by G. K. Parks
Taking a detour, I stopped in the ladies room to freshen up. Staring at myself in the mirror, I could see the weeks had taken their toll. My eyes were ringed with dark circles from lack of sleep. My skin was uncharacteristically pale, and if I took the time to smear blood red lipstick over my mouth, I could be cast in the next big zombie flick as a brain-eating extra. Everyone insisted it was done, but it didn’t feel done. Maybe it never would. Sometimes, there wasn’t any closure.
I just unlocked my car door and pulled out of the parking lot, heading for HQ, when my phone rang. Glancing at the number, I answered the call to find Cooper on the other end.
“Did I forget something?” I asked.
“We’ve found another box. It was the files IA delivered. Moretti just called and wanted to make sure you didn’t leave them in your car. I told him I’d bring them by myself, so if you want to wait, I can collect the custody form and save you from coming all the way back here.”
“That’s okay. I’m already on my way.” Shit, there were flashing lights in my rearview mirror. “Dammit, can you believe I’m getting pulled over?” My rhetorical question remained unanswered. “I’ll call you back.”
Disconnecting, I clicked on my four-ways and slowly pulled onto the shoulder. It shouldn’t be dark yet, but the impending thunderstorm had turned the sky black. Any minute, torrential rain would begin to fall. Sighing, I rolled down my window and pulled my credentials from my jacket pocket.
“Ma’am,” the officer began. His uniform hat covered most of his face, and his collar was turned up in preparation for the downpour. “Do you know why I stopped you?”
“Not really.” Maybe it was for talking on a cell phone while driving, or speeding, failing to signal, or because, right now, the police despised my existence.
“Your taillight is out.”
“Damn.” He took my credentials and analyzed them as if they might be fake.
“Maybe it’s just a loose wire or something. Do you want to step out of the car and take a look?”
Not particularly, but instead, I responded with, “Okay.” I opened my car door, and the officer held it as I stepped out.
“Stop right there.” His voice changed to something eerily familiar. “Are you carrying a weapon?”
“Of course. I’m on the job.” My response was angry. He should realize the gun was secondary to the badge. That was when I realized there was something off about this guy. When I turned to get a better look at him, he shoved me against the rear door and confiscated my gun. “What the hell?”
Getting arrested wasn’t on my list of things to do, so I resisted the urge to fight back as he frisked me. His hand came to rest on my side where the bullet had been lodged, and he pressed his weight into that tender spot. I jerked in pain, but he held me against the car so I couldn’t turn around. The sky opened up, and instantly, I was drenched. Tilting my face to the ground to keep the rain out of my eyes, I saw white and silver sneakers.
“Why couldn’t you have made it this easy back at the club?” His voice was a growl in my ear, and he slammed his knee into my side. Instantly, I went down. The pavement was already covered in a layer of water, and stonewalling myself against the pain, I kicked into his shin, causing him to slip and fall to the ground. A gun clattered out of sight.
“Gates,” I hissed, scurrying around the vehicle and narrowly dodging the bullet he fired. “Tell me something,” I yelled over the roar of the thunder, “did you kill Stephens?”
Moving around the car in search of my fallen gun, I considered the possibility of getting my back-up from the glove box, but bullets ripped through the door beside me. I hunkered next to the tire well as he fired a few more shots that tore through the recycled plastic cola bottles auto manufacturers use for the body of cars, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he used the lack of traction from the rain to slide over the hood. Now we were facing off, and I was outgunned.
“Did you decide to come after me on your own, or did Vincenzo send you?” I asked, slowly easing myself into a standing position, arms raised in surrender as I back-stepped away from him.
My eyes tried to focus on his trigger finger, but with the nonstop sheets of rain and the dark from the storm, I couldn’t see. He remained silent as he approached, preparing to fire again. My shoes lost traction, and I slid off the asphalt and down an embankment.
