Sinful Reality (Mayet Justice #16)

Archer

ARCHER

P hones trill on almost every desk of the homicide bullpen the next day. Emails ding. Cops come and go, noisily dragging cheap shoes across cheaper linoleum. The day is coming to an end, and the next shift trickles in for their time spent in the dark.

It’s a punishment. Any night shift cop will say so.

But it’s not our punishment, so I step out of the war room ahead of Fletch, my desk in my sights, and as soon as I switch off my computer and grab my things, home is where I’m headed. But then I walk face-first into some dickhead who doesn’t think to move aside.

Skidding to a stop and focusing on the man in front of me—instead of the woman on my mind, the apartment I’m heading to, the marriage I’ll keep intact, no matter what, and the cases I run concurrently—my brain catches up to reality, and my eyes lock on to the shit-brown stare of Detective Denton.

IAB. The fuckin’ rat squad.

“Detective Malone.” His eyes glint with a smugness that sets my temper on edge and has my hands digging into my pockets. Because if I don’t put them there, I might use them to rearrange his face, instead. He looks me up and down, but his happiness turns up a notch— or ten —when Fletch follows me out of the war room and stops on my right. “ And Detective Fletcher, too.” He brings a hand up and scratches his clean-shaven jaw. “Two birds, one stone. My lucky day.”

“You have stones to throw, Detective? Or are you here for a friendly chat?” I keep moving, knowing Fletch will follow, and head toward my desk. “Our shift ended three minutes ago, so unless you’ve cleared OT with Fabian, I’m afraid we simply don’t have the time to hang.” I click my tongue, oh no, oh dear, so fucking sad we have to go . “We’ll be back at nine tomorrow, though.”

“Pretty sure we could get this done in under a minute.” He hovers at the side of my desk, folding his arms and side-eyeing Fletch while he snags his coat from the back of his chair and swings it on. “There’s an investigation into the murder of Nathan Booth.”

“Booth wasn’t a cop. It boggles my mind that IA would even know his name.”

He scoffs and drops his hand to his hip. “It just so happens that four Copeland City officers were on the scene at the time of his death. Two of ours, and two from Midtown.”

“The two from Midtown were working.” I snatch up my jacket and slip my arms into the sleeves. “The other two were attending a funeral and mourning a friend’s death. We weren’t even carrying weapons or badges.” I stop and meet his arrogant expression. “The funeral was a quiet affair, close family and friends only. Luckily for us, the Midtown cops witnessed the entire event, so if you wish to discuss this emotionally taxing subject, I suggest you call them.”

“I did call them.” He rocks on the backs of his heels and grins. “I have their statements, as well as that of the funeral director.”

“Good,” Fletch cuts in before I can. “So you know what happened, then. Why are you wasting our time?”

Like a hunter in the wild, Denton looks his way and practically swells with arrogance. “Just doing my job. Nathan Booth’s death is relatively high profile, considering the string of murders that came shortly before. Add in that he was dating a cop’s wife and?—”

“Ex-wife,” I snarl. “And the divorce was final long before she met the dude. Her choices from that point forward ceased to be Fletch’s business.”

“But those choices led her to a crack house, which led her to the hospital and, eventually, her death. Her funeral was attended by other, uh…” He clears his throat, grinning though he attempts to bite it down, “associates of the lesser legal community.” His eyes flicker my way. Daring me to lose my shit and make a scene in the homicide bullpen. “The mayor, even, was there. Seems like such an odd grouping, don’t you think?”

“No,” I bite out. “I don’t. I think Jada Watson’s death was tragic, but ultimately, none of your fucking business. Because the biggest tragedy of all, and our focus, is the little girl who lost her mother. I think you’re trying to imply my brothers, who were in attendance that day, are less than legal. And, if so, I will let them know their name is in your mouth, at which point, they’ll confer with their legal team and consider what steps to take next. If you have a problem with the mayor, then I suggest that’s a whole other fucking whale you can take on in your own time. Anything else, Detective?”

His enthusiasm remains unharmed. His fucking pleasure, untouched. He only purses his lips and looks Fletch’s way. “A man was assassinated at your ex-wife’s funeral, Detective. And it’s my job to ensure the Copeland City police department is clean on the matter.”

“We’re clean.” He slips his phone into his pocket. “I had no clue Nathan Booth would attend. I don’t know who shot him. And I don’t know why they shot him, though assumptions are easy to make. Several members of his team were gunned down in the weeks prior to his death, and earlier investigations prove he, too, may have been a target. It’s obvious he was not invited to Jada’s funeral, considering the warrant for his arrest, and the Midtown cops were ready to close their case out. But invitation or not, the idea was floated that he may turn up, hence, their presence on the day. If they considered it a possibility, then I suppose someone else did, too. In the end, he ate lead and now he’s in the ground. That’s all I can say on the matter.”

“And now your time is up.” I step around my desk and grab Fletch’s sleeve. “Let’s go. Mia’s waiting for you at home. You have dinner to cook and a nanny to relieve.”

