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“Not my case. Not my cops. Contact Doctor Catlin for information on that. Or better yet, those detectives over at Midtown. I’m not touching this one.”
“As Doctor Catlin’s chief, I defer to your authority,” he drawls. “Update, Mayet?”
Fuck. Me. Sideways.I fight with everything inside of me to hold in the breathy sigh I want so desperately to expel. “Three murders in a month. Execution style. Bullets to the back of their heads. Ballistics align with everything Catlin has said. Same weapon. Same perpetrators. I have no other information for you, so unless you want me to call her to my office and have her bring her notes…”
“No. It’s fine. Current case load?”
“Mine?” I recline in my chair, stare up at the ceiling and wonder, if only for a minute, what it would feel like for the floors above to collapse on top of me. Would it be painful? Quick? Would it keep Fifi here and not some other crappy office she refuses to tell me about? “I’m clear, Mayor. You called in the middle of our morning rounds. That’s where I?—”
“Harass your staff and call it a bona fide meeting. Yeah,” he chuckles again. “I know. You don’t have a current case on your slab right now, so you’re assisting everyone else’s.”
“Essentially.” I nibble on my bottom lip and nod, though my face still points toward the ceiling. “Yes. I’ll make myself available for the next case that rolls through our doors. But until that point?—”
“Well… that’s partially why I’ve called.” He sits back in his chair, too, the squeak of the frame giving him away. “I’ve received word that the Palenti case is set for trial this week.”
“Palenti?” I wrack my brain and work to place that name. “I don’t… Suzanne Palenti? No, that’s in?—”
“New York. Yes, I’m aware.”
“Last I heard, the killer took a deal. Fifteen to life.”
“He reneged, so now it’s going to trial. Expedited, at that.”
“Expedited? Why?”
“Anthony Palenti was diagnosed with cancer. According to his medical team, he’s got less than a year to live. He wants that year to be onthisside of iron bars, so he tossed the deal away.”
“He doesn’t get to walk just because he’s sick! He killed his wife, Justin. Fifteen to life means fifteen to life. Life, being the important word here. If he dies in a year, then I guess that’s how it goes down.”
He only shrugs, the movement of his suit rolling audibly through the line. “You’re headed to trial, Chief. I expect you’ll receive your summons at some point today. First day in court is Thursday.”
“Thursday this week? I’m busy this week.”
“Cute. You just said you were clear,” he tosses right back. “Don’t put a body on your slab, Chief. Have your assistant work out your accommodation and flights. All of which, of course, are taxpayer expenses. Will you travel with your husband?”
“Will I… I…” I have no friggin’ clue what my life is right now. “I don’t know!”
“Would you like my help to make the arrangements? I can have my office confer with yours to ensure you land at JFK, and not, say, Albuquerque.”
“I am perfectly capable of booking my own flights,” I snarl. Though, in reality, I would ask Archer to do it. “Why do you know about this, anyway? New York was not your stomping ground, and you are no longer a D.A.”
“I feel I’ve been abundantly clear on the matter,” he taunts. “I’m checking in on you, Minka. Want to talk about this other stuff that’s bothering you yet?”
“Absolutely not.” I shoot straight in my chair and drop the phone back in its cradle—an infraction I’ll pay for later, no doubt—then I look at my three remaining staff. “I have to go to New York later this week. I need flights to JFK for Thursday, Fifi. No. Wait.” I press my fingers to my eyes and groan. “Probably Wednesday, I suppose. Trial is Thursday. Lawyers will want to talk to me before that. I don’t know how long I’ll be gone, but I’ll figure out my return flights after I talk to them. In fact,” my mind spins a thousand miles an hour, as plans rush ahead faster than I can keep up. Forgoing the phone on my desk, I yank my drawer open and snag my cell instead. “I’ll call Archer.”
“Um… Chief…” Aubree leans closer, as though to whisper a secret. A useless action, really, considering all three of them know about my private life already.Most of it.“I don’t think you’ll be flying commercial anymore. Since you’re, like, rich-adjacent. Did you forget?”
“I’m not rich!” I unlock my phone and swipe to Archer’s name. “My husband has a portfolio of property and assets that hint toward rich. I, personally, do not.”
“But seeing as how he’s your husband…”
“Shush.” I bring the phone to my ear and wait for my stupidly rich, annoyingly handsome, homicide detective husband to take my call. “Go back to work,” I tell the trio on a soft exhale. “I was gonna talk about the Giuliano case, but now Palenti’s jumped ahead. I’ll call you soon to discuss my flights, Fifi.”
“My name is Seraphina.” The woman in a pencil skirt and silky blouse spins on her heels, happy to be freed, and makes a beeline for the door. “Since we’re discussing professionalism, using the name on my birth certificate would be a good start.”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
“Minnnnka?” The line connects and Archer Malone, the flirt, makes my heart skip a beat. “You okay?”
