The Warhol Incident (22 page)

The rest of the week moved by at a snail’s pace.
I was once again unemployed with the exception of my retainer status at Martin Tech, so the majority of my free time was spent resting and recuperating. A few nights of rejuvenating sleep helped my wrists and chest begin to heal. There were still a few tender areas, but for the most part, I was fine. It would probably be another month or two before the dark pink scars disappeared or at least faded to a more tolerable level. In the meantime, they were serving as constant reminders Abelard was still on the loose, possibly tormenting someone else. A small part of me wanted to track the rat bastard to the sewer he was using as his refuge, but I couldn’t go back there. Not yet, anyway.

Mark
dropped off my radar. I agreed to his insane request to go back to work at the OIO and then I hear nothing. Thanks so much for the added stress. Maybe Kendall wasn’t too keen on hiring a consultant with all my stipulations. Honestly, it was a relief since I didn’t want to endure the interrogative tactics of the Bureau’s shrink asking about every trauma I experienced in my life or at least my work life. The nightmares were barely being kept at bay as it was.

Martin and I had a brief discussion about his surgery a couple of nights ago.
His scar tissue was inflamed and pressing against the nerves, limiting both his mobility and causing him discomfort. He tried to instill upon me his misguided belief that I was not responsible, but I failed to agree. This unfortunately led to an argument which resulted in an apology dinner at his place. I made it as far as the driveway before calling and asking if we could meet somewhere else instead. The last time I was inside Martin’s house was when I was giving Detective O’Connell a very detailed recreation of the firefight surrounding Martin getting shot. I remembered vividly dry heaving in the toilet and didn’t want to relive any of those memories.

It was Saturday afternoon, and I was sprawled out on the couch
, reading a book, when there was a knock on my door. I got up, running through my routine of checking to see who it was and unlocking the various locks. Luckily, Martin learned to listen, and I nodded to Bruiser, who smiled briefly before retreating down the hallway toward the stairwell.

“Did we have plans?” I asked confused as I put my handgun on the end table.
I was aware of how paranoid I still was. Moving would be a good idea, but there were no other affordable apartments I actually liked.

“No,” Martin smiled, “I decided to be spontaneous.
What do you think?”

His smile was infectious, so I resisted the urge to give him a speech about how crazy and dangerous my life could be.
Right now, the threats were at a minimum. “At the moment, I like it but only because I have nothing going on.”

“I’ll try to keep that in mind.”
He cocked an eyebrow up suggestively. “I was thinking we should spend the rest of the weekend together in bed since you appear to be feeling better, but you shouldn’t take any chances with your recovery.”

“I thought we were taking things slow.”

“It’s been a week. We aren’t dead.” I exhaled slowly. His words, while meant to be playful, still made me take a step back. “You know what I mean.” He sensed my trepidation.

“Maybe we should
see how the rest of today goes and take it from there.” Giving him a tentative kiss, I retreated into the kitchen. He was eyeing me enticingly, but I ignored him.

“Okay, if you’re sure you can contain yourself because I do remember someone attempting to molest me in the middle of a hotel hallway.”
I threw a dish towel at him but didn’t respond to his comment. “So, what would you like to do today?”

We spent the rest of the day in the confines of my apartment.
I was astounded by Martin’s patience on the matter, probably because he never struck me as a particularly patient person, especially when it came to his history of sexual exploits. He prepared dinner, which I would have felt guilty about had I not been aware of his love for cooking. After dinner, I took his hand and led him into my bedroom.

“I take it today went well,” he whispered smugly in my ear.

“I’m not sure yet.
I’ll let you know.”

Lying on my back with my shirt unbuttoned and splayed open, Martin trailed kisses down my ribcage.
“Shit,” I jerked slightly, wincing. He sat up immediately, confused and concerned. Tilting my head, there was a slight discoloration from Abelard’s first electric jolt. It had almost been forgotten since it didn’t bother me until now. I pressed my fingers against it. “Son-of-a-bitch.” Not only did Abelard ruin that night, but now he was interfering with this one too.

“Again, I manage to hurt you.”
He was worried. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.
Just a sore spot.” Sitting up, I tried to salvage the moment. I ran my hands down his chest, tracing my fingers along his toned abdomen until I reached the hem of his shirt, quickly divesting him of the garment and gently pushing him down on his back. “Maybe we just need to change things up.” I leaned down and kissed him, straddling his lap, as he gently brushed my hair back and over my shoulder. Unfortunately, this just made the entire situation worse.

My lips traveled down to his neck and then to his shoulder, accidentally locating the scar and site of his upcoming surgery.
Running my fingertips over it, I looked up to find his eyes. His gaze was on my chest. Instead of being focused on my cleavage or attempting to unfasten my bra, he was staring at the tender, pink remnants of my electrical burns. Kissing him softly, I extricated myself from his lap.

“Whatever happened to scars being a sexy turn-on?” he asked, defeated.

“That’s a gender biased thing, and the damn battle wounds are a complete turn-off.” Nothing was going to happen tonight, and we both knew it. Considering Martin always talked a good game, it was surprising he let my still healing flesh bother him this much. Maybe he wasn’t as much of a playboy as his reputation would have me believe. “I’ll get you some ice for your shoulder.” I went into the kitchen. “Want a beer?”

“Sure, why not.”
I opened two bottles, grabbed an icepack, and went back into the bedroom. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. His elbows were resting on his knees as he rubbed his face. “Just so you know, this isn’t the way things normally go,” he tried to joke as I handed him the beer and sat next to him.

