by J. R. Ward
No way. He'd saved her twice--which made him an angel in her book.
No matter how harsh he looked.
Heron glanced up, seeming to pull out of the vortex of his nausea. "I'm supposed to protect you."
She frowned. "Why?"
"Because...you are the key to him."
"Him who?" she whispered.
More throwing up cut him off, but she knew the answer. "Did Matthias send you to me--"
As her phone started ringing, she jerked it up. Unknown number.
No way she was going to hit send and answer the damn thing.
She had enough to worry about right now, thank you very much.
Three hundred and fifty years. Maybe four hundred. Shit...try a thousand.
That was how long it took to get from Caldwell's rural fringes into downtown in that F-150 truck.
Matthias was ready to peel his own face off when Adrian finally pulled over into a parking space next to a green stretch of park. Not even a second later, the pair of them got out and left their ride like it was a piece of junk at a landfill.
No running, though, in spite of the fact that he was in a panic. Long strides with his cane, but no running. Just him and a buddy, out for a go-nowhere stroll--no BFD.
From behind Mels's Ray-Bans, he scanned the park. Clear except for a mother and a daughter on the swings.
Just as Mels had described, there was an old Victorian boathouse on the river's edge, the diamond-paned monolith sitting on the shore like a cedar-shingled hen about to lay an egg. And the closer they got to it, the more Jim's roommate looked like he wanted to kill someone.
Matthias felt the same way.
The open doorway into the thing was broad, but the interior was as dark as the sky had gotten before those shadows had shown up at the garage. As Matthias's good eye adjusted, stacks of faded blue and red and yellow rowboats appeared, and so did a wall of orange PFDs. Birds of some sort flew out from the eaves over the half dozen empty slips.
For some reason, he hated the sound of the water smuckering up around the cribs, the sucking and clapping noise predatory.
"Mels?" he said softly. "Mels--"
Down the way, from in between some shrink-wrapped sailboats and what looked like a convention of rudders, she stepped out.
"Oh, shit, Mels..."
Nailing his cane into the dock, Matthias shot forward, and as he came up to her he threw his arms around--
Snapping back, he barked, "You're wet."
"I know. Jim's over--"
"To fuck with him--"
She looked across his shoulder at Adrian and froze, like maybe she recognized him. "Ah, he's behind there. I don't know what's wrong with him--but he really isn't well."
The roommate was on it, heading into the space where she'd hidden herself and the other man.
"Who hurt you," Matthias growled as he ripped off his coat and wrapped her up, trying to get some warmth into her. "It wasn't Jim, was it--"
"God, no." She pushed away, but drew the windbreaker close around her. "I...I, ah, slipped and fell into the water, and he came--"
"Were you here alone?"
"I was meeting a source about a story. Some folks don't want to be seen in public talking to a reporter." She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. "And I'm not really loving this interrogation vibe."
"Tough."
"Excuse me."
"You expect me to believe that you just oops! and went into the river? And how in the hell did Jim know where you were?"
Matter of fact, how had the guy gotten out here?
"Accidents happen, you realize." Mels jutted forward on her hips. "And as for Heron, why don't you ask him that question."
As if on cue, Adrian came out with the guy, holding him off the ground by the waist, Jim's combats duffing the docks.
Yeah, okay, no one was asking shit of Heron: He was pale as a ghost and lax as a bolt of wet cloth.
"Got to get him somewhere warm and safe," Adrian muttered, like he was talking to himself.
Matthias nodded over his shoulder. "My hotel room is close by. Let's bring him there."
Mels stepped in. "We can't get him through the lobby without attracting--"
"Good idea." Adrian hitched up Jim's deadweight and addressed him. "You can put a show on, right, boss?"
Boss? Matthias thought.
"And I'm coming, too," Mels said, as she disappeared behind the sailboats. "Give me a minute."
Little more than sixty seconds later, she came out a changed woman. Literally. She'd lost her wet pants and shirt and replaced them with a black dress; pulled her hair back smooth to the base of her neck and tied it with something; and put on a pair of flats.
Who knew an entire wardrobe fit in that bag of hers?
She walked right up to him. "Do yourself a favor and do not ever address me in that tone of voice again. I'll let it go once. Next time I'm going to knock the attitude right out of your mouth--are we clear?"
Okay. He could almost be hard right now.
"Let's go," she announced, ducking under Jim's other side and putting his arm over her shoulder. "Man, you're heavy...."
As the pair of them took the patient toward the door, the sight of her touching the other guy made Matthias want to take the bastard and throw him off the docks with an anchor around his neck.
He followed because he wanted answers--and he wanted her.
Man, nothing was sexier than a woman who could take care of herself. But, shit, two close calls in twenty-four hours?
She was definitely going to tell him what had really happened here.
When the F-150 pulled up to the valets in the Marriott's underground parking garage, none of the boys in livery expected a clown-car exodus out of the cab. But that's what they got.
Surprise, Mels thought as she was the first one out.
From a distance, she guessed she looked presentable in her cobbled-together outfit, but up close she smelled like dead fish, and the reality was, she was only wearing a collapsible raincoat and what were essentially socks with hard bottoms as shoes. But like management was going to detain her for being a hot mess?
