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“Oh shit.” Aubree frantically dashes forward. “Oh crap. Oh no.”
“Hey, I don’t—” Fletcher follows his partner into the refrigerated room, oblivious to the rage on this side of the glass, only to stop with wide eyes and his hand on the handle of his gun, as Archer yanks the hem of my white coat and drags me closer so my feet tangle and my arms swing out as I go.
“Archer, st—”
He tucks me behind his broad back, out of sight and cut off from seeing Fox, then he stands taller, dangerous, and merely glares at the cops. “Leave.”
“D-Doctor Mayet?” Kirk stammers. “What do you—”
“We’ll leave.” Fox steps to the left, back into my view, and bumps into Mary’s table so the steel groans and his face distorts in pain.
“Fuck.” He hisses at the ache that would leave my entire thigh bruised if we were to switch roles. “We’re going.” He looks to Kirk with pure venom in his eyes. “Murder-suicide or double homicide?”
“I-I don’t—”
“Double homicide,” I answer for poor Kirk. “The angles are wrong for the previous theory, and there’s no explainable reason for the bullets’ trajectory to go the way they did. I suspect the murderer was on the outside of the car, leaned across and shot Mary first, then pulled back to pop Edward.”
I step around Archer, only to come to a skidding stop when his hand remains tight on the hem of my coat.
I try to pull it free, unsuccessfully. Then I give a second tug. When it’s clear he won’t release me, I turn back to Fox and continue.
“It would’ve been over in a matter of seconds.Pop, pop, and they were gone. Is that all you need for now, Detective?”
Feeling brave, I suppose, since he’s still alive—or simply just that stupid—Fox looks me up and down through the eye that’s already bruised and partially swollen shut. “For now.” Sneering, he looks to Archer. “We’ll be back.”
Turning away, Fox meanders across the room and waits by the doors, but Grayson stops just a few feet from Fletcher and stares for a moment longer.
There’s bad blood there. Something left unsaid. But before a brawl breaks out and my building ends up on the news again, the cops from midtown leave, through the vacuum-sealed doorway and out into the rest of the building.
“Doctor Kirk,” I start immediately. Because Archer is incapable of keeping his mouth shut—something Aubree and Fletcher already know about him—and I don’t relish the idea of another witness to this insanity. “Head back to the ninth floor and write up a report that documents Detective Fox and Officer Grayson’s visit.”
“Y-you want me to incl—”
“Just the work,” I grit out. Because Archer’s grip on my jacket is like an angler reeling in a big catch. “The report will probably be presented in a courtroom someday. Make it medical, make it factual, make it clear.”
“Yes, Chief.” Swallowing so his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat, Kirk rushes toward the door and escapes so fast, his shoes squeak on the tile.
The moment he’s gone and the room is, once again, just the four of us, I spin on Archer and tear my jacket from his grasp. “What the hell is going on with you two?” Turning on my heels, I make my way to the Porters. First, to Mary, as I tuck her back into the freezer for safekeeping. “And who hit Detective Fox?”
“What the hell was happening when I walked in here?” Archer closes the space between us, refusing to move when I attempt to walk through him to get to Edward. So I step around him with a huff that almost turns to weeping when his hand goes to my neck.
Just a gentle brush. A barely-there touch. But a million memories and promises are all rolled into those feathering fingertips.
“Minka?”
“He was being arrogant and weird.” I shove Edward’s tray back into the freezer and swing the door closed with a heavythud. “We were discussing the angles at which the bullets penetrated the victims’ heads. Fox found an opportunity to touch me, so he ran with it. I stepped away and threw his hand off.”
“He touched without your consent?” Archer growls. “He grabbed you when you didn’t want him to?”
“You mean like how you grab me every single day?”
Spinning away from the freezers and heading toward the exit, I move quickly so the doors swing shut at my back and momentarily lock the other three in.
Maybe they’ll stay there, and I’ll get an hour of peace.
Crossing to the check-in desk and peeking to the number above the elevators to make sure the midtown police are gone, I log in to the computer using my security clearance, then close out the Porter file so everyone knows they’re back where they belong until next time.
“What happened to your face?” Archer strides through the door on fast feet and doesn’t stop until he’s on the opposite side of the desk. He doesn’t feign giving me space or privacy, even when I’m angry and tiptoeing over the edge of desperation.
