Minka
MINKA
M y head pounds and my eyes burn. My throat aches and my knees wobble way more than I’d like. So I leave two sets of bones behind, though any other time, any other day, I’d lose my mind with contentment at the idea of putting the puzzle back together, and heading toward my office, I bolster my reserves and walk instead of hobble.
Or worse, crawl.
“Can I get a cup of coffee?” Sleepily, I glance over my shoulder and find Archer. Only to look past him to Aubree. “Please?”
“No.” Archer takes my arm, holding me up when I suppose I might have begun folding, and leads me through my office door. “No coffee for you. You’re too sick, and adding caffeine to meds will make you loopy.”
“Coffee is medicine.” I drag myself free of his grip and stumble to the other side of my desk, then I drop onto my chair with an undignified thwump, only to hold my head and groan because the sudden stop of the chair’s hydraulic thingy is like a hammer against my skull. “Coffee helps me brain.”
“And influenza makes you slow.” Smiling, Aubree crosses my office and slumps onto the couch, one leg dangling over the arm and her head dropped back until it almost touches the glass. “I’m sleepy. Four a.m. bedtimes are shit.”
“Now you’re on Tim’s schedule.” Unhappy, I set my phone on my desk, leaning on my monitor so it’s perched up, and soon, I’ll see the woman on the other end of the line. But I open my desk drawer first and search for something. Anything to give me a little pep. “Where are my heart suckers?”
“I took the last one.” Aubree stretches her neck and looks my way with an unapologetic twist to her lips. “I would say I’m sorry, but I prefer not to lie, and I was pissed at you anyway. The sucker was fair game.”
“Pain in my ass.”
Archer tosses something on my desk, the package landing with a splat, and my brain stuck back on the… uh… well, the movement of his arm. It’s like I’m on a five-second delay, and each time I think I’m caught up, something new happens. I blink to clear the frizz from my vision, then I catalog the cream-colored pouch, with vanilla bean images printed on the outside. Then, in big letters GREEK YOGURT below them. Something about protein. And vitamins. And?—
“Eat it.” He snatches it up and twists the cap free. “Coffee, bad. Protein, good.”
“Smug husband, bad.” But I suppose pride is not a sin I hold on to today, because I open my mouth and accept the little spout between my lips. “Vanilla, good.”
Chuckling, he squeezes until cold liquid lands on my tongue and soothes my throat on the way down. “This’ll fill you up till we go home. Then I have flu meds waiting for us. The legitimate, FDA approved kind,” he adds with a sneer. “The kind where a board of doctors approves them for use, not some bullshit concoction a ballerina threw together on the weekend.”
“I mean…” Swallowing, I pull back and lazily drape myself over my chair, because I’m too damn tired to do anything else. “Have we ever actually seen her sick? Because if she says they’re good?—”
“We’re not testing them. And it’s infusion night again.” He drags my visitor chair closer and sits on the edge, forcing himself into my line of sight. “Does being sick change all that? Do you need more, or less? Or a hospital?”
I firm my lips and act like his questions are a bother. But in my heart of hearts, I warm all over, thrilling in the knowledge he wants me safe and healthy.
“Nothing changes. I’ll infuse tonight and go to bed. Besides, Aubree did the hand thing, which means I’ll wake up all better anyway.”
“That is so not what I did,” she snorts. “Your current predicament is a product of your stubbornness. No way in hell do you get to cheat this lesson and pass it off to me.”
“Make the call, Mayet.” Archer presses his elbows to my desk, then sets his chin on his arms and proceeds to stare. “Make it quick because it’s gonna be dark soon, and I wanna get you home.”
“Dark? Already?” Dazed, I look out my floor-to-ceiling windows and sulk because the day is, in fact, nearing an end. “I only just woke up. How is it almost dinner time already?”
“Something about going to bed at four in the morning,” Aubree yawns, eyeing me similarly to how Archer does. Concerned. Challenging. Confident I’ll need to be caught and they… will hopefully be near enough to catch.
I want to toss a well thought out barb back at them. Something about obsessive and controlling behavior. Mention their helicopter parenting. Touch on how annoying they can be. But my brain isn’t moving at a speed fast enough to formulate anything intelligent. So instead, I reach across to my phone, unlock the screen, and dial for the millionth time today, but this time, with a video call I hope the woman will accept.
