by G. K. Parks
“All right.” He squinted. “This is where I’m supposed to stop pushing and wait for you to come around, right?”
“Well, you didn’t complain about it last night, now did you?”
“Your womanly wiles will always work against me,” he smirked, “but I need to know if this particular assignment is finished. Alexis, I’m not going to sneak out of the office like a goddamn spy to come home and find you with a bullet in your back. I can’t do it again.”
“Neither can I.” We sat in silence as a feeling of resolve settled around me. “I don’t think I can do this anymore. This job. Before, I had nothing to lose, but now.” I turned and studied the refrigerator door as if I had never seen one.
“That wasn’t an ultimatum,” he said softly. “I’m not asking you to walk away or choose. But I can’t help you play fugitive again; that was all I was trying to say.”
Picking at the corner of my notepad, I continued. “Too many bridges were burned. Maybe they were already on fire before I got there, but I crossed them, instead of finding a way to put them out. Mark wants me gone. The PD is licking its wounds, and no one there is going to hire a consultant anytime soon. A year and a half ago, I walked off the job because my team got killed.” I looked at him. “And even though my reinstatement was only temporary, the body count is climbing again.”
“It’s a linchpin. One event leads to infinite more. You weren’t even supposed to be working anything official. Face it, the universe won’t let you stop, even if you want to.” He was attempting to be encouraging, but the possibility of no escape was disheartening.
“Then I’ll have to find a way to make it stop.” I slid the laptop over and opened the lid to start working on my second page. “Would you mind asking the O’Connells to come here for dinner instead? We can order out, my treat.”
“Okay.” He rubbed my shoulders before leaving the kitchen, so I could review my notes and finalize my presentation.
* * *
“And then I said, Officer, I’d like to file a complaint on stalking.” Jen was in the middle of an anecdote involving one of her first dates with Nick.
Martin seemed enthralled. He was good at that. Listening to people, showing genuine interest, exuding joviality, it was impressive. Either that, or maybe he just liked having someone else to interact with who wasn’t all doom and gloom.
“Excuse me.” I pushed away from the table. “I’m getting a refill. Anyone else?” Martin shook his head as Jenny continued her story, and Nick offered to assist.
“Is it safe to leave the two of them alone?” he asked as we huddled together near the wet bar. “I mean, he is really charming. I’d be willing to let him in my pants, and I’m a proud heterosexual male.”
“Easy there, tiger.” Pouring a glass of sparkling water, I spun a few liquor bottles around, but nothing struck my fancy. “I have a bone to pick with you. Where the hell do you come off telling him about my car? Don’t you have to keep your mouth shut about ongoing investigations?”
“What’s to investigate? We know how your car got decommissioned. Oh,” his voice dropped, “you didn’t tell him.”
Rolling my eyes, I turned my back to the dining room. “Is everything straightened out now?”
“The LT has stacks of paperwork to file and review, and the commissioner’s been to the precinct more times than I can recall, but it looks like it’s all being resolved. The jackasses who were busy posturing themselves as superior for not ratting on their own have fallen back in line. We were right. They were wrong. Sometimes, it’s just that simple.”
“Nick, here’s the thing.” I glanced into the dining room. Martin and Jen were still lost in conversation as Martin fidgeted with a bottle of champagne he apparently pulled from the fridge. “Antonio Vincenzo.”
“I heard.”
“There’s nothing solid, and I don’t think I should pursue. He’s too well-connected. Too many guys, too much shit. But if he decides I’m a loose end, I want to make sure there’s some insurance in play.”
He considered my options for a few seconds. “Okay, I’d say your best bet is a safe deposit box and instructions to a lawyer. If shit happens, have the files released to me, or Jablonsky, or both. You know we’d…” The rest of his words were drowned out as the champagne cork loudly popped, and I found myself on the floor. “Shit, Parker.” He grabbed my arm and yelled something about wanting to see the patio before pushing me out the back door. “It was a champagne bottle.”
