Chapter 16 ARCHER
ARCHER
“She’s pretty pissed at me.” Fletch reclines at his desk, his feet on top, and works hard with his tongue as he attempts to dislodge a seed or some shit from between his teeth.
“Like, not ‘Charlie said really horrible, abusive things to me’ pissed. But definitely the kind of pissed that ends with silent treatment and the stink eye. She thinks I was being rude when I sent her and Mia away. And then she, oh so casually, accused me of sending her away so I could party and mack on some other random chick without my daughter witnessing it.”
I stare down at my phone, the black screen horrifyingly bare, and turn the device on my desk. I spin it in a circle. Circle. Circle.
“Claiming that I’m with someone else is not something an uninterested woman says, right?
She thinks I’m using her as free childcare while I’m out here fucking every broad I cross paths with.
And I couldn’t even tell her the truth of the matter, considering it's…” He stares up at the watermarked ceiling, huffing a frustrated breath into the already hot air.
“It’s not shareable. And not sharing only makes her think she was right all along.
Which is making her angrier and angrier, when I technically didn’t do anything wrong. ”
Circle. Circle. Circle.
Call her? Call Felix? Call Cordoza himself?
“Uninterested women don’t pout about who a guy is sleeping with, right?
It’s not like Penny plays Twenty Questions every time I get home.
Aubree and Minka aren’t scowling when I don’t reply to their texts.
” He drops his chin and meets my eyes. “Well… that’s not fair.
Sera doesn’t hit me with twenty questions.
Ever. Usually just one or two, and she doesn’t believe whatever answer I give her, anyway.
I wish I had unanswered texts in my inbox, but she never fuckin’ sends any. ”
I should call her office. Get an update.
She promised she’d contact me if there were any issues.
But it’s hard to call your husband if you’re already dead or incapacitated.
“Archer!” Fletch drops his feet and slams his desk against mine, closing the single-inch gap between them with a loud boom. “I’m spilling my guts and whining about Sera—again. And you can’t even give a desperate man the luxury of listening to him bitch—again.”
“Shut up. I’m preoccupied.” I rest my elbows on my desk and stare down at my silent phone. “She’s at work and I’m…”
Not okay with it.
Not fucking comfortable.
Scared to my bones.
“Cordoza’s still in the city.” I groan. “He’s not leaving until he gets the answers he’s looking for.
And Minka’s sharing her office with fuck knows who.
The only reason I haven’t torn a wall down yet is because, historically, Cordoza has been good to us.
And technically, he likes her. It’s me he has a problem with. ”
The fact that I don’t want to escalate an already tense situation is why my ass is still fused to this chair.
“Felix still here?” Exhaling, Fletch leans back in his chair and eyes me across both desks. “He was supposed to fly back yesterday, but things have changed, so…”
“He’s still here.” I chew on my lip and spin, spin, spin my phone. “He’s not leaving till Cordoza does. I should call her, right?” I snatch up my phone and tap the screen. “Just to make sure everything’s okay.”
“Probably should call Tim and Aubree, too.” He steeples his fingers, resting the tips beneath his chin. “But what do I know?”
“Minka doesn’t wanna ruin Aubree’s week off, and calling them will achieve nothing except Tim stressing the fuck out.
He’ll toss Aubs over his shoulder and lock her away wherever he deems safe, and that’ll piss her off, which is hardly a good way to start your marriage.
He can’t fix this, and he can’t change it.
He can’t tell Cordoza to fuck off, and if he tries, he’ll really fuck up his marriage when he ends up dead.
If he dies, Aubree will murder Cordoza. It’s not a good idea to invite either of them in. ”
“They’re gonna be pissed when they find out they were excluded.” He tilts to the side and digs his phone out of his pocket. Turning the device my way, he shows me… nothing. “Tell me to text Sera.”
“What?”
“Better yet, give me a reason to text her. Like, you have a question or something. That way I can text her but say it’s for you.”
“I’m not giving you an excuse to text her!”
“Dude. You don’t even care about my love life.”
