A vein on Nikki's temple beat against her pale skin, tapping out her displeasure in a Morse code of rage. R.J. had seen many shades of anger on her face before, but never this level of smoldering fury.

She pointed to the back seat of his parked car. "That is no chimpanzee."

Still deep in her semi-catatonic state, Amy stared out at nothing, her head lolled against the window. She hadn't moved on her own since she collapsed in the Aira parking lot.

"I never said I was rescuing a chimpanzee."

He knew his answer was a mistake the moment it hit the dry morning air. The look on Nikki's face turned darker, and the grave he was digging for himself descended a few feet deeper.

"Cute." She spit the word out like it was foul tasting food. "Would you mind telling me why you've drugged and kidnapped a teenage girl?"

"Whoa." R.J. hadn't realized what it must look like to her. This wasn't just a fight over his half-truths. This was about Nikki doing the math trying to figure out just how dangerous he might be. If he wasn't careful, she was going to turn him in herself. "I didn't kidnap her and I certainly didn't drug her. She's having an adverse effect to leaving the lab. She'll be fine in a little while."

R.J. hoped she would. He had no idea what had happened. It must have been something psychological about finding herself suddenly out in the open after being so used to the confined space of her room.

"That is not an explanation," Nikki said refusing to let him off the hook.

"Okay. I'll tell you what I can. But you have to believe me, if I'm vague it's only because the more you know, the more danger you'll be in." He scratched at the back of his neck trying to figure out what to say and what not to. He felt exposed in the deserted parking lot. The rising sun beat on his face and made him squint. "That girl is a medical abnormality. Genetically, she's not exactly human. She looks like a normal sixteen year-old girl, but according to her genes, she's another species from us."

"What is she then? An alien?"

"No. She's...different. The government brought me to Phoenix to study her and to understand why she's like this."

"Wait." Nikki raised her fists to her forehead and made a slow circle with her steps. "She's what you've been working on all this time?"

"Yes."

"Are there others like her? Do you have a lab full of them?"

"Yes. No. Maybe." R.J. took a breath to try and clear his head. It was all too complicated for an easy explanation. "I mean, I suspect there are more people with similar DNA, but she is the only one we know about."

Any second Nikki was going to ask what made her so different, so R.J. pushed on hoping to direct the conversation far away from lycanthropy. "But the government has canceled the study. They're afraid that if people found out they've been keeping her prisoner for years, it would create a scandal. They ordered the lab shut down and they want her dead to eliminate the evidence. So you see why I'm doing this?"

"Uh-uh. I don't buy it. The government doesn't just execute people without some kind of trial."

"But Nikki, to them she isn't people. And science agrees with them."

"Then why sneak her out? If the government is scared of the publicity, why not just go public with it? Once her picture is in the news they wouldn't be able to hurt her."

"Who's going to believe it? Look at her. Do you really think if I handed over a photo of her to the news and told them what I told you they'd believe me? Heck, you don't even believe me."

She faced the girl in the car, looking into those wide, blank blue eyes of hers.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's in shock. She hasn't been outside or seen the sky in four years."

"What's your plan? Won't the government be looking for her?"

"They probably already are. I'm going to get her out of the country."

"How?"

"I have a friend that can help. Look, the longer we stand here, the closer they're getting to us. Is that the car?"

Besides the vehicles they'd arrived in, there was only an ancient looking matte blue Toyota pick-up truck parked further down the aisle, in the shade cast by the closed down furniture store.

She nodded.

"Is it road worthy?"

"They told me it was. Their exact words were, it looks like shit but mechanically it'll do ya'. I was last owned by an undocumented worker, who kept it out of the system for years. They delivered it here last night. It's supposed to have a full tank of gas."

"How much do I owe you?"

"Just take it." She handed him the keys. "Consider it a goodbye present."

R.J. fidgeted with the key as she looked away awkwardly.

"I have something else. Here." She held out a smart phone.

He shook his hand, waving it away like he was afraid to touch it. He'd purposely left his phone behind at Aira so they couldn't use it to track him. The last thing he wanted was another one.

"Take it," she urged. "Someone left it behind in the restaurant. The service will probably get cancelled in a day or two, but until then you'll have GPS. And you can call me if you get yourself into too much trouble. There's no way anyone can link it to you."

Hesitantly, he put it in his pocket.

"I should go." R.J. took one step away before thinking better of it and moved back to hug her instead. Pulling her body into his, he felt her presence full and warm against him. It seemed he could do no good without hurting someone. Every knife cut both ways. Help Amy and hurt Nikki. There was no scenario that ended well for everyone. Just like long ago, when he couldn't save Mila without hurting her and destroying himself.

Holding Nikki tight, he said, "Take care of yourself."

"Go," was all she said.

R.J. loaded his bags in the back of the pick-up and carried Amy to the passenger seat. The truck started up on the first try, which he took as a positive omen for its reliability. He wasn't a superstitious man but he was in need of all the luck you could get. Desperate times called for belief.

