by G. K. Parks
When I exited my bedroom, Ryan was slumped against the couch cushion, aimlessly flipping through tv shows. Things were awkward after the scene in my bedroom, and his best chance of relaxing would be when I wasn’t around.
“You’re more than welcome to join us,” I offered, stowing my handgun in my purse. A shoulder holster seemed like overkill tonight. “Nick probably has something new since he’s normally not so cryptic about our meetings.”
“That’s okay.” He sat up and turned off the television. “I’ve invaded too much of your life.”
“No, you haven’t. Stay here. Watch tv. Sleep. Make dinner. Whatever. And I’ll read you in when I return.” He looked like he was about to protest. “You’re not kidding anyone. I know you can’t sleep in that hotel of yours, and since the banshee who owns this place is leaving for a few hours, take advantage of the quiet. I insist.”
“Merci,” he grinned, “I appreciate everything you’ve done.”
* * *
Getting out of the cab, I tipped the driver and entered the bar. It was early enough that there were still a few tables and booths open, and I grabbed the one in the back corner. As I waited for O’Connell to arrive, I analyzed Ryan’s plan for exposing the Camel and realized I would do the same thing. The two of us were eerily similar in our undercover work. It was scary.
I checked my watch and took a sip of my drink. O’Connell was already twenty minutes late. He probably got bogged down at work. My eyes roamed through the patrons, making sure we weren’t just missing one another. My gaze stopped on a man with perfectly styled dark brown hair, amazing green eyes, a strong, toned build, and wearing nothing but black. Black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar, black suit pants, and shiny black Italian shoes and belt.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
His eyes studied me, trying to determine if it was a joke. “Do you want me to leave?” Martin asked, sounding hurt. My face drew into an ‘oh, shit’ expression because he added, “If you’d rather spend date night alone with Nick and Jenny, I’ll go.”
“I forgot,” I admitted. “When Nick left a message to meet, I thought he had something new on the case.” I scooted to the inside of the booth, making room for him to sit down. “I didn’t think about it.”
“It’s fine.” From his tone, it wasn’t. He ordered a scotch from a passing waitress and angled in the seat to face me. “How have you been? You weren’t doing so well at my place, and I haven’t heard from you in a couple of days.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. He was being too polite, like he wanted to fight but not in public.
“I’m not doing anything,” he replied, and I saw the anger flash in his eyes. “I thought you didn’t want to be alone, but then you took off. I told you I’m here to pick up the pieces. Thankfully, I don’t need my super glue.” He cocked his head to the side, seeing something unsettling reflected on my face. “Unless I’m wrong about that.”
“Nightmares.” I took another sip. “Before I left my apartment, I was taking a nap. I think everything with Ryan and being back inside the OIO building is screwing with my subconscious.” I wasn’t ready to verbalize my desire to go back to work, especially since I wasn’t even sure if that was what I wanted.
“What’s going on?” he asked. I looked away not wanting to give him any other reasons to worry. “Talk to me.” I wasn’t sure if it was being trapped in the booth, the remnants of my earlier nightmare, or everything else, but all of a sudden, I couldn’t breathe. I gasped for air, and he pulled me against his chest. “Breathe,” he whispered. “Slow and easy. It’s okay. I’m right here. You’re okay.”
I couldn’t imagine what we must look like to the rest of the crowd at the bar, but it didn’t matter. My mini panic attack vanished almost as quickly as it appeared. “I’m sorry,” I whispered against his neck.
Before I could say anything else, Nick cleared his throat. “Are we interrupting something?”
Jen slapped his arm, and the two of them sat down across from us. I scooted away from Martin and stared at the table, hoping the embarrassment would fade quickly from my face. Martin shook hands with Nick and gave Jen an awkward one-armed hug from across the table.
“You okay?” Nick asked me.
“Yeah, fine.” I felt Martin’s hand on my thigh, and I grasped it tightly. “Any progress?”
