by G. K. Parks
“All right, but if Jablonsky asks, I want plausible deniability.”
“Deal.”
Two
As soon as we made it up the six flights of stairs to my one bedroom apartment, Lucca insisted that I get into bed. Normally, I’d protest or make some type of inappropriate quip, but I felt like shit and didn’t have the energy to waste. After propping myself up against the pillows and readjusting into the least painful position since none of them were comfortable, I sighed.
“You need fluids,” he said, leaving my room and heading toward the kitchen.
“I’m not sick.”
“You have no idea what you might have been exposed to or how long you were out cold, so it’s not a bad idea to rehydrate.” The cabinets opened and closed, followed by the refrigerator. “Really? This is ridiculous.” He came back into my room with a glass of water. “How can you call yourself an adult? With the empty fridge and impractical amount of sugary cereals in your pantry, I would have expected to find a futon and a couple of beanbag chairs, most definitely not that expensive living room set. Did you buy it just to appear to be a normal adult human?”
“The furniture’s not mine.” I squinted.
“Figures,” he scoffed.
“You do realize I’m suffering from a head injury, so you could be a little nicer.”
“Fine, I’ll order dinner since you don’t seem to understand the concept of grocery shopping.” He handed me the glass and produced a pill bottle from his pocket that I had tried to leave at the hospital pharmacy. “It says take one with food. Do you want it now or when the food gets here?”
“I don’t want it at all,” I reached for the bottle and put it on my nightstand, “and I’m not hungry.”
“My two year old daughter isn’t as difficult or stubborn as you.” He made a face. “You have to eat, and you need to rest.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head. Disappearing from my bedroom, he returned a minute later with one of the chairs from my kitchen table. He took a seat and pulled out his notepad and pen. “What do you want for dinner?”
I snorted. “For a second, I thought you were actually planning to do your job.” Rubbing my eyes, I gave in. “The corner deli knows my standing order for soup and sandwiches, and they deliver. There’s a magnet on the fridge with the phone number.”
“See, that wasn’t so hard.” After dinner was ordered, Lucca returned to the chair beside my bed. “Whenever you want a break, just say so.”
“I’m okay.” I looked pointedly at the paper. “Where should I begin?”
“What did you do yesterday?”
“I had a meeting with the district attorney.”
“Why?”
“I’m testifying in court against DeAngelo Bard on that drug case we worked. We finished the interview around noon. Then I ran some errands and came to the office. I spent the day analyzing intelligence we collected on that suspected terrorist cell that’s been exporting heavy artillery out of the Balkans.” I narrowed my eyes. “We worked together on that, but you left before I did.”
“I called it quits at five. How much later did you stay at work?”
I shrugged. “Jablonsky might know. His light was on, but I didn’t see him. I wanted to ask him a question.”
“About what?”
“I don’t remember. It wasn’t important. It was something about passport codes.” Shaking my head, I couldn’t tell if that bit of forgetfulness was the norm or part of the blur.
“Then what happened?”
Blinking, I leaned back against the pillow, gasping at the stabbing pain between my shoulder blades. “I woke up outside.” My mind raced through the possibilities of how I ended up there. “Any idea what might have happened? You’ve seen the aftermath, so what’s your best guess?”
He took my left hand in his, turning it over. “No defensive wounds. I don’t know what caused the damage to your right hand, but your injuries aren’t symmetrical. It could have been an accident.” His brow furrowed. “Maybe you fell down the stairs.”
“What stairs?”
“I don’t know. It was just a guess.”
“How about you use the evidence you collected to make an educated guess instead?”
“I will once we analyze the internal cameras at the OIO and figure out what time you left, but since your car was parked in the garage beneath the federal building, you either had a ride waiting or you took off on foot. It shouldn’t be that hard to figure out.”
“Where did you find me?” I asked.
“You were wedged between a retaining wall and a city parking garage on a dead end street about a mile and a half from work.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would I go there?”
