by G. K. Parks
At first, I didn’t see him, but every fiber of my being went on high-alert the moment I stepped out of the bar. I searched the sidewalk, watching as people moved past me without any fear or hesitation. He was close, just not that close.
I scanned the other side of the street. Shrouded in darkness, he stared back at me. He was a barely visible shadow positioned between the streetlights, peering out from behind the railing to a basement shop. Our eyes met. His vision sharp and focused on his prey — me.
I couldn’t tell if he was armed. Honestly, at this distance, I couldn’t tell anything about him. He didn’t wear a mask, but he concealed his identity beneath a hood, like a comic book villain.
Pulling my weapon, I darted across the street, dodging the cars along the way. He dropped from his perch, disappearing before I even hit the sidewalk. I raced down the steps, my gun at my side. He wasn’t waiting at the bottom. He must have gone inside.
I twisted the knob and entered the establishment. The room was pitch black, except for strobing lights and a steady, pumping rhythm that made the floors vibrate. A blonde tugged on the leash hooked to a fat man wearing assless chaps, a nipple ring, and nothing else. She glanced at me, spotting the gun as the light strobed back on. She screamed, but I pushed past her.
Out of all the places the bastard with the knife could have disappeared, this was the worst. An underground sex club guaranteed plenty of rooms to hide in. The shitty lighting and thick velvet draperies provided ample opportunities to conceal himself in plain sight, and with the unspoken rule of anonymity and privacy, no one would remember seeing him.
Pressing against the right wall, I moved deeper into the dark, musky hallway. I heard a scream and spun, aiming at the sound. Another shriek followed, and I realized it was the wrong kind of scream. Dammit. He was somewhere in this labyrinth of sex and velvet. I just had to find him.
I peered into one room after another, the lights wreaking havoc on my depth perception. He could be anywhere. Hell, he could be right behind me, and as long as he moved in time with the strobing light and ducked behind the velvet curtains, I would never notice him. The hair prickled at the back of my neck. He was close. I could feel him.
He barreled into me from behind, knocking me against the wall. Darkness followed by blinding light. He was halfway down the hall now, taking a quick right as the hallway branched. Darkness. Light. I blinked, chasing after him. I caught a glimpse when the light strobed again. By the time the area lit again, he had vanished.
I slowed. This was a dead end. He had to be here. Somewhere. A few groans sounded to my left. Between the measured light intervals, I could see the curtain in front of me move. The next time the light came back, he was inches from me.
The first blow glanced off my shoulder. He tried again. His punches and moves appearing choreographed in the blinking light. He rushed forward, throwing himself against me. The door behind us gave out, and we toppled to the floor.
The couple inside scattered, fleeing past us as I flipped the guy over top of me. A commotion sounded in the hallway. Apparently, someone went to get help. In the dark, I lost sight of the assailant. Slowly, I turned, doing my best to survey my surroundings despite the uncooperative lighting.
I tried to listen, to use my other senses, but there was too much noise and vibration from the music. Damn these lights. I blocked the door, wondering if there might be another way out. If he remained in the room, he was still and silent. The curtain rustled to my left, and I turned. That’s when he clocked me and darted out the door.
“Son of a bitch.” I chased after him, catching glimpses of someone moving faster than everyone else. It was a mad rush to vacate the premises before the police arrived. He turned a corner, and I followed. It led to a wider hallway and a door. He slipped through, and I burst into an all-out run.
The overhead lights came on, and I shielded my eyes from the sudden unexpected brightness. A moment later, he was out the door, leaving a confused woman sitting behind a desk at what must have been the main entrance.
I burst out the door, spotting him getting into a red car. I hauled ass, chasing after the car that was now speeding down the street. There was no light around the license plate, so I couldn’t get a plate number. The bastard really thought of everything. I continued running, my legs cramping as I tried to keep up with the car’s engine, but he was getting farther and farther away. Stopping, I aimed and fired, but he took a turn. My bullet impacted with the side mirror.
