“You, again. I… Where’s Lowell, I mean Lyle.”
“It’s Lowell.” Johnny went down the stairs at an easy pace. “And you’d know that because you went through his wallet more than once, didn’t you?”
“No.” But her blush betrayed the lie.
“Yeah, I think you did. You also saw him without his shirt on, didn’t you? And his pants.”
The blush deepened, then turned blotchy.
“Tell me, Susie.” He joined her on the path. “Did he have any bite marks on his leg?”
“What?” Clearly, she’d been expecting a very different question. “No. He had, like, a sort of bruise on his calf, but that was, you know, from work.”
“What about his right arm? Any distinguishing marks or grazes?”
“Only more bruises.”
“Black and red bruises?”
“No, more yellow and green. He was an ass.” She touched her left breast, smiled with a smugness that spoke volumes for what was hidden there. “But I made him pay some back. Is he gone for good?”
“I’d say so.”
“What about his roommate, Andy? Daddy’ll be ticked if he leaves, too, on account of our truck’s been backfiring like crazy lately. Anyways, him and Lowell aren’t friends. They just both came to town to work. Lowell was the one with the moves.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet.”
Her expression turned coy. “D’you have moves?”
“Not the kind you’d appreciate, kid. Dr. Rose is my ex-wife.”
Astonishment had her jaw dropping. “Seriously? You and the doc were married? That’s freaking crazy.”
Johnny glanced across the water. Something metallic glinted in the waning sunlight. When he spotted it a second time, his reflexes kicked in.
“Son of a bitch,” he hissed. Grabbing Susie Brewer, he took her down—a split second before a bullet whizzed over his head.
…
James Mockerie still couldn’t get the email he’d received out of his mind. His most regretful mother. Who was where these days? In Zurich? Rome? Fucking Outer Mongolia?
He’d gone three rounds with Satyr’s cigarette girl Chloe the day before, and afterward with another woman whose name he couldn’t remember. Sexually, he was spent. Physically, his fists hurt from banging them against a face of a smug-ass slot machine that he’d wound up shooting in the end.
Satyr hadn’t made a fuss. Hadn’t been happy, but he’d let it go. Scars and wisdom. No one respected those two things more than Mockerie.
Back in his desert home, he kicked every piece of furniture he passed. Maybe he’d set fire to the place and relocate to a new spot. Change his email address. Then, if he was lucky, his mother would leave him alone.
Did that bastard McCabe know where she was? He knew every other thing on the planet, so why not that, too?
When the phone rang, he threw it at the wall. Destruction might be counterproductive, but it felt damn good. It also got the demons out. Temporarily.
Lifting his hand, he stared at his half finger and the ring he wore on it. Minor triumph there. His father’s wedding ring hadn’t gone to the grave with him as his father, his mother, and everyone else had wished.
His mother didn’t understand. She never had, and she never would. His father had been appalled by him. He hadn’t seen potential at all. Only Rowena had seen that, and only briefly.
Well Rowena was gone now, wasn’t she? So was his father, dead and buried. Sustenance for all the crawlies of the earth. Meanwhile, he continued to thrive, continued to hold all the cards, even if no one knew it but him.
Satyr would thank him someday, likely sooner rather than later. His personal vendetta would be over and done, and he could get back to the business of dealing drugs and selling weapons.
Melia Rose was a pain, but she’d torture well, Mockerie had no doubt. Women usually did. He might even take a slice or two off Johnny Hunt just for the hell of it. Pretend he was slicing into McCabe.
Oh yes, now there was a satisfying image. Beautiful Melia Rose lying on a table, covered with blood. Screaming. Screaming. While Johnny Hunt watched, and he and Ben Satyr looked on.
Happy day. “Take that, Mother,” he said aloud. Then he smiled and held up his half-gone middle finger. “Fuck you, McCabe.”
Chapter Eleven
Melia heard the shot echo from across the river. It was followed by a second one a moment later. With Dick Brewer barreling along behind her, she raced down the path to the makeshift guesthouse.
“Johnny! Susie!” They were lying on the ground in a patch of tall weeds. She saw Johnny roll over and Susie scramble to her feet. Wild-eyed and terrified, the girl bolted into the trees.
“That way.” She motioned Dick to the left. “She’s heading toward the smoke—house!” The last syllable came out in a startled gasp as Johnny launched himself upright and took her legs out from under her.
No more shots rang out. The only sounds she heard were birds, insects, and bullfrogs tweeting, buzzing, and croaking in the lazy, late afternoon heat.
“What?” she demanded. She remained on her back, half afraid to breathe. When Johnny raised his head, she whispered, “Do you see someone?”
“I didn’t see anyone before. Only the glint of a rifle barrel.”
“Across the river?”
He nodded and continued to scan. “There’s nothing now.”
“Can I sit up?”
For an answer, he got to his knees and drew her up with him. “Stay below the level of the bushes,” he cautioned.
“I intend to. What happened? I mean, I know what happened, but what was the reason for it? I wasn’t with you, and even though Susie obviously was, no one could possibly have mistaken her for me. For one thing, she has blond hair.”
A faint smile tugged on Johnny’s lips. “She also has bigger tits.”
Melia glanced down. “What? Wait a minute. My tits are just fine.”
“And a bigger ass.”
“Oh, well, that.” Somewhat mollified, she tugged on her tank top, took another quick look at her breasts, and then turned her attention to the water. “Did you talk to Felcher?”
“Briefly. He wasn’t happy when he left.”
“Was he angry enough to stop and take a few potshots at you?”
“He might have been. He wasn’t any too pleased with Susie, either, but I’m not convinced it was him. How long would it take someone driving a truck to reach the opposite shore?”
“Half an hour at least. Boat would be faster, maybe fifteen minutes or so.”
“Rowboat?”
“That would take longer, and there aren’t many docks on that side.”
“So not really feasible.”
She caught hold of his forearms and shook her head. “Talk to me, Johnny. What are you thinking?”
“I’m not sure. Susie’s an unlikely target for anyone except Lowell, and he’s not really in the picture, since the time frames don’t fit. You weren’t here, and it would be hard for a shooter to mistake Susie for you. Which doesn’t leave a whole helluva lot.”
Melia sent him an exasperated look. “It leaves you, hotshot. Maybe Satyr’s getting impatient.”
“If he is, he’ll ramp up the attempts on your life, not come after me. Where’s the fun in killing me while you’re still alive?”
“What about Mockerie? He might want you dead so Satyr can get back to business sooner rather than later.”
“Maybe.” Johnny went from his knees to a crouch. “I’m not buying it, but the possibility’s there.”
“And the wheel continues to turn.”
“Faster and faster,” he agreed. “In any case, my job here is done. You might want to warn Dick Brewer about Felcher, tell him to make sure he knows where his daughters are for the next several nights.”
Melia let him help her stand. “I know where I’d like to be for the next several nights.”
“Any place but where you are?”
“Pretty much. Maybe we should go to a movie.”
“Deception Cove has a theater?”
“It has two screens, actually.” She noticed he positioned himself between her and the water. Which made no sense, for all the reasons they’d listed. However, being Johnny, he wouldn’t listen to logic. Or if he did listen, he’d ignore it anyway.