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than not. As the day shift supervisor, Shipley ruled the emergency operators with an iron fist and enough arrogance to get on anyone's nerves.
    The elevator door opened and Marcus stepped out first.
    "I'll find the report, Leo."
    " How many hours you get, Marcus?"
    Sleep?
    "Four." It was a lie and both of them knew it.
    Marcus started toward the cubicle with the screen that divided his desk from Leo's. Behind them was the station for the other full-timers. He waved to Parminder and Wyatt as they left for home. They worked the night shift, so he only saw them in passing. Their stations were now manned by casual day workers. Backup.
    " Get some sleep," Leo muttered.
    " Sleep is a funny thing, Leo. Not funny ha-ha , but funny strange . Once a body's gone awhile without it or with an occasional light nap, sleep doesn't seem that important. I'm fine."
    " Bullshit."
    They were interrupted by a door slamming down the hall.
    Pete Shipley appeared, overpowering the hallway with angry energy and his massive frame. The guy towered over everyone, including Marcus, who was an easy six feet tall. Shipley, a former army captain, was built like the Titanic , which had become his office nickname. Unbeknown to him.
    " Taylor!" Shipley shouted. "In my office now!"
    Leo grabbed Marcus 's arm. "Tell him you slept six hours."
    " You're suggesting I lie to the boss?"
    " Just cover your ass. And for God's sake, don't egg him on."
    Marcus smiled. "Now why would I do that?"
    Leo gaped at him. "Because you thrive on chaos."
    " Even in chaos there is order."
    Letting out a snort, Leo said, "You been reading too many self-help books. Don't say I didn't warn you." He turned on one heel and headed for his desk.
    Marcus stared after him. Don't worry, Leo. I can handle Pete Shipley.
    Pausing in front of Shipley 's door, he took a breath, knocked once and entered. His supervisor was seated behind a metal desk, his thick-lensed glasses perched on the tip of a bulbous nose as he scrutinized a mound of paperwork. Even though the man had ordered the meeting, Shipley did nothing to indicate he acknowledged Marcus's existence.
    That was fine with Marcus. It gave him time to study the office, with its cramped windowless space and dank recycled air. It wasn 't an office to envy, that's for sure. No one wanted it, or the position and responsibility that came with it. Not even Shipley. Word had it he was positioning himself for emergency coordinator, in hopes of moving up to one of the corner offices with the floor-to-ceiling windows. Marcus doubted it would ever happen. Shipley wasn't solid management material.
    Marcus stood with his hands resting lightly on the back of the armless faux-leather chair Shipley reserved for the lucky few he deemed important enough to sit in his presence. Marcus wasn't one of the lucky ones.
    Bracing for an ugly reprima nd, his thoughts drifted to last night's shift. A drunk driver had T-boned a car at a busy intersection in Hinton, resulting in a four-car pileup. One vehicle, a mini-van with an older couple and two young boys, had been sandwiched between two vehicles from the impact of the crash. The pileup had spawned numerous frantic calls to the emergency center. Emergency Medical Services (EMS), including fire and ambulance, arrived on scene within six minutes. The Jaws of Life had been used to wrench apart the contorted metal of two of the vehicles. Only three people extracted had made it out alive. One reached the hospital DOA. Then rescue workers discovered a sedan with three teenagers inside—all dead.
    They'll have nightmares for weeks.
    Marcus knew how that felt. He'd once been a first responder. In another life.
    He straightened. He was ready to take on Shipley's wrath. At least this time it would be done privately. Plus, if he was honest, he had messed up. Misfiling the report was one of a handful of stupid mistakes he'd made in the last week. Most he'd caught on his own and rectified.
    " Before you say anything," Marcus