“He’s a slimy fucker.” Yanking his arm from my grip, he fast-walks beside me despite the bullet wound still healing in his leg. We exit the bullpen and start toward the escalators, blowing past anyone who thinks to get in our way. “How can you become a fuckin’ cop, put in all those years working your way up the ladder, become friends with your coworkers, only to turn around and decide investigating cops is where your heart is?”

“Dunno.” I chew the inside of my cheek and step onto the escalator, risking a peek back to find Denton’s eyes squarely on the back of Fletch’s head. His beaming smile and arrogant stance. “I’ll wipe a shitty cop off the force in a second if I have to. Taylor needed to go, and I feel no remorse for that shit. But investigating a good cop whose alibi is tighter than a nun’s asshole, because a drug dealer was popped in full view of a dozen witnesses?” I shake my head and turn to stare down the escalator. “That’s just him being a prick. He’s got a hard-on because I’m a Malone, and because you’re mine. He wants a big fish so he can get a medal and a newspaper article with his name in it.”

“The only place he belongs in a newspaper is in the fucking cartoons. He’s a joke.”

Together, we step off the steel tread and make our way toward the doors.

“I’m not worried.” He heads into the almost-darkness just a beat before me, holding the door while I pass through to the icy breeze. “The detectives running Jada’s case aren’t even looking this way. The mayor isn’t looking this way. Fabian and Bower have my back, and no matter which way Denton wants to twist himself up and hope for something juicy, I’m clear for that hit.”

“Detectives?”

Startled, I spin on my heels and find Seraphina Lewis dwarfed by a red puffer coat with a furry brown lining, the hood pulled high to cover her ears, and her arms crossed firmly over her chest to fight the chill. It’s damn near dinnertime, and yet, she looks as fresh as she would’ve first thing this morning.

“Fifi?” Smug, I glance from her to a stunned Fletch, his eyes wide and his tongue already on his lip. He’s shameless. “You have a crime to report, Ms. Lewis, or are you just happy to see us?”

She rolls her eyes, her glossy red lips glistening under the streetlights already flickering to life. “I was heading home, in actual fact. But I’m glad I ran into you. I heard a rumor that Chief Mayet is sick. ”

“Not according to Chief Mayet,” I chuckle. “She claims she never gets sick. But if that were true, I’m not sure how to explain the snot leaking from her face, the glassiness of her eyes, the way her hands shake every time she uses them. Oh, and the one-oh-four temps our thermometer falsely accuses her of having every time her meds wear off.”

“And I bet she’s a delightful patient,” she drawls. “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because we all know and love her very much. Even though she pisses us off. She went into the office this morning,” I add, since Fletch is clearly not ready to use his tongue appropriately yet. “Put in a couple of hours. But she’s at the apartment now.”

“Resting…” She pretends not to look Fletch’s way. Though Stevie Wonder himself could see how her eyes wander. “I hope?”

“Doubtful. But my brother is there, and he’ll keep her from making any truly stupid decisions.”

The corner of her lips twitch with the ghost of a smile. “Ironic, really, that Cato may be the more mature of the two. Is there anything I can do to help her, Detective?”

“Besides quit your job and resume your position at the George Stanley?” I grin when her eyes narrow. “No, I’d say that about covers her wish-list. I’m heading home now, so I’ll make her eat and check her temperature again. Yesterday was bad, but I think today is better.”

“She’ll be back in the office, harassing her team soon enough,” she decides. “Her powers grow stronger with every underling she makes cry. She thrives on other people’s misery.”

I love Minka Mayet. Truly, deeply, I do. But fuck if I don’t snicker at Fifi’s unkind words.

“Something like that.” I look to Fletch and shake my head, because all I see is a man ready to make some of those stupid decisions we were just talking about. “You need me to continue mediating this, or…?”

“It’s fine.” He clears his throat and licks his lips again. He’s a wolf, and she’s his Red. “Do you, uh…” He nervously scratches the back of his neck and gestures vaguely in that direction. A direction. Any direction. “Can I walk you home?”

“Sure. I’d like that. Thank you.” Her cheeks warm with a soft blush, but she clasps her hands together and practically fucking curtsies her way past me. “Give Chief Mayet my best wishes. Unless, of course, you think it’ll end with her biting your head off.”

“I’ll assess the situation when I get home,” I assure her. “You kids have fun.”

Finally, Fletch’s moon eyes make way for the real guy underneath. He shakes his infatuated doofiness off and turns in the direction of his apartment, waiting, but not rushing her. “I wanted to ask how you’re liking your new job, anyway.” He flips me off when she can’t see, because I’m still staring and maybe, just a little, taunting him with my grin. Then he places his hand on the small of her back and leaves me in his dust.

No goodbye. No ‘ good work today .’ Not even a ‘ we’re still best friends, and I’ll always have room for you in my life .’

Seraphina Lewis walks in and, suddenly, I’m not shit to him.

And yet, I spin on my heels with a stupid grin on my lips and start toward home.

