Chapter Two

Deception Cove.

The name sounded vaguely mysterious. It was the kind of place where people with secrets might live.

Melia had a secret—a dark truth she refused to acknowledge most days. It haunted her at night, and had for the past three years, but during the day, she could sometimes forget it existed. Unfortunately it did exist, and the guilt that came with it would be with her forever. It wouldn’t matter how far she ran, or how many places she tried to hide. There was no escaping the ugly fact that she’d cheated on her husband. Whether she wanted to believe it or not, the images were in her head—the view of Atlantic City, Matthew in her room holding a wineglass, smiling down at her as she sank onto the cloud of her bed… She shuddered whenever she thought about it.

The air smelled ever so slightly of the swamp as she examined her final patient of the day. The man, a local mechanic, held up a blackened hand. “Damn rat bit me,” he declared. “Biggest sucker you ever saw, doc. Fat as a racoon and then some.”

Hiding a smile, Melia washed both the cut and his dirty hand. “Must’ve been a really old rat, Percy. Its teeth were large and blunt.”

“Yeah, well, rats get old, too, right?” He squirmed in his seat. “Just make the pain go away and patch me up so I can get back to work on Sheriff Travers’s truck.”

The smile broke through. “Oh, I can’t let you go back to work, not just like that. You’ll need a series of shots first. For rabies.”

“What?” Percy snatched his wounded hand away, cradling it against his chest. “You gone batty or something? I don’t want no needles.”

Melia drew his arm back toward her. “Rats can carry a number of diseases. Rabies is one of them. Unless you killed it and can show me the corpse, I have to assume rabies and give you the proper treatment. Otherwise you run the risk of developing hydrophobia.”

His eyes narrowed in mistrust. “What’d happen if I did develop it?”

“You’d die.”

“From a little bite?”

“Big bite,” Melia countered. She probably shouldn’t have done it, but she couldn’t resist teasing him. That wasn’t the first time he’d had teeth marks on some part of his arm. “Yours seems to have been inflicted by an old rat with a powerful jaw and blunt teeth.”

Percy lowered his gaze to his lap. “Maybe it weren’t a rat at that. Maybe it was old Butch, my dog. He doesn’t have rabies.”

“He might, if he was bitten by a rat. Anyway, Butch doesn’t have enough teeth left to bite anyone, even if he could rouse himself long enough to do it. You need shots, Percy.” Melia raised her brows and continued the teasing tone. “Unless you’d like to change your story.”

A red stain crept up his stubbly neck. “Why would I do that?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because you don’t want me to think you weren’t quick enough to avoid your wife’s teeth. Rumor has it this has happened before. Did you bite her first?”

Percy’s head snapped up. “No! She bit me because I wouldn’t give her no-good brother a job.”

“I thought you gave him a job four months ago.”

“I did. I’ve hired and fired him three times. Dumbass blew up an engine last week. Hell, doc, all I asked him to do was change the frigging oil. He tried to tell me the engine blew itself up, but that’s a load of bull and I knew it. And he knew I knew it. Only one who didn’t know it was my wife, and he went bellyaching straight to her with his load of crap. Does that seem right to you? Her taking his side and not mine?”

Melia sighed. “Don’t ask me, Percy. I’m no expert on marriage. I’ll assume Angie doesn’t have rabies.”

“She’s got venom, and plenty of it.” He jerked a shoulder. “But no rabies.” He stabbed the index finger of his injured hand at her. “This stays between you and me, right? Sheriff Travers is Angie’s cousin. He gives me enough grief as it is.”

“He gives you grief, you fix his truck.” Melia finished cleaning the wound. “Sounds like a workable trade-off to me. But no, I won’t say anything. Doctor-patient privilege. What happens in this office stays in this office. At least, it does for me.”

“I hope you mean that.” Melia felt Percy’s stare grow speculative as she worked. At length, he cleared his throat. “So. You, uh, got a thing going with the sheriff?”

“What? No. I mean, we’ve gone out a few times. I like him. He’s definitely a better cook than I am. Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. You know folks like to talk. How’s about that developer guy from Jacksonville?”

“Nope.”

“The farmer who used to be a fireman down Miami way? He did a calendar. Angie says he’s hot as sizzling spit. Course, Angie also thinks her dumbass brother looks just like Matt Damon. He likes you, by the way.”

“Who, Matt Damon?”

“No, Angie’s dumbass brother. Keep up, doc. You about done patching me up?”

“Getting close. Bite’s not as deep as you probably think. Use a glove while you’re doing stuff for the next week or so to keep the bandage clean.” She knew he wouldn’t, but she had to make the suggestion.