My fumbling hands mean the phone falls to the side and hits my desk with an ear-aching slam, so I work to right it, setting it up and clearing my throat just in time for the line to connect and a woman not nearly as old as I expected to pop up on the screen.
Her hair is an ashy blonde, and her eyes, a honeyed gold. Stress lines mark her face, with crow’s feet creating webs of age by her temples, and a deep line marked between her brows. I know the official records have her in her fifties, and truly, she looks every day of those fifty years. But I swear, I was expecting a hunch-backed little old lady .
It’s odd, really, the images we create in our minds.
She studies her screen in silence, looking me up and down as I settle back in my chair and push the hair off my face. But when I’m still too slow to brain, or even think to introduce myself, she scratches her chin and blinks. “Um… hello?”
“So sorry to bother you, Ms. Donohue.” I clear my throat and mask the agony I feel as razor blades slide along my vocal cords. “A video call is quite presumptuous, I know. But I appreciate that you took my call.”
“You’re a doctor.” Her gaze flickers over the screen to take in the details of my coat. “I’ve been getting calls from all sorts of numbers these past few weeks. Though,” she pauses and reveals a sweet smile, “you seem to be quite a distance away.”
“Yes. Sorry. My name is Mayet. I’m a medical examiner, and though I live in Copeland City now, I come from New York.”
“Oh, well…” Nodding, she settles back in her chair and holds the phone with a slight shake in her hand. “That makes sense, then. Do you have news about the little girl who went missing?”
“No, ma’am. I’m not the police, so technically, I’m not investigating this case at all. But I was the medical examiner on one of the earlier missing girls, and now the current investigating detective has reached out to discuss my involvement in the past.”
“Okay…” Still, she searches for more. More sense. More context. My experience as a medical examiner means, even sick, my brain catalogs the woman’s physical appearance. The yellowing under her eyes, and the off pallor of her skin. Her slightly labored breathing, and the subtle patch of skin on her neck, dry and flaking.
This woman’s kidneys are not healthy. Not at all.
“I guess I wanted to reach out,” I continue, since no one else volunteers to help my sluggish thoughts along. “I’ve talked with others in the last few days. Some who were local to your area from twenty years ago. I heard about Ned’s Diner,” I add when his name passes through my mind. “The cozy little place locals liked to visit.”
Nostalgia does magical things to an aging memory. Proven when Gloria’s lips curl into a beautiful grin. “Ned. He was so kind,” she laughs, “even when he was cranky.”
“And I talked to a woman named Beatrice. ”
“Mackenzie? Gosh, I haven’t talked to her in a while. It’s been years since I last saw her. I suppose she must’ve moved away.”
“She did. A few years back. Beatrice speaks highly of you, Ms. Donohue. She said?—”
“Gloria.” With her free hand, she scratches the itchy patch on the side of her neck, but because of the lamp over her shoulder, I’m treated to a view of her palm, too. Her flaking skin. Chipped nails. “Please call me Gloria. I know I appear kind of…” She wrinkles her nose. “Old. I swear my mind is convinced I’m still twenty-five. Though, I’m not sure that’ll help with the purpose of your call. I don’t know what more I can say that I haven’t already.”
“I wanted to talk to you about your former boss, mostly.”
Over the top of the phone, Archer sighs, shaking his head gently side to side and firming his lips.
You’re wrong, . Cut the shit already.
But there’s something there. I know it. I’m just not sure what that thing is.
“Andy?” Gloria’s eyes glitter with grief, still so fresh in her mind. “He was such a good man. Like a father to me, really. To a lot of us.”
“I guess I’m struggling to reconcile what I know about him.” I slip a hand into my pocket and take out a tissue, entirely unprofessional. But then again, so is mucus running from my nose and touching my top lip. “So sorry.” I wipe already raw skin and hide my hiss behind the Kleenex. “I was in the cold all night last night. Now my body is punishing me for it.”
“I hope you take time to heal, Doctor.” She licks her chapped lips and watches me with concerned, motherly eyes. “We must rest when rest is needed, because if we don’t, we may not get a tomorrow. Andy didn’t learn that lesson. And now he’s gone too soon.”
“Please help me understand him, Gloria.” Sniffling, I ball the tissue and toss it into the trash can by my feet. “His records say one thing, but I’ve yet to find a single person willing to speak ill of him.”
“You searching?” Carefully, she turns to her right and shakily picks up a glass of water, moving in slow motion, kind of how my mind moves. But she comes back around, less welcome in her eyes and more protection. For Andy . “Is there a reason you insist on finding someone to speak poorly of the dead, Doctor?”