Because Charlie Fletcher deserves happiness. And fuck knows, maybe it’ll be with her. Maybe it won’t. Maybe he’ll join a religious camp where they’re not allowed to talk or sleep or have sex ever again. But whatever he chooses, it’ll be because that’s what he wants, and no longer because of the giant gray rain cloud named Jada Watson hanging over his head, fucking everything up and acting as the guillotine that’ll eventually end his life.

Have fun, bud. You earned it.

Digging my hands into my pockets to stave off the cold, I drop my head and move toward home, dinner already on my mind. The rich aroma of the Chinese restaurant a block or two up teases my senses. Busses potter by, the stench of diesel infringing on what smells good.

I think on the to-do list that stretches out of my ass, and the irony that it’s longer now than it would be if Fletch wasn’t on light duties. If we could work a case right through, we’d be closer to tying things up and crossing items off the list. But we’re not, which means I add, ‘ have Minka translate the forensic odontologist’s report ’ to tomorrow’s list. ‘Follow up on the DNA samples Aubree pulled from Danika’s bones. ’ ‘ Schedule a call with Warden Conroy to discuss Buke and Tarran .’ Separate meetings, of course. All on tomorrow’s list .

I’m so used to working from start to finish without taking a moment to breathe that a list is so rarely created. Usually, we just move to the next thing, then the next, dragging folks out of bed and making enemies until we solve a case.

It’s an unhealthy system, and yet, one that works for us.

But for as long as Fletch is ordered to clock off at five and our suspect isn’t an immediate threat to civilians, we have no choice but to obey orders and be home at a respectable hour.

But then again, being at home with my wife and eating dinner before midnight is no hardship. I pass the hospital with my head down and cross the driveway, stepping up on the other side, only to shuffle out of the way when a woman practically hugs the wall, her stride far slower than mine, the cane she clutches in her left hand, impeding her movements.

Her soft brown hair is essentially the only detail my mind clings to before I’m on Minka again, my feet moving faster, my sights set on home. I focus on the neon sign out front of Tim’s bar and stop myself from jogging, if only so I don’t feel so stupid for rushing.

But I push on, and in mere minutes, dash through the heavy glass door leading into our apartment building and past the man who makes a life of sitting by the bottom of the stairs.

“Detective. Arrest anyone today?”

“Not yet. You volunteering?”

His friendly chuckle echoes into the stairwell as I continue up. “If I made it through the messy sixties on this side of a cage, I assure you, I have no desire to switch things up now that I’m old and comfortable.”

“Good choice.” Smiling, I jog onto the second-floor landing. “Mayet home?”

“Yep.” He practically shouts to be heard. “Sick as a dog and not at all pleased about it.”

“But she doesn’t get sick,” I tease under my breath, holding the stair banister and propelling myself forward. Everyone knows it, Mayet. Everyone is laughing at you behind your back . My phone beeps in my back pocket, a text first, and then an email. So I fish it out and read on the move, risking my neck as I come to the fourth-floor landing.

Janelle McDermott. Tarran McDermott’s daughter. Copeland Correctional. Words appear bolder than others as I skim the details and blindly reach for my door handle, only for it to swing wide anyway, my eyes jumping to Cato’s as he waits on the other side.

Instantly, my stomach dips, and Janelle McDermott becomes nothing but a memory. “What?” I glance past him in search of today’s reason to hurt. “What happened?”

“Nothing. I heard you coming.” So he steps out of the way and dramatically gestures toward the living area. I don’t see my wife, but the television is on, and a bag of Doritos lays open on the coffee table. “She hides in her own filth.”

“What?” Cautiously optimistic, I step into our apartment, setting my phone on the counter and coming up behind the couch. Then I look over and find Minka slouched, her socked feet on the table, her chin resting on her chest, her hair tied in a messy bun at the top of her head—almost near her forehead, considering her awkward posture—and Dorito dust smeared on her sweatpants.

My sweatpants, to be specific.

“What the fuck is this?” I lean over the back of the couch and grab her chin, gently tugging her back and pressing a kiss to her cheesy lips. “You’re, uh…” I cough and laugh, shaking my head when she scowls. “You’re a mess, babe.”

“I’m sick, okay?” She bats my hand away and drops hers to her stomach, groaning, though I can’t be sure if it’s because she’s unwell due to germs or the sheer volume of corn chips she swallowed since we were last together. “My fever goes away with meds, but it keeps coming back.”

“That’s usually what happens.” I forget work for a minute. Fletch. Fifi. I forget Cato, even, and hitch my leg over the back of the couch. Dropping down on the other side, I tug her against my chest until she burrows in and sighs. “It’ll take a couple of days to pass. You didn’t learn that in medical school? Or that corn chips aren’t a viable source of good protein and vitamins to help fight the germs?”

