Minka
MINKA
“ W hat did he say?” Cato pulls out a bucket of popcorn and plops onto the couch beside me, his long, lanky legs almost touching my shoulder. His very presence, when he’s supposed to be in Copeland, is enough to set my stomach on fire. “He whispered something to Emeri. What’d he say?”
“Something that embarrassed her.” I hunch on the couch, folding my back and resting my elbows on my knees. While around me, three of five Malone brothers watch the fourth-born on the news. “She’s nervous, so he probably said something ridiculous and rude.” Snarling, I peer across and meet Felix’s glare. “It’s the Malone in him. Grown ass men incapable of being decent human beings.”
He only shrugs, grinning behind the lip of a wine glass and draping his arm over Debbie’s shoulders. “Bland is boring, Doctor Cutie. I bet my left nut Archer didn’t come to you with a standard, ‘ Oh hey there, miss. I couldn’t help but notice you’re very beautiful. Can you friend-zone me for seven to ten years, sleep with me after that, then we’ll marry and never fuck again for the rest of our lives? I prefer the prudish lifestyle.’” He shakes his head, solemn and sure. “Bet that got your engines revving.”
No , I admit to myself. He certainly didn’t say those things when we met.
“What did he say about this case when he put you on that plane?” Instead of discussing my private life with Felix, I look at Cato instead. “ There’s a reason he wanted you out of the city. There’s a reason he’s parading Aubree in front of the media right now.”
“Which probably means Tim is there, too.” Micah watches the television closely, his eyes narrowed and his stance rigid. The cameras focus mostly on the police station and the team who stands upon the steps out front— my team . Which means if Tim is in attendance, he won’t be caught on camera any time soon.
“He just said the apartment might not be safe right now, and I wasn’t allowed to stay at his other apartment. He insisted I get on the jet and skedaddle for a day or two, and since I guess I missed home anyway…”
“You did the right thing.” Felix peels his arm off Christabelle’s shoulder and drops his hand on the boy’s head. He ruffles Cato’s hair and preens when the youngest Malone practically purrs under his touch. “Arch is a good cop, so if he says the city ain’t safe right now, then I’m apt to believe him.”
“Sure, except he stayed,” I growl. “I suggested a press conference. I said nothing about painting a target on his own back and tempting a shooter to reveal himself via national television.”
Piqued, Micah’s eyes burn the side of my face as he brings his gaze across. “How often does my brother make himself the target?”
“Not much that I’ve seen,” Cato answers instead. “He’s intuitive and works fast, so I guess that alone makes him a target. But he and Fletch work well together. They have each other’s backs.”
“Like how Wright had Mercer’s?” I press my hands together, steepling my fingers, and set the tips to my lips as Aubree takes the podium and nervously wraps her palm around the microphone. I see two dead cops in my mind’s eye, three, when I add Detective Haightman to the pack.
“Cops pride themselves on keeping their partner safe,” I breathe. “And yet, there are three on the slab in my building right now. Will they find Detective Haightman’s partner by the morning?”
“My name is Doctor Aubree Emeri,” Aubs finally announces. Her voice crackles with nerves; her eyes flit from place to place as she struggles to know where to look. My focus goes to the pulse in her throat, thundering as her heart pushes blood through her veins. Her chest rising, rising, rising, and then dropping when she exhales. “I am the medical examiner appointed to the case we’ve come out to discuss tonight, and I work at the George Stanley Medical Facility down…” Shakily, she points to her right. “A few blocks that way.”
“Where is Chief Medical Examiner Mayet?” Already, reporters scream for attention and demand answers they have no right to. “Why is Chief Mayet notably absent?”
“You’re famous, Doctor Cutie.” Felix drags Debbie in and sips at his wine, but he grins, too. Ridiculously smug at the thought that one of his own is being mentioned on the news. “They wanna see your face. I wonder if they begrudge you because you’re not there?”
“C-Chief Mayet has been called away this week,” Aubree stammers. “She is to testify in court about a case she was a part of before her post in Copeland.”
Archer steps forward, and on Aubree’s other side, Fifi does the same. The latter taps the notecards I would recognize anywhere. Any time. Any state. Because Seraphina Lewis likes to use blue paper. Sky blue, like the color somehow helps our eyes.