“It’s not so much that I’m searching for someone to say bad things. Mostly, I’m looking for someone to bridge the gap from who he was when he went to prison for abusing his child and ex, to who he was for you and everyone else in your neighborhood.”
“I suppose time must be your bridge, then. Remorse. Lessons learned. You must understand that Andy grew up in this neighborhood, and just like everyone else here, his chances of success in life were…” She shrugs. “Low, at best. His parents were drug addicts who often brought those types to the house. His father beat his mother for sport, and then he beat every other woman who came through to fill the role she vacated. His sisters were brought into this world purely to cook a meal and operate the washer and dryer. Later, Andy met a woman whose life was no different from his, and together, they made a daughter. He didn’t know any different, and though that certainly doesn’t make things okay, it surely adds context and explains why things worked out the way they did.”
“And after? When he was your employer?”
“Well…” She takes a sip of water, her cheeks warming as she swallows and gently wipes her lip with her sleeve. “I might wonder if he met better people in prison. Which is an oxymoron,” she adds with a smile. “I’m certain we can both acknowledge, from our experiences living in rough neighborhoods, that good men end up in bad situations every single day. The system was not created fairly, and it’s certainly not in place to lift these men up. Rather, to stomp them down. My understanding, as I got to know Andy over the years, is that he learned a better way while he was behind bars. Prison helped him break away from the less desirable people in his life, so when he was a free man again, he returned to society with renewed drive and a shifted belief system. He knew hard work and selflessness were the keys to happiness and, ultimately, the path to Heaven.”
“Was he overly religious?” I question. “Did he quote biblical passages or focus on purity or acts of service?”
“Not in the way you mean.” She swallows a little more water before twisting again and setting the glass down. “He didn’t preach about service, because his actions spoke for him. He wasn’t about purity, but rather, forgiveness and second chances.” Her cheeks flame bright red. “He forgave me on an occasion or two when, honestly, he didn’t need to.”
“Would you share with me the incidents?” I hold her eyes, but I catch Archer in my peripherals, snagging a pen and paper to take notes. “If you don’t mind, Gloria? Help me understand.”
“Well…” Blushing, she drops her gaze to her lap. “There was one time, in our early years working together, that I struggled to make rent. I had two kids and nowhere else to go, so I was, put plainly, desperate. I hope my actions since then have proven me to be a better person, but back then, one time, one shameful moment, I took from the till with the full intention of repaying him just as soon as I could.”
“He caught you?”
She snickers, nodding and fussing with the hem of a small lap blanket. “Almost immediately. He didn’t get mad, though I’m sure he needed his money as much as I did. His history, certainly, would imply that he would lose his temper and fly into a rage.”
“He didn’t?”
She shakes her head, her eyes glittering as she peeks up at the phone. “No, Doctor. He didn’t. He allowed me to keep it and pay my rent, because my children having a home was, he said, most important. He proposed a more-than-generous repayment schedule, thus holding me accountable and making me earn what I’d taken. And then he explained how disappointed he was that I stole instead of asked.”
On the couch, Aubree grits her teeth. Not the I’m not mad, I’m disappointed talk!
“And the second time he forgave?”
She sighs. “My son. We met Andy when my kids were still quite small, and I stayed with him all the way until his passing. Lachy…” She pauses and brings her eyes back to mine. “Lachy is my special boy, Doctor. Gentler than a butterfly’s wings on your skin. He was always exceptionally protective of his sister, but there was an incident where Serena, my girl, fell off the swings in the park. She screamed, as children do , and though I could see her, I was busy with a customer and needed just a moment more. Andy heard her, too, and dashed across the park. He picked my baby girl up and patted her off, checking to ensure she was okay. But my sweet Lachy, he saw only what his mind wanted him to see. He heard his sister’s scream, and then he saw Andy holding her. Lachy struggles with emotional regulation, and on this day, his cup was already empty, so to speak. The neighborhood boys had been giving him trouble, and though I encouraged him to stay by me, Lachy preferred—then and now—the quiet comfort of his own company. He made a habit over the years of reading in the park. He’d sit somewhere I could still see him, somewhere he could still see his sister, but also a spot that went mostly unnoticed by the boys who hounded him.”
“He thought Andy had hurt her?” I surmise. “This special little boy felt Andy was a threat?”
