Chapter 2
ARCHER
“She’s gonna kill you.” Fletch paces an ugly, unkempt living room, dragging his fingers through his hair and knocking his hat askew because of it. Then he jerks his hat back down again and paces some more. “She’s gonna go postal, Arch. Straight up fucking homicidal.”
“She’s not gonna kill me.” I slide my shirt back on, fastening the buttons one by one, and I definitely don’t speak of how my fingers shake a little, or how my heart thrums achingly out of control. “She won’t even know, so calm the fuck down and get over it.”
“You were shot, dickhead!” He spins and stalks my way, poking my chest right where a bullet hole took a chunk out of my shirt. Then a second bullet hole. A third. “Masslin got eight shots off, and you caught three of them.”
“Not even half.” I fix my buttons all the way to the bottom and pretend my entire torso isn’t on fire. Every fucking muscle I possess, screaming in pain. “And I had a vest on the whole time.”
“You caught more bullets today than you’ve ever received on the job since I’ve known you.”
“No. My vest caught them.” Fuck him. Fuck his worry. Fuck his worry about my wife. “Which is literally why we wear them.”
“Eight shots, Archer! Four went into his sofa. One into the television. And three into you. Kinda tells me you were actin’ a little fucking reckless.”
“Kinda tells me you were hiding behind the fridge and leaving me to do the heavy lifting.”
“Bullshit!” he roars, balling his fists.
“Don’t make me tune you up again, Malone.
I’m still fit for a fight, and you’re pissing me off more and more every day.
You’re actin’ out ‘cos your heart hurts and your marriage sucks, but ya know what? I recall a time, way back when I caught my ex-wife fucking a cop, but that cop wasn’t me.
You said I was running on hate and tempting fate, ‘cos I didn’t mind taking a beating or stepping in front of a gun.
You said I was being reckless, and if I kept it up, you’d give me something new to focus on. ”
“Something new,” I snort, trying, but failing, to make the sound like a laugh. “I was gonna run you down with my truck and put you in the hospital in traction. Busted legs would’ve slowed your bullshit.”
“Exactly! So now it’s you stepping in front of guns.
It’s you disappearing for half the fucking morning, turning your phone off and forcing me to explain to Fabian where the hell my partner was—except, I didn’t know!
So I had to make some shit up and hope it wouldn’t get us both fired.
It’s you taking secret phone calls, and when I ask you about them, you tell me to mind my fucking business. ”
“Because the calls are none of your business.” I pick up my busted vest, knowing I need to bag it and hand it in to Lieutenant Fabian after this.
Along with an explanation for how our knock-warrant for Masslin, the roofying rapist bastard, escalated into a whole-ass gunfight.
“I’m allowed to exist outside of you. I’m allowed to talk to people and it not be about you. ”
“Just fucking talk to her!” His voice crackles on the last word, while behind him, two uniformed officers come to a curious stop.
The instant our eyes meet, they shuffle along and do the thing Fletch can’t; mind their own business.
“You sent her away,” he growls. “You broke this. We’ve already had this discussion, Arch!
You said you had a pet wolf you needed to protect, and then you decided you loved her anyway, even with the wolf thing riding shotgun. ”
“You need to shut the fuck up.” I cast a wary glance back toward the door as Officer Clay tiptoes through.
He does all he can to appear as small as possible.
To not be noticed. But if Clay’s on site, Banks is on site.
And Banks’ face is a face I can’t see today without tearing the whole fucking thing off, so I peel my teeth back and meet Fletch’s glare.
“Stop talking. More importantly, stop bitching about a relationship you’re not even a part of. ”
“I don’t understand this.” He steps away, shaking his head from side to side.
“I don’t agree with it. And worse, I know it’s not you.
You don’t want this, Arch. You would die before giving her up, which means someone else is pulling your strings.
” He knocks his hat back and scrubs his fingers through his hair.
“Either that, or you’ve completely lost all the good sense you were born with.
” He tugs his hat back into place and sneers.
“Pick up the phone and fix it, Malone. Because women like her? They don’t stick around for long. ”
“You think she’ll move on so easily?” I snarl. “Less than a week apart and she’s already planning a fucking dinner with someone else?”
“Nah, dickhead. As in, she’s one of those for-life types.
So if the man she loves doesn’t want her anymore, what do you think she’s gonna do?
” He gestures toward the destroyed couch, the cushion stuffing lying in clumps and behind it, four bullet holes in the wall.
“Probably the same shit you’re doing. But even with all that Malone blood in your veins, I still reckon she’s the one with a mission and enough drive to get it done.
” Growling, he snatches my vest and studies each chink in my armor.
“Three inches up, and one of those rounds was going straight through your voice box. Then what?” He turns and snatches his phone from his pocket.
“You die, she’s out here with enough rage to power an entire city, and… you expect her to survive it?”
“What are you doing?” I take a single step forward. “Who are you calling?”
“Morgue. I wonder if the chief is available for this case?”