“You ever been married?” Percy asked out of the blue. Then he jerked back. “Ow.”

“Sorry.” She breathed through a rush of guilt and pain. “I was married once,” she said. “It didn’t last.”

“What happened?”

When cornered, lie. She smiled. “Nothing earth shattering. We had very different careers. Things got in the way of our long-term happiness.”

“Sounds like big city bullshit to me.”

“We lived in L.A.”

“Figures.” He considered for a moment. “Hollywood’s in L.A. Did you ever meet Matt Damon?”

She grinned. “Saw him. Twice. Your brother-in-law doesn’t look a thing like him.” Pushing away, she rummaged in a drawer. “Here’s a glove you can use when you’re not working. It’s washable. Come back in two days, and I’ll change the dressing. Don’t get your hand wet, and don’t pull any wrenches for at least that long. We’ll see what’s what after that.” She poked his arm before he could argue. “Sheriff Travers has more than one vehicle. He can make do. I’ll give you something for the pain and something else to stop any infection.”

He stood. “Pills, or those things you shove up your butt?”

After writing out the prescriptions and handing them to him, she opened the door to the examining room. “Live dangerously, Percy. Find out when you get these filled. And keep a positive thought. Maybe some of the construction workers rolling into town will need work done on their vehicles.”

“Maybe.” Percy let his gaze slide to the far side of the waiting room. Melia followed it and spotted a man in the corner. He had his back to her, but she knew him well enough that her stomach muscles immediately knotted. Johnny, was her first thought, followed by a vision of blood and, God help her, possibly worse.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

Turning, the man offered her a slow smile. “Hey there, Dr. Rose. Not what you’re probably thinking, so you can relax. What’s it been? Fourteen, fifteen months?”

Not what she was probably thinking. Well, of all people, McCabe would know. But whatever his reason for being there, he was a wrinkle she really didn’t need in her already twisted life.

Like a dog with a bone, Percy nudged her arm. “You two related?”

“Not really,” she replied. “Tony here is my cousin’s ex-husband’s former brother-in-law.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a survivalist from Colorado. Go to the drugstore, Percy. Pick up your painkillers and apologize to Angie. Watch a movie together tonight. Matt Damon, if you can find one you agree on.”

Neither she nor McCabe said anything until the door closed behind her curious patient. McCabe was a smart man, not to mention a handsome one. He had enough of a beard to disguise his face, and what the beard didn’t cover, the brim of his black hat did. He also wore a faded plaid shirt over denim, and work boots covered with at least ten layers of mud.

“Looking good, McCabe.” She locked the street door and turned the sign. “What brings you here? I’m not planning to relocate.”

“I’m not planning to relocate you.” He started toward her. “You’re looking good, too, Mel. Better than the last time we met.”

She stared him down. “What do you want?”

“To talk.” He held up his hands. “Only that. You came to me after Atlantic City when you found you couldn’t settle, and I helped you carve out a new life. Connections.” He grinned. “They come in handy.”

“They do,” she agreed. “And I appreciate you pulling strings so I could try different places, searching for the right fit.”

“Is this it?” he asked.

“Possibly. Inasmuch as anywhere ever will be.” She wouldn’t ask, she promised herself. McCabe might be Johnny’s boss, but they were also friends, and had been for several years. McCabe would have information, but…no. Better to stay on neutral ground. “I’ve been seeing a man, sort of. I have a house. And a housekeeper. Her name’s Gertrude. She swears she’s possessed by the spirit of Bette Davis.”

“Bette Davis wanted to come back over and clean houses for a living?” McCabe grinned. “You sure you don’t want to relocate? There are some great small towns in Kentucky.”

“I like the Everglades. The life cycles are fascinating.”

“And it doesn’t hurt that you were born in the area. You have a cousin here, don’t you?”

“Nearby. Joseph’s an illustrator. An artist, really, but bills have to be paid.”

“Sociable?”

“Not especially. Why are you here, McCabe?”

“Do you want the sugarcoated version, or right in your face?”

Her heart stuttered. “Has something happened to Johnny?”

He shook his head. “No.” Nodding at the partly shaded window, he asked, “Is there someplace we can talk?”

“What’s wrong with my office?”

“No offense, Melia. I don’t like doctor’s offices. A drink would be good in any case.”

Melia told herself to be patient as she removed her lab coat and pulled the clip holding her hair free. “You’re such a pain,” she said. “We can go to Carmen’s. She serves night glow bourbon.”

“What the hell’s that?”

