Page 49 of Sinful Reality

“I wasn’t gonna say anything about how awful you looked,” he taunts. “But since you brought it up…”

“Don’t.” I step around the infuriating detectives—both of them—and open my office door. “Save some for me, Doctor Emeri. We never get cases like this.”

“You’re afraid I’ll write a paper about it and not include you,” she teases. “You suffer FOMO.”

“You suffer annoyinggo.”

“Really?” Archer steps ahead and taps the elevator call button before I can. “Annoyinggo, Chief? You’re embarrassing yourself.”

“Shut up.” I step in when the doors open and turn back to face my colleagues. “Don’t touch my things.”

“You regress to toddler-like behaviors when you’re sick, ya know that?” Following me in, Archer wraps one arm across my back to hold me up and reaches out with the other and selects the button for the lobby floor. “It’s cute.”

“Mind your business. And why’d you ask about the parole thing while I was talking to Gloria?”

“Because the event will have been documented and filed away by the PO. Andy didn’t get into trouble since there were witnesses who vouched for him, but dudes are usually on tight leashes when they’re still chained to the parole officer. That leash might provide us with a new perspective of a park, a little girl on the swings, and all the neighbors who came out to help.”

“I mean…” I dig a hand into my pocket in search of new tissues. “I guess. Maybe. But wouldn’t Lowe and Pax have already seen it?”

“Probably. But when you’re handed a million pieces of straw and you’re looking for a needle, sometimes your eyes glaze over and the details no longer stand out. That event was just another piece of straw, and seemingly not even connected to the others, since it didn’t involve Diane or Elouise or any of the girls who went missing. It didn’t happen during the period of the abductions?—”

“She didn’t say a date.” Curious, I glance up and search his profile. “She didn’t even say what month.”

“No, but she said her son was about ten years old, and itmust’vebeen prior to Diane’s disappearance, or else it would’ve been studied ad nauseam already. So the incident between Andy and the boy was in the year or sobeforethe first girl disappeared. Not connected. Not really. But it hits a lot of the same details: little girl, park, swings, Andy was there?—”

“But you said we’re not allowed to focus on him,” I counter petulantly. “He’s innocent.Allegedly.”

Archer chuckles. “He is innocent. But maybe one of the witnesses wasn’t. It could be nothing.” When the elevator stops and the doors open, he leads me into the sprawling lobby and onto shimmering white tiles. “But as a detective, my radar starts pinging when we have a seeminglyunconnectedevent that has more than a fewconnectedelements. I’m even giving you permission to call up that other asshole. Tell him to search the archives and find the report from that day.”

“Permission.” I firm my lips and allow myself a moment of rest while Archer practically carries me. But the instant we step outside the George Stanley and cold air slaps my face, I inhale a lungful of icy barbsand groan as the mere few blocks separating the office from home feel like a million miles to a sick woman’s mind. “I don’t needpermissionfor anything. I’m an adult and refuse to subscribe to control tactics.”

“Adult,” he teases. “Unless you’re sick. Or hungry, or generally set on being a pain in my ass. If you sleep a solid twelve hours tonight and eat a protein breakfast, I might even let you go back to the office tomorrow.”

ARCHER

Phones trill on almost every desk of the homicide bullpen the next day. Emails ding. Cops come and go, noisily dragging cheap shoes across cheaper linoleum. The day is coming to an end, and the next shift trickles in for their time spent in the dark.

It’s a punishment. Any night shift cop will say so.

But it’s notourpunishment, so I step out of the war room ahead of Fletch, my desk in my sights, and as soon as I switch off my computer and grab my things, home is where I’m headed. But then I walk face-first into some dickhead who doesn’t think to move aside.

Skidding to a stop and focusing on the man in front of me—instead of the woman on my mind, the apartment I’m heading to, the marriage I’ll keep intact, no matter what, and the cases I run concurrently—my brain catches up to reality, and my eyes lock on to the shit-brown stare of Detective Denton.

IAB. The fuckin’ rat squad.

“Detective Malone.” His eyes glint with a smugness that sets my temper on edge and has my hands digging into my pockets. Because if I don’t put them there, I might use them to rearrange his face, instead. He looks me up and down, but his happiness turns up a notch—or ten—when Fletch follows me out of the war room and stops on my right. “And Detective Fletcher, too.” He brings a hand up and scratches his clean-shaven jaw. “Two birds, one stone. My lucky day.”

“You have stones to throw, Detective? Or are you here for a friendly chat?” I keep moving, knowing Fletch will follow, and head toward my desk. “Our shift ended three minutes ago, so unless you’ve cleared OT with Fabian, I’m afraid we simply don’t have the time to hang.” I click my tongue,oh no, oh dear, so fucking sad we have to go. “We’ll be back at nine tomorrow, though.”

“Pretty sure we could get this done in under a minute.” He hovers at the side of my desk, folding his arms and side-eyeing Fletch while he snags his coat from the back of his chair and swings it on. “There’s an investigation into the murder of Nathan Booth.”

“Booth wasn’t a cop. It boggles my mind that IA would even know his name.”

He scoffs and drops his hand to his hip. “It just so happens thatfourCopeland City officers were on the scene at the time of his death. Two of ours, and two from Midtown.”

“The two from Midtown were working.” I snatch up my jacket and slip my arms into the sleeves. “The other two were attending a funeral and mourning a friend’s death. We weren’t even carrying weapons or badges.” I stop and meet his arrogant expression. “The funeral was a quiet affair, close family and friends only. Luckily for us, the Midtown cops witnessed the entire event, so if you wish to discuss this emotionally taxing subject, I suggest you call them.”

“I did call them.” He rocks on the backs of his heels and grins. “I have their statements, as well as that of the funeral director.”

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