Hazardous Duty (18 page)

We were seated in the corner. Parker
leaned back and stretched his arm across the wooden booth. “How are you doing,
Gabby? Really.”

“The BTK Strangler’s free, huh?”

“What?”

“Never mind.” I shook my head. “I’m
okay. It’s been a rough week.”

He took a sip of water. “You need to take
it easy. Give yourself a chance to deal with everything’s that happened.”

“I’ll take it easy as soon as Harold’s
cleared of all charges.”

“All the evidence is stacked against
him. It doesn’t look good, especially since he already has a record.”

“I’ll prove he’s innocent, if it’s that
last thing I do.”

I was like Javert trying to track down
Jean Valjean. Nothing would stand in my way.

Silence fell. Parker twirled his ice
water before leaning forward, his voice low and serious. “Why do you think
someone wants to kill you, Gabby?”

“Because I know about the gun.”

“But I know about the gun. No one’s come
after me.”

“Yes, but maybe the murderer can see
that you’re still focused on Newsome. I’m the only one pushing you in another
direction. If he can shut me up, you’ll let the whole inquiry about the gun
drop.”

He sighed and leaned back. “I didn’t say
I was going to let it drop.”

“You’ve already let it drop. The only
man the evidence points to is walking the streets scot-free and you’re not
doing a thing about it.”

The waitress set our soda on the table.
I took my straw and impaled a slice of lemon while Parker took a long sip.

“Cunningham isn’t guilty, Gabby. I don’t
know how the gun got there, but it wasn’t because Cunningham used it.”

“Did you fingerprint it?”

“Yeah and, of course, his prints are
everywhere. It’s his gun, for goodness sake.”

“What about the blood?”

“What about the blood, Nancy Drew? It
doesn’t prove anything.”

I shifted, tired of his nickname, but
even more tired of his disregard for my opinion. “Why are you so determined to
protect Cunningham? Does he hold a spell over you?”

His gaze darkened. “No, because I’m a
professional and I know a killer when I see one.”

“Then why does someone want me dead? Can
you tell me that, detective? If that gun I found means nothing, why does
someone want to shut me up?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it’s unrelated to
the case.”

Indignation forced my spine rigid.
“You’ve got to be kidding me? That’s your theory? Someone is trying to kill me
just for fun—there’s no other reason to explain the events that have happened?”

Parker glanced around the room, and I
realized I’d practically shouted at him. Too bad.

He leaned toward me. “Look, I’m sorry.
I’m not the most sensitive guy in the world. But I’m only trying to get you to
look at things from a different angle.”

I drew in a breath, willing myself to
calm down. “Then tell me what other angle there is, detective. How do you
explain three attempts on my life?”

The perky waitress appeared again. “Are
you ready to order?”

Parker looked at me for an answer and I
shrugged. As Parker rattled off something from the menu, I echoed his order.
The waitress took our menus and, as soon as she disappeared, Parker leaned
forward and lowered his voice.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,
Gabby. I know you think I’m working against you. But whoever’s committing these
crimes isn’t someone you want to mess with.”

His words repeated in my mind, until I
realized what he said. “You don’t think Newsome did it. He’s in jail.”

Parker remained silent.

“Admit it. I need to hear you say it.”

“There’s a lot you don’t understand
about police work.”

“Help me understand then.”

He ran a hand through his gelled hair.
“It’s complicated.”

“Try me.”

“There was a lot of pressure in the
Cunningham case. They’re a powerful family. The chief demanded someone be
charged with the crime. Everything points to Newsome.”

“But?”

His jaw flexed and I could see the
internal struggle going on. “It seems too perfect, you know?”

“So do something.”

“The chief won’t back down. He’s convinced
it’s Newsome. The press is satisfied. City residents are satisfied. I should be
satisfied.”

“Isn’t this where you step up with
bravado and do what’s right, no matter the cost?”

“I wish it were that easy.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“I don’t know.”

“Cunningham.”

“The angle the bullet went into his leg
makes it unlikely for him to have shot himself.”

“Maybe his wife shot him first.”

