“I’m not mad at you.” Her eyes brim with emotion. With the love she has for my brother;herbrother now, too. “I swear I’m not. And I’m all for protecting those we love. But I’m telling you how it is. You lost her, and the truth is, you might never get her back. Those are the consequences of the choices you made.”
“Come on, Rambo.” I turn us so she’s forced to step away before she can pick a fight with my brother and break his heart further. “You made your point. No need to rub dirt in his eyes.”
“I’m not trying to—”
“I’m really sorry for what happened, ya know?” Tim’s words crackle with an ache so deep, I’m not sure I’ve ever heard him speak that way before. Not back when we were living with our father, and not once since we left. “No matter how it all worked out, my intentions were to always keep her safe.”
“I know.” Releasing my arm for just a moment, Minka heads back to the bar and climbs onto the stool. Reaching across, she pulls my brother into a hug that leaves us both speechless.
It’s quick. A little rough.
Then she releases him and comes back to me.
“You hugged him.” I offer my arm and lead her across the bar toward the door. “And you hugged Fletch earlier.”
“Uh huh.”
“And you brought Chloe to your apartment.”
“So?” Defensive, she looks down her nose and trails me onto the sidewalk outside the bar. Turning right, we move only one building over before we head back inside again. “You don’t have to make it weird.”
“You’re getting soft.” Unraveling my arm from hers as we pass the droopy-eyed Steve-the-landlord and start up the stairs, I throw it over her shoulders instead. “You don’t touch people, like,ever, but you hugged Fletch earlier when he was worried about Mia. You hugged Tim when he was sorry about Aubree. And you brought a cat you hate into your apartment.”
“I don’t hate her,” she huffs. “She hates me. There’s a difference.”
“There’s no difference.” A soft chuckle works its way along my throat as we round the second floor and continue up. “You’ve gone soft.”
“I’m not soft!”
“It’s called family, ya know?” Moving onto the fourth floor, I pull her in tight and press a kiss to her temple until she grumbles. “This is what it’s like to put down roots.”
“Oh?” She smacks my ribs and breaks free to select her front door key. “Getting married wasn’t enough for you? Sharing my apartment? Sharing my Netflix account, even though the things you watch mess with the algorithms of the things I watch? How about the fact I adopted an effing cat?”
She slides the key into the lock and shoves the door open, only to growl when, in the middle of the kitchen, Chloe is squatting over her litter tray and dropping a deuce big enough to rival a human head.
Slowly turning to face me, exorcist-style, Minka growls. “I’m not scooping her poop. Ever.”
“But, babe!” Laughing, I start forward and corral her into the kitchen. “I’m injured.”
* * *
Cats, cohabitation, and cartels aside, I find myself sitting in Minka’s office the next morning while she scans the old medical examiner’s report that Fletch and I yanked from Holly Wade’s file. Fletch stands by the floor-to-ceiling windows and looks out at Copeland City, while Aubree—back to her normal, bubbly self, now that Tim isn’t in the same building—sits on the corner of Minka’s desk and peeks over her boss’ shoulder.
“They extracted her from her car.” I fill in the details the M.E.’s report doesn’t mention. “She was driving an old Chevrolet Cavalier when she went head-on with a rig. The truck basically peeled the lid off the car like a tin can. Holly’s body was found slumped across the seats.”
“Seatbelt on or off?”
“Uh…” I try to think back to what I’ve read. “On.”
“There’s not a lot of detail in this report.” Turning the single-page document over, Minka scowls her disapproval. “Toxicology mentions her prescription meds, or lack thereof. But not whether she was under the influence of drugs or alcohol.”
Intrigued, Fletch turns away from the window. “She worked until ten, Delicious. Sober. You’re wondering if she was plastered by one?”
Pondering, she gives a noncommittal shrug. “Just wondering why it wasn’t included, considering the detail about her prescription medications.” Setting the sheet on her desk, Minka sits back and links her fingers. “We’re missing investigation diagrams. Death scene worksheets. What about burn worksheets?”
Fletch’s eyes widen as he looks from her to me, then back to Minka again. “Whatburns?”
“She ended up under a truck, Detectives. Did the car burst into flames, or no?”