Chapter 22 Minka #2
“No, it’s fine. Thank you.” I study Steve’s trembling legs and the fluffy slippers on his feet. His oversized, gray cotton pants and the collared shirt with a stretched pocket hanging by his chest. “It’s not your job to feed me. It’s not your job to feed any of us.”
“I don’t mind, Doctor Mayet.” Like she’s been doing this her whole life, she turns and releases one of Steve’s hands, scooping her arm around his instead.
She’s not screwing around; today marks seven days since his heart gave out, and already, she’s making him walk on his damn own.
“Mr. Morris could do with something to eat, too, and you have a big day ahead of you—”
“Really, it’s fine.” I take a bite of my stolen toast. “Cato hooked me up with the goods, and my coffee is pouring now. I just wanted to check in here to make sure everything is okay.” I meet Steve’s adoring eyes. “I’ll be gone till dinnertime, so if you need anything, speak now.”
He chuckles, dropping his gaze and staring at his first shaky step.
“You’ve provided me a luxurious space to recuperate in, with chef-quality meals three times a day, a state-of-the-art heart monitoring thingy strapped to my body, a medication regime only a rocket scientist could manage, and twenty-four-hour care, all while I get to wander pretty gardens and see my favorite doctor at least twice a day…
yet, you think I should ask for something more? ”
“Just checking.” The beep of the coffee machine echoes along the hall, so I push off the doorframe and toss the last of my meal into my mouth. “Let me know what the cardiac nurse has to say, won’t you? I want to know everything about your recovery.”
Steve’s muddy brown eyes flicker with playfulness. “What of my privacy, Doctor Mayet?”
“Should’ve thought of that before you made medical directives that included my name.
” I cross his room and step into his waiting arm, wrapping myself around him as best I can without interrupting his monitors.
Then I accept his gentler-than-feathers kiss on my cheek and bathe for a moment in the loveliness of pure, uncomplicated, no-strings-attached affection.
He’s just a little old man who cares about me, with no thought at all for what he could take in return.
Staying here was never on his—or my—mind.
Having a Mary to aid his recovery was not something he even knew to want.
This house, this room… none of this was on our radars. Not until Archer put them there.
These are just the things I can give the man who expects nothing at all.
“Be safe out there today, Miss Mayet.” He inches away, resting his hand on my arm to catch his balance before I go. “Don’t make me worry about you.”
“I intend to be in my building all day long, shuffling paper and whipping my staff until they work faster.” I carefully extract myself from his grip and watch to make sure he won’t fall.
Then I take a step back and look him up and down.
“You seriously look good. I had no clue how quickly you would bounce back.”
“Your caffeine is done.” Cato stops in the doorway with my to-go cup capped and waiting in his hand. “Fletch is bringing Mia over so we can hang out. You sure you wouldn’t rather take the day off?” He smiles, teasing and arrogant. “Find a bikini, and you could sunbathe with me.”
“Absolutely not.” I flash a sneaky wink at Steve, then I spin on my heels and stride through the door, snatching my coffee on the way past. “UV rays cause cancer, dummy. Make sure you use high SPF sunscreen, don’t stay out during the hottest part of the day, and don’t let Mia get burned.
She’s too young to mark her skin up like that. ”
“Only someone who truly cared about me would nag me about sun safety.” He follows me into the kitchen, smirking that way I know he does just to annoy me. “Archer’s got a big day today. He’ll be too busy to notice we’ve fallen in love and started a whole new life together. We’d have a head start.”
I walk to the counter and scoop up my bag. “No, thanks.”
“We’d have Mia, too! You and I could get married, just like we always knew we wanted to, and we could adopt the cutest five-year-old on the planet and become a family. That way, we get rid of Fletch and Arch in one go. Two birds, one betrayal.”
I circle the counter and snatch another slice of toast from Cato’s plate, plus a strawberry fat enough to make my mouth water. Finally, I turn and head into the hall, making my way toward the front door. “I don’t have time for another wedding. I have to go to work.”
