Archer
ARCHER
I make my way back to the George Stanley around five o’clock, because our workday is ending, Minka is fresh with Factor and determination, and Fletch is still MIA.
He’s okay—his periodical, and completely vague, texts prove it—but he’s busy, and I’m getting nowhere with our case as thoughts swirl around inside my mind and yet, answers evade me.
Maybe Naomi wasn’t our target. But maybe she was. And maybe she had no enemies. But rarely do enemies announce themselves. She was expecting a baby, and hoping to carry herself, and Mason, through college so they could have everything: the education, the NBA career, the family, and the happily ever after.
It was all on her shoulders. Which is hardly a life someone might consider enviable. So that motive—jealousy—doesn’t quite stick out for me as plausible. It’s not like someone killed her for money: there was none to be had at the event of her death. She wasn’t killed for gain: there was nothing to gain.
She was a poor girl from a poor family who worked hard and got by. And despite the added complications of bringing a baby into the world, she was intent on continuing her education anyway, and demanding a better future for her and her child.
What the fuck is our motive here?
Frustrated, I step off the curb a block from the George Stanley, then up again after I cross the street. Cars move in my peripherals. Busses, as they go about their commute. Office workers buzz around, like bees in a busy hive. And first responders—cops, paramedics, nurses, and more—head to work, or away. Into the bar conveniently nearby, or away from the city, so they can go home.
Dropping my head, I hunch away from the wind whipping through the tall buildings and cut right when I reach the revolving doors of the George Stanley. I don’t call ahead and give Minka notice that I’m coming for her. I don’t give her a chance to think up an excuse for working herself into the ground.
I simply hop on the next available elevator, only to find Seraphina waiting inside. Her expression jumps with surprise when I turn to face the front and don’t bother hitting the number nine.
She’s already done it.
“Detective Malone.” She glances through the doors, expectation and then acceptance when they close. “You’re without your trusty sidekick today.”
I smile, subtle and hidden, as I keep my eyes on the floor. “He got called out for a personal thing a few hours ago.”
“Oh, yeah?” She wants so badly not to care. And more so, not to be obvious about it. She likes him, but she’d rather burn in hell than admit it. “Personal… is Mia okay?”
“I haven’t heard anything to indicate she’s not.” I glimpse over my shoulder and meet Fifi’s willow green eyes. “He’d have told me if she was sick or hurt. So whatever it is…”
Is probably about Jada , I admit grudgingly. “I’m gonna call him in a minute to check in, since it’s the end of the day and he clocked out early without really communicating what was up.”
“He’s entitled to personal time.” She stands taller. Straighter. Haughty, since that’s her defense mechanism when she’s vulnerable. “People take personal time.”
“Professionally?” I step forward when the doors open and reveal a bustling morgue. I know she’ll follow, so I don’t bother looking back. “Of course he can take time. But personally, he’s my best friend. So he’s gonna tell me what’s going on, or risk my wrath when I catch up with him. Feel free to hang around.” I spot Minka in her office, busily typing something at her computer. Then I glance back at Fifi and find her just a step behind me. “You’re his friend, too. Professionalism aside, as his friends, we deserve to know, so we can be there to help if he needs it.”
“Do you think it’s something serious?” She quickens her steps and blows right past Aubree as I push through Minka’s door. “Detective Malone? Do you think?—”
“I think I’m gonna find out.” I smile as Minka looks up, then I take out my phone and find my best friend’s name, second down in my call log. Hitting dial, I set the call on speaker and place the device on my wife’s desk. “If he ignores me, he’ll regret it.”
“Still haven’t heard from Fletch?” Sitting back in her chair, Minka’s brows furrow. “Nothing?”
“A couple of texts for proof of life. Nothing informative though.”
“Arch?” Fletch answers on the third or fourth ring, city traffic bleating in the background, proving he’s outside and not at home. Or in a hospital or morgue, somewhere else in the city. “Hey. I was just about to call you.”
“Uh huh.” I plop down into the visitor’s chair while Fifi heads to the leather sofa. And of course, Aubree tiptoes through the door to join us. “You’re on speaker, Fletch. And I’m with Mayet. Where are you?” Then I glance at Fifi and take pity on her. “And where’s Mia?”
