Fallen Angel Read online

  Fallen Angel

  A Cross Security Investigation

  G.K. Parks

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and other concepts are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, places, establishments, events, and locations is entirely coincidental.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without express written permission from the author.

  Copyright © 2020 G.K. Parks

  A Modus Operandi imprint

  All rights reserved.

  Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:

  Likely Suspects

  The Warhol Incident

  Mimicry of Banshees

  Suspicion of Murder

  Racing Through Darkness

  Camels and Corpses

  Lack of Jurisdiction

  Dying for a Fix

  Intended Target

  Muffled Echoes

  Crisis of Conscience

  Misplaced Trust

  Whitewashed Lies

  On Tilt

  Purview of Flashbulbs

  The Long Game

  Burning Embers

  Thick Fog

  Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:

  Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series

  Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)

  Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)

  The Final Chapter (Prequel series, #3)

  Julian Mercer Novels

  Condemned

  Betrayal

  Subversion

  Reparation

  Retaliation

  Liv DeMarco Novels

  Dangerous Stakes

  Operation Stakeout

  Unforeseen Danger

  Deadly Dealings

  Table of Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Twenty-one

  Twenty-two

  Twenty-three

  Twenty-four

  Twenty-five

  Twenty-six

  Twenty-seven

  Twenty-eight

  Twenty-nine

  Thirty

  Note from the Author

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  One

  “Don’t be shy.” I gave the red-headed woman at the door my most engaging smile. “I won’t bite.”

  “No, I um…” she looked uncertainly at my secretary, “I made a mistake. I got the wrong office.”

  The black stenciling on the frosted glass was impossible to mistake. Cross Security and Investigations. I thought I was clever using the initials CSI. So far, no one else seemed to think so, but it’d catch on, unless Jerry Bruckheimer sued me. Then it would really catch on.

  “Are you sure?” The dark bruises on her upper arm and the poorly executed attempt to cover her split lip and black eye didn’t go by unnoticed.

  “Yeah, sorry to bother you.” She hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, frozen and unsure if she should run.

  I stood and grabbed my jacket, slipping it on over my crisp white shirt. A remnant of my brief stint working on Wall Street. “No bother at all.” She didn’t need charming. She needed a friend. Someone she could trust. “I was just about to grab some coffee.” I shook off my receptionist’s questioning look. The last thing I needed was for her to mention the espresso machine in the back room. “Can I help you find the right office?”

  “No.” The redhead stumbled backward, afraid.

  I tried the smile again, more subdued and less engaging this time. I didn’t want to frighten her more than she already was. “How about you let me buy you a cup of coffee instead?”

  She shook her head.

  I should have given up. Obviously, she changed her mind. If she didn’t want my help, I couldn’t force it on her. Domestic issues were sticky, but her bruises made my blood boil.

  “Suit yourself.” I turned to my assistant. “Have our calls forwarded to the service. Since this lovely young lady doesn’t need our help, I say we cut out early tonight.”

  “Are there any special messages you want relayed if the commissioner calls?”

  There were plenty of things I wanted to say to that bastard, but none of them were polite to repeat in front of mixed company. “No.”

  “Very good, sir.” Justin picked up the phone and pressed a few keys.

  The woman lingered just outside the doorway. I glanced at her from the corner of my eye as I stepped into the corridor. “Are you sure there isn’t something I can do for you?” But the question only agitated her more. I cleared my throat. “How rude of me. I haven’t even introduced myself. I’m Lucien Cross.”

  “Jade McNamara,” she said out of habit.

  “Nice to meet you.” I pushed the button for the elevator. “Are you sure I can’t buy you a cup of coffee?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  I nodded and politely gestured at the open elevator doors. She stepped inside, tucking herself into the rear corner. I stepped in and pressed the button for the lobby, keeping as much distance between us as possible in the hopes it would make her more comfortable.

  “Were you looking for King Realtors?”

  “No.” Her eyebrows pinched together. “Why would you think that?”

  “I bought my office space from them.” I shook my head, realizing I wasn’t making much sense. “They used to occupy the space I’m in now. Come to think of it, they also sold me the property.”

  “Oh. Good for you.” She picked at the peeling polish on her thumbnail. “Do you get a commission for recommending them?”

  I laughed. “No.” I turned my head, watching as she continued to stare at her nails and the floor. “But since you weren’t looking for me, I thought maybe you were looking for them.”

  She didn’t say anything.

  I only hung my shingle a few weeks ago. This security and investigation thing was new to me. Sure, I had business savvy and plenty of thoughts and ideas on how to make it work. I planned to specialize in corporate clients. My business background and trader status had led to a lot of contacts. I already had a list of clients lined up who needed employee background checks, security details for CEOs, and advice on internet protections. I was set. Cross Security would take off soon enough. I didn’t actually need to investigate anything. But I wanted to as a matter of pride.

