Minka
Iwake with a start, bright sunlight streaming through the windows of a room I don’t know, in a bed I’ve never slept in before, in a house that smells of moss and fresh water.
Voices travel upstairs, Cato’s and Mia’s whoops of delight, and Archer’s soft rumbling, a sound I could recognize from a million miles away.
My mouth is dry, and my lips, chapped. My stomach rolls, and my head thumps with a dull ache.
All pretty normal after a day from hell.
Unfortunately for me, I’m not so lucky that I get to forget all the shit from yesterday.
I swallow and attempt to lubricate my throat, glancing one way in hopes Archer might’ve left water and a pain pill for me to take—because that’s who he is, thoughtful and kind—but I come up empty, so I look right and pray I’ll find the goods on the other side.
Only, I stop on a bright blue pair of eyes instead, a penetrating stare beating against my skull.
“Argh!” I scramble along the mattress and skitter away from my visitor and her pink-streaked hair. Her playful grin. Her dancing eyes. “Jesus, Emeri! What the hell is wrong with you?”
Obnoxiously relaxed, she turns and lays down beside me, crossing her ankles and tucking one hand beneath her head.
She looks up at the ceiling, nibbling on her plump bottom lip, and with her free hand, she plays with the hem of her shirt and the two inches of exposed belly her position has left her with.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, Chief. Got to bed late, just like you.
But then I woke up to something kinda special.
” She tilts her head sideways, beaming. “The special thing we don’t explicitly describe, since even though you’re my friend, you’re also my boss, and blurring lines is bad. ”
“But being in my bed isn’t setting those lines on fire?” I push up onto my butt and press my back against the headboard, dragging the sheet with me since, it turns out, I’m in nothing but my panties. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Visiting.” She lifts one leg, pointing her toes to the sky, and twists her ankle.
Because the sunlight filters in through our windows and plays off the glittering chain circling her ankle.
“Archer told Fletch to come over to talk murder, and he told him to bring Mia and Penny, too. And since they were at our house—”
“Mansion.”
“House,” she presses firmly. “My regular-sized, humble home amongst the trees and pretty things. Since they were coming over, and since Ben is technically my case as well, I figured I’d tag along.”
“And Tim?”
“Downstairs.” She drops her foot and smirks, dirty and teasing. “He’s good at that.”
I swing out with a furious arc of my arm and hammer-fist her hip.
“No hitsies!” She catches my hand and twists away before I can swing again. “No, boss! That’s a lawsuit if I ever saw one.”
“You’re not even downstairs where the discussions are taking place, Doctor Emeri.” I tear my arm from her grip and fix my sheet in place. “Your reasoning has come undone.”
“My reasoning remains solid, but since you were still up here, I figured there’d be no harm in coming up and getting you.”
“Watching me sleep.” I snarl. “Ya creep.”
“You appear significantly kinder when you’re unconscious.” She lays on her back again, releasing a gentle sigh. “It’s so weird how looks can be deceiving, when anyone who knows you awake knows you’re not kind at all.”
I narrow my eyes and consider kicking her. But my knee aches, and I’m kinda hungry.
“Have you asked Ben who shot him yet?” I fold my arms, stiffly tucking the sheet against my chest and fisting the end in case Emeri decides to get sassy. “You could just ask and save us all this trouble.”
“Tried.” Instead of biting at my temper, she merely studies her nails.
“He’s not telling. It’s honestly kinda weird, like he’s throwing up shields.
But that’s how it goes sometimes. I wouldn’t mind taking a swing at Molly if we get a chance.
She’s more creative. More expressive. I’d bet she’s a giant, open book.
She might’ve seen who it was before she was out. ”
“So go.” I gesture toward… the window. “Get the hell out of my room and touch her. Solve this case and save us all a bunch of time.”
“You’re extra cranky this morning, huh?” She unsnaps a button on the side of her cargo skirt—the kind that shows extra thigh, but comes with extra pockets for all those extensive carrying needs—and taking out a sucker, she offers it and a sparkling smile. “Sugar?”
I whip my hand forward and snatch her gift, tearing the wrapper off before Archer uses his super hearing powers and tries to take my candy away.
Shoving it between my lips, I look toward one of several doors this room boasts.
One leads into the hall, another, into a walk-in closet.
A third—into the massive bathroom with a full-sized bath, a walk-through shower, and most important of all… a faucet.
