Page 33 of Sinful Promise
A man I murdered less than twenty-four hours ago.
“Laramie Fentone was being kept in a city-funded safehouse,”Tiffany Hewitt, the beautiful newscaster, recites, like she has a hundred other times today.“The location was known to no one, not even the authorities.”
“How does that even work?” Perching her butt on the stool to my right, Aubree steals another fry. “How canno onehave the address? How the heck did Fentone even get the keys or access?”
“It’s a fully encrypted lottery-type system,” Arch murmurs. “A machine. We have a list of homes available to us throughout the city. Detective Franklin would’ve been ordered to place Fentone somewhere safe, so he’d have put Fentone’s name into the system and pulled out a number that matched a set of keys. That’s it. Key would’ve been handed to Fentone, and shortly after, an automated message containing the address would’ve been sent to his communication of choice.”
“It’s to keep people like Detective Franklin out of trouble…” I wait for Archer to bring his gaze around to me. “Right?”
“Yep.” He sips his beer. “Sometimes, folks who need those houses have targets on their backs—much like Fentone did. Sometimes, their enemies come looking and find their prey. When that happened before the lottery, the cops who’d assigned the house, theonlypeople on the planet who would know that address, were blamed for the death… when obviously, that wasn’t always the case. Cops like Franklin were losing their jobs—or worse, going to prison—for crimes they didn’t commit. So the commissioner asked for the anonymous system to be put in place.”
“Detective Franklin won’t get into trouble for Fentone’s death?” Aubree asks. “Not at all?”
“No.” Done with his food, Arch pushes his plate away and leans back against the bar. “He’s already been cleared, and that fact has been formally announced—since, obviously, Franklin was catching a little heat over this. But he’s alibied up tight, and it’s completely legitimate. He didn’t hurt that asshole.”
“So who the hell has access to the encrypted system?” Aubree murmurs, awed and entirely too curious about a murder I’d rather not discuss. “And apart from the obvious, why would they want him dead?”
“Dunno.” I push up to stand and turn to meet Tim’s watchful stare.
He stays away, like he thinks if he gets too close to Aubree, he’ll touch. And once he touches, he’ll take.
God forbid he actually do something they both want.
“I’m going home,” I tell him. Then I peek to Arch and feel an odd blush warm my cheeks. “Can you pay? I don’t have any cash, but I’ll get you back in a few days.”
“What?” He looks me up and down with a scowl, like I’m sporting that weird rash he was talking about just minutes ago. Standing, and holding my briefcase so it doesn’t fall to the floor, he reaches back and takes out his wallet. Then he pulls out enough money to cover both our meals, drinks, tip, and enough to cover Aubree too, if she chooses to order her own meal and stop eating mine. “You don’tget me back, Mayet.”
Dropping the cash on the bar, he lifts his chin to his brother in that universal language between men, then throwing his arm over my shoulders, he cinches me in tight and looks down to Aubree with a teasing grin. “Stay until closing, and you might get him in a good mood.”
“Uh, closing is at, like, four a.m.,” I grumble between pursed lips. “Aubree has to be at work at nine.” Furrowing my brows, I meet hers. “If you stay till four, I’m gonna smack you.”
“It’s hard trying to date a guy who runs a bar.” Pouting, she turns in her stool and snatches my half-consumed Coke. “He sleeps till noon, and by then, I’m working. Then when I’m off, he’s here.”
“Felix is single,” I snigger before Arch drags me away. “He’s ready and willing to show you a good time.”
Tim’s gaze snaps across the room, as though he can hear the words I speak.
Like he has superhuman powers—or perhaps the ability to read lips—his eyes narrow to dangerous slits. But Archer leads me through the door and onto the sidewalk, saving me from a potential mafia hit.
Walking just ten feet to the right, we step through a heavy glass door and move toward my sweet building manager, who watches us with a scandalous smile.
“Steve.” I don’t kiss many people. And I sure as hell don’t get attached. But Steve is a national treasure and should be protected. And hugged. And loved. And cherished. So I snuggle in when he pulls me close for a warm embrace.
“You smell good.” Stepping back, I study him from his aged face down to his slouchy sweater. “New cologne? Are you trying to impress someone?”
“Only you.” Reaching up with a buttery soft hand, he cups my cheek. “How are you doing, Miss Mayet? You look a little pale.”
“I’m good. Busy. Same as always.” I hold his hand to my cheek, that contact, that comfort, before he lowers it again and sets it on his hip.
“I’m actually pretty beat,” I admit. “So my partying for tonight ends at…” I check the watch he wears on his wrist, only to laugh at how pathetic it all is. “Seven thirty-two. But I hope to wake tomorrow, full of energy and ready for the day. Are you well?”
“Well enough.” He takes a step back to make space for us to pass. “I have no complaints.” Then he meets Archer’s gaze. “Detective Malone. Did you hear about that pedophile murder last night?”
“Yep.”
Tension sizzles through Archer’s touch as he slips his arm beneath mine and leads me up the stairs.
“Swear to god, Fentone was the most popular hated guy in Copeland,” he mutters. “And what the hell do you mean you’llget me back?”
