Authors: G.K. Parks
Likely Suspects
Likely Suspects
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 © 2013 G.K. Parks
A Modus Operandi imprint
All rights reserved.
Print version ISBN: 0989195805
Print version ISBN-13: 978-0-9891958-0-5
For Rosie
Acknowledgements
This book would not have been possible without the continuous support of my friends and family. A special thanks goes out to Paula, my friend and fellow creative genius, without whom this story may never have seen the light of day. To my loyal friends and supporters, your daily encouragement and late night critiques were instrumental in keeping me grounded and enthused. Lastly, a special thanks goes out to my parents for always encouraging me to follow my dreams, even when the odds seem insurmountable.
To the reader, thank you for picking up this book and wanting to partake in the upcoming journey. I hope you find it an enjoyable read.
Full-length Novels in the Alexis Parker Series:
Prequel Alexis Parker Novellas:
Outcomes and Perspective: The Complete Prequel Series
Assignment Zero (Prequel series, #1)
Agent Prerogative (Prequel series, #2)
“Yes, I’m Alexis Parker. Pleased to meet you.” I extended my hand and watched my reflection in the mirror. To say I was nervous for my interview this morning was a bit of an understatement. After turning in my letter of resignation to the Office of International Operations, I hadn’t been able to get so much as a call back from anywhere else, despite the dozens of applications I submitted. I wasn’t ready to admit my leaving the OIO was a bad idea; the job required too much bureaucracy and red-tape for my liking.
I had spent four years of my life working investigations, chasing art thieves and smugglers, and I had nothing to show for it except a fairly sparse résumé and a meritorious service award.
I sighed and continued to get ready, straightening my long brown hair and putting on the proper amount of make-up to look professional and serious without being over the top. I didn’t want the guys at the Martin Technologies security office to confuse me with either a clown or a call girl.
I’
m twenty-nine, single, and unemployed. Who wouldn’t want to hire me, I thought bitterly, especially when I’m such a great catch. The truth of the matter is I always had what one would have considered a bright future. I’m fairly intelligent, well-educated, and decent enough looking. The problem is I lost my focus and drive to stick with one thing, which would probably explain my current lack of employment.
Before I
could continue farther down the path of figuring out how my life had gotten so derailed and my internal thought processes could reach the combustible point, my cell phone began vibrating across the vanity. I flipped off the flat iron and looked at the caller ID. Martin Technologies read the small display. Taking a deep breath, I hit answer, fearing my scheduled interview had been a clerical error.
“Hello?” I sai
d, fumbling with the now unplugged flat iron I was trying to wrestle into the bathroom cabinet.
“Ms. Parker, please,” the woman on the other end sounded
annoyed.
“This is Alexis Parker.
” Two could play at this game.
“Ms. Parker, I am calling on behalf of the Board of Supervisors at Martin T
echnologies in regards to your nine a.m. interview. Mr. Martin would like to be privy to the interviewing process, and he requests your interview is moved to,” the voice paused, as if rereading a memo to make sure the details were accurate, “10:15 today.”
“That’s fine.” I was
relieved my interview had only been rescheduled and not cancelled.
“Okay,” the voice hesitat
ed again, “I will update the security office in the lobby to be prepared for your arrival at 10:15 instead of nine. Do be prompt. Mr. Martin does not like to be kept waiting.” And with that, the call clicked to an end.
“Nice talking to you, too.”
I hit end call, wishing this was a landline so I could have slammed the receiver down. I took another breath and looked in the mirror. I was an experienced and capable investigator. I should be able to handle some security consulting work for a corporation, I tried to reassure myself.
A
t nine thirty, I walked out my front door with my résumé and copies of my degrees in hand. What else would Mr. Martin of Martin Technologies need in order to properly assess my qualifications for the job? A certified copy of my birth certificate, a blood sample, and maybe my last will and testament? Perhaps these were just details the woman who called this morning had failed to mention during our brief conversation. No, I’m not going to be bitter and annoyed because of someone’s lack of phone manners or the rescheduled interview. Some things are just not worth it.
I
began thinking of how I had come to apply for the job at Martin Technologies in the first place. Mark Jablonsky had put in a good word with Mr. Martin, the company’s founder and CEO. Mark had been my training officer at the OIO and insisted this potential opportunity would fit my personality and interests like a glove.
Mark and Mr. Martin were
friends or colleagues of some sort. The actual connection was still a mystery, but Mark assured me I would at least get a chance to interview based on his recommendation alone. Initially, I resisted, thinking this was just another sign of quasi-nepotism, or at the least favoritism, running rampant in the workplace. However, after several weeks and no other job opportunities, I figured what the hell. It was at least worth looking into.
I pulled into a parking garage a block away from the Martin Technologies building and checked my reflection once more in the rearview mirror.
My nerves were getting the best of me, and it was amusing to think I had been less anxious chasing armed thugs through the streets than I was going into an interview. There was something a little off inside my brain, and I suspected I was never properly socialized.
“Here goes noth
ing.” I tried to bolster my confidence as I walked quickly to the MT building and pulled on the monogrammed brass door handle.
Entering
the lobby, I was amazed at how open and airy the room felt. Light was filtering in from numerous windows on all sides. The security office was a circular desk, set about twenty feet away from the front doors. There were a few couches throughout and a row of elevators at the back of the building. It looked like a classy hotel, but as I approached the security station, I noticed numerous surveillance cameras, keypads, and other protocols in place.
“Can I assist you
, ma’am?” one of the security guards asked from behind the desk.
