Chapter Nine

Melia never completely lost consciousness. But the gas she’d inhaled affected her ability to move.

She knew it wasn’t Johnny who sat her down on the curb outside the hair salon. It had to have been Laidlaw who’d carried her out.

Sheer strength of will kept her eyes open. She spied Laidlaw down on one knee, head bent, panting for air. The acrid smell of smoke hung heavy around her. She swore she heard an explosion, felt the sidewalk tremble beneath her, before she zoned in all the way.

“Johnny!” His name was the first thing out of her mouth. Pushing to her feet, she searched for him—not an easy task with her vision still blurred and her head spinning like an uncontrolled top.

She saw Percy and the women who’d been in the waiting room. The man, an investment broker at the bank, was with them. But there was no sign of Johnny.

Climbing stiffly to her feet, she shed her lab coat, which was hanging half off her arms anyway. He had to be there somewhere. Johnny always got out. He always escaped.

Sirens screamed on the edge of town. She glanced toward them and finally spotted him. He was lying on his back a few feet into the alley behind the clinic.

“Laidlaw!” She touched his shoulder. “Come with me. Stuff’s burning inside. There could be another explosion.”

She hoped not, but people were hurrying away, either on their own or with help from bystanders. Percy’s Tensor bandage trailed from his injured hand as he made his way to the other side of the street.

There must have been a lot of noise—cries and shouts and frantic motion. But all Melia thought about was Johnny. All she heard was panic beating its fists in her head. She couldn’t let it out, but it clamored inside and obliterated every other sound.

He was stirring by the time she reached him. Not much, but enough to tell her he wasn’t dead. She collapsed onto her knees beside him. “Don’t move,” she said in a voice so raw from smoke she barely recognized it. “You might have a head injury.”

“Screw that.” Laidlaw plunked himself down with his back to the opposite wall. “His skull’s thicker than these bricks I’m leaning against.”

Johnny pushed upright, despite Melia’s attempts to stop him. He made it to a crouch, then raised his eyes to squint at her. “Are you hurt?”

“Not especially.” Taking his head in her hands, she examined his face. Blackened from smoke in spots, with a scrape across one cheekbone and a small amount of blood at the corner of his mouth, but otherwise, he was all Johnny.

“Thank God,” she breathed. And, leaning in, set her lips on his.

It was knee-jerk—the need to taste the life in him, to be certain she wasn’t dreaming, that he really was alive. That they were both alive.

The fear that continued to ripple through her mind and body slowly subsided. Before she could draw back, Johnny gripped her nape and held her in place for more.

“No way, babe. I’m not missing this golden opportunity.”

He used his tongue to tease, to inject heat directly into her bloodstream. Need spiked, hot and fast. Flames from the past fused with the now and took her on a slow slide to a world she hadn’t expected to visit again.

She’d been waiting for this, too, Melia realized through the lovely haze that enveloped her. Hunger for him shot straight to her belly and spiraled lower. She let him draw her closer, felt the bite in his kiss.

He had a fantastic mouth, always had. Persuasive and arousing, with a hint of excitement. As her fists bunched his T-shirt, he took the kiss deeper and brought a greedy purr to her throat.

Behind them, the shriek of sirens grew to deafening proportions. Feet thumped. A heavy palm landed on Melia’s head. “Knock it off,” Laidlaw growled. He pried them apart. “Time and place, people. We’re about to get foamed.”

Did she care? Well, yes, she did. She had to. People could be hurt. Johnny might still be hurt. And anyone could be watching.

“Our step-cousin story might have to change.” Johnny released her with obvious reluctance. “I hope you have another one ready.”

Removed from the hypnotic effect of his kiss, she pushed on his shoulders. “You shouldn’t have let me do that.” A sigh escaped. “I shouldn’t have let me do that.”

A heavy hose hit the pavement. Fire crackled inside the clinic, but it was the smoke that got her moving. That and Johnny lifting her to her feet.

“Do what you have to do,” he said, and kissed her again before she could stop him.

It took five full seconds for her vision to clear and her brain to settle. She shook herself hard and took a good look around. Laidlaw was right. Time and place. Firefighters had gone into the clinic with foam and water hoses. Catching sight of her elderly patients, dazed, disheveled, and still clutching their balls of yarn, she started toward them.

