Page 76 of The Hive Queen

Marc reaches out and taps the message to open it.

Sharpe: Flint’s hurt, and we have more bodies.

A location pin pops up next.

I jump to my feet, then look down at Marc with dismay.

He stands and heads for the closet, grabbing both our shoes and jackets. “Looks like we better get going.”

I take my shoes from him and sit back down to put them on. “Are you sure?”

“I’m mad at Flint, but that doesn’t mean we stop being who we are.” Marc steps into his shoes. “Should we bring Sharpe his nasty soup?”

I stand and slip into my jacket. “Nothing says crime scene like an egg drop soup delivery.”

“Hey, I’m just thinking of our partner,” Marc drawls. “Poor guy looked pretty bad before he left. He deserves a thermos full of love.”

“You’ve convinced me.” I head for the kitchen and pop the soup into the microwave before I grab two thermoses. “Let’s bring coffee, too.”

I dump what remains in the carafe into one thermos, topping it with cream, then pour the soup into the other once it heats.

Marc heads down the hall to get our gear as I load both thermoses into a carrying bag, and we meet at the door to the garage to head down together.

The drive into town passes quickly, and we stop needing GPS once we’re close enough to spot the flashing police lights.

Marc pulls up to the curb behind other police cars, and we walk the rest of the way down the block to where Johannsson stands at a line of yellow tape stretched across the sidewalk, barring access to the crime scene.

I duck under the tape. “Paul, we have to stop meeting like this.”

He stares at me with tired eyes before his gaze drops to the bag slung over my arm “I’m confiscating that. No liquids in the crime scene.”

“Sure thing.” I pass him the bag. “But you better not touch it while we’re gone.”

He grunts and jerks his head in the direction behind him. “Body is that way. And the second one is on the roof.”

I peer down the sidewalk, but can’t make anything out through the swarm of techs crawling all over the scene. “Same MO as last time?”

“Go see for yourself.” He pulls the thermos from the bag. “Is this coffee from that fancy machine you own that Sharpe says is better than the coffee stand?”

“Don’t you dare touch that,” I warn. “You’ll regret it.”

“So scary.” His attention shifts to Marc. “Long time no see. I thought maybe you finally ditched these psychos for something better.”

Marc tips his chin at the detective. “Haven’t you heard? The crazy ones are always the most fun.”

As we head for the crime scene, I turn to walk backward. “Remember, Paul, no tampering with our thermos, or you’ll regret it.”

“Tell it to someone who cares, Cay.” He turns his back on me.

I spin on my heel to face forward. “He’s going to do it.”

“Yep,” Marc says, an evil edge to his smile.

A second later, coughs and gags fill the air. “What the hell, Cay? This isn’t coffee!”

“Never said it was!” I lift a hand and wave without looking back. “But I did warn you not to touch it!”

Up ahead, I spot a building with more tape across the front doors. Our white van sits a few car lengths down from it, and my steps quicken. The passenger door stands open, and Flint sits inside, his arm around Anny.

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