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My relief was partially fueled by the fact that CDC regulations forbade the use of wireless devices while in flight, and I hadn’t heard from Mahir before we left Memphis. I was switching things on before they even opened the cabin doors. Mail alerts began sounding immediately. I had more than five hundred pending mail messages, and none were the message I wanted.

Six more guards were waiting on the runway, including Steve, who held a wicker cat carrier in one hand. Rick let out a wordless exclamation and pushed past Shaun to snatch the carrier, starting to make cooing noises at the wide-eyed, brush-tailed Lois.

“Cat didn’t die,” I said, adjusting my sunglasses.

Shaun shook his head. “Man needs a girlfriend.”

“Hush. This is a touching reunion.”

“I stand by my statement.” Shaun tilted his head back, looking up at Steve. “You brought the man his cat.”

Looking amused, the enormous security nodded. “I did.”

“So where’s my present?”

“Will the location of your van do?”

“I think so.” Shaun glanced to me. “George?”

“I was planning on holding out for a million dollars, but as long as my bike’s included in the deal, I guess I can let you off easy. This time.” I flashed a thin smile. “Hey, Steve.”

“Good to see you breathing, Georgia.”

“It’s good to be breathing, Steve.”

Robert Channing—who got elevated from “chief aide” to “Chief of Staff” as soon as it became apparent that the campaign might have a genuine shot at the White House—pushed past the substantially larger guards, arrowing in on Senator Ryman like a hunting dog going for the kill. “Senator! We have twenty minutes to get halfway across the city, and you can’t be late or Tate’s going to take the stage alone.” His tone implied that this would be a horror beyond all reckoning.

“And we can’t have that, now, can we?” Senator Ryman grimaced, shooting an apologetic glance our way. “I’m sorry, but ”

“The job comes first,” I said. “Rick, give me the cat.”

Looking alarmed, Rick hugged the carrier to his chest. Lois yowled. “Why?”

“Because despite recent events and rampant stupidity, we’re still reporters, assuming we’re still allowed to be.” I slanted a sidelong glance at the senator. He met my eyes and nodded. Turning back to Rick, I said, “You’re going with the senator to cover whatever sort of appearance this is supposed to be—”

“Speaking to the Daughters of the American Revolution,” said Robert.

“Right, whatever,” I said, waving a hand to indicate my lack of interest in the specifics. “Rick, you’re going to attend whatever sort of appearance this is supposed to be, and you’re going to find something interesting to say about it. We’re going to go check the equipment and see what sort of dive we’re supposed to be camping out at.”

Rick nodded with obvious regret, holding the carrier out to me. I almost felt bad taking it from him. Only almost. I needed to talk to my brother, and loath as I was to admit it, I needed to do that talking alone. Rick and Buffy had a past; Buffy betrayed us; Rick was still in the equation. If we were going to keep working with the illustrious Mr. Cousins, we had to decide to do it together, and without Rick participating in the discussion. And if we weren’t, we needed to have all our ducks in a row before we invited him to seek employment elsewhere.

Sounding affronted, Robert said, “You’re staying at the Plaza with the rest of us. It’s five stars, all the latest in amenities, and fully licensed security. Senator, I’m sorry, but there isn’t any more time to stand around and chat. Come on, please.” Not pausing to allow any further discussion, he grabbed the senator by the arm and began steering him toward the waiting car. Rick followed, along with all but two of the security guards.

Steve was one of the guards remaining behind. The other was a Hispanic man I didn’t recognize but whose sunglasses were dark enough to either be prescription strength or render him effectively blind. He would have seemed tall next to anyone else; next to Steve, he looked like a normal human.

Shifting Lois’s carrier to my left hand, I looked toward Steve. “Babysitters?”

“Bodyguards,” Steve replied, without levity. “You folks came close to dying out there on the road. We’d like to see to it that you don’t do it again.”

“So we don’t do any long-distance driving.”

“Not good enough.”

Shaun stepped up beside me. “Are you planning to stop us from doing our jobs?”

“No. Just to keep an eye on you while you do them.”

I could feel Shaun starting to bristle. Being an Irwin means frequently taking stupid chances for the amusement of the cameras. A good Irwin can make going to the corner store for a candy bar and a Coke look death defying and suicidal. The idea of trying to post reports with a security guard looking over his shoulder was probably about as appealing to Shaun as the idea of censorship was to me. I put a hand on his arm.

“So you’re saying our jobs have become so dangerous that we need to be protected not from the hazards of the living dead, but from the hazards presented by our fellow man?” I asked.

“Not exactly how I would’ve put it, but you’re in the neighborhood,” said Steve.

Shaun relaxed grudgingly. “I guess it’ll sound good in the headlines,” he said, his tone implying that it wouldn’t do anything of the kind.

At least he was mollified. Leaving my hand on Shaun’s arm, I swung my head around until I was facing the second agent, not depending on my questionable peripheral vision. “I’m Georgia Mason; this is my brother, Shaun Mason. You would be ?”

“Andres Rodriguez, ma’am,” he replied. His tone was level. “Do I pass muster?”

“That’s a question for the grand jury. You can, however, take us to our hotel now.” Lois yowled. I amended: “Right now. I think someone’s getting cranky.”