Or our nerves, maybe.
I don’t know. I never thought to ask.
“Um…” Aubree clears her throat. “We appreciate that you’ve come out tonight. In the cold. I wish to speak about Detective Lucas Mercer, Detective Daniel Wright, and Issac Haightman’s murders?—”
“So they were murdered ?” A reporter shouts. “You’re confirming homicide, Doctor Emeri?”
“They were shot,” I snarl to myself. “By someone other than themselves. Of course it’s murder, you brainless fuckwit.”
Cato snickers until his shoulders vibrate.
“Perhaps those questions are better left for Detectives Malone and Fletcher,” she answers. “I wish only to discuss the medical angle of this investigation. All three victims were decorated and respected Copeland City police detectives. All three knew each other, and all three died from gunshot wounds to their abdominal and chest regions. Each of our victims were male, within the thirty-five to forty-five years age range. All three died in the cold, in the dark, and relatively quickly.”
“So they were all shot by the same person?” Miranda London, that tacky bitch in power-red, shoves her hand into the air and demands attention. Her lips curl up on the side in a smirk I know she enjoys.
“I cannot and will not comment on the investigative details,” Aubree counters. The more she speaks, the firmer her voice grows. “I wish to briefly speak on the causes of death. Then I’ll pass the mic off to the detectives, who may be able to elaborate further.”
“She’s kinda interesting to watch while she’s working.” Micah’s eyes burn, his head tilting to the side as he stares at the television. “I saw her in Jamaica, but we didn’t talk more than three words the whole time.”
“Tim is ridiculously, head over tit in love with her,” Cato says. “It’s tricky to get a read on her right now. She’s nervous as fuck. But when she’s her normal self, she’s pretty sassy.”
“And by sassy,” Felix counters, “he means she’s got a mean streak a mile wide. She looks kinda innocent and shit, but she’s got spine enough to be his someday. She’ll stand up under that pressure.”
“She’s totally a virgin, right?”
Stunned, I swing my eyes to Cato’s and throw my hand out to hammer-fist the side of his thigh. “Excuse you! That is absolutely none of your business! And wildly inappropriate.”
“What?” He rubs his thigh. “No way she’s taking other dudes to bed. No fucking chance.”
“It doesn’t matter what she does or doesn’t do. It’s not for you to discuss.”
“She’s liked him a while?” Felix asks calmly. Odd, since he’s typically the most feral brother. “Years?”
“Since she was old enough to walk into a bar and order a drink.” I drag my focus back to the television, scowling as I study her ashy-blonde hair and the pretty pink highlights illuminated by flashing cameras. “She’s been into him since long before I moved to Copeland.”
“She’s totally a virgin, then.” He brings his wine up as I turn and snarl. “She saw what she wanted, and she’s not fucking around on the side. You don’t catch sight of Timothy Malone, fall in love, consider what that would be like, then choose someone else. No chance.”
“She’s a twenty-seven-year-old professional doctor who has an apartment in the middle of a busy city. I’m sure she has…” I gulp, not so certain now. “Experience.”
“Nope.” Micah tips his chin toward the TV, almost smirking when her eyes shift to the left every few seconds. “Bet you seven fingers and two thumbs that he’s standing where she sees him now. She’s twenty-seven and been in love with him since she was twenty-one?” He drags Tiia closer as soon as she enters the room, wrapping his arm across her back and slipping his hand into her pocket. “If she’s not a virgin, then she may as well be after six years waiting for him to take her to bed.”
“How about we simply stop talking about my employee’s sex life?” I snatch the television remote and search for the volume button. “She’s not here to defend herself. She’s working right now, and I’m her boss. That makes this sexual harassment in the workplace. Whatever she and Tim do or don’t do, or may or may not do in the future, is none of our business.”
“She’s totally a virgin,” Cato giggles. “But Archer’s about to talk. Shush.”
“You shush! You were the one talking.” Growling, I turn the volume up and watch on, gripped with nerves as Aubree finishes and they switch places. Awkward shuffles and bumping bodies. Aubree passes her note cards to him, as though he might need them, then takes them back again when she realizes they’re useless.
