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.
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.”