“No idea. Not a clue. Jesus.” George hurt in several places and wanted to check out the extent of his injuries, but he couldn’t do it with the woman in his lap. He did glance at his wrist, which had a couple of puncture wounds, but the blood was seeping instead of spraying so he figured he’d be okay.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

George cursed under his breath. Ivan kicked at the bars of his cage once more, and then smiled at the sound of the woman’s gasp. “My name is Ivan. Lou is driving. You’re sitting on George’s lap. They’re driving me to my death. Because you know this, I assume you have to die, too.”

George pointed a warning finger at him. “Shut up.”

“Oh, I’m done. No, wait, I missed the part about you thinking I’m a werewolf.”

“I said, shut up.”

“What are you going to do, come back here and beat me up in front of a witness? That doesn’t seem very smart. When you kill her, are you going to snap her neck quickly or drag her death out, slowly?”

“One more time--”

“I think you should drag it out slowly.”

“Enough!” George shouted. Then he closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead, trying to get rid of the sudden migraine. He hadn’t had one of those in over a year, and he’d been in a lot of stressful situations in the past year.

“Don’t take it out on me,” said Ivan. “I’m not the one who let her into the car, Mr. Intellect.”

George took a deep breath, willing himself to remain calm. The situation was screwed up enough already without him letting Ivan send him into a rage. He had to ignore the werewolf, keep himself from losing his mind, assure the woman that she was in no danger, and think this whole thing through.

They drove in silence for a few seconds. The woman looked as if she wanted to lunge for the door handle. They’d almost definitely let her go free fairly soon, hopefully outside of a hospital, but George couldn’t have her making any wild escape attempts until this was all figured out. He reached over and locked the door.

“So what now?” she asked.

CHAPTER FIVE

Questioning What The Hell Just Happened

“How’s your shoulder?” George asked.

“It’s fine,” the woman insisted. “Just let me go, okay? I won’t say anything, I promise.”

“What’s your name?”

“Seriously, who am I going to tell? You saved my life. I wouldn’t turn you in.”

“Ma’am, just tell me your name.”

She hesitated. “Michele.” The way she said it, George thought she might be giving him a fake name, but that didn’t matter--he just needed something to call her.

“Michele, we’re not going to hurt you. We’re FBI agents, and the man behind us is a federal prisoner. We’re just transporting him to a maximum security facility.”

“The FBI doesn’t transport people in cages.”

“Okay, look, forget about the guy in the cage for a minute. We’re not going to hurt you, and we’re not kidnapping you. We’re going to take you to a hospital.”

“If you’re not kidnapping me, then let me go.”

George’s headache got even more intense. “Fine. We’re kidnapping you for now. But we’re not going to hurt you.”

“You’ll be locked in here with me pretty soon,” Ivan said. “Assuming they decide it’s okay for you to live.”

“Can we muzzle him?” Lou asked.

“No! That’s exactly what he wants us to try to do! Let’s just get situated and figure this out.” George gently slid Michele off his lap, putting her between him and Lou. Though he liked having cute young women on his lap, now wasn’t the time. It was a tight, uncomfortable fit on the seat with them squished together, but he didn’t plan to keep her around for much longer.

“Are you going to bleed to death?” George asked.

Michele shook her head. The shoulder of her shirt was soaked with blood, but though the wound was grisly, it didn’t seem to be that deep. “If you’re going to force me to ride with you, do you at least have some Band-Aids?”

“Yeah, we’ve got some stuff. If you reach behind the seat there’s a brown suitcase.” George pressed his wrist against his pants as Michele reached back and got his bag. He ran the index finger of his other hand over his chest. The bite wasn’t too bad, and the lines where the dog’s nails had raked across his chest felt more like scrapes than gashes. The traces of gasoline didn’t exactly feel pleasant on his wounds, but he was a tough guy, he could handle it. George gestured to the upcoming exit. “Go ahead and get back on Tamiami Trail for now.”

Lou nodded and took the exit.

George opened the suitcase, dug through his dirty clothes, and took out the first aid kit. He handed the suitcase back to Michele and she returned it to its spot behind the seat. The first aid kit was fairly small, but it had enough supplies to take care of various on-the-job injuries one might sustain when one’s job involved dealing with unsavory and occasionally violent individuals. George took out a handful of bandages, gave half to Michele, and they began to tend to their wounds.

There were so many things to discuss, George wasn’t sure where even to begin, so he started with the first one that popped into his mind: “Lou, why the hell did you shoot when I told you not to?”

“Because you had a great big dog trying to rip your guts out.”

“What if there’d been a spark?”

“Dogs don’t produce sparks when bullets go in them.”

“What if you’d missed?”

“I wasn’t gonna miss.”

“Lou, you’re a shit shot!”

“Watch your mouth around a lady. The dog was five feet away. I wasn’t gonna miss. I’d rather take the chance of blowing us all up than letting you get eaten. If I hadn’t fired the gun, you’d be sitting there with only one arm and one leg whining at me going ‘Why didn’t you shoot it? Why didn’t you shoot it?’“

George considered that for a moment. “Okay, I probably would be. But the next time a flammable substance is all over the ground, don’t shoot, got it?”

“Screw you. The next time gas is involved, I’m going to find a frickin’ flamethrower.”

“Is this really the most important thing you two have to argue about?” Michele asked.

“I’m sorry. Lou, I’m sorry. But when I make an important judgment call like that, it’s very frustrating to have you--”

“You can’t keep talking after the apology.”

George closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead again.

“How are your bites?” Lou asked.

“They’re fine. They hurt like hell, but they’re fine.” He inspected his wrist wound again. It was badly swollen but the flow of blood had almost stopped. Apparently the dog had been polite enough not to sink its teeth into an artery. “I can’t believe I killed those dogs. I wouldn’t even spank Quincy for going potty off the paper.”

“You did what you had to do.”

“Did I?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” said Lou. “If you’re going to have a dark night of the soul over those dogs, save it for when I’m not around.”

They’d had countless lively debates over the years, but George and Lou rarely bickered like this. Of course, they rarely found themselves in a situation so far out of their control.

“I apologize,” said George, wrapping a large bandage around his wrist. “I’m not going to say anything else. And I thank you for shooting the dogs.”

“No problem.”

George turned his attention to Michele. “Do you know anything about what made those dogs go berserk?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea.”

“I didn’t think so.” With Michele on the seat, there really wasn’t room for him to turn around to face Ivan, so George adjusted the rear-view mirror to give himself a good look at their captive. “Ivan, what do you know about this?”

“Why, whatever would I know?”

“You can drop the smart-ass tone. Tell me what just happened out there.”

“Baffling, wasn’t it? All those dogs going nuts. What an odd occurrence. I guess Lou was right, there must have been some sort of problem at a local medical facility, causing a bunch of rabid dogs to escape and go on a rampage. Unfortunate timing for you two, huh? I’m glad I was safely locked in this cage. You should probably report this incident to your superiors.”