Racing Through Darkness Read online

  “Hey, do you mind if I stop by?” I asked while parking outside his garage door.

  “Of course not.” He sounded distracted. Maybe he was at work or having a business dinner. “What time?”

  “Now.”

  There was a moment of silence and then the door in front of me opened. Pulling into the garage, Marcal was polishing the town car. He shut the door and offered a smile. Why he was here if Martin was in for the night barely registered as I trudged up the steps.

  Opening the door, Martin was sitting sideways on the sofa with his arm outstretched across the back. Seated next to him was Francesca. She let out a soft laugh and ran her hand up his forearm. Wow, as if today couldn’t get any worse. After losing the possibility of recovering Catherine and dealing with this god-awful hangover, the scene playing out in front of me shouldn’t have registered, but it did.

  “Clearly, you need a warning before I show up.” Being utterly impolite, I stalked into the kitchen and searched the drawers.

  “Alexis,” he acknowledged, sounding friendly, but there was a hint of worry in his voice, “can I help you with something?”

  “No, Mr. Martin,” my voice bled disdain, “I believe I left my company I.D. card in your possession.” He politely excused himself from Francesca’s perfectly adorable grasp and came into the kitchen.

  “I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon.” His voice was gentle. “Oh god, is she?”

  “I don’t know.” I slammed a drawer shut and headed for the guest bathroom. There was no reason to think it was there, but I didn’t want to be in such close proximity to him. Unfortunately, he followed, uttering some polite lie to Francesca on the way. “Look, Luc needs me to go over some shit at the office tomorrow, so if you find my goddamn MT clearance card, can you bring it with you to work and tell the yokels in the security office to let me upstairs?”

  “Where are you going? You just got here.” He wasn’t stupid, so the fact he was asking completely idiotic questions did nothing but acerbate the situation.

  “I’d hate to ruin your date, sir.” Again my words were biting. He shut the door and blocked my escape.

  “I don’t know what you think you walked in on, but you should know me better than this, Alex.” I snorted and looked away. “Francesca is in town to make a business deal, and since we ran into one another at the conference, she looked me up.”

  “Yeah, fine. Are we done? There are more important things I could be doing right now.”

  He squinted, assessing my appearance. “I doubt it. You wouldn’t have stopped by if that was true.” He reached out to touch my cheek, but I pulled away. “You’ve either been crying or you have one hell of a hangover.”

  “Screw you. Oh wait, either that’s what happened twenty minutes ago or what’s happening twenty minutes from now. Like I said, I should go.”

  “Fine.” He was annoyed, and his own voice adopted an edge. There was no reason why I had to be the only one to bask in the misery. “Your I.D. is in the bedroom. You can either go get it or stay put while I get it.” Not wanting to go upstairs for fear that my accusation, although entirely ridiculous and unsubstantiated, would be proven correct, I crossed my arms and leaned against the bathroom cabinet. “Give me a minute.” He was angry.

  Great way to piss off all the men in your life. Maybe while I was waiting I should call Heathcliff and bitch him out for inflicting bourbon on my battered soul. Clearly, he had to pour the liquor down my throat to get me to drink it. It had nothing to do with the desire to self-medicate the pity and helplessness away.

  Five minutes later, Martin returned. He didn’t have my I.D., but he apologized to Francesca for the commotion and politely concluded their evening together on account of his raging bitch of a girlfriend; although, he probably put a slightly more positive spin on it than that.

  “What the hell is wrong with you?” he yelled. It’d been quite some time since we had a fight, and I was in no condition for the decibel levels we were capable of achieving.

  “I’m gonna go, but I’ll make you a list. Check your e-mail.” I brushed past him, but he grabbed my arm. “Y’know, I would say it’s not you, it’s me, but the problem is, I tend to follow one basic principle. People don’t change.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean? You’ve had a shitty day, so you’re taking it out on me. Yeah, I know. I’m use to it.”

