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“Uh-huh.” I hit send and lock the screen. “And green’s not a good color on you. Today’s Fifi’s last day at the George Stanley, isn’t it? Have you talked to her?”
Bested, his nose and lips wrinkle as he glances at the still-closed door. “You think it’s cute to throw down like that? I remember a time you were smart enough not to test me. One of us was raised on the streets, Kid. Taught how to fight, because the alternative was to starve. The other one was born with a silver spoon in his mouth and a semi-automatic weapon in his hand. We’re not the same.”
“Feisty.” I reach across to a bowl of pretzels and snag a couple, since it’s clear we’re not getting dinner anytime soon. “Have you considered a grand gesture yet? A sweeping declaration,” I tease. “Ask her to marry you. Or knock her up. That ought to solve your problems.”
Unimpressed, he brings his focus around and punctuates his temper with a sneer. “You’re a genius. I can’t believe I didn’t think of that before now.” He claps his open palm to the side of my face and shoves, bristling when I chuckle. “I can’t ask her to marry me. We haven’t even dated yet, dickhead.”
“Minka and Tim were engaged three minutes after they met.” I’m unable to find rage for the fact that,ifmy brother had wanted her, he might’ve beenable to keep her. In a different universe. Different time. “Fifi’s madbecauseher heart stupidly went and got involved. People who don’t care, don’t care as much as she does. It’s as simple as that.”
“Thanks, Gandhi.” He checks his watch. “Taylor’s gonna bolt. It’s been too long.”
“He’s not gonna bolt.” I push away from the bar, ratified when I feel Fletch’s warmth by my shoulder. Because if one of us walks through a door, the other follows. Every single fucking time.
We aren’t Taylor and Haightman.
We’re Malone and Fletcher.
“He’s too invested in this, and his handler wants a seat at my family’s table. No way he’s running when we’ve invited him in for a burger.”
“He’s gonna bolt.” He makes his stride longer, stepping past me to reach the door first. “You came on too strong and turned his bowels watery. No way he’s standing up to that.”
“He’s not gonna bolt!” I roll my eyes and wait as Fletch inches the door open. We peek through the gap, just two inches to ensure our man is still on the other side. Still on the phone. Then, lowering my voice, I whisper, “See? He didn’t run.”
Taylor turns, the device pressed to his ear and his cheeks deathly pale. Then his eyes lock on ours and his entire body stiffens.
Time passes between us. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three. Finally, he lobs the phone and takes off at a sprint.
“Goddammit!” Fletch swings the door wide and charges through. “I told you he was gonna bolt!”
“I didn’t think he would! You take third.” I grab my weapon and sprint onto the sidewalk, pumping my arms and burning the back of Taylor’s head with my stare. “Copeland PD. Everybody down!” I dash around idiots who loiter in the middle of the sidewalk despite the gun Taylor frees from his holster. “Down! Officer Clay!” I shout, hoping he hears me over the thunder of my heart. “He’s running. We’re in pursuit. Fletch!” I dash past him when he cuts left and ducks into a dark alleyway. “I’ll come up on his other side! Watch your back. Don’t get dead.”
“Same.” His boots slam against the concrete, his two-hundred pounds an ominous thunder as he heads one way and I go another.
“We need backup!” I shout for Clay. “Suspect is on foot, armed and dangerous. We’re approximately two blocks from the station.” Ahead, Taylor splits left and disappears down a side street I know will eventually meet up with Fletch’s. The sun went down an hour or more ago, andlampposts on the side streets are fewer than ideal. Knowing I’ll be moving into the dark, I slow my sprint to a jog as I approach the corner, my breath racing ahead of me in short, white pants that would telegraph to any cop killer that I’m coming. “Detective Taylor?” I hesitantly duck my head forward to peek around the corner. “We didn’t finish our conversation. Why’d you run?”
A dog barks in the darkness, the scuttle of loose rocks on the road enough to convince me the prick isn’t within shooting range. So I move into the side street too, willing my heart to slow and for my pulse to quiet.
“Detective Taylor?” Sirens wail to life in the distance, but they’re not nearly close enough for blue and red to illuminate the street. Pressing my back to the brick exterior of an old, functional corner store, I move deeper into the darkness. “Is there a reason you ran? This is hardly how you create trust between friends.”
“You’ve turned the entire squad against me!” He shoots off a round that hits the brick over my left shoulder, sending shards flying into the street. Sharp corners nick my skin, and my old bullet wound sings when I slam my back to the wall. “You think I didn’t see Clay when I was on the phone!? Friends don’t do that!”
“Friends don’t shoot at each other, either.” Carefully, I push away from the wall, straining my eyes to see into the shadows. I search for any movement. For sound. For the pulse of his racing heart. “We already have your financials. We see the money, Taylor. Seems kinda odd that you’d get a cash infusion the morning of Wright’s murder. Then another cool deposit after Mercer’s.”
“You can’t prove shit!” Another bullet pings off the brick and rebounds against a street sign, so the sound of metal on metal becomes a screech that imprints on my eardrums. “You want me to confess. That’s why you invited me to the bar. No confession means no arrest.”
“You invited yourself to the bar, stupid. You’re shooting at a cop right now, and the money you received for killing your own fucking partner is all the proof we need. You screwed up, Taylor. When there are only four men in the room and three of them die from bullet wounds, logic says the last man standing is also the one who held the gun.”
“Arch?”
“Fletch?”
I jump when the roar of a gun echoes along the street. But worse, the muffled thud of a bullet piercing skin and then a body slamming against theground. Bile explodes in the base of my throat, burning my esophagus. “Fletch!?”
“You brought this on yourself,” Taylor taunts, dashing through the darkness so I catch the movement of his feet. “You could have workedwithme. Not against me.”
I snag my phone when I realize I no longer hear anything through the piece in my ear, and dial blindly, my hand shaking as I inch further along the blackened street. “Officer down,” I recite the moment the line connects. “Officer down, suspected G.S.W. I don’t know…” My breath comes out in a panicked shudder. “Somewhere between third and Maple. Not far from the George Stanley. Fletch?” I drop the phone, the call still live, into my pocket and keep moving. “Speak, Detective Fletcher! We need proof of life.”
“You think you’re superior,” Taylor growls. “Youcannotbe a Malone and a good cop at the same time! Your loyalties can’t be split like that without the law being broken.”
