Page 62 of Sinful Seduction
“So… Miranda London and Grant Freemon are connected… how?”
“Molly. Chances are, Grant and Miranda have never even met. I just wanted to establish that Grant did not, and does not, have a gun inside his home.”
“So Grantdidn’tshoot Ben. You’re emphasizing what we’ve already agreed on?”
“Merely laying down the facts. And in addition to those, it would be safe to assume Molly has never seen a gun before. Not up close, anyway. She’s never used one, never practiced with one, and she probably hasn’t learned a great deal about gun safety. Grant’s the dad who’ll make the world safe for his kids. He’s not the one who hardens his kids and makes them ready for the world.”
“Right.” Fletch crosses his arms and spins the marker between his fingers. Restless.Close, but not quite where I am in my suspicions. “You’re gonna need to connect some more dots for me, Arch.”
“I had a few minutes between dropping Minka off at work andarriving here, so after you and I hung up, I called ballistics to see if we could get a rush on results.”
“Ballistics are typically weeks behind. But…” He narrows his eyes. “I’m gonna assume you got lucky, otherwise you wouldn’t be bringing it up.”
“I gotsemi-lucky. No official report yet, and they haven’t signed off on anything, but preliminary testing shows the round we recovered at the scene matches the round Minka pulled out of Ben, and those match the round that wounded Molly.”
“So, same gun. One gun.” Spin, spin, spin. He flicks the marker around. “Alright. And?”
“They came from a Glock 42.” I point toward my laptop screen again, and when Miranda steps into view with a pink 42 tucked into a holster at her back, I tap the screen. “Coincidence?”
“The fuck?” He tosses the marker and snags my laptop, dragging the whole thing closer. “Miranda London’s packing, and now she’s… what? A suspect in a case that, on the surface, doesn’t connect to her at all?”
“Guess we should go talk to her.” I stand and tuck my chair beneath the table, patting my hip and thigh as I count my weapons to make sure I still have them. “You wanna take the lead? Minka gets pissy when I hang around Miranda for too long.”
He sweeps up our files and slams them into a pile, snorting under his breath. “You think you have problems? At least youhaveMayet. The woman I kinda wanna kiss sometimes is painfully skilled at never being in the same space as me unless we’re surrounded by others.” He straightens out and purses his lips. “I might’ve said something about how I know she wants me, and I want her, and if she’d just let it happen, we’d possibly make a mess of each other.”
“Smooth.” I turn and tug the door open, gliding out of a stuffy meeting room and into an even stuffier bullpen. The power remains on across the city, but the grid is struggling, and the station’s cooling system is ready to retire. When Fletch follows me out and closes the door, we head toward the escalators together. “I can’t believe that line didn’t work, dude. Since when doesn’t the ol’you’re gonna fall head over heels in love with me, and you’ll like itwork?”
“Shut the fuck up. No one mentioned love.” He digs his hands into his pockets, only to come out again with a set of keys for a cruiser tucked up in the underground garage. “She’s scared, and God knows, Jada’s left me a little gun-shy. But Sera’s important. She matters.”
“But she won’t kiss you.”
“I never said she wasn’t a pain in my ass.” He steps onto the escalator asingle beat before me, leaning against the side and glancing back my way. “She doesn’t even deny the bit about wanting me, too. But she’s stubborn and set on removing every opportunity where we might find ourselves alone and maybe test things out.”
“Sounds like a defense mechanism.”
He scoffs. “Ya think? She’s playing this game of being around Moo, loving on Moo,adoringMoo, but the second I walk in the room, she’s on her way out, and if there’s a willing victim within a fifty-mile radius, she’ll pick them up and put them between us.”
“Sucks to be you.” I flash a taunting smile, and when we reach the bottom level, I step off the escalator, head around to the next, and climb back on so we can go lower.
Not just ground level. We needbelowground.
“If it’s any consolation, I’m dealing with a baby brother whose sex drive is likely to get him killed someday. He’s in love with my wife, likes to fuck random women on my couch, isn’t afraid of a medical examiner with a sharp scalpel and a bad mood, and at some point in the last few weeks, he snuck out and started an epic ink piece that stretches most of the way from his shoulder to his hip.”
Curious, Fletch’s honeycomb eyes flicker across to the tattoos marking the side of my neck. My arms. And so much more hidden beneath my shirt. “You don’t want him to get any? Kinda makes you sound like a hypocrite, to be honest.”
“I don’t care that he’s getting ink, but it’s kinda concerning he’s done it in secret. That he didn’t talk about it, when he’s the kid who never shuts the fuck up. The design is kinda sad, like…” I frown and step off the escalator onto a cold concrete floor, passing the elevator bank we could have used instead of moving stairs, then I head through a heavy door and into the garage. “I care that he’s carrying alotof dark shit in his head. It scares me sometimes, because if he stumbles someday, if he realizes it’s all a little too heavy, I’m not sure what he’ll do with that.”
“You mean, like shoot up a couple of kids taking a romantic stroll down by the bay?” He stalks toward the driver’s side door of our busted-up cruiser. Sliding in, he turns the engine over and waits just long enough for me to set my ass on the seat before he’s rolling the car forward. “Or maybe he’ll shoot himself, because at least then, the noise goes away and the heavy load becomes a hell of a lot lighter.”
“Exactly.” I fix my seatbelt and drag my phone out of my pocket, tapping the dark screen and finding the same old stuff—Felix texting about something dumb, Micah texting about something not dumb. Minkadropping rocks into my inbox, and emails overflowing with all the shit I need to tie up a case and send a killer away to prison. “I don’t want him to choose the dark.” I ignore my messages and look up as we emerge into the sunlight instead. “The fact he had that whole tattoo started without saying anything has got me wigging out, that’s all.”
“He’s a smart kid.” He shrugs and flips the switch for our siren. Not because we have to rush anywhere, and not because anyone is in danger. But because it’s stifling out here, and our crappy cruiser has crappier air conditioning. The faster we go, the sooner we can get out again. “I think he’s got a pretty good handle on the dark, considering how much fucking light he brings into my daughter’s world. For her, if no one else, I think he’ll choose right.”
“I hope so.” I grab the dash, bracing myself as we glide around a busy corner. And since I have time, I open my messages and return Minka’s gift with one of my own.
“Molly Freemon?” Miranda sits back in her chair, her heeled feet atop her desk, and her long pencil skirt smoothed down to perfection. She’s a model in every lifetime, and she’s intent on providing the best angles anytime she considers her visitor acceptable. “Mousy little thing with a whisper voice and no backbone.” She studies her nails and gestures, faux-relaxed, toward the chairs opposite her desk. “Heard she landed in the hospital.”
“You don’t care?”
