“I’ve got to take you home. Orders.”
“Are made to be broken.”
“That’s rules,” Murphy corrected.
“Those, too.” I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. “My car is there. I’ll grab it and drive home. It’s basically the same as you driving me.”
“Those weren’t my orders, and I don’t want to piss him off.”
It took effort, but I rolled my head and opened my lids enough to look at him.
For a second, I thought it might work. Actually, I thought he might suggest he join me at home.
But after a dazed moment, he shook his head. “Sorry, but he’s scarier than you are.”
My eyes narrowed in a glare as I scowled at him.
He had the good sense to be a little freaked—my scowlwaspretty damn mean—but he shook his head again. “Fine, I take that back. But he still outranks you.”
He had me there.
I closed my eyes again and spun a finger around. “Home it is then, Argyle.”
“Uh, it’s Murphy,” he said. “Should I get the paramedics?”
I let out my annoyance, my fear, my pain, my anger, and—because I had a wealth of it—even more annoyance in one long-suffering sigh. “Argyle. The limo driver fromDie Hard.”
“Oh. I’ve never seen it.”
He had to be five or so years older than me, but I suddenly felt ancient.
Ignoring him and the mortality crisis that crept up again, I wadded up the shirt I’d basically stolen and used it as a pillow.
I added how good it smelled to my list of things I was ignoring.
I was less successful with that one.
CHAPTER SIX
WE’VE GOT BEEF
LUNA
“Aren’t you supposed to beoff today?” Matthews asked as he hurriedly reached across to clear his garbage from my desk.
Since I was trying to keep a low profile, I ignored the disrespect—for right then. “What? Says who?”
“The captain.”
“Huh. Weird. Must be getting confused in his old age.”
“My vision must be going, too,” I heard from behind me. “Because I know your ass didn’t disobey an order.”
Oops.
Low profile be damned, I shot daggers at Matthews. Not literal ones, though I was tempted. “You couldn’t give me a heads-up he was there?”
He gave a panicked shrug.
