“Oh, well, no bouncing babies for her right now. That’s okay; with her career, and my friend’s career, and all the hot monkey sex they’re having, they prob’ly aren’t ready for kids.”

Silence.

And more silence.

Fred cautiously looked up and saw King framed in the doorway between his office and the conference room. He was pointing the gun straight at her. The barrel, from her standpoint, looked awfully big. She raised her hands and slowly climbed to her feet, thinking, Damned if I’m going to die on my knees.

“I’m a big fan of shooting the messenger,” he said. “And you’re another frigid bitch, if memory serves.”

“Why does that not surprise me in the least?” Come on, guys, what are you waiting for?

As if in answer to her prayers, the other office door splintered down the middle. But King didn’t look around. He didn’t even jump. Instead, he shot Fred with his last two bullets.

Chapter Thirty-three

There were three things Fred would never forget from that afternoon.

Number one: When you’re shot, you don’t stagger dramatically backward or plunge out the eleventh story window. You just stand there.

Number two: Artur can break a man’s neck with one effortless twist, and it sounds like the sound ice makes when you crunch it between your teeth.

And number three: Thomas carried a switchblade.

“Uh,” Fred began, as King’s body was falling, as Artur went red with rage, as Thomas was trying to get her to lie down. “I think I’m—uh—shot.”

“You are shot, Fred. Twice.”

“Why are you pushing me?”

“Because I want you on your back while I’m getting the bullets out.”

She removed his hands. “I really don’t like the sound of that.” She felt she was being calm and reasonable, and didn’t understand why Thomas was as pale as Artur was purple. It didn’t hurt at all. And the bad guy was dead.

“Artur! That cabinet over there. Bring me one of the bottles with either white or brown liquid in it.” Thomas swept his foot beneath hers and knocked her off balance, then knelt on her chest to keep her on the floor.

There was the sound of glass breaking, and then Artur was kneeling beside her. “Will these assist you, Dr. Pearson?”

That’s the first time Artur’s called him Doctor.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Fred yelled, wriggling beneath his knee. “He’s not a real doctor! I mean, he is, but he’s not a medical doctor. He’s a water fellow.”

“I got my M.D. before I went back for my Ph.D. I just found out I had zero interest in triple shifts and other benefits of residency. I don’t like working too hard to save people’s lives.”

“You sound like a real winner, doc.”