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“Goddamit.” I lower, but I don’t fling myself to the floor. I crouch, but I don’t cry or scream or whimper in fear.
“You!” Slade’s gun hand shakes with a violence that makes me worry for the bank manager’s life; chances are, he’ll be shot by accident long before he’s shot with malice. Especially since the customer’s eyes are on the older security guard. “Go lock the front doors. Now,” he commands.
Then he swings his gaze back to the manager. “And you. Get me my money.”
ARCHER
Victor Georgiana has a rap sheet that dates back to high school.
He hit a couple of the girlfriends he dated when he and Marina were off-again. Tuned them up when they stepped out of line, mildly stalked them when they wouldn’t behave the way he wanted them to. He fought guys at school when these girls wanted to date someone other than him, and on the night of senior prom, he was accused—although later acquitted—of sexual assault against not one, but two girls that were to graduate with him that year.
Still, he and Marina married two short years later.
And now here we are.
She’s dead. He’s hiding. I have a house soaked in blood, and his parents are on a plane, heading here to ‘help look for their son.’
Nevermind the fact he’s an abuser at best, and at worst, a sadistic fucking murderer.
Oh, and I have to navigate all this with a partner who looks at me like I shit in his breakfast, and who won’t say more than two words to me.
“Alright, let’s talk it out.” Fed up and impatient, I grab Fletcher’s collar and drag him inside the house, garnering curious looks from nearby uniforms, and risking media crews catching us on film.
But I’m done waiting.
Crime scene techs have scoured the house from top to bottom. Evidence has been pulled, photographs taken, and blood has been sent away for testing. Now the house is all but empty, so I pull my best friend up the stairs and stop in the guest bathroom, releasing him with a shove after shutting the door.
The room is insulated, private, and small, which means this asshole doesn’t get to walk away.
“Talk,” I grunt.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” He charges back toward the door so his boots echo on the tile. But I yank him around and slam him against the door with athud.
“Talk!” I slam my hands to his chest and pin him in place. “You’re mad. I get it. But we have too much fucking history, and I’m done letting you screw us over because of this.”
“Get. Your. Hands.” He pushes me back. “Off me.”
“Speak!” I stalk forward again before he can spin and open the door. “You’re not leaving, Fletch. And we’re not continuing with this bullshit.”
“You lied to me!”
“I protected my wife!” I snarl. Staring into his eyes, I work to keep my temper in check. “I did what I needed to do, Fletch.”
“You killed a man.” But at least he lowers his voice. Grits, instead of shouts. “You’re a murderer. And I’m a fuckin’ cop.”
“I’ve killed before. I’ve killedin front of you. But you’ve never treated me like this.”
“Because I’m supposed to take this to the captain, Arch! I’m supposed to turn you in.”
“Which is why I lied to you in the first place. So you wouldn’t be placed in a position of choosing loyalties.”
“But here we are anyway.”
He stalks away from the door and prowls closer, stopping only when we’re two feet apart. “I still have Laramie Fentone’s file on my desk. I’m the primary detective on a homicide where Iknowwho the perp is. But that file just sits there, Arch. Staring at me. Taunting me. And why? So your girlfriend can play out some kind of hero fantasy kink?”
“Mywife.” I step closer until our chests touch. “She’s my wife, Fletch, and I know you love her too. We protect those we love, don’t we? I killed a man once to protect your daughter, and not for a second did you lose sleep over it. But this time, when Minka and I remove a pedophile, a pervert who wascoming for Mia next, you lose your shit. Why?”
Instead of answering, he continues to glare at me, his eyes burning with rage. So I shove him again. “Why is this time different?”
