Chapter Eight

Melia left a voicemail for Laidlaw while Johnny dragged her up to and through Joseph’s back door. They passed Linda, who was pacing on the back porch. Melia pointed at the hickory tree before digging in her heels and forcing him to stop.

“Talk to me, Johnny. What does Joseph have to do with whatever the hell just happened? Those guys weren’t poaching anything.”

“No, they were searching for you. They spotted your SUV from the river. All part of the plan.”

“What plan?” Confusion suddenly gave way to clarity, and she caught hold of his T-shirt. “You think Joseph’s involved in this? No.” She swiped a hand through the air. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“Maybe not for money, but there are other inducements. Where is he, Mel?”

“I left him in the kitchen.” Looking pale and shaken, she realized then. Staring out the window at the partially obscured river.

He’d barely moved when they found him. He stood ramrod straight and white knuckled, gripping the back of a rattan chair.

His mouth opened and closed like a codfish when he spied Johnny’s thundercloud expression.

“Wait,” Melia objected as Johnny brushed past her. “Let him explain.”

Ignoring her, Johnny snatched up Joseph’s wrist and shoved back the sleeve of his loose white shirt. Then he tore the front open.

“Oh my God.” Melia’s eyes widened at the sight of several livid bruises, both on Joseph’s arm and his torso.

“Talk,” Johnny growled. “Now. Before I add to your colorful collection.”

Joseph jerked free. He blinked several times, then swallowed several more. Then he turned imploring eyes to his cousin.

“There were two of them, Mel. Two men. They came here yesterday. They said they needed to talk to you. I told them to call your office. They said it was a personal matter. A medical problem involving their mother.”

“Tell me you didn’t buy their bullshit.” Yanking up Joseph’s other sleeve, Johnny exposed an even nastier set of bruises.

“Of course I didn’t.” Joseph sounded indignant. “I’m not a total ass. But I could see by the way they were acting that they weren’t going to let it or me go, so I said I’d call you for them. The beefy one pulled a gun and stuck it in my throat. He told me to get you out here, no questions asked. If I did that, they’d let me live. If not, I’d be dead in twenty-four hours. I tried to say no. I did say no. That’s when they got rough. They beat me, Mel. Kicked me and punched me and threatened to put a bullet in my leg for good measure. I’m sorry. I just… I caved. I said I’d do it. That’s when I called you and asked you to come out.”

“You could have warned us when we got here that something was wrong,” Johnny growled.

“I know.” Jerking away, Joseph appealed to Melia. “I wanted to, but I was so damn scared. I thought they might be listening. I didn’t know where they were when you showed up. For all I knew, they could’ve bugged the place. So I did what they told me to do. I was about to say something when Linda came out. Plus, Johnny was here. I swear, Mel, I didn’t know what to do, about any of it. What’s going on? Who are those guys?”

Melia glanced sideways. “Stop looking like you want to kill him, Johnny.”

“I do want to kill him.”

“But you won’t. And at the heart of it, you really don’t. You’re just pissed because you didn’t see a setup coming. But how could you have seen it?”

“His alleged injury, for a start. Fuck, he could have done more damage to his finger with a butter knife. And since when does Joseph work out? Three dances at our wedding reception, and he was gasping for air.” His phone rang, and with a final lethal look at her cousin, he swung away to answer it. “Yeah. Hey, Laidlaw. I need a favor…”

“What the hell is going on?” Joseph demanded in a hiss. “Two guys beat the crap out of me. I do what they want and get you out here. We hear gunshots, and now Johnny Soldier’s calling in the reserves. Did the bad guys bolt?”

“They’re dead.”

“Dead?” He gaped. “As in Johnny killed them?”

Melia nodded.

Joseph made a disbelieving sound. Then he appeared to think it through. “Actually, that might be good. Excellent, in fact. All I want to know now is what in God’s name any of this means!” His voice rose to a shout. Stabbing his bruised chest, he flung an arm toward the water. “This is not a normal afternoon for me, Mel. I lead a quiet, uneventful life. Where did this crap come from, and is its first name Johnny?”

“No. Yes.” She lifted both hands, palms out. “Kind of, but not really. Look, you had a rifle in the closet loaded and ready to use. I’m going to assume you were prepared to fire it if those guys tried to hurt me.”

“Well, duh, Mel. But then Johnny showed up with you and I thought, okay. Not perfect, but not as horrible as me having to shoot someone. I’ll admit I don’t like the guy, but he’s good with guns, so I figured everything would probably be fine, whatever went down. Except that what went down was worse than hell breaking loose.”

