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“You said it yourself.” I wriggle in his arms and work my way to my own feet. Archer lets me down, but he keeps me sandwiched between his body and the wall. “You and I have some really polarizing opinions on some really big topics.”
“So—”
“So I’m afraid of falling in love, and then those differences tearing us apart. It’s not unreasonable to be afraid of depending on someone who might not stick around.”
“But I’m sticking!” He leans in closer and crushes me against the wall. “I’ve been sticking, Mayet.”
“We’re not compatible.”
“I think we are.”
“You say that now, but eventually, shit is going to slam us. And by then, I’ll depend on you not to cut and run. And you…” I look into his eyes. “You’ll want to do more than run. You’ll want to punish.”
“You?” Confused, he stares deep into my eyes. “Why would I want to punishyou? Why the hell would I—”
Across the room, Tiffany Hewitt, the quieter, sweeter reporter that Seraphina and Aubree unanimously decided is cooler than Miranda, speaks on television about Ethan O’Dey and the women he hurt. But since Ethan is Archer and Fletch’s case, and is now, for all intents and purposes, wrapped up, naturally, her report extends to the one unsolved case they’ve yet to figure out.
Justin Dowel’s murder remains unexplained, the vigilante killer still walks free, enjoying the perks of their freedom. But no one except the investigating officers seems to mind, since public opinion says Dowel needed to be removed from Copeland’s streets.
Inching out from between Archer and the wall, I hobble on my bad leg and make my way to the living room.
“Where are you go—”
“You want me, Archer?” I don’t look over my shoulder as I speak. I don’t have to. “You love me? The real kind of love with real emotions, or am I a plaything that is keeping your attention for now?”
“What the hell are you—”
“Answer the question.”
I drop down on the edge of my couch with a huff. Because my knee throbs with a deep ache, and my heart races from exertion.
Leaning forward, I grab the remote and turn the volume up by two points, as Archer follows me into the living room.
He doesn’t sit down. He doesn’t even take off his coat and find comfort in my apartment. He merely stands with a scowl and rests his hands on his hips. “Minka, you—”
Justin Dowel was called into question on more than eleven cases of missing minors who later turned up violated and murdered over a period of…
“You didn’t answer the question.”
Investigating officers over the years never could make the charges stick…
“You’re not a plaything to me.” Frustrated, he sits on the arm of my couch and leans closer. “I like to play with you, but I like loving you too. I like…” He grunts. “I love you.”
Candles lit up Copeland City’s night sky in the week following Justin Dowel’s murder—not to mourn his loss, but to remember his victims.
“You think the vigilante is a bad person.”
Finally, Archer’s eyes fire with rage. “The fucking vigilante! Why are we talking about the vigilante right now?”
Leaning back toward the table, I take my phone and hate how, right in this moment, I’m close to vomiting. Sweat beads on my brow, and my hands shake as I swipe the phone open.
I move to an app on my screen that allows a ghost-type cell number, not the same as my usual number. Two contact methods; one phone.
“There’s a reason you can’t solve the Dowel case, Archer. And when you figure it out, you’re probably going to be pissed.”
“What are you…”
I type it up fast. So fast that I refuse myself time to chicken out.
