Chapter Three
“—but he had a point; he was so concerned about the people . . . ”
“Don’t go soft on me,” a second voice, deeper and rougher than the mayor’s, chimed in. “Real concern doesn’t exist anymore.”
Peter shook his head in disgust.
“Sir, you didn’t see his eyes!” the mayor said. “It was real!”
The other voice sharpened in disgust. “Do you want to make money or don’t you? By the time we’re finished this whole city is gonna be ringed with parking lots. No one can come in or go out without paying US a toll.”
“So that’s their plan,” Peter whispered.
“I don’t know anymore, Mister Zeckenbush! I just don’t know anymore.”
“Listen to me! We’re going through with this! There’s no time to back out!”
Mike reeled backward, grabbing Peter’s arm as the voices grew louder.
Peter nodded, jabbing his finger at a small closet.
They lunged over to it as the mayor’s office door swung open. Peter darted inside, followed closely by Mike. The Texan collided with a warm body and went down, his knee slamming into something hard with an audible crack. He barely stifled the yelp that rose in his chest.
A hand flew over his mouth and another around his shoulders. He was pulled close to the person he’d collided with and Micky’s voice hissed, “You okay?”
Raging curses bellowed up Mike’s throat as he squeezed his eyes shut, tears of pain leaking down his cheeks.
Micky pulled Mike’s face down to his shoulder, stifling the curses and wiping the tears. Davy slid to Peter’s side, listening intently to the other side of the door.
“It doesn’t matter, Motley. I’ll take care of this do-gooder. You have an election to focus on. Remember that. I still own you, you know.” A few soft footsteps were followed by the slam of a door, then all was silent.
Davy breathed a slur on the man’s parentage as he eased the door open slightly.
The mayor’s office door was closed once more; the sound of his voice emerged as he talked—presumably—on the telephone.
“Let’s get outta here,” Davy hissed.
“Mike, you okay?” Peter whispered.
Micky was supporting him. “We’ll talk about it outside.”
Limping heavily, Mike leaned on Micky as they darted out of the closet and back into the hall, breathing freely only when they got outside.
“Where’d you hit?” Micky asked, still supporting him.
“My knee,” Mike groaned, leaning against the wall. “Knocked it against . . . I don’t know what.”
“Me,” Micky chuckled. “My weapons . . . ”
Mike looked at Peter. “We gotta find out who this Zeckenbush is, and fast. ‘Fore he turns anyone else’s house into a parking lot.”
Peter nodded, sliding behind the wheel of the car. “After we get some rest.”
“No!” Mike said. “We don’t have time for rest—ow!” he cried when his knee was jostled by the door as Micky shut it.
“We have to,” Peter said calmly. “You have to heal.”
Mike sighed, realizing it would be pointless to argue.
“The world’s ending, Micky,” Davy said.
“How can you tell?”
“Mike just gave up without an argument.”
Peter just chuckled, shook his head, and pointed the car toward home.
~~~~~
By the time they returned home, Mike was sleeping more soundly than usual. Peter smiled to see it—he recognized it as a healing sleep similar to the one that he’d fallen into after the goons who’d been after Millie Rudnick had beaten him.
“Nice and easy,” he said, gesturing for Micky and Davy to carry him inside. Mike mumbled only once, his crossed arms tightening for a moment, then loosening. They set him on the couch, tucking a blanket around him and supporting his injured knee with a pillow.
“Who’s taking first watch?” Peter whispered, raising Mike’s head just enough to put another pillow under his neck and moving his staff to where his fingertips were just touching it.
“I am,” Micky was quick to answer, his expression hardening. It wasn’t as if he was expecting an attack, but from the look of his face, if one came he would be ready.
Peter nodded, and stepped aside, pointing himself toward his bedroom. He took two steps, and froze. “Uhm . . . Davy? Micky?”
They both turned. “What is it, Peter?” Davy asked.
Peter just nodded toward the staircase.
One by one, their houseguests were assembling on the landing. Each of them was looking down at the three standing Winds with identical expressions.
Puzzlement.
Suspicion.
A hint of betrayal.
On to Chapter Four
Back to Chapter Two
Back to Secrets and Lies Index
