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“If joining them keeps you safe, then I’ll do that for you.”
“Joining them is the opposite of what you need to do!” More tears burn my eyes, and pain sears just beneath my skin. “Leaving Copeland,” I choke out. “Going there, when you belong here… that’s what takes my smile away.”
“And leaving you exposed, especially when they find out what you mean to me, could end so much worse than a missing smile. Come on.” He clamps his lips shut and keeps them from mine, robbing us both of something special. Of something life-changing. Dropping his hand and wrapping it around my wrist, he starts us toward Minka’s apartment once more. “It’s cold out, and you have an active case at work. Means you need sleep.”
“I don’t feel like sleeping.” I’m feeling brave. Or maybe stupid. Reckless, perhaps. But I step closer and hug his muscular arm to my body, holding tight, even when he looks down with a lifted brow. “I don’t know that I’ll ever sleep again,” I admit. “And I definitely won’t sleep if you leave us and go away.”
“Which is why it’s my job not to tell you everything. To save your smile,” he mumbles, “and your sleep.”
MINKA
“You need to bring Holly’s body up.” I cross my kitchen with a cup of coffee in each hand and stop by the couch to wait.
Archer sits, his elbows on his knees, his head in one hand. He wears jeans already. Boots. He pulled his shirt on, but he’s yet to button it closed, because he’s in pain, but he refuses medication.
“You have way too many holes in the case,” I press. “Two dead cops, a former medical examiner who brushes it all off so easily, like, ‘Sure, I probably made mistakes, but it was so long ago, no one actually cares.’” Crouching low, I get below Archer’s line of sight and wait for his eyes. “There’s no one alive today who can tell you what happened without adding their own biased spin. The sister, the husband. Even the friend.”
“We need the body,” Archer agrees. Reaching out with his good hand, he takes his cup of coffee. “And you’ll be able to tell me what happened?”
“I’ll try my very best.”
Setting my own coffee on the table at my back, I move to my knees and reach up to gently massage Archer’s shoulder. I don’t come too close to his wound, but I knead the muscle, I promote blood flow with my movements, and I bring him a little relief—hopefully.
“If there’s something for her to tell me, then I’ll do everything I can to listen. I’ll bring you the proof, and package it up for the district attorney, if that’s what needs to happen next.”
“What do you think happened to her?” Slowly sitting back on the couch, Archer leans his head to the side and closes his eyes while my hands work beneath the fabric of his shirt. My fingers knead, while Archer’s wrap around his coffee mug the way he caresses me in bed each night. “Do you think we’re trying to make this something it’s not?”
“I don’t know.” Releasing his shoulder for just a moment, I push up to stand and smile when his eyes snap open.
He watches me. Stalks me as I move around to the back of the couch. Then I start massaging again until his eyes flutter closed.
“I’m not the cop,” I continue. “I’m the person who runs the body, and right now—”
“You have no body,” he concludes for me. “Okay.”
“What doyouthink happened?” I lean in and press a kiss to the center of his forehead. My affection is spontaneous, but it makes Archer’s lips curl into a satisfied smile. “With the material you have right now, what do you think happened to Holly?”
“Could go either way.” He reaches up with his good arm and curls his hand around the back of my neck. It’s a hug. An embrace that says he appreciates my touch. “Maybe she really did commit suicide. Maybe that’s all this is,” he exhales. “She has a documented mental health history. She was prescribed meds. She hadn’t taken some of those meds in the days leading up to her death. And hell, maybe she was really manic, and the pretty headlights from the truck were too much to pass up.”
“Okay…” I dig my thumb into the ball of his shoulder and elicit a groan from somewhere deep in his chest. “That’s one side of the line. Now tell me the other.”
“Maybe the sister isn’t crazy at all. She says Holly never had a history ofanypsychological issues prior to ‘85. Was it dormant? Is that even a thing?” he rumbles. “Was she coerced into those appointments, which then led to the documentation that would later add weight to a suicide? Was Henry having an affair and wanted her out of the way? Why the fuck get married just a few weeks before, then?”
He shakes his head. “The sister says the best friend was complicit in all this, so maybe she’s who we need to talk to next.”
“So I guess you have a plan.” Gently pulling my hands from his tired muscles, I reach down along his chest and begin buttoning his shirt. “To get the exhumation, you need either her family to ask for it, or you need the court to order it.”
I move to the next button. “Figure out which way you’ll go,” another button, “then we can take our next steps. But right now, sitting on this couch and talking to me…” I pause and smile when his eyes flutter open. “You’re only going in circles.”
“But I kinda like this circle.” With his hand still on the back of my neck, he tugs me closer until our lips touch and his breath scorches down my throat. “I always want to be in your circle.”
I stop for a moment. Stare. Then I narrow my eyes. “Was that a filthy joke?”
He barks out a laugh that turns to a groan when he jerks his shoulder. “It wasn’t! Get your mind out of the damn gutter.”
Releasing me, he slowly pushes forward on the couch to set his coffee beside mine, then he stops, perched on the edge, to collect his strength. To catch his breath.
For a man so typically strong and formidable, these last couple of weeks have given us both pause. He’s not indestructible. And the fact is, his family is dangerous. Knowing them is to flirt with death. Being one of them is to have a target on your back.