Melia tapped Johnny on the back. “Linda and Carl are coming. We’ll have to think of something clever to tell them.”

Acting quickly, Joseph covered up his bruises and smoothed his hair.

“Laidlaw’s en route. Gator poachers,” Johnny said to Joseph. “Tell Linda and Carl I caught them in the act. They shot at me, I shot at them. Problem solved.”

Melia sighed. “I don’t suppose it really is, though, is it? Solved, I mean.”

“No, but what I said will work as an explanation, because by the time your Sheriff Travers arrives on the scene, Laidlaw will have altered the scene and left it looking the way it should.”

“What about Carl?” she asked in a whisper. “Didn’t he see what happened?”

“He saw me shoot, saw two men go down. Story is they weren’t dead. As soon as we left, they dragged themselves out of the swamp.”

“Great. In that case, Laidlaw better leave some blood behind.”

“He knows what he’s doing.”

“What if Carl checked the bodies? Or Linda?”

A humorless smile curved Johnny’s lips. “Look at Carl’s face, Mel. That’s not the face of a man who just came back from checking the pulses on two corpses. I’m not sure he even knows he’s in Florida at this point. And all I’m getting from Linda is worry and fear.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Melia said. “Just make sure they don’t see Laidlaw… Linda? Carl?” Pressing her palms together, she prayed she didn’t appear as unnerved as she felt. “You seem a bit dazed. Let me tell you what Johnny thinks went down just now…”

…

It was a helluva wakeup call. Johnny had expected people to come at Melia from all sides, but not so many or so fast.

Satyr wasn’t wasting any time. He wanted the suffering to start. Still, if he could put his former comrade’s protective skills to the test first, so much the better. Nothing that took place in Deception Cove would be a serious disappointment to him. Not even the loss of his own men.

“You’re sure they were Satyr’s shooters this afternoon?” McCabe paced. He had a beer in one hand and his eyes on the diner visible some hundred-plus yards away through a stand of trees.

“They were Satyr’s,” Johnny confirmed. He perched on the bump of a cypress root and watched the water for movement. “Beat up the cousin, then used him to lure Mel to a place where they could off her and leave me to suffer in the aftermath. It’s got Satyr written all over it. In spite of the loss, he’ll be recreating a mental video of the scene and savoring every minute of it. He wants me to know and fully understand what’s coming.”

“You know Satyr better than I do,” McCabe conceded. “Mockerie’s always been my focus.”

“Obsession, more like.” Johnny took a long pull on his beer. “How far back do you two go?”

“We went to school together. I saw where he was headed years before anyone thought to question his behavior.”

“What behavior?”

“He stuck kids’ heads in toilets and flushed them. But not before the kids in question almost drowned. Rat him out, and he’d do worse the next time. He’d torment for a fee. He didn’t care who it was, why it was being done, or what the outcome might be. All that mattered was the bottom line: money.” A brow went up. “Sound like Satyr at all?”

“Nope. Ben Satyr’s into scams, conning people, and major revenge. After the two of us were captured in Iraq, he talked a guard into helping him escape. It didn’t work out the way he planned. Two of us used the diversion the guard created and got out. Satyr wound up getting tangled in some loose barbed wire and fucked himself. He was recaptured. We weren’t.”

“Did he go after the guy who escaped with you?”

“He didn’t have to. Morris stepped on a mine and blew himself up. I was the only one who made it all the way out.”

“I’ll assume that’s a nutshell version of the story.”

“It is unless you’ve got an hour or two to spare for the gory details.” For the first time since Istanbul, Johnny wished he had a cigarette. He quelled the urge with another mouthful of Bud. “That was seven years ago. I knew he’d come after me eventually. I didn’t know when or where until he started making threats against Melia. I still don’t know how long they kept him locked in that stinking Iraqi prison. Eighteen months at least, because that’s when Julie died.”

“And Julie is?”

“The woman he loved.” Something twisted in Johnny’s gut. Sympathy maybe? Of all people, he knew what it was to love a woman. “It was what you might call a tragic triangle. Satyr wanted Julie, but Julie wanted someone else. Unfortunately, that someone didn’t want her—or even realize she wanted him. The truth of that came out shortly after she died. She wrote a suicide note. Leave it alone,” he added when McCabe started to speak.

“Your story, your timing.”

