He woke up near dawn to the feel of something wet probing the side of his neck. When pointed teeth joined it, he jumped and was instantly awake. He rolled off the bed onto his knees, grabbed his gun from the nightstand, and stopped just short of blasting a fluffy gray kitten from his pillow.
“What the hell?” Shoving the hair from his eyes, he scowled at the thing. “Where did you come from?”
Fluttering sheer curtains gave him the answer. A second-floor porch wrapped around the house. The kitten had simply discovered an open window.
Lowering his gun, he considered falling back asleep with only his head on the mattress, but the kitten crouched, then leaped onto his outstretched hand.
“Ouch. Shit.” His head shot up. “You have sharp claws, Little Smoke.”
“He has even sharper teeth.” Melia’s remark came from the open window. “Your boxers are showing, Johnny. And your late night.” She leaned on the rail to watch him, her hair loose, head tipped, a croissant in her hand.
“What time is it?” he demanded when it occurred to him the sky was barely light. “If the answer is before seven, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
“It’s 6:10, and I have patients to see. In the swamp,” she added before he could snarl at her.
He turned on the floor, then braced his back against the bed. “You make fucking house calls?”
“When the people can’t get to me, yes. It’s part of being a small-town doctor. You don’t have to come. I’m just telling you where I’ll be.”
“Yeah, right.” Johnny forced himself to stand. “Because Satyr’s person or people won’t follow you into a swamp.”
“They won’t if they’re like you and don’t do mornings.”
“I do mornings,” he reminded her. “Just not willingly.”
She looked delectable in her tight jeans and pale-blue tee. No wedding or engagement rings, he noticed with a pang. Her jeans were rolled up, and she had sneakers on her feet. Sketchers, if he knew his ex-wife. She liked stylish comfort in most things.
“Can you wait ten minutes?” he asked her.
“Probably.” She smiled. “Just to warn you, Gert’ll be here in fifteen. She called ahead to make sure I have gooseberries in the freezer.”
“I gag on gooseberries.”
“I got that memo years ago, thus the good turn. You saved my life last night, Johnny. I’m grateful.”
“Yeah?” Hope spiked as he moved toward the window.
She held out a warning finger. “Not that grateful. Have your shower. Make it a cold one if necessary. Three years is a very long time for a person to feel icky about herself.”
Although he knew she was serious, he snatched a piece of croissant from her outstretched hand. “I’ll be down before Gert gets here. Who’s the cat, by the way?”
“His name’s Pepper.”
“As in salt and?”
“As in Sergeant. You know how much I love the Beatles.”
“And the Eagles?”
“Not for the past three years.”
It stung. Guilt swamped him. But that was the point. A message to him that some of what had been might never be again. God knew he didn’t deserve another chance. And wasn’t that a helluva way to start the day?
They outpaced Gert. Just. She was coming down the tree-lined road toward the driveway as he turned Melia’s Explorer in the opposite direction.
“She’ll be very disappointed,” Melia told him. “Sorry to say, you won’t get out of dinner.”
“How does Pepper feel about table scraps?”
“Give him any, and you’ll be eating his food. Trust me, whatever she whips up, Gert’s menu will be better than that. Turn left, away from town. We’ll stop by Steve Saxon’s place. He’s the ten-days-new guy I told you about yesterday.”
“Right. The former firefighter from Miami.”
“He did a calendar. He was August.”
“I hate him already.”
“You’ll hate him more when you meet him. He used to be a Navy SEAL.”
“And now he’s a chicken farmer.”
“Chicken and herbs.”
“He should open a restaurant. Is he a patient, or are we simply dropping by to do a meet and greet at six thirty-something in the morning?”
“It’ll be later than that by the time we get to his place. Yes, he’s a patient. Everyone in and out of town is. But he’s not one of today’s three. Pappy Laundy’s first. He has a big still and a crop or two he doesn’t let government people see. It’s probably good you’re not a fan of haircuts.”
“I didn’t shave this morning, either.”
“Better and better.”
Johnny couldn’t have said why the humorous response pleased him so much, but it lightened his mood considerably. Until he caught sight of a mountain of a man using a pickax to hack apart a collection of boulders.
Melia indicated that Johnny should pull over onto the side of the gravel road. “This is the outer edge of his land.” She lowered the window. “Hey, Steve.”
The mountain straightened, offered her a thousand-watt smile and shouted, “Mel. Hey to you, too. It’s great to see you. I’ve got coffee and flapjacks up at the house, as well as that incredibly rare Beatles album I told you about. The early one where they did all the cover songs. So not like them. Who’s he?”
Melia grinned, and while Steve was still out of range, swiveled in her seat. “Have you moved from hate to loathing yet?”
“Getting there. Right now, he’s at poison ivy level.”
“Oh, he’ll top that before we leave.” Swiveling back, she said to Steve who was approached the vehicle, “This is Johnny. He’s my cousin from California. He owns a hotel in L.A. You probably haven’t stayed there.”
“Yet,” Johnny said through his teeth.
Something glittered in Steve’s ice-blue eyes as he bent to peer inside. “You don’t look like a hotel guy.”
Johnny dangled his wrist over the steering wheel and forced a pleasant tone. “You don’t look like a farmer.”
“There you go.” Melia turned her amused gaze back to Johnny. “I don’t look like a doctor. We’re all on similar playing fields.”
“I stayed in a hotel in California once.” The big man braced his hands on the doorframe. “It was a hotel from hell. Maybe it was yours.”
“Always possible.”
“So, what about breakfast then?” Steve asked Melia. But Johnny saw bad attitude clinging to his features like swamp mud.
Whether Melia noticed or not, she shook him off. “Sorry, not today. I have to stop at the Brewers’, and Pappy Laundy’s got a bad foot.”
Steve gave a short laugh and pushed back. “I’ve heard a lot of gossip over the past ten days. There’s several colorful people in and around this town. That old coot tops the list. I can’t see him letting your cousin within a mile of his property. A guy in the grocery store told me some folks who’ve been here for years don’t even know where he lives.”
“Locals know more than they tell.” Melia glanced at Johnny. “You might be right, though. I’ll go in first, see how he’s feeling.”
Steve gave a curt nod. Johnny caught the glint again when he stepped all the way back. It wasn’t necessarily telling, but it was noteworthy.
“Ten days, huh?” Shoving the Explorer into gear, he regarded Melia, who was busy scrabbling through her backpack. “He seems to like you.”
She pulled out two travel thermoses. Of coffee, he hoped. “Maybe he does. I know he likes my hair. I gather his ex had red hair.”
“Ex-wife, ex-girlfriend, or ex-partner of indeterminant sex?”
She handed him a thermos, facing him. “Well, gee, Johnny, if you’re really curious, why don’t you ask?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s what you deserve right now.”
He couldn’t argue with that. “You’re right,” he said. “I’ll look into it later.” He took a sip and nearly scalded the roof of his mouth.
“I can’t believe you still do that.” Melia laughed. “Some things truly don’t change.” She shook her own thermos to mix the contents. “Where’s Laidlaw?”
“He slept in the boathouse. I haven’t decided whether to send him back to McCabe or keep him around.”
“Does Satyr know about him?”
“No idea. It doesn’t matter. Satyr targets his kills. If someone gets in his way, he’ll take that person out, but his eye’s invariably on the prize.”