He skidded down the hill after me, but the flooded, soppy ground was something he didn’t expect. He landed face first in the mud and lost hold of his gun. Lunging in the direction it traveled, I was scrambling to find it in the puddles when he yanked my leg from behind. Turning, I kicked him in the chest and got to my feet. Where the gun went, I didn’t know. But if he knew where it was, he’d have made a move for it by now.
Carefully, we circled one another like two cage fighters, waiting for the other to screw up. The ground was squishy under my feet, and it was challenging to remain upright. He rushed forward, and I sidestepped. Unfortunately, he didn’t lose his footing this time.
“I can go all night.” His voice was venom. “Why don’t you make it easy on yourself? I can make this almost painless.”
“Why don’t you go fuck yourself?”
“The only thing standing in the way of resuming my life, maybe starting over somewhere new, is you.” He pulled something from his belt, and when the lightning lit up the sky, I saw the reflection on the blade. “Mr. Vincenzo’s been trying to remove you from the beginning. Then when you proved too difficult to kill, he thought he could turn you. But once again,” he sneered, “you just couldn’t leave well enough alone. That’s why I’ve been given a second chance to eliminate you. If I fail this time, there will be no peace. Now give it up.” He lunged, and I jumped backward. On his second approach, his blade caught in my shirt but missed making contact with flesh. The momentum behind the swing was enough to throw my balance off, and we both ended up on the ground.
I managed a few good jabs before he got his hand around my throat and slammed my head into the ground. Mud flew up, temporarily blinding him, and I kicked him in the sternum, sending him sprawling onto his back. Lightning flashed across the sky again, and the knife was no longer in his hand. He was up, and I got to my feet, managing to elbow him in the jaw. On his way down, he grabbed my hair and spun. He landed on top, pinning me below him. There were a few flashes from headlights passing above us, but no one seemed to pay any heed.
I struggled against his bulk. My fingers clawed through the mud for something I could use against him. The knife, the gun, anything. As my hand wrapped around the knife handle, I saw him reach to the left and pick up the gun.
“Federal agent. Drop your weapon.” Cooper’s voice came from above. Casting a brief look upward, I saw his car was stopped next to mine. He had a flashlight steadied under his gun, pointed directly at Gates. Gates didn’t even react; it was as if he didn’t hear Cooper. “Drop it.” Lightning flashed again, and the echo of the gunshot was drowned out by the roll of thunder.
Lying in the mud, I had to remind myself to breathe. For a moment, I didn’t know if I had been shot or if Gates had been shot. Then Gates slumped to the side, and I frantically scurried away.
“No,” I screamed. My body was on autopilot as I knocked the gun away and immediately assessed the damage. Cooper was an expert marksman, even in the dark with torrential rain. The side of Gates’ skull blew apart where the bullet exited. “He was all we had to get Vito. Goddamn it.” I rocked slightly on the ground, unsuccessfully attempting to wipe the mud from my face.
“Parker,” Cooper made it down the embankment, “are you okay?”
“He’s dead. The only way we could connect Vito to the corruption scandal is dead. We needed him alive. He had the answers. Everything we needed. He had it,” I cried.
“It wasn’t worth the cost.”
He watched warily as I got off the ground. I was a little shaky with a few cuts and bruises, but overall, I was okay. The hit to my side would probably require another round of
stitches, but it was better than having half my skull blown apart.
Making my way up the embankment, I found my gun underneath the car. Picking it up, I checked the safety and slid it into my holster. “The bastard killed my car.” Anger replaced the regret, anxiety, or whatever it was I experienced in the muddy ditch. The side of my car was riddled with bullet holes, and I was pissed off.
“Better it than you.” He went to his SUV and returned with a towel. As I attempted to clean up, regular uniformed officers arrived on the scene. The call had gone out over the radio. Cooper talked to the officers and then sat next to me as they assessed the scene and body. “Hey, if you don’t get a chance to take a shower, at least the rain will wash off all that mud.”
“How’d you know?” I fished out the wet and muddy custody form and attempted to hand it to him as it wilted further in the rain.