“You tell me.”
“I don’t know,” I snapped, agitated. “I need a map. What’s nearby? There has to be a logical explanation why I would go there.”
He softened, realizing that our normal semi-hostile exchanges weren’t appropriate at the moment. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.” The doorbell rang, and he went to get the food. “Your only concern is getting better.” More drawers and cabinets opened and closed, and then Lucca returned with a foam container of soup and a spoon from the kitchen. “I could drag one of the end tables in here, but I’m guessing you must have some TV trays stashed out of sight, probably with a dozen lava lamps.”
“Stop it.” I reached for the container, holding it awkwardly with my left hand. “You’ve done more than enough. Why don’t you go help Jablonsky figure out what happened between last night and this morning?”
“I can’t go anywhere until your security detail is stationed outside. Plus, someone’s supposed to wake you up every few hours.”
“I have no plans to sleep.” Glaring at the spoon which I couldn’t manipulate because of the cast, I took a small sip from the container. “How did this happen?” My head hurt, and I was tired, scared, and pissed. “This is bullshit.” I gestured wildly, and he confiscated the soup before I could add second degree burns to my list of injuries. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve woken up with no fucking idea where I am or how I got there?” I blinked, fighting to keep my emotions in check.
“Is that rhetorical, or were you some crazy party girl?”
“Twice,” I said, ignoring the dig, “and both times I remembered more or less how I’d gotten there once I was coherent. So why can’t I remember what happened last night?” My voice sounded desperate to my ears. “I need copies of my medical report and whatever’s been pieced together so far.”
“All right, after you finish your dinner, I’ll see what progress we’ve made.” He bit his lip. “By then, security should be here, so if you need anything, you will let them know.”
“Great.” I held out my hand for the soup. A few sips in, I raised an eyebrow. “Are you on a diet or something?”
“No, I just thought you might need some help to eat.”
I continued to glare at him until he went to the kitchen and returned with a sandwich. We ate in silence while I tried to determine what happened last night. After we finished our meal, Lucca took the empty containers into the kitchen and checked to see that the detail was posted outside my door.
“I’ll be back in an hour. Two, at the most. If you remember anything or start to exhibit any of those symptoms the doctor warned you about, you will call for help immediately. Is that clear?” he asked.
“Who put you in charge?” I deadpanned.
“Jablonsky, and if anything happens to you, he’ll kill me. So don’t screw around.” Lucca put my cordless phone on the bedside table next to the glass of water and pill bottle. “I mean it, Parker. Stay healthy.”
“Yes, sir.” I shifted and groaned. “Hey,” I stopped him in the doorway, “thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Once Lucca was gone, I eased out of bed, found some pajama shorts and a t-shirt, and took a shower. The water stung my skin, but I had to wash away as much of to
day as I could. Wiping the steam from the mirror, I stared at my reflection. What the hell happened? After staining my towel with blood, I rebandaged the nasty scrape that covered my left side, attempted to dry the cast that I wasn’t supposed to have gotten wet, and went back to bed.
Frustrated that my body wasn’t cooperating, I threw the notepad and pen across the room and gave up on the list of facts that I possessed. Instead, I ran through as much of yesterday as I remembered. Even the tiniest detail from the time I woke up to the coffee breaks I took to changing out of my professional attire and into a button-up blouse and a pair of jeans after getting back from the district attorney’s office because I didn’t like sitting behind my desk in a skirt while reading through threat assessments proved to be unhelpful in determining what happened after I left work.
I reached for the phone, intent on checking the timestamp of my last received call, only to remember that I didn’t have my phone. Dammit. Glancing at my nightstand, I realized my gun and credentials were also missing. With any luck, Lucca or Jablonsky would think to return them once they were evaluated for evidence. I flattened out against the mattress, hoping to dull the pain in my head and the ache in my wrist that had begun to radiate up my arm.
