Rapture (Fallen Angels #4)(99)
Author: J.R. Ward

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 f**ked-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 f**k 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.

48

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 they 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.”