It would almost be comical how they shift and shove and move. More so, when Timothy Malone literally crosses into camera range, grabs her hand, and keeps walking.
“See.” Micah shakes his head with long, slow sweeps. “He’s shameless.”
“He’s moving her.” I swallow the dread lodged in my throat and reposition my hands. It’s not prayer. It’s… well… prayer. “Archer’s about to do something monumentally stupid, and he told Tim about it in advance.”
“Tim’s clearing her out,” Felix rumbles. “But Arch is still there. Doesn’t bode well.”
“Mayor is there too,” I murmur. “And Fletch and Fifi. I take comfort knowing Fletch is allowing Fifi to stay in range, and that the whole freakin’ city is allowing Lawrence to be there. Can’t be that dangerous…” Right ?
“What’s up with you and the mayor, anyway?” Micah’s eyes warm the side of my face. “He got a thing for you?”
“No. Shush.”
“I’m Detective Archer Malone.” He jerks a thumb to his left. “My partner, Detective Charlie Fletcher. We’re the primary investigators on Detectives Mercer, Wright, and Haightman’s murders and wish to thank you all for coming out tonight.”
“Do you have a suspect?” Miranda tries again, earning a scowl and a tightened jaw as Archer’s eyes swing across to the bimbo in bottle-blonde. “Who did this? And if you have a suspect in mind, what do you intend to do about it? Copeland citizens feel safe because the police are out, day and night, protecting them. But if there’s a killer on our streets tonight, one who chooses to eliminate those meant to protect us, then what hope do we have?”
“That was a lot of questions. Stupid bitch.”
“Tell us how you really feel,” Felix chuckles. “She sleep with your husband or something?”
Rage-filled, I rotate my head and pin the asshole with a glare that answers his questions without a single word crossing my lips .
“Oh…” His smile curls. “I see.”
“Shush!”
“We wish to assure the public that we’re working diligently to bring this killing spree to an end,” Archer finally answers. Cameras flash, lighting his face and illuminating the million tiny scars he’s accumulated over the years. Most of them, I’m certain, he received at the hands of his father. The glint of his chain flickers from behind the collar of his shirt. The circle of his ring, pressed to his chest as he hides it away from the public, but wears it against his heart for me. “Detectives Wright, Mercer, and Haightman were killed senselessly, violently, and for no reason except that they were good at their jobs. We will not let this go on.”
“Who is safe, Archer?” Miranda pushes, pushes, pushes, demanding her place on prime-time news. Worse, in my mind, is her easy use of his name when she should use the rank he earned. “This killer is clearly without scruples. And yet, you seem entirely unaffected.”
“Would you prefer to see us running around? Disorganized. Useless, but making noise?”
“I’d—”
“Detective Fletcher and I are the primary detectives on a case that hits too close to home. To lose any innocent member of our society is a tragedy, but to lose one of our own? A cop? And in this case, three cops?” He shakes his head. “It’s too much. And as such, we’ve formed a task force that will ensure we work faster. It’ll ensure we work with clear minds. That is what will lead us to an arrest quicker.”
Tiffany Hewitt, a different, better reporter, lifts her hand and waits to be selected to speak. “Detective Malone. Have you profiled your killer to come up with a type ? Someone the public should keep their eye out for?”
“Yes. We’re searching for a male. Thirty-five to forty-five years old. We consider this person very well connected to the black market that deals in firearms. We’re searching for a person known to the police already. Not only that, but known to the victims personally.”
Instantly, a dozen or more hands shoot into the air.
“So this person has a rap sheet already?”
“Your suspect is someone your victims already arrested?”
“If you know who did this, why aren’t they behind bars already?”
“Should the general public be afraid of being shot while they walk the street?”
“The general public has nothing to be concerned about.” He raises his hand and works to silence the crowd. “We consider these shootings to be targeted and intentional. ”
“Of course they’re intentional! Someone went out that day with a gun and pulled the trigger.”
“What I mean by intentional,” he clarifies, “is that our shooter had his targets in mind already. These were not random hits. We believe our victims had knowledge of certain criminal factions, and so they were silenced.”
