by Angel Smits
Cord started toward the door when he heard a shuffling sound. He turned as Johnny launched himself through the air.
In the years they’d worked together, they’d had their fair share of disagreements. Cord could hold his own with Johnny. He wasn’t afraid of a few blows, but he feared the look in Johnny’s eyes. He’d seen that look only once before in another man’s eyes. In the alley behind a bar in San Diego. It was the look of a man intent on a fight to the death. How had it gotten into Johnny’s eyes? “What’s wrong with you?” Cord yelled.
Johnny’s big frame knocked Cord to the ground. Cord’s back slammed against the hard floor. The element of surprise gave Johnny a slight edge. Cord rolled toward a table. He shoved Johnny back into the oak pedestal. Rolling away from his friend, Cord stood. He had the advantage as Johnny struggled from under the table.
Cord stood ready, feet apart. Fists lifted in front of him. He tried to anticipate his friend’s next move.
“That wasn’t fair,” Johnny whined, as he struggled to his knees and then his feet.
“Fair?” Cord stared at him incredulously.
Johnny shook his head, looking down at the ground. When he once again returned his gaze to Cord, that look was back. Cord tensed for the coming impact.
Johnny’s fists flew toward Cord’s jaw. Cord ducked aside, barely. He slammed his own fist into the other man’s stomach. A loud whoosh of air escaped from Johnny, and he stumbled backwards. For several seconds Johnny wavered, recovering.
“Give up?” Cord questioned, unsure what would happen next. This wasn’t normal. They never fought like this. Johnny knew when to quit.
“Hell, no,” Johnny roared and once again launched himself at Cord. Both men fell backwards. The hard oak bar hit Cord just below his shoulder blades. The force threw his head against the brass rail.
Johnny’s fists were quick. They connected with Cord’s jaw, then just below his eye. Pain exploded in his entire face as his cheekbone popped. Johnny’s fist hit his jaw one more time. Cord struggled free. His own punch met with Johnny’s chin. Anger and pain gave Cord strength. Johnny stumbled backwards.
“I don’t know what your beef is, Johnny.” Cord struggled to catch his breath against the pain. “This is no way to settle it.” Cord reached up to wipe his face. Bright red blood mixed with ash covered his hand. His head throbbed in time with his heart.
“You don’t, huh?” Johnny laughed, but the sound wasn’t his normal laughter. A higher pitch overshadowed the familiar baritone.
Cord stared at him. He tried to focus with both eyes, which was difficult with one nearly swollen shut.
“I’ve waited so very long for this day, Rafe.”
Cord’s head whipped up. Had he heard right? “What did you say?”
“You heard me.” Johnny’s fists flew toward Cord. Cord moved away and managed to put the charred blackjack table between them.
“Who the hell are you?” Fear shivered through Cord. He could battle Johnny, but he suddenly knew this wasn’t Johnny. Only one person that he knew of could do this. Delta.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Johnny shoved the table toward Cord. Cards stored in the drawer below skittered across the floor. Chips clicked as they hit the ruined wood.
Cord stood ready for the next assault, prepared to give back whatever he could. The fight had changed. Cord fought for his life now. Somehow he had to knock Johnny out.
A big, meaty fist slammed into Cord’s chin, sending new blinding pain through his head. He punched Johnny in the stomach again. Both men stumbled. Johnny landed against the wall. Cord wasn’t as lucky. His heel caught on a barstool, and he went sprawling. He heard the wood of the stool crack.
Before he could struggle to his feet, Johnny came toward him again.
Johnny reached out and snagged a leg from the broken stool. He hoisted it into the air.
Cord watched the wood rise above him. He expected Johnny to hit him in the head, and he lifted his arms protectively. Johnny surprised him and slammed it into his knee. Cord’s cry of agony echoed through the room.
Tendons and muscle shifted with the impact. Red, blinding pain shot up his spine and into his brain. Blackness beckoned him, but he fought against it. Faith’s face drifted before him. The thought of never seeing her again ate a hole in his gut. He had to see her and tell her he loved her.
