by G. K. Parks
“He might have needed one. After all, he’s dead.”
“All right, see what you can dig up. I’ll catch up with you in a couple of hours. Try to stay out of trouble until then.”
“Easier said than done. You know my boss won’t be happy about this.”
“Since when do you care what Lucien thinks?”
“I never said I did.”
Four
Victor Landau wasn’t listed anywhere in the Cross Security client database. I searched the servers for any hits on his name. Again, nothing. This wasn’t getting me anywhere. I swiveled back and forth in my chair. “Dammit."
Reluctantly, I got up and went across the hall. Kellan Dey was another of Cross’s investigators, and one whom I personally despised. We started out as friends, but that was short-lived on account of Cross recruiting Kellan to spy on me.
“Let me ask you a question,” I said.
Kellan looked up from the research he was conducting. “What’s up, Alex?” He glanced down at my leg but didn’t ask how I was.
“Victor Landau, does that name ring any bells? I need to know if he’s a client.”
“I don’t know.” He reached for his keyboard. “You checked the database, right?”
“Yes.”
“Did you check billing?”
“I checked everywhere.”
Despite my answer, he typed in the name and waited for the results to populate. Then he picked up his phone. “Hey, Cindy, can you check the appointment schedule? I’m looking for Victor Landau.” He waited. “No, he’s not one of mine.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and waited.
“Okay, thanks.” Kellan put the phone down. “He had a meeting with Lucien two months ago. No follow-up and nothing on the books. Why the sudden interest?”
“No reason.” I’d have to check with legal and see if Cross requested contracts be drafted.
“Bullshit. What’s going on?”
“Don’t worry about it. I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough, if Cross wants you to know.”
“Ooh, intrigue.” Kellan cracked a smile. “Anything else I can do for you?”
“Nope.” And now I felt like an idiot for not contacting reception myself.
“Well, if that ever changes, my door’s always open. Remember that.”
“Yep.”
I returned to my office, closed my door, and phoned legal. They didn’t know anything about Victor Landau or the services he might have requested. So why was O’Connell’s latest DB carrying around a Cross Security business card for the last two months? When I couldn’t come up with any logical explanation other than he liked the cardstock and font or just never bothered to clean out his wallet, I considered going directly to the source. But Cross was currently out of the office.
So I did the next best thing. I ran a background check on Victor Landau, which turned up nothing. Then I searched for details on O’Connell’s other three murders, but I didn’t have access to current police investigations, at least not legally.
Shifting gears, I decided to make the most of my time in the office and finished running my latest list of currently incarcerated offenders to make sure they remained behind bars. Then I checked into recent criminal activity regarding their known associates, noted their release dates, pending appeals, and parole board hearings, and turned off the computer.
I was too tired to stay in the office and wait for Cross or O’Connell to show up. So after phoning the detective and updating him on my lack of helpfulness, I took the elevator back to the lobby. Bruiser brought Martin’s newest sports car around front, and I climbed into the passenger seat.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Home.”
Once we got back to Martin’s compound, I changed clothes and did some basic stretches before climbing onto the treadmill. Even though I was tired, I had to exercise. My thigh was stiff and sore. I needed to get it back in working order, especially since O’Connell expected me to do all this running around for him.
Over the last few days, I’d experimented with different workouts. Two days ago, I tried lunges, which cramped my leg and forced me into a quivering ball. Yesterday, I switched to squats, and after about a hundred, I toppled over. Today, I would learn from my mistakes and take it easier.
I’d been walking around for over a week without the crutches, so I should be able to handle the treadmill. The sooner I could get back into the swing of things, the sooner I could rebuild. The voice in the back of my head said I had to be at the top of my game. Better than I’d ever been. I couldn’t let my guard down, not even for a second. And this stupid bullet wound was taking too damn long to heal.
A threat could come from anywhere. The crime scene today proved it. I didn’t think Victor Landau had any idea his number was up, but at least he went out with a bang. Maybe that’s how he’d want to go out. I thought about it, but dying didn’t seem like a great plan, regardless of the events leading up to it. On the bright side, that meant I wasn’t suicidal, even if I’d been accused of having a death wish on several occasions. Those were the joys of survivor’s guilt, I suppose. But I had to be prepared for what was to come. If history had taught me anything, danger lurked just around the corner.
After a few minutes of walking, I turned the dial and started jogging. My thigh ached, but I ignored it. Pain was a state of mind, weakness leaving the body, or some other fortune cookie saying. Instead, I ran faster and faster until my leg gave out, and the treadmill ejected me off the back.
I landed in a heap at the end of the track. The emergency shutoff engaged, and the machine came to a stop. Martin’s bodyguard opened the door at the top of the steps and peered down at me.
“How’s the leg?” Bruiser asked. He hadn’t said much on the drive to and from the office.
“Wonderful.” I pushed myself onto all fours, crawled up the steps, and flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Tomorrow was another day. Perhaps, by then, I’d learn my lesson.
