Jamie nodded. She didn't bother holding the beer out for a toast this time. She swallowed twice and set it down on the bar. "So," she said, "why is Leland 'Mike' Erikson, sometime decent guy, such a b.a.s.t.a.r.d?"

"You really want to know?"

"No, but it beats anything else we could talk about."

He took a hit off his drink. Then another. "Did you have a pet die when you were little?"

Jamie wrinkled her brow. "What?"

"A cat? A dog?"

"Are you comparing Bob to a cat?"

"I'm trying to make a point."

"Yeah, of course I did."

"You said cat. What was her name?"

"His. Spock."

"Did you cry when he died?"

She tilted the bottle back. "What's it to you?"

"Did you?"

"Yeah, okay, I was eight, and my cat died."

He swallowed some more rum and c.o.ke. "You're not crying now."

"It was almost thirty years ago."

Mike nodded. "Lose any of your grandparents?"

"Both on my mom's side," said Jamie. "One on my dad's."

"You're not crying for them, either."

She banged the bottle down loud enough to draw attention. "Is this some super-genius a.n.a.logy, where you try to prove I'm as big a b.a.s.t.a.r.d as you?"

"No," he said, "just making a point."

"Okay. What?"

"What I keep telling you. I remember everything. My memories never fade. They never get soft or blurry. Never."

Jamie blinked.

"My dog, Batman, was. .h.i.t by a car when I was six," said Mike, "and I cried for four hours. I lost my granddad on my mom's side when I was nine, and my nana on my dad's when I was eleven. We had to put down our cat, Jake, the morning of my sixteenth birthday. My mom died my junior year of college, and I was there in the hospital with her. And every single one of them could've happened a minute ago. I can tell you what everyone around me said, every thought in my head, every sight and sound and smell. I remember every second of them all dying with perfect, crystal clarity. Everything's always raw. It's always 'too soon.'"

She lowered the bottle. "That sounds like h.e.l.l."

"It's not great," he agreed. "And now I get to have Bob dying right in front of me every day for the rest of my life. I'd be lying if I said I haven't had a few nights where I wished for early-onset Alzheimer's, because I don't want to think about how much'll be in my head by the time I'm sixty or seventy."

"That's messed up."

"Yeah," he said.

Her chin dipped toward the bar. "I never thought of it like that."

"No one ever does." He tilted his gla.s.s back and swallowed twice.

"Did you really have a dog named Batman?"

"You had a cat named Spock."

"Yep."

Mike sketched lines around his eyes with his fingers. "He had black fur on his face like a mask. I thought he went out at night and fought crime."

Jamie's lips twitched into a faint smile. "So the whole super-brain thing didn't kick in until later?"

"Batman was a great dog. He could've been fighting crime while I was asleep."

Her lips got dangerously close to a smile again. A moment later she held up her half-empty bottle. A moment after that he tapped it with his gla.s.s.

"I'm sorry if it seemed like I didn't care," Mike said. "I liked Bob. He seemed like a decent guy."

"He was," she said. Her tongue slipped and it came out sounding like "wash." She shook her head and rolled her shoulders. They popped twice.

He tapped his fingers on his gla.s.s and nodded at her shoulder. "Sorry about this morning."

"About what?"

He gestured with his chin again. "Touching you."

She frowned, then shook her head. "Don't be. I was angry. I needed to blow off some steam. I overreacted."

"It wasn't appropriate."

"Oh, for f.u.c.k's sake," she said. "You touched my shoulder by accident. It's not like you slapped my a.s.s or something."

"It bothered you."

"Because I have issues. My issues aren't your problem." She raised her beer and tilted her head back.

He finished his own drink. His throat was warm, and a pleasant tingle ran from the back of his skull down into his chest. Jamie downed the last of her bottle and waved for the bartender. "How many is that for you?" he asked.

"Enough that this is her last one," said the bartender.

"How many?" asked Mike.

"This one's ten in about two hours."

"f.u.c.k," Jamie said. "Bob's dead, Carly."

"I know," said the topknotted woman. "Give me your keys and you can have two more for him before I call you a cab."

Jamie dug in her coat pocket and slapped a mess of keys on the bar. "Give me three more, and the government jerk can walk me home."

Mike raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, don't get your hopes up," she told him.