“She’s with me. Say hi Uncle Arch.”
“Hi Uncle Arch!” Mia chirps happily. “We got soup and hotdogs on sticks!”
Satisfied the little girl is fine, Fifi sits back and exhales what was surely an anxious belly full of air.
“Is anyone else there with you, Arch? Or is it just you and Mayet?”
“Uh…” I could lie, I suppose. Break my best friend’s right to privacy. But that’s not who we are. And he’s holding a massive fucking secret for me. So I answer truthfully. “Me, Mayet, Fifi, and Aubs.”
Silence hangs for a beat. The honk of a car’s horn sounds on Fletch’s end of the call. Then a little girl skipping, punctuated by the sound of a plastic bag whipping in the wind.
“Can you take me off speaker? Please?”
Minka’s eyes are the first I see. Shuttering and disappointed. Then I peek back at the other two, though theirs aren’t quite as important to me.
Picking up the phone and tapping the icon on my screen, I bring the device to my ear. “Done. What’s wrong?”
“Moo? You wanna play in the park for a sec?” A plastic bag exchanges hands, then the whoop of a little girl’s excitement carries in the wind quickly blowing a storm our way.
“Fletch?”
“Who do we know in the narcotics division? Because Nathan Booth is some mid-level player who ordered a handful of his asswipes to kick the shit out of Jada this morning and landed her in the hospital.”
“For fuck’s sake.” I know it’s cruel to those who watch on, observing my body language, but robbed of the information I’m given. But I sit back in my chair and bring my free hand up to pinch the bridge of my nose. “She okay?”
“Broken ribs. Broken collarbone. Broken wrist. A couple of broken fingers. Concussion. Lacerations. And she’ll need a dentist to fix a tooth that was kicked loose. She’s been using meth, Arch, so that detox is gonna be a fuckin’ joy. And now she’s got some mobster who had her belted today because she didn’t have enough money, and she wasn’t putting out for him and a dozen of his closest friends.”
“Jesus Christ.” I massage the bridge of my nose. “Okay. But she’s alive and okay? That’s what matters first.”
“She’s alive. She’s had some kind of come-to-Jesus realization, because she wants to get clean for real this time. And right this second, she’s sleeping on my couch while Moo and I went out to get something for dinner.”
“On your couch?” I sit straight and meet Minka’s stare. Why can’t we read each other’s minds? It would make shit so much easier. “That’s not safe, Fletch.”
“It’s what we’ve got for now. Mia’s with me, and she won’t leave my sight, even to sleep tonight. We’ll have a slumber party in my bed and lock the door. Jada’s sleeping on the couch. And I’ve already put calls into Ridgewood for another six-week program. She’s really trying this time, Arch.” His voice lowers. Gentles. “This might be the one. So I’m gonna do what I need to do, and I’m gonna protect her until my dying breath.”
“That’s the fuckin’ problem,” I snarl. “Your dying breath is an issue for me. Hotel?”
“For her or for me?” he chuckles. “I can’t afford either. I’m just a single dad, working my way through this season of life, paying a nanny, paying for school, paying my rent. I can’t stretch a dollar further than I already have. And no,” he adds, almost as though he knows what my next words would be. “You’re not paying for it.”
“Pride is a foolish man’s downfall.”
“Poetic. Still not interested.”
“Fletch—”
“I’m gonna see her through this, okay? She deserves the chance to get clean, and Mia deserves to have a healthy mom. ”
“You said she got the shit beat out of her. She’s not looking good right now, right? Mia’s seeing that.”
“She’s already seen her. We talked it out when I picked her up from school. I prepared her. I gave her a kid friendly version for why Jada looks the way she looks. And Jada was receptive and warm when they were reunited. It’s not ideal,” he presses. “But it’s happening.”
“Ridgewood?”
“Can get her in in a week. That’s the soonest opening they have.”
“A week is a really long fucking time, Fletch! That means you catch the down . They’re trained for that. You’re not.”
“There is no other option,” he groans. “I won’t put her on the street so that Booth dude sweeps her up again. She doesn’t wanna call her parents. And dropping her in a hotel to be by herself won’t work, either. I’ve paid for the program, Arch. I already sent them the money. So now we wait, and they assured me we’re on a cancellation list in case a room empties sooner.”
