Or maybe it had already started to heal.
Murphy lowered my arm carefully and pulled a bottle of alcohol from his bag. Thewrongkind of alcohol. “This will sting a little, but it’ll keep you from getting an infection.”
“That’s really not necessary.” I hadn’t gotten a single infection since the day I died, and I really didn’t need all the pampering. In a couple of days, my arm would be good as new, with nothing but a puckered scar to prove I’d ever been shot.
“Just sit still.” Holding one of the bathroom hand towels under my arm, he poured alcohol from the bottle directly over the hole in the back of my triceps.
“Son of a bitch!” I hissed, clenching my fist as tiny bubbles popped and fizzed on my arm.
He grinned wryly. “I told you it would sting.”
“And you clearly like to be right.” I ground my teeth together as he cleaned the other side of the hole, then taped a square of gauze over each side.
When he was done, Murphy dropped the hand towel on the bed and stood. “Let’s eat.”
In about two seconds I’d crossed the room to the small, round table. “Thanks for dinner,” I said, sinking into the seat opposite the door, in front of which sat the bag of food. I pulled out a paper-wrapped egg roll and a white cardboard carton emanating the most delicious aroma. I opened the box and inhaled deeply.Mmmm, cashew chicken.
“There’s shrimp fried rice, if you’d rather. And Szechuan beef, and vegetarian egg rolls. I wasn’t sure what you like.” He held up a cellophane-wrapped plastic fork in one hand and a sleeve of chopsticks in the other.
I plucked the chopsticks from his fist and dumped them from the paper sleeve. “This is fine.” I let the first bite sit on my tongue for a moment, savoring the flavor. Either I was really hungry, or I was eating the best cashew chicken in history. Or both. “I take that back. It’s wonderful. Thanks.”
Pleased, Murphy plopped into his own chair and scooted up to the table. “Next time we’re going out.”
I couldn’t resist a grin. “For the record, I’m not agreeing to that.”
“That’s okay.” He met my eyes boldly. “I’m not asking.”
Laughing, I dug in for another bite. It took me about three minutes to devour the cashew chicken and a can of Vanilla Coke, and by then I was feeling better, except for my arm.
“Wow.” Murphy grinned at me over his carton of fried rice. “Here. Have the Szechuan beef.”
“Thanks.” I grabbed the unopened carton and dug in. I felt no need to explain to him about my faster-than-human healing, or that the process required a lot of fuel. And now that I was feeling at least marginally better, I was more than ready to have my questions answered. Starting with the most pressing.
“So, you and this Lorelei chick? You were together?” The words had barely passed my lips when I felt my cheeks flush and knew they were bright red.
Damn it Lex! Keep it professional.I’d opened my mouth to do just that, but a personal question had slipped out instead.
“Yeah. For a couple of years, a long time ago.”
“What happened? She try to suck you dry?”
Murphy laughed, and my cheeks flared from backyard-barbeque to supernova. Unintentional double entendre.Damn it, Lex!
But he seemed amused. “Not exactly. We had a difference of opinion. A philosophical disagreement, if you will. About Troy Devich.”
“Let me guess: she was pro, and you were con.”
“Pretty much. I thought he should roast in hell for all of eternity, and she thought he should pay her rent and bills, in exchange for service in perpetuity. After that, we just couldn’t see eye-to-eye on much of anything.”
I nodded sagely. “Yeah, it’s always the little things that drive couples apart.”
Chuckling, he dumped an entire packet of soy sauce into his rice and stirred it with one chop stick. “Don’t I know it.”
We ate several bites in silence, then I paused, an egg roll halfway to my mouth. “So, who’s in the box?”
He arched one brow. “Devich didn’t tell you?”
“He didn’t even admit it was a sarcophagus until I found out on my own.”
