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Tension sits thick between the men, while behind us, drinkers come and go from the bar. The door swings open and shut on a regular basis, offering bursts of laughter and conversation from Tim’s, but out here on the sidewalk of Copeland City’s first responder district—where the hospital, morgue, police station, and other facilities are all within a few blocks of each other—two best friends can’t seem to find anything to say to one another.
So I step forward. “Listen, Fletch. I—”
“That’s all I wanted.” He turns on his heels, only to stop on a skid when he almost bumps into Seraphina Lewis.
She’s basically my glorified assistant. She handles PR and keeps a barrier between me—the chief medical examiner—and the public who wants answers when their loved ones die. But tonight, in the dark, it’s obvious she’s not working. She wears a cute dress that halters around her neck and accentuates her hips.
Not an outfit I would willingly choose, but on her, it looks perfect. Effortless.
Fletch looks her up and down, lingering in our presence for longer than I know he wants. Then he shakes his head and snatches another slip of paper from his pocket.
Apparently, he’s walking around the city with Mia’s requests, because he thrusts one toward Seraphina and stalks away without another glance.
“What is…” Confused, the woman affectionately dubbed as Fifi by almost everyone we know opens her sheet of paper and scans the contents with sharp eyes.
Her brows pull close, bringing a line to the center of her forehead that she’ll find in the mirror later and hate. But when she gets to the bottom, she looks up to us in surprise, her lips floundering open and closed. “He just… Birthday party?”
“Mia’s turning four.” Frustrated, Archer scrubs his fingers through his hair. “Why isn’t he talking toyou?”
“What?” She looks down at her invitation again. Then back up to us. “What do you mean?”
“Well, he’s angry at me, so mine came with bad attitude. But why’s he pissed at you?”
“I don’t…” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth and settles on a shake of her head. “I don’t know. I told him off last month for something that happened. But I’m always mean to him, so I don’t get what’s different this time.”
Jada’s home from rehab.
His ex-wife is an addict, and for the last few months, she was away getting clean and figuring her life out. But now she’s back. Needing him, confusing him. It’s not surprising to me that he’s pushing Fifi aside too.
It’s how he copes, I suppose.
“Were you looking for me?” I fold my slip of paper in half and slide it into my pocket for later dissection. Then I look to Seraphina and raise my brows. “Detective Malone and I were heading home. So if you don’t need anything—”
“No.” She continues to study her unicorn invitation. Off-balance. Curious. “Aubree said she wanted to get dinner, so I’m meeting her here. Uh…” Almost as though embarrassed, her cheeks warm. “You could join us, if you want—”
“Nope.” I take Archer’s hand and step toward our apartment entrance. “We’ve eaten, and now we’re going home. Have a good night, Fifi. Remind Aubree she’s on call, so she can’t have more than a single drink. Come on.” I twine my fingers between Archer’s, and run my free hand along his bulging arm.
He’s still in fight mode. Ready to slay his best friend for me. Ready to break both their hearts, all to save me from the punishment I deserve.
I don’t regret killing those men. It needed to be done, and as a direct result, innocents have been spared. But I do regret the relationships I’ve strained. The friends I’ve hurt and lied to.
If anything, Fletcher’s response is proof of why I need to shut my mouth. He knows the truth, and when he chosenotto automatically take it to his captain, he became an accessory to my crimes.
Tugging Archer away, and then through the building doorway, I finally drag his attention around just in time to meet our landlord’s smile.
Steve is about a hundred years old, wears cardigans even though winter is gone, and loves me the way he might’ve loved a daughter if he was ever blessed with one of his own.
“Hi.” I allow him to pull me into a hug that brings warmth to my heart and a flutter in my belly. But I don’t release Archer’s hand. “You’re looking sharp.” Stepping back, I meet his handsome gaze. “Got a date tonight?”
He chuckles so his rounded stomach and saggy cheeks bounce in time. “Not tonight, Ms. Mayet. You?”
“Well, of course. I’m a married woman.” I step back to Archer’s side and breathe a sigh of relief when he releases my hand but wraps his arm over my shoulder. “That means I have a date every single night for the rest of my life.”
“A happy coincidence when you like the person you married,” he teases. Looking to Archer, he nods that way men do. “Detective Malone. I saw your work on the Clint case yesterday.”
“Thanks.” He starts toward the stairs, since retreating is his first reaction when civilians discuss active investigations. “We’ll see you tomorrow—”
“That whole thing was very tragic.” Steve follows us to the bottom of the stairs. “That woman killing her husband and kids…” he clicks his tongue. “But I saw you on the news, and I just wanted to say that you did a good job.”
