Death and Relaxation (29 page)

Jean swore softly and Myra patted my arm again. “He was standing there, the gun in his hand, and you hadn’t even been on the ground long enough for the pool of blood to spread.”

“Thanatos?” I asked.

“He was there too.”

“No. I mean what did he see?”

“What did
you
see, Delaney?”

I didn’t want to think about that. I’d never been shot before and I was finding the more I thought about it, the more the reality of it sank in, the less smoothly I was handling it. As it was, I was already feeling like maybe whimpering like a baby might be about my speed.

“I, uh…saw Dan. He was angry.”

“What did he say?” Myra used her cop voice. The one that calmly guided and soothed witnesses through remembering details of an event.

“He said his root beer should have won. That he should have won. I told him I’d fix it. That I could fix it for him.”

“Did he say anything else?”

“Yeah. He said he could fix it too. Then he shot me.”

Myra waited, and even Jean was silent.

“Do you remember anything else?” Myra asked, even more gently. It suddenly reminded me of Mom, whom I’d only known until I was twelve. Myra had that same soft comfort in her voice that Mom used when I had a fever or chicken pox.

I shook my head. “Thanatos was disappointed that I’d been shot. Other than that…” I searched my memories. “Wait. I thought I heard another gunshot. Did one of you shoot at Dan?”

“No,” Myra said. “When we got there, Thanatos was standing behind Dan, his hand on his shoulder, keeping Dan from bolting. I thought you put Death’s power away, Delaney.”

I rolled my eyes. Okay, now she sounded like Dad. Doubting that I had carried out his orders and the job correctly, even though he had taught me, pretty much all my life, how to deal with all this.

Not that I was dealing with it well. He hadn’t really covered the gunshot wounds over rhubarb ribbons in the job description.

“I did put it away. He doesn’t have his power—except, you know, the little bit that lingers. All the gods have that.”

“They do?” Myra asked.

I smiled. “Yes. It’s what makes them so damn pretty.”

Jean snorted. “What do they have you on? I might need to get some for when I want you to sign off on my vacation weeks.”

“Week. Vacation week. I’m not that stoned.”

“Was there anything else you noticed?” Myra said, back in cop mode. “Any sounds, any smells? Anyone else who could have been there?”

I bit down on a smart-mouth answer and instead took a few moments to breathe deeply and clear my mind.

I was a cop. Even drugged, I should be able to piece together what I’d seen firsthand less than twenty-four hours ago.

At least I thought it was still the same day.

“What day is it?” I asked with a jolt of panic that was quickly soothed away by all the happy chemicals floating through my veins.

“Friday evening,” Myra said.

“Evening?”

Jean sighed. “Getting shot means surgery, Delaney. Surgery means recovery time. Recovery time means sleep. And sleep means it’s Friday evening.”

“How evening?” I had lost an entire day.

“Four thirty,” Myra said. “You’re awake in time for dinner. Think you can eat something?”

“Sandwich and coffee?”

She finally cracked a smile, though it looked like it was fueled by relief. “I’ll see what I can do.”

She stood and started toward the door. That was when I noticed she wasn’t wearing her uniform. As a matter of fact, I was pretty sure those were jammie pants.

“Duckies?” I asked.

She turned. Gave me a tolerant look. “It has been a long day. Too long. And I like duckies. You have something to say about that?”

“I like duckies too. We should make it a part of the official uniform. Very intimidating.”

She shook her head, but at least this time her smile was more than just relief. “I’m going to tell them to dial down your meds.”

I scowled, but couldn’t hold it for long. “Don’t be a spoilsport. My boyfriend walked out on me and I got shot. I deserve a night up in the clouds.”

“Walked out on you?” Jean perked up and slid her phone back into her pocket. “Is this Ryder we’re talking about?”

“You mean that he left you at the judging?” Myra asked.

It took me an extended moment to try to think of what to say, which only made me sound guilty as hell.

“Oh-ho.” Jean leaned her elbows on the bed’s side bar thingy. “She does
not
mean the judging. Talk, drunkie. Tell all.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“I’ll be back,” Myra said. “Don’t hassle her, Jean.”

