The sight of the ugly bruise caused Max's face to collapse. "God, Michael, you've got to believe me, I never meant to-I mean, I didn't want " Guilt and horror rendered Max momentarily speechless, and his hands drooped limply at his sides, as if he was afraid to raise them at all. "I'm so sorry, Michael…"I know that, man," Michael said, letting Max off the hook. I don't know what's more amazing, he marveled, that Max would use his powers against me, or that he would do so in public, and in broad daylight, no less. Michael leaned against the side of the Jeep, taking some of the load off his feet. "Maybe now, though, you'll admit that you've got a problem." He gave his friend a knowing look. "The Max Evans I know does not go around blasting his buddies in motel parking lots."Max nodded soberly. He stared at the pavement, unable to meet Michael's gaze. "Yeah, maybe you're right," he admitted after a moment or two. "There have been a couple of times this weekend when, okay, I felt like maybe I was losing control." He looked up at last, letting Michael see the anguish in his eyes. "I can't help it, though. Whenever I see Morton, or even think about him, it's like I'm back at the Crashdown, watching Liz slip away right before my eyes."That's textbook, man." Despite his aching ribs, he smiled wolfishly, thinking that maybe a bruised chest was a small price to pay to get Max to listen seriously to what he had to say. "According to Maria, who learned about all this from Alex, who read about it in a book somewhere, you've got yourself a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder."Max frowned, disliking anything that impaired his ability to take care of his responsibilities, which included protecting both Liz and his fellow alien hybrids. "So what do I do about it?"Well, maybe you listen to your friends when they tell you that you're losing it. Let us provide a reality check for you whenever those Crashdown flashbacks start getting a little too intense. Beyond that,"-Michael shrugged his shoulders-"do I look like a shrink to you?"More like one-hundred-and-fifty pounds of freshly pounded ground chuck," Max joked, sounding more like his old self for the first time in over twenty-four hours. He nodded at Michael's black-and-blue torso. "Let's head back to the room and get that healed right away," he suggested.

"Aren't you afraid that Morton will sneak away while you're not looking?" Michael asked him pointedly. He looked past Max at the Motel 6 across the way.

Max hesitated, looking back over his shoulder at the hated gunman's current lair. Clashing priorities warred behind his eyes as indecision caused his lips to twitch. Then he shook his head and turned his attention back to Michael. "Maybe if we hurry right back," he proposed uneasily.

Now it was Michael's turn to shake his head. "Not so fast," he said firmly. "I appreciate the thought, Max, old pal, but want to find out what's inside that damn briefcase, too." Moving slowly, to minimize the wear and tear on his sore ribs, Michael retrieved the binoculars from where they had fallen, a few yards away from the Jeep. One lens had cracked, but a moment's concentration repaired the glass, making the instrument as good as new. Next, he gingerly climbed into the back of the Jeep, gritting his teeth against the pain, and turned the binoculars on Morton's door, which appeared not to have budged an inch during the time Michael had knocked some sense into Max by letting Max knock the wind out of him. "Go get Alex or Isabel or somebody to take over the stakeout," he suggested, "and then we can apply some old-fashioned alien healing techniques to my ribs."Morton must be sleeping late, Michael deduced, after his late night hunting us through Slaughter Canyon. "So," he asked Max, before the other youth could go for reinforcements, "do you have a plan for getting at that case?"Of course," Max declared, as if that went without saying. "What do you think I've been thinking about out here, besides wanting to teach Morton what an alien abduction really feels like." His voice still held a trace of seething malice and resentment. "Don't worry, though, I'll run the details by you, just in case I've completely lost my mind, you know."Thanks," Michael said. "I'll let you know about that, after I've heard your plan."

“Okay, what we need is a good distraction," Max declared. "Then, after Morton and the science guy have been lured away, I'll slip into their room to check out that briefcase."With the exception of Alex, who had volunteered to monitor Morton's hangout from the Jeep, the gang had crowded into a single motel room to work out the details of Max's plan. Liz sat at the foot of one of the unmade beds, determined to take part in the proceedings, despite the monster-size butterflies in her stomach and the panicky feeling that came over her every time Morton's name was mentioned. I can't let the others solve this problem for me, she resolved, not if I want to stop feeling like a helpless victim.

"The question is," Max continued, "what kind of distraction?" He sat next to Liz on the bed, his arm around her shoulders. An air conditioner hummed steadily in the background, beneath the curtained windows that kept out the late morning sun while also hiding their conference from prying eyes.

Slouching against the wall, her arms crossed atop her chest, Isabel sighed dramatically. "Just leave that to me," she suggested with a definite air of noblesse oblige, her weary tone implying that this was just one more burdensome task that only she was fully equipped to handle.

Maria snorted and rolled her eyes. "Let me guess, you're planning to bat your eyelashes and flirt them into a state of total submission." Seated on the other bed, next to Michael, she gave Isabel a trenchant look. "Is that, like, your only plan-ever?"Max's sister was unfazed by Maria's sarcasm. "It's never failed yet," she said with a smirk.

Liz saw a pithy retort forming on Maria's lips, but Max interrupted the two women's verbal sparring before it could escalate further. "No offense, Isabel," he stated diplomatically, "but I think we need something more ambitious, that's certain to keep Morton and his accomplice occupied long enough for me to make a thorough search of their motel room."Why you?" Michael objected. He exchanged a meaningful look with Max, which left Liz wondering what exactly she had missed. "Remember that little talk we had earlier this morning, Max? Under the circumstances, I'm not so sure that you're the one who should be taking point on this operation."To Liz's slight surprise, Max didn't seem to mind having his strategy questioned by Michael. "I see where you're coming from," he replied reasonably, "and I appreciate your concerns, but I really think this is something I ought to do." His tone was firm, but conciliatory. "Besides, in theory, I won't be the one dealing with Morton; that will be the rest of you, which is probably just as well."Why wouldn't Max want to meet up with Morton? Liz thought, puzzled. Yesterday he had been almost too anxious to confront die hated gunman. Once again, she had the distinct impression that she was missing something, maybe that "little talk" Michael had alluded to. Maybe 1 should ask Max about that later, when we haw a little more privacy.

"Okay," Michael agreed, nodding unenthusiastically. "But somebody should go with you, as backup," he insisted, clearly intending that he be that person.

A reasonable assumption, Liz conceded, except that she had other ideas. "I'll go with Max," she blurted quickly, before she had a chance to chicken out.

Her terse announcement caught everyone in die room off guard. No surprise, considering that she'd barely been able to string a coherent sentence together for the last day or so. "What?" Max exclaimed, shocked and appalled by the mere idea. He held onto her tightly, searching her face with dark, troubled eyes. "You can't be serious, Liz," he said softly.