Page 43 of Deader than Dead

“That all sounds very cloak and dagger. I never realized working here was so interesting. What other mysteries lie at the heart of the PPB?”

“You don’t want to know.”

I did, but I understood John not wanting to talk about them while he was in the building. I’d grill him later. No doubt he had a few stories to tell.

The lift dinged, and the doors opened, John stepping out and using his ID again to access a large open-plan office. He made a beeline for one of three desks—the messiest one—grabbing an empty box on the way that had once contained printer paper. “Whose desk is this?” I asked.

“Mine.”

I frowned as he began to fill the box with items from the desk. My frown was for two reasons, and it was hard to know which to address first. I decided on the one of least importance as a way of working up to the other. “How come your desk looks like this when your flat is so tidy?”

“I don’t know what you mean.” The slight twitch of John’s lips said he knew exactly what I meant, though.

I watched him sort through items in silence for a minute. Some he discarded in the bin, others went in the box. Time to address the other issue. “Am I supposed to ignore that you seem to have made your decision? You know, what with the clearing your desk and all. Or is this for Cade’s benefit? You want him to see you’re serious about leaving?”

“I don’t know.”

I could believe that. I left him to it, wandering over to one of the other desks. “Whose desk is this?”

John lifted his head briefly to see where I was. “Open the top drawer.”

I did, a half empty bottle of whiskey greeting me. “Ah, the mysterious Griffin, who may or may not be an alcoholic.”

John raised an eyebrow but didn’t offer any comment. I moved over to the last desk of the three. “So whose is this?”

“Calisto’s.” At my blank expression, John elaborated. “The third necromancer of our little trio.” I opened his top drawer, the world’s biggest collection of pens greeting me rather than whiskey. “Is he a dick as well?”

John smiled. “Calisto? No, he’s a complete sweetheart. Far too nice to be working here.”

“Have you told him that?”

“Many, many times.”

“And?”

“He thinks I’m joking.”

“Well… I guess everyone’s free to make their own decisions.” I eyed John’s now almost empty desk just as he picked up a piece of paper and glared at it. “What’s that done to offend you?”

“Reminded me I’m supposed to give a written report of every job I do.”

“And?”

“I was just contemplating whether Cade will expect one from my last job and how to avoid murdering him if he does.”

I grimaced. “He wouldn’t be that brave, surely?”

“You haven’t met him.”

I threw a pointed glance toward the lift, John already having shared that Cade’s office was on the top floor. “Not yet.”

“Fine,” he said with a sigh. “I guess I’m delaying it again. If he keeps me waiting, though, I can’t promise to be responsible for my actions.”

I walked over and ruffled his hair. Once I’d touched him, there was no resisting dropping a gentle kiss on his temple. “I’ll hold you back. Either that or join in. Whichever seems most appropriate, depending on what he has to say for himself.”

John’s only response was a grunt as he picked up the box and headed for the lift. Two more swipes of ID—one to leave the office space and one to get the lift moving, and we were on our way. I’d hate to see what would happen if you misplaced your ID here. You could end up trapped in the building for the rest of your life.

“What did he say on the phone, anyway?” I asked as the lift started moving. John had been less than forthcoming with the information, and I’d decided not to push. But, with an impending meeting only minutes away, it seemed better to be informed.

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