Page 49 of Avenging Kelly

I finished the call with Nat, thanking him for what he could find about the woman, which wasn’t much, I mentally reviewed the information he was able to give me. Frances Ritchfield was forty-eight, divorced after a three-year marriage to a Swedish geneticist she worked for at the Mayo Clinic after finishing her dissertation at the University of Michigan.

After the divorce, she moved to Paris, France, and worked for a research institute before she went off the grid. She turned up again two years later at Bethesda Naval Hospital outside of Washington, D.C.

On paper, that was where she still worked, even though her mailing address was in Leavenworth, Kansas. Clearly, Dr. Ritchfield had stumbled across something the government wanted from her so much that they were willing to give her nearly anything—like enough money to charter a private plane to come get Kelly Brown.

Not if I got to him first…

* * *

“Anything?” I asked over the toy-store walkie talkies that we’d stopped at a supercenter to pick up on our way to Ramada Drive where Dare Ya—or what was left of it—was located.

The front door was open with a beer keg as a doorstop, and there was a broom leaning against the red brick building. From my vantage point, I couldn’t see through the picture window to know if anyone was inside, but obviously, someone was, because why would they leave the goddamn door open otherwise?

“Can’t see inside because of the glare. I’m going over for a better look. They’ve never seen me,” Dallas stated, which was true.

I watched him cross the street and amble down the sidewalk, stepping into the bar for a moment before he walked back out and motioned for me.

“What?” I asked through the cheap device.

“It’s bad.”

After checking the road both ways, I ran across the street and straight into the bar, where my eyes settled on a sight that chilled me to my very soul. “Fucking hell. Stay here while I look around,” I told my brother as I reached behind my back for the Glock19 Duke had retrieved from his mother’s car for me.

Slowly, I made my way through the bar and back to the bathrooms, my head on a swivel to take in everything. The bathrooms were both empty, which was a frustrating as it was a relief.

The front of the place, where high tops and the L-shaped bar were located, was empty except for the body on the floor. Through a half-wall break topped with some ornamental gold lattice-work that tried to class up the place, there were tables and chairs spread around the room. It was where Ricky Fleming had been playing poker when we’d come inside just a few days earlier. It was a ghost town. Our dropping by that bar to confront Ricky Fleming seemed like a lifetime ago.

I pushed open a door I hadn’t seen the last time we were in the joint, revealing a storage room with a staircase leading to the second floor. Outside that metal door was where we’d set the fire.

Covered in broken plywood was a busted window, glass on the inside of the wall under it. I stepped out the door that was locked from the inside and looked up and down the alley. Absolutely no sign of Kelly, though I suspected he’d been there.

Taking a trip around the outside of the building, I checked out the rest of the block, noticing an old diner two storefronts from the bar. It was worth checking out.

I walked down the sidewalk and went inside. There were a few tables with customers and a few dirty tables that the haggard-looking waitress was yet to clear. There was one untouched meal on an empty table with a half-empty cup of coffee.

The waitress walked over and offered a smile. “You need a table, hon?”

“Was there a man sitting here? Short hair and brown eyes?”

Just then, a chair slid out to my left. When I looked up, I saw Kelly standing next to me with a shit-eating grin and a duffel bag in his hand. “Hungry, Narc?”

I flopped into the chair, relief coursing through my body that he was okay. My nerves subsided and anger took their place in an instant.

Kelly fucking took off without talking to me. I was relieved he was okay, but that wasn’t the way people who loved each other acted. You don’t just fucking take off!

I reached over and grabbed a piece of toast from his plate, taking a big bite. “It’s cold,” I said before tossing it back, my attitude coming through loud and clear.

“Well, he was in the bathroom for darn near an-hour. I had to send men into the ladies’ room to do their business,” the waitress complained as she refilled his coffee cup and turned a mug over for me, filling it without me asking.

“I, uh, I think I’ve got food poisoning.” Kelly pushed the plate away and tossed a twenty on the table before he stood and held out his hand for me.

I downed half the scalding coffee and stood, putting my hand into Kelly’s. “You’ve got a lot of explaining to do, Mr. Brown.” I didn’t try to hide how mad I was at him. He wasn’t the lone-fucking-ranger—he had me, or so I thought.

“I know, baby. Let’s get going.” The pink hue of his cheeks and the way he wouldn’t meet my gaze let me know he understood the gravity of the situation, which was good. At least he knew what he’d done wasn’t acceptable.

When we got outside, I got Dallas on the walkie talkie and told him to meet us at the hotel, and I led Kelly to the main street at the end of the block to get a cab. “What the fuck happened in there?” I asked him, referring to Dare Ya and the dead barmaid on the floor.

“I’m getting a complex about being around women. That’s the second one who’s been shot when I’m trying to talk to her.”

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