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“Is the coast clear?” Aubree wanders in first, in glittering high tops, knee-high socks, a skirt that could be considered aliiiiittleon the short side, but her white lab coat ensures she can still work and not flash any unsuspecting soul. “That’s two in a row, Chief.” She saunters to my desk, tugging the top drawer open without invitation, and steals a heart-shaped sucker from the back. “I thought, as best friends, I would be invited to any such beefs when the parties to such are mutual acquaintances of mine.”
“You’re saying a lot of words, Emeri.” I shove my drawer closed, almost crushing her fingers in the wood, then sit back until my chair squeaks. “What processes are you putting into place, Detectives, to ensure your safety during these especially dangerous times?”
“Eyes open,” Fletch teases. “Probably won’t drink on the job this week. Ya know, to keep my reflexes sharp.”
“Funny.” Firming my lips, I look at Archer. “Detective Malone?”
“We’ve been at this a while now, Mayet. The only time I’ve ever been shot on the job, you were there anyway, and your presence didn’t stop it from happening.”
Fletch sniggers. “Burnnnnn.”
“Besides. That was my own brother’s fault. It was hardly an ‘on the job’ situation.”
“You’re saying a lot of words, too.” I scowl as Aubs plops into my visitor chair. “Yet, you convey nothing of substance. What safety protocols do you have in place to ensure you don’t eat tungsten this week?”
“We have processes, Delicious. Especially now that we have two cops in a row. The lieutenant has called a meeting for,” Fletch checks his watch, rolling his lips while he counts, “in approximately one hour. That meeting, I assume, will include a not-so-friendly demand we put a task force together. Fill our stable with detectives and coordinate to bring this to a close. Archerand I will remain primary, our minions will run around behind us, making sure we’re doing this correctly?—”
“And safely.”
He pauses for a beat, studying my eyes, before his lips curl into a grin. “And safely. I appreciate your concern, Doctor Mayet, but don’t worry so much. I’m not leaving my baby to the fucked up foster care system. No chance. And Jada will never be fit to have her back on her own. That leaves me with no option except to remain on a tungsten-free diet.” He glances down and pats his belly. “It’s a diet I’ve maintained for many years. That’s why I’m so sexy.”
I roll my eyes and look across to Archer. “Have you ever been tempted to shoot him yourself?”
At that, Aubree cackles. “I have! Especially when he admitted to having a three-year-old child and hiding her for so long.” She slaps her sucker onto her tongue and laps at the flavor. “Can’t say he doesn’t look good, though. It’s one of those annoying details in life. Like we know juicy burgers are bad for us, but we eat them anyway.”
“I’m done with this discussion.” Archer pushes away from the glass for the second time today and stops in front of my desk, essentially placing his ass at Aubree’s eye level, and forcing me to meet his gaze. “Fletch and I are heading over to Midtown now to talk to Mercer and Wright’s lieutenant. Wright’s body should be here any minute. Do your thing and let us know if something unexpected pops up.”
“Like, if the killer engraved his name and social security number on the side of the bullet?” Aubree peeks at Archer’s backside and smirks. “Would that be helpful?”
He doesn’t turn, but he hooks a thumb over his shoulder and nods. “That would be a good reason to call us. Even better if he included his date of birth, address, and phone number, too.”
“It’s like you don’t even want to work,” I taunt. I try for humor, because the alternative would be humiliating. “Stay safe, Detective. Let me know how the task force meeting goes.”
“Yep.” He leans across my desk and plops a kiss square on the center of my lips. “I would have anyway. But now that you’re being bossy about it…”
ARCHER
It’s not often I walk Copeland City streets and feel like someone is watching me. Like eyes burn the back of my neck and follow every step I take.
New York? Absolutely. That was my entire childhood.
Copeland, even, back when Felix was reestablishing contact between estranged brothers? Yep.
But on a standard workday? Nope.
So why does my stomach dip as I step off the escalator inside the station and approach the doors leading out to the street?
“Detective Malone?” A heavy baritone voice echoes across the tile flooring and brings me up short as I turn, glimpsing two plain-clothes detectives bolting off the escalator. I come to a stop and wait as the duo duck those who wander through. Cops in uniforms, and some without. Everyone who carries a badge, also carries a gun. A mere twenty seconds after hearing my name, the shouting pair skid to a stop just six feet from where I stand. “Sorry, Detective.” The one closest—nearing forty, by my estimate, with dark hair and light eyes—pants and works hard to catch his breath.Could probably do with a gym membership too, if running thirty feet tuckers him out so severely.“Detective Haightman,” he answers the question I’ve yet to ask. Though I have no doubt my eyes speak for me. Then he points to the right. “My partner, Detective Taylor. We work outta Midtown and came over here tospeak with you.”
“Yeah?” I set my hands on my hips and look them up and down. Jeans, combat boots, button up shirts, and badges threaded onto their belts. “What did you need to talk about?”
“Wright and Mercer.” Taylor isn’t quite as outgoing as his partner, but he stands tall and swallows the nerves bundled in his throat. “They’re our colleagues, Detective.”
“We heard there was a task force coming together,” Haightman presses. Then he looks me dead in the eyes and hardens. “We want in.”
“You do?” A deep line forms between my brows as I consider the pair. “What makes you think I want you on my squad?”
“They’re our colleagues,” Taylor repeats. “We know them. We know their workload. We would be a valuable addition to your team.”