  Letting out a horrible sounding laugh, I yanked my arm from his grasp. “Oh come on, when I first met you, you were this womanizing playboy who liked to pull out the charm and flash the money around. Why the hell did I ever let myself think you weren’t that guy anymore?”

  He looked genuinely hurt. “I’m not that guy. Maybe I was that guy before but not with you.” I turned and continued toward the door. The last thing I wanted was to have this fight. The reason I came here, besides the stupid I.D., was because when things went south he was my port in the storm. Instead, I set the place ablaze and added insult to injury. “Don’t go. Not like this.”

  “O’Connell threw me out of the hospital. I betrayed his trust and turned the situation over to Thompson. If I could do that to him, then there’s no reason in this world why you wouldn’t have at least entertained doing something similar to me. Betrayal isn’t something planned. It just happens.”

  Twelve

  I sat alone in my car in Martin’s garage. Marcal was gone, probably to drive the Harvard alumna back to her hotel or to another suitor’s house. My head was against the steering wheel. There was too much to process. After an unknown amount of time passed, Martin tapped on my window.

  “Come upstairs.” He looked defeated.

  “Why?” Fighting with myself was tiring enough. I didn’t have it in me to keep up the fight with him too.

  “Because you need someone to talk to, even if it’s just someone you want to vilify as a philandering, womanizing son-of-a-bitch.” He opened my car door. “I’m not going to apologize. I’ve done nothing to hurt you or jeopardize us. Whatever issues you have are yours. You sought me out tonight, so there must have been a reason.”

  I shut my eyes, dreading the question that played endlessly through my mind since entering the warehouse. When I opened them, I locked onto the green orbs in front of me. “What if Catherine’s dead?”

  “You didn’t kill her.”

  “Maybe I signed her death warrant. Maybe by recommending Evelyn and Peter turn it over to the authorities the kidnappers will just dump the body and start over with an easier mark. Maybe by firing at them I pissed off the wrong person, and they have grown tired of the game.”

  “Maybe you need to stop with all the maybes.” He knelt down to my level. “You were in a shootout?”

  “Not much of one. Everyone walked away still breathing. Rather pointless if you think about it.”

  “Were you trying to make a joke? Because it’s not funny.”

  “No. It’s not.” I sighed. “O’Connell is so upset. He’ll never forgive me. I can’t forgive me.” Something dawned on Martin, but he didn’t share his epiphany. Instead, he pulled me out of the car and dragged me up the steps.

  “Thompson and Heathcliff must be relieved to be doing something,” he added, continuing up another flight of stairs. Wherever we were going, I was done contesting his actions. If he wanted to throw me off his fourth story balcony, it would at least be a remedy to my infernal headache.

  “They’re working on it. The FBI is getting involved, but all this extra help could be a faster death sentence.” A horrific thought dawned on me. “What if they never find her? Not knowing, never knowing might be worse than–”

  “Sweetheart, stop.” He led us to his bedroom.

  “I’ve been away from this life for too long. What am I doing? Two of the kidnappers were a few feet away from me. I should have stopped them. Arrested them. Called the cops to arrest them. Something. I should have done something. Instead, we left and let them go. Stupid mistake. God. And right now, I should be out there doing something,
not here picking fights with you.”

  “Tomorrow.” He nudged me toward the bed. “Sleep on it. You’re spinning yourself into the ground and trying to take everyone else with you.” He flipped on the light in the attached bathroom, knowing I wouldn’t be able to handle the dark in my current state. “Do you want a drink or some tea? Warm milk? I don’t know what I’m supposed to do here.”

  “No alcohol. I’m hungover enough as it is.” Meeting his eyes, I wondered why he would be so patient after all the horrible things I just said to him. “Even if it rarely seems like it, I do love you.”

  “I know. Now get some rest. Tomorrow, things will be more manageable, and tonight, the cops will do everything they can.”

  * * *

  “The van was torched. Ballistics pulled a bullet out of the hood, but everything else is useless. I’d say they dumped it first thing. We’re pulling traffic cams now to see if we can get some idea of what they might be driving,” Thompson relayed over the phone.

