Fallen Angels 04 - Rapture (32 page)

“That’s just superstition.”

“I hope you’re right.” To think she’d been worried about the morning coffee stain/fingernail three-pletion. This current streak of catastrophe she had going on was way over and above anything that could be handled with a Tide-to-Go and an emery board. … after a moment, she said, “Ah, Tony, I have another favor to ask you.” God, was she really going to do this?

“Name it.”

“Remember when I asked if you knew someone in ballastics? I need a bullet casing analyzed.”

“Oh yeah, sure—I got a couple of guys I can call. What’s your timeline?”

“As soon as possible.”

“Let me make some calls and see who’d be willing to do it for you.”

“You’re a lifesaver.”

“Nah. That guy down in the basement? He’s the hero.”

“Don’t shortchange yourself.”

As they arrived at the lobby, she stepped out and … well, what do you know. Jim Heron, or his twin brother—or whatever—was waiting across the way, lounging against the wall, looking as inconspicuous as any six-foot-plus guy who was built like a brick shithouse could be.

Putting her hand on Tony’s arm, she stopped him and gave him back his keys. “Hey, I’m going to cab it home, okay?”

Her friend frowned. “I can take you back—it’s not that far out of the way.”

“I’m going to head over to the newsroom—”

“It’s late and we’ve had a hell of a night already.”

True enough—and chances were good she was going to be reliving
the near miss for a while. But she wasn’t losing her chance to talk to the superhero who’d stepped in at just the right time … and who now appeared to be waiting for her.

Mels leaned in and gave her buddy a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tony said good night and ambled off toward the revolving doors. As he took out his phone, she was willing to bet he was calling for takeout, and for some reason that made her like him even more.

Pivoting around, she clashed eyes with Heron—or whoever he was—and found his casual stance was nothing to be fooled by. His size alone was vaguely threatening, and that grim expression didn’t make her think of daisies and daffodils, either.

And yet she wasn’t afraid as she went over to him.

Bullshit this man was a twin …

Then again, why hang around a public place where someone might recognize him as she had?

“I thought you’d left,” she said.

“Nah, I’ve been here all along.”

“Business at the hospital?”

“You could say that.”

“Security wants to talk to you.”

“I’m sure they do.”

As he fell silent, she waited for something, anything, to come back at her. There was nothing. He just stood there, meeting her stare as if he were prepared to do that for the next hundred years.

“I suppose I should thank you for saving my life,” she muttered.

“No reason to. I’m not sentimental.”

“Well, you look like you’ve got something to say to me—”

“Matthias needs you.”

Her brows popped; then she glanced away fast. And even though she’d heard him just fine, she muttered, “I’m sorry?”

“Can you come with me? He’s back at the hotel.”

Mels looked at the man again. “No offense, but I’m not going anywhere with anybody. And if you don’t mind my asking”—not that she cared if he was offended down to the tips of his combat boots—“what is he to you?”

“An old friend who I’m trying to help. He hasn’t been right for a long time, and the way he talks about you gives me hope.”

Now she just blinked. “He doesn’t know me any better than I know him.”

“Does that really matter?”

She laughed in a hard burst. “Ah … yeah. It does.”

Jim Heron’s “twin” shook his head. “Look, I’ve been worried about him for years, okay? He’s heading for a brick wall right now, flailing around, searching for purpose, and I’m exactly that kind of asshole to drag anything and anyone into this who will help him find his way.”

“And you think that’s me?”

“No. I know it’s you.”

She let loose another laugh. “Well, you should have seen who he was having breakfast with earlier today.”

The man cursed. “Let me guess. Brunette with legs down to there?”

“As a matter of fact … yes. Who is she?”

“Bad news.” The guy shoved a hand through his dark blond hair. “Please—look, I just … I really need your help. I can’t go into specifics, but Matthias and I were in the service together for twenty years, and I don’t need to tell you what war does to people. You’re a reporter. You’re a human being. You can extrapolate from there. He needs … a reason for living.”

She thought of the gun at the small of Matthias’s back. Then remembered him curling his body into her as they stood in the parking lot behind the
CCJ
’s offices.

I’m leaving soon
.

“If you think he’s a danger to himself,” she said roughly, “you should be calling the proper authorities. Other than that … I’m really sorry. But I can’t do this—”

“Please.” The man’s eyes seemed to shimmer, not with tears, but with a light that reminded her of sunrise on the ocean. “He’s come too far to lose everything now.”

Boy, those pupils of his were hypnotic. And she had the sense that she had stared into them before … stared into them and …

As that headache came back, she closed her eyes and wondered if she had any Advil in her purse. “Why the hell do you think I’m any kind of answer for the guy?” Except even as she tossed that out, she thought of the connection between them and knew exactly what Heron-whoever-he-was was talking about. “I shouldn’t matter this much to him.”

Make that, he shouldn’t matter this much to
her
.

He was armed for godsakes. And staying in a hotel where someone had been shot—

“But you do.”

Mels popped her lids and frowned at the guy. “Be honest with me. Did you follow me here tonight?”

