And since he’s feeling all sorts of grabby and cuddly, I allow him to pull my legs across his lap. When he’s positioned us both, he lays his arm across my shoulders and presses a kiss to my brow.
“You done for the night?” I ask.
“For now.” Glancing down between us, Archer inches his free hand closer to mine, and when I open my fingers and offer, he takes the syringe from me and continues my infusion. “Slow and steady,” he murmurs. “Makes it hurt less.”
“Uh-huh.” I close my eyes and inhale the scent of his aftershave. His laundry detergent. Him in general. “How’d you do today?”
“Spoke to the ex-husband. Can’t say for sure he’s a killer, but he’s definitely fuckin’ weird enough to be. Spoke to the one-night stand and father of her baby; he’s actually pretty decent. He hasn’t spoken to her since she told him she was pregnant. He was happy she sent text updates, but he never responded to them. Now he’s pissed with himself, because he promised her back then she could call him for a save someday and he’d help her out.”
Opening my eyes, I lean back and wait for Archer’s. “What aren’t you saying?”
“She tried to call him before she died.” He keeps his attention on my infusion, his steely stare on the job, but in his mind, I’m certain he does the same math I do. “Mean’s this time last night,” he glances up to the clock, “about now, twenty-four hours ago, she was dead or dying. And Stan coulda taken the call and maybe saved her.”
“You said he’s decent?”
Arch nods.
I sigh. “Mean’s he’s gonna carry that guilt for the rest of his life. How’d he handle the news of the missing infant?”
“He was ready to go back out there and run our guy down.” Arch leans in and drops a kiss to the very edge of my jaw. “We coulda kept him for a while yet. Claimed reasonable suspicion he’s our guy, put him in holding for a day or two, keep him off the streets while his emotions are running hot.”
“But?”
He shrugs. “Fletch and I agree it wasn’t him. And the fact is, having him on the streets might be the difference between life or death for the kid. Stan’s not gonna sleep tonight, Minka. He’s going out there to rally his troops and figure this shit out. The old me,” he looks up and smirks, “pre-Minka Archer, would’ve considered that a bad idea. It’s gonna end with blood on Stan’s hands and a child caught in the crosshairs. But now you’ve got vigilante justice on my mind, and I figure, the more people searching, the better. If Stan happens across his kid before we do, if he saves the kid because he’s faster than us, then that’s an outcome I can live with. Hopefully, we’ll only be two steps behind him. That way, we can stop the bloodshed and keep him outta prison.”
“He’s gotta stay out anyway to raise his child.”
When the Factor is in my veins and the syringe and tubing are completely empty, I take it from Archer’s hand, careful not to transfer germs from his unwashed hand to anything that touches my injection site. Removing the butterfly needle and setting everything on the table, I look up in search of a small circle band-aid, only to stop and smile when Archer is already waiting to press it on.
“Thank you.”
“Welcome.” He presses a kiss to my lips, then gently stands and takes my needle to the Sharps container in the kitchen.
For something that was entirely foreign to him not all that long ago, he now deals with my condition like it’s an old hat. I mean, he’s still nervous as hell, and he treats me like the thinnest glass. But at least he’s not shaking or freaking out anymore.
“Are you hungry?” He tosses my used tourniquet in the box on top of my fridge, then drops my needle into the container under the sink. Washing his hands, he glances back and watches me as I lounge on the couch.
Infusion makes me sleepy, and though Archer’s insane gentleness eases a little of that exhaustion, I still yawn and plump a pillow under my head.
“Babe?” After washing up and drying his hands with the towel, he turns at the counter and heads back in my direction. Coming to a stop and crouching down to get on my level, he reaches forward and fingers the hair back off my face. “Did you have dinner?”
“I had a Mars bar.” My grin only makes him grumpy, and when he pushes up to stand, my snigger makes him roll his eyes. “Archer, I’m not that hungry.”
“Grilled cheese?” He moves back toward the kitchen and peeks in my fridge for groceries. “I’ll add a protein shake and call it a meal.”
“Fine.” Sitting tall, I drag the blanket off the back of the couch and wrap it over my shoulders. Then, climbing off the couch, I let it drape around my body and drag on the floor as I make my way to Archer. “What else is on your mind about the case? You’re bottling things up. And seeing as how this case is mine too, you’d be breaking no laws by discussing it with me.”
“But what about your mental health?” He raises a single brow as I come to stop in the kitchen and hitch myself up to sit on the counter. “Cops don’t bring their work home to the family for a reason, Mayet. That reason rarely has anything to do with the law.”
“I’m not a homemaker.” Reaching out with my foot, I tap his ass, and grin when he glances back. “I’m not an innocent little housewife whose biggest worry is a cake not rising in the oven.”
“Should be.” He reaches into the fridge and takes out sliced cheese. “I like cake. And you’ve yet to make me one.”
“Don’t hold your breath, Detective. Now talk to me about Melissa’s case.”
He draws a deep breath, until his chest expands and his shoulders broaden, then on the exhale, he snatches a loaf of bread and butter and drops them on the counter near me. “Melissa’s killer could be anyone. Could be a complete stranger. Could be someone looking to buy and sell babies. Could be a client, or a client’s husband. It’s my job to figure out who the likeliest suspects are and work it until we can prove it.”
“Alright.” I remain seated. My kitchen is small, and Archer has our dinner under control, so I stay put and out of his way. “What’s got you down?”