The Warhol Incident (29 page)

“Martin.”
I crushed my body against his in a tight embrace. Now that he was leaving, I didn’t want him to go. I fought so long against this, and then I never gave it a chance, and now I was completely perplexed by how much I was going to miss it. Miss him. He held me tightly.

“You don’t have to do this,” he whispered.
His voice had a pleading quality to it. “We can…” He stopped, probably realizing there was no simple solution. I pulled back and kissed him. It felt like goodbye. “Alex.” He rubbed his thumb across my cheek.

“Good
bye, Martin.” I pulled away and turned around, walking out of the building and back to my car alone.

Over the next three days, I stayed buried under the covers, regretting what happened but unwilling to do anything to change the outcome. The truth of the matter was if I crossed paths with another sociopath like Abelard, I would do the exact same thing, even if it was emasculating and inconsiderate. This fact didn’t keep me from running to the caller I.D. every time the phone rang, hoping it was Martin. I missed him more than I cared to admit and more than I even thought possible. We had barely even started dating, and despite the many nights we spent together, due to my vast number of injuries, we never even had sex. Maybe it was a good thing. It would have made me feel even more attached to him, but somehow, I felt gypped. How did we miss the carefree fun part of the dating process? Oh yeah, Abelard, how could I forget.

My phone rang
again, and I was disappointed when the caller wasn’t Martin.

“Parker,” I answered, taking a seat at my kitchen table.

“If you aren’t busy today, maybe you’d like to come for your evaluations,” Director Kendall’s assistant relayed the message through the phone.

“Fine.”
I hung up. There was no reason why I had to stay home and mope when I could go to the last place I wanted to be and bring some cheer to Kendall and Mark.

I went through the routine physical and then demonstrated my athletic prowess by being forced to do the rudimentary running, push-ups, sit-ups, and firearm proficiency exams.
After I was showered and dressed, I was sent to see the Bureau’s shrink for my psychological evaluation, my least favorite part of the process. Luckily, since my last evaluation, someone new had been hired. He read through my personnel file, asked some basic questions, and sat quietly, hoping I would feel the desire to randomly discuss something deep and disturbing that was nestled into the very core of my psyche. Instead, I stared at my shoelaces, wondering why the plastic tips at the end weren’t the same color as the shoestring itself.

“Would you like to talk about your recent run-in with Louis Abelard?” the doctor asked as he finished perusing my file.

“Not particularly.”

“It looks like you stopped some agents from entering a booby-trapped motel room.
Is that why the Director asked you to come back to work?”

“I don’t think so, but you’d have to ask him.”
Succinct answers were always a good idea when dealing with anyone whose job it was to get inside your head.

“It must be nice to know you prevented a tragedy.”
I remained neutral. Although, I knew the doctor was hoping to draw a parallel between my last OIO job and what had just happened. It wasn’t the same, and it was none of his business. We were having a mental standoff, and he seemed amused by this fact. After a few minutes of listening to nothing but the droning of the white noise machine, he spoke.

“Do you have a lot of friends?”
I looked at him, surprised by the randomness of the question.

“Enough.
They have my back if I need them,” I replied, watching the doctor carefully. He nodded almost to himself.

“Close with your family?” It was his attempt to figure out what made me tick outside of the job.

“Not so much.”
I was being tight-lipped. He nodded again.

“It says you’re not married.
Anyone serious?” I was going to say yes and realized yes wasn’t an accurate answer. No was the accurate answer. I was completely single. Martin was a dalliance that was casual and brief. I wasn’t even sure it counted as casual, maybe just brief. But nothing about our relationship seemed casual, probably because we had been close friends for so long. The doctor looked up from his notes. A smile played across his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.” I didn’t say anything. He filled out the rest of the form and handed it to me. “You’re clear.”

I looked down at the paper, almost positive I hadn’t heard him correctly.
“Really?” I realized questioning his diagnosis was a dumb idea, but there were times I felt bat shit crazy. Right now seemed like one of them.

“Yes.
There was a note in your file indicating you didn’t have enough outside the job to remain objective, but from your responses, I don’t think that’s the case any longer.” I stood and took the paper. This guy must have gotten his degree from an online university, but I wasn’t about to correct him. “But if you ever need someone to talk to.” He reached for his card.

“Don’t push it, Doc,” I said and left his office.
I went downstairs and handed the paperwork to Kendall’s assistant. She glanced at it briefly and stuck it into my file, which just happened to be sitting on the desk.

“The Director will call when he has a case for you,” she responded snottily.
“Have a good day.”

“Yeah, you too,” I replied with an equal amount of contemp
t. Maybe I should have my number changed before that could happen.

*              *              *

The next morning, I got up bright and early and went to the hospital. Even if we weren’t on the best of terms right now, Martin was having surgery, and I was going to be there. I went to the outpatient waiting area and sat down. I had no earthly idea what time his procedure was scheduled, how long it was going to take, or even if it was being done in this particular hospital. After sitting impatiently for almost a half hour, I tried to sweet talk the nurse into giving me some information. Unfortunately, she wouldn’t budge.

I gave up and went back to my chair to wait.
After almost another hour, I spotted a familiar face, coming down the hall.

“Marcal,” I called to him.

“Miss Parker,” Marcal’s features brightened, and he adopted a knowing look, “I had a feeling you’d be here.”

“Am I that predictable?” I quipped. “What’s going on?”

“They are prepping him now.
The whole procedure shouldn’t take more than an hour or two, and then they’ll move him back to his room, wait for the anesthesia to wear off, and send him home if there are no complications.” He lowered his voice to just above a whisper. “I don’t try to intrude into Mr. Martin’s private life, but he’s had a rough couple of days.”

