doctor stopped. Turned to look at him. “Don’t ask too many questions, asshole. Even I’m not good enough to suture a throat that’s been slit. Neither of us are here because we’re angels. Just do your job and keep your mouth shut—the way I do.”
And with that, he was gone.
Ric let his head drop back on the pillow.
Voices—one male, one female—and the sound of ice clinking in glasses made him turn toward the sliders, which led out onto a deck overlooking a patio.
Annie was out there. She’d swiftly showered and changed before the doctor arrived, pulling her curls up into a bun-thing atop her head, which, with the brightly patterned sarong that Burns’s servant had brought, made her look like some kind of sacrificial virgin, about to be thrown into a volcano.
Ric had sent her out of the room, figuring it was the lesser of two evils, about three minutes after he’d refused Dr. Gloom’s local anesthesia. She’d resisted his demand, but he’d insisted, refusing treatment until she went outside, onto the patio.
And now, from the sound of laughter, it appeared she was no longer alone. And apparently she was pretending to enjoy herself, which had to be no easy task.
Ric sat up, gripping the edge of the table until his dizziness passed. He slid down onto the floor, catching himself with his left leg—his good leg. Cautiously, he tested his right leg and…
Okay. So that hurt. But he could walk. He could even run if he had to. That was a plus.
He hobbled to the deck, looking out onto the pink brick patio below.
It was a courtyard, really, surrounded on three sides by the house. A pool glistened off to the bay side, and the entire enormous two-story area was screened in, to keep both bugs and gators out.
Annie sat in a chair, her back to Ric.
Burns was across a glass-topped table from her, sipping a drink. On that table was Ric’s wallet and cell phone, and Annie’s cell phone, too.
Burns glanced up and spotted Ric. “Ah, you’re up and about.”
Annie turned, rising to her feet, holding tightly to…Pierre?
Ric came farther out onto the balcony, well aware that, in only his briefs and T-shirt, still soaked with perspiration, he wasn’t exactly dressed for a garden party.
“Are you all right?” Annie came toward Ric, climbing the stairs that led up to the deck.
He nodded. “Coupla stitches.” He raised his hands to warn her not to come too close. “I still need to shower.” He gestured to Pierre. “I’m assuming he didn’t pull another Milo and Otis.”
The idea of Pierre tracking her here made her smile, but it didn’t completely mask the worry in her eyes. “Mr. Burns sent his men to get my car,” Annie told him. “They ended up towing it because Pierre wouldn’t let them in. It’s out front, so we can…just leave without having to get a ride back to Palm Gardens.”
“How considerate,” Ric said, wishing now that he hadn’t suggested she keep her distance. He was going to have to warn her not to speak too freely. Local rumor had it that Burns kept his house under intense surveillance—with mics and minicams recording every conversation and tracking every visitor’s move. Ric didn’t know whether it was truth or urban legend—but he wasn’t going to take any risks with Annie’s life.
“Mr. Alvarado,” Burns called. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Rum and coke,” he called back. “Thank you, sir.”
Annie looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “We can leave,” she stepped closer to whisper.
“No we can’t,” he told her, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Why not?”
Ric shook his head. He couldn’t risk a lengthy explanation. If Burns had this place bugged, he was using state-of-the-art equipment. Their whispers would be easily picked up. “Because I say so,” he said loudly. Sharply even.
Annie actually flinched.
“Why do you always question me?” he added, reaching up to scratch his ear, hoping she’d catch on.
“I’m sorry,”
And with that, he was gone.
Ric let his head drop back on the pillow.
Voices—one male, one female—and the sound of ice clinking in glasses made him turn toward the sliders, which led out onto a deck overlooking a patio.
Annie was out there. She’d swiftly showered and changed before the doctor arrived, pulling her curls up into a bun-thing atop her head, which, with the brightly patterned sarong that Burns’s servant had brought, made her look like some kind of sacrificial virgin, about to be thrown into a volcano.
Ric had sent her out of the room, figuring it was the lesser of two evils, about three minutes after he’d refused Dr. Gloom’s local anesthesia. She’d resisted his demand, but he’d insisted, refusing treatment until she went outside, onto the patio.
And now, from the sound of laughter, it appeared she was no longer alone. And apparently she was pretending to enjoy herself, which had to be no easy task.
Ric sat up, gripping the edge of the table until his dizziness passed. He slid down onto the floor, catching himself with his left leg—his good leg. Cautiously, he tested his right leg and…
Okay. So that hurt. But he could walk. He could even run if he had to. That was a plus.
He hobbled to the deck, looking out onto the pink brick patio below.
It was a courtyard, really, surrounded on three sides by the house. A pool glistened off to the bay side, and the entire enormous two-story area was screened in, to keep both bugs and gators out.
Annie sat in a chair, her back to Ric.
Burns was across a glass-topped table from her, sipping a drink. On that table was Ric’s wallet and cell phone, and Annie’s cell phone, too.
Burns glanced up and spotted Ric. “Ah, you’re up and about.”
Annie turned, rising to her feet, holding tightly to…Pierre?
Ric came farther out onto the balcony, well aware that, in only his briefs and T-shirt, still soaked with perspiration, he wasn’t exactly dressed for a garden party.
“Are you all right?” Annie came toward Ric, climbing the stairs that led up to the deck.
He nodded. “Coupla stitches.” He raised his hands to warn her not to come too close. “I still need to shower.” He gestured to Pierre. “I’m assuming he didn’t pull another Milo and Otis.”
The idea of Pierre tracking her here made her smile, but it didn’t completely mask the worry in her eyes. “Mr. Burns sent his men to get my car,” Annie told him. “They ended up towing it because Pierre wouldn’t let them in. It’s out front, so we can…just leave without having to get a ride back to Palm Gardens.”
“How considerate,” Ric said, wishing now that he hadn’t suggested she keep her distance. He was going to have to warn her not to speak too freely. Local rumor had it that Burns kept his house under intense surveillance—with mics and minicams recording every conversation and tracking every visitor’s move. Ric didn’t know whether it was truth or urban legend—but he wasn’t going to take any risks with Annie’s life.
“Mr. Alvarado,” Burns called. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Rum and coke,” he called back. “Thank you, sir.”
Annie looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. “We can leave,” she stepped closer to whisper.
“No we can’t,” he told her, not bothering to lower his voice.
“Why not?”
Ric shook his head. He couldn’t risk a lengthy explanation. If Burns had this place bugged, he was using state-of-the-art equipment. Their whispers would be easily picked up. “Because I say so,” he said loudly. Sharply even.
Annie actually flinched.
“Why do you always question me?” he added, reaching up to scratch his ear, hoping she’d catch on.
“I’m sorry,”
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