She growls low on her breath. “I took vitamins already. And probiotics. I’ve drunk so much water, my pee is clearer on the way out than it was on the way in. I’ve replenished my electrolytes, consumed a healthy lunch, napped from three till four thirty, and woke up wanting Doritos.” Pulling away, she pins me with a glare. “Don’t come at me because of the cheese dust.”

“I’m proud of your elite self-care abilities.” I kiss the tip of her nose, careful not to taste too much of her dried snot. Love is love, but a man must have his limits. “Napping is a big deal. Do you feel better?”

“I woke hungry.” Pouting, she drops back, digging her shoulder into the gap under my arm and peeking toward the television, which just so happens to be running a story on what the shitty reporter thinks we were doing out at Danika’s dig site this week. All they know is the homicide team was out there, and now it’s cordoned off with yellow tape. Assumptions are easy to come by, but the details are yet to be shared, least of all with Miranda London. “Hungry is good,” she adds, turning her nose up when Miranda’s face comes back on screen. “It means I’m getting better, don’t you think?”

“I definitely think so.” I kiss her temple and breathe her in, just like I planned on my trek home. But instead of smelling her , I catch a whiff of stale chips and what may be a perfume known as wet dog . “Cato force you to rest today?”

“Cato annoyed me today.” She shoots a dangerous glare his way. “Every single minute you were gone, in fact.”

Unafraid, he snatches up his basketball and counters her ire with a wink. “She needs a shower, a toothbrush, and an attitude adjustment.” But then he flashes a wide grin when she flips him off. “I’m heading to the stadium for a bit. I have a hot date tonight, and bringing a girl back to my brother’s couch isn’t the smooth pickup line one might think it is.”

“Literally no one thinks that’s a good line,” Minka grumbles. “It’s embarrassing. And this is my couch, not his.”

“But we’re married, babe.” I search her eyes and smirk. “What’s yours is mine.”

“Glad to see you two have made up again.” Cato grabs my phone and tosses it so it lands on the couch with a dull thud. Then, he snags his backpack and swings it onto his shoulder. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“We never do,” Minka bites out. “And taking women to the Condors stadium is also not a good pickup line. No one wants to screw in the dirty locker room showers. ”

He dismisses her with a scoff and tugs the apartment door open. “I hear you saying those words out loud, Doc. But my experience does not match your judgmental views. I’m a man who has needs, and sleeping on my brother’s couch isn’t nearly as fun when I’m all alone.”

“Bring a random woman back to my apartment, and I’ll cut your nuts off.” Her words aren’t nearly as enthusiastic as usual. Her typical passion for violence, dimmed by the pesky flu. “Consider a vow of abstinence, Cato. You need time to clear out the venereal diseases and get your rabies shots.”

“No thanks.” He steps through the doorway and slams it shut until the wall rattles. “I’m heading out to make birds and bees fuck. Stop trying to control my life.”

“Godddd.” Burrowing into my chest, Minka groans. “The entire building would have heard that.”

“You fight more than regular siblings.” I reach for the television remote and turn the volume down so I don’t have to listen to Miranda London’s yammering voice. Then I set it on the cushion beside my phone and take a moment to study my wife. “You didn’t grow up together, you’re not biologically related, and you are supposed to be a mature, successful, specially trained doctor for the dead whose signature literally signs death certificates and whose expert opinion can alter the course of a murder investigation. All that responsibility on the shoulders of a lady who bickers with an eighteen-year-old kid?”

“Shush.” She sweeps her leg up and drapes it over my thighs, laying her arm on my stomach and cuddling in until her warm breath bathes my chest. “I’m sick.” She wiggles closer, trapping me in her long limbs until there’s no space left between us. “Don’t be mean to me.”

“Is it mean when I’m only pointing out how utterly immature you are sometimes?” I kiss the top of her head and settle in for a few moments of us , but my phone vibrates again, so I scoop it up and turn it until I spy Tarran’s name once more. “Shit.”

“What’s wrong?” Already, her breathing slows. Deepens. All she needed was me, and now she’s ready for her next sleep. “You’ve finished work for the day. No outsiders allowed.”

I cough out a quiet laugh and swipe my screen unlocked. Because Janelle McDermott wants to talk, and technically, I’d rather do that than see the bitch on the television. “Why are you watching this channel, anyway?” Tapping on Janelle’s number, I set the call on speaker and place the device on Minka’s cheesy-dust-covered leg. “There are better reporters to watch.”

“Cato was annoying me, so I turned it here knowing she’d annoy me more. It was a safety precaution that kept your brother alive.”

“Oh, well…” I chuckle and look down when my call connects.

“Hello?”

“Ms. McDermott?” Professional voice. Ignore the Dorito dust . “Hi, it’s Detective Malone. I got a message that you wanted to speak to me?”

“Hi! Yes.” She rushes around wherever she is on her side of the line. Racing breaths, and the happy squeal of a little girl doing something she probably shouldn’t. “Thank you for calling me back, Detective. I hope this isn’t a bad time.”

“Not at all.” I look down at a grumpy Minka and her sour expression, and then I poke the tip of her nose with my tongue and swallow my laugh before it gets me in trouble. “I have a minute to spare. Did you need something? Is everything okay with your dad?”

