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“Do Detectives Malone and Fletcher know about it?”
“Yeah. It’s not one of theirs.”
Moving again, I frown and try, so fricken hard, to make sense of her words. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, the body is a cop, but the case doesn’t belong to our detectives. This one was simply a tragic accident. Officer ran out into the street chasing a bag snatcher. Got mowed down by a car. Rolled around a couple of times. Made a mess of things. Doctor Flynn sent an email off to Archer, but she has her own investigators on that case, and they’ve deemed it not connected. No guns, no bullets, and the driver stuck around to answer questions and whatnot.”
“Not a third death, then?” At movement in my peripherals, I tilt my head and tuck the phone between my shoulder and ear, then stepping off the curb and crossing the street, I glance across to ensure a car won’t mow me down, too. I grab the strap of my briefcase, pulling the leather lengths out so I canwearit instead. Then I straighten again, dipping one hand into the bag and using the other to hold my phone. “Gave me a mini heart attack there, Doctor Emeri. Maybe lead with the fact that it’s not connected to Archer first, please.”
“Sorrrrrrrry.” She stretches the word out, smiling, I’m certain. “Kirk is finishing up a little kid. Drowning victim. Not homicide. And I’ve got a schoolteacher on my slab. Seems she dropped in class in front of her students and never got up again.”
“Sad.” I narrow my eyes and speed my steps when a man in a suit—one of several dozen, considering where we are—matches his steps to mine. I see his hulking form in every window I pass. I hear his steps and feel his energy in the air. I’ve been married to a cop for too damn long not to notice some dude dogging my steps.
But I also know how to play it cool. Don’t scream. Don’t run. Figure out my plan and deal with it when I have the chance.
“Now we have a classroom filled with kids with lifetime trauma and therapy bills they’ll go into debt over.”
“Hopefully their parents do the right thing,” Aubs counters. “Instead of allowing the trauma to bubble over. What are you doing?”
“It’s lunchtime.” I cut right and detour along a street I know well. It’slined with restaurants and brimming with exotic flavors that make my jittering stomach jump. It’s not as public as the street I left, but it’s not a dingy alleyway, either. And frankly, I’m looking for one of the latter. “I’m heading to this cute bodega to grab something to eat.” Another turn, digging my way deeper into the shadows, colder here where the sun can’t touch. “I’m gonna call you back in a sec, okay?”
“What—”
“Hold on.” I kill my call and snag a scalpel from my briefcase, then, timing my steps, I wait for my pursuer to enter the tiny street. Dropping the phone into my back pocket, I spin with a jerk that has my bag slinging around with the momentum, then I slam the suit against the brick wall, pinning my elbow to his jugular and the tip of my scalpel right beside it.
My heart thunders and my breath races, but I narrow my eyes when the guy lifts his hands in surrender and his lips curl into a smile.
“Who are you? Why are you following me?”
“Harrison.” He bends his hand at the wrist, almost as though offering it to shake. “Theodore Harrison.”
“Why are you following me, Theodore Harrison? What makes you think I would willingly tolerate that behavior?”
“Could you…” he gulps, so the movement of his throat teases the blade of my knife. “Call Mr. Malone.”
“Which Mr. Malone?” I narrow my eyes to dangerous slits. “Archer?”
Slowly, cautiously, he brings his hand down and retrieves a phone from his right pocket, then, making a show of unlocking the screen and hitting dial, he leaves the call on speaker long enough for Micah to answer.
“Harrison?”
I shove back from the dude and snatch his phone instead. Taking it off speaker, I press the device to my ear. “Why is a man tailing me through Manhattan, Micah Malone?”
He breathes out a soft, almost-there snicker that stokes my temper hotter. “I should have known better. You didn’t kill him, did you? I can’t help but worry that you’re calling from his phone.”
“No, I did not kill him! What the hell are you doing?”
“It’s called precaution. You’re in our playground now. For as long as you’re here, you have a security detail. It’s pretty clear from where I’m sitting.”
“It’s called an invasion of privacy! I was on the phone, Micah! Discussing active homicide cases. I was talking to my staff about things not yet releasedto the public. Not only did you not have permission to assign someone to me, but I specifically said no.”
“Suck it up. I gave you our least conspicuous guy. He’s not seven feet tall, and he doesn’t look like Vin Diesel, so why are you complaining?”
“Because I said no!” Frustrated, I turn from the man I considered a threat moments ago, giving him my back and confident he won’t hurt me, then I slip my free hand back into my bag and deposit the scalpel where no one will see it unless they tear the lining out. “Send him home, Micah. I let Felix put me somewhere I didn’t want to be. I let him control my transport, though I would have preferred an Uber. I let that douchebag handle damn near everything, because I know it makes Archer feel better when I’m being taken care of. But I’m saying no to this dude.” I spin back and slap the phone into Harrison’s palm. “Don’t follow me anymore.” Then shaking my head, I speedwalk out of the hidden street and re-emerge into the one that smells overwhelmingly of garlic. Butter. Spices that make my stomach tingle and my mouth water.
Grabbing my phone, I redial Aubree’s name and growl when I find that shadow behind me once more. He stays further back, still on the phone with his boss, but he’s there. Not respecting my wishes.
“Hey. You cut me off before?—”