Fuck this. Fuck her. Fuck it all.
“It’s not your responsibility,” I lower my voice. “You know that, right? None of this is on you to deal with.”
“Would you turn your back on Minka? Mia, baby. Be careful!” He walks through the wind so pockets of it hit the mouthpiece of his phone and roar in my ear. “If this was you and her,” he presses. He can’t possibly know I look into her eyes now. That I try to juxtapose her face onto Jada’s and imagine our worlds flipped. “If she needed you to save her, would you pack her up and send her away? Or would you clear out your life and do whatever you need to do to make it work?”
“It’s not a fair comparison. She’s not… she doesn’t…” Do drugs. Abuse children. Sleep with other men while she’s married to another. “Fletch, it’s not the same.”
“Right. And you’re damn lucky for finding what you found. I know you’re gonna hold on and do it right. But there’s no way I’m giving up over here.”
“So you’re taking her back? Just like that?”
Fifi pushes up to stand behind me. The soft brush of her skirt suit audible against the smooth leather of the couch.
I don’t look over my shoulder or stop her. But I feel the air change as she opens the door. I feel the tension grow and then dissipate when she steps out.
“I’m not taking her back,” he finally answers, oblivious to what’s happening on my side of the call. “I’m saving her life. I don’t need her to be my wife for me to want to help her. I’d do the same for Aubs or Delicious.”
“So it’s just for this week?” I hold Minka’s stare and give her as much information as I can, without laying things out too obviously. “Then she’s off to Ridgewood, and your home goes back to normal?”
“You’re making her out to be a villain,” he sighs, scratching the stubble on his jaw so the crackle and scrape roll through the line. “I love you too, Malone. I know you’re protecting us. But try not to worry so much. She’s asking to get clean this time. She’s not being forced. I think that’s a really positive sign.”
“Uh huh. You wanna ship Moo to our place for a sleepover tonight? You can focus on Jada. Moo doesn’t have to see the fireworks, in case there are some, and the rest of us get to sleep a little better knowing she’s safe.”
“My daughter will always be safe with me!” he snarls. “Watch the line you tiptoe across. There’s friendship, Arch, and then there’s you being an asshole. I’ll be back on the clock tomorrow at nine. Mia will be in school and Jada will be awake and able to spend a few hours alone. I’m sorry I dipped early today while we’re on an active. I’ll be available in a couple of hours to talk it through if you want.”
As in: Please call me. I need a friend to distract me once my daughter goes to bed.
“I didn’t mean to imply she would be unsafe.” I eat crow and look down at a thread jutting from my jeans. It’s a focal point. Something to concentrate on that doesn’t include the ache in my stomach. “That’s never what I mean, Fletch. I was just trying?—”
“To do the right thing. You’re trying to protect the people who matter. I get it. Because, same. Collate the information you have on Naomi’s case and we can talk it out later.”
“Yeah, well…” I bring my eyes up from the loose thread and focus on Minka’s instead. “I haven’t gotten very far since you left. But I lined up a meeting with a couple of her college professors for tomorrow. We’ve talked to her family. His family. Now it’s time to talk to her school. I’ll call you back around eight and we can chat.” Because I love you, asshole. And I want the best for you . “You got some dinner for yourself too? Or just the girls? Because I can get something sent over if you forgot.”
“I got it.” He lies, so fucking casually to my… ear. “I’m okay. Talk to you in a few.”
He kills our call and leaves me hanging, so all I hear is my own breath and the tick-tick-tick of the clock on the wall .
“Something happened to Jada.” Minka reaches across and switches her computer monitor off. “Something about the hospital. And now she’s at Fletch’s place.”
“And you accidentally implied Mia was unsafe with them,” Aubs adds. “He chewed you out for it. Now you’re both sorry for being jerks.” She pushes off the couch and wanders around to perch her ass on the corner of the desk. “Is there anything we can do to help him?”
“He doesn’t want help right now.” I lower my phone and rest both hands in my lap. “He’s booked her into the rehab clinic, and now he has to wait a week for them to have a bed.” When a new thought hits me, I flip my hand over again and check my screen. Then unlocking it, I search my contacts until I find a name I don’t have a great deal of experience with. But the few interactions we’ve had have been decent. Hitting dial, I bring the device to my ear a second time and wait.
