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Major felt great. Even above the influence of the upbeat brain, he was elated. He had the perfect way to get them all off his back—Vaughn du Clark, Blaine, everyone. And the perfect revenge on du Clark: Turn him into a zombie, or turn him into a zombie detector himself. It worked either way.

He had to suppress a smile as he walked into du Clark's office, the vials of virus and cure safely tucked away in his bag.

du Clark was on the phone, his chair turned toward the window so that his back was to Major. While he waited, Major took a quick, nervous look into his bag, just to reassure himself that the vials were there. If this didn't work—but that was ridiculous. Of course it would work. It was the perfect plan. Nothing to worry about.

Finishing up his conversation in what sounded like fluent French, du Clark turned the chair around and put the phone on his desk. He put his hands on the glass top and got ready to stand up, grinning at Major. "We ready to do this thing?"

"If not now, I never will be." Major couldn't help the smile this time, his words even more apt than du Clark could know. This could be the day, this could be it. If the cure worked …

A side door opened and the unsmiling security guy, Janko, came in. Major's smile faded as their eyes met. Janko, for all his lack of expression, seemed—triumphant? Gleeful? Major couldn't quite put his finger on the look in Janko's eyes, but he had a sinking feeling in his stomach that this interruption was not going to be good for him.

Without a word, Janko walked to du Clark's side and bent over to speak quietly into his ear.

du Clark listened, frowning a little. "Really?" he asked softly.

Janko whispered some more, then stood up, looking at Major. No, this definitely was not going to go well. Major held his ground, hoping to bluff his way out, but he was fighting the instinct to run. They'd catch him, even zombified, he was sure. Or they'd stop him in the elevator. There was no way out of this that wasn't going to require charm.

Fortunately, he thought, thinking positively, charm had always been his strong suit.

He waited, not liking the serious look on du Clark's face. du Clark got slowly to his feet, clearly thinking things over. Whatever it was that Janko had told him, he hadn't been prepared for—and Vaughn du Clark did not like not being prepared. "You know what," he said, "I think we're gonna put the gym on hold, Major. Take a little trip to Tacoma, instead. Something down there I—I need you to see."

The whimsy was back on his face, which really didn't bode well for Major at all. Had they figured out that he was a zombie again? Had they kidnapped Liv, or Ravi?

Major pulled himself together with an effort, giving what he hoped was a ready-for-anything smile. "Okay. Just gonna … put my bag in my car, I'll be right back." He backed up, then turned and walked out of the office, concentrating on walking casually, normally, wondering how far they were going to let him get before they came for him. Janko was following him, he was sure of that.

But he hadn't gone three steps from the office door before Janko was no longer his biggest problem. The elevator doors opened in front of him, a woman's voice shouting "Stop!", followed by the sound of a lot of guns being cocked.

That FBI agent, Dale something, the one who had been with Babineaux, was standing in front of him with a truly impressive number of armed people backing her up … and they were all pointing their guns straight at Major.

"Turn around!" she told him. He put the bag on the floor and did as she asked, putting his hands up in the process. He didn't know what would happen if he got shot as a zombie—and he really didn't want to find out. As he turned, he looked at du Clark and Janko, who were standing in the doorway of the office, both appearing fairly nonplussed by this turn of events. There would be no help for him there. Not that he had ever expected any.

"Down on the ground, hands behind your back," the FBI agent ordered.

Major fell to his knees, putting his hands behind his head. She kicked the bag away from him so he couldn't reach it.

"Down!"

Adrenaline was kicking in, and he could feel anger rising along with the panic. Even as he complied with her orders and lay face-down, he was fighting off a nearly overwhelming urge to attack, to get free, to rend and tear and kill and eat.

Over the pounding rage in his ears, he dimly heard Dale somebody reading him his rights as she handcuffed him. He fought to keep from going into—what did Liv call it, full-on zombie mode? He couldn't go into that here. Not now. Not and have his life again.

Where was positivity brain when you needed it?