McFarland was cuffing the woman as she fought and screamed. She had dropped her gun, and McFarland had it safe. More sirens as two more units arrived and another EMT. Dallas’s shoulder was beginning to hurt, he couldn’t make his right hand work. Heading for the dark-haired woman as she twisted and swore, fighting her cuffs, he had to forcefully keep himself from touching her, from pounding the hell out of her. They’d damn near killed Ryan and he wanted to see them hurt, see them dead.

R YAN WOKE HEARING voices far away, but she couldn’t see anyone. Fuzzy voices. She was dizzy, so dizzy. Pale walls around her swimming into darkness and tilting back again. Something swung at her from nowhere, a hammer, she tried to duck, caught her breath with pain. A woman swinging a hammer, big woman, darkly clad, her voice blasting loud but then faint. Dizzy. The woman was gone. A man’s voice, blurred. “Mabel…it’s Mabel Mabel Mabel…” She was so cold, cold deep in her bones. “Stanhope studio studio studio studio…Ryan Ryan Ryan Ryan…” Ringing in her ears like diving deep underwater. Fuzzy voices all throbbing and she was falling, falling…

Then men’s voices, coming clearer. She reached up to touch them, but she couldn’t find anyone, her hand met cold metal. Metal bars…

A cell? A prison cell? Why would she be in a cell? No, it was a bed, she was under blankets in a bed. She hit out at the bars, but someone pushed her back. She tried to fight but was pushed down hard against the mattress, strong hands but gentle, easing her down. She had no strength…

She woke to a light burning, a metal lamp, and wondered why she’d been asleep when all she’d wanted was to sit up. A figure leaned over her, making her cringe.

But it was Clyde. It was all right, it was Clyde. As he smoothed her sheet and blanket, she remembered being lifted and carried. White paramedic uniforms. Everything after that seemed far away, car doors slamming, men’s urgent voices, a truck engine, lying on a cot or something, bumping along. Blackness and then bright cruel light in her eyes like a knife, and voices leaping so her head throbbed. It was still throbbing, she tried to pull away from the pain, and couldn’t.

“Be still, Ryan.” Clyde leaning over her again, his reassuring voice. “Lie still.” Again she tried to sit up, but again he held her back. “Lie still, Ryan,” he said in a no-nonsense voice. “You’re in the hospital. You’re going to be fine. You have a concussion, and you have to be still. Someone hit you with a hammer. The doctor wants you to lie still. Do you understand?”

She knew there’d been a hammer, she could hear the shattering sound when it hit her and she felt her belly twist sickly. When she moved, her head hurt bad, she guessed she’d do what Clyde told her, she really didn’t want to move. She tried to remember what had happened.

There had been trucks all around, and forklifts. And parts of little houses cut apart…the playhouses, the contest. But then she was in an empty house. How could there be green hills inside a house? Huge green hills in her face, stormy sky…Then strangers. Two men, and the tall woman. Their startled scowls at her, the woman hissing something…swinging the hammer, then another hammer came at her, the crushing thunk that sent her reeling. She remembered falling, hitting the stone floor…She looked up at Clyde. He leaned down over the bars and kissed her. “There were cats,” she said.

“Cats?”

She tried again to sit up, but he wouldn’t let her. “There were cats. I was lying on a stone floor. Cold. Cats were looking down at me. Your cat, Clyde. Joe Grey. But they…” She swallowed, her mouth dry.

He lifted her head enough to guide a bent straw to her lips. She drank, then reached her hand to feel the tightness across her forehead, to feel the thick bandage. “They were talking, Clyde. Talking.”

“Who was talking? The medics? They-”

“The cats. The cats were talking.”

Clyde smiled. “You do have a concussion.”

“I could see light in the roof. Skylights. There were huge green hills inside the room. But then when the cats came, the hills were gone. It was all stone walls. Cold. Cold stone floor, cold under me.

“I was in the Stanhope studio,” she said, looking at him more clearly. “And the three cats were there. Your cat. Wilma’s cat. The Greenlaws’ cat. Standing over me. Talking about me.”

His mouth twisted. “You had a concussion. Dr. Hamry says-”

“Talking, Clyde. I swear.” And in her head, the voices repeated themselves, Mabel Mabel Mabel Mabel…Ryan Ryan Ryan Ryan…She looked intently at him. “I swear. Cats. I heard cats talking. Something about my cell phone, and then Mabel Mabel Mabel…”

Clyde grinned. “That’ll be the day, when a cat talks. I wouldn’t want to be around to see that. I’m surprised you didn’t think Rock was there, giving the medics directions.”

“But Rock’s here,” she said, feeling the weight on her legs. “He always sleeps on my bed.” Reaching gingerly down so as not to make her head throb any worse, she felt across the covers for the big hound.

But now the weight was gone. She could feel the warm place, but no one was there. And, had that weight been heavy enough to be Rock? Was that warm patch of blanket under her hand big enough to accommodate an eighty-pound Weimaraner? She looked up at Clyde. It hurt to move her eyes. “Where’s Rock?”

“Will you lie still?” Clyde eased her back. “You’re hurting yourself. It’s dangerous to thrash around like that. The blood…”

“Where is Rock?” she whispered. Under her hand, the warm spot was already cooling.

“Rock’s at my house. He’s fine, Ryan. Feisty, and missing you.” Leaning over, he smoothed her covers again. She felt herself drifting, drifting into sleep…

S HE WAS TRYING to climb out of a dark pit, trying to open her eyes and come awake. A voice beside her said, “Ryan?” She wanted to be helped up, to be pulled up out of the darkness.

“Ryan?”

She opened her eyes, and a harsh light reflected on the pale wall, a stark metal lamp so bright it made her head hurt. This wasn’t her studio apartment, she wasn’t in her own bed, she didn’t know this place. But beside this bed, Clyde sat in a chair, watching her. “You’ve been asleep.”

She was in a strange bed, in a strange room, her head hurt like hell. Gingerly she fingered the bandage. “Why am I…What happened to me? I heard Charlie’s voice, and Hanni. Why is everything so muddled?”

“Someone hit you. You have a concussion. Leave your bandage alone, don’t pick at it. Don’t try to sit up, and don’t wriggle around. You had a blow on the head and if you…”

She turned just a little, to look at him, and her head throbbed. She remembered the stone room, Betty Wicken swinging a hammer and a man with a hammer…

“It’s going to hurt for a while. Everyone’s been here. Scotty; your sister, Hanni; Charlie; Wilma; the seniors; Lori and Dillon…Slipping in, holding your hand for a minute, and then leaving. The doctor pitched a fit. But they were here, touching you for a moment like some kind of blessing.”

“How long have I been here? You didn’t say Dallas was here. Where’s Dallas?” She sat upright, jarring a pain through her head that made her sick to her stomach. “Clyde, where’s Dallas?”

“Chasing the bad guys,” Clyde said easily. “Chasing the people who hit you. He’s fine, Ryan.”

She tried to relax, tried to think clearly. “Charlie was here? I’m missing her book signing, her opening…”

He glanced at his watch. “It’s nearly six, she’ll be there now, for the children-the adult party starts at seven.”

She tried to look sideways toward the windows to see if it was still daylight, but that hurt. “And the contest? The girls…?”

“Their house is all in place. The judging is tomorrow.”