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“Oh! Kinda like the vigilante,” Aubree exclaims. Then tapping the back of Fletch’s arm, she grins. “Are you embarrassed they’re still evading capture?”
My eyes remain on Archer’s glare. On the pulse throbbing in his neck, and the way his chest grows with adrenaline.
“Not embarrassed,” Fletch chuckles, completely unaware of the undercurrents vibrating inside the elevator. “But we got a new tip we’ll follow up. Right, Arch?”
He looks to his partner, which means he looks straight over my head… and misses the way my face pales. “We have this rat who keeps his head to the ground and sends us information whenever he catches anything.”
“He sent you information?” Aubree queries. Then, lowering her voice, she murmurs, “What was it?”
“We don’t know yet,” Archer grits out. “I’ll speak to him later today to see what he has to say.” Dragging his eyes from mine and stopping on Aubree’s, he softens his expression. “It’s always an adventure when Garz feeds us. Sometimes it’s off-the-wall insanity.”
“And other times?” she whispers. “Bullseye?”
“Mm.” His gaze locks on mine and narrows. “Sometimes it’s a bullseye.”
Breaking away when the elevator doors open and release me from the Neutral Cube ofabout to get my ass arrested, I turn toward my office and stride across the glinting tile. “Why are you here, Detectives? What can we help you with?”
“McGregor,” Fletch answers. “We have a couple guys in a cage who claim it was them who chopped him up.”
“Theyclaim?” Pushing through my office door, I make my way around to the other side of my desk, not stopping until my walls are up and my expression is as bored as I can manage. “They confessed?”
“Hands out, ‘take me away, Officer,’ came to us, and confessed,” he expands. “They’re just kids, Delicious. But the story they’ve fed us so far fits.”
“Which is?” I take a seat and link my fingers in my lap. “What’s their story?”
“They described the weapons,” Archer rumbles. “Approximate size, shape, width. They told us what they did, in what order. They told us it was messy, but the lights stayed off, so they didn’t know quitehowmessy until they walked outside and realized they were trailing McGregor’s blood all the way out.”
“Did they say why?” Captivated, Aubree sits on the corner of my desk with those wide puppy-dog eyes. “Why’d they slaughter that man?”
“Haven’t gotten to that part yet.” Fletch wanders to my floor-to-ceiling windows and glances out at the overcast city. “They’re nice kids,” he murmurs. “Street kids, but I swear, if I met them anywhere else, I’d say there wasn’t a violent bone in their bodies.”
“Are we sure they’re not lying?” Aubree wonders. “Could the actual killer have convinced them to take the fall?”
“Guess why we’re here, genius?” Fletch turns on his boots and smiles for our friend. “We wanna know what the M.E.’s office says about the weapons. Exact size, shape, maybe there’s serration, maybe there’s something else that’ll turn us where we gotta go.”
“So far,” Archer wanders toward the door and digs his hands into his pockets, “it’s adding up. They’re describing the house to a T. They know where his bedroom is. They know which stair is squeaky on the staircase. They knew what side of the bed he was sleeping on, and that he was secured with nylon in the middle of the bed. They knew what pyjamas he was wearing, and that he had a little nightlight in the bathroom so he can piss at night and not trip and fall on his face.”
“They described the neighborhood he lives in,” Fletch continues. “And how they parked in his driveway to avoid walking the streets. Garret owns a beat-up ‘93 Corolla, and we have witness reports from canvassing statements confirming neighbors saw that type of vehicle cruising around that night.”
“Seems pretty tight,” Aubree breathes out. “So they just… beheaded this guy. They took his head right off. His arms. His legs.”
“They flayed his cock too,” Fletch says with a hint of pain in his voice. “They were savage.”
“Savage,” I agree. “But you describe them as nonviolent kids.”
As though resigned to something he doesn’t like, Arch only shrugs. “We follow the evidence down the line. So if you could get us your findings on the weapons, we can take that back and see what we get.”
“I’ll get them.” Pushing off my desk, Aubree crosses my office and exits to plop down at her desk. “I’ll email the reports to you now,” she calls from her seat. “Oh, and Fletch?” She glances back and waits as he sets his foot in the door to keep it open.
“Are you going to the mayor’s ball?” she asks sweetly. “Because I’m going, and it would be kinda lame for me to go stag. I don’t have a boyfriend—Timothy Malone is a grade-A douchebag, and Arch is kinda bordering on the same.”
Sucking air through his teeth, Fletch only shoots a look across to Archer. “I’d love to be your date, Doctor Emeri. In fact, I was planning to ask you. But I also have to ask; will you dress to impress me in particular, or yourself?”
Before she can answer, he adds, “Because those will be two entirely different outfits, and I’d hate for us to have a miscommunication.”
“Do you know the reason no one dates you, Charlie Fletcher?” Hitting send on her email, Aubree spins in her chair and raises a brow in question. “Why the women consider you steak, and nothing more?”
“No. But I’m sure you intend to tell me.” He takes her hand and helps her from her chair. “Why, Aubs? Why am I steak and nothing more?”
