Minka
MINKA
“ I ’m choosing to be mature about all this.” And to prove it, I sit at my desk, one leg folded over the other and my hands clasped in my lap—which is a vast improvement on the me I see in my mind. Shouting. Frustrated. Ready to hurt some people.
It’s not my fault I was never taught how to control my emotions during my formative years.
“Who has offered you a new position?” I stare down my nose at a stubborn Seraphina Lewis, her perfect hoity-toity skirt suit and her silky brown hair. I don’t know how she makes it look salon-perfect every single day.
Another subsection of wisdom my parents failed to impart onto me.
“This doesn’t have to be ugly, Fifi.”
“You mean like how you’ve treated me like crap from the moment I handed you my resignation letter?” She raises a single, pointed brow and stares straight back into my eyes. Challenging. Daring. She doesn’t have a job to lose at this point, so I figure she’s at the, ‘ Fuck it! Let’s go,’ phase of our back and forth. “I expected professionalism, first and foremost. And when professionalism would slide, I expected respect between friends.”
“Professionalism would exclude you from quitting just because a guy hurt your feelings!” Mature…? Nah. “Friendship would make certain you speak to me about what’s bothering you before it becomes an issue. You didn’t even give us a chance to work through this.”
“I gave you a month! I could have walked that day . Left my desk, ignored the phone, deleted my email. I’ve been headhunted for years , so it’s not like I’m here because I need to pay the rent.”
“Fifi—”
“I gave you a month to find someone else. To find peace in this change. I risked my new job by telling them to wait another month, and for every single day I was here, you did nothing but pout and shout. Nonstop.”
“I don’t want you to leave.” I burst up from my chair, sending the metal structure rolling backward until it hits the bookshelf lining my wall. Then I circle my desk and barely stop short of smacking her when I pass. That would be assault, yada yada yada . “I don’t want to spend a month getting to know Carol?—”
“Callen.”
“Whatever! I don’t feel it’s necessary for me to dedicate brain space to remembering her name. Because I remember yours . I want yours to be the one I hear when I pick up the phone.”
“You don’t even use my proper name!” I guess she’s disinterested in maturity, too, because she stands, meeting me on my level and turning her back to the crowd gathering outside my office. Aubree. Doctor Raquel. Xavier Campbell. Hell, even Doctor Patten has stuck around long after her night shift ended to see us duke it out. “My name is not Fifi. It has never been Fifi. When you first uttered that god-awful name, I corrected you in hopes you would never use it again. You want to lecture me about names, Mayet? Cut the shit and use the one I ask you to.”
“Watch your tone.” I bring my eyes around again and match her glare with one of my own. “This is my office, Seraphina. My building. And you’re providing the staff a poor example of how one behaves inside the George Stanley.”
“Oh, shove it up your ass! What are you gonna do? Fire me?”
My eyes pop wide in surprise. Because she’s going all in, ‘burn this motherfucker down’ .
“I was professional! I stayed longer than I needed to, and I’ve provided a highly trained replacement. Hell, Boss , you can probably call her Fifi, if you want. She wants this job so fricken much, you could call her Shaquille O’Neal and I’m certain she’d be okay with it.”
“I don’t want a fucking lapdog busting my ass eighty times a day. I need a lady warrior, barring the way and keeping me moving in the right direction. I need you . Haven’t you heard what they say about me?”
“That you’re a bitch?” She pops off without fear, pursing her lips and holding my stare. “Yeah. I heard. ”
“I mean… I wouldn’t use that word.” I need to calm this conversation or risk losing my friend, too. If she leaves the George Stanley, she leaves. Professionally, that sucks. But she doesn’t get to walk out of my life on a personal level and pretend this past year never happened. “I know people say I’m mean, Sera.” Sera? Is that cool? “I know they say I’m unkind. They call me a bitch because I’m a woman. But they’d call me firm if I was a man.”
“What they call you is no longer my concern. I no longer work for you.”
