Archer
ARCHER
F letch and I arrive at the station early the next day to boxes of case files stacked on the table in our war room. Material Detectives Wright and Mercer had been working on over the course of this year. Cases that have been closed. Others that remain open. Some are with the courts now, and many others connect to cases their colleagues are working.
Because the narcotics division is a bit like the task force we’ve been saddled with. It’s a whole team, a network of investigators forced to work together, and if they’re lucky, minimal toes are trodden on and egos remain manageable.
“We’re focusing our efforts on the cases Wright and Mercer closed in the last six months,” Fletch announces to the cops who line the war room perimeter. Many of them are young, fresh faces with crisp uniforms. Others have been around longer and have proven themselves worthy in the past.
Appreciatively, he nods at Haightman and Taylor specifically, since they delivered our files personally. “Our vics will have left notes in the margins. They’ll have documented any potential threats. Search the files for any case that revolves around the gun trade. Typically, anyone who runs drugs is probably running guns, too. They go hand in hand.”
“White male,” I continue. “Mid-thirties. Approximately six feet, two or three inches tall. We do not have reason to believe he’s working with anyone else. Detective Mercer’s murder was not committed anywhere near CCTV cameras or a semblance of security, but we’ve caught a small break with Detective Wright’s murder. On the corner of Thirteenth and Gordon, which is approximately thirty yards from where Wright was gunned down, a corner store has a crappy security system. The video is grainy and our perp wore a hoodie, but from this footage we can ascertain that one , he’s male, two , he’s likely white, and three , he’s reasonably physically fit. Approximately two-hundred pounds, but it’s difficult to tell if he has a gut or if he was wearing an oversized sweater. His hands were visible in the still shot we have; no visible tattoos. If he had scars, it’s virtually impossible to tell. After shooting Detective Wright, he walked in the direction of the store and slid into a car that was parked off camera. Headlights came on and the car drove away, but either he knew the camera was there, or he was simply lucky, because he never re-emerged on scene.”
“Which means he drove south,” Fletch adds, “along Thirteenth. We lost him after that.”
“He wasn’t panicked during his walk,” I press. “He didn’t run. He didn’t look over his shoulder to ensure he was alone, and he wasn’t fidgeting. That makes him cold. Possibly a professional. If he’s a paid gun, then it’s unlikely we’ll find him in these files. But it’s possible we’ll find his employer. You want to pay attention to anyone with connections to the gun trade. Could be them. Could be their cousin runs a black-market system. Go through these files and flag any that jump out at you.”
“We need to move quickly,” Fletch inserts. “Thoroughly. He’s murdering our colleagues, and he’s doing it fast, smooth, and he has an advantage we can’t compete against. Dig your way into Detectives Wright and Mercer’s lives until you think you know them better than you know your own mother.”
With that, he turns and releases our squad so they can get to work, then he claps my shoulder and walks me out of the room. “It’s nearly eleven. Time for you to grab Mayet and send her to the airport.”
My heart skips a beat and damn near leaves me breathless as pain ricochets down into my belly. “Already?”
“You’ve been procrastinating.” He nods toward the escalators, as though to tell me to get . “You know it. I know it. She’s avoiding reality by being at work when she could have just as easily stayed home for the morning. And you’re doing the same.”
“We’re running an active case.”
“And we’re briefing our team. You’re taking an hour to get your wife to the airport and work through the panic you’re trying so hard to ignore. And I’ll organize food for us to choke down, since I know, once you’re back, we’re not leaving again till we have our guy behind bars. Minka’s gonna be out of the state, which means we’re going back to the old us. Sleeping on the racks and working a case till our eyes bleed.”
“You don’t get to do that anymore.” Smug, like I somehow win our argument, I flatten my lips. “You have Mia, which means you don’t get to stay in the rack.”
“I have a nanny who has been briefed on the situation, and a little girl who would rather her daddy captured a cop killer before he became a victim of the cop killer. Go,” he taps my shoulder and shoves me in the direction I have to leave. “Deal with your wife, then come back here and keep working the case.”
“Don’t leave the station till I’m done with her.” I walk backwards, stepping around desks blindly, and able to do so because I’ve spent a quarter of my lifetime in this very room. “Order food in. If you catch a break and think you should run out there all cowboy style and deal with things on your own, reconsider. Then park your ass at your desk and wait for me.”
