Purview of Flashbulbs (Alexis Parker Book 15)

by G. K. Parks

  “What about Dinah?”

  “Dinah’s confused. He confused her. The men confuse her.”

  “Elodie, put the gun down,” I tried again. “No one else needs to get hurt. You need to walk out of here, so you can tell Dinah how these men have hurt her. She needs to hear it from you.” Negotiation wasn’t my forte, but I didn’t want to shoot her. She was sick. She needed help.

  “You lie.”

  The lights suddenly came on, and I was no longer concealed by the dark. I aimed, my hand steady, even as hers shook. “Put it down. Don’t make me put you down.”

  “I don’t have a choice. Bye, Alex.”

  I knew my mistake in an instant. I waited too long, trying to talk her out of it. It didn’t work, and I dove to the side. A force pulled me backward, but I managed to keep my feet beneath me and returned fire.

  She crashed backward into the shelves and fired wildly. She shot through the crate I was using for cover as she went down, and I moved toward her. My body felt sluggish and unresponsive, but I kicked the gun out of her hand and knelt to check her pulse.

  It was rapid and thready. Her eyes fluttered, and she made a gurgling sound. One of my bullets had gone into the lower part of her neck. A wave of dizziness crashed over me, and I fell back onto my butt. The jarring nature of my stumble sent a sharp pain into my chest, and I looked down at the wet, red stain on my shirt. Dammit.

  I made a few futile attempts to suck air into my lungs. Finally able to catch my breath, I pressed my hand against my side and kept an eye on Elodie. She wasn’t dead yet. She was barely breathing and still bleeding. She wouldn’t last long.

  Voices were in the main room, and I realized the medics who came to help Lance must have turned on the overhead lights. Twisting, I put a hand underneath me, and I tried to push myself off the floor. “Careful, there’s a live wire on the stage.”

  “Parker,” Cross hurried to me, “shit. Don’t move.”

  “Funny, I told Lance the same thing.”

  “Where are we on that wire, guys?” Cross yelled to them, realizing the danger had yet to be removed. Someone shot him a thumbs up, and he turned his attention to me. Cross lowered me onto my back, and I winced. He tore open my shirt, relieved to find the vest underneath. “The nails didn’t penetrate.” He turned and barked orders to the security team who had guns trained on Elodie while a second team of medics raced into the building.

  I lifted my head and looked down, seeing blood. “You can’t say the same about the bullet.”

  “You took one to the side.” He put a hand beneath my hip and lifted. “A through and through. Small caliber. It’s just a flesh wound. No big deal. You’ll be fine.”

  I shuddered. “Lance?”

  “They just put him on a backboard. He’ll be taken to the hospital. The police have been notified. They should be here momentarily, so I’d like to know what the hell is going on.” He looked at Elodie who was unconscious. Her gun was across the room, halfway beneath one of the shelves. She no longer posed a danger.

  “Elodie confessed to killing Reaper. She stabbed the dummy through the heart. She set the fire in the hotel. I still don’t understand the fucking flowers or who Lance ran over with Jett’s SUV.” I tried to sit up, but Cross put a hand on my shoulder, which was the equivalent of sending a white hot poker through my chest. “Asshole move,” I mumbled.

  “Sorry.” He removed his hand. “Stay put until someone checks you out.”

  “You mean getting shot might be a big deal?”

  He cleared his throat. “The flowers?” he asked impatiently.

  “I don’t know. Lance paid for them. There’s a bouquet over there,” I pointed to the back of the room, “but I don’t think he had anything to do with the dozens in Dinah’s trailer or the ones sent to Martin, Nykle, or our office. That was Elodie, but I don’t know why. You’ll have to ask her.” More EMTs came into the room, and I watched as they prepped her and slid a backboard beneath her. “Is she going to make it?”

  “Her chances are pretty slim,” the medic said.

  One of the radios chirped, and Cross turned it up. “The police are here.”

  “Good,” one of the EMTs said, “we’ll need them to accompany us since she’s the shooter.” They glanced at me, as if making sure the right person was going into custody.

