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“Er… well.” Fletch bounces his shoulders and chuckles under his breath. “Good to see you, Delicious. It’s been a minute.”
“The holidays are a busy time for death doctors.” Her gaze slides across to me until she stops with a forced grin. “People are typically suicidal because of the holidays, or they’re in a rush to get someplace else. Lots of bodies on my table.” Then her grin makes room for a feral sneer. “Almost as many in Archer’s bed, no?”
“Oop. That’s my stop.” Fletch lopes away and follows Aubree—the little sister neither of us asked for—like she needs help to make a routine phone call. “Aubs! Wait up.”
“Ya know what?” The moment he’s gone, Minka shakes her head. “Nevermind. I’m not here to discuss anything except work. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
Turning away with a deep exhalation of air, she tries to escape, but I whip my hand out and grab on to the hem of her coat.
Any other time, with any other woman, I might’ve grabbed her wrist to stop her escape. But I’ve learned my lesson withthiswoman. I don’t grab her in any way that’ll leave a mark.
“Archer—”
“You’ve stayed hidden for too long, Minka.” I step forward when she screeches to a stop, and allow her to crash against my chest when my tug is stronger than she expected. When her breath escapes her throat and burns along mine. “You thought we could just ignore each other?”
“I’m not ignoring you.” She lifts her chin and looks down her nose at me. She can act aloof, but she can’t control the way her heart races against mine. “I’ve been busy.”
“You’ve been hiding.”
“I’m under the microscope at work,” she counters. “Killing a man apparently means a ton of paperwork. And we’re in the midst of a political shitstorm, Archer. A storm that didn’t blow in till I got to town, and now people are pissy because I took things into my own hands and defended myself before the mayor killed someone else. Add in that it’s the holidays, and I’m kinda swamped.”
“We’re both showing up for the dead.” I inhale her intoxicating scent and know what it is I’ve been missing since she was lastwithme. Her attitude. Her sharp tongue. Her wit, and her seductive eyes.
I’ve missedher, and fuck me, but that’s ridiculous.
“We’re both on the streets,” I continue quietly. “We’re both finding justice for the dead. Don’t act like you’re any busier than I am.”
“I’m busy with politics and bodies on a slab. You’re busy with bodies at the bar and in your bed.” She fakes a grin that verges on savage. “We’re not the same.”
“So you’re jealous?” I tug her just a little closer and swallow down her gasp of air. “You act like no one can touch you, Mayet. You act like you don’t give a shit about anyone. About anything that happened between us.” I stop and study her beautiful eyes. “You heard about Chloe, didn’t you?”
“Is that her name?” Minka’s eyes fire with challenge. “Shame. It’s usually such a lovely name.”
“Ruined now because of jealousy?” I release her coat and instead cup her angular jaw. “You’re allowed to have feelings for me, ya know? No one will point and laugh at you.”
“I don’t have feelings for any man. Ever.” She attempts to shake my hand free. “Least of all a murderous ex-mafia kid.” She says the words quietly, calmly, but the threat rings true regardless. “You act superior, like what I did to the mayor was horrible. But you ruined your self-righteous fakery the moment you told me who your family is.”
“So because of my shady upbringing, you think I should leteveryonekill someone?” Scoffing, I glance down when her tongue escapes to tap her bottom lip. “I’m not sorry Tribble is dead, Minka, but you didn’t have to do that. You especially didn’t have to do it yourself.”
I would have done it for you!
“Maybe I liked doing it.” She pushes up tall. “Maybe the vigilante is on to something, providing a service the cops can’t.”
“The vigilante?” Anger rockets through my blood. “You mean the serial killer walking Copeland’s streets andpretendingto be a hero?” I hold her tighter and pull her up to the tips of her toes. Closer. Closer. “His days are numbered, Minka. Fletch and I are closing in on him, so don’t go looking to make friends. You already have enough.”
“Who?” She rolls her eyes and tries again to shake my hand from her chin. “You and Fletch? Or do you mean your equally mafia-raised brother who is, I admit, more civilized than you?” She attempts to pull back. “Now let me go. I’m working, and you have no right to touch me.”
“How’d you get a bruise on your face?”
If she was a typical woman, if this was a typical conversation, I would assume someone slugged her. But she’s not just any woman. She’s Minka, and Minka has a blood disorder that means she bruises all the fucking time.
“Bumped it on something?” I press.
“My personal medical information is none of your business.” Finally, she succeeds in taking a step back and shaking my hand free. “You have no right to ask me such private questions, Archer.”
“Why not? I ran my tongue along your personal business not all that long ago. What changed?”
“Chloe, maybe!”
