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“Funny. I’m not playing.”
Stepping back, I snag my coat and shrug it on, then dropping enough money on the table for our meals and a tip, I escort Minka through the restaurant and back onto the cold street.
“You go there,” I nudge her toward the edge of the sidewalk, toward the George Stanley. “I’ll go my own way. Call me when you have something I can slap around Thoma’s wrists.”
“Wait.” A truck roars by behind Minka as she spins, so the wind blows her hair back and the ends of her coat flap around the top of her thighs. “Should I be afraid of Tim next time I wake him in the middle of the night and ask for coffee?”
I turn her back in the direction of the George Stanley and slap her ass to get her moving forward. “You should be terrified. He had years more at that house than I did, and he’s not much of a morning person.” I stop teasing when her eyes grow wider. “Tim won’t hurt you. I already told him you were mine.”
“You…” Her face drains white. “What?”
“We don’t live that old life anymore, but that doesn’t mean some lessons didn’t stick. When a man lays claim on a woman, she’s protected for life. Tim was put on notice the moment your engagement ended.” Lifting my hand, I point a finger and swirl it to indicate her ass has to turn and move. “I’m not walking away till you get across the street and inside the George Stanley.”
“W-why?”
I scoff and check my phone when it trills, finding Fletch’s name flashing on the screen. “Go.” I answer the call. “And because I said so.” Bringing the phone to my ear, I answer, “Fletch?”
“Who are you talking to?” His voice comes a little heavy. He’s on the move. “Arch?”
“I’m talking to you, and I’m watching Minka to make sure she’s not hit by a car as she crosses the street. What’s up?”
“How does it feel to sell your soul to Cupid?”
“Shut the fuck up. What do you have?”
“A raging secondhand boner, a heartbreaking case of FOMO, and an hour to spare. So we’re gonna go talk to Thoma.”
“Swing by and grab me. I’m across the street from the George Stanley. What have you got on Thoma?”
“An easily broken alibi.”
The sounds surrounding my partner are easy enough to distinguish: from being inside a building, to beneath it as he works his way through a concrete parking lot. Into the car, and a moment later, our call changes as the Bluetooth picks up our conversation and blasts me through his speakers.
“I wanna put some heat on Thoma and see what bubbles to the surface,” he adds. “And I reckon getting the mother alone will do us good, too. She knows what happened.”
“She didn’t hurt that girl.”
“No. And no way she just let it happen. She didn’t stand by and wait for that asshole to kill her daughter. But once it was done and Carlene had time to think… She knows who did it, Arch.”
Glancing up, I study the George Stanley across the street and search for Minka in the space between me and the revolving doors. She’s gone, lost somewhere deep inside the building, where she has no clue which way is left. But she’s inside and safe, and just a minute later, Fletch pulls up to the curb where I stand, and idles while I kill our call and slide into the passenger seat.
“Where’s Thoma?” I ask.
“I checked around,” he moves us away from the curb and slips into traffic. “He’s at home with the family. Carlene’s fielding pot roasts and sympathy. The other two girls are hanging out in the backyard—have been for hours already—and Thoma is moving between the house and his shed out back.”
Impressed, I fix my seatbelt and glance across to my partner. “You know a lot for a guy who spent the morning onthisside of the city.”
“I have contacts,” he chuckles. “How was breakfast with Doctor Delicious?”
Anger rears its head and lights my temper.
Charlie Fletcher is the only guy on the planet who takes such pleasure in tempting fate. In taunting a former fucking mafioso about the woman he’s already claimed. Fletch has no fear; that might be why I keep him around.
“Call her delicious again, Fletch.” I meet his eyes and force my lips to curl into a grin. “Dare you.”
He snorts and slows at a red light. “Maybe later. Was it business or pleasure?”
“Little bit of both.” I sit back and relax as some old-school R&B comes on the radio. “We talked about work. We talked about the asshole the news is reporting as a vigilante hero.”
