Racing Through Darkness

by G. K. Parks

  “Girlfriend?” she sputtered. Now it made total sense why she went on and on about Martin. He didn’t tell her. Why the hell was he telling her now? She snorted. “I’m not surprised.” I had a feeling she was, but I didn’t see any reason to say anything.

  I stepped away from him, reestablishing professional boundaries. “Ma’am, I just stopped by to pick up the information I requested.” Vague was important after all those nondisclosures I signed.

  “Right.” She opened a briefcase and removed a stack of files. “Here you are.” I reached for them, barely managing to get a grip with limited use of my bandaged hand. She looked sheepish and annoyed, probably due to the feeling of embarrassment Martin caused by not telling her sooner. Then again, until now, we hadn’t told anyone he knew. Maybe I shouldn’t leave him alone in her hotel room. Was this a signal for help? Was the sexy COO attempting to seduce him? “Have you made any headway?”

  “Some.”

  She turned to him, adding, “Whenever the numbers are finished being crunched, I’ll pass along that information as well.”

  “Sounds good.” I edged toward the door. “Was there anything else?”

  “Not presently,” she said, and I felt the temperature in the room start to drop.

  “Alex,” he opened the door before I could reach for it, “are you sure you’re okay?” His volume was low, so she wouldn’t hear from fifteen feet away.

  “Are you going to be okay?” My eyes darted in her general direction, and I smirked. It was a joke, and he smiled pleasantly.

  “I’ll see you soon.” I nodded and headed for the elevator.

  Thirty-six

  I rubbed my eyes and looked at the clock. It was later than I realized, but at least I finished analyzing the information Insight International gleaned during their intensive study on the new countertops. I made some final notes on the matter and stretched in the chair. Rereading my notations, I needed to see the unbiased financial report on the estimated countertop profit margins before I would have solid ground for determining a prime suspect. At this moment, I was leaning toward a member of Insight International. They reviewed sensitive materials; the same materials that were leaked concerning the design, materials, and schematics for the coming countertop revolution. Jotting down a reminder to do a more thorough evaluation and background on each of the four members, led by the questionable Craig Robinson, I got up from my desk and changed for bed.

  Staring at the ceiling, I tried every trick to make myself stop thinking and fall asleep. But it was one of those nights when nothing helped. My mind wandered, and I made a mental pro and con list. After tallying the results, I still had no idea why I couldn’t resist the lure of detective work and insinuating myself into police matters. Even after all the shit that happened to me and all the things I did, it was simply who I was. Fighting to stay away from one of the fundamental aspects at the very core of my being was fruitless and exhausting. This was who I was. The good and the bad. Mercer’s words came back, and I shuddered, burying myself under the covers.

  Obviously, at some point, I fell asleep because my nightmares were of nothing but pools of blood and beaten and battered men. There was a sound, and I wasn’t sure if it was the metal grate in my dream, dragging a path through the blood, or if it was something in the real world. But I jumped up, drenched in sweat and trembling. I reached for my gun and edged to my bedroom door, carefully leaning around the jamb. My gun was raised, and it took a moment longer than it should to determine the man in my apartment wasn’t a threat.

  “Alexis, take it easy. It’s just me.” Martin was near my counter. The metallic sound had been the empty soda can that he knocked over with his portfolio.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I swallowed, remembering to lower my nine millimeter. My hands were shaking. “Don’t you know better than to show up uninvited? Especially when I’m working. How did you even get in here?”

  “You keep a spare key at my place.” He stared at me as I tried to calm my rattled nerves.

  “That’s in case I lock myself out. That’s not for you to use.” I gulped down some air and retreated to my bedroom.

  “I was just dropping off the financial files to save you a trip to Francesca’s hotel. I didn’t even think you’d be home, so I brought the key and didn’t plan to disturb you.”

  “You could have knocked first,” I scolded. I was in my room, remaining out of his field of view while I calmed down. Every now and again, nightmares would lead to full blown panic attacks, and waking up to the unexpected didn’t help. Neither did the possibility that I could have shot him if I didn’t realize the noise wasn’t a threat.

