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“If they let the dogs out on us, we’re in deep shit,” Dillon said.

Quinlan hoped they didn’t. He didn’t want to shoot those beautiful dogs.

He was relieved when they slammed the car doors some four minutes later. “Thank God for good-sized favors.”

“You got that right. Hey, that was fun. Now, your apartment, Quinlan?”

“Oh, no, we’re going to Delaware, just another hour up the road, Dillon. I’ll give you directions. What surprises me is that they took her back to this place at all. They must have figured I’d come here first thing. I’ll just bet you she would have been gone tomorrow morning. So, I’m not going to be as stupid. No way we’re going back to my place.”

“You’re right. When someone hit you over the head in The Cove, he would have searched your pockets. They know you’re FBI. That’s why they didn’t kill you, I’d bet my Stairmaster on it. It would have been too big a risk for them.”

“Yeah. We’re going to my parents’ lake cottage. It’s safe. No one knows about it except you. You haven’t told anyone, have you, Dillon?”

Dillon shook his head. “What are you going to do with her, Quinlan? This is highly irregular.”

Quinlan was holding her in his lap, her head cradled on his arm. He’d covered her with his black jacket. It was warm in the car. “We’re going to wait until she comes out from under this drug, then see what she knows. Then we’re going to clean everything up. How’s that sound to you?”

“Like we’ll be a couple of damned heroes.” Dillon sighed. “Brammer won’t like it. He’ll probably try to transfer us to Alaska for not being team players. But, hey, don’t sell a hero short.”

She woke up to see a strange man looking down at her, his nose not more than six inches from hers. It took her a moment to realize that he was indeed flesh and blood and not some specter dredged up from a drugged vision. Her lips felt cracked. It was hard to make herself talk, but she did.

“If Doctor Beadermeyer sent you, it won’t matter.” She spit on him.

Dillon jerked back, wiped the back of his hand across his nose and cheek. “I’m a hero, not a bad guy. Beadermeyer didn’t send me.”

Sally tried to sift through his words, make some sense of them. Her brain still felt like it wanted to sleep, like parts of it were numb, like an arm or leg that had been in a single position for too long. “You’re a hero?”

“Yeah, a real live hero.”

“Then James must be here.”

“You mean Quinlan?”

“Yes. He’s a hero too. He was the first hero I ever met. I’m sorry I spit on you, but I thought you were another one of those horrible men.”

“It’s okay. You just lie still and I’ll get Quinlan.”

What did he think she would do? Jump up and race out of here, wherever here was?

“Good morning, Sally. Don’t spit on me, okay?”

She stared up at him, so thirsty she could barely squeak out another word. Her brain was at last knitting itself back together, and all she could do was throw up her arms and pull him down to her. She said against his throat, “I knew you’d come, I just knew it. I’m so thirsty, James. Can I have some water?”

“You all right? Really? Let me up just a little, okay?”

“Yes. I’m so glad you’re not dead. Someone hit you and I was bending over you.” She pulled back from him, her fingers lightly tracing over the stitched wound over his left ear.

“I’m okay—don’t worry about it.”

“I didn’t know who’d done it to you. Then someone hit me over the head. I woke up with Beadermeyer leaning over me. I was back in that place.”

“I know, but you’re with me now and no one can possibly find you.” He said over his shoulder, “Dillon, how about some water for the lady?”

“It’s the drugs he gives me. They make my throat feel like a desert.”

She felt the tightening in him at her words.

“Here, I’ll hold the glass for you.”

She drank her fill, then lay back and sighed. “I’ll be back to normal in about ten more minutes—at least that’s my best guess. James, who is that man I spit on?”

“He’s a good friend of mine, name of Dillon Savich. He and I got you out of the sanitarium last night. Dillon,