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44<br />

THEN DUMBO, with perfect timing, popped his head into the room. “<strong>The</strong>y’re back, Sullivan. Zombie said<br />

—” He stopped. Obviously he’d interrupted an intimate moment. Thank God I hadn’t unbuttoned my<br />

shirt. I pulled my hands from Evan’s and stood up.<br />

“Did they find a canister?”<br />

Dumbo nodded. “<strong>The</strong>y’re putting it in the elevator now.” He looked at Evan. “Zombie said anytime<br />

you’re ready.”<br />

Evan nodded slowly. “Okay.” But he didn’t move. I didn’t move. Dumbo stood there for a few<br />

seconds.<br />

“Okay,” he said. Evan didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. <strong>The</strong>n Dumbo said, “See you guys<br />

later—in Dubuque! Heh-heh.” He backed out of the room.<br />

I whirled on Evan. “All right. Remember what Ben said about the enigmatic alien thing?”<br />

<strong>The</strong>n Evan Walker did something I’d never seen him do—or heard him say, to be accurate.<br />

“Shit,” he said.<br />

Dumbo was back in the doorway, slack-jawed, red-eared, and in the grasp of a tall girl with a cascade<br />

of honey-blond hair and striking Norwegian-model-type features, piercing blue eyes, full, pouty,<br />

collagen-packed lips, and the willowy figure of a runway fashion princess.<br />

“Hello, Evan,” Cosmo Girl said. And of course her voice was deep and slightly scratchy like every<br />

seductive villainess ever conceived by Hollywood.<br />

“Hello, Grace,” Evan said.

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