His answer was to kiss her, and as he did, her eyes stung so badly she had to blink fast.
This time the sex was slow and gentle, but no less devastating than the passion had been: As he touched her, as he reentered her, as they moved as one, she told her brain to remember every single gasp and groan, each and every shift and sigh.
It was going to have to last for a lifetime.
Sitting buck naked on the dock at the boathouse, Jim took his cigarettes out of his jacket pocket with hands that shook. Same thing with his lighter. And putting the flame to the tip wasn't a coordination party either.
All the while, the sound of the Hudson lapping at the undersides of the empty slips crowded in on him, making him feel like there were bars on all four sides.
"She's not actually the key to this," Devina said from behind him.
Man, his hearing was just way too acute: Her zipper going up was like a scream in his head, and no one should ever take note of feet being slipped into stilettos.
"The reporter," the demon prompted, like she was looking for a reply. "Matthias is so far gone, nothing can save him."
Jim tapped his cig and watched the ash float off in the water.
Devina was right about one thing: She had managed to make him feel worse than before. He was positively stained, inside and out--from his anger, from the sex, from the game.
Saviors were not supposed to be hopeless--but here he was, completely surrounded by an utter lack of optimism.
Devina's fancy-schmancy heels marched over and parked themselves in his peripheral vision, the bright blue alligator something-or-anothers burning his retinas.
He hadn't intended on fucking her.
But he had. Twice.
The clash had been of biblical proportions--and it showed. The rowboats that had been so carefully stacked up were all over the place, pushed out of whack when he'd shoved her face-first against them. The buoys were scattered around. A number of life preservers had been torn, their fluffy stuffing like blood on a battlefield.
Looked like a hurricane had come up the Hudson.
Maybe it had been three times?
The demon knelt down, her perfect lie of a face intruding on him. "Jim? You in there?"
He wasn't so sure about that.
"We're getting down to the end of this round," she said softly. "Maybe afterward, you and I can have a little vacation together? Go somewhere hot and make it hotter?"
"I'd rather die."
She smiled, truly smiled, as if all was well in her world. "Then it's a date."
The demon straightened, and his eyes followed her as she stood to her full height. So beautiful, so evil.
"You want me to leave the reporter alone?" she said. "Okay. I will. Because I think the game is already won--I was just belt-and-suspendering it with her. The truth about that woman? Matthias and his past are going to take care of her by themselves--after all, he's one of mine. He's a liar and a megalomaniac, and his choices are going to mow her right over, even if you try to sweet-talk him and ply him with morality--hell, even if you frame the argument for goodness in terms of her? You won't get the stains out of his soul, and his past deeds are going to come back to haunt him."
Jim took another drag on his cigarette.
"Just remember, we can do this again," she said with satisfaction. "When you need your exercise. Bye for now, enemy mine."
Devina disappeared into thin air, leaving him to the river's constant chatter and the chill of the night.
As he flicked his butt into the water, he thought about all the environmentalists who would be pissed off that he'd littered.
He merely fired up another.
Smoked.
Went back for a third.
As he lit Marlboro after Marlboro, he wasn't sure exactly how long he sat there with his nuts in the breeze, making smoke rings and being disgusted with himself. The reality was, however, that what had just gone down was so much worse than the stuff she'd tortured him with in her Well of Souls.
This had been voluntary. At least the prior time he'd been with her, it had been against his will.
Staring out of the boat slip at the river beyond, he watched the moonlight tickle the tops of the ripples in the water, the current, or maybe the night wind, creating just enough of a disturbance so that the illumination had something to play with.
It was so beautiful, even though the water was filthy from the spring rain runoff. Even though his mood was foul. Even though he hated himself and the game to the point where he was tempted to quit...
That light was pure grace on the water....
Back when he'd accepted the role of savior, he'd never considered it would eat him alive. Hell, after having worked with and for Matthias for all those years in XOps, he had assumed he'd seen the worst of himself--and humanity.
He hadn't expected this low point.
And what he needed was something to believe in.
Something tangible, something greater even than fear for his mother's eternity--and his own.
Getting to his feet, he felt ancient as he went over to the two-sizes-too-small sweatpants he'd borrowed from Matthias. Devina had ripped them off his legs at some point, and they'd ended up underneath one of those damn rowboats. At least they hadn't gone into the river, though.
Picking up the wad, he grabbed the waistband and gave them a good shake to get them in put-on-able condition--
Something went flying out of the pocket.
And he knew what it was the instant he saw it--even in the darkness, he knew what it was.
He pulled the pants on as he went over and picked the thing up.
The folded-up newspaper article had landed a thin inch away from the open water of the slip, almost lost.
He didn't want to look at it. Had no interest in seeing that photograph he'd memorized. Didn't want to measure even one word of the text he knew by heart.
His hands had other ideas, though.
Next thing he knew, he was staring at Sissy's face, that beautiful, smart, young face. And as he couldn't look away, he told himself that he was captivated by the image because it was a symbol of everything he hated about Devina.