  “I’ll let them know you’re coming out,” Cross said, relaying a message into the radio to his guards who must have been with the cops.

  They lifted Elodie off the floor and left the room. I made another attempt to sit up, managing to make it before Cross could interfere.

  “I need to talk to the police,” I said.

  “Mr. Almeada is on his way. I don’t want you answering any questions without him present. There’s a good chance Elodie Smith won’t survive. I don’t want you getting charged with homicide for a good shoot.”

  “Not a problem.” I held out my arm, hoping he’d help me up, which he did.

  “My medical team is on the way. You really should sit down, Alex.”

  “I’ll just walk it off. It’s no big deal.”

  Thirty-seven

  I stepped into the lobby of our apartment building, cursing my own idiocy. The police had arrived at the same time as Cross’s mobile medical unit. I spent the entire afternoon in the back of the van, getting x-rayed and stitched up while answering a million questions.

  The police were building a case against Elodie. The photo was proof she killed Reaper, but they also found her prints inside his stolen car and on his gun, the same gun she used to shoot me. I didn’t understand Lance’s role in any of this, and Mr. Almeada made certain I didn’t offer any speculation to the police. The homicide detective took pity on me, probably on account of the surgeon suturing my side, and lobbed softball questions for most of the interview. The officer in charge of securing the scene took my weapon into custody.

  When I was finished getting stitched up, an officer gave me a ride home. I offered a few off the record tips as to what might be going on, but the only thing I was certain about was Elodie had been stalking her boss. Several officers were already at the hospital following up with Lance Smoke. Production at the studio was halted until further notice. The authorities would get this sorted, and I should take the next few days to recover.

  However, now that I was home, reality set in. My car, my keys, my wallet, and my phone remained at the studio. I offered a tired smile to the concierge. “Do me a favor,” I said, “call Mr. Martin’s office and let him know he should come home.”

  “Yes, Miss Parker.” He reached for the phone, cocking his head to the side. “Anything else I can get you?”

  “No.”

  Despite my insistence, he signaled to the doorman, who called for the elevator and pressed the button for my floor. I rode to the proper level and stumbled out. I’d been holding my jacket strategically against my side in order to hide the bloodstains. The bullet hadn’t done much damage. It had gone in a few inches above my hip bone and exited cleanly, but I had dribbled blood down the leg of my jeans and over the front and back of my shirt. It looked much worse than the wound itself. Or maybe I just thought that because I was zonked on painkillers.

  I tried turning the knob to our front door, but it was locked. It was a good thing we took our home security seriously. I slid to the floor and draped my jacket over me, wondering if Martin was mad. Honestly, I wasn’t even sure how I felt.

  I dozed on and off. When the elevator dinged, I held my breath, hoping it wasn’t one of our neighbors. Martin stepped out, and I smiled. His brow scrunched in confusion. “Are you okay?”

  “I left my keys and phone at work,” I said.

  “And you forgot how to pick a lock?” he teased.

  “I forgot my picks at work too.”

  “The building manager would have let you in.” He unlocked the door and knelt next to me, not believing that was the entire story.

  “I didn’t think about it.” I sighed. “I’m sorry about ear
lier. I shouldn’t have said those things to you. I didn’t mean it.”

  He brushed my hair from my face. “You have no reason to apologize.” I moved my jacket, and he saw the remnants of my showdown with Elodie. “Alex?”

  “I’m okay. It’s no big deal.”

  “It looks like a big deal.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, I said the same thing to Cross.” I looped my arms around Martin’s neck, and he slowly stood, hauling me to my feet. “You’ll be pleased to hear Dinah’s fine.”

  “Good, but I’m more concerned about you.”

  “Eh, the actual wound is less than an inch, but it bled like a son of a bitch.” I let go of him and went into the apartment. “Crap. You wanted that phone number.”

  “Alex,” he watched me carefully, “that isn’t important.”

  “It was last night.” Shaking my head, I took a breath and felt the bruise. This wasn’t worth fighting about. “Thanks for letting me in. You can get back to whatever you were doing.”