“I know.” I trembled and gulped down air. The open space was exactly what I needed because inside was suffocating. “I’ve lost my edge,” I squeaked.
“Once bit, twice shy.” We sat on the ground. “Most of us don’t get shot on the job. It’s obviously a possibility, but statistically, it doesn’t happen that frequently. On top of that, you normally don’t face off against the same asshole a second time. You just need to take some time.”
“So I’ve been told,” I muttered. My adrenal glands were confused as fuck, but at least I was reasonably calm again, even if my hands had yet to stop shaking.
He chuckled at a memory. “Picture me as a rookie. I was on foot patrol, and my partner and I were walking through an unsavory area. There was a drive-by. No one was seriously injured, but I was grazed. It was maybe six stitches. Nothing really, but two days later, I’m at a pizzeria, sitting at a table with my buddies. Car backfires, and I dove under the table, flipped the whole thing on its side. Owner kicked us out. But the worst part was I ruined a perfectly good pizza.” I let out a snort.
“At least I didn’t ruin our dinner.”
“Exactly.” He stood and offered his hand. “You’re going to be fine. Accept it and move on.”
As we came back inside, I noticed Martin and Jen watching us through the window. “Don’t let us interrupt your romantic interlude,” she teased. “We did come here to switch partners for an evening, right?”
“Don’t even,” Nick warned, “especially with the way you’ve been flirting all night, missy.”
Martin was uncharacteristically quiet as his two guests playfully bickered. Instead, his eyes were on me, asking the unspoken question if I was okay. Nodding slightly, I went to get a glass of water from the kitchen. Martin followed and wrapped his arms around my waist.
“I thought you might have been planning an escape, and Nick was your getaway driver.”
“Your cars are faster, so you’re my first choice for getaway driver, but he was helping me work through some things.”
“Then let’s give the man a medal.” Turning around in his arms, I placed a chaste kiss on his lips and put my palms against his chest to make sure the tremors abated.
“See, I told you they make a cute couple,” Jen’s voice traveled into the kitchen, and my face flushed. Nick looked embarrassed for me, but I caught Martin’s beaming, satisfied smile.
“It takes one to know one, now doesn’t it?” I quipped. Nick was too manly to blush, but underneath that masculine exterior, I was positive he was beet red.
The rest of the evening was uneventful. Just a pair of couples having dinner and drinks while socializing. It was normal. Maybe normal was exactly what I needed. After they left, I snuggled with Martin on the couch.
“You were right,” I murmured.
“What? Sorry, I couldn’t hear you. Would you mind speaking up?”
“Jerk.” Elbowing him in the ribs, I continued, “Is this how most of the world manages to stay sane?”
“Wow. First, I was right, and now I’m sane. Today must be my lucky day.” I stretched out, considering everything I had to do tomorrow. “Just so you know, there is no amount of flattery that will convince me to sleep on this sofa again.”
“Your loss.”
“Actually, it’s not.” He laughed and got up to clean the kitchen. By the time he was done, I was buried in documents for the debrief at the Bureau and the updated security protocols for Guillot. Tomorrow was going to be another tiresome day.
Thirty-six
“I am thoroughly amazed,” Guillot said, smiling. “Now all that’s left is to pass the specs on to the Board and see if we get approval.” He clicked a few keys on his computer, and copies of my presentation notes were sent to the printer in the assistant’s office to be properly collated and stapled. “You’re giving the presentation this afternoon, Ms. Parker.”
“Sir,” public speaking was not my thing, “I’m not sure I’m qualified. I can devise protocol and review schematics, but this isn’t what I do.” I gestured around the office as if to explain I wasn’t a corporate bigwig.
“Nonsense,” he picked up his copy of my presentation, “this is precisely what you’re capable of doing. You set all of this in motion. This is you.” He tossed the hefty stack of papers on his desk between us. “Did you write the report, run the diagnostics listed, approve cost-efficient equipment changes, and devise a uniform method for countless emergency situations?”
