by G. K. Parks
“Not a chance in hell,” Thompson said.
“Fine. It’s all on you, Nick. Don’t let me down.” I walked away before O’Connell could also refuse my request.
“Have a seat.” Moretti shut the door and rested his hips on the edge of the desk. “How are you doing, Parker?”
“Fine.”
“Really? Why do you look like shit?” Moretti held up his hand before I could say something snarky. “Jablonsky’s worried about you. The reason he subbed in today was because he thought you were taking a step back. O’Connell was under the same impression.”
“That was before I got a handle on my Cross Security case, but I’m more than capable of dealing with both matters. Frankly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about O’Connell’s case. I wanted to see how much progress had been made.”
“Summers is a good lead. From what my detectives have said, they don’t believe he’s involved in the murders, but he was there when Landau was poisoned. He should be able to ID the killer.”
“Let’s hope so.”
“You know, we hired you to consult since that seemed easier than the alternative, but we can take it from here. I don’t want you to overextend yourself.”
“I’m fine.”
“Jablonsky said you haven’t been to physical therapy yet. If you were a cop or agent, you’d have to pass the physical before going out in the field.”
“I’m not a cop or agent. I’m a consultant. The work’s not nearly as grueling.”
“I’ve heard about several of your recent cases. We both know that’s not true.”
“I’m fine.”
“The hell you are.” He pressed his lips together. “Look, go home. Get some sleep. Go to physical therapy. Do whatever it is you do over at Cross Security. If something pops, let us know. Otherwise, this is a police matter. We appreciate your insight and assistance. We wouldn’t have gotten this far without you.”
“Unbelievable.” I got out of the chair. “Jablonsky used to beg me to go back to the OIO. He wanted me to work cases until I dropped, and now, he asked you to remove me from a consulting gig. That bastard.”
“Go easy, Parker. I make the decisions here. But we all have a different perspective after recent events.”
“You don’t think I can hack it?” I inhaled through my nose, my eyes stinging. “You think I pose a danger to the cops out there.” I shook my head. “I get it. I’ve put Detective Heathcliff’s life in danger more times than I want to think about. O’Connell’s too.”
“It’s not that. No one think’s you’re a liability. You’re more than capable, but we don’t need you. If that changes, we’ll call.”
Biting my lip, I stormed out of the office, grabbed my jacket off the chair, and headed for the door. O’Connell caught up to me before the door swung closed.
“What happened?”
“Moretti fired me.”
“Parker,” he tried to soften the blow, but I couldn’t think straight, “I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, Nick. Jablonsky offered up his two cents, but he’s right. I shouldn’t be here. It’s not safe.” I swallowed. “Whatever. I’m done.”
“Alex—”
“Just nail this bitch. I don’t want to find out more people died. Save them, Nick.”
“I will.” He gave my upper arm a squeeze, but I pulled away from him and headed down the stairs, too angry and hurt to notice much of anything.
I drove home with the radio blasting, hoping to keep the destructive thoughts out of my head. Lt. Moretti was right to ask me to leave. Jablonsky was right to tell him to do it, even if a part of me felt betrayed. Mark had his reasons. None of which I could argue with. I didn’t even want to work on that stupid case. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t want to go up against another killer, let alone some psycho serial killer with a flower fetish. But damn if it didn’t hurt to be asked to leave. God, I was more screwed up than even I realized.
“Ms. Parker,” Marcal, Martin’s driver and valet, stopped me in the driveway, “you’ll have to go through the front door. The garage and connected areas are under construction.”
“Of course, they are.” The only thing I wanted to do was work out until I collapsed, and now I couldn’t even use the home gym.
“Leave your car here. I’ll park it for you.”
“What’s Martin doing?”
“I’m sorry. He gave me specific instructions not to tell you.”
Reminding myself it wasn’t Marcal’s fault and lashing out at him wouldn’t be very nice, I let out a lengthy exhale, wanting nothing more than to scream until my throat hurt. “Does whatever this is require a building permit?”
