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“Right. But before he left,” she follows me to the check-in desk so I can input my codes and remove Melissa from her new resting place inside the freezer, “when he thought I was still asleep, he kissed me.” Reaching up, she gently presses the tip of her finger to the center of her forehead. “Right here.”
Glancing across at me with eyes dancing with a fantasy, she sighs. “He says I’m a pain in his ass, and he kisses someone else to piss me off, but he carried me home and put me to bed.”
He kisses other women and works hard to scare you off, because he’s Timothy Malone the Third—mafia heir and man with a hell of a lot of baggage to dump on your cute, neon high-tops.
“Okay, well…” Stepping away from the desk and hoping my poker face is enough to get past my friend, I head through the door and look up at the wall of freezers.It’s Tim’s job to tell Aubree he’s a former mafia killer. Not mine.“Good luck with it all. If it’s meant to be, then I hope it happens. And if it’s not, then I hope you can find peace and someone else to bang.”
Locating Melissa’s drawer, I grab the handle and pull hard enough to get it moving.
ARCHER
My phone rings in my pocket and draws my gaze away from the war room wall, where we’ve finished tacking up images of Anton Creed, Stanley Mathouson, Trudy from the salon, and Melissa’s mom, since we want everyone up in one place while we work through our mystery.
Taking out my phone and looking at the screen, I frown at the unknown number that demands my attention. Accepting the call, I bring the device to my ear and turn away from the wall. “This is Detective Malone.”
“Hi, Detective? My name is Stan. I heard you’re looking for me.”
“Stan.” I snap my fingers to drag Fletch’s attention away from what he’s doing. Then pulling the phone from my ear, I hit speaker and rush across the room to close the door. “Thanks for calling me back. I was actually hoping we could catch up in person.”
“What’s this about, Detective?” His tone turns suspicious. His breath, just a little slower. “Why were the cops knocking on my door and bothering my neighbor?”
“This is about Melissa Boyd.” I say her name and wait. Wait. Wait. “We have reason to believe you know Ms. Boyd.”
“Barely.”
“Well, you—”
“Just wait a sec.” Sighing, he moves from somewhere outside, where wind blew across the call and provided a little white noise, to take cover inside a building. But it’s no less noisy, as voices drone and phones chirp. “I’m inside the station, Detective.”
Stunned, I meet Fletch’s gaze. “Thisbuilding?”
“Mmhm. I’ve done this before, Detective. I know cops like to sit on guys like me and squeeze out whatever juice they can. I also know it looks better if I come to you, instead of making you search for me. Where will I find you?”
“Homicide division.” I snatch up my phone and wave Fletch toward the door. Swinging it wide, I step into the pit and look in the direction I know he’ll come. “Get on the escalators and come on up. We’ll meet you at the top.”
“Yep.”
Unimpressed, he kills the call and cuts me off, but I start toward the middle of the building at a fast clip.
“Is he coming to us because he’s innocent,” I murmur to Fletch, “or because he’s guilty as fuck and wants tolookinnocent?”
“Guess we’ll see,” he responds on my left. “So far, everyone is saying Stan is a nice guy, and Anton is controlling and weird as fuck.”
“Now it’s our turn to decide.”
I stop at the top of the escalator and drop my hands into my pockets. Immediately, I spot our visitor. The mug shots from his earlier years did him no favors, but it’s easy enough to find the resemblance that jumped a decade. Short hair, slightly large ears. Sharp jaw, and broad shoulders.
He’s got the body of a brawler and a face that says he’s taken his fair share of smacks over the years. But then I remember Trudy’s evaluation: he’s good-looking, and when with Melissa, he’s gentle.
“Coppers.” Mathouson steps off the escalator and does a slow turn to meet my eyes. His jaw is clenched, his cheeks gritting and releasing. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“Come on.” Fletch nods back in the direction we came, but before stepping into the pit, he steers us toward an interview room so we can each take a seat and not have our conversation overheard by everyone inside this bustling downtown station.
Closing the door, pulling out a chair… from the moment Stan stepped into view until now, no more than a minute has passed.
Stan watches us both the way a circus animal might watch the handler he hates. “Am I under arrest for something?”
“You are not.” Sitting back in my chair, I lift my foot to the opposite knee and study the guy Melissa chose after she’d been with Anton. “We’d like to know about your relationship with Melissa Boyd.”
