The doors opened. Warm air flooded in and with it the smell of lavender.
“Better than disinfectant,” Johnny remarked. “How do you stand it? All the death and sickness and open wounds.”
She turned left. “You put it into perspective and remind yourself you’re here to help people feel better, to make sure they live instead of die.”
“And when they die anyway?”
“Then you try and remember the ones who didn’t.”
“Sounds like a tall order to me.” His brows came together. “Did you change offices?”
“I got a window when Dr. Morrison retired. He left his coffeemaker. It usually works.” She regarded him in mild concern as he scanned the desk, the filing cabinet and her new lake view. “I think you should go back to Blue Lake, Johnny. Today. This guy, whoever he is, probably won’t do any more than he’s already done.” She hoped.
“In other words, you think I’ll flip out if I stay in Chicago much longer.”
“The unofficial recommendation was for you to avoid work-related stress for a while.”
“It’s been six months, Mel.”
“You were undercover for two years.” And the eight brief times she’d seen him during that period had shown a marked deterioration, both in his attitude and his demeanor. He’d been less and less Johnny Grand and more and more John Garcia, cold, hard and abusive. Not to her, at least not physically, but in every other way.
“I was…” Johnny began, but Meliana set a finger on his lips and glanced at her pager.
“I have to go to the nurses’ station. Coffee’s in the cabinet under the machine. I might be a few minutes.”
“I’ll wait.”
He had that stubborn look on his face. She’d seen it too many times to bother arguing. There were other, more effective ways to get around Johnny when he dug in.
“Oh, good, Dr. Maynard, you’re here.” The desk nurse came to the counter. “Mrs. Lund’s been rescheduled for three o’clock. There’s a cyst on two that Dr. Hilton wants to go over with you, and this came up an hour ago from Main Reception.”
She handed over a padded brown envelope.
“No return address,” Meliana noted.
“At least you can figure you’re not being sued. Law firms make sure their names are front and center. Anyway, I think this was hand delivered.”
Meliana glanced toward her office. Then she thanked the nurse and took the envelope along the hall to the solarium.
There were two patients in wheelchairs enjoying the plants and filtered sunshine. Meliana kept her hand steady as she opened the flap. There was no street name on the mailing label, no stamp or express post tag. Had it come from inside the hospital or out?
Mood music played softly in the background. Several more jarring sounds thrummed in her head.
Her stomach clenched as she removed a pair of silver-white stockings, tied with a white ribbon and topped with a white bow. Attached to the bow was a small white card.
“I’m going to change my favorite color,” she murmured, and drew a curious stare from one of the patients.
She turned toward the window, breathed in and read the message.
Accept this token of my love, Meliana
Accept my love.
Accept me.
We are meant to be.
Chapter Three
Johnny returned to Blue Lake late that afternoon. He’d felt something black and ugly pressing in on him, a stream of memories and reactions he was neither prepared to handle nor capable of offsetting.
He needed to breathe, to recenter himself and find his focus. It wasn’t so much that he’d lost it—his world since he’d met her had been Meliana—but having been immersed in a seductively evil role for so long, he tended to stray into rather unpleasant areas from time to time.
He phoned Julie as he drove north.
“She’s holding something back,” he said. “She’s a good actress, but I could see it in her body language, in the way she was moving and walking.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Julie promised. “You’re only an hour away, Johnny.”
“I’ll be back tomorrow. I just need a little time to chill and think.”
He ended the call and ordered himself to be steady. He could chill out over the past while he thought about the present.
What did this rose guy want from Meliana? How far would he go to get it? Was Meliana in danger?
Johnny frowned, glanced in his rearview mirror. He should have stayed in Chicago, should have taken his wife out for dinner. He could have worked on her until she’d agreed to come to Blue Lake with him.
Easily said in retrospect, not so easily done with Meliana. When she was on call or the hospital was short staffed, a bulldozer couldn’t budge her from the city.
The lakeside house was dark when he arrived. He unlocked the door, went in and switched on the first lamp that came to hand. He was heading for the fridge and a cold beer when a pair of headlights slashed across the front window.
Johnny recognized the shape of the cruiser, made it two cans and dropped onto the sofa.
“Door’s open, Zack,” he said through the screen.
“I took a chance and swung past on my way back from Woodstock.” Deputy Zack Crawford caught the beer Johnny tossed him. He looked around the tidier-than-usual main room. “Either Meliana’s back, or my mother’s been here. I’m guessing my mother.”
Johnny rested his head on the cushions. “I’m in trouble. She’s started making dinners and freezing them for me.”
“She needs someone to fuss over, and I’ve been out of town a lot lately.”
“Business?”
Zack sat on the ottoman and popped his beer. “You could say that. I’m taking a course—paramedic training. I signed up in late spring and still have a fair distance to go, but when I’m done, I’ll be able to get out of here and down to the city.”
“Why not train to be a cop?”
“Being a deputy’s what I fell into, Johnny, not what I wanted. It’s all about saving people’s lives, right? I’m tired of slapping kids’ wrists in the summer and making sure old Harry Riley gets home from the bar in the winter. Just do me a favor, and don’t tell my mother.”
“She doesn’t know?” Johnny took a long drink. “How’d you manage that?”
“I lied.”
“Good a way as any, I guess.”
Standing, Zack crossed the floor to the large side window. He had a build similar to Johnny’s, lean and rangy, with long legs and blond-brown hair. That’s where the resemblance ended. Zack’s eyes were green and his nose was slightly skewed from a bad break in high school. He brushed his hair back from a cleanly sculpted face, had a quick grin, a bad knee and a small scar on the left side of his jaw.
“What are you looking at?” Johnny asked when Zack peered around the blind.
“Just wondering if you can see Tim Carrick’s place from here. Mrs. Wilmot at the post office swears she