was gunning the motor again, spinning the tires, shifting rapidly through the gears as she sped away.
James turned in his seat, wondering if the debris falling on the crowd included bits of Scarface. But no, it seemed to be a magazine stand that had stood a few yards from him.
“Don’t worry,” Brigit told him. “The vendor had left his post to gawk at the lady who was gunned down on the sidewalk. No casualties, though I think letting that scar-cheeked bastard live was a mistake.”
“You sound just like Rhiannon, who, I think, originated the phrase ‘Kill them all and let the gods sort them out.’”
“Funny you should mention her.”
He closed his eyes. “Tell me that’s not where we’re going.”
“Who the hell else is going to be able to tell us what’s going on, J.W.?”
“I keep telling you, I go by James now.”
“Yeah. You do keep telling me that. It’s irritating. I wish you’d stop.”
She took a corner so fast that he was mashed up against the door, and he knew there was no going back now.
He’d been sucked back in. Just as he’d always pretty much known he would be. His family were not the kind who let go easily.
The ambulance attendant was sticking a needle into her arm the second the doors swung shut, and Lucy gasped at the unexpected pinch of it. Then she looked up at the young man and said, “I really think I’m all right.”
“Just relax, Professor Lanfair. You’re in good hands.”
“How do you know my na…uh…” Ocean waves came washing into her brain, crashing and then slowly sucking her logical mind back out to sea again. “What did you…give me?”
“Just relax now. It’s all fine. Just relax.”
He was smiling and his eyes were kind and sort of hazel. But they weren’t those other eyes. Those piercing, electric-blue eyes she’d been lost in moments before. And this medic’s hands, while soothing and strong, were not the same hands she’d felt on her before, either. That other touch had been so powerful she’d felt it in every cell of her body. A touch that she knew had somehow…healed her.
And that man. That face. That familiar, beautiful face. Something in her, something deep inside her, had recognized him—though she knew she had never seen him before in her life.
Perhaps, she thought, he was an angel.
“Time to wake up now, Professor. Come on. You’ve had a good rest. Wake up. We need to talk.”
Lucy opened her eyes. But the white room was tipping slowly one way, then the other, growing on one side, shrinking on the other, then reversing itself before just spinning slowly. There was a woman. Black hair with a white streak. A man with a big scar on his face. It must have been his voice she heard.
That was all she noticed before she slammed her eyes closed again.
“I’m going to be sick.”
“No, you aren’t,” the woman said softly. “Do you remember who you are, dear? Hmm?”
“Am in the hospital? Did I die?” God, she was so disoriented.
“You’re safe, and you’re fine, and you’re going home soon.”
Her voice was deep. A little gravelly. A Stevie Nicks voice. Lucy loved Stevie Nicks, mainly because her mom had.
“Now, tell me your name,” Stevie Nicks said.
Lucy smiled, remembering the soundtrack of her childhood, before it had all gone so dark. “Lucy. Dad used to call me Lucille. But I hated it. I wouldn’t hate it now, though. I’d love to hear him call me Lucille again.”
She tried opening her eyes again, but the room was still all out of sorts. She saw the man with the scar leaning close to Stevie—no, that wasn’t Stevie. She wasn’t wearing a scrap of lace or fringe, or a single trailing shawl. No, she was wearing mannish blue trousers with a white shirt tucked in, a thin belt, and a white lab coat, like a doctor.
“Can you get her to focus?” the scarred man said.
“If you get what you need, does it matter if it’s couched in her life story?”
“Time is of the essence here, Lillian. All hell’s breaking loose out there, in case you hadn’t noticed.”
“Maybe your containment team should have considered not having their work televised, then. Back off and let me do my job.”
The scar-faced man huffed, but he moved away from the bed.
Oh, Lucy thought. She was in a bed. And that white lab coat—yeah. Okay, this must be a hospital, then.
“Lucy, what’s your full name, dear?”
Lucy tried to focus, because for some reason she was afraid of