“You do. Until Friday. So if we have to stay in this office every minute from now until then, then that’s what we’re gonna do.”
“I’m off at five.” She tilts her head—I swear, she works hard not to smile. “I’m unavailable for overtime this week.”
“I need your kind of fierceness sitting at that desk,” I plead. “You know the world tries to encroach every minute of every day. You know people demand my time and attention. It’s cruel of you to plop Cora in your office and expect her not to cry by lunchtime.”
“Her name is Callen. And she’s been here for three weeks already. She’s fine.”
“Three weeks with you holding her hand the whole time! The second you’re gone, she’s gonna flop.”
“Your faith in her abilities, I’m certain, will warm her heart.”
“Sera!”
“Oh, for God’s sake,” she throws her hand out to the side. “Call me Fifi! Sera is for Charlie, and he screwed that up way worse than you’ve screwed anything up.” Finally, she loses her fierce composure and stares at me through shimmering eyes. “I’m leaving, . But there was no need for you to treat me the way you have these past few weeks. I’ve taken a new position in someone else’s office. I’m not moving to Oklahoma.”
“You’re not?” Softening, I push away from my glass wall and move closer to my friend. My comrade. “You’re staying in Copeland?”
“Of course.” She sniffs—the action is fast and violent. The weakness, annoying to her. “Our jobs will still overlap, I promise.”
I study her eyes, searching for the answers to questions I’ve asked for weeks. “Where is your new office?”
She snickers, shaking her head side-to-side. “I’m not telling you.”
“But—”
“It’s for everyone’s health and wellbeing. You’ll hurt the person who head hunted me, and none of us can afford that kind of heat right now.”
“Do I know this person?” I angle my head and force her to meet my eyes. “Have we had dealings? ”
“No comment.”
“Is this person already afraid of me?” Because if they are, a well-placed threat could get me my media relations person back. “I just want to talk to them.”
“No.”
“I could discuss with them, boss to boss, about their newest acquisition.”
“I said no.”
“Please Fifi! They don’t need you as much as I do! Do you even care that I’m flying to New York tomorrow?”
Unimpressed, she purses her lips and barely stops short of rolling her eyes. “You’re gonna be fine.”
“I made my eighteen-year-old brother-in-law book my hotel! Because Mirium was useless and you weren’t doing your job.”
She snorts. “First of all, I’m not, nor have I ever been, your personal assistant. That’s not what I was hired here to do. And second, I have been doing my job. I’ve spent three weeks teaching a little mouse how to stand up to the office bitch. She’s gonna do great. She’ll do the job, you’ll show her grace and bite less, and I’m certain I’ll be by on a semi-regular basis. We’ll visit and maybe get lunch sometimes.”
“Your new job will have you back here sometimes?”
She lifts her chin. “Yes.”
“What’s the job?”
“I’m not telling you!” She spins on four-inch heels, only to stop again and startle when she finds our crowd growing. Doctor Kirk. Doctor Catlin. Even Mr. Green, our night shift janitor, who, like his medical examiner counterpart, stuck around for the show. “Go away!” she charges the glass, the way little old men shoo kids off his grass. “Get a life, you imbeciles!”
I choke out a laugh when Aubree only tosses a sucker between her lips and smiles around the stick. “I don’t think they’re afraid of you. Now turn around and talk to me. This is our fight. I’m not sharing it with those imbeciles.”
Dropping her head and staring down at her sexy, red-bottom heels, she turns back to me.
“I know the things Fletch said to you were hurtful. But if your new job brings you to my office on a semi-regular basis anyway, then what was even the point? Why leave me when the intention was to get away from him?”
“I panicked.” Her voice catches, tearing at my soul as she brings her eyes up and locks onto mine. “My intentions, at first, were to just leave. To not be here anymore. Because you’re married to Malone, and Malone is best friends with Fletcher. It’s inevitable the detectives would be here, and the risk of running into that jackass when I’m trying to heal was simply too much.”
