School of Fish (Fish Out of Water #6) - Amy Lane Page 0,127

one way and I chase him another. And Ellery here, whose only job was to stay put, waits until the bad guy is too close to stop and throws open his door—”

“With a broken arm from a car crash that just occurred?” the PA double-checked, sounding like she didn’t believe a word of it.

“Sweartagod,” Jackson confirmed. “And the bad guy goes over backwards, and his head bounces off the pavement like a watermelon—”

“And I keel over and vomit,” Ellery inserted dryly.

“True story,” Jackson averred. “And that, yer honor, is how we ended up here.”

There was a round of applause from the edge of the corridor, and Ellery looked over—slowly, because his back and neck were also pretty stiff—and saw Dave, Alex, Jade, and Mike standing there taking in the show.

“That was an amazing story,” Jade said, moving gracefully to look over the PA’s shoulder as she worked on Jackson’s backside. “Thank God I got that version because I’m sure what really happened would give me a stroke.”

“You mean the part where Ellery swerved the Tank in front of an SUV full of bad guys?” Jackson asked, some more of his veneer cracking. “Because that was true-blue hero stuff right there.”

“Witness his bleeding head wound and wrist splint,” Ellery told them all.

“And that beauty of a bruise on his back,” Mike said, coming to sit on Jackson’s other side.

Jackson grunted. “That was entirely different,” he said with dignity.

Mike nodded. “So says the news footage.” He didn’t wait for a reply but looked at Ellery. “How long you got here?”

Ellery closed his eyes and shook his head. “No idea. What’s it been, Jackson? An eternity and two millennia?”

“Two eternities, one millennium,” Jackson corrected. “Ouch!”

The PA hissed. “That was not my fault. You ripped your stitches so badly you need another line of stitches. Good God. I’m not sure how much of that story was true—”

“All of it,” Jade and Mike said in tandem.

“Or how much of it is bullshit,” the PA continued, rolling her eyes. “But you two definitely need some downtime before you do whatever it is you do some more.”

Jackson grunted. “He’s a lawyer,” he said.

“So boring.” Ellery didn’t need to feign his yawn. He was exhausted.

“And what are you?” the PA asked.

“Nothing,” Jackson told her. “I’m on medical leave.”

And that was the last intelligible thing she got out of any of them until they carted Ellery away for X-rays.

AN HOUR later Ellery had a temporary cast on his arm and wrist—because the whole thing sported a total of three hairline fractures—and a splint on his leg to immobilize his knee. Mike was pushing his wheelchair while Alex and Dave led the way for them to visit Sean Kryzynski.

“There are some benefits to being a frequent flyer,” Alex burbled. “You guys get a personal escort service and a group discount at the viewing.”

Jackson grunted. “Expedited visiting hours?”

“You got about five minutes,” Dave said dryly. “And by that I mean I give you five minutes before you have to get the fuck out of this place or go hurl in a trash can, so we won’t keep you long. He just got an update from his detective pal and wanted to make sure you two weren’t dead.”

“Well, it’ll be good to see him too,” Ellery said with dignity. Hell, he didn’t have a hospital phobia, and hey! Someone else was pushing him around.

Alex slid open the door to Kryzynski’s room, and Sean and Andre Christie started clapping as Ellery was pushed in.

“Hear you’re looking to change professions,” Christie told him. “NASCAR, I understand?”

“Monster truck,” Ellery told him, feeling mellow. “That way I can just vroom right over the bad guys!”

“That’s fantastic,” Sean wheezed. “Jackson, how stoned is he?”

“Three sheets to the wind and tallyho,” Jackson replied. “How stoned are you?”

Sean grunted. “Not so stoned I can’t see how much you need to leave,” he said gently. “Christie here has been waiting for you guys to show so we can get the wrap-up. Andre, go fast.”

Christie nodded. “Okay, so by the time I got there, this was the sitch.” He took a breath and gave Jackson and Ellery a sideways look. “There were three wrecked SUVs, two with drivers who had taken bullets to a noggin by, witnesses report, ‘a badass guy in black motorcycle leathers with a black motorcycle that was so shiny it looked like it was from outer space.’”

“Which witnesses were those?” Ellery asked, exchanging an alarmed look with Jackson.

“ADA Sodhi and ADA Pasternak,” Christie told them grimly. “They