Chapter Archer
ARCHER
Don’t fucking panic.
Don’t react.
Don’t show her rage, when what you actually feel is bone-deep terror.
And for the love of Christ, don’t be the reason your wife is too scared to tell you anything.
Living like that, being in a relationship built on fear and intimidation, is a little too close to Timothy Malone the Second for me.
So I sit back in Minka’s visitor chair and watch her across the span of her desk.
I bring my foot up and rest it over the opposite knee, and while she floats on relief and whatever pep Jen infused into her medicinal hope-this-works concoction, I watch her eyes. Her coloring. Her lips.
I watch her hands.
Do they fidget?
And her pulse.
Does it race?
My emotions sit dangerously close to the surface, bubbling and barely contained, but I hide them behind a smile that’s convincing enough to fool Minka, at least, but not even close to good enough for Aubree, considering the gentle hand she places on my shoulder as she passes behind my chair.
“Fletch is on his way up.” I bounce my foot.
Bounce, bounce, bounce, and set my phone on my thigh, screen side down.
He and Officer Clay ride the elevator together—his message said so—so I ignore Banks’ sour expression and his constant pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and stare at my wife instead.
What the fuck am I supposed to do if her meds turn on her?
“Figure we could wait the extra minute for him to arrive, so you don’t have to repeat yourself. ”
“Suits me.” She shoots a kind smile across to Special Agent Fuckface. “The air filtration systems are typically very good at drawing odors out of this building, but I think this one’s gonna stick a little while longer.”
“It’s fine.” His nostrils twitch despite his words. “Day in the life of a medical examiner, right?”
I hear the ding of the elevator behind us, then the slap of Fletch’s boots on the floor. Fuck, I’d know the rhythm of his steps anywhere.
“Hey, thanks for w—Woah!” He catches a whiff of the stench in here and skitters back through the doorway, stomping on Officer Clay’s feet in his haste.
“Jaysus, Chief!” He drags his shirt up and covers his mouth and nose, exposing a portion of his stomach, and the busted leather belt barely intact after years of abuse and use.
“Excuse my French, but what the actual fuck is that smell? And why,” hesitantly tiptoeing back in, his eyes land squarely on my wife’s chest, “is there blood on your shirt?”
“Decomp,” Aubree chirps. “The smell, not the blood. Doctor Mayet went dumpster diving today and picked through human remains and week-old food scraps.”
“And I had a bleeding nose,” Minka adds. “Just a standard, every day, non-emergent bleeding nose made worse by the heat.” She lifts her chin in summons. “Come on in, Officer Clay. You stop noticing the smell after a while.”
“O-o-okay.” The poor kid darts across the office and comes to a stop by his daddy, Banks.
“Dumpster diving?” Fletch stalks past me and stares hard at Minka’s face.
Maybe his first panicked thought was ‘who the fuck punched her in the face?’ like mine was.
And if it was, maybe his second thought was ‘are they dead yet, or will I take care of it?’ Grunting in the back of his throat, he tightens his jaw and meets my eyes.
We’ll discuss this later.
Yep. We sure will.
“Don’t you have underlings to climb into the trash for you, Chief?
” He circles away from the desk and heads across to the single leather sofa.
Dropping his weight until the cushion releases a noisy hiss, he sits forward and rests his elbows on his knees.
“We all start at the bottom of the food chain. We get the shitty jobs, the smelly jobs, the not-so-fun jobs. But by the time you earn your detective's shield or,” he gestures her way with a roll of his wrist, “that shiny badge of yours that says chief medical examiner in big, bold letters, that’s when we’ve elevated ourselves to a point of sending the newbs in instead. ”
“Summers keep my team busy. The heat wipes folks out faster than we can keep up, and Doctor Kirk is my most junior member of staff.” Her cheeks glow a beautiful pink that would normally make me happy.
But the pink is pooling blood, and is her pooling blood gonna kill her today?
“He’s already been in a dumpster this month.
I would’ve felt bad making him do it again. ”
“What do we know about Josey Ryan?” Detective Banks, always the fuckin’ annoyance, turns from the window and stands with his shoulders broad. His head high. His jaw tight. “Do you have an update for us, Chief Mayet?”