Halfway there, however, a shadow moved across her path. When the smoke around it cleared, she found herself under intense scrutiny from Cas Travers.

“You kissed the weasel,” he said.

Beneath his obvious puzzlement, she sensed resentment. But she simply nodded. “Yes, I did. I kissed him, and it’s okay. He’s not really my cousin, not even my step-cousin.”

“I wondered about that.” Ethan Travers stepped into her line of sight. Gone was his happy-go-lucky smile. In its place, she saw disappointment and, worse, pain. “What exactly is he to you, Mel? A former lover?”

“In a way.” Time to fess up, she decided. “Johnny Hunt was my husband.”

…

In his head, Ben Satyr replayed the report he’d received from his man in Deception Cove—minus the hawking and spitting, which surely to God, the man didn’t do in public. He had an excellent memory and the ability to freeze frame certain key words and phrases.

Melia had survived the gas and grenade episode. He wasn’t surprised. Johnny-on-the-spot had apparently been just that. Again. No shock, he’d had help from an outside source. Someone named Laidlaw who was an unknown commodity and a royal pain in the ass.

He might have to deal with that, because at some point, Melia Rose needed to die.

The casino was clinking and dinging along, as it always did in the afternoon. Dusty locals liked to drink and gamble. Other regulars, looking somewhat more desperate, headed straight for the back rooms via an inconspicuous entrance.

It disturbed him a little to look over and see Mockerie standing in front of a slot machine, contemplating its colorful facade.

“I swear this thing is smiling at me,” Mockerie remarked before Satyr announced his presence from behind.

Did the bastard have eyes in the back of his fucking head? Satyr shrugged the question aside and joined him. “Must be a psychological trick. These machines are relics from the 1960s. The whole ‘lure ’em in and hook ’em’ deal was really starting to roll back then.”

Mockerie cocked his head. “It’s taunting me.”

“Ignore it.”

“I don’t like being taunted.”

Satyr recognized the tone. Fuck. He motioned one of the cigarette girls over. “Do you want to play a few private rounds of blackjack with Chloe? She’ll take your mind off whatever’s got you looking like you want to destroy one of my best slots.”

Balling his fists, Mockerie punched the machine. Not hard enough to damage it, but with sufficient force to have Chloe taking a hasty step back.

“If you’re annoyed about the situation with Johnny Hunt,” Satyr said, “I’ve got it under control.”

Mockerie balled his fists again and cocked his head the other way. He stared for a moment, then shrugged and turned. “I know.”

Know what? It took Satyr a moment to remember. “Ah, right. About Hunt.” He frowned. “How?”

“Do I know?”

Mockerie smiled, and while a crisis of destruction might have been averted, Satyr felt his own temper beginning to stir.

“I have sources,” Mockerie informed him. “Maybe they’re the same as yours, maybe not.” He fingered the scar on his cheek. “You want to be very careful not to question my decisions. I said I wouldn’t interfere with your plan. That doesn’t mean I’m not interested in the play and, of course, the outcome.”

“Because Hunt works with McCabe?”

Mockerie held fast to his smile, though it looked to be straining at the seams. “McCabe and I have a history. We go back. Further than you and Johnny Hunt.”

“Johnny and I go back further than you might think, probably ten years, all told. We spent several months of those ten years living together in hell. Timelines lengthen exponentially under circumstances like the ones we faced.”

“He got an early reprieve.”

“Yes.”

“You didn’t.”

Satyr breathed through his nose. The air rushing out felt like fire. “He left me to rot. They both did. Two of them—the guard and another man named Morris—are dead. Not by my hand. Johnny’s all there is, and I want him to pay for what he did to me. And to Julie.”

Mockerie appeared intrigued. “Was what he did done with intent or through fallout?”

“It doesn’t matter. Johnny took advantage of a situation he didn’t want to be part of from the beginning. He escaped. I got recaptured. While he was out and I was still locked up, the woman I loved killed herself. Her death was his fault. If I’d been there with her, it would have been different on all sides. He has no right to be happy. It’s time for luck paid.”

