That comment earned Logan a dirty look. John would have said more, but Logan grabbed at his pants pocket; it was making a gentle, insistent, buzzing noise.
Logan put the cell phone to his ear.
“Hello. Logan here.”
John couldn’t hear the conversation, but Logan looked pleased.
“Sure! We’d love to have the truck here in the morning.” Logan nodded. “It certainly wouldn’t bother us to have your team observe us stocking things.”
He was silent for a moment, evidently listening to something, and then held up a finger as though reminding himself of something.
“By the way, John told me about the body cavity searches. I don’t suppose there’s a way we could avoid that, is there?” Logan listened to the reply, and then returned John’s dirty look with interest. “So, we don’t have to do that, then? John was joking. Ha. I see.”
John turned back to the sink and pretended to scrub cutlery.
“Yes. Ha. Ha.” Logan continued. “It will be the three of us tomorrow. Unless I kill John for making believe someone would have their finger in my ass in the morning; then there would only be Donna Abrams and myself. Yes. Ha. Ha.”
He wasn’t known for being a prankster, so it was always more surprising when John Frost whipped out his bent sense of humor. He thought, trying to be careful of the mostly-dull edges on Logan’s knives, he might have gone a wee bit overboard on this occasion.
“Oh! You could have the truck delivered tonight? Thank you Agent Davis; it would be fantastic! No, we wouldn’t mind if you parked a surveillance team down the way. We want everyone to be safe, too! Thanks so much! We’ll wait up for it. See you tomorrow!”
Logan ended the call with the swipe of his thumb, and growled at John.
“You suck, John.”
“It was really funny!” He tried to look sheepish, but he was too proud of his success to fake it well. “Hey! Isn’t it great they’re bringing the truck back tonight?”
“I’m going to tickle you until you pee for pulling that on us. No. Wait. I’ll just go tell Donna. She’ll be even more vicious with you than making you pee.”
“Oh, shit. I’m doomed.”
“Yes, Mister Funny Frost, you are screwed.”
Logan pocketed his phone and marched to the back door. With one last glance at the doomed man, he walked outside onto the porch.
John took a deep breath and let out slowly. When he looked down at the knife in his hands, it was peppered with what looked like ice crystals. That couldn’t be the case, since it was well above freezing in the kitchen, so he washed it again.
His blood, on the other hand, froze in his veins. Donna’s angry scream came through the kitchen wall like a meteor through plastic wrap. Feeling like a dead man walking, John put the knife out to dry, and kept his hands empty as he waited for the approaching doom to arrive.
Donna did not keep him waiting long. Rage twisted her pixie features into something even more terrible than the legendary Hanya of Japan—the spirit of a woman, so tormented by jealousy, that she became a demon in the afterlife—but without the horns.
Her speed was inhuman. Her forward motion was inexorable, like grim death. Her accuracy was terrible to behold.
“Asshole.” She hissed at the moaning lump on the floor that, only seconds before, had looked like John Frost.
She turned on her heel, and went back the way she came.
“I deserved that.” John said to himself, clutching his groin. “I really did. Oh, God.”