Wait.
Wait.
“This is Inspector Gaines.” His voice is rough and gritty. His attitude, similar, according to my memory. But he’s solid. Always has been. “Why is a homicide detective calling me at the end of shift?”
“Gaines.” I push up to stand, unable to remain seated, and pace toward the windows. “Glad you remember me.”
He laughs. Loud, boisterous, and ballsy. “Remember you? Kid, your father was responsible for three-quarters of my career.” He silences for a beat, then adds, “Heard he’s in the ground now.”
“Yeah. I’m not crying about it. Good to know you’re holding on to your humor about me and my family.”
“Blood ain’t everything. And you’ve stayed on the straight and narrow as far as I’ve seen. Did you need something? Or you just miss me?”
“I was hoping you could give me some information, actually. Nathan Booth. You know that name?”
He whistles in the back of his throat, shaking his head side to side so the sound comes in subtle waves. “Bad news. He’s not your new best friend, is he?”
“No chance. But he’s hurt someone I care about.” And by that, I don’t mean Jada. “He deals in narcotics?”
“He runs a gang over by the bay. Mid-level gangster, the kind who would have reported to folks like your father. He’s not mob, himself. But he reports to, and makes money for, them.”
“Who is he reporting to? Who is he making money for? Because my father is dead, and there is no mafia presence in Copeland.” I mean… besides those times Felix visits, I suppose. “Copeland has been clear for decades.”
“Where there’s a gap in the market,” he taunts, “there will always be an entrepreneurial spirit ready to dive in and fill it. We don’t have names yet, but there’s been movement for years around this city. We’re lining up all his dealers and shakers. But no one has a name to give us.”
“So… he’s a fuckin’ ghost?” Frustrated, I turn to lean against the glass and almost tremble at the cold pane touching the back of my neck. “Someone’s working in our city, but he’s slick and quiet enough that his own stooges don’t know who they’re working for?”
“It’s kinda smart, if you ask me. Lower-level gangbangers are apt to squeal if they can secure a deal. So this dude—we’ve unofficially labeled him Malone 2.0. Hope you don’t mind,” he teases, “He’s lying low. Making deals. Collecting money. But he’s running risk free.”
And so I mentally add, call Felix, to my to-do list.
“It’s not a Malone though, right?” I shouldn’t have to ask that. I should fucking know. But the words slip past my lips uninhibited. “You could tell me. Same as you used to talk about Timothy.”
“Well, if it’s a Malone, we’ve been unable to make the connection. And we’ve tried. Our information simply doesn’t point toward your family, living or dead.”
Good.
Great.
Fucking fantastic.
“So someone else is sliding in and hoping not to get caught.”
“Quite successfully. They’re making money and doing well for themselves. Booth is one of his many dealers and comes with a nasty reputation for aggression. Whoever he hurt, I hope they lived. And if they lived, I hope they have common sense enough to stay away in the future.”
“He hurt a woman. A user.”
“Not surprising. Is this an official line of inquiry, Detective? Or is our discussion to stay hush-hush.”
“As in, has it been reported?” I bring my hand up and scratch the underside of my chin. “She was in the hospital, and word is out Booth was her attacker. I’m gonna assume that means formal statements have been made. I don’t know who is handling it, but I guess maybe this information will filter your way soon enough.”
“Anything you want me to do about it?”
I shrug, long before my mind has time to formulate a response. “I’m not sure what there is to do. Get him off the streets, I guess. But I know that’s easier said than done. I called because I didn’t know who he is or where he stands.”
“And now you do. If you’re friends with that person he hurt, probably keep her quiet. If she gets too noisy, he’s gonna retaliate. Especially if word gets around that formal statements are being made. In the meantime, you could probably do me a favor by calling Felix Malone.”
Immediately, my shoulders tense and my eyes shoot across to Minka. “Why?”
I don’t see him, but fuck, I know he grins. “Like I said, your family has kept me at work a long time. It’s no secret Felix has taken the helm and is steering the New York ship.”
