Likely Suspects (18 page)

“I just received these.
” He opened his e-mail, inside were pictures from less than twenty minutes ago. In one of them, I was smiling at Denton. In another, he had his hand on mine across the table, and in the last one, we were hugging.

“Shit.
” Someone had been following me. Did they tail me back to Martin’s house?

“That’s it?
You aren’t even going to explain why it looks like it does?” He was angry.

“Someone must have been watch
ing me or Denton. What if I led them to you?” It was best to vocalize these things, so hopefully, Martin could follow along with my thoughts as I did my best to avoid panic-mode.

“Alexis, stop.
” He grabbed my shoulders. “What is going on? Why were you with Denton,” he pointed at the pictures on the screen, “like that?”

“M
ake sure you have the security system active. I want to monitor the outside surveillance just to be on the safe side.” Why didn’t he comprehend I could have been followed, and he might be in danger now?

“B
ut,” he was trying to interject.

“Just do it.
I’ll explain everything that’s been going on today if you just do this first.” I was practically pleading with him. How could I be so stupid? I tried to think if I had noticed a tail, which I hadn’t. But the pictures meant something. What, I wasn’t yet sure. Martin double-checked the security system while I went into the living room and turned on the television monitor to the input setting, so I could see the security camera feed on the big screen. Everything looked completely calm; nothing out of place. 

“Okay, it’s active,”
he said, sitting down in the armchair across from the couch. I alternated my gaze between him and the security feed.

“The reason I left was because
Denton called. He wanted to apologize for the other night and invited us out. I said you were busy, but I agreed to meet him alone. We went to the coffee shop on Third. I was trying to get information on Griffin.” Did we not just have this exact same conversation over the phone?

“Y
ou could have told me that’s who was on the phone. Has he been calling you all day?”

“No,” I thought about it a moment, “actually,
I don’t know. Those other calls, they were originally blocked from extension 325. Mark told me that right before he called you.”

“W
hat does this even mean?” Martin indicated the pictures he was e-mailed.

“Who sent the e-mail?”
That was the more important question. He shrugged and shook his head. “Did it say anything?” Another headshake. “When did you receive it?”

“While I was on the phone with you.”
I reached for his phone and checked the call log. “I had just asked if you were okay, and then I got the e-mail on my phone. I hit open, and the pictures popped up.” I swallowed. The sender had to have been right there. I must have walked right past him. A shiver traveled up my spine. 

“Call Mark.
Let’s see if he can track down the sender.” I was still watching the monitor, but Martin didn’t move from his spot. I shifted my gaze and focused on him. “Honestly, do you think I’m meeting with Denton behind your back, or that I’m trying to sabotage you and your company?”

“No,” he didn’t miss a beat
, which was a great relief, “but I don’t know why you didn’t tell me you were going to meet him.”

“I al
ready told you I wanted to ask him questions about Griffin, and after our earlier conversation, I didn’t think you would find that reason very valid.” I stopped. There was nothing else to say that was going to be helpful. Best to avoid another fight, especially when I had screwed up by failing to disclose my intentions.

“Don’t cruci
fy me for one past indiscretion.” He was being self-protective.

“I’m not.
I just need to know these things ahead of time, and you need to come to terms with the very real possibility Suzanne is involved.” I dialed Mark’s number and tossed my phone to him. “Give Mark the details. I’m going to check the computer.”

After
examining the photos in detail, I was sure the pictures were taken from outside the coffee shop. They were probably from a camera phone due to the size and quality of the image and the fact that I didn’t notice anyone hauling around a large camera. The problem was I didn’t know if our unidentified photographer had been following me or Denton. I was also debating the purpose of the photos. Were they designed to make Martin suspicious and cause a rift in our relationship? Maybe get my ass kicked out of his house, leaving him unprotected? Or was it an implied threat with two equally important targets: the acting-CEO of his company and his make-believe girlfriend?

Martin entered the room and sat down next to me.
“Jabber’s got some people running with it. I asked if we should call O’Connell, but he said there wasn’t anything worth telling.”

“I agree.
There’s no explicit threat.” I leaned back in the chair.

“But there’
s an implied threat?” he asked. I had to give him credit; he was an expert at reading between the lines.

“M
aybe you should call Denton,” I wasn’t sure if this was a good idea or not, “and tell him about the photos. No details, just that you received some photos of the two of us meeting and you were afraid it could be construed as a threat, so you want him to be extra cautious.”

He
considered this for a moment. “What if he’s behind it?”

“If he is,
then he’ll know the attempt to cause a rift between us didn’t work, and if he isn’t, it might be good to tell him to watch his back. Someone was following one of us.”

“
I’ll make the call.” He picked up the phone.

