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“Felix would rather pull the legs off the ants, slowly and painfully. Then he’ll convince them they’re pulling their own legs off, and smile about it when he goes to bed at night.”
“Mental warfare,” she drawls. “Gaslighting. Assault.”
“And seeing as how you and I are married, I get to keep you off the stand when it’s time for Charleston Anderson to do his thing at trial.” Chuckling, I wander to the cruiser nearest the exit and lean back against the shitty paint job. “Jones was plain bad at his job. He was arrogant, and a bad actor. He was one of those kids in school who wanted so badly to be popular but was so fucking unlikable even a saint would pitch him off a cliff.”
“You experience such powerful emotions when it comes to this man,” she sniggers. “And yet, you willfully invite me to meet him today?”
“Mostly I want your impression of him.” I try to keep my hands to myself. I swear, I really try. But we’re all alone down here, and the security feed heading back up to the guys watching us is hardly a deterrent as I reach out and finger the hem of her silky shirt. “You have an investigator’s mind, Mayet. I know I give you shit about asking questions, and I put you in your place, reminding you you’re not the cop in our relationship. But a medical examiner is an investigator, too. I study the crime scene and ask questions of the people in it. You study a body and find the answers, even when it no longer has the ability to speak. The fact you can, and you do, probably makes you a better detective than me.”
“Aw, gosh.” She waves me off and grins. “Now you’re just flattering me.”
“Your patient can’t talk,” I tug her a little closer and smirk when her breath comes up short. “And you still ferret out the answers. Jones is about as brain-dead as the bodies wheeled through your building, so I thought maybe?—”
“Charming,” she sniggers. “Poor Jones. You’re not very nice to people you don’t like.”
“Pot.” I set my hand on her hip, but catch movement over her shoulder and estimate ten more seconds before Fletch is with us. “Meet kettle. You’re hardly even nice to the people you do like.”
“You genuinely thought I poisoned your dinner last night.” She dissolves into a puddle of laughter when my eyes flash with remembrance. “I saw you switch our plates, Archer. Then switch them again. I swear,” giggling, she reaches up to swipe invisible tears from her eyes, “that was the most romantic thing I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.”
“Gag.” Fletch comes to a stop two feet away and lifts a brow. “What was romantic? And why does it make me want to shoot myself in the head?”
“Nothing—”
“Detective Malone was worried about his dinner last night,” Minka explains anyway. “We’d had somewhat of a disagreement yesterday, so I guess he thought I would pursue retribution.”
“Somewhat of a disagreement?” Fletch opens the back door and holds it for my wife. “He handcuffed you to another man, Mayet. We swung by the lawyer’s office on the way home to make sure his will was up to date.”
“Good lord.” Brushing my hands away, Minka circles the door and sets her foot inside. “Dramatic. Both of you.”
“Yep. Now let’s stop discussing it.” I push my partner to the side and grab the door handle, so my wife and I are separated only by the length of steel and a window. “I survived. I ate.”
“You apologized.” She grins, her dimples popping. “Our marriage remains intact.”
“And all of Archer’s riches remain his,” Fletch inserts impishly.
He jogs around to the driver’s seat, while Minka’s eyes change. From playfulness to something else entirely. “What?”
“He’s talking shit.” I press a kiss on her lips and hope to distract her from what her mind has not yet figured out. She’s a smart woman. Extremely intelligent in her field. But she’s yet to connect my family’s wealth to me… and from me… to her.
I already know she won’t be pleased.
“Let’s get this thing done.” I hold her door and slowly nudge it closer until she takes a hint and slides into her seat. Then I look across the roof of the car and shoot my partner a fiery glare.
Shut the fuck up, dude!
“What?” He throws his hand up and rolls his eyes, then lowers into the car and jams the key into the ignition barrel. “Spending our Sunday with Robert Jones is not my idea of a good time.” He adjusts the rearview mirror and grins at my wife when their eyes meet. “I wonder what’ll happen if you find yourself helplessly attracted to him and dump Arch. On a Sunday.”
“You need help.” I reach over and fix my seatbelt, settling in for the short drive across the city. “Plus, Minka doesn’t get attracted to forty-year-olds with saggy balls.”
“I dunno.” He starts the car forward and brings us up the ramp into muted sunlight, the clouds still thick overhead. “She calls the fifty-year-old mayor Daddy. She likes those balls.”
I turn with a glare and raise my fist, but Minka swings out faster and slams her knuckles into his shoulder.
The car swerves. “Argh! Woman!”
“Don’t make me hate you, Detective Fletcher. I like your daughter too much to make her choose.”
“Doctor Mayet.” Jones greets us at his door dressed in a gray tracksuit and old-man, white sneakers with his hair brushed to the side like he recently stepped out of the shower.