She sighs and drops her gaze. “I know what you’re implying, Doctor Mayet. And it just so happens that this one time, you’re correct. That’s what he thought. But Andy was not usually perceived as a threat. Lachy was already so tired and hurt. Those boys had been relentless in the days after Christmas. He heard his sister’s cry for help, threw his book down, and reacted. Poorly . He was still so young, only ten at the time. But he had a running start, which means he ran right through poor Andy, knocking him on his backside, and then he just…” She hesitates, licking her lips while her pulse thunders visibly against her throat. “He hit him. A bunch of times.”
“Did Andy fight back?”
“No, of course not. He was a man, and Lachy was a child. Andy merely covered his face and did what he could to not make the situation worse. I ran from the stall to help. As did others. I got my son to stop, and then I hugged my daughter, because she was still upset. People helped Andy to his feet and checked to ensure he was okay. And then we just…” She drags her gaze up again. “We de-escalated the situation. Andy let me take the kids home, though my shift wasn’t over yet. I took them back... Here.” She looks up, then around her living room until I notice the crisp white walls and the clean kitchen counter over her left shoulder. “I brought them back and settled things down. Lachy needed a moment to realize everything was okay. He was safe, and so was his si ster. I sent him to his room to select a different book to read, since he’d lost the other at the park, and I set Serena up in the basement to color. Or play with her dolls. Whatever she wanted to do. We homeschool and have a classroom down there, so the space was safe and I knew it would keep her busy. The bills still came in, Doctor, no matter how stressed I was or how rough my child’s day. So once my children settled in with their respective activities, I locked up and went back to the stall to finish my shift and beg for Andy’s forgiveness.”
“And he forgave you?”
“Yes, of course. As I said, he was kind, forgiving, and exceptionally understanding. He was no worse for wear and even tried to joke that he’d taken far more violent beatings in the past.”
Behind the phone, Archer scribbles something on a fresh sheet of paper, with looping letters and crossed-out mistakes. Then, he spins the sheet for me to read.
Ask her if Andy was on probation.
Frowning, I blink and bring my eyes up again. “Um. Gloria. Was Andy still on probation at the time of this altercation?”
“Yes, but he didn’t get into trouble. I made a statement to his parole officer, as did a handful of others who were there that day. I made certain that everyone understood Andy did not start that altercation. He didn’t participate in it, and he was entirely gracious about it when all I wanted to do was melt into the ground and never see daylight again.”
“You were embarrassed?”
“Humiliated,” she groans. “I was hanging on by a tether, had already attempted to steal from the man, and now my son was trying to beat him up. If I could have died that day, I would have.” She releases a nervous chuckle and sniffles. “Andy was as wonderful as always. He let me finish my shift, but only because I begged to. And then we just… well. Life went on. Which is typically how things go, huh? Time keeps moving, no matter what.”
He sounds like a decent guy… Dammit .
“What about now, Gloria?” I snag fresh tissues from my pocket and press them to my stinging nose. “Detective Gilbert mentioned that you’re struggling with your health. ”
“Yeah, well…” She smiles, her cheeks warming with a charming blush. “I’m doing better than I was, I guess.”
“Stage three?” I guess, considering the color of her face and the slight swelling of her hand. “You’re receiving treatment?”
“Stage four,” she counters, her eyes shimmering with grief. “I didn’t even know I was unwell until I got my three-b a few years back. I didn’t rest when I needed to. I pushed through, because that’s what moms do.”
“Of course.” I’m not a mom, and God knows, before meeting Mia, I’m not sure there was a child on this planet I even tolerated. But I would do whatever needed doing to keep her safe. I have done things the law wouldn’t particularly approve of. “Single parenting, working hard, scraping by.”
“I ignored the signs until I couldn’t, then my butt ended up in the hospital a few months after Andy passed away. I thought I was just stressed from all that. Emotionally, mentally, and physically pushed to my limit. I thought taking a weekend off and catching up on my sleep would fix everything. But I suppose the universe had other plans for me. I’m doing okay now, though. My disease has progressed, but my ability to manage it has, too.”
“And your prognosis?” Though I already know . “What are the doctors saying?”
“I’ll need a transplant in the next year or two. But you know how these things go for single women lacking rich benefactors and deep pockets.” The phone shifts as her arm grows weak. “Lachy was in a home for special boys while I was in the hospital. I had no other choice.” She tears up. “There was no one else who could care for him at the time. He’s back with me now, but I have a meeting next week to talk about the future. You know…” Her voice breaks. “Just in case.”
