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But Archer remains firm and speaks only to Tiffany. “We will not rest until we have the answers, and in doing so, vow to leave no rock unturned.” He tightens his hand at the small of my back to fist my coat and keep me tethered close. “That’s all I have to share right now.”
Unlike her colleagues, Tiffany takes a step back at Archer’s clear dismissal.
Dozens of others continue to shout. They scream and wave their arms for attention. But Archer turns me, then leads me back inside the George Stanley building, surprising me with the direction he takes.
He charges into the elevator, pushing me ahead of him and mashes his fist to the ‘close door’ button. Then, instead of selecting the ninth floor, like we do almost every other time we’re in this building, he hits P for the parking garage below.
“You ‘won’t rest’ until you’ve figured it out?” As soon as the doors close, I look over my shoulder and raise my brow. “Yet you’re forcing me home before the sun has even gone down?”
“The sun won’t be gone till after eight.” When the doors open again in the garage, he leads me out and starts toward the long line of cars that George Stanley employees use on the job. “I intend to be home by then. Showered, fed, and chilling the fuck out. Have you still got the keys from last time you used a car?”
Sighing, I reach into my bag. The only reason I do is because I forgot to check the car back in after visiting Anna’s house yesterday.Oops.
Tugging the keys out, I narrow my eyes when Archer snatches them from my hand and fists them in his.
“I’ll drive.” He leads me all the way to the passenger seat and holds the door while I slide in. “How’s your shoulder?”
Feels like it’s on fire.
Feels like I need surgery all over again.
Feels like I want to tear that bitch’s extensions straight out of her head and feed them to a wild boar.
But of course, I say none of that.
“She hurt me a little, but it’s fine.”
“Mmhmm.” He slams the door so the entire car rocks on its frame, then coming around to his side, he slides in and jams the key into the ignition. “I’ll get you pain relief soon.” He glances across and meets my eyes. “I promise.”
“Why are we in the car?” I gingerly tug my seatbelt over my chest. “We can walk home faster than it takes to drive and find parking.”
“Because we’re not going straight home.” He pushes the stick into reverse and brings us out of the parking slip, then he switches it into drive and fixes his belt while we’re already moving. Over the smooth concrete so our wheels squeak, then up the ramp into glaring sunlight. “I already told you, we’re going somewhere else first.”
“Okay, so…” The media still camp at our building’s front door, and some loiter on the driveway, but most dart aside as Archer inches closer. “Where are we going?”
“The asshole won’t take my calls.” Archer pulls into afternoon traffic and turns us toward the hills. “Let’s see him turn you away at the door.”
“Wait.” I jerk in my chair and turn toward my husband. “What?”
“Betcha twenty bucks and a little Oxy he won’t tell you to leave.” He shoots a fast grin my way.
“Archer!” Panic lances through my blood. “I don’t want to go to the mayor’s house!”
ARCHER
Minka pouts. She folds her arms, even though the action hurts her, and drops her chin so it almost touches her chest. But she doesn’t claw her way to freedom, so I guess that’s a win.
We wind our way up the rich and snobby mountains that shield rich and snobby people.
Anna’s home is near here. As is Ever Mathers’.
This is where the wealthy hang out, and once upon a time, it was occupied by much of my family and those they associated with.
The Malones are in New York now, and have been for a long time. But back in the day, when Copeland was merely a port for ships to dock at and offload their cargo, this is where my family kept their product. It’s where they stored their cash and assets. So though we’re no longer a part of their world—or at least, I’m trying really hard not to be—it doesn’t mean we don’t have millions in assets still taking up real estate space.
It’s a conflicting feeling, really, to live in a tiny apartment in the middle of the city, when we have so much more.
More conflicting, though, is how the hell I tell my wife of her inadvertent real estate ventures.