“But then you jumped ship without thinking and… what? Landed right next door? Got a job at the police station? What, Fifi?”
“After I accepted my new position and worked through the headache of what I’d done, once I got past the panic of realizing I would still see him, sometimes, though hopefully not often, I considered quitting that job too. Cutting myself free and moving to a whole other country.”
I firm my lips and stare her down. Are you crazy ?
“Those were all emotions. Such silly things to make business decisions with.”
“That’s what I’ve been saying! You left because of your feelings, Fifi! Undo what you’ve done, come back to work Monday, and we move on like nothing ever happened.”
“But once I worked through my freak out, I realized I was excited about my future at this new place. The career advancement is…” Sighing, she shakes her head. “Well, I jumped a few levels with this one. My new team is something to strive for. My new boss…”
“Is who?”
She smiles. Finally, she releases a little of her anger and allows something happy in. “Someone I’m eager to learn from. I jumped ship because of my feelings, allowing them to screw not only with my career, but also with my friendships. Now I’m thinking clearly again, and I’ve realized I don’t want to give up on this opportunity.”
“So you expect me to celebrate the fact you’re leaving? You dump me like yesterday’s soggy burrito and want me to be happy for you?”
“Yes.” She clasps her hands together and holds on to her small smile. “Yes, you need to be happy for me. Because professionally, I hooked you up with a 2.0. who will do just fine once you give her a chance. And personally, that’s what friends do. They cheer each other on and celebrate when good things happen. You wouldn’t know about that though, since all of your childhood friends were cartoon animals played on the kids’ channels while your parents ignored your existence.”
“Wow!” I slam a hand to my heart as her strike lands right where she intended it to. But bubbles of laughter roll though my chest and out to diffuse what could have been hurtful. Damaging, even. “Jesus, Fifi. You’re just setting shit on fire on your way out, aren’t you? ”
She lifts a shoulder, dropping it in a shrug and smirking. “I’ve wanted to say a lot of things over the last year, Chief Mayet. Now’s my chance.”
“Vicious,” I snicker. “Makes me proud.”
Turning serious, she drops her grin and brings her gaze up. “I’m not running away from Charlie, just so you know.”
I step around her and make my way back to my chair. “Liar.”
“I’m not.” She plops into the visitor’s chair, resting her elbows on her knees and destroying the posture she’s so good at holding the rest of the time. “What he said to me was crappy. But he was a hurt man, lashing out at the first poor soul who dared to step up. I just so happened to be that person, and honestly,” she looks down at her hands, “I had no right to go to his apartment that night. He was going through personal things that had absolutely nothing to do with me. I inserted myself, and like any parent in the wild would do, he went for the throat to protect his baby.”
“He was misguided. You were never a threat to Mia.”
“We know that.” She exhales a soft, sad laugh. “And I’m certain he knows now, too. But I just want you to know… I want you to hear me,” she pleads, “when I say I’m not running from Charlie. I’m running from Mia.”
Stunned, I bring my focus up again. “Excuse me?”
“I don’t even like kids. Lord knows, they’re smelly and sticky and really needy. I had no intention of ever being a mom. I still don’t see a future where my belly is rounded and I’m wearing a man’s diamond ring. But Mia’s just…”
“Perfect? Pure. Sweet.”
“She’s an exception to the rule. And I got entirely too comfortable spending time with that exception. She wasn’t sticky or annoying or weird, and as it turns out, I started to enjoy having her around.”
“And that’s a problem?” Because hell… I feel the same ! “Why is she being punished for being cool?”
