Proof of Life (The Potentate of Atlanta #4) - Hailey Edwards Page 0,86
for me, do it for Tiny Tim.”
“You’re an innocent babe in a manger, aren’t you?”
“Do not bring Jesus into this.”
As a necromancer who attended public school with humans, I was well versed in Christianity. I even picked and chose from their bigger holidays to celebrate as much for fun as habit. Lisbeth’s fixation on Christmas trees didn’t mean she was a Christian, but she often wore a pair of earrings with small golden crosses, which implied that’s how she leaned spiritually.
I showed others’ religions the respect I showed my own, even that one guy who worshipped—I kid you not—a package of beef franks whose brand stickers had peeled off since it hit the dumpster where he found it. He swore it was a divine message on not labeling others, and no. That didn’t stop him from eating his gods a week later. Then almost dying from food poisoning. Under the circumstances, it counted as divine retribution, I guess?
That said, I hoped she didn’t think I was being flip about her religion. Then again, she started it.
Jesus would know that, right?
“Okay, I’m seriously not that kind of girl.” Lisbeth tried for prim. “I’m not going to bring baby Jesus into this conversation.”
“You just did.”
“Dang it.”
Laughter felt good. Scratch that. It felt great. But we had work to do. “Can you borrow Ford’s truck for a drive out to Buckhead?”
“Let me ask.” She muted the call for a heartbeat. “He says yes but wants to know if he can come too.”
The fit in the cab would be tight, but we could manage. “The more the merrier.”
With that settled, Midas and I stepped outside the Faraday and bumped right into Lisbeth.
“What are you doing here?” I scanned the street from left to right. “Where’s Ford?”
“I was coming to meet him on his break.” She shrugged. “This sounds like more fun than a taco.”
“Nothing is more fun than a taco.” I slanted my eyes toward her. “Are you sure you’re not a host?”
“What?” Jerking back, she touched her throat. “Why?”
“Tacos occupy a somewhat holy level on the food pyramid for Hadley,” Midas explained. “You’re fine.”
“Hey.” I spun on him. “How would you feel if she turned up her nose at extra rare steak?”
Teeth sparkled as his smile spread. “More steak for me.”
Thirty seconds later, Ford pulled up in his truck and rolled down his window. “Need a lift?”
Lisbeth wiggled her fingers at him, and he wiggled his right back.
“Thanks for this.” I opened the door and crammed Lisbeth in beside him. “We appreciate it.”
“We felt better about you guys having backup anyway.” Ford kissed Lisbeth’s check. “Food can wait.”
It hit me then, that between Ford and Lisbeth, they could track every breath Midas and I took then report to one another, or their factions, on it. We needed to draw hard lines on what information could be passed between the pack and the OPA in any official capacity ASAP.
Midas climbed in next, leaving me for last. I bumped his hip with mine, but he didn’t scoot. Instead, he hauled me onto his lap, and his warm breath hit my nape. “Let me get the door.”
With his long legs taking up most of the space, I banged a knee on the dash when I spread mine over the outside of his. I also managed to bang my head against the light protruding from the ceiling and bumped the funny bone in my right elbow on the glass. I fought the urge to suck in a pained breath between my teeth, but it was a close one.
For his part, his legs were trapped in an awkward bend to give mine room. He thumped his head on the window behind him trying to give me space to lean back against his chest. His arms wrapped around my waist better than a seat belt, and his elbow slid off the armrest to whack the door with every pothole.
Comfortable, it wasn’t.
But sitting in Midas’s lap wasn’t a bad place to be.
“Where are we headed?” Ford pulled out into traffic. “Lis said Buckhead, but where?”
Midas gave him the address then settled in to nibble on the right side of my throat.
Chills peppered my skin, and I angled my chin to give him better access, all the while hoping Liz or her ilk would assume the hickeys he was bound to be leaving were bruises from fighting chupacabras or something more badass than me spending a good half hour as a blissed-out gwyllgi chew toy.