“I would think, if you asked him yourself, he’d assure you the only ship he’s in control of is one that manages legitimate clubs and a stock portfolio over on Wall Street. Pretty sure he’ll soon benefit from the Cannon newspaper empire. All of that enables a man to make an honest living and hang up his shadier hats. Rumor has it the New York Malones are cleaning their houses.”
“Yes, well… Rumors are cute. But you know I work with provable fact. Anything less and the judge smacks me for it. That means I know Felix is still… sailing . Whether you want to acknowledge it or not.”
“I have nothing to do with any of what’s going on in New York. Never have. Never will.”
“Didn’t say you did. Doesn’t mean you can’t make a call. Catch up with your big brother and have a chat. Maybe he knows who is running things over here. Since, according to you, it’s not him.”
“It’s not.” I grind my teeth and hate that after years of keeping my family and work separate, things are melding together. Lines are blurring. And that blur probably began earlier this year when I went home for the first time in sixteen years to watch my old man die and reconnect a few of the severed lines I took a knife to more than a decade ago. “If I happen to talk to him at some point, I’ll ask. But I’m not promising anything.”
“Sounds like we have a mutual understanding, Detective. As always, it’s been surreal.”
I scoff, shaking my head. Because he isn’t wrong. Surreal is the gentlest word I can apply to a mafia king’s kid chatting it up with a narcotics inspector.
“Keep your friend safe, Malone. I doubt she was supposed to survive her situation with Booth. He doesn’t typically do half a job. ”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Inspector. I’ll be in touch.”
Ending my call, and again, dropping my hand and looking at Minka, I exhale. I was coming here to take her home. And instead, I’m only adding to my mental load. “Fuck.”
“Spell it out, Detective.” She sits back in her chair and steeples her fingers. “Don’t make us play the guessing game.”
“Nathan Booth is a dealer, and according to my contact in narcotics, he’s dangerous and mean. Gaines wonders if Felix may be the silent partner working out of Copeland.”
Stunned, Aubree’s brows pinch tight and create a deep river of lines on her forehead. “Felix is a douchebag. But he’s not the kind who’ll keep secrets. In fact,” she sneers, “my understanding of the guy is he prefers to announce his BS to anyone who’ll listen.”
“Wow, Aubs.” Minka looks at her colleague and fakes a smile. “Tell us how you really feel.”
“Oh, I intend to. He’s a self-important, overly-enthusiastic, sex-addicted fiend who thinks he’s funnier than he actually is. He considers himself irresistible to all women, and though he’s shacked up with his girlfriend, I get the distinct feeling he’d still hit on anyone with legs and a heartbeat.”
“Mostly right,” I mumble, rolling my phone in my hands and considering my next move. “He is arrogant and loud, and I’m certain he relies on sex to regulate his emotions.” Pretty sure we all do. But that’s not really a conversation I intend to have with my wife’s second in charge. Instead, I do what I know I have to do. The one task I don’t really want to complete inside this building. I unlock my screen for the third time and hit dial. “Felix is with Christabelle now. He won’t stray, not for the rest of his life.”
“You calling him?” Minka’s tone is gentle, because she knows I need it. Her eyes kind, because she knows my heart thunders out of control. “You’ll ask him?”
“Yeah, I?—”
“Halle-fuckin-lujah! Malone, is that you calling me? Micah!” I hear the thump of a fist against my other brother’s shoulder. “He’s calling us! Is it my birthday?”
I roll my eyes and press my head back against the window. Lord knows, Felix knows how to inflict pain deep in the darkest recesses of my brain.
“You’re so fucking annoying,” I groan. “Why do you have to be so loud?”
“See?” Aubree murmurs. “What did I say about him?”
“Oh, you have an audience?” Felix chuckles. “Must be my lucky day. You wanna come to dinner, Arch? Bring my sister-in-law over to the house so I can see your faces.”
“Your house… in New York?” I firm my lips and count the hours in my head. “It’s, what? Eight o’clock there? And the flight is six hours, assuming we leave right this second. You wanna have dinner at two in the fucking morning?”
“Breakfast, then?” He flashes a wide, arrogant smile. I see it, despite this not being a video call. “Or we can come to you. Time change gets us there around eleven. Late dinner at your place?”
“Or maybe you eat dinner at yours, and I’ll eat dinner at mine. And you stop speaking for a minute so I can get to my point.”
