Page 140 of Dancing in the Dark

It’s me. I’m the punk ass big mouthed motherfucker who refused to leave him the hell alone.

“I have five brothers,” he rumbles, twisting at the coffee machine’s beep and repeating his steps to start a second cup. “That means Felix has five brothers, too. And Cato. Tim. Micah. And if we wanna get really fucking obnoxious about it—not that I will ever admit this to his face—but Drake Banks makes six. That means when Cato’s pouring his time into Mia, it’s because she’s family. Because you are family. When Felix is finding sneaky ways to slip a little cash your way, it’s because he made damn sure from the moment our father shit the bed that his assets were split fairly. You didn’t get yours yet, cos you’d never accept it as a lump sum the way I did.”

I roll my eyes. “Nice sentiment. But I’m still me, and my last name is Fletcher. Not Malone.”

“So? When I was nudging you toward your new apartment, it’s because you’re my brother, and I will take care of my family. I didn’t earn a single penny of the money sitting in my bank account, and I spend way above the pittance the city pays us, which means without my inheritance, I’d be going backwards, too. Cato didn’t earn the money in his account either. Tim stole the bar by force and dared the old man to fight him for it. Felix and Micah are the only Malones who could argue they earned our father’s money, but those are the same two motherfuckers who insist on spreading the wealth.” He exhales a noisy sigh. “I don’t know what to tell you except that I’m gonna keep an eye on you, and if at any point it looks like you might go underwater, I’m gonna reach in and pull you back up again. It’s not sympathy. It’s not pity. It’s not shameful. It’s family, and hell, it’s self-preservation, because I promise you this: my life is better with you in it. If you drown, I suffer. If you go hungry, I suffer. If you’re keeping secrets, then it’s clear I fucked up somewhere.”

“No, I⁠—”

“Something happened at some point in the last year. Something I said made you feel like I didn’t have your back. Something I did convinced you to keep your troubles to yourself. That’s on me, and honestly, I can’t even blame you for thinking that way. It’s not like New York and Minka and vigilantism and all the rest of that mess hasn’t distracted me. The fact is, I’ve needed you more than you’ll ever need me, and I feel like you get so caught up in whatever crappy thing is happening right now that you’re forgetting where you and I began way back in the day.”

“The academy?”

“Yeah. And after that,” he grunts. “When I was a foul-mouthed, bad-tempered, broke-ass nobody you actively disliked, but you saw something worth saving in me anyway, so you picked me up when everyone else was happy to step over me. You were the brother I learned to count on, and you didn’t even share my last name. You put me on your couch even though you never had to, and fed me, even when you barely had enough grocery money as it was. You and Jada were still young and hot for each other and desperate for your own space, but you made room anyway, even when she demanded you kick my ass out.”

“She didn’t mean that.” I glance down at the floor. “She loved you.”

“Nah,” he chuckles. “She didn’t. But you did. You showed me family isn’t just the folks we share blood with. That means our dad kicked the bucket last year, and it means our inheritance came down the pipeline. I’ve just gotta be more creative in how I get you yours.”

I scoff.

“It’s easy to spend someone else’s money. To spread it around when there’s heaps leftover and no worries about making rent. It’s something else entirely to spend your last dollar on feeding a guy whose attitude sucked and whose past threatened to come back and make bad shit way worse. It would’ve been simple to leave me in the street to rot, and I was so pissed at the world, I wouldn’t have even noticed you’d kept on walking. But you stuck. Like I’m sticking.” He glances across at movement on the other side of the glass.

Carson Slater is looking pretty damn smug for a guy who’ll sleep behind bars tonight.

“Friendship matters, and making sure my brother knows I have his back is my responsibility. But don’t keep secrets from me again, bitch. It hurt my feelings.” Arch snags both coffee mugs and wanders back this way, rearranging his expression and smiling wide as Carson opens the door. “Mr. Slater, hi.” He sets the mugs down and pulls out a seat. “Thanks for making time for us.”

“What’s this about?” He shuffles across the threshold and moves to the head of the table. “I’m busy, so if you⁠—”

“We have a few follow-up questions regarding our investigation. Oh, and an update on Ms. Waltham’s death.”

“Yeah?” He sits and picks up someone else’s discarded pen. “What’s the update?”

“Ms. Waltham’s cause of death has officially been ruled natural causes. Asthma attack.”

Stunned eyes swing across to mine. “Really?”

“Tragic, really. She was so young.”

“Figured you’d appreciate that closure,” Archer adds. “We’ve known since the start that Johanna died from oxygen deprivation, but it was also clear she didn’t drown, since the medical examiner found no water in her lungs.”

“Uh… okay? That’s good then, right? I mean—” He sits taller and fusses with his tie. “It’s still awful she died, but you guys are from the homicide division, and homicide is another word for murder. Asthma isn’t murder, so that means this is no longer an investigation?”

“Basically.” I snag my coffee and back up again to lean against the glass. “Detective Malone and I have learned a lot about asthma this past week. It’s intriguing as hell, actually. Like, since I’m not a doctor, I could assume asthma and, say, intentional asphyxiation, kinda look the same, right? Assuming the intentional asphyxiation didn’t leave marks, like bruises around her throat or a literal bag taped over her head.”

Confused, Carson’s eyes narrow. “But those things didn’t happen. You just said⁠—”

“Those things didn’t happen,” Archer confirms. “And what’s even cooler is that the M.E. can tell the difference between an asthmatic’s lungs and the lungs of a person who doesn’t have asthma. There’s this thick…” He scrunches his nose. “Mucusy plug thing happening, as well as inflamed airways. Externally, there isn’t a great deal there for the doctors to see, but internally, it’s like a road map leading them straight to the X.”

“That’s, uh…” Carson slowly pushes his chair back again. “All very interesting, Detective. A little gross, since I never actually consented to hearing the words mucus or plug today. But hey, these things happen, huh?”

“Exactly. And to be fair, we made that same face when the M.E. said those words to us. Gross.”

“So, I guess that’s that, then?” He pops to his feet and claps his hands together. “Very sad, of course, and Jo will be missed. My father sent a letter to her family a few days ago, ya know, to tell them we’re thinking of them.”

“That was very…” I take a sip of my coffee. “Magnanimous of you.”

“Yep. And it’s good PR, since her folks will say good things about Slater and Datsun when the media asks. But that’s it for me and you guys, right? A natural death is a natural death, and though I’d like to claim I fucked her so good her lungs went on the fritz…” He chuckles. So fuckin’ funny. So unfeeling. “Might be a fun story to tell someday. But legally, medically, that’s not how that went down. Which means we’re done.”