Darcy Walker - Season Two, Episode 2 Read online

  Table of Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Note from the Author

  Also by A. J. Lape

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2019 by A. J. Lape

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  For the verbs in the world

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  To all those “wind beneath my wings” people (Qamber Designs, Debbie, Heather, Melanie, Jeff, Lavinia, and Angela), thank you for sticking around for another release. I couldn’t do it without you; And to all those in law enforcement who allowed me to bend your ear. Thank you so much for your patience and expertise; And finally to the Lord, fans, and my family…I love you beyond words. Thank you for the endless support.

  Chapter 1

  THINGS CAN ALWAYS GET WORSE.

  So much for a soft approach.

  Landing in a dazed heap, the air was knocked out of me like a popped balloon. My lungs hissed, burning with an inhalation feeling like razor blades. After I reconnected to what had happened, it became clear I had a few choices. I could cower, cry, both, or I could shake myself to the present and come out swinging. Easier said than done when breathing was touch or go.

  Detective Riley Shafer’s voice roared and boomed like a foghorn in the background. Struggling to stand, my body was all awkward motion, but the moment my equilibrium stabilized, I slipped on a gossip rag and flat-backed it once more. By the time I brought one knee up in a let’s-try-again thing, Anthony was on me faster than a backsliding vegan on an ice cream truck. His hands circled my neck, squeezing and tugging. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t untangle his arms. I kicked, arched my back, reached for a magazine for the Spanish audience to strike him in the head, but nothing would break his focus from the crush on my neck.

  In between gasps of air, I caught the horrified look of Amnesty Stine and her friends—not assisting in any way whatsoever. In fact, Amnesty’s beeyotch eyes focused on my attacker’s hands, almost like she added an assist in the Darcy-go-night-night.

  Insert Jerald Packer…he threw a carton of milk at Anthony. Kicked him with Caesar’s shoe. Snatched a bag of chips and hit him in the head a half a dozen times. When that accomplished nothing, he gave up and leaned over me, telling me to stay away from the light.

  By that time, Detective Shafer came into view, diving at Anthony in some sort of wrestling move. His thick arms and legs encircled Anthony’s frame. Problem was, Shafer made no headway. He pulled and grunted—trying to dislodge Anthony’s grip—but he might as well have been wrestling a python. For the brief moments I could focus, I tried my best to connect with Anthony, telepathically telling just one strand of his DNA he was seconds from ending my life. But the more he squeezed, the more his eyes went blank, unseeing. Suspicion prickled my mind, seeping into my marrow like a bad thought. Anthony didn’t appear to be a guy irritated that someone had jacked on him for the way he communicated with his lady. He likewise didn’t appear to be a guy ashamed because his dream job blew up in his face. Anthony was too strong to be able to immobilize me and keep someone as large as Shafer from pinning him down. Completely crazed and nutty as a fruitcake, a red-eyed paranoia lit up his face. I smelled ganga all over him, but there had to be some reason why he’d had a Star Wars moment and gone to the Dark Side—something other than merely leaving the academy. Was he on a designer drug? PCP? Bath salts? Oh, Lord. Probably one of the latter two. Shafer was all over his back, but before he could gain any ground, Shafer flew through the air like a bird in flight. I didn’t know much about hallucinogenic drugs, but making Shafer soar like an eagle couldn’t have been a good sign.

  Mr. Ganti produced a shotgun from behind the counter and fired off a shot. It struck nothing of vital importance to anyone human from what I could tell, but customers dived down to the floor. Everyone except Anthony who still commenced the squeeze. My hands fumbled in their attempt to free myself, falling lifeless to my sides the more air he stole from my lungs. I desperately tried to shake myself back to consciousness, but there was an explosion in my head of white light that crackled and popped for a few seconds, intermittently fading to black. The more the colors mixed together, the more I concluded my adrenaline was losing the battle. If I lost adrenaline, then I would lose consciousness. And if I lost consciousness, one of two things would happen: he would either leave me alone…or finish me.

  Drifting in and out of the present, I was cognizant long enough to see Shafer snag Anthony by the scruff and somehow swivel him to a stand. Shafer then struck him with a right uppercut to the jaw, causing him to stagger backward and take out a display of energy drink shots.

  Mr. Ganti fired off another shot. Again, he missed the bad guy.

  When I rolled to all fours and coughed to regain air, Packer got in on the act, kicking Anthony with Caesar’s platform shoe again, flipping him a double condor mid-process. No matter what was done to Anthony, he still wouldn’t defuse. He came at Packer. Shafer went for a double-team. Somehow finding vertical, I dived through the air to throw my body into the act, but before I made contact, Shafer and Anthony crashed through the front window in a rainstorm of glass, tumbling into a guy pumping gas.

  Packer and I somersaulted over one another on the floor of 7-Eleven…but my gaze never left Shafer.

  The guy at the pump was so shocked that when he jumped, the hose filling up his car jerked out of his auto’s gas tank, petrol flying in the air like a deadly liquid weapon. When he never removed his hand from the trigger, the gas hit Anthony in the face. Instead of the fumes putting him to sleep, all it did was accelerate the behavior. Right as Shafer scrambled to safety on all fours, Battered Girlfriend made it outside. She’d brandished Mr. Ganti’s gun and smoked Anthony right in front of us.