Johnny nodded. “Word had it Satyr’d sustained injuries during the recapture, but how extensive they were”—he spread the fingers of his left hand—“no idea.”

“Even now?”

“Nope. I’ve been in Asia for three years, remember? You’ve seen Satyr more recently than me.”

“He has an eye patch and two deep facial scars. That’s probably part of the reason Mockerie will back off and let him handle this thing with you and Melia. The need for revenge is a feeling that’s near and dear to Mockerie’s heart. At least from what I’ve observed. Speaking of, did Laidlaw dispose of the bodies?”

“He said he did, and when I checked, everything was in order. Footprints, crushed weeds, just the right amount of trailing blood, tire marks. It’s all good. Laidlaw knows his stuff.”

McCabe cocked a brow. “You sound pissed, but not at Laidlaw.”

“No.” Did the diner sell cigarettes? “I’m angry at myself. I should have seen this coming. Joseph’s finger was barely scratched, and the guy lives in shorts and tees. He wore both to our wedding. It was fifty-two degrees that day in L.A. Colder at night for the reception, and yet there he was, hip-hopping in canary-yellow Bermudas and a green ‘Frogs are Fantastic’ T-shirt. Guy’s a freaking loon.”

“Uh-huh.” Still pacing, McCabe swirled his beer. “I take it things aren’t going well with Mel.”

Johnny shrugged. “She hasn’t punched me again.”

“Any sign of a thaw?”

McCabe knew him too damn well, Johnny reflected with a hint of rancor. “I’m working on it,” he said and heard his friend chuckle.

“She’ll forgive you eventually, if you don’t rush her.”

“I’m not counting on it. And God knows I’m not thinking I deserve it.” But dammit, he couldn’t get rid of that tiny bit of hope that he might still be able to win her back. Setting that aside before it grew too large, he asked, “Any word yet on our government mole?”

“It’s not Matthew.”

Johnny raised his gaze, holding it steady on McCabe’s shadowed face. “You know that, do you? You’re one hundred percent sure?”

McCabe drank again. “Let’s say if he was, and I’ll grant you, there’s a very minute chance he could have been, he isn’t anymore.”

A warning bell went off in Johnny’s brain. “Do you want to elaborate on that?”

“No. But I will. Matthew Burke was found dead in his apartment two and a half weeks ago. There was a note on his computer. The usual ‘I can’t deal’ shit. Could’ve been typed by him or someone else.”

“Suicide.” Johnny tested the word, found the taste of it bitter on his tongue. “Are you buying it?”

“I haven’t decided. He might have sold out. People do for all sorts of reasons. But Matthew was engaged and not in debt. He left our band of misfits for the FBI because that’s where his brother worked.”

“And our small world grows ever more complex,” Johnny murmured.

“Doesn’t it just. On that note, where’s Mel?”

Johnny nodded forward. “In the diner with the sheriff, two deputies, and a trigger-happy sixteen-year-old. Laidlaw’s watching for trouble.”

McCabe tossed him his empty bottle. “She’ll bend, Johnny. You need to give her a little time.”

Unconvinced, Johnny stood. He wanted to believe McCabe was right. But it was harder than it should have been to wrap his head around a reconciliation when someone opened the back door of the diner and let the jukebox selection pour into the night.

“Take Me Home, Country Roads.”

…

For the next two days, Melia did what she could to maintain a safe emotional distance from Johnny. To her relief—and, dammit, to her frustration, as well—he didn’t press.

“I’m good with that,” she muttered under her breath. “I am.”

“Good with what, doc?” Percy, the mechanic who’d been bitten, held out a grimy hand to have his bandage removed. “I think some dirt might have got in, but it doesn’t hurt anymore. You upset about something?”

“What? No. No,” she said again, and laughed when the uncertain expression on his face melted into relief. “I’m taking care of Pappy Laundy’s dog. I also have a step-cousin visiting from L.A. I’m not used to so much activity in my house.”

“Gomer’s active?”

“Not exactly.” In fact, she’d discovered Pepper sleeping on the dog’s back the previous night, while he snored away in the middle of her kitchen floor. “It’s nothing, Percy. I’ve gotten too used to my routine is all. Maybe disruption is a good thing. Your hand looks much better, by the way, at least at first glance.”

“Guy from one of the construction sites has been helping me out after hours. Said something about being kin to the Brewer clan, I think.”

Melia smiled. “There’s a shock. Aren’t you kin to them, too?”

