Page 15 of Sinful Promise
Lucky, since I forgot.
I start the car and roll us toward the ramp leading into the sunlight outside. “You’re head over heels, world-changingly, life-alteringly, stupidly in love with Timothy Malone. But if a man old enough to be your father—who has daughters easily your age—were to crook his finger…” I pull up to the edge of the driveway on the street level, then checking for traffic, I amble into the flow and allow us to be swept toward downtown. “You’d let him ruin your life?”
“I think it would be a fun few minutes,” she sniggers. “Besides, Tim still hasn’t made a move, so…” She shrugs.
“God help him.” I’m not a religious woman, but I look to the sky anyway and pray for my brother-in-law’s life. “The day he makes a move, I’m not sure he’s gonna be prepared for the mess inside that Pandora’s box.”
“I’m taking that as a compliment.”
When I look to my right, Aubree lifts her chin high and avoids my eyes.
“You didn’t mean it as one,” she adds with a giggle. “But you don’t get to control how I receive your words. And today, I’m choosing happy-happy-har-har.”
“Mmhm. Fix our GPS so I know where we’re going.”
While she does that, I focus on Mayor Lawrence, the former shark of a district attorney, with sharp eyes and a sharper brain. Then I think of Aubree in my bed this morning, and the best friend anklet she had soldered onto my body. Then Timothy Malone, wherever he is, whatever he’s doing. I think of having dinner with the Lawrences, and meeting Janine on her birthday, and buying another briefcase, and,Jesus, I think of Archer Malone, myplus one,who is right now attending a crime scene he helped me create.
“Shit. It’s not even lunchtime, and I’m already exhausted.”
ARCHER
“No weapons left behind.” Fletch stands by the door with his arms folded and his laser focus scanning Laramie Fentone’s bedroom. “Stab wound to his chest,” he continues, though whether for me or for the record, I don’t know. “Bullet wound to his head.”
Inching closer, as Medical Examiner Nick Torres—straight out of the George Stanley building—studies his newest victim, Fletch frowns. “Two weapons. Two perps?”
“I think it’s a decent assumption you have two killers here, and they worked as a pair,” Torres fills in. “Knives and guns are entirely different mediums. As homicide detectives, I’m certain you know the data on that. A killer who wields a blade is not typically the same as one who carries a gun.”
No shit, Sherlock.
Against my better judgment, my hand inches along my thigh and touches my service pistol. Not the same one I used last night, but fuck, it may as well be.
“The blood spatter pattern over here,” Torres indicates the pillow and sheets behind Fentone, “says he was shot almost point-blank.”
“Not steel on skin, though.” Loosening his arms, Fletch wanders closer to the body. “No burns on his forehead. No residue left behind.”
“Victim is approximately fifty to sixty years old,” Torres continues. “Heavyset. Perhaps two hundred and forty, two hundred and fifty pounds. He’s—”
“Already identified,” Fletch cuts in. “Forty-nine-year-old Laramie Fentone. He’s been a big hit with the cops his whole life. In fact, until late yesterday afternoon, he was sitting inside the midtown interrogation room in relation to a couple of kiddie murders.”
He looks to Torres and waits for the doctor’s eyes to come around.
“The kids are in your building, Torres. Doctors Mayet and Emeri were running those cases.”
“Oh. Oh!” He swings back around to study the body laid out in front of him. “Well, that explains whyI’mhere then.” His cheeks warm with a blush. Everyone knows Minka and I are hitched, but most are still too intimidated to bring it up in conversation. “What was Chief Mayet’s reason for not wanting this case for herself?”
“She cited conflict of interest,” Fletch answers before I can. “She was running the girls last week, and anyone who knows the chief knows she feels those cases the deepest. I doubt she wanted to be anywhere near the man everyone knows hurt them.”
“Really?” Stepping back as a photographer moves in closer andsnap-snap-snapscountless images for the record, Torres looks my partner up and down. “You think Chief Mayetfeelsthese?” He quickly peeks toward me. “I mean no disrespect, it’s just… she’s a robot on scene, Detective. Untouchable.”
Which is the exact impression she works herself raw to achieve: unemotional. The stout professional who won’t be rocked. That’s what she’ll have everyone believe. But dig just below the surface, get to know her the way I do, and it doesn’t take long to understand how she became the avenger of innocents.
The killer of killers.
But loose lips sink ships and all that, so I keep my thoughts to myself and head toward the door. “Work the body, Torres. Let us know what you find. I’m gonna search the rest of the house to see what I see.”
“I’ll come with you.” The sound of Fletch’s footsteps on the timber floor grates on my nerves, though he’s done nothing to deserve my ire.
He’s my best friend. The best fucking homicide detective I’ve ever known.
