“I don’t need to ask him, I already know what he’s thinking,” Rideout responds, complete with a teenage eye roll. We’ve devolved into arguing about who knows Matteo better. Immature at best. Peeing contest at worst.
“Okay, Beast Boy—”
“Okay, you two,” Detective Kildaire cuts in. “This is an investigation. An important one. We are a team—like it or not—and we need to communicate like one instead of making assumptions.” He shoots Rideout a look.
My mouth snaps closed and my cheeks heat. With the glance I sneak, Rideout doesn’t outwardly seem fazed, but then I hear him uncross his arms and sigh.
“I’m not sure there’s a connection,” I offer to break the uncomfortable silence. I sense the victory rolling off Rideout and am quick to jump in again. “Other than the name of the new distributor is . . . odd.”
“The Queen.” Matteo sits back, running his hand over his chin. “It’s not the first time we’ve come up against a woman distributor. Usually they’re all-woman rings, though, running through an escort service. He seems pretty convinced she’s new in the neighborhood, but established elsewhere.”
“I’ll check with our counterparts in San Diego and Santa Cruz,” Rideout offers. “Maybe they’re moving up the coast.”
“That’s not what I mean,” I continue, stopping Rideout short of getting up to leave the table. “I mean, sure, it’s probably a she. But the Queen of Hearts?”
“Does that mean something in The Hooded Falcon?” Matteo sits forward.
“He said it’s probably just ‘the Queen,’” Rideout adds.
I shake my head at Matteo, completely ignoring Rideout. “No, not THF, unfortunately. But. It’s a character in Alice in Wonderland.”
They both stare at me like I’m wearing a Captain Obvious sign around my neck, so I sigh. “Okay, I agree it’s a little out there, but there’s a slight tie-in to your case if you’re looking—from THF to Alice in Wonderland.”
Matteo sits back, catching my train of thought. “The White Rabbit.”
“Exactly so.”
Matteo thinks for a minute, his eyes on the ceiling of the small room, his pen tapping his notebook intermittently. Which gives me enough time to ponder how hot it is in these small rooms with three people—it’s Jakku-level stifling in here. I shrug out of the cardigan I’m wearing.
“So . . . now dealing with drug dealers who are naming themselves after stupid book characters?” Rideout asks Matteo as if he can’t believe he’s considering my suggestion. “This had better not be a new ‘thing.’” He mutters under his breath about young people and stupid trends.
“I asked MG for her opinion, and she brings up a valid point.”
Rideout’s eyes goggle at the word “valid.” “Well, I am going to run with the same assumption that the drug dealer had, that it was a kid calling the distributor a stupid-ass name. The next step is to go ask my connections farther south about the Queen.” He stands and strides from the room. I give his back a silent salute of departure.
Matteo chews the side of his cheek for a moment, then gives his head a small shake before turning his gaze back to mine. “Okay. So. Let’s pretend this connection could possibly be there. Extrapolate. What could this mean?”
I tap my chin. “Well, I guess we’d have to assume, in this situation, that this really is the Golden Arrow acting again for some reason. That the arrow is a real tell.”
“Otherwise it’s just a rich kid out to try and get that prize.”
I think about the shoe comment. “Yeah, true. But you said yourself that this one felt different. This guy tied together two people without much trouble, stuck a golden arrow in-between them, and then left. No attempt at publicity.”
“No public statement, but also no note. No indication as to why the Golden Arrow would have done this. We need to figure out the why before we figure out the who, I’m thinking.” He looks to me, hoping I’ll take the next volley and toss out ideas. It’s what I’m here for.
And truthfully, I love this. It feels like “old times” for us—sitting across from each other, pontificating and what-if-ing about a crime. It’s where I’d met and fallen for Matteo . . . it’s honestly where we feel the most like us. “There’s three options that I see, then.” I tick them off on my fingers. “This is an unrelated media stunt, and this guy will come forward and try to claim to be the GA—but he’s just a good imposter. Option two: this is the Golden Arrow and it’s unrelated, and he’s just . . . I don’t know, got the bug for vigilante crime-fighting now. Like he’s bored and decided to clean up the rest of Muñez’s crew? And option three: this is connected. The Queen of Hearts is related to the White Rabbit, the Golden Arrow knows it, and we’re meant to follow the trail.” And, I don’t add out loud, if it’s option three, we have to figure out how the Golden Arrow yet again has information the police don’t.
