Minka #2
And when he realizes his mistake, Clay whips his arm back, dropping his gaze to hide the furious blush digging below the collar of his shirt.
Poor guy.
“Ms. Freemon’s vitals are okay so far? No infection? She’s not vomiting blood or anything?”
“I-I don’t think so,” he stammers. “No one has flagged anything that I know about.”
“Good.” I look up at Archer and take another bite. “You can have the other sandwich if you want. This one’s touching the edges already. You wanna head in?”
“I suggest you finish your dinner first, Chief.” He shakes his head, his lips quirking with the ghost of a smirk. “You’re already walking in there kinda messed up. Having mayo in your teeth might push them over the edge.”
“I’m so sorry.” Clay leans forward, inching into our space. “I have to know. What is…” He looks me up and down. “What’s going on?”
“I was supposed to go to prom with my high school boyfriend, but Archer found out I was two-timing him and ended it. Poor kid.” I look down at the floor and sigh. “Had his whole life ahead of him, and this is how it all came undone.”
“She was trying on dresses for Doctor Emeri’s wedding.
” Archer rolls his eyes in my peripherals, squeezing my arm.
“Power died, and a car accident occurred right outside the dress shop. Which is entirely expected, since my life is a constant stream of chaos and bullshit, and, as I’ve come to realize, my wife is almost always involved in some way.
Chief Mayet saved a little girl’s life, but she tore up her dress and her knees in the process. Now she’s eating before she falls.”
I hook a thumb in his direction. “Basically that. Are you coming to Doctor Emeri’s wedding, Officer?”
“Uh… I’m…” Panicked, he looks to Archer. “I don’t—”
“She’s not as scary as she looks.” He warms the side of my face with a look that speaks of exhaustion—mild amusement, too, I’m certain—then as I toss the last of my sandwich into my mouth, he guides my water-holding hand up and forces me to make my dinner soggy.
“She’s exceptionally frank. Literal. Unless she’s feeling playful, at which point, her entire personality revolves around sarcasm.
If you can figure out which she is at any given time—rigidly literal, or full of shit—you’ll be better equipped to navigate whatever she spouts off.
Open up.” He grabs my jaw and drags my mouth open.
In response, I stick my tongue forward and make the ahhhhh sound.
Satisfied, he swings his gaze back to Officer Clay. “Did you receive an invitation to Doctor Emeri’s wedding?”
“Y-yes, sir. I did.”
“Are you coming to the wedding?”
“I had RSVP’d and accepted the invitation, sir. I-is that okay?”
I choke out a goofy laugh and pass my water back to my husband.
“You’re so worried about being nice to everyone, Officer.
And I’m more concerned with not speaking to anyone at all.
If they put us together and mash things around a little bit, they might make a regular, socially passable human being.
” I meet Archer’s eyes. “Can we go in now?”
“You’re really not hungry anymore?” He holds the second sandwich between us. “You promise?”
“Promise. I’ll keep the water, but I’m done eating.” I snatch the packet and offer it to Officer Clay. “I bet you haven’t eaten in a while.”
“N-no, Chief. I haven’t.”
“Providence works in mysterious ways.” I glance down at my disaster of a dress and brush my hands over the filthy fabric, like I could somehow wipe away the last few hours of bullshit and repair the tears.
Or better yet, conjure my clothes, the outfit I left in the dressing room inside Lori’s shop.
“You should go in first, Detective. Me walking in like this is bound to confuse the Freemons.”
“Probably should have gone home to bed,” he grumbles. But at least he steps around Clay and taps his knuckles on the door. “We could have come back tomorrow to do this.”
“The sooner you catch her awake, the sooner you can get a killer off the street.” I meet Clay’s guarded eyes and smirk.
“Enjoy your dinner, Officer. Make sure you have a colleague relieve you soon. You must be exhausted.” I snag the loop at the back of Archer’s jeans, and grab the front of my dress to avoid stumbling on the long fabric, then I follow him into the room in silence.
It’s not surprising the Freemons surround their daughter, or that they peek this way.
And if I’m being entirely honest, it’s not even unexpected that their eyes swing past Archer and stop on me, wide and wary and not entirely impressed by what was, a few hours ago, a pretty dress.
But it’s a stark reminder that I spent a long time in the fiery heat today, sweating through my outfit and melting the skin clean off my knees.
“Sorry to interrupt you again,” Archer murmurs, his movements slow and calm. Non-threatening. And he says nothing of my finger latched to his pants. “Detective M—”
“Malone,” Mr. Freemon nods. He looks me up and down, a deep line forming between his brows. If nothing, I’ve provided the man a moment of reprieve. A vacation away from his torturous reality. “Should I ask, or…?”