“Everything is fine. As fine as can be expected, considering he’s still in prison,” she nervously snickers. “That won’t change for a long time. But I wanted to reach out and just…” She pauses whatever she’s doing, stops moving, and merely breathes. “I wanted to say thank you.”

“Thank me? For what?”

“For treating my father with respect. For listening to what he had to say without that added tang of judgment other cops offer him. He’s just an inmate. He won’t be a free man for a really long time, so most people tend to speak to him like he’s trash.”

“He treated me and my partner respectfully. He didn’t waste our time, and did a fantastic job of collecting information that will ultimately lead to an arrest and close a case.”

“He’s not a bad person.” She sniffles. Though it’s not the long, wet drag I’ve become accustomed to hearing from Minka. “He’s a good man who made a bad choice. And that bad choice was on the back of my bad choice.”

“Janelle—”

“I carry a lot of guilt, Detective. Because of my dumb teenage rebellion and poor judgment, I placed my father in a position he felt he had no alternative but to act in. He protected me, and I’m certain that if he hadn’t, I probably wouldn’t be here anymore. That doesn’t make his actions okay,” she quickly adds. “I understand that. But I know he did it for me.”

And I’ve done more, and worse, for the people I love. That’s the difference between Tarran McDermott and me: he got caught. “He’s a good dad, Janelle. And even in the limited time I spent with him, I know he’s a good person.”

“Parents can’t always be objective,” she murmurs. “The good ones, I mean. They say they are, and there’s a belief that as we grow older, we become less impulsive. Parents sit upon a pedestal, don’t you think? Held to higher standards and expected to act right no matter what. I didn’t always understand it, but I’m a mom now.” She pauses for a long beat, licking her lips so the sound rolls across the line. “If someone was hurting my baby the way my ex hurt me, I can’t be entirely sure I wouldn’t do for her exactly as my dad did for me. I haven’t,” she adds nervously. “This isn’t a confession or anything.”

“I get it,” I chuckle, allowing the tension to filter away and leave behind a woman who carries the world on her shoulders. “I understood what you mean. Here’s hoping you’re never in a position where you feel you have no choice.”

“We learn from the past, and something my daughter and I will have, that my father and I messed up, was complete and open communication. He was a girl dad, and talking boys wasn’t exactly top of the list. But I’ll keep those lines open with my baby. I’ll make sure she’s comfortable, so if we hit a certain age and things get a little wild, I want her to know she can come to me. She’ll always be safe.”

And if all that fails, there’s always the crowbar.

“He loves that you visit.” I slide my fingers through Minka’s hair and earn a purr of comfort from the woman already dozing against my chest. “He spoke of you while my partner and I were there. I know you feel guilty for everything that went down, but Janelle…” I shake my head. “He’s not sorry for it. He’s content with the choices he made and accepts the time spent behind bars for it.”

“I wish he didn’t have to. Is he comfortable there? Like…” She clears he r throat. “He says he is when I ask, and his clothes are always clean, and his face is never messed up or anything. But is he okay there, do you think?”

“Yeah. I mean, as comfortable as any man can be in prison. Warden Conroy runs a strict facility, and his COs are well-trained. It’s not uncommon for prisons to become their own ecosystem of crime and violence and, at the bottom of the pile, it’s the good citizens who wear the unfairness of it all.” Kind of like Janiesa Sawyer. And Alana Lyons. And every other girl taken from a park when she was five years old and dumped a year later because she was no longer useful. But that’s a different case. Different city. A whole other ecosystem. “Warden Conroy’s administration is solid, Janelle. His prisoners are well cared for. So yeah,” I gently drag my fingers through Minka’s hair, “even though he’s behind bars, and even though he doesn’t have his freedom, your dad is comfortable, I think.”

“Thank you.” She starts moving again, the clang of a saucepan hitting the tile floor and a little girl’s giggle enough to break her from her pause. “Thank you for telling me that.”

“It’s not being reported yet, and the medical examiners are still working behind the scenes, which means this is confidential information. But you should know the information your father gave us led directly to a woman who has been missing for a year and a half.”

“It did?” Hopeful, her voice grows a little happier. “Her family had no clue where she went?”

“No. The case has been on my desk for a long time, and the fact we couldn’t find her has been a thorn in my side since we started. We had our suspicions, and we wanted to find the answers. But sometimes, the details are too slippery to grab on to.”

“Kind of like when my ex would hurt me,” she hums. “It was sneaky at first. Explained as accidents. Then it builds up.”

“Exactly. Your dad not only used his intuition to figure out this was important. But then he bided his time and collected every detail he could, knowing the guy was likely to shut up once he beat the shit out of him.”

She chokes out a laugh, shuffling the phone around and releasing a grunt, so in my mind, I see her picking her daughter up. “You sound like a decent cop, Detective Malone. You’ll have to understand that, where we’re from and with the life we’ve lived, we rarely come across cops who are good to us. I appreciate how you’ve handled this situation.”

