Archer #2
“Basically. I’m not sure she knows who she is now that he’s dead.
Obviously, she’s still her. She’s still the chief M.E.
and she still runs her building with military-style intimidation.
But every now and then, I think she remembers—the case, and then the fact it’s over—and she’s not sure what to do about all that. ”
“These things take time. Kinda like with Jada.” Solemn now, his jaw clenches beneath rippling stubble.
“We split a long time ago, and that took a bunch of getting used to. Now she’s gone, and that’s a whole other getting used to, too.
I was so accustomed to worrying about her that I realized it became a part of my routine. It was a part of my identity.”
“You mean exactly how we all said it was?” I tap his chest with the side of my fist. “Obsessed with being the martyr. Intent on being her savior.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He tosses my hand off and looks down at his bloody belly.
“Jada was wrapped up in most of my core memories. Kinda like that case was most of Mayet’s.
We can’t always control these things, which means we become their victims. And sometimes, we’re dragged behind that bullshit like we’re tied to a runaway horse.
It’s a ride not so easily escaped, even if we have all the support in the world swearing they’ll help us.
” Hesitating, he nibbles on the inside of his cheek.
“She’s doing okay, though, right? She’s sleeping and eating and all that stuff? ”
“Yeah.” I flick the left indicator on and bring us around a corner. “She’s eating and sleeping and healing. Now she’s learning how to use up the excess energy in ways that aren’t super toxic.”
“Like pretending to be an emoji face and shooting herself in the head?”
I laugh. “Yeah, like that.” It doesn’t take long to cross the city.
Traffic is light since school is in, and it’s past lunch, but not too near the end of the day.
Which means ten minutes after leaving our crime scene, I swing the car into the George Stanley driveway and down into the undercover parking garage beneath.
“I wanna drop something in with the lab here.”
“I wanted a shower,” he grumbles, tugging the sun visor down and checking himself in the mirror. Fuck knows why. His beloved Seraphina Lewis quit this place ages ago. “We could’ve gone to the station first and logged our evidence.”
“Or we could come here, do our illegal shit before Lieutenant Fabian asks questions, and then head to the station.” I kill the engine and snap his sun visor up till it hits the ceiling with a slam.
Then I grin and push my door open. “You still look pretty, Charlie. And I promise not to let anyone lock you in a fridge.”
“You’re still a fuckwit.” He climbs out of his side and follows me all the way to the elevator doors, and then slaps the call button, stepping back and looking me up and down. “Elton was a better friend than you ever have been. He was ready to stand up for me today.”
“Till he saw my knife and realized it was your life or his.” I step through the opening elevator doors and turn back to face the front, selecting Mayet’s floor with easy familiarity.
“The moment he understood the price, he was outta there. I, on the other hand, have always stayed put when shit got dangerous. In fact, I recall you lying on the ground in a dark alleyway at the end of last year. Bullet in your thigh. Life flashing before your eyes. I saved your life.”
“Mayet saved my life.” He takes a step back when the elevator slows on the ground floor. Someone ruined our straight shot to Minka. “Since we’re being all matter of fact,” he drawls. “Maybe I should bed your wife. She seems more my type anyway.”
The doors open to reveal a beautiful, office-chic Seraphina Lewis, whose eyes narrow at the incriminating words bouncing from steel wall to steel wall. But then those same eyes widen with panic, her breath exploding on a gasp as she shoots straight in and shoves my partner to the wall.
It could be kinda sexy, take-charge, go-get-em, especially when she tears his shirt up. But her frantic breath and fussing hands say otherwise. “What the hell happened, Charlie?” She wipes his stomach, searching for his wound. “You need to go to the hospital!”
“Aww, Fifi. He’s okay.” I lazily fold my arms and cross my feet at the ankles, because we still have a ride before we reach my girl. “That’s pig’s blood, and the only wounds he suffered today were to his ego.”
Furious, she grabs his jaw and whips his head around to study the grazing my knuckles left behind.
“Well, that’s real,” I amend sheepishly. “He got socked in the face by an exceptionally skilled fighter. It was an excellent jab, really.”
“What the hell is going on, Charlie?”
