He just looked down at her, then turned to the phone. He dialed a number, then said, "It's Savich. Sorry to bother you, Ned, but could you come to this address and check out one of my agents for me? The guy who attacked her hit her pretty hard in the head. I don't know if she'll need stitches. No, no hospital. Yeah, thanks."
When he hung up the phone, she said, "A doctor who makes house calls? That's got to be rarer than the great auk." "Ned Breaker owes me. I got his kid away from kidnappers last year. He's a good guy. We became friends. Now, enough of that. It'll take him a good thirty minutes to get here. Do you feel well enough to tell me what happened?"
"After you left, I took a shower. When I got out, he was standing behind me when I wiped the fog off the bathroom mirror. He was wearing a black ski mask and carrying a cheap .22. He wanted me to leave town. Then I talked about Marlin Jones, and he seemed interested in that. I don't know whether or not the person who sent him meant for him to rape me. Maybe, like that almost hit-and-run, he was just trying to scare me, which he did.
"'Really, though, the bottom line was that I should go home to my family. When I asked him if he was the one who tried to run me down, he didn't answer me. I think he could have been. He had a slight accent, from Alabama, maybe."
"What did you tell him about Marlin Jones?"
"The truth. There was no reason not to. I think somehow Marlin Jones had to have sent him. He tried not to be too interested in Marlin, but he was. He wanted me to believe Marlin was innocent."
"You sure about that?"
"Yes, but again, I think his mission was to scare me to death, scare me enough to make me run. Then he said business was over. He said he wanted to rape me."
Her eyes were vague, her voice slowing down, her words slurring. He shook her shoulders. "Sherlock, wake up. Come on, you can do it." He lightly slapped her cheek, then cupped her jaw in the palm of his hand. "Wake up."
She blinked, trying hard. She wanted to tell him that his hand on her jaw hurt, but all she said was, "Probably a concussion. I'll stay awake, I promise. He was going to tie my hands above my head, to the slats of the bed, but he knew I'd attack if he dropped the gun, so he told me to lie on my stomach. I couldn't do that, Dillon, I just couldn't. That's when-" Curtains, black curtains were swinging down over her eyes, over her mind. She couldn't see anything.
"Wake up, Sherlock!"
"I'm awake. Don't yell at me, it hurts. I won't konk out on you, I promise. But I can't see."
"Your eyes are closed."
"That's not it."
In the next moment, she was unconscious, her head lolling to the side. He'd never dialed 911 so fast in his life.
21
THE HEAT BURNED STRAIGHT into her head. It was hotter than anything she could have imagined. Any second now she'd go up in flames. No, it was a light, a real light, not some monster that her brain had dredged up. It was too bright, too strong, too hot. It burned beneath her eyelids. She tried to turn away from the light, but it hurt too much to move her head.
"Sherlock? Can you hear me? Open your eyes." Of course she could hear him. He was using that deep voice of his that made her nerve endings quiver, but she couldn't say anything, her mouth was too dry. She tried to form the words, but no sound came out.
A woman said, "Give her some water."
Someone raised her head. She felt cold water on her lips and opened her mouth. She choked, then slowed down. She drank and drank until finally the water was dribbling down her chin.
"Now can you talk to me?"
"The light," she whispered. "Please, the light."
The same woman's voice said, "It must be hurting her."
The light was gone in the next instant and it was now shadowy and dim. She sighed with relief. "That's better. Where's Dillon?"
"I'm right here. You scared me out of a good year at the gym. We were both doing just fine until you had the nerve to pass out on me."
"I didn't mean to do that. It was weak and unnecessary.
I'm sorry. Does my health coverage take care of the paramedics and the emergency room?"
"I doubt it. I think it will come out of your pay. Now, here's Dr. Breaker. He got to your house just as the paramedics were pulling out, claims he was speeding to get there. Turns out he has admitting privileges here at Washington Memorial."
"Your voice made me quiver-all dark and soft, like falling into a deep, deep well. If I were a criminal, I'd say anything you wanted to keep you talking to me like that. It's a wonderful voice. Plummy-that's how a writer would describe your voice."
"Thank you. I think."
"Agent Sherlock. I'm Dr. Breaker."
He shined a penlight in her eyes, felt the bumps on her head, and said over his shoulder to Dillon, "She's not going to need any stitches, just some of my magic tape. Scalp wounds tend to really bleed."
"They bleed like stink."
"Yes, that's right. Interesting way of saying it."
"It's what the man said. And he said it in a southern way. He drawled out stink into two syllables."
She'd already told him that, but he said, "That's good, Sherlock. Anything else?"
"Not just yet, Savich. Hold off a bit. Let me clean her up, then you can talk her ear off." He cleared his throat. "She wasn't raped, was she?"
"No, I wasn't. I'm not dead, Dr. Breaker. You can speak to me."
"Well, you see, Agent, I owe everything to Savich here and nothing at all to you. If he wants me to report to him, he's got it."
"I report to him. You report to him. Soon the president will report to him. Maybe that's not such a bad idea. My head hurts."
"I'll just bet it does. Lie still now. When you first came in, we did a CT scan. Not to worry, it was normal. We always do a CT scan when there's a head injury, to check for evidence of bleeding. You didn't have any. What happened to your arm? What's this sling for?"
"A knife wound," Savich said. "It's nearly well now. Happened a couple of weeks ago."
"Why don't you let her heal before you send her into the arena with the monsters again?"
She laughed. There was nothing else to do.
The next time she heard anything, it was a strange man speaking.
"When you roared out of the club like a bat out of its belfry, I thought Sally was going to have Marvin tackle you. You scared us, Dillon. This is Sherlock?"
"Yes, that's her in all her glory."
"She looks like a little mummy only her skin isn't leather."
"Thanks," Lacey said, not opening her eyes. She realized then that there was a huge bandage over the cut in her scalp. She raised her hand to touch it, but to her disgust, she didn't have the strength. Dr. Breaker was right. It wasn't fair that she had to be hurt again before she'd healed completely from the other time. Her hand fell, only again Dillon caught it and laid it gently at her side.
"You alive, Sherlock?"
"Yes, thank you. I'm tired of this, sir. At least last time in that Boston hospital I was sitting up the whole time."
"Don't whine. You'll live."
"She calls you 'sir'? My God, Dillon, do you require that all your people call you sir?"
"No, just the women. It makes me feel powerful."
"He's lying," she said, cracking open her eyes. To her relief, the light in the room was dim. "He takes all the women to the gym and stomps them into the floor. The 'sir' stuff is my idea. I hope it makes him feel responsible, and guilty."
"I don't feel guilty. I walked you home. You want me to believe that I should have taken you inside? Checked all your closets and looked under the bed? Well, maybe from now on I will. You attract trouble, Sherlock, too much of it." But he sounded guilty, really guilty. She wanted to tell him not to be ridiculous, but he said quickly, "This is Special Agent James Quinlan. We go way back together."