Minka
“These sutures are not dissolvable.” Doctor Springer—Jerry’s kid?—hands me a fact-sheet flyer and a tube of prescription cream. “Which means you have to see your regular treating physician in seven to ten days so you can have them removed.”
I’ll do it myself, kid. Don’t stress.
“I’ll book her in,” Archer grumbles, snagging the cream and folding the flyer twice, three times, four, before slipping both into his pocket. “She’s gonna try to remove them herself. Could you please say, for the record, this is not acceptable?”
“Herself?” His light eyes swing my way. “Yourself, Doctor Mayet?”
“It’s literally in my name.” I press my hand to Archer’s chest and attempt to push him back. “I’ll do it myself and save the trip to this regular physician I don’t have.”
“Doc?” Archer growls. “Say the words.”
“I strongly advise you against removing your own stitches, Doctor Mayet.” Springer gulps, his Adam’s apple bobbing with nerves. “Please.”
“Sure.” I fake a smile and start walking. Archer will catch up eventually. “Aubree can do it, then. Still works out.”
“I’ll get her to a proper doctor.” Archer’s footsteps pound against the linoleum behind me. “Thanks for taking care of her.”
“Apply the cream! I removed a lot of foreign matter from her wound, Detective. I cleaned it as well as I could, but the antibiotic ointment will make sure.”
Archer wraps his hand around my biceps, both slowing me down and holding me up at the same time. “You’re gonna apply the cream and, at the very least, let Aubree remove the stitches.”
“That’s what I said.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and head toward the bank of elevators.
Not even the front doors. “Aubree’s gonna have a baby?
And you think I’m smearing cream on my stitches?
” My stomach rumbles, drawing my hand down in response.
“I forgot to have lunch, and Aubree’s gonna have a baby, and I have stitches, and dammit, Archer, I held a floppy little girl in my arms today, and I performed CPR on a dead guy. All without lunch.”
“Overachiever, like always.” He follows me into the elevator, releasing my arm only long enough to spin and take it again. If he doesn’t, I worry I might fall. “And Aubree’s not having a baby right now. She’s not even pregnant. She’s in discussions, so calm the hell down.”
“I’m not not calm!” But Aubree’s talking babies already! “I’m hungry. And the doctor mummified my knee, so now I’m limping when I don’t actually have to. What floor is Molly on?”
“Molly?” His surprised gaze swings across to mine. “My vic, Molly? Why?”
“Because I want an update on our current case. I already said all that other stuff about lunch and Aubree and a dead dude. I don’t consider it a great favor for you to update me on my case when, as chief medical examiner, I’m entitled to one.” I point toward the buttons. “Which floor?”
“ICU.” He selects a number—not the ICU—then stepping back, he tightens his grip on my arm and leads me out again when the elevator stops on the very next floor up.
The cafeteria. “Food first, Chief. And more water. Then I’ll give you the rest.” He holds me in that magical way only he knows how; firm and unyielding, but not painful.
Not even a little. “Factor normally makes you sleepy. Maybe we should go home and put you to bed, then I’ll give you an update tomorrow. ”
“But I’m not sleepy right now, since I’m in public.
” Yet, I rest against him. I allow him to carry me, because I know it makes him feel better.
“Plus, I took ibuprofen, which means my headache has downgraded to a level one annoyance.” I look up and search his eyes.
“I held a little girl today who is gonna be completely fine. She’ll grow up and be healthy, and everything will be like none of this ever happened.
But if I’d ignored Fifi when she called out, or if she didn’t even find the girl at all, or if we’d waited just five minutes more, she might be laid up in my freezers right now.
And that…” I spy a display fridge full of sandwiches and desserts, and all sorts of treats that make my stomach tingle, so I lead him that way.
“The nearness of this one is sitting with me a little longer than I’d like, that’s all.
There’s a reason I went into the field I did.
There’s comfort in knowing my patients are already gone and they won’t be coming back.
Worrying that a four-year-old’s heart might stop pumping, or her body might seize, sucks, especially when there wasn’t shit all I could do about it.
Is that egg?” I poke the chilled fridge glass and wait for the server to check. “Just plain egg?”
“Wheat bread, butter, egg, and mayonnaise.” She wears a net over gray hair and blue latex gloves. Why do they give the servers blue gloves and the doctors white? “We also have ham and cheese, ma’am. On wheat bread and with butter.”
