Her cousin Joseph thought she should ditch Deception Cove and leave Johnny to face her unknown enemy’s wrath, since he was probably at the heart of it anyway.
Ethan offered to shadow her, and Steve Saxon came forward with a pair of assault rifles, origin unknown.
She knew Johnny listened from a distance even as he checked out potential suspects and continued to scope the area.
The day of Mabel’s surprise party for Ethan dawned hotter and muggier than any of its predecessors. Laidlaw had been Melia’s constant companion since the night her Explorer had blown up. On the flipside, Johnny had been a ghost. So much for that steamy interlude in the theater balcony. There’d been no further pushes on his end, no attempts to kiss her or trick her into kissing him. He’d become a specter on the periphery of her life.
Was that a good thing or bad thing? She still couldn’t answer that question. But she knew she’d have to sort through it all eventually. The jumble in her head was only getting worse.
Was the anger fading? It might be. But at that point, the overriding emotion for her seemed to be confusion. She wondered if banging her head against a wall would make anything come clear.
And why now, of all times, Johnny was giving her space.
“I really don’t understand you,” she muttered as her ninth patient of the day exited her house through the back door. “One minute, you’re all about wedding vows and sex, the next I might as well not exist. Except you want me to bake a banana cake for the party tonight.”
The porch door opened and closed while she was washing her hands. She didn’t bother to turn around. “No, you can’t lick the bowl, Laidlaw. Go back outside with Gomer and leave me alone to grumble.”
“There’s thunder rumbling in the distance.” It was Johnny, not Laidlaw, who spoke.
Turning, she saw Johnny straddling a chair as she had his lap in the theater. Melia made a sound of annoyed impatience and pointed at the door. “Go play with your human watchdog. I don’t like people in the kitchen while I bake.”
Unaffected by her words, Johnny smiled. “Let Gert bake. I want to go swimming.”
“Oh, that sounds safe.”
“It is if Laidlaw watches the only path leading to the pond. It’s half a mile south of here and shaped like an hourglass. Quicksand, poison oak, vines too thick to walk through everywhere else. Come on, Mel. You need a break, and I want one. It’s hot, tonight’s not going to be enjoyable, and even though I know you’re pissed at me on a couple of levels, I actually have been doing stuff. U.S. Marshal stuff designed to figure out who the fuck is behind these explosions and where Satyr’s mind is right now. I thought for sure he, and probably Mockerie, as well, would want to witness what he promises to be the grand finale. So why aren’t they here?”
“Maybe they are.” She dried her hands, then leaned against the counter. “There are lots of scenarios, Johnny. Setting Mockerie aside, Satyr could be a bigger coward than you think. Who says he needs to see me die? Maybe he only cares about watching you suffer. Maybe he’s tangled up with business problems. Or maybe his focus has shifted and it’s more about outsmarting you than it is about killing me. God.” She frowned. “I can’t believe I said that so casually. But it is possible I’m right.”
“I still think he’ll show. Mockerie, too, at some point. My thought is whoever’s doing Satyr’s legwork might not be following strict orders. Which is interesting and only leads to more questions in my mind.”
“Questions like who fired shots at you and Susie? If we cut Lowell Felcher out of the picture due to logistics and the fact that everyone involved believes he truly is a slimeball coward, those shots might very well have been meant for you. I’m leaning toward interference from Mockerie, however unlikely that sounds at this point.”
“Not buying it, babe. Neither’s McCabe.”
“I forgot about him.” She summoned a smile. “Where exactly is McCabe these days?”
“Back in D.C., where the humidity level’s about two-thirds of what it is here and everyone he knows has a huge backyard pool. I prefer ponds myself.”
Not quite ready to be coerced into an outing with the current source of her irritation, Melia shrugged. “The waters around Deception Cove have alligators in them, or most of them do.”
“Locals say there hasn’t been a gator in the pond I’m talking about for twenty years.”
She pushed off from the counter. “The name should give it away, Johnny.”
“My pond has a name?”
“Yep.” She grinned and suddenly felt much better. “Back in the 1950s, on her deathbed, the woman who owned the land and the pond called it Reaper Lake.”
…
In the end, the choice of whether or not to risk a swim was removed from her hands. And from his, Johnny reflected with a glimmer of unfounded annoyance. Unfounded because, as much as he might want to make love to Melia in the swamp on a hot, lazy summer afternoon, he’d be a fool to follow through with the idea. All it would take was a single bullet from a really good sniper and she would be dead. Laidlaw was an excellent watchdog, but he wasn’t a stone wall.
He was reworking his strategy when Melia got a call from Percy, who was at his auto repair shop. He’d reinjured his hand when the hood of a car had let go and dropped on it.
“Guy sounds like a klutz,” Johnny remarked from the driver’s seat of his truck. “Town isn’t a good place for you to be right now, Mel.”
“Is anywhere?” She dug through her medical kit. “I need penicillin.”
“You need to keep safe.”
“We both thought I’d be safe at the movies, and look what happened? I almost got blown up. So did the minister’s wife. She takes home-cooked meals to shut-ins, Johnny.” Melia looked up and over at him. “Promise me one thing. If Satyr does succeed in killing me, don’t sit around suffering. Make the bastard pay. Also make sure he knows what he’s paying for…” She blew out a breath. “I can’t believe I said that.”
“Neither can I.”
Because he knew she couldn’t see his eyes behind the dark glasses he wore, Johnny let his gaze slide over her. He saw tension and a number of quick backward glances. Oh yeah, he’d get Satyr for this, no question about it.
“You’re not going to die, Mel. I’ve been doing a thing they taught us in the army—getting into your enemy’s head. Satyr’s head is a mass of straight lines. I just need to find the right one.”
“And that means?”
“He’s starting at the final outcome. You might be right about Mockerie wanting Satyr to refocus on the business…probably are, in fact. But McCabe’s convinced that Mockerie will want to have a hand in your death. A heavy, painful one. Blowing you up doesn’t address that need. So now we’re dealing with abduction over explosion. It’s easier to torment someone who’s exactly where you want him or her to be.”
“In your opinion.” She flicked a finger sideways. “Is that what you think happened at Dick Brewer’s farm? Someone tried to take you out so Mockerie could capture me?”
“Could be.”
“Why don’t you sound convinced?”
“Because whoever fired the shot missed.”
“And Mockerie wouldn’t send a poor shot to do his dirty work. So now you’re thinking two approaches by two different people. Employee versus employer. My guess is enemies will be created.”
“And a profitable working relationship will end.”
“If we’re right, then Satyr and Mockerie are working at cross purposes.” She chewed on her lip. “Should we be going to Ethan’s surprise party tonight?”
“Damn right we should.” Slowing down, Johnny turned onto Main Street. “It’ll give me a chance to people watch. It’s going to be a big party, right?”
“Rumor has it. Mabel’s been cooking for days and storing everything at the diner. Most of us are just bringing desserts, which I hope Gert and not Bette is baking for me while we’re away. If you want to park your truck out of sight, you can drive to the back of Percy’s shop.”
The mechanic had a towel wrapped around his hand while he hunkered down to check the tire pressure on an old Chevy Malibu.