AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“On a scale of one to starving, how hungry are you?” He moves to the fridge when I step away, yanking the doors open and perusing the contents. “Leftover pizza, carb-loading kind of hungry, or a yogurt pouch and slice of toast hungry?”
“Yogurt for an appetizer.” I collect my supplies and place them all in a pile on the counter, then I move to the sink and follow his lead, pumping antibacterial soap into my palm and flipping the tap on. “Pizza for the main meal. How long do you think we have before Cato is back?”
He scoffs, snagging a pouch from the fridge and hip-bumping the door closed. Unscrewing the lid, he tosses it into the sink so the plastic spins and dances in the stainless-steel bowl. Then he comes up behind me, plastering his chest to my back and nuzzling my neck until a groan rolls along my throat without my express permission.
Instantly, I abandon my handwashing and glance up at the ceiling instead, resting the back of my head on his shoulder.
“He could pick the locks at any time. The fact that he hasn’t implies he’s gone down to the bar to get himself a burger. Now lemme ask you something.”
Already, with his teeth on my neck and his chest pressed close, my body hums with pleasure. “Mmm?”
“When we roll the diluent between our hands before you infuse… that means we’re warming it, right?”
I drag my bottom lip between my teeth and moan when he brings his free hand around to my belly. “Yes. Room temperature is best.”
“So, instead of rolling it and speeding that process, we could, say, leave it on the counter for an hour and fuck instead?”
I choke out a laugh, only to startle when he places the opening of the yogurt pouch to my lips and gently squeezes a little onto my tongue.
“Eat,” he coaches, his gritty tone filtering directly into my ear. “You need food first. Then we fuck. Then after that, I’ll order you a whole fresh pizza instead of crappy leftovers and I’ll help you infuse. Hold this.” He drags my still-wet hand up and forces me to hold my pre-dinner, then he pushes away from me, stalking to the other side of the counter and grabbing a stool. My back breaks out in goosebumps now that he’s gone. My legs prickle and my heart stutters. But I watch him walk the stool to our door and place the seat beneath the handle. “It won’t keep anyone out. But it’ll slow them down a sec and make a bunch of noise so we know we have visitors.”
Grinning, he turns my way, his eyes burning against mine and his stride growing longer the closer he comes. “I said eat.” The moment he’s near enough, he places his hand beneath mine and pushes it up so my lips wrap around the pouch opening. Then he drops his hands to my pants and unsnaps the button. “I want you to have that in your belly before your blood sugar drops.”
“Archer—”
“Because once it drops, you’re gonna be cranky and sickly and mean.” He drags my pants over my hips, taking my underwear with them so no time is wasted, then he lowers to his knees and smirks. “You eat that. I eat this. We’ll both be happy, and I won’t have to feel bad about fucking you post-infusion.”
“Such a gentlemanly thing to say,” I drawl. And yet, I let him spread my legs and press a kiss to my hipbone. “You ever consider talking to a therapist about your tendency to turn anger into horniness?”
He buries his tongue between my legs, holding me up when my knees buckle and my back hits the edge of the counter. “You’re my therapist, Minnnka. And you already know everything about me. Now ride my face and eat your dinner like a good girl.”
ARCHER
Fletch and I arrive at the station early the next day to boxes of case files stacked on the table in our war room. Material Detectives Wright and Mercer had been working on over the course of this year. Cases that have been closed. Others that remain open. Some are with the courts now, and many others connect to cases their colleagues are working.
Because the narcotics division is a bit like the task force we’ve been saddled with. It’s a whole team, a network of investigators forced to work together, and if they’re lucky, minimal toes are trodden on and egos remain manageable.
“We’re focusing our efforts on the cases Wright and Mercer closed in the last six months,” Fletch announces to the cops who line the war room perimeter. Many of them are young, fresh faces with crisp uniforms. Others have been around longer and have proven themselves worthy in the past.
Appreciatively, he nods at Haightman and Taylor specifically, since they delivered our files personally. “Our vics will have left notes in the margins. They’ll have documented any potential threats. Search the files for any case that revolves around the gun trade. Typically, anyone who runs drugs is probably running guns, too. They go hand in hand.”
“White male,” I continue. “Mid-thirties. Approximately six feet, two or three inches tall. We donothave reason to believe he’s working with anyone else. Detective Mercer’s murder wasnotcommitted anywherenear CCTV cameras or a semblance of security, but we’ve caught a small break with Detective Wright’s murder. On the corner of Thirteenth and Gordon, which is approximately thirty yards from where Wright was gunned down, a corner store has a crappy security system. The video is grainy and our perp wore a hoodie, but from this footage we can ascertain thatone, he’s male,two, he’s likely white, andthree, he’s reasonably physically fit. Approximately two-hundred pounds, but it’s difficult to tell if he has a gut or if he was wearing an oversized sweater. His hands were visible in the still shot we have; no visible tattoos. If he had scars, it’s virtually impossible to tell. After shooting Detective Wright, he walked in the direction of the store and slid into a car that was parked off camera. Headlights came on and the car drove away, but either he knew the camera was there, or he was simply lucky, because he never re-emerged on scene.”
“Which means he drove south,” Fletch adds, “along Thirteenth. We lost him after that.”
“He wasn’t panicked during his walk,” I press. “He didn’t run. He didn’t look over his shoulder to ensure he was alone, and he wasn’t fidgeting. That makes him cold. Possibly a professional. If he’s a paid gun, then it’s unlikely we’ll find him in these files. But it’s possible we’ll find his employer. You want to pay attention to anyone with connections to the gun trade. Could be them. Could be their cousin runs a black-market system. Go through these files and flag any that jump out at you.”
“We need to move quickly,” Fletch inserts. “Thoroughly. He’s murdering our colleagues, and he’s doing it fast, smooth, and he has an advantage we can’t compete against. Dig your way into Detectives Wright and Mercer’s lives until you think you know them better than you know your own mother.”
With that, he turns and releases our squad so they can get to work, then he claps my shoulder and walks me out of the room. “It’s nearly eleven. Time for you to grab Mayet and send her to the airport.”
My heart skips a beat and damn near leaves me breathless as pain ricochets down into my belly. “Already?”
“You’ve been procrastinating.” He nods toward the escalators, as though to tell me toget. “You know it. I know it. She’s avoiding reality by being at work when she could have just as easily stayed home for the morning. And you’re doing the same.”
“We’re running an active case.”
“And we’re briefing our team. You’re taking an hour to get your wife to the airport and work through the panic you’re trying so hard to ignore. AndI’ll organize food for us to choke down, since I know, once you’re back, we’re not leaving again till we have our guy behind bars. Minka’s gonna be out of the state, which means we’re going back to the old us. Sleeping on the racks and working a case till our eyes bleed.”