  Ba-boooommm! One shot to the chest.

  And Anthony bounced like a bad check.

  His blood and entrails flying like confetti.

  Can we say, Hasta la vista?

  There were three unis in front of the store with four officers containing the crime scene and interviewing witnesses. I’d given my statement after responders made sure my windpipe wasn’t crushed, but Mr. Ganti wasn’t satisfied with their assessment. He shoved fountain drinks at me like they flowed from an assembly line, convinced if I could swallow, then everything was back in working order. Swallowing was not something I wanted to attempt in the next decade, so I politely declined, but the man felt remorse his aim hadn’t been better. I’d seen my neck in the reflection on my iPhone. Bruising was not minimal. In fact, I had two thumb and four long finger impressions that were purple on either side of my larynx.

  After I phoned Lincoln—who was en route—I dialed Rollo and recapped the last pizza drop of the evening. I hung up mid-rant when my eyes focused on Detectives Guy Adler and Sara Gregg.

  File that under Things Can Always Get Worse.

  I had a sordid past with the two detectives. They were the first suits on the scene when I discovered my customer murdered a few weeks back. Giant-big, Adler had a reputation for being a complete a*shole. A characteristic that sucked since he was a ginger and normally, I loved a g
ood ginger. Gregg held the role of the long-suffering partner who’d just had a baby. Always in a navy blazer, her brown bob was longer than I last remember, but as a new mom, she probably didn’t have time for upkeep.

  Detective Shafer headed straight for them, recounting in vivid verbatim the A-B-C account of what had occurred. Gazing around the store, Amnesty and her friends were being interviewed by the police officers who responded, and Battered Girlfriend was being treated by first responders for shock and a slice to her stomach by a knife of Anthony’s. How had we gotten here? Again, had it been pure humiliation on Anthony’s part? Could it be that simple? Regardless of his leaving the program, I’d seen nothing in his behavior beforehand that would trip alarms.

  “Walker,” Mr. Ganti said, bending over me, “you’re a hero.”

  Mr. Ganti was so large his butt could sub for the Christmas ham. I removed the ice bag from my throat because it was making me have the urge to pee and frankly, I didn’t have the energy to walk to the restroom. “Not really,” I said. “All I did was get choked and try to stay alive. The real heroes were you and the girlfriend.”

  Mr. Ganti’s face beamed. Next to him, Packer had his iPhone out, panning the room and dictating into the speaker what he thought of everyone present. He referred to Amnesty and her posse as, “Evil extras I’ll leave on the cutting room floor.”

  I mentally high-fived him. Even Packer had picked up on their selfish, pretentious vibe. As soon as Packer made eye contact with Detective Adler, Packer bristled. “Haters, back off,” he snarled when Adler told him to shut down his phone.

  “They’re the good guys,” I mumbled to Packer.

  Packer did some sort of ceremonial bow I assumed was something Caesar would do. “What it is, officers,” he greeted.

  “What it is,” Detective Gregg echoed, squelching down laughter. Detective Adler, however, was still his stick-up-the-you-know-what self.

  I clenched my fists involuntarily, waiting for his first shot across the bow. Sure enough, it came as soon as he opened his mouth.

  “Walker, I see we’ve got another dead body on our hands this bright and early morning. Why am I not surprised you’re involved?”

  My life could be as unpredictable as the San Andreas Fault. I pled the fifth regarding his rhetorical disapproval of my involvement, sticking to the facts. “The young woman who shot the deceased had been battered. I approached her prior to the deceased’s actions to see if I could help because she obviously was distressed. The deceased, who had just left the academy, apparently had a relationship with her and didn’t appreciate my interference.”

  Adler raised a judging, inquiring eyebrow. “He just left the academy?”

  “Yessir,” I said. “We knew one another. Not well, but I thought…or hoped…I could help.”

  That earned another eyebrow lift. “Did you attempt to negotiate when things escalated?” he added.

  Gregg frowned, whipping her head around like a momma bear about to swing a claw. “Absolutely,” I said sarcastically. “Granted it was hard when he was crushing my windpipe, but I tried to mentally communicate I’d rather us sit down for coffee and hash out our differences like civilized folks. I’m thinking I need ESP for dummies. My message didn’t get through.”

  “So he meant to kill you?” he pushed.

  “I would say so, yes,” I answered. “Not once mid-squeeze did I see in his face where he debated stopping. In my experience, when people never look repentant, there sometimes is a measure of premeditation involved. Either that or the lack of a soul. With Eugene Anthony? I don’t have the paygrade to comment on his soul, but since he had no idea I would be here to even consider premeditation, I’d lay money he was on something…and his behavior was a result.”

  “That simple?” Adler said.

  “That simple,” Detective Shafer said curtly, a frown lining his forehead. Shafer picked up my hand and the ice bag in it, lightly placing both back over my neck. “Keep it there, Walker,” he ordered, his eyes softening and definitely softer than his command. “It might be numb now, but it’s going to hurt like hell in a few hours.”