“His bad becomes your good long after his good became your bad?” Mockerie’s smile widened. “I like how you think, my friend. Tell Chloe to meet me in one of the private rooms in thirty minutes. I want to go a round or two with your smug 1960s slot machine. Word of warning, though. You might want to clear the area and turn up the music. My guess is Dean Martin’s not the only one that’s going to get a kick in the head tonight.”

Satyr nodded, then gave up. Let the destruction begin.

…

There was virtually nothing left of her clinic. A few charred instruments, burned chairs and tables, mangled fixtures, and the soggy skeleton that had been her medical bag.

She had a second kit in the car, but little in the way of meds. Those were easily replenished—she had insurance, after all. However, she wasn’t even sure if what remained of the building would be structurally sound at that point.

While Johnny dealt with the cover-up angle of the explosion and fire, Melia tackled the personal side of things. That being her patients, who she agreed to see at her house, and shocked townspeople who wanted her take on what could possibly have happened to destroy not only the town’s clinic, but also the pottery shop next to it and the shoe store on the other side.

And then there was Ethan. The moment she’d uttered the word “husband,” he’d deflated. His shoulders had slumped, his breath had rushed out, and he’d bowed his head.

“I see.” Hope had sparked briefly as he’d raised his eyes. “Estranged or ex?”

What could she say? “Ex.”

“Bad weasel!” Cas had determined, punching a fist into his open palm.

“He’s not bad. He’s just… We divorced three years ago. I haven’t— It’s not— I don’t know where we’ll go now.” Why was there never a convenient bank robbery when you needed one? “It’s complicated,” she’d finished finally.

“I suppose he’s here looking for a reconciliation.” Ethan had stopped Cas from throwing punches into the air. “You don’t have to answer. Cas is getting worked up. I’ll take him to the diner, let Ma watch over him. When I get back, we can survey the damage, see what’s to be done.”

“Thank you, Ethan. I’ll see you later, Cas.”

Guilt haunted her for the rest of the day. So did the residual anger she simply could not get past. They followed her into sleep, as did Johnny’s kiss after the explosion. Needless to say, it was the kiss and her reaction to it that turned her dreams into an emotion-filled roller coaster ride.

She woke late, feeling bruised and conflicted. A shower helped. Sunshine helped. Ninety degrees of heat and humidity didn’t.

Gert had coffee and oatmeal waiting for her when she stumbled downstairs. The hot cereal told her Bette was in control at that moment.

“Your incredibly sexy ex-husband said to tell you he was on it and not to leave the house until he got back. And if you do leave, not to try and lose your tail.” Gert as Bette winked at her. “I love the subterfuge of it all, darling. My question to you is why? You told me Johnny was an old flame. Why not tell everyone else the same tale?”

“Confusion. Irritation. A desire to keep him at arm’s length. I don’t know, Gert. Maybe it just seemed easier somehow. I didn’t want to answer a lot of personal questions.”

“Which you’ll have to answer now in any case.” Mabel Travers gave the doorframe a cursory knock before she strode in. She had a coffee cake in one hand and a container of huckleberries in the other. “My boys are crushed,” she announced, plopping her ample butt down in a chair. “Coffee smells wonderful, Gert, if you’re pouring.”

Gert did, albeit with tight lips and no hint of a greeting.

“Ethan’s hopeful—it’s how he’s made—but Cas has been dragging himself around like an ailing dog ever since he heard the news.”

Melia regarded Gomer, asleep by the panty door with Pepper curled up on his back. The dog gave a soft bark, opened one eye, and growled a little.

Shaking her head, Mabel arched a questioning brow at Melia. “Any chance Ethan’s right to hope? Are you and your ex-husband getting back together?”

Melia sipped her coffee. “I don’t have an answer for you, Mabel.”

“Do you have an answer for Steve Saxon?”

“Steve? No. I mean…no.” She set her cup down. “Steve’s not interested in me. Not any more than he’s interested in half a dozen other women in town. He’s not looking to get involved.”

“And neither are you.”

“No.”

“Glad to hear it.” Leaning forward, she sandwiched Melia’s hand between her larger ones. “Life’s too short to be indecisive, don’t you think, or to hanker after what’s been and gone. My Ethan’s a good, solid man. Young, hardy, and strong. Cas adores you. And you must know I’ve been hoping for more between all of you ever since you came to town.”

