Leaving her was the right and the wrong thing to do.
Davis spent the entire morning watching Willow fade in and out of consciousness. He only asked her about Harlem to give her something to focus on as he wrapped her ribs. Her answer still weighed on him hours later.
He was my soulmate.
As a girl, Willow would say things that had so many levels to it that always made him smile back then. She didn’t fill the silence with asinine questions. She was a year younger and yet she seemed to be the oldest person he’d ever met. Her priest-like eyes conveyed a compassion he gladly got lost in.
After the accident that claimed his parents, Willow’s voice was about the only one he could tolerate. Even her quiet had a music to it that he clung to.
Davis thought about the bottle of opiates he found in her bag. He even went so far as to get a glass of water and shake two of the tablets into her hand. She pushed the pills away.
“You’re slipping into shock these may help.”
“Delaying the pain won’t erase it. Not for Harlem… not for Mom… or me.”
Only then did he go to his kitchen and gather the poultice of crushed pepper corns and the bottle of vodka from the cabinet over his sink.
Davis thought back on the events of that morning and frowned. The shattered remains of the woman he propped against his chest that morning scared him. Maybe she put on a good front for the people in her office, but he saw the bruises.
If pushed, Davis would admit it. He held Willow closer in an effort to will his strength into her body and a little longer than he needed to try to draw her pain within himself. How could he not? He learned from the best. He learned from her.
The department of children and family services found an extended stay facility that specialized in patients with extensive burn injuries. When no one came forward after several weeks in the ICU the fireman that pulled him from the wreckage made the arrangements to prevent the press and the curious from, poking and prodding, asking him over and over again if he needed anything or what he knew. Willow and her family were strangers to him. And yet, there was no one else he’d wanted to be around. Back then, she was his only need.
Davis leaned back against the wall in the elevator.
You never have to ask for me or look for me, Willow. I’ll always be right here beside you holding your hand. I’ll take care of you.
He could hear his younger self making that promise to her as she lay in a ball on her bedroom floor still dressed in the dress she’d worn to her mother’s funeral. His head was resting on her back as he tried to fold his body around hers.
You’ll never be alone. I’ll take care of you.
That was what he’d promised her, and in the blink of an eye it was gone. He was gone and her screams were mingled with his own.
The soft ding of the elevator bell signaling the ground floor made him flinch. Davis was about to step off of the elevator when a man a few inches shorter walked in. He swiped his badge in the C Swipe machine, the elevator doors slid shut, and the wall behind them slid open.
“Just what the fuck are you doing in here?” Kyle said as soon as the doors closed. “You do understand the definition of ‘deep cover,’ don’t you?”
Davis looked at the shorter dark-skinned man and a mirthless smile creased his features. “Unfinished business. Not that it’s any of yours, Kyle.” He watched the man work at some kind of a comeback and his smile widened. “What happened? You cut yourself shaving again?”
Kyle reached for his mouth then thought better of it. “You know me, fuck ’em and duck ’em. Just didn’t duck fast enough. I made her pay for it, though.”
Davis followed him off of the elevator and down the hallway. They passed by a group of new recruits listening to a tactical lecture. The instructor nodded a silent hello before continuing on.
“Hitting a woman doesn’t make you a man.”
“If she’s woman enough to throw a punch she better be ready to get one. Some pro keyed my car.”
“That’s why we have insurance companies to repair damaged vehicles,”
After wrapping Willow’s ribs, the idea of any man hurting a woman put a red ball of rage in front of Davis’s face. He couldn’t get to the one that hurt her, but he had a representative of the type in front of him. He couldn’t even put it off on short man’s syndrome although Kyle Endicott definitely fit the bill. It was more than that.
The man dressed like one of those dealer slick preachers that always seemed to find their way to Davis’ club after services with someone other than their wives on their arm. He often wondered if the money they flashed around started off in the collection plates. The arrogance and their false swagger may have impressed some of the other patrons but it did little for Davis Didn’t matter the height or weight—they were all small and mean and thought nothing of backhanding a woman if she so much as breathed too loudly for his taste.
Kyle’s type had no qualms about dressing a woman down in a crowded room in an attempt to make anyone and everyone believe the delusion that he was a somebody. Some he knew for a fact beat them so badly during sex that they were calling for God while he yelled “say my name” and continued to beat them until they did.
“What’s it to you? Still playing hero. She was trash. That’s all. End of story.”
“You have a sister and nieces. How would you feel if somebody used them for a punching bag? How’s your Dad by the way? How do you think he’d react to someone putting his daughter’s head through a wall?”
Davis watched as the words settled on the man standing in his shadow. The effect did exactly what he intended. The flicker of annoyance was growing into a mask of rage. He wanted him to draw back a fist. He wanted him to go for his weapon.
“Dad has his good days and bad days. The Alzheimer’s is advancing. Still yapping about that revitalization project. He wants a community center on every street corner. He says with his money and your mind they can make it happen. He met you once at a company function and he never forgot you.” Kyle scrubbed at his mouth and chin with his hand. “Which is more than I can say for me. He asks me who I am every time I visit now.”