  “The bullet in the hood is probably mine.”

  “Are you gonna come down to the station later to give us a statement, or do we have to track you down?”

  “I’ll be there in a couple of hours. Is Mercer in a cage?”

  “It’s a three ring circus, but he’s not going anywhere anytime soon,” he assured me before hanging up.

  Putting the phone down on the nightstand, I looked at Martin. It was six thirty. He had turned off his alarm and foregone his ritual early morning workout. Although he was pretending to be asleep, he’d need more acting lessons before I’d be convinced.

  “I’m sorry about last night. If I could take back the entire day, I would.” He opened one eye, and his lip curled up at the corner.

  “You’ve never struck me as the jealous type.” He rolled onto his side and watched as I fidgeted with the hem of the sheet. “If you were less defeatist and more crazed sex kitten, I could accept the jealousy thing a little easier.”

  “Meow.” I rolled my eyes, knowing my outburst had very little to do with Francesca and everything to do with all the ways I screwed up yesterday. “One of these days, maybe we’ll have a talk about our past relationships like your former fiancée and my ex-husband.”

  “Ex-husband?” He cocked a confused eyebrow up, and I snorted. “Evil.” He watched me closely. “That was a joke, right?”

  “Of course. No one’s that crazy. But it smarts to have the unknown flaunted in your face. Hell, she was sitting on the couch, and you know how much I love that couch.”

  “It’s the only reason you ever come over.”

  “Exactly.” I got out of bed, fully dressed in my clothes from yesterday. It might save time, getting a jump on the day, if I didn’t look too wrinkled, and my clothes were passable too. “Just so you know, my outburst wasn’t really about Francesca.” He nodded. Sadly, he understood me better than even I understood myself. “I have to get going on this. Whatever’s going to happen is already in motion.”

  “Stop with the conflagration. When you blame yourself, you try to burn down every good thing you have. Sure, I’m this amazing godlike being with incredible abilities like empathy, phenomenal listening skills, and an unparalleled sexual prowess, but,” he smirked, “don’t confuse that with a doormat.”

  “Doormat’s typically say ‘welcome’ while you tend to spout out smartass remarks and perverted jokes.”

  “See, you obviously know the difference.” He wished me a good day, and I left as soon as he got in the shower. At least my temporary insanity didn’t cause any permanent damage. I only hoped the same could be said concerning my relationship with Nick and the unknown status of Catherine’s well-being.

  By the time I made it to the precinct, there was a fleet of government issued vans taking up all of the visitor parking spots. Three ring circus was too kind of a comment. My first step into the police station felt strange. It was akin to walking into a church after years of not practicing any faith. At least I didn’t burst into flames. Heading up the back staircase to the major crimes unit, I was hoping to spot a friendly face.

  In the roll call room, the current acting captain, Dominic Moretti, assembled a group of uniformed officers, some plainclothes detectives, and a group of suited federal agents. I took a seat at O’Connell’s desk and shuffled inconspicuously through his belongings. There was a decent chance he might have been looking into some leads before he was shot that no one uncovered.

  “Already did that,” Thompson said, sitting across from me. “You’re not the only one who took the investigation skills 101 class.”

  “Yeah, but I did it while wearing heels, so don’t even try to top that.”

  He scoffed and pulled out a blank form from his desk. “Are you going to cooperate and stop being a pain in my ass, or do you want to do this in an interview room instead?”

  “Here works.” I gave him my biggest smile. After divulging everything I knew, which wasn’t much, he added it to the three-inch thick file currently on his desk. “Are you charging Mercer with anything?”

  “Like what? Interfering in a police investigation? If you want to push the issue, I can toss the two of you into holding for the next forty-eight hours.”

  “Be nice, Thompson,” Heathcliff said from behind. “This reads O’Connell all over it in bold letters.” He came around the desk and leaned in front of me. “Parker, let’s take a walk.” Checking Thompson for approval, he frowned and went back to entering things into his computer.