“I’ll take the egg, please. And a Pepsi.”
“She’ll take two egg sandwiches and water.” Archer grabs his wallet and drops cash on the counter. “Please.”
My lips fall forward in a pout, my brows coming down to sit heavily over my eyes.
But Archer Malone isn’t a man I can argue with when he’s taking care of me.
I’ve learned over the last year that he can bend on almost anything.
But not this. “Water then, I guess.” I snag the first sandwich packet she sets down and tear the plastic open.
Pulling out a triangle, I bite one corner and fill my mouth with creamy egg deliciousness.
“Protein.” I smile up at Archer, knowing mayonnaise sits on my teeth. “Thanks.”
He pockets his wallet and fists the rest of my dinner, juggling everything and still managing to hold my arm for the trek back to the elevator.
“Fletch and I spoke to Molly’s parents earlier.
Can’t tell if they’re good, upstanding people who respect their daughter and the choices she makes, or if they’re closet snobs who couldn’t stand the boyfriend and, just maybe, were the ones holding the gun that popped him off. ”
“If they—one or both—are the shooters, then they shot the daughter they’re so set on protecting, too.”
“Collateral damage.” He leads me into the open elevator and turns us around, before hitting a button and selecting the ICU floor.
“She survived, and they’re plenty tearful and cut up about it, so it’s possible they were aiming for him and got her, too.
” He backs us up and rests against the steel wall.
“Or maybe they’re just scared because, as parents, their daughter had a brush way too close to death.
Clay claims he heard someone running from the scene in one direction, and a car peeling away in the other. That probably rules the parents out.”
I take another bite, groaning over my sandwich. “If you rule them out, where do you look next?”
“Kinda hoping Molly wakes up soon, so she can tell us herself.” He pushes off the wall and refastens his grip around my arm, timing his movements perfectly with our arrival on the ICU floor and the doors sliding open.
“If she knows anything, she’s gonna tell us.
If she doesn’t know who did it, she might still have her suspicions.
And if her dad’s word is anything to go by, it’s entirely possible Ben got himself caught up in something dangerous and caught heat for it.
Even if Molly was never involved, she probably still has an idea. ”
“And canvasing of the scene?” I talk around my food and hitch my dress just a little higher. Stepping on the hem and falling on my face is the icing I don’t want on today. “You turn anything up?”
“Not a single witness. No one we spoke to has any clue who could have been involved, and no one has a suggestion for where we should look.”
“They’re closing ranks and shutting up?”
He shrugs, bringing me around a corner and into a hall where, at the end, Officer Clay stands guard in front of a closed door.
“When people close ranks, they’re usually pretty obvious about it.
They’re not saying they don’t know. They’re saying they’re not telling, and short of waterboarding them, which became a crime as of the third Geneva Convention, there’s not much I can do to make them talk. ”
“But you don’t think that’s what’s happening in this case?” I shove the last of my sandwich into my mouth, noisily chewing around the mass. “Not that they’re refusing to talk, but that no one knows anything?”
“That’s how it looks to me. It was a chaotic, noisy, publicly committed crime, and yet, Fletch and I have got nothing.
” He walks me along the hall and toward a mildly curious Officer Clay, whose eyes flicker down to my dress, then up again.
He wouldn’t dare ask while we’re on the job.
“Officer.” Archer lifts his chin, gesturing to the door. “Update?”
“Ms. Freemon’s parents have stepped out twice since you were last here, Detective.
Once, together, and once each, separately.
Bathroom breaks. Food breaks. Mr. Freemon has taken business calls throughout the afternoon…
all seemed pretty legitimate. Mrs. Freemon made a call to secure care for their two other children. ”
“Has she woken yet?” I tear my sandwich wrapping open and fist the second half, then I take a large, not-very-demure bite. “Even momentarily?”
“Chief Mayet.” He drops his gaze and hides the furious blush spreading across his cheeks. “I believe Ms. Freemon has woken a time or two in the last hour, but only for a few moments each time. Her parents hit the call button at each incidence, but the doctors are yet to speak to her.”
“Good.” I swallow and extend my hand. I draw the poor officer’s eyes and, for a moment, he brings his hand up, like he intends to shake mine. But Archer reads me correctly, placing the bottled water in my palm, and screwing the cap off with easy, smooth movements.