Thirty minutes later, I reached for the pill bottle. It was my only option since the possibility that I had suffered a concussion meant no ibuprofen or aspirin. Swallowing half a dose, I forced my mind to focus on the things I knew in order to avoid the debilitating fear of the unknown. It would be stupid to jump to conclusions, but my rapid heartbeat and slight tremors weren’t as easily dissuaded. It was shock brought about by the aftermath of a trauma. Unfortunately, I didn’t know exactly what that entailed.
Thankfully, when the pain started to dull, everything else did too. Lucca wasn’t back yet, and it was becoming increasingly difficult to keep my eyes open. Oh well, so much for staying awake. I drifted in and out of consciousness, but my painkiller induced sleep was devoid of dreams or thought wisps that might lead to something tangible.
The mattress shook, and I fought to make sense of the world. The lights in my room were still on, and Lucca was seated on the chair placed at the end of the bed. He had taken off his shoes and had his feet resting at the bottom of the bed.
“You said you had no plans to sleep. Who’s the current president?” he asked, flipping through the pages inside a manila folder.
“You need to be more specific. There are dozens of countries in this world that have presidents. Some are even elected by popular vote. Obviously, that’s not true here, but you get the point.” I propped the pillow against the headboard and sat up. “Well, what’s the verdict?” I nodded at the file.
“The internal cameras place you leaving the federal building at 7:45 last night. You traveled west, and half a block later, we lose sight of you. For two blocks, there’s a blind spot that’s been caused by either out of focus or nonexistent cameras. Our computer techs are checking nearby DOT footage, hoping to pick up your trail, but it’ll take time.” He flipped to another page and read off a familiar phone number. “It’s a private number. Who does it belong to?”
“James Martin.” Mark knew Martin was the last phone call I received, and he also knew that his old pal and my current romantic entanglement was not a part of whatever happened last night. “I’m sure Jablonsky’s already cleared him. Move on.”
“Who is he?” Lucca picked up a pen. “There are a lot of calls and texts back and forth between the two of you. Aside from work numbers and your cop friends, he’s basically the only person you talk to. Boyfriend? Ex-boyfriend? Bookie?”
“Boyfriend.” I shook my head. “He’s not involved, so please don’t pull him into this. He’s already been vetted with a full background check. He’s clean. Jablonsky will vouch for him. They go way back.”
“You know how it reads. The majority of assaults are perpetrated by someone close to the victim. Most of the time, it’s a husband or boyfriend.”
“He didn’t do this.”
“How do you know?” Lucca pushed.
“Because he was at work.”
“And he couldn’t have just snuck out to meet you? He knew where you were going or at least that you were leaving the office. You were speaking to him when you left.” Lucca scribbled a note on the page. “What’s his address and place of employment?”
I licked my lips, not wanting to say anything else but unsure of how to get out of it. “Go downtown and read some signs. His name’s on the building. And I’m not giving you his home address. Jablonsky has it, so talk to him.”
“Jeez, do you expect me to believe that? I’m not the one that hit my head.” He studied me for a few moments. “Holy hell, you’re serious. Your boyfriend is some big shot mogul?”
“He isn’t involved in whatever happened,” I repeated, emphasizing each word.
“Well, he does have plenty of means which could afford him opportunity. Clearly, the motive is self-explanatory since he’s dating you.” Lucca pulled out his phone and began tapping away at the screen. “And he was previously accused of murder, at least by the press. Need I say more?”
“He has no criminal record, and if you keep reading, you’ll see that an apology was printed by that particular newspaper for getting the facts wrong. He was a victim, just like the woman he was accused of murdering.” The conversation had caused my temper to flare, and I moved to get up and escape the inquisition. “This is not a trial. I didn’t do anything wrong, and the few people that I’m close to aren’t responsible. So back the fuck off.”
“Easy.” Lucca put his palms up in surrender. “I’m just doing my job the only way I know how. We start with the obvious and go from there. You’d do the same thing.”
