Archer #2
I turn at the top of the stairs, not needing to pee, despite just waking up.
Which means I’m dehydrated, too. But I tap on Fletch’s name and bring the phone to my ear, knowing he’ll be awake already, and moving down the stairs—one flight, then another, and then a third—I turn right and head toward the kitchen.
Fletch answers after just one ring. “Hey.”
“Hey. Moo doing okay this morning?”
He hums in the back of his throat, sipping something cool and painting a mental image of him sitting in Tim’s garden, maybe. Relaxing in the shade while his daughter explores. “She slept in bed with me last night. Held my hand for eight straight hours.”
Frowning, I slow my steps and come to an almost stop before the kitchen. “She’s not doing okay?”
“Tired. Anxious. She saw a little girl in distress yesterday, so it makes sense that it would stick with her, even if the girl is okay.” He sips again and reminds me that I’m thirsty, so I continue walking, enter the kitchen, and find myself caught up in Cato’s stare.
His long, trim body bowed over the counter, his elbows on the stone, and his ass parked on a tall stool.
But most surprising of all is the ink littered along his ribs, the beginnings of a design I had no clue he’d started.
Ravens. So many fucking ravens. And a tall, dark, dead tree that shadows his tan flesh and leaves me with a sense of dread tickling my stomach.
“I pulled Ben’s record this morning,” Fletch continues. “Lots of petty crime. Shoplifting. Car theft. Fighting in public, that sort of shit.”
“Not surprised, I guess.” I walk slower, past the fridge and around the dusty countertop that hasn’t been cleaned in a good long while, and though Cato watches me warily, drinking a soda and finger-combing two-inch black locks off his forehead, he remains still and silent, even as I come around and tilt my head to the side.
The tree is not yet finished, but the intricate details have been mapped out.
The extensive root system down below, and the equally extensive branches spreading from the top.
But this tree is void of life. Void of leaves.
Void of anything green or pretty. “Tim’s place is only ten minutes from the Waterfalls,” I murmur, wanting—but stopping myself—from tracing my baby brother’s new ink with the tip of my finger.
Because fuck me, some of the branches are not branches at all.
Some of them are words, and it’s only now, fifteen years after I finished high school, that I regret not paying attention when they taught us Latin.
“You wanna come to the house and bring Ben’s files?
Yesterday kicked my ass, and we’ve done fuck all for this kid’s murder. ”
“I mean… we found a bunch out about his girlfriend,” he counters.
“And that she likes a bad boy, probably because her daddy was the same. We can surmise they were in love, in that desperate, completely obsessive way only a couple of teenagers from opposite sides of the tracks could be in love. We still have Clay’s statement that he heard footsteps and a car fleeing the scene, so even if we’re looking for just one killer, we’re for sure looking for more than one witness.
Witnesses tend to yap eventually, especially when they split up.
” He settles back in his chair, the metallic creak of iron grumbling under his weight.
“That’s not fuck all, considering we only had a half-day yesterday, and ended up at the hospital four separate times. ”
“Come over. Bring Moo, if you wanna. She and Penny can hang here all day in the cool.”
“You don’t mind?”
I scoff. “You could move them in here and I wouldn’t mind.
” I circle away from my brother and head back to the fridge to get that damn water before I forget.
Then, slamming the door, I come around and twist the cap off the bottle.
“I gotta take care of some stuff here first, and Minka’s still asleep.
But come over and we can try to figure this shit out. ”
“Yeah. Okay.” He exhales a heavy, grunting breath—pushing up from his chair—and starts across whatever space he’s in.
The back patio, maybe, where the previous owners created a space for entertaining, but let it grow wild in the last couple of years.
“You wanna go see Uncle Archer’s house, Moo?
They still have that piano in the front room if you wanna play. ”
“Oh! Yes, please, Daddy!”
“See you in a bit.” I bring the phone away from my ear, tapping the screen to kill the call, then I tip my water back and chug half before coming up for air.
“She’s still asleep?” Cato turns his soda can between his fingers and stares at the ring of condensation on the counter. “She okay?”
