Page 7

I sigh. “Okay.” I tighten my grip. “You've definitely been stabbed.”

He mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a curse.

We start walking. Well... I walk. He staggers like Bambi on ice.

“So...” I glance sideways, making sure no one is close by. “Was it a knife?”

Silence.

“It looks like a knife wound.”

Still nothing.

“That's fine.” I nod. “Don't answer.”

“I wasn't planning to.”

“I respect boundaries.”

Mostly.

Okay, only the ones I want to respect.

But I don’t tell him that.

He’s silent for a beat before he says, “I appreciate that.”

See?

We're communicating.

The parking lot finally comes into view.

I fish my keys out of the little black cat-shaped purse hanging from my shoulder and hit the unlock button. My SUV chirps.

“There she is.”

He stares at it. “You drive a Mercedes?”

“Yup.” I open the passenger door and glance at him. “Try not to bleed on the seats.”

He blinks slowly.

“I just had it detailed.”

After a long pause, he mutters, “That’s what you’re worried about?”

“Yes. I like a clean car.”

“I'm bleeding out and you're worried about the upholstery?”

“Upholstery’s important.” I pat my seat. “Especially when it's leather.”

He stares at me.

“You're really staying in character. I’m impressed.”

He doesn't crack a smile. Or laugh.