“Then let’s start with the obvious.” I jerked my chin at the file. “What has the forensic lab uncovered?”
“You had wood splinters beneath your damaged fingernails. The wood itself was treated with a varnish, so it had to come from indoors.” He flipped to the next page. “Tox screen is negative for drugs, positive for alcohol. Rape kit is negative. No signs of sexual assault. No fingerprints on your body. No real evidence pointing to a clear source for your injuries. Patterns of your lacerations and bruises aren’t indicative of any one thing.”
Breathing out a sigh of relief, I relaxed. “Well, I guess that’s the good news and bad news.” Suddenly, the exhaustion seemed to set in as the stress that had been keeping me alert evaporated into the abyss. “Where do we go from here?”
Lucca began speaking, but I was asleep before he finished explaining our next move.
Three
It was dark. The room was bathed in a menacing red glow. The sounds of footsteps and metal clanging would briefly fill the air, only to be extinguished just as quickly. The echoes didn’t carry, and if they did, I couldn’t hear them. Everything was dulled, as if I were underwater. Industrial fluorescent light fixtures covered the ceiling, but only a single flickering red bulb at the far end of the room provided any illumination. Twisting from side to side, I tried to determine where I was, but I didn’t know.
Voices, two, then three, sounded muffled. A sharp, pleading cry rang out. My heart leapt into my throat. It was a man’s voice, begging. The sound was so pitiful and desperate that it made my blood run cold and fear grip my insides. The thud of heavy work boots grew louder until most of the light was blocked out by the hulking figure in front of me.
I tugged frantically to free myself, but my arms wouldn’t cooperate. He bent down, placing his hands on either side of my thighs to box me in as he continued to lean closer until I could feel his breath on my neck. Frantically, I struggled to escape. Distance and a weapon were my only thoughts. He began to speak, loud and gruff, but the words were nonsense.
“Get away. Let me go,” I screamed.
He shoved my shoulders, pushing me harder into the chair. I jolted backward, hoping to tip the two of us, but there was no give. Managing to kick my left leg up toward my chest, I hoped to use
that to leverage him away. My shin came into contact with a gun holstered at his hip. At least now I had additional incentive and a possible plan.
“Parker, stop,” the voice growled.
He was too close. Twisting my lower body as far to the left as I could, I raised my knee and hit him solidly in the side, breaking his hold on my shoulders. The momentum carried me backward, and I flipped onto my stomach. His hands were on my hips, and I reached behind me for his gun. Barely, I managed to knock it loose, but his grip tightened. All of my energy was now focused on scrambling to get away.
“Stop. Alex, stop,” the voice commanded.
For a split second, I thought I recognized it, but fear was overpowering my rationale, and I continued to fight to get free. Suddenly, the wind was knocked out of my lungs, and then a sharp pain erupted through the middle of my back. I let out a high-pitched whimper, opening my eyes to see the bottom of my dresser. The security detail was in the doorway, and Lucca released the hold he had in order to scoop up the gun that was a foot from my outstretched arm. Carefully, he stood up and took a seat on the edge of my bed. He rubbed his side and stared down at me.
“What the hell just happened?” I asked. My entire body was tingling, and I wasn’t sure if I could move. “Did you seriously just knock me to the floor?”
“Why don’t you call the paramedics?” Lucca said to the two men in the doorway. “I can handle things in here.”
“Agent Parker?” one of them began, wondering if I wanted to be left alone with Lucca and if I was actually okay.
“No need. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” I pulled myself to my knees, feeling my muscles shake as I hoisted myself back onto the bed. I narrowed in on their faces, happy to be able to recall their names from the office. “I’m not a morning person, and Lucca found that out the hard way.”
“Whatever you say, Parker,” Agent Davis said. He and his partner, Agent Samuels, went back outside, exchanging snickers on the way.