  “I did,” he sounded indignant. He came into my room and found me on the floor, against the mattress. “You didn’t answer, and I don’t believe for a minute that you’re okay.” He knelt down and held me against his chest. “Relax, Alex. You’re shaking like a leaf.”

  “I almost shot you,” I squeaked, dislodging the last remnants of blood and bodies from my mind.

  “No, you didn’t.” He awkwardly took his suit jacket off while keeping at least one arm around me at any given time. At least his suit wouldn’t become a casualty of my hysterics. “What’s going on? I thought this was over. Nick’s niece is safe, isn’t she?”

  “We haven’t found the kidnappers. The rest of them. I’m consulting at the precinct and working with a specialist, and fuck.” I jumped up, frantic. “I’m supposed to keep tabs on this dirty bastard.” The clock read a little after nine, and I missed my chance to follow Santino. I slumped down on the bed and rubbed my face, wincing because of my bruised cheek and swollen lip.

  “Hey,” he sat next to me, “it’s okay.” The remnants of my nightmare faded, and I felt steadier. The realization I needed to get to work kick-started my resolve, and the panic ebbed away. “How did this happen?” he asked gently, brushing against the elastic bandage Jen wrapped around my hand.

  I didn’t want to talk about it, but I didn’t want to hide from it either. “I almost beat a man to death.” I met his eyes, expecting to see fear or disgust. Instead, there was nothing but sorrow and compassion. He kissed my forehead and stood up.

  “I’ve wanted to do that to the people who hurt you,” he said quietly, slipping his jacket back on. “The only thing that matters is you did it for the right reason, and you didn’t follow through. Are you okay?”

  “Probably. I have to get to work.”

  “I know.” He took a step toward my door. “That’s why I brought the financials to you. I didn’t think you had a lot of spare time to waste on traipsing across town.”

  Getting up, I followed him to the door. “Why were you at Francesca’s hotel last night? Did the room service ever show up?”

  He smirked. “No room service or champagne toasts,” he clarified, a slight teasing quality to his voice. “Don’t be offended, but there’s a chance I’m moving in on your consulting gig. She asked me to assess the financial viability of her countertop project since I am a business genius.”

  “And modest too.”

  “Absolutely.” He kissed me a second time. “I won’t show up unannounced again, but I might call to check on you.”

  “I’m okay.”

  “I’ll call anyway.” He stepped into the hallway, and I spotted Bruiser. At least he brought his bodyguard with him. “Maybe I’ll start the conversation by asking what you’re wearing.” I smiled and shut the door. Hell of a way to begin the day, I thought wryly.

  After pulling myself together, I went back to Santino’s apartment. I didn’t see his car outside but figured it wouldn’t hurt to make sure he wasn’t at home. Knocking on his door, I hoped he wouldn’t answer. If he did, Moretti would probably have to answer for his consultant’s rash behavior, and that wouldn’t go very well. Luckily, or maybe unluckily, Santino was gone for the day. I wanted nothing more than to let myself into his apartment and look for clues, but I wasn’t sure how that would play out either. Erring on the side of ca
ution, I sat in my car and sipped my coffee, deciding on my next course of action.

  While I considered all the pieces that were still missing from the puzzle, Kate phoned. “Parker,” she began, “there’s been a large withdrawal from Miguel Estes’ private account.” Her volume was barely above a whisper, and I knew keeping tabs on his financials was illegal and could get her into a lot of trouble. “It was a wire transfer directly to a private security firm.”

  “Which firm?”

  “That’s the thing. The account says Security Associates, but until twelve hours ago, they didn’t exist. And right now, they only exist on paper.”

  “Can you figure out their actual identity?” I inquired. “How much did he wire them?”

  “I’ll see what I can find.” She sighed and didn’t sound particularly positive. “This would be easier if you had a court order.”

  “Let’s pretend they’re terrorists then.” The Patriot Act should come in handy for something.