“I’ll plan it all!” He follows me, his aftershave hitting the base of my lungs, and his playful grin taunting my peripherals.
“You want Paris this time? You’ve done the courthouse—lame, by the way—and you’ve done Jamaica.
While Felix and them are busy with the Cordoza stuff, we’ll use the plane and jump on over to Europe. ”
“Wish I could.” Not. “Don’t forget the sunblock, and Mia can’t swim, so don’t take your eyes off her.”
He stalks ahead two beats faster than me and grabs the front door before I can. “I’ll have her on the plane, ready for Paris, too. Easy peasy. She’ll love it.”
“And no matter what Steve says, even if he begs or cries or pays the cardiac nurse to agree, he’s not allowed to swim.
Mia: Can’t. Help her. Steve: Not allowed.
Don’t let him.” I take a bite out of the strawberry.
“You understand the nuances of what I’m saying?
One is allowed, but needs supervision. The other isn’t allowed, and needs a firm no. Don’t mess it up.”
“And just so we’re clear,” he volleys back. “How dumb do you think I am?”
“I don’t think you’re dumb. I think you’re unmedicated and lack impulse control.
Like Felix.” I turn and fall into the trap of Archer’s burning stare.
He’s formidable in his stance on the stairs, muscled arms folded across his broad chest, a gun settled on his hip, and another strapped around his thigh.
I can’t—I don’t want to—be lectured on my knee again, so I spin and stride out of the house, only to walk face-first into the filthy, oppressive heat and air hot enough to make my lungs ache. “Jesus. When will it end?”
“Doctor Mayet?” Harrison drags the smaller wrought-iron gate open, holding it for me to pass. “Do you require a ride to the office this morning?”
“Uh…” I cast my eyes around the massive driveway and the handful of shiny black SUVs parked in a line.
Archer’s truck, still in as-new condition, sits ahead of all the rest, with huge, sparkling rims and a climb up that requires a ladder—or a man helping.
“I suppose I should figure this out, huh? Can I borrow a car? You don’t need to drive me. ”
He places his hand under my elbow and leads me toward an SUV. “It’s not that you can’t borrow a car, Doctor. They belong to the family, after all. Which means they belong to you.”
“Well, no. I didn’t—”
“But I’d be happy to drive you, anyway.” He opens the back door and ushers me in.
“Until my return to New York, I’m with you.
Whether you need a ride to the office or anywhere else, it’ll be my pleasure to drive you there.
You just have to call.” He takes my coffee and hands me my seatbelt, waiting patiently as I buckle in, before he offers my cup back again and closes the door.
Sliding into the front, he starts the engine and meets my eyes in the mirror. “You could learn to use your commute for whatever other tasks you have, Chief. Mr. Malone typically handles communications.”
It’s like the man reads minds. Like he’s Aubree 2.0, because while I snatch my phone out of my bag and search for somewhere, anywhere to set my coffee and free up my hand, he reaches around blindly and ejects a tiny cup holder from the back of the console in the middle of the two front seats.
Impressed, I smirk and set the piping hot cup down.
Tossing the last of my strawberry into my mouth and following it with the buttery toast, I swipe my phone open—and brush crumbs off my screen—before jumping across to my text inbox and tapping a secret set of three dots in the top right corner.
So secret… I had no clue they existed until Sophia put them there.
Sophia:
Cops found the girls and locked them down in their hotel. Archer caught the case.
So tell me why I found that information on my own, when it probably should have come from you?
I roll my eyes and consider my reply. But I feel the prickle of warmth on the side of my face, drawing my focus and distracting me from what I’m supposed to be doing.
Nibbling on my bottom lip, I glance out the side window and find Archer waiting by the wrought-iron gate.
Despite the dark-tinted windows of Harrison’s car and knowing there’s no possible way for him to see me, I still feel the heat of his gaze and the fury in his narrowed stare.
