Lars reaches up to tug on St. Clare’s good earlobe. “Have you really already forgotten?”

“Of course I fucking haven’t.” He bats Lars’s hand away. “All I’m saying is that he’s not a threat.”

“I’m really not,” I back him up.

Again, with the glares. Sheesh, a man can’t even protest his own innocence around here.

“Look, Lars,” I try again. “I know why you don’t trust me, but if you try to get to know me, it’ll change all that. I’m a good friend, if I say so myself. Besides, as much as I love this cute little meeting, I can’t stay long. A few hours, tops. Sir Squeakerton gets mad if I miss bonding time, and I’m meeting my sister and her girlfriend for dinner. It’s my turn to buy.” At least the glares are gone, but they’re both staring at me now. “It might help if I give you my idea and we go from there?”

“We don’t want to hear your idea.”

St. Clare clears his throat. “I’d like to hear his idea.”

“Hey, there we go! Now, that’s working together.”

Lars tips his head back, pinching his nose, and waves the other hand my way. “Whatever. Go.”

“You’re apparently highly wanted. And I’m now allegedly highly wanted⁠—”

“Actually highly wanted.”

“Semantics.” It’s a situation of he said, I said at this point, and who can tell which of us is right? “My point is that the same people are apparently after us both, and what’s better than one? Two.”

“Debatable,” Lars mutters.

“So why don’t I hide out here with you guys until I can get hold of Luther and find out who hired me? I can even be your bodyguard—today was our trial run. We’ll team up to take down the bad guys!”

“You are the bad guy,” Lars points out.

I let out a long sigh. “Not you too.”

“Me too, what?”

“Hung up on the whole …” I drop my voice out of respect for St. Clare’s ear. “Attempted murder thing.”

His eyes go round.

“I’ve already apologized though. What more does a guy have to do?”

“This isn’t really the kind of situation where a quick sorry will clear things up.”

I try to work through that one myself, but I’m not getting anywhere fast. “Why not?”

“Are you seriously asking why an apology doesn’t clear up you mangling his fucking ear?”

“I can’t win with you people. First, I don’t kill him. Then I patch him up, say I’m sorry, make him some awesome coffees⁠—”

Lars turns to St. Clare. “Is this guy serious?”

“I’m afraid he is.”

“I wouldn’t joke about something like this,” I assure him. “Does it help to know that my apology was sincere?”