“It’s not about punishment. It’s about self-preservation.” Sitting tall in her chair, she reclines back and folds one knee over the other. “I realized, while Charlie was shouting at me and saying the things he was, that he was the be-all-and-end-all as far as access to that little girl went. He was in charge, and there was nothing, nothing I could do about that. What if I stay in this position and see her as often as I have for the last few months, but for another few years? We bond,” she answers before I can. “Maybe there’s love. There’s certainly protection from me, because there is no circumstance where I won’t keep her safe. Five years,” she presses. “Maybe even ten. And then Charlie and I have this fight? Or he gets a girlfriend, who won’t be cool with him flirting with me the way he does. However it happens, we still end up where we are right now. But those years will have passed and this pain will be…” She sets a hand on her belly. “The pain will be so much worse.”
“You’re afraid of losing her later… so you throw her away now?”
“She’s still young enough that, in six months, she’ll forget I ever existed. She won’t know this pain, and she certainly won’t know the ache I feel every time I think of her. But if we have those ten years first?—”
“She’ll be fourteen years old and defiant if anyone attempts to keep you apart.” I sit forward and hold her stare. “In ten years, you will have created a bond nobody can break. The same way I’ll have a bond with her. And Aubs. None of us need to sleep with Charlie Fletcher to have access to his daughter, Fifi. But you seem pretty friggin’ keen to rob her of what could have been an amazing relationship with an even more amazing woman. She needs those in her life. After the shit her mother has pulled, Mia needs all the fierce female companionship she can get. You’re being a coward by running away now.”
“Coward…” She shrugs. “Cautious. Either way, it’s time to cut the cord and save us all while things are still fresh. I refuse to be the source of a little girl’s trauma the way my mother was for me.”
“You mean the way Jada is for Mia?” I glance over her shoulder and past the crowd still watching us. Though a few of them trail away. Then I look at the elevator as it opens and closes. A couple of detectives step out and head this way, oblivious to what will probably become a massacre once Fifi turns and sees what I see. “Don’t panic,” I sigh, peering up at the ceiling, if only to take the moment to collect myself. “And don’t make rash decisions while you’re angry. I’m not done with this conversation,” I speed up my words to beat the approach of Charlie and Archer. “I’ll stop treating you like crap, because friends champion friends, and if you really want that new job, then I suppose I can be happy for you.”
“Thank you.”
Her words are measured. Formal.
“I’m not done with this,” I repeat. “But for right now, I’d really like for you not to throw Detective Fletcher through the plate-glass window.”
With that, she jerks around and finds the detectives on the other side of the door. Fletch’s sheepish stare and Archer’s wary hesitation.
Lead my best friend to slaughter, or hold back a moment more?
“You can go,” I tell her. “Don’t stab him on the way past.”
She scoffs .
“I can be mad at him, and I can love him at the same time. I think you’ll come to find yourself capable of the same.”
“Doubtful.” She searches the duo, almost as though looking for Mia. But then she looks at the clock on my wall. I don’t have to be inside her mind to know she counts school hours. Mia’s not here. She’s not coming today . “It’s for the best,” she sighs, standing and circling the chair almost as though preparing to push it closer to my desk. “Maybe you and I can hang out before Friday. Or after New York, once you’re back.” She lowers her voice, and with it, her eyes. “ Because I need you, too. If you need my help making arrangements for your trip, you know where to find me. And if, after Friday, you find yourself melting down and needing a statement for the press, or a dressmaker for an event…” She smiles. It’s soft and sad and sweet, but then it’s gone the moment Archer pushes the door open. “Well, ditto. You know how to contact me.”
“Ms. Fifi.” Archer holds the door for his partner, tipping his chin as Fletch walks in and Fifi wanders out. “Good to see you.”
“And you, Detective Malone.” She doesn’t look at Fletch. She doesn’t say hello or even allow him the chance to see her pretty eyes. “I’ll be in my office,” she announces for me. “Working with Callen. Be sure to come down at some point today to speak with her, since you’re heading out tomorrow.”
“Yep.” I mean… I probably won’t . “Detectives.” I bring my attention to Archer as the door swings shut, and he takes the seat Fifi was in only moments ago. “You left extremely early this morning.”
“Caught a case.” He tosses his phone on my desk, screen-side up, so I catch pictures of a dead Detective Wright.