Or a cold mess, as it were...because that chill from the river and the scare was still in her bones.
Next out of the truck was Matthias, and the valet took a step back from him. Smart move: His mood was downright nasty, his face so tight he seemed like he was going to explode--but that was his damage, not hers. If he wanted to talk, he could do it adult-to-adult, at a volume lower than a yell.
Leaning in, he helped Jim out, all casual-like, as if the guy were just suffering from some jet lag, or maybe a little stomach flu. And Heron managed to pull it together. Although he was shaky if you knew where to look for the trembling, he walked by himself to the double doors of the lower lobby, each step measured and deliberately steady.
"Adrian" was on him fast, long-striding over, putting an arm around the guy and helping him to stay standing.
Somehow, she didn't think it was a coincidence that the man at the motel was tied with Heron. But now was hardly the time to press the issue.
And it was eerie. People coming in and out of the double doors didn't spare Jim a glance--and it didn't appear to be because they were being discreet.
How could they have missed someone who looked so drunk and wobbly? Generally speaking, it was the kind of thing that would draw stares.
It was as if the guy weren't there at all.
A strange warning tingled along the nerve receptors across the nape of her neck--
At that very moment, Adrian looked over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming in a way that didn't seem human at all--and yet wasn't threatening. "You coming, Mels?"
Shaking herself back from the silliness, she strode up the stairs and joined the three men by the elevators. "Yeah. I'm here."
Oxygen deprivation had obviously affected her brain--or maybe her adrenal gland was just on high alert after the past couple of days, and who could blame it. On the
other hand, there was no reason to get lost in la-la land. Jim Heron was not invisible. People were not acting bizarrely. And there was no reason to turn life into a comic book where people had magical powers.
She was a reporter, after all--which meant she was into nonfiction.
After taking the elevator to the main floor, they then had to trek across the carpet to the other bank of up-you-go's. Fortunately, most of the people standing around and waiting were in travel-exhausted mode, to the point where someone could have roller-skated in wearing a Bozo suit and strumming a ukulele and they probably wouldn't have been noticed.
Yup, that was why no one paid them any attention.
When you were jet-lagged and felt like death, other people were simply not on your radar.
"I need a bathroom," Jim wheezed out.
"Two minutes," Ad answered.
The elevator was quick to open, fast on the ascent, and before they knew it--and before things got messy--they were on the sixth floor, shuffling at nearly a jog to get the impending eruption in range of Matthias's toilet.
The second they got into the room, Jim and Adrian disappeared into the loo. Which left her standing face-to-face with--
"I'm sorry."
As Matthias spoke, her brows popped. Given his scowl, he obviously still had his panties in a wad, so an apology was the last thing she expected.
"You're right, I shouldn't have jumped down your throat like that." He shoved his hand through his hair and left the stuff roughed up. "I'm finding it increasingly difficult not to think of you as mine--and that means that when I show up at an isolated location, and you're soaking wet, and cold, and clearly rattled, I feel like I let you down, because I wasn't there for you."
Okay, now her mouth wanted to fall open.
"You're a strong woman and you can take care of yourself--but that doesn't mean I'm not going to have all the stereotypical guy reactions when my female gets hurt or is endangered. I'm impotent, but I'm not genderless." He cursed. "Not saying it's right, just telling it like it is."
He met her right in the eye.
And in the silence that followed, all she could think of saying was...I love you, too.
Because that's what he was telling her in this moment--it was in his steady stare, his calm, grave words, his proud jawline.
God, he reminded her so much of her father: Shoot first, ask questions later, but always call a spade a spade.
"It's all right," she said roughly. "I know things have been anything but normal lately. Everyone's keyed up."
On that note, it was a shock to realize she wanted to I-L-Y the man--but she kept that impulse in check. It was...too early. She'd only met him how long ago? Two days? Three?
Abruptly, he paced around, that cane cocked at a steep angle that suggested he was hurting. Halting over by the windows, he parted the drapes and looked out. Not for the view, though, she guessed. It was like he needed an excuse to stop.
"I want you to promise me something," he said harshly.
"What's that?"
"After I'm gone, I want you to start wearing your seat belt."
For a moment, Mels didn't speak, the reminder that he was leaving like a slap in the face. "Ah..."
He looked over his shoulder. "I'm serious, Mels. Will you do that for me."
Mels went across and sat on the bed, random things filtering through her brain: She really wanted a shower....God, she hoped someone didn't find her clothes before she got a chance to go back and get them...had she really walked into the Marriott like a hooker with no underwear on under a raincoat?
All of that was just cognitive dissonance, however, a strategy to avoid the request.
Deciding to man up, she said, "Do you know why I don't wear one?"
"You have a death wish."
"My father had one on, and that was the reason he was killed in that car accident." As Matthias turned around slowly, she nodded. "The seat belt trapped him in place. Without it, he would have bounced out of his seat and not had half his body crushed. See, his vehicle hit one of those flatbeds that carries lawn equipment? And the metal edge of it penetrated through the door. When the paramedics got to him, he was still alive, because the compression was slowing the blood loss down. Hell, he was even still conscious. He..." She had to clear her throat. "He knew he was going to die there in that goddamn car. The instant they cut him loose, he was going to hemorrhage out--and he...he knew it. He was awake and aware--he must have been in such pain. I don't...I don't know how anyone deals with that moment. But you know what he did?"