“No,” Jen interrupted sharply, “the two of you are not talking about work all night. We are here to have fun.” She stared at Martin, hoping for moral support from another civilian. “So no shoptalk.” Nick gave her a peck and got up to grab the two of them some drinks.
Martin was his usual outgoing and pleasant self and made sure the conversation was light-hearted and easy. As the evening progressed, some force of nature drew us closer together, and I didn’t notice how or when I ended up curled against him as he continued to find Jen’s recent hospital stories fascinating.
The story ended, and silence temporarily filled the void. O’Connell snickered. He and I hadn’t said much all evening. Being barred from the only topic we wanted to discuss, we provided the bare minimum of conversation, but at least we were smart enough to laugh at the right places. Although, considering the fact we were the only two to make a sizable dent in the appetizer platter, it was obvious we used eating as just another excuse.
Jen smiled. “So, how’d the two of you meet?” she asked, pointing her fork at Martin and me.
“Honey, you’ve heard the story,” Nick insisted, knowing it wasn’t something any of us liked to talk about.
“Right, I mean I know how you met, but,” she looked mischievous, “when did you realize you were interested in him?” Apparently, telling Jen that Martin and I weren’t communicating made her believe her R.N. credentials translated into licensed couples’ therapist.
Martin shifted to the side, so he could see my face. “I’d love to hear this one.”
“Jerks,” I teased but found his eyes. It couldn’t hurt. Hell, maybe it would help smooth the waters after all the turmoil I’d put him through with Tommy and then my nightmares. “The first time he kissed me.”
“In the car?” he asked, surprised.
“That wasn’t the first time you kissed me.” O’Connell emitted an odd sound, and Jen kicked him under the table. “You might have been too drunk to remember. It was the night after we had that horrible fight in your office and you took a leave of absence from work.” The vaguest recollection crossed his features. “You told me how you knew Mark.”
“If that’s when you decided you were interested, then why’d it take a year for us to start dating?” he challenged, but it was playful.
“I didn’t want you to think I was easy.” O’Connell and Martin both let out a snort at that one, and I wasn’t sure who to glare at first.
“Well, Ms. Parker, I knew the first night we met that you were exceptional.” He ran his hand along my arm. “You were stunning in that lavender blouse and black skirt.” That had been at my dinner interview to become Martin’s security consultant.
“How do you even remember that?” I barely remembered what I had for breakfast or if I had breakfast. He smirked and tapped his temple knowingly.
Jen looked sappy, like one of those women who swoons at romantic films. Normally, I tended to fall asleep within the first five minutes. But it was date night, so I played along. She turned to O’Connell with a challenging look.
“C’mon, babe, I remember precisely when we met and what you were wearing. Light blue scrubs.” He shot a glance across the table and rolled his eyes. “Now, can we please talk about something far less nauseating because I think I’m going to be ill?”
Having appeased Jen with enough romantic mumbo-jumbo, Nick and I began discussing the case while Martin distracted her with less morbid tales from the civilized world. The coroner conducted a chemical breakdown of the drugs used in the murders and dismantling of the remains. Only a handful of chemical and pharmaceutical companies produced the materials, and the purc
hases were being traced. With any luck, they’d have a list of potential suppliers and buyers soon. It could only help.
“Narcotics is asking around. If we can locate some street-level dealers who might have heard something, it will be faster than going through the more official channels,” Nick concluded.
“But why would local drug dealers know anything about this?”
“They’re cooking all kinds of crap nowadays. Or they buy from these New Age chemists who watched one too many television shows and think they should manufacture their own meth, bath salts, and god knows what else.”
“Jesus,” I sighed. “Do we have any idea what we’re dealing with or the quantities needed?”
“It’s some kind of benzodiazepine derivative mixed with a few other things. The ME’s not sure, but our killer either injects his victims with the drug or has them ingest it. We’re assuming the combination must knock the vics on their asses. Then he abducts them, holds them in some undisclosed location for a few days, long enough to cause severe dehydration, and before death occurs, he somehow floods their bodies. Maybe intravenously or in some perverted waterboarding torture method. It’s sick. The whole thing is fucking sick.”