  “The hell with that.”

  “No.” I stared into those fiery green irises. “We aren’t doing this. I’m okay, and whatever your priorities are, this doesn’t change them. It shouldn’t. You’ve put me through hell this week, so you damn well better see it through. Or all of this agony and doubt has been pointless, and I’ll be fucking pissed.” He didn’t speak, which was new for him. “I’m going to get washed up. I’ll see you later. Bring dinner home.”

  I went into the bathroom, closed the door, and flipped the lock. I heard him linger just outside. After a few minutes, the shadow disappeared from beneath the door, and I knew he was gone. For a moment, I wish he stayed.

  My thoughts were jumbled. I wasn’t thinking straight. My mind would clear as soon as the painkillers wore off. I finished cleaning up, grabbed a glass of water, and went into the bedroom. Turning on the television, I flipped on the local news. The main story involved the incident at the studio, but Broadway Films and Cross’s public relations team had done a great job concealing the truth. All that was known at the moment was an accident occurred on set and Lance Smoke was recovering from electrical shock. There was no mention of a stalker or a shooting, and I wondered when or if that information would leak.

  Turning off the TV, I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep. An hour later, I heard the front door. “Are you back?” I called.

  “Yes.” Martin came into the bedroom. “It’s taken care of.”

  “What is?”

  “Everything.” He offered a wry smile. “I’m going to tell you everything. I’m tired of keeping secrets. To be honest, I don’t give two shits about Dinah’s NDA or its stipulations. I realized that I cared way too much about the end result. Frankly, I don’t even know if it was worth it. God,” he sighed, “I feel like I’m losing it.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “I can’t lose you over this, Alexis. And I can see it happening. I see the pattern, this cursed, fucked up pattern, and it doesn’t make sense. None of it does. None of it ever did. I didn’t get it then. And now,” he let out an ironic laugh, “history is repeating itself, and I don’t know what I’m supposed to do about it. It’s so stupid. The whole thing is really stupid.”

  I sat up, tucking my left leg in and scooting closer. I pressed my lips against his shoulder before resting my forehead in the exact same spot. “I’m here. I’m not going away this time.”

  He put his arm around me, rubbing my back gently. “It bothers me the label my mother worked so hard to create is gone. It’s like it never existed.” He swallowed. “Like she never existed.” He dropped his hand from my back and rubbed his eyes. I hated seeing him tormented. Any discussion concerning his mom always tormented him, but this wasn’t just grief and sadness. This was contempt and loathing. His face contorted, but he fought to calm his emotions. “I’ve spent years trying to track down my mother’s work, her drawings, notebooks, samples. Most of it was scrapped. Dinah has contacts. She heard what happened and where it ended up and how to get into contact with the right people.”

  “Christian Nykle?”

  He bit his lip and nodded. “My lawyer thinks I’m insane. Verification is nearly impossible, and it’s been so long. Fifteen fucking years. Everything is worthless, except to collectors. But I just couldn’t let it go. And Dinah’s thrown a gag order over the entire thing. Even the little tidbits I’ve told you are enough to nullify our agreement. If I lose my chance to get back the ashes of my mom’s company, I don’t know what that will do to me. But the terms are straining everything else in my life. I’ve barely been able to focus on Martin Tech, and you have questions. Serious, life and death questions. You and I,” he swallowed, “we’ve been through so much. My mom’s label was the utter destruction of two relationships. It will kill me if it’s the destruction of ours too. Tell me what to do, Alex. I’ll do whatever you want.”

  “You don’t have to say anything. We have an agreement on the past, remember?”

  “I want to tell you.” He shifted to face me, pulling his left leg up on the bed. He held out his arms. “Come here first.” I crawled into his arms, and he squeezed me, breathing in the scent of my hair. A tremor cut through him. “I love you. I’m sorry for being such a dick.”

  “Then don’t squeeze me so hard.”

