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"Major. Major, I need help. ASAP." Liv's voice was thin and strained.

"What's up? Is it Ravi?"

"Ravi? No. It's—it's Martin. My … my father."

"Oh. What happened?"

"I don't know. He just got released from rehab, and I came over to offer support, and there he was, just … collapsed. Can you bring me some brain tubes?"

Technically, he really shouldn't. Fillmore Graves maintained an adequate supply to keep their soldiers in good condition, but if they started giving them out—but this was Liv. He loved her; he owed her, many times over. And she wouldn't have asked if it wasn't important. "Yeah. Text me the address, I'll be right there."

Between them, they got Liv's father up and onto a couch. Major ripped off the top of a brain tube and basically shoved it in the guy's mouth, while Liv massaged his throat so he would swallow.

While they waited for the brains to do their work, Major studied the man who was Liv's mysterious other parent. All the years they'd speculated on his identity, and here he was, just a … schlub. Anything more different from Liv's hyper-driven appearances-obsessed mom would have been hard to imagine.

Slowly, Martin regained consciousness. He smiled when he recognized Liv, and then frowned when he saw Major, squinting as if trying to place where he knew him from. At last he said, "I wasn't aware that the head of Fillmore Graves made house calls. Thanks."

Major smiled. "No sweat. Liv's done the same for me."

"If we can get him to my house, I can look after him," Liv said softly.

Typical Liv, always thinking it was her job to take care of people. Major wondered if she was really ready for the responsibility of a recovering addict father.

"God, my head," Martin whispered.

"Hey. Hang in there," Liv told him. She turned to Major. "I'll pack a bag for him."

"Yeah."

She left the two of them alone. It was a point in Martin's favor that he hadn't bothered to argue with her—he already knew well enough that would be a waste of breath, apparently. And another point that he didn't seem disturbed by Liv rifling through his drawers packing his things.

"So. You two … friends?" Martin asked.

"You could say that."

"Long time."

"A fair while." Major considered going through the whole sordid history, not sure what Liv would already have told him. For that matter, he wasn't sure what Liv currently thought about their relationship. Like Major, she probably didn't have much time to think about it at all. "Since college," he offered, hoping that would be enough.

"You have any insights on how … how to be a good father?"

Major studied him, wondering what he really thought of a grown daughter knocking on his door. "Live," he said simply.

"What?"

"I mean, stay alive. Don't die; don't lose yourself to the drugs again."

"Oh. Yeah."

At that point Liv came downstairs with a bag. "We've got to go. I have to get back to work."

Major helped her get Martin to her car. "You going to be okay from here?"

"Yeah, I've got it. Thank you, Major."

"Anytime."

Sadly for Major, his next stop was the Scratching Post. Don E was one of the few people he hadn't already asked about Sloane Mills, mostly because he really didn't want to have to talk to Don E. He held up his phone, with Sloane's Instagram page loaded on it.

Don E laughed as he unloaded bottles and slotted them into their places on the bar. "Oh, God, Sloane Mills! Should have left her in that trunk. Why are you even showing me that?"

If he had, she would never have ODed and wouldn't now be a zombie, which would be both better and worse than the current situation.

"I've been trying to find her. She posted this the other night on her Instagram. I just noticed this." He zoomed in on part of the Scratching Post's logo over Sloane's shoulder.

Don E bent over to look more closely at the picture, seeing what Major had just realized—that the sign in the picture no longer existed.

"When did you change the sign?"

"Two or three weeks ago?"

"Right around when she dropped off the radar." So what Major had imagined was just Sloane being a spoiled party girl was Sloane missing, possibly kidnapped, being used by someone to keep the US government from helping Seattle. "You have security cameras?"

"Sure." Don E brought him back to the office, calling up the cameras on the laptop. Some girl came in and started rubbing Don E's shoulders, which Major decided to ignore because he really didn't want to know the details, and if he asked, Don E would tell him—in technicolor. They finally found Sloane outside the bar. "Oh, yeah, it was reggae night. I remember, because she kept yelling, 'Jamaican me horny!' while she and her boyfriend flirted with some hipster zombie girl. Heavy pre-threeway vibe."

"Wonder if that should be on the bucket list?" the girl asked. She and Don E shared a look and a giggle.

"Can we focus here?" This was already more than Major needed to know about Don E's private life.

The screen was showing three people in a stairwell. "Boom. There's Sloane. Happy?"

Major hunkered down for a closer look.

"Looks like they left together."

The third person with them had long blonde hair. The girl with Don E frowned at it. "Does that look like a wig?"

"Why would a zombie wear a zombie wig?"

"Hold on." Don E started typing. "When those Dead Enders guys were scaring away the clientele, we installed some infrared cameras outside." The camera now showed the three people from the stairwell—and made it very clear that the third person had, in fact, not been a zombie.

"It's alive!" the girl said, like an old-fashioned horror movie.

"Why the hell would a human pick up two drunk zombies at a night club?" The coin finally dropped, and Don E turned to look at Major, realizing what they were looking at. "You think Sloane got kidnapped again? I mean once, shame on us, but twice …"

"You think it was the Dead Enders?" the girl asked. "We could help you find her."

"Not a good idea." The last thing he needed was any more of Don E's version of 'help'. "Just … send me that footage." He saw the two of them looking at each other and rolled his eyes. "I mean it. Stay out of it."

"Fine," the girl said.

Major had to take them at their word, because he had no other real recourse.

Kidnapped by the Dead Enders. Of course. He should have realized it before. He sighed, wishing he could make this someone else's problem. But after Justin … there was no one he trusted enough any more.