“She needed to catch up.” I move to the opposite side of the counter and fold, resting my elbows on the stone and matching my brother’s stance. “You doing okay?”
He shrugs. Worse, he doesn’t meet my eyes. “Slept better than at the apartment. My neck doesn’t hurt for the first time in a while.” He sniggers, soft and almost silent. Fake. “Don’t let me get too used to it, or I might struggle to re-adapt to the couch when we go back.”
“It was a big day for you.” He wants to joke, to pretend his world didn’t hurt yesterday.
But I’ve been on the job long enough to know when a guy is struggling with the things he saw.
And fuck, maybe he’s a Malone, and being a Malone means seeing a hell of a lot more, a hell of a lot sooner.
But that doesn’t change the worry pulsing in my chest. “Watching Steve drop like that would’ve been rough.
If you wanna talk about it or whatever…”
Finally, his eyes flicker up to mine. “Steve?”
“Yeah… our landlord. The guy you—”
He snorts. “I know who Steve is, dipshit. I’m not feeling a certain way about him, though.”
“You’re not?”
“Fuck no. He dropped. We made out. Doctor Delicious swung in to save the day, and now that other doctor says he’ll live to talk about it.” He lifts the soda can, then lowers it again, so it rests exactly where it started. “Got in my feelings about Minka thinking I did it on purpose, though.”
“Minka—”
“She cleared it up,” he cuts in. “We’re good again.
But I had a couple of hours there where my brain was saying some shit and hurt my feelings.
So now I’m just…” He exhales, dropping his head and shaking it gently side to side.
“It felt like we had a breakup or some shit. Even though that’s not what happened.
And even if we’re all good now, I’m still a little raw about it. ” He scoffs. “I’m such a pussy.”
“So you’re not worried about Steve?” I straighten and frown.
“A dude literally collapses at your feet, and you’re solely responsible for keeping him alive, not knowing if anyone would come to help.
You didn’t know if we were close, or if we were an hour or two or three away.
You have no medical training, and no fucking obligation to help the guy.
But you did it anyway. But that’s not what’s messing with you? ”
“There was a cutie hosting first-aid classes over at Copeland U a couple of months ago. Blonde with a tight ass and bulky rack.” He fists his chest, like I need help understanding bulky rack.
“She was a total baddie, Arch, and she was happy to flirt. So I took that course, like, six times in a row.” He chokes out a bouncing laugh.
“I was her star pupil, and it’s not like she didn’t know I was there just because I liked watching her bend over that dummy in those little shorts she wore. ”
I roll my eyes and bring my water back to my lips.
“She taught the course because that was her job, and I took the course because it gave me a hard dick every time her tits bounced. We each knew our reasons for being there, and she rewarded me at the end with a killer BJ that nearly took me out.”
“We can skip the details,” I grit out. “I understood way back at there was a cutie hosting first-aid classes.”
He snickers. “So my mind was fresh, and I felt okay helping that old dude. He’s always been nice to me, and he’s always nice to Mayet. She’d be pretty sad if he died, so I did what I had to do.”
“Makes you a good man.”
“Makes me a guy who was more worried about how she would feel if he died than I was about his life. She’s had a rough time this year, especially with that case and those fuckwit documentary makers hanging around.
She works herself to the bone and hurts her own feelings with the things her brain tells her.
I didn’t want her year to get suckier by letting her friend die. ”
“Are you…” I bring my brows closer together, pinching them tight and exhaling a heavy breath. “Are you in love with my wife, Cato?”
“Oh, for sure,” he nods easily. “Absolutely, I am. Not even the love you like family love. It’s the kind where I’d be willing to grow up and be whoever the fuck she wants me to be if it meant keeping her.
The kind where I would kill anyone for hurting her, even my own brother.
The kind that I care if she’s sleeping, since I know she didn’t sleep the night before, and I care that she’s medicated, because I know she’ll die a long, painful death if she doesn’t.
It’s the kind of love where I know, from watching you, how to infuse her medicine, slowly, so she doesn’t get a headache. ”
“Cato—”