“It doesn’t make me feel good when you’re afraid to tell me things.” He leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to my lips, even with the tampon strings hanging between us. “The fact you’re visibly relieved that I’mnotexploding right now is proof I’ve done the wrong thing in the past.”
“Archer, no?—”
“I worry about you. I fucking tremble at the thought of losing you. But making you afraid of me?” He clears his throat. “Teaching you that telling the truth ends with me shouting and raging and being a complete prick?” He shakes his head. “No. I’m not doing that anymore. So, as long as this was your choice and not a big-mouthed ballerina stuffing something down your throat…”
“I’m offended by your words, Detective Malone.”
His lips curl into a handsomely devilish grin. Then he inches forward and kisses me again. “Thank you for telling me.” Finally, he pulls back andlooks me up and down. “How do you feel? Hemorrhaging? Clotting? Stroking out?”
“None of the above?” I say it like a question, only to end my sentence with a shaky snicker. “I feel fine, actually. Nervous. Stressed. Not tired like an infusion would normally make me.”
“That’s the pep,” Soph inserts eagerly. “Jen put a little zing in there to get your day started right.”
Hesitantly, I bring my hands up and cover my nose with one, then I tug the first tampon out with the other and wait for the drip. I wait for the blood to flow. For my shirt to get messier. I sniffle to gauge the things I can’t see, and when my nosedoesn’tleak, I drop the tampon into my trash and gently tug the second out.
“It worked.” Soph snatches up her phone and dials, slamming the device to her ear and inching in on Archer’s space so her cheek almost touches his. “Jen! It worked. Mayet was bleeding, so she took the M&M.”
“No shit!?” Jen exclaims loud enough for us to hear. “How long ago did she take it? Can you weigh her? How’s her pupillary reflex? Take her temperature! Internal would be best, but?—”
“Stick a thermometeranywhereinside me, and I’ll rip your throat out.” I inch forward, now that I don’t have things hanging out of my face, and press a better, longer kiss to Archer’s lips. “You’re here for an update on your DB, right?” I drop the second tampon in the trash. “Let me run you through it.”
“Soon.” He draws my hand up and kisses my wrist. My thumb knuckle. My palm. “Someone needs to tell me what that stench is first, because honestly, I’m struggling to be near you right now, Chief.”
“She bathed in dead people decomp.” Soph straightens her long legs and turns away, her phone still pressed to her ear. “I’ll try to get her temp later. She doesn’t seem open to the idea right now. FYI: her bleeding stopped within a couple of minutes of swallowing the pill, she doesn’t appear to be running a fever, she’s not shaking, but she is making googly eyes with the detective.” She swings my door wide and strides into the hall. “She took it with cold coffee, not water. So maybe add that to your notes.”
“Cold coffee?” Archer firms his lips, mock-disappointed. “Really, Chief?”
“Shut up.”
ARCHER
Don’t fucking panic.
Don’t react.
Don’t show her rage, when what you actually feel is bone-deep terror.
And for the love of Christ, don’t be the reason your wife is too scared to tell you anything.
Living like that, being in a relationship built on fear and intimidation, is a little too close to Timothy Malone the Second for me. So I sit back in Minka’s visitor chair and watch her across the span of her desk. I bring my foot up and rest it over the opposite knee, and while she floats on relief and whateverpepJen infused into her medicinalhope-this-worksconcoction, I watch her eyes. Her coloring. Her lips.
I watch her hands.
Do they fidget?
And her pulse.
Doesit race?
My emotions sit dangerously close to the surface, bubbling and barely contained, but I hide them behind a smile that’s convincing enough to fool Minka, at least, but not even close to good enough for Aubree, considering the gentle hand she places on my shoulder as she passes behind my chair.
“Fletch is on his way up.” I bounce my foot.Bounce, bounce, bounce,andset my phone on my thigh, screen side down. He and Officer Clay ride the elevator together—his message said so—so I ignore Banks’ sour expression and his constant pacing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, and stare at my wife instead.What the fuck am I supposed to do if her meds turn on her? “Figure we could wait the extra minute for him to arrive, so you don’t have to repeat yourself.”
“Suits me.” She shoots a kind smile across to Special Agent Fuckface. “The air filtration systems are typically very good at drawing odors out of this building, but I think this one’s gonna stick a little while longer.”
“It’s fine.” His nostrils twitch despite his words. “Day in the life of a medical examiner, right?”
I hear the ding of the elevator behind us, then the slap of Fletch’s boots on the floor.Fuck, I’d know the rhythm of his steps anywhere.
