Archer
“He’s okay, right?” Felix has never been one to stress out loud.
He carried a lot of that on the inside, moving through life with a fast smile and sharp, cutting words.
He shouldered the weight of the world—the weight of being the Tim of our family when Tim left—and did so without breaking a sweat.
But hearing about Cato and Steve is enough to chew through my phone battery.
“So he was at the apartment while you and Mayet were working, and when you got back, he was saving that dude’s life? ”
I snag Minka’s hand and pull her to a stop, dragging her out of the way of moving hospital traffic and a bed on wheels that’ll mow her down if she doesn’t move. Switching ears, I press my phone to the other and spy Fletch slowing just ten feet up the hall, his honeycomb eyes swinging back to mine.
We’ve got things to do. People to see. But Felix won’t be brushed aside.
“Yes, he was home while Minka and I were working. Power cut out to the city, and Steve was already struggling when we left, so Minka told Cato to keep an eye on the situation.”
“She called it,” he breathes. “She knew he was going down.”
“She worried he would. Now she’s mad she was right.
” I lean into her space and kiss her cheek, because she knows I’m talking about her.
“Turns out Steve dropped just a minute or so before we got home. Thankfully, Cato was with him when he did. He was checking on the old man at the exact moment his heart gave out.”
“He probably would have died if not for Cato.” Minka snatches my phone and presses it to her ear.
“Oxygen stopped flowing to his heart, which means it stopped flowing to his brain. If he had been alone, he likely wouldn’t have made it, and even if he did, he’d probably be in a vegetative state. Cato’s a hero.”
“My baby brother?” Felix’s voice trembles with emotion. His breath shakes along the line. “He’s a good kid. You doing okay, Doctor Cutie? Heard you had a hell of a day, too.”
“I’m fine.” She’s too formal, too uncomfortable on the wrong side of sympathy. Her brows pinch tight, a deep line digging between both. “Just another day at the office. Christabelle healing?”
“Hmm.” Pleasure rolls along his throat and tickles the air on our side of the country.
“She’s doing amazing. Making milk like a pro, handling the baby like she’s been doing it her whole life, and she looks pretty the whole fuckin’ time.
Zora’s still got that rash on her butt I told you about, but Mary gave us cream that seems to be helping. No thanks to you.”
“No thanks to me!? I was busy! I had a hell of a day, remember?”
He chuckles, taunting and content. “I was kidding. We’ll see you in a few days. You ready to hold your baby niece again? She’s been asking for you.”
“She’s a month old,” Minka drawls. “She’s not asking for anyone except her mother. And no, I’m good. I don’t hold babies.”
“You already held Zora. In fact, you were the first person on the entire planet who did.” He sits back in his chair, lazily crossing one leg over the other.
I can’t see, obviously. But I know. Just like I know his fingers twitch with the memory of holding a cigarette.
An old habit he still thinks about. “There’s some kind of magic that happens when a baby is born, Delicious.
She was held inside her mother, and then she was held by you. That creates a special bond.”
“That implies almost every baby in the world has a special bond with the doctor or nurse who delivered them.” She purses her lips and meets my eyes. “I’m not buying what you’re selling, Malone. We’re working now, so I’m hanging up—”
“Wait.” He shoves up in his chair, the heavy frame grunting under his weight. “Minka? You still there?”
She sighs. “Mmhmm.”
“Thanks for helping him yesterday. Cato,” he clarifies. “He might not have said so out loud, but he would’ve been freaking, and you’re his touchstone, whether you like it or not.”
She scoffs.
“I appreciate you delivering my baby. I appreciate you loving Arch. And I appreciate you looking out for Cato. It’s not often I meet someone who matters so much. Where we come from, we don’t rely on anyone except our own.”
“Sure thing. You done?”
“Uh…” He drags the word out, humming and obnoxious. Then, “Yup. I’m done. See you on Friday. We’re staying at your apartment.”
“You absolutely are no—”
I snag the phone and bring it to my ear. “You can stay at the house. The apartment is already too fuckin’ small, and the heat is killing us.”
“So you’ll stay at the house too,” he counters. “Excellent plan. Check in on Cato and make sure he’s doing okay. I’ll call him in a bit, too.”
“Yep.” I pull the phone away and kill our call before he can make my day worse, then slipping the device into my pocket and meeting Minka’s eyes, I flash a wide smile. “He means well.”
“We’re not cramming eight people into our apartment again, Archer. No way. I’m too damn tired and sweaty to deal with that nonsense on the eve of more dress fittings.”