“No.”
“Are they painting?”
Marcal gave me an odd look, almost as if he suspected I might know what was going on inside. At least someone was willing to give me more credit than I deserved. “No.” A man with a saw and hardhat stepped out of the rear of a panel van carrying what looked like lumber. “Please, Ms. Parker.”
“Fine. It’s not like I have any control over my life anyway. Why should this be any different?” I handed him my car keys and trudged up the steps to the front door.
The smart thing to do would be call the medical staff on Cross’s payroll, ask if they could get me an appointment for physical therapy, and do something safe and productive. Instead, I went upstairs, changed into some compression leggings, running shoes, and a cut-off tank top, stretched, and turned on Martin’s ridiculously powerful stereo system. Then I ran stairs. Up and down, from the second to the fourth floor, over and over. My leg hurt, but not nearly as much as my insides. Anger kept my legs pumping. My lungs burned until I found a steady rhythm. I hadn’t done much cardio in the last month, but the muscle memory and breathing techniques came naturally. I wasn’t looking to find my stride. This was punishment, self-inflicted. So I pushed harder.
I tripped and stumbled, but I kept going. Second floor. Third floor. Fourth floor. Whenever my leg gave out, I wouldn’t have far to crawl. At least I planned ahead. How could Moretti approve me to consult only to take it away from me? This wasn’t the first time I’d been taken off a case. It probably wouldn’t be the last. For everyone’s sake, even my own, this was for the best. So why did it bother me so much? I didn’t even want it.
“Fuck.” My thigh cramped, and I banged my knee against the edge of the step. I took a minute to rub it out, turned, and ran down the steps. I’d lost count of how many times I’d gone up and down. At least fifteen. Maybe more. In our apartment, Martin and I would occasionally race on the stairs. That was twenty-one flights. It didn’t take us more than a few minutes. This was different.
After three more trips, up and down, the cramp returned. I crawled up the last few steps and struggled to get back on my feet. I couldn’t breathe, and with my heart beating this fast, I thought the sudden stop might kill me. Probably not, but that’d just be the icing on the cake.
With the help of the wall, I got back on my feet, relying solely on my left leg, which burned and ached almost as much as my right. I swung my arms a little, stretching my back and shoulders. Just keep moving. I gasped for air as I hopped down the hall and into the bedroom. By then, my heart rate had come down enough. I grabbed the dresser and eased onto the floor. Sore and drenched in sweat, I army-crawled into the bathroom, turned on the water in the tub, and drank from the faucet. Talk about classy. I had no business being here or anywhere for that matter.
Despite my best efforts, the self-loathing kicked into high gear. I filled the tub, stretched as best I could, stripped out of my clothes, and sunk into the water. The bathtub in the master suite doubled as a hot tub, with powerful massaging jets and various heat functions. I’d never bothered with any of it before, but I turned a few knobs to make sure the water would stay hot, lathered, and rinsed. After clipping my hair up, I settled back against the seat, letting the jets work on the sore spot near my shoulder blade where I liked to carry my stress. And then I let myself c
ry.
Twenty
“Sweetheart,” Martin took off his tie and cufflinks and placed them on the bathroom counter before rolling up his sleeves, “are you trying to drown yourself?”
“It might be an improvement.” I closed my eyes again. This had been the only place I’d found enough peace to sleep. Maybe I was a shark. The Jaws theme played in my mind as I started to drift off.
“Should I join you?”
I didn’t answer. I was too far gone and had little desire to return. He scooped me out of the water, wrapped me in a fluffy, oversized bath towel, and carried me to the bed. He lifted my hand, examining my pruned fingertips before gently kissing each of them.
Without a word, he pulled down the covers, laid me down, and slid in beside me. He knew something was wrong, but he didn’t inquire. I hugged him hard and pressed my cheek against the exposed skin of his opened shirt. He nuzzled the top of my head and rubbed patterns on my back until I fell asleep.