  “It was two hundred thousand. I doubt it’s a ransom amount, but I don’t know what it could mean.”

  “I do.” I hung up and dialed Mercer.

  “Psychic?” he asked as way of greeting.

  “What the hell is going on over there?”

  “Final instructions were delivered this morning. The kidnappers will trade the girl for three million. Estes has twenty-four hours to compile the additional funds. The money will be left at a drop site where Adalina’s location will be revealed.”

  “And he hired a hit squad to take out the kidnappers?” I asked. It was the only thing that made sense.

  “My job is retrieval. I don’t ask questions.”

  “You should start asking questions.” Since we have Adam, a.k.a. Autumn, I was surprised the kidnappers didn’t request a prisoner trade as well. Obviously, the Seasons didn’t have warm, touchy feelings for one another. “Are you with Estes now?”

  “I just left.”

  “Did you see Santino?”

  “My job isn’t to keep tabs for you.” He was agitated, but it didn’t matter. I waited for an answer. “I saw him briefly, but Barr and Keener escorted him away.”

  “What do you mean ‘escorted’?”

  “What do you think?” And he hung up. His friendly demeanor hadn’t lasted past the initial half hour after I beat the shit out of Adam, and I thought we were making such progress too.

  With nowhere else to go, I went to the precinct. There were too many questions, not enough answers, and a constant countdown. At least, this time, Catherine was no longer in any danger.

  I ran criminal checks on every name from the list Bastian gave me. There was a smattering of misdemeanors, but no one had any felony convictions or ties to hardened criminals. At least none that I could discern. The woman who orchestrated the kidnapping still had a connection to the Estes family, perhaps even to the school, but I didn’t know who she was or what her motivation was. Santino was involved. If I had any doubt, despite the photograph in his apartment, Estes had the same suspicion. I doubted we were both wrong. That meant at least two people affiliated with the Estes family orchestrated the kidnapping. Now all I needed was motivation, a solid lead, and a confession might be nice.

  Sitting behind a blank computer screen, I couldn’t pinpoint where to go or what to do. Our window of opportunity was closing, and I was stuck between a rock and a hard place. I really needed to start keeping cushy blankets with me at all times to help alleviate this problem in the future; my internal voice was being a smartass. No wonder so many people found this irritating. I was aggravating myself with these pointless jibes.

  Heathcliff was responding to a call on an unrelated matter, and Thompson was still out on account of his mandated thirty-six hour break. Drumming my fingertips on the desk, I made a judgment call. I picked up my purse and left the precinct. O’Connell asked the authorities not to get involved, and even though the entire situation morphed into something completely out of his control and mine, there was no reason to get officials involved now. In all honesty, if Moretti knew of the situation concerning Adam, Santino, Adalina, and Miguel Estes’ transferred funds, a shit storm would rain down on us all. The Captain needed plausible deniability, and my hands were too dirty to be washed clean until the situation was resolved.

  Pulling into the parking garage of the OIO building, I planned to check in with Kate, talk to a few of the hackers, and see if Mark was around. Mark Jablonsky would give me hell, but he was one of the few people who could keep me grounded and ensure I didn’t go completely off the rails. Unfortunately, Kate didn’t make any headway, and her expertise was being called away on a large-scale fraud investigation. She handed over all the relevant banking information, so I could attempt to keep tabs on my own. My hacker buddies, who still wanted to be called internet specialists, were trying to find a correlation between Santino and one of the female employees or close family friends, but I had little faith they would find a solid connection in such a short amount of time. Eventually, I made it to Mark’s office.

  “Parker,” he looked up from his desk, “what brings you inside a federal building?”

  “Shut up.” He liked to bust my chops every chance he got. “I need your input.” He raised an eyebrow and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. I shut the door and sat down. “This is all hearsay and off the books, understand?”

  “I heard you recovered Catherine Cale. How is she?”

  “She’s a tough kid. It might take some time, but I think she’ll be fine.” I bit my lip and wished I didn’t. “That’s why I need someone to bounce ideas off of.”