Dialing Jablonsky, I figured he’d have more pull in getting patrols mobilized at the police department than I would. I gave him my current location, the direction the car was traveling, and anything else that might be useful. Then I trudged back to the bar which was on a parallel street. Klassi couldn’t deny this bastard wasn’t after him, and I fully intended to point that out. But by the time I made it back to the bar, Klassi and Standish were gone.
With no other leads, I returned to the office. Before going inside, I walked the streets, checking every alleyway, hidden alcove, and dead end. I toured nearby garages and strolled past the rows of vehicles parked on side streets. I didn’t find the bastard or his red car. He didn’t come back here to finish the job. He was probably still licking his wounds from our first encounter.
I didn’t believe the unsub expected to run into me tonight. He wasn’t prepared for a showdown, which is probably why he ran. Still, I couldn’t be certain that he didn’t tail me from the office to the bar. I didn’t believe Don’s claims of ignorance, but on the off chance I was wrong and the slimy businessman was right, I needed to be sure.
After nearly an hour of searching for signs of the unsub, I entered Cross Security, washed up, and reheated my soup. While I was finishing my dinner in the now empty breakroom, Kellan came looking for me. He reviewed the footage from CryptSpec but didn’t spot the red car. I wasn’t surprised.
“What are you thinking?” Kellan asked as he leaned against the fridge.
I shook my head, knowing it would sound stupid if I said it. “Just making sure we didn’t miss anything.”
“Can I ask you something?”
I looked up, feeling the mood shift. “What is it?”
“How do you know Don Klassi?”
“Friend of a friend. Well, more of an acquaintance of a friend.”
Kellan thought for a moment. “You have some rather interesting friends. Care to elaborate on that?”
“Not in the least.” I narrowed my eyes. “Why the twenty questions?” He’d been prying a lot into my personal life lately, and I didn’t like it.
“I was just curious.” He nodded at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. Are you planning on calling it a night?”
“In a bit.”
“Just remember, building security is around if you need an escort to your car.”
I chuckled. “Yeah, thanks.”
After speaking to Mark and learning the police had no luck locating the car or driver, I tried to let it go and grabbed the notes I made on Alexandra Scott. I needed to have a better grasp of my alter ego. All I really knew about her was that she didn’t care about the asshole following me or his stupid car.
I wanted to contact Noah, but calling too soon might scare him off. I’d wait at least thirty-six hours before reaching out, as if I were actually considering my options or possibly even consulting other agencies. He needed to woo me. It was important he work for this. If it was too simple, he might realize it was a ruse.
When I completed filling in the tiny details of Alexandra’s life, including her agenda to marry well and live a life of luxury, I reread the literature and questionnaire Noah had given me. After filling everything out and printing the documents he requested, I placed everything neatly inside a folder and turned off my computer.
The surveillance photos caught my eye, and I glared daggers at the red car. The unsub was smart enough to conceal his plates. The angle didn’t provide any indication of the year or model. No parking passes, EZ Pass, or de
cal of any sort was visible. And obviously, the VIN was completely out of the question.
Maybe it was an out of state vehicle. That would explain the lack of DMV records, but expanding to a nationwide search would be time-consuming. I’d start with the tri-state area and go from there. Unwilling to give up, particularly after the unsub gave me the slip earlier, I copied down Klassi’s home address and went for a drive. Since Don didn’t want to speak to me at the bar, he’d have no choice but to speak to me at home.
Fourteen
Don lived in a concierge building. Getting inside would be tricky. After scouting the area for the red car, I parked in front of the building and gave my information to the doorman. He told me Mr. Klassi wasn’t home, but the front desk called up to his apartment anyway.
“Sorry, ma’am. Would you like to leave a message?” the concierge asked.
“Yes, but it wouldn’t be polite to ask you to relay it.” I already had enough of Don for one day. Maybe the unsub found him and killed him. That would serve my client right, I thought bitterly before scolding myself for thinking such a terrible thing.
