Page 11 of Sinful Obsession

“And walls don’t fight back or stab a man to death.” His smile grows larger, taunting and smug. “We had no choice, Mayet. We had to keep her in holding until we know more.”

“And her children?” I snarl. “Two little girls, right? Where are they tonight, while their mom, a victim of this man’s abuse, sits behind bars and defends herself against a crime you have yet to prove she committed?”

“Maternal grandmother flew in this afternoon.” He’s too relaxed. Too casual about something so world-shattering to the woman who broils in a jail cell right now. “Grandma has arrived. And she brought a lawyer with her. Adrianna’s claiming innocence.”

“But you don’t believe her.”

“I don’t not believe her.” He grabs my hand, holding me captive when my entire body jolts from his revelation. “She said she’s innocent, and I’m inclined to err on the side of believing her. But the evidence says something else, and I’m the idiot whose ass will be in a sling if I let her go home tonight and she flees the country before the sun comes up. Her daughters are safe with Grandma, child services are watching closely, and word on the street is that they hope mom is proven innocent so those babies can go home. Excluding her husband’s murder, Adrianna has always and only ever acted protectively when it comes to her children. Hell, if she murdered him, and it was in defense of her babies, then I can work with that too. But right now, she’s claiming innocence, which directly opposes the fact her home was closed and locked all night. Only one set of footprints leads away from that bloodied recliner, and they belong to Adrianna. Only one set of handprints marks the walls. They belong to?—”

“Adrianna,” I growl. “I get it.”

“She was the only adult in that home. She has his blood on her hands, and a boatload of motivation to want him dead. My superiors would slam me if I let her go home for the night.”

“So what have you found, then?” Angling closer, I study his eyes. Playful, despite our morbid topic of conversation. “You’ve canvassed the neighbors?”

“Yes, Chief.” He links our fingers together and brings my hand closer. I could pull away. I could break our connection and force him to focus. But he presses a kiss to my wrist and steals another slice of my heart. “Neighbor a couple doors up says she heard them arguing last night. She agrees, had he been her husband, she’d have killed him, too. Additionally, she believes whoever did this, did Adrianna a favor. Spoke to the Nunes’, too.” Another kiss. A slide of his tongue along the blue veins marring my skin. “Kalvin Nunes heard William and Adrianna arguing last night, too. Everyone is so set on painting Adrianna as the sweet, innocent, battered wife. And no one has wasted an opportunity to convince me William is an abusive piece of shit. But there is no one else, Minnnka.” He nips at my skin and glances across as a shadow falls over the side of my face. “Detective Fletcher,” he murmurs in greeting. Then back to me, he adds, “I’m looking for a killer. I’m not tossing her away and losing the key. But hell, this looks bad whichever way you play it.”

Finally, he loosens his grip on my hand and peers at his partner. “Where’s Moo?”

“She’s here.” Fletch glances around the bar filled to the brim with men in some variation of uniform. Completely relaxed, he fails to locate his four-year-old, but he smiles and looks back our way. “Somewhere. She’s safe though.”

“What makes you so s?—”

“Uncle Tim!” Mia “Moo Moo” Fletcher cackles from the other side of the room. She practically crowd surfs as Tim carries her through, tickling her sides and smiling behind his thick, neatly trimmed beard. “You tickle, Uncle Tim! Stop!”

“Delivery.” Timothy Malone, the mafia man himself, drops Moo into Archer’s lap and winks when our eyes meet. Then he circles away and heads to the other side of the bar. “I don’t know if you know this, Ms. Fletcher, but you’re way too young to be inside this bar.”

“It’s okay,” she giggles, scrambling on Archer’s lap and turning to follow Tim with her eyes. “My dad is a policeman. He can get me out of trouble.”

“Fuck me.” Groaning, Fletch reaches past me and picks up the beer Tim sets down. “Her teen years are gonna be a blast.”

“You created a princess,” Archer chuckles, holding Moo’s hips before she topples to the side and slams to the floor. “Now you have to deal with princess behavior.”

“Speaking of,” I look at my brother-in-law and raise a brow, “where’s Aubree?”

“Outside.”

My eyes narrow. “Why?”

He pours another beer and slides it along the bar to a waiting customer. “Something about wanting a minute to herself.” Finally, he stops what he’s doing, leans on his elbows, and moves closer until our noses are a mere six inches apart. “Swear to god, Mayet. If she’s meeting a dude out there and thinks she can bring him in?—”

“What are you gonna do?” I tease, thrilled by the way his eyes sizzle. “Spank her?”

“Whoa.” Fletch chokes on his drink, sets the glass down, and sweeps his child from Archer’s lap. “Are we not even pretending to censor ourselves anymore? We have a child to protect, Delicious!”

“I said words!” I laugh, though I breathe a little easier when I catch Aubree coming through the door—sans date. “You implied innuendo. Four-year-old children don’t understand subtext unless prudish adults point it out.” I reach across and tap the end of Mia’s sweet button nose. Because she’s beautiful and smart and so very pure, when the rest of us deal with the worst society offers on a daily basis. “Your daddy is silly, Moo.”

“He’s so silly!” she agrees. “He’s more silly than ever.”

“I think so too.” I meet Fletch’s eyes and regret not bringing the uptight and perfectly proper Seraphina Lewis with us to dinner. She’s my public relations guru down at the George Stanley. But she’s the bane of Charlie Fletcher’s existence. “Thirst will make even sensible men a little silly sometimes, baby girl. And your daddy might be the thirstiest of them all.”

He only shakes his head, disappointment expelling with the air he breathes out. “Shameless.”

“Delirious from hunger.” I look to Tim and raise a brow in question. “Dinner?”

“On the way,” he rolls his eyes. “You’re impatient.”

I’m twenty-four hours late for my infusion and six hours post-lunch. “Impoverished. Can I get it in a takeaway box? Or I’ll just borrow the plate,” I add, less mocking now. Though I don’t miss the way Archer’s brows pinch together.

---