He grins, shaking his head. But there’s a nod in there, too. An acknowledgment. “I promise not to be a cowboy. But I’m expecting you back in an hour.” He brings his hand up and makes a show of setting a timer on his watch. “If you’re not back by then, I’m gonna wonder if our dude found you while you were out. If you need longer, check in and tell me. Otherwise, be here at noon and I’ll have burritos waiting for us.”
I draw a heady breath and reject the idea of walking away. But then again, I’m not all that keen on plopping Minka’s ass on a plane either. My options, on every side, suck. And ultimately, I wish I could simply lock everyone I love into one room and close the world out.
“Go!” Fletch snaps, drawing eyes and forcing me to turn. “We’re on the clock, Malone. I’m gonna start eating when my food is delivered and hot. I’m not waiting for you.”
He lies, but his eyes soften when I glance over my shoulder to catch one last peek. We’re hunting a killer, and I’m sending my wife to the other side of the country.
Neither of us has to be happy about it. But we both know how to push on, regardless.
Accepting my fate, I bring my focus around and drop my head as I take off at a jog. Because I told Minka I’d be at her office ten minutes ago. Already, I’m breaking the promises I made that would stop her from worrying .
Running onto the escalator, then jogging down, careful not to trip and tumble the rest of the way, I burst off the end and dig a hand into my pocket to snag the key to a car I already signed out in preparation for this trip. Making a beeline for the precinct’s front doors, I press my hand to the steel bar that, when under siege, would provide a secure shield to keep intruders at bay. I quickly scan the street outside—because maybe our perp has come to oh-so-helpfully confess—but instead of seeing a fucker in a black hoodie and holding a gun, I find Minka instead.
Her briefcase in one hand, and my black duffel bag in the other. Her eyes fire with a wrath that rests on the knowledge I was supposed to come to her, but I shove the door open so the tinted glass moves aside and her eyes swing to mine.
Instantly, rage turns to relief.
“I’m sorry.” I sweep in and take her bags, tossing the duffel over my shoulder the way I have a million other times in the years prior to ever meeting her.
This is the bag I keep money, guns, and passports inside. It’s my safety net, but for this trip, I suppose, it’s become hers.
“I’m assuming you moved the old stuff out of this bag and put them away securely before leaving the apartment.”
She purses her lips and links her arm with mine, falling into step as I start toward the cruiser at the curb. “No, . I left all that stuff in there. Then I figured I could walk into a police station and get noisy. Why are you late?”
“Procrastination, mostly.” I turn my head and press a kiss to her temple. Already, I feel the tension in her body. The worry in her veins. She doesn’t want to leave any more than I want her to go. But we don’t have a choice this week—for the first time since we met, we’re being forced into directions neither of us consent to. “Fletch and I were just in a meeting with the squad. He called me out on my shit too and sent me on my way.”
“Made me walk all the way here worried about you,” she grumbles under her breath. But when we reach the car, she glances up and holds my eyes. “…”
“I’m sorry I fucked up. On the first test,” I admit sheepishly, “I said I’d check in and not stress you out. Then I didn’t turn up where I said I would be, at the time I said I’d be there. That was shitty of me.”
Thoughtful, she looks between my eyes. “I hate this too, ya know? I hate this so much, it’s making me sick. ”
“Come on.” I take her hand and open the passenger side door. “Let’s get off this street. That would be step one in not making each other anxious.”
She rolls her eyes and lowers into the car, but then she watches me with an eagle-like intensity as I dart around to set her things in the backseat on my side. I’m careful with her bags, because she’ll have Factor packs in there. Little glass bottles that quite literally save her life. Closing the door again, I open mine and slide in beside her, glancing across and stopping only when I meet her gaze. “I feel like we’re gonna argue the whole way to the airport. Because that’s how we deal with stress; we shout at each other and say mean things, because fighting feels better than worrying.”
Finally, her scowl makes way for a smile, and a bubbling snicker rolls along her throat. “Lucky for you, the drive is reasonably short. Less opportunity for me to say unkind things.”
