“It’s not a loup cage, you know,” I told her. “It’s a holding cell. Or safe room. Or secure room. I don’t think Jim ever settled on a term he could live with.”

“Aha. It’s a loup cage.” Andrea cleared her throat. “I touched it with my finger and it hurt. Is that in case of marital problems?”

“Did the Order return your sense of humor as part of the severance package?”

“Oh, burn. Burn!” Andrea hesitated. “Kate . . . Are you happy? With Curran, I mean.”

“When I can get out of my own way.”

She glanced at me. “And the rest of the time?”

“The rest of the time I’m in a state of silent panic. I’m afraid it will end. I’ll lose him. Lose Julie. Lose everyone.”

“I’ve done that,” Andrea said. “Lost everyone. It’s a bitch.”

No kidding.

Andrea lifted a black firearm, holding it as if it were covered with slime. “This is a Witness 45. It has a molding flaw on the grip right here, see? If you fire it, it will blister your hand.”

She picked up another gun. “This is a Raven 25. They haven’t made them since the early nineties. I didn’t even know they were still around. It’s a cheap junk gun. They used to call them Saturday Night Specials. You can’t put twenty rounds through it without it jamming, and the way this one looks, I wouldn’t even risk loading it. It might blow up in my hand. And this? This is a Hi-Point, otherwise known as a Beemiller.”

“Is that supposed to tell me something?”

She stared at me. “It’s like the crappiest gun out there. Normal guns cost upward of half a grand. This costs like a hundred bucks. The slide is made out of zinc with aluminum.”

I looked at her.

“Look, I can bend it with my hand.”

I’d also seen her bend a steel rod with her hand, but now didn’t seem the best time to mention it.

Andrea put the Hi-Point on the desk. “Where did you get these again?”