“You don’t have a love life. You have a five-year-old daughter and a situationship with a woman who can’t stand you.
You’re so used to being able to pick a woman up, take her home, sex her up, and send her on her way with a patronizing pat on the rump.
Now you’ve caught feelings, but she’s not interested. ”
“She’s interested.” His brows pinch tight and shadow his eyes. “She’s just too proud to admit it.”
“Maybe. And she’s in love with your kid. She’s not too proud to admit that.”
He lowers his hand, setting his phone face down against his desk. “You’re being hurtful on purpose, because the Cordoza stuff is stressing you out.”
“Mmhm.” I tap my phone again, re-illuminating the dark screen and finding… nothing. Still. No calls, no texts, not even a rock dropped into my inbox. “I should call her.”
“Banks!” Lieutenant Fabian steps out of his office, glowering. “Clay. In my office. Now.”
I tilt my head back and twist, all so I can glance over my shoulder at Drake’s unimpressed glower. His burning glare. I flash a taunting, teasing smile and chuckle when he slams a file closed. “You’re in trouble already? Shit, Special Agent Dickface, not a good start.”
“Shut the fuck up.” He shoves up from his desk and stalks across the bullpen, shoulder-checking the side of my head as he passes. “Nobody asked for your opinion.”
“I’m just saying! Officer Clay is the most pliable, hardworking, trouble-free kid we could have found for you. If you’re screwing it up, it’s because you suck.”
“Malone!” Fabian barks out. “Fletcher. You, too.”
“Dammit, Archer.” Fletch tosses a pen at my chest and pushes up from his chair, snagging his phone and fixing the holster he wears over his shoulders. “You couldn’t just keep your mouth shut?”
I spring up from my chair and whip my phone into my back pocket.
Bending and picking up Fletch’s pen, I toss it back on his desk and start toward Fabian’s office.
“If you say I can call Minka, I say you can call Fifi. We could both tell Fabian we have family emergencies and aren’t available for a meeting with Special Agent Failed FBI School. ”
“Detective Malone.” Fabian’s eyes burn a hole in the side of my head. “I could do without the commentary. Save your jokes for the comedy club.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.” I scratch the side of my neck and squeeze through the doorway, past his rounding belly, only to stop as soon as I’m in.
Because that’s all the room he has in this tiny-ass office.
I inch to the side and stand by Clay, since the alternative stinks of federal snitch.
Then I glance back at the door and wait for Fletch to stuff himself into the last remaining space.
We’re just a bunch of tuna crammed into a can that smells of old food and fresh BO.
“If Detective Banks screwed up his TO duties, Lieutenant, I suppose Fletch and I could relieve him of the kid and do it right.” I set my hands behind my back, resting my knuckles over the bulge where my phone sits.
If it rings, I’m out of here. “Three is a crowd, typically. But we could make do for the short term. Find him a better trainer.”
Fabian steps around his desk, sucking his belly in and plastering his back to the wall to get through the small space. He drags out his chair and drops like a ton of bricks. Then he glances up. “Detective Malone?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Shut up.”
I clap my lips closed and gulp. “Yes, sir.”
He folds his hands, one over the other, on his desk, and studies the four of us.
I’m not entirely sure he’s impressed by what he sees.
“I have a situation unfolding a few blocks from here.” He nibbles on the inside of his cheek and casts his gaze along our line.
“I’m aware Detective Banks is still settling in, and this is Officer Clay’s first official shift at our precinct.
However, with Banks’ past work experience, and Detective Malone’s…
” He pauses. Hesitates. Then finishes with, “life experience, I’ve decided this may be the best team I can build on short notice. ”
“What’s the situation?” Fletch questions. “What are we walking toward?”
“Seventeen women and girls are holed up in a hotel room three blocks from here. The youngest is eight. The oldest, twenty-two.”
My stomach drops straight into my asshole. My heart thunders painfully against my diaphragm.
Drake’s work experience. My life experience.
Mafia.
“These women are scared, Detectives. They’re malnourished. They don’t speak English, which tells me they’re probably not from around here.”