Cord slumped back against the floor, clutching his knee and fighting the overpowering pain.
Johnny stood a few feet away. His chest heaved as he breathed. Cord watched him under lowered lashes, trying to anticipate the next attack. When none came, he watched Johnny, waiting for the next move.
Johnny walked over to the bar and grabbed an unopened bottle of whiskey. Twisting off the lid, he drank a deep swallow. After putting the liquor down, he wiped his sleeve across his mouth.
“I rather like this guy. He’s nothing like me.” Johnny looked into the soot-smeared mirror hanging over the bar and rubbed his jaw. “I’m not sure I could handle the shaving bit. What do you think, Rafe? How would Johnny look in a beard?”
“Like an ass.” Cord struggled to sit up, putting pressure on his knee. The pain caused him to gasp and lean back against the wall. He wasn’t far from the fire door, but it might as well be down the block.
Sweat drenched Cord’s body, as much from the fight as from the pain. He longed for a cool breeze, but they’d nailed boards over everything, shutting it up tight as a drum. The storm lost its impact. Even the pounding of the raindrops on the roof seemed softer than before.
He wiped a sleeve across his brow. He still wore his jacket. Leaning forward, he tried to struggle out of it.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Johnny spat.
“Taking off this damned jacket, if you don’t mind. It’s hotter than hell in here.” He scooted a few inches toward the door.
“You’d know about that wouldn’t you?” And suddenly as if he’d made a joke, Johnny giggled insanely at his own reflection in the mirror.
Cord watched him, wondering what to expect next. There was no deciphering what went on in the other man’s mind. The Johnny he knew was gone. Or at least buried deep in there somewhere. Was Johnny still alive? The thought that he might not be sent grief deep through him. Johnny wasn’t perfect, but he was the best friend Cord had ever had. He wouldn’t take his loss lightly.
“So, what exactly are you planning?” Cord heard the ragged pain in his own voice.
“Planning?” Johnny’s eyes shifted, meeting Cord’s. “I’m not sure yet. I was thinking about that. I could kill you now. I know Johnny has the strength to break your neck.”
“Not without one hell of a fight, which you aren’t even sure you’d win.”
“Hmmm.” Johnny lifted the bottle and took another swig. Cord hoped he’d keep drinking. Johnny drank with the best of them—and went under the table first. Johnny was often teased about what a “cheap date” he was. Did this person know that?
Person? Was this a person? Cord’s head hurt just trying to figure it all out. He could wait as long as Johnny could drink.
Leaning his head back, Cord looked at the burned out room. It was a mess, just like everything else. Like a slide show images popped into his mind—images of Faith.
What a fool he’d been, hurting her and pushing her away. He saw her there in his mind, as he had hundreds of times today. The moonlight playing on her hair that first night. The irritation he’d seen on her face when he’d teased her that first visit to the museum. The soft smile that hovered on her sleepy lips after they’d made love. The hurt he’d dished out far too easily.
“Hey.” Johnny moved away from the mirror and towered over Cord. “What are you planning?” The words were more accusation than question.
“Nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me, Rafe.” Johnny gr
inned, a smile barely reaching his lips, let alone his eyes.
Cord turned his head away, an action he immediately regretted. Johnny’s booted foot shot out, slamming against Cord’s injured knee.
Cord fought the cloying blackness, barely recovering before another wave of pain swept over him, pulling him under. Suddenly, Johnny pulled something from behind his back. Not the whiskey bottle as Cord expected, but a gun. The last image he saw was the barrel aimed directly at his heart.
Nineteen
MEN WERE SO STUPID sometimes. Faith stomped up the street, the sound of her feet against the pavement ringing around her. Some men more than others. Cord Burke in particular.
She’d passed three casinos and two gift shops before her pace slowed. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she took several breaths. She’d forgotten about the altitude. She grumbled, but her anger faded slowly.