“I know the feeling.”
At least I wasn’t the only one upset by the way we concluded things. “I had to be here, just so I’d know he was okay.”

“He’s in room
315.” Marcal was giving me a nudge to see Martin. “I have some errands to run, and I won’t be back until late this afternoon. He doesn’t have anyone else to check on him.”

“Thanks.”
Marcal left, and I sat in the waiting room, trying to decide if seeing Martin was the best idea. In the end, I gave in.

While I was sitting alone in his ro
om, wondering if he would be angry by my presence, my phone rang. “Parker,” I answered. I had reverted to my old habit of identifying myself to the caller, instead of answering with the much more common ‘hello’.

“So, Gustav’s been surrendered to Interpol,” Ryan said.
“Delacroix personally picked him up early this morning. I think you were right.”

“Don’t you hate it when that happens?”

“You should be a bloody psychic.
Go ahead and quit your day job now, I’ll vouch for your claims.” I chuckled. “I got curious and called Interpol, asking for a follow-up to Gustav’s last interview. I was told it’s not possible since he has been moved to an undisclosed location in order to ensure his safety.”

“What about Clare?”
If Gustav was still working with Interpol, could she have been moved too, or maybe he was just in the French version of witness protection.

“As far as I know, she’s still around.
Do you honestly believe he was undercover this entire time?”

“I don’t know.
The only other time I encountered Jean-Pierre was when he was a very convincing UC. Maybe he didn’t give up the game. Did you find anything out on the car bomb?”

“Since you asked, I read through Interpol’s file on Marset.
I swear I don’t see how those blokes manage to do anything right.”

“What’d it say?”

“Not much. So before Gustav was taken away, I asked him about Marset’s murder,” Ryan began. “According to Jean-Pierre, Marset was trying to escape Abelard’s clutches, and Claude killed him on Abelard’s orders. He didn’t find out until after the body was presented to Abelard. It was Jean-Pierre’s idea to put the corpse in the car and light it up. He thought it would help throw everyone off his scent.”

“Do you believe him?”

“I don’t know. If your theory’s right and Gustav’s still an Interpol agent, then yes. After all, policemen aren’t in the business of killing people, at least not in cold-blood. If I hear anything else, I’ll let you know, but I’m not digging. After shutting down the gambling and recovering the art, I’m ready to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“That would probably be best.”
I paused as we listened to the silence fill the air space. “Ryan, I’m relieved the sick son-of-a-bitch is dead. Is that a sign I shouldn’t be doing this anymore?” He knew of my currently processing status to return to the OIO as a consultant.

“I would say if you didn’t feel relieved, then there would be something wrong.”
His words were just the reassurance I needed. “It’s good you’re going back to the OIO. You’re a cop, or agent, or whatever you bloody well want to call yourself. It’s in your blood. It’s who you are, Alex.”

“Thanks, Ryan.
Maybe I’ll see you around.” Why did I need his encouragement? After all, no one else had to deal with the fallout except me. As I continued to further process this line of thought, Martin’s bed was wheeled into the room.

“You and me back in a hospital room,” I said to the unconscious Martin, “honestly, something should have changed by now.”
I settled into the chair and watched the machines beep away with his vitals. Debating if I should leave before he woke up, a doctor came in and began informing me how the surgery went.

“James will need some extensive rehab, but we’ve removed almost all of the scar tissue.
He should regain at least ninety if not a hundred percent of his feeling and dexterity back.” At last, some good news. “He’ll wake up soon, but he’ll probably be a bit groggy,” the doctor cautioned. “We should be able to discharge him in a few hours.” After the doctor left, I reached over and grasped his left hand.

“Well, at least we k
now your shoulder is fine.” It was time to leave, but Martin squeezed my hand.

“Alex?” he asked, confused.
He had a goofy grin on his face, and I was sure he was still feeling the effects of the drugs.

“You caught me,” I responded good-naturedly.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“I’m okay now.
I’m sorry.” He was doing his best impersonation of a sad puppy dog.

“Don’t be.”
For all intents and purposes, he was inebriated, so I couldn’t rely on the things he was saying. “You made a valid point. I can’t just ask you to wait around not knowing what might happen and expect you to be okay with it.” By the time I was finished speaking, he had shut his eyes.

“Please don’t leave,” he beseeched, before falling back to unconsciousness.
I leaned back in the chair and took a deep breath. Now was the perfect time to make my escape, unless I was willing to agree to his terms. Maybe there was a compromise somewhere in the middle.  

I sat in his hospital room for the next hour while he slept off the remnants of the sedation.
I ate the pudding cup they brought on his lunch tray while I tried to determine what exactly I hoped to accomplish. The only thing I was certain of was I didn’t want him out of my life. When he woke up, he looked confused.

“Why are you here?” he asked, a slight bitter tone to his words.
I snorted.

“There was pudding.
I couldn’t just let it go to waste.” The slightest bit of amusement crossed his features. “And I wanted to make sure you were all right.” After I relayed the information the doctor provided, Martin watched me intently.

“I remember waking up before, and you were here.”
He squinted slightly to recall what had transpired. I resisted the urge to tell him he apologized for being an ass since that wouldn’t have been fair.

“Yeah.”
I leaned forward in my chair. “I guess I should probably go, right?” Maybe he’d ask me to stay.

“It’s up to you.”
He reached for my hand. “You can decide.” We weren’t talking about if I was staying in his hospital room.

“Honestly, I won’t
be around much for the next few weeks.” This seemed a realistic assessment, given my current status at the OIO. “But when I get back, if you’d be willing to give us another chance, I’d like to at least try.”

“Okay,” he agreed
, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. I smiled and kissed him. “I thought we were waiting until you got back.”

“I’m trying to compromise, just go with it.”