ARCHER
“What the fuck is going on with you, huh?” Sliding into the police cruiser, Fletch sits on the passenger side, slams the door, and looks to me. “Arch? What the fuck is up?”
“Nothing.” Turning over the engine and pumping the gas a little, since the cruiser isthatfucking old, I fix my seatbelt and pull away from McGregor’s house. “Can you call up the restaurant across from the George Stanley building and order a bunch of shit to go?”
“Why?” My partner takes out his phone and searches for their number. “You hungry?”
“No, but I know Aubree’s gonna go back there and work her ass off. She’s not gonna eat unless someone puts food in front of her, so…”
“Aubree?” Lifting his thumb from the screen and glancing across at me, Fletch raises a taunting brow. “You’re worried about Aubree, and not Doctor Delicious?”
Just hearing him speak of her, listening to him so casually drop her name, even if it is that stupid nickname, makes my stomach jump. The ball of lead that took up residence in my gut the moment the woman I love told me she’s a fucking murderer grows and pulses, because my partner speaks her name, and he thinks he’s cute while doing it.
“Arch?”
“Aubree’s my friend, and she forgets to eat sometimes,especiallywhen we’re working a case. I just wanna make sure she’s eating.”
“Lead detective decides who comes on as M.E.” He looks me up and down as I pull in to denser traffic. “You coulda left sweet Aubs sleeping in her bed instead of calling her in. Then you wouldn’t have to worry about her eating.”
“Stop overthinking it. Order the fucking food and have it delivered to her. We’re heading over to the Chapel Hill Youth Center to see if we can talk to the folks McGregor worked with.” I look at the clock on the dash and frown. “It’s still early, but maybe someone will be there.”
“Ordering food,” Fletch murmurs petulantly, “and pretending it’snotfor Dimples. What happened between you guys, anyway? It was all hot flirting, and fucking in the closet when you thought no one was paying attention. Now you act like she killed your sister.”
“I don’t have a sister,” I sneer. “And no one is killing anyone.”
As it turns out, my rage at Minka’s self-appointed vigilante status is not enough to convince me to toss her to the cops… yet.
She’s the woman I would die for. The one I would kill for. But instead of letting the system do the work it was put in place to do, she’s decided to take matters into her own hands.
“Paul McGregor has worked for Chapel Hill for something like twenty years,” I tell Charlie. “Long time. Good rep, according to his neighbors. Did you order the food?”
“Doing it now.” Huffing, he rolls his eyes and hits dial on the phone. “Neighbor on the left said he thought he heard a little noise around ten or eleven last night. Sensor lights went on, but he didn’t get up to inspect.”
“Probably would’ve saved a life if he had.”
He grunts before shifting his focus. “Hey. Hi, Dory, it’s Detective Fletcher. How’s it going?”
He sits back in his seat, opens his legs wide, and settles in for a chat. “Aww, you know how it is, girl. I’m good. Busy with work and shit. Are you still seeing—”
He pauses while she speaks, then grins like the Cheshire Cat when she strokes his ego with a purring declaration. “Mmm, maybe I should come on down and—”
“CharliefuckingFletcher,” I growl.
“Can I get some scramby eggs and toast boxed up, Dory?” He pushes up to sit straight and looks anywhere but at me as he picks dust from his jeans and clears his throat. “Two servings, two to-go containers. Eggs, toast, probably a protein smoothie too.”
He risks a look over at me and relaxes fractionally when I don’t snap at him.
“Coffee as well. Maybe toss in a couple of bagels. A few strips of bacon. I dunno… Nah, not for us. I need you to send it over to the George Stanley building, addressed to Doctor Aubree Emeri on the ninth floor. Make sure she gets it while it’s hot. If, uh,” he peeks at me again, “if Doctor Emeri isn’t in or is unavailable, you can deliver it to Doctor Mayet. Tell her it’s from Charlie Fletcher. And tell her I said her ass is banging today.”
The woman on the other end of the line snarls, much to the same tone as mine.
“No,” he exclaims to Dory. “I don’t wanna date her! But I gotta make her eat, so if you deliver it and say that shit, she’ll pig out with the ferocity of a baby rhino after a week-long famine. Trust me.” Relaxing back into his seat, he smirks. “I know how to make the women of the George Stanley eat. And it’s important they do, since we need their help to solve a crime.”
Now that the food is ordered and sustenance is coming for the women who won’t eat unless they’re forced—one woman who works until she literally drops and forgets, even when she resurfaces, to fill her belly—I settle in for the ride toward the city center and block out the sound of my best friend practically phone-fucking the server who routinely handles our food.
If he screws that connection up, we might need a new place to eat, or we’ll risk snot on our breakfast.
“Uh-huh…” He giggles under his breath and rests his elbow on the door. “Yeah. We might swing by tomorrow if we can close this case we’re working on. Mm… oh, it’s your birthday?” His voice rises an octave or two. “No shit. Today?”