“Mmhmm.” I set my foot on the brake and slip the key into the ignition, and all the while, I scan my surroundings. I check my peripherals and catalog every face as people walk past. Women and children. Men, too. Some in groups, and others on their own. Summer is gone, which means most everyone who wanders past is in a hoodie. Or a coat. Fabric that distorts body shapes and, in some cases, shields faces completely.
“What is your most treasured childhood memory that obviously doesn’t include Timothy Malone the Second? Since, evidently, he was a source of trauma for you. Not treasure.”
Stunned, I set the car into reverse and pull away from the curb with a fast, smooth move that pisses off other commuters. “What?” Humored by her question, I put the car into drive and bring us into crawling traffic. “What do you mean?”
“I mean what I said.” Nervous, she turns and leans against the window, folding one leg over the other and nibbling on her thumbnail. “Most treasured childhood memory. I’m aware that those were probably rare, considering you were living in hell. But you have four brothers you love very much. Your father was busy running his business, so I imagine there were times it was just the five of you hanging out.”
“Four of us.” I hit the indicator and merge into a faster moving lane. “Cato didn’t come along till the end.” Settling into traffic, I reach across and rest my hand on her thigh. When she places hers over top of mine, our fingers twine and finally, the angst burning in my belly dissipates. “He tried to fuck us up and pit us against each other a lot. Like he was running a dog fighting ring.”
“But you didn’t fall for it.” She rests her head against the glass and warms the side of my face with her stare. “He tried to divide and conquer, but his sons were always smarter than he ever was.”
“Maybe stubborn is a more accurate word.” I catch the airport signs leading out of the city and follow those. Though I know the way to go, I’d prefer to dedicate my time and energy to focusing on my wife. “He punished us when we wouldn’t hurt each other. He attempted to make us hate each other, but in the end, we only hated him.”
“Favorite memory?” she prompts gently. “Remember back to when you were ten. Or fifteen. What memory makes you smile?”
I mean… apart from the prostitute thing ? A cathartic snigger rolls along my throat and out to pique her interest. But I don’t tell her that story… it’s not mine to share. “When I was eight, and remember I was the youngest back then, we decided we wanted to race motorbikes around the property. Make it competitive. Find out who reigned supreme and all that shit.”
She grins in my peripherals. “I’m sure that was a calm, quiet day at the Malone home.”
“It was ridiculously loud and dumb.” I snort. “Timothy bought us practically anything we wanted, no matter how dangerous or stupid it was. And it wasn’t because he wanted to spoil us or anything. He just had money to blow and didn’t really care how we spent it. He was busy doing his stuff, and we’d long before learned how to stay out of his way.”
“So you had motorbikes?”
“No.” I smirk. “We built motorbikes.”
“Oh god.” She brings her free hand up and rubs her temple. “I’m certain everyone walked away unscathed, then.”
“Nope. We busted ourselves up so bad, we convinced the old prick we’d had a falling out and whaled on each other. Ridiculously, this made him happy.” Anger courses through my veins. But beneath that is a simple why ? Why did he hate us so much ? “So Tim was, like… twelve at this point, right? Maybe thirteen, I guess. He’s the oldest and the wisest. And because he was named for our father, he held power over the guards that far exceeded the power the rest of us had. Even Lix. He pulled a car out of the garage and drove it up to the front door of the house.”
“At twelve? , he was driving at twelve?”
“Pretty well too, considering he could hardly touch the pedals with his toes. Me, Micah, and Lix were waiting at the front of the house. Getting kinda noisy, which drew the attention of the soldiers who were paid to keep us alive. We didn’t have to be happy or healthy, but we had to live. So when he brought the car to a stop and waved us closer, one of my father’s soldiers attempted to stop us.”
In my peripherals, Minka’s lips grit into a half grin, half ‘ uh oh ’.
“It was one thing for him to tell us no,” I continue. “He could’ve even snitched to our father, which probably would’ve stopped our adventure there and then.”
“He didn’t?”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and shake my head. “He grabbed my brother by the hair and tore him out of the car so fucking fast, he made his scalp bleed.”
“What?!”
“Guess he thought it was the in thing , since he’d seen our father do it a million times.”
“He was not your father!” Minka explodes. Because she’s protective to a fault. Is it even a surprise she’s the woman I chose to marry? “He was the paid help, ! He had no right to touch him.”