  “Consider me rubber.” His eyes narrowed. “Kidnapper did that to you?” He jerked his chin toward my face, which I didn’t bother to cover with makeup.

  “How this happened is beside the point.” I was tired of people asking the same dumb questions. I lowered my voice and glanced around the room to make sure no one appeared out of thin air. “Mercer has Cale’s captor someplace secure. The guy’s name is Adam. He went by Autumn. He says a woman hired his crew to grab the girls, and they were given instructions about everything.”

  “Is his information on the level?”

  “I don’t know.” I intentionally lifted my bandaged hand and brushed my hair back. “He was properly incentivized to be forthcoming.”

  “Where is he now?” The question Mark really wanted to ask was ‘how is he’.

  “He’s secure. There’s been movement in Miguel Estes’ bank account, and his business manager is suspected of being involved.”

  “Do the cops have him?”

  “No. His lawyer got him released yesterday. Estes might be conducting his own interrogation as we speak.”

  Mark leaned back in the chair. “What’s the problem? The family wants all law enforcement uninvolved, and it sounds like he’s handling the situation.” I readjusted in the chair, frustrated and antsy. “Oh,” he was smarter than he let on, “you tried to color outside the lines, but all those rules and regs I drilled into you must have stuck.” He looked pleased. “’Bout damn time you listened to something.”

  “Anyway, you told me to get in bed with Mercer. So do I screw him over or let him finish what he started?” Mark blew out a breath and picked up his pen, absently chewing on the cap.

  “You have to see this through to the end.” He knew me well enough to know there was no other possibility. “I say let Mercer get his rocks off, and whatever pieces don’t get swept under the rug, you drag them down to the precinct. You are working for Moretti, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “Okay.” He considered something for a moment. “That might insulate you from any fallout concerning abducting and beating a man.”

  “Assuming he’s still alive by that point.” I stood up, thankful that Mark helped me reach the only viable conclusion. This was Mercer’s show, and I was just playing a supporting role.

  “Damn mercs,” he added, waving me away as I opened the door. “Watch yourself out there. If you
need someone to save the day, you have my number.”

  “Careful, all that hero talk is likely to make me swoon.”

  Thirty-seven

  I shook out my shoulders and neck. After my therapy session with Mark, I went home. Investigating the bogus security firm led to nothing, and only Kate could work magic with bank accounts to make this mindless drivel translate into usable information. I was a people person, not a mathematical genius. Slowly pacing the confines of my apartment, I started over at the beginning. The girls were taken from the school by someone familiar. I needed Catherine to talk to me. She possessed the missing pieces, even if she didn’t know it. Hopefully, if I called the Cales, Nick and I wouldn’t end up in another knockdown, drag out fight.

  “Mrs. Cale,” I tried to sound professional, hoping Evelyn wouldn’t hang up on me, “this is Alex Parker.”

  “Alex,” her tone sounded cheerful. “I’ve been meaning to call. Thank you so much. I had my doubts, but Nicky was right about you.” Her gushing was making my stomach hurt. It might also cause some cavities with all that sugary sweetness.

  “Evelyn, there is still a child missing. Do you think it might be possible to ask Catherine a question?”

  She hedged. It was her way of protecting her daughter. “She’s been through so much already.”

  “I know. Maybe you know the answer to this. I don’t know exactly what was said or reported to the police department.” O’Connell censored most of the report due to Mercer’s insistence. “But your daughter was taken that morning from the school. Catherine, Sonia, and Adalina all left without so much as a peep. Do you know what they were told in order to gain that level of cooperation?” I almost said trust but thankfully changed my mind.

  “Supposedly,” her voice was full of hatred and disgust, making the family resemblance between her and Nick that much more obvious, “Adalina’s mother sent the car for the girls. It was a birthday treat for her daughter. Can you fucking believe that those sickos would use a line like that?” She had gone from protective mother bear to vengeful parent in a heartbeat. But I barely noticed because I was blinded by the epiphany that just flipped the switch in my brain.