Page 62 of Sinful Deception

I open the apartment door and allow Archer to lead me onto the stairs. “No thanks. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

“Sure.” He exhales a gusty breath and rubs his jaw. “Alright. See you soon.”

I pull the phone from my ear and grin when Archer takes it and offers a thick black coat.

“It’s going to be freezing out there, Minnnka.” He drops my phone into the coat pocket, then offers the coat, opened, for me to slip my arms into. “You’d forget your own head if I wasn’t here to bring it out the door with us.”

“Impossible. Without my head, I would be deceased.” But I snuggle into the warm cotton he selected from the closet specifically for me.Why buy a new one for myself when I could simply cuddle into one of his?It’s a no-brainer.“Fletch in contact with you?”

“Yeah.” He wraps his arm around mine and helps me down the stairs while everyone else follows. “He’s heading to the cemetery now, too. The hearse is set to arrive just a few minutes after we do, so then we can carry it out and get the funeral started.”

“It all feels a little…” I wrinkle my lips and struggle to find the right word. “I don’t know. Maybe it would be different if we were burying someone we were fond of. If not for Fletch and Mia, we wouldn’t care at all, ya know? And I think, for that reason, this all feels robotic and odd.”

“I’ll always prefer to bury someone we don’t give a shit about,” Cato rumbles. “The second we have to do this for one of us, I’m rioting.”

“Has anyone considered the possibility, small as it may be, that the man who hurt her will attend the funeral?” Christabelle broadens her shoulders when Archer and I stop at the second-floor landing. “I mean, I understand I’m missing a lot of the details, but from what I gather, she was in a relationship with this man. Drug dependence and toxicity aside, she waswithhim. And sure, he was the reason she was hurt, which implies a certainlackof affection. But psychologically, there might still be something there. A spark, or familiarity and regret. He might want to see her one last time. And if he does, do any of you have a plan for this?”

“Fuck.” Archer yanks out his phone and dials while turning and pulling me down the stairs. “Detective Balladae. It’s Archer Malone.” He silences while Balladae speaks, and nods in agreement to… something. “Will you be attending Jada’s funeral today? It’s come to my attention that Booth turning up isn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility. He might—Yeah…” Another nod. “That’s what I figure.”

“Smart thinking, darling.” Felix hugs Christabelle close and presses a noisy kiss to her cheek. “I’m surprised none of us considered that before now.”

“Alright. Thanks. Bye.” Archer lowers the phone and meets my eyes. “Elen and Balladae wondered the same and already made plans to escort Jada’s body from the funeral home to the cemetery. They’ll stay back and observe, so if Booth turns up, they’ll arrest him quietly and minimize disruption to the funeral.”

“So that’s sorted, then.” Micah brings Tiia down the stairs, past Felix, and around to lead us the rest of the way. “It’s time toget this shit done. We’re not here for the dead chick. We’re here for the cop.”

“You saycoplike it’s a dirty word.” Teasing, Tiia allows him to squeeze her hand and pull her along. “Seems you have unhealed trauma, Malone. It’s time to deal with that.”

“Shush.” He leads her past Steve, our landlord, who waits at the bottom of the stairs, and through the front door without acknowledging him. “Let’s get this done.”

A fleet of matching black SUVs wait outside our apartment building, so although Micah leads Tiia to the one in front, Archer takes me to the car in the middle, only to open the door and reveal a grinning Aubree snuggled up beneath Tim’s arm.

“We’re riding with you today, I guess.” Archer helps me climb in. “The others can figure themselves out.”

“Hey, Pet.” Smirking, I duck my head low and plop down on Aubree’s left. “Good day for a funeral, huh?”

The funeral director’s staff organized speakers to be placed strategically, subtly, within range of Jada’s plot. A flower arrangement sits upon an easel type stand, and a picture of Jada from her glory days, pointed toes, soft, swirling skirt, and hair tied in a severe bun, sits amongst the flowers.

Because this is how we want her to be remembered. Young, beautiful, driven, and healthy. This is how we want Mia to remember her, if only to save the slice of her soul that will hurt as she grows and comes to understand the truth of what happened.

I circle Mia’s hand in mine as the hearse slowly ambles across grass, the wind whipping my hair back, and the cold making the little girl shiver.

Aubree takes her place on my left, and Fifi stands on Mia’s other side, holding her hand and wiping her nose with a hanky she thought to bring along.

I’m not sure I could ever be so selfless as to attend the funeral of a woman who once held Archer’s heart.

Worse, shattered it, over and over and over again.

I might accuse Seraphina Lewis of a lot of things, ranging from uptight and sliding toward downright mean, but something she is not, is selfish. For Fletch, and for the little girl who captured her heart, she would do anything. Even when the payment is a man who expresses himself in all the wrong ways too many times to count.

“Here she comes, Moo.” Fifi lowers into a dignified crouch and gets on the girl’s level. Then she points toward the hearse and murmurs, “Your daddy and uncles will carry her over here to us.”

“She has to go in the hole?” Mia’s voice crumbles as she looks at the plot literally dug and prepared for today. It’s all so confronting for someone who doesn’t deal in death every single day. So final for a little girl who still has a lifetime to live. “It’s going to be really dark in there when they put the grass back on.” Teary-eyed, she looks up at me. “It’s not snowing, Aunty Minka. Do youfinkthat means she doesn’t want to go into the hole?”

Fuck. Me. Sideways.

I swallow the lump in my throat and give her hand a gentle squeeze. “It’s not dark in Heaven, Moo. And maybe she’s saving the snow for tonight, when you go to bed, to let you know everything is okay. Remember how Uncle Arch said she might make it stop so it wouldn’t get on your hair while you’re trying to say goodbye?”

“Isn’t that such a pretty picture of her, Mia?” Fifi gestures toward the picture by the flowers, smiling so genuinely, it makes it damn near impossible for me to know if she’s faking pleasantries or actually likes the woman who fucked over this family. “Don’t you love how her skirt goes all the way to her knees?”

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