At the hotel, she flopped back on the bed. Okay, now what? The ornate designs on the ceiling intrigued her for a minute. That done, she rolled over and stared out the window. A few wispy clouds floated by. Was that a giraffe?
Her chest ached and her eyes stung. She would not cry. She refused to let him drive her to that.
A tiny drop slipped out of the corner of her eye. Okay, she’d allow him one tear, but that was all. It fell to her hand, followed by another and another. She closed her eyes, but that didn’t help either. He just appeared there behind her closed eyelids.
Handsome and tall. His eyes flashed and he smiled, a smile she knew started in the dreams and kept going.
She stood, rubbing her eyes and daring any more tears to fall. Cord had made himself very clear. He didn’t want her. It might hurt, but she’d get over him. Her heart ached now, for him and for herself, but she’d survive. They both would.
Wind whipped, tapping against the window. She sat looking down at the street. Gamblers scurried inside for cover. Dark clouds hugged the mountaintops, mushrooming up toward the heavens. Lightning lit the sky then faded off with a whimper. The old trick of counting the seconds to tell how far away the storm was didn’t work. Faith knew the storm was here, all around her, inside her.
From her window she could see the dark, charred outline of the Double Barrel’s roof. Raindrops pelted the glass. She stepped back and let the curtain drop. Lightning spiked again, followed by a roar like she’d never heard before.
Faith’s heart trembled, and she realized this was more than a simple, natural storm.
Delta was back.
She tore open the door of her room and rushed outside. Water fell down on her from the sky. Ponds formed in the streets and soaked her shoes. She ran on. Cord might not want her. He might send her away again. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let him. Not yet.
Together they were stronger than Delta. Alone they were helpless. How she knew that, she didn’t know. She just did.
She shoved her sopping wet hair from her eyes. Night fell quickly. Streetlights blinked on only to fade out with the lightning blasts. Inky blackness formed a wall before her.
Using her hands on the rough brick walls, she found her way. Two more doorways. The deformed handle of the Double Barrel told her she’d arrived.
She shook the door, but it didn’t give. Even the rattle of wood against wood disappeared in the roar of the storm.
“Cord!” she screamed, the word ripping from her throat and flying away on the wind. She pounded on the door until her knuckles ached. No one answered.
Now what? The rain continued to fall, soaking her to the skin. She shivered. The back door. She followed the wall to the alley where she found the metal door by touch. It, too, was locked. No one answered her pounding this time either.
Where had he gone? A flash of light split the sky into black shards. Thunder rumbled in the ground beneath her feet. Faith covered her ears with her hands, shutting out the worst of the painful roar. As she did, the storm’s tone softened.
A woman’s laughter echoed through the air, low and distant. Faith knew that laughter, sensed the violence in it. She recalled the pictures she’d developed with Clarissa. Fear took hold of her and wouldn’t let go.
“Cord,” she screamed again, desperate for an answering cry in that deep voice she loved. But the incessant pounding of the falling rain provided the only reply.
She returned to the front of the building. Cord’s jeep sat a short way down the block. He was nowhere to be seen. She headed towards it, hoping to find something, anything that would tell her where he’d gone. Suddenly, a shaft of golden light caught her eye.
It shone through the tall window of Cord’s office. Shadows moved behind the glass. She ran to the window. The storm must have drowned out her pounding. Wiping the drops from the window, she cupped her hands around her face to peer through. A smile of relief tugged at her cold lips. He’d probably think she was a total idiot getting soaking wet for nothing.
She saw Johnny through the open door of the office. He knelt down, looking for something. Faith reached up to tap on the glass, but her hand stopped in midair as he stood. Her heart lurched.
Cord’s tall frame lay stretched across the floor. She couldn’t see his face as it was turned away. Was he . . . ? No dark stain marred his chest like in the picture. She tried to calm her breathing. She tried the window. Locked. Frustrated, she watched Johnny switch off the light and walk away. She pounded on the glass. Still he didn’t answer.