“Wait.” Panic slams into my veins as I hurriedly grab the phone to study the images. Thoughts of Fletch and Fifi, even Callen and the fools dispersing now that Fifi has left my office, all evaporate from my mind. Because something so much worse enters. “Another cop is dead?” Snarling, I bring my focus up. “Another one?!”
“Not just any cop,” Fletch sighs. “And not any random bullets. This is Mercer’s partner, and he’s riddled with the same armor-piercing rounds Mercer was. We expect you’ll find two of them in his torso once he’s on your table.”
“But you’ve already left the scene?” I grab at my top drawer and tear it open to collect my phone. Keys. A Xanax, maybe. “Why’d you leave the scene and not wait for me to arrive?”
“Because we know enough about this one to know we don’t need an M.E. on scene. ”
“But you?—”
“You still get to cut him open,” Archer inserts. “He belongs to the George Stanley. But we know how he died, and we’ve documented the scene appropriately. Bringing him here makes your job easier, and having you on the street helps nothing.”
“So he’s already here?” Temper alights in my belly. Because I know I don’t have to be on a crime scene to do my job. It’s been said in the past, the fact that I’m on the streets with my dead bodies as much as I am, is considered abnormal. But to see the scene first, before a body is interrupted, before death is tidied up… these things matter to me. “Is there a reason you’ve interfered with my processes, Detective?”
“Expediency.” He sits back, lifting one leg and resting his ankle on the opposite knee. “It was unnecessary. And filling the streets with cops while this guy is free would be dumb.”
“You wouldn’t be filling it with cops! You’re filling it with medical examiners.”
“Reads the same to me, Minnnka. Since I’ll be standing right behind you while you work.”
“And I’ll be standing beside him,” Fletch adds. “Because he’s my partner. Wright’s in transport right now,” he nods toward the elevator, since soon, that’s where the gurney will roll through. “He’s with your van. Your staff. It’s your case. But we needed to clear that street as quickly as we could and get those uniforms tucked away.”
“He was wearing a vest.” Archer sighs. His words are quieter, and yet, gritty and tired. “He took the warning from his partner’s murder, but not from the things we told him. He knew Mercer’s killer had armor penetrating rounds, but he wore the vest, anyway.”
“Better than nothing, I suppose.” Accepting my new reality, I close the desk drawer and sit back. “Any witnesses to this one?”
“Nada. And it was in the dead of night in the November dark. No one was on the streets at that hour.”
“Except Wright. Why was he out at four in the morning, wearing a vest, walking along a street that presumably doesn’t have CCTV or witnesses?”
“That’s a good question.” Archer bounces his foot. Gentle, rhythmic dips that draw my focus. “Those are the questions we’re asking. The fact that Wright’s dead now, too, changes the direction of our investigation a little.”
“Before,” Fletch picks up the metaphorical ball. “We assumed it was personal. We were gonna follow this to Mercer’s home, his life outside of police work. We were gonna figure out who he’d pissed off. But now that both of them are down, we’re surmising it’s work. We’d already put in the paperwork requesting access to their open cases; now we’ll prioritize running through those. We’ll find our shooter in those files.”
“You’re making the assumption that it’s still kinda personal. Mercer and Wright, specifically. You ignore the possibility that the killer simply wants to kill cops.”
“If that were true, then why Wright?” Archer counters. “Our killer searched for him specifically. In the dark. In the cold. He had a target and took the shot. If he wanted any old badge, he could’ve set up camp in any one of the buildings overlooking the station. Using a sniper rifle, it would have been like duck hunting in a tiny pond, and he could’ve taken his pick of the hundreds that pass through the front doors during a standard day.”
“Comforting image,” I rumble low on my breath, hating the fact that the cops I care about are, in this scenario, just two of the ducks. No vest to stop the bullets. No shield to stay alive. And now that they’re the primaries on this case, the killer knows their names.
Their faces.
Their lives.
