Familiar.
He tried to log every nuance, everything that might be useful down the road.
I know you.
The woman fiddled with keys, letting herself into the cabinet. She pulled out an IV bag, muttering to herself as she waddled toward him.
She changed his infusion and then cocked her head, her eye casting downward, like a bird spotting the movement of a worm in the grass.
The spilled liquid. She’s seen it.
She bent lower.
“Waah dis now...?”
This is it. My chance.
Mick jerked his arm from beneath the sheet. The sheet slid away. The mug appeared. He swung, straining to arc his weapon over the metal guard rail.
He lowered the mug as hard as he could against the nurse’s head.
Yes!
The ceramic bounced on her thick coils, never making contact with her skull. The mug slipped from his fingers and hit the floor, shattering.
The woman jerked upward, eyes blazing with anger.
Left with no other option, he rolled at her, swinging with his untested right fist.
“No!” she barked, easily blocking his punch.
She grabbed his throat with her other hand. He tried to fight her off, every movement feeling as if he were under water.
So slow. So weak.
Sharp nails dug into his wrist. She smacked him in the face with the back of his own hand. Pressure on his throat gagged him. She lowered her face to his, coffee on her breath. Her skin smelled of cinnamon. He recognized the scent from his nightmares.
She hissed in his ear.
“You can’t wake up yet, Mister Mick. Nuh for a year and a half. You suffer the way he did, just the same, that’s the rules.”
He? Rules?
He gasped for breath.
Who is she talking about?
He couldn’t fight her. Instead, he’d take her words deep into his brain and think. He’d find something that made sense. Come up with a new plan.
The nurse dropped the silver sidebar and raised a knee to hold down his arm closest to her, a surprisingly agile move for a woman so large. One hand still on his throat, she used her other to start the new IV.
“Your daughter’s here, Mister Mick. She’ll be next.”
Mick gasped, half in shock, half for the air her meaty paw denied him.
Shee’s here?
It hadn’t been a dream.
No! Shee!—
Even as he fought, the fog rolled over his eyes.
&&&
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“Mick is alive and he has a Jamaican nurse?” asked Mason as they roared north up I-95 from the airport to the Loggerhead. “Is there anything else you’d like to drop on me?”
Shee took a moment to think about his question.
Is there?
She’d almost forgotten he didn’t know about Mick being alive. What else was she forgetting?
While she thought, Mason ticked off her bombshells.
“Secret baby, sister assassinated, daughter raised by wolves—”
“Retirees,” she corrected.
“Oh, excuse me, old wolves. Mick’s alive—is the Loggerhead actually the lost city of Atlantis?”
“No. And, for your information, Charlotte is very well adjusted—”
She winced.
Whoops. There’s another thing.
The light ahead of them turned red and Mason slammed on the brakes. Shee slapped the dashboard to keep from breaking her nose.
“Will you cut that out?” she snapped.
“You’ve talked to her?”
“Who?” She knew the answer, but felt as though she needed a few more seconds to get her thoughts together.
“Charlotte.”
“Oh. Yes.”
“When?”
“Last week,” she mumbled.
“For the first time?”
She nodded. “Since that day at Grace’s.”
“What did she say?”
She shrugged. “Nothing. I mean—”
“She had nothing to say to the mother who abandoned her? Didn’t try to kill you, for instance? Come to think of it, maybe she’s the one who put a hit out on you.”
Shee scowled. “Come on—”
The light changed and Mason stomped on the gas, throwing Shee back against her seat.
She sighed. “She found some things at Estelle’s house and came looking. But it was before I went to the hotel. I just sort of bumped into her while I was working a case. I didn’t tell her who I was. I think she still thinks I’m her aunt.”
“Which means she doesn’t know anything about me yet?”
“No. I mean yes, she doesn’t.”
“You were working a case? You came back for that? Not to see your father?”
Shee chewed her lip. “I didn’t know he—”
Mason held up a hand to silence her.
“All I know is, if Charlotte is well-adjusted, that makes one of you.”
He fell silent again.
Shee’s mood darkened. It had felt like they were talking again for a little while. How could she explain to him why she hadn’t come home sooner when she wasn’t entirely sure herself? Why she’d made the decisions she did?
Maybe his silence was the best she could hope for.
You reap what you sow.
They drove in silence until Mason pulled into the driveway of the Loggerhead Inn. Bracco stood at the door as usual, like Anubis guarding the tomb of her past life.
Mason parked and cut the engine, his gaze locked on Bracco. “I thought you told Angelina to get rid of him until you got back.”
“I told her not to let him near Dad.”
Shee opened her door and was about to exit when Mason touched her back.
“Hey—”
She turned.
“Slow down,” he said, looking serious.
“What?”
“Slow down. You can’t go running in there pointing fingers at everyone.”
“The hell I can’t.”
“You can’t base every move you make on some kid talking about an islandy accent.”
She settled back into her seat and pulled the door closed. “It has to be her. The accent is too much of a coincidence.”
“She’s not the only Jamaican in the world.”
“But—”
“And he’s a kid. New at his job. It could have been a Russian accent and he
