Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  “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. Turning in my chair, there was 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 like 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 ok
ay. 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.”

  “Of course. Anything.” God, why didn’t I fly home immediately when he called Thursday night? “I’m away at a conference, but I’ll catch the earliest flight and get home as soon as possible. I should be there in a few hours.” She rattled off the hospital information and room number.

  Three

  “What do you mean all flights are cancelled until further notice?” I screamed into the phone. “It’s not even raining.” The woman on the other end of the line was explaining how strong, hurricane force winds grounded all the planes at the airport in preparation for the impending storm. Why didn’t I consider the weather before making this stupid trip to this god-awful conference? Hanging up, I did a quick search on my phone for nearby airports within a fifty mile radius, assuming one of those might still have outgoing flights scheduled. Dialing another number, I barely noticed Vivi enter the ladies room. She washed her hands in the sink and assessed me as I paced back and forth in front of the stalls.

  “Alexis, is everything okay?” She was concerned.

  “No, not at all. I need to get home.” Growling in frustration, I searched for charter companies, hoping to find someone willing to get me out of this hellhole tonight.

  Vivi left while I continued to make call after call to every airline, airport, and private company I could find. Luckily, the room remained empty, allowing for curses to be uttered as loudly as necessary. There was a knock on the door, which I ignored as I waited for an airport a hundred miles away to answer their phone.

  “Alex,” Martin stuck his head into the ladies room, “is anyone in here?”

  “Me.” The on-hold music pissed me off, just like everything else this evening. He entered and flipped the lock on the door. “Vivi said you were trying to get home. Is this because of Francesca? Because I swear–”

  “Shut up,” I barked more at the music than at him. “O’Connell got himself shot. Jen called, and I can’t get a goddamn flight out of this horrible place because there’s a fucking storm moving in. It’s the twenty-first century. Why do we not possess the technology to deal with some shitty weather?”

  “Is he okay?” He approached cautiously.

  “Jen said he’ll be fine. But it doesn’t sound fine. Nothing is fine. Ugh.” I hung up and rubbed the bridge of my nose.

  “Go back to the room and pack. I will find a way for us to get home.”

  “Martin,” I began, but he shushed me.

  “He’s my friend too. Now go. I’ll be up as soon as travel arrangements are made.”

  Taking my phone, I went straight to the elevator and up to the suite. If anyone had enough clout to make things happen, it was Martin. Although, even he couldn’t stop a storm from closing the airports. Twenty minutes later, the door to the suite opened, and he entered. I looked at him expectantly as he went to the closet and threw all his belongings into one of his many bags.

  “I told you I’d find a way.” He zipped one bag and went into the bathroom to repeat the process. “Even the company jet and its pilot aren’t willing to fly tonight, but I found a car service to drive the distance. They are on their way to pick us up, and by tomorrow morning, we should be home. It’s a ten hour drive, but it’s the best I could do.”

  “Thank you.” Ten hours wasn’t ideal, but it was better than nothing. “You don’t have to come with me. There might be things you still need to do here. Plus, how will it look if you disappear at the same time I do?”

  “I don’t care.” At the moment, I didn’t either. “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have dismissed his call so easily the other day. You were right, as usual.” He offered a smirk. “It’s annoying how frequently that happens.”

  “Tell me about it.” While he packed the rest of his belongings, I ran through the limited details I knew. O’Connell wasn’t shot on the job. He didn’t have any back-up when it happened, and whatever was going on, he didn’t tell his partner or anyone from the precinct. “I hope to god he hasn’t taken a page out of my playbook,” I spoke aloud to myself.

  The last case I worked in an official capacity landed me in hot water with a mafia boss and caused me to shy away from work. The lesson I took away from all of it was not to supersede the system, which appeared to be exactly what O’Connell was doing. The only question was why.

  * * *

  Martin and I were seated across from one another in the back of a stretch limo, almost two hours into the drive home, and Bruiser was up front with the driver. Martin spent most of the time on the phone with the board members he left at the conference, explaining his absence on account of an emergency. He didn’t give any details, but no one would question him. He gave Luc, Charles, and Yuri separate instructions on what to do with the remaining time and contacts at the banquet. Even being away from work, he was still working. I, on the other hand, stared at my phone, trying to decide if I wanted it to ring. A call could be Thompson or Heathcliff filling me in on what was going on, or it could be the worst news imaginable, in which case no call was better than a call.

