Page 10 of Sinful Reality

He places his hand on the back of my neck, wrapping his thumb and fingers around until he has a good grip, then he turns me, forcing my back to the files and my eyes up to his. “I need to know you’re going to be okay, because I know who you are beneath Chief M.E. Mayet. I know who you are when a man is out there hurting baby girls, and you feel you’re the only person on the planet who can make it better.”

“Archer…” That one word, two syllables, scratch along my throat like they’re made of sandpaper. “I don’t?—”

“You said you trust the detectives, right? And that the detective who was running the case before was solid. He’ll bring the history and experience, and Gibson will provide fresh eyes and energy.”

“Gilbert.” My stomach twists and my cheeks warm, but that’s better than feeling nothing. Or worse, despair. “Detective Gilbert.”

His lips curl into a playful grin. “Whatever. Old brains and new momentum will mean this asshole might’ve made his last mistake. Janiesa is gonna be brought home to her mom, and our perp will be torn the fuck up in prison, if he even makes it that far. I’m not above calling Micah once this all shakes out and asking him to spray for pests.”

“You’d ask Micah to…” Stunned surprise beats in my veins as I search his perfect emerald eyes. “You’d ask your brother todealwith him?”

“If it turns out the guy who took Janiesa is the same one who took Diane and all the others, then there isn’t a prison sentence good enough for him. In which case, we’ll have him dealt with on the front steps of the fucking courthouse, right where the judge can watch, extinguishing an existence that should have been swallowed by his mother.” He leans closer, setting his forehead on mine. “If it helps you eat and sleep and function again, then I’ll pick up my phone and make the order. But I need you eating and sleeping and functioningnow, too. In the in-between, while the detectives are moving through the grunt work and patching together a case that spans two decades, I need you to be operational and okay, because if I think you’re not, then I’m calling in sick and babysitting your ass until the case is tied up.”

“I’m fine.”

I’m not fine. I’m not even remotely close to the same neighborhood or decadeas fine.But I lie to my husband’s face and force a small smile onto my lips.

“Old experience,” I parrot, “fresh eyes and energy. Janiesa will be the hero Diane and the others needed.”

“Exactly.” He cups my face, squeezing my cheeks until they intrude on my eyesight. “Wanna get breakfast with me at this place I know? Or would you rather choke down dry toast and strong coffee here?”

I want to say the first. I wish I could eat eggs and croissants and fill my belly with all sorts of nutritious things. But if I so much as look at a bowl of scramble and let the aroma hit my nose, I might make a mess of our table and upset the man who wants so desperately to wrap me up in a bubble.

So I choose the safer option, reaching out blindly and opening the cupboard door to snag the handle of a mug. “Coffee and toast here. But only because I don’t have time for anything more.”

Lies. Lies, so many lies.

“I have to get to the office and handoff with Patten.” Carefully extracting myself from his hold, I turn and place the mug under the coffee spout. But I’m not so scattered that I forget to grab a second and line it up so webothget caffeine. “Doctor Chase is understandably stressed right now, considering the HIV thing, and Patten is carrying that load on top of everything else.”

“Mmhm.” He doesn’t believe a damn word that leaves my mouth, but he encircles me with his arms and presses a kiss to the side of my neck. “Fletch is on light duties till Captain Bower pulls him off. Which meansI’mon light duties, too, since they won’t assign me a new partner, and they won’t send me out alone.”

“So you won’t catch a case?”

“We might.” He knocks the towel off my head and combs his fingers through my damp hair. “But we’re not on-call and we’re at the very bottom of a long list which means any fresh cases that roll through will be delegated elsewhere. Our only chance of heading out is if the whole fucking city loses its collective mind and everyone within it goes on a rampage.”

“Let’s hope that doesn’t happen, then.” I stare down at the first mugof coffee and switch it for the second as soon as liquid touches the top lip. “So you’re on desk duty till he deems Fletch ready again?”

“We’ll do what we always do in these situations.” He spins me and takes the coffee before the scalding liquid stains both of our outfits. “We’ll start with the cases we already have, but haven’t closed. New eyes,” he clarifies. “New energy. We’ll see if we can knock something loose on one of those, and if not, then we’ll head on over to the cold case rack and pick something out that piques our interest.”

“Are you mad you’re on the bench when you’re neither injured nor in trouble?”

He sips and chuckles behind the mug. “My initial instinct is to be cranky, if only because reading old files makes me itchy. But Mia needs Fletch home at night right now, and he’s still healing from his bullet wound. This is best. Add in that my wife is about to lose her fucking shit and spiral into toxically unhealthy coping mechanisms, and I’ll be glad to have a little less on my plate.”

“I will not be toxic.” I roll my eyes and turn back for the second coffee. Plus, holding his gaze while I tell a bald-faced lie makes me feel gross. “It’s reasonable that yesterday’s revelation rocked me. It’s a trigger I clearly possess, one that hasn’t, and possibly won’t, ever heal. But coming home to read files is hardly heading onto the streets and slitting throats.”

“That’s called healing.” He smacks a kiss on my cheek and backs up to lean against the opposite counter. “Or delayed gratification. I haven’t decided yet.”

“You’re poking at me intentionally because you know if I lose my temper and snap back, we’ll get to fight, and maybe I’ll admit to feeling a little shaken right now.”

He kicks one foot over the other and enjoys his coffee. Seems this is our morning date. “Are you feeling shaken right now?”

“Of course I am.” I walk to the fridge and grab a carton of creamer, only to circle around and drop a dollop into his cup before heading back to mine. “This case has obviously been a massive influence in my life. It’s personal, when I was the same age as his first victim, and professional when one of his later victims ended up on my autopsy table. I essentially grew up alongside his crimes, aging, just like he did. Just likethose girls should have. And then we add in the puzzle, since clearly,howhe got away with this is nothing short of brilliant.”

“Or luck,” he counters easily. Arrogantly.

“Seventeen bodies isnotluck. It’s carefully thought out. It’s stalking and plotting. It’s delicately picking the next target and thoroughly researching their lives. These weren’t chance abductions whereanykid would do. These girls wereallfive years old. Theyallbelonged to single mothers, and theyallplayed in parks regularly enough for the killer to pinpoint their routines. There’s no luck here.”

I set the creamer down, but I hardly have the energy to pick up my mug. The thought of anything in my belly this morning, even coffee, makes my stomach ache.

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