Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(20)
Author: J.R. Ward

“He retired now?”

“Dead.” She went back to the sandwich. “Killed in the line of duty.”

There was a pause. And then Matthias said softly, “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t dare look up, because she’d said too much, and with those sunglasses on, she didn’t know where his eyes were—though it didn’t take a genius to know they were on her.

“Thanks. Enough about me, though—and enough with that I’m-too-dangerous-for-you crap. I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time now, and I’m good at it. I wouldn’t have made the offer if I didn’t think I could handle you.”

He laughed in a short burst. “You’re awfully sure of yourself.”

“I know what my limits are.”

“But you don’t know me. Neither of us does.”

“Which is what we want to fix, right?”

The man sat back. “Yeah.”

When she was finished with the sandwich—she skipped the rest of her fries—she paid the bill and got to her feet. “So let’s do this.”

As he looked up at her, that shaft went through her again, that sizzle of attraction which made no sense heating her up.

“Promise me something,” he said quietly.

“Depends on what it is.”

“You won’t take any chances with yourself.”

“Done.”

With a nod, he gathered his cane, slid his legs around and then waited for a moment, like he was bracing his body for an onslaught. Her first instinct was to hitch an arm under his to help, but she knew he wouldn’t have appreciated that. And staring at him in his frailty wasn’t respectful, either, so she did a half turn and pretended to be checking out the backlit menu mounted on the wall over the counter.

A groan told her he was up on his feet, and she led the way to the door. As they passed the few other diners, she felt their eyes go to the man behind her, lingering.

God, what it must be to go through life like that, constantly being stared at. Although…chances were good the women saw what she did. Which was nothing limited in the slightest.

Quite the contrary.

Out in the parking lot, Tony’s car was a beater, but not in the kept-neat sense that Fi-Fi was. His ride was more like a roaming trash bin.

“Don’t mind the clutter,” she said as she unlocked the Toyota.

Getting in, she reached over and batted the The New Republics and the Newsweeks off the passenger seat. Not surprisingly, it took Matthias some time to lower himself, and when he swung his knees in, his boots crunched into the litter in the footwell, mashing Taco Bell into the golden arches, and BK Lounge into Wendy’s.

“Your friend’s into fast food,” he remarked.

“And he eats quick, too.”

Hitting the gas, she barged into traffic, shoe-horning the sedan into a hatchback-size space between a cab and a NiMo truck.

“Seat belt,” he said.

She glanced over. “Yup. You’re wearing one.”

“Do you have a death wish?”

“Seat belts don’t always save lives.”

“So all these people around us are wrong?”

“They can do what they want, and so can I.”

“What about tickets?”

“I haven’t been pulled over yet. If I do, I’ll pay up.”

“When. That would be ‘when.’”

Pine Grove Cemetery was a good ten minutes away—except for the way she drove. Mels was never reckless; she was just efficient, picking routes that avoided traffic lights and the construction that was going on around the park.

“It’s up here on the right.” She leaned into the wheel and looked out the windshield. “The place is beautiful, actually. There’s something so peaceful about cemeteries.”

Matthias made a “meh” sound. “All that eternal rest is just an illusion.”

“Don’t you believe in Heaven?”

“I believe in Hell, I’ll tell you that much.”

There was no time to follow up as they came to the front entrance. “The accident happened around here…past the main gates. Right about…little farther—here.”

As she pulled Tony’s car over and went to turn off the engine, Matthias was already getting out. Walking quickly with his cane, he stopped in the middle of the road, at the stains where he’d landed. He looked left and right; then doubled back, going over to Fi-Fi’s tire tracks, and the busted tree…and finally up to the ten-foot-tall fence that surrounded the cemetery.

Talk about Gothic. Made of iron slats and topped with fleur-de-lis cappers, Pine Grove’s boundary was imposing…and dangerous if you tried to scale it.

And what do you know, as she approached, she saw blood on the top of one of the sharp points—as well as a piece of cloth. Like someone had pulled an up-and-over.

“I’ll get it,” she said, jumping up and snagging what had gotten torn. “Here.”

Matthias took the remnant. “Oil cloth, and I’ll bet that dried blood is mine. I have a fresh wound on my leg.”

Why hadn’t he used the front gate? Then again, it would have been locked as it had been after dark.

“Can we go inside?” he asked.

“Right now.”

Back in the car, she took them through the entrance and went left, heading in the direction of where they assumed he’d jumped the fence. When she got to the point where they’d found the cloth, she stopped again, got out, and waited for his memory to speak up. If it did.

As he looked around and she gave him some space, the breeze coming through the fluffy green pineboughs whistled in low notes, and sunshine warmed her shoulders…and she tried not to think about where her father was—

Further back by some two acres, over in the middle, between the Thomas family’s plot and three brothers by the name of Krensky.

Guess she remembered.

The last time she’d been here had been the day her father was buried. She’d been in New York City working for about half a decade at that point. He’d been so proud of his daughter in the big city, doing what she’d gone to school for. Journalism—

“This way,” Matthias said absently.

As he strode off across the patchy spring lawn, she let go of her past and focused on his present, and together, they made good time even though his stride was uneven and he leaned on his cane for support. Every once in a while, he paused, as if recalibrating his direction, and she didn’t interrupt him with questions.