“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.