Executive Protection(20)

“Yeah,” the bartender said. “I heard you were here asking questions. Something about a woman who was murdered?”

Kyle took out a notepad and a pen.

“Yes,” Darcy said. “She was killed two nights ago and was last seen here with a man.” Kyle showed the bartender pictures of the woman. “Do you recognize her?”

The bartender shook his head. “Naw, man. I was working that night, but I serve a lot of people in here.”

“We’re trying to find out the name of the man she was with.” Beside him, Kyle jotted a note down. Probably something like “another dead end.”

“Her sister said she’d gone on a date but couldn’t tell us the man’s name,” Kyle said. “They’d just met. Are you sure you don’t recognize her?”

His partner didn’t talk much, but he was getting frustrated with this investigation. Both of them feared it would wind up in the cold case files. Kyle had moved here from Detroit to get away from his ex-wife.

The bartender shook his head and resumed wiping down the bar. “Sorry, man. I wish I did. There is someone who might be able to help you, though. You haven’t talked to her yet. She’s a regular here and sat at the table next to the couple you’re talking about. The waitress for that section told me after you questioned her. She didn’t think it was important or she would have mentioned it to you. When we talked, I realized who sat at the table next to the couple.”

Darcy nodded, a new glimmer of hope emerging. Maybe the woman had heard something.

Right after the bartender said the woman’s name, a high-pitched scream penetrated the walls. It came from above, on the second level.

Darcy looked with the other two toward the sound. There was a doorway beyond the end of the bar that must lead to the second level.

“What’s upstairs?” Darcy asked.

“Owner lives up there.”

Another scream followed by something crashing to the floor propelled Darcy into motion. The door was metal and locked.

The bartender knew where the owner kept a spare key and gave it to Darcy, who unlocked it and ran up a narrow, filthy stairway that turned at a landing and ended at another door. It, too, was locked. Still holding the key ring from the other door, Darcy tried the other keys. The last of the remaining two unlocked the door.

Dropping the keys, Darcy took out his gun and followed his partner inside. The upper-level apartment was warehouse-style. A large open space accommodated all of the rooms. The kitchen was adjacent to where he and his partner entered, living room to the right. Ahead was a bedroom and a closed-off area where the bathroom must be.


“Get off me!” a woman shouted.

Near the king-sized bed covered with a leopard print comforter, the blond-haired woman struggled beneath a big man on a bearskin rug.

“Stop!” she screamed.

The man had her pinned to the floor. A lamp lay broken at their feet. There was a torn red blouse on the bed, a jean skirt next to it. The man had just removed her bra and all that remained were her underwear.

Darcy and his partner rushed inside.

“Raleigh Police,” Darcy’s partner yelled. “Hands in the air!”

“Get off the woman and put your hands up!” Darcy ordered.

The man stopped and turned his head, disbelief frozen on his face.

The woman still struggled beneath him, trying to break free of his heavy weight.

“Get off her!” Darcy commanded, stepping forward with his gun aimed at the man’s head.

“What the...? How did you get in here?”

“Get off her,” Darcy’s partner repeated the command. He was just as big as the man on top of the woman.

The man moved off the woman, who scrambled to her feet, holding her hands over her breasts, beginning to cry and breathing erratically.

While his partner cuffed the man and told him his rights, Darcy went to the woman, picking up her skirt on the way. After handing it to her, he found a sweatshirt in an armoire and offered it to her. Fright still hadn’t left her blue eyes. She was about five-six and in pretty good shape, enough to put up a good fight.

“I’m Detective Darcy Jenkins and that’s my partner, Kyle Morrison.”

Trembling, she meekly thanked him and donned the sweatshirt first, then slipped into the skirt. While she dressed, he went into the kitchen and found a cloth, which he dampened with cold water.

Darcy handed her a pair of shoes he’d found on the floor, three-inch red pumps. She took them but didn’t put them on. Guiding her to the living-room area, he sat next to her on a black leather sofa and handed her the cloth.

“What’s your name?” he gently asked, taking out a small notebook and pen from his front pants pocket. Both he and his partner carried them.

“Avery Fletcher,” she said, dabbing her swelling lip where blood oozed a little.

She was an attractive woman. He could see that through her runny mascara and injuries. A bruise was beginning to form on her arm.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

Shaking her head, more earnest sobs released from her. Her hands still trembled.

He looked around for some tissues. Getting up, he left his notebook on the sofa and went into the bathroom and retrieved some toilet paper when he couldn’t find any.

Darcy went back to Avery and handed her the tissue, sitting beside her again. “You’re safe now.”