by J. R. Ward
Before he shut her in, he leaned down. “There’s someone you need to talk to. Isaac Rothe—he’s one of us. You can find him through Childe with an E in Boston. Tell him that Jim Heron sent you, okay?”
She nodded, but he wasn’t sure she’d really heard him.
Except suddenly she reached out and squeezed his hand. “Please don’t…leave him somewhere anonymous. I mean…”
“I’ll take care of him properly. I swear to you.”
Looking into her eyes, Jim passed a hand over her face, sending her some peace to comfort her in her sadness.
Oh, man…he could feel the love she had for Matthias, and he ached for her. Was grateful for her, too. After all, what was the old adage? The love of a good woman…
It made all the difference, didn’t it.
He had been right: Matthias had been the soul, but she had been the key.
“I swear to you,” he said again. “Now go and do what’s right.”
Shutting the door, he banged on the roof and Ad backed the car out, doing a K-turn at the end of the drive and heading off.
Left alone, Jim pivoted around and looked for Nigel, but the archangel was nowhere to be seen or sensed. There was just the forest…and the two dead bodies on the gravel.
Matthias had gone to Heaven.
Wonder if the fucker was surprised? Then again, he’d made everything right on his way to the exit, and he’d done the ultimate—sacrificed himself for someone else.
On the scales of justice, he had a lot to make up for, but mere moments ago, he had given it all for another….
As Jim went over to his old boss’s body, he couldn’t believe how far the man had come. Then again, Hell was clearly a transformative experience. And so was love.
Kneeling down, Jim said softly, “If you had told me we’d be here…I never would have believed it.”
Truth really was stranger than fiction.
Jim rubbed his face and let himself fall back until he was sitting on his ass beside the man who had defined things for him for so long. In the silence, he became acutely aware of his breathing, of the way the air entered his nose cool, and came out his mouth warm.
He passed his palm over his face once more. Did it another time.
Overhead, the moon made another appearance, light raining down on the scene until he had to shut his eyes. For some reason, he didn’t want to see anything of this moment, just couldn’t bear it.
He had won the round, sure—but Matthias was still gone, and that struck him as a loss, and resonated deep.
And Adrian was still suffering. And Eddie was still gone. And him?
He was empty. So very empty—as if those orgasms he’d had with Devina had flushed the last part of his soul out.
Except he needed to pull it together—he had to get rid of the bodies.
Glancing over at the operative, he didn’t give a shit where he stuffed the remains. His old boss, on the other hand, gave him a brain cramp. Where could he take Matthias? After all, it was a gift to the departed to treat what they had left behind with dignity—even as their souls soared free, it was important. And the man had saved his life…at least as far as Matthias had known.
Guess they were even—
Abruptly, a summoning came from up above, Nigel and his band of dandies calling him heavenward so he could see the flag he’d earned fly at the top of the great wall—along with the other two.
No, he thought. He wasn’t going.
Fuck them and the game.
Shutting down the draw, he kept himself stuck on terra firma—to hell with the archangels, to hell with Devina, to hell with the Maker.
He wasn’t playing right now. Maybe in a minute, an hour, a day, he would come back online, but at this moment? Fuck ’em all.
He was going to take care of his dead in the only way he could. That was all he knew.
With a curse, he forced himself to shift to the side and push his arms under Matthias’s knees and shoulders. As he began to lift, Jim felt as dead as the other man—and knew it made no sense. He was now three up in the war. One more win and he could close this bizarre chapter in his life down and move along.
He should have been celebrating—
Matthias jerked wildly and drew in a huge breath of air.
“What the fuck!” Jim hollered.
And dropped the man like a bag of mulch.
Chapter Fifty-four
After her “chauffeur” parked her mother’s car in the garage, Mels just sat in the passenger seat, staring straight ahead at the garden tools that had dust on them. “You can go now,” she heard herself say.
She didn’t look at the man, and prayed he left fast.
When he didn’t move, she stated calmly, “If you don’t get out of this car right now, I’m going to scream until I shatter the windshield. And I don’t think either of us needs to go through that sort of thing. Do you?”
“He was a good guy.”
Mels closed her eyes and slowly curled her arms around herself. She had thought that losing her father would be the greatest pain she would ever have to endure.
Maybe this just seemed worse because it was fresh?
“Matthias is going to be okay,” the guy said.
“He’s dead.”
“And he’s all right.”
God, Mels really wanted to cry, just weep like crazy. But she felt frozen inside.
“Look at me,” the man said. When she didn’t, he put a gentle finger under her chin and shifted her head around—even as she refused to meet his eyes. “I’m not supposed to share certain kinds of intel, but I think you need something to keep you going tonight. Believe me, I know how that is.”
“There’s nothing you can say—”
“Your father’s in the place where Matthias’s going. They’re both okay—”
“How can you be so cruel—”
“—where they are—”
“Pine Grove Cemetery is not okay!”
He just shook his head. “They’re at eternal rest, and it’s got nothing to do with where their bodies are buried. And you’ll see them again, but not for a long while.”
