Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  “Anyway, he’s a local kid from the neighborhood. We issued a BOLO, but Thompson and I think we might have eyes on him. One of the informants for narcotics said he saw the kid go home. We knocked, but there was no answer, and we’re waiting for the ink to dry on the warrant.”

  “How old is this kid?” I asked. Another sign of getting older, we referred to everyone as kids, even if they were in their early twenties.

  “Seventeen. He has some priors for drugs, petty theft, and distribution.”

  “Are you bringing him in?”

  “Just as soon as the arrest warrant’s signed. Weren’t you listening?”

  “You lost me after perp.”

  He grumbled, but I pushed on, filling him in on the possible kidnapping lead and the town car. As soon as he and Thompson returned to the station, he’d ask Moretti to call in some favors with the state department and get backgrounds on Rosa and Miguel Estes. The one for Estobar Santino was already in the works, so it was just a matter of time. I had exhausted my resources at the OIO and didn’t want to have to call in any more favors unless circumstances turned dire. As it stood, under normal circumstances, Director Kendall and Mark hassled me enough with returning for a consulting stint here and there.

  After hanging up, I felt progress was being made; although, Mercer was probably fifteen steps ahead. Thoughts of Mercer made my annoyance with O’Connell return. What was he doing any of this for? His niece was safe and sound. I tried to distract myself with tracking the Four Seasons, but all leads were being followed. It was just a matter of waiting for the results.

  I made dinner and sifted through the files for Hover Designs. With nothing better to do, I took another stab at Insight International’s hundred and seventeen page report. Any names, projects, or departments that seemed suspicious would be investigated, but after speed reading the bulk of the report, I concluded the only flawed individual Insight International discovered was Liam Naysley. I found the information I printed on him and read through all of it.

  Naysley was drowning in debt, but he had no criminal record. By all accounts, he was a model citizen without so much as a jaywalking citation. His work was often lauded by business magazines and journalists. Although he was a pencil pusher, he made smart decisions and had a keen business sense. Why couldn’t either of my cases be simple?

  Maybe Naysley went over to the dark side, or he had an affinity for making questionable business practices seem legitimate. I needed a business savvy individual to review his work to see if their conclusions coincided with Naysley’s results or Robinson’s team. More than likely, either Naysley’s report was fictitious, or Robinson’s management consulting report was a false accusation. Checking the time, I dialed Pirelli with my current dilemma.

  “I don’t want to risk hiring a third party to review Mr. Naysley’s work,” she insisted. “This is how I got into this mess to begin with.”

  “Ma’am,” again it was an insult, but she didn’t catch on, “I don’t have a business or accounting background. I also don’t have the resources at my disposal to review this information, but it’s imperative that we discover which figures are accurate. This alone could lead straight to HD’s leak.” She sighed heavily into the phone. I didn’t understand why she couldn’t review the information herself, but maybe she wasn’t a numbers person either.

  “Fine,” she sounded irritated, “I will find an unbiased third party to review the project and provide his own feedback. Do you think you’re capable of comparing the reports?”

  “Yes.” Today wasn’t the day to be condescending. “Do you think you’re capable of–” Before I could finish my statement, the doorbell rang. “Please inform me as soon as the task is completed. I will not be able to continue investigating this matter until it is provided.” I hung up. She was lucky she was saved by the bell.

  Glancing out the peephole, I wasn’t sure if I should pretend I wasn’t home or answer the door. Unfortunately, for whatever the reason, I decided to open the door.

  “Hi.” O’Connell stood before me, looking guilty as sin.

  “Talk fast. I need one good reason why I shouldn’t slam the door in your face.”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Not a reason.” I started to shut the door, but he put his palm against it.

  “I wasn’t with Mercer. He was with me.”

  “And there’s a difference?” I raised an eyebrow. “Fine, come in.”

  “Mercer showed up at my sister’s place this afternoon,” O’Connell began without so much as an apology. “He asked if Catherine provided any definitive leads that would help him locate and recover Adalina Estes.”

  “Did she?”

  “You read the report.”

