Manny’s body language visibly relaxed. “You’re okay,” he said. He sounded shaken. “You’re really okay.”

“Of course I’m okay, idiot.” Pansy took the shotgun from him, broke open the stock, and set it aside. Then she hugged him, hard, and kissed him. “Thanks for worrying.”

“I always worry.”

“Okay, worrying more than normal.”

Manny looked over his shoulder, first at Bryn, then Fideli. “I know about her. What about him?”

“He’s all right.”

“Test him. Prove it.”

“Okay. First, we don’t need a whole syringe full, right?” She took the syringe from Manny’s fingers and disposed of the rest of the blood in a haz-mat container off to the side, grabbed a test sheet from the box, and went to Fideli’s side. “Knife?”

“Yo,” he said, and took one out of his belt—a big, wicked thing with an edge sharp enough to cut the light. Pansy pressed it lightly to his thumb and smeared the thin crimson line that appeared onto the paper.

Blue halo.

“See?” she asked, and handed Fideli’s knife back. “You can get up now. It’s okay.”

Manny clearly didn’t agree, but he didn’t argue. “We can’t stay here,” he said. “I’ve already called the vans. We’ll be moved by the end of the day and in the new location.”

“Manny, there’s no need to do this. We can stay here.”

“No. I need to move. Too many people in and out. It’s not secure.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “Not what I needed today. All right, we’ll move. But first, Bryn needs her inhibitor booster, and then I’ll send them on their way.”

“All right.” Manny pointed at a set of boxes across the lab. “Third carton from the bottom. I packed it underneath the extra saline.”

The boxes weren’t labeled, Bryn realized—not a single one. “Do you remember what’s in every one of them?” she asked.

Manny looked at her. “You can put your hands down,” he said. “I’m not going to shoot you.”

“Yeah,” Pansy said, as she walked toward the indicated boxes. “But only because I took his gun.”

“You really remember what’s in the boxes. There must be two hundred of them!”

“Two hundred thirty-six,” he said. “Not counting the crated machines. Yes. I do.”

“What happens when they mix them all up in moving vans?”

“I pay them to make sure they get stacked and delivered in order.” His green eyes were less crazy now, and he frowned as he looked her over. “You don’t look so great.”

Bryn laughed a little. “It’s been … stressful.”

“They were letting her rot,” Fideli said, “for science.”

“Really?” Those eyes gleamed suddenly. “Did you get any records? Video? That would be very useful.”

“Jesus.” Fideli raised his voice. “Pansy, you really sleep with this guy?”

“I keep one eye open,” she called back, as she restacked cartons—keeping them, Bryn noticed, in precisely the same order as they’d been. “Got it!” She held up an IV bag and needle kit. “Manny, stop being so creepy. It was awful for her. It really was.”

He didn’t look noticeably sorry. “I’m sure it was, but still, the opportunity to study something like that …”

“Yeah, well, I hope you won’t have the opportunity to do it on me,” Bryn said. “Where do I sit?”

“Over here,” Pansy said. She hooked the IV bag on a rolling stand that hadn’t yet been packed and pulled over a straight-backed chair. Bryn sat and let Pansy numb the back of her hand, then guide in the needle. It still, as always, hurt, but the cool rush of fluid into her veins soothed things nicely. “Should take about an hour. I’m going to get you some more water. Anything to eat?”

Food. Bryn’s stomach rumbled, and she realized that she hadn’t really even thought about food for so long, it was an abstract concept. “Uh, anything,” she said. “Whatever isn’t packed, I guess.”

“I’ll find something. Joe?”

“I’ll have what she’s having. Minus the IV.” Fideli put his back against the wall and leaned. Now that he wasn’t under threat of death, he allowed himself to look tired. He nodded to Manny. “So you’re the FBI guy, right? The one McCallister knows.”

“You know McCallister.”

“Yeah, old friends. I kinda work for him.”

“Then I suppose you’re all right,” Manny said grudgingly. “He’d probably take it badly if I’d shot you.“

Fideli grinned, a surprising flash of white, even teeth. “I’d like to think so. Glad I didn’t shoot you, too.”