He reached across the table and squeezed
my hand. “Do me a favor and let me handle it, okay? I don’t need you to go
chasing after a killer.”

“He’s chasing after me.”

Parker shook his head. “You’re a
spitfire, you know.”

“A mess. A spitfire. A Nancy Drew
wannabe. You have lots of names for me.” I thought of another name he could
throw in—Stubborn. I didn’t bother to suggest it.

He grinned. “Only cause I like you.”

“I would have thought I was your number
one enemy.”

“I thought abrasiveness would discourage
you. It didn’t work.”

The server set our she-crab soup in
front of us. The conversation stayed generic for the rest of dinner. My
anxieties melted as I found out more about Parker. Despite his earlier
gruffness, I found out he loved snowboarding, fiercely supported the New York
Yankees, and had been married once before.

The marriage part didn’t really surprise
me. A man who looked like Parker was bound to have a long history with women.
He didn’t seem like the type to settle down.

With our plates empty, Parker extended
his hand. “You ready to head home?”

I stood and, a few moments later, we
were in his Viper. I looked around the car, wondering where the detective got
money for it. And for a restaurant like Freemason, for that matter. Maybe I
should start singing, “Hey, Big Spender” instead of “Send in the Clowns” when
he was around.

“Nice set of wheels you have here,” I
said when he climbed inside.

“Yeah, she’s my baby.” He rubbed his
hand down the console. “I’ve always wanted one of these, since the first time I
laid eyes on one.”

“New?”

We started down the road. “Yeah. Some
people would say it’s a waste to spend all of your money on a car, but I
disagree. I feel like a million bucks when I’m driving this girl.”

“I always wondered why someone would
spend gobs of money on a car that can go from zero to sixty in a few seconds.”

“Three point nine, to be exact.”

“Do you just want to get to the next
stoplight faster?”

Parker chuckled. “It’s a guy thing. It’s
just the fact that we
can
get there faster.”

“Ah, I see. Male egotism. Wanting to be
better, stronger, more capable so you can take down the next guy. Makes perfect
sense.”

Parker glanced at me. “Have you always
been so direct?”

“No, only around you.”

“I’m flattered.”

“They say flattery will get me
everywhere.”

“I think it’s nowhere. Flattery will get
you nowhere.”

“They have their sayings, I have mine.”

He chuckled again. “You’re a mess. You
know that?”

“So I’ve been told, Detective.”

“You could call me Chip, you know.”

I smiled. “I like Parker better.”

As we neared my apartment, he ran
through a list of safety precautions, from double-checking my locks to not
going anywhere alone. When we pulled up to my apartment, I expected him to
leave his car running. He cut the engine and stepped out. Low and behold, he
was going to walk me to the door.

Maybe I had been too quick to judge him.

Chapter Twenty-Three

“I’d like to check out everything
in your apartment, just to be safe,” Parker said.

We walked inside. “I appreciate it.”

Parker took my keys and opened my
apartment door. “Wait here.”

I nodded as he stepped inside my
apartment. Behind me, I could hear the muted sound of a TV from Riley’s
apartment. Lucky squawked. I wondered what my neighbor had done this evening.

Parker stuck his head through the
doorway. “It’s all clear. You can come in.”

He stepped aside and I squeezed past,
catching a whiff of his leathery aftershave. “Would you like some coffee?” The
words surprised even myself.

Parker flashed his million dollar smile.
“I’d love some. But only on one condition—no talking about this case.”

It sounded fair. “Agreed.”

I started a hazelnut brew while Parker
lingered in the living room. “You like jigsaw puzzles, I see.”

“My neighbor insisted we work on it
today. After my scare yesterday, people haven’t wanted to let me out of their
sight.”

Parker leaned in the doorway. “They’ve
got the right idea. You’re lucky to have friends like that.”

Riley and Sierra’s faces flashed through
my mind. “Yes, I am.”

“They say the best protection against
crime is a nosy neighbor.”

“Then we should be pretty safe here in
this building.”

Parker reached for my hand. “How are
your burns?” He gently rubbed the skin around my wound.

“They’re healing.”