  “Shit.” He let go. “Lie down. Get comfortable.” His eyes darted around the room. “Are you hungry? We can eat first.” He stood suddenly and took a few steps to the door. “We should eat first.” He lingered in the doorway. “Do you want to eat here or in the kitchen? You never told me exactly what happened today.”

  I grinned. There was the slightly manic, overprotective man I loved. “We’ll eat in the kitchen.” I pulled myself off the bed. “I’ll tell you mine, and if you want, later you can tell me yours.”

  “Deal.”

  I finished my story, focusing more on the sautéed vegetables on my plate than making eye contact while discussing the firefight with Elodie. “I can’t believe I missed it. It was so obvious. The figure in the video footage was her height and thin. I know Elodie ran the free run course, and her prints were the only other set on the first flower delivery. She had access to the trailer. She knew about Dinah’s wardrobe and makeup.” A jumble of inconsistencies ran through my mind.

  “You’re a sexist,” Martin teased. “Why did you assume it was a man?”

  “Dinah said he chased her up the steps, and the romantic connotations to the card had us convinced it was a dude.”

  “People can love whoever they want,” Martin said. “But over eighty percent of violent crimes are committed by men. Most of the time, that isn’t a bad assumption.”

  “Except in this case.” The gnawing continued to drive me a little crazy.

  As usual, he read my expression easily. “What is it?”

  “Lance practically confessed to running someone over, and Jett, his assistant, didn’t seem at all surprised by that prospect. Plus, Lance’s credit card paid for the flowers that were sent to your office, Nykle’s, my office, and the batch he saved for Dinah. He even wrote out the card.”

  “You think they were working together?”

  “Unlikely. Elodie hated Lance. She wanted Dinah away from him and anyone else who wanted to use her or hurt her.” I stabbed at a mushroom. “I’m missing something,” I deflated against the chair, feeling achy now that the meds were wearing off, “but I’m not going to figure it out tonight.”

  Martin was clearing the table when the intercom buzzed. Placing the plates on the counter, he went over and pushed the button. A messenger had couriered over a package that required a signature. Martin gave the okay to send him up and waited in the doorway. A large, thin, rectangular crate remained wedged in the open doorway while Martin signed the clipboard and tipped the messenger.

  “What is it?” I asked as he slid the crate inside and latched the door.

  He didn’t answer me. He found a claw hammer we had for hanging pictures and pried open the crate. Reaching inside, he lifted up a leather p
ortfolio case, aged and worn. The thing was three feet by two feet. He brushed off the coffee table with his arm and put the portfolio case down. As the seconds ticked by, he just stared at it. Slowly, he eased onto the edge of the sofa and undid the clasps. His fingers traced the indentions, and he glanced up at me.

  “It’s my mom’s. This made her so happy, even though the label barely got off the ground before she took ill. I went to work for her then, wanting to make sure she got to see her dream realized.”

  “You were a good son.”

  “After she passed, my dad sold it off. It was the first thing he did. It’s like he couldn’t stand having any remnants of her around. He got rid of her designs, her studio, everything. He just threw it all away. Six months later, the people who bought the label and her existing line ran it into the ground. Years of hard work destroyed in a matter of weeks.”

  “Martin.” I crossed to him and sat beside him on the couch, snaking my hand around his forearm. I could practically feel the blood racing through his veins. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Dad didn’t even care it was destroyed.” He pulled his arm free and opened the case. Dozens of sketches filled the interior. Some were nothing more than pencil marks on yellowing paper, and others were in full color. They were amazing. He smiled bittersweetly. “He used the money from the sale to expand his own business. To take care of his interests. The only thing he focused on was his work, and the rest of us, we could just go to hell. It wasn’t always like that, but that’s how it was at the end.”

  “Are these her drawings?"

  He hadn’t taken his eyes off of them as he slowly flipped the pages. He took in a ragged breath. “The first thing I did when I took control of his company was dismantle it. Then I built mine out of the rubble. I just wish I had done something before it was too late. Had I realized what he was going to do to my mom’s designs, I would have filed for an injunction or fought for control. It just happened so fast. The only thing I was able to do was treat his business the same way he treated hers.”