“And I appreciate your father’s decision to help when he could have so easily ignored it. Or lied. Or tried to sell what he knew. I have to hang up in a sec, but before I do, I want you to know my partner and I put in a good word with the warden.”

“A-a good word? What does that mean?”

“I have no clue,” I chuckle. “I doubt my opinion matters much in the real world. But your dad did something really amazing this week, so eventually, when he’s up for parole, there’ll be a letter in his file with my name on it. It might help. It might not. But it can’t hurt, right? He did what a lot of good fathers would do in the same position.”

“Thank you.” Her breath comes out on a puff of emotion. “Truly. Thank you.”

“No problem. If you need anything in the future, you know where to find me. I owe Tarran McDermott a solid.”

“I will.” She swallows, nodding so I hear the movement of her cheek on the phone. “Have a good night, Detective. Talk to you another time.”

“Yeah.” I end our call and ignore every other alert on my screen, then I lock the device and set it on the cushions so I can focus on my wife. She’s warm to the touch, but not one-oh-four. Which means her meds haven’t worn off yet, and though corn chips are hardly a pillar of nutrition, her belly is full.

I count this as a win, so I release her hair and carefully inch back to look down. But when I expect to find her sleeping face, I’m stunned by her watchful eyes. “Hey.” Smiling, I lean in and press a kiss to her forehead. “I thought you were out.”

“Sleepy, but not sleeping.” She yawns. “You were very nice to her.”

“Janelle?” I rest against the cushions and study her red-rimmed eyes. “It was nice of her to call just to say thank you. She was raised by a good dude. His one bad day shouldn’t define their whole lives.”

“Doctor Suitor left me an email earlier.” Lazily, she slowly blinks her eyes open and closed. “Dental records match Danika Smith’s.”

“Yeah?” Check that off my to-do list . “It’s official?”

“Got his signature and everything. You can contact her family tomorrow. Or I can.” She allows her eyes to flutter closed, but her shoulder comes up in a gentle shrug. “Whoever. It’s not outside the scope of my job to make that call, so whatever.”

“I’ll do it, since you still sound like you eat tobacco for breakfast. Progress with the bones today?”

“Yeah. The deer was female, and she’d had babies in the past.” She opens her eyes again and grins. “It’s odd how similar her hips are to a human’s in that sense. I chatted with the thanatologist, since I had spare time and a curiosity to settle.”

“Thanos? Like… Marvel?”

Her nose wrinkles. “Huh?”

“Nothing,” I chuckle. “You called a coroner for animals?”

“Non-human animals,” she clarifies, “since technically, humans are animals, too. I made a new contact and sent over pictures from the dig. All you need to know is that Danika Smith has officially been found, and once your investigation is complete, we can help the family make arrangements for final services. I’ll have Fifi put together a pack for?—”

“You mean Callen?”

Frowning, her eyes flicker between mine. “What?”

“Callen is your new Fifi. Fifi works for the mayor now.”

“Ugh.” She sinks deeper into the couch and groans. “She’s such an asshole for doing that to me.”

Yes, because her career choices are based purely on annoying you .

“You’ll get Callen to put together a pack for the family,” I continue for her. “Which is probably not her job, since I very much doubt it was Fifi’s.”

“Shut up. Whatever. Did you get my emails with the list of experiences the moms and daughters went to?” She tightens her leg and arm and drags herself closer, resting her cheek on the soft gap where my chest and shoulder meet. “Pax sent it this morning. He was pissy because hardly any crossed over.”

“I saw the email.” I stroke her wrist with the tip of my finger and smile when goosebumps sprint along her skin. “Haven’t looked at the list yet. See anything interesting?”

“Not really.” She juts her chin forward and pouts. “But my brain isn’t braining right now, so I’m gonna look again tomorrow and hope for better luck. He sent a bunch of CCTV footage, too. Diane’s case is more than two decades old now, so video from back then is grainy as hell, and there’s not a lot. But as the years go on and technology advances, the footage gets clearer.”

“So your plans for tonight are to break out the popcorn and watch thousands of hours of security footage?”

“I’ll fast forward. Maybe write a description of the people I see. It’s possible the same person will pop up more than once.”

“Detective Gilbert made you his gopher. That’s gotta be weeks of work, and you wanna find a single grain of sand hidden in an entire ocean.” I flash a teasing grin when her eyes narrow to threatening slits. “Stupid me. I thought he liked you.”

“You’re being a jerk.”

“Me? I’m not the one who tricked the great Chief Medical Examiner Mayet into doing the grunt work of a dumb-shit rookie. He punked you, Minnnka. You’ve got egg on your face.”

“That’s such a dumb phrase. Why is there egg? Who put it there? Why egg and not, say, noodles? Or butter or bread or bacon, even? Who decided egg was the go-to for that totally nonsensical phrase?”