If I could simply hobble in there and turn my head upside down, I could drink straight from the pipes and hope, eventually, I catch enough liquid to replenish what I lost yesterday.
“Thirsty?” So helpful, so sweet, Aubree bounds off the bed and strides to the sitting area portion of the room—single chairs, a coffee table, a television built into the wall, and, when she opens a low cupboard, she reveals a mini-fridge and a half dozen bottles of water.
“Archer told me you’d want some.” She grabs a bottle and slams the door shut again.
“He also said he stocked the fridge, and even if you don’t ask for it, I should force it down your throat.
” Meandering back, she cracks the lid and sits on the very edge of my mattress, not so far from my bandaged knee hidden beneath a slate gray sheet.
“Here.” She forces the bottle into my hand and peels the sheet up at the side, allowing me my dignity while still getting a peek at my wrapped wound.
“How does it feel?” She doesn’t unravel the bandaging.
But she places her palm directly over top of my kneecap, gently pressing down and firmly running the pad of her thumb along the side. “Can you walk?”
“Of course. I’m not an invalid.”
Feel like one, though.
Pouting, I bring the water up and test the cold liquid on my tongue.
Just a little at first. Just a taste. But then I tip the whole thing back and drink until my lungs protest and my stomach sloshes.
I drink until I can’t hold my breath anymore, and only then do I drag the bottle away and inhale a replenishing breath.
“Jesus, Aubree. There are people out there dying. There has to be.” I wipe my mouth and look out the window, though all I see are trees.
“I have a safe home and people looking out for me, making sure I eat and drink. I work in an air-conditioned office, and it’s not like my job is particularly physical. ”
“Except when we’re lifting bodies,” she counters, massaging the side of my leg. “You tell me what other job means lifting men twice our size, and he ain’t even alive to help. There’s a reason they call it deadweight.”
“My point being, I’m young and fit and healthy, and I still feel like a walking corpse this morning.
There are thousands of Steves and Theos out there, and they don’t have an air-conditioned house on the hills and a mini fridge in their bedroom.
” I drop my head back, gently hitting it on the wall, and release a long, noisy exhale.
“Our fridges are going to be especially full over the next few days.” I close my eyes and let her do her thing with her magic hands.
I don’t mention it, and neither does she.
But I let her heal, because I’d rather that than limp a single minute longer than necessary. “Is the power back on in town?”
“Yeah.” She brings her second hand into the mix, working both sides of my knee. “Heard it came on around three o’clock this morning, but they expect it might conk out again later today. There’s just too much demand on the grid, and it’s too hot outside to keep up.”
“So I’ll spend my time at the George Stanley.
” A yawn grabs hold of me, lazily traipsing through my chest and out until moisture sits in my eyes.
Good sign: I’m not dehydrated. Peeling my eyes open, I stare up at the ornate ceiling Timothy Malone the Second thought to have installed, with gold trim framing the widest edges and creating a 3-D appearance, like the ceiling sinks in at the middle, even if it technically doesn’t.
It’s a visual delight, a puzzle he might’ve worked on solving while lying in bed and not torturing other human beings. “Heard anything from the hospital?”
“I called while we were driving here.” She slides her left hand along my leg, all the way to my ankle, and presses her thumb against my Achilles.
“I spoke to Officer Clay first, since I figured he’d be easiest to grill.
” Grinning, she peeks up from beneath long lashes.
“He clocked out somewhere around midnight and stumbled home to sleep, but he went right back to the hospital at eight this morning.”
“Eight?” I search the room for a clock. “What time is it?”
“Right now? It’s nearly ten.” Predicting me, she pins my leg down and stops me from bounding off the bed. “Ten is fine, Chief. Stay.”
“I should have been doing rounds an hour ago, Aubree! I should have—”
“Pretty sure Doctor Raquel is quite happy playing chief for the day. She lined them up and swung your ruler around, and like the good little soldiers they are, they reported on their cases, and she took notes. Those notes are in our email inboxes.”
“Aubree—”
“So, Officer Clay has been at the hospital for nearly two hours. He’s assigned himself as Molly’s guard until Archer or Fletch tell him differently.”
“And his CO is okay with that? He’s been on this case for about thirty hours already. Does he not have to go back to regular duty now that the case has transferred to homicide?”
