She fastened her bag, removed her latex gloves. “No, he doesn’t. Well, he can, but he hasn’t bared them at me.”
Joseph wrapped his fingers around her arm. “I know there’s something going on between you, Mel. I just want to say I never trusted him. He’s into bad shit. The best thing you ever did was sleep with—I mean, accidentally spend the night with that stranger.”
Which she’d told him about in a moment of weakness when she’d first come to Deception Cove.
“There’s more to the story than you know.” Scooping the hair from her neck, she let the fan-cooled air inside reach her skin. “I can’t get into it right now. I’m only going to tell you that there’s trouble, it isn’t over, and Johnny’s here to help.”
Joseph’s gaze circled the room. “I’m really sorry, Mel.” Something more than nerves pumped from him. “I’d never hurt you on purpose. We’re family, after all. But I still think Johnny’s toxic. Bad shit follows wherever he goes. Hell, it precedes him.”
Before Melia could debate that remark, Linda tapped on the kitchen doorframe.
“Uh, doc? I don’t mean to interrupt, but I need my purse. Also, Carl said to tell you he spotted a boat out back while he was collecting his garden tools. He’s seen it a couple of times since we got here today. Going one way first and then the other. There are two men in it. One’s rowing. The other’s carrying a rifle.”
…
“Lotta folks in these parts carry rifles.” Carl puffed along behind Johnny as he ran down the path toward the water. “I wasn’t trying to upset anyone, only I know Joseph doesn’t care for unwanted guests. Still, you can’t stop people from floating on the river.”
Johnny spotted the boat Carl had mentioned. Halting, he crouched behind a misshapen hickory tree with protruding roots and drew the large man down next to him. “They’re looking for something.”
“Fish, probably.” Carl regarded Johnny’s Glock. “That’s a mighty powerful weapon you got there. Is Los Angeles as dangerous as all that?”
“Can be. That guy’s not fishing.”
“Hunting, maybe?”
“Possibly.” But not animals.
Carl tapped his shoulder. “I saw ’em a couple or three times when I got here earlier today. If it wasn’t them, it was two who look a lot like them. Rowing and scouting. Could be they’re after gators.”
Johnny squinted at the cruising pair. The man rowing had a tattoo on his forearm and a leather thong tied hippie fashion around his bald head. The other guy, the one with the rifle, reminded him of a billy goat, from his scraggly brown goatee to his stringy brown hair. As they passed the back of the house, the billy goat used the tip of his rifle to point. The rower immediately angled the boat toward shore.
“Shit.” Johnny sized up the distance. He could run back, grab Mel, and get the hell out of there, or take them on before they reached the yard.
“Stay here,” he told Carl. “Don’t attract their attention, and you’ll be fine.”
Confused, Carl started to stand. “Fine how? What’s going on?”
“Just stay put,” Johnny said and, keeping low, took off in a diagonal line.
Once onshore, the men were virtually soundless. The one with the rifle gestured forward again. Johnny figured from where the guy was standing that he’d probably spotted Melia’s Explorer. Which would have been the point of them cruising on the river.
“Asshole,” he muttered, and he wasn’t referring to the pair in front of him.
Satyr’s people or Mockerie’s? If they were Satyr’s, then this was a different-than-usual tactic. But who said tactics couldn’t be revised? Satyr wasn’t directly involved there. Not hands-on involved anyway. That might come later, likely would, but for the moment, he’d keep to the sidelines. He could view things with greater clarity from there. Maybe larger numbers appealed to him more than strategic maneuvers these days. One way or the other, in the end, Johnny knew it was all about making him suffer.
The bald rower yanked a Luger from his belt. They were heading straight for Joseph’s house.
A loud snap behind Johnny broke the afternoon stillness. It was followed by a muffled yelp that could only have come from Carl.
The billy goat took aim, while the other man pivoted into a crouch and fired in a wide arc.
Johnny waited. If Carl had any sense, he’d hang back. If he came into the open, he’d die. Or at least get shot. These guys meant business.
Dozens of thoughts whirled through Johnny’s brain. Topping the list was an idea he hadn’t considered until a few minutes ago. And wouldn’t again until those two bastards were history.
He held fire. The billy goat was set and ready. His partner moved his gun back and forth, searching.
Picking up a handful of mud and pebbles, Johnny threw them to his right. Both men tracked the sound and squeezed their triggers. Johnny set his sights and brought them down with two shots. No fuss, little muss.
Because he knew better than to leave anything to chance, he made his way to where they lay, checked their bodies, and took their weapons.
When he returned, he found Carl plastered to a tree trunk, looking ashen and shocked. “I moved,” the man said. “I’m sorry. My big feet got tangled up in a vine. I sat on a fallen branch. Did you— Are they…dead?”
“Not sure.” Johnny slung the rifle strap over his shoulder. “Hunting gators is illegal here, right?”
Carl managed a nod.
“In that case, we’ll call them poachers and contact Sheriff Travers.”
He saw Melia running down the path toward him. She had a rifle, probably Joseph’s, in her hand.
“What happened?” she panted, skidding to a halt beside him. “Are you all right?” she asked Carl.
“I’m fine. I— ”
“We heard shots,” she said to Johnny. “Where did they come from?”
“Poachers. Two of them.” He glanced at Carl, still shell-shocked and stuck to the tree. “We need to contact the authorities—sheriff and paramedics… They’re dead,” he said under his breath. “Call Laidlaw. His number’s on my phone.”
“I— Yes.” She removed it from his back pocket and searched his contact list. “Wait a minute. Where are we going?”
Johnny had already grabbed her free hand. “Up to the house. My gut says someone there has a lot of explaining to do.”
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.