Matteo nods slowly, turning over the options in his mind. “It seems a stretch for the third option.”
We’ve had a conversation eerily like this one before—about the Muñez case. “Agreed.” I think for a moment, letting information filter through unfettered as I review what I know about the Golden Arrow. There’s plenty we don’t know, but one thing we do. “We never did find the other half of that journal. We know the Golden Arrow used the journals to catch Muñez . . . maybe there’s something in there that informs his actions.”
Matteo closes his notebook. “True. Still not enough for me to go on, and my partner clearly thinks I’m overthinking this. I can’t explain it. My gut says this is related. Unfortunately, until I have more proof, it’s just going to be a hunch. Thanks for coming in.” All business, so I stand when he does and brush my hands off on my pants. “And thanks for lending your brains to yet another one of my semi-ludicrous ideas.”
“Your semi-ludicrous ideas are my favorite.” I can’t help the grin I give him.
He winks. “Mine too. But don’t tell Rideout.” A hint of Matteo inside Detective Kildaire. “Are you okay if AnneMarie lets you out? I need to go help contact our counterparts down south.” AnneMarie is the young detective who took the place of traitorous Officer James.
A hint of Matteo, but Detective Kildaire is still on the job.
“Sure. Will I see you tonight?”
“Yeah, I’ll be in touch.” He leans over, giving a quick peck on my cheek.
I leave feeling buoyed, but it quickly gives way to my natural state as of late: anxiety. This case doesn’t seem to be wrapping up. In fact, it seems to be going in the opposite direction. And while I love helping with it again . . . will we ever just have a normal life without the possibility of a real-life vigilante hero hanging over our heads?
CHAPTER 8
Trogdor starts barking before I hear the knock at my door.
“Those huge ears have to be good for something, right?” I ask his cute, bread-loaf corgi butt as it sprints off to the small set of stairs leading to the foyer.
I smooth my currently lilac hair back and adjust my fire-engine-red glasses. Even though I saw Matteo this afternoon at the station, it’s different than seeing him for a date. Every once in a while, it catches me off guard that I, Michael-Grace Martin, have a real boyfriend. Like an adult boyfriend. With a job, and a car, and an interest in supporting my career goals. It feels at once incredibly freeing and like I’ve crossed some threshold into being old.
But I sure don’t feel old when I open the door to reveal Matteo in all his work-shirted glory. I never thought I’d love the look of slacks and a long-sleeve button-down—rolled up at the cuffs—as much as I do. But oh, do I.
“Hey,” I say, trying to play it cool.
Instead of stepping in, he produces a large bouquet of flowers from behind his back and holds them out to me.
“Oh!” I take the flowers as if someone’s handing me a squirmy child. I hold them at arm’s length and try to school my features into something like pleasant surprise. “Flowers!”
I’ve never actually receiv
ed flowers from a guy before. At least beyond the gerbera daisies of my high-school-prom corsage. Though I understand why some girls like them, all I see is dead plants. They’re not really my thing, and I’m pretty sure Matteo knows that. At least it’s not some big gaudy bouquet thing. These tall and slender stalks of green have multiple purple flowers coming off them—thank God, no cliché commercial roses.
Matteo clears his throat, and I realize he’s still standing outside, eyes glued to my face. “Ah, they’re irises. I thought they were pretty and matched your hair. I wanted to give you something nice because I know I’ve been canceling a lot lately. A peace offering.”
“I’ll, ah, go put them in something.” I offer a smile that I hope doesn’t come out as awkward as I feel on the inside. It’s sweet, I remind myself. He wants to get me flowers. It’s a completely normal and adult thing to do. Boyfriends get girlfriends flowers. They remind him of me. It’s sweet. Really.