But it wasn't all that. Not completely.
Running his fingertips over the pixelated composite of light and dark pinpoints, he touched the delicate gold necklace he wore around his neck, the one given to him by Sissy's mother...and he thought of those moments he'd been with his girl, talking about his dog, trying to give her something to hold on to, something to believe in when she felt like nothing was ever going to get better....
In a moment of vicious clarity, he realized that Devina was winning. In spite of the score being two to one, the shit she'd been pulling with those blondes had gotten to him, keeping the bitterness and rage about Sissy right in the forefront of his mind.
Excellent strategy.
That girl truly was his Achilles' heel.
Jim looked out to the river, to that light. Looked back at the printout.
Devina wasn't going to change. She was going to continue to exploit the weakness; it was, as she'd said, what she'd been designed to do.
So he was going to have to be different.
With a curse, he folded up the article and walked along the slip. At the far edge of it, out from under the boathouse's roof, he paused in the moonlight.
Grasping the article at the top, he started to rip the piece of paper in half, one hand drawing away from the other--
He didn't make it very far before he stopped.
"Damn it," he muttered. "Do it--just fucking do it!"
Except something was clogging the nerves to his appendages, the order from his brain diverted somewhere else.
Dragging a hand through his hair, he wanted to let Sissy go. He really did.
He actually prayed for it.
The only thing that came to him, however, was the reality that she was not just suffering down in that demon's living room. She was under Devina's control--and that meant she
wasn't safe.
His enemy was capable of anything.
What he needed was to get Sissy out of there....
Mels woke up with a jerk, the darkness that surrounded her taking her back into the river and the water's suffocation--
The instant she saw the glowing strip across the way at floor level, reality returned. The hotel room. Matthias...
Rolling over to face him, she found him deep asleep, his chest under the duvet rising and falling slowly. He was on his back, his arms on the outside of the covers, his hands down by his sides. He looked like he was ready to get out of bed on an instant's notice.
Either that or as if he were lying in a coffin.
Happy thought.
God, what a night.
Thanks to her having made a quick trip down to the twenty-four-hour gift shop, the evening had passed the way their other one had, with episodes of erotic connection alternating with the kind of sleep that comes when you're passed out cold.
Well, except for the fact that they'd been able to go so much farther this time.
Abruptly, his eyes opened. "You okay?"
"How did you know I was awake?"
He shrugged one bare shoulder. "I don't really sleep."
"I guess so."
As Matthias shifted his eyes away and stared up at the ceiling, he was so still, it appeared as though he wasn't breathing--and that was when she knew for sure that they had been together for the last time. But like all that aerobic exercise had changed his mind?
Then again, it had been so much more than just sex, she thought. At least on her side....
In the horrible silence that followed, she gave herself permission to feel the loss, and as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about, his hand found hers and squeezed.
"I'm going to take a quick shower," he said.
He leaned over and gave her a kiss that lingered, but then he was up on his feet so fast, she recoiled.
Talk about turning over a new leaf. It was as if he'd never had the limp.
Especially as he stalked through the darkness into the bathroom.
A second later, a light came on and then so did the shower.
A quick check of the hour told her it was seven o'clock.
Time to head home, have her own shower, and get dressed. With any luck, this would be a Pilates morning for her mother, and they could both be spared the walk of shame--not that Mels regretted the night. She just wasn't too happy this morning.
Except that was because things were over, not because she was sorry it happened.
Getting out of the warm bed, she went over and turned on the desk lamp--and remembered, joy of joys, that she had no underwear or real clothes.
God, that fall into the river seemed like it had happened to someone else--at least until she felt the aches in her ribs and her forearms from when she'd dragged herself out of the Hudson.
Glancing to the sound of the running water, she thought maybe she should join him--no, it might look like she was chicking out, trying to make a come-on in hopes of changing his mind.
She had her pride.
Although she was taking a pair of his boxers. No way she was going home in nothing but a raincoat.
Heading over to the bag Jim Heron had rifled through, she found two pairs of the things, and she took one, pulling them up her legs and onto her waist. They fit okay--and wait, there was another pair of warm-up pants in there, along with a couple of shirts.
She ended up having to roll the sweats over at the waistband, and the shirt swam on her, but everything was black, and as she slipped her shoes on and pulled the raincoat around her, she felt a lot less like a hooker.
Matthias was still in the shower.
It was tempting to sneak out and save them both the awkwardness, and, looking toward the door, she put her bag up on her shoulder. She could always write a note?
Nah. She refused to be a coward--
The muffled sound of her alarm went off in her purse.
Shoving her hand in deep, she rooted around, found the damn phone, and took it out. The familiar, annoying beeping made her skin crawl, but that was the point. Anything more user-friendly and she worried she'd sleep through it.
After she shut things off, she glanced back over at the open door of the bathroom.