“Miss Parker,” I cor
rected automatically. I hated being called ma’am. “I’m here to interview for the consulting position with Mr. Martin.” The security guard smiled and asked to see my driver’s license, so I pulled out my wallet and handed it to him.
“Right this way, please.”
He went to a filing cabinet, pulled out a visitor’s pass, handed it to me, and then led the way to the elevator banks. He swiped his security badge into a card reader and pressed the elevator call button. The elevator dinged, and the doors whooshed open. We stepped inside. He pushed seventeen, and up we went.
We
exited into a hallway lined with lavish offices and conference rooms. The guard escorted me to conference room three and gestured inside. “Please wait here.” Before I could say a word, he was gone.
“Friendly group of people,” I s
poke aloud to the empty room as I sat in one of the rolling office chairs surrounding the large rectangular table. I opened my bag, pulled out my documents, and placed them neatly on the table. I was fidgeting with the corner of the stack of papers when I heard footsteps.
“Hello,” a woman’s voice greeted
. I spun around in my chair. “I’m Mrs. Griffin. I believe we spoke earlier on the telephone. You’re here for the consulting position, correct?” I nodded and bit my tongue, ignoring the urge to mention her rude hang up from earlier. “I see you arrived with no issues. That’s a good sign.” She appeared to be speaking to herself, so I continued to nod, unsure of how to respond to her odd comments. “Mr. Martin shall be in momentarily. Can I get you anything while you wait? Tea? Coffee? Water?”
“No, thank you.
I’m fine.” I couldn’t get an accurate read on the woman, and she walked swiftly out of the room, closing the door behind her. I took a deep breath. The employees must be trying to perfect their disappearing acts.
Before I could muse much further, the door opened again
. This time, a man in a three piece Armani suit and Rolex walked through the door. If given the opportunity, I would have bet his shoes were Italian leather. His dark brown hair was cut short and expertly styled. He had the lean athletic build of a runner, probably in his mid-thirties, and his green eyes sparkled in a way indicating the wheels were already turning inside his head.
“James Martin,” he said simp
ly, extending his hand.
“Alexis Parker,
” I responded. “Pleased to meet you.” He frowned slightly.
“To be perfectly honest, Mis
s Parker,” he began, “I expected you to be male.” I looked at him, unclear if this was an insult or flattery, but instead, it just seemed to be a comment. “My assistant wrote this appointment down as Alex Parker.”
“Oh.”
What exactly was I supposed to say to that? “Well, I don’t plan to have any gender reassignment surgeries in the near future, but feel free to call me Alex. Most people do.” I was trying to lighten the mood.
He
smirked slightly but remained professional. I was quickly beginning to feel like a child sitting in the principal’s office. “Miss Parker, you come highly recommended by Agent Jablonsky. He was your supervisor at the OIO, correct?”
“That’s right
.” I sat up a little straighter. Despite the fact I had only stayed at the Office of International Operations for four years, I had spent the first two being trained by Mark and the second two running operations for him.
“
Jablonsky claims you were one of the best and brightest agents he’s ever seen, but you only stayed there for a few years. Why is that?”
“Well
,” I honestly didn’t know how to verbalize the answer succinctly, “I wanted to make more of a difference. There was only so much that could be done, and with an endless string of crime, things started to feel a bit hopeless. It made the work…monotonous.” I struggled to find the proper terminology to explain my feelings.
“So you don’t like structure or rules?”
He stood and began to pace, clasping his hands behind his back.
“
I’m okay with rules and following orders. To be perfectly honest, I’m not too fond of the red-tape,” I was becoming defensive, “especially when you continue to see the same injustices going on day in and day out, and you know your hands are tied. It makes it difficult to accept the small wins in regards to the bigger picture.”
“Y
ou want to be a superhero out to save the world?” he asked pointedly. “A vigilante?”
“No.”
Was this a trial instead of an interview? “I want to step back and do something that makes more of an impact.” The voice in my head was screaming ‘kiss this job good-bye, working for a company isn’t what really counts, and Mr. Armani Suit should realize this by now’. However, to my surprise, Martin clapped his hands together.
“Exactly!”
He was actually excited by my response, and I wondered if he had multiple personalities or suffered from some type of extreme mood swing disorder. He gave the briefest smile, or at least I thought he did, because it appeared and disappeared so quickly on his face I couldn’t be sure. He looked down at his watch. “It’s almost eleven,” he announced. “I have some business to attend to, but if you can have the assistant copy your documents,” he glanced at my pile of papers, “I’ll be in touch.” He left the room and disappeared down the hall.
I sat there absolutely stunned, feeling like I was suf
fering from whiplash. What just happened? I had the urge to pinch myself to see if I was dreaming, but before I could implement such actions, Mrs. Griffin appeared in the doorway.
“Follow me this way.”
She proceeded back into the corridor, and I hurried after her. Her office was situated next to the conference room, and inside, she copied my résumé and walked me to the elevator. “Someone from Martin Technologies will be in touch with you shortly.”
“Thanks.”
I was still somewhat dazed by the whirlwind interview.
The door to the elevator opened
, and the security guard from earlier was waiting inside. Had he been standing there the entire time? We rode the elevator back to the lobby in silence, but as the doors whooshed open, he turned to me.
“Badg
e, please,” he asked politely, and I handed him the visitor’s pass. “I hope your interview went well.” His sentiment seemed genuine.
“Thank you.”
Once I got in my car
, I pulled my cell phone from my purse and dialed Mark’s home number. I knew he’d be at work right now, so I left a message on his answering machine. “What have you gotten me into this time?”
