by G. K. Parks
“Luc and Vivi are flying out with us, along with Jeffrey Myers, Charles Roman, and Yuri Oskilov,” Martin informed me as we neared the airstrip.
Vivi was Luc’s wife. It had been a few months since I saw her and assumed she would chat my ear off as she often did. Jeffrey Myers was executive security guard, and Charles Roman and Yuri Oskilov served on the Board of Supervisors at Martin Technologies. The conference was meant for more than just security, and from the group assembled, the next two days would be insanely hectic for Martin. Thankfully, I wasn’t the corporate type. After dealing with the security aspects, I was free to lounge around in the room. Rest and relaxation here I come.
“So much for a quiet, private plane ride.”
Martin grinned lecherously. “Well, if it’s a private ride you wanted,” he cocked an eyebrow up, “that can be arranged, with or without the plane. Just think, in a couple of hours, we’ll be settled in our room with no interruptions or distractions. We should have done this sooner. I can’t believe this is the first vacation we’ve taken together.”
“This isn’t a vacation,” I reminded him. “This is a business conference.” He didn’t seem deterred, but he was rarely deterred. It was too early in the morning for banter, so silently, we got out of the car with his personal bodyguard in tow and boarded the plane.
Three hours later, the plane landed. During the flight, Luc insisted on reviewing the presentation materials with me. Today was not the day to leave the thermos of coffee on the kitchen counter, but somehow, I survived. At least we were out of the cramped cabin and in the fresh air. Luc and Vivi disappeared into a car, heading straight for the hotel. Martin, being Martin, hired separate car service for the Guillots, one for Jeffrey, Charles, and Yuri, and a third for us. Normally, I would have complained about the look of impropriety, but I was ready for some peace and quiet.
Checking into the presidential suite, Martin tipped the valet and shut the door. There was a gift basket on the table, along with a bottle of pre-chilled champagne and a waiting room service order for brunch. So much for going back to bed.
Martin wrapped his arms around me. “This hotel has a full-service spa, but I wasn’t sure what your opinion of massages and other luxuries were. Knowing you, I thought it best to ask before booking a couple’s massage or hot stone treatment.”
“Good thought,” I murmured, staring out the window overlooking the pool and other scenery. Even though it was early October, it was unseasonably hot. “Having a stranger touch me and wonder or ask what caused all of my scars isn’t on my to-do list.”
“The only obvious one is on your thigh, and that wasn’t from a knife or bullet. It was from some wire in a parking garage.” Martin was being encouraging; although to anyone who didn’t know us, it might not have sounded that way. “Your other actual battle wounds aren’t noticeable for what they are to anyone who doesn’t know to look for them.”
I gave him a skeptical look. In the last two years, I had been shot, electrocuted, and sliced open. At least the rough patch had come to an end, coinciding perfectly with my refusal to consult for the OIO and local police department anymore. Maybe a researcher should investigate that correlation.
After brunch and too much champagne for this early in the day, Martin and I were on the couch in the central room of our suite, making out like teenagers. It had been a while since either of us had any free time without pressing issues to deal with, and it felt like we were playing hooky, which probably explained our adolescent-esque behavior.
There was a knock at the door. Immediately, he sat up, and I pulled my shirt down and wiped the smeared lipstick off his face. “James?” Luc called from the hallway.
“Dammit,” Martin cursed quietly while I made sure my luggage was out of sight. He went to the door. “Luc, please come in.” Martin could turn friendly on a dime. “I was just discussing the panel format with Alex.”
“Please, don’t let me disturb you,” Guillot began, “I just wanted to let you know Vivi and I will be out most of the day, but I’ll be back in time for the working dinner you planned, unless there was something else to deal with in the meantime.”
“Nothing pressing, Luc. Go and enjoy your day.” Martin glanced at me, confused by Guillot’s appearance.
“Since you’re here, Alexis, what room are you staying in?” Hopefully, I wasn’t turning crimson. “The lobby couldn’t find your reservation.”
“There was a booking error,” I lied. “They should have it rectified soon. In the meantime, Mr. Martin has been kind enough to treat me to brunch to make up for the inconvenience.”
“D’accord.” Guillot was a native French speaker, and sometimes, he forgot himself. “I e-mailed the presentation files to your account. If you believe changes need to be made, we can discuss them at dinner.”
“Of course, sir,” I responded. Martin walked Guillot to the door and bid him a good day. “We’re so busted,” I said once the door was shut. “He knows.”
“He does not know,” Martin insisted, “and so what if he does? Worse things could happen. It’s my company. It’s not like he can fire me.”
“Speak for yourself.”
“There’s no rule on interoffice romance,” he continued. “Let’s not jump to conclusions in the meantime.” He sat on the couch. “Now, where were we?”
Two
The six of us were seated at a long rectangular table in the hotel’s dining room. There were more tablets and laptops on the table than dinner plates as we attempted to streamline our presentation and ensure everyone was up to speed on what was being said and when it was being said. Guillot fathered the idea of revamping the security procedures, and his plan paid off since it was featured predominantly in business magazines. This, in turn, led to being asked to speak at this particular conference. Martin and the other board members were agreeable since they were already scheduled to be here for other reasons. They wanted to research and network on some new R&D project, but Jeffrey and I were solely here for the security aspect.