“Felix slipped a knife between the guard’s ribs and dropped him on his ass so fucking fast, you’d think he slit the man’s tendons.” I meet her eyes. “Maybe we were no better than mongrel dogs. Maybe that’s why we were treated as such.”
“—”
“Tim was bleeding from the scalp, while the rest of us took turns kicking the shit out of a dying man.” Am I ashamed? Should I be? I’m honestly not sure. “He held no remorse for hurting a boy, and I have no doubt, had he been left unchecked, he would have done worse. So we pulverized his ribs to mush and reminded every other guard who watched on that we wouldn’t be trifled with. Maybe Old-Man Tim hurt us—there wasn’t a lot we could do about that—but we’d murder any other asshole who tries.”
“This is your most treasured memory?” Her voice catches and her thigh tightens beneath my hand. “Are you serious right now, ? I asked for happy!”
“Oh, nah,” I snicker. “That was just the context to our day. So we got into the car after that and figured out how to move the driver’s seat forward. Then we carpooled that bitch all the way to a motorcycle store and burned up our father’s credit cards. We bought engines, chains, wheels, and whatever other random shit we thought of that day. Then we came home with our loot and raided the garage for whatever else we wanted. We spent an easy twenty grand on materials, which was more expensive than if we’d just bought bikes outright, and then we spent the next week Frankenstein-ing our creations. I was the smallest, and Felix was the most impulsive. So Micah and Tim spent more time on ours than they did on their own. Days and days and days of greasy faces and bonding between brothers. Neither Tim, nor Micah, seemed to mind helping me and Lix. They didn’t get frustrated at us for not being as capable as them. They didn’t punish us the way our father would have.”
I bring the car around a corner now, my eyes on the road, but in my mind, I see my old life. My old home. The property Minka will visit today, and no matter how much I wish I could too, I simply can’t.
“In the end, we had four really ugly fucking contraptions. They hardly even resembled motorcycles. I mean…” I search her eyes, chuckling under my breath, “we used wood, Mayet. Plastic. There was probably a chopping board from the kitchen. A skateboard. Pretty sure Felix installed a TV onto his.”
I turn back to the road, but I see her smile in my peripherals. Her affection.
“Tim’s was pretty bland, since he’s always been about power, not flash. Micah’s was a little prettier, since he’s good at seeing the beauty in things. Felix’s had racing stripes and bling along the side that glinted off the sun.”
“And yours?”
I release a contented sigh and squeeze her thigh. “Mine was made with love as four brothers came together to create fun in a cruel world. We spent the rest of that final day racing them around the circular driveway. We crashed, a lot. We crashed into each other too often for it to be accidental. We were busted up and bruised. Blood-smeared hands and faces. Tim’s head was still tender because of that asshole. He’d hiss if he forgot and scratched his hair. But smashing his nose because he drove his bike into one of the parked cars?” I laugh. “He didn’t mind one bit.”
“Who won the races?”
“I have no fucking clue. I’m not sure we ever stopped to keep score. But we smiled a lot that week. We made memories. And once it was done and our father came home from a meeting in Manhattan to find his driveway trashed and several of his cars scraped, he belted the piss out of us all and kept us separate for weeks after. I’m not sure if he was punishing us, or if he honestly thought we’d been fighting each other. He wanted us at odds, but he didn’t want us to kill each other. I didn’t see any of them for the longest time after that.”
“He was a horrible man.” Sighing, Minka brings our joined hands up and presses a kiss to my wrist. “He didn’t want you to be friends, but he didn’t want you to be enemies either. He had no clue what he truly wanted. He just knew he liked chaos and hurting the very people he was supposed to protect.”
“Essentially.” I smile when she kisses the side of my thumb. “What’s your favorite memory?”
“Hmm…” She casts a look out at the city streets as I merge off of a four-lane road and onto a circular exit. “My mom and dad worked a lot when I was a kid. Like, a lot a lot,” she clarifies with a playful smile. “They both had second jobs, which made me a latchkey kid who got herself up for school, made her own breakfast and school lunches. Then I spent my evenings alone, making my own dinner and putting myself to bed.”
“I never would have guessed that.” I squeeze her hand, teasing. “Bet you forgot to eat a lot as a kid, too.”
“Kinda wish I had a sexy cop handing me yogurt pouches back then,” she taunts. “Maybe then I would have eaten better.”
