“Hi,” he said, surprised at the croaking sound that was his voice.
“Hi yourself.”
Ray blinked. “What the hell happened?” The words came out in a husky whisper. He felt kind of hollow. Drained.
The Angel shrugged. “After you passed out I got you into the rental and drove to the hospital at Holloman as quickly as I could.”
Ray was glad that he’d been unconscious during that drive. “And Moon and Stuntman?”
“On the trail of the Racist and his accomplice who was driving the hot-wired car. Another one of the escapees named Deadhead.”
Ray nodded, satisfied. “Good. And did you give my message to the doctors?” He lifted his head and looked down his body. His neck hurt like a son of a bitch and his numb left leg felt like dead weight and was swathed in bandages, like a mummy leg. On the plus side, the wasp stings had stopped itching.
The Angel pursed her full, so attractive lips. “Yes, but—”
“But, nothing.” Ray tried to sit up, but the Angel put a hand out on his chest.
“Billy, you have to rest and heal. You almost bled out. The doctors here aren’t too familiar with ace metabolism. They had your medical records e-mailed—well, not all of them.” She shook her head. “They fill seven complete CDs. They say your healing factor is slowing down. Your body can still repair itself, but not like it used to. You were very lucky this time.”
For one moment his temper surged and he felt like shoving her aside and leaping up out of the bed. But he paused. Though they’d never actually tested it, in the best of times her strength was equal to his own. Maybe, as much as he hated to admit it, even greater. And this was not the best of times. He was weak. He felt tired.
Ray stared into space. “You’re not telling me something I haven’t realized. It’s all catching up to me. I don’t know how much I have left.”
“Oh, Billy,” Angel said, “you’ve got plenty—you’re like a force of nature. Unstoppable. Fearless—”
“No. I can feel it in my bones.” Ray took a deep breath. This was hard. “And you were the only fear I couldn’t beat.”
Her eyes went wide. “Me?”
“I was afraid of needing you,” he said. “I’d never known anything like you. You became part of me so fast. But these past few months I’ve faced an even greater fear. A fear of never being with you again. Never sleeping, never waking, never eating, drinking, screwing, laughing, sharing the everyday stuff with you. Jesus Christ, Angel, someone’s got to tell me what to do about Hillary Rodham. Someone’s got to help me get through the crazy shit I call my life. God knows, you don’t deserve to be stuck with the job, but only you can do it. I can’t make myself whole anymore. Only you can.”
“ ‘You’re in my blood like holy wine,’ ” she said, leaning over and kissing him. The touch of her lips on his was like coming home again. He could feel his heart beat, the blood pound through his veins.
“This marriage thing—”
The Angel shook her head. “I know—”
“No,” Ray interrupted. “Listen to me. Is my wallet around here somewhere or did someone steal it?”
“They put your personal effects in the bed stand,” she said, leaning over and opening it. She took the wallet out and handed it to Ray. He looked through it, quickly counting the money and credit cards, then found a folded slip of paper, creased and dust-stained after the parking lot fight. He held it out to her.
“What’s this?” she asked, taking it from him and unfolding it. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned it. “A marriage license!”
“I took it out a couple of months ago. I’ve been carrying it around. I just couldn’t find a way—”
The Angel practically fell on him. Her hand went behind his head and she pulled his face to hers, and Ray nearly shouted with the sudden pain in his neck. They kissed again, this time with the fierceness he remembered so well. After a long moment, they broke apart, and Ray said, “I take it that’s a yes.”
“Yes,” said the Angel.
“Good,” Ray said, smiling freely for the first time in a long time. Son of a bitch, he thought. This might all work out. He scooted over in the bed, careful of the tubes coming out of the bags pumping antibiotics into his arm. “Come on, babe, join me.”
“Billy!” She looked around. It was a private room, but with an open door and a big window on the corridor and nurses’ station beyond. “Not here!”
“Nah, not for that,” he said. “I just want to feel you next to me again.”
Carefully, she climbed up. He put his unencumbered arm around her, feeling foolishly triumphant. He soon fell asleep. Some time later, his cell phone rang. He awoke instantly, feeling refreshed and alert, untroubled by dreams. The Angel, still at his side, reached out and took it off the bedside stand and handed it to him.
“Yeah,” he said.
“It’s Jamal,” a voice said. “We’ve found them.”
Ray looked out of the tacky gift shop across the street from the seedy motel called the Love Lodge, where Moon had tracked the Racist and his companion after they’d abandoned the stolen car in a lot six blocks away. Fortunately, Ray thought, even ace criminals needed to sleep. They thought they’d muddied their trail enough, but they hadn’t counted on Moon’s hypersensitive sense of smell. They hadn’t counted on a lot of things, including Ray’s fanatical sense of outrage. And now they were going to pay.
Stuntman sidled up to him in the darkened shop and whispered in his excitement, though there was no way they could hear him in the motel across the street even if it wasn’t 3:00 A.M. and they weren’t asleep.
“All set,” he said, putting a certain amount of grim satisfaction into his whisper.
“The Marines in place?” Ray asked.
Norwood nodded. Ray had requisitioned a platoon of Marines, as well as half a ton of material, from the base and placed them around the back of the motel. No one was going to slip away from this party.
Ray nodded. “All right then. Let’s go.”
He looked almost normal in his fighting suit, except for the bandage covering most of his neck, and his right leg, abnormally thickened and stiffened by the brace and wrappings that made it possible for him to move slowly and gingerly. The tendons behind his knee, severed little more than twelve hours earlier by the Racist’s blade, hadn’t totally healed yet. But the doctors had listened to his orders and sewn them together. They were holding precariously. Getting old, he reflected, was a pain in the ass. He set his crutch aside. The Angel took his left arm, and they shuffled forward together. Stuntman stepped in front of him.
“I’m going to get a shot at that loser, right?” he asked.
Ray looked at him. “I won’t be up to any fancy dancing for a couple of days. You’d better take a good shot at him. Moon and Angel will back you up.”
“Yes, sir,” Stuntman said happily, almost as if he meant it. He went out through the back of the shop to join Moon in the adjacent alley.
“You sure you want to do this, Billy?” the Angel asked.
“Hell, I’m not dead, yet,” he said. “I want to see the look on that shit-head’s face when we bust him. And I really want to see the look on his face when he tries to run.”
The Angel shook her head. “All right.”