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“What happened?” The moment Archer steps through the door and finds me pacing the kitchen, he looks from me, to Aubree, to the nasty, nasty cat as she prowls my home and looks for somewhere to pee.
When I say nothing, Archer charges forward and stops my pacing with a hand on my arm. “What the hell happened?”
“Felix Malone,” I hiss.
Shaking Arch’s hand off, I peer around him to find Fletch at the door. “Can Archer and I have privacy, please?” I look back to Aubree. “Go to the bar or something. Go anywhere, but don’t go alone, and don’t be here.”
“Felix was here?” Ignoring my instructions, Fletch pushes closer. “He washere? And you want me to leave?”
“He’s in Copeland, he was never at my apartment.” Glancing back at Aubree, I repeat, “Can you please go? I want to talk to my husband alone.”
“Are you gonna be okay?” Worried about me instead of her own trauma, she stops by my side and waits with eyes brimming with emotion. She wants to cry. She wants to run away and hide from everything Malone. But of course, her concerns are for me. “I can come back in a—”
“I’m fine.”
I’m not a hugger. I’veneverbeen a hugger with anyone, except maybe Archer. But Aubree likes physical touch, which means I lean in and wrap her tight until her lungs empty and her body releases the tension she’s bottled up since the moment Felix knocked on the door.
Moving back again, I force a small smile to comfort her. “I just want to talk to Archer for a bit. Alone.” Dragging my bottom lip between my teeth, I turn to an enraged Fletch and repeat my movements. “He didn’t threaten us. He didn’t even touch us. He was just… there, and now he’s nowhere near us.” Stepping back, I set my hand on his shoulder. “Go get Mia from the nanny. Take her out for a meal.”
“You mean get her so I know exactly where she is?” he growls. “So I know she’s safe and not being abducted by that fucking asshole?”
“Yeah.” I give a gentle nod. “Just go. Be somewhere else, because I need to talk to Archer, and it’s private.”
“Fine.” Huffing, Fletch shakes his head and opens the apartment door.
He pauses and lets Aubree pass by, then he stops on the threshold for a minute longer. Staring. Studying us. His honeycomb eyes bore against the side of my face, and the guns strapped to his torso lend an ominous edge to our silent standoff. But when I keep my lips firmly shut and Archer doesn’t demand a single answer, Fletch accepts he won’t be privy to our conversation.
“Call me when you’re done.” With a last exhalation, he snags the door handle and pulls it shut.
Now it’s just me and Archer.
And Chloe.
And a bag filled with all sorts of criminal shit.
“You brought Chloe over?”
“Is there a reason you have bricks of cash hidden in your closet?” Moving past the man, I stalk to the bag I set on the floor beside Chloe’s deserted cage. Tearing the zipper open, I dig my hand in deep and yank out a brick worth ten thousand dollars.
“Why.” I set it on the counter, then go back for more. “Do you.” I set the second on top of the first. “Have bricks. Of money?” Stacking the pile four high, I turn back to a mildly curious Archer and cross my arms. “It’s a verycartelthing for you to do, Malone.”
“Sure.” Slowly, he strolls across the kitchen to stop at my side. His aftershave burns into my lungs, and his secured arm rests against my shoulder. It’s a hug, in a way. But it’s also him peeking over my head and into the bag. “I was a kid raised in a cartel, Mayet. You think I don’t keep cash ready in case the world burns?”
“And the guns?”
He pauses for a moment. “I’m a cop.”
“The serial numbers are scraped off!” I shove my hand into the bag again and take out one of the four weapons. Slapping it down on top of the stack of money, I create the kind of image one might see if they Google ‘mafia’. “Cops have a little rule about shaving the numbers off, right?”
Slipping his good arm around my torso, Archer tugs me closer, despite my reticence, and presses a lingering kiss to my temple. “Undocumented guns are smart business when you’re me—or, the me I used to be.”
“You’re clearly still him.” I reach into the bag and take out passports; not just one, but two more I found in the lining. “Archer Smith. Archer Davies. Archer Malone.” Tossing them to the counter, I twist in his hold and look up. “Are you actually Archer Malone?”
Untroubled by my line of questioning, he chuckles in the back of his throat. “Well, obviously. Archer Smith doesn’t sound nearly as cool.”
“You’re making a joke of this!” I push him back with my elbow in his gut, then when I have space, I turn to the bag and take out his little black book. “Jenny with the black lace thong?” I flip to the next page. “Jenna,whose tongue does nice things? Loose Lucy?” I snap the book closed and slam it to Archer’s chest. “Really?”
He catches the notebook before it falls to the ground, but he laughs, throaty and infuriating… much like how Felix does. “Your toxic trait is how easily triggered your jealousy is, Mayet. From zero to fucking sixty. You skim over the guns and money and passports, and you zero in on theoldbook Iusedto keep phone numbers in.”