“If a sexy, grown ass man was trying to feed you back then, because he knew you were seven and routinely left home alone, we might’ve seen you on the news eventually.” I bypass the regular entrance for commercial flights and go a different way. Different entrance. “I’m infinitely thankful you never ended up on Dateline, Mayet. That would’ve messed with our wedding plans.”
“Har-har.” She sounds playful. Bored, even, but as we come closer to the private hangars, tension grows thicker between us. She doesn’t want to go, and it takes every scrap of willpower I possess to let her.
It’s insane to admit, but she’s safer in New York this week. With Felix and Micah running that city and owning the hotel she just so happens to be staying in, they control her safety.
“Finish your story, babe.” Taking back my hand, I maneuver between other cars. Buses. Limousines, even. “What was your favorite memory?”
“It was my tenth birthday.” She sets both hands in her lap and straightens in her seat to face the front. “My mom and dad’s marriage was a farce. They stayed together, of course. They would never divorce, no matter what choices my mother made. By that point, we were content with the quiet, ya know? On the odd Sunday when neither of them had to work, even when we were all together, the apartment was about as silent as my autopsy suites. But on this particular day, my tenth birthday, I guess they’d coordinated their work schedules as a surprise for me.”
“They had it off?”
“The night,” she clarifies with a shrug. “They couldn’t take the whole day, but they worked their rosters to make sure they had the evening with me. Mom finished around four, and my dad, around five. They hadn’t told me their plans prior, so I was really surprised when six o’clock rolled around and they were still at the apartment.”
Spotting not only the hangar I’ve visited a half dozen times in the last twelve months, but the handful of cars I know Felix will have organized to be here—because we protect, above all else—I follow their perimeter of black and bring the cruiser under the shaded shelter, knowing we’re guarded here.
“They spent the night with you?” Cutting the engine and snagging the key, I look across and study the stress that makes her jaw hard. The angst that makes her cheeks pink. “Like a little party?”
“Even better.” She slowly, almost robotically, unsnaps her seat belt and allows it to retract back into the frame of the car. But then she smiles, soft and sweet, almost as though she’s revisiting her tenth birthday. “We were so poor back then, we survived because they were never home for mealtimes. That meant our grocery bill consisted of cereal and small servings to get a kid through. But on my birthday, they announced we were going out. Get your shoes on, Maleńka. ” Her voice takes on a distinct accent, a European lilt that has my heart stumbling in my chest. “It was December in New York, which meant snow was everywhere and the sky was especially bright at night. It’s only a week and a bit before Christmas, so the lights were up, and those who didn’t mind the cold would come out and skate on the ice in Manhattan.”
Happily, she grins when our eyes meet. “We hopped on the subway and headed into the city. At ten, obviously, I was getting a little old to hold my parents’ hands in public. Especially being who I was—happily independent—but this was a special night. I felt it in my heart how very special it was. So I walked between my parents, almost as tall as my mom already, and I let them swing my arms. We went to dinner at a restaurant. It wasn’t a crazy expensive place, no fabric napkins,” she snickers. “But it was my family, together, sitting at the same table at the same time for the first time in years.”
“Their gift to you was togetherness.”
She drops her chin in a kind of nod. “Not only that, but hope, too. A full heart. Because even though we sat down and started eating, which, of course, meant they released my hands, they still held on to each other’s. It didn’t feel fake. It wasn’t for show. For that night, at least, they were in love again, the way it used to be before life got too hard. They were able to set aside their differences and perhaps remember who they used to be before I came along.”
“Your parents totally fucked that night after you went to bed.”
Stunned, she whips her head up and widens her eyes. Then smack ! She hits me. “!”
“What?” I catch her hand on the second swing and hold on tight, because I want to bring it to my lips. But I don’t want her to split them. “They were young, Maleńka . They were revisiting old feelings. Life was good and their kid was happy. Bet your ass your dad went to town on your mom as soon as you were asleep.”
“Ya know, sometimes I consider you other .” She yanks her hand from mine and shoves her door open. So I follow her lead, chuckling as I stand and catch her flaming red cheeks on the other side. “I think you’ve evolved from where you came from. I look at Cato, then at you, and I marvel at how well you adjusted to life after you left them.”
“Babe!”
