Exclusive Introduction to Likely Suspects
James Martin glanced at his watch as the elevator delivered him to the lobby of the Martin Technologies building. It was a little before six, an early night by Martin’s normal standards. He strolled through the lobby, offering a nod to the man behind the desk.
“Have a good night,” Martin said.
The security guard looked up. “You too, Mr. Martin.”
Stepping outside, Martin frowned. His driver and car were always out front waiting for him. He had called his driver before getting into the elevator. His gaze went to the parking garage a block away. Orange cones were blocking the entrance. Odd.
It was a nice day, warm with a slight breeze. The short walk wouldn’t hurt. If anything, it would be nice to stretch his legs. This morning, Martin had gone for a three mile run followed by squats and lunges. He wasn’t much for a personal trainer, but when he had one, the man insisted that leg day was important. It’d be good to work some of the stiffness out of his muscles after spending ten hours behind a desk.
Perhaps he’d go for a swim after dinner. In the last few months, the pool had become one of his favorite investments. He had a heater installed so he could use it year round, but the warm weather and longer days made it even more enjoyable. After his swim, he’d watch the news and read through some business reports before calling it a night.
For a moment, a feeling of emptiness hit him. When was the last time he’d had company? A smile came to his lips. He remembered Miranda coming into his office two weeks ago. She worked in Human Resources. The ironic part was she needed him to review the updates to the employee handbook concerning sexual harassment. Afterward, she had practically crawled into his lap. He was always careful though. His business interests came first. And he would never jeopardize his company or himself for anybody, least of all for a one-night stand.
Ever since he took control of his father’s company, dismantled it, and rebuilt it as his own, he’d made sure to dot his I’s and cross his T’s. That included boss-employee relationships. He never pursued anyone who worked for him. He never asked any of them out. The women he dated from Martin Technologies always chased him. And he was careful. They’d go out to dinner or for drinks someplace public. He was a gentleman. If they wanted to make a move, he wouldn’t stop them, but he didn’t instigate.
He’d made a mistake once, years ago. It happened during an office holiday party. At the time, he had been too drunk to think straight. And even though he didn’t corner her in the break room, he should have known better than to bang her in his office. It was stupid, and he regretted it. She never mentioned it again, and he hoped it would stay buried. It wasn’t one of his finer moments, and he’d spent hours with his attorneys afterward trying to determine what was considered appropriate behavior. He was a red-blooded, heterosexual man, but he didn’t let his dick control him. And he respected women far too much to take advantage like a lot of creeps in power. His mother had taught him better than that.
Truthfully, it had been easier when he dated outside of work, but he didn’t have the time. His company was thriving, growing and expanding, which meant he needed to oversee everything. He wouldn’t let it crash and burn. It was his priority. Everything else came as a distant second. Plus, with his looks, charm, and money, it was a little like shooting fish in a barrel. But it had been over two years since he went looking for a companion. He had a reputation as a playboy, and a few years ago, he’d prowled the exclusive clubs and gone to more than his fair share of parties. He could coast on the numbers he’d collected if necessary, but he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. So he never let any of these affairs continue for more than a week or two.
He didn’t have time for relationships. It wasn’t an issue of being faithful. He loved the idea of commitment, but he didn’t have the time to cultivate anything meaningful. And if he were being honest, he didn’t want to have to put in the work. A quick romp was all he wanted, just a way to blow off steam before returning to the daily grind. If he were to ever find someone who was different and interesting who could surprise him, he’d do anything to keep her, but he was almost certain a woman like that didn’t exist.
His mind drifted back to the expansion, and he stopped in the middle of the sidewalk and pulled out his phone. “Blake,” Martin said, “I was thinking we should delay opening the Asian office and instead see about expanding into Dubai, depending on how our deal goes.”
His VP sighed. “Tell me you aren’t holed up in your office, crunching the numbers.”
“No, I’m walking to the car. Were you aware of construction in the parking garage?”
“Didn’t you read the memo?” Blake asked. “The potholes are getting filled in.”
“Oh.” Martin frowned. He didn’t remember seeing the notice, but it didn’t matter. His driver would be waiting, and Martin could sit in the back of the car and chat with Marcal or make some calls in the meantime.
“Are you sure you want to wait on Asia?” Blake Denton asked.
“I don’t know. I don’t want to overextend. Two new offices at the same time is rather ballsy.”
“Particularly since you aren’t even sure the Dubai deal is going to go through.”
“I’m sure it will.”
Blake laughed. “You’re one cocky son of a bitch.”
“And your boss,” Martin teased.
