Chapter 22 Minka
MINKA
The next morning, Archer sits on the end of our bed, folded at the hips, and tying his laces.
His shoulders bulge with muscle larger than usual, like maybe he was working out while I slept.
His eyes, such a beautiful, deep green, follow as I pass from the bathroom to our closet in nothing but a towel.
He looks me up and down with a slow appreciation, but with a heavier, darker feel to his study.
Curious, I drop my towel and step into a pair of panties. “What?”
“Where are your stitches?”
Gulping, I glance down at my legs and the spot on my knee where a Band-Aid used to be… until I peeled it off in the shower. “Uh…”
“You took them out?” He pushes off the bed and wanders across our room, stopping in the closet doorway and resting his arm against the frame. Suspicion is like a living, breathing beast pulsing between us. His stare, a sad mix of disappointment and irritation. “I feel like we discussed this.”
“They were ready to go.” I whip a pair of black slacks from the hanger and snap them open, stabbing my feet into the legs and pulling the fabric up. “They kept catching on my clothes, which hurt more than if I just didn’t have them.”
He watches me like a predator in the wild. Hungry. Furious. And like he has no intention of letting me survive our encounter.
Quickly, I turn and select a blouse.
“Even when the doctor specifically told you to wait nine days?” He growls. “And even though he said you weren’t allowed to take them out yourself? Even when I said you couldn’t take them out yourself?”
I startle at his warm breath bathing the back of my neck. His hand on my hip.
“Quite defiant this week, aren’t you, Doctor Mayet?”
“My knee is fine.” I slip out of his grip and drag a sleeveless, high-neck blouse over my head. “I’m not limping. Not bleeding.” Rather than risk my predator’s captive hands again, I snatch up a pair of shoes and a black leather belt, then I skim past him and back into the safety of our bedroom.
Joke’s on me. Because he follows, and his eyes are no less vigilant.
I set my shoes on the rug by the couches and slip the end of the belt through the loops on my pants. “You need to not turn this into a whole thing, Archer. They had to go, so I did it in a way I knew was safe, sanitary—” Ish. “And didn’t cost a cent. It was smart, if you ask me.”
“I didn’t ask you.” He meanders two feet closer. Three feet. His walk is a swagger, his thumbs hooked in the front pockets of his jeans. “You know I don’t like it when you break the rules, don’t you, Minnnka? They exist for a reason. They exist for your safety.”
“I was safe!” I stab the end of my belt through the buckle and fasten it around my hips, then I sit on the very edge of a chair and dig my feet into my shoes.
“I’m always safe, Archer. I got the job done and moved on with my life.
You’d have a fair point if I were bleeding, or if my wound reopened because I took them out too soon.
But that’s not what happened. I’m fine.”
“If you believed that, you’d have been upfront about it.
” He stops just two feet from where I sit and stares, his gaze heating the side of my face.
His jaw, tense enough, I swear I feel it, too.
“If you had believed you were doing the right thing, you’d have discussed it with me. Before you broke the rules.”
“I feel like you’re overreacting a little.” I finish my second shoe and shove to my feet, then I lay my hands on his chest and kiss the underside of his jaw. “I’ve gotta go to work.”
“So early?” He slips his finger into the loop of my pants. “You haven’t had breakfast yet.”
“We don’t live two blocks from my office anymore, which means I lose time to my commute. Add in that Aubree’s still on leave, and Cordoza’s interference yesterday, and I have more than enough work to keep me busy for the next eight hours.”
“It surprises me how freely you’re accepting Aubree’s time off.” He drags me closer and stares down into my eyes, his palms stretching easily around my hips. “You and her are codependent. You might not like to admit it, but it’s true.”
“She’s on her honeymoon week.” I attempt to step back. To turn away. To do anything but melt under his intense scrutiny. “She has a right to not be harassed for a single week.”
“Mm.” He slides his tongue across the front of his teeth. He’s a lion, tormenting the gazelle. “Has she made a decision on the baby thing?”
“Not yet.” I spin out of his grasp and make a beeline for my bag by the door. I’ll grab a coffee from the kitchen and steal whatever is on literally anyone else’s plate if they have one. “She said she’s not rushing into it. She’s allowing herself time to process. And for Tim to process.”
“Sensible.” He drops his hands into his pockets and crosses the room in my wake.