I grab her hand and tug her away from the wall. “We’ll discuss the details later. We’re on a deadline, and our crime scene is cold at this point. If we don’t figure something out soon, we’ll have to tell the lieutenant we fumbled the hell out of this case.”
“I have no clue why you don’t just move into the house already.
” Fletch shakes his head. “You have a whole ass mansion up on the hills with all the space you need, an appropriate heating and cooling system, a pool just off the back door, and enough floors, you could have a dozen guests and not even notice them there.”
“You wanna move in instead?” Minka takes my hand, tangling our fingers together. “The house technically belongs to Malone, but I’m married to him, which means I get a say, right? I henceforth transfer my portion of ownership to you, Charlie Fletcher. Do with it what you will.”
He rolls his eyes. “Only the truly spoiled would give half a house away.”
“Can we focus, please?” We stride around the last corner of the ICU hall before Molly’s door. In front of it, Officer Clay straightens his spine and stares us down. Before closing the last thirty feet, I bring Minka to a stop. “Fletch?”
He spins on his heels, lifting his brows. Then he latches onto an unusually quiet Aubree and pulls her back. “Yeah?”
“She’s our key witness. She’s the only witness. She has the answers we need, but—”
“She’s grieving,” Aubree murmurs. “And injured. And a minor.”
“She has what we need,” I grit out. “At some point, we have to take the kiddie gloves off and apply a little pressure. There’s a killer on our streets, and they’re laughing all the way to the bank.”
“Maybe she’s afraid to talk,” Minka inserts. “If she tells us who did it, they might come back to finish what they started.”
“They’ll assume she snitched, whether she does or not. It’s in her best interest to tell us what she knows, even if she’s crying and even if her father says she’s too tired or not ready.”
“Can’t you just…” Minka wrinkles her nose and peeks across at Aubree. “Touch her? Ask her?”
“Dude!”
“I know,” she groans. “We can’t rely on it, and I know we can’t tell a judge, Aubree said so. But how do you have this gift and not want to use it?”
“It doesn’t work the way you think it works,” Aubrey grumbles.
“She’s not Google, where I can tap on her arm and ask her anything.
She’s not a book I can open to any page and read a play-by-play of what happened that night.
She’s a human being who may show me something.
She may be open to that sort of thing. But I feel feelings, Mayet.
I see her wants. Her desires. Her path.” She tightens her teeth, leaning closer.
“I suspect all I’ll see is pain and grief and longing.
Not John Smith did it. He lives at one-two-three John Smith Street.
” She turns and continues toward Clay. “Stop trying to use me, or I’ll predict your untimely, painful, sugar-loaded death like I did Soph’s. ”
Snorting, Minka tugs her hand from mine and hobble-jogs to catch up to her friend. “That’s really messing with her.”
“She needs to learn boundaries. She pushed, pushed, pushed, and now she knows what happens.”
“John Smith living on John Smith Street would be handy, though.” Fletch falls into step beside me. “Checkmate has a Soph, and Soph has the Google brain. We have Aubree, and she feels feelings.”
“We also have us,” I drawl. “Ya know, the regular detectives with detective skills who have solved many a crime without a Soph and without an Aubree. Turns out, these things can be investigated without the bells and whistles.”
“You’re gonna look so dumb when our perp’s name turns out to be John Smith, though.” His lips quirk up on the side. But then he straightens his expression as we approach Clay.
“Detectives.” The young officer looks at the ladies. “Doctors.”
“Officer Clay.” Fletch tilts his chin. “Anything new to report?”
“Ms. Freemon is awake and talking. She still requires pain medication, and that medication makes her sleepy sometimes, but she’s been experiencing longer spells of time awake.
She has visitors: her mom is in there. Her dad took her siblings away so they could have lunch.
Her friend is also back. She’s been here for about half an hour. ”
“Name?” I ask. “If you have it.”
“Victoria Baylor. She goes by Tori. They share a bunch of classes together at school, and have been friends since elementary.”
“Tori,” I repeat, picturing the redhead from Molly’s social media posts. “Same age. Both artists. Both are heading to Copeland U next year. She have an adult in there with her?”
“Besides Mrs. Freemon?” He shakes his head. “No, Detective. She came alone.”
“We’re not supposed to question her without rep,” Fletch grumbles under his breath. “Best friends know shit though, don’t they?” He looks to Aubree and Minka. “Best friends gossip and tell their secrets.”