“Most of the time it’s a toss-up between whatever I can fling in the microwave or take out. Once in a blue moon I get on a cooking bender.”
“Since I’m supposing Dr. Caldwell gave you no warning about his intention to have me protect you, take out is probably a good choice tonight.”
At least the guy used some fairly good logic, I’d give him that. The rest of the drive was very quiet; the radio playing some innocuous top forty.
He pulled up in front of my townhouse and got out. I headed off the half dozen steps to my mailbox and tugged the little door open, and let out a startled, embarrassing half-shriek. In about two seconds flat, Marek was between me and the open mailbox, hauling me backward. Once he’d pushed me a good ten feet to one side, he turned and looked. You know what a squirrel looks like after it’s been hit by a car and flattened several times? Yeah, there was one in my mailbox.
“You okay, except for the scare?” my bodyguard asked.