Black Sands by Colleen Coble Page A

thoughts. He realized his blood sugar was still too low. He just had to hold on until it climbed a bit more. He popped a hard candy from the bedside table into his mouth.
    “Want one?” he offered to Noah. Before Noah could answer, he heard glass shatter. Something stung the side of his face. He put up his hand and touched something wet on his temple. His fingers were red when he lowered them. He stared at them. Blood.
    Something pinged on the wall, and what was happening finally penetrated his foggy brain. “Get down!” He dove for the floor. Another bullet plowed into the carpet by his head. He heard a series of soft thuds and saw Noah running for the door. “Wait!” Mano called. He got to his hands and knees as Noah threw open the door and rushed out into the shadows.
    Mano staggered to his feet. His head was spinning, and the heat on his cheek told him he was still bleeding. The shooting had stopped. He stepped to the doorway and looked outside. Taillights winked in the darkness as Noah’s vehicle pulled onto the street.
    He heard the sound of running feet and instinctively stepped back and slammed his door shut. A thump came from the other side of the door. “You okay in there?”
    Relief as sweet as guava nectar flooded him. It was the motel proprietor, Aaron. Mano opened the door. “Someone shot at us. Call the police.” His head spun, and he stumbled back toward the bed. Lights danced in his vision like menehunes with tiny lamps. He sank to the edge of the bed and put his head between his legs, then fumbled for another piece of candy. He sucked on the sweetness, hoping his confusion would soon lift.
    “I’ll call an ambulance too.” Aaron stepped inside and grabbed the phone.
    Mano dimly heard him speak to the police in an excited tone. Gradually the sugar began to make a difference, and his thinking cleared. Aaron handed him a tissue from the bathroom. He took it and blotted the blood from his cheek.
    “You’d better not touch anything,” he told Aaron. “The police will need to sweep the room.” Most likely they wouldn’t find anything but bullet fragments. But there might be something outside. In the distance he could hear sirens. They grew louder, and he stood to go meet the police, then swayed.
    “I think you’d better sit down before you fall.” Aaron caught him by the elbow.
    “I’m fine.” He tried to tug his arm from Aaron’s grip, and the movement made the room spin. He sat back on the bed. The sirens grew louder, and he smelled the scent of something he couldn’t identify—something sweet yet cloying that filled his head and sinuses. He shook his head to clear it, then put his head between his legs again.
    Dimly, he heard the sirens stop. He lifted his head when Sam came running through the door. The officer had his pistol out. His face changed when he saw Mano.
    “Oana, I should have known you’d be mixed up in this somehow.”
    Mano’s head was clearing. “You can put your gun away, Rambo. The guy’s gone.”
    Sam scowled but holstered his gun. “What happened here?”
    “You tell me.” Mano gestured toward the window. “Someone decided to use me for target practice.”
    Sam drew near the bed and glanced at Mano’s temple. “Looks like he didn’t miss.”
    “I think he was aiming about four inches closer in.” Mano dabbed at his temple again. He looked at the wadded tissue, but it was nearly clean of blood now. The wound was beginning to stop bleeding.
    Sam’s lips tightened. “Check him out,” he barked to the paramedics. He glanced around the room.
    Mano looked around, trying to see the scene through Sam’s eyes. The funky walls were an aqua-on-steroids color. The bedspread was just as gaudy, a mess of garish oranges and greens. This place must not have been updated since the sixties. “A bullet hit the floor there.” Mano pointed. “And one went into the wall there.” He showed Sam the hole by the desk, a blond piece of furniture marred by numerous nicks