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She’s as colorful as always, her sweet hair, and her tight jeans. Her oversized coat, and blue mascara that makes the pink in her hair pop. But where this woman is almost always smiling, today, her eyes are ready to spill over. Her lips shake, and her jaw quivers.
“Come this way.” I step between Aubree and Miranda and block the film crew’s shot. “Aubree, come away from here.”
“She won’t leave.” Fletch steps up so we sandwich the woman. “She’s refusing.”
“Aubree?” I fold my neck and try to catch her eyes. “Honey, you have to leave.”
“I would have killed him.” She brings her sparkling eyes up to mine. “I would have ended his life and not even realized it.”
“Aubs—”
“I have to stay here.” Her voice cracks from a deep ache. “I have to wait for him.”
“Miranda has you splashed on every single TV in the city, Aubree. You don’t want this.”
“I have to be on the TV,” she counters on a barely-there whisper. “Minka will take the blame if I don’t. I need to give the media a face that isn’t hers. Give them me instead.”
These women love already. They feel, and they protect. Despite Minka’s terror of openly loving me, she’s already throwing herself on a grenade for her second.
“She already talked to Lawrence this morning, Aubs.”
Finally, I break a little of the statue-like stillness in Aubree’s expression.
Around us, reporters shout and shove to get closer. Their bodies pulse tighter and squeeze the three of us. Miranda is a mere two feet from where I stand. Listening. Smirking. Smug in the chaos her words have caused in my life. Not even because she wanted to get back at me, or with me, but because she wants to be the most watched reporter in the city.
“He called her while I was in her office, Aubs.”
“He did?” She searches my eyes. “He already fired her?”
I choke out a soft laugh. “No. He actually said, ‘shit happens.’ What happened to Mellet was unfortunate. It was a clusterfuck of shitty circumstances. But he’s alive for now, Aubs, and we’re all gonna keep watch and hope he stays that way. No one is being fired, but I need you to remove yourself from this place right now. Step back and stop feeding the media machine.”
Tragically, only half of my reasoning has anything to do with Mellet or Minka and the rest of the George Stanley. Mostly, I need her to move before the two Tims clash, and the world we’ve worked so hard to escape comes back and smacks us in the ass.
“Aubree,move, honey.”
“Doctor Emeri!” Miranda, sensing that she’s losing her prey, pushes closer. “Doctor, can you tell us what happened with Mr. Mellet? Can you confirm why he spent the night in the morgue, but now he’s on an operating table?”
“No comment.” I throw my arm over Aubree’s shoulders and shield her face from Channel 63’s cameras. “Back up, Miranda.”
“Detective Malone!” she tries instead. “Tell us what’s going on inside Copeland Memorial today. The people have a right to know.”
The people have a right to kiss my ass.
“No comment.”
“Detective Fletcher!” She moves to my left. “Where are you up to on the Opulus murderer? There have been three deaths in three days. You should be working to solve that murder before there’s a fourth, but something more important has you standing outside Copeland Memorial this morning. Care to elaborate?”
“No comment.”
I crush poor Aubree under the weight of my arm, and when Miranda’s greedy gaze swings back to me, I snarl and stop barely short of running this bitch over.
She’s messing with people I love. She’s cast more doubt into an already fragile relationship, and now she’s willing to throw my partner and friends to the wolves.
“You’re a nobody,” I sneer when her eyes lock on mine. “You’re a plastic bitch who never outgrew that phase of high school where you get off on talking about everyone else for drama and likes. You’re a shallow, soulless, friendless nobody who’ll die alone.”
Then I lean closer. Close enough to end my flailing relationship when this airs on television and Minka sees this footage.
“Soon, you’re going to be old news. Your plastics will have sagged, and your career will be over. You’ll be replaced by someone younger. Someone prettier. Someone better. You’re nothing,” I add on a growl. “A fucking nobody. And you’ll remain that way for as long as you treat people the way you do.”