“Ms. Parker,” Jeffrey whispered, “are we supposed to hear the rest of this discussion?” I chuckled and glanced at Martin. He was in a heated debate with Yuri over some new data chip.
“Pass the bread,” I murmured back. He handed me the basket of rolls, and I picked one up and took a bite. “Be thankful we’re through for the evening.”
“Should we leave?” Jeffrey always did his job well, but he was timid, too timid most of the time. But he knew the office and protocols better than anyone. However, I would hate to see him in a firefight.
“Have a roll. We’re here for the duration, although ten bucks says if we left, they wouldn’t notice.” Jeffrey selected a roll and slowly buttered it. I opened the chess game application on my laptop, and we killed some time as the night went on. Two games in, my cell phone began vibrating. “Excuse me,” I said to the table, although Jeffrey was the only one listening. Getting up, I went to the lobby and hit answer.
“Parker, I need a favor,” Detective Nick O’Connell said as soon as I answered.
“What’s going on?” It had been several weeks since we spoke. Ever since my exclusivity clause prohibited moonlighting, I had fallen off the grid. Nick and his wife, Jen, met Martin and me for dinner a few times over the last six months, but we hadn’t been in close contact for a while.
“Are you home? I don’t want to discuss this on the phone.”
“Actually, I’m out of town. There’s a conference going on, but I’ll be back Sunday. Can it wait?”
He hesitated, generating an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. If he needed a favor, something was wrong. “Sunday’s fine,” he finally responded.
“Is everything okay?” Every time I needed a favor, he was there, and the one time he needed something, I was hundreds of miles away.
“It’ll be fine.” His speech was clipped, and he disconnected before I could say anything else.
Returning to the table, the men concluded whatever discussion they
were having, and the electronics were powered down as after dinner drinks were served. Jeffrey handed over a folded ten dollar bill. “They didn’t notice you were gone.” I chuckled, but the feeling of unease was still present.
“Gentlemen,” I spoke before Charles could suck them into a long-winded story, “it’s been a long day. If there’s nothing else, I’m going to call it a night.” The men stood, which further irritated me, but at least they were gentlemen.
Escaping, I went to the room and ran through the mental checklist of people I could call. O’Connell’s partners in major crimes, Detectives Thompson and Heathcliff, ought to have his back. Hell, even my former mentor at the OIO, Agent Mark Jablonsky, would lend a hand in a pinch. O’Connell should be fine. I was in the process of convincing myself of this when Martin let himself into the suite.
“Ducking out early to avoid the awkward elevator ride with the other board members?” he asked. “Or you figured the Dom in the room was better than the mid-priced liquor we were drinking downstairs?”
“Nick called.” I bit my top lip, trying to figure out what he possibly wanted to talk about.
“Detective O’Connell?”
“What other Nicks do I know?” My anger has a habit of rearing its ugly head when I’m busy working through theories.
“How would I know? I’m sure you have friends I’ve never met.” Martin realized arguing was not the way to go and switched tactics. “What did he want?”
“A favor, but he wouldn’t tell me what it is. He said it could wait and hung up.”
“Well, if it can wait, then I’m sure it’s nothing.” He flipped through the closet and pulled out the suit he was planning to wear tomorrow, making sure it was wrinkle-free. “Here’s the thing,” he continued, “my surprise is ruined, but it happens.” Raising an eyebrow, I waited for some elaboration. “Saturday, after the panel concludes, I was hoping to whisk you away to my beach house. It’s just a couple of hours from here. Think about it. Sun, sand, you, me, a string bikini.”
I smiled. “But what am I going to wear?”
“Tease,” he grinned, “unless you really want to see me in the string bikini, I figured that’s what you would wear. Or nothing at all.” His eyes adopted a devilish glint.
“I need to go home.” I sighed. “O’Connell needs help on something, and last time I checked, we both owe him. The beach will have to wait. Honestly, who goes to the beach in October?”
“Alex, you said you were done working for the police department.”
“If it was a consulting gig at the precinct, Captain Moretti would call. This is something else. You know O’Connell wouldn’t ask me to go back.”
“True.” He looked torn. “Why don’t you call him Saturday and see if he still needs a favor. If he does, we’ll go home. But if he doesn’t,” he waggled an eyebrow, “string bikini.”
* * *
The next day was full of tediously boring speeches, panel discussions, and presentations. Thankfully, I managed to avoid most of them since anything not security related wasn’t in my job description. I picked up my phone half a dozen times to call O’Connell, but I resisted. Finally, I gave Det. Derek Heathcliff a call. We were partnered together during one of my consulting gigs, and if he knew something was up, he’d tell me. Unfortunately, Heathcliff was completely puzzled by my phone call, and not wanting to say anything about O’Connell, I asked a few random questions about an old case and disconnected. Whatever was going on, Nick didn’t tell anyone else. Parker, you’re probably just paranoid, my internal voice scolded.