“Sorry to hear that., Endicott. Really.” Davis studied the man and frowned
“Davis, you really shouldn’t be in this building. Cops are always in here for one case or another—all we need is to have you spotted by one of the footmen down in your district. That case you’re working could be blown.”
Davis leaned back against the wall and folded his arms.
Smooth to a fault, Davis thought with a chuckle. He could handle the subject change. Anything had to be easier than trying to explain why Kyle was on the floor bloodier than he had been before they walked past their old instructor, Ron England. Davis squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the image of Willow resting against him as he wrapped her ribs.
“Speak for yourself. Aren’t you assigned to White Collar for a few more days before you sail off into retirement?”
“I can be in Counter Terrorism. You’re not the only one with rank.”
Davis chuckled again and shook his head. He thought of the kitana sword in his workout room and the awards and citations he had stashed in safety deposit boxes and his stomach filled with acid. “I never wanted rank.”
“Hell, if I had your ribbons and citations, the gifts from foreign dignitaries...”
“Stop.”
“You know, for a while there your nickname was ‘Plague.’ We all thought you were going to buy it out there. Suicide by cop or something else. Only took the suicide missions.”
With an unearthly grace Davis moved away from the wall until he was standing directly in front of the man. Kyle took a shambling step backward and fell into the far wall. Davis closed the space once more. Kyle colored fiercely as he reached for the bruise on his mouth. Clearing his throat, he straightened his tie.
“I asked you to stop. Do I have to make you?”
“No, I was just saying—”
“Don’t.” Davis stepped away from Kyle prepared to disarm his colleague.
“Geez, I was trying to pay you a compliment. Nobody else in this piece has your skills... your gifts.”
“Doesn’t take talent to kill a man.”
Kyle straightened his tie and straightened to his full height.
“I remember seeing you relieve somebody of their side arm. I mean, it was—”
“You mean like this?”
With that same unearthly speed, Davis pulled the man’s side arm, and aimed it at Kyle’s left eye.
“You’re going to make me stop you, aren’t you? I asked you to let this go.”
Kyle flinched and raised his hands. “Alright. Alright. I heard you.”
“But are you listening?”
Davis took a step backward and he trained the gun on Kyle’s chest for an instant before repositioning the hammers and thumbing the safety back on. Davis let the gun slip around on his finger until he was holding the butt of the gun out to Kyle.
“You were unsnapped, Endicott. That’s enough to get you killed out there and in here.”
Endicott took the gun, almost dropping it as Davis leaned back against the wall once more.
“Never did say why you were here.”
Davis folded his arms and crossed his legs once more. “No, I didn’t.”
“Does it have anything to do with those fires down around your way? I read about it in the newspaper. I heard they called in one of their big guns from Quantico. Willow Daniels.”
Davis’s eyes were cool and assessing as he watched Kyle worry the snaps on his holster once the gun was safely tucked back inside.
“Do you know her?” Davis let his arms fall to his side as he studied the man like an insect. “Been to Philly lately?”
“Hardly my type... Tech head, chemical freak. Youngest in the history of us to helm her own division at Quantico. Running joke for a while there was that God must have whispered the secret to making fire to her when she was buried under all that rubble from the towers on nine eleven.”
Davis wanted to feel some surge of pride, struggled to feel it, but all he could see was her father standing in his doorway holding his cell phone. Her voice message was playing back: ’Night, Daddy. I love you’.
“There was a seminar going on in one of the buildings.” Davis murmured.
“Body Recovery. She was the keynote speaker. Ironic. They said the way she came up out of the ground, even one more hour... Some dog found her, hasn’t left her side since. His handler just gave him to her.”
Davis nodded softly.
“Well, she gave me an in this morning. Somebody had her truck towed last night.”
“She know what you are?”
For some reason, the words irked Davis and he wanted to bury the muzzle of the gun back in Kyle’s eye.
“For all she knows I’m just a jazz club owner.” He bit down on the last part as if the mere mention of being alone with her last night was sacrilegious. He leaned up from the wall and Kyle took an involuntary step backward.
“I gotta head,” Davis said. “I’m double parked and I need to get back to business. Tell Chudleigh I’ll have my reports to him as scheduled—there may be a break soon.”
Davis really didn’t have to tell Chudleigh anything. But he sensed that an abrupt turn back to talking shop was the easiest way to get away from Endicott.
“Sure thing, here. Let me get you back upstairs.” Kyle pulled out his swipe card, but Davis walked past him.
“Not to worry. I can see myself out.”
He was halfway down the hall when he heard Kyle clear his throat. “You know, you aren’t the only one good with a gun.”
Davis paused and bowed his head. The air suddenly stank of the man’s fear. He listened for the snaps and the hammers cocking but heard only silence. “No, I’m not. But then, you won’t be around to hear that eulogy.”
“You mean the sugar-coated version of how I lived.”
Davis turned and looked at him. “No, the truth about how you died.”