“My wife’s third cousin to Dick. Angie mentioned she saw your cousin yesterday. Not Joseph. The California one. He was hanging out over where the high school’s going up. He looking to hire on?”

“I doubt it.” She heard a knock, and Laidlaw’s head appeared around the jamb. “It’s almost two, Mel. I’m hungry.”

“Midmorning club sandwich didn’t do it for you, huh?”

“Did for an hour.”

Her eyes danced. “How many patients are out in reception?”

“Three.” He grimaced. “Two of them are knitting.”

And would continue to do so while they ran through their mounting list of ailments. She inspected Percy’s hand. It was healing nicely, all things considered. “Go get us some lunch, Laidlaw. I’ll have a veggie wrap with guacamole for dipping. You’ll only be gone five minutes,” she said when he hesitated. “Don’t worry. I’ve got two women knitting, one banker reading—”

“And a partridge in a pear tree.” Laidlaw winked at her. “I’ll be back in five or less.”

The mechanic tugged on his earlobe. “He lookin’ to be your new nurse, doc? I saw he was behind the desk when I came in, and I know your last one retired on account of she couldn’t hear anymore.”

“She did well for a woman who’s a great-grandmother. But I agree, answering the phone was becoming a challenge.” Melia searched through an upper cabinet. “Did you and Angie make up yet?”

“Sort of.” He stuck out his lower lip. “I still think she likes Matt Damon better than me.”

“Matt Damon’s a fantasy, Percy. I’m sure he’d disappoint her if she met him.”

Percy brightened. “You think? Fact is, we watched a movie the other night. Bourne Something-or-other, and Angie got all kissy-kissy afterward. It got me to wondering…”

Melia only half listened to the rest. It was rude to tune him out, but her mind kept wandering to Johnny and their wedding in Los Angeles, to their honeymoon in Hawaii, to questions she’d never asked, to explanations she’d never received.

They’d gone skiing in Aspen six months after returning from Maui. She’d asked him a few things then. What did being a federal marshal entail? How did McCabe’s department differ from the more traditional ones? How had he gone from being a military sniper to being a member of McCabe’s covert team? Was the work he did sanctioned by the Justice Department?

“Why the sudden curiosity?” Johnny had asked at length. They’d been sitting in the après-ski lounge after a full day on the slopes. “My work’s a changeable thing. I thought you understood that. It’s also not something I can really talk about.” Smiling as only Johnny could, he’d plucked the marshmallow he’d been roasting over one of the tableside pits from its skewer and pressed it to her lips. Then he’d moved in to share.

He’d done that all the time, she realized. Distracted her with sex or the promise of it. A hot, melted marshmallow, the sweet taste of it on her lips and tongue. Then, before she knew it, Johnny’s mouth would cover hers, and her thoughts would scatter like snowflakes in a crisp winter wind.

Except there was nothing wintery about Johnny’s kisses—about his touch or the way her mind and body reacted to him. Johnny consumed her. Her brain turned to jelly and every one of her senses sparked to life.

She still remembered the taste of him. Brandy sweetened with chocolate and just a hint of moonshine around the edges.

“Say your wedding vows to me again, Mel.” He’d kissed her long and deep. “I want to hear you speak the words…”

“No!” She yanked herself out of the memory. Heat suffused her skin, and her breathing rate had elevated dramatically. Jesus, all of that from a quick flashback? She was in serious trouble.

“You okay, doc?”

“What? Yes.” She loosened her grip on Percy’s hand. “Sorry. I had a moment.” A fiery one. “Did I say something?”

“You said ‘no’ when I asked if you’d met any other celebrities in Hollywood. Me, I like Julia Roberts. Does that make me old?”

“I don’t know. Does it make me old that I like George Harrison?”

“Who’s he?”

“Not Merle Haggard.” She wrapped his hand. “Two more days, and this can come off for good. I’m only using a Tensor bandage, so try and keep it clean. And don’t cheat.”

The door to the alley gave a telltale creak. Assuming it was Laidlaw, she flicked an amused glance over her shoulder. “That was a fast five minutes. What did you…”

She broke off sharply as a metal canister rolled across the floor toward her.

She might never have used or even seen one up close, but Melia recognized the size and shape of it.

It was a grenade.

…

With black clouds looming on the horizon and the afternoon sun baking everything on the streets and sidewalks to a rock hard consistency, Johnny’s mood, not exceptional from the outset, deteriorated to full-on crappy when he glimpsed Laidlaw carrying a large box of takeout from the local café. He intercepted the man at the top of the alley behind the clinic.

