"Then I'm right," I said. "You are a fucking idiot."

She shook her head, hard, as if trying to knock the words I'd said free with the motion, and I know she would've said something more in response, but the door from the hallway opened again, and Dan returned.

"She's fine," Dan said. "Cranky, that's how I know."

"She's not the only one," Natalie said, looking at me. The anger she'd been reflecting was gone, replaced by confusion, and it made me feel guilty, but I wasn't about to explain.

Dan reached around his back, beneath the same thin black leather jacket he seemed to always wear no matter what the weather, and came out with a pistol. He held it out, offering me the butt end.

"Just in case," he said. "It's clean. You can dump it with the car."

It was a Glock 34, simple and straightforward and infinitely anonymous. The magazine was fully loaded, seventeen rounds. I tucked the pistol into my pants at the small of my back.

"We'll take good care of her for you," he told me.

"I know you will."

"She wants to see you before you go."

"Then I should see her," I said, and turned to head upstairs.

"Atticus," Natalie called after me. "Idiot or not, I'm right. It's the only thing that matters." They'd put her in a small room on the second floor, beside the bedroom where Tamryn was sleeping. The lights were off, and she was sitting on the edge of the bed, Miata with his head in her lap, petting him.

When she saw me, she said, "Why do they keep putting me on the second floor when I can barely climb the stairs alone?"

"Because it's easier to fall down than to climb up?" I suggested.

She snorted, then pushed Miata gently away and got to her feet, using the headboard as a support. Her cane was leaning against the wall nearby, but she didn't go for it, instead making her way slowly to where I was standing just inside the door.