Chapter 2
ARCHER
“Welcome back.” Fletch claps my shoulder and circles my desk to his, pulling out his chair and tugging the ball cap off his head as sweat already makes his hair wet.
He wears jeans, like he always does, and an unbuttoned t-shirt over a chest-hugging tank I know he wears purely to torment Seraphina Lewis whenever she’s nearby.
Seraphina, also known as Sera, also known as Fifi when Minka wants to piss her off, is so ridiculously prim and proper. She’s delicate and uptight and won’t dare admit she has a thing for the rough, little-bit-sweaty, single dad homicide detective she loves to loathe.
But she looks at him when he wears certain shirts.
And he looks at her… always.
“Is this summer ever gonna end, or what?” He drops into his chair with a grunt, air whistling from the cushion almost as obnoxiously as if he just let a fart rip.
Then he slaps his hat onto his knee and drops his elbows onto his desk.
“The air in my building is on its last legs, my daughter’s in the habit of waking at two a.m. every single night and dragging herself and three hundred of her favorite Care Bears into my bed, and then she has this thing where she curls into every nook and cranny I own.
I didn’t even realize I had nooks or crannies till I had a daughter!
” He sits back and sends his chair into a squeaking frenzy, bringing his hands up and the heels of his palms to his eyes.
“I get that she’s a baby of trauma, and it’s not like I have a problem with her need for physical contact.
But Jesus, Arch. It’s embarrassing how much we sweat.
I’ve gotta change the sheets every damn day. ”
“Mmhm. Life sure is hard for you, bruh.”
He drops his hands and hits me with a glare.
“I’m considering putting puppy pads under us.
Save me the extra laundry. Now my baby girl’s living the high life, lounging by the pool over at Resort Malone, Cato’s spoiling her rotten, Mary’s stuffing chilled fruit down her throat, Sera drops by at least once a day, but never when I’m there, and Steve’s serving up all the grandpa vibes her own grandparents are too useless to provide. ”
“So, you’re jealous of your own kid?”
“I’m so fuckin’ jealous it makes me sick,” he chuckles, slumping back in his chair and spreading his legs wide. “I wish I knew what generational wealth felt like. I wish my daddy was a crooked, good-for-nothing sack of shit who left me oodles of money and boyhood trauma, too.”
“Really?”
“Mmm. Cos I’ve got the crooked, good-for-nothing sack of shit trauma stuff on lock. But my folks forgot to leave me my money. Now I’m sweating it up in Sauna Fletcher instead of, ya know…”
“Resort Malone.” Amused, I fold my arms and set my feet on top of my desk.
If Lieutenant Fabian comes out and sees me like this, he’ll probably kick my ass.
But I risk it. Just for a few minutes. Just for as long as my best friend needs to cool off and stop sweating through his shirt.
“Have you considered appealing to your landlord and getting a new AC installed?”
He snorts. “Yeah. Same time we chatted about how he keeps driving my rent up, even though the toilet only flushes most of the time. Or when the shower started pushing brown water out. He was totally receptive to my constructive feedback.”
“Sounds like a cool dude. Have you considered moving across to Minka’s building? I heard they’re getting a brand-new HVAC system installed soon.”
“Yeah? Where’d you hear that? Last I checked, that place was an oven too.”
I heard about it when I approved the work order for immediate start. That way, the next time my wife needs a minute to herself in the height of summer, she won’t die of heat exposure.
But I don’t tell him that, because then we’ll circle back to the thing about generational wealth and whatnot.
I shrug. “I saw Apartment 1B was opening up, too.”
“Steve’s place? Dude!” He leans forward. “The old coot didn’t die!”
“No.” Laughing, I lob a pen across my desk to his. “Steve is 1A, stupid. Tenants across the hall are moving out, so if you’re looking for a place…”
“Oh… well…” His brows furrow in consideration. “Maybe. I’ll think about it.”
“Working hard, Detective Malone?” Drake Banks meanders past my desk and slaps my feet until they hit the floor with a jarring thud.
“You’re doing a piss-poor job of convincing me you’re carrying that badge for the right reasons.
” He tugs out his chair and drops into it just fifteen feet from mine.
“Dirty cops come in all shapes and sizes, I guess.”