“Like I said, I was on my way to the precinct with evidence when I spotted your car. The door was open, and no one was around. It’s my job to be observant.”
“That was one hell of a shot.”
“Sniper training in the Marine Corps. Oorah.”
“Semper Fi, Agent Cooper.”
* * *
The problem with shootings is not only does someone typically end up dead or maimed, but also, there is an astronomical amount of paperwork to go along with it. Thankfully, I hadn’t done the shooting. Unfortunately, I had to recount the event numerous times and fill out an incident report regarding my involvement and Cooper’s marksmanship.
Luckily, the precinct has an excellent women’s locker room, and even though my car was taken away for some purpose unbeknownst to me, my overnight bag was relinquished to my custody. Freshly showered and changed, I swiveled in O’Connell’s chair. Mark drove over, probably to make sure I was competent enough to fill out the forms correctly, and the night turned into morning.
Finally being dismissed, Mark gave me a ride back to HQ where I had to go through a similar rigmarole, this time solely focused on Gates and the information I obtained prior to his demise. At the moment, everyone was being tight-lipped about divulging any information regarding his identity, who hired him, or if the Vito angle was still sealed tight.
While I waited in the conference room for the I’s to be dotted, my phone rang. The fact it was still working even after being drenched in mud and rain made me consider sending the manufacturer a thank you note. It was Martin. Somehow, it was already Friday. I wasn’t sure where Tuesday or Wednesday went, but my endless work week could probably explain the linear discrepancy. He had a working dinner tonight but insisted I come to his place and make myself comfortable, and he’d get there as soon as he could. Last night’s details weren’t important to discuss, so I agreed and disconnected.
When Mark and Cooper came back to the conference room to collect me, I was relieved to have a break. It had been a long week, and no one wanted to be in the office for a minute longer.
“We’ll hash this out on Monday,” Cooper said, handing back my badge. “Until then, hang on to this.”
“Whatever you say.” My debt to him had turned me into something resembling civil, perhaps even downright appeasing.
“I’ll give you a lift to Marty’s,” Mark offered as we stepped into the elevator. “Unless you want to stop somewhere on the way, grab a pint, and talk about some things.” I let out a sigh, and he caught the tired look on my face. “Another time, then. You look like you could use some R&R.”
Thirty-three
After dismissing the surveillance van from Martin’s front driveway and sending Mark on his way, I let myself into the house. The place was empty. Walking down the hallway to the second floor guestroom, I found all of my belongings neatly folded, hung up, or hidden away in drawers. My notes were still on the whiteboard, pressed inconspicuously against the wall. Rosemarie, Martin’s cleaning lady, was a godsend; she even managed to get some old stains out of my shirts. I’d have to do something special for her whenever I got the chance.
Packing up the majority of my crap, I considered changing out of my work clothes but didn’t have the energy. Instead, I took off my shoes and socks, brushed my hair, and untucked my shirt before finding a rag and cleaning supplies in one of my bags and taking my gun into the living room. Sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, I disassembled my handgun and was meticulously cleaning every individual piece. The mud and rain weren’t good for the metal.
I heard footsteps downstairs, and Martin’s voice. From the sound of things, he was on the phone. He opened the door to the second floor, stopped in the kitchen to drop off a take-out box, and then went up the stairs, not noticing my presence. When he came back, he had changed into jeans and a t-shirt. Obviously, his working dinner turned into a working conference call. Getting up, I went straight to him.
He smiled. “Hold on,” he said into the receiver before pressing mute on his phone and putting it on the table. “Sorry, I didn’t expect to get back this late.” Failing to say a single word, I collapsed into him, and we kissed with more passion than either of us expected. “I’ll try to make this quick,” he continued as I released him. “I picked up those spicy crab rolls you like in case you didn’t eat yet.”
“Not hungry, but get back to work. I’m not going anywhere,” I insisted, returning to the living room to continue cleaning and reassembling my gun.