Had she known that? Probably, Melia admitted. Had she ignored it? Absolutely.

Mabel patted her arm. “Let’s leave it there, shall we? No firm decision’s been made one way or the other, so I’ll be big and say may the best man win. Now, I brought you a cake, some berries, and a piece of news to go with your morning coffee. Ethan talked to the foremen at both construction sites, and they’re willing to loan you some men to help rebuild the clinic and restore the shops on either side of it. Assuming the walls are still intact, it shouldn’t be too big a job to get you up and running again.”

“That is excellent news, darling,” Gert said to Melia. “Should we celebrate the rebuild somehow?”

“I have an idea on that score.” Mabel beamed. “Ethan’s birthday is next week. I’m fixing to throw him a surprise party at my place. An early one, so he really will be surprised. I’m thinking Friday, but I’ll let you know. I want you to come. You, too, Gert, and a passel of other folks. We’ll dance and sing and let our hair down all the way. What do you say?”

What could she say? “That’s very nice of you, Mabel. Does the invitation include Johnny?”

Mabel’s expression soured, then quickly cleared. “I— Of course. Yes, of course it does.”

Melia knew that couldn’t have been easy for her, so she smiled. “Thanks, Mabel. We’ll be there.”

Gert shrugged. “And me, I suppose. I’ll bring brownies and mai tai mix.”

“You do that.” Mabel released Melia’s hand. “It’ll be fun. You just bring yourself, doc, and…” She pointed in the direction of the upstairs guest room. “Leave the rest of the party preparations to me. Now you skedaddle over to your phone and have Ethan set you up with the site managers. And remember.” Her eyes glittered in the morning light. “You left your husband for a reason. You need to keep that reason in mind before you go jumping back into a relationship with him. I hate to say it, but he strikes me as a rather dangerous man.”

Melia summoned a placid smile. “Oh, he’s dangerous, all right. Very much so. Ask any of the people he’s worked with over the years. Any that are still alive, that is.”

…

Johnny talked to several people between eight a.m. and noon. First up was Steve Saxon. It was a lousy way to start the day, but it had to be done. They talked in Saxon’s kitchen, where no fewer than six pictures of the man adorned his walls and fridge. In the end, Johnny concluded that Steve wanted a trophy relationship rather than a real one. No idea where that left the guy’s late lover.

“Tell Mel I’d be happy to help with the rebuild of her clinic,” the newborn farmer said. “I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to fight the fire yesterday.”

“I imagine farm life keeps you pretty busy.” Johnny watched a chicken peck at something on the porch outside the door. “How often do you get into town?”

“Two, three times a week.”

“Yeah? Was yesterday one of those times?”

Steve’s muscles tightened visibly. “I might have driven in to buy some feed. Can’t say what time that would have been.”

Johnny grinned. “It’s not important. If I need to know, I can find out.”

“You not being Mel’s cousin is a story that’s spreading like wildfire. It’s not the only thing. You some kind of cop, or just a nosy bystander?”

“Mostly the first thing. Sometimes the second.”

Crossing the floor, Steve opened the door with a fair bit of force. “How long were you two married?”

Johnny kept his response easy. “Long enough that I’m not going to let anything happen to her.”

“Didn’t do a very good job of that yesterday, did you?”

No, he hadn’t. And Johnny was still kicking himself for not anticipating that kind of trouble.

Accepting the open door as his cue to leave, he headed out onto the porch. “Look, Melia’s still alive. She’s also a lot tougher than you think, and she knows her own mind better than anyone I’ve ever met.”

Steve’s answering scowl would have frightened small children. But overall, he looked more snarly than jealous to Johnny. Interesting. Maybe Mel had been right about him. Didn’t mean he hadn’t been recruited and sent there by Satyr, but it was also possible he was exactly what he appeared to be.

All in all, Johnny reflected as he drove off, the visit hadn’t told him much. He’d check the guy out, get the details on his trip to town the day before, and file the information away to be used as needed.

Next up, he stopped by the auto repair shop to talk to Percy. The mechanic liked Mel, and he was more than happy to gossip.