“Yeah? And then there are bitches like you.” I straighten in my seat and ignore Fletch’s wary stare warming the side of my face.
“DEA washouts, ball-less nobodies with a track record for lazy work and a constant stream of corrupt partners. That makes you the common denominator, Special Agent Fuckface.” I flash a wide smile and meet Officer Clay’s horrified gaze.
“Careful with that one, kid. Drake’s last partner ended up in the loony bin with a broken neck.
Partner before that died. Twice. Not sure why Lieutenant Fabian is punishing you, but you probably should get your affairs in order before it’s too late. ”
“You two better shut the fuck up,” Fletch growls between tight teeth. “Did you forget the get-along shirt thing? Fabian isn’t playing.”
“Eh. If the shirt fits, then I guess I’ll wear it, but I won’t pretend to be friendly with a dude whose only redeeming quality is the girlfriend we all think is sweet as pie.
In fact,” I swing my eyes back to Clay. “Rory’s about your age, right?
Maybe you should ask her out. Save her from a lifetime strapped to this bitch. ”
“Listen here, motherfuck—”
“Detective Malone!”
I wrench my head around and lock eyes with the guy who long ago declared he was sick of my shit. “My office, now.”
“Goddammit, Arch.” Fletch angrily pegs my pen right back. “You just couldn’t shut your mouth, huh?”
Fuckkkkk.
I draw a deep breath and hold the air in my lungs as I push up from my chair, then I cast a feral glare past the smug Special Agent Drake Banks, the bastard who knew my family before I became the man I am today.
The badge who stood by and watched five boys exist in Hell, while he subscribed to the ‘I’m just following orders’ party line most soft-cock Feds enjoy so much.
Straightening my spine and widening my shoulders, I turn toward Lieutenant Fabian’s cramped office and wonder what I’m being called in for today.
Is it because I spent the weekend with the fuckin’ mob?
Is it because of my wife’s recent promotion to one of New York’s top-level organization members, even though she doesn’t want to be?
Maybe he heard about our marital troubles last week, and after a little digging, realized they were because she murdered a motherfucker in cold blood. And I, her loving husband, didn’t get mad about the fact she’s a killer, but because I have an irrational fear she might die.
I drag a hand over my face and march toward possible execution—or prison—but at least I do it with my head held high and a modicum of spine. Unlike Bitch Face Banks back there. “Lieutenant Fabian?” I come to a stop just four feet from his office door and meet his hard stare. “What’s up?”
“In.” He steps to the side and allows me to pass, then, following me in, he pulls the door shut with a condemning click.
“Female vic has been found dead inside her car just outside the city.” He trudges past me, squeezes through the gap between his desk and the wall, then sits and gestures toward the one on my left.
I sit.
“Hikers called it in, then they contaminated your scene by puking an entire week’s worth of dinners all over the place.”
Awesome.
“We don’t have a formal ID yet, but a young woman matching her description was reported missing last night, and the car she’s in is registered to her mother. You’ll formalize her identity today, but in the meantime, I’d say we can safely assume.”
“Yes, sir. Uniforms have secured the scene?”
“Yes. Her vehicle was tucked away just off the main road, not invisible to passersby, but not all that exposed either. The scene’s been taped off, and uniforms are moving traffic along.
Your hikers are already in the back of an ambulance, and flies have made a mess of the vic.
It’s too hot out there for her to sit much longer, so I want you to get moving. ”
“I’m on it.” I shove to my feet and swing toward the door.
“Oh, and Malone? Before you go?”
Fuckkkkkkk.
I wrap my hand around the doorknob and swallow the groan rolling desperately along my throat. Twisting, I find him standing, too, his fists pressed to his desk. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
“You and Detective Banks are to take the lead on this one. Both of you,” he insists through tight lips.
“Work together. Cooperate. Find some common ground, and then find justice for that young woman currently sitting all alone in her car.” He straightens his back and stares deep into my eyes.
“Detective Fletcher and Officer Clay will assist. Use them to your advantage, but if I catch wind you’ve split off into your current partnerships, robbing Officer Clay of the opportunity to witness a copacetic collaboration between experienced detectives, I’ll make a permanent change and force the issue.
” He firms his lips and glares. “Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” I gnash my teeth, rather than tell my superior exactly how I feel. “Understood.”
“Good, go.”
