The Maze

eyes." Of course she could hear him. He was using that deep voice of his that made her nerve endings quiver, but she couldn't say anything, her mouth was too dry. She tried to form the words, but no sound came out.

    A woman said, "Give her some water."

    Someone raised her head. She felt cold water on her lips and opened her mouth. She choked, then slowed down. She drank and drank until finally the water was dribbling down her chin.

    "Now can you talk to me?"

    "The light," she whispered. "Please, the light."

    The same woman's voice said, "It must be hurting her."

    The light was gone in the next instant and it was now shadowy and dim. She sighed with relief. "That's better. Where's Dillon?"

    "I'm right here. You scared me out of a good year at the gym. We were both doing just fine until you had the nerve to pass out on me."

    "I didn't mean to do that. It was weak and unnecessary.

    I'm sorry. Does my health coverage take care of the paramedics and the emergency room?"

    "I doubt it. I think it will come out of your pay. Now, here's Dr. Breaker. He got to your house just as the paramedics were pulling out, claims he was speeding to get there. Turns out he has admitting privileges here at Washington Memorial."

    "Your voice made me quiver-all dark and soft, like falling into a deep, deep well. If I were a criminal, I'd say anything you wanted to keep you talking to me like that. It's a wonderful voice. Plummy-that's how a writer would describe your voice."

    "Thank you. I think."

    "Agent Sherlock. I'm Dr. Breaker."

    He shined a penlight in her eyes, felt the bumps on her head, and said over his shoulder to Dillon, "She's not going to need any stitches, just some of my magic tape. Scalp wounds tend to really bleed."

    "They bleed like stink."

    "Yes, that's right. Interesting way of saying it."

    "It's what the man said. And he said it in a southern way. He drawled out stink into two syllables."

    She'd already told him that, but he said, "That's good, Sherlock. Anything else?"

    "Not just yet, Savich. Hold off a bit. Let me clean her up, then you can talk her ear off." He cleared his throat. "She wasn't raped, was she?"

    "No, I wasn't. I'm not dead, Dr. Breaker. You can speak to me."

    "Well, you see, Agent, I owe everything to Savich here and nothing at all to you. If he wants me to report to him, he's got it."

    "I report to him. You report to him. Soon the president will report to him. Maybe that's not such a bad idea. My head hurts."

    "I'll just bet it does. Lie still now. When you first came in, we did a CT scan. Not to worry, it was normal. We always do a CT scan when there's a head injury, to check for evidence of bleeding. You didn't have any. What happened to your arm? What's this sling for?"

    "A knife wound," Savich said. "It's nearly well now. Happened a couple of weeks ago."

    "Why don't you let her heal before you send her into the arena with the monsters again?"

    She laughed. There was nothing else to do.

    The next time she heard anything, it was a strange man speaking.

    "When you roared out of the club like a bat out of its belfry, I thought Sally was going to have Marvin tackle you. You scared us, Dillon. This is Sherlock?"

    "Yes, that's her in all her glory."

    "She looks like a little mummy only her skin isn't leather."

    "Thanks," Lacey said, not opening her eyes. She realized then that there was a huge bandage over the cut in her scalp. She raised her hand to touch it, but to her disgust, she didn't have the strength. Dr. Breaker was right. It wasn't fair that she had to be hurt again before she'd healed completely from the other time. Her hand fell, only again Dillon caught it and laid it gently at her side.

    "You alive, Sherlock?"

    "Yes, thank you. I'm tired of this, sir. At least last time in that Boston hospital I was sitting up the whole time."

    "Don't whine. You'll live."

    "She calls you 'sir'? My God, Dillon, do you require that all your people call you sir?"

    "No, just the women. It makes me feel powerful."

    "He's lying," she said, cracking open her eyes. To her relief, the light in the room was dim. "He takes all the women to the gym and stomps them into the floor. The 'sir' stuff is my idea. I hope it makes him feel responsible, and guilty."

    "I don't feel guilty. I walked you home. You want me to believe that I should have taken you inside? Checked all your closets and looked under the bed? Well, maybe from now on I will. You attract trouble, Sherlock, too much of