When I woke up, the grief hit me hard. Every loss amplified. My own imperfection at the root of it. I’d been here before. A few times, actually. It wasn’t pretty or rational, but it’s where the darker parts of my psyche liked to go. I thought I’d already dealt with it, but being asked to step away from my consulting gig with the PD had brought everything to the forefront. Mark’s involvement in that made the sting even worse. He almost died because of me. He didn’t want others to face the same fate.
A part of me knew that wasn’t true. It was ludicrous, but that’s what the sadistic bitch in my head kept saying. And no matter how hard I tried not to listen to her, she wouldn’t shut up.
Martin unclipped my hair and ran his fingers through the tangles. I clung to him as if my life depended on it. My throat so tight I couldn’t find my voice. I buried my face against his chest.
“What’s wrong, gorgeous?”
I swallowed. “Everything.”
“Did you go downstairs?”
“No.”
His chest rose, and he exhaled in relief. His fingers pressed against my ribs, working the soreness out of the surrounding muscles. “God, you’re tense.”
“Really? I feel like Jell-o. My legs anyway. The rest is just painful numbness.”
He moved his hands to my neck and shoulders, working his nimble fingers gently over my flesh. I hissed when he brushed against the knot beneath my shoulder blades. “Do you want me to stop? I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Keep going. You can press harder.”
But he knew that was my masochistic side talking and kept his touch feather light while he caressed my taut skin and coaxed the bunched muscles underneath to relax. I turned my head to face the other way, so I could hear his heartbeat. The steady rhythm soothed my inner turmoil.
“I hate this.”
His hands stilled, waiting for an elaboration.
“I don’t know what to do or how to deal. I just need to figure out what I’m supposed to do. At first, Mark tells me I should stay busy, work to keep my mind off of things. But that’s going to blow up in my face. We all know it. So, now I’m off the case. I was told I should take some time for me. What does that mean? I should do nothing?” I snorted. “Apparently. But now that I’m supposed to do nothing, I think I should do something. I do this all the time. What is wrong with me? I must be the most indecisive person on the planet. I’m fucking crazy. Why would you put up with this? I wouldn’t put up with me if I didn’t have to.”
He laughed quietly. “Because I love you.”
“You’re more bat shit crazy than I am.”
“Possibly.” He went back to massaging my back. “What can I do?”
“Nothing. Mark had Moretti pull me off O’Connell’s case. After the call I made last night, I understand why, but…”
“You didn’t want the case, but now you’re invested.” His fingers brushed against the back of my thigh. “What did Moretti say?”
“I helped enough, and if the police need further assistance, he’ll let me know.”
“What did Mark say when you bitched him out?”
“I didn’t, and I’m not going to.” I sighed, turning to check the time. “Wow, it’s almost nine.”
“You were tired. You haven’t slept more than three hours straight in over a month.”
“Don’t remind me.” I rolled off Martin, wincing and letting out a groan. “Since my days and nights are flipped, I should probably do some more research and possibly run some surveillance on Andre North.”
“That can wait.” Martin brushed a strand of hair out of my face and kissed me. “You need to sleep, and the hour and a half nap you just took doesn’t count.”
“I slept in the tub before that.”
“For what? Twenty minutes?”
I looked away.
“Alex, you’re killing yourself. You have to stop this.”
“If I stop, I’ll die or everyone else will.”
“Dammit, sweetheart.” A single tear fell from my eye, and he caught it with his fingertip. “Fine, but you can’t go anywhere on Jell-o legs.” He sat up, pushing the covers away. The bath towel remained wrapped tightly around me, like a giant white dress. “God, you’re beautiful.”
“You’re insane.”
