Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(82)
Author: J.R. Ward

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?