“Or perhaps he’s a sensible man,” Minka counters tersely. “Mouthing off to a Malone at a Malone wedding is hardly the smartest choice one could make. Maybe he wants no partner, because the last one left him with a metric ton of trauma. And perhaps he takes your unwanted cases, because he wants to be helpful. Which beats telling you to fuck yourself.”
I reach across and steal her fork. “He tells me to fuck myself.Daily. And you’re not supposed to be on his side. Marriage means unfaltering loyalty, remember?”
“Loyalty to you and the life we’ve made together? Sure.” She plucks the utensil back, her eyes glittering with victory. “But I owe no such loyalty to anyone unevolved enough to forgo the schoolyard spats. You enjoy taunting him, and he likes arguing back. Believe it or not, but you and Detective Banks are friends. You simply lack the maturity to admit it.”
“Am not.” I slump in my chair and meet Fletch’s eyes. “She’s mean to me.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be the king of your castle?” He taunts. “The boss. The authority.”
“Shut the fuck up.”
“That reminds me.” He jumps to his feet and dashes toward the dancing couple. The music masks whatever Fletch says, but Drake’s bitter gaze sails this way anyway, his heated intolerance boiling the side of my face.
Whatever they talk about, it doesn’t endear the prick to me.
After just a moment, Fletch takes off again, disappearing through the dancing crowd and out of sight.
“For fuck’s sake.” I straighten my spine and prepare for Drake’s bad temper, because he takes Rory’s hand and turns this way. I snatch back Minka’s fork. Just in case. “What’d that traitor bastard say to him?”
“Probably something about how you wish to make amends, become best friends, and braid each other’s hair.”
Irritated, I purse my lips and meet her gaze.
“Or not,” she snickers. “But all that fun you had at my expense when I found out Taylor did not, in fact, have a penis? Same.” She thrusts up from her seat and turns a stunning grin on our newcomers. “Detective Banks.” She moves around the back of my chair and accepts his polite peck on the cheek. Then she turns to Rory—less capable of playing nice with one of her own. “Seems your leg is getting better with every day that passes.”
“I guess.” Rory slides her palm over the silky folds of her royal blue gown. “They said it would, since I’m so young and blah, blah, blah.”
Steeling myself, I tilt my head left—crack—and right—crack—then I palm the fork and slowly rise from my seat.I guess I’ve gotta say hello… or some shit. “Ms. Swanson.” I paste on my most charming smile and do for her what Drake did for Minka.Kiss. Then I pull back and ignore the prick completely. “You look lovely tonight.”
“Thank you.” She blushes a charming red, all the way down her neck. “I was honored to receive an invitation.”
“Which is so weird, seeing as how I didn’t get one.” Drake whips his hand forward and pumps mine—once, twice, three times—before relieving me of my weapon and slipping it into his pocket. “Figure it must’ve gotten lost in the mail.”
“Nope. Aubree asked me to deliver it myself, since she rarely sees you.” I click my tongue. “Guess I forgot.”
“We knew you would escort Rory.” Minka takes my hand and squeezesit, the way mothers squeeze bratty little kids in the grocery store. “How are things, Detective? Good?”
“All good here.” He wraps his arm across Rory’s back, anchoring himself on her hip. I know damn well he takes a portion of her weight, helping her exactly how I help Minka when she’s tired. “Rory’s been doing her hours at the hospital lately. She’s amazing.”
“I know.” Minka beams. “I like to keep tabs on my future medical examiners. I have no use for dropouts and lazy techs.”
“I’m back!” Fletch bounds into our grouping, dragging poor Officer Clay closer and depositing him amongst us like a cat delivering a dead mouse. “Detective Drake Banks, I’d like for you to meet Officer Brady Clay. Drake used to be some big hotshot somewhere else, a fed of some sort, I dunno. He has a decent list of accomplishments, hardly any mentions in his file about being an asshole—” Fletch stops and meets Rory’s eyes. “Excuse the language, Ms. Swanson.” But then he happily adds, “Banks now works with us out of the Downtown precinct.”
Confused, Clay’s eyes grow wide. “Err…”
“Drake Banks, meet Brady Clay. Clay is tenacious, intelligent, sensible, brave, and the unlucky recipient of incompetent leadership. He works mostly out of Midtown, except when we borrow him. But Midtown is where the idiots hang out. Captain over there is a dickhead, Lieutenant lacks balls, and TOs are in short supply.”
Clay’s cheeks fire a bright, burning red.
“We’ve met,” Drake drawls. “Multiple times. Did you forget?”
“I did not. But one must consider the context in these matters. In the past, you’ve either worked in opposite directions or there was that one time he took a bullet for Ms. Swanson. He was busy not dying, and you were busy keeping her free of lead.”
“And I’m so thankful for your tactful reminder,” Rory growls. She places her hand on Clay’s arm. “Are you well, Officer?”
“Uh… y-yeah, Ms. Swanson. Healthy as a horse.”
“Banks needs a partner,” Fletch announces. “Clay needs leadership.”