“I understand.” I wipe my nose and scrunch my tissues. “What about Serena? She can’t stay with him?”
“No.” She glances down and fusses with the hem of her blanket again. “It’s too much, and that wouldn’t be fair. But this is a mother’s burden. We make plans and ensure our babies have what they need. It doesn’t matter that he’s grown now.” She swallows and looks up to meet my eyes. “Doesn’t matter that he’s old enough to be independent. He’s not, and I’m still his mother. So I’ll do whatever I need to do to make it work.”
At a dull thud on her side of the line, Gloria peers to her right and smiles when a deep, muffled voice speaks to her off-screen. Heavy footsteps echo against wooden stairs. Then, her happiness grows when a shadow falls across her face.
Her child, I would guess. Come to visit.
She brings her focus back to me, the sadness she carried moments ago replaced with pure maternal bliss as she shuffles forward on the couch. “It’s about time for bed, Doctor Mayet. And I’ve been summoned.” She grunts and huffs her way forward, twisting the phone until I glimpse a pair of men’s boots. But then she rights the screen again and fills it with her kind expression. “I’m not sure I’ve helped, but if nothing else, I hope I’ve put to rest your concerns about Andy.”
“Andy?” The newcomer’s voice is deep. A full-grown man’s question, wrapped in a small boy’s curiosity. “Andy’s here?”
“No, honey.” She stands, her blanket falling away, then murmurs something to her son. Comfort. Promise. A whispered, ‘ I’m not mad at you, baby. Never ever .’ Finally, she brings her eyes back to me, though her skin burns redder from exertion. “He was a good man, Doctor. He deserves to rest in peace. I hope you’ll write that in your reports somewhere.”
“I will.” I mean, I probably won’t. But it’s important to her, so … “Thank you for your time, Gloria. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem.” She searches the phone, fumbling and blackening the screen. Then the call cuts out, and I’m thrust back to my office, still in the daylight, though it’s muted with dark clouds outside. I reach into my pocket for fresh tissues and bring my gaze up to find Archer’s staring observation, and over his left shoulder, Aubree’s chin in her hands.
“She really thinks Andy was a good person, huh?” Aubree contemplatively rolls her lip between her teeth. “She’s really firm about it.”
“Learning to be a better person and acting on that new wisdom isn’t unheard of.” Archer snatches up the note he slid my way, folds it a handful of times, and stands to shove it into his back pocket. “You’re fixated on this dude, but he’s dead, and he’s not coming back to take little girls. You need to let it go. ”
“He’s in all the stories, though, isn’t he?” I blow my nose, the world’s ugliest, nastiest, most horrifying honk echoing throughout my office. “So gross,” I groan. “And it’s getting greener.”
“Because you’re sick.” Archer comes around the desk and slips his hand under my arm, gently tugging me up and holding on when my feet sting and my knees knock together. “You came to work, you told Emeri you were sorry.”
Across the room, Aubs awws .
“You saw the bones and conducted interviews. Now it’s time to go to bed.”
“The bones still need sorting.” I fight him. I swear I do. But I think most of the kicking and screaming I do is in my head, while in the real world, I stumble from my chair and lean against my husband because I can’t stand on my own. “I wanted to reassemble the skeleton.”
“You can. In a few days. Sleep now or you’ll get kidney disease and an extended stay in the hospital.”
“Ha-har.” I dig my hands into my pockets in search of more tissues. “She’s probably gonna die.”
“Sounds like.” He helps me navigate my desk and slow-marches me toward the coat rack at the door. Pulling the white one off, dragging it down my arms and grumbling because I clutch to a wad of tissues, which makes my fist almost too wide for the coat sleeves. “Being a single parent is pretty rough for most. But typically, that comes with an end date when the kids are grown and independent, right? Being a single parent to a kid who would never truly grow up and never be able to take care of himself…”
“Exhausting.” Me. Him. Her . “She won’t get a day off till she’s dead. And death is sneaking up kinda fast. Doesn’t sound fair.”
“Not everyone gets the happily ever after, I suppose.” Swapping my lab coat for the other, he grabs my hand when my brain doesn’t brain fast enough and feeds it through a sleeve. Then he does the same on the other side, before shifting the material up to sit on my shoulders. “But then again,” he teases, kissing my cheek and ducking when I haphazardly attempt to push him away. “I’ve got me a fully grown child, too.”