"D'you actually know this guy?" asked Carly. "He looks kind of..."

"Like a government jerk?"

"I was going to say kind of like Snape in Harry Potter."

"Sitting right here," said Mike.

"He's fine," Jamie said. She tapped the key ring. "Drinks."

Carly gave Mike a look. He returned it. She sighed and scooped up the keys.

"I don't usually drink this much," Jamie told him.

"Well, you're doing it like a pro."

She snorted, but it turned into a chuckle at the end. "Bob was always telling me to loosen up. I never listened."

"Issues?"

"Yeah."

Carly returned. She set a fresh gla.s.s in front of Mike and put a beer in Jamie's hand. A third of the bottle was already empty. Jamie didn't seem to notice.

He slid the straw out of his drink and dropped it on the bar. "Anything you want to talk about?"

"What?"

"Your issues?"

She straightened up and stared at him. "Are you serious?"

Mike shrugged. "Part of the teacher thing."

She shook her head. "I'd think it'd all be in those great personnel files you saw."

"Believe it or not, even these days, government files aren't as in-depth as most people think," he said. "I did some stuff as a kid that I was sure would be in mine. It was a bit disappointing."

She smirked. "Not that special after all. Must've been a blow."

"I've had worse."

Jamie took a quick drink. "You know I'm a speed junkie, right?"

"Yeah, that's in there." The ants carried out her dossier pages. "Twenty-three speeding tickets in four states over five years. Eight driving to endanger. It raised a lot of flags when you were vetted for the SETH project, even after Arthur vouched for you and got them to overlook your hacker history. It's a miracle you've still got a license."

"Traffic school. It doesn't mention the crash?"

Mike shook his head. "Crash?"

She sighed. "All that brain power and it never occurred to you why a cheerleader turned into a computer geek?"

"I just figured you were some Internet male fantasy come to life."

She made an unpleasant sound and hefted her bottle again. "I was sixteen," she said. "Dating this guy from the next town over. Kevin Ulinn. Kev. He only had two things going for him. He was a college freshman, and he had a motorcycle. Drove my parents nuts. I'd sneak out at night and we'd drive around. Get out on the highway and push it up to one-ten or so, then f.u.c.k wherever we ended up. Perfect high school summer relationship."

"I've seen a few like that."

Jamie nodded. "I bet you have, Mister I'm-just-a-high-school-teacher." She swallowed two mouthfuls of beer, then raised an eyebrow at the mostly empty bottle. She made two attempts to line it up with the wet ring on the bar napkin, then gave up and set it down. Her eyes were gla.s.sy.

"One night he hit a wet spot, lost it, and dropped the bike. We were going about ninety-five. They said he died instantly. Hit the ground just right and snapped his neck, even with the helmet. I got thrown off and skidded almost a hundred feet down the road on my back. He'd given me his leather jacket. Without it the pavement would've ripped me to shreds. They say it was just rags when the paramedics got there. Serious miracle I didn't end up in a wheelchair. As it was, I woke up in the hospital with a broken arm and three fractured vertebrae. Wore a halo until Christmas." She reached up and gestured at the two scars on her forehead.

"That must've been terrifying."

"Oh yeah. Lucked out that I didn't end up with a bunch of surgical pins or any of that, but I had to get skin grafts over most of my back, sides, and this arm." She picked up the bottle with her left hand and toasted, but didn't drink. "They didn't take well, and it ended up scarring a lot. A complete mess. So ended my days as a cheerleader. No more halter tops or short sleeves. Had to wear this awful, high-necked dress to the prom. You know it's bad when an eighteen-year-old boy doesn't want to have s.e.x with his date on prom night."

Mike looked at her shoulder. "So your back's still sensitive?"

"Nah," said Jamie. "It's completely numb. The crash grated off pretty much every nerve ending from my neck to my a.s.s. Haven't felt anything in almost seventeen years."

"So what's the-"

"I just don't like being reminded that I'm disfigured."

"I'd hardly say that," he said. "If you don't mind me saying it, you're one of the most beautiful women I've ever met."

She waved the words away. "Yeah, that's what they all say. Then they see me naked." She downed the last of her beer. The bottle hit the bar hard and loud.

Mike looked at her. "Can I ask you a question?"

Her head went side to side. "No, you cannot see my scars."

"Not that. I was just wondering how you read all that code today."