Fleur Di Lis

Chapter Two

"Hey, Armstrong!" 

I lifted my head from my desk to see Rik sauntering over with two steaming cups in his hands, and a folder tucked under his arm. He sat down in the seat next to me, and handed me the two cups. 

I stared at him, eyebrows raised. "Both for me?"

"You look like you need a caffeine fix." 

I scoffed. "I'll say. What you got?" 

"ID on the vic from the park," he exhaled, plopping the folder on my desk and leaning back in his seat with his arms crossed. "And it's just made this thing a bit more complicated." 

I mimicked his expulsion of air as I picked a cup up, the heady scent of caffeine washing away the cobwebs in my mind, and took a sip. Strong and sweet, just the way I liked it. He may be an asshole, but there were moments -- short ones -- where Rik was a decent guy.  

"Well? Don't leave me hanging here, Rik." 

"Her name's Dana Kirke," Rik answered, giving me a meaningful look. A blank one was given back. The name didn't ring any bells. 

"Not following." 

Rik gave me a look of disbelief. "How much of a recluse are you? Dana Kirke just happens to be the face of Kirke Technologies, one of the biggest tech companies in the world! They've been behind giving the CIA, NSA and FBI the most advanced intelligence gadgets ever. James Bond has got nothing on this stuff!" 

I smirked. "Didn't take you as a tech nerd, Donavan."

"I'm not. Usually," he added. "But when it comes to girls like her, I pay attention."

I rolled my eyes. Of course he does. As soon as it's about a woman, Donavan is right in there like a fly around shit. "You got her address?" 

He gave me a look of disbelief. "You really think I'd come all the way here just to tell you who the chick is without giving you an address? What do you take me for, Armstrong?" 

"An asshole." I rose to my feet, cup in hand. "Where is it?" 

"Upper East Side," he replied, standing. "Meatpacking District. Surprise surprise." 

The Meatpacking District was New York's up-and-coming area, where the elite were meant to be spotted living in. Initially one of the most brutal and ruthless areas in town, it had been cleaned up and was now filled with trendy townhouses and apartments that sat very well with New York's finest. 

Dana Kirke lived in one of these swanky apartments; third floor, the only one with a terrace looking out onto the city. The front door alone was the width of the black Impala that was parked outside. 

"Pretty neat, huh?" 

"Sure," I shrugged. "If you like that kinda thing." 

Rik scoffed. "You love it." 

The door opened, and a woman stood in front of us. She was in her late fifties, with salt-pepper hair that was tidily bundled behind her head in a bun, her icy blue eyes taking Rik and I in with apparent distaste. Clearly, we didn't belong here. 

"Can I help you?" 

"Detectives Armstrong and Donavan," Rik introduced, flashing his badge.  I followed suit.  "NYPD.  I believe Dana Kirke lives here, is that correct?" 

"Yes, it is. I am her mother," she paused, a look of worry flashing across her features before the perfectly blank mask returned. "Is everything alright?"