by J. R. Ward
There was a long period of quiet. “I loved him, he loved me—at the end of the day, nothing changed that.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“For what?”
“That he died and left you alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have a life now that is rich and full with friends and things I like to do. And what has worried me most about you is that that doesn’t seem to be happening for you. This is your time to do what you want, succeed where you wish, choose your own path. It’s what I did with your father…and I was so glad I didn’t hesitate because he and I got shortchanged out of a good thirty more years. You deserve the same the thing, with whoever or wherever or whatever you love.”
Tears pricked. “I’m not sure why I haven’t figured this all out until now. I’m a reporter—you’d think I could get to the bottom of my own life.”
“Things are not always so easy and clear.” Her mother reached over and covered Mels’s hand. “These last few years have been really hard. But I’m building my own place in this world…and I think you need to do the same.”
“You are so right.” Mels brushed her cheeks and laughed a little. “You know what I’ve been working on these last few months?”
“Tell me.”
“An article on missing persons. I haven’t gotten anywhere with it—after hours and hours at my desk, staring at the statistics, tracking down the sources, questioning and requestioning everything, I’m no closer than any of the other journalists to what the real story is.”
“Maybe you’ll find the answers eventually, though?”
Mels met her mother’s eyes. “I think I should have been looking into the mirror, instead. It’s going to sound weird, but…since he died, I’ve been missing in my own life. I don’t know if that makes sense?”
“Of course it does. The two of you were peas in a pod—I’m sure you know this, but he was so proud of you.”
“It’s funny…growing up, I always wondered if he wouldn’t have preferred a son.”
“Oh, not at all. He wanted you. He used to say you were the perfect child for him. Nothing made him prouder and happier than you did, and that was among the main reasons I loved him so. That father/daughter bond? It’s so important, and I should know. I was a daddy’s girl—I wanted that for you, too, and you had it with him. I only wish it had been for longer.”
“God, I love you, Mom.” Mels jerked up from the chair and went around. Falling to her knees, she put her arms around the woman. “I love you so much.”
As she felt herself get held in return, she thought that, of all the days when she needed this, today was it.
In the sunshine, in the kitchen, in the embrace of a mother she had never thought she would understand, she realized that her father wasn’t the only awesome one in the family—and she had a terrible sense that if he hadn’t died, this moment might never have happened.
Kind of made her think about that whole God-doesn’t-close-a-door-without-opening-a-window thing.
Mels eased back and wiped under her eyes again. “Well. There you go.”
Her mom smiled. “Your father used to say that.”
“Was he as good to you as he was to me?”
“Every bit as wonderful. Your father is one in a million—and his death didn’t change that. Never will.”
Mels rose to her feet. “I, ah, I made coffee a while ago. Would you like some?”
“Yes, please.”
When Mels turned away for the coffee pot and the cupboard, she thought at least all was not lost. As devastated as she was about Matthias, this gave her a measure of peace.
And set her to thinking about where she was at.
She might not have found all those missing persons, but she was through being lost in her own life.
Chapter Forty-seven
Back downtown at the Marriott, Adrian had had a front row seat for the reporter’s departure: sitting out in the corridor, he’d watched as the woman took off from Matthias’s hotel room, her I’m-outta-here gait a pretty clear indication that she was not a happy camper.
Annnnd the gun in her hand was another dead giveaway.
Looked like he’d given up his sex life for nothing.
As she’d stepped into an elevator, Adrian went to jump to his feet—and for the first time in his life, he didn’t go instant vertical.
His body just refused to work right, the pain in his leg joints slowing him down, his lack of depth perception creating a wonky balance problem—
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
Ad glanced across to the left. Jim had arrived in all his glory—or, in this case, all his grunge. The guy appeared to have been pulled through a rosebush ass-backward, his hair sticking out, his clothes wrinkled, the bags under his eyes big enough to pack a family vacation in.
The other angel froze the second their stares met. “What have you done.”
Ad let the guy draw his own conclusions. The math was pretty simple—and hey, check it, Jim was getting the solution: His head slowly turned to the door to Matthias’s room.
“He’s whole?”
“You said she was the key—so I made it possible for him to get a little closer. So to speak.”
Ad rubbed the nape of his neck and braced himself for a lecture, or maybe some fireworks. Frankly, he just didn’t have the energy for any more drama.
“Are you okay?” Jim asked roughly.
“Yeah, just a little stiff—and the lack of depth perception can be overcome. I’ll still be good to go on the field—”
“I don’t give a shit about the fighting. I want to know if you’re all right. Is it permanent?”
Adrian blinked. “Ah, probably.”
“Jesus…” The guy looked back over at the hotel room door. “You really took one for the team.”
The admiration and respect in the angel’s voice made Ad stare at his combat boots. “Don’t get all excited—it didn’t work.”
“What do you mean?”
“She left here about a minute and a half ago—and not to get some bagels and lox and a copy of the Times. Whatever happened in there was not all hearts-and-flowers wonderful.”