The waiting wore on her, and she checked her voicemail to pass the time. There were three messages when she got into the system--
"Hi, this is Dan over at Caldwell Auto. We've been looking at your car, and to be honest with you, it's right on the edge of being totaled. A vehicle that age, with this kind of damage? We could fix it, but I can't guarantee it wouldn't lemon on you a week later. My advice is that you take the insurance money and buy something new. Give me a call...."
For some reason, the idea that her car had died made her tear up.
Man, she needed to pull it together.
Message number two was from her hair salon, reminding her that she had an appointment coming up with Pablo.
Message number three was...
"Hey, this is Tony's friend? From over at the police department? Jason?" The guy's inflection turned it all into questions, as if he weren't sure of his own name. "Listen...I need to talk to you ASAP. That bullet you found? It's a match--that round was discharged from the same weapon that was used in the shooting down at the Marriott"--a chill started at the back of her neck and spread all over her body--"and that means you need to come in and talk to us. It's ten o'clock now and I need to get some sleep--but first thing tomorrow morning, I've got to disclose this and your..."
At that moment, the shower cut off in the bathroom.
Leaning to the side, she watched Matthias step out of the tub. He seemed so much bigger now, and as she looked down, she saw only faded scars on his lower body, nothing that would warrant self-consciousness. Or a limp.
Tony's friend was still talking as Matthias turned away to get the towel he'd left on the back of the toilet--
Mels nearly dropped her phone.
Covering his back, from the tops of his shoulders to below his waist, was a massive black-and-white tattoo of the Grim Reaper standing in a field of grave markers--and underneath it were dozens and dozens of hatch marks in an orderly row.
It was precisely like the one that Eric had shown her--
Get. Out. Now.
Mels bolted for the door, but didn't make it.
Just as she started to run, Matthias stepped out of the humid little room, right into her path.
Matthias had gone the shower route not because he particularly wanted to be clean, but because he'd had to scrub his aching head. He'd never been one for good-byes--although previously, that had been because he'd never really been emotionally involved with anybody.
Now, it was because the prospect of leaving Mels hurt like hell.
What did he say? How did he let her walk out the door?
Wrapping a towel around his waist, he walked out of the bathroom and--
Mels screeched to a halt in front of him, like she'd pulled short out of a dead run. Dressed in some of the clothes he'd gotten at the gift shop, she looked like she was being chased.
"Mels--"
"Get away from me." She shoved a hand in her purse, and before she took it out, he knew she was going for her gun.
Sure enough, that muzzle trained directly at the center of his chest.
He put his hands up, palms forward. "What's going on?"
"Nice tattoo--oh, and I just found out that you shot that man here in the hotel. The bullet matches."
"What bullet?"
"The one that I found outside that garage--when I came to see you the first time. You remember, don't you? Well, I gave the casing to someone who did a ballistics comparison--and your gun is the one that was used in that shooting."
Matthias closed his eyes. Shit, that shell must have been from Jim's gun, the one he'd taken, the one that, yeah, he'd used on the operative down in the basement hallway.
"Did you disappear the
body from the morgue, too? I'm guessing that, given the ink you two share, you're connected--but don't bother giving me the details. I won't trust anything you say." Mels shook her head, disgust written not just in her face, but in her whole body. "It was lies, all of it--wasn't it. The amnesia...the limp--those damn scars, your eye." She cursed in a vile way. "Jesus Christ, it was a fucked-up contact lens, wasn't it--with some makeup to get the old injuries to look worse. Oh, God..." Now, she cringed. "The impotence, too, right? Guess you decided getting laid was worth the risk of exposure. Or did you just get lazy with the upkeep?"
As he died right in front of her, Matthias could only cross his arms over his chest and take what she gave him. He didn't blame her for the extrapolations: Miracles were inexplicable for a reason, and the conclusions she was jumping to, while they screwed him, would seem like the only possible explanations if he were in her shoes....
When she finally stopped talking, he opened his mouth; then shut it when he realized that he had nothing of value to add. He'd hated lying to her--but she wasn't going to hear that.
Shit, she might as well have pulled that trigger. He sure as hell felt as if she'd mortally wounded him--but honestly, it was his own damn fault, all of this: Although patches of the past remained in a fog, he knew this was exactly the kind of reckoning that had been waiting for him with her.
And in the end, the only thing he could do was step aside and give her the way out--and maybe this was good. There was no way she was going to ever come looking for him now.
The instant he moved, Mels went for the door, all the while keeping that gun on him, and then just as she stepped into the hall, she glanced back.
In a dead voice, she whispered, "There's only one thing I don't understand. Why did you bother? What do I have that you want?"
Everything, he thought.
"So it was just a game, huh," she bit out. "Well, not sure what you thought the prize was--but I am telling you right now to never contact me again under any circumstances. Oh, and I'm calling the police station this minute and telling them everything I know about you. Although I have to wonder exactly how much that is."
And then she was gone, the door shutting automatically behind her.
Matthias closed his eyes and leaned back against the wall.
He'd known that leaving her was going to hurt--but like this? With her thinking he was a manipulator and a liar?
Then again, in his heart, he knew she was right. He'd always been a master liar.