“What about cross-referencing the chemicals, drugs, whatever, with the vehicles or vehicle thefts. There’s bound to be an overlap.” I blew out a breath, and Martin gently rubbed my back. Apparently, their conversation concluded, which meant ours should too. “Sorry, I can be somewhat obsessive,” I apologized to Jen.
“I’m used to it when he and Thompson get together.” She rolled her eyes. “I guess I’m guilty of gender bias. You’re one of my gal pals, so I forget this aspect of your life takes priority.”
“It has to,” Martin replied, surprising me. “Nick and Alex deal with more than either of us can imagine, and quite frankly, we probably don’t want to know about all of it.”
The conversation halted, and Nick looked at his watch. “It’s getting late. How about we call it a night?” He looked at his wife. “The next time we do this, I promise we’ll schedule it when we’re not in the midst of something huge, okay?”
“Fine,” she agreed. Martin picked up the tab, and the four of us went outside.
After bidding the O’Connells good night, Martin turned to me. “Do you want a ride home?” I nodded, glad for a few minutes of quiet with him. He signaled to Marcal, and the car came around. He opened the door, and I climbed in the back. He put up the privacy screen. “You don’t have to talk to me about any of this. All I know is you’re struggling with something, and I can’t do anything to fix it.” He looked away. “It’s frustrating as hell. And I push, and then you pull away. But, sweetheart, I just want to do something to make everything more bearable for you.”
“I know, but most of the time, I don’t even know what I’m doing. What do you want from me?”
“Nothing. I just want you. Because sometimes it feels like I’ve never had you in the first place.”
“You’re the only one who’s glimpsed behind the curtain, but there are so many things I can’t talk about, that I don’t want to talk about, but knowing you’re there is enough.” He smiled and ran his thumb across my cheek, and in the privacy afforded by the tinted windows and the screen separating us from the driver, we enjoyed date night in the back of his car.
“Should I stay at your place?” he asked.
“Ryan’s upstairs,” I replied. “He’s been so worked up that I offered him a safe place to get his head on straight.”
“Well, if you need a safe place to stay, you’re welcome at my house anytime.” We kissed goodbye, and I grabbed my purse off the floor, where it had fallen, and went inside.
“Ryan,” I called. I shut the door and flipped the lock. “Ryan?” The bathroom and bedroom doors were open, but there was no sign of him.
Confused, I went to the kitchen counter and searched through the drawers for my extra set of keys to see if he had gone out for a while. The keys were at the back of the drawer under layers of junk. I scanned the counter and notepad on my fridge for a message or some clue where he went, but still, I came up blank. Thirsty, I took a sip from the water bottle on the counter and glanced at the fire escape. Even though it was closed, maybe he stepped out for some fresh air, and the window got stuck.
Jeez, it’s like an oven in here, I thought as I tried to slide the window open. No wonder he probably stepped outside. The exertion from trying to open the window made me a little dizzy, and I stood up straight to steady myself. The room was spinning, and suddenly, I felt sick. Supporting myself against the furniture, I made my way to the bathroom, managing to kneel in front of the toilet just in time. If I had food poisoning, I was going to be so annoyed. As I tried to recall how much I drank at the pub, I used the vanity to pull myself off the floor and rinse my mouth in the sink.
As soon as I straightened up, the floor pitched forward. Finding comfort in the cold tile, I shut my eyes against the harsh glare of the lights and hoped the room would stop spinning. Soon, I was too exhausted to move.
Seventeen
“Alex, please,” Martin begged, “open your eyes. Please, sweetheart.” He sounded panicked. “Alexis. Alexis. C’mon, look at me.” My head was throbbing. “Goddammit, open your eyes.” I forced my eyes open, fighting against my heavy lids, but I immediately shut them tight against the harsh, nauseating light. “Alex?” Something cold and damp touched my forehead. “Open your eyes.”