But as I hunt through my cabinet for anything resembling a vase—finally settling on a Batman stainless steel water bottle—I hit upon the thing that’s bothering me. I don’t feel like a normal girl, I’m not sure I want “normal” things, and I’m waaaay overanalyzing this, but do these flowers reflect that Matteo thinks of our relationship—of me—as normal? Mundane? I’m definitely overanalyzing, I tell myself, filling the water bottle with some water. Normal boyfriends don’t match flowers to hair, right? That’s unique and special.
I lift my eyes to find Matteo watching me over my kitchen table, Trog cradled in his arms like a furry throw pillow. A crease graces his forehead, along with an adorable lock of his dark hair. He really is sweet, and I’m being way too picky. I’ve had a long, stressful week, and the meeting today with the Hero Girls news has just been a cherry on top.
“It’s very sweet, even though you didn’t need to. Thank you.”
“I know you don’t love flowers, but I do. And they made me think of you.” He smiles and puts Trog down, while I proceed to internally kick myself. Here my boyfriend is, trying to apologize to me, and I’ve basically warded him off with my fingers in an X. “I got you something else too, besides the flowers.”
He leaves the kitchen, climbs the stairs, and then opens the front door. In a moment he’s back with a wrapped box.
I sidle around the kitchen table, take the box, and rip open one side.
“I know that sometimes your internet connection is slow when Ryan is gaming,” he says by way of explanation. “And I thought since I missed the other night that we could watch it together.”
I finish unwrapping the box to reveal the entire Blu-ray set of Game of Thrones. I manage a genuine smile this time. “This is incredibly thoughtful, Matteo.”
And really it is. The internal sinking feeling I have makes no sense. Here’s my supersweet boyfriend, who has done nothing except show up looking delicious, bearing flowers and meaningful gifts. And here I am, Eeyore-ing. But . . . it’s been years since I bought a hard copy of a movie. I don’t even own a dedicated Blu-ray player anymore. Some stupid part of me keeps insisting that between the flowers and the Blu-ray . . . maybe Matteo doesn’t get me as much as I thought he did? That we aren’t as perfectly in sync as I like to believe.
But then only totally snobby people reassess their relationships based on media gifts, so I shove that annoying part of me aside and motion Matteo into the kitchen. “I think it’s perfect, and we can start Season 1 tonight. It won’t have the full orchestra, but I’ll hum aggressively. After I get us something to drink, I’ll go call Ryan and see if he can walk me through using his monstrosity of a gaming station to play the disc, sound good?” Truth be told, I’d touched Ryan’s gaming machine once and basically had my head bitten off for it. I now avoid his corner of the living room; he might as well have peed a circle around it.
Matteo nods and slides his jacket off, hanging it on the back of a kitchen chair. I start to rattle around for a few glasses for beer, but Matteo catches one of my hands and pulls me to him again. He wraps his arms around me, and leans down, lips in my hair.
“You didn’t read the card in the flowers.”
I, being entirely unaware that flowers came with cards, shake my head. He nods, and turns me toward the flowers with a gentle nudge. I root around in my bouquet until a plastic stand presents itself, complete with tiny greeting card envelope. One dramatic flourish later, I’m holding a small golden card with Matteo’s block lettering basically filling the interior. My eyes scan the interior, expecting, “I care so much about you, yadda, yadda, yadda,” typical greeting-card stuff, but stop short at the words “digital versions.” My eyes scan backward, and I reread, a slow and happy grin spreading across my face. Matteo has purchased the digital downloads for all the episodes alongside the discs.
“I know you don’t play discs, but I thought it would be a good backup in case—I don’t know, are there such things as Game of Thrones emergencies? Digital blackouts? Internet crises?”
I laugh and throw myself back against his chest. “There may be. And now I’m prepared if there are.” I lean back, giving Matteo’s chin a quick peck. “Thank you.” And I’d been wrong. Matteo hadn’t just known me; he’d even guessed my reactions. Who in the world has a sweeter and more sensitive boyfriend? No one.
Matteo squeezes me in return, I grab two beers, and we amble toward the living room. I hear the door open and shut, and the telltale clomp of Ryan’s running shoes hitting the foyer. I’d told him Matteo was coming over, and he’d promised to stay upstairs for the night to give us some time to unwind. Ryan pauses briefly before his footsteps jog up the small flight of stairs to the second level, and another pause before the shower water starts. Perfect. With Lawrence at the dress rehearsal for his drag revue and Ryan safely upstairs, I can just be with Matteo tonight.
