Page 77 of Dancing in the Dark

“I see.” He sets his coffee mug back on his desk and drops his foot to the floor. Rising from his chair, he refastens his jacket buttons and wanders around his desk until he stops on my side. Leaning back against the rich mahogany, he digs his hands into his pockets and studies me through kind eyes. “I trust you’ll handle this dynamic however you feel is best. You’re the embodiment of professionalism, and I know you’ll keep this train moving in the direction we need it.”

If I try to speak, I’m positive my voice will crack. Instead, I simply nod.

“And if, at some point in the future, you wish to discuss this in more detail, I want you to know I’m around. Here, in an official capacity.” He looks around his office. “Or elsewhere, if you’d prefer our discussion to be less formal. Janine nags me at least three times a week to have you over for dinner again. In fact, we could invite Chief Mayet, too, then I can torment you both at the same time.” His lips quirk with a playful smirk. “I know how you ladies loathe the idea of being parented.”

The phone on his desk trills with a call coming from someone else inside this building, so he stands again, fixes the buttons on his jacket purely out of muscle memory, and circles back to his chair. “I have a meeting with the Chief of Police in a short while. After that, I’d like to discuss the details of Ambassador Zhao’s offer before we take it to legal.”

“Yes, sir.”

29

FLETCH

“Stick a knife in the back of my neck and put me out of my misery.” Archer sits hunched over his desk, his fiery green glare shooting straight over my shoulder. “This is all your fault, you know that?”

“What’s my fault?” I twist in my seat and lock eyes with an entirely too smiley Anderson fucking Markum as he hovers by Lieutenant Fabian’s office door. My brows pinch tight, and the tension in my shoulders doubles.

Triples.

Fuck, what’s the word for when something increases times ten?

That.

Fabian’s door swings wide, and though I don’t get to hear the things they say, I study the handshake. The nods and grins and ‘I’m too fucking good to be out here with the cattle class’. The instant Markum disappears inside and the door shuts, I swing back around and growl. “The fuck does he want? We’re doing the job, aren’t we?” I stare down at the stack of formal requests we’ve both been working on. My inch-thick stack. Arch’s inch-thick stack. “Wasting our fuckin’ time with the rubber stamping and bullshit. The old Port Authority guy wasn’t this bad.”

“Markum was already an annoying twerp, and that was before he found out you were doing the things we don’t talk about with his ex-fiancée.”

“Shut up. We’re not talking about it.”

“That’s what I just said!” he laughs. “We’re literally not talking about it. But seriously…” He waggles his brows in my peripherals. “Can we talk about it soon? Because I’m not saying we’re talking about it behind your back, but I’m saying Aubs is on her shit, cos she already knows things, and Cato said he saw some stuff, and it’s possible Cato saved my number in Mia’s watch phone thingy before he gave it to her, because she sent me a voice message earlier and chirped on about how Miss Fifi slept over at your place last night.”

My daughter, the snitch.

“I feel like I should be excluded from the ‘not talking about it’ crowd. Minka and Aubs and them? Fuck ‘em. They’re cool and all, but they’re not Arch and Fletch cool.”

“I’m gonna tell Minka you said that.”

“Eh.” He chuckles. “I’ll deny it. But you and me? We went through the academy together. We forged our friendship in the fire. And let’s not forget that wayyyy back when Minka and I were new, the only helpful contribution you made was to call her Doctor Delicious.” He picks up his pen and lobs it at my chest. “You owe me.”

I roll away from my desk and snatch up the small metal wastepaper basket permanently kept beneath. Holding his eyes, I drop his pen into the trash and set it back on the floor. “Stick your ‘you owe me’ bullshit up your clacker. Be quiet. Work.”

“You asshole.” He barks out a loud laugh and shoves up from his seat. Instead of coming around to save his pen, he stalks across to Detective Banks’ desk and whips the pen clear out of the dude’s hand.

“Hey!” Drake startles back with a snarl. “What the fuck?”

“You’re a pussy and you suck at basketball.” He strolls back this way, his eyes dancing with mirth. “And you’re a pussy who owes me the scoop on you and Fifi. Is it official yet? Are we moving in together? Can I ask ‘hey, Fifi, are you and Fletch serious yet?’ and be confident she won’t run away screaming? What about Moo? Is she over the moon about it all?”

“Yes. No. No. No. Yes.”

“That was too many answers.” He plops back into his seat with a smirk. “But you started and ended with a yes, so I’m gonna assume all of them were yeses. You should bring her over to the house soon. We’ll fire up the grill and do something fun.”

“Sure. Will I explain the mafia army wandering your property, too? Or is this one of those ‘avert your eyes and ask no questions, babe, otherwise you might be gifted a lovely pair of cement shoes’?”

“She’s been to the house before,” he drawls. “Don’t act like she’s brand-new.”

“Sure. But did you notice how every time she’s visited, shit has gone down or been straight up weird? She has to be curious, but I’m not really in a position to answer her questions.”

“Tell her the truth.” Drake darts forward on fast feet and slaps the back of Archer’s neck until the crack echoes loudly across the bullpen, then he steals his pen back and flips us both off. “Tell her your bro is actively…” He’s a dick, but he’s not stupid, so he lowers his voice and snickers, “Naughty. Tell her he inherited a whole buncha shit from his crooked daddy, and although he claims he’s out, he stays in enough to enjoy those bank accounts, property portfolios, and soldiers he keeps nearby. It’s important we don’t let pesky moral stances get in the way of a comfortable lifestyle.”