Finally meeting his stare, she—
With a gasp, Mels focused on his eyes…especially the one that looked as Matthias’s had. Precisely as Matthias’s had. And there were scars on his face he hadn’t had before—right where Matthias had had them.
It was as if the man had lifted all of the injuries directly out of Matthias’s flesh.
With a trembling hand, Mels reached up to touch his face, but he inched back, keeping away from the contact.
“It was true,” she mumbled. “Matthias didn’t fake the healing or the damage.”
“Be at peace,” the man said in a warping voice that seemed to be in her mind instead of coming through her ears. “You don’t need to worry about either of them. They’re safe.”
At that moment, she knew in her heart what he was.
What Jim Heron was, too.
She had seen the truth in the mirror at the Marriott, and she was seeing it again now.
“You’re an angel,” she whispered in awe.
Her words seemed to snap him out of the connection, and he pulled away sharply. “Nah, just someone passing through your life.”
Bullshit, she thought.
Abruptly, the man got out, shut the driver’s-side door, and initiated the garage door to close…and then between one blink and the next, he was gone.
Mels wrenched her head over her shoulder, searching behind the car as the panels were trundling shut. Jumping out, she went to call his name. Except…
“You’re still here—I can sense it.”
No answer. No reveal—
“Mels?”
She whipped around. There, in the doorway that led into the kitchen, her mother was a dark silhouette in a pool of light.
Mels ran to her, tripping over her own feet, nearly losing her balance. When she got to her mother, she threw herself at the other woman.
“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—”
Her mother held her up off the floor. “Mels? What are you sorry for? What’s wrong—”
The tears came and didn’t stop, everything breaking open, those years of keeping it together shattering like a mirror, a thousand cracks webbing out until she splintered completely.
Her mother was there to hold her as she fell apart.
And to think…she’d always believed she was the strong one?
Chapter Fifty-five
“That hurt, you son of a bitch.”
Jim nearly lost his mind as he looked down at his old boss, who was—surprise!—alive and kicking.
One and only one thought went through his mind: “Do not tell me we’re going for a round three with you.”
As Matthias sat up and rubbed the back of his noggin, he shot a glare upward. “You dropped me on my head.”
“You’re dead!”
“Oh, and that’s an excuse?” The guy stood up and brushed the pea gravel from the seat of his pants. “P.S., I found out what you are.”
Jim started patting his pockets. “In need of a cigarette. Yeah, I am.”
“You’re an angel.”
“Am I?” When he found the pack of Marlboros, he was tempted to take all ten that were left, put them in his mouth, and light them together. “Do I look like one?”
“I met with your Maker.”
Jim froze with his Bic halfway to his lips.
“That’s right.” Matthias looked a little smug. “He says ‘hi,’ by the way—and he likes the turkey subs. Not sure what that means?”
“Excuse me?”
Matthias shrugged. “No clue on that one. But I met him—and I think he likes you. He told me about your game. Good luck with that, by the way—”
Jim presented his palm for review—directly in front of Matthias’s face. “Stop. What the fuck are you doing here?”
Matthias walked around in a little circle like he was choosing his words, or maybe replaying a conversation in his mind. “Well, here’s the thing, it’s not that I don’t trust you, but…she’s my girl. I have to keep her safe. This is the only way.”
“Only way how?”
Matthias pounded his chest with his fist. “I’m back in the saddle again, my friend. Okay, not that saddle—”
“This doesn’t make any sense—”
“It’s a simple case of free will. I went up there.” He looked to the sky and frowned, as if he weren’t entirely sure how all this had happened to him. “There was this massive castle thing—even had a moat in front of the entrance? An Englishman was waiting for me at the fortified doors, at the far end of this plank walkway. I’d seen him before, actually—at the Marriott? And then walking a dog? Anyway, I guess I understood, without being told, that all I had to do was walk across the bridge over the water and I was in forever.”
The words dried up at that point, Matthias’s brows going down hard, his eyes training on the ground.
“Annnnnnnd?” Jim bit out on the exhale.
“I couldn’t do it. I knew if I crossed over there was no going back—I mean, I couldn’t believe where I was. It was awesome, but…not for me.”
“Let me get this straight. You’re volunteering to go to Hell?”
“Not at all. The Maker came from out of nowhere and we talked. In the end, I just gave up one version of the place for another that was so much better. For me? Heaven is with that woman, and I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to prove it to her—even though there’s no guarantees about…well, shit, so much on that one. But I’m clear on the fact that I want to give it a shot.”
“This can’t be right.”
“What can I say? The Maker’s a fan of free will—maybe because if people make good choices, it affirms His creation? I don’t know.”
Jim got right up in the guy’s grille, a strange fury driving him. “This is bullshit—if you get to pick, why doesn’t everyone just stay with the ones they love?”
Like his mother.
Like his Sissy, for godsakes?
Man, he was too fucking tired of being jerked around by this game.
“People do come back from the dead,” Matthias said. “Happens all the time.”
