AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The brain. Anna’s brain is‘the organ’. And though no one specifies aloud, my husband’s lips pale anyway.
“We can assess that tomorrow morning,” Aubs continues. “Xavier’s working the tox results and will have those back tomorrow, too.”
“Sounds like we’re done here.” Archer shoves up from his chair and pats the thighs of his jeans. But he watches me closely. “Get up, Mayet. We have places to be, and Factor VIII to infuse.”
“Detective Malone—”
“Get up.” He looks to Aubree, but softens his expression. “Can you ask Fletch to get Cato home for us?”
“What?” Slowly, much slower than Archer moves, I roll my chair back and flick my computer screen off. “We’re going home anyway. Why don’t we just take him?”
“Because we’re going somewhere else first.” He circles the visitor chair and strides toward my office door, moving so fast that Aubree steps out of the way to allow him through.
But he stops by the coat rack first and takes down mine.
It’s warm out, so I have no need for the extra layer. But he brings it to me anyway.
“We can’t leave Cato inside my building while we’re not here.” But I begrudgingly give him my back and slip my arms through the sleeves. “He shouldn’t be here at all. No way am I leaving him unsupervised.”
Archer presses a fast, sneak-attack kiss to the side of my neck, knowing it’ll spike my temper because we’re inside my building. Then he chuckles and jumps away when I turn with a glare.
“Fletch is a cop, Minnnka. He carries a gun and enough rounds to keep Cato on his toes. He’s got this under control.” He bends and grabs my briefcase from the floor, and setting it on my desk, he snags my phone and tosses it in without a single care for the special pocket I keep it in.
“Doctor Mayet’s busy tonight.” He grabs my briefcase in one hand, and my sleeve in the other, and starts us through the door. “She won’t be contactable except in an emergency.”
“Archer!” I pull my arm back, thankful for the fact he grabbed my right and not my injured left. “I’m not leaving Cato here. And I need to speak to my staff before we g—”
He leads me past a watchful Fletch, who steps out of the autopsy room, and past a grinning Xavier, who, in just a single day, has been witness tothemost unprofessional medical examiner’s building in the city. Then he leads me to the elevator and mashes the button with his fist until the doors slide open.
“Archer!” I protest.
“Fletch,” he calls back as he steps into the lift and pulls me in beside him. “Get Cato home for us. Don’t let him mess anything up.” Then he taps the button for the ground floor and triggers the doors to close, despite my gnashing teeth.
“Don’t be mad.” The second it’s just us and no one else is around to watch, he releases my sleeve and turns to face me. Cupping my jaw, he stares down at me with affection. “It’s after five. Your patient is locked away for the night. Your work is done.”
“That doesn’t mean I can just go home, Archer.” Frustrated, I close my eyes. We have only a matter of seconds before we’re exposed to the world again. “You’re insistent on protecting me, feeding me, medicating me. But I have a job to do, too. I have staff to lead.”
“And you have a mayor to prove innocent.” He steps closer until the toes of his boots touch the front of mine. Then he presses a kiss to the center of my forehead, and exhales so his warm breath bathes my skin. “I want to feed you and take care of you. But right this second, we’re going to take care of someone else.”
He backs away and straightens out so quickly, I stumble under the absence of his hands holding me up. Then I growl, because he sniggers and leads me through the opening doors.
“I promise I’m not taking you home to fatten you up and make you watch TV. Yet.” He matches my pace and walks with me toward the massive revolving glass doors at the front of the building.
But his stride slows when the flash of cameras outside becomes apparent.
“Fuck. Hang on.”
“No. I have a job to do.” I take my bag from his hands and lift my shoulders in preparation. I use the reflection of the glass wall to ensure I look reasonably decent. Then I push through the doors and head straight into the swarm of reporters screaming not only my name, but Anna Switzer’s too.
“Chief Mayet!” One shoves a microphone in my face. “Can you comment on Anna Switzer’s death?”
No.
“Chief Mayet?” Another steps forward. “There are reports that Anna Switzer was murdered, but others speculate that it was suicide. Can you clarify one way or the other?”
No.
“Doctor Mayet?” Miranda London wrestles her way forward in striking red. Suit. Lips. Nails. “Care to make a statement on the Anna Switzer case for your loyal viewers at Channel Seventy-Nine?”