“But the sooner I let you get to your point, the sooner our conversation ends and you hang up. I miss you, Arch. Is it a crime for me to want to see you?”
“Speaking of crimes.” Fuck it, a man in my position has to take any segue offered. “I’ve got something I wanna ask you. And I need the truth.”
“I was busy at the time of the incident you’re inquiring about.”
“Lix—”
“I have CCTV footage to prove I was nowhere near your crime scene, and a receipt for coffee from a local café, thus, busting your accusation wide open. My alibi is tight and our brotherhood remains intact. Does that cover everything?”
“It covers literally nothing, actually.” I draw a deep breath and stop short of exhaling with a whispered fuck alongside it. “There’s some talk over here about a family doing business.”
Like a switch, he turns deadly serious. “In Copeland?”
“Yes, in Copeland. Is it you? The truth,” I remind him. “I need to know, because if it is, then you have the power to fix things. And if it isn’t, then we have a problem on our hands.”
“It’s not me. Malones pulled outta Copeland way back when Dad was running things. He was making moves about twelve years back to reignite that shit.”
“Twelve years ago?”
“Yeah, but by that point, you and Tim had settled in and made a life for yourselves. Dad was gonna smoke you out and cause a ruckus: join us or suffer . But Micah and I were able to shuffle things while he wasn’t looking.”
“You shuffled…” Stunned, I look down at my shoes. “Twelve years ago, he was coming for us, and you stepped in the way? Why?”
“Because we love you, Stupid. And you made a choice not to be here. He was gonna force your hand, so Micah and I did what we do. Now here we are, and you love us too. Who is starting a fire in Copeland now? Because I’m telling you, Arch, I still carry scars from keeping that city clean for my brothers. If someone else is messing that shit up, I’m gonna deal with it. With a fuckin’ flamethrower.”
“It’s really not Malone?” I honestly don’t know what I’d prefer. That it is my brother, doing business in the city I carry a badge in. Or that it’s not him, which means I keep him safe from Gaines’ focus. “You swear?”
“Swear. I’d tell you if it was. Especially if I could make things better for you. What’s going on?”
“Friend of a friend got caught up in a dealer’s shit last night. She ended up in the hospital with enough broken bones to make sure she rattles. She’ll be down a while.”
“ She ? Not Minka, right? Or even the hippie?”
I bring my eyes up and stop on the doctor duo who stare back at me. “Not Minka or Aubs, no. They’re right here with me.”
“Who’s the guy who hurt your friend?”
“Some dude named Nathan Booth. He deals in narcotics and weapons, and according to those who are investigating him, he’s a mean motherfucker.”
“Seems that way. Putting a female in the hospital doesn’t scream nice guy to me. So Booth is dealing for someone else, and that someone else has no name? But that guy with no name is running the streets we technically own? That’s what you’re telling me?”
“In a nutshell. He’s insulated, it seems, and good with his hands. I wondered if he isn’t you, then maybe you know who it might be.”
“I don’t know.” I don’t even have to ask him to promise. I don’t have to question him. He speaks the truth. Of that, I’m certain. “But Micah and I will ask around. Copeland belongs to us, Arch. We’re not running business through that city on purpose. That’s for you. So if some other asshole thinks our absence is an invitation for him to slide in, then I’m gonna deal with it.”
“Be discreet. Collect information. Leave the flamethrower at home.”
He snickers, soft and playful. “We’ll see. So, dinner?”
“Can’t. Busy. How are things?”
“Christabelle’s as beautiful as ever, and her mean streak remains sharp and quick. We’re thinking about a December wedding, but we’ll let you know so you can fly over for it. Tiia’s still healing up after her thing. Which means Micah’s distracted and angry all the time. ”
“Not distracted or angry,” Micah rumbles. “I’m busy keeping your stupid ass alive.”
“See? Angry and mean. But she’s kinda cute, and watching him fuss over her like she’s a little baby bird is fun. Flirting with the good doctor gives a man a thrill. But flirting with Micah’s girl is a whole other thing that keeps my blood pumping.”
