Manny popped open his eyes and lasered in on that cruel face. “I know you.”

The guy had shown up in his office and taken the files on that heart of his.

“You get him out of the car,” was the only response from Goatee. “I don’t trust myself to touch him.”

Hell of a welcome wagon.

As Manny’s brain struggled to catch up with everything, at least his feet and legs seemed to work just fine. And after Jane helped him to the vertical, he followed her and the goateed hater into a facility that was as nondescript and clean as any hospital: Corridors were uncluttered, lights were paneled fluorescents on the ceiling, everything smelled like Lysol.

There were also the bubbled fixtures of security cameras at regular intervals, like the building was a monster with many eyes.

While they walked along, Manny knew better than to ask any questions. Well, that and he was so screwed in the membrane, he was pretty fucking sure ambulation was the extent of his capabilities at this point.

Doors. They passed many doors. All of which were closed and no doubt locked.

Yeah, this sure as hell put the “undisclosed location” in “National Security,” didn’t it.

Jane eventually stopped outside a pair of double flappers. She was nervous, and didn’t that make him feel like he had a gun to his head: In the OR, in countless trauma messes, she’d always kept her cool. That had been her trademark.

This was personal, he thought. Somehow, whatever was on the other side hit close to home for her.

“I’ve got good facilities here,” she said, “but not everything. No MRI. Just CAT scans. But the OR should be adequate, and not only can I assist, but I’ve got an excellent nurse.”

Manny took a deep breath, reaching down deep, pulling himself together. Whether it was his years of training and experience, or who he was as a man, he ditched all the baggage and the lingering ow-ow-ow in his head and the strangeness of this descent into 007 land, and got with the program.

First thing on the list? Ditch the pissed-off peanut gallery.

He glanced over his shoulder at Goatee. “You need to back off, my man. I want you out in the hall.”

The response he got to that news flash was . . . just fang-tastic. The bastard bared a pair of shockingly long canines and growled, natch, like a dog.

“Fine,” Jane said, getting in between them. “That’s fine. Vishous will wait out here.”

Vishous? Had he heard that right?

Then again this boy’s mama sure hit the nail on the head, assuming the little dental show Manny was getting wasn’t just a figment of this situation, but the motherfucker’s personality.

But whatever. He had a job to do, and maybe the bastard could go chew on a rawhide or something.

Manny pushed into the examination room—

Oh . . . dear God.