“Trafficking.” Gritting my teeth, I drop my gaze and shake my head from side to side. “Is one of them dead, Lieutenant? That’s why you’re sending in homicide?”
“The youngest is eight?” Fletch repeats. “Did I hear you right, sir?”
“No one is dead—yet. But these women need our help, and whoever put them there probably intended to come back for them. This is a bit like someone transporting a truck full of stolen electronics; I can’t see why anyone would dump their shipment before payday. It simply doesn’t happen.”
No shit. But I have a feeling I know who was moving them.
“Are we searching for our trafficker?” Drake rumbles. “Or taking care of the girls? Or something else?” His shoulders bristle with adrenaline. “What, specifically, do you want from us?”
“I want you to work together. Put Officer Clay on point, if you think he’s best suited to be with the girls.”
Because he’s young. And gentle.
“We don’t want to scare them any more than they already are.
We need to figure out who they are and where they came from.
If they knew where they were going, that’s good, too.
If they know who was moving them, even better.
Detective Banks, you’re not new to this world, and you come with extensive undercover experience.
I’ll trust you to adapt your capabilities and make this work. ”
Banks drops his chin. “Yes, sir.”
“Detective Malone brings a unique intellect to the team and skills that may prove helpful.”
Say it, Lieutenant. Say I’m mafia, too.
“Detective Fletcher, you’re known for putting a victim at ease. You make them feel safe. The fact that you have a daughter allows you an appreciation for the gravity of this situation.”
Like Drake, Fletch nods. “Yes, sir.”
“I want boots on the ground immediately. Work together, figure this out, and if I catch even a whiff of this friendly bickering between you two,” he glowers at me and Drake.
“If I hear so much as a whisper that casts doubt on your ability to remain professional in the field, then I’m dismantling both partnerships. ”
Stunned, my eyes shoot wide. “Sir?”
“In my house, we have what’s called a Get-Along shirt.
When my children argued, they had to wear the shirt until they learned how to cut the shit.
” He snaps his teeth closed and scorches me with a look.
“If you and Detective Banks cannot learn to get along, I’ll force you to work together until you do.
Detective Fletcher can take over TO duties for Officer Clay. Do I make myself clear?”
“Lieutenant—”
“Figure it out, Detectives.” He settles back in his chair and flicks his hand toward the door. “Come up with a game plan. Then get out there and make it happen. Go.”
“Yes, sir.”
Closest to the door, Fletch spins and yanks it open first, filing out of the tiny office and spilling into the bullpen. Instantly, he cuts right and makes a beeline for our war room, flipping the placard on the door from unoccupied to occupied, and shoving through.
Drake follows second.
“Officer Clay?” I pull him up short and stifle the guilt surging in my veins as he swings back around.
He’s so eager to please his superiors. So devoted to following orders.
Sadly, he’ll need to follow my orders closely on this case.
And those orders are to stay the fuck away.
“I’d like for you to make us a pot of coffee. ”
“Sir?”
“A whole pot. And then I need you to head down to the cage and sign out supplies. We’ll need vests. Bags. An SUV with a decent air conditioner. Probably grab snacks, too, because this one is gonna keep us busy for a while.”
“Uh…”
“Problem, Officer?”
“N-no, sir.” He stands impossibly taller. Achingly obedient. Firming his lips, he tips his chin in acknowledgement. “I’ll get those things taken care of immediately, Detective. I’ll come back upstairs just as soon as it’s all done.”
“Good. Thank you.” I clap his shoulder and turn into the war room, closing the door and flipping the lock.
“There's a reason you’re telling my rookie what to do, Malone?” Drake stands at the head of the long table situated in the middle of the room, his jaw hard and his eyes hot. “Last I checked, you don’t have the authority for that.”
“Yeah, I’ve got a reason. I figure I know who the fuck was transporting those girls.
” I grit my jaw and fold my arms firmly across my chest. “I even know where he is. You, me, and Fletch—” I glance his way.
“We know what’s up. Officer Clay, on the other hand, remains innocent of mind.
I’d like to maintain that innocence for as long as possible. ”