She dropped to her knees. Scrambling in the mud, she hunted for a rock, a board, anything hard to break the window. She found nothing. She stood again, and with her heel, she kicked the lower panes until they burst. She pulled off her shoe and beat at the broken shards until they fell away.
Ice-cold mud squished between her bare toes. She slipped her shoe back on, grimacing at the chill, and then climbed through the window. When her sleeve snagged on the frame, she tugged free. Inside, the building blocked and partially muffled the storm. The eerie stillness rang in her ears.
She was surprised when Johnny didn’t come to check out the noise. Where was he anyway? Because of the fire, she knew the phones were out. He must be on his way to get help for Cord. She hurried through the darkened office only bumping a couple pieces of furniture on her way.
“Cord!” she cried when she reached his side, and she knelt beside him. Worry pounded in her heart. Gently, she turned his face toward her and gasped. A dark, angry bruise swelled and covered his left cheek. Blood stained the corner of his mouth.
“Cord?” She tried to rouse him, fighting the tears and pain in her heart. His head rolled from side to side, and he moaned softly. Pain cloaked his voice, but she thought he whispered her name.
“What?” She leaned closer, straining to hear the strangled words.
“Get out,” he whispered.
“Forget it. You can be mad at me later. Johnny went to get help. What happened?” Fear cracked her words.
“Johnny?” Cord’s eyelids fluttered open, then closed again. “Get out,” he spoke carefully, deliberately. “Now. Get help.”
“I can’t leave you like this.” She had to help him, but she didn’t know what to do. Please, Johnny, hurry back, she prayed. “Johnny should be right back,” she reassured him.
Cord’s hand shot out, surprisingly strong as it clamped across her lips. “No. Delta’s got him.”
“What?” She stared into his pain-filled eyes. The remaining color drained from his face as he looked past her.
“Ah . . . Maria.” Johnny’s voice boomed through the room in a strange, yet familiar voice. “What took you so long to get here?”
Cord struggled to sit up, managing only to lift up on one elbow. His chest rose and fell rapidly with the exertion. Faith turned to find Johnny leaning against the blackened bar. A wicked grin sliced across his face.
“Johnny what’s going on? What happened?” she demanded with
more bravado than she felt.
“Just a little unfinished business.” Johnny leaned forward, pulling a gun from his belt. His wicked grin grew. “With more to come.”
Faith had never stared down the barrel of a gun before. Sweat broke out all over her body, and she trembled.
“It’s Delta,” Cord explained. He slumped against a burned table, his breathing labored.
“What do you mean?” She rocked back on her heels, staring at Johnny and the gun.
“She’s possessed him.”
Fear that Delta had actually taken over Johnny’s body speared through her. This whole thing was beyond reason, beyond accepting. “No, you’re Johnny. Cord’s friend.”
Suddenly, Johnny threw his head back and laughed. The sound—a mixture of Johnny’s familiar baritone and the haunting laughter she’d heard these past weeks—sent goose bumps along Faith’s neck.
“What do you want?” Faith slowly rose to her feet. Maybe reasoning would work. Maybe she could get to the door and run. Would Johnny kill Cord if she did? Faith swallowed her fear. Panic wouldn’t do either of them a bit of good.
“What’s this all about?” She spoke softly, soothingly. She wished she’d read more of Clarissa’s books. Maybe then she’d know how to drive Delta’s ghost out of Johnny. “Why, Delta? What did we ever do to you?” If nothing else, she didn’t want to die without knowing.
“So, sweet Maria.” Johnny sneered, reaching for an open bottle and taking a deep swig. “Don’t you know?”
“No, I don’t. Tell me, Delta.” Faith coaxed. “Tell me.”
“Say please.” Delta smirked.
Faith hesitated only an instant before whispering, “Please.”
A smug look filled the face behind the gun. “You were always so good. You had it all. Now I’m going to take it all back.” Delta reached up to the open V of Johnny’s shirt collar and rubbed her bare neck. Anger sparkled in her eyes. Faith recalled Delta stroking the broach in the same manner. She tried not to enjoy the spiteful realization that it was gone.