“Dunno. But you sound like you’re on the mend.” I pull back and steal my arm before she can grab on and force me to snuggle all evening. She’s awake, which means she’s gonna eat. Eggs on toast, perhaps . “I’m making us some dinner. You wanna watch footage tonight while we eat or save it for tomorrow when your brain is back on?”

She flops to the couch when I vacate my spot, groaning and snagging a cushion to cuddle into. “You wanna be a punk with me, ?” Her voice is sweet and thick, sleepy and vulnerable. “You’d watch the footage with me, wouldn’t you? Even if I was dumb to accept the job.”

“What kind of husband would I be if I left you to look stupid on your own?” Grinning, I circle the couch and make my way to the fridge to see what we have. “We’ll watch an hour tonight, then I’m calling it. Any more than that and our eyes glaze over, anyway.” I take the carton of eggs from beside the Factor packs, then the butter, before shutting the door and heading to the stove. “You catch any new updates from Pax while I was out?”

“First of all.” She pushes up on the couch and peeks over the back with cranky eyes. “I hate it when you say Pax like that. Pax, Pax, Pax. And Min. Your mockery makes me want to smash something.”

And her anger makes me want to lay a juicy kiss right there on her sour face.

She sets her arms on the top of the couch, then rests her chin on her arms. “No new updates. Which isn’t a surprise, really. We’ve done this seventeen times already, and not once have they gotten close to solving it. I’m not even sure why I expect a different outcome this time.”

“Because we’re working it together. Me and you.” I glance across and hold her eyes. “And because the girls deserve better. He gave you nothing today?”

“He was on the phone with the lab a lot. DNA technology has advanced, too, just like the video. He thinks he might’ve caught something with the samples I took from Alana, since she’s the only one who carried his child.”

“And, of course, the break comes from your work.” Pride bubbles in my belly for the woman I chose to spend my life with. But I bring my focus back to my task, snagging a pan from the cupboard and setting it on the stove. “These girls have haunted you for decades. I’m not surprised your efforts will get this over the line.”

“Don’t get too excited,” she grumbles. “Nothing has happened yet. It just so happens my case had extra data to work with.”

“Potato,” I murmur. “Potahto. What did he maybe find today with the lab?”

“A few small things, but nothing that really gets us anywhere. We’ve got DNA samples from the victims—Alana, in this case—and semen from the perpetrator. But something interesting you might not know,” a taunting dimple digs into her cheek, “ya know, since you never went to medical school, is that as a female who bore his child, Alana herself became somewhat of a chimera.”

“You’re losing me.” I crack an egg into the sizzling pan and reach for another. “Doctor words turn me on, but you’ve gotta explain it like I’m five?—”

She huffs. “Like the Greek mythological creature that was part goat, part lion, and part serpent. ”

“Say psych,” I tease, cracking another egg and dropping it in with the first. “She’s part snake?”

“Say psych,” she counters dryly. “You’re not actually this dense, are you?”

Humored, I crack a half dozen eggs into the pan before lifting a fork and mixing them together. “Just keeping you sharp, Chief. I don’t understand the chimera reference.”

“Well, in my doctor-y world, we have what’s called fetal maternal microchimerism, which is the really interesting phenomenon where a child’s DNA passes through the placental wall and becomes a part of the mother. She, herself, becomes a chimera. Part her, part her child. The science has developed at a rapid pace, even in the years since Alana’s case.”

“Did the cells show something different from what you’d expect?”

“Not really.” She rests her cheek on her arm and exhales a long, exhausted sigh. “It’s the kind of thing I find interesting, but won’t help us solve this case until we have a perp to compare the samples to. However, Alana gave us something the others didn’t.”

“You mean, besides the baby?”

“Besides the baby.” She drags her bottom lip between her teeth and watches me with kind eyes. “Whether on purpose, or pure hunger, Alana ate more than paper and cotton during her time in captivity.”

“Yeah?” I glance down at our eggs, my stomach twisting at the thought of a child being so hungry they would choose to eat household textiles. “Tell me she ate his driver’s license and social security number?”

She scoffs, sleepily blinking. “No. She ate hair.”

“Like… from her head?”

She hums out a no , the soft sound crossing the room to nestle in my heart. “Not her own. And better yet, not his either.”

Adrenaline pulses in my veins as I flip the stove off and turn to stare. “Way to bury the lede, Chief. That’s a big fucking deal. So they’ve pulled DNA off the hair and discovered it doesn’t belong to the same person who put a baby inside her?”

“Right. This person isn’t in the system either, but the lab ran STRs to see if the owner of the hair bears a familial link to the owner of the semen. ”

“And?” I grab the lip of the counter in frustration. “Jesus, woman. Speak faster. Are they related?”

She smiles, her cheek smooshing against her hand to lend her a sweeter, more innocent expression she doesn’t normally have when running on all cylinders. “There appears to be a direct link between the samples.”

“Appears?”

“These things take time, and the lab is wary of signing off prematurely. But yeah, appears . Not only that, but there’s no Y chromosome in the second set of data.”

