THE MAZE by Catherine Counlter

“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.”

“You make it sound like we’re nearly to retirement, Dillon. Hi, Ms. Sherlock.” He took her hand in his.

“You call him Dillon too.” His hand was strong, and there were calluses on his thumbs. She’d seen a web of scars on Dillon’s fingers and hands: fine, pale white scars. He’d told her he whittled. Whittled what?

“Yeah, I always thought Savich sounded too tough, too macho, so to spare my manhood I never called him that. Besides, I’m tougher than he is. Hey, what’s in a name?” “He was with you at that place called the Cove?” “Nan, he just came in on the deal when most of the fun was over.”

“That’s a lie. I saved Sally.”

“That’s true, he did help. A little bit. Dillon’s always there to back me up.”

She said, “You’re Sally’s husband?” “Yes, she’s mine, the skinny little wench. I’ve got to tell you, Agent Sherlock, I don’t like any of this. You’re a target and we’ve got to find out why.”

“None of us likes it, Quinlan,” Savich said. “Don’t act proprietary. She’s not in your unit. I will get to the bottom of this. Hey, Sherlock, you do look like a mummy. You want some more water before I start grilling you again? I’ll use my special voice. Quinlan’s not bad at it either, only not as plummy.”

Neither man said anything until she’d drunk her fill. Then Quinlan laughed when Savich said, “Having you suck on a straw is better than trying to balance you on the edge of the cup. You don’t drool so much.”

“Just because you tried to dump the entire glass of water down my throat that first time-oh dear, I’m beginning to feel mean again, sir.”

Quinlan said, “Not just yet, Agent Sherlock. Er, did you know that Sally and I were married a year last month-in October? Dillon here found us the wedding date and the church.”

“Why did he do that?”

“Well, I was kind of out of it at the time and Sally was so worried about me that she didn’t even think about marrying me. So Dillon had to take care of it.”

“What he means to say is that he had a bullet in his heart and couldn’t do much but press more morphine into his vein.

As for Sally, she probably only agreed to marry him because she felt sorry for him.”

She smiled at that, and thankfully, it didn’t hurt. “Oh goodness. Have I gotten into the wrong career?”

“You’re off to a good start,” Quinlan said. “Wounded twice and you’ve been out of training only what? A month? Hey, don’t worry. I’ve made it to thirty-four, same as Savich here.”

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