“Yes,” I begrudgingly replied.
“Then you will be fine. Explain the benefits of these recommendations, how the uniform protocols will work, the timetable for implementing the training and transformation needed, and after that, I will handle the more corporate side of things.”
“Yes, sir.” There was no point in arguing with my supervisor. He had a point, and presentations were a natural part of corporate work. “What time is the meeting?”
“Four.” It was only eleven. “Things have been busier than normal with the new R&D line and our short staff issues. Everyone’s agreed to stay late so we can finalize phase one of our new security initiative.”
“I will be back in time,” I promised. “There’s an unrelated matter I need to resolve.” He seemed curious, perhaps wanting some elaboration. But his phone rang, and he waved me away.
In the next five hours, I needed to attend the debriefing and close the door on my OIO job, get back to the MT building, and prepare to explain the dozens of security changes intended to take place. Too bad Agent Navate couldn’t pretend to be my clone again today.
Rushing through lunchtime traffic, Marcal dropped me off in front of the OIO building before presumably taking the car to the bottom level to park. Having no car, I was getting spoiled by Martin’s town car and driver. At least having a chauffeur allowed extra time to review and practice my presentation on the way back to the MT building.
“Parker,” Cooper called as I exited the elevator, intent on my destination at the too-familiar conference room, “we’re meeting in my office.” Falling into step beside him, we remained silent for the procession down the corridor.
“Agent Parker,” Director Kendall was sitting behind Cooper’s desk, “I wasn’t sure you were going to make it today. Although this case is out of our hands and the commissioner and the PD have closed the file, there are still quite a few things to discuss.”
Thursday night was rehashed in extreme minutiae. Only Cooper and I encountered Eli Gates, and Kendall wanted every detail dissected. Unfortunately, our connection between the police corruption scandal and our organized crime boss blew apart at the same moment as Gates’ skull. Shutting my eyes and pressing my lips together, I heard the shot, the moment of disbelief, and then Gates falling to the side. When I opened my eyes again, Kendall was observing with a mix of fascination and worry.
“It was a clean shot. There was nothing else Agent Cooper could have done, and nothing would have saved Gates. He was dead before he hit the ground.” I readjusted in the chair, wanting to pace the room since the cramped office was starting to feel claustrophobic.
“Before he died, did he say anything?” Kendall asked. The things Gates said weren’t going to lead anywhere, and going after Vincenzo would lead to a bloodbath. This case was already littered with too many bodies. There was no reason blood needed to paint the streets.
“I didn’t hear anything,” Cooper responded. “I identified myself, told him to drop the weapon, but he failed to comply. He didn’t say a word.” Cooper looked at me. From his vantage point and the torrent, he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything.
“All he admitted to was trying to kill me at the club. I can’t remember his exact words.” It was enough of the truth.
Kendall closed the folder and picked up a pen, spinning it between his two fingers. “The corruption case is closed thanks to the information Captain Stephens provided, but he’s gone now. The shooter, Eli Gates, is dead. There’s nothing left for the FBI to investigate.”
“Yes, sir,” Cooper and I responded in unison.
“Good job, Agent Cooper.” Kendall shook Cooper’s hand as he relinquished the desk chair. “Agent Parker, walk me upstairs. We have other matters to discuss.” Kendall strode out of the office, and I nodded my thanks to Cooper before following the Director down the hallway.
“I’m not in the business of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong, especially when it’ll get my men into hot water,” he began as the elevator ascended. “However,” the word hung in the air with substantial magnitude, “nothing has been resolved.”
“Gates is dead.”
“What did he say?” The floor numbers illuminated as we approached the OIO level.
“Officially, he identified himself as the man who impersonated a police detective in the club, the man who put a bullet in me.”
“And unofficially?”
“Sir,” my tone had an edge, “you declared the case resolved. The only thing that matters is the official version.”