“I was just about to tell you the exact same thing.”
Resting my head against his good shoulder, I gently held the icepack against the other. “When’s your surgery?

“In three weeks.
Then another six for rehab.”

“Okay.
Maybe we’ll slow things down until then.”

We spent the rest of the night talking about everything from sports scores to economics.
Time got away, and it was after midnight when I looked at the clock. Martin was going to head home, but it was late.

“I can still offer you a weekend in bed,” I teased.
“Except sleep won’t be a euphemism, it will be the sole activity.” He hedged, but I insisted. 

*              *              *

“Please tell me that’s your phone,” I muttered, refusing to open my eyes. Martin rolled away from me as he reached over, retrieving the offending object.

“It’s yours,” he mumbled, handing over the phone and wrapping his arm around me.
He was nuzzling my neck as I answered the call.

“Parker,” I said softly into the phone, shutting my eyes.

“I’m sorry to call you in the middle of the night,” Ryan’s voice sounded urgent, and I opened my eyes, immediately pulling away from Martin and sitting up.
“One of Abelard’s aliases made it through airport security earlier this evening.”

“What?
When?” I was much more awake now.

“He was booked on the
midnight flight to JFK. Alex, I think he’s coming for you,” Ryan sounded anxious. He had never been this on edge before, and his tone sent chills down my spine.

“Are you sure?”
I pulled on a pair of jeans as we spoke.

“I just got word.
Delacroix called to inform us we were doing a fantastic job keeping a bloody eye on things. He’s notified Farrell, but I wanted to make sure you got a personal heads up.”

“Thanks, Ryan.
I gotta go. I’ll call you later.” Disconnecting, I was considering calling Nick when my phone rang again. As I answered, I buttoned my blouse. “Parker.” I picked up Martin’s clothes and tossed them to him. He was awake and confused. Get dressed, I mouthed to him.

“Heard you have a friend flying in.
Farrell has a team on the way to the airport. I’m not sure if they’ll make it in time.” Mark was relaying the news quickly.

“I know.
Ryan just called.”

“I’m heading there with a team of our own.
I’ll see if we can stop him before he gets through customs. I’ll call as soon as I know anything.” Mark hung up.

Martin had gotten dressed and was watching as I paced in front of my closet.
I picked up his phone and tossed it to him. “Call Bruiser, tell him to meet you at your place. I need him to be on twenty-four seven until further notice.” My tone was serious, and Martin didn’t question me.

Going into the kitchen, I called O’Connell.
Please be working the night shift, I silently prayed.

“Detective O’Connell speaking,” he said into the phone.

“Thank god, I need another favor.”

“I am here to protect and serve.
It’s a slow night. What can I do?” I filled him in on the current situation with Abelard.

“Martin’s here.
Can you send a cruiser with a couple of uniforms to my place, pick him up, go back to the precinct, switch to an unmarked car, and take him home?” I was asking a lot, but I didn’t want to risk Abelard or someone he hired following Martin home.

“Okay, I’ll send a couple of unis over, and Thompson will meet him here and drive him home.”
From Nick’s tone, he was suspicious why Martin was at my apartment at four a.m. But he didn’t ask, and I didn’t offer an explanation.

Martin emerged from my bathroom
, dressed and coifed as if he didn’t just roll out of bed ten minutes ago. “What’s going on?” he asked as I fastened my shoulder holster and made sure my nine millimeter was loaded before clipping it into place.

“Did you call Bruiser?”
I found my thigh holster and hooked it around my leg with my back-up side arm.

“Yes.
Are you planning on raiding some tombs?” Martin asked, annoyed that I didn’t answer his question yet.

“You never know.”
I turned on the coffeemaker before sitting rigidly on the couch. “Ryan called. Abelard might be on his way here.” Martin wasn’t sure who I was referring to. “The man who tortured me.” I didn’t like using that word, but at the moment, my explanations needed to be succinct. His posture stiffened. “O’Connell’s sending a couple of uniformed officers to take you to the precinct where Detective Thompson will be waiting to drive you home. I need you to be safe and stay that way.”

“Alex.”
He was ready to protest.

“Listen, James, I can’t be focused and alert if I’m worried about you.”

“I hate it when you use my first name. Every time you do, it’s always bad news.”

“True.”
From the limited information I had, I knew I needed to call Ryan back once things settled. “You know the drill. Don’t call. Don’t show up. Absolutely no contact.”

“Alexis, you’re being ridiculous.
You can’t just stay here alone, waiting for some sick motherfucker to come knocking. Do you have anyone watching your back?” He was on the couch next to me, rubbing his thumb absently against my cheek.

“Hopefully
, it won’t come to that. All of this is just precautionary. Mark called, and the OIO and Interpol are going to head Abelard off at the airport. It’s just in case he arrived before they can get to him. Plus, I don’t even know why he’s here. His resources are all in France.” We all knew why Abelard was here. He was here for me.

There was a knock at my door, followed by the police officers announcing themselves.
Martin kissed me roughly on the mouth. “I need you to be okay,” he said. His eyes were intense. I nodded and briefly wrapped my arms around him before answering the door.

“Gentlemen.”
Martin joined us at the door.

“You’re not even
letting them inside?” Nick teased from halfway down the hallway. “At least I’m not late to the party. It sounded like things could get exciting.”

“Detective O’Connell.” Martin nodded at him.

“Mr. Martin,” Nick responded, “nice to see you again.” Nick turned to the uniformed officers. “Take good care of him. We didn’t do a good job the first time around.”

“If anything happens, call Mark and have him relay a message,” I told Martin as he threw me one last look and followed the cops down the hallway.