Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(46)
Author: J.R. Ward

Other than that, he was calm as a pond, level as concrete, set as a table leg.

Hell, he didn’t even care that the abuse was over. He’d just wanted to see if he could get rid of the old man, like the effort was a science project: he’d made the plan, gotten the pieces into place, and then woken up that morning and decided to set the first domino falling at school.

Thanks to his particularly malleable, softhearted, very religious homeroom teacher.

Standing out in the hall, he’d cried in front of her as he’d told her the hell he’d been living in, but that show of tears had just been to give her some extra motivation. In truth, the grand reveal was no more internalized than a change of clothes: As he’d manipulated her with the truth, he’d been cold as ice on the inside, taking neither satisfaction that the first part was done, nor excitement that it was finally happening.

Everything had gone down fast after that, and that had been the only thing that he hadn’t banked on: He’d been immediately sent to the school nurse, and then the police had come, and paperwork had been filled out, and off he went into the system.

They’d sent only women to work with him, as if that would make it easier on him. Especially during the “physical exam” part—which they’d expected him to get really upset by.

And who was he not to give them what they wanted?

He had not expected to go into foster care within two hours, however.

The thing was, the only goal he’d really wanted was this part here, this endgame with his father on the floor—and he’d had to run away and hot-wire a car to make sure he got home before the police took his father to jail when the man came in from the cornfields. Everything was a waste if he blew the final act.

But it had worked out just fine.

In the last few moments of his father’s miserable life, Matthias twisted the radio knob over to one of the religious stations—and paused for a moment. The sermon was about Hell.

Seemed appropriate.

He watched as the final breath was taken and then the stillness came. So strange, a human being suddenly stepping over to the other side, that which had been animated becoming indistinguishable from a toaster oven or a throw rug or, shit, even a clock radio.

Matthias waited a little longer as the pallor in that face went completely gray. Then he got up, unplugged his radio, and tucked the thing under his arm.

His father’s eyes were open and staring up at the ceiling, much as Matthias’s had done at night over the years.

He didn’t flip the guy off, or spit on him, or give him a kick. He just walked past the body and went down the stairs. His final thought, as he left the house, was that it had been an interesting mental exercise…

And he wanted to see if he could do it again—

“Matthias?”

Letting out a shout, he jumped in his chair, the restaurant rushing back at him, those walls popping into place again, the ambient sounds of people eating and talking filtering into his brain once more.

As other diners looked over at him, Dee leaned in. “Are you okay?”

Her beautiful face was cast in perfect lines of compassion, her lips parted as if his distress was making it hard for her to breathe.

The removal he’d felt in his younger self slipped back into place over the center of his chest, as if the memory had recalibrated his internal hard wiring, tightening him up like a car that had had alignment problems: As he regarded the woman across from him, it was from a vital distance, a chilly objectivity putting space between them even though their chairs were no farther apart.

Emotions could be so easily faked, as he himself knew.

The smile he gave her felt different on his face—but also very familiar. “I’m perfectly fine.”

The waitress came over at that moment with his huge breakfast, and as she put it down, he could have sworn Dee sat back and smiled to herself in satisfaction.

Standing with the maître d’, Mels was through being StalkerGurl. Bad enough that she had come to the Marriott on the hunt, but to have found Matthias with that nurse? Now she had two reasons to feel like crap: She didn’t respect herself, and only a fool would compare anything but Sofia Vergara to that other woman.

As a plate the size of a countertop was put down in front of Matthias, he looked across at his eating companion with a sly smile, and—

His head turned for no good reason just as she pivoted away.

Their eyes met, and instantly, that cynical expression of his changed into something she couldn’t read—and told herself she didn’t care about.

Whatever. This was none of her business.

And she was certainly not going to bother with anything theatrical. Instead, she calmly headed for the lobby’s revolving doors—

“Mels!” came a hiss behind her.

There was no pretending he hadn’t come out after her, and no reason to ignore him.

“I didn’t mean to interrupt your breakfast,” she said as she halted and he came up to her. “And I’m on my way to a meeting. When you didn’t answer your phone, I figured I’d swing by.”

“Mels—”

“That story you asked me to check out was true. Except they spell the last name with an E. Child‘e’. The son died of an overdose, and the father was at the scene when it happened. The daughter is still alive—a defense attorney up in Boston. Father works for the government in various capacities. At least that’s what’s been in the papers. I can’t speak to things that aren’t in the public domain.” As he just stared at her, she kicked up her chin. “Well, what did you expect me to come back with?”

He rubbed his face like his head hurt. “I don’t know. I…When did the son die?”

“Not long ago. Two and a half years, maybe—”

“Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Mels glanced over at the nurse. The woman was focused solely on Matthias as she approached, like he wasn’t talking to anybody.

Okay, the female looked incredible in that dress, her body turning what was quintessentially demure into hot-dayum—

Abruptly, a flashback from the Seinfeld epi with Teri Hatcher shot through her head…yeah, those double-Ds were probably real and spectacular, too. Meanwhile, she herself relied on Wonderbra technology to push her into a C-cup range.

“I was just leaving anyway,” Mels said. “I’ll be late for my meeting otherwise.”

This got her a dismissive look from the nurse, those dark brown eyes not just hands-off, but f**k-off. “Come on, let’s go back to the table.”