“The blood on my shirt is fake.” He circles her wrist with his fingers. Fuck knows he doesn’t have to. He simply wants to. “The bruise on my jaw is real because this motherfucker,” he hooks a thumb in my direction, “doesn’t know how to put on a show without being violent.”
“You hit him?” She pins me with a glare. “Why did you hit him?”
“The city paid me good money to.” Much like Elton did earlier, I lift both hands in surrender. “It was work, so calm the hell down before someone mistakes this,” I gesture her way, “for affection. If I didn’t know better, I’d wonder if you had a crush on my best friend.”
Middle-school mockery. Effective, even in adulthood.
Instantly, she drops her hands and weaves her fingers together, turning her back to my partner, who shoots a fiery look my way.
Then, she broadens her shoulders and shakes her hair back.
Business as usual . “It baffles me, honestly, that the city pays you anything. Considering you spend all your time screwing around inside this building.”
“I suppose the same could be said for you. The city pays you to work at the mayor’s office, and yet…”
The very second the doors open on Minka’s floor, Fifi takes off like a shot, long dancer legs, high heels, and way too much pride for any one woman to carry.
And for every step she takes, Fletch’s eyes follow.
But I catch sight of my wife hating life in front of her computer.
Her head in her hands, and five—count them, five —discarded coffee mugs littering her desk.
I lower my gaze and start forward, fully intending to waltz straight into her office and sweep her up for a late lunch, but Fletch’s arm comes across faster than my distracted brain can process. His fist slams into my solar plexus, and his fiery eyes burn my flesh.
Stunned, I bring my gaze up.
“I would surely appreciate it if you didn’t make shit harder for me.” Frustrated, he palms the side of my face and shoves. “Jesus, Malone.”
“What?” Laughing, I push off the wall and follow him out of the elevator. “I was pointing out that her concern was endearing.”
“Not helpful!”
“What the hell happened to you?” Aubree bounds up and knocks her desk forward an inch or two, hissing from the pain of her thighs hitting the solid wood.
Which, of course, alerts her boss, which brings Minka to her feet.
Hell, the whole fucking floor of techs poke their heads through doorways to gawk at the bloody and bruised Detective Fletcher.
Striding around her desk, Aubree blows straight past Fifi and smacks her hand to Fletch’s belly, exactly how Fifi did it— not so sexy anymore —and pulling his shirt up, she studies the mess with far more calm than the woman before her.
That’s the difference between a woman who cares and a doctor who cares.
The latter can assess a wound faster and with less panic.
She tears his shirt higher, exposing his chest and jerking him around so she gets a view of his back, too. Then she spins him again and grabs his face.
Dammit, they keep coming back to his face.
“You’re unharmed,” she growls. “Mostly. Hard day today?”
“Hard life, mostly.” He brushes her hands off and rolls his eyes when Fifi detours to the coffee room.
Anything to look disinterested . But Minka steps through her office door, curious eyes and a slow study as she looks him up and down.
Pensive, she holds the door open and meets my gaze. Because fuck it, I’m here for her.
I start around the other two and head into her office, but instead of leaving her to hold the door, I wrap my hand around the side of her neck and bring her with me, buying us just a few seconds of alone before they follow.
“You’ve had way too much caffeine today, Chief.
” I walk her all the way to her desk, knowing— and hating —that her office consists of glass walls, which means I don’t get to touch as much as I’d like.
I don’t even get to make out with her, though that’s my God-given right.
It says so on our marriage certificates. Both of them.
“Stress or boredom?”
“Both.” She turns her face into my wrist. Just for a second.
Just a single beat of my heart. Her lips press to my skin, her smile settles over the top of my pulse, and then it’s gone, our fleeting moment disintegrating as the door opens and the other two stride in.
Circling to buy herself space, Minka wanders to the other side of her desk.
But she gestures for me to sit in her visitor chair.
Her manners have improved since the first time she and I stood in this office.
“Do I even want to know why Detective Fletcher is bloodied but uninjured?” She sits forward and searches her coffee mugs for something to drink. “What happened?”
“ Obviously , Detective Fuckwit over here had unresolved anger to work through,” Fletch snarls. “He took advantage of our undercover op to exact this unprovoked revenge. I’m seriously considering a formal complaint just as soon as we get back to the station.”