“Is that what you call it? I might need to buy you a dictionary.” He quirked an eyebrow, which I pretended to ignore. “Earlier, you didn’t put up much of a fight when Martin told me to drive you to work. That’s not like you. I figured maybe you weren’t supposed to drive, which probably means you shouldn’t be trying to place in the five hundred meter dash either.”
“I’m fine, and I can drive, if I have to. I just thought you didn’t have anything better to do. Plus, you’ve been itching to take Martin’s new car for a spin. So driving was solely for your benefit.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
“Did Martin tell you to be a pain in my ass?” My beloved probably contracted out the task just to save himself some time and energy.
“No, but he told me to make sure you ate something.” Bruiser went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.
“I’m not hungry.”
“He said you’d say that. He also said something about force-feeding you.” He pulled a container from the top shelf and reached into the cupboard for a soup cup. He filled the oversized mug, popped it into the microwave for two minutes, and proceeded to pull out sandwich ingredients. When the microwave beeped, he removed the mug and brought it to me. “Careful, it’s hot.”
Obediently, I took the mug from him and readjusted on the couch, so I could sit up and stretch my legs out. On autopilot, I blew on the rising steam and took a sip. Bruiser grinned and went back into the kitchen to make himself lunch.
“What else did Martin say?” I asked.
Bruiser made two double-decker sandwiches and found a container of salad. “That was about it.” He unfolded a paper napkin and tucked it into the collar of his shirt. Then he took a bite of his sandwich. Mustard dribbled out from the corner, but it landed on top of the other sandwich. “You know I don’t stick my nose in your business. But I know something’s wrong. I’ve seen that look before. In case you ever need to unload, I got your back.”
“Thanks, Jones.” I graced him with a smile
and used his actual name instead of the affectionate nickname I’d given him. “But I’m good.”
He watched me sip the soup, chuckling again. “It’s scary how well he knows you.”
“Who?”
“Mr. Martin.” He jerked his chin at the mug. “He told me if I made you a sandwich it’d sit on the coffee table all day. But you’d eat the soup, if I handed you the mug.”
I growled and put the cup down. “What else did he ask you to do besides babysit and feed me? Are you going to burp me and put me down for a nap too?”
“No, but now that you mention it, you look like you could use some sleep.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” I limped into the kitchen and rinsed the mug before placing it in the dishwasher. I didn’t want Bruiser to have to clean up after me too. “Do you want something to drink?” I opened the fridge, wondering if any of my actions were my own free will or if they’d all been orchestrated by Martin. He knew I didn’t like people waiting on me. He probably arranged this entire scenario, just so I’d get up and do something.
“Water,” Bruiser said around a mouthful.
By the time I turned around to hand him the glass, he had inhaled both sandwiches and most of the salad. I sat down beside him, hugged my knees to my chest, and rested my chin on top of them. “When you were in the Navy, did you ever work black ops?”
“No, why?”
“You’ve got that need-to-know thing down pat. I’d hate to be stuck in an interrogation room with you.”
“I answered all your questions, didn’t I?”
“Hardly.”
He stifled a laugh. “Martin tells me what he wants handled, and I don’t ask why. My mission objectives today – chauffeur you around, make sure you eat something, and keep you alive. Unless there’s an airstrike or raid I don’t know about, I’d say mission accomplished, so long as you don’t make another ill-advised attempt at trying out for the Olympic track team.”
“Maybe tomorrow.”
“Didn’t they give you a list of exercises to work on in physical therapy?”
“I haven’t gone yet.”
“Why not?”
“It’s not a priority. I can do this myself.”
“It doesn’t look that way from where I’m sitting.”
“Injury or not, I’m just off my game. Truthfully, I have been for a while. I’ve grown complacent.” I looked around the opulent room. “Soft. I have to get my edge back.” I narrowed my eyes as a thought came to mind. “I could use some help training. Do you mind?”
“Not at all, but you can’t go from zero to sixty overnight. You’ll have to build back up first.”
“Yeah.” But I didn’t like the idea of waiting.
Bruiser laughed. “You and Martin are a match made in heaven. You’re the most impatient and stubborn people I’ve ever met.”
“Save the smack talk for the ring.”
He held up his palms. “Those weren’t meant to be fighting words. However, since you’re at a clear disadvantage, I might actually kick your ass this time.”
“You wish.” Truthfully, Bruiser could kick my ass, even on my best day.
“When do you want to start?”
“Just as soon as I can isolate on my right leg without falling on my face.”
“Weren’t you classically trained?”
“Ballet,” I said. “Why?”
“Injuries are common for dancers. The recovery routines might get you back to where you want to be if you don’t go to PT.”
I smiled. “Has anyone ever told you you’re brilliant?”
“No, ma’am. I’m just hired muscle. I don’t get paid to think. Point me at a target, and I’ll take care of it. That’s what I’m good at.”
“You’re so full of shit.”
“I learned from the best.” He bowed down, rolling his hand a few times in my direction. “After all, you trained me. You were Mr. Martin’s original bodyguard. Isn’t being full of shit part of the job description?”