“Why?” he demanded before Laidlaw could speak.

“Because I can’t be a speck of good to Mel or anyone if I pass out from hunger. And because I’m going blind from watching two old women knit scarves for three hours on account of they showed up that much too early for their appointments and wouldn’t let Mel squeeze them in. Honest to God, Johnny, you try listening to a conversation about bowel problems, bedsores, and weeping ulcers. If that’s normal talk for people in their eighties, I’m taking a long walk off a nonexistent pier on my seventy-ninth birthday. Assuming I live that long. What’s the life expectancy for guys like us?”

“Probably nowhere near seventy-nine.” Not wanting to find his tirade humorous, Johnny kept his expression blank and his eyes hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. “Did you lock the door when you left?”

“I tried to earlier today, but she wouldn’t let me. Said the clinic was open and so was the door when she was there.” Laidlaw made an irritable gesture with the takeout box. “Be pissed at her, not me. I’m hungry, and I’m guessing so’s Mel.” He motioned again. “We can go in the back way.”

Since he couldn’t change the situation, Johnny shook off the worst of his mood and started for the door. “It’s been two days, Laidlaw. Five men are dead, time’s passing, and nothing more’s happened.”

“Tell me about it,” Laidlaw replied around a mouthful of hot dog. “You figure Satyr’s playing games? Messing with your head?”

“Probably.” And that pissed him off in a whole new way.

The backdoor of the clinic opened into the alley. As they drew closer, he noticed the door was slightly ajar. Studying it, he said, “That leads into a hallway, right?”

Laidlaw swallowed. “A short one. Straight ahead’ll take you to the waiting room. Turn left at the second door along, and that’s where Mel does her poking, probing, and I’m guessing her ‘turn your head and cough’ routine, too.”

As a precaution, Johnny used his foot to open the door. An alcove to his right stood in shadow. Everywhere else was lit.

Laidlaw hung over his shoulder. “It’s all good, right? Nothing to worry about—whoa, what the hell?”

A sudden burst of motion erupted from the alcove. Whoever had concealed himself in there moved so fast, he was nothing but a blur. His shoulder rammed Johnny’s arm. He flew past Laidlaw, as well, knocking the box from his hand and scattering food and drinks across the floor.

“Son of a bitch!” Laidlaw thundered. But he was talking to air, because Johnny was already gone. Not after the intruder, as McCabe would say he should have done, but toward the examining room.

He got his next jolt from Melia, who shoved a wild-eyed man through the door and into his chest. Smoke, mixed with the smell of gas, poured out with them.

Shoving the man out into the alley, Johnny raced in. Melia pointed to the waiting room, and he nodded. “I’ll get them out,” he shouted. “Laidlaw!”

“Got her,” the big man called back. “This stuff’s got a nasty bite. I’m seeing sparkles. Oh man, Mel, don’t do that. Don’t pass out on me.”

“Get her into the fresh air,” Johnny told him.

He bore down, concentrated. Laidlaw was right about the sparkles. But he’d been subjected to worse than that in Iraq.

Melia was safe. Laidlaw had taken her out. That left whoever was in the waiting room.

The knitters Laidlaw had mentioned, two of them, with wool and needles dangling, sat slumped in their chairs. A man who’d been reading a book was attempting to stand. He moved like someone who’d been drunk for three days. Johnny shoved him out the front door. “Get into the fresh air.”

The women were easy enough to lift over his shoulder, but they weren’t small, and the gas was affecting his muscles. It’s not doing my nerves any favors, either, Johnny thought as the sparkles mushroomed into pools of brilliant white light.

Laying the first woman down on the sidewalk, he took a moment to breathe, then went back in. Her companion was heavier and dead weight. He struggled a little, caught his balance, then swore when she flailed an arm and jabbed him with one of her needles.

A crowd had gathered on the street. Setting the woman next to her friend, he regained his feet and tried to think. More. There’d be more than gas inside. Satyr liked the big bang effect.

“Shit!”

It took everything he had left to reach the nearest side door. Dragging it closed, he shouted for the onlookers to stand back.

The white light had him mostly swallowed up when it happened—when the ground heaved under his feet and a thousand points of pain pierced his body.

There were dark clouds in the distance, and billows of black smoke pumping out around him. Light in his head exploded. And then there was nothing at all.