Page 14 of Sinful Sorrow

“I fucking hope not.” And yet, I squeeze the phone in my hand and prepare to make some calls on my walk home. Stepping out of the building and stopping on the sidewalk, we pause, because Fletch has to walk one way, and me, the other. “If she’s still in her office, I’m about to throw down and remind her it’s infusion night. If she’s at home, she’s gonna be out cold and fully medicated. But she’ll wake tomorrow, bursting with energy and ready to report on Naomi’s autopsy. You and Moo can join us for breakfast before school, if you wanna be there for it. Or I can update you after.”

“We might swing by.” He turns on his heels, angling toward home. “Unless something comes up, we’ll drop in around seven-thirty or so. Enough time to eat before we head off to school.”

“Good.” I turn my way and drag the phone from my pocket. Dialing the George Stanley, I lift my free hand in a wave goodbye. “We’ll be ready for you. Might even have coffee for you.”

He chuckles as the line connects. So I bring my focus back to whoever answers.

“This is Doctor Patten. Doctor Mayet isn’t in right now, but considering you’ve called her private line, I kinda figure this is someone who doesn’t enjoy answering machines.”

God bless Doctor Patten. “It’s Detective Malone.”

“Color me surprised,” she drawls. “She’s not here.”

“She’s not asleep on the couch? Or in one of the body fridges?”

She snorts. “Not on the couch, and the fridge would be a poor choice, especially with the weather turning chilly these past few days. Fortunately, I personally saw her and Doctor Emeri leave here a few hours ago. You’ve lost your wife, Detective?”

“I haven’t lost her. I’m just looking for her. It’s different.”

“Uh huh. Well, might I suggest you search for her inside her home? Which, according to marital law, is also your home. That ought to simplify things.”

Smartass.

“I’ve been working, Doctor Patten. The same case your chief has been working. There’s a reason I’m looking for her in the middle of the night.”

“And I’m helpfully informing you where she might be.” She smiles. Somehow, I know her lips curl higher. “Sorry, Detective. Midnight makes folks a little more sarcastic than usual. She’s not here.”

“Fine. Thanks.” I kill our call and try Cato next. He’s our current freeloader, college kid, basketball player—just like Mason and Brent—and if he’s doing the right thing, he’ll be at the apartment right now, watching over my wife and keeping our home safe. Dialing the second number, I bring the phone to my ear and pray he doesn’t answer if he’s out somewhere else, balls deep in some chick who deserves better.

It’s happened before.

“Yeah?” He answers quickly, the sounds of a basketball game on the television in the background telling me exactly what I need to know. “You coming home soon, or am I the man of this house now?”

I roll my eyes and slow at the end of the block. I look left and right, before striding across. “She home?”

“Yep.”

“Asleep?”

“With her head in my lap like the good girl she is.”

I hold my breath and bare my teeth. It’s the only defense I have against an annoying little brother who lacks self-preservation skills. “Cato…”

He laughs. “She’s asleep on the couch, right beside me. She’s curled up into a teeny, tiny ball. Her head is on her arm, her arm is on the pillow, and her needle is still on the coffee table like we’re living in a crack house. She meant to get up and put it all away, but she laid down for a sec and next thing you know…” He shrugs, so the rustle of his shirt plays through the phone. “I’ve been studying, because I’m a reformed man now. And after I put my textbooks away, I’ve been watching game day highlights. Anything else, Dear Parole Officer?”

I let silence hang for a moment as I stalk along the street and catch sight of the neon sign outside Tim’s bar. It’s a beacon that guides us home, day after day. A spotlight we can always see, no matter how stormy things get.

Like Minka, I’m not all that keen to move away and take up residence in a mafia mansion that once acted as a home base for my bastard father.

Someday. Eventually.

But we’re not rushing.

“Archer?”

“She’s okay, right?”

“Minka?”

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