  “Vivi told me you were upset,” Martin said out of the blue. I looked at him, wondering when he hung up the phone or even how long he was off the phone. “She saw you duck into the ladies, and when you didn’t come out, she went in. Maybe Luc’s wife should be a security analyst too.” He attempted to joke, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “The more the merrier, right?”

  “Honestly, I was afraid you were pissed about Francesca.”

  “Why would I be pissed about some woman kissing you, Jamie?” My words were biting. “Wait, no, maybe I’m supposed to be pissed to find out you were engaged.” Running my hand through my hair, it didn’t matter right now. There were more important things to worry about. “It’s okay. At the moment, I don’t particularly care.”

  The problem with not caring was we had another eight hours alone in the back of the limo. Without knowing any details about O’Connell’s condition or the circumstances, there wasn’t much to say on that topic. Shoptalk was the equivalent of beating a dead horse, so either we could continue to sit in the deafening silence, or we could talk about things that weren’t pressing.

  “When we started dating,” changing my mind, I broached the subject, “you said you had been in two real relationships. Is it a pipe dream to hope Francesca counts as one of those relationships and not just another in your string of dalliances?”

  He chuckled. “Like she said, it was twelve years ago. I was a dumb kid in my twenties, getting ready to graduate from business school. What the hell did I know about anything? It was a mistake, and after we called off the engagement, we lost touch.”

  “Happens. So your other real relationship? Let me guess. Ex-wife and kids?”

  “No, it was before Francesca.” He laughed. “High school sweetheart. We lasted through the first two years of undergrad.”

  “Damn, you’re more dysfunctional than I thought. I’m the first real relationship you’ve had since school.”

  “What can I say? I know how to pick ‘em.” He stared across the small expanse. “Am I reading into things, or are you blaming me for the reason you aren’t home right now?”

  “It’s not your fault.” My words sounded hollow. It was someone’s fault, mainly mine.

  “It’s not yours either.”

  “What if I hadn’t,” I began but stopped and shut my mouth. Playing the what if game wasn’t practical. “Funny thing happened when I was sitting at the bar.” I changed topics. “A corporate headhunter offered me a job at Wallace-Klineman Industries.”

  “Bastards are always swooping in and ste
aling my people,” he complained, and I gave him a cynical smile.

  “You know I’m not meant for this corporate bullshit.” I met his eyes.

  “Sweetheart, I knew that from the moment I met you. Frankly, the paperwork to nullify your contract has been sitting in my desk drawer for the last six months. I’m surprised it took you this long to admit it.”

  We fell into a peaceful silence as the car continued racing through the darkness. It started raining, and every so often, there was a flash of lightning. It was the middle of the night, and I curled up on the seat. Martin leaned against the window with his legs stretched out, but sleeping in the back of a limo wasn’t ideal.

  At some point, I dozed because when I opened my eyes the sky had turned a pale gray, and Martin was on the phone with his personal driver and valet, Marcal. I stretched in the seat and looked out the window. We were close; another hour and we’d be arriving at the hospital.

  “Do you want Marcal to deliver your bags to your apartment or just take everything back to my place?” he asked.

  “One trip is fine. I don’t expect him to run a million pointless errands.” Falling into silence, I wanted time to grab a cup of coffee, a change of clothes, and for O’Connell to be playing a very elaborate joke, but none of those things were likely to happen.

  When the limo pulled up to the hospital, Martin jerked his chin toward the door, and I was out of the car and flying across the parking lot to find someone who had some answers. The information desk sent me to the third floor. When I exited the elevator, Thompson and Heathcliff were seated in the hallway.

  “Alexis,” Heathcliff said, getting up and hugging me, “how’d you know?”

  “Jen called.” Everything was a jumble. Thompson embraced me as well, which was uncharacteristic, and his actions made my worry reach new heights. “Where’s O’Connell? Do we know anything? How’s he doing?”