“Get in the car,” he snarls. “Now.”
I have to laugh. “Are you serious? This is it?” I spread my arms, looking around as Lanz and Callahan trudge the remaining few steps down to street-level. “This is what we’re doing? Leaving?”
Leaving herhere?
“We’re not going to be able to doanythingif they call the cops,” Lanz says. Twerp.
“Exactly.” Kingston’s huff is visible in the cold air. “So just?—”
I ignore whatever else he’s going to say and spring forward, arm out, ready to slam his head against that?—
“Hey, hey, hey!” Callahan jams himself between the two of us, skidding a little on the steep ice of the driveway. “Kai,stop.”
I try to wrestle past him. “Make me.”
Callahan shoulder-checks me to the ground, sending me ass-first into a puddle.
“Cool it,” he says.
By way of response, I spit at his feet.
“Listen.” Lanz’s voice is strained, like he’s really trying to play diplomat even though we’relongpast that. “Let’s all just get back in the car?—”
“You get back in the car,” I retort, getting to my feet. “I’ll fuckingwalkback to Caliburn before I?—”
“Can you all calm the fuck down?”
The driver’s-side window rolls away to reveal Morgan’s smug little face.
“This isn’t a dick-measuring contest,” she goes on. “It’s a rescue mission.”
Through the window, she tosses the keys at Callahan, then swings open the door and pads to the ground.
“Morgan.” Kingston’s voice has an edge of warning to it.
“Zip it.” She pulls a finger over her lips. “Moroslav’s gone, by the way. Getaway car sped out of here before you’d even left.” She digs in the pocket of her poofy white vest, pulls out a spray bottle, and begins spritzing herself, eyes closed.
Callahan is perplexed. “Is that…perfume?”
“No questions.” She pushes him aside with a firm two-fingered shove to the chest. “I’ll be back in ten.”
“Morgan,” Kingston repeats. “Where are you going?”
Morgan doesn’t answer, or even turn back. And I have to say, I’m wondering the same thing.
Because whatever she’s about to do, it’s guaranteed to be stupid.
Then again, at least she’s headed in the right direction.
Which is more than any of these idiots can say.
“Morgan—”
Now she spins around.
“Let me handle this,” she says. “Okay?”
I’m sure as hell not going to object.