“Not particularly. Your case has been finalized, pending tox. Though I don’t expect her samples to tell us anything we didn’t already know.
” Sitting forward, she jiggles her computer mouse and stares at the screen for a beat, tapping a key, selecting something with a click.
Then she settles back again and exhales a happy sigh.
“I’ve taken a lot of measurements and come up with a list of blades I think could’ve been used to end Josey’s life. Check your emails.”
All at once, phones ding, emails arrive, and Officer Clay is the only one of us who panics and digs for his device.
I turn my phone over and check my inbox.
“I believe your perp used a three-and-a-half-inch blade and sliced from right to left. No serrated edge, and though we can all assume it had a handle, the handle never touched our DB. I pulled microscopic samples of powdered-metallurgy steel from her wound. However, my research tells me these are run-of-the-mill, twenty-to-fifty-dollar knives from your everywhere hunting and fishing stores.”
“Which’ll make it near impossible to track,” Fletch grunts. “Awesome.”
I lift my phone and turn it so she can see my screen. “None of the photos you sent come with wooden handles.”
“No.”
“How can you know, since you stated the hilt never touched our vic?”
Her lips quiver with a playful smile. “I can’t be completely sure, but I certainly wouldn’t take a porous-handled knife onto a crime scene if I was hoping not to get caught.”
“We also found something that appears to be a dirt-oil mix in Josey’s neck.
” Aubree comes around and perches on the edge of Minka’s desk.
“Transferred from the knife’s blade, since not much else seems to have touched our vic.
” She swings arctic-blue eyes across to Clay.
“What do you think that means, Officer?”
“Uh…” He snaps his spine impossibly straight. “W-well, a brand-new knife would not have those things on it yet. That implies our murder weapon probably spent a little time inside a garage.”
In my peripherals, Drake nods his approval.
He got himself a pup he never wanted, but if he must be stuck with the kid, he’ll make damn sure to teach him.
“Very good, Officer.” Unfolding her legs, Minka pushes to her feet and drops her hands into her coat pockets.
My entire body locks up as I wait, wait, wait, ready to dive forward and catch her if she falls.
“Relax, Detective Malone.” Her lips curl into a smirk that sets my heart at ease…
and on fire, both at the same fucking time.
“We’ve sent samples to the lab for formal analysis, but the evidence suggests your murder weapon was not purchased recently.
Possibly not even this year. Additionally, I maintain that your perp was probably left-handed.
Slicing any other way would’ve felt awkward. ”
Clay shoots a hand high in the air. “Chief? Sorry.”
She wanders around my chair and settles against the back so my head rests between her shoulder blades. It’s a fuckin’ hug, but without being so obvious about it.
“Yes, Officer Clay?”
“How can you know what the perp was feeling when they made the cut?”
“Emotionally? I can’t.”
“But you just said—”
“An awkward cut would be noticeable. Hesitation leads to jagged edges. It leads to more stops and starts. The fact Josey’s was one smooth, consistent slice says your killer was confident, determined, and moved without equivocation.”
“We were hoping you could bring us an update,” Aubree adds. “If you get us a knife, we can tell you for certain if it’s the one your perp used. If you get us their clothes, we can confirm the blood they’re soaked in.”
“We’re teed up to speak to Josey’s last tutoring clients this afternoon.
” I drop my hand over the side of my chair and discreetly stroke Minka’s calf muscle.
The mere act of touching her helps my pulse slow.
Being near her regulates my nervous system.
“Parents are Rhonda and Geoffrey Prim. Seventeen-year-old boy-girl twins, Scott and Tara. Josey tutors both kids and has for the last eight or so months. Both are gearing up to begin their senior year at high school.”
“Seems you’ve gleaned a fair bit of information already.” Minka doesn’t shift so I can see her face, but her fingers, so fucking sneakily, draw a gentle pattern against the back of my neck. “How?”
“I called ahead,” Fletch answers, ignoring the things Minka does to my skin.
“I spoke to the dad, copped a little attitude, since I guess he’s got some of that, ‘don’t interrupt my life with your annoying murder stuff’ energy.
He was happy to talk about his kid, though, and how wonderful he was.