She digs her knuckles into my calf, annoyingly painful, but her grip is solid, refusing me room to pull away. “He’s taken leave, which he’s entitled to do, considering he lost Ben the other night. The union makes it so he can take time and not be punished for it.”
“But he’s not actually taking time off. He’s at the hospital and guarding Molly’s door.”
“Kid likes to be thorough.” She inches her hand along the back of my leg and up to my thigh. “So he said how Molly’s parents stayed all night with their daughter, but it was uneventful. Doctors are happy with her progress, and it seems she’s past the worst of it.”
“Is she talking?”
“About the shooting?” She inches her hand higher, higher… inappropriately high. I squeak and try to skitter away, only to stop again when she locks my leg down. “Grow up, Chief. I’m not gonna fondle your foofaa.”
“My foofaa?!”
She giggles. “Relax. I’m trying to help you.
And no, Molly isn’t talking about the shooting as far as Clay’s heard.
He’s sticking close, but short of posting himself inside her room and staring her in the eyes while she’s trying to rest, there’s only so much he can do.
He said she’s had a visitor this morning. ”
“Yeah?” I drop my head back and squeeze my eyes closed. Because if I open them and look at my best friend’s hand disappearing beneath the sheet the way it does, I’ll get weird about it. “Who?”
“Her best friend. High school girl. She was mousy, he said. Shy and scared.”
“Her bestie got shot, and chances are, she was friends with Ben, too. Mourning him and worrying about Molly. That’d make most seventeen-year-old girls mousy.”
“Exactly. He said the girls cried and chatted for a bit. Nothing particularly out of the ordinary happened. Dad left for a little bit, went and got their other two children from Grandma’s house.”
“His mother, or hers?”
“Hers. Sibs were weepy and anxious. Big sis is in the hospital after she got shot, so, again…”
“Expected.”
“Mmhm.” She brings her hand around to the front of my thigh and massages the vastus medialis—the muscle crucial for knee extension and function.
So maybe she knows what she’s doing. I guess.
“Clay checked on Steve, too.” She waits for my eyes, her lips curling up on one side.
“He’s doing okay. Stable. Doctor Cleary’s back on shift now, too, and she told Clay—since she knew he was relaying information to us—that she’s looking to wake Steve around lunchtime.
Figured you’d want to be nearby when that happens, so… ”
“Thanks.” I draw a long breath, filling my lungs. Then I release it again and drop my chin forward, resting it on my chest. “I do. I’d like to be there for that.”
“And since you’ve slept in till ten, you’re all set for another day of dress fittings.”
Panic lances through my blood, adrenaline flooding right after. “What?”
She brings her hands out from under my sheet. “Kidding. Lori told us not to come back after she saw what we did to the original dresses.”
“We were saving lives!”
She pushes off my bed and wanders to one of the sitting chairs, only to snag a backpack hidden where I couldn’t see it.
She tosses the bag, satisfied when it lands on the end of my bed with a muffled thump.
“She’s got our measurements, so she’s busy putting something new together.
We’ll pick them up on the morning of the wedding. Also, I brought you some clothes.”
Curious, I hold my sheet up with one hand and reach forward with the other, dragging the bag closer and peeling the zipper open to peek inside. “Your clothes? Did you pack me a rainbow mini skirt and ass-kicker boots?”
She rolls her eyes. “Your shirt—the one I stole that first time I stayed at your place. And my black pants. They’re stretchy, so they’ll fit in all the right places.
You’ve got your own shoes from yesterday, so reuse your underwear, or go wild.
” She walks to the fridge and sweeps up a second bottle of water, then she turns and tosses it to the bed, grinning when her aim remains perfect.
“Have a shower, get dressed, then come downstairs. We have a murder to solve, Watson, and you’re slowing us down. ”
“We don’t, actually. We’re medical examiners, Doctor Emeri.
Not police. And besides, you’re technically on leave this week.
Remember?” I drag the sheet clean off the bed and carefully wrap it around my torso.
Gingerly rising to my feet, I hiss at the pain radiating up through my legs and into the muscles at the backs of my thighs.
But my knee…
Surprised, I meet Aubree’s smug eyes and frown. “Doesn’t hurt.”
“Because I’m amazing.” She strides to the bedroom door and swings it open. “Hurry down so we can get started. Not working, I’ve decided, is for crazy people who don’t mind peeling their skin off when they’re bored.”