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MINKA
“You don’t have to say anything.” Seraphina walks on my left, while Aubree takes up my right, and our trio approaches what is already a mob of reporters and civilians spilling onto the street outside the police station.
Archer’s station.
He’s in there somewhere—or maybe he’s someplace else in the city, hunting down Paul McGregor’s killers—but hereIam, closer than I’ve ever been in the past, and in the midst of the worst breakup I’ve ever known.
It wasn’t loud, and no one said or did anything truly harmful. But that doesn’t stop the ache in my heart and the dread sitting low in my stomach.
I said we could be friends, and yet, simply being near the building he works out of has me in a cold sweat far worse than what Drew Kernicke’s slap elicited.
But that’s the deal I made. Those were the words I spewed at Archer, so now it’s the choice I have to live by.
So I straighten my face and paste on an expression that won’t get me in trouble if one of the many film crews turns their cameras on me.
At the front of the crowd, in front of the dozens of cameramen pulsing and shoving and demanding attention, is former District Attorney andI-Give-Aubree-Daddy-IssuesJustin Lawrence, in a fitted three-piece suit and with his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back to perfection, and grinning a grin I somehowknowpreceded the conception of his two adult daughters twenty-something years ago.
He’s about two decades my senior, and not nearly Archer-y enough for my tastes, but that doesn’t make me blind to the fact he’s a very attractive man. He’s broad and strong… and slightly egotistical, though not so much to make him obnoxious. His former career means he’s smart and quick-witted. He’s an educated man, with educated daughters, and has a life built on arguing his case and almost always winning.
I know why he scrambles poor Aubree’s brains whenever he’s nearby. And I know that I’m looking forward to him coming on as mayor.
But that doesn’t mean I look forward to stepping in front of these cameras and kissing his ass.
“You only have to shake his hand—if even that,” Seraphina speaks quickly. “The fact you’re here at all is enough. It shows solidarity between offices, and that’s all he asked for. Anything beyond this is gravy.”
“He looks amazing,” Aubree sighs. “Way more amazing than Timothy Malone the Third.”
When I glance across at my second and raise a brow, Aubree lifts her face and points her chin in pride. “Way sexier.”
“Tim’s a douchebag.”
She folds her arms and clinches them tight enough to make her boobs stand higher. “Yes, he is. And I’m over him.Wayover him.”
“Good.”
“So over him, I’m gonna drool on the new mayor for a little while and consider what it would be like to…” she pauses and loses a little of the firmness in her stance, “ya know, with a man as old as my father.”
“You’re gross,” I snicker. “Lawrence is married, his daughters are older than you, and you’re not over Tim yet.”
“Am too.Wayover him.”
“Only a truly healed person would know they don’t need to announce they’re over someone to prove they’re over someone.”
Offended, Aubree pushes through the crowd. “Shut the hell up, Gandhi. Who the hell made you the supreme leader of all Malone men and their breakups?”
Her upset helps interrupt my day of crap and provide me with a little entertainment and humor.
“That was a hell of a lot of words forI’m so sad and want to nut-punch Timothy Malone.”
Stopping within the gathering, I force a small smile when Justin Lawrence’s gaze flickers across to me and sticks. He stands with the police chief—a man I’ve not yet met, but from the few remarks Archer has made about the guy, he seems decent enough.
Chief Maron is a stout black man with broad shoulders and bored eyes. He wears a full uniform today, complete with medals he’s won and whatever else a police chief might wear to show off for a few dozen cameras on his mayor’s inauguration day.
Together, the men chat privately on a makeshift stage a few feet from a podium that has been set up and now awaits the official ceremony. A microphone sits atop, and cords run from there toward the front of the station.
But though Justin converses with Maron, his expression grows a little darker as he studies my face.
“Is my cheek red?” I turn to Seraphina and cup my face. “Is it noticeable?”
