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“Mypedigree?” I sneer. “Pretty fucking certain you’re insulting me.”
“Just explaining my thoughts.”
Lifting the bag to study her newest purchase, Minka makes me nervous as we head into denser foot traffic. It’s lunchtime, and everyone is escaping their offices long enough to forage for food. While they’re rushing, she’s not watching where she steps.
“If we were being completely and absolutely honest,” she ponders, “you seem the type tobethe vigilante.”
“Could explain why I haven’t arrested anyone yet.” I wrap my hand around her bicep and tug her to the left when a cyclist cuts through the crowd. “Maybe it was me all along. Clearly, I can’t arrest me, and framing someone else would be cruel and weird.”
She snorts. “Not to mention the additional illegality of doing such.”
“So we just go around and around,” I continue, “pretending to follow leads. Make ourselves look busy. But like you said, no one else in Copeland wants the vigilante caught.”
“Right.”
“So for now, I pretend to do shit, but I don’t really commit. And soon, the city will forget, and I’ll be off the hook.”
“Well, until you kill again,” she counters. “It’ll be for the greater good, of course. But it’ll remind the likes of Miranda London that he’s—thatyou’re—on the run. Her tits spilling onto live television every night will bring pressure from the brass to tie up the case.”
Finally, just two steps from the curb, Minka looks up and releases the vise squeezing my heart. I don’t have to stop her from stepping into traffic, and she doesn’t have to experience me calling her an unobservant shithead.
“You’re in quite the pickle, Detective Malone. You’re damned if you do, damned if you don’t.”
“That’s assuming I’m the vigilante.”
“Right.”
A few steps in front of us, Aubree and Fletch lead us into the street when our light turns green.
“And if you’re not,” Minka finishes, “then maybe you’re just not very good at your job.”
Barking out a laugh, Aubree peeks over her shoulder. “Burn! That was a solid ass-whoopin’, Detective. How do you feel?”
My pulse jumps, but on the outside, I remain calm and collected. “How much of that did you hear?”
“You’re the vigilante.”
“And my pedigree?”
“Oh,” she stumbles up on the other side of the street and giggles. “Like you’re a dog? Woof, woof. Does that mean Tim—”
“Don’t you dare!” Minka challenges. “I will cut you with my lucky scalpel.”
“What?” Arriving at our restaurant, Aubree only giggles and swings the glass door open. “It was an innocent question.”
“Filthy.” Unimpressed, Minka only looks up at me and rolls her eyes. “Disgusting. Do you see what I have to deal with?”
“Wanna test out my pedigree?” I grab her arm before she follows the first two in, and backing her up against the brick wall, I lean in until my nose touches her cheek and my thigh rests between her legs. “I’ll fuck you like a dog, Minka. We’ll both enjoy it. Then we can get back to work.”
Her eyes warm and the pulse in her throat speeds up, but unlike me, she insists on remaining decent in public.
With a gentle scoff, she brushes me away and slips from the gap I’ve backed her into. Grabbing the door handle, she peeks back at me with sex eyes and lips plump enough to dare me to latch on. “Back to work doing what, Detective? Fake-looking for a vigilante? Or chasing down leads on the homicide we’re currently running together but that you won’t share the details of?”
“You don’t need details.” I sigh and follow her through the restaurant doors. “You’re not a cop, Mayet. You’re a doctor. Stay in your lane.”
Stay safe.
* * *