Maybe I was looking for trouble where there wasn’t any. Perhaps O’Connell just wanted my input on a birthday present for Jen. Being away from the game for the last six months made me see problems where there weren’t any. By nature, I was a trained federal agent. Forcing myself to fit into the corporate world where bullets and criminals weren’t rushing past at every corner was supposed to protect me and Martin; instead, the last six months had been a slow torture. Martin didn’t know this, but I’m sure he suspected it when he came home Wednesday and found me in his kitchen with ice water, bruised knuckles, and a swollen cheek.
Rubbing my eyes, I plopped down on the couch. My excuse to stay away from that world ended the moment my contract with MT expired. Now what would I do? Before I could continue further down the rabbit hole, Martin returned from a day’s worth of conferences. He was on the phone with someone from the home office, and he was giving a concise breakdown of what he heard and what he wanted the company to acquire. Giving him space, I went into the bedroom and shut the door. Sleep wasn’t likely, but focusing on the stillness might lead to a new perspective.
The next day, Luc, Jeffrey, and I delivered our presentation, followed by a Q&A segment. Amazingly, I played my corporate consultant role well and didn’t fumble through my prepared speech as I imagined I would. For some reason, the prospect of armed conflict was a more welcome idea than public speaking. A few screws must be loose in my brain. After our segment, there were a few corporate security firms who attempted to derail MT’s new protocols by trying to sell the finer points of having a separate agency provide security protection. They droned on, and I excused myself to call O’Connell. He didn’t answer, so I was forced to go back into the meeting room. By the end of the day, everyone was mingling in the hotel’s banquet hall.
Martin was schmoozing and networking while I sat alone at the bar. “Another lemon drop martini,” I ordered. Swiveling on the stool, I caught sight of Vivi and Luc talking to a group who represented Lancer Securities. Although they attempted to undermine our presentation, Luc was in the midst of a civil, if not friendly, conversation. Let bygones be bygones, I suppose.
“Miss Parker?” a voice asked from behind. I turned in my chair to find a man around my age, in his early thirties, with an expensive suit.
“Yes?”
“Maddock Howell,” he introduced himself, handing me his business card. “I would offer to buy you a drink, but it’s an open bar.”
“And I already have a drink.” Whatever this guy was selling, I wasn’t buying.
“You can never have too many drinks,” he responded. The guy was either a snake or car salesman; although, there wasn’t much to differentiate the two.
“You shouldn’t say that too loudly,” I whispered. “People might start to think you have a problem.”
“Maybe you can solve it.” He tried to be suave. “I represent Wallace-Klineman Industries. They’re looking for someone to overhaul their security.” The light bulb clicked on; this guy was a corporate headhunter.
“Sorry, I’m comfortable where I am.”
“Think about it, Miss Parker. If you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to call.” He got up from the barstool. “By the way, the number on the back is my personal line. Call anytime. Day or night.” He smiled roguishly and disappeared into the throng assembled.
Sighing, I left the bar, intent on escaping to my room. As I passed Martin, he roped me into a conversation with Charles over computer encryption. We were discussing the need for a seasoned computer specialist when a tall, leggy, blonde let out a high-pitched squeal and launched herself at Martin.
“Oh my god, Jamie,” she exclaimed, wrapping her arms around him and kissing him on the mouth.
Bruiser, Martin’s bodyguard, appeared out of the blue, but his attempt to intercede was too little, too late. There would be a discussion on the finer points of bodyguarding at a later date. Right now, it was hard not to appear to be the jealous girlfriend.
“Francesca,” Martin politely disentangled himself from her grasp, “wow. It’s been a long time.” Charles and I stopped speaking as we stared at Martin. “Charles Roman, Alexis Parker, this is Francesca Pirelli. We attended Harvard together,” Martin said, even though it was an attempt to explain the situation to me. “We’re old friends.”
“That’s what you’re calling it now?” she responded in a challenging and sultry tone. “We were engaged for two seconds lik
e twelve years ago.” Oh, things get better and better. “Until you went on that trip through South America.” She looked pointedly at him. “Now, I’m COO of,” she continued to speak, but I tuned her out on account of my vibrating cell phone. It was Nick.
Walking off, in the direction of the lobby, I answered. “Hey.” A distraction was exactly what I needed. “I tried calling you earlier.”
“Alexis?” Jen’s voice took me by surprise. “Nick asked that I call you.” She sounded off. “He’s…he’s going to be okay.”
Of course, he’s going to be okay. Why wouldn’t he be okay? “Jen, where’s Nick?”
Silence filled the void, and I ducked into the ladies room to hear better. “Nick was shot. He has a few broken ribs and a punctured lung, but he’s going to be okay.” Nothing about what she said was okay. Although, Jen was a nurse, so that would explain why she was handling things better than most.
“Did they catch the guy? Was Thompson with him?”
“It didn’t happen on the job,” she added in a whisper. “Thompson, Heathcliff, and half the department are here. You know how the guys are. They’re all family, but whatever’s going on, he hasn’t told them. I’m not sure what it is, but he asked specifically for you.”