“Only when dealing with the boss man, not me.” Getting up, I returned to the living room and settled onto the sofa. My leg ached, and the exhaustion from being up all night hit me like a ton of bricks. I just needed to get some rest, and then I’d devise an appropriate training schedule and finish up the threat assessments. But at the moment, I couldn’t think about any of that or O’Connell’s case. I just needed a few hours of sleep.
I flipped on the TV. At least my outing had lasted through the soap operas. More cartoons had just started, and Martin wasn’t around to give me grief for watching them. I lowered the volume and closed my eyes. My mind wandered, and before I fell asleep, I pondered how O’Connell’s meeting with Lucien Cross went.
Five
The phone rang, jolting me awake and sending a shiver down my spine. Now what? Reluctantly, I turned off the TV and peered into the kitchen. Maybe it was a telemarketer. I waited, giving careful consideration to letting the machine get it. It could be Martin, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to speak to him. It rang another two times. When the machine answered, the caller hung up. Problem solved, I thought.
And then the phone rang again.
I climbed off the couch and grabbed the receiver. “What do you want?”
“For starters, I’d like to know why you haven’t answered your phone or replied to any of my texts.”
I tugged the phone away from my ear and regarded the caller ID. Cross Security. “Lucien?” I patted my pockets and searched the kitchen counter, realizing I must have left my cell phone downstairs when I changed clothes.
“Yes, Alex. It’s your boss. Remember me?”
“Vaguely.”
“Let me refresh your memory. I sign your paychecks.”
“I thought I had direct deposit.”
“Details.”
“How’d you get this number?”
“Cross Security’s the best.”
“Martin gave you the number.”
“Oddly, no. But when you didn’t answer the dozen calls and texts I made to your cell phone, I had the techs ping your location. Given your track record, I was afraid something terrible happened to you. Once I got the address, I realized you must be at home and looked up the number. I’m relieved to find you are safe and well.”
“The number’s unlisted.”
“Really? That’s good to know.”
“What do you want, Cross?”
“We need to talk. How quickly can you get to the office?”
“How’s tomorrow morning?”
“How about now?”
I grunted, stretching my leg as I checked the time. “This can’t wait?”
“No.” He hesitated. “How are you feeling?”
“I’ve been better.”
“All right. Medical will check you out once you get here, and I’ll brief you on what’s going on. Then we’ll take it from there.” He paused. “I heard you stopped by earlier today asking for information on someone. Strangely enough, Detective O’Connell just left my office. He had questions concerning the same someone. Care to elaborate?”
“You first.”
“Again, do I need to remind you who’s in charge? In case you’re confused, you work for me.”
“Victor Landau’s dead. He had your card in his wallet. O’Connell wanted to know if he was a client.”
“What did you tell him?”
“That I didn’t know and couldn’t find anything on the servers, so he should ask you.”
“Good call, Alex. I knew I hired you for a reason. Liaising between Cross Security and the police department is a big part of what made you so appealing. That and I’m in desperate need of more investigators. With you on sick leave, I’m short again, so unless your injury makes you a liability, I need you back at work. I have a case for you.”
“What kind of case?”
“The usual cheater check.”
“Divorce case?” I asked.
“No, the opposite.”
“What’s the oppo
site of a divorce case?”
“Our client wants to make sure his wife-to-be is as she appears and isn’t stepping out on him before they tie the knot.”
“Did he ask for a pre-nup?”
“He wants to avoid that, unless we give him a reason not to. With the right lawyers and judge, even the most airtight pre-nups can be tossed. You know that.”
I sighed. I hated these types of cases. Thankfully, Cross Security rarely dealt with them. Lucien was in the big leagues. He prided himself on privatizing policing. Cheating spouses or soon-to-be spouses weren’t a security issue. So I wondered why he suddenly had a change of heart. Was this my punishment for helping the police? “Who’s the client?”
“Andre North.” The name meant nothing to me, but from the way Cross said it, North must be someone important.
I looked down at my cropped t-shirt and running shorts. “Fine. I’ll see you in thirty minutes.”
“Make it less.”
* * *
“Have you gone to physical therapy yet?” the medic asked.
“If I had a nickel for every time I’ve heard that today.” I winced while he held my ankle and straightened my leg. “No.”
“You’re coming up on four weeks. You should schedule an appointment.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
“When did you stop using the crutches?”
“I’m not sure. Ten days ago, maybe.”
His brows knit together. “I see. What about painkillers?”
“I don’t want any.”
“Should I assume that means you stopped taking them?”
“I never started.”
He turned to consult my records, and I resisted the urge to tell him I wasn’t an addict. Several of Cross’s employees had fallen down that rabbit hole, which is what ended their government careers and landed them here, in the land of broken toys.
Cross cleared his throat from where he stood in the doorway. “How is she?”
“Her muscles are weak and her tendons are stiff. Several of the muscle tears are still rather prominent, but I don’t see anything that would prevent her from carrying on normal day-to-day activities or rehabbing.” The medic closed my file and looked at me. “Does your leg get sore when you walk around?”