“But then you say shit like that and, whoops ! There’s Cato and Felix, speaking right out of your damn mouth.”
Laughing, I slam my door and pull the back open to get her bags. At least we’re both smiling. She’s repressing hers, because parents having sex? Ew . But beneath that is a woman begging to break out in giggles. “You’re a prude, Doctor Mayet. I forgot that about you.”
“I’m not a prude!” She slams her door and strides around the car. “I just made a point of marrying Detective Malone. Not…” She swings her arm out, not to hit me this time, but to gesture to the fleet of cars and the men who have strict instructions to become my wife’s parachute and soft landing in the rare chance our plane falls from the sky somewhere over Texas. “I didn’t marry Mafia Malone!”
“You kinda did.” I slip her— my —duffel across my chest and snag her briefcase in my left hand, then I drape my free arm over her shoulder and force her to cuddle against my side. “I’m just one man. Two sides, perhaps, but one coin. I was raised amongst ferals, and now I’m in charge of herding the ferals. Life is complex.”
“If you mention my parents’ sex life ever again, I’m going to put a pillow over your face while you sleep and hold it down until you stop struggling.”
I smile at Felix’s closest guard and shake my head. “She doesn’t mean that. She’s not a threat to any Malone, in any capacity. Don’t sweat it.”
“I am!” She nails the guard with a look directly between his eyes. “Keep Felix away from me while I’m on the east coast, or I’ll do the pillow thing to him, too.”
“You like to play with fire, don’t you?” I press my palm to the side of her face and practically smoosh her cheek to my chest. Anything to shut her up. “Call me when you land,” I warn her. “Call me when you get to the hotel. Felix has made a promise not to bother you, and though he’s an annoying motherfucker who lacks boundaries, a promise means something. Order whatever you want, as often as you want, from room service. Get a steak tonight, if only to bolster your energy for tomorrow. And for the love of god, don’t?—”
“Die?” She wraps her arm around my back and anchors it on the opposite hip. Because she already misses me. And I… well, I’m not strong enough to peel her hand off again. “I promise not to die.”
“I was gonna say don’t fall in love with someone else. But that’s cool… don’t die, either.”
She snorts, slowing her steps as we approach the stairs that lead into our Skystream jet. She’s been inside it more than a couple of times already. But never without me. Never flying away from me. “My former coworker still calls me sometimes. He wants me to reconsider my move and come home .” Smiling, she gazes up into my eyes. “Home, .”
“Such a strange thing for him to ask for, considering your home is inside my heart.” I pass her briefcase off to the first pair of hands waiting, then I bring mine up and cup her cheeks. “I’m the kind of guy who was trained to chop another’s hands off if he so much as considered touching what’s mine.”
She swallows, the movement of her throat just enough to vibrate through my palms.
“Are you saying you’ll follow me to New York and kill anyone who touches?” Her brown eyes flick between mine. “Because if teasing you with the possibilities means we don’t have to go separate ways, then that’s what I’ll do.”
I bring my thumb across to stroke her bottom lip. “I will if you need me to. But I trust you to kill any man yourself if he touches without your permission.”
Her lips quiver, but I know she fights it. “I can take care of myself.”
“Please be safe.” I pull her up until she’s forced to the tips of her toes. “Please check in often. Do your thing, testify, then come home to me.”
“As soon as I can.” Her eyes glitter, though she doesn’t let them well up and spill over. “I promise. And in exchange, you’ll check in, too. By the time I land in New York, I’ll have six, ‘ I’m okay ’ texts stacked up, won’t I? ”
“They won’t be stacked up.” Leaning closer, I drag her bottom lip between my teeth. “You can use your phone in the air, silly. I’m gonna get my shit taken care of, and I’ll be standing right here,” I look down between us, “exactly in this spot, when you return.”
“Promise?”
I press my forehead to hers and breathe her down into the depths of my lungs. “Promise. So you don’t have to worry about me. Now go.” I pull back, forcing space between us, because if I don’t, we’ll never part. Reaching up, I hand the duffel off to waiting hands, then I take hers in mine and lead her up the stairs. “You have to go, babe. I can’t go back to work till I see your ass in the air.”
“I had no clue it would be this hard to walk away.” She twines her fingers in mine and stops at the door of the plane, taking up space and bringing the whole flight and crew to a standstill. No one can move till she decides they can. “I’ve lived without you exponentially longer than I’ve lived with you. Yet, being with you is my real.”