  We wandered down the hallway, and Heathcliff ducked into the archive room. It was the closest thing to privacy we could find in a busy police station. The reason for our meeting was still unknown, but at least it was an improvement over Thompson’s angry looks.

  “How you doing?” he asked.

  “Better today. Next time, let’s try a five mile run, instead of downing half a bottle of bourbon.” He remained silent. “Did you find a body?”

  “No.” He shook his head for emphasis. “They’re in the wind. As far as we can tell, Catherine and the other girl are still being held somewhere. If they end up dead, the kidnappers get nothing. It’d be bad business to kill your cash cow.”

  “They left the money. It was in the warehouse.” I inhaled slowly. “If it’s not the money they want, then what’s left?”

  “Maybe they figured it was sequential bills, or they were paranoid because of the tracker. There’s gotta be an explanation, but the guy with the accent isn’t being cooperative.”

  “Julian Mercer not cooperating, there’s a shocker. Are you sure you can’t book him? The guy’s a ghost. My guess, he’s a goddamn mercenary.”

  “His business card reads professional negotiator. I suggested he add wet work specialist next to the K&R, but I didn’t get a response. Maybe it’s a dialect issue.”

  “Obviously. Toss in a couple pip, pip, cheerios, and maybe you’ll get a better reaction.” I was back to being flippant.

  “What do you know about him? About the Estes family? Anything O’Connell might have told you that you haven’t shared? We’re in the freaking archive room. So it speaks for itself, this is off the record.”

  I gave him every shred of information I possessed from the hangar bays to the school administrator to the museum. The only thing I left out was my impersonation of a police detective. Some things were fluff and not necessary to divulge. “Jablonsky pulled some phone records, but since I’m supposed to be vacationing at the beach, he’s been slow getting anything usable back.”

  “Does that mean you’re hanging up your holster and calling it a day?” He was busting my chops. “What are you doing, Parker? Heading back to the shiny MT building, sitting behind a desk, maybe answering some phones, sending a few e-mails, and drinking coffee?”

  “Sounds just like your job.”

  “Then why aren’t you begging to get put on this case?” My silence was met with an odd look. “Nick put you in the doghouse, so you’re trying to behave.”

  “If something happens
to her, I don’t want it to be on me.”

  “And if you aren’t doing everything you possibly can and something still happens, then who’s that going to be on?” I swallowed. Heathcliff made a hell of a point.

  Thirteen

  Seated behind my desk at the MT building, I reviewed the reports and signed off on finalizing the protocols. By the end of the week, everything would be set in stone, and by the beginning of next month, the entirety of the overhaul of MT’s security would be completed. Why anyone would choose to do this job was beyond me. It was tedious, soul-sucking, and monotonous. My heart wasn’t in it.

  Taking a break, I dialed Jen’s number. O’Connell and I weren’t on speaking terms, but I wanted to make sure he was okay. After too many unanswered rings, it went to voicemail, and I hung up. Alex Parker, pariah. Heathcliff was right, I should be begging to work the case, but I was afraid of failure with the stakes this high.

  “Ms. Parker,” Jeffrey called from outside my open door, “here’s your temporary I.D. card. We’ve removed all the access from your previous card, but it’ll take the system twenty-four hours to reset before we can put you back in with a new permanent I.D.”

  “Thanks.” He placed the card on my desk. “I’ll try not to lose this one.” I wasn’t one to lose things, and it was irksome that I couldn’t find my card. Maybe it fell behind something or was lost in the packing.

  “Not a problem.” He stared at the stack of paperwork on my desk. “Do you want some help?”

  “That’s okay. If I finish early, what will I do? Stare at the walls?”

  By four that afternoon, I had gone over everything and brought the paperwork to Guillot. He was amazed it was completed and shocked that I spent an entire day at work, instead of agonizing over my personal situation. The only crisis I was having was what I was supposed to do. At least it was nice to know some people weren’t completely heartless. On my way out, I spotted Martin in his office in deep conversation with Francesca. At least my volatile personality didn’t harm Martin’s personal or professional life.