"Who would just slow us down with bureaucracy."
Izzy pressed a hand to her chest in mock shock. "Cory Fraser just said bureaucracy would slow us down. Quick, check the sky for flying pigs."
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"I really am." She couldn't stop grinning. "Should I mark this date? December 15th, the day Chief Perfect Procedure decided rules were meant to be broken?"
"Bent," he corrected, but she caught the twitch of his lips. "Rules can be bent in exigent circumstances."
"Exigent circumstances." She pulled out her phone. "I need to record this for posterity. Say it again—rules can be bent."
"Izzy."
"Come on, one more time. Deke will never believe me otherwise."
He shot her a look that should have been stern but landed somewhere closer to fond exasperation. "Are you done?"
"Not even close." She was practically bouncing in her seat. "This is the best thing that's happened all week. Cory Fraser, rebel without a cause. Do you feel dangerous? You should get a leather jacket. Maybe a motorcycle."
"I have a motorcycle."
That stopped her cold. "You what?"
"A Honda Goldwing. I ride on weekends sometimes."
She stared at him, reassessing. "You're full of surprises, Chief Fraser."
"Because I own a motorcycle?"
"Because you're human." The words slipped out before she could stop them, too honest for the moment.
His hands tightened on the wheel. "What did you think I was?"
"I don't know. A really attractive robot?" Heat flooded her face. Had she just called him attractive? "I mean, an efficient robot. A regulation-following robot."
"Attractive?" The corner of his mouth quirked up.
"Shut up. Focus on your rule-breaking." She turned to stare out the window, face burning. "Which I'm still not over, by the way. Does this mean you'll start jaywalking? Parking in fire lanes? The possibilities are endless."
"Let's start with questioning a suspect without federal oversight and see how it goes."
"Look at you, taking baby steps into anarchy." She risked a glance at him. "I'm so proud."
"You're impossible."
"And you're breaking protocol for me." The teasing note faded from her voice. "Why?"
He was quiet long enough that she thought he wouldn't answer.
"Because the FBI is looking at you as a suspect," he said finally. "They're wasting time building a case against you instead of finding who really did this. Every hour they waste puts you in more danger."
"So you're... protecting me?"
"It's my job."
"No," she said softly. "Your job was to hand this over to the feds and walk away. This is something else."
He glanced at her, something raw in his expression before he focused back on the road. "Rules are important. But people are more important. Someone taught me that recently."
