THE MAZE by Catherine Counlter

“You’ve got no idea who’s behind all this?”

“It could be someone involved with Marlin Jones, that makes the most sense. But who? He’s a real loner from what we know. And why would Marlin care if she left town or not? Other than Marlin, there’s no one else out there waving a flag. Well, there is someone else. We’ll see. It’s a mystery, all deep and winding around and around.” To Savich’s relief, neither Sally nor Quinlan asked him more questions.

An hour later, he was lying on his back on a very hard cot, listening to her even breathing. She moaned once, sending him to his feet in an instant and to her bedside, only to see that she was still asleep. He stood there, looking down at her, white and bandaged, an IV in her arm. She twitched, her hand clenching into a fist, then relaxing again. He didn’t like any of this. Why did that guy want to hear what she knew about Marlin Jones? It made no sense. If someone else had killed Belinda, one of her family, then it would make sense that they’d want her out of the way. But then why would he or she hire that man to tell Sherlock that Marlin was innocent? Surely if he just thought enough about it, examined every little detail, he would find an answer. But all he could think about now was listening carefully to her breathing. He lightly touched his fingertips to her jaw. It was a khaki green. He stepped back.

He lay back down, felt the smooth cold of his gun next to his hand, and kept listening to her until finally, after what seemed an interminable amount of time, he fell asleep.

“I want to go home.”

“Now, Agent Sherlock, I think another full day would be just the thing for you. The medical staff likes having FBI agents in here. It makes them feel important. Ah, and a bit on the superior side since they’re still on their feet and you, an agent, aren’t.”

“You’ve got to be making that up. The nurse this morning was very sweet when she poked me with a needle. And it wasn’t in the rear end, thank God. Listen, Dr. Breaker, it’s already four o’clock in the afternoon. I’ve been counting sheep since nine o’clock this morning. I’m fine. My head hurts just a bit, but nothing else, not even the cut on my head. Please, Dr. Breaker, I want to go home.”

“Let’s talk about it a bit more,” he said, backing away from the bed. “Oh yeah, you can call me Ned.”

She swung her legs over and sat up. “I need some clothes, Ned.”

“Keep your socks on. I’ve got clothes for you, Sherlock. Ned told me you’d probably demand to take off.”

She looked down at her bare foot. “I don’t even have any socks, just this flimsy hospital gown that’s open in the back.”

Savich just grinned at her. “Well, Ned, shall I take her off your hands?”

“She’s yours, Savich. She’ll be fine. She just needs another day taking it easy and these pills for any pain.” He handed Savich the bottle of pills.

“Good-bye, Agent Lacey Sherlock. That’s a weird name. If I were you, I’d have it changed. How about Jane Sherlock?”

“That wasn’t funny, Ned,” Savich said, but Dr. Breaker was chuckling. “I’ve never before had the chance to say that. It’s an old joke, you know.”

“Yes,” Lacey said. “I know.”

“Heard it, huh?”

“I’ve heard all of them. Thank you, Dr. Breaker. Dillon, give me my clothes and see Dr. Breaker out.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Savich stayed out until she opened the door. He was talking to Agent Crammer, a ruddy-faced, barrel-chested young man who had a degree in accounting from the University of Pennsylvania.

She eyed them. When Savich looked up, he took in her outfit and grinned. “Not bad, huh? You won’t be arrested by the fashion police.”

He’d brought her a dark green silk blouse and a pair of blue jeans, a blue blazer and a pair of low-heeled boots that she’d only worn one time. She liked the outfit but would never have picked it out. It made her look too-

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