“No idea. The only time Joseph tried it, he claimed he lost eight hours of his life.” Steadying herself, she faced him. “Does your being here involve Johnny in any way?”

He gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”

“So he’s not hurt, but he’s the reason you’re in Deception Cove.” Her smile came and went in a flash. “Maybe I’ll try some of Carmen’s night glow bourbon. What’s the worst that can happen, considering what went down in Atlantic City?”

McCabe took her arm. “We’ll stick to something safer, and I want your word you won’t throw it in my face when I tell you what I have to tell you.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know Johnny’s pissed off at me, but he isn’t a coward. Why doesn’t he tell me himself?”

“Because he’s more emotionally invested than I am.”

“And?” She sensed more.

McCabe opened the door and looked down at her. “We flipped a coin.” He moved a shoulder. “I lost.”

…

It should have been me, Johnny thought. He should have been with Melia at that moment, probably getting a drink thrown in his face. Or, hell, maybe she’d throw the whole bottle. Whatever the case, McCabe had no business dealing with it. Telling her how it had really been and why. Explaining that they’d set her up, made her believe she’d slept with another man when, in fact, he’d been a government agent with laudable acting skills and a whole lot of bonus cash in his pocket.

Johnny’s own acting job had been infinitely better, but what choice had he had? Satyr had wanted him to experience prolonged suffering. He’d wanted Johnny’s life ruined, not ended, and Melia had been his weapon of choice. He’d have killed her in a heartbeat rather than do anything to Johnny himself. And all because he blamed Johnny for the death of someone he’d loved. Someone who unfortunately hadn’t loved him… A dead man felt nothing, showed nothing, and these days, Satyr lived to revel.

“Fuck.”

Tipping back a beer that had long since gone warm, Johnny rubbed a tired eye and surveyed the town of Deception Cove from a distance. Swamps all around meant bugs swarmed by the millions. The air pulsed with them. Birds chattered and sang. On a slightly more disturbing note, he had a feeling the clicking sounds he heard didn’t come from grasshoppers. Alligators lived there, and they didn’t always confine themselves to the water.

Keeping the windows of his truck rolled down, he listened to Garth and Reba and Kenny, and pictured Melia’s reaction to the news. To the truth.

Would she understand and accept? Not a chance. Not right away, at any rate. Would she shoot the messenger, or tell him to go to hell and stay there?

He could see her doing the last thing. She had a temper—well controlled, but present when the situation warranted. And he couldn’t deny she’d be justified, except that in this case, McCabe didn’t deserve her wrath. Johnny did. Start to finish, he was the one who’d hurt her.

He shooed away a fly the size of a hummingbird, never taking his eyes off the town. It could have come straight out of a 1950s movie set, where alien creatures roamed or giant tarantulas threatened to tear up the square. McCabe’s report had stated that there was a single mechanic in residence, a mayor who drank and supported two mistresses, a diner, a hotel with a restaurant, a café, a pizza joint, and three establishments where the residents could drink, play pool, and gamble to their heart’s content.

He envisioned a school and the usual other businesses—bank, hair salon, and drug, clothing, and hardware stores. And, of course, the people who worked those businesses would need a clinic.

Enter Melia, who knew and understood swamp life and swamp ways, and who also had a cousin in the area. Combine that with the world of guilt sitting on her shoulders, and from Johnny’s perspective, the situation was tailor-made. It also sucked big time.

After checking his phone for the tenth time in ten minutes, he raised the beer bottle. He caught a subtle movement in his peripheral vision and spotted the camo immediately behind it. Holding still, he swallowed a mouthful of beer and waited.

The second movement came as expected. Bastards never traveled alone. They had binoculars and assault rifles. The rifles were stowed, but the binoculars were out and trained on the town.

Okay, so closer than McCabe realized. Or maybe it was Satyr being proactive.

Why? The question resounded in Johnny’s head. What had tipped Satyr and/or Mockerie off? Melia hadn’t been in hiding. There’d been no conversation between them. Johnny had seen to that. She’d betrayed him, and he’d left her. Their marriage was done—at least from her perspective. To hurt her wouldn’t have given Satyr the satisfaction of watching Johnny suffer. So what was it about the situation that had changed?

Did it matter at that moment?

The men in camo picked their way stealthily through the cypress trees. If they’d spotted him, they gave no indication of the fact. Unless there were more than two.

He booted the door open and rolled out of the truck just in time to avoid the pair of shots that lodged in the metal window frame next to the driver’s seat. Bracing his wrists, he took a third man out, spun into a crouch, and leveled the first two before they could access their weapons.