“No…” I frown. “The hair belongs to a female?”

“Uh-huh. There wasn’t a lot to work with. I assumed it was her own hair, so I bagged and tagged and sent it off for testing years ago, but nothing came of it. Now the lab is taking a second look, and this is what they’ve come up with. This female was someone Alana obviously spent significant time with. And that’s…” She sighs again. “That’s all we’ve got so far. Unfortunately, it’s about as helpful as having his DNA from the beginning. Seems like a big break, but unless we have a suspect to compare it to, we’re no better off.”

“We are better off.” I’m losing her. Her eyes grow darker, and her body slackens, so I switch the heat back on and get to work finishing her dinner. I toss a slice of bread in the toaster and mix the eggs. “Before, we had just one guy working alone. Same DNA on every scene, same method, same kills. Now we have a male and a female, who are related in some way, working together. This female knew those little girls didn’t belong to them, which means she is as complicit as he is. You’ve discovered this is not just one person, Mayet. It’s a big deal.”

“In theory.” She yawns. “But until we catch them…”

“Don’t go to sleep yet.” I clap my hands the way I used to when Mia was younger and we needed her to stay awake a little longer. Just ten more minutes. Just long enough to get her home or a meal into her belly. As soon as the toast pops, I slather butter on and scoop eggs on top of that. A sprinkle of salt and I consider her meal complete, so I circle the counter and head back to sit on the couch. “Eat this.” I hold the plate on my lap so she doesn’t send it flying, but I cup her cheek and wait for her eyes to flicker open. “Babe. Have a little, then you can go to bed.”

She licks her lips and looks down at the plate, a small smile curling up when she processes my gift. Then she reaches out and pinches a lump of egg between her fingers. “I feel horrible, because every time I try to imagine our perp, all I can see is fruit-shop Andy.” She rests on the back of the cushions and drops egg onto her tongue to slowly chew. “Aubree said I hear them, too. Like, the dead. She said it’s about intuition and reading what’s presented to us. And sometimes I think she’s right.”

“You think you can read them?”

“I mean…” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t admit it to her face, because she’s always so smug when she’s right. But I’m sick right now, and my brain is more whimsy than science. You’re my husband and you love me no matter what, so yeah, I can admit I sometimes read them. It’s not like a book with words on a page, single-spaced, with footnotes and chapter headings. But I guess I get a feeling . It’s not logical or anything, and I never rely on it. My education is firmly rooted in fact.”

Of course it is. Because Minka Mayet executes her job with data, not emotion.

“But then Aubree came along and said all that stuff…” She swallows and looks up again. “Ya know. She said I can do it too, but I’m too stubborn to acknowledge it. Which, I mean, she’s right. I never would. But she got me thinking about the times I’ve had a feeling about something, and that feeling turned out to be right.”

“You could attribute it to the evidence you’d collected during autopsy. You get a feeling, because you’d gathered data.”

“Right.” She drops her chin forward. “But I have that feeling about Andy. It won’t go away no matter how many times you say it’s impossible, but the man is dead, and everyone who knew him says he was good and decent. That means this feeling I have is not only wrong, but it’s offensive to his memory. I don’t get to judge Andy any more than I could judge Tarran McDermott. Both made mistakes, both hurt people, but they did their time. Or in Tarran’s case, still doing it. Rehabilitation is real. Sort of,” she blushes and selects another chunk of egg. “One could argue McDermott still has work to do, considering what he did to that other guy this week.”

“He had a valid reason,” I chuckle. “I would’ve done the same.”

“It’s not fair to Andy that I keep pointing my finger his way.” Her smile drops away to sadness. “I know it’s not him. I know he didn’t hurt them. But I can’t get him out of my head when I think of Alana and the others.”

“So maybe there’s something there.” I bring the plate up and drop a little egg onto her tongue, since she’s not eating nearly as quickly as I’d like. “That doesn’t mean he’s our suspect. But maybe he was closer to all this than we think.”

“Or maybe my thinker is broken, and working a case while sick was a stupid idea. I’m gonna keep an eye out for him while we’re watching the footage.” Sighing, she nibbles the inside of her cheek. “Not to prove he was there. But to prove he wasn’t.”

“And I’ll watch it with you, so my thinker and your thinker can make thinker babies to ensure we’re doing the job right.” I beam when her eyes track back to mine, her unimpressed stare, and the bone-deep exhaustion sitting right behind that. “One thing we know for sure is it’s not Andy’s DNA being left inside the girls, nor is it his hair that Alana ate.”

“No. That was a woman.” She crushes the heels of her palms against her eyes and groans through her exhaustion. “And whoever she is, she spent time with the girls. She knew what he was doing to them and that they were being held and hurt and starved.” She draws a long breath, her chest growing, before she releases it again and drops her hands. “I’ve spent most of my life hating this faceless, nameless man. But she knew. Which means she is as bad as him. And if she was the one grabbing them and taking them back to him, like a friggin’ hunting trophy, then that makes her worse. It makes her a monster.”