Somewhere a link explained everything.
She drew a circle around the names of Luke, Zane, Thad, Michael, and Jared.
Who was next?
5
LUKE POWELLTHANKEDthe Uber driver and fought to keep from wincing as he climbed out of the Prius. He still couldn’t believe the doctor told him no driving for a week.
The doctor had also told him to go home and take it easy.
He’d gone home long enough to shower, change clothes, and grab something decent to eat. He hadn’t planned on the two-hour nap that followed his meal of leftover pizza, but sliding into work at three in the afternoon gave him a better shot of not being noticed—and improved his odds of not being sent home immediately.
Luke scanned his badge and entered the office.
“Luke!” Leslie Martin, the woman who kept all of them organized, made sure they got paid, and never dropped the ball in the donut department, launched herself from her desk. She put on the brakes seconds before impact, thank heaven, and patted his arms gently, tears pooling, then streaming down her face.
So much for not being noticed. “Hey, Marty.” Luke was the only one who called her Marty. It had been their joke since his first day on the job, and at his words, her silent tears became racking sobs.He couldn’t tell her not to cry. He’d have been happy to join her. He pulled her into a gentle embrace.
“Don’t pull your stitches.” She hiccupped the words as he squeezed her close.
“I’m okay, Marty.”
She pulled away, swiping at the black streaks on her cheeks.
He kept one hand on her arm and reached for the box of tissues on her desk. “Here.”
She took one. Then another.
Then swatted his arm. “You aren’t supposed to be here. The doctor said not until Monday.”
How did she know?
“Jacob won’t like it.” She wiped her nose.
“Luke Powell. My office. Now.” The voice of Assistant Resident Agent in Charge Jacob Turner ripped down the hall.
Marty gave Luke a watery smirk. “Told you.”
“If he sends me home, I’ll buy your lunch tomorrow. But if I get to stay, you have to make me that chocolate cake you brought to Easter dinner.” Luke backed toward the hall. “Deal?”
“Deal.”
Marty’s culinary skills were ... alarming. Literally. She could set the smoke detectors off while trying to boil water, but she’d mastered one recipe. A succulent chocolate bundt cake that cried for a tall glass of milk or a big scoop of vanilla ice cream. The Weavers had invited everyone to lunch after Easter church services, and Marty’s cake had been so popular that Luke had snagged only one small slice before it was gone.
“Hurry up, Powell.”
“I think I’ll want a salad from—” Luke closed the door of Jacob’s office and cut off Marty’s voice.
Jacob Turner looked up from his desk. “Sit.”
If he sat, he might never get up. “I’d rather stand, if that’s okay.” Before Jacob could respond, Luke asked, “Did you go home last night?” Jacob’s clothes were wrinkled, and he was wearing the same pants he’d had on yesterday when he’d come by the hospital. The bags under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Like he’d, well, of course he’d been crying. They’d all cried.
Jacob didn’t respond to his question. “How’s the arm? The leg? The hands? The back?”
If Jacob insisted on cataloging every one of Luke’s body parts that had been injured, this would take forever. “I’m good.”
Jacob looked over the top of his readers, his expression unamused.