For a moment, all sound in the swamp ceased. Johnny didn’t move as he scanned the area. Nothing stirred, and slowly the chirps, buzzes, and hums resumed.

A huge man sporting a red bandana and green shorts materialized beside him. “My bad, Johnny. Sorry about that. I was on those guys ten miles back, and suddenly they were gone. They’ve been sitting around a camp set up to look like a group of guys fishing for the past couple weeks. Never strayed far from it. And then, like that, they did.”

“As soon as McCabe and I arrived.” Johnny motioned forward. “Was that all of them?”

“In the camp, yeah. There’s another guy who comes and goes, but he hasn’t been staying with them. I figure him for a local. He usually shows up at night, then leaves a few minutes later.” Grunting, the man shifted to a more comfortable position. “This isn’t Satyr’s usual style, is it?”

“No. These guys are probably Mockerie’s idea. Satyr tends to be more subtle. He prefers a strategic approach. He’ll want to outsmart me.”

“From the look of things, he’ll have to shut Mockerie down to do it.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem. Satyr’s grudge is personal. Mockerie likes to kill people, but if Satyr wants him to back off, it’s likely he will. Until he realizes the sick fun he’s missing. You know the type, Laidlaw.”

“Yeah, I do.” Laidlaw slanted him a canny look. “You seem to know an awful lot about the two of them. You sure you’re on our side?”

“I’m on Melia’s side.”

“Can’t blame you for that. She’s pretty damn gorgeous.”

“Not that you’ve noticed.”

“Right.” The big man swiped a forearm across his sweat-stained bandana. “This swamp’s a steam bath. There’s not a whole lot more air in the town than out here, bugs are a bitch, and I see at least two gators every damn day. Why do people live in hellholes like this?”

“Bugs don’t bite Melia. Can’t say about the rest of the population.”

Laidlaw showed his teeth. “Those bugs appear to be biting you.”

“I’m an L.A. boy. Maybe they enjoy sucking on blood that’s toxic.”

“Polluted and pumped full of drugs.”

“Speak for yourself, pal. I’m clean, mostly sober. Sober enough, anyway, to question why Satyr’s renewed his interest in Melia.”

Laidlaw snatched off his bandana and used it to flap at the mosquitoes. “You or McCabe ever consider the idea that he’s testing you? His men get close to her, then wait to see if you react?”

“The thought crossed my mind. And McCabe’s. That’s why he waited two weeks to tell me about it. Which pisses me off, even if I do see his point.”

“Two weeks and two days,” Laidlaw grumbled. “That’s how long those dead guns out there have been more or less sitting tight. Seemed weird to me that they were camped out with weapons and not going near Deception Cove, but that’s what they did, day after day, night after night. Only place they ever went was a mudhole collection of shacks and a post office called Cider Rim. Got a titty bar there, a deputy who has poker tables in his barn, and two whores named Cindy and Manuela.”

“Let me guess. You know the whores intimately.”

“Met Cindy a time or two. Manuela’s on the high side of fifty… You, uh, going somewhere?”

Standing, Johnny checked his gun. “Three dead guys, two of them creeping toward Deception Cove, one dogging me. Satyr knows I’m back, and he’s always known where Melia was. Whether he’s testing me or not, his men are going after her. Trying to figure out who, where, why, when, and how is secondary at this point to keeping Mel safe.”

“And I’m betting that’s all the detail I’m gonna get, right?”

“Yep.”

“You and McCabe are strange, you know that? Your fucking secrets have secrets.” Laidlaw used his rifle to gesture. “D’you want me to clean up the mess?”

“Be a good idea.”

The teeth came out again. “Ain’t you sweet. Giving me the fun job.”

Johnny shrugged and tucked his weapon away. “Take your pick. You can clean house or get slammed in the face by a furious woman holding a mostly full bottle of Jack Black.”

“Melia drinks whiskey?”

“No, but McCabe does. There’ll be a bottle on the table. And trust me, after talking to him, she’ll be in the mood to swing it.”

“At your head?”

“If I’m lucky and she doesn’t aim lower.”

Laidlaw retied the bandana across his forehead. “I’m starting to think I got the easier job, after all.”

Johnny was sure of it. “If I don’t come back,” he said with one last glance around, “make sure I’m burned, not buried. I don’t want to be eaten by worms.”

“Done,” Laidlaw promised. “Can I have Melia?”

“Touch her and I’ll rise from the ashes to kill you.”

“Strange,” his friend muttered, stowing his rifle. “Starting the cleanup now, Johnny… Johnny?”

Johnny heard him, but as he tended to do, he’d already vanished from sight.

