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One foot and then the other, she slid her feet out of her clogs, water flooding out of each shoe. Tugged her socks off one at a time. Her wet scrubs clung to her skin, peeling off like sticky Band-Aids.

Without bothering to dry off, she tugged her street clothes over wet skin, then slipped on dry socks and unlaced shoes.

“Okay.”

He turned and smiled sweetly, soaked and utterly uncaring about his own state; the image warmed her more than the hot shower.

As she reached him, he slipped his hand into hers, and she melted into him.

Outside, the tops of the trees glowed as the sun dipped out of sight. Vann pulled his keys from his wet pocket, a casual ease to his gait, but he saw everything. He subtly scoped the parking lot, sizing up every person coming and going.

“You must be good at your job.”

He looked down at her and squeezed her hand, a question in the lift of his eyebrow.

“You know, when you said you worked security, I couldn’t figure out why you have so much money that you seem to care so little about, and what sort of security work left you covered in blood.”

He shrugged.

“I’m picturing more bodyguard than electrician or computer programmer. Liam Neeson, not Kevin Costner. Have you protected anyone I might have heard of?”

“No.” A soft chirp and lights flashed as they neared his car.

He walked her to her side and opened the door for her.

She slipped inside, and he closed her door before walking around to his side.

Without a word, he clicked on the engine, rested his hand on her seat, and palmed the wheel. He saw everything. Anticipated everything. Slowed well before the pedestrian crossing so he didn’t have to even touch the brakes. Glided into the turn lane. Caught every green light.

When he pulled onto the highway, he broke the bloated silence. “You know, at some point you’re going to have to tell me what’s going on.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Yes, you do.”

“What happened in the locker room had nothing to do with the break-in.”

He shook his head with thinly veiled frustration.

“Well, I mean, of course it did a little. I’m shaken, but I just had a patient die right in my arms. I felt his pulse ceasing right under my hand. So, yeah, I had a breakdown.”

He passed a car on the narrow highway, his engine handling the rapid acceleration with a gentle purr. “I’ve had nights like that,” he whispered, and flashed a soft, quick look, then back at the road.

“I’m sorry.” She bit her tongue and stared out the front window. They passed a campground, a state park, and slowed as they wound through the next town.

“What’s your temperature?” he asked without looking in her direction, his eyes trained on the road, the horizon, everywhere.

“What?”

“Have you checked it?”

“No.” Yes.

He exhaled long and slow, his calm long gone, his jaw ticking with frustration.

The next few miles, neither said a word. Another campground, packed for the weekend; a family reunion in the field nearby. A few long driveways. A golf course, and then a river winding close to the road before Lost Beach proper came into view.

More unsuspecting humans, ripe for slaughter.