Page 47 of Butterfly Assassin
“Our unit,” Harry parroted, sounding like he was smiling too. “Please disconnect from my phone now. I’m turning it off anyway, not sure whether that will affect things, but whatever.”
Stewart clicked a few keys on the laptop, then shut the lid. “He’s gone,” he said, sitting back in his chair. Glancing at the others in the room, he said, “What exactly did we get from that little exchange?”
Archer straightened, picked up one of the photos, and pinned it on the far wall. “From what Harper has said and from what we just heard”—he tapped Blake’s face—“I believe this is who we need to get close to.” He met Aaron’s gaze, another half-smile. “Well, it’s who Harper needs to get close to. Close enough to listen to at any rate. Out of the men we’ve seen, he seems to speak for Smith. If anyone’s going to know if Smith’s connected to these murders, then it’s going to be him. As far as—”
“It’s Aaron.” The words just fell out of his mouth, but he was tired of being referred to as Harper.
“What?” Archer looked at him quizzically, as though he’d spoken in a foreign language.
“You called me Harper, but I hate being called by my last name. Reminds me of school.”
All eyes turned his way, and Aaron suddenly wished he’d kept quiet. Archer had a pink tinge to his cheeks—probably a match for Aaron’s—and the rest of them seemed a mixture of amused and whatever else that look was that Stewart was aiming at him.
Clearing his throat, Archer said. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned back to the photo on the wall. The tips of his ears were pink, Aaron noted. Why was he so embarrassed? Aaron was the one who appeared to have said something wrong. “As I was saying, as far as the rest of us are concerned, we need to blend in, not attract attention. We’re there for backup and to gather any information we can without putting either Nash or Harp—Aaron, at risk.”
There were a couple of eye rolls at Archer using Aaron’s first name, but all Aaron felt was a flicker of warmth inside. The way Archer’s tongue curled around his name made Aaron want to jump out of his chair and pin him against the wall. His teeth ached at the thought of scraping them over the base of Archer’s throat, pressing in enough to leave a mark.
A familiar scent drifted up, and Aaron suppressed a groan as he subtly leaned forward to hide his lower half from view.
Thank fuck he was the only shifter in the room. He didn’t need Archer knowing his mind was in the gutter.
And maybe he should stop referring to him as Archer in his head.
Michael.
Aaron said it over a few times, found it didn’t feel that weird. Was that a good thing or not?
“Right,” Stewart said before Aaron could dwell on it further. “When does this all start? Nash is—” He glanced over at Aaron and grinned. “Sorry,Harryis going to a fight next week. Are we all tagging along?”
“No.” Michael turned to Aaron. “How many people does Harry usually go to these things with? Is it normal for a member to invite a few people?”
“You’d be better off asking Harry. I don’t think it’s unusual for people to bring guests, but not everyone does it. Whoever they bring, they’re responsible for. So if anyone goes squealing to the police…” He let them draw their own conclusions. “I’m not sure how many Rob usually takes with him. I know Harry’s been a few times where it was just the two of them.”
“Either way,” Michael said, “it’s going to look odd if he suddenly turns up with three extra guys.”
Stewart nodded. “It is.”
“So I’ll go with them next week, and when Harry gets his own membership, we can all go.”
The rest of them nodded like the suggestion made perfect sense, but Aaron didn’t like it. “They’re a rough bunch, those that go to these fights.”
Michael raised his eyebrows. “Unlicensed fighting, bare-knuckle or otherwise, has been illegal for the past five years. Betting on it—also illegal. I don’t expect the crowd to be full of upstanding citizens.”
“But what if they find out you’re a police officer? They’ll kill you. Or rough you up at least.”
Isn’t that what they did with the police?
Michael snorted. “You’ve been watching too much TV.” Aaron didn’t think he was exaggerating much, and judging by the way Michael’s jaw clenched, he didn’t either. “Besides, I’m SCTF. No one at the fight should have cause to recognise me. And I know how to blend in.”
Aaron begged to differ—looking like he did, Michael would easily stand out in that crowd. But Aaron wasn’t about to say that out loud. “If you say so.”
Michael smiled. “I know what I’m doing, trust me.”
The funny thing was, Aaron did. He wasn’t sure why exactly. He didn’t know Michael at all really, but his instincts told him he was someone Aaron could trust. And Aaron always went with his gut. “Okay.” His gaze locked with Michael’s, stomach fluttering again when Michael stared back instead of looking away.
He’d almost forgotten the others were there when Frank spoke.
“Will you be fighting that night?”