As he drove away, Nikki watched him from the side of the road. R.J. stared back at her in the rear-view, until she was just a speck. The one thing he couldn't believe no matter how hard he tried was that he'd ever see her again.

***

His ear was sore and sweaty against the receiver. Maxwell had been on the phone ever since he got back from Aira. He'd spent an hour and a half coordinating the situation at The Music Box. Most of that time he'd wasted trying to convince Crandall that he could handle the hunt for Amy himself and they didn't need a tactical team.

"Okay, you win," the sector chief finally said.

The slimy bastard was trying to make it sound conciliatory, like dumping it in Maxwell's lap was some kind of favor he was doing. Maxwell had volunteered to take it, but getting his way anything but a gift. It was the shittiest of shitty assignments and they both knew it.

"I'm not sticking my neck out for you on this, Max. If they're not both dead by Friday. I'll have to bump this upstairs. After I've taken disciplinary steps with you."

Maxwell didn't need a code book to know Crandall wasn't referring to a letter in his file-more likely a garrotte in the dark. Still, the sector chief was going to let Maxwell operate without interference, which was more than he had expected. But any delay in informing the central office was completely against protocol. What game was he playing?

"So you haven't reported the escape?"

"Like I want this as part of my next performance evaluation? If we can get this hushed up quick, I don't see why anyone has to find out about it."

So that's why he was doing it. He didn't want anything interfering with his career track. He'd let Maxwell get his hands dirty then spin some story to the bosses that would leave him smelling like a rose. Why did Maxwell have to work for such weasels?

Because cream did rise to the top, slimy politicians did-like spilled oil fouling fresh water.

"Where will you start?" Crandall asked.

"A report just came in: they found Blass's car about sixty miles southwest of The Music Box. He must have switched vehicle. Based on the direction he was heading, I'm guessing he's taking her to Mexico."

"Are you sure it's not a bluff and he's heading to Canada or the coast?"

"I've known him for years. He doesn't think that way. He'll continue in that direction. I'll issue a report to the police to slow him down. It won't be hard catching up to him. Then I'll take care of it, don't worry. I know what has to be done. I'll give you an update from the road."

"Hold on. I'm not sending you alone."

"You just said you would let me handle it my way."

"I did. And you can. But I'm not stupid. There's no way I'm sending an agent in solo against a hostile target. You're getting a partner."

"Who?" This could not be good.

"An experienced field agent. Top of the class and a trained marksman too."

"Who?" Maxwell repeated.

"You'll be picked up in thirty. Be ready."

Maxwell gave his final orders to the security forces at The Music Box and considered calling Emily, but it was too risky. Crandall would be all over him, the last thing Maxwell needed was for Emily and Aaron to be seen as involved in this.

He had to play it safe with them. He would have to take some big chances, but not with them.

Reactivating the chip had been a risky gamble. High risk gambles were all Maxwell had left to him. The cards that had been laid out on the table made the outcome he desired impossible. He was in a fixed game where the house was going to win no matter what he did. The DTAA had it all sewn up. If he didn't want to kill his friends and be stuck behind a desk in Maine, on the other side of the country, he had to drastically change the odds.

Beginner's luck isn't luck. Maxwell had learned that while playing cards to pass the time in the long, drawn-out nights in Iraq and Afghanistan. He later realized it applied to field work just as much as poker. The reason a first time card player often does so well is that they're erratic, unpredictable. They introduce all kinds of variables that experienced players aren't used to. They blow the game apart.

That's how R.J. made it out of there. It was the last thing anyone was expecting.

Maxwell had to play out the rest of the game as a beginner. While he was on this death march heading to the inevitable, he would look out for his opportunities and try and mix things up-throw in a chaos element that might derail the game. The RFI chip had been his first gambit and it had paid off, but not enough to change the outcome. Sure, he no longer had to execute them at The Music Box, but now he had to hunt them down. If he was successful he'd still end up dead-ended in Portland. If he wasn't successful he'd just end up dead and someone else would do it.

Things had changed but it was only a different route to the same outcome.

That wasn't acceptable.

Would he be able to find a variable that would alter all their fates? He doubted it, but he'd keep his eyes open and hope one came up before he had to put Blass and Amy in the ground.

Maxwell rushed to pack a travel bag and made sure his weapons were loaded and ready. Exactly twenty-eight minutes after getting off the phone with the Sector Chief, someone was honking outside his house.

He stepped out on the front gallery with a knapsack of clothes and a duffle of guns and ammunition. Parked outside was a white Volkswagen SUV. The type people called a cute-ute. Katie Wexler rolled down the driver's side window. She looked like she was on her way back from a yoga session with Amy. The strap of her pink tank top hung off her shoulder and her hair was tied back with a glitter scrunch.

She shouted to him, "Hi there Mr. Wiley. Looks like we're going on a road trip, partner."

The duffle bag slipped from his slack fingers. "Aw, hell," he said.

***

Author's Note: These were two short scenes so I've bundled them. With the press of writing another novel for NaNoWriMo expect only one scene a week for the rest of November.