  “That’s not an answer,” I snapped.

  “No.” He met my eyes. “It’s been rough on all of us, and I don’t want that man around Evelyn or her family.”

  I bit my lip, not sure if I should ask the next question. “What happened to the kidnapper who was guarding Catherine at the storage unit?” My insides clenched.

  “It doesn’t leave this room,” he insisted, and I nodded. “Mercer’s team has him.”

  “What are they doing with him?”

  “Who cares,” O’Connell sneered. “How the hell can you give a damn about the son-of-bitch who took my niece?”

  “Do you have any idea what Mercer’s capable of?”

  “Do you have any idea the hell I’ve endured, that my family has endured? I thought you had my back, Parker.”

  “Where the hell is Detective Nick O’Connell? Because let me tell you something, he would not stand by and let some guns for hire torture the answers out of some slimeball.”

  O’Connell’s features darkened. “Don’t pretend you stand on a pedestal above the rest of us. If this was Martin or Jablonsky or someone you actually gave a shit about, you’d be there to beat the answers out yourself.”

  “But Catherine’s back safe and sound.”

  “No thanks to that bastard.” He fixed me with a hard stare as if to say ‘no thanks to you either’.

  “Is this how it’s going to be now? Vigilante justice? One of these fuckers shoots you and kidnaps your niece so now all bets are off. You’re letting some mercenaries deal with the situation while you stand idly by as chaos erupts.”

  “That’s not fair.”

  “Don’t you dare talk to me about fair. I’ve had your back since the phone call whether you realize it or not. But you’re coming unhinged. I can’t blame you, but you need to step the fuck back,” I warned. “You can barely stand,” I jerked my chin toward his side which he had been holding since entering my apartment. “You haven’t slept in days, and even though your personal family crisis has been resolved, you still haven’t learned to take a breath.”

  “I can’t until they’re stopped.”

  “Nick.” I understood. He knew I understood better than anyone, but some lines could never be crossed. And right now, he was teetering on the edge of one of those impenetrable lines. “You’re going home. If Mercer contacts you, tell him to come see me. You’re not involving yourself in any of this. Get some sleep. If you can’t, pop a few extra painkillers to make sure you sleep, and stay home. Talk to your sister, play with your niece, whatever. But don’t go to the precinct, don’t help Mercer, and don’t do anything else on your own.”

  “How can I let it go?”

  “You’re going to let it go, or I will make sure Thompson puts a fucking detail outside your house. You’re still not thinking straight.” He teetered slightly and leaned against the back of my couch. “For once in your life, Detective, trust someone else to get the job done.”

  “Alex,” the need for vengeance was replaced with a pitiful, sorrowful, begging, “please.”

  I shut my eyes for a moment. Agreeing wasn’t easy. But even now, I’d still crawl my way through hell for O’Connell, and he was asking for just that. It wasn’t the easy choice, but he made a strong case. And it was the right thi
ng to do. I grimaced. Things were always darkest before the dawn, and I’d be heading into the pitch black with Mercer.

  “I’ll handle it.”

  “Okay,” he smiled wanly and collapsed.

  Thirty-one

  “Dammit, Nick,” Jen cursed loud enough that I heard her from the hallway. I was sitting in a chair outside Nick’s hospital room. The EMTs arrived at my apartment quickly and rushed him to the ER. He had been readmitted. At the moment, I was throwing myself a pity party while Jen ripped into her moronic husband. “What did I tell you about getting rest? No, instead you go traipsing around town with that ex-military idiot and somehow end up at Alex’s place. It’s a good thing to because what would have happened if you were in the car driving?”

  “Honey,” he began.

  “Don’t honey me, Nick O’Connell. I’m a cop’s wife. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t feel my stomach flip when I see a uniformed officer walking in my direction. I’m not willing to lose you, so sit down, shut up, and let the doctor do his job.”

  “Jenny,” he tried again. I stared at the floor, not wanting to intrude any further into their personal matters.