“Put it on speaker, I want to hear his response.
” Martin pushed a button. “And, just so you know, I’m not really here,” I clarified.

“Got it.”
He dialed Denton’s cell phone and told him about the photos.

“Jesus,” Denton sounde
d slightly worried but not very surprised. “Thanks for warning me. I’ll keep an eye out.”

“B
e careful. If you need some increased security, go talk to the boys downstairs. I’m sure they’ll take some extra shifts,” Martin suggested.

“I w
ill.” Denton blew out a breath as if smoking a cigarette. “Is Alexis okay?” I gave the phone a suspicious look.

“Sh
e’s fine.” Martin looked at me, and I held up my hands in a ‘now what’ gesture. “Call if you need anything.” Martin hung up without waiting for a response.

“Not
awkward at all.” I laughed nervously. From the living room, my phone rang. “We should have been born in the era of the Pony Express. It would make these things a lot easier.” I got up to get the phone. “Hey, Mark,” I greeted.

“The photo
s were sent from a burner phone registered to a John Doe. It’s already been turned off. We can’t track it.”

“Th
anks for trying.”

“Honestly
, Parker, what the hell is going on today? You get some blocked calls, and Marty’s getting photos sent to him. You guys can’t do anything without me, can you?”

“Don’t forget you’re working on the surveillance tapes from the plant
too,” I reminded him sweetly.

“Yeah, yeah.
” I pictured Mark rolling his eyes. “Can you explain why you quit the OIO? Weren’t things much easier here?”

“Not really,” I
replied, “but I imagine they were for you since I was the one having to run around and do all the legwork.”

“I miss those days,” he
sounded nostalgic and hung up.

“That was Mark,” I announced.
“It’s a no go on tracking our mystery photographer.”

“And the hits just keep on coming,” Martin
replied from the office, less than pleased. Something crashed, and I figured he might have just thrown a coffee cup against the wall.

“Everything all right in there?”
I didn’t want to feel obligated to help clean up the mess.

“Peachy.
” He was frustrated, and I briefly considered the possibility his anger might have had something to do with my abrupt disappearance earlier or my chumminess with Denton. But maybe this was just a very self-centered view of things. After all, I was not the center of the universe, especially not the universe Martin lived in. It was best to keep busy and stay out of his way. There wasn’t anything else to do at the moment.

I went upstairs and began unpacking the few remaining items that were still stuffed into the bags I had b
rought with me. I was running low on clothing and other essentials and needed to go back to my apartment sometime soon and replenish my stock. In the meantime, I might as well do some laundry.

T
he laundry room was on the third floor, down the hall from my suite. As far as I could tell, Martin never used the room. Probably Rosemarie, the cleaning lady, did his laundry whenever she came to clean. It must be nice to have so many pairs of underwear; I was keeping my mind entertained with my own pointless musings.

I found the laundry detergent and fabric softener and tossed my dir
ty clothes into the machine, setting it to delicate and not bothering to separate the colors from whites. There wasn’t anything nice I was worried about ruining. The few work items I had were dry clean only and hanging safely in the closet.

I headed back to
my room. I had been staying at Martin’s since Thursday. It wasn’t even a full week yet, but it felt like several months. I tidied up the guest suite and my private bathroom, deciding against changing the sheets or towels since it had only been five days. I was desperately trying to find things to do besides dwell on the phone calls, the photos, and Martin. I needed a break and a clear head.

Originally
, I planned to return to the compound, ask questions about the extension, and see whose offices were nearby. Instead, my plans were derailed by Martin and his tantrum over trust and the pictures. God, the pictures. The crosshairs were no longer solely focused on him. Perks of the job, I thought wryly. Some people get medical and dental. I get a target painted on my back.

I
entered the security code, opened the French doors, and went onto the terrace. There was a wicker table and chair in the corner, and I sat down, looking out over the pool. I tried to imagine this was a vacation at some luxurious five-star hotel; unfortunately, my imagination wasn’t that good.  

My thoughts kept
returning to the photos and the blocked calls, so I went back inside, making sure to reactivate the security protocols. I pulled out my diagram of the MT offices and looked at the building. There were empty office spaces on almost every floor. I went back downstairs and retrieved my phone. Martin was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still in his office, so I headed upstairs, dialing the MT number and the extension. The phone rang. Once. Twice. Three times. I was getting ready to hang up when someone answered.

“Martin Technologies,”
a female voice responded. I was awed anyone actually answered.

“Yes, can I speak with Mrs. Griffin
, please?” I asked. I didn’t know who I was talking to but figured I had to say something. Did MT have caller ID?

“This is she,” the voic
e, which I hadn’t recognized, replied.

