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“I admit that you need to get a life.”
My phone vibrates in my back pocket and steals my focus away from the freezing wind and my aching fingertips. Reaching around, I snag it and narrow my eyes when Archer’s name flashes on the screen.
Aubree sees his name too, and giggles when I accept the call and bring it to my ear.
“Where are you?”
“Not a nice greeting,Minnnnka.” His voice is smoother than butter and devilish enough to tempt me to sigh. “Whatcha doing?”
“Solving a crime. What are you doing?”
He chuckles, low in his throat and delicious enough to have flashes of last night playing through my mind.
Get yourself together, Mayet.
“I just had a useless meeting with Copeland’s most obnoxious news reporter.”
“Useless,” I ponder, “because you didn’t get whatever you went there for?”
“Not a fucking thing except a headache and lost time. Word’s spreading that the new mayor has arrived in the city. He’s to be sworn in next week. Did you catch that too?”
“Probably why London keeps calling me for an interview.” I lower my voice and add, “Seeing as how I kind of forced the former mayor into early retirement and all…”
“Mmm.” Unimpressed, he firms his lips. “Seeing as. Where are you?”
“About twenty feet from the front doors of a place called The Stitch.” I pause for a moment when Archer’s end of the call turns eerily quiet. Then, grinning, I add, “we need new scrubs.”
“You need a kick in the fucking ass.”
Ahead of us, the front door of The Stitch opens, then out steps the detective himself, with a swagger and a hell of lot of bad attitude. Hanging up on me, he slips the phone into his pocket and sets his hands on his hips.
Beside me, Aubree whistles under her breath. “You’re in so much trouble.”
Rolling my eyes, I stop in front of Archer and look up when I realize just how close we stand. “Detective Malone. It’s good to see you… professionally.”
He casts his eyes to Aubree. “You and Fletch have big mouths.”
“Or maybe what we have is an unshaking sense of friendship and kindness,” she counters. “He knows we’re nosy, so…”
“You’re ordered, by law and by me,” slowly, Archer brings his gaze back to mine, “notto investigate my shit on the side like you think you’re some kind of superhero.” He lowers his head a fraction. “You have a job, Mayet. And it’s not on the street where you risk our perp recognizing you. Do you have any clue the number of times I’ve had to fight or run or defend myself from an asshole who doesn’t much like the idea of jail?”
“I’m not gonna fight anyone.” I firm my jaw and stand taller under Archer’s intimidating stare. “Why the hell would I do that?”
“Because your face is all over the media right now! How is a killer not gonna recognize you and know you’re the one running the bodies he’s dropping? Next thing you know, he’s shoving past you, throwing you aside, and oh look,” he throws his hands up, “Minka is bleeding internally and probably gonna die.”
“Aww.” Aubree presses her hands to her chest. “He really likes you, Mayet.”
“Shut the hell up,” we both snap at her.
Then, turning to Archer, I add, “I was only coming here to look around. We’re technically on our lunch break, and Aubree wanted to go two doors up to Ombre to buy these boots she can’t shut up about.”
“Minka Mayet!” My second swings around with more enthusiasm than is needed. With wide eyes and a secretive grin, she wrinkles her nose. “What a smooth and beautiful segue.” She grabs my hand. “Let’s shop. Then let’s eat.”
Detective Fletcher steps out of The Stitch and skids to a stop when he finds our trio standing outside: Aubree holding my hand, and Archer staring at me like I did something to annoy him. Fletch holds a notebook in his left hand, a pen in his right. Squashed between book and palm is a stack of papers that have come from a printer recently.
He stares for a moment, mid-thought, mid-writing, then he lowers his hands and looks to Archer. “What the hell happened?”
“Your big mouth happened,” Archer snarls. “Do you intend to make a habit of telling them every step we make in an active investigation, or was this a once-off?”