“Yeah, I did. I wanted a chance to talk to you, but wasn’t sure how to approach you without freaking you out.”

“Well, you nailed that one,” she said dryly. “Just save my life.”

“So in that sense, you owe me, right?”

She had to laugh. “I cannot believe you’re laying that on me.”

“Like I said, I will do anything in my power to save him.”

“Save him? Interesting choice of words, Mr. Heron.”

When the guy said nothing further, she stared into his face for the longest time. “Goddamn it.”

“Is that a yes?”

Turning away and heading for the exit, she expected him to follow her out to the cabs lined up at the curb. And he did.

“Tell me something, Mr. Heron—and that is your name, right? Jim Heron.” He didn’t answer; then again, he didn’t have to. “Do you believe that bad luck comes in threes?”

As a taxi rolled into position in front of them, Heron got the door for her. “I don’t know about numbers. But lately, the shit’s been coming in brunette.”

With another curse, Mels squeezed past him … and got in for the ride.

Matthias was in the dark. And it wasn’t the kind of dark that came with a room that didn’t have any lights on or when you were walking around at night in the country. This was not even the kind you got when you shut your eyes and wrapped your head in a blanket.

This was the one that seeped in through your skin and filled the spaces between your molecules, the one that polluted your flesh into a permanent state of rotting, the one that wiped clean your past and your future, suspending you in a choking, adhesive solution of sorrow and despair.

He was not alone in this horrible prison.

As he writhed in the weightless void, others did the same, their voices mixing with his own as pleas escaped from cracked lips and the endless begging for mercy rose and fell like the breathing of a great beast. From time to time, he was chosen for special attention, clawed monsters with fanged maws latching on, yanking and pulling. The wounds they imparted always healed as quickly as they
were wrought, providing an ever-fresh canvas for their masticating artwork.

Time had no meaning; nor did age. And he knew he was never getting out.

This was his due.

This was his eternal payment for the way he had lived his life: He had earned this place in Hell through his sins upon the earth, and yet still, he argued the unfairness to the others he was trapped with. Tough debate, though. There was little on the good side to support his bid for freedom; more to the point, nobody was listening.

He had had his mortal shot. He had chosen his path.

But oh, God, if he’d known, he would have fought the tide in himself, derailed his actions, shifted the consequences away from where they had taken so many lives—including his own.

Trapped in the darkness, tortured with his fellow sinners, desolate and despairing to a degree that even the worst nightmare couldn’t approach, a great uncorking occurred, his emotions bubbling up and over—

“Matthias?”

He woke up with a shout, his head flipping off the pillow, his arms punching forward as if he had something to fight.

But there was nothing in front of him. No one tangled with him.

And there was light.

In the dim glow from the bathroom, Mels … his beautiful Mels … was standing at the foot of the bed in his hotel room. She had her coat on and her purse hanging off her shoulder, as if she had just arrived from work … and her expression was nothing remote, everything involved.

Bad dream, he told himself. It had been a bad …

The fuck it had been a dream—

“Matthias,” she said gently, “are you all right?”

At first he couldn’t fathom why she was asking him that. Yeah, he’d had a nightmare, but—

Ah, shit, was he
crying
?

Wiping his cheeks with flat palms, he scrambled off the bed and excused himself for the bathroom. Crying in front of her? Yeah, fuck that for a laugh.

“Just gimme a minute.”

Shutting himself in, he braced his hands on the counter and hung his head over the sink. As he cranked the faucet to make it seem like he was doing something other than trying not to be a pussy, he sagged into the modest strength of his arms, attempting to shed the conviction that where he’d been in that dream was in fact not a place he’d actually been to.

Wasn’t working.

The Hell he’d just seen was a memory, not a nightmare. And wasn’t that enough to get his hands shaking.

Splashing water on his face didn’t do shit, and neither did a hard scrub with a white towel. After he used the loo, he went back out—had to. Any longer in the bathroom and Mels was liable to think he’d hanged himself by the belt or something.

As he emerged, he found her sitting in the chair by the windows, her hands in her lap, her head tilted down like she was assessing whether or not she needed to trim her nails.

Aware that he was just in the T-shirt and boxers that he’d bought in the lobby gift shop—and that his ruined legs were on display from midthigh down—he got back under the covers.

“I’m surprised you’re here,” he said softly as he put the Ray-Bans on.

“Jim Heron’s so-called brother brought me over in a cab and let me in.”

Damn
that man, Matthias thought.

Mels shrugged, like she knew he was pissed. “And you know what?”

“What.”

“I don’t buy the twin crap for a second. I think that
is
Jim Heron, and that he faked his death for some reason—and I think you know why.”

In the pause that followed, it was obvious she expected him to fill in the details, but his brain had pretty much shut down. He didn’t want her around the guy, much less alone with him—because he couldn’t trust anyone. Especially not with her.

“You were meeting with him when I came out and found you at that garage. Weren’t you.”

“It’s complicated. And as for his name, that’s not my story to tell.”