“That’s called a death wish.” I drop my free hand into my pocket and grin. Finally. Because Felix is the only man on this planet insane enough to hit on someone else’s girlfriend… when that someone else just so happens to have been raised and trained as a mafia enforcer. Add in the fact that Christabelle will kick his ass too, and he’s simply an adrenaline junky dressed in a ten-thousand-dollar suit. “She’s healing up alright?”
“Can hardly tell she had a bullet in her belly. She’s in the garden a lot,” but then he laughs, “against Micah’s wishes. And she’s working again now.”
“Working? Like?—”
“For the store,” he inserts, before I have to say that other word. “She’s got her eye on something in Italy right now, so she’s trying to convince Micah she can travel alone.”
I scoff. Unlikely . “He doesn’t wanna travel with her?”
“He does. But he’s also obsessed with me, so…”
“For fuck’s sake.” Micah snatches the phone, so the sound of their fumbling hands becomes static in my ear. Finally, he rights the device and snaps out, “She can go to Italy when this shit with Wilkes dies down. We’ve got enemies over here, , and businesses to manage. Christabelle’s father is deteriorating faster than anyone would like, which means the Cannon Daily is about to be in flux, which is shitty timing, considering Cannon’s gilded princess is talking weddings. Add in that Tiia’s know-it-all brother is warning us against being noisy. There’s a lot going on over here. And none of that includes the shit you just dropped in our laps. If Copeland is going to war soon, then I suppose we should be rested and ready for it. Not gallivanting through Italy in search of really expensive shit while Tiia is still tender from her injuries.”
“You’re kinda overwhelmed right now, huh?”
“I’m not overwhelmed! I’m in control of a shitty situation and trying to keep everyone around me alive. That’s not overwhelmed . It’s good planning.”
Felix snags the phone again, sniggering and bringing the device to his ear. “He prefers it when Tiia’s sitting down twenty-three hours a day and not exerting herself. The fact that she’s working again has him a little on edge. Are we done here? ”
“Yeah. Maybe try to find me some answers on the Nathan Booth thing. Don’t kill anyone. And if you do, don’t tell me you did.”
He snorts. “Never do, little brother. Some things are best left unsaid. So, dinner?”
“No.” I drag the phone from my ear and end what I hope is the last call I have to make for the next little while. Then I lower my hands, but draw my eyes up.
“He doesn’t know what’s happening in Copeland,” Minka guesses, “and he’s confirmed it’s not him running gangbangers through the street.”
“And he invited you to dinner,” Aubree adds. “Despite living on the other side of the country.”
I exhale a deep sigh and push off the glass. “It’s not him. He’s gonna look into it. Micah’s stressed out. Felix is still being Felix. And we’re going home.” I stride around the desk and scoop Minka up with my hand under her arm. Then I look for the brown leather bag she carries between home and work every single day. “Your bag?”
“I didn’t bring it today.” She shakes herself free of my grip and turns to push her chair back in, then she pokes Aubree to get her moving, too. “I was distracted with all the Cato, Fletch, and Moo in our apartment for breakfast stuff. But there was nothing I needed in it, anyway. I didn’t take any work home with me.”
“No physical files, that is.” Aubree strides just a step ahead of her boss as the pair makes their way to the rack by the door. “She carries her work, mentally, everywhere she goes.”
“Uh huh.” Minka makes a face and waist for Aubree. “That’s the cross I bear, I suppose. We’ve stalled on the Wallace investigation?”
“Just for a minute.” I follow them across the office and hold the door for them to pass through. Then I let it swing shut at my back and move fast enough to get to the elevator first. “Fletch and I… Or just I, maybe,” I have to admit, “will head over to Copeland U tomorrow. We need an outsider’s perspective on these relationships, because this wasn’t a random attack. Whoever planted that knife was someone Mason and Naomi knew. Someone they possibly considered a friend, or at the very least, someone they’ve associated with on some level.”
When the elevator doors slide open, I place my hand over the sensor out of habit and wait for the pair to step in ahead of me. Minka, in her sleek black, professional attire. And then Aubree, in her puffer jacket that takes up entirely too much space, considering the size of the body beneath all the fabric .
“Naomi possibly—probably—trusted whoever did this to her.”
“It was a woman, right?” Aubree turns at the back of the elevator and studies me as I step in. “We’re all thinking female?”
I let the doors close and hit the button for the lobby floor. “Why do you say it was a woman?”