  Until now, I never had a walk-in. If I were smart, I’d let her walk away. This wasn’t my area of expertise. But it could be. I was nothing if not a go-getter.

  “Did you file a police report?”

  Her gaze shot up, the panic evident with the clenching of her jaw and barely contained tremor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “The bruises around your eye and that split lip say otherwise.”

  “I fell.”

  “Is that how you got marks on your arm made by someone’s fingers? He was just helping you up, right?”

  She tugged on her sleeve, wishing she wore long sleeves instead. “How did you even see that?”

  “I notice things. That’s why it’s Cross Security and Investigations.” My private investigator license application was pending, but she didn’t need to know that. Idly, I wondered about the legal ramifications of taking a case without being li
censed. I’d have to call my attorney in the morning, but since I fulfilled the requirements, including the apprenticeship and training, I didn’t think it would matter. I’d be approved. There was no doubt about it.

  The elevator doors opened. “I should go.” She beelined out of the car.

  “Ms. McNamara, wait. I didn’t mean to upset you. Please, let me buy you a cup of coffee.”

  She spun, halfway between the elevator and the front door. “I don’t need your help.”

  I stared into her eyes. “You need someone’s help. That’s why you came to my office today. Let’s talk about it.”

  She turned back around, intent on getting as far away from me as possible.

  “There’s a shelter on Eighth. If you won’t let me help you, at least let them help you.”

  She stopped in her tracks. Building security and a few businesspeople stared at us. This wasn’t a good way to conduct myself in public. I should have stayed in my office.

  “I can’t go there,” she said, facing away from me. “He’ll find me.”

  Two

  “Are you sure you don’t want a cookie?”

  Jade had been eyeing the giant rainbow chip cookies since the moment we stepped into the café. She shook her head, reaching for her cup which rattled against the saucer as she lifted it. Getting her to agree to coffee had been like pulling teeth, so convincing her to eat a cookie or a sandwich was out of the question. I slipped the barista a couple of twenties with the understanding that she’d check on us periodically and refill our mugs. Leaving Jade unattended would cause her to bolt, and I didn’t want that to happen until I heard her story.

  “Isn’t this lovely weather we’re having?” I hoped to get her talking. She had shut down as soon as we stepped foot inside the coffee shop.

  She stared at me over the rim of her mug. “Sure, I guess.”

  I ran a hand through my hair, realizing I’d done it a dozen times in the last ten minutes. “Do you think I should shave my head?”

  “What?” she sputtered.

  I shrugged. “I obviously have a nervous tic. Maybe it would alleviate the problem, but I might turn into one of those guys who rubs his head all the time. I could always just carry a towel and polish my head like a bowling ball.”

  Her eyes lit up, and her lips quirked in the corners. Either she thought I was insane, or she was amused. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

  “Plenty.”

  She sobered. “Me too.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it? About him?”

  She looked around the room, making sure no one was within earshot or paying any attention to us. “I moved here for graduate school. Criminal justice, of all things.” She snorted. “Isn’t that fucking ironic?” She fell silent, so I waited her out.

  Finally, I gestured to the barista and asked for a cookie. Even if Jade didn’t want one, I needed something to do to pass the time. Patience wasn’t my strong suit. I wanted things done now. Maybe that was the downside of spending two years on the trading floor. But I suspected that flaw wasn’t because of my previous profession; it was just who I was. And I had grown accustomed to getting what I wanted when I wanted it.

  I broke the cookie in half and took a bite. “How long ago was that?”

  “Five years.” She eyed the remaining piece of cookie, so I pushed the plate closer to her. “That’s how I met him. At first, things were great. He was great. Attentive and funny, everything a girl could ever want and more. But something happened, and he changed. The first time,” she bit her lip and stared at the espresso maker, “he said he was sorry. He promised it wouldn’t happen again. And for the next four months, it didn’t.”

  “That’s what they all say,” I mumbled. “How long have you two been together?”

  “Three and a half years. I met him while researching my thesis. He let me do a ride along.” She blinked, taking a deep breath.

  “He’s a cop?”

  “A sergeant.”

  “The police department takes allegations of domestic abuse seriously. Have you filed a complaint?”

  “No.”

  “That’s the first thing you should do.” I wiped my hands on a napkin and reached for my phone. “Have you called 9-1-1 for help?”

  “No.”

  I tried to recall everything I’d been taught. “What about doctor’s visits or trips to the ER? Did you have any of these injuries documented?”

  “No. I don’t have insurance, and it’s never been that bad.”

  I stared at her. “No, Ms. McNamara, it is bad. You know that. That’s why you sought help. Have you tried breaking up with him?”

  “Once.” Her eyes grew bright and wet. “I shouldn’t be talking to you. I shouldn’t be here.”

  “What did he do when you left him?”