Mrs. Prim finishes work in about half an hour, then they’ll be expecting Detectives Malone and Banks at their front door. ”
“And the death scene?” Aubree questions. “Have you located where she died yet?”
“We have calculated assumptions,” Clay answers.
“No definitive proof just yet, which tells us this crime was contained within the car. Detective Fletcher and I are waiting for the street footage, at which point we’re hoping to narrow in on the window between Josey’s phone switching off and Mr. Carpenter’s arrival at the cinema.
We believe we’ll see her car leave at this time. ”
“Except, Josey won’t be driving.” Minka changes her stroking fingers to circles. To a gentle massage. To a promise she’s alright, even when we both know I suck at not worrying. “Had any luck locating anything between the dump site and town? A bag of bloodied clothes? A knife? Josey’s phone?”
Clay looks at Drake, like maybe his superior will answer, but Drake’s been with me, so Clay gulps and lowers his gaze. “Not yet, Chief. However, investigators believe they’ve found what may be recently disturbed brush. We’re hoping that’s the direction our perp walked.”
“But that’s a popular hiking spot, no? Why assume our killer disturbed the brush when it could’ve easily been another hiker?”
“Dogs.” His cheeks blaze bright red. “Detective Fletcher put in a request to bring the sniffer dogs out. We got a positive result for blood in that area.”
“You found blood?”
“No, Chief. The dogs smell blood. However, we have not located any yet. The scene’s been taped off, and investigators are tightening the grid.”
“Well, let’s hope our perp screwed up, because right now, we have a body, a clear manner of death, but no motive just yet.
” Finally, Minka pushes away from my chair and circles back to hers.
“All I’m hearing is that Josey was a sweet girl who helped kids, maintained a loving long-term relationship with a man who, even after their breakup, still loves her and holds no malice, and kept fantastic grades throughout high school, all so she could dive into our field of criminal investigation.
” She lowers into her seat and meets my eyes.
“She could’ve been our colleague, detectives.
Could’ve been an expert consultant we worked alongside. ”
“And now she’s dead.” Drake moves away from the glass wall and crosses the office. “Our twenty minutes are over, Malone. Get your ass up so we can find a killer. Officer Clay?” He spins at the door. “Push hard on that warrant.”
“Yes, Detective.”
“And follow those dogs until they find something. I want you to call me by the end of the day with an update on both.”
The poor kid gulps. Drops his gaze. Nods. “Yes, Detective.”
“I guess that’s your cue.” A gentle smile curls across Minka’s lips as Drake turns again and strides through her door. He stomps all the way to the elevator and slaps the call button. Slowly, she brings her eyes back to mine. “Should I ask, or…?”
“No.” I push up and brace with my fists on her desk.
Leaning across, I press my lips to hers and hover longer than she’s comfortable.
Because she’s a professional. I cup her face and draw this out, and fuck it, I don’t even release her when a deep growl rolls along her throat.
But at the sound of the elevator dinging outside her office, I pull back with a smile and thrill in her unimpressed glare.
At poor Officer Clay’s tomato-red blush in my peripherals.
At Fletch’s rolling eyes.
“I’m at work, Detective.” And yet, she licks her plump lips. “I thought you understood we don’t do that while I’m on the clock?”
“Eh. Special circumstances call for special exceptions.” And you have blood on your fuckin’ shirt! “Drink lots of water today, Chief. No more coffee. Eat something. Stay with Doctor Emeri at all times, just in case those new meds go on the fritz and try to wipe you out.”
“I hardly require a babysitter.”
“Malone!” Drake barks from the elevator. “Let’s go!”
“Humor me and accept the babysitter. Please.” Turning to Aubs, I wink—she’s all yours now, Doc—then I pass Fletch and clap his shoulder as I go. “Wait for me, Charlie. I’m coming home to you.”
He snorts. “Okay, honey. But I’ve got other offers, so don’t be long.”
I stride through the doorway and turn my walk into a run. “You’re such a dick.” I slap my hand against the elevator door sensor and squeeze through the gap. “For fuck’s sake. Why are you such a bitch?”
“Dunno.” Drake pokes-pokes-pokes the button for the ground floor. “I guess I was just born with it.”