Myra walked out. As soon as the door closed, Jean tapped my arm with a fingertip and wiggled her eyebrows. “Out with it. What happened with Ryder?”

“Nothing.” I held her gaze. Must have done a pretty good job at it too, because she leaned back.

“Do I need to hunt him down and break a few fingers?”

“Wow. Way to go Mafia on me. What games have you and Hogan been playing?”

“The good ones.” She narrowed her eyes. “Seriously, Del. What did he do?”

“It’s…fine. He was— We were… It’s all fine. I don’t know why I even brought it up. Drugs.”

And paranoid hippy vampires.

I lifted my arm again to show her the tubes, and the pink balloon made that
plinking
sound.

“He tied a balloon to my pinkie.” I grinned up at it for a while.

Jean patted my arm. “He didn’t hurt you?”

“Death?”

“Ryder.”

“Oh.” I frowned, thought about that, sort of prodding my heart to see if most of the pieces were still together. “He didn’t hurt me. We’re good. This is all just new. It’s going to go how it goes.”

“Yeah, totally new. You haven’t been crazy in love with him for half your life.”

“I think I’ve been in love with the idea of him.”

“Oh, bull.” She laughed. “You know him. You’ve seen him, been a part of his life. You are seriously in deep Xs and Os with the man. Not with the idea of who he is.”

“Okay.” I wasn’t feeling up to an argument. “But being in love with him, or thinking I might be, doesn’t mean I know how or what we’re doing, you know?”

“It’s called ‘dating.’ Part of the adventure is sort of figuring it out as you go.”

Something else was on my mind. Rossi’s warning. “Old Rossi—”

Her phone rang, and she pulled it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. Whatever was there made her smile. She tapped the screen and quickly typed.

“Hogan?” I asked.

She glanced over at me. “No.”

“Liar.”

She grinned. “Maybe.”

The phone rang again. She scanned the message and texted back. “Old Rossi? I heard he was baked at the judging.”

Was he? I seemed to recall feeling like I’d gotten a contact high off him. Maybe all his warnings and doom were fueled by drugs. Jean was still texting, still smiling.

“Why don’t to take some time off from hovering over me?”

“You sure?” she asked.

“Yeah. Myra’s going to be back with my sandwich soon, and then I’ll probably fall asleep.”

She studied my face for a minute, then bent and kissed me on my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” Her face was still against my forehead.

“Me too,” I whispered.

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“Promise.”

She petted my head as she tipped her eyes down to give me a strong look. “I’m going to hold you to that.”

“No problem. I’m good for it.”

“Okay.” She planted a quick kiss on the tip of my nose. “I’m going to step out for a minute. Get some coffee. I’ll be right back.”

“Say hi to Hogan for me.”

“I will.”

She left the room, and I closed my eyes in the silence that filled it. I really was a little hungry. But there was no way I was going to stay in this room overnight. I had a festival to take care of, a killer on the loose. And I wanted to have a little chat with Dan Perkin.

I was hovering on the edge of sleep when I heard the door click open. I jerked, my hand sliding to my hip where my gun should be and hitting the bar of the bed. I stared at the door, waiting for another gun pointed at me.

“Just me.” Myra had a tray in her hands. “And food.”

My heart pounded hard and fast, but I tried to wave at her. “Hey.” The pink balloon bobbed and swayed. “Just caught me almost asleep.”

She raised her eyebrows until they brushed her dark, straight bangs. “Sorry about that. How about a peanut butter and jelly sandwich?”

I smiled. “That’s what they’re calling dinner in this joint? No wonder nobody stays.”

“That’s what I asked them to make for you. Because it’s what you always ask for when you’re feeling bad.”

“With strawberry jam?”

“With strawberry jam.” She set the tray down on the rolling cart near the bed then set that up so the sandwich was easy for me to reach.

“Chocolate milk out of the carton?” I was still smiling. “I’m not six, you know.”

“Look.” She held up a straw. “It bends! Ooooh. Bendy.” She bent it, then plunked it into the little square carton of chocolate milk.

I chuckled. “Thanks.”

She pushed the tray around until it was over my lap. I took a bite of the soft white bread. Peanut butter and jam with chocolate milk was a pretty nice turn of events, considering.

“You’re staying overnight, right?” Myra asked.