“It’s been a crazy month,” Matteo says, sinking down onto my ugly-but-oh-so-comfortable sofa. He briefly cradles his head in his hands before sitting back against the pillows.
I fold my legs under me, toss my arm across the back of the couch, and study Matteo’s face. He looks tired. “More about the case?”
“I think I’ve chased down Ryan’s assailant.”
I sit forward. “Well, that’s great news, right? Good work!”
Matteo holds up a hand. “I don’t have him yet—I still need to arrest him. But I questioned the two we have in custody about it when you left, and I got a name of someone who purportedly was in a fistfight with a stranger two nights ago. Claims he was jumped, but the boys just thought he didn’t want to admit to a customer getting the better of him or something. The timeline fits, even if the story doesn’t quite.”
I am missing something here; he sounds so morose for having a win coming in his direction. “Okay, so? Not in custody yet, but you have a name.”
“He’s connected with this new ring, no priors, no history of assault.”
I’m still stumped and Matteo must read that. He shrugs. “No known ties to the Muñez ring bothers me. It just made sense that this wasn’t random. I can’t shake it. This week is just . . . getting to me, I guess. Even when I have an answer, it doesn’t satisfy me. I’m constantly having to worry about yahoos putting on spandex and getting hurt or killed trying to prove they’re a hero. And now with the Queen stuff, and Ryan’s assault, and the dealers who know each other but aren’t connected with anyone . . .”
We lapse into silence, and when it becomes clear he’s not offering more information, I decide to probe a little. “And now . . .”
“Well, I can deal with the imposter stuff—it’s media attention, that will die down. But I was expecting the drug scene to cool off a little, given that we just took the major players out. Now I’m wondering if either we created a hole in the market that someone jumped to fill or we didn’t get everyone. It all feels connected, but I can’t figure it out. My gut says one thing, the paper trail says another thing. And if the GA is involved . . . well, and we already know we didn’t get everyone technically connecte
d with the case this summer. He’s just the only open end I know about.”
“But the Golden Arrow helped catch those guys, right? And if it’s him again, he’s still tying up dealers? Maybe he suspects the same thing you do. The GA is a good guy.”
Matteo scrubs at his eyes again, and sighs. “In theory. A good guy who won’t share his inside knowledge and is working outside of the accepted channels still isn’t a good guy in my book.”
“Batman . . .” I interject, fully equipped for this debate. Though admittedly, I’m not usually on the side of defending the Bat. Somehow in this instance, though, I get it, and it’s a hill I’ll die on gladly.
Matteo reaches over and pats my knee, effectively stopping the argument before it can begin. “All I know is I don’t want to talk about work anymore, and I want to snuggle with my girl and watch something with big wolves.”
“Direwolves,” I correct him, and I let the work topic slide. It’s obvious Matteo has his hands full with work, and I hate seeing him this stressed. With one hand, I flick through my phone to my online video library, happily push the icon for Season 1, and stream it to the television. This is why I love technology. It’s magic. My own little corner of Harry Potter’s world.
I snuggle into Matteo’s side, the frosty moors near Winterfell in the opening scene sucking me in instantly. For a few moments, I let the worries fall away, and do what I love best—lose myself in another world.
CHAPTER 9
“Hey, Kyle,” I say before I’ve even put down my messenger bag at my desk. It’s Wednesday morning, and I spent all yesterday busting my rear end at home to catch up on work stuff after the ridiculousness that has been my past week. “I finished those story lines to be inked; do you want to take a look at them . . .”
I cut off, catching sight of Lelani and Daniel standing in the back of the office near the conference room. “Oh. Hello.”
“Good morning, MG; I’m just introducing Daniel to the rest of the group. He works for the production company, and he’ll be their representative liaison for the movie project. Your counterpart, if you will,” Lelani explains. “I know you and he spent some time together the other night, but I wanted the rest of the crew to know who you’ll be working with.”
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