Page 55 of Sinful Memory

And when I found the asshole who took her away from me, I’d light that bitch up till we both burned to the ground, and then I’d get to be with my wife in the afterlife.

I’m a man who makes plans. And backup plans.

And I have no fucking plan to stick around if my wife is gone.

“We’ll see ourselves out,” I announce. Wrapping my arm over Minka’s shoulders and turning us to leave. “We’ll keep you posted. I probably won’t leak our killer’s name early just so you get to take a swing. It would be unethical of me. And, oh,” I turn back and find the pair inching closer together.

His hand holding hers, and his nose pressed to her hair. But at my voice, they glance up again.

“I’ve been meaning to ask… do you like this neighborhood?”

Minka’s brows pull in tight. Janine’s eyes shimmer with interest.

But it’s the mayor I ask, and his head that tilts to the side in question.

“It’s quiet,” he concedes. “Our neighbors on one side are professionals without children. And our neighbors on the other are never there. Why?”

“Just wondering.” I turn again and force Minka around. We walk the long hall in silence and emerge onto the stone steps outside to find the shitty old George Stanley sedan waiting for us exactly where we left it. “You want drive-thru, Mayet?”

“Yes.” Her breath comes out on an exhale of relief as we skip down the steps. “I’m starving.”

MINKA

Iwalk along the hall of my apartment the next morning—day three since Anna’s body was discovered—and come to a stop at the entry to the living room to find Cato perched on the edge of our couch. His feet on the cushions, his ass on the arm, and his elbows on his knees.

I see the line of his spine through his shirt, and the back of his somewhat shaggy hair is ruffled from another night sleeping on our too-small couch.

He has the choice of an entire apartment to himself. Archer’s old place is furnished, has a massive bed, a nice fire escape overlooking the street, a fridge stocked with months-old food, and a TV bigger than the one he watches now.

Hechoosesto sleep on my couch, hurting his neck and disrupting the circulation to his long legs.

So I feel no pity for the boy who always wakes up a little worse for wear.

“Morning.” I continue through the living space and make a beeline for the coffee machine in our kitchen. “You got a thing for Miranda London, too?” I peer past him to find the nasty, no-talent woman reporting on the basketball team’s off-season. Something about practice, and trading one player, and buying a different one.

I frown when a name I recognize is mentioned, but in the same moment, Cato turns on the couch and glances across the expanse of my tiny apartment and into the kitchen, his lips curling into a grin exactly like Archer’s.

Damn him.Damn their father, really. Those Malone genes ride strong, despite each boy having a different mother.

“Hey there, Doc.” He looks me up and down the way a grown man would—or, well, the way Archer does. His slow gaze rakes over the Copeland City PD hoodie that dwarfs my body, then the shorts I wear that show off two-thirds of my legs.

But what begins as the sly, ick-inducing, try-hard salaciousness of a boy, turns to almost brotherly concern.

Curious at the shift, I glance down at my legs… to find a long pattern of bruises along my shins I don’t remember receiving.

But that’s my life, and I long ago grew used to it.

I guess Archer has, too, because he doesn’t mention the mystery bruises nearly as often anymore.

“Did someone hurt you?” Cato picks up the television remote and mutes Miranda’s offensive voice, before tossing the device down again and pushing up to stand. He straightens to his full six feet, two inches in height, and lifts his arms into the air until his fists almost touch the ceiling. He stretches and groans, inadvertently showing off his belly, then he lowers his arms again and wanders in my direction with sluggish, slow steps. “Someone kick you, Mayet?”

“No.” I reach into the cupboard and take down a mug before the youngest Malone comes too close. Setting the cup under the machine, I press the button to fire it to life, then I turn back to find Cato just feet away.

My heart lurches with surprise. But I even my voice and give him no outward sign that his speed surprised me.

“You already know about my medical condition.” I don’t label it, in case he’s forgotten. There’s no reason for me to give him more information than I need to. “I bruise easily.” I lift my good shoulder in a shrug and head to the fridge to take out the milk. “Did you sleep yet, or have you been out all night?”

He backs up to the opposite end of our L-shaped kitchen counter and pushes up to perch his ass on the edge. “I stayed in all night and slept, like a fuckin eunuch.”

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