  Her voice dropped, and I couldn’t make out any more words. When I looked up, I caught a glimpse of them kissing. O’Connell was practically killing himself to help Mercer track the Four Seasons and get his revenge, and I agreed to act as his proxy. Maybe I had a martyr complex. I was willing to further fragment my soul and risk my own well-being for a man who in the last week had done nothing but castigate me. A doctor entered the room, and Jen ducked outside. She took a seat next to me and stared at the doctor’s back through the window.

  “Here.” I found a pack of tissues in my purse and handed them to her. “Is he going to be okay?”

  “Yes,” she swallowed and dabbed at her eyes, annoyed with her herself for being so worked up. “He’s such an ass!”

  “He’s male.” She snorted. “What’s going on with him?”

  “Alexis,” she turned to face me, figuring O’Connell wasn’t able to escape the room with the doctor in there, “I wish I knew. He’s never been like this before. I know getting shot is a traumatic thing, and my god, we’ve all been so worried about poor, little Catherine.” She looked guilty. “But it’s beyond the scope of worry with him. He hasn’t eaten. The only time he sleeps is when it’s medically-induced.” I raised an eyebrow. “The antibiotics and pain meds make him sleepy which probably explains why he stopped taking them. He said he needed a clear mind.”

  “He was worried about his niece.”

  “Then why is he still acting like she’s in danger?” Only one thing came to mind, and I stood up.

  “Jen, if you need anything, let me know, but keep an eye on him. If you have to go to work or go out or whatever, ask Thompson to look in on him. Making one 9-1-1 call is more than enough.”

  “I’m relieved he was with you when it happened. At least someone has a brain, and don’t worry, he’s not going anywhere. He’s staying in the hospital, and if I have to ask Bud from security to sit outside his door, I’ll do it.” She looked confused by my retreat. “Where are you going?”

  “I promised the knucklehead in there that I’d handle things for him. And at the moment, I have my suspicions what’s been making him act like a lunatic.”

  * * *

  “Mercer,” I bellowed, pounding on the door, “open up.” I recognized the rental parked out front and figured someone must be home. I continued to bang against the door, but no one answered. “Either you let me in, or cops and federal agents will be storming the place in the next ten minutes.” I stopped knocking and pulled out my cell phone. “Really, can you be any more childish?”

  The door opened, and Hans stared at me, bleary-eyed. “Julian isn’t here. Stop the racket.”

  “Where is he?”

  Hans blinked a few times. Obviously, he had been asleep, and I woke him up. “He’s with the others.”

  “Your insight is unparalleled.”

  He shrugged and stepped aside. “You can come in if you’ll just stop talking.”

  “Fair enough.” I followed him inside and shut the door.

  By the time I turned around, he disappeared into another room, presumably to go back to sleep. Considering our deal, I quietly walked through the living room and kitchen, looking for clues as to where Mercer might be. Eventually, I meandered into the room Mercer used as his op center.

  All of the surveillance photos, blueprints, and maps had been taken off the walls. The stacks of files on the table were greatly diminished, and I wondered what became of everything. Were the ex-SAS in the process of relocating to another safe house or whatever he was referring to his weekly rental as?

  Being here wasn’t helpful, and with Hans either asleep or avoiding me, he wasn’t of any use either. Hell, maybe that was the plan to get me to leave. I went back into the kitchen and searched the cabinets and fridge. The cabinets were empty, except for the furnished bowls, plates, cookware, and utensils. The refrigerator was also sparsely populated with a couple containers of takeout and a few cans of beer on the top shelf. The middle shelf was empty, and the bottom shelf had what appeared to be some spilled wine or maybe grape juice that hadn’t been completely wiped away. I guess I must have missed the party.

  I glanced down the narrow hallway. There were three doorways, all closed. I couldn’t be sure which was the bedroom Hans ducked into and which might be Mercer’s room or the bathroom. My snooping was being impeded by the sleeping ex-military man. Boredom was starting to reign supreme, and I settled onto the couch in the living room.