“All cops have information about crime factions! Are you not all at risk?”
“This particular faction, I believe, is searching for power and a leadership role over this city. To take control of a city, means to control everyone in it. Detectives Wright, Mercer, and Haightman possessed information that created a weakness within those ranks. And thus, right or wrong, were eliminated.”
“This sounds like the mafia!” Miranda snaps back, silencing the crowd and commanding her spotlight. “You say leadership of a city , and my mind moves in a certain, very specific direction.” Her eyes alight with smugness when Archer’s jaw grows tighter. “Does that not sound familiar to you, Detective Malone?”
“Okay, I see why you hate the bitch now.” Felix’s voice comes out in a venomous growl. He looks at Micah, “Miranda London. Let’s look into that and make her a little less comfortable.”
A small smile rolls onto my lips. Oh dear. Poor Miranda.
“Will you share if you have a suspect in mind?” Maybe Tiffany Hewitt knows Malone and mafia are connected, or perhaps she sees her opportunity to speak up while the crowd is quiet. But she raises her hand again and has cameras panning her way. “You seem to have a pretty clear understanding of who is behind this. Is it speculation, Detective Malone? Are you close to making an arrest?”
“My team is working around the clock to find answers,” he answers instead. “Each of our victims, outside of police work, had lives. Large, meaningful, fulfilling lives that have now been cut short by someone else’s hand. I believe I know who did this. It’s my job to prove it.”
“Oh shit.” I bounce my feet to work through nerves as a hundred new questions are lobbed at the detectives. Who did it? Why do you think it was that person? Why haven’t you arrested that person yet? Why leave them on the street and risk another dead cop? Are you at risk? You’re a cop. “What’s he doing?” I murmur. Bouncing. Bouncing. Bouncing my foot. “Why is he saying that?”
“I believe our perpetrator is another cop.” Archer broadens his shoulders when his crowd explodes. “Current, active duty. And I believe our perpetrator was a cop who worked on the same squads as our victims. I believe this cop to be here, right now, tonight.”
He stares down the barrel of the camera. “I believe this cop will attempt to silence me and my partner, the way he silenced Mercer, Wright, and Haightman. I will not stand down until our shooter is behind bars. And I will not be afraid, though I know this is his intention. Scare the police force and ensure a smooth ride into power. I won’t allow it.”
“Fuckkkkk…” Micah spins away from Tiia while on the screen, Archer moves almost exactly the same way. He turns from the podium while reporters scream for more. More information. More bombshells. More juicy tidbits. Micah scrubs his face with his palms, while Archer places himself in front of Fifi. In front of Fletch. Even in front of the mayor. He’s not wearing a vest, and even if he was, it wouldn’t save his life.
“Go inside,” I chant, bouncing my knees and pressing my hands together in prayer. “Go inside, Archer. Go inside.”
“He just made himself public enemy number one,” Micah snarls. “He knows that, right?” He stalks around to stand between me and the image of a podium left unattended. A microphone still on, though no one uses it. “Archer just set himself up to be the next target.”
“He challenged the killer to give it a try.” Cato leans around Micah to see the screen, just in case. “He said, ‘ Stop going for the others. Come for me. I’m ready.’ ”
“He’s such a dick.” I explode from my chair and stalk around, unlocking my phone and using every scrap of willpower I possess not to call him. Because he needs to focus on the world around him. Not on the fit I want to pitch. Tapping the screen, I type: I saw that, Archer Malone! We all did. You’re trying to piss everyone off and trick your shooter into making a move. The fact that you sent Cato to New York proves you knowingly put yourself in danger.
I hit send and spin back to the television, watching in live time as he feels the vibration. Then, as he dips a hand into his pocket while with the other leads the mayor toward the precinct’s front doors, he drags the phone free and reads just the locked screen.
He’s already fifteen feet from the podium. A distance from the cameras that makes it harder to see the definition of his face. But I catch his upturned smile. The glint in his eyes as he turns back and gives the cameras one last view.
My name is Archer Malone, and I piss people off like it’s a sport.
Finally, he drops his hand again and shuffles our colleagues into the station. Away from danger… maybe. Or toward it, if his statement is true.
“Goddammit!”