by J. R. Ward
She took a deep breath as they began to rise. “Don’t ask me that until we get upstairs. Between my car accident and what just happened, I’m worried there’s another big crash coming my way. Things happen in threes, you know.”
“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.
Chapter Twenty-eight
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 pe
rmanent 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.”
“He told me you two had served in the military together.” She waited again for him to fill in some information. “It’s clear he feels responsible for you.”
As the past churned behind the shroud of his amnesia, at least he didn’t have to lie to her. “So much of it is…a haze. Nothing more.” He traced her with his eyes. “I’m glad you came.”
There was a long pause. “You want to tell me what you were so upset about just now.”
“I don’t think you’d believe me.”
She laughed a little. “After the last day and a half, I’m more likely to, trust me.”
“Why?”
“Everything feels…wrong. I mean, it’s just been a weird ride, you know.” She stared at him as if she were taking his temperature, his blood pressure, and his heart rate from across the room. “Talk to me, Matthias. You gotta open up—and if you can’t give me your memories, just tell me where you are.”
Closing his eyes, he felt as though he were boxed in, unable to answer, but incapable of ignoring her.
Finally, he murmured, “What would you say if I told you I believe in Hell. And not from a religious standpoint, but because I’d been there—and I think I was sent back here to do something.” Man, she was quiet. “I don’t know what it is, but I’m going to find it out. Maybe it’s a second chance—maybe it’s…something else.”
Cue even more of the silence.
Lifting his lids, he measured her. “I know it sounds crazy, but…I woke up naked on Jim’s grave, and I think I was put there. Everything before that is a blank, and yet I have this sense that I’m suppose to do something, that there is purpose in my being here…and that I don’t have forever.”
Mels pushed her hair back and cleared her throat. “The blank part is because you’ve got amnesia.”
“Or maybe it’s because I’m not supposed to remember. I swear…I’ve been to Hell. I was trapped there with these countless other people in a prison where all there was…was suffering. Forever.” He rubbed his sternum, and then left his hand where it was, over his heart. “I know it here, in my chest. Just like I know that you and I were supposed to meet the night we did, and we’re supposed to be together right now. And yeah, that’s nuts, but if the afterlife doesn’t exist, why do so many people believe it does?”
Mels shook her head. “I don’t know the answer to that.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” he said.
The longer she didn’t reply, the more he knew he’d pushed her too far…except then she smiled in a sad way.
“My father believed in Heaven and Hell. And not just in theory. Kind of ironic, given how he ran his life. Then again, perhaps he felt like he was personally in charge of the ‘wrath of God’ side of things on earth.”
“He was a churchgoer?”
“Every Sunday. Like clockwork. Maybe he thought it would get him off the hook for some of his more…shall we say, physical corrections of behavior.”
“Nothing does that.”
As her eyes shot to his, he wanted to curse. Way to go—making it sound like her pops was in the basement. “What I mean is—”
“He did a lot of good things, too. Saved women and children from horrible situations, protected the innocent, made sure people got what they deserved.”
“That should work in his favor, then.” Lame. So lame. “Look, I don’t mean to suggest—”
“It’s okay—”
“No, it’s not. I don’t know what I’m saying.” He put his
palms up. “Don’t listen to me. It was just…a shitty nightmare—yeah, nothing but that, and I don’t know…a goddamn thing.”
Liar. Such a liar. But the subtle signs of relief in her, from the easing of her shoulders to the way she released her breath low and slow, told him it was worth it. One hundred percent.
“His name was Thomas,” she said abruptly. “Everyone called him ‘Carmichael,’ though. He meant the world to me—he was everything I looked up to. Everything I want to be—God, I don’t know why I’m talking about this.”
“It’s okay,” he said softly—because he was hoping that if he didn’t make a lot of noise, she would keep talking.
No such luck. She stopped, and he was surprised by how much he wanted her to go on. Hell, he’d take any kind of conversation: her grocery list, her thoughts on air pollution, whether she was a Democrat or a Republican…the theory of relativity.
But man, details of her past? Her parents? That was true gold.
“What about your mom?”
“I’m living with her, actually—since he passed. It’s…kind of strained. I had so much more in common with him. With her? I feel like a bull in a china shop. She’s nothing like he was.”
“Maybe that’s why they worked. Opposites attract and all that.”
“I don’t know.”
“How’d he…”
“Die? In a car wreck. He was in a squad car on a chase, and the perpetrator’s vehicle blew a tire. Dad swerved to avoid hitting them, lost traction himself, and ended up slamming into a parked utility trailer. They had to cut his body out of the driver’s seat.”
“I’m…so sorry.”
“Me, too. I miss him every day, and even though he’s gone, I’m still trying to impress him. It’s nuts.”
“I think he would be proud of you.”
“Yeah, I’m not so sure of that. Caldwell is a small pond.”
“It’s the one he played in.”
“Not as a low-level reporter, though.”
“Well, considering the way you’ve treated me, how could anyone not feel right about the way you turned out? You have been…really good to a stranger.”
Mels stared across the bed at him. “Can I be honest with you?”
“Always.”