I told my dog without turning around to look at him. My stare was glued to the windshield and windows, sweeping both sides of the drive.
he said.
I glanced quickly back at him. I threw every relevant command I’d ever taught at him.
Sharp and piercing, he whined.
Bobo whined some more.
I wouldn’t have even brought him along—anywhere was safer than here—but Bobo was no normal dog, and neither were our circumstances. I didn’t trust his fate to anyone else.
The bend in the drive was just up ahead. Beyond it was the gate to the institute.
Quickly, I turned in my seat toward my pittie.
He frowned, his jowls drooping more than usual.
Bobo’s jowls only sagged farther.
I pressed as Griffin’s breath hitched.
Then my dog lay down across the seat, chuffed dejectedly, and turned his face toward the back of it—and away from me. His tail tucked between his legs.
Fuck.
“Joss,” Griffin said.
I faced forward just as Brady’s voice came through our telepathic link.
Hunt said.
A moment later, when Clyde sped around the curve, I understood why.
The tall, reinforced, intimidating gate that was designed to keep out intruders, to warn them that anyone who tried to pass uninvited would be gravely punished, hung wide open.
Brady and then Griffin slowed as we passed the guardhouse.
Empty. Unmanned.
When Magnum had to know we were coming.
Griffin said.
Neither fucking did I.
25
A Psycho Jillionaire
with Nothing Better to Do
Still in the lead in the armored truck they’d procured somehow, our lie-rents slowed. They had to be as unnerved as we were to be met with such a glaring lack of resistance.
