Chapter 24 #2
A man walked in and Bobby tracked him to the far end of the bar. “That guy’s a regular. I gotta go take his order. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“I don’t expect you to babysit me,” I said.
“Go do your job.” I took another sip, then eyed the bottles behind the bar, experiencing a moment of shock when I realized I hadn’t felt a craving for whiskey as soon as I walked into the place.
I had a craving now, but it seemed like a win that I’d been here at least five minutes before thinking about it.
I glanced down the bar to check out the other patrons.
There was a middle-aged couple, their heads bent close together.
A few stools away from them sat a couple of men in rich-looking suits, sipping what looked like whiskey or bourbon.
Top shelf, probably. Then my gaze drifted to the guy at the end of the bar, and I froze.
I knew him.
Detective Brad Huffington with the Little Rock Police Department. He was one of Keith’s good friends.
I had a moment of horror, fearing that he’d see me and say something, then I remembered I was currently unrecognizable.
Bobby poured his drink—definitely a high-dollar, top-shelf whiskey—when another man walked in through the door and headed straight for Brad.
My heart stuck in my chest, because I recognized him too.
Keith Kemper. My ex.
Keith sidled up to him and ordered a drink. Bobby poured him the top-shelf whiskey too, and I had to wonder why two Little Rock detectives would be getting expensive whiskey after midnight on a weeknight.
The men took their drinks to a booth across the room.
Bobby made his way back to me, checking on his other customers along the way.
When he leaned on the bar again, I said, “Do you know those guys?”
He looked surprised. “Yeah. Brad and Keith. They’re regulars.”
“Do they always get expensive whiskey?”
He looked surprised. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“Do they always meet each other here, or do they come alone? Or with other people?”
“What’s with the twenty questions, Harp—”
I pressed my finger against his lips, and I lowered my voice. “Call me Amber.”
He made a face. “Seems like you’re takin’ this new persona a little too seriously.”
I leaned closer. “That guy, Keith? He used to be my partner.”
“An ex-boyfriend?”
“And my detective partner.”
Panic washed over his face, and he lowered his face about a foot from mine and hissed, “He’s a cop?”
“The other guy too. They’re detectives. And friends.”
He watched them for a few seconds before he tore his gaze away. “What do you think they’re doin’ here?”
“Could be two friends grabbing a drink together,” I said, then I took a sip of my ginger ale, disappointed it wasn’t whiskey.
“Do you believe that?” he asked skeptically.
“I don’t know. Seems a little late for a friendly high-dollar drink.” I took another sip. “Especially since Keith usually likes to go to bed by ten.”
“He must have changed his schedule since you broke up, because over the past few months, I’ve seen them in here once or twice a week. And always around this time.”
“Is it just them?” I asked. “Or does anyone else meet them?”
“Sometimes there are a few other guys with them. Not always the same guys at the same time though.”
“Do you know any of their names?” I asked, shifting in my chair to get a surreptitious look at them. They were leaning across the table, in an intense conversation.
“Brad and Keith are the regulars, but I think one of them is named Roger.”
Roger. I went through a mental list of detectives and landed on Roger Nelson. “Can I borrow your phone?”
He looked suspicious. “Why?”
“I don’t have a smart phone, and I want to look someone up.”
He reluctantly handed over his phone. I pulled up his browser and searched for Roger Nelson, then handed the phone back to him. “This him?”
Bobby took it and lifted it closer. “This guy looks a few years younger, but yeah. That’s him.”
I nodded, then heard a familiar voice behind me.
“You flirtin’ with the customers, Bobby? That’s not like you.”
I tried not to tense up when Keith walked up to the bar and stood right next to me. Thankfully my hair was partially covering my cheek. Score one for long hair.
“She’s an old family friend,” Bobby said smoothly as he locked his screen and tucked his phone in his pants pocket. “You boys need a refill already?”
“Been a rough week,” Keith said, resting a hand on the counter. He turned slightly toward me. “You gonna introduce me to your family friend?”
“Amber,” I said, pitching up my voice slightly and adding a southern drawl. I kept my focus on the back wall as though I couldn’t be bothered with him. “And I have a boyfriend, so you’re wastin’ our time.”
Bobby chuckled. “I’ll bring your drinks over to your table.”
Keith stayed in place, and I could feel his gaze burning into me. “You sure you don’t want some company? I love blonds with long hair.” He picked up a strand and fingered it.
“Asshole,” I said, keeping my drawl, but barely. I struggled to hide my shock. He was acting nothing like the man I’d known and dated. “If you don’t get away from me in the next three seconds, I’ll call the police.”
“And what do you think they’ll charge me with?” he asked with a laugh. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “It’s not a crime to hit on a woman.”
“Maybe it should be.” Then, because my temper got the better of me, I elbowed him hard in the solar plexus.
He doubled over, and I was pleased to see I’d effectively knocked the wind out of him.
I set a twenty on the counter and started to walk out the door, but then, because he was already bent over, and it was far too tempting, I planted my foot on his ass and shoved hard enough that he fell to his hands and knees.
“Put your hands on me again, and this will feel like foreplay.”
Then I walked out the door, Keith still trying to catch his breath, while Bobby burst out laughing.
When the cool night air hit my face, I realized that had been incredibly stupid. Brad could have come over and arrested me for assault or at least made my life hell for a good fifteen to twenty minutes.
Actually, it was interesting that he hadn’t. Was it because he didn’t want anyone with the department to know about their late-night meetings at a high-end bar?
Or maybe my imagination was trying to find issues where there weren’t any.
Just because they were meeting for drinks didn’t mean they were up to something nefarious, present behavior excluded.
Cops met for drinks after work all the time.
But this wasn’t the bar they usually frequented.
And I had never known him to go out this late. It was definitely suspicious.
I drove the car back to the hotel and parked in the garage, then took the elevator up to our room.
James still hadn’t texted or called, and I told myself to stop worrying. Desperate for a distraction, I grabbed my laptop. Carter had emailed me an arrest report for Joshua Nixon with the message, “Could this be him?”
Joshua Nixon was thirty-five. His black hair was longer than Emily had described, but that didn’t mean anything. His lower face was covered in stubble, and it grew in a scruffy pattern on his jaws. But it was the dark, deadly look in his eyes that convinced me this was the guy she’d met.
This particular arrest was for assault, but the charges had been dismissed after the victim, a nineteen-year-old woman, hadn’t shown up to testify.
Was she a trafficking victim?
After I read the report, I decided it was possible.
The assault had happened outside a fast-food restaurant.
He’d started beating her up, and a few customers had intervened.
He’d tried to drag her to the car, but a police cruiser had been driving by and stopped.
Nixon was arrested and the victim was taken to the hospital.
If she’d been a trafficking victim, there were several reasons she might not have shown.
One, Nixon’s one phone call could have been to someone in the organization to let them know she’d been taken to a hospital, then someone had shown up at the ER to bring her “home.” Two, the police had put her in a domestic violence shelter, and she’d run, deciding her freedom was worth more to her than justice.
Or three, they’d made sure she’d never testify against Nixon or anyone else by killing her.
I had a sinking feeling it was option three, but I hoped to God she’d run and was living a very different life.
I studied the man’s photo again. He looked like an asshole who’d earned a hard-ass reputation. Based on the evil look in his eyes, I wasn’t surprised he’d viciously beaten a woman in public. And if he beat a woman like that in public, he was capable of far worse in private.