John Miller - Inside Out

“What thafuckeryoudoing?” he growled, flailing at them. “Jesus H. Christ,” he groaned, gripping his head.

“What's wrong, Bear?”

“My head!” Dixon moaned in agony.

“Stroke?” Beck asked Greg.

“He's been drugged,” Winter said.

“Bear, did you take anything?” Greg asked.

“Nothing. Had coffee with Martinez and she left and… I was just sitting there. And…”

Winter picked up Dixon's cup of coffee from the console, dipped his finger in just enough so he could get a drop on his tongue. “Maybe there's something in it, but with the sugar and milk, I can't tell.”

Greg removed Bear's pistol from his holster. Dixon tried to sit up, then gave up. Winter pulled his flashlight, turned it on, and locked it against the receiver of his SIG. “Dylan,” Winter said.

The three marshals left Dixon on the floor and rushed into the hallway, their guns poised. Greg kicked open Dylan's door and Winter, seeing the killer sit up in bed, moved swiftly to Sean Devlin's suite with Beck. He opened the door to the sitting room and flipped the light switch on.

Martinez sat slumped on the couch. A cup of cold coffee was on the table beside her. Winter put his hand on the pulse in her neck, then left her for Beck to rouse. Sean's bedroom door was slightly ajar.

Using his foot so he could maintain his aim, Winter pushed the door open. Sean was lying facedown across the bed, wearing only panties. Winter pressed his fingertips to her neck to check for a pulse and got more than he expected. She yelled out, scrambled upright, and pressed her back against the headboard. Realizing that Winter and Greg were staring at her, she jerked a pillow up to cover her breasts. “What!” she screamed.

After Greg moved into the room, Dylan came up behind him.

When she saw Dylan, Sean jumped up, jerked the sheet off the bed, and wrapped it around her. “All of you, get out of my room!” she yelled. “What are you doing?”

“I'm sorry,” Winter said. “Dixon and Martinez were drugged.”

“I don't understand.”

“Ask him.” Winter indicated Dylan.

“Ask me what?” Dylan said.

“He thought it would be me,” Winter told Sean.

“Thought what would be you?” Greg asked.

“I was listed on the board to be in the security room, but I traded with Dixon. Devlin planned to take me when I was knocked out.”

“You're a paranoid fool,” Dylan said, smiling. “I could take you if I was knocked out.”

Martinez was awake when they returned to the den but looked like hell.

“What happened?” Greg asked.

“I don't know. I was just sitting here.”

“You got coffee from the security room?”

“Yeah. Then I came in here thinking I would read.”

“You didn't lock the door?”

“Of course I locked it.”

“It was open,” Winter said.

“You don't suppose the wind blew it open?” Dylan asked.

“Sean's wasn't locked, either,” Winter said.

“I locked my door,” Sean insisted.

“Goodness,” Dylan mocked. “This is frightening. Someone could have harmed me.”

Without a word, Winter went straight to the security room. “What's up?” Bear asked, staring at him blearily.

“Devlin drugged you.”

“How?”

“Was he in here at all earlier?”

“For a minute, around eleven, talking to Cross.”

Crouching low and close to the coffee table, Winter spotted white residue on the surface. He pressed his finger to the powder and touched his tongue. Hurriedly, he left for Devlin's room.

Greg followed him and watched grimly as Winter started pulling open the drawers and rifling through their contents.

“Can I help you?” Dylan asked from the doorway. Winter reached into the table beside the bed, lifted out a bottle, and tossed it to Greg.

“Here you go.”

“Prescribed for pain,” Dylan needled. “You think they might be too strong for me?”

“You put them in the coffee, you son of a bitch,” Winter told him.

“That's crazy talk, Deputy. Why would I?”

Greg had poured the capsules out into his palm. “Bottle says there should be twelve. They're all here.”

“I didn't take any. You can become an addict taking narcotics.”

“Maybe you figured if you knocked us out you could talk reason to your wife,” Winter said.

“Unnecessary,” Dylan replied, smiling confidently. “She's my wife. While she might be a bit miffed, she still loves me as much as ever, probably more. Sean's a good Catholic, loves and obeys the Pope. Doesn't believe in divorce.”

Winter took one of the pills from Greg. He pulled it apart and poured the contents into his palm and looked at the granules. “It's sugar.”

“They're all sugar,” Greg said after he had emptied two more, tasting to make sure.

“Someone stole my drugs? What if I had been in pain? You can't even trust United States marshals anymore! I demand an investigation.” Devlin crossed to the bed and climbed in, snickering at them. “Cut out the light and close the door after you, boys.”

Greg suggested they account for all of the weapons in the house, even the kitchen knives. They found that every gun was where it was supposed to be-all loaded, all firing pins in place.

“Dylan didn't drug the coffee to gain access to the guns,” Winter said. “The only other reason for him to do it would be to get to Sean. He was in her room.”

“Unless Martinez was zonked, opened the door herself, and then didn't lock it,” Greg said.

“And Sean unlocked her bedroom door and forgot? No, he picked the locks.”

“Maybe he was planning to get to you,” Greg told Winter.

“There's no love lost, but I can't see Dylan risking his deal with the government to punish me.”

“Unless he could make it look like an accident.” Greg yawned. “One more thing I need to know, pal, and I want the absolute truth.”

“Yeah?”

“In all of your life, have you ever seen two more perfect breasts than Sean Devlin's?”

Thursday morning

Just after Martinez had left her bedroom, Sean saw the first light flares, which would be followed by nausea and blinding, incapacitating pain. She had immediately taken two of her migraine pills, then lay in the darkness waiting for them to work. She had suffered from the headaches since she was a teenager, but as long as she managed her diet and stress, they were infrequent. Since her miracle pills effectively stopped the headaches as they formed, she was never without them.

Sean propped herself up against a stack of pillows, wearing only her robe. She had never felt more angry with herself. If only her mother had still been alive when Dylan came along. Olivia Marks would have sniffed him out for what he was. She had always warned her about making friends too fast with strangers. The rule had always been that they didn't trust anybody but each other. There were things you just didn't share, and she had held to that, even with Dylan. Was it because she never fully trusted him? She wanted to believe it had been that she had sensed she couldn't trust him fully. She hadn't asked enough questions, pushed him for answers to the mystery that was his life before they'd met. He'd been guarded and so had she. She didn't think for a moment that was how normal married people behaved. If she was honest with herself now, she had suffered misgivings from the start.

He had absolutely and completely betrayed her. It was as though the disarming and handsome man she married had been kidnapped while she was in Argentina and switched with his evil twin brother. She despised and feared this alien creature who had murdered twelve people. She wanted to get as far away from him as fast as she could.