“What’s the plan from here?” I flatten my lips, for fear they’ll curl into a sneer. Or worse, tremble. “We’re flying out in the morning, Archer. And you’re not?—”
He shakes his head, exhaling and dropping his gaze in the same breath. “I can’t, babe.”
“Wait.” Panic lances through my blood. The idea of going to New York alone is nothing compared to the thought of leaving my husband in a city under siege. “What?”
“I can’t leave Fletch here to run this on his own.”
“I’m gonna excuse myself while you folks figure this out.” Fletch starts across my office while Archer slowly pushes up to stand. Already, he knows where this is going. “I’ll be in the coffee room,” he announces. “Visiting with Aubs, and if I’m lucky, making amends with Fifi.”
“Don’t count on it,” I growl. But the second he passes through the door and the glass slowly drifts shut, I bring my ferocious stare back to my husband. “You’re coming to New York.”
“I can’t come.” He chooses calmness, leaving me with the lion’s share of rage. “I can’t walk away from this while Fletch is left holding the bag.”
“And I can’t get on a plane and cross the country while you stay behind!”
“You have to?—”
“I don’t have a choice but to be in that courthouse on Thursday morning, Archer! I have been summoned, and if I don’t turn up, I could be arrested for contempt of court.”
“Which is why you’re going.” He comes around my desk, stalling at the side and hitching his hip on the edge, so we’re closer. And yet, not touching. “You can’t stay, babe. And I can’t leave. Sometimes, that’s how things are gonna go, because we’ve chosen the careers we have.”
“I’m not leaving you here!” I grab his jaw, his stubble scratching my palm, and his eyes growing wide at my audacity. He’s not mad I’m touching. He’s stunned I’m doing so at work… with glass for walls in every direction. “This isn’t about me wanting a cute little vacation with you, Archer. It’s not that I’m incapable of being alone—I did it for twenty-seven years before you came along, and I assure you, I can do it again now. This isn’t one of those, ‘ oh, she’s being stubborn ’ things.”
“—”
“I physically cannot get on that plane and leave you behind! I cannot fly six hours in the other direction, while you’re over here, walking the streets at four in the morning, and this prick is roaming around with cop-killing bullets nestled in his gun.”
“So what do you expect me to do?” He grabs my wrist, holding me close and oblivious to the eyes watching us on the other side of the glass. “By law, you have to be in New York.”
“So come with me!”
“And abandon Fletch to work the case alone? How are you gonna feel if we come back to my best friend on your slab? With those bullets in his chest and his life snuffed long before it should have been?”
“That’s a horrifying thought,” don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry , “but not nearly as horrifying as if I were to get home to your body on my slab. There are only two things I can’t live without Archer. You, and Factor. That’s my entire list. And the latter, I can go a few days before things turn dire. Losing you …” I shake my head, hating that my eyes burn. That tears itch the backs and make me out to be a fool. “It’s non-negotiable.”
“It’s gonna have to be something we get through.” He abandons my wrist and cups the back of my head instead. Pulling me in until we rest forehead to forehead. “I’m not gonna get shot. And you’re not in a position where you should piss a judge off and risk arrest. We’d like to keep the heat off you if you don’t mind. It wouldn’t look good for a cop to visit his incarcerated wife for conjugals.”
“You’re making it a joke!” Sniffling, I break his hold and stare into his perfect emerald eyes. “We got married twice , Archer. Both times, you swore you would stay by my side, no matter what.”
Pained, his eyes flicker between mine as hurt shines in both. “You’re asking me to choose you over my best friend.”
“I’m asking you to choose life over death! Can’t you put the case on hold? Pack Fletch and Mia onto a different plane and send them on vacation for a few days? I’ll be testifying for a day, two at the most. Then we’ll be back and you can get on with the job.”
“And what, exactly, makes your presence in Copeland City my saving grace here? If I’m gonna be shot, it’ll happen whether you’re six minutes away or six hours away. Your geographical status changes nothing.”