An hour later, I was sitting on the sofa. My nine millimeter and back-up were both cleaned and reassembled, and I flipped on the television and stared into the abyss of the moving picture box. Martin was still working out details on something involving his R&D department.
“Go find out and call me back,” he sounded business polite, but I could tell he was annoyed as he put the phone down and grumbled to himself. He was at the wet bar, probably pouring a scotch, but I couldn’t be bothered to turn around. That would require movement, and I had no energy to waste on such trifling matters. The phone rang, and he set a martini glass on the end table beside me. “Gin martini for whatever ails you,” he offered, before going back to talk shop.
Picking up the glass, I held it for a few moments before taking the first tentative sip. Cold, crisp, and just the right amount of bite. Before I knew it, the glass was empty, and I was sprawled out on the couch, lying on my good side. My body was propped against the backrest. When his phone calls were concluded for the night, he stood in front of me, and I hit mute on the remote and looked up at him.
“Care for another?” he asked.
“No.”
“Are you sure? There’s plenty of gin, unless you want vodka, tequila, scotch, rum. You name it, I can probably make it.”
“One was enough.” I hadn’t moved from my spot.
“Alex,” he observed, “do you want to go to bed?”
“Not right now. I’m too tired to move.”
He stretched out next to me on the couch. His hand went to my hair, and he smoothed it away from my face. “How are you?” His voice was quiet, maybe even cautious.
“Ask me tomorrow.” He let out an uneasy breath, and I knew there were too many unanswered questions for tonight. “What’s going on at work?”
He launched into a long-winded explanation about how a headhunter stole one of his marketing directors who was lead on some new R&D project. I tried to listen and follow along, but all I got out of the conversation was the basic gist and something about sharks and blood in the water. I must have been dazing off because he nudged me ever so slightly, causing my eyes to focus on his green irises.
“You should get some sleep.”
“Maybe in a bit. Right now, I’m too exhausted to sleep. I have to save up some energy first.”
“When was the last time you slept?” He ran his thumb across my cheek, close to the black, puffy circles under my eyes. Before I could answer, he clarified his question, “For more than a couple of hours.”
“It’s been a busy week. A busy couple of weeks.” He remained tight-lipped, even though I knew he would have lo
ved nothing more than to play twenty questions about what was going on with me and the case. We remained facing each other in complete silence for an unknown amount of time. My gaze was penetrating the dark green cloth of his t-shirt as he absently played with the bottom buttons of my untucked blouse.
He was buttoning and unbuttoning the last three repeatedly when he grew tired of the silence and spoke. “Want to know what my favorite part of your body is?” He sounded far too serious for the question.
“Don’t be crass.” I smirked and caught his eye.
“Right here.”
The bottom half of my shirt was unbuttoned, and he flipped the material out of his way as his hand traced a line along my abdomen and came to rest on my side, the pads of his fingers brushing against my newly re-bandaged back. His thumb rested against my ribcage and his pinky and ring finger on the ridge of my pelvic bone.
“Right here, you’re all sharp angles. You have this hard, impenetrable shell to keep you safe. Your ribcage guards your heart and well,” he tapped his pinky and ring finger against my hipbone and smirked, “even here,” he ran his fingers across my obliques and down to my navel, causing my stomach muscles to flex automatically, “you’re just this rippling, intimidating, daunting powerhouse.” I cocked my eyebrow up in a ‘yeah, right’ look. “But for anyone you let get this close,” he leaned in closer, so the space between us no longer existed, “your skin,” his hand rubbed along my side, “is so soft and pure. It’s the perfect physical representation of you.”
I met his eyes, surprised by the genuine tender sentiment. “I’m going to say something now, but I don’t want you to react. Don’t say a word.” Swallowing, I gave him a content smile. “I love you.” It was the first time either of us had said as much, and he brightened and opened his mouth to respond. Cutting him off, I kissed him. “Don’t say anything. Please. Not now. Not tonight.” Burying my face against his chest, he wrapped his arms around me, and the light from the television faded away as I drifted off to sleep.