Mels meant to stand up and walk to it; she really did. But the vertical thing didn’t go well, and instead, she had to drag herself across the dock, fits of coughing still grinding her lungs, her head all fuzzy. Except she wasn’t about to give in to all that.

They needed help.

When she got to her purse, she cranked the thing open. Her cell was right in the proper pocket. So was her wallet. And so was her collapsible raincoat—which was going to come in handy in another few minutes when she changed out of her soaked clothes.

Clearly she hadn’t been the target of a robbery.

Crab-legging it back to Heron, she said, “Is there any way you’ll let me nine-one-one this?”

He shook his head until another round of the barfies took over.

Of course he wouldn’t. “So who am I calling?”

She had to repeat the demand twice before the digits started rolling out of his mouth, and she immediately punched them into her phone. When she hit send, she wondered who was going to pick up.

Ringing. Ringing. Ringing—

Distortion, big-time. Like whoever answered was standing next to a jet airplane. Then there was a rustling as if the phone were changing hands…and the roar dissipated somewhat. “Yeah.”

Pause. And then for no good reason, she got a little teary. “Matthias?” When nothing came back at her but that noise, she spoke louder. “Matthias? Matthias!”

He had to shout in return. “Mels? Mels! Are you—”

“I’m with Jim. Heron, that is. Listen, we’ve got some trouble here—”

“What happened—”

“I’m okay, but Jim’s down for the count—”

“Was he shot?”

“I don’t know what—”

“Where are you?”

As she gave their location, she leaned to the side and looked out the boathouse’s open door. There was that laughing child and a mother far across the lawn, at the park with the benches. And no one else.

Hard to know whether that was a good or a bad thing.

“Mels, is it safe to stay where you are?”

Reaching into her purse, she took out her holstered nine-millimeter autoloader. Flicking the strap free, she palmed the weapon, and checked the clip. Fully loaded.

“I’ll make it safe.”

“Listen, Adrian and I need to get a vehicle—we’re on his bike. But we’re coming right away.”

“You just get here as soon as you can. I’ll handle things until then.”

Hanging up, she kept the cell in her left hand, the gun in her right, and went over to Jim.

There was a scent coming off him, and she recognized it as what she’d smelled when that man had approached her—and unless she was reading things wrong, it seemed as if that was what was making him so sick.

Reaching out, she put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not going to leave you.”

No way. He’d saved her twice—which made him an angel in her book.

No matter how harsh he looked.

Heron glanced up, seeming to pull out of the vortex of his nausea. “I’m supposed to protect you.”

She frowned. “Why?”

“Because…you are the key to him.”

“Him who?” she whispered.

More throwing up cut him off, but she knew the answer. “Did Matthias send you to me—”

As her phone started ringing, she jerked it up. Unknown number.

No way she was going to hit send and answer the damn thing.

She had enough to worry about right now, thank you very much.

39

Three hundred and fifty years. Maybe four hundred. Shit…try a thousand.

That was how long it took to get from Caldwell’s rural fringes into downtown in that F-150 truck.

Matthias was ready to peel his own face off when Adrian finally pulled over into a parking space next to a green stretch of park. Not even a second later, the pair of them got out and left their ride like it was a piece of junk at a landfill.

No running, though, in spite of the fact that he was in a panic. Long strides with his cane, but no running. Just him and a buddy, out for a go-nowhere stroll—no BFD.

From behind Mels’s Ray-Bans, he scanned the park. Clear except for a mother and a daughter on the swings.

Just as Mels had described, there was an old Victorian boathouse on the river’s edge, the diamond-paned monolith sitting on the shore like a cedar-shingled hen about to lay an egg. And the closer they got to it, the more Jim’s roommate looked like he wanted to kill someone.

Matthias felt the same way.

The open doorway into the thing was broad, but the interior was as dark as the sky had gotten before those shadows had shown up at the garage. As Matthias’s good eye adjusted, stacks of faded blue and red and yellow rowboats appeared, and so did a wall of orange PFDs. Birds of some sort flew out from the eaves over the half dozen empty slips.

For some reason, he hated the sound of the water smuckering up around the cribs, the sucking and clapping noise predatory.

“Mels?” he said softly. “Mels—”

Down the way, from in between some shrink-wrapped sailboats and what looked like a convention of rudders, she stepped out.

“Oh, shit, Mels…”

Nailing his cane into the dock, Matthias shot forward, and as he came up to her he threw his arms around—

Snapping back, he barked, “You’re wet.”

“I know. Jim’s over—”

“To f**k with him—”

She looked across his shoulder at Adrian and froze, like maybe she recognized him. “Ah, he’s behind there. I don’t know what’s wrong with him—but he really isn’t well.”

The roommate was on it, heading into the space where she’d hidden herself and the other man.

“Who hurt you,” Matthias growled as he ripped off his coat and wrapped her up, trying to get some warmth into her. “It wasn’t Jim, was it—”

“God, no.” She pushed away, but drew the windbreaker close around her. “I…I, ah, slipped and fell into the water, and he came—”

“Were you here alone?”

“I was meeting a source about a story. Some folks don’t want to be seen in public talking to a reporter.” She crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “And I’m not really loving this interrogation vibe.”

“Tough.”

“Excuse me.”

“You expect me to believe that you just oops! and went into the river? And how in the hell did Jim know where you were?”

Matter of fact, how had the guy gotten out here?

“Accidents happen, you realize.” Mels jutted forward on her hips. “And as for Heron, why don’t you ask him that question.”

As if on cue, Adrian came out with the guy, holding him off the ground by the waist, Jim’s combats duffing the docks.

Yeah, okay, no one was asking shit of Heron: He was pale as a ghost and lax as a bolt of wet cloth.

“Got to get him somewhere warm and safe,” Adrian muttered, like he was talking to himself.

Matthias nodded over his shoulder. “My hotel room is close by. Let’s bring him there.”

Mels stepped in. “We can’t get him through the lobby without attracting—”

“Good idea.” Adrian hitched up Jim’s deadweight and addressed him. “You can put a show on, right, boss?”

Boss? Matthias thought.

“And I’m coming, too,” Mels said, as she disappeared behind the sailboats. “Give me a minute.”

Little more than sixty seconds later, she came out a changed woman. Literally. She’d lost her wet pants and shirt and replaced them with a black dress; pulled her hair back smooth to the base of her neck and tied it with something; and put on a pair of flats.

Who knew an entire wardrobe fit in that bag of hers?

She walked right up to him. “Do yourself a favor and do not ever address me in that tone of voice again. I’ll let it go once. Next time I’m going to knock the attitude right out of your mouth—are we clear?”

Okay. He could almost be hard right now.

“Let’s go,” she announced, ducking under Jim’s other side and putting his arm over her shoulder. “Man, you’re heavy….”

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.”