My eyes opened again, and he looked relieved. “Why’d you let me drink so much?” I croaked. He frowned and ran his hands along my body, from my neck to my hips, pressing gently and watching my reaction.
“Stay with me. Focus,” he insisted. “Fucking 911,” he griped, lifting me into a seated position and holding me in his arms. “God, I thought I lost you.” His words made no sense, and I closed my eyes, wanting to shut out the light and go back to sleep. “No, don’t do that.” He shook me slightly. “You have to stay awake.”
“So tired,” I whispered. Since when was sleeping considered a high crime?
“James? Alex?” There was another voice in the distance. It might have been Nick, but I wasn’t sure, nor did I care.
“In here,” Martin replied, and I slumped against his shoulder, glad for the reprieve from his nagging. Maybe now I could go back to sleep.
“Parker,” O’Connell was more annoying than Martin, lifting my eyelids until I kept them open on my own, “stay with us.” He stepped back, and Martin hauled me to my feet, supporting almost all of my weight. “Her pupils look like saucers. What the hell happened after I left?”
“I don’t know,” Martin replied, dragging me into the living room. “When you called her cell, I found it in my car, and when I showed up to return it, she didn’t answer. I found her unconscious on the bathroom floor.”
“How long ago?”
“Twenty minutes. I dropped her off maybe an hour ago.” He shook me again. “Alex, c’mon, why do you always have to be so difficult? Eyes open, sweetheart.”
“This is a losing battle. Maybe sit her up on the couch,” O’Connell said, pressing his fingers against my neck. “Her pulse is slow but steady. Her breathing seems fine. She’s definitely drugged, but I don’t think we need to worry about an overdose. How far out did dispatch say the EMTs were?”
“Thirty to forty-five minutes. They’re backed up due to a multi-car pileup,” Martin growled.
When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting sideways on Martin’s lap, and there was a sharp pain in my arm. I tried to move it, but he held my elbow firmly. I focused on the person standing next to me, holding the needle as the clear tube rapidly filled with a dark reddish substance. Glancing around the room, I watched colorful swirls float endlessly through the air. Why did everything have an odd glowing haze around it?
“I need to know exactly what’s in her system,” O’Connell insisted. “Take two complete panels, and I’ll personally bring one to the crime lab for a rush.” I resisted the urge to close my eyes
because every time I did, I lost minutes or hours. I couldn’t be sure which was more accurate. “Welcome back,” Nick said, squatting to my level. “I need you to focus for a second. What’s the last thing you remember?”
“The bathroom floor,” I managed.
“What about before that?”
“Getting out of the car.”
My head was aching, but the rest of my body felt numb. A gloved hand poked at my temple with a long cotton swab. I wanted to jerk away, but in Martin’s arms, there wasn’t any place to go. Everything seemed fuzzy, in a swirly mist that I never remembered noticing before, but I didn’t have the energy to decipher the cause. There was something important I was missing, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.
“I’m calling Jablonsky, and we’ll tear this place apart to figure out what happened,” O’Connell insisted. “I don’t know what’s going on, but maybe it’d be safer if you take her to your place instead of the hospital. She doesn’t have a concussion or signs of an overdose, so she just needs to sleep this off.”
“Sleep.” I smiled and nestled against Martin.
* * *
My head throbbed, my body ached, and I was nauseous beyond belief. I took a deep breath and shifted my gaze from the ceiling, deciphering my surroundings. How did I end up in Martin’s bedroom? His hand rested against my ribcage, and his upper body was wrapped around the top of my pillow as he pressed a cool rag against my forehead. Looking at him from this angle made his face appear almost upside down, and I thought I might be sick.
“Drink this,” he leaned across to the nightstand and produced a cup with a straw in it, “you have to balance out your electrolytes. It’s important you stay hydrated.”