“I thought we already established that.” He smiled. “Flip over.” He lifted my leg and started at my ankle, running his thumbs against either side of my Achilles tendon before working his way up my sore calf to the back of my thigh. He repeated the process on the other leg, working out the stiffness and muscle soreness before telling me to flip over again. He rubbed my quads, getting a little brazen with his fingertips when it came to my inner thighs, but he backed off when I pressed my legs together. “Is that better?” he asked, but I had zoned out, back to crime scenes and dead friends. “Alex?”
“Yeah.”
He cocked an eyebrow at me. “How’d you get so sore?” That wasn’t the question he wanted to ask, but it was the safest one that came to mind.
“Running up and down the stairs.”
“Do you think that’s wise?”
“No, but I needed to do something.”
“You mean you wanted to punish yourself.” He climbed off the bed, unbuttoning his dress shirt and reaching for a t-shirt to put on. He hadn’t even bothered to change out of his suit before fishing me out of the tub. “Is that how you got the bruise on your shin?” I looked down, surprised to find a purple welt just beneath my knee. “You do the same song and dance every time. Frankly, sweetheart, you need to learn some new moves. Next, you’ll do everything in your power to sabotage us and push me away. So let me be clear right now. It won’t work. I’d prefer if we just bypass that and move on to the next phase.”
“What’s that?”
“Compromise and acceptance.”
“You sound like a self-help book.”
“How would you know? You’ve never read one.”
“Neither have you.”
“Why would I?” He grabbed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt out of my dresser, along with a bra and underwear, and dropped them on the bed beside me. “Is that okay? Or do you need to wear something else to conduct recon? I’m partial to a catsuit with cutouts, but I doubt you’ll let me go with you to enjoy the view.”
“This is good.” I moved to the edge of the bed, slipped on the underwear, and pulled on my jeans before pulling the bra on and lowering the towel. I stood up on wobbly legs, went into the bathroom, brushed my teeth and hair, finished getting ready, and put on my shirt. When I returned to the bedroom, Martin had a glass of water waiting for me.
“You’re probably dehydrated after that catnap in the hot tub. Y’know they put a warning in big bold letters in the manual saying not to fall asleep.”
“I guess that makes me a firebrand.” Parched, I glugged down the water. “You worry too much.”
“Or not enough.” He gave me an exasperated look. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m not okay, Martin. I’m not eve
n close. I guess I’ve accepted that.” I smirked. “Isn’t that one of those steps you wanted me to reach?”
“Not like that.” A guilty look came over his face. “Shit.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I stared at him, knowing he’d done something he regretted. I just didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t have it in me to push. Not today. “Do you still love me?”
“Why would you ask me that?” His face contorted in confusion. “I love you with everything I have.”
“You shouldn’t, but you already said you don’t want to fight about it. I should get some work done while I still have a job. If I don’t, Cross will be the next one to fire me, and then I’ll really be lost.”
He grabbed me, taking the glass from my hand and placing it on the dresser. “I won’t let that happen. You’re here. With me. You’re not lost. Let me be your port in the storm.”
“I can’t even see land right now.”
“I’ll send out a search party.” He searched my eyes, but all I could see in his were fear and grief. I just didn’t know if it was mine or his.
I laced my fingers behind his neck. “I love you. Whatever you did won’t change that.”
He swallowed. “Marcal told you?”
“No.”
He tilted his head and kissed me, wrapping both arms around me and practically lifting me off the floor just to give my legs a break. “Don’t go downstairs. I’m going to fix it.”
Deciding he must have broken something or taken a golf club to the walls again, I chose to save that discovery for another day when I wasn’t already emotionally and physically drained. “Fine, but I need my car.”
“You’re going back to work?”
“I have to. It’s what I need right now.”
“Okay.” He kissed me again, picked me up, carried me down the stairs, and left me to collect my things from the second floor while he pulled my car out of the garage.
Twenty-one
This was a bad idea. The last thing I needed was to be alone with my thoughts. But here I was, parked outside Andre North’s house with nothing to do but list all of my shortcomings. Every person I failed to save. Every life I’d taken. Every mistake I’d made. Every near miss and close call.