“Bullshit, Parker. Bull fucking shit.” The doors opened, and Kendall led the way to his office. Mark was waiting inside, and the three of us stood in an awkward silence for a time. “Nothing leaves this room.”
“Okay,” I forced air into my lungs, “Gates was working for Antonio Vincenzo. Vincenzo pulled him out of retirement to clean up the mess. Gates said he couldn’t disappear again until it was resolved.”
“You were the last mess to clean up?” Mark asked.
“Maybe Gates was the mess to clean up. He was the only connection. Even if he killed me, the investigation wouldn’t have stopped there. Vito must have planned to end Gates somewhere down the line,” I rationalized.
“Do you think he’ll still come after you, Parker?” Kendall inquired.
“What for?” The silence in the room was deafening. “The case is closed. The corrupt cops were stopped.”
“Except they weren’t,” Mark added grimly. “Yeah the trail of breadcrumbs led to Stephens, and Stephens connected us to a shitload of former corrupt officers and to Gates. But the two man team on the phony surveillance tapes from the clubs, the two guys who bludgeoned Ernie Papadakis, the police cruiser outside, and the calls to the FBI and IAD about the corruption scandal have still never been explained.”
“It’s because none of it has to do with police corruption,” I said quietly. “Every single one of those things has to do with Vincenzo. It must be the same two guys, and they’re probably his enforcers.” I thought about his muscle, Tony and Carmine, and felt certain they were the two unidentified men. I slammed my palm on top of the desk in frustration. “And we can’t fucking touch him because the only person who could corroborate any of it got his goddamn skull blasted into the mud.” I turned away from the two men, and stood by the wall, hitting it with the side of my fist.
“Parker,” Kendall implored, “do you want to keep digging into this?” I spun around and saw the look in Mark’s eyes, screaming at me to walk away.
“My reinstatement was to last for the duration of the police corruption scandal. The case is closed, sir.” I pulled out my credentials and shoved them across his desk. “I’m a civilian now.” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mark nodding.
“If he comes at you, get your ass back in this office first thing. You got me?” Kendall warned.
“Yes.” Intentionally leaving out the sir, I opened the door. “Director, I hope our paths never cross again.”
“Parker,” he began, but I shook my head.
; “I’ve said it before, but I won’t do this again. The stakes are too high now.”
He watched as I walked out of the office and down the hall. As I waited for the elevator doors to close, Mark left Kendall’s office. His smile was bittersweet. It was just another day at the OIO.
* * *
My presentation had gone swimmingly. Guillot took over when my portion of the meeting was concluded, and by seven, the Board agreed to all of the implementations. MT was set to move on to phase two of unifying security measures throughout all of its branches. Sitting in my MT office, I was looking at a calendar, devising a workable timetable of events.
“Would you care to go out for drinks?” Guillot asked from my doorway. “It is customary. Because of you, Mademoiselle, everything was approved and is moving forward.”
“Thank you, but no.” I looked up from the pages. The bottom of a bottle wouldn’t solve my problems, and tomorrow, I’d just have a hangover to add to the list.
“Ms. Parker,” Luc’s tone shifted to something less familiar, “the next phase will require a more substantial advisory influence. I was hoping you could help locate a permanent, full-time consultant to assist in streamlining the process. HR is compiling a list of applicants, and they should be ready for review by Wednesday afternoon. If you could shortlist them by Friday, I’d greatly appreciate it.”
“As you wish, Mr. Guillot.” He bid good night and headed for the elevator. After the characteristic ding and the sound of the doors closing, my cell phone rang. It was Martin. I answered and stared out the door as his wall of windows changed from opaque to clear.
“Are you finished for the day? I’d like to go home, but since we’re riding together, we need to devise a plan to sneak out of the office so no one will suspect a thing. Maybe I should go down to the twelfth floor and take the freight elevator to the back door. What do you think?” He was being playful.
“Why don’t you leave first, and I’ll meet you in the garage in a couple of minutes.”