“Shit.” Jim cleared his throat. “Well, I talked with Devina. Told her to lay off the reporter.”
“How’d that go?”
As the other angel crossed his arms over his chest and thinned out his mouth, Adrian thought, oh, fuck….
“You were with her again, weren’t you,” he said in a dead voice.
Jim cleared his throat. “I was angry—so was she. It just…you know, happened.”
“Well, guess that’s one way of arguing. Who won?”
“Not a win/lose sitch.”
Ad wasn’t so sure about that. “Where’s the bitch now?”
“I don’t know.”
As the guy glanced down at the elevator like he was worried about Matthias’s female, Ad nodded. “Go check on Mels—I’ll keep an eye on Prince Charming.”
“I won’t be far.”
“Take your time. I got this.” Unsheathing his crystal dagger, he held it up so that the transparent blade caught the light. “Trust me.”
Jim hesitated. “Call if you need me.”
“I won’t, but I will.”
Cue the poof! and Heron was gone.
Adrian limped to the door, rapped with his knuckles, and then opened the way in. Matthias was yanking some pants on, and he froze in midpull.
“I knocked,” Ad said dryly.
The other guy finished the job, cranked the sweatpants’ tie tight around his waist, and tucked in his Caldwell Red Wings T-shirt. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”
Sure enough, the gun wasn’t far, and Ad knew for a fact that it had been reloaded after the showdown in the forest. Still, it wasn’t like the forty was capable of doing anything more than annoy him.
“You off to somewhere?” Ad asked.
Moving fast, the man sat down on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into those b
lack Nikes. “You always so good with doors?”
“I’m good with a lot of things.”
Matthias paused. “You’re limping, you know that?”
Ad shrugged. “Bad foot.”
“Bullshit.”
“I’ve said all I’m going to.”
Matthias cursed as he got up to collect his wallet and windbreaker. “Okay, fine. But we’ve got to leave—the cops are on the way. Or will be shortly.”
“Why?”
“Mels is going to them right now—she figured out that Jim and I got busy in the basement here the other night. My memory’s back, by the way.”
“Everything?”
“Yup.”
Shit. “Congratulations.”
“Not really.” The man was speaking quick and concisely. “Listen, Jim said I’m going to face a crossroads?”
Ad nodded. “What happened to your girl?”
“She figured out who I really was.”
“That’s so not going to help us.”
“Well, the eye-opener helped her, and that’s more important. I should never have been with the woman.”
On that note, Matthias got quiet, and yeah, wow, you could practically smell the wood burning.
“I know what I have to do,” he said after a moment. “It’s the only way…to make things right. I know exactly what to do.”
Ad let his head fall back in frustration. What this situation did not need was any more bright ideas.
“We’ve gotta blow this place,” Matthias said, as he stalked to the door. “But first, a little breaking and entering on the way out.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
As the guy just walked into the hallway, Adrian cursed and snagged the cane from where it was by the television built-in thingy.
Turned out it was a good call—the old-man affect increased his speed. Hard to get used to needing the thing, however.
Not really his style.
* * *
As Matthias hit the emergency exit into the stairwell, and started descending the concrete steps, Mels’s voice dogged him.
It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.
That one sentence, over and over again, like a repeating rifle—or a machine gun—until he prayed for the amnesia to come back.
The tragedy was that nothing around how he’d felt about her had been anything less than the God’s honest truth. Same with the physical condition he’d been in, and his sense of where he’d been…and where he was in danger of returning.
But over the course of his life? Shit, yeah, there had been too many deceptions to count.
And that was what he was going to take care of.
With him leaving her as she had, and his memory now back in full force, there was no way he couldn’t do something about the web of lies and evil he’d spun for so long.
This was indeed the reckoning he’d earned, and he was damn well going to pay the price…and do the right thing. Finally.
Keeping up the quick, silent pace down the stairwell, it dawned on him that his partner in crime, so to speak, was probably not making the kind of time he was. Which was so fucked-up. Glancing over his shoulder, he—
Matthias stopped dead and gripped the rail.
The bastard behind him was hovering about three inches over the stairs, ghosting above them like he had anti-gravity shoes on.
“What are you?” Matthias breathed.
Instantly, the man’s combat boots went terra firma. “Nothing special.”
“Bullshit.”
“Aren’t we running from the cops? Do you really want to do this now?”
Guy had a point, but there was a lot at stake. If only in the mental-health department. “Just answer me one thing. Which side are you on? And before you hit me with another round of ‘no BFD,’ I know where I’ve been—and I’m not talking about the Middle East.”
“I’m on the side that thinks it’s good.”
“Which tells me nothing. Even the devil believes he’s right.”
“She’s not.”
“She, huh.” As the guy shrugged like they were talking about sports…or cars…or the Thursday-night lineup on NBC, Matthias cursed softly. “So you know the devil, and you’re just a normal guy. You assume all of my injuries, internal and otherwise, and you’re nothing special.”
