Chapter Minka
MINKA
By the time I wash my entire body in disinfectant and some kind of perfume-laden soap, scrub my hair clean again, shave every appropriate section of my body that isn’t face or head, and slide into a loose-fitting dress to combat the warmth still pulsing from the ground outside, the clock inches toward eight and the sun is almost one with the horizon.
As Archer drives us down the hill, his arm stretched across the back of our chair, his fingers playing with a loose strand of my hair, he simply cruises toward town with a grin and all of the playfulness I remember from the moments in our relationship that aren’t wrapped in stress.
He looks happy. And dammit, he deserves happiness.
“I can feel you staring at me, Chief.” He glances across and smirks. “Let me guess, you’re mentally calculating the size and shape of my skull, assessing its proportions, documenting imperfections, and tracing my ancestral roots back to the pre-dinosaur era… or something.”
Is that what he thinks I do when I’m quiet? “No.” I reach back and take his hand, lifting it over my head, then bringing it down to my lap, all so I can splay his fingers wide and study each thick length. “If I were inclined to assess something, I would examine your hands.”
“My hands?”
“Mmm. Tingling or numbness could indicate nerve damage.”
He coughs out a laugh.
“Grip strength could tell me a lot about your cardiovascular health. If your fingernails were brittle, discolored, or marked with odd lines, I could make assumptions about your circulatory system. If they shook, I’d recommend neurological testing to rule out conditions such as Parkinson's Disease, and if you suffered inflammation, I’d want to discuss your thyroid.
” I flash a wide smile and press a kiss to his knuckles.
“But seeing as how your hands are kinda perfect and strong and do really good things to my body, I’m pleased everything appears to be healthy and functional as it should be. ”
“I’ve never felt safer in my entire life.” He pinches my chin between his fingers and dangerously brings our lips together, despite the fact that the truck is still moving.
It’s quick. It doesn’t even come with tongue. And then he’s gone again, back to being a reasonably safe, mature member of society. “Who needs CAT scans when they could just marry a doctor who memorized all the medical textbooks before she was even fifteen years old?”
I roll my eyes. “Lots of people need CT, Detective. It’s literally how a multitude of diseases are discovered.
The invention of computed tomography was a revolutionary breakthrough, and should you need one someday, I assure you, I’ll tie you to the bed myself.
Also, I didn’t memorize medical textbooks before I was fifteen. ”
“Sixteen, then?”
I glance across and get caught up in his taunting, dancing eyes. “You wanna spar tonight?”
Chuckling, he drags our joined hands across and presses a kiss to my knuckles. “I only ever wanna spar with you. How was your afternoon?”
“Good. Soph’s team is making quick progress with the computer stuff, and she was so busy teasing my stench and the squiggly smelly lines wafting off my shoulders that she forgot to tease me about dinner at Justin’s.”
His perfect green stare melts and warms the side of my face.
“She expects to be done by tomorrow afternoon, but only if her team can stay back late tonight while Doctor Patten is on shift.”
“You’re allowing it?”
“Mmhm. They stayed back late last night, too, and Patten didn’t seem to mind. Preston, the guy she’s got managing most of this, is kinda quiet. He’s respectful, and even when his face reacted to my smell today, he had the good manners not to say anything. Literally not a skill Sophia possesses.”
“Good man,” he laughs. “He knows when to shut his mouth and do the work.”
“My favorite kind of person.” I exhale a happy sigh and look out at Copeland City as lights replace the sun.
Curiosity beats in my blood, and questions march through my mind.
Like, where is he taking me tonight? When did he make the reservation?
Is this something he’s had planned for months, but he kept it a secret, since I obviously have a habit of complaining about social events?
A million thoughts pulse in the back of my skull, but before I get a chance to ask, he cuts a sharp left and brings us into a fast-food drive-thru lane, pulling up behind a two-car lineup.
“Ah…” My brows furrow heavily over my eyes. “Hot dogs and soda?”
“So I lied about our date.” Grinning, he firms his grip around my hand and rolls us slowly forward.
“We have this kid, Scott, who looks kinda good for Josey’s murder, and he’s gonna be in town with his buddies tonight.
I wanna watch him for a bit and see what he’s up to when he thinks no one is paying attention. ”
“What?” I explode, but with laughter instead of rage. Tearing my hand from his, I shove him away when he tries to grab on again. “Come to dinner with me, Minnnnka. It’s our anniversary for the seventy-third time this year. But actually, I’m taking you on a freakin’ stakeout?”