“Absolutely,” I lied while I chewed.

She stood, watching me. “You know you still have enough time to find the right person.”

“Which right person?”

“The one you need to give the power to in three days. Heim’s power.”

I picked up the chocolate milk and chased the straw for a moment before I got it in my mouth. Extra cold, just how Dad used to make it. It made me think of him, made me wish he were here. “That’s not a lot of time, Myra.”

“It’s enough. And it means you can spend one night here in bed, resting from a bullet that clipped you across the ribs and the surgery to patch you up, right?”

“I already said yes.”

“You were lying.”

“Well, yes, but I understand how concerned you are now.” I shrugged, and muscles pulled hot and stiff down my wrapped ribs. Ouch. Sudden movements were going to be a little out of my league.

“How bad is it?” I asked. I’d been ignoring that question, and my sisters had both waited until I was ready to know the answer.

“You’re very lucky. It went all the way through, but broke a rib.”

“Do I get to mummy up in one of those stretchy wraps?”

“They don’t do that anymore.”

“So I get shot and other than a broken rib and a bandage, I’m good to go?”

“I said you were lucky.”

“Well, there’s that at least.” I shifted again and winced. I wanted the stretchy bandage, darn it. Even though the medication was keeping the pain at bay, it felt like my bones were rubbing together.

“Need more meds?”

“I think I need sleep.” I gently pushed the tray away, and she reached over to drag it all the way to the side. “You don’t have to stay here while I sleep, Myra. I have the cool little button thing.” I lifted the call buttons in my right hand.

“I’ll be here.”

“Go home. Get out of your duckie pants—have you been in them all day?—and check in on all the things you need to. I’m here.” I looked her straight in the eyes. “And I’ll be here when you get back. Promise.”

Her pale blue eyes misted just a bit. “You scared the crap out of me,” she whispered hoarsely. “I wasn’t there. I wasn’t there in time. Me. Late.” Then my cool, steady sister lunged forward and draped her arms over me, laying her head on my chest.

“Hey now.” I patted her gently with my right hand. “It’s going to be all right. I’m all right. We’re still all together. We’re still all here.”

She held me for a long moment, and I settled into stroking her hair. She’d grown serious beyond her years when we’d lost Mom. I’d hoped that pain would pass for her and let a little light into her life, a little humor into her heart, but she kept her emotions closely guarded, even all these years later.

“I love you, My-my,” I said softly.

She finally sniffed, then breathed in, pulling herself together. “I love you too,” she said, straightening. “Get some sleep. And don’t sneak out on me.”

“Promise, and promise.”

She watched me for a moment then bent to give me a kiss on my cheek. I stroked the back of her thick, smooth hair.

“See you in the morning,” I said.

She nodded, wiped at one eye then straightened, and walked out of the room.

Chapter 24

I JERKED awake in the middle of the night. Someone was in the room with me. I thought it might be the night nurse, and tried to scrub an itch by my eye, but was too drowsy to lift my hand. They must have upped the dose on my medicines because even my tongue felt numb. I finally opened my eyes, rolled my head to one side.

A figure sat slumped in the chair by my bed, head bent into one hand with elbow propped on knee, other hand extended and resting on the back of my hand. I knew that silhouette.

“Ryder?” I whispered.

He stiffened slightly, raised his head. The only light in the room slipped pale and watery from under the door, just enough to see his face.

Had he been crying?

“Delaney.” Spoken so softly, though there were only the two of us in the room. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” My heart picked up a beat.

Was there something else that had happened? Was someone else hurt?

“I shouldn’t have left you. I should have stayed. This is my fault. Us. This. All this.”

He wasn’t making any sense. He looked angry.

“I got shot. That doesn’t have anything to do with you. Part of the job. My job.”

He shook his head once, his eyes going hard, lips pressed in a frown. He was pulling away, even though he hadn’t shifted an inch. He was leaving me. Ending us. Even as he sat right there, his hand on mine.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was low, soft, and so very, very cold. “Last night was a mistake.”

“No,” I breathed.

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken, his words even, almost recited. “I left this morning because I realized you got the wrong idea. That it might be something more than one night. I was just up for a good time. Curious, after all this time of knowing you, what it would be like.”