Page 5 of Sinful Reality

He nods.

“Thanks.” I spin again and catch the momentum of the moving doors, only to re-emerge on the sidewalk and continue my trek home. Unlocking my phone screen, I jump across to the call log and find her name right at the top, where it should always be. Hitting dial, though I’ll see her in two minutes anyway, I bring the phone to my ear, smiling despite the cold biting at the tip of my nose and the way the chill makes it runny.

I shiver and bounce with my steps, working to get my blood flowing and a little warmth into my limbs, and all the while, I follow the glowing sign of Tim’s bar calling me home.

It’s our true north. Our light at the end of a long, dark tunnel.

It’s a promise of warmth and family, a meal and a safe space to be.

Ironic, considering it belongs to the heir of a dead mafia kingpin.

My call rings. And rings. And rings again. Then it cuts out, sending me to voicemail, so I frown and pull the device down to check the screen. I don’t leave her a message, but I swipe to my text screen again and type:If you’re already in the shower, prepare to have another. I wanna get sudsy and wet with you. We’re not in a drought and water is cheap, so I’m gonna waste the shit out of it tonight with you.

Hitting send, I lock the phone and quicken my steps. It’s too damn cold to stay out here for more than a few minutes, and that’swithmulti-story buildings on both sides of the street, blocking a lot of the wind cutting through the city.

I pass the corner store where Fletch and I ran a homicide case a little over a year ago. Dead guy who liked to hurt little girls. He had a reputation amongst the nearby residents that, although he went unchecked and remained a free man, a mother’s intuition meant she knew to keep her baby home, especially when it was dark out.

It snowed that night, too.

It was also the first vigilante murder Copeland City ever knew.

What a fuckin’ coincidence that I would go on to marry that guy’s killer.

Shaking my head, I keep my eyes down all the way until I’m out front of Tim’s bar, but just like I did at the George Stanley, I push the door open and duck my head in. Instead of catching my brother’s eyes, I find Daisy’s instead.

I lift my left hand, pointing my thumb at my ring finger—though, of course, I wear my wedding band on a chain around my neck—but Daisy is smart enough to understand what I silently ask.

She shakes her head.

I point to our apartment building to my left.

She shrugs, which means she hasn’t seen Minka all afternoon.

I’ll take it.

I back up and onto the sidewalk, only to cut right and shove through our apartment building door. If one could expectinsideto mean warmer air, they would be wrong as hell when they come intothisbuilding. The stairwell is made of concrete, the walls, brick. Each separate apartmenthas a poor excuse for heating and cooling, but the communal spaces are even less comfortable than an igloo in Antarctica.

I rub my hands together and pass a watchful Steve, white fog floating into the air in front of his mouth.

“How’s it going?” I don’t stop to talk. But I glance over my shoulder as I move onto the stairs. “You good?”

“Good as can be.” He lifts his chinup. “Chief Mayet had a rough day, I think.”

“Yeah?” I screech to a stop and turn back, my hand gripping the railing and my brows pinching tight in concern. “What happened?”

“Don’t know.” He breathes into his gloved hands. “She didn’t say. But I could see the trouble in her eyes. I said hello and asked about work, but she was somewhere else in her mind.”

She was probablyall peopled out, to be honest. But instead of saying so, she dissociates and floats through life. So I turn and start up again. “I’ll make sure she’s good. Thanks for watching out.”

“You’ll send Cato down for a bit?”

I chuckle and turn at the landing to continue up. “Maybe. Probably. Give him work to do. Saves you a little labor, and it’ll keep an energetic teen on the straight and narrow. I’ll catch you in the morning.”

“Alright, Detective.” Steve huffs and mumbles, making himself comfortable at his post, though fuck knows, he doesn’t need to be this building’s security detail.

My thoughts are on Minka, whether she had a bad day or is simply too tired to socialize, so his words trail off and cease to exist in my mind. My steps turn to a jog, and my jog allows the blood to flow warmer in my veins. White fog races me all the way home, but I welcome the challenge, pushing myself faster until I reach the fourth floor and stride through the door.

“Minka?” I turn to lock up and shrug my jacket off, the end of my nose stinging now that paid-for warmth touches the freezing skin. I toss my jacket onto the hook, then I dig things out of my pockets and dump them in the bowl by the door.

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