Shit.
My mind was racing, to identify myself or to hang up. I had to decide now. “Hello, this is Alex Parker,” I said, making my decision. “Mr. Denton said you moved offices.” I was trying to buy some time to think of a good excuse for my call. “I just wanted to tell you my office was broken into over the weekend, and I was checking to see if anyone caught the vandal.” Might as well reinforce the story Det. O’Connell used this morning.

“I’m sorry to hear that.
” She didn’t sound sincere. “I haven’t heard anything about it. I can check and get back to you.”

“That wo
n’t be necessary. I’m sure building security will notify me.”

“Okay,
if there is nothing else Mr. Martin needs.” She was trying to get off the phone. Clearly, my needs and concerns were unimportant to her.

“No, that was it.
Thanks,” I tried to sound friendly and hung up the phone. Griffin was extension 325. Did the calls come from her or someone using her phone? I thought about the time frame. It was possible she could have called before and after her brief visit to the precinct, but it seemed unlikely. I was kicking myself for tipping her off, or did she actually believe my bullshit story? I did have pictures to prove I was with Denton today, how ironic. I went back down the stairs, deciding another admission to Martin might be the best course of action to demonstrate my trustworthiness and win back some lost brownie points.

“
So,” I began, walking into his office, but he wasn’t there. “Great, now I’m talking to myself.” I went into the living room to make sure I didn’t miss him; then I checked the kitchen. “Martin,” I called. Why did it feel like I was calling for a dog? The next question I’d be asking was if Timmy fell down the well. I checked the empty guest bedroom on the second floor, and then I went upstairs to the fourth floor. I knocked on his bedroom door and then his office door. No response. “Where the hell are you?” I asked the empty rooms before going back downstairs. A noise came from the first floor, and I opened the door to the garage and went down the steps. “Martin,” I tried again.

“What?”
He was sitting in one of his convertibles with the speakers blaring rock music. He lowered the volume to a tolerable level, reminding me of a teenager anxious to get his first driving lesson.

“I called the extension, y
ou know, from the blocked number.” He didn’t appear to be paying much attention as he played with the stereo controls.

“Get in.
” He looked up.

“We aren’t going anywhere.”

“Why do you always have to arg
ue? Just get in the damn car.” I opened the door and got in. He didn’t even have the remote to get out of the garage. Instead, it was as if we were sitting in a demonstration car in a dealership showroom. After he decided his stereo presets and bass levels were satisfactory, he turned off the stereo. I now had his full attention.

“I called the extension,” I started again.

“
I know. You said that already.” I tried to overlook the gruffness.

“Griffin answered the phone.
” It was best to get straight to the point.

“So
, she’s been calling you all day?” He could be so aggravating sometimes.

“I don’t kno
w. Possibly. I just thought you’d want to know.” I reached for the door handle, but he hit the locking mechanism, which was rather childish given the fact I could easily unlock the door myself. And even if I were somehow unable to, we were sitting in a parked convertible. I could climb over the door. “Really?” I turned to him. His smirk was infuriating.

Once again, the madness that was James Martin still surprised me.
He folded his hands neatly over the steering wheel and gave me a sideways look. I wasn’t sure what he was waiting for, but two could play at this game. I turned to him, leaning against the door, so I was facing him more directly.

“Now that I have your
undivided attention, Miss Parker,” I didn’t like his sudden formality, “I think we need to clear the air, so to speak.” I tried very hard not to glare at him. “First off, I don’t particularly care for being interrogated. Second, if you are following a lead on my case, I would appreciate being informed before you rush out of here half-cocked. Third,” he paused, and I wondered if he was making some perverted joke in his mind, “I do trust you. You saved my life, and that is something I won’t easily forget.” His entire tone changed, making me incredibly uncomfortable. “That being said,” he swallowed and switched back to business professional, “there is now a target on your back. You can’t continue being so reckless.”

“I’m not reckless.
It all comes down to a cost-benefit analysis.” Business speak was something he’d more easily understand.

“
You’ve given the reckless speech plenty of times by now.” His tone was friendlier, almost teasing. “I thought you might want to hear what it sounds like.”

“Sounds be
tter when I’m the one saying it.” I didn’t like being told what to do or how to do it.

“A
t the office, things were easier. You did your job. You provided a daily report. It was just business. Here, it seems to be more than just business.” I brushed my hair out of my face. It was true. I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to recognize a boundary line even if it had customs agents and passport checkpoints all around it.

“I’m sorry, sir.
It won’t happen again.” My training automatically kicked in, annoying the hell out of me, even as the words left my mouth. I reached for the door lock, but Martin grabbed my arm.

“Not quit
e the response I was hoping for, Alex.” I looked at him, completely puzzled. The way he switched from business to playful was astounding.