“Do you want the sugarcoated version, or right in your face?”
Her heart stuttered. “Has something happened to Johnny?”
He shook his head. “No.” Nodding at the partly shaded window, he asked, “Is there someplace we can talk?”
“What’s wrong with my office?”
“No offense, Melia. I don’t like doctor’s offices. A drink would be good in any case.”
Melia told herself to be patient as she removed her lab coat and pulled the clip holding her hair free. “You’re such a pain,” she said. “We can go to Carmen’s. She serves night glow bourbon.”
“What the hell’s that?”
“No idea. The only time Joseph tried it, he claimed he lost eight hours of his life.” Steadying herself, she faced him. “Does your being here involve Johnny in any way?”
He gave a slight nod. “Yeah.”
“So he’s not hurt, but he’s the reason you’re in Deception Cove.” Her smile came and went in a flash. “Maybe I’ll try some of Carmen’s night glow bourbon. What’s the worst that can happen, considering what went down in Atlantic City?”
McCabe took her arm. “We’ll stick to something safer, and I want your word you won’t throw it in my face when I tell you what I have to tell you.”
She narrowed her eyes at him. “I know Johnny’s pissed off at me, but he isn’t a coward. Why doesn’t he tell me himself?”
“Because he’s more emotionally invested than I am.”
“And?” She sensed more.
McCabe opened the door and looked down at her. “We flipped a coin.” He moved a shoulder. “I lost.”
…
It should have been me, Johnny thought. He should have been with Melia at that moment, probably getting a drink thrown in his face. Or, hell, maybe she’d throw the whole bottle. Whatever the case, McCabe had no business dealing with it. Telling her how it had really been and why. Explaining that they’d set her up, made her believe she’d slept with another man when, in fact, he’d been a government agent with laudable acting skills and a whole lot of bonus cash in his pocket.
Johnny’s own acting job had been infinitely better, but what choice had he had? Satyr had wanted him to experience prolonged suffering. He’d wanted Johnny’s life ruined, not ended, and Melia had been his weapon of choice. He’d have killed her in a heartbeat rather than do anything to Johnny himself. And all because he blamed Johnny for the death of someone he’d loved. Someone who unfortunately hadn’t loved him… A dead man felt nothing, showed nothing, and these days, Satyr lived to revel.
“Fuck.”
Tipping back a beer that had long since gone warm, Johnny rubbed a tired eye and surveyed the town of Deception Cove from a distance. Swamps all around meant bugs swarmed by the millions. The air pulsed with them. Birds chattered and sang. On a slightly more disturbing note, he had a feeling the clicking sounds he heard didn’t come from grasshoppers. Alligators lived there, and they didn’t always confine themselves to the water.
Keeping the windows of his truck rolled down, he listened to Garth and Reba and Kenny, and pictured Melia’s reaction to the news. To the truth.
Would she understand and accept? Not a chance. Not right away, at any rate. Would she shoot the messenger, or tell him to go to hell and stay there?
He could see her doing the last thing. She had a temper—well controlled, but present when the situation warranted. And he couldn’t deny she’d be justified, except that in this case, McCabe didn’t deserve her wrath. Johnny did. Start to finish, he was the one who’d hurt her.
He shooed away a fly the size of a hummingbird, never taking his eyes off the town. It could have come straight out of a 1950s movie set, where alien creatures roamed or giant tarantulas threatened to tear up the square. McCabe’s report had stated that there was a single mechanic in residence, a mayor who drank and supported two mistresses, a diner, a hotel with a restaurant, a café, a pizza joint, and three establishments where the residents could drink, play pool, and gamble to their heart’s content.
He envisioned a school and the usual other businesses—bank, hair salon, and drug, clothing, and hardware stores. And, of course, the people who worked those businesses would need a clinic.
Enter Melia, who knew and understood swamp life and swamp ways, and who also had a cousin in the area. Combine that with the world of guilt sitting on her shoulders, and from Johnny’s perspective, the situation was tailor-made. It also sucked big time.
After checking his phone for the tenth time in ten minutes, he raised the beer bottle. He caught a subtle movement in his peripheral vision and spotted the camo immediately behind it. Holding still, he swallowed a mouthful of beer and waited.
The second movement came as expected. Bastards never traveled alone. They had binoculars and assault rifles. The rifles were stowed, but the binoculars were out and trained on the town.
Okay, so closer than McCabe realized. Or maybe it was Satyr being proactive.
Why? The question resounded in Johnny’s head. What had tipped Satyr and/or Mockerie off? Melia hadn’t been in hiding. There’d been no conversation between them. Johnny had seen to that. She’d betrayed him, and he’d left her. Their marriage was done—at least from her perspective. To hurt her wouldn’t have given Satyr the satisfaction of watching Johnny suffer. So what was it about the situation that had changed?
Did it matter at that moment?
The men in camo picked their way stealthily through the cypress trees. If they’d spotted him, they gave no indication of the fact. Unless there were more than two.
He booted the door open and rolled out of the truck just in time to avoid the pair of shots that lodged in the metal window frame next to the driver’s seat. Bracing his wrists, he took a third man out, spun into a crouch, and leveled the first two before they could access their weapons.
For a moment, all sound in the swamp ceased. Johnny didn’t move as he scanned the area. Nothing stirred, and slowly the chirps, buzzes, and hums resumed.
A huge man sporting a red bandana and green shorts materialized beside him. “My bad, Johnny. Sorry about that. I was on those guys ten miles back, and suddenly they were gone. They’ve been sitting around a camp set up to look like a group of guys fishing for the past couple weeks. Never strayed far from it. And then, like that, they did.”
“As soon as McCabe and I arrived.” Johnny motioned forward. “Was that all of them?”
“In the camp, yeah. There’s another guy who comes and goes, but he hasn’t been staying with them. I figure him for a local. He usually shows up at night, then leaves a few minutes later.” Grunting, the man shifted to a more comfortable position. “This isn’t Satyr’s usual style, is it?”
“No. These guys are probably Mockerie’s idea. Satyr tends to be more subtle. He prefers a strategic approach. He’ll want to outsmart me.”
“From the look of things, he’ll have to shut Mockerie down to do it.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem. Satyr’s grudge is personal. Mockerie likes to kill people, but if Satyr wants him to back off, it’s likely he will. Until he realizes the sick fun he’s missing. You know the type, Laidlaw.”
“Yeah, I do.” Laidlaw slanted him a canny look. “You seem to know an awful lot about the two of them. You sure you’re on our side?”
“I’m on Melia’s side.”
“Can’t blame you for that. She’s pretty damn gorgeous.”
“Not that you’ve noticed.”
“Right.” The big man swiped a forearm across his sweat-stained bandana. “This swamp’s a steam bath. There’s not a whole lot more air in the town than out here, bugs are a bitch, and I see at least two gators every damn day. Why do people live in hellholes like this?”
“Bugs don’t bite Melia. Can’t say about the rest of the population.”
Laidlaw showed his teeth. “Those bugs appear to be biting you.”
“I’m an L.A. boy. Maybe they enjoy sucking on blood that’s toxic.”
“Polluted and pumped full of drugs.”