“You existed before me. And I existed before you.” I pinch her chin between my thumb and finger and force her head back. “But we didn’t live until we were together.”
“Penguins.” She gulps and looks between my eyes. “This stinks.”
“Yeah.” Finally, I release a small chuckle and allow it to deflate my chest. “It stinks. Now get going.” I drop my hands and pat her ass instead, turning her in the direction she has to go and forcing her away. “The longer you stand here, the later you’ll arrive in New York. It’s already two over there. Add six, and you’re landing for a late dinner.”
Sighing, she digs her hand into her back pocket and takes out her phone, making a show of waving it at my eye level. “Communicate. Don’t forget.”
“I won’t.” I back down the steps and move onto the concrete at the bottom. Then I nod for the rest of the crew to start moving, releasing them from the front row seat they got to mine and Minka Mayet’s love and life. “You don’t forget either.” I raise my voice to compete with the sound of a different plane taking off. “I wanna see your name flash on my screen so fuckin’ much, I’m gonna roll my eyes and call you needy. Michaels.” I grab the soldier whose face is easily recognizable to me. Not just any old guard Felix happens to control. But one of his closest team. One who has, and will again in the future, take a bullet for my brother. “Why’d he send you?”
“Precious cargo, Mr. Malone.” He dips his chin and gives me a small, barely there smile, before hardening again and continuing up the steps. “We’ve got it from here, Detective. Felix sends his regards. ”
“I bet he does.” I move away from the plane and stand by one of the cars creating a shield in every direction except the middle of the tarmac. Because if someone is out there with a sniper rifle and a grudge to settle, they probably deserve whatever hit they make.
The risk, of course, is to be sucked into the engine of a plane. Or worse, run clear over by one.
Raising my hand and using it to shield my eyes from the sun, I scan the plane’s windows and search for my heart, making her way to the middle. Not the front, because that’s too bumpy, and not the back, because there’s too much sway. The middle, right above the wings, because she’s Minka Mayet and those are the things she thinks about.
My phone dings in my back pocket, vibrating against my ass and drawing my attention as I reach back and expect Fletch’s name to flash on the screen. But I find Minka’s instead, and in the text window, a little gray emoji.
Curious, I drop my sun-shielding hand and unlock the screen, only to find Minka’s text bubbles still moving. She’s typing.
Minka: That’s a rock. Because you’re my penguin and rocks are what penguins gift to each other when they’re in love. Send back the rock when you’re thinking of me, and I’ll do the same in return.
Grinning, I hit reply and quickly type: I appreciate the sentiment, Minnnnka. But I know beneath the love is a hatred for thinking up cutesy small talk when that’s not really who we are. The rock is your low-commitment solution to keeping the conversation going without having to type anything out.
I hit send, only to continue typing: I love your idea and I’m ready to play. Send me an eggplant when you’re thinking of my cock, and a peach when you wish I was touching yours.
Minka: You take my sincerity and turn it to sex. How very Malone of you.
Me: Yeah, well, you said yes. Twice. I adore you for it. Safe flight, beautiful.
I back up as the jet’s engines fire to life and the roar becomes almost deafening. I shouldn’t be so close, and yet, I have no desire to be a single step further away.
But I glance down at my phone again and find the rock emoji. Tapping it a dozen times, I fill the screen and hit send as the plane taxis away and heads toward the runway. On that plane, in a seat nestled above the wings, my wife receives her gifts and hopefully, if the universe could be so kind, makes her smile.
Safe flight, Maleńka. I’ll be here when you get back.
My phone buzzes again, this time with a call, but when I glance down, hopeful it could be her, my lips turn when I find Fletch’s name instead. Accepting and bringing it to my ear, I peer up again and study the ass-end of the plane. “Yeah? You good?”
“Still in the station. Delicious get away okay?”
“She’s rolling onto the runway now. Give me five more minutes, then I’ll be in the car and heading back your way.”
“No problem. You got the brain-space to talk this out for a minute? I have a theory about our perp, and I kinda need to bounce it your way until it’s straightened out in my mind.”
“What did you find?”
“Actually, it’s what Officer Clay found. That kid’s a fuckin’ genius.”