“Not everyone.” Not his dead. This was such bullshit.
“I got lucky. Look, if you have a problem with it, go talk to Him.”
Jim stalked around, smoking, cursing—to the point where he nearly gave the dead operative’s body a kick just because he could.
“Jim?” Matthias said slowly. “What’s going on in that head of yours, my man.”
At that moment, the solution presented itself, something that Nigel had said in the beginning of the round returning to him, taking root, and sprouting into a plan that was so heretical, it gave him pause even in his anger. But then he remembered things that Matthias had told him about the down below—and looked into the other man’s face, his living, breathing, like-he’d-never-been-shot face.
The violent heat in Jim’s gut was utterly familiar, the same force that had led him to fuck Devina, the same burn that sometimes took over and made him cruel, the same shit that had brought him to his first killings—of the men who had taken his mother’s life.
This was the devil in him, he thought, this fury that had flared…and would soon settle into a cold determination that was going to change the shape of the game.
But goddamn it, as Matthias had said, some things you have to do yourself.
“Listen, Jim, how about we get rid of this body, and then go looking for the car he came in? I could really use a set of wheels that’s not a rental, and with some work, I could locate the GPS on it and get rid of the thing.”
“Yeah,” Jim said offhandedly. “Sure.”
“Are you okay?”
Nope. “Yeah.” He stamped his cigarette butt out on the heel of his boot. “Sure.”
Chapter Fifty-six
The dawn’s peachy rays were filtering through the forest and creating long shadows by the time Jim and Matthias accomplished their night’s work.
Which had involved so much more than just getting rid of the stiff.
As Jim lit up the last of his cigarettes, he double-checked that two of the Harleys were secure in the bed of the F-150. It was a tight squeeze, but they weren’t leaving Eddie’s ride behind.
He was going to drive them out. Matthias was on Ad’s bike. Adrian was taking the Explorer.
Because that was where Eddie had been packed.
“We ready?” Matthias asked.
When Jim gave the nod, the man put a pair of Ray-Bans on, jump-started the Harley, and pumped some extra gas into the motor, the growl rising and falling in the quiet early morning.
The flotilla left with Jim in front, and oh, what a shame, he split the police tape as he pulled out of the garage, the grille of the truck ripping it apart.
Sorry, CPD.
But at least they were leaving Matthias’s rental behind so the unis had something tangible to get excited about.
Hitting the main road, he went north at an easy speed. They were going to travel around the city for quite a while, just making sure their tail was clean. Then at ten a.m., they were pulling into their new HQ.
Long night—and it felt good to sit on his ass for a while. Packing up the garage’s studio hadn’t been the issue; he didn’t have a lot of personal shit. It had been dealing with the operative. The good news was that Ad had known right where to take the guy—a sinkhole in the mountains in which his buddy had been previously dropped like an anchor.
It was better that way. XOps was probably not going to care in the not-too-distant future, but in the interim, they could busy themselves finding the pair of bodies and feel good about themselves.
On the way out to the sinkhole site, they’d discovered the requisite sedan at the side of the road close to where number one had parked his ride—but Jim had talked Mat
thias out of using that vehicle. They were going to give the truck to his old boss as soon as they got to the new safe house and unpacked. Safer than trying to find the GPS on the unmarked, and license plates could be bought cheap if you knew where to go—
Jim’s stomach let out a howl so loud even Dog, who was curled up in the passenger seat, lifted his head.
“Yeah, sorry—bet you need some food, too,” he said gruffly. “Like maybe a turkey sub—right, Dog?”
As he glanced across the seat, the “animal” met his stare evenly, those almond-shaped brown eyes unblinking. Then one of those shaggy little paws lifted and grabbed at the air between them—like he was putting in an order for two—no, three hoagies.
So the Maker was with him, Jim thought. And had been all along.
Wonder what the big guy was going to think of his next move.
Going by Dog’s grave face, Jim wondered if He knew already.
“Sorry,” he muttered. “But some things you have to take care of yourself….”
By the time the digital clock read nine fifty-four, Jim was pulling into the driveway of their new Casa d’Angel, and as the Explorer and the Harley came in behind him, someone whistled in appreciation.
Which was clearly a statement of irony.
“This place looks haunted,” Matthias said as he cut the bike’s engine.
“It’s cheap and out of the way,” Jim groused through his open window.
And however ugly it was, he didn’t sense Devina anywhere around the place.
Picking up Dog, he got out from behind the wheel to find even Adrian looking a little surprised—which, considering what was on the angel’s plate, was really saying something.
“I thought Rent-A-Wreck only did cars,” the guy muttered.
Okay, fine, the bastard had a point. But who the hell else was going to rent to a shady character like Jim? Without asking for references?
And wreck was right: The mansion was cast in a palette of gray, everything from the cupolas on the third floor, to the stone porches at ground level, to the cockeyed shutters in between, painted with grisaille technique. Hell, even the vines that snaked up its flanks and crowded its huge front door were without leaves, the skeletal roots like an infection that had sprung from the black earth and was spreading.