“This here’s my temporary helper, AJ. They don’t need him at the site today. So he’s helping me. He used to drive stock cars down Tallahassee way.”

“Before I got thumped in the head and lost some of the sight in one eye,” the mop-topped man put in.

Like Linda, he wore pop-bottle glasses and a perpetual smile. Maybe the two were related. Most people there seemed to be.

“When Percy’s hand’s back working right, maybe I could help put Doc Rose’s clinic together again,” AJ offered. “I haven’t done a lot of construction work over the past few years, so my hands are blistered up pretty bad right now, but that’ll pass. Hasn’t stopped me from pulling wrenches in my spare time. How’s your vehicle running?”

“Well enough to get me around.” Johnny turned back to Percy. “Mel said someone rolled a grenade into the examining room while she was looking at your hand. I don’t suppose you saw who did it.”

Percy shook his head. “Wish I had, but no such luck. Me and the doc were talking about Matt Damon, my wife’s favorite actor. I was telling Doc Rose about her and him when she spotted the grenade. After that…” He made an explosive sound. “Things went nuts. Some kind of gas started filling up the room. I don’t think it came from the grenade. I guess it couldn’t. Anyway, it was there, and man, it made me see stars.”

“Like nerve gas or something?” AJ made a disgusted sound. “In a puny little town like this? Man.”

“Hard to believe, huh?”

AJ shrugged and sighed. “I’d say yes, but one of my brothers died in a town even smaller than here. He was passing through, got in the way of a gas station robbery.” Nudging his glasses up, he peered at Johnny. “It’s tough losing a brother.”

What could he say to that? Johnny nodded, asked Percy a few more questions, and left.

Rolling the tension from his neck, he started for the closest construction site, the new high school, on foot. By ten a.m. the heat was oppressive, with air so humid it was like being in a sauna. A dip in any body of water over five feet deep that didn’t contain alligators would have been a godsend about then, especially if he could talk Mel into joining him.

She hadn’t been resistant to his kisses, so far. Not really. She hadn’t shoved him away and slapped him, or gotten angry and told him off. What she had done was respond, in a way that had tempted him to try and talk himself into her bed last night. That might have been taking advantage, but given his own reaction to her, did he care?

Yeah, he did. He’d cop to wanting her more than his next breath, but he was only going to push her so far.

“Yo, Johnny,” Laidlaw called to him from the far side of the street. Tucking his keys into his pocket, the big man jogged over. “Mel’s housekeeper makes fucking fine flapjacks. I got breakfast and a movie reenactment before my eyes were all the way open. Then a girl came by crying her eyes out and spoiled my second helping.”

“Was her name Cady Brewer?”

“Brewer, I think, but the first name was Susie or Sandy.”

“Susie.” Not that he couldn’t guess, but Johnny asked anyway. “Why was she crying?”

“Said something about a guy named Lowell.”

“Lyle.”

“She swears it’s Lowell.”

“He says it’s Lyle. Okay, that’s a red flag I’m going to pursue.”

“Slept with her older sister. I didn’t catch her name. Susie wants to rat the guy out to her daddy, but Mel said murder’s not the answer. Which is what her daddy would do if he found out Lyle’s been messing with his daughters, even if they are of age. I tell you, Johnny, I’m not having kids. I’m especially not having girls. I’d be in prison for life if a boy even looked cross-eyed at one of them.”

Johnny grinned. “You were in prison when McCabe found you.”

“On a trumped-up charge that McCabe saw through and untangled in a few weeks. If you’re wanting to have a chat with Lyle, Susie says he might be hiding out at the site where you appear to be heading. He’s supposed to be installing toilets today.”

Was he in the mood to torment a man who’d screwed a couple of young girls around for the sake of satisfying his own horny libido? Damn right he was.

“Good cop, bad cop,” he said to Laidlaw. “You want to wear the white hat for a change?”

“For real?” Laidlaw chuckled. “That’ll be a helluva switch. You sure you can do bad?”

“Oh yeah.” Johnny set his sights on the high school just coming into view on the edge of town. “I can do bad every bit as well as Ben Satyr.” His gaze hardened for a moment as he thought back. “I might even do it better.”