I tear his door open and charge into the bullpen.
My temper sizzles hot, especially when I discover Banks’ arrogant grin, his face turned toward my partner while they chat like old pals.
Clay sits hunched over his desk, tapping away at the computer keyboard, because he’s too damn straitlaced to waste even a second of the department’s time, but as I come closer, his eyes sling up.
Widen.
Flip to Banks.
“Let’s go.”
Fletch jumps up like his seat is made of electricity. Slapping his hat on, he snatches a set of keys and his phone. “We got one?”
“Toddle along, Detective.” Banks turns back to his computer and stifles the chuckle low on his breath. “See if you can do this one without compromising the entire department.”
“Clay.” I clap his shoulder on the way past. “You’re up, too.”
Fletch’s entire body jolts. “What?”
“And Banks,” I grit out. Because I feel Fabian’s stare warming the back of my head. I grab a second set of car keys and don’t stab him with them. “Get up. We’re on this one together.”
“What?” He spins, wide-eyed and staring toward Fabian’s office. “He reassigned us?”
“He assigned all four of us, so get the fuck up and pretend to be a decent human being so he doesn’t rubber-stamp this shit and make it official.
Let’s go.” I slip my phone into my pocket and stalk between dozens of well-worn, thirty-year-old desks, past cops who already sweat, and alleged perps who get off on not answering questions about the crimes they’ve committed.
I keep my head down and my mouth shut as I pass within fifteen feet of Fabian, then I step onto the escalator that cuts straight through the belly of our station and ride it toward the ground floor.
“Arch!” Fletch jogs down half a dozen steps and skids to a stop just a beat behind me, his shoulder crashing against mine, and my grip on the railing is the only damn reason he doesn’t send me toppling forward.
“What the fuck?” he snarls, his words barely above a whisper.
“Don’t break my heart, Malone. He didn’t switch us, did he? ”
“No, but he’s about to if we don’t act right.
” I stare at the bottom of the silver stairs and count my timing, so the instant we’re close enough, I step off and stride across the crappy linoleum landing, through the heavy doors and into the pelting August sun until I swear, this has become the summer that never ends.
I head straight to the cruiser Fletch and I usually use, but as he pulls his keys out and swings the driver’s side door open, I shake my head and move to the other.
His face pales. “Dude—”
“Officer Clay.” I bark his name as soon as he steps through the station doors. “You’re riding with Detective Fletcher. Banks.” I can’t help the way my lips curl into a sneer. “You’re with me.”
“Fuck’s sake.” He nods for Clay to do as he’s told, then he comes around to the passenger side of my cruiser and slips in with an unhappy grunt.
“Follow us out,” I tell Fletch. “I’ll call for an M.E.
en route.” Dropping into the driver’s seat, I ignore Banks’ formidable presence and his broad shoulders that stop just half a foot from mine as I straighten in my seat.
Jamming the key into the ignition barrel, I turn the engine over and pull away from the station, all while dialing Minka one-handed and setting our call on speaker.
“I don’t know what—”
“Don’t fuckin’ speak to me.” I slip into Copeland City traffic and watch in my rear-view mirror as Fletch pulls out behind us.
“Fabian’s done with our bullshit, and I have no interest in this becoming a permanent arrangement, so shut the fuck up, do the job, we gotta show Clay a good time, we’ll solve a murder, then we go back to our lives where I’ll pretend you don’t exist.”
“This is Doctor Emeri speaking.”
“Hey, Aubs.” I flip my lights on and clear a path through thick downtown traffic. “Mayet not available?”
“I mean, she is. She’s right here in front of me. Did you call to chit-chat, or do we have a scene to attend?”
“A scene to attend. Can you grab your things and meet us out there? My lieutenant said flies are already making a meal of our vic, and witnesses have puked everywhere. If we don’t move fast, the heat might melt the skin straight off her bones.”
“Such a pleasant thought. The chief’s nodding at me, so I’d say that’s confirmation we’re on our way.”
“Good. Thanks. I’ll text you the location. See you in a bit.”
“What are you—”
“I said shut the fuck up.” I drive one-handed and check my emails, since Fabian will have sent over the file already, then I tap the map included, forward it to Aubree’s cell, and when I’ve cataloged exactly where we’re going, I lock my phone and settle in for the ten-minute drive.