“This is Chief Medical Examiner Minka Mayet.” He gently brings me forward so we stand shoulder to shoulder. “She’s had a day,” he chuckles. “But she’s also the M.E. attached to this case, and she was inside the hospital when I was on my way up here, so—”
“Medical examiners are for dead people.” Mrs. Freemon hovers closer to her daughter. Protective. Like I’m the reaper himself, come to take her away. “I don’t understand what—”
“I examined Benjamin Saxon.” I shake my shoulders back and reclaim my professional front, even if, inside, my head pounds and my mood dances between delirium and derision.
“I was on scene last night, and I’ll be attached to this case throughout processing and all the way to prosecution.
I’m also his wife.” I tilt my head in Archer’s direction.
“Which may help explain my presence a little more.”
“Oh…” She releases a heavy breath, puffing her cheeks and shrinking her chest. Then sinking into her chair again, she reaffirms her grip on Molly’s hand. “Okay. Alright.”
“Prosecution, Chief Mayet?” Mr. Freemon leans forward, perching his elbow on the bed and using the tip of his pointer finger to draw lines along his daughter’s arm. “Trial?”
“This is a homicide case,” Archer cuts in. “Benjamin Saxon is dead, and it wasn’t by his own hand. Which means at some point, once my partner and I figure this out, there will be arrests and a shooter will be removed from the streets.” He lifts his chin, gesturing toward Molly. “How is she?”
“Doctors say she’s doing as well as can be expected.
” Sniffling, Mrs. Freemon brushes mid-length hair away from her face.
“They may have to take her back in for surgery in a day or two, depending on how things go. But so far, she’s responding well and their…
” She swallows, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth. “All the tests say she’s healing.”
“She’s breathing on her own.” I study Molly’s face, a little swollen from fluid retention, and with a single gash above her brow. But other than that, she remains unmarked. None the worse for wear, despite her run-in with guns and a dead boyfriend. “That’s a good sign.”
“They had the breathing tube in there earlier.” Mrs. Freemon looks up at Archer. “When you were here. But she woke up a little while ago and started choking. She was fighting it, so they took it away.”
“She’s strong.” I offer each parent a smile, small and encouraging. Probing but discreet. “Did she say much when she was awake?”
“She didn’t talk at all.” Mr. Freemon licks his lips, his jaw gritting beneath tight muscle.
“She was crying when she woke, choking on the tube. So we called the doctor, and they pulled the stuff out. But then they gave her pain relief, and she nodded off again. Then she woke about an hour later, crying again.”
“We told her she was safe,” Mrs. Freemon murmurs, her voice crackling and weak.
“We told her she was in the hospital and everything was okay. I didn’t…
” Hesitating, she shakes her head. “I didn’t tell her about Ben yet.
She doesn’t need to know.” She swipes fresh tears from her cheeks.
“She doesn’t need that extra stress right now. ”
“You did the right thing.” I mourn the days of charts hanging at the end of hospital beds.
A patient’s history, right there for anyone with a set of eyes to peek.
Now, all we get is a whiteboard with her name, her blood type, and her surgeon’s name.
But then again… “I see one of Molly’s surgeons was Doctor Cleary.
” I angle fractionally to the right and tap my shoulder to Archer’s.
His old flame. His former lover. Well, not really.
But a mild grudge is hard to forget. “She’s very good. Molly’s in excellent hands.”
“We met her a little while ago.” Mr. Freemon changes his finger lines to circles. “She seemed on top of things. Like she knew what she was talking about.”
“I’m sorry.” Mrs. Freemon sits forward again and stares down at my leg. “Are you wearing a bandage?”
I peek down at the split in fabric and the stark white bandage wrapped around my knee. “Uh… yeah.” I breathe out a soft snicker. “I am. There was a car accident and—”
She gasps. “You were in a car accident?”
“No, I witnessed a car accident. Then I tried to help, since it’s my duty. Sort of.”
“She did help,” Archer cuts in. “She saved a little girl’s life, and worked on a man suffering a heart attack for quite a long time until paramedics arrived.”
“But you’re a medical examiner?” the woman presses. “Right?”
“I still attended medical school and did my rounds in general surgery. Some of my peers now work in hospitals, helping the living. I went a different way, because I want to help the dead.”
“It’s nice that you helped those people today.” Mrs. Freemon draws Molly’s hand up, pressing her palm to her face. “They were very lucky to have a doctor around, any kind of doctor, in their time of need. I’m sorry you got hurt, too.”