“So forfeit the case! Give it to someone else and walk away. This one is too dangerous.”
“You mean like that time I begged you to let the Fentone thing go?” He hits me, over and over, with logic and hypocrisy—my own, that is. “Dude is six feet and two-hundred and fifty pounds of nasty. I asked you to walk away, because the idea of you being dead was way worse than the idea of letting a killer walk free. But you wouldn’t let it slide.”
“That’s not fair!”
“No. It’s not. And neither is this.” He drags me in and presses a gentle kiss to my lips. And only when he does, do I realize they quiver. “Life is rarely fair. Fuck knows, we’re both reminded of that every single time we come to work.”
“I don’t want to leave you.”
“And I’d rather you were in New York right now, anyway. It’s safer there, Minnnka. For as long as you’re safe, I can concentrate. And for as long as I can concentrate, my chance of being shot by some trigger-happy motherfucker significantly lowers.”
“Archer—”
“Be in New York.” Another kiss. “Do your thing. You possess the key that’ll lock that other asshole in prison, so go there and do that. By the time you get back, I’ll have tied this case up, my conscience will be clear because I had Fletch’s back, and everything will go back to normal.”
“You underestimate me when I tell you I cannot physically?—”
He grins, setting the pad of his thumb on the center of my chin. “You underestimate my ability to procure sleeping pills that’ll keep you out for the whole flight. I’ll drop one in your breakfast tomorrow, carry you to the plane, and I’ll have Felix waiting on the other end.” He smirks when my eyes narrow to slits. “Not admirable,” he concedes. “But a choice I’m willing to make.”
“Do not have Felix waiting for me anywhere.” Defeated, because just as I know I have to be in New York on Thursday, I’m just as aware that Archer won’t leave his best friend behind simply because I said he had to. “I’m staying at that suite Cato booked. It’s a few blocks from the courthouse, and I’ll order in for each night I’m there. Except for a few lawyers and a jury of twelve, I expect to speak to no one.”
“An arrangement I can accept.” One last kiss, then he releases me so he can straighten his back. “And even though you didn’t ask yet, I promise to text you often. Updates as proof of life.”
“Even if I don’t respond, because I’m in court or whatever, I want the texts stacked up and waiting for me.”
“Fine.” He casts a quick glance the other way, sending Aubree and Fletch spinning when they realize they’ve been caught. Then smiling, he brings his focus back to me. “Aubree can run the bodies while you’re gone. She’ll keep you in the loop for those moments I’m busy.”
“Don’t be too busy to text me your damn self.”
He chuckles, his chest and shoulders bouncing subtly. “She can text you updates in addition to those I send. And you can send me updates, since I feel like this case is overshadowing the fact that I’m not fucking pleased you’re crossing the country without me. In other circumstances, this would be an issue, Mayet.”
“I’m probably gonna hook up with an old boyfriend while I’m there.” Not . “Ya know, rekindle those flames. If you want to stop me…”
“Be there?” He taps my chin before moving away from the desk, meandering across my office in search of sunlight filtering through my windows. “Good try, but I’m not you, Mrs One to a Fuckin’ Hundred Jealousy Psycho . Rekindle any old thing while you’re there, and I’ll deal with it the Malone way once I have my perp behind bars.”
“You gonna kill me and bury me in Micah’s garden?”
He burns me with a stare and sends my heart galloping when his smile notches up, reminding me exactly who he is beneath the cop. Before that, he was born and raised in the mafia. “I’ll bury your old flame, but not before I peel every ligament from his body and shove them down his throat. As for you…” He folds his arms, smug in who he is. “I’ll take you to bed and remind you who you belong to. By the time I’m done, you’ll recall exactly why you promised yourself to me. Twice .”
I roll my eyes, playfully dismissive. “You’re needy. ”
“Only for you.” He lifts his focus and waves for the other two to join us now that the fight, which wasn’t truly a fight, has passed. “If I tie this up early, I might fly across and be in your room when you get back from court.”