He doesn’t move fast, not even as I sweep up my bag and search its contents to make sure I have everything I need.
“Makes a person wonder, doesn’t it? Christabelle has diabetes, so maybe Zora will, too. Could the same be said for Aubree?”
I whip the bedroom door open. “Aubree doesn’t have diabetes.”
“No. But she has a gift. Maybe it’s not scientific, and maybe it’s not medical or testable.
But we know what she is, and we know—according to her—she got it from her dad.
I suppose it makes sense that if she has a child—whether it’s her’s and Tim’s, or one she carries for Eli and Curtis—it may come with its own gift, too. ”
“Dunno.” I release the door and head back to Archer—the hunter I’m not afraid of, the predator that’ll never hurt me—because I know this is the last taste of peace we’ll have until tonight. Stepping onto the tips of my toes and resting my hands on his shoulders, I kiss his waiting lips. “Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“I’ll see you tonight, okay?” I wrap my arms around his torso and crush my cheek against his chest. One last hug before life intrudes.
One last minute of us. But I really do have to go, so I step back and meet his eyes.
“Be safe, Detective. Maybe text me if you have the time. I was kinda lonely yesterday.”
“Sure.” He drops a kiss on my cheek. “Be good. Don’t kill anyone.”
I snort and rotate on my heels, the stark reminder of those documentary makers and camera-wielding assholes from yesterday flashing in my mind.
But instead of making a promise I may have to break, I stalk through our door and move quickly toward the stairs.
Down one flight, then down a couple more.
I lug my heavy bag, the thick leather straps biting into my arm, and reaching the bottom, I turn right and hurry along the hall, emerging into the kitchen to find a single Malone waiting.
“I don’t know how I feel about this, Minnnka.
” Cato sits at the counter with a heaped plate of bacon and eggs, toast, and mixed fruit spread out in front of him.
He side-eyes me, smirking. “We came here so everyone would have more space. I get it. But you hide out in your room all damn night and come down only to make coffee before you leave again.” He straightens his back, firms his lips, and watches me do exactly as he accuses me.
I set my bag on the counter and move to the coffee machine, setting a to-go cup under the spout.
“I don’t know that the benefit of having an actual bed is worth the price of admission.
” He drops his gaze and considers his meal, selecting a fat red grape and placing it on his tongue.
“I miss fighting with you. And we usually only fought because I made a mess of your living room and had sex on the kitchen counter. I can’t fuck on this counter, cos Mary will skin me if she found out about it. ”
“Maybe you could find a new hobby that doesn’t include pissing me off?
” While the coffee pours, I turn and peruse his breakfast, zeroing in on a juicy slice of toast dripping in butter.
I swing out with lightning-fast reflexes and steal it before he can stop me.
“You call yourself an athlete, but you’re slow as hell. ”
“Or maybe I let you have it, knowing that’s the only food you’ll eat until you drag your sorry ass back here tonight. I’m an unemployed bum, remember? I can make more after you leave.”
I bite the corner off and circle away from the counter, rolling my eyes at the boy who wants so badly for me to declare—loudly and obnoxiously—how loved he is.
Instead, I head toward Steve’s room, making my way along a narrow hallway and stopping at an open door, only to peek in and discover the happy, dopey smile of a man quickly recovering from what would have taken his life… if not for the boy in the kitchen.
“You look good.” I lean against the doorframe and nibble on my breakfast. “Your color’s coming back.”
“Fit as a fiddle.” He tilts to the right while Mary fusses in front of him, his muddy brown stare and long, wispy white nostril hairs drawing my focus. “I reckon I could probably go for a swim today.”
“Mmhm. Try it.” I study the back of Mary’s crisp black shirt and consider… when does she rest? When does she shower and sleep and do literally anything that isn’t taking care of the Malones? “Everything good here?”
“Yes, Doctor Mayet.” Mary straightens her back and stands in front of Steve.
Then, she takes his hands and brings him to his feet.
No wheelchair for you, buddy. “Mr. Morris’ cardiac nurse is visiting today.
In the meantime, I’m happy to report that everything I’ve observed indicates positive recovery and newfound strength.
Do you need me to make you breakfast before you go to the office today?
” She glances over her shoulder, entirely too professional and sweet.
“I’d be happy to prepare something to take in the car if you prefer. ”