…

Ben Satyr wandered through the main room of his old-style Las Vegas casino. The Silver Nugget had been big news once upon a time. A shadow of its former self these days, only strays and losers came in to wager their money at the tables.

Luckily for him, there were a good number of strays and losers in Las Vegas.

He employed cigarette girls for form and because he liked short skirts, tight tops, and fishnet stockings. The music hailed from the fifties and sixties, and he’d plastered a huge twelve-by-twenty poster of Ann-Margret at an angle on one of the glittering walls. It was just sexy enough to give the room the atmosphere he wanted.

In his left hand, he worked a pair of red dice. He habitually wore a suit, slicked his black hair back and down, and let the patch covering his right eye tell its own tale of mystery.

His boss, James Mockerie, liked the patch. He probably appreciated it, since he bore a facial scar of his own. And had part of a finger missing to boot. It made them simpatico—made them alike even if they really weren’t.

Mockerie was a chameleon, Satyr reflected. Cold and cruel to the core, but oh the bastard could charm when he made the effort. A serpent with guile to spare was how Satyr saw him.

Not that Mockerie played all that much into Satyr’s current problems or plans, but he wanted to be kept apprised, so he was coming here today, leaving the glitter of the Strip for the grit of a former era.

“Decent crowd for early afternoon, Ben.”

And right on cue, there he was. Underdressed for both worlds, yet with an unmistakable air of danger.

A brimmed hat threw his face into shadowed relief and hid the worst of the scar that ran from his left eye to the corner of his mouth. Flipside, he wore a ring on his partly missing left middle finger, so no attempt at disguise there. As for the jeans, white T-shirt, vest, and black jacket he preferred, anyone could have bought those items at a local thrift store.

Satyr continued to play with the dice. “I’m serving free beer from noon to midnight. It’s crap on tap, but they don’t care. It gets them in, gets them drunk, and gets them gambling. Which is most of the point.”

Mockerie’s lips curved. “The rest of that point being what goes on in the back rooms and cellar. How are your coke lines running?”

“Full and fast. It’s a much bigger seller than our beer.” The dice clicked during a lull in the music. “I need a favor, James.”

“You want me to back off where Johnny Hunt is concerned.” A slow smile appeared at Satyr’s tight-lipped silence. “Why the look of disapproval? I know what’s what between you and Hunt. You have a personal score to settle, and you’ve found a way to do it. It’s amazing, isn’t it, how long we humans can hold grudges, and how strongly we cling to them even as time passes. They’re like weeds in our souls. The roots grow deeper and more toxic with each passing day.”

If he’d had Hulk-like strength, Satyr’s clenched fist would have crushed the red dice to powder. Julie… The name reverberated in his head, like a bell tolling a death knell. She was dead, and it was Johnny Hunt’s fault. Maybe Johnny hadn’t been the one to pull the trigger, but he’d created the situation that had kept the two of them apart. And if he couldn’t be with her, then no way was Johnny going to be with the woman he loved. No fucking way.

Satyr controlled his fury just enough to venture a stiff, “Johnny Hunt tossed out a load of bullshit where his ex-wife was concerned, and I bought it. I’m not buying it anymore. I appreciate you sending people to help me watch her. But I can handle things from here.”

“Yes, about that.” Mockerie’s teeth took on sharklike properties in the dusky room. “It seems your man Johnny laid waste to three of my men less than thirty minutes ago.”

Every muscle in Satyr’s body hardened to stone. “He killed all of them?”

“In the blink of an eye, my spies have informed me.”

Satyr let the reference to spies pass. “I want Hunt alive.” Although he seldom challenged his boss, his eyes bored white hot into Mockerie’s shadowed ones. “Nothing works if he dies. I’ll make him pay, James, for everything he’s done. To me before and to you now. But it has to be my way and in my time.”

Mockerie plucked a box of wooden matches from the tray of a passing cigarette girl. “It can be your way and time,” he agreed. “To a certain extent. But bear in mind, I’ll be watching closely.” He struck one of the matches, letting it burn until it almost singed his fingers. “I’m involving myself in this, Ben, whether you like it or not. I’ve seen Melia’s picture. She reminds me of someone from my past…” Blowing out the flame, he lifted his gaze to Satyr’s. “I’m not sure. I’ll have to think about it.”

Satyr regarded him through the veil of smoke between them. “Just as long as Johnny Hunt suffers.”

“Oh, he will.” Mockerie chuckled, and the sound of it sent a chill crawling down Satyr’s spine. “They both will.” Leaning forward, he whispered a soft, “If we’re lucky, they might even beg.”