Seeing no need to waste my time, I left the building and circled around. Assuming the unsub was after Don, he might be lying in wait for Don to return home. But I didn’t spot my target or his clunker of a car.
The neighborhood was upscale. The only aging automobiles were classics in pristine condition. Something from the early nineties would stick out like a sore thumb, and the police would probably be phoned immediately. I suspected even the help drove luxury cars provided by their employers. There was probably a public ordinance forcing anyone who couldn’t afford a nice vehicle to take public transportation or walk.
Deciding this was yet another waste of my time, I headed home. My thoughts returned to the Scotts. Conrad was probably someone just like Don. Greedy, arrogant, and privileged. At least I’d know to act accordingly for my follow-up meeting with Noah.
As I turned onto a less residential street in what had morphed from a prestigious, gentrified area to yet another sketchy block in the city, I spotted the distinct taillights. Perhaps it was the late hour or my imagination, but I raced ahead, hoping to catch up to the car before it disappeared.
I turned onto the next street, but there were four cars between me and what might have been a red Pontiac. I maneuvered as best I could to keep the car in my sights, but by the time I made it to the stop sign at the end of the street, I lost it. Slamming my palm against the steering wheel, I studied the four possible directions it might have gone, picked one, and hoped to catch another glimpse of the car. No dice.
It was nearly three a.m. when I made it home. The image of the taillights was burned into my retinas. Was it even the same car? Was I hallucinating? And really, why did it matter? Klassi didn’t care, so I had no reason to worry about his safety, just my own. I needed to pull it together and focus on Noah. That was my case. My priority. And something told me that would lead to the unsub.
“Alex?” Martin asked groggily. He flipped on the table lamp and rubbed his eyes. “Where have you been?”
“Don’t ask.”
He glared at me. “I just did.”
“I’m not sure. I went on a wild goose chase and ended up at a bar and a sex club. Afterward, I just drove around, chasing ghosts.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” He got off the couch and stretched. “I shouldn’t have asked.” He went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. “You know, you could have called.” He looked at the glowing display on the microwave. “Amazing, I can actually get four hours of sleep before work.”
“You didn’t need to wait up.”
“How could I not?” He gulped down the water and left the empty glass in the sink. His eyes came to rest on the diamond ring on my finger. “That’s not the ring I gave you. Anything you want to tell me?”
“It’s Cross’s.” I took it and the wedding band off and put them in my purse. “It’s for Don’s case.”
“Great.” He headed for the bedroom.
By the time I joined him, he was already asleep. I watched the gentle rise and fall of his chest. I should have come home hours ago. Instead, I spent half the night driving around for a car that was probably a hundred miles away by now. The police and Cross were looking into it. I had other things to worry about. But the unsub was out there. He wanted to hurt me or stop me. Probably both.
I was acutely aware of two things. First, I wasn’t a victim. I refused to be one. My hand went to my collarbone, and I pushed down gently. The wound remained tender. I knew it could have been worse, and that thought scared me. Reality was finally setting in. I wasn’t invincible, but it was nice while it lasted. Second, I knew the attack connected to Klassi’s interaction with Noah, but I didn’t know enough about the case yet to warrant being threatened. So why the hell did I get knifed in an alley outside work and stalked to the bar tonight?
Martin made a snuffling sound in his sleep, as if reading my mind and snorting at how ludicrous the entire thing was. After hours of twisting and turning, my thoughts in overdrive, I finally settled down and closed my eyes. This apartment was my sanctuary. The building had top of the line security. I had nothing to fear, but some nights, rational thought didn’t mean a damn thing. Luckily, I was able to distract myself from any potential danger with questions about Kellan’s curiosity. Since when did he take such an interest in my private life? It made no sense.
