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“What are you currently working on?” Archer asks. “Case load. Anyone you can think of that might want your partner out of the way?”
He licks his lips, folding them over his teeth while he thinks. “I mean, no one likes us once we’re done dealing with them on the job.” He looks at Fletch, “You understand. If we’re hanging around, it’s rarely good news for those in our sights. We closed a case a few days ago that shut down some kinda nasty stuff. But I don’t…” he rubs his face as frustration bubbles closer to the surface. “I can’t pick anyone off the top of my head. People hate us, Detectives. But they’re not shooting us down in the street for fun.”
“Had any dealings around Marigold Street recently?” I’m nosey. I’m annoying. I know, I get it. “Anything that brought you over that way?”
“Nothing. I can’t say I’ve ever walked Marigold Street on my personal time, Chief. And the last time I was there, professionally, was about five years back. I doubt that case relates to this,” he jumps in before anyone asks. “Gangbanger shot his buddy because they were arguing over money. Tossed his friend into the manhole that led to the sewer. Vic bled to death while he was down there. That case was handed to homicide, obviously, but because we had dealings with them, we were brought in for a consult. Dudes were in their early twenties—both of them. Killer fessed up to what he did after about three minutes in interrogation and took the deal that landed him with fifteen. Parole in ten. We’re still five years from parole, and he waspretty damn remorseful for what he did. Crying the whole time he was being questioned. Begging to undo what happened. He was fond of his friend, but money and drugs make people stupid.”
I look to Fletch, thinking of the black and blue Jada Watson since we both know exactly what drugs and money do to a once-smart person. He catches me looking, firming his lips and shaking his head with an infinitesimal movement.Shut up about that.
Then we both bring our eyes back to Wright.
“Even if you gave me a free pass to choose anyone I want for this,” he sighs, “I can’t pin it on that guy. M.O. doesn’t fit.”
“Received any threats lately?” Archer prods. “Anyone giving you trouble?”
“We get threats five days out of seven. I bet you do, too. We have a team who follows those up and files them in the ‘real’ and ‘bullshit’ columns. There’s an entire division who takes care of that, and none that I can think of that would fit this.”
“What if we told you our killer was using .45s with tungsten tips?” Archer fiercely watches the other cop, wrapping his hands around the lip of my desk and leaning closer when Wright’s eyes pop wide.
“What?”
“The armor piercing kind. We’re looking for a cop killer who has access to cop-killing bullets. This ain’t your standard perp, Wright. You work in narcotics, but maybe you know someone who has a hookup on the gun market, too? Any old cases popping for you now?”
“No, I…” He shoves up from the chair, turning away and tugging at his hair. “Armor piercing? I’ve got nothing that fits that! Armor piercing?” he repeats in an almost whisper. “What the fuck?”
“That information has been shared withno oneoutside of this room,” Fletch inserts.Except Aubree. “We expect it to stay that way.”
“Even if your C.O. asks,” Archer insists. “Not a soul outside of us knows. So if it spreads, either you’ve yapped, or our killer is the messenger. You got that?”
“Yeah, I…” He groans deep into the base of his throat. “Fuck me. He wasn’t wearing armor though, right?” He circles back around and drops into his seat with a thud. “Lucas was off duty, which means no armor. And shit, ninety percent of the time, even when we’re on duty, we’re not wearing vests. Kinda screws with our undercover identity.”
“Seems our killer came prepared.” Sitting back, I swallow the dread that attempts to slide along my throat and clog my airways. “Assuming Lucaswas his target,andassuming he knew where and when to find Lucas, he came ready to blow through a vest if there was one. He wasn’t taking chances.”
“That says a lot to me,” Archer concludes. “This wasn’t a wrong place, wrong time kinda hit. Mercer was the target, and dead was the end goal. He had an enemy, Detective Wright. And I’m just saying,” he hooks a thumb toward Fletch, “if I have one of those, then chances are, so does he. Watch your back, wear a vest, and don’t walk down any shitty streets until we have this one tied up.”
“Yeah. Like a… a suite, I guess. A nice one.” Much like Wright when he paced my office this afternoon, I want to tear my hair out. Different reasons, of course. Different locations, considering I stepped into my apartment less than an hour ago. Archer is still on duty, but he’s also on strict orders to check in every ten minutes and be home as soon as he’s done talking to Mercer and Wright’s commanding officer.
“I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m not sure I understand your?—”
“A suite! I want a hotel room to stay in. Somewhere in Manhattan. I’m willing to spend more than thirty bucks a night to not sleep in a bed that’ll make me itchy, but I’mnotwilling to be robbed. So I want it to be nice, but not gaudy. We don’t need a grand piano or an untamed tiger walking around. But clean sheets would be good. A mini fridge, maybe. Especially if you have the kind that stocks soda and candy bars.”
“We have a lovely suite on Fifth Avenue,” the lady on the phone singsongs.She’s way too friggin happy.“In total, for two adults and breakfast included, comes to six-thousand, four-hundred and?—”
“You’ve lost your damn mind! Cheaper, please.”
“Oh, but I… uh… okay.” She hums in the back of her throat, tap-tap-tapping at her keyboard. I’m not entirely sure how I reached her phone extension, or how she became my personal hotel-booker, but here we are. A few transfers, a little hold music, and now poor Miriam is dealing with me. “I can secure you a room in Manhattan West. It’s significantly cheaper, includes breakfast, a doorman to help you on your way while you conduct your business, and?—”
“Bottom line, Miriam?”
“Five-thousand, three-hundred?—”
“I’ll call you back when my bank balance and your spending habits align.” I tug the phone from my ear and jump straight across to my messages to find my most recent ‘all good’ from Archer. He sent it less than two minutes ago, upholding his promise and easing the worry that sits heavy on my heart. Tossing my phone onto the couch cushions and dropping my head back, I close my eyes and breathe.
Simply… Breathe in. Breathe out.
“I don’t think you understand that being in New York means staying at the house…” Cato, eighteen years old, flirtier than an old, fat, white man whose audacity is at an all-time high, and smug in the way his tone implies humor, he perches on the kitchen counter about fifteen feet from where I occupy the couch—a.k.a. his bed—and sucks down on a yogurt pouch he found in the fridge. “No way you’re flying all the way to the east coast and staying in a hotel for the night.”
“If you call Felix and tell him I’m coming, I’m gonna snap your legs and end your basketball career before it even begins.” I bring my hands up and press the pads of my fingers to my eyelids. “Archer will tell him when he deems that exchange of information necessary. Until that point in time, Felix isn’t to be told anything. And even when he is, I have express permission to not take his calls.” I drop my arm and blindly search for my phone, patting the cushions and feeling around for the device. Finding it, I grasp it in my hand and lift it victoriously. “This chick wants seven grand for three nights in a hotel. Can you call and find me a room?”