Guilt sizzles in my veins, especially when I cross my legs and my pants don’t catch on my knee.
I watch him for as long as the angle of our car allows it, twisting my neck as Harrison brings us around the large circular driveway. The moment our wheels touch tar, I peek down again and tap my phone screen.
Me:
I only found out about Archer’s assignment last night, and so far, they don’t know anything. He can’t even figure out what language they’re speaking. Don’t stress about it.
Sophia:
I don’t stress, Mayet. I plan. I adapt. And then I attack. Like a fuckin’ lady.
I snort and ignore Harrison’s watchful gaze in the mirror.
Me:
Cordoza’s been riding me, by the way. A lot. He’s been threatening me, and I’m not entirely sure he believes me when I say Archer didn’t kill Agosti.
Soph:
So? He won’t act on his threats. He likes you.
Me:
Leash him, Solomon! I’ve done my job. I declared it death by suicide, and I’ve ordered that asshole out of my building. If they toss Agosti into a drum filled with fire ants, I wouldn’t even care.
What I’m not okay with is Cordoza misplacing his suspicion and pointing it at my husband, especially when we set the scene as well as we did.
Sophia:
It’s in the rules. One family cannot attack another, not without causing a shift in the foundations of the entire organization.
Cordoza’s doing the right thing by riding you. That’s his job.
Me:
He’s pissing me off. I used to be fond of him. Now, I’m intolerant.
Sophia:
Instead of focusing on the bad, why not think of the good?
We saved seventeen innocent lives this week, Chief. And we made the world a better place by removing Anthony-consent is optional-Agosti from society.
Archer was with Cordoza at TOD. I promise you; he’s fine. And considering you married Malone—you weren’t BORN Malone—the rules remain unbroken. One family did not attack another.
I’ll follow up with Cordoza this morning to confirm he received the autopsy report, then I’ll move him along.
Archer landing this case is a blessing in disguise. He’ll get the girls to safety, and he’ll do it gently.
Better than some media-chasing detective who’d prefer public clout by splashing them all over the news. There are no loose ends, just like I said there wouldn’t be.
Me:
Your smugness is irritating.
Sophia:
It was a pleasure doing business with you, Vigilante. Oh, and while I’ve got you…
I wait for her next text and glance out the window as Harrison competently steers us down the hill.
Music plays softly over the radio, a pop’y hit I know for a fact is on Aubree’s daily playlist, but even as my foot bounces to the beat and I lick remnants of butter off my thumb, annoyance becomes my companion.
Because Soph takes forever… and ever… and ever to reply.
Bubbles bounce on my screen, proving she’s still there, still typing, but nothing comes.
I resist the urge to type out a fast what?
Impatient for whatever it is she has to say.
But then my phone dings again, this time, with a simple rock gifted from Archer.
From the man who has given me everything else.
Me:
Did I thank you for our bathtub date last night? Because if I didn’t: thank you. It was everything I needed after the day I had.
Archer:
No, I guess you forgot to say. Sometimes, these things slip our minds, right? You’re busy. It’s understandable.
A long, slow smile spreads across my lips.
Me:
You’re too gracious. I love you, penguin. See you tonight.
And then Sophia’s text finally comes through.
Sophia:
Who wants me dead, Chief? I need a name.
Frustrated, I lock my phone and toss it into my bag, then I lay my head back and close my eyes. Riding in the back of a rolling SUV sounds luxurious and all, but weaving down a winding hill and focusing on a tiny screen is how I make my stomach turn.
Removing my own stitches? Fine.
Slitting a man’s wrists and staging his body to ensure a certain autopsy outcome? No problem.
Messing with my inner ear and the data it sends to my brain? Absolutely not.
I exhale a heavy breath and reconsider ‘checking my communications while traveling’ in the future.
“You alright, Chief?” Harrison slows the car, bringing us around a bend gently. “Do you feel unwell?”
“Yep.” I swallow the taste of regurgitated butter and groan. “Remind me not to text and drive again.”