The roommate lifted one shoulder again, and looked utterly unconcerned with whatever mind-fuck Matthias was rocking.
It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.
“You know,” Matthias said roughly, “I’ve heard about the devil—that he—that she is a great liar.”
“It’s the only thing you can trust.”
“Guess I got that in common with her.”
“You do, but times change, don’t they.”
“How does Jim Heron fit into this?”
Adrian exhaled like he was ancient. “Worry about yourself, Matthias. That’s the only advice I can give you—just do the right thing, even if it hurts.”
Matthias focused on that cloudy eye—which had been his own just twelve hours ago. “Speaking from firsthand experience?”
“Not at all. Now, shouldn’t we be running from the CPD?”
Abruptly, he thought about the night with Mels. Shit had ended so very badly, but the night…and everything that had had to do with her…had helped him find his soul. Without that, and without her, he would have just left Caldwell—and his past—behind.
“Thank you,” Matthias murmured. “I owe you.”
“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”
Clearly, he was knocking on a door that was locked, dead-bolted, chained, and barred. Fine. He knew how that was—gratitude could be harder to bear than pain.
At least he knew what to do. There was just one more thing….
“Is Jim like you,” he demanded.
The guy looked like he was so done with the talking, he was ready to scream, but tough shit.
“Tell me,” Matthias barked. “I gotta have some kind of solid in this.”
Adrian rubbed his jaw. “You can talk to Jim about that—when this is over, ’kay? Right now, my job is to keep you alive so that you can do the right thing when it comes along. I can’t tell you how important this is. Just do the right damn thing for once in your miserable existence.”
“Roger that,” Matthias said, turning away and taking off once more.
Chapter Forty-eight
Several blocks over from the Marriott, in the CCJ newsroom, Mels sat in her musical chair, rocking back and forth to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” Her e-mail account was up on her computer monitor, and periodically the auto send/receive coughed another couple of entries into her in-box. The screensaver came on at regular intervals, too, and each time the rainbow-colored bubbles appeared, she’d reach out, fuss the mouse, and keep things alive.
The only call she’d made since she’d come in had been to Tony’s contact down in the CSI lab. She’d told him that she’d called Detective de la Cruz and made a statement about everything.
She’d been hoping the phone would ring at any minute with an update on the situation, but de la Cruz and his team were no doubt busy down at the hotel, searching an empty room.
Matthias was long gone—
“Psst.”
Shaking herself, she glanced across the aisle. Tony was leaning forward in his seat with a Ding Dong in his palm, offering the little wheel of chemical, chocolaty glory like it was a diamond. “You look like you could use this.”
“Thanks.” She forced a smile—and thought, What the hell. Maybe a load of sugar and preservatives would wake her up out of this stupor. “Not myself today.”
“I can tell. You’ve been sitting there staring at that screen for the last hour.”
“Lot of e-mail to read.”
“Then why haven’t you been reading it?”
Popping the seal on the Hostess bomb and biting into the thing, the outer shell flaked and sent bits and pieces into her lap. Before th
ey melted and fused at the molecular level with the fabric of her slacks, she picked them off and flicked them into the wastepaper basket.
Man, Ding Dongs tasted delicious.
Better munching through chemistry.
“Hey, listen, Tony…I know we’ve never really talked career stuff, but do you have an endgame with this paper? I mean, is this the place where you see yourself staying for the rest of your working life?”
Her buddy shrugged. “I don’t think a lot about that shit. I just work on my articles, do my digging—I’m chill with the future. If this is all I have? I’m good.” He grabbed a Ho Ho for himself and stripped off its wrapper. “But I’ve been waiting for you to pull out.”
“From Caldwell? Really?”
“Yup.” He took a bite. “You’ve never settled in. Made the contacts. Kept them going.”
He was right, of course. And maybe that was why she hadn’t really accomplished as much as she’d wanted to in the last couple of years. Yes, Dick was a prick and a confirmed member of the old boy club, but it was possible she’d been hiding behind that as an excuse for phoning things in.
“I think I want to go back to New York City.” Actually, take out the “think,” she realized with a jolt. “It’s time.”
Her mother was okay; Mels was the one who needed direction. And she had a feeling that would be “south.”
“You’re a damn good reporter.” Tony took another bite. “And you’re under-utilized here—I think Dick knows it.”
“He and I have never gotten along.”
“That’s true of him and women, generally.” Tony crushed the wrapper and tossed it. “So, what are you going to do? You got any in’s down in Manhattan?”
Opening up her drawer, she took out a card she’d stuffed in there the day she’d moved to the desk. It read, PETER W. NEWCASTLE, FEATURES EDITOR—and had the iconic New York Times masthead right under his title.
Back in the day, she’d met Peter in and around Manhattan, and he was still at the Times. She’d seen his name just last Sunday.
“Yeah, I think I do,” she murmured. “Hey, speaking of leaving, I have something I’d like to give you.”
“Lunch, I hope?”
She laughed a little. “Tragically, no.”