“Do you promise?” I guess his words were intended as a threat, but my heart clings to them the way one would a buoy in stormy seas. My desperation shining in my gaze. “If you find a chance to get out, you promise to come to me?”
“Sure.” He drops his smirk and gifts me with a genuine, adoring smile. “I promise.”
“Is the coast clear?” Aubree wanders in first, in glittering high tops, knee-high socks, a skirt that could be considered a liiiiittle on the short side, but her white lab coat ensures she can still work and not flash any unsuspecting soul. “That’s two in a row, Chief.” She saunters to my desk, tugging the top drawer open without invitation, and steals a heart-shaped sucker from the back. “I thought, as best friends, I would be invited to any such beefs when the parties to such are mutual acquaintances of mine.”
“You’re saying a lot of words, Emeri.” I shove my drawer closed, almost crushing her fingers in the wood, then sit back until my chair squeaks. “What processes are you putting into place, Detectives, to ensure your safety during these especially dangerous times?”
“Eyes open,” Fletch teases. “Probably won’t drink on the job this week. Ya know, to keep my reflexes sharp.”
“Funny.” Firming my lips, I look at Archer. “Detective Malone?”
“We’ve been at this a while now, Mayet. The only time I’ve ever been shot on the job, you were there anyway, and your presence didn’t stop it from happening.”
Fletch sniggers. “Burnnnnn.”
“Besides. That was my own brother’s fault. It was hardly an ‘ on the job ’ situation.”
“You’re saying a lot of words, too.” I scowl as Aubs plops into my visitor chair. “Yet, you convey nothing of substance. What safety protocols do you have in place to ensure you don’t eat tungsten this week?”
“We have processes, Delicious. Especially now that we have two cops in a row. The lieutenant has called a meeting for,” Fletch checks his watch, rolling his lips while he counts, “in approximately one hour. That meeting, I assume, will include a not-so-friendly demand we put a task force together. Fill our stable with detectives and coordinate to bring this to a close. Archer and I will remain primary, our minions will run around behind us, making sure we’re doing this correctly?—”
“And safely.”
He pauses for a beat, studying my eyes, before his lips curl into a grin. “And safely. I appreciate your concern, Doctor Mayet, but don’t worry so much. I’m not leaving my baby to the fucked up foster care system. No chance. And Jada will never be fit to have her back on her own. That leaves me with no option except to remain on a tungsten-free diet.” He glances down and pats his belly. “It’s a diet I’ve maintained for many years. That’s why I’m so sexy.”
I roll my eyes and look across to Archer. “Have you ever been tempted to shoot him yourself?”
At that, Aubree cackles. “I have! Especially when he admitted to having a three-year-old child and hiding her for so long.” She slaps her sucker onto her tongue and laps at the flavor. “Can’t say he doesn’t look good, though. It’s one of those annoying details in life. Like we know juicy burgers are bad for us, but we eat them anyway.”
“I’m done with this discussion.” Archer pushes away from the glass for the second time today and stops in front of my desk, essentially placing his ass at Aubree’s eye level, and forcing me to meet his gaze. “Fletch and I are heading over to Midtown now to talk to Mercer and Wright’s lieutenant. Wright’s body should be here any minute. Do your thing and let us know if something unexpected pops up.”
“Like, if the killer engraved his name and social security number on the side of the bullet?” Aubree peeks at Archer’s backside and smirks. “Would that be helpful?”
He doesn’t turn, but he hooks a thumb over his shoulder and nods. “That would be a good reason to call us. Even better if he included his date of birth, address, and phone number, too.”
“It’s like you don’t even want to work,” I taunt. I try for humor, because the alternative would be humiliating. “Stay safe, Detective. Let me know how the task force meeting goes.”
“Yep.” He leans across my desk and plops a kiss square on the center of my lips. “I would have anyway. But now that you’re being bossy about it…”