I couldn’t say that he’d already responded to me way above and beyond the call of mortality just by staying alive.

“He’s gone so deep inside himself the present is lost. I think he needs to come back from his past.”

“A rather profound analysis, Delilah. Thanks for getting me here.”

“Thanks for coming.”

We smiled at each other outside the suite.

“Bridal Suite,” she read aloud from the embossed gold plaque beside the double doors. “Is this a portent of the future?”

“It’s what the hotel owner had free and big enough to accommodate around-the-clock nursing care.”

“A most accommodating hotel owner. Any reason why?”

“Christophe is quite a… prominent figure around Vegas. It’s hard to know what his motives are.”

“Yet you accepted his generosity.”

The statement, although true, grated on my sense of independence.

“I didn’t have a choice. Ric wouldn’t want his condition made public and paparazzi always stake out Vegas hospitals hunting celebrities and sensational stories. Human hyenas. That could compromise Ric’s government consulting work and he’d hate that.”

She nodded. “So would Philip.” I saw Helena gather herself, despite her formidable poise. “Well, shall we see the patient?”

“I’M SO GLAD you’re back, Miss Street,” a frazzled nurse said. “Our patient is getting fractious about having a sponge bath and your dog is not having any of it either.”

Sponge bath? In a way that was a good sign. It showed that Ric’s deeply ingrained reflexes to keep people from seeing his disfigured back were still operative.

“This is Mr. Montoya’s mother,” I said. “She’s a doctor.” So I was fudging between a medical and academic title…

“Dr. Helena Troy Burnside, Georgetown University.” His mother extended a hand. “Thank you for taking such good care of my boy.”

“Of course we would. To see such a young and handsome man so unmoving…” She choked up, perhaps envisioning Ric through a mother’s eyes.

Helena Troy Burnside actually was doing that, but was married to sterner stuff and quashed the emotion. “Forget the sponge bath for today. I’d like to examine him first myself, then spend some time evaluating his condition.”

The nurse nodded, swept open one of the double doors to the bedroom suite, and stood back.

Quicksilver waited inside, muzzle lifted over his intimidating teeth like a black awning. He thrust up his snout to verify my and the nurse’s familiar scents, and assign one to Helena.

“It’s okay, Quick,” I told him. “Ric’s mother is here to see him.”

The dog backed off to the side but remained alert. Even Helena lost her eternal composure enough to sidle past, eyes averted. She’d be very steadying to distraught and disoriented patients.

Once she glimpsed the hospital bed accessorized by metal medical equipment poles and tangled cords, she moved tensely forward, leaning over Ric.

“Delilah,” she said without looking over her shoulder, “you probably keep more comfortable clothes here. Go ahead and change while I see what’s what with Ric.” She sank onto the chair’s edge, setting her belongings on the floor and leaning forward to take his hand in both of hers.

With Helena here to fend off unwanted back exposure and Quicksilver on guard, I slipped away, yearning to switch my confining fifties clothes for low-heeled mules, low-riding jeans, and a simple knit top.

The bridal suite offered separate bedrooms for overnight relatives. I’d chosen the nearest one. I changed fast and skittered back into the main area to find Snow there. Rats! We’d arrived right between his 7:30 and 10:00 P.M. shows.

“Where have you been?” he asked.

I wanted to snap, None of your business, but since he was providing everything Ric needed, I bridled my tongue and thoughts.

“I fetched Ric’s mother. She’s a famous psychologist.”

“A medium might do more good,” Snow suggested. “So he’s still comatose?”

I nodded.

“May I meet the mother or do you want to stand there glaring at me all night?”

Looking him over, I weighed whether a skintight be-jeweled leather jumpsuit was too much glitter-rock macho for a dignified middle-aged professional woman. I finally nodded permission. It would do Snow good to meet a formidable female who wasn’t rock idol bait.

He shook his mane of white hair. “I don’t know whether you or your dog is the fiercer bodyguard.”

“Someone who uses a white tiger for a security chief is hardly one to talk.”

He passed me without further comment and entered the bedroom, me following and wondering how Ric’s mother would handle a long-haired albino wearing sunglasses.

At our approach she looked up, then gave a little coo and said, “Oh, my God! It’s Cocaine. I saw your farewell show in D.C. when the Sins were still touring. Helena Troy Burnside.”

You could have picked my tongue off the floor and rolled it up like a very long cigarette paper.

“They were fabulous,” she gurgled on. “You were fabulous.”

Helena Troy Burnside a Snow groupie?

He smiled politely, an expression I’d never seen before.

“I own the Inferno now. The road life gets old. I’ll get you mosh-pit passes to the show.” He turned to regard me over his shoulder. “I’m sure Miss Street would love to accompany you, and her dog is all the security your son needs, believe me.”

“Oh, I believe you,” she answered, while I ground my teeth at their incredible coziness. Snow was a very unreliable witness on all counts as far as I was concerned.

“Meanwhile,” he said, “consider yourself a guest of the Inferno, with the use of an adjoining bedroom. Anything from the hotel restaurants and shops that you need or desire may be charged to the room, gratis.”

“Anything that I desire?”

She let the question hang to the point of flirtation. I supposed Snow could use that Ole White Magic anytime, on any woman. Except me.

“I desire my son’s recovery,” she added with a smile. “I won’t need to stay long but much appreciate your princely hospitality. Delilah didn’t tell me who our host was.”

“She probably didn’t want to ruin the surprise. She’s that way. Likes to keep things to herself to tease and intrigue and enchant others.”

“Really?” Helena let her clear blue gaze rest on me. It was as demandingly honest as Quicksilver’s. “She’s something of a magician. But then, so is a charismatic stage performer like you. If I need to stay overnight, I’ll try to make your show, but I doubt I will. Ric seems to be doing well under your generous care.”

He nodded and left without another glance at me, although with those dark sunglasses who could be sure?

“I had no idea,” I told her, “that you were a fan.”

“Oh, I wasn’t. My resident fifteen-year-old boy, though, wanted to impress a girl who was, so I provided wheels and chaperoning.”

“Did he-?”

“Who, Ric?”

“No, Snow.”

“‘Snow?’ Oh, of course. A natural nickname. You must know him well.”

“Can anybody really know a man who wears sunglasses all the time?”

“His albino eyes must be ultrasensitive to light.”

Yeah, like the “light of truth.”

“Did Snow give the so-called Brimstone Kiss to the mosh-pit groupies then?” I finally asked.

“Oh, yes. Ric’s would-be girlfriend was suitably impressed. She jumped higher than all the other teenyboppers, and some pretty mature women, in fact, to snag a kiss. Funny, that reminds me that they never dated after that. Guess Ric didn’t like the competition.”

Or the girl had no time for fifteen-year-old Ric after getting the Brimstone Kiss. That, at least, wasn’t going to happen to me. I still would rather hiss and spit at Snow than kiss him. Maybe I was exaggerating my anger to ensure my independence. Whatever worked.

I turned the conversation back to Ric. “You sound like you’re not staying long.”