“Yes, sir.” Blake blew out a breath. “I’ll have someone run the projections and have the data delivered to you in the morning. Anything else?”
“Have you spoken to Charlie about the new advertising campaign?”
“We’re meeting on that tomorrow. Seriously, Jimmy, you need to live a little. Relax. Tomorrow is another day. All of this will be waiting for you in the morning.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Martin said.
A burst of static came through the earpiece, and Martin pulled the phone away from his ear. He had no signal. He glanced up at the looming concrete structure, but he didn’t think it should be impeding his cell service. Before he could dial Blake back, a black van screeched to a stop in front of him. The side doors opened, and two men dressed entirely in black with masks jumped out.
One of them grabbed Martin’s arm, but he twisted around and decked the guy. A third man climbed out from the passenger’s seat. He had a gun, and Martin slammed into him. Charging a loaded weapon wasn’t smart, but this situation was surreal. The gun dropped to the ground beneath the van.
The guy jabbed his fist into Martin’s side and kidneys, and Martin sagged a little, releasing the man. Martin threw a wild punch, gaining some distance. Then he shifted into a defensive position, but before he could throw another jab, someone shoved a black hood over his head. Martin spun, simultaneously scrambling to get the hood off and fight off the other two men. They grabbed both of his arms and dragged him toward the van.
Martin heard muffled shouting in the distance. The voices grew louder, and he bucked hard, getting one of his arms free. He flailed, hoping to fight off the other attacker. The voices were clearer now, and he realized building security had seen the attack and was intervening. Suddenly, his other arm was free, and he yanked the hood off his head in time to see his town car barrel out of the garage in the direction of the van. The men jumped back into the van and took off.
“Mr. Martin,” Jeffrey Myers said, coming to stand beside his boss, “are you okay?” He turned to the other guard. “Call 911.”
“No,” Martin said. “A call to the cops will bring news reporters.”
“But sir,” Jeffrey protested, “do you realize what almost happened?”
Martin nodded, his ribs already sore. He looked at the other guard, a new guy he didn’t know by name. “Go back inside, and make sure no one in the office reports this.”
“What are you going to do?” Jeffrey asked, watching as Martin picked up his broken cell phone from the sidewalk.
“Sir?” Marcal asked, already out of the car with his phone in hand.
“Call Jablonsky,” Martin said, wincing as he climbed into the back of his town car. He saw the confused expression on Jeffrey’s face. “I’m not calling the cops. I’m calling the FBI. My friend might have a few questions. You might need to stay late to answer them.”
“Not a problem,” Jeffrey said. “Is there anything I can get you?”
Martin shook his head. “No. Just go inside and make sure the building is secure.”
Jeffrey disappeared, and Marcal handed Martin the phone. Then he took a handkerchief from his pocket, doused it with a bottle of water, and handed it to Martin, who pressed it against the cut on his eyebrow. So much for dinner and a swim.
“Hey, Jabber,” Martin said, “remember when you told me to let you know if those death threats ever turned into more than just threats? Well, they just did.”
“Shit,” Jablonsky swore. “Where are you? I’m on my way.”
* * *
“Alex, are you ever going to come back to the OIO?” Jablonsky asked.
“How can I? It’s my fault Michael’s dead.”
“No, it isn’t.”
Alexis Parker shook her head. “You put me in charge of the op.” She fought to keep her voice steady and stop the tears that threatened to fall. “I sent him inside that building. I,” she worked her jaw for a minute, fighting against the pain and the emotion, “killed my partner.” Her blue eyes found Mark’s. “I killed my best friend.”
“Alex,” he began in that soft, fatherly voice he’d used a million times since the incident, but she shook her head.
“No. We’re not talking about this. You nagged the shit out of me to get off the couch and do something. So I’m doing something. I’m looking for a new gig. It’s not my fault that I’m not qualified to do anything and no one wants to hire me. The only thing I ever knew was the OIO.” She closed her eyes, wishing she’d been rejecting. The last five years had been a dream come true, until that dreamed turned into the worst nightmare imaginable. She couldn’t be responsible for someone else dying, least of all someone she cared about.
“That’s actually why I’m here. I might have a lead on a gig. A friend of mine’s gotten himself into a jam. And he needs someone trained to handle an investigation.”
“Is it dangerous?” she asked.
Mark snorted. “Does it matter?”
At this point, not much did. “We’ll see,” she replied, believing Mark was throwing her a bone out of pity and she didn’t want it. Frankly, she didn’t want much of anything. She didn’t deserve anything. She was broken, and nothing would ever change that.