He swatted at whoever it was, wishing they’d leave him alone to finish his nap. “Come on,” a musical voice said. “I can’t carry your drunken ass into the house myself. You gotta give me some help here.” Help? Whose voice was that? And what was jingling in his ear? Jack forced his eyes open and looked into a pair of startling blue ones. He blinked and images came back to him, ones he’d rather not remember. Now the damn pixie was bending over him in the car, pulling at him with her small hands. Small, but strong. And just like that a hint of sobriety kicked him into fast forward. “You drove me home,” he said accusingly. “Well, Hank couldn’t leave the bar, we couldn’t get a cab for an hour, and leaving you on the floor seemed to bother the other customers. Can’t figure out why.” He stared at her with curiosity. “How’d you get me in the car?” “Hank obliged, while he was telling me where to take the body.” She stood up and put her hands on her hips, indignation written all over her face.
