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“No.”
“You had a question for me?”
I shake my head and study the George Stanley building as we approach. We’ll continue past, but for just a minute, it’ll be nice to be near. To be in the same vicinity as my wife. “No.”
“You had something to tell me, then.” He grabs my arm and yanks me to a stop so my boots slide on the sidewalk.
He stares into my eyes with a pair so similar to our father’s, they almost make me sick. “Why’d you come to see me, Arch? I’ve been here for weeks, and not once have you dropped in during the day.”
“We’re heading over to the Condors’ stadium,” I tell him. Too casual. Toonice. “Figured you’d like to tag along and meet the team you’ll play for someday.”
“Shut the fuck up!” He slams his fist into my chest so I stumble back a step, but he jumps and whoops his excitement.
This, right now… this single moment, might be the one and only time he’s ever been allowed to act like a child: whooping and hollering with pure, unbridled joy at the chance to gush over pro athletes.
“Are we really?” He looks toward Fletch for confirmation. “Serious?”
“Serious,” I rumble. “So stop acting like a little bitch, and toughen up. We’re not going there to fangirl. We’re cops. Act right.”
“Acting right.” He immediately stops celebrating. Instead, he straightens his spine, puffs out his chest, and broadens his shoulders. “I’m a fuckin cop.”
“No. You’re walking with cops.” But I start moving again. “You don’t get a gun or a badge. And you sure as fuck don’t get to talk to anyone.”
“I’ve spent my entire life armed and taking care of business. You could give me a gun, a badge, and the case, and I’d solve it for you in a jiffy. I could be you.” He glances across with a boyish grin as we pass the George Stanley’s revolving glass doors. “But I promise totryto not to think of your wife next time I’m pile-driving a cute brunette.”
* * *
Ihold up my badge at the entry to the Condors’ stadium, and wait only a beat for security to appear.
“Detective Archer Malone,” I inform the guard. Then I look to Fletch, pretending Cato isn’t here at all. “Detective Charlie Fletcher. We’d like to speak with whoever is in charge.”
“You’re looking for Mr. Whittaker, then.”
The guy is small, as far as security guards go, and somewhat older. I guess it’s a low-risk kind of day, so he’s on duty while the muscle rests.
He reaches up to the radio perched on his shoulder and presses the button on the side. “I have a couple of detectives down at the South Wing entrance, looking for Mr. Whittaker.” He releases the button and waits for a reply.
“Send them up,” a male voice responds, crackling.
He lets go of his radio and flashes a look of success for us. “Mr. Whittaker’s office is upstairs, in the north wing. You’re gonna want to take those stairs,” he points in their direction, “up two floors. When you get there, you’ll find Ms. Anderson waiting for you. She’ll help you the rest of the way.”
“Great. Is the team here today?” I ask. “Are they practicing?”
He nods, oh-so-eager to please. “They just wrapped up the first session and are taking a break now. They’ll run more drills in a while, but Mr. Whittaker is adamant they rest properly between rounds.”
Nodding, I stride past him, heading in the direction he pointed. “Thanks.”
“The team is here!” Cato practically vibrates as we start up the concrete stairs. “The fuckin Condors, Arch!”
“I’m gonna toss you off the roof if you squeal like an idiot.”
I glance to Fletch, who matches my pace and strides up on my left. “We’ll start with the owner and work out from there,” I tell him. “Hopefully we can chat with every member of the team before they start crying about lawyers.”
“Gotta be smooth,” he murmurs. “Pro athletes have money to spend, and their lawyers keep them on tight leashes. The guys aren’t gonna talk if they think it’ll get ‘em in trouble.”
“Don’t forget their publicists,” Cato adds, right on our heels. “They’re probably worse than the legal reps. They make money no matter what the client is doing—good, bad, or otherwise. The lawyers only make bank when the athletes fuck up.”
“You need to stop talking.” I don’t even turn to him as I walk faster and climb the staircase two at a time. “Don’t make me regret bringing you here, okay? This is actually a big fuckin deal, and my captain already dislikes me.”
