“Lynn, Lynn Marie, Lynnie.”
A warm hand patted me on the cheek. My eyes didn’t want to work.
“Come on, Lynn Marie.” The breath smelled like cigarettes and microwave pizza, but the voice I knew.
I squashed my eyelids shut with my thumbs and tried again. Above me, a blurry Logan Loy peered into my face, trying to tell me like a saucer of tea leaves. Something pricked my neck. I blinked and blinked again. His nose came clear. A smudge of something gray on his cheek. Some joker had painted the world in ashtray colors. Holly bushes pressed in on me from three sides.
“I pulled you out and hid you in the shrubs.” Logan spoke through his teeth. “You fainted or something.”
“Or something.” My throat felt clogged with mud.
“What now?” he asked, tilting his head and smiling a normal smile, like we two were sitting on a park bench having a laugh in the sunshine. But a couple of feet below his face, I noticed the handle of the butter knife tucked into the waist of his jeans and it glittered when he moved.
A dog barked. Then two more answered. A man shouted. Somewhere in the other direction, a car engine revved and glass shattered. The smell of that oily smoke became very strong. Logan tensed and squinted through the bushes at something I couldn’t see. All business now. I put a hand on his leg and felt the heat of his skin through the denim.
“I’m alright,” I told him, feeling anything but, and tried to sit up.
“Stay down.” He pressed the tips of his fingers against my chest. “They got that Asshole character looking for us. He ain’t nobody to fool with.”
Everything that could hurt did.
“Butthole,” I said.
“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “Stay here, I’m going to reconnoiter.”
I blinked once more and he disappeared.