  Thinking about O’Connell, there was a good chance Mercer manipulated the facts to make Nick believe the Seasons might make another run at Catherine or his sister. I dialed Heathcliff, and once he answered, I asked if a unit was stationed outside the Cales’ house. After being on hold for a few minutes, I was told the PD and FBI both had people watching the house and family. Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

  The front door opened, and Bastian, Donovan, and Mercer entered. Donovan disappeared into one of the rooms down the hallway, and I heard water running. I didn’t get a good look at him, but I didn’t believe the reason he immediately went to the bathroom was because he drank too much coffee today. I glanced at Mercer, who hadn’t moved from the front door and was glowering at me.

  “Glad to see you got out of that tin can, love,” Bastian chimed in as he went into the kitchen. He looked exhausted. “Want a bite?” he asked, holding up a takeout container. I shifted my gaze away from Mercer momentarily to shake my head.

  “What did you say to O’Connell?” I asked, my voice coming out hoarse.

  “The detective needs to be aware of the situation.”

  “He’s also back in the hospital because of you.” My tone remained neutral, but my expression trembled slightly as I struggled to force it to maintain the same neutrality. “So until further notice, if you want something done, I’ll do it.” I bit off the last word.

  “You’ll get your hands dirty,” he cautioned.

  “My hands are already dirty,” I hissed. He took a step away from the doorway. His eyes had that knowing quality from the van, but he didn’t say another word. “Why did you go to Nick for help?” Every syllable was full of bitterness.

  “He’s a policeman.” Mercer went to the kitchen sink and washed his hands, taking his time to wash any trace of his victim’s DNA or blood from under his fingernails or to avoid conversation with me a bit longer. It was hard to say for certain which was true.

  “That’s not an answer,” I said, but he ignored it as the water continued to run. Bastian leaned over next to him, whispered something in his ear, and then plopped down on the sofa next to me. His leg brushed roughly against my hip. “Mother,” I growled, sucking in air and scooting away.

  He looked amused. “Appears you didn’t make it out of that tin can so easily after all.” There was no apology. “Are you sure you’re up for whatever Julian throws
at you?” He jerked his chin at Mercer.

  “Don’t test me.” He smiled and chomped away happily on his lo mein.

  Mercer shut the tap and methodically wiped his hands on a towel. “Let’s take a ride. I’d like to see the level of your interrogational skills.”

  My eyes widened. “You didn’t kill him?”

  “Not yet.” His eyes brightened, but it didn’t seem genuine. The effect was phony, and I suspected it was to gauge my reaction. “Are you volunteering?”

  Two could play at this game. “Depends on what he has to say.”

  He tipped his head ever so slightly. “Bas, we’ll take another run at him. If Hans wants to join us, give him the address.” Bastian nodded, slurping up the last of his dinner.

  “Bring back a pizza,” he called as Mercer led me to the door, holding it open as if he were a proper gentleman, but I wasn’t fooled.

  The ride across town was in complete silence. I couldn’t imagine where the prisoner was being kept or what state he might be in when we arrived. The fact that he was left completely unattended didn’t bode well. Mercer turned into an abandoned lot and headed for a dilapidated storefront. How he found a secluded, workable location on such short notice was beyond me. If I had to wager a guess, I’d say Julian or his team scoped out locations in the event any wet work became necessary.

  “He’s in the back,” Mercer said, shutting the steel door behind us. “Room’s soundproofed. He doesn’t know we’re here, how many of us there might be, or who we’re working for. It’s imperative we keep him blind, metaphorically speaking.”

  “What do you know about him?” I asked, scoping out the front room. All of the surveillance photos had been moved here, along with the missing files from the apartment. It seemed Mercer wanted to make this location workable in the event he needed to be mobile.

  “Not enough. Bas ran his prints, but he’s not in any system. Donovan’s tried his persuasive techniques, but the bastard’s a hard nut to crack.”

  “Did O’Connell take a stab at him?” His implacable exterior was back in place, and soon, he’d be back to one word sentences. The only thing different about him was the barely contained rage was no longer threatening to bubble to the surface. Apparently taking out his aggression on one of the kidnappers had done wonders for his demeanor. “Metaphorically speaking.”