Page 35 of Sinful Memory

“Sports,” she concludes. “I cannot confirm that, of course, since I do not know for certain. But I would look at the Copeland Condors.”

“Basketball?” I lift my brows in surprise. “She was involved with a pro ball player?”

“You could possibly narrow your search to those who are already married,” Mathers adds almost quietly. “Or in serious relationships. I enjoyed my time with Anna, Detectives. I considered her a child I needed to guard. I guided her as best I could, and didn’t always agree with the choices she made. But this was her life to live, and her decision to go to bed with a married man, while not endearing, will have resulted from the experiences she’d lived before. The traumas she endured. This man, whoever he is, will have groomed her. He will be older; early thirties, perhaps. Powerful. Very large, physically. He will have convinced her that their secrecy was for her protection; an argument she would have lapped up, after the drama with Walter James. And his marriage, something he would have told her was ending, or over. It’s possible, maybe even probable, he has children, which would have been a contributing factor for her secrecy; she would have considered her silence to be protecting them, the way no one protected her as a child. Like flies to honey, the things he told her would have drawn her in willingly.”

* * *

After leaving Mathers’ office and driving across the city, I step into the apartment I share with Minka, and stop on the threshold to find Cato’s eyes peering straight back into mine. His brow sweaty, his dark hair dangling in his eyes. His body moves rhythmically, his chest heaving and muscular as he slams forward and fucks a woman.

On my couch.

In my living room.

In Minka’s living room!

His lover’s face is crushed into the throw pillows, her torso, pressed to the couch cushions. So all I see of her are the rounded globes of her ass where his hands hold her. Where his fingers dig in and bruise her skin.

“Cato!” I slam the door with Fletch still in the hall, and feel no remorse when the woman I don’t know pops her head up in stunned disbelief. Her hair is messy, her makeup smudged.

She’s beautiful, objectively. Brown hair, brown eyes. Bowed lips, and a pointed nose. There’s nothing wrong with the woman he’s chosen, except for the fact she’s easily in her mid-twenties. Potentially closer to thirty. And he’s barely a minute over eighteen.

“Get the fuck up!” I charge across our living space, snagging a coat I’ve never seen before, and toss it in the woman’s face.

She spasms, like I’ve hit her with electricity, while Cato merely rolls his eyes. His release, stolen, and his cock, still wrapped in a condom—thank god for that—flaccid now that she’s rolling away and dressing.

“Get out of this apartment.” I shove a pair of high heels at the woman, and then for good measure, take out my badge. I thrill in the way her face pales. “He’s a child, and you’re trespassing in someone else’s home.”

Terrified, she swings her eyes to my kid brother and tremors. But she wraps herself tight in her coat and darts away.

Cato merely stands in my living room, buck-ass naked and glowering at me like I’m the asshole.

The woman swings the door open, only to run into Fletch in the hallway. “Agh!What the hell?” She gets an eyeful of the badge he wears around his neck and practically sobs. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry!”

“I wasn’t done with her.” Disgusted, Cato grabs a pair of boxer shorts from my couch and steps into them just in time for Fletch to wander in and lift a brow. “I don’t know if you forget, since you didn’t actually throw me a birthday party, but I’m not a kid anymore.”

“You’re a fucking child.” I reach into my back pocket and take out the card Mathers gave me, then as Cato pulls on a pair of jeans, I thrust it forward and slam my palm to his sweaty chest. “Call this number and tell her you were just raped.”

“Raped?” He grabs the card and turns it the right way up. Then he laughs. “A therapist? Really? That wasn’t rape, Archer. That was me balls-deep and enjoying it untilyoufucked it up.”

“She was a grown woman! If you’re gonna bang someone, keep it to your own age. Jesus fucking christ.” I grab his shirt and toss it in his face. “Get dressed. We’re going out.”

“I’d rather you go down and fetch Erica,” he growls. “Bring her back up here, then don’t come home till six, like normal.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d rather you stopped fucking random chicks in my apartment.” I turn from the couch, disgusted knowing that the chances I’ve sat in his jizz are not zero. “Have some fuckin respect, Cato. You’re in my home.”

“Better I fuck random chicks than your wife.” He shoves the wrinkled card in his back pocket as I turn, then shrugs a shirt on over his muscular torso. “I’ve got a hankering for a certain flavor, Arch. But you’d get pissy if I bedded the woman I want, so…”

“You’re going back to New York.” I shove past Fletch and head toward our door. “I’m calling Felix and sending you back.”

“Wait up!” I hear the gallop and thump of Cato pulling on a pair of boots on the run as I hit the top stair. “Why’d you come home? Miss me?”

“Fletch?”

“On my way.” The sound of my apartment door closing echoes past me.

“Archer!” Cato skips and stumbles in his attempt to catch up. “Dude! You came home for a reason, and since I was the only one there, that says you came to see me.” He crashes against the brick wall as he careens onto the landing, then continues around to the next flight of stairs. “Archer Malone! Don’t make me scream your name in these halls and make a scene.”

I take out my phone and hit dial on Felix’s name. Thankfully, it takes only a single second for him to answer.

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