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“Ugh.” Fletch was always the dramatic one of our pairing, so I’m unsurprised when he throws his head back until it thumps against the seat. “That’s our case, Arch, and we look like a couple fucking pussies because no onewantsus to solve it. And even when we try, we get sweet fuck-all. Our ‘vigilante’,” he releases the steering wheel and does the finger quotes, “is making us look stupid.”
“Minka condones the murderer’s actions,” I murmur. “She’s buying in to the hero hype, all because the victim was a shitty person.”
Loaded silence but for Dre and Snoop on the radio hangs over the car for a moment, until finally, Fletch brings his gaze over to me. “You told her your shit, didn’t you?”
“Yup.” I press my lips together and glance out the window to the busy city streets. “I told her who I was before. I told her what I did.”
“And you risk her running to the chief and having you tossed into prison for the rest of your stupid fucking life! Dammit, Arch.” He looks out the window and huffs. “Are you seriously that fucking hung up on her? You’re risking your freedom and career.”
“She’s not running to the chief. And even if she did, they’ve gotta prove it. I have enough time on the job now, the chief isn’t gonna run me over without getting all his information, and every cop in the country will be hard-pressed to pin those crimes to me. Not like Tim is gonna sit down and chat with them.”
“And by Tim, you mean your old man who continues to run a fucking cartel outta New York City, right? Not your bro that we all kinda like, so long as we don’t look at him sideways.”
“My brother is fine.” But the idea my friend treads carefully around him makes me grin. “He’s not part of that life anymore. And my old man doesn’t make a habit of befriending cops unless they’re on his payroll. He’s not gonna sell my story, no matter the price. To do so would bring heat down on his own house.”
“It’s gonna come back and bite you in the ass someday.” Fletch pulls around a city block and heads toward the Thomas’ neighborhood. “You go spouting off to a pretty girl after meeting her just days ago.Days, Arch! She seems tough as fucking nails, and you don’t expect her to smash you?”
“She’s not gonna do shit except maybe check my old man out on the net.”
“And then what?” he demands. “When she finds out she could toss you back? You’re so skilled at annoying her, who’s to say she won’t make the call and have you removed?”
“Since when did you become the cynical one of us?” I look across at him and raise a brow. “You almost sound like you’d miss me, Fletch.”
“I would! You’re my best friend, stupid. I don’t wanna have to get used to having some other guy around all the time.”
Satisfaction spreads throughout my blood and warms the tips of my fingers.
I used to live a life where the wordlovewas thrown around, but it was just a way to manipulate and command loyalty. There was no actual love involved, and there sure as shit was no comfort to be found in my childhood—not even from my brothers, since our biological father preferred to pit us against each other.
Divide and conquer; it made for stronger, more resilient boys.
Or so I was told.
Now I live this life, and though neither Fletch nor I say the word, we both show it with every action we take. Every time we have the other’s back on a case. Every time we step into the path of danger and protect the other.
“Don’t screw all this up,” he finally presses. “Don’t mess it up for a chick when you’re so good at not giving a fuck what they think.”
“I give a fuck about this one.” I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and consider my admission. The first I’ve ever made of its kind. “She’s gonna be around.”
“Because she wants to be?”
I cough out an ironic laugh. “No. Because she makes me wanna keep her around. That means something.”
“Sure. I sincerely hope you get the chance to explain that to her before she has you arrested.” He pulls around the block and onto Garry Thoma’s street. “You’re not gonna like the sex inside Gen Pop, Arch. They won’t be kind to you, and theyneverask permission first.”
“Stop fretting.” I grin as we come to a stop outside the bustling Thoma family home. “I got this under control.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Cutting the engine, Fletch unsnaps his seatbelt and grits his jaw as he looks across at me. “Your father says it like that too, ya know?Don’t fret.” He rolls his eyes and shoves out of the car so I have no choice but to follow and work to hide my grin.
We’re at a crime scene; smiling isn’t appropriate. Especially not as the reporters who stayed overnight swing their cameras our way.
“Don’t fret,” he repeats on a grumble when we meet on the sidewalk. “Don’t fuckin’ fret is the single most annoying thing I’ve ever heard, especially because wheneverhesays that, it’s when he’s clearly ordered a hit on some motherfucker, and the guy’s family just wants to know where to find the body.Don’t fret.”
“You need to calm down.” I flatten my lips and fall into step beside him as we pass flashing cameras and shouting reporters. They don’t care that they’re screaming about a dead girl while on that dead girl’s lawn. They don’t care that her mother is inside right now, and that she can hear their words. “Who do we want first? Garry or Carlene?”
“I guess we knock and play it by ear. See who greets us.”
“Deal.”