“It sounds worse when you say it like that.” His eyes dance with glee.
With pure, unadulterated happiness, which is basically aloe on my soul after a week that felt like fire.
As the car in front of us leaves, he rolls his truck forward and latches onto my hand again, fighting my resistance and smiling up at the poor kid whose eyes flare wide.
He orders for us, swipes his card, brings us to the next window, and collects our food.
And all the while, not a single red or blue light flashes in our rearview mirror.
It’s like the kids don’t care about my struggles.
“I wanted to spend time with you, Minnnnka.” He places our dinner on the bench seat between us, then he pulls away from the window, out the other side of the drive-thru, and back into moving traffic.
“But this doesn’t have to be all work. I propose we neck a little too, since this is a romantic night and that’s what dates are for, then maybe I’ll use my very healthy, very manly, non-diseased fingers to play with your clit and make you come a little. ”
I snatch my soda from the cup tray. Anything to combat the warmth playing across my face.
“Once that’s all done, I figure we could swing back through another drive-thru so I can buy you some ice cream.”
“Really?”
“Mm. Every respectable man knows no date is complete until he provides his wife with ice cream to soothe her sore throat.” He glances across and reveals a wicked grin. “It’ll be sore cause of all the screaming you’ll do while coming.”
“Sheesh.” My belly jumps and my pulse skips. Because angry, dark, hard Archer Malone is a man to be careful with. But flirty, silly, goofy Archer Malone? He makes my toes curl when I least expect it. “You’ve left me speechless.”
“Yeah?”
“I mean, how could you be so young, and yet, so accomplished in the dating world? So intuitive about the things a woman wants?” I sip my soda and smile around the dumb paper straw.
“I’m glad we already tied the knot, and I have your signature on our wedding certificate, because once all the other ladies hear about these hot dogs and multiple o’s dates you’re tossing around so casually… ”
He exhales a breathy chuckle. “I only have eyes for you, Chief. Forever.”
We drive for another ten minutes after grabbing our food, then Archer cuts the lights and pulls into a vacant parking spot along a road that verges toward industrial.
The street boasts a few houses scattered along it, but there are fewer of those than there are shop fronts.
And though many of those are closed for the night, there’s one about thirty feet ahead with a massive roller door sitting open, a spotlight beaming down on a car on jacks, and a half dozen guys joking and bopping around the engine bay of what might be American muscle… maybe…
I don’t do cars like I do hand health assessments.
Archer cuts the engine and tips his chin toward the noisy crowd. “That one. Red hat, red polo, blue jeans. Six-two, two-twenty-five, bad attitude.”
I unsnap my seatbelt and settle back contentedly, since we’ll probably be here awhile, then I brush the others away from my mind and focus only on Scott Prim. “He looks like a douchebag.”
“Mmhm.” Archer digs a hot dog from the depths of our greasy paper bag and places it carefully on my thigh. “Total douchebag. One of the douchiest, and I know Cato Malone, so…”
“I mean, Cato’s pretttttty douchey, but I feel like he’d be more upfront about killing someone.
” I catch my dinner before it topples to the side, and lick a spot of ketchup from the tip of my finger.
“He has a lot of flaws, but I’d like to think his integrity would ensure honesty about his homicidal ways.
It’s the gentlemanly thing to do.” I slide across the bench seat, moving our things so I don’t have to sit so far away, then leaning against Archer’s side, I study Scott Prim and nibble the end of my hot dog.
“He’s playing around in a garage. Looks comfortable around car engines. ”
“Mmhm.”
“Which could explain the foreign matter we found embedded in Josey’s wound.
” But I narrow my eyes and watch, intrigued, as one of the other guys calls his name and tosses a tool across the top of the hood.
“He caught it with his right hand.” I lift my hotdog higher and wait, intent, until Archer takes a bite.
“I’m not saying with a hundred percent certainty our killer is left-handed, but that’s my professional assumption.
I’ve seen a lot of similar wounds, and to date, I’ve done a pretty good job of guessing correctly. But Scott Prim is right-handed, so—”
He shakes his head and tugs a container of fries from our takeout bag. “Not exclusively.”
“Really? He’s ambidextrous?”