Manny raised his bushy eyebrows. “Do you think you could have, before I fired the shotgun?” Fideli stared back. He didn’t answer, and he didn’t need to, really. Manny nodded and sat down on the edge of one of the wooden pallets. “Interesting.”

“Mutual, if you do half the stuff he says you do.”

“Interesting that he’s talked to you about me, and not to me about you.”

“I’ve known him longer,” Fideli said. “And he meant to bring me over here. He just didn’t get the chance.”

That made them fall silent for a moment. Bryn felt the anxious flutter in her stomach at the thought of McCallister, still missing, and she knew Joe was feeling it, too. Maybe even Manny was, as well.

Pansy came back with cups of instant soup all around, and by the time they were emptied, the four of them had formed a fragile kind of trust.

For now.

Manny kicked them out as soon as Bryn’s IV was finished. So much for trust.

Pansy walked them down to the van. “Sorry about this,” she said. “Once he gets in this mood, I can’t talk him out of it. We’ll move the lab; he’ll settle down; things will go back to normal. But I can’t take you with us. I can’t even tell you where we’re going, because he won’t tell me either. I’ll contact you later.” She passed Bryn a bundle of things. “Here. I think they’ll fit. You can’t run around in some numbered paper jumpsuit and expect not to get noticed.”

“Thanks.”

Fideli nodded to her, too. “Thanks, Pansy,” he said. “Nice working with you.”

“You too, Joe. It was good to get out and stretch my legs again.” Pansy hugged Bryn, and she hugged her back, surprised but pleased. “You, girl, you take care of yourself. I’ll see you in a week for your booster.”

“Promise?”

Pansy silently crossed her heart. “Get going. The moving vans will be here soon, and that makes him extra paranoid, even with all the background checks.”

“How the hell do you put up with it?” Joe asked, climbing into the van’s driver’s seat.

“I love him,” she said. “And he’s not just paranoid. People really are out to get him. And hey, seems like we’re all in that boat now, right?” She leaned in to put a kiss on Joe’s cheek. “You take care, sweetie. Call me anytime you need a partner in crime.”

Bryn buckled her seat belt and rolled down the window as they left the safety and shadows of the warehouse to let a fresh breeze blow through the van. The inside of the vehicle frankly reeked; the smell of her blood made her a little light-headed, or maybe that was the inhibitors taking hold. She was feeling herself again, finally; her leg’s ache had subsided, and when she ran her fingers over the back of it, she felt only a faint and fading scar.

“You can change clothes in the back,” Fideli said. “I’m not gonna peek.”

“You saw it all anyway.” She sighed. “It’ll be nice to not be dressed in paper.”

And it was, very nice, from the soft cotton underwear to the long-sleeved thermal tee and jeans. Pansy had included a pair of slip-on flats for shoes, which would have to do, for now. At least it wasn’t cold outside.

Bryn climbed over the seats and buckled herself back in place. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“Safe house up in the hills,” Fideli replied. “Strap in; we don’t need a ticket when the back of the van looks like a butcher shop died in it.”

“Is McCallister there …?”

“I don’t know where Pat is,” Fideli said. “When he’s ready to contact us, he knows my number. We’ve both got disposable burner phones. It’s the best we can do, for now.” He was quiet for a moment, watching traffic, watching the rearview mirror. Road noise hissed through the cabin. “You probably ought to know something.”

“What?”

“McCallister made me promise something. If I couldn’t get you out, or if … if you were too far gone, he made me promise to …”

“To end things for me,” Bryn said. “So I wouldn’t suffer.”

“Yeah. I thought you’d want to know that.” He pulled in a deep breath and let it out, slowly. “These are some fucked-up times if that’s romantic, Bryn.”

It made her smile, and it made her eyes well up at the same time. She turned her face away and let the wind whip against her cheeks to dry them as tears rolled down. “Thanks,” she said. “I did want to know that.”

He turned the radio on after that, and surprised her by singing along to it. He had a good voice, baritone, and did a mean version of Harry Nilsson’s song about the limes and coconuts. It almost felt … normal.

That was something Bryn realized she craved most. Normality. The feeling that her reality was still the same one that all these other people shared, the ones driving on the freeway next to them. They were headed to work or play or home or shopping. They had lives, goals, plans, challenges that didn’t include rotting away inside a dead shell of a body.