She couldn’t deny it was an exquisite combination of fear and anticipation, of spiraling need and memories deeply rooted in the past.
The night had a rich, shadowy texture. So did the feel of his skin on hers. Sensations rippled through her—warred with emotions too deep to fully understand. Lost in the mix, Melia needed a moment to breathe.
“It’s too much,” she said against his lips. “I can’t think.”
“You’re not supposed to.”
He could have taken her under again all too easily, could have seduced her with kisses that drugged her thoughts and kept her completely off-balance. But he released her instead and settled for searching her features in the wash of dark and light.
Breathing out, she rested her forehead on his. “It always shocks me,” she murmured. “That incredible rush of emotion I don’t expect or even necessarily realize is buried inside me. You play dirty, Johnny. The only thing that saves it for you is that I think you get swept up as much as I do.”
“Which is dangerous as hell, and the lone area where I seem to have no control.”
Melia wasn’t sure why that admission made her so happy. She smiled as she sat back, still straddling him, and pushed the hair from her face.
She felt hot and aroused, and told herself she had to get over both things fast, before she gave in to temptation and said to hell with time, place, and danger. She wanted to feel him moving inside her again, and who cared about the consequences.
In her back pocket, her cell phone vibrated. And so the door slammed on reckless opportunity. Probably just as well, she reflected with a sigh.
She climbed from Johnny’s lap, regretful but resolved, and pulled out her phone to look at the screen.
“Did someone sprain an ankle?” Johnny asked. He might look and sound unaffected, but Melia knew him well enough to recognize the bluff.
“I don’t know. It says Super Con., whatever that means.” She dropped into her seat. “Dr. Rose speaking.”
“Still the professional,” a man’s familiar voice drawled.
The gravel in it was more pronounced that time, but it was the same person who’d called her about the wrapped box in her house.
“It’s him,” Melia mouthed to Johnny and angled the phone so he could hear.
“There you sit in a hothouse theater, watching a movie about old world gangsters when, hell, honey, you got a big-as-life crime boss all over your pretty ass. Says to me you can’t get enough of the real thing. So I’ll tell you what, doc. I’m gonna add a little spice to your movie date night. The moment when that old projector machine stalls out and the film fries and snaps apart, there’s gonna be a bang. A big one. Oh, by the way, you got a patient lying on the projection room floor. Unconscious for the moment, but come the big bang, he ain’t gonna be feeling any too good. Neither will you unless your movie buddy gets his butt in gear. Have a nice night, Dr. Rose.”
Chapter Twelve
Johnny had to think quickly. Phone call, warning, chance to stop the blast from taking place.
He got the warning. The specifics of where that particular explosive was hidden, not so much. Still…
He used his phone even as he yanked Melia to her feet. “Laidlaw. Balcony stairs. Get Mel outside. Now.”
“We have to get everyone outside now.” Melia cast a fearful look at the booth above them. “We also need to take care of the projectionist. That’s on me.”
“No, rounding up the people below is on you. And Laidlaw.” Spinning her around, Johnny shoved her toward the stairs. “Warn the manager. Clear both theaters. And stay close to Laidlaw.”
The big man thundered up the stairs. “What? Gas, fire, explosion, what?”
“Potential explosive device. Take Melia. Get everyone out. I’m going up.”
“But—” Melia began.
“Don’t argue. Just get outside.”
He had to trust she’d do as he said—that Laidlaw would make sure she did, with or without a fight.
A narrow staircase led to the room that housed the projector. As promised, a bald man with a rim of gray hair lay on the floor behind the table. Johnny checked to see that he was still breathing, then he turned his attention to the outdated machine.
Would it blow if he switched it off? He fast-forwarded through a handful of scenarios. The one he liked least was the last one that occurred to him.
What if there was no explosive device? Satyr had to have known he’d go up there and try to find the thing. Satyr also would have banked on the fact that he wouldn’t bring Melia with him. Melia was the target, the one Satyr wanted dead. Therefore…
“Shit. Fuck. Damn!”
Flicking the projector off, Johnny made a cursory scan of its guts, then ran. Down the stairs into the main seating area.
“What’s going on? Why do we have to leave?” Linda’s pop-bottle glasses made her look slightly cross-eyed and doubly terrified.
“Just go, all of you. Use the emergency exit. Where’s Melia?”
Carl pointed. “Some big man with a headband yelled at us, then dragged her out the side door.”
Percy cradled his bandaged hand. “I knew we shoulda stayed home and played checkers. I just knew it. Next time, Angie.”
“Move,” Johnny said. Corralling them, he followed the foursome, the last of the movie goers, into the alley.
Grabbing his phone, he called Laidlaw. “Where are you?” he demanded.
“Standing outside Melia’s Explorer. Some asshole pushed a woman down and stole her purse. I didn’t see him do it. Both of her knees are bleeding, and she might’ve hit her head. Doc’s tending to her.”
Johnny couldn’t have said where the certain knowledge came from, how he knew without question that whatever was going to happen would go down on the street. Instinct, maybe? Years of training? Proximity to McCabe? The visual simply popped into his head, and with it, the kind of instant terror he’d seldom experienced.
Vaulting over two car hoods, he ran across the street to her vehicle.
“Get the injured woman,” he told Laidlaw. “Stay back,” he shouted to Linda and Carl, who were headed toward them.
“Johnny, what—” Melia began.
“Later,” he said and, snatching her hand, got her away from her Explorer.
They stopped outside the beauty salon, close to her scorched clinic, and looked back.
“Nothing in the theater?” she panted. “Because—”
Although the explosion that interrupted her rocked the entire block, it wasn’t as big as it sounded. Still, if she’d been kneeling next to her vehicle when it went off, Johnny knew she would have been killed.
Grinding his teeth, he let the growl in his throat roll out. “Son of a bitch.” He made eye contact with Laidlaw, who had Linda, Carl, Percy, and Angie pinned against the wall of the drugstore across from them.
Despite the cloying heat, Melia shivered and closed her eyes. “That was calculated to throw you off and finish the job, wasn’t it?” There was a faint tremor in her voice, but more than that, he heard temper. “That bastard would have killed the woman I was helping as well as me and not cared one bit.” Disgust invaded her tone. “The woman’s name’s Evelyn, Johnny. She’s the minister’s wife.”
…
After a sleepless night and a long day filled with questions from Ethan Travers, who appeared hellbent on blaming him for everything that had transpired the previous evening, the last thing Johnny needed was a looming thunderstorm and enough heat lightning to power the town for three days.
“I need to get back to Washington.” McCabe perched on a tree stump in the swamp behind Melia’s place. “My business in Miami’s done, and much as I’d like to hang around and help you, I’m answerable to one or two demanding government types. Have you diffused any talk of possible terrorism?”
“It took some doing, but yeah, as much as I could. Travers wants to pin everything on my presence here, so he’s fine with her being the target of another deranged attack.”