I scowl and turn to glare. “I’m certain you’re talking about Cato.”
“Won’t feed herself,” he admonishes. “Never sleeps unless forced. Avoids water unless it’s mixed with caffeine. Rarely cooks a meal. Pouts a lot.”
“Jackass.” Offense makes my brain move a little faster, so I turn from his smug grin and bend to sweep up my bag. “I’m going home now. To medicate, like a grownup. Eat, like a grownup. I’ll sleep, like a grownup, and?—”
“Whine like a child.” He opens the door, while at his back, the elevator opens and Fletch steps out. “Aubree,” he murmurs playfully. “Do what you will with the skeleton, but save some of the fun parts for your chief.” Then he glances over his shoulder and stops on his partner. “You and Aubree get to spend a few hours separating human bones from those of a deer.”
“Oh, good.” He rubs his hands together and looks from Aubree to me, back to Archer. “Have we got a formal verdict that they belong to Danika?”
“No.” Grumbling—like a child—I hook my bag in the crook of my arm and set my hands on my hips. “We can assume, but we cannot declare. Don’t call her parents until I’ve kicked this damn plague out of my system and have had a chance to sign the piece of paper.”
“I wasn’t gonna say anything about how awful you looked,” he taunts. “But since you brought it up…”
“Don’t.” I step around the infuriating detectives—both of them—and open my office door. “Save some for me, Doctor Emeri. We never get cases like this.”
“You’re afraid I’ll write a paper about it and not include you,” she teases. “You suffer FOMO.”
“You suffer annoyinggo.”
“Really?” Archer steps ahead and taps the elevator call button before I can. “Annoyinggo, Chief? You’re embarrassing yourself.”
“Shut up.” I step in when the doors open and turn back to face my colleagues. “Don’t touch my things.”
“You regress to toddler-like behaviors when you’re sick, ya know that?” Following me in, Archer wraps one arm across my back to hold me up and reaches out with the other and selects the button for the lobby floor. “It’s cute. ”
“Mind your business. And why’d you ask about the parole thing while I was talking to Gloria?”
“Because the event will have been documented and filed away by the PO. Andy didn’t get into trouble since there were witnesses who vouched for him, but dudes are usually on tight leashes when they’re still chained to the parole officer. That leash might provide us with a new perspective of a park, a little girl on the swings, and all the neighbors who came out to help.”
“I mean…” I dig a hand into my pocket in search of new tissues. “I guess. Maybe. But wouldn’t Lowe and Pax have already seen it?”
“Probably. But when you’re handed a million pieces of straw and you’re looking for a needle, sometimes your eyes glaze over and the details no longer stand out. That event was just another piece of straw, and seemingly not even connected to the others, since it didn’t involve Diane or Elouise or any of the girls who went missing. It didn’t happen during the period of the abductions?—”
“She didn’t say a date.” Curious, I glance up and search his profile. “She didn’t even say what month.”
“No, but she said her son was about ten years old, and it must’ve been prior to Diane’s disappearance, or else it would’ve been studied ad nauseam already. So the incident between Andy and the boy was in the year or so before the first girl disappeared. Not connected. Not really. But it hits a lot of the same details: little girl, park, swings, Andy was there?—”
“But you said we’re not allowed to focus on him,” I counter petulantly. “He’s innocent. Allegedly .”
Archer chuckles. “He is innocent. But maybe one of the witnesses wasn’t. It could be nothing.” When the elevator stops and the doors open, he leads me into the sprawling lobby and onto shimmering white tiles. “But as a detective, my radar starts pinging when we have a seemingly unconnected event that has more than a few connected elements. I’m even giving you permission to call up that other asshole. Tell him to search the archives and find the report from that day.”
“ Permission .” I firm my lips and allow myself a moment of rest while Archer practically carries me. But the instant we step outside the George Stanley and cold air slaps my face, I inhale a lungful of icy barbs and groan as the mere few blocks separating the office from home feel like a million miles to a sick woman’s mind. “I don’t need permission for anything. I’m an adult and refuse to subscribe to control tactics.”
“Adult,” he teases. “Unless you’re sick. Or hungry, or generally set on being a pain in my ass. If you sleep a solid twelve hours tonight and eat a protein breakfast, I might even let you go back to the office tomorrow.”