Frowning, Fletch inches closer. “What is she saying?”
“It’s a Polish lullaby.” Robotic, I watch as Ljubica passes the envelope to Jelena, and then as Jelena brings it to me. My throat burns impossibly dry as I accept the package and tear the seal open, then I take out each individual stack, held together by staples and organized per buyer: names, addresses, photos, aliases.
It’s all here, just waiting for the authorities to discover.
“Kotki means kittens.” I settle back into my chair and offer the envelope to Fletch. “Who gave them these?” I search Natalija’s eyes. “Who gave you this?”
“We found it,” Jelena translates.
Natalija’s lips curl, just the tiniest twist on the left side.
“We found it in the drawer,” Jelena continues. “Mr. Agosti must’ve dropped it.”
MINKA
The sound of splashing water travels through the house, weaving along the tiled hallway and bouncing up to pat my chest as I step across the threshold and look left. Then right. Every door is open, every window wide, allowing the pathetic summer breeze to come through. It doesn’t seem to matter that the air conditioning is on; the Malone boys were raised with entirely too little respect for money. Though I suppose that was a nice counterweight to a complete loss of body autonomy and a horribly traumatic upbringing.
“I can swim, Cato! Watch me. I can do it!”
“That’s sinking, McStinkerson!” Cato’s laugh travels all the way to the front door, his joy smacking me in the face andalmostcanceling out the bitch of a day I’ve had. Their happiness is infectious, but my exhaustion is unrelenting, crushing me the way a one-ton boulder would if it sat upon my shoulders.
Cato’s laughter ends with a splash, replaced a moment later with Mia’s squealing giggles and cackling glee.
“That’s not swimming, McStinkerson! You’re not a fish.”
“I wanna be a fish! I wanna be a mermaid, and that’s the same as a fish, isn’t it?”
I spy the staircase to my right, the sanctuary and silence my bedroom promises just a few dozen steps upwards. If I’m lucky, I might find the bathtub full for a second day in a row. There could even be burritos and my husband.
It’s not too crass to thinkboth waiting to fill me, is it?
But even I know it is, and Archer’s truck wasn’t outside anyway, so I release a long exhale and set my bag on the floor, watching—and not caring—as it topples to the side. I could stop and pick it up. I could straighten it out and buy myself another moment of solitude. But I wander along the hall instead, dragging my feet and mentally planning my evening.
Dinner. Television. Infusion. Sleep.
Am I still in trouble for the knee thing?
Probably.
The man knows how to hold a grudge.
“Aww, you’re home, Chief.” Felix walks the length of the kitchen with Zora bundled in his arms, his shoulders high, and his hand rhythmicallytap-tap-tappingher butt. His eyes, gleaming and permanently playful, pause on mine. “You must’ve rushed out this morning, huh? I didn’t see you, and I didn’t get upthatlate.”
I turn left and move toward the fridge, sluggishly tugging the door open and revealing an interior bursting with color and produce. Leafy greens. Bright red and orange peppers. Thick tomatoes, and… other stuff. Healthy stuff. Weird stuff. “I had work to do. Lots of it.”
“Cordoza called a little bit ago.”
I snag a Pepsi hidden in the back, then I push things aside and snatch my box of Factor from the middle shelf in the middle of the fridge.
I didn’t put it there, and yet…
I peel the box open and grab out a glass bottle of diluent—knowing it needs to be room temperature before I infuse anyway—then tossing the box back, I slip the bottle into my pocket, slam the door, and crack my soda open.
The sound startles Zora, her tiny body jumping in Felix’s arms.
“Sorry.” I walk to the counter and fold, resting my elbows on the stone top and cupping the can between my palms. “What did Cordoza want?”
“Said he received the autopsy report and read it over.”
