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Not acceptable.
“Morning.”
Startled, I glance up and find Micah perched at the counter, his back bowed and his feet on the footrests at the bottom of the stool. He’s dressed for his day, black suit, black shirt, silver tie, and hair slicked back with moisture that says he only recently got out of the shower, too.
His eyes are dark green this morning, serious and foreboding. But his ability to be scary to others has never been something he’s tried on me. So I drop my gaze again and head toward the coffee machine. “Morning. Tiia not up yet?”
“She already left for the shop.” He rests his elbows on the stone counter and watches me closely, the warmth of his gaze burning against the back of my neck. “She’s discovered a cache of treasures in Italy she’s obsessed with, so she wanted to get a head start on researching that.”
“Sounds…” Boring to me. But different folks, I suppose. Different strokes. Not everyone is interested in dissecting human brains. “Interesting,” I lie. “Did you send Harrison with her?”
He scoffs, soft and breathy, so when I set the cup under the coffee spout and glance over my shoulder, I catch him shaking his head. “Harrison is yours. Tiia has her own. You went to bed early last night.”
I hit the button on the side of the coffee machine and turn back to rest against the counter. “You’re watching me entirely too closely if you’re paying attention to my bedtime.”
He only shrugs, sipping his coffee and glancing left and right, as though to ensure we’re alone. “I’m an observant guy, and you’re my brother’s wife. It’s my duty to keep track of everyone for their own safety.”
“Uh-huh.” I drag the corner of my lip between my teeth and inhale the scent of caffeine first thing in the morning. “Well, I figure you could do with a little less responsibility on your plate, seeing as how busy you are. Don’t worry about watching me. I’ve survived just fine my whole life, most of those years right here in New York. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Seems you do.” Micah Malone is not a particularlysmileykind of guy. But his lips curl now, ever so subtly, so I narrow my eyes simply to catch the movement. “How long did it take for Archer to figure you out?”
My coffee finishes pouring, so I push off the counter and spin to snag my cup and the creamer Micah has yet to put away. “What about me did he have to figure out? I swear,” I drop a dollop of cream into my mug, “if you call me socially disabled, I’m gonna hurt y?—”
“Preston James…” he practically fucking purrs. “New York. Justin Dowel. Copeland City.”
Slowly, setting the creamer down and crushing my mug between my hands, I turn and do what he did—look left, then right, to ensure we’re alone.
“Laramie Fentone,” he continues with a sly smile. “Copeland City.”
I remain passive and calm. Neutral face. Serene outer, despite the stormy way my heart thunders.
“Excuse me?”
“Just naming names,” he sips again, smug behind the lip of his mug. “Like I said, I’m an observant guy.”
“I don’t know what you mean by those names.” I mean, obviously I fucking do! I killed those men. “Do you have something to say, Micah Malone? Or are you speaking for the sake of speaking? That seems like more of a Felix thing to do.”
“I haven’t told him.” His eyes lighten just a little. Mossy green, instead ofhunter’s shade. “Felix, that is. I figure it’s one of those things best kept private. But I just…” He shrugs again. “I dunno. I feel like Archer must know. He’s smart enough to have figured it out.”
“You’re wrong about?—”
“If I can see it from all the way over here on the east coast, and he’s obsessed with you the way he is… You share a bed, an apartment, and a marriage certificate. And you possess a sense of morality that would make it impossible for you to marry without telling him the truth. No way you could hide it from him. So now I just wonder: did he figure you out? Or did you confess?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” My heart jerks in my chest, painful whipping motions that could lead a weaker organ into failure. But on the outside, I show him nothing but a controlled, cool front. “You’re talking about things you have no knowledge of. You sound silly.”
He drinks his coffee and looks left when footsteps echo on the tile. “I’ve killed men too. So it’s not like I’m condemning you for what you’ve done. I think I know you well enough to be certain you did your research before you took to your blade. Those were not senseless murders and innocent victims.”
“Micah—”
“I’m not asking about them. In fact,” he sits taller, straightening his spine, “I don’t give a single fuck about those pedophile bastards. I’m only wondering when Archer figured it out.”
Felix strides into the kitchen in a perfectly tailored black suit much the same as his brother’s. “What did Archer figure out?”
My eyes swing back to Micah’s, wild and ridiculously obvious to the man who smirks.
But Micah easily deflects. “His current case. Mayet said he thinks he knows who is killing those cops.”
“Oh, yeah.” Uncharacteristically serious, Felix moves to the coffee machine and makes his own. “Dude is smart. I bet he has the fastest solve-rates in that entire city. Though it’s hardly fair that he has an advantage over everyone else.” Grinning, he grabs the carton of creamer and prepares to pour a little into his mug. “He has real life experience on both sides of the coin. Anyone can be a damn good cop when you have an investigator’s brain and a criminal’s DNA.”
