Deja Who (Insighter #1)(37)

“Ooooh, I love when you’re a clueless dumbass and then use big words.”

She shifted her weight enough so that an elbow went into his ribs and he groaned. Smiling, she sat up and straightened her skirt. And then her hair. And readjusted her blouse. “Don’t pout.”

“Awwww.”

“That is the exact opposite of ‘don’t pout.’ Besides, I know I was hurting you.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“I was lying on your chest,” she said, exasperated. “So, directly on your stab wounds. You should have prevented that—”

“Fat goddamn chance.”

“—or at least told me I was hurting you.”

“I get off on it.”

“No, you don’t.”

“No, I don’t. But I don’t mind.”

He sat up, shaking his hair out of his eyes. Leah was having a hard time deciding which she liked best: the blue or the green. “Did not mind. Did not care. Still don’t care. You can make me your mattress anytime.”

“Thank you. Do you want to call it a day?” They’d been discussing past lives and possible future murders for hours; the clinic had long since closed. “You understand that because of confidentiality issues I couldn’t exactly hand you a pile of charts and a copy machine and let you have at it.”

“And you understand that you should wear green all the time. It makes you look like a sexy leprechaun.” At Leah’s snort, he continued. “Besides, we’ve already been over this. I thought maybe we could figure out the type of person this guy or gal could be, and you could watch for them.”

Adorable. “It’s not always someone in my life,” she reminded him. She had a brief flash of someone

(my name is Mary Jane Kelly)

and a sensation of dread and drowning

(the knife like silver fish)

but the memory was gone before she could chase it down.

“Well, it’s something,” Archer was saying. “Better than your Plan A, which was ‘hang around not engaging in a single thing while waiting to be murdered.’”

I haven’t entirely abandoned that one. I’m just hoping to get laid first.

“And then there’s the people you know.”

“There are the people I know.”

“Oh, God, all your hotness plus you’re a sworn officer of the Grammar Police.” He pretended to swoon, which was a good trick since he was sitting down. “You are the complete package.”

She shook her head. He approves of everything about me. Ergo, this cannot will not shall not last. As I foresaw. Too bad. It might have been spectacular.

“So, people you know? I mean really know, not just the charts in your office. Because don’t studies show we’re most likely to be murdered by someone we know?”

“That’s true.” Depressing beyond belief. And completely true.

“I know you don’t have a lot of—uh—the nature of your work demands you keep a certain—um—distance—which isn’t to say you’re not—uh—you’re—”

Adorable! “I’m a chilly bitch,” she said, smiling, “and my only friend is the former mayor of Boston, who isn’t a racist. Oh, and you, perhaps.” She speared him with a look. “Are you a friend?”

“Nope.” He shook his head so hard his hair flew. “You can’t put me in that zone; don’t waste time trying. I’m your future snuggle sweetie and never forget it.”

“I will absolutely forget it if required to ever use the term ‘snuggle sweetie.’”

“Got it.” Now that she’d rearranged her clothing, Archer again patted the space beside him on the sofa and she sat. She hadn’t bothered to put her shoes back on, so she curled up and tucked her legs beneath her. Archer, meanwhile, had moved over the small empty space on the sofa so fast and hard that he nearly knocked her through the arm rest. “That’s better.” He patted her knee. “Argh, even your knees are sexy.”

“Archer . . .” She rolled her eyes.

“So, people in your life. We can eliminate me—”

“I certainly hope so.”

“Don’t start that again,” he almost pleaded. “I’m begging, here. What about your boss?”

“I’m the boss. I mean, it’s not my clinic,” she clarified, “but I’m the head Insighter. My supervisor no longer sees patients. She’s in administration and likes it that way, and likes that I’m good at my job. She’s the last person who would kill me, if for no other reason than it would make her life difficult short term as well as long term.”

“Okaaaay.”

She smiled at him. “That’s good news, Archer.”

“Yeah, maybe.” He would not look at her, just kept making notes. “What about colleagues? Were you ever killed by someone you worked with?”

“Not that I recall. It’s not like I’ve got a mental file cabinet of all my lives and can effortlessly call up even the smallest detail at any time.” But oh, wouldn’t that be efficient! And convenient! “And they might not love me, but I don’t think they loathe me enough to kill me. One of them could knife me out of envy? Malice? Resentment because I refused to chip in for the birthday cake fund?” She would never, ever understand the forced socializing expected at work. She had zero interest in their birthdays, or her own, and they in hers, so why pretend? Also, cake? At 10:00 a.m.?