Tilting forward again, she grabs her laptop and opens the screen once more. “If you insist on no meds, then I won’t give them to you.” Tipping her head back, she looks up at me so her face is upside down. “I don’t like that you’ll be in pain. In fact, it bothers me more than you know. But it’s a choice you get to make, so if you say no, then the answer is no.”
“I don’t like how they make me feel.” I drop a kiss to her forehead and pause for a moment, breathing when her lips curl up and her eyes flutter closed. “I don’t like that they make me sleepy and dizzy.”
Exhaling her acceptance, I watch as she opens her eyes and goes back to studying her laptop screen. She flips folders and jumps from crime scene photographs to emails, to reports with words I’ll never truly know the meaning of.
“It’s like they replace my brain with cotton wool,” I continue. “I’ve let you coddle me till now, but I’m officially over it.”
“Hold on,” pushing away once more, she twists her torso and looks back at me. “Are you saying that when we married and signed those contracts—”
“Our marriage license.”
“That you did so without a sound mind?” She gasps. “Is our marriage a sham, since you were under the influence of drugs? It’s okay, Archer.” Bringing her hand to my cheek, her expression says solemnity, but her dancing eyes say something else entirely. “I’ll let you back out. We can tear the contracts up and forget they ever existed.”
“Marriage. License.” I cup her hand with mine and hold her tight when she tries to pull away. “And nope. I was sober as a nun that day. Remember, I was trying to break up with you?”
“All the more reason to suspect cotton brain.” Grinning, she slides the pad of her thumb along my jawline. “Our marriage is a fraud.”
“Our marriage is legal, and we already had sex. So you can’t get an annulment, either.”
“Shame.” She turns back to her work and burrows into my side. “Detective Fletcher proposed to me today while you were under the influence.”
“Uh huh. And when I’m feeling a little better, I might offer Fletch a day at the range. Ya know, a bonding exercise between friends. Partners.”
“Is that so?”
“Mmhm. I’ll bond a nine-millimeter slug to his asshole until he learns to stop asking you out. What are you working on?” I nod toward the computer, though she’s not even looking at me. “It’s late, and you’re clearly behind on your caseload, so tell me. We’ll work it together.”
“Order us burritos,” she answers almost instantly. “I’m hungry enough to eat my own arm. And this is Holly Wade.”
I look again at the report on her screen. “What?”
“Your girl Holly.” Leaning forward, she snatches up her phone and sets it on my knee, then going back to her work, she repeats, “Burritos. And you’ve been asleep since four o’clock. That’s kinda early for the rest of us without cotton brain, so Fletch officially requested me as M.E. consult. That means I get to see the files without the law being broken.”
When I leave her phone untouched on my knee, Minka huffs and sweeps it up again. “Married life sucks,” she grumbles under her breath. “I have to cook everything.”
I study her screen, the app she’s expertly navigating. “You’re ordering in.”
“It’s practically the same thing.” Tapping—once, twice, three times more—she finalizes our order and sends the driver a tip, then she tosses the phone to the coffee table and comes back to her laptop. “How far back have you gone in your investigation?”
“Only skimmed the surface.” Bringing my hand to the top of Minka’s head, I dig my fingers in and give her a gentle scalp massage. “We studied the cops who ran her case more than we checked into the woman herself. All we’ve got so far is that she was married, and close with her family before her passing. She has a sister and another best friend since childhood. She was a server at this place, Shirley’s, and she was newly-ish diagnosed and medicated for a slew of mental health issues. Henry—the husband—worked at the local bank. Nine-to-five job. He’d been there for about ten years by the time they married. Stayed another twenty-five, then retired a couple of years back.”
“He stayed with the same employer that whole time?”
“According to our first sweep, yeah.” My fingers work through her hair. Long strokes and relaxing scratches that soothe us both. “No children from Henry and Holly’s marriage, but Henry married again the following year. And they have three children together. All sons.”
“So he stayed with the bank all this time. He stayed with the new wife all this time. Holly seems like she was just…” Minka shrugs. “A blip, I guess. A year of his life, insignificant now compared to the rest. Does Henry know you’re reopening the file?”
“Not yet. But he will tomorrow or the next day.” Pulling her closer, I kiss her temple and set my hand on her opposite hip, beneath the fabric of her hoodie so my fingertips stroke her skin. “Fletch and I are gonna treat this like it’s a brand-new case. Start at the beginning and go from there.”
“You said she was diagnosed with mental health issues?” Minka purrs under my touch, and yet, her brain is sharp. Her mind clicks over faster than mine. “Can you pull those session notes? See what she and her therapist discussed.”
“It’s on the to-do list, but seeing as how she’s already dead and no one else is at risk, chances of a judge awarding us those records are slim to fuck-all.”
“So go find the therapist and talk to him in person.” She says it so simply. So matter of fact. “See if he’ll talk. He’ssupposedto honor confidentiality, but he’s a guy and you’re a guy. Maybe he cares more about your approval than he does about her privacy. Many do.”
“Hard truths,” I tease with a soft laugh. “Anyone else, darling? Or better yet, would you like to run the case on your own?”
“I’d talk to her family next. You said she has a sister. Were they close?”