"Tell me," Matthias said quietly.
For a second, Mels got lost in the confrontation she'd had afterward in his sergeant's office--when his boss had refused to give her details of the death.
But damn it, she was Carmichael's daughter, and she had a right to know.
"First, he wanted to be sure the suspect had been apprehended--and he got on his high horse when it turned out that his colleagues had focused on him instead." She had to laugh a little. "Then he...he made them swear that my mother would never find out the way he died. He wanted her to think it had been instantaneous--and that's what she believes. I'm the only one in the family who knows how...how much he suffered. Finally, he told them to look after Mom--he was really concerned about her. Not me, though. He wasn't worried about me, he said. I was tough like he was....I was his strong, independent daughter--"
As she choked up, tears pricked.
Then fell silently.
She wiped her cheek. "Finding out he thought of me like that was actually the proudest moment of my life."
There was a heartbeat of quiet. Then another. Then so many more.
Strange, she thought. That moment in the sergeant's office had changed her life, and yet she had compartmentalized it and frozen it as part of a past that was something to be left behind.
And yet now, in this hotel room, with Matthias focused on her, and Jim Heron throwing up his liver on the other side of the wall...things began to weave together, the past and the present like a pair of boxcar trains that had finally been pushed close enough together to lock on.
She brought herself back into focus. "Anyway, ever since I found out the specifics, I haven't been able to..." She cleared her throat. "It's not a death wish--call it a misappropriation of logic, maybe, but I don't want to die."
God knew, she didn't want to die.
As Matthias came over to her and sat down, she got ready to be hit with all kinds of, But you know the statistics, chances are you won't be in the same position he was, blah, blah, blah.
Instead, he just put his arms around her.
It was curiously devastating, the kindness, the protection, the silent understanding.
Leaning into his chest, she said, "I've never told anyone that before."
She felt him kiss the top of her head, and with a shudder, she gave herself over to his strength--and it was phenomenal.
She hadn't had a clue the burden she'd been carrying around all these years by herself.
Funny, as they sat close together, the warmth from their bodies magnifying, she decided that he had told her he loved her with an apology...and she had reciprocated with that story.
Proof that profound things could be said using lots of different vocabularies.
"He needs to lie down."
As Adrian spoke up from the bathroom doorway, Matthias held her closer. "He can have this bed."
"Thanks, man."
Mels went to get up, and was surprised when Matthias came with her. And then the two of them ended up on the wing chair and footstool by the window, with her sprawled out along his body.
It was as if he couldn't bear to ever let her go.
And she felt the same.
Adrian carried Jim to the bed and tucked his worn-out ass in. The poor bastard was shaking badly, his skeleton rattling against its prison of skin, trying to get free--but at least he wasn't sick to his stomach anymore.
As Ad straightened, he glanced across the room.
Matthias and Mels were in a chair together, the woman with her head on the man's shoulder.
It was pretty damn clear that Devina had tried to throw some mojo around with the reporter, and Jim had obviously not stood for that shit. Made you wonder what kind of condition Devina was in.
Talk about walking with a limp. An angel could only hope.
"You guys want food," he said to the lovebirds.
"Doesn't he need a doctor?" Matthias shot back.
"Just time."
"What's wrong with him?"
"Food poisoning."
"Bullshit."
Ad glanced at Mels pointedly and kept his yap shut. It was no disrespect to the reporter--and it wasn't because she was of the fairer sex, either. Matthias was one of them: He'd been to Hell, and he knew Devina even if he didn't totally remember her. He was also inextricably mixed up in all this.
Mels, however, was not, and the less she knew, the tighter in the head she was going to be when all this was over--assuming she survived: It could be a real shocker to discover exactly how much of reality was malleable, and how many nightmares were true. And once you'd had that mental download, it was impossible to return to the halcyon days of only worrying about your dry cleaning and your property taxes and whether you had enough milk for your cereal in the morning.
This truism pretty much explained all of after-midnight radio.
The good news was that at least Matthias got the point, the guy nodding once, and zipping his lip.
Seeing them together, Ad almost felt bad that this pair wasn't going to last. Matthias was a short-termer, at best--at worst, he was part of a slippery slope that landed all of them in Devina's goddamn wall. And Mels? Given what Devina was capable of, the reporter would be lucky if the only place she ended up in was a pine box.
Odd, he thought. He hadn't felt anything except pain and rage since Eddie had been killed. But seeing these two together, he was...
Oh, what the fuck did it matter. He had his own problems--and Jim's recovery was one of them.
"I'm all right," the other angel said, as if on cue.
"Shut up and lie down."
"You suck as a nurse." But the guy did what he was told--likely because his body didn't give his brain a choice.
Mels sat up. "A doctor has to take a look at him."
"If it makes you feel any better, he's been in this condition before. Just give him an hour or so." Maybe longer. "He'll be fine. Where's the room service menu?"
