meant the techs at Cross Security could get the data. “I’m an idiot.” The police served a warrant this morning. They had all the Cross Security data at their disposal.

  “Don’t jump to conclusions.” He peered inside my car. “Do you have anything sensitive inside? He could have smashed your windshield to get something off the dash or seat.”

  “Everything’s in the trunk.”

  “Pop it.” Mark reached in and pulled out the stack of files I had with me. “Is this everything?”

  I read over his shoulder. “That’s it.”

  He put them in the back of his SUV and grabbed my go-bag.
It contained a change of clothes, some emergency cash, makeup, and extra bullets, along with whatever random items I thought I might need. “Glad to see you’re always prepared.”

  “You taught me that.”

  “And it actually stuck. Amazing.”

  “I’ve already had a shitty enough day. I don’t need to hear remarks from the peanut gallery.”

  After stowing my bag next to the files, Mark took a blanket out of his trunk, covered the passenger seat, and gestured for me to sit inside. “Try not to stink everything up.”

  “I’ll do my best.” I climbed in, my back and stomach aching from the assault. My hands shook a little from the adrenaline as I massaged the painful knot out of my thigh.

  A few minutes later, two other government vehicles pulled up. Mark briefed the agents and climbed behind the wheel. “You still owe me lunch. Originally, I figured we’d grab takeout and go over your case in my office, but now, I’m thinking a fancy steakhouse and some kind of flaming dessert. But first, you need to shower.”

  “I need to go to the precinct. I have to speak to Moretti.”

  “Shower first,” he insisted.

  Twenty

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Heathcliff grabbed my chin and turned my face from side to side, checking out my scrape.

  “I did, but you didn’t answer. I guess you were busy.”

  “Last night. Why didn’t you call me last night?”

  “And tell you what? That some asshole pulled the precinct’s fire alarm, choked out my boss, and kicked me down the stairs?”

  He rolled his eyes and reached into his desk drawer for a first aid kit. He pulled on a pair of latex gloves and uncapped a tube of ointment. “Why didn’t the paramedics bandage you up?”

  “They did, but I had to detour to the FBI locker room and shower before coming here. So the bandages had to go.” I’d left my necklace there, figuring if the asshole wanted to make another attempt, he could explain himself to a room full of FBI agents. I’d taken my rings off the chain and had them in my pocket, figuring leaving expensive jewelry behind wasn’t a good idea.