Behr couldn’t seem to stop ending up in Mistretta’s bed. She lay next to him, her black hair spread half across the pillow, half across his shoulder.
“You out?” he asked.
“No.”
“I was thinking about the checklist,” he said.
“The PCL-R.”
“Yeah, and other tests like it.”
“What about it?”
“Where do normal people score?”
“Zero.”
“Zero?”
“Zero to five,” she said.
“To five. I see. Because in your note when you said ‘they’re not like us’ you put ‘us’ in quotes.”
“I meant a theoretical ‘us,’ like everyone, but not really us, as in you and me.”
“So, you’ve taken it?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’ve taken it.”
There was a long pause in the darkness.
“And where did you—” he asked.
“Higher than that,” she said quickly.
“Double digits?”
“Behr,” she said, “there’re certain things you just don’t ask a girl.”
“You would too,” she said, and he suddenly didn’t want to get any more specific either.
He felt her shaking in the dark and realized she was silently laughing. “Yep, just a couple of psychos in this bed …”