He touched the skin at my temple. It had
been rubbed raw from thrashing around in the trunk. “You’re going to have some
badges of courage, it appears.”

I never thought of them like that. “You
have any?”

He touched his arm. “Yeah, a couple. I
was shot in the arm my first year doing patrol. A murder suspect fled the crime
scene. I chased him. Backup still hadn’t arrived. I went into an abandoned
building. Couldn’t see a thing. Before I realized the situation I put myself
in, I had a bullet in my arm.” He lowered his voice. “It’s why I don’t want you
involved in this case. I know how dangerous it is. If that man hadn’t been a
bad shot, I wouldn’t be here.”

“I want to be a forensic scientist,” I
blurted. “I know you think I’m just nosy, but I want to solve crimes for a
living. This isn’t a passing phase.”

He stepped closer. His eyes held a new
emotion, one that surprisingly intrigued me. “Then what’s stopping you?”

“Time, money.”

“You don’t seem like the kind of person
who lets anything stop you once you have your mind set.”

The smell of coffee filled the room, and
I turned to pour some, grateful for the distraction. Parker’s cell phone beeped
as I handed him a mug.

“Excuse me.” He stepped into the living
room. A few seconds later, he snapped the phone shut and approached me. “I have
to go.”

“Everything okay?”

“There’s a homicide at the beach.” He
nodded toward the untouched coffee mug. “Rain check?”

I nodded and slipped his jacket off.
“Rain check.”

***

When my alarm went off the next morning,
I could hardly move. Exhaustion zapped my energy, and I played with the idea of
spending today in bed. A sense of urgency wouldn’t allow me to, though. I
didn’t have any time to waste in proving Harold innocent.

I pulled on some shorts and a T-shirt,
and set out on a morning jog. Running always seemed to steady my emotions and
clear my head. I’d engaged in the activity after watching the movie, “Forrest
Gump.” Forrest said he ran to put the past behind him, which sounded like a
good idea to me. And that’s all I had to say about that.

Sunday mornings weren’t as busy in Ghent. The normal buzz of
cars and pedestrians disappeared as people slept in or lingered in front of
their TV sets. I passed a few regulars out walking their dogs or taking a late
morning run.

With each cadence, my tension eased. I
wondered what Riley was doing at church. His car wasn’t in the parking lot, so
I assumed that’s where he went. I could picture him in a massive cathedral,
organ playing, and people trying to appear holy.

Only Riley didn’t seem like that.

But that still didn’t mean Christianity
was for me. Life hadn’t pointed me toward a loving God. If there was a God, he
was a harsh dictator who enjoyed watching His children suffer, more akin to
Adolf Hitler than Mother Teresa. I’d stick with my faith in science. It made
more sense.

I rounded the corner, enjoying pushing
my muscles to the limit. Even the glaring sun didn’t bother me as I moved
along. Just being outside invigorated me.

I replayed last evening. I couldn’t
believe how much I’d enjoyed talking with Parker. He’d been an engaging
conversationalist and a good listener.

I compared Riley and Parker, realizing
how different both were. Riley was laid-back, good-natured. He had a
boy-next-door aura about him. Parker, on the other hand, had movie star good
looks and charm he turned on and off.

My apartment came into view. I’d run two
miles. Now, I needed coffee. I jogged across the street.

I ordered a large iced mocha. As I
waited, several families came inside wearing dresses and suits. The church
across the street must have just gotten out. The members had left a bad taste
in my mouth on more than one occasion.

I’d been in several arguments with
attendees who’d insisted on parking at the apartment building, effectively
leaving me without a space, though signs clearly stated parking was for
residents only. Plus, Sharon, the coffeehouse owner, dreaded Sundays, she’d
told me once. Christians were the worst tippers, often leaving tracks in place
of money. They were also high-maintenance, complaining over the smallest
discrepancy. They might sing about amazing grace, but they sure didn’t live it.

I grabbed my order when it was up and
walked to my apartment. Riley opened his door as I pounded upstairs.

“I can’t take my eye off of you for a
minute, can I?” he asked.

“They found the mechanic who locked me
in the car. I had to go identify him.”