My thoughts wandered, and I fell into a deep slumber. It was a little after twelve when I woke up. I slept through the alarm. Shit. I left my phone in the kitchen when I came home, which explained why I didn’t hear the four missed calls. Two were from Mark. The others were from Heathcliff and Cross. At least my boss only phoned once.
Hurrying to the office, I arrived just as most of the building was returning from lunch. The elevator remained crowded, but I was the only one who exited on the thirtieth floor. The receptionist glanced in my direction.
“Any messages?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“Thanks.” I continued to my office.
No new casework had been slipped under my door or left on my desk. That was a good sign. Relaxing, I realized that, given the circumstances, there really wasn’t any reason why I needed to attend the morning meeting. It wasn’t like Lucien would assign me a new case when I was in the middle of something.
After listening to my voicemails, I called Detective Heathcliff back. We had a lot to discuss. I told him about the assault and the red car, but he was already up to speed on the situation, thanks to Jablonsky and Renner.
“I already checked every CryptSpec employee. It doesn’t belong to any of them. I spoke to the officers who responded to the call that morning, but none of them remembers seeing the car outside. I assigned a few officers to check through nearby CCTV feeds, but I don’t think it was there.”
“Probably not,” I admitted. “I’m guessing it has to do with a different case.”
“The scammer with the cryptocurrency?” Heathcliff asked.
His question made me suspicious. “Yeah, why?”
“Any idea what type of cryptocurrency he’s dealing?”
“Type?” I searched the papers hanging on the wall for the report. Since I’d given the information to the techs upstairs, they provided an elaborate breakdown. “It was something I never heard of.” I found the page and read the name. “Does that mean anything to you?”
“It’s worthless, not the intel. The currency,” Heathcliff said. “Some of these coins never gain traction, and the value of the coin nosedives. It’s not any safer than the fucking stock market.”
“Did you invest and lose your shirt or something?”
He blew out a breath. “No.”
“Then what’s the deal?”
“You know how CryptSpec’s CEO originally got his start?”
“Programming.”
“And mining. His start-up had the processing power, so he and his partners put it to use. The coin he min
ed is worthless now, but according to blockchain ledgers, he still possesses a ton of it. It’s how he financed the operation early on, before the currency went belly up. Without the cryptocurrency, he wouldn’t have a business. He was lucky to have cashed out when he did.”
“Do you think our cases are connected?” I asked.
“Hard to say, unless you name your client. You mentioned it was someone from MT.”
I knew I should give up Klassi, but I already lost one case to the PD. I couldn’t lose another one, particularly since I’d already invested my blood, sweat, and tears. “What happens if I tell you?”
“I’m in the middle of a fucking homicide investigation. What do you think is going to happen?”
“I’m close, Derek. I’ve already met with the con artist once. And my client was adamantly opposed to police involvement. He’ll freak if you bring him in for questioning. Just give me some time to sort through this mess.”
“Your throat was nearly sliced open, and anything could have happened last night. Why won’t you play ball? What if the guy in the mask killed Gifford?”
“You said the car wasn’t there.”
“He could have walked or found another ride,” Heathcliff growled. “For all I know, your client could be a killer. Are you sure you want to protect him?”
“He isn’t the killer. He was in a board meeting when Gifford was shot.”
Derek wasn’t pleased that I was refusing to cooperate. “I could go to Martin and ask for names and figure it out from there.”
“By all means, Detective, feel free.”
He grumbled something I pretended not to hear for the sake of our friendship and hung up. Well, at least I remained true to my word. I wasn’t interfering in his investigation.
However, the conversation did give me plenty to think about, and I researched the coin Klassi received in exchange for cash. Like Derek said, it was worthless. Don made several transactions over the course of two months. Didn’t he realize he was being taken? And why was he so concerned about getting the ten million he spent back in worthless coin? If it was worthless, why didn’t Noah just fork it over? Hell, I’d trade a bag of pebbles for diamonds any day. And in essence, that’s what the scam artist was doing. By withholding the coin, he opened himself up to Klassi’s wrath. This changed things.