  She swallowed and stared at the cookie crumbs on the plate. “He found me. He’ll always find me. He doesn’t want me to leave. Going would be suicide. I know it.”

  “Have you considered filing a restraining order?”

  “How can I? We live together.”

  “Still?” I didn’t understand, but no one could unless they were in that position.

  A fire ignited inside of her. “You don’t get it. We’ve been together for a long time. He is my everything. I barely scrape by. I work in a place just like this. I can’t afford rent or utilities. I don’t have any family here. The friends I had are gone now. I have nowhere else to go, and even if I did, I wouldn’t survive without him.”

  “He chipped away at your other connections.” I didn’t need her to answer. I knew enough to know this is how situations like this started. The abuser craved a sense of power and control over the abused, even though the reason for his behavior was often because of his own fear and insecurities. He wanted her alone and all to himself. He needed to be needed, so he created the ideal situation to make that happen. Honestly, I didn’t give a shit about the psychology. I just wanted to break the cycle and this guy’s face. “There are resources available to you.” I scrolled through my contacts, jotting down names and numbers as I went.

  “He’s a cop. There’s no place I can go where he can’t find me.”

  “I disagree, but we aren’t there yet.” I watched her nibble on the end of the cookie. “Before this goes any further, I need to ask you something.”

  “What?”

  “Are you prepared to leave him for good?”

  “I don’t see how I can.”

  “Don’t worry about the logistics. I just need to know if you’re done with him. You came to my office, but I get the sense you might not be ready. Until you are, there’s nothing anyone can do to help you.” It was the hard truth. I wouldn’t lie or sugarcoat things. She had to commit to this. If she couldn’t, there was no point, and I didn’t have the time or resources to waste if she intended to run back to him in a few days or weeks. “Do you still love him?”

  “No. I haven’t for a long time. Honestly, I think I hate him. Last night, he came home drunk. Angry and,” she took an unsteady breath, tears welling in her eyes, though she wouldn’t let them fall, “looking for a fight. I said something stupid about not wanting to put up with his shit anymore, and that set him off. He,” she fought to hold back the emotions, “pulled his gun on me and said he’d kill me if I ever leave him.”

  Three

  I had to be smart about this. Every cell in my body wanted to march into the police station and beat the shit out of Sergeant Scott Renwin, but a frontal assault would only lead to more problems. And I was in the business of solving problems, not creating them.

  A framed photo stood on the mantle, and I picked it up. The two of them were at the beach. Jade was laughing as a wave crashed down around them. She was beautiful, with alabaster skin, fiery red hair, and sharp teal eyes. Renwin wasn’t anything special, which I should have realized in the coffee shop when she said what initially drew her to him was his sense of humor. That spoke volumes for his looks. What did a woman like her eve
r see in a guy like him?

  “He’ll know I left,” Jade tossed another item into her duffel bag, “especially after our fight last night. As soon as he gets home, he’ll start looking for me. How long do you think it’ll take him to find me when he has the entire police department at his disposal? A few hours, maybe?”

  “That’s why you’re leaving a note saying your aunt unexpectedly took ill and you had to go to her. Once we get your things packed and clear out, you should call him and tell him about your unexpected trip.”

  “You want me to talk to him?”

  “You don’t have to. We’ll do whatever you think is best.” I reread the brief message she had written and hung it on the fridge. “We just need to buy a little time to get everything squared away.”

  “Before he comes looking for me.” She sighed. “He’s not stupid. He’s going to see right through this. He’s going to find me, Lucien. And he’s going to kill me.” She gulped down some air and stopped packing. Her hands shook. “I can’t do this. I can’t.”

  Maybe this was a terrible idea, but staying with him wasn’t a good idea either. I searched the kitchen drawers for a paper bag and folded over the sides. “Breathe into this. You don’t want to pass out. Just slow breaths in and out.” I had never seen anyone hyperventilate before, but I had seen the bag trick on TV shows. Hopefully, that wasn’t creative licensing.

  I rubbed her back softly, aware of the way she stiffened at the physical contact. I was out of my depth. Pulling out my phone, I dialed one of the area women’s shelters and stepped into the other room. Since I was no expert, I would defer to someone who knew what to do.

  “Who are you calling?” Jade asked, when she finally calmed down enough to speak.

  “The domestic abuse hotline.”

  Her already pale skin went stark white. “I can’t go to one of those places. I told you Scott’s a cop. That’s the first place he’ll look. He’ll find me there. You can’t take me to one of those places. I won’t go.”

  I put the phone down and held up my palms. “I know. I just wanted to make sure we didn’t forget to take something you might need later. You need financial documents, your bank account information, your credit history, social security card, insurance cards, IDs.” I studied her. “Did he take any of those things away from you?” According to the woman on the phone, the abuser often turned his victim into a captive.