“Oh, it’s okay.” I brush my hands over my dress and down, though there’s no way of making this mess better, short of burning it. “I didn’t really need a bandage, but the doctor in the ER was being overly cautious.”
“Mom?”
Molly’s eyes roll beneath her eyelids, her heart rate monitor pulsing faster and heavier. Mrs. Freemon jumps back in a frenzy of movement, shoving to her feet and standing over her daughter. “Molly? Honey?”
“Mom?” Tears squeeze onto Molly’s temples, tumbling over smooth skin and down until they’re lost in her hair.
“I’m here, baby. Mommy’s here.”
“You’re okay, Mols.” Mr. Freemon stands, too, gripping his daughter’s hand. “We’re both here, and you’re safe.”
“Where’s…” She presses her lips together for the B. For Benjamin. But her breath catches, and her monitors spike in response. Pain makes her hiss, a whimper and an explosive exhale gushing from the depths of her throat. “Where’s B—”
“Ben’s in the hospital too, baby.” Her mother lies. Blatantly, boldly. But it ends with Molly’s eyes flickering open, and Mrs. Freemon’s breath stalling. “Oh my gosh, baby. Hi. I see you.”
“Ben…”
“He’s around.” Mr. Freemon squeezes Molly’s hand. “You just need to focus on you right now, Sweetpea. Everything else is going to be okay.”
“Are you in pain, Molly?” I inch forward, earning Archer’s glower and a wary glance from both parents.
Not the doctor for the dead! But I catch Molly’s gaze—fearful, and then confused—and for the moment it takes for her mind to process my ridiculous outfit, her pulse slows and her machines quieten.
“You’re in the hospital and you’ve had surgery. Do you need pain relief?”
“A-are you my doctor?”
Mr. Freemon laughs. It’s desperate and high-pitched. “She’s a doctor, Sweetpea. But she’s not yours. No chance in hell.”
“I’m a doctor.” I rest my hand over her blanketed foot. “But I’m not yours, no. I’d be happy to call yours if you want me to.”
“My whole body hurts.” Her eyes burn with an ache I’m not oblivious to.
Her lips, glowing white, while her cheeks fight to turn red.
I’m not sure how much blood she lost last night, and I have no clue how much they put back in her during surgery, but it’s clear she has less now than she did this time yesterday.
“My back and my…” She digs her head backwards into her pillow, clamping her eyes shut. “Where’s Ben?”
“Molly?” Archer steps forward, meeting me shoulder-to-shoulder once more. But he doesn’t touch her feet the way I do. He doesn’t take her hands like her parents do. “My name is Detective Archer Malone, Molly. I’m sorry to tell you—”
“Please don’t,” Mrs. Freemon sobs. “Please, not yet.”
“It’s important.” Archer tilts his head to the side, catching Molly’s eyes in the gap between her crowding parents. She’s stronger than they think. More determined than they want her to be. “I’m a homicide detective, Molly. Do you know what that means?”
“Homicide?” Her voice crackles with a deep ache. “Homicide means—”
Mrs. Freemon wails, loud and piercing, right by her daughter’s ear.
“It means Ben is dead.” Archer takes out his badge and holds it in her line of vision, waiting for her to scan the shield. For her mind to read the numbers and process the implication behind them. “Ben was shot last night, in the same incident where you were harmed.”
“Dead?” Fat, flowing tears trickle onto her cheeks. “Ben’s dead?”
Archer nods, solemn and steady. “He didn’t make it.”
Her jaw trembles, shaking violently until her teeth chatter.
“If you’re feeling up to it, it would be really helpful if you could answer a few questions for me.
” Archer sets my water on the end of her bed, taking out a recording device instead, followed by his little notebook and pen.
“I know you’re in pain, Molly. And I know you’re scared and sad.
But do you think I could ask you a couple of questions? ”
“Can’t you come back another time?” Growling, Mr. Freemon brushes his daughter’s hair off her face. “This isn’t the right time.”
“Molly?” Archer searches her eyes. He pays attention only to her. “Please? It’s really important we do everything we can. The faster we work, the more likely we’ll find whoever did this to Ben.”
“I don’t…” She turns her face away, escaping her mother’s swiping hand and the tissue she wields. “I’m so tired. Ben…?”
“She’s too tired.” Grant straightens his spine and turns, from fearful to fiery. He summons new strength and firms his jaw, then he grabs the remote attached to Molly’s bed and mashes the call button. “You’ll have to come back another time, Detective.”
“But Molly—”
“Come back tomorrow, Detective. My daughter needs rest.”