“Because women are typically known for the sneakier methods,” Minka says. “Poison, usually.”
“This wasn’t poison, of course,” Aubree adds. “But the sneakiness is still there. The attack itself was confrontational and big , but it wasn’t the killer who held the knife.” She screws up her nose. “You know what I mean? Obviously, the killer—Connor—held the knife. But we’re searching for the person who put it in his hands. We’re labeling that person the killer, too.”
“Yes.” I drop my hands into my pockets and study the pair in front of me. “Connor is killer number one. We’re trying to figure out who killer number two is.”
“Which is apt,” Aubree sniggers. “Number two being the poo. Whoever they are, they’re a sneaky, nasty, potentially avoidant narcissist too cowardly to do these things on their own. So they creep in and place a knife in a kid’s hand and hope for an outcome that suits their narrative.”
“Why do you assume narcissist?”
She cocks one hip and ponders for a moment. “I dunno. I mean, this person was seemingly unhappy with their reality. Maybe it’s the Naomi and Mason are together reality. Or the Naomi and Mason are having a baby . Or Naomi and Mason are in college together now . Moving in together. Making a life together. Or maybe Naomi took this other person’s seat in the lecture halls. Whatever the situation is, something changed for our Number Two. A new status quo he or she—probably she—didn’t like. But he or she— probably she —isn’t overt and loud. They’re a follower who likes their life to cater only to them. They probably don’t deal well with change.”
“There’s been a lot of change these last few months since graduation,” Minka continues. Then she looks at her number two—ironic, really—and gently nods. “You’ve been watching too much crime TV?”
“Reading textbooks, actually. I don’t know if you know, but I don’t have a love life, and you guys prefer to be alone every second night. So I have spare time on my hands.”
“You’ve been studying?”
“I caught a little criminology bug since that other case we ran. Ya know, when the abusive husband was murdered?”
“He was a douchebag, too.” Minka looks past me and grins when the doors slide open, but when she steps forward and I don’t move, her brows shoot high. “Uh… wanna let us out?”
“Finish this first.” I hit the close-door button at my back, then the emergency stop when we’re locked in. “Covert narcissist who liked the status quo. Why?”
“Uhh… because he or she— probably she —was comfortable with how things were,” Aubs offers. “Their life was simple. Predictable, even. Naomi and Mason had been together since forever. Their relationship was the status quo. But dropping a baby into the mix definitely changed things.”
“So someone was mad they were pregnant.” I bring my hand up and roll my bottom lip between my fingers. “They didn’t want him to become a dad. Or they didn’t want her to become a mom. Or maybe they didn’t want her studies to be affected by this change, or?—”
“Not the last one,” Minka inserts. “If this was about preserving and saving Naomi’s education, then they wouldn’t have killed her. They might’ve encouraged her to abort. Or consider adoption. Or they might have sneakily fed her a handful of Plan Bs. They might have tried to break her and Mason up sooner, when they realized how serious they were.”
“So it’s possible this person didn’t care about Naomi,” Aubree continues. “Or the baby. This person cared about Mason. Which,” she shrugs, “could bring us back to ‘ Number Two wanted him for herself. ’ But it feels weird, considering the length of their relationship.”
“The relationship wasn’t an issue. The killer didn’t mind they were together. But they sure as hell gave a shit when she got pregnant.”
“I think you’ll find that was the trigger,” Minka finishes. “Not going off to college. Not starting in a new school with a new crowd. Not even the fact Naomi and Mason were sexually active. The baby is our crucial factor here.”
“Babies make or break relationships,” Aubree says. “Typically, when they’re not planned , they either break a couple up, or they solidify what was already beginning. Naomi and Mason could have aborted and slowed things down. They could have prioritized their schooling and sport and, ultimately, their relationship. But they kept the pregnancy instead.”
“Talk to her friends,” Minka insists. “They’re gonna know who this was. Maybe they don’t know that they know. But Number Two didn’t come out of thin air. They have lunch with them. Or study with them. Or live near them. You might have already spoken to the killer and not even realized it.”
“Speaking of psycho friends.” Aubree searches the elevator, though of course, there are no spaces for someone to hide in. “Where’d Fifi go? She took off while you were on the phone with Fletch and never came back.”