Page 135 of Dancing in the Dark

“Not yet.” He glances across, but instead of the filthy glare I expect to receive, he offers a grin. “We need privacy. Not the police station, and not a street buzzing with folks who wanna listen to conversations that have nothing to do with them.” He drags his phone from his pocket and unlocks the screen, swiping through his emails with a shake of his head, then jumping across to his texts until his smile returns. “She sent me two rocks and a red heart.”

“She… Doctor Delicious?”

“Mmm. Means she loves me.” He quickly taps out a response and hits send, then dropping it back into his pocket, he quickens his steps so I’m damn near forced to jog to keep up. “Have you bought her a ring yet?”

“I… what? Fuck, Arch.” I grab his arm and tug him around. “What are you talking about?”

“Fifi.” He flashes a wicked smirk and takes off again. I can either keep up, or fall behind and revel in my loneliness. “You’re saving up for a house and a picket fence. I heard that bit already. But I know your ass has already picked out a ring and a wedding date. You’re too much of a romantic not to.”

“I’m not a romantic!” Scowling, I fall into step on his left. “And I definitely haven’t picked out a wedding date.”

He laughs and glances up as we approach the George Stanley. I’m not sure where I thought he was taking us, but I suppose this place makes sense as far as Archer Malone goes. Turning and slowing himself to move with the rotation of the constantly revolving doors, he emerges into the medical examiner’s expansive lobby and dips his chin for a wary Harrison. “She upstairs?”

“Yes, boss.” He stands tall, his shoulders pulled back, and his eyes flickering across to mine. “Is everything okay?”

“Yep.” Archer charges toward the elevator. “I need somewhere private to conduct a conversation. And since we’re already here, we’ll check on our DB, too.” He stabs the call button and meets my eyes. “Detective Fletcher?”

“Yep.” Shaking my head, I cross the lobby and step into the elevator alongside him. “You’re stressing me out, Arch. Who called you, and what did they say? Cos I’m starting to think you’ve cracked.”

“Haven’t cracked.” He selects the second floor, not the ninth, and folds his arms as we ascend. “That phone call was on the lower end of stressful for me, actually. Which is kinda ironic, considering what it was about.”

“I wouldn’t know,” I grit out. “Since you haven’t shared those details with me yet.”

“In a sec.” As the doors open on the second floor and a new lobby-like space reveals itself, he strides forward at a clipped pace. “Is anyone else here?” He moves around the tall sign-in desk and checks behind it, then back the way we came. Empty. “Preston Danes?” He looks straight up at the ceiling and zeros in on a small flashing red dot in the corner. “Mayet told me we could say your name and it would get your attention.” He turns to a different red dot, different corner. “Preston Danes!”

The desk phone trills, teasing a smug grin across Archer’s face.

“It’s like magic.” Instead of picking up the receiver, he merely taps the speaker button and drops his hands to his hips. “Danes?”

“Detective Malone.” Preston’s deep voice echoes across the otherwise empty space. “Is there a reason Ace called your cell not all that long ago, and now you’re at the George Stanley shouting my name?”

“Wait.” I move toward the desk. “Sophia called you?”

“Word on the street is this building’s new tech means hella security where absolutely everything is recorded?”

Pres merely grunts.

“But that same word told me we can shut sectors down and render any given space a black spot. No footage. No ears. No log. I need one of those spaces right now.”

“And you chose to do it on the second floor?” he drawls. “Where all the dead people sleep in fridges?”

“I’m a romantic, I guess. Shut it down. Make Chief Mayet aware we’re here, and that we’ll be up to speak with her shortly.”

“You seem confused, Detective.” And yet, the small red dots stop flashing. “I’m not her personal assistant. I’m her tech adviser. There’s a difference.”

“I know. But we’re pals, right? That’s what Sophia said.” He comes around the desk, blows past me, and grabs the door handle leading into the fridges. “Ten minutes, then we’ll be done. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah.” A shrill beep announces the lock’s release. “I’ll set a timer. Any longer than that and I might accidentally change the temp and freeze you both for the fun of it.”

“We’ll be out in nine.” Archer yanks the door wide and disappears inside.

Groaning, I run a hand over my face and follow. “What the fuck, Arch?” I drag the door shut and stop myself, barely, from jumping at the repeated beep. We’re locked in. “What did she say?”

“You deny the wedding date, but not the ring.” He spins back and pins me with a glare. “You already bought it?”

“No.” I set my hands on my hips and brace. For his attack. For the words I know are gonna sting. “I haven’t bought a ring. What did Sophia say that was so fuckin’ important that we needed a cone of silence?”

“You’ve selected a ring, then?” He tilts his head to the side. “Right?”