  Nodding, I focused back on Adler. “Well, there is one more thing,” I added. Shafer darted his eyes back up to mine. “I feel really bad Mister Ganti’s pizza is cold. And Detective Shafer probably should stick with his detective gig. I’m not sure he has the chops for pizza delivery.”

  Shafer released a humorless chuckle, sliding an eye to Adler. He did not like the detective. I could tell by the way his jaw hardened into the consistency of a bowling ball. No surprise really. Adler had the approval rating of a slimy lawyer.

  While Adler made his way to Mr. Ganti, it was the segue Detective Gregg needed to give me her two cents’ worth. “Darcy, I can see by your neck you were obviously brutally attacked. Are you okay, honey?”

  Truthfully? I needed a personal day.

  “It’s only a bruise,” I told her. “She needed my help. Eugene needed my help, but I obviously was too late.”

  Gregg blew out a sigh, moving her head up and down in understanding. Gregg gave into her motherly urges, removing the ice bag and lightly running her fingers along the column of my throat. “Yes, they both needed your help,” she said softly, “but you swing for the fence every time. I appreciate the going-big of it all, but it makes me worry.”

  Eh. That was the cost of unbridled enthusiasm.

  When I remained quiet, she put my hand back on my neck and cued part-B of her mom-speech. “Don’t approach anyone alone again, if you can help it. Detective Shafer was with you. Next time tell him what you’re planning, so he can be prepared.”

  “I would’ve, but Shafer was getting candy.”

  Detective Gregg smirked, blatantly taunting Shafer with a ribbing to come when they were alone. Shafer unloaded his I’m-going-to-kill-you-later look, firing it my way like another round from Ganti’s shotgun. Listen, Shafer’s looks were the least of my concerns. The more I thought about it, the more I’d begun to believe the expiration date on my life was coming due. Too many hairy situations were presenting themselves.

  Adler made his way back to me, glancing over his notes when he finished with Mr. Ganti and Packer, the latter staring at him like he was Norman Bates. “Walker, I’m a guest lecturer at the academy,” he told me.

  Oh, goody…

  “Know when that’ll be?” I asked. So I can call in sick that day?

  “I’m not sure when they’re going to schedule me, but soon,” he answered.

  “What subject?” I inquired.

  “Interviewing.”

  Wow…and can I say again…WOW.

  Cue the BS. “That’s so awesome,” I lied.

  “Make sure you take a lot of notes,” he muttered.

  His insult rolled off of me like water on a duck’s back. Good thing, too, because if the man was going to be a guest lecturer, I didn’t want him gunning for me any more than he already would be. A public takedown was right up his alley.

  While Adler and Gregg traveled outside to examine the body along with the CSIs, I shivered at the violent aftermath. Anthony would have to be scraped off the pavement, and what wasn’t picked up would go down the drain with the fireman’s hose.

  Don’t do drugs, kids. A PSA by Darcy Walker.

  Sleep closed in on me faster than melting snow in Hell. My throat was stiffening up, and the moment I met a desperate gaze with Battered Girlfriend—worried she’d be charged with murder—my eyes misted with tears. I prayed I hadn’t contributed to her ultimate demise, but I had a feeling she wouldn’t have seen morning if I hadn’t.

  When Lincoln Taylor made it to the scene, he was already dressed for the day in a dark suit and navy tie. The man exuded power and confidence. All three detectives addressed him at once along with one of the CSIs, all wanting him to weigh in on the scene before them. Lincoln ignored their questions while likewise ignoring he was the ranking supervisor, striding past them with only one thing on his mind—me. Splitting the crowd, he was a
formidable man, graying as sexily as it could get. Despite that natural born power, his face was wild with horror, wearing an expression he just might not be cut out to do his job anymore. He tasted fear. Lincoln Taylor despised fear, calling it a nine-inch serrated blade with no purpose but to skin you to the bone. Stopping mid-motion, he massaged his heart like he tried to find a sinus rhythm. When his voice cracked with, “Are you all right, dear,” I succumbed to the tears and ran into his outstretched arms.

  No, it wasn’t professional, but at that point, neither of us cared.

  Chapter 2

  SHOCK AND PAIN HAD A TASTE ALL THEIR OWN.

  The blinds in my room blanketed the early afternoon sunlight. I stirred at a voice, and when a warm hand touched my forehead, I startled and came out swinging. Anthony was dead, right?

  “Darcy?” I heard the deep voice murmur, gently clasping my swinging fists. “It’s me, dear. Don’t be afraid.”

  I pushed up on an elbow, trying to shake myself awake. I needed sleep, but not so much it would sabotage my efforts of getting back on a normal daytime schedule. Blinking and finding my glasses, I slid them on my nose to discover Lincoln. He sat down on the edge of my bed, taking my hand. Lucky lay in the crook of my legs. He raised his head, wagged his stub at Lincoln, and promptly passed gas. Trying to regain his dignity, he wagged his tail again and curled back into the same position with a heavy dog sigh, resting his chin on my knee. My mind wasn’t exactly working at its optimum capacity, but there was no denying the look of concern on Lincoln’s face.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it?” I asked, my throat scratchy.