“So I think I could make a place for you in Sheepshanks, Sheepshanks and Sheepshanks,” I said, when Tucker came back with a steaming mug of tea and set it on the ugly coffee table in front of me.

“So long as I don’t have to change my name,” Tucker replied, with a slight grin. “Are there benefits? Health insurance? Paid vacation? 401K? Double-time for holidays?”

“Get real,” I said.

“Half the profits?”

“I offered you a job, not a partnership.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t mention a wage.”

“Half of whatever business you bring in.”

“Gee, Moje, what a deal.”

“Take it or leave it.”

He grinned again, but he looked tired as he sank into a recliner patched here and there with ragged scraps of duct tape. “Can’t we call the company Sheepshanks and Darroch?”

“That would make you a partner.”

“Well, hell, at least I’m real, which is more than I can say for the other two Sheepshankses.”

I straightened my back, which made my scissors wounds hurt again. “Take it or leave it,” I repeated.

“You drive a hard bargain.”

“So do you,” I said, very softly. With all that had been going on, I could have used a little distraction.

It wasn’t to be.

Bethany chose that moment to come back with the groceries. She said a few muffled words to Tucker, patted Russell on the head and departed.

Tucker made grilled cheese sandwiches and stood over me until I took my pills, one for pain, one an antibiotic.

I fell asleep on the couch, and when I woke up, it was dark in the room, and someone was pushing at my left shoulder. I thought I was back in the hospital, with Geoff looming over me, and came up swinging.

Tucker caught my wrists together. “Moje,” he said. “It’s me.”

I blinked, looked around. Something was different.

Off, somehow.

Well, yeah. There were two Tommy Lee Jones types standing in the middle of the room, men-in-black. Their eyes didn’t flicker, their haircuts were military and their jaws might have been chiseled from bedrock. Between them, they couldn’t have come up with any part of a sense of humor.

I was terrified, for Tucker, for myself.

“Moje,” Tucker reasoned. “They’re feds.”

“Russell—” I groped frantically for the dog, but he was gone. My stomach went into a freefall. “Tucker, where’s Russell?”

“Come with me,” Tucker said, helping me to my feet.

The men-in-black didn’t move or react.

Tucker led me into the kitchen.

Bert was kneeling on the floor, jostling Russell’s ears while the dog licked his face in a whole-body effort.

“Bert,” I whispered.

He smiled. “Thanks for taking care of the mutt, Moje,” he said.

My eyes burned, and my throat closed tight.