Okay, now her mouth wanted to fall open.

“You’re a strong woman and you can take care of yourself—but that doesn’t mean I’m not going to have all the stereotypical guy reactions when my female gets hurt or is endangered. I’m impotent, but I’m not genderless.” He cursed. “Not saying it’s right, just telling it like it is.”

He met her right in the eye.

And in the silence that followed, all she could think of saying was…I love you, too.

Because that’s what he was telling her in this moment—it was in his steady stare, his calm, grave words, his proud jawline.

God, he reminded her so much of her father: Shoot first, ask questions later, but always call a spade a spade.

“It’s all right,” she said roughly. “I know things have been anything but normal lately. Everyone’s keyed up.”

On that note, it was a shock to realize she wanted to I-L-Y the man—but she kept that impulse in check. It was…too early. She’d only met him how long ago? Two days? Three?

Abruptly, he paced around, that cane cocked at a steep angle that suggested he was hurting. Halting over by the windows, he parted the drapes and looked out. Not for the view, though, she guessed. It was like he needed an excuse to stop.

“I want you to promise me something,” he said harshly.

“What’s that?”

“After I’m gone, I want you to start wearing your seat belt.”

For a moment, Mels didn’t speak, the reminder that he was leaving like a slap in the face. “Ah…”

He looked over his shoulder. “I’m serious, Mels. Will you do that for me.”

Mels went across and sat on the bed, random things filtering through her brain: She really wanted a shower….God, she hoped someone didn’t find her clothes before she got a chance to go back and get them…had she really walked into the Marriott like a hooker with no underwear on under a raincoat?

All of that was just cognitive dissonance, however, a strategy to avoid the request.

Deciding to man up, she said, “Do you know why I don’t wear one?”

“You have a death wish.”

“My father had one on, and that was the reason he was killed in that car accident.” As Matthias turned around slowly, she nodded. “The seat belt trapped him in place. Without it, he would have bounced out of his seat and not had half his body crushed. See, his vehicle hit one of those flatbeds that carries lawn equipment? And the metal edge of it penetrated through the door. When the paramedics got to him, he was still alive, because the compression was slowing the blood loss down. Hell, he was even still conscious. He…” She had to clear her throat. “He knew he was going to die there in that goddamn car. The instant they cut him loose, he was going to hemorrhage out—and he…he knew it. He was awake and aware—he must have been in such pain. I don’t…I don’t know how anyone deals with that moment. But you know what he did?”

“Tell me,” Matthias said quietly.

For a second, Mels got lost in the confrontation she’d had afterward in his sergeant’s office—when his boss had refused to give her details of the death.

But damn it, she was Carmichael’s daughter, and she had a right to know.

“First, he wanted to be sure the suspect had been apprehended—and he got on his high horse when it turned out that his colleagues had focused on him instead.” She had to laugh a little. “Then he…he made them swear that my mother would never find out the way he died. He wanted her to think it had been instantaneous—and that’s what she believes. I’m the only one in the family who knows how…how much he suffered. Finally, he told them to look after Mom—he was really concerned about her. Not me, though. He wasn’t worried about me, he said. I was tough like he was….I was his strong, independent daughter—”

As she choked up, tears pricked.

Then fell silently.

She wiped her cheek. “Finding out he thought of me like that was actually the proudest moment of my life.”

There was a heartbeat of quiet. Then another. Then so many more.

Strange, she thought. That moment in the sergeant’s office had changed her life, and yet she had compartmentalized it and frozen it as part of a past that was something to be left behind.

And yet now, in this hotel room, with Matthias focused on her, and Jim Heron throwing up his liver on the other side of the wall…things began to weave together, the past and the present like a pair of boxcar trains that had finally been pushed close enough together to lock on.

She brought herself back into focus. “Anyway, ever since I found out the specifics, I haven’t been able to…” She cleared her throat. “It’s not a death wish—call it a misappropriation of logic, maybe, but I don’t want to die.”

God knew, she didn’t want to die.

As Matthias came over to her and sat down, she got ready to be hit with all kinds of, But you know the statistics, chances are you won’t be in the same position he was, blah, blah, blah.

Instead, he just put his arms around her.

It was curiously devastating, the kindness, the protection, the silent understanding.

Leaning into his chest, she said, “I’ve never told anyone that before.”

She felt him kiss the top of her head, and with a shudder, she gave herself over to his strength—and it was phenomenal.

She hadn’t had a clue the burden she’d been carrying around all these years by herself.

Funny, as they sat close together, the warmth from their bodies magnifying, she decided that he had told her he loved her with an apology…and she had reciprocated with that story.

Proof that profound things could be said using lots of different vocabularies.

“He needs to lie down.”

As Adrian spoke up from the bathroom doorway, Matthias held her closer. “He can have this bed.”

“Thanks, man.”

Mels went to get up, and was surprised when Matthias came with her. And then the two of them ended up on the wing chair and footstool by the window, with her sprawled out along his body.

It was as if he couldn’t bear to ever let her go.

And she felt the same.

40

Adrian carried Jim to the bed and tucked his worn-out ass in. The poor bastard was shaking badly, his skeleton rattling against its prison of skin, trying to get free—but at least he wasn’t sick to his stomach anymore.

As Ad straightened, he glanced across the room. Matthias and Mels were in a chair together, the woman with her head on the man’s shoulder.

It was pretty damn clear that Devina had tried to throw some mojo around with the reporter, and Jim had obviously not stood for that shit. Made you wonder what kind of condition Devina was in.

Talk about walking with a limp. An angel could only hope.

“You guys want food,” he said to the lovebirds.

“Doesn’t he need a doctor?” Matthias shot back.

“Just time.”

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Food poisoning.”

“Bullshit.”

Ad glanced at Mels pointedly and kept his yap shut. It was no disrespect to the reporter—and it wasn’t because she was of the fairer sex, either. Matthias was one of them: He’d been to Hell, and he knew Devina even if he didn’t totally remember her. He was also inextricably mixed up in all this.

Mels, however, was not, and the less she knew, the tighter in the head she was going to be when all this was over—assuming she survived: It could be a real shocker to discover exactly how much of reality was malleable, and how many nightmares were true. And once you’d had that mental download, it was impossible to return to the halcyon days of only worrying about your dry cleaning and your property taxes and whether you had enough milk for your cereal in the morning.

This truism pretty much explained all of after-midnight radio.

The good news was that at least Matthias got the point, the guy nodding once, and zipping his lip.

Seeing them together, Ad almost felt bad that this pair wasn’t going to last. Matthias was a short-termer, at best—at worst, he was part of a slippery slope that landed all of them in Devina’s goddamn wall. And Mels? Given what Devina was capable of, the reporter would be lucky if the only place she ended up in was a pine box.

Odd, he thought. He hadn’t felt anything except pain and rage since Eddie had been killed. But seeing these two together, he was…

Oh, what the f**k did it matter. He had his own problems—and Jim’s recovery was one of them.

“I’m all right,” the other angel said, as if on cue.

“Shut up and lie down.”

“You suck as a nurse.” But the guy did what he was told—likely because his body didn’t give his brain a choice.

Mels sat up. “A doctor has to take a look at him.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he’s been in this condition before. Just give him an hour or so.” Maybe longer. “He’ll be fine. Where’s the room service menu?”

“What exactly happened to him,” she demanded.

Ad turned around toward the desk. “Ah, here it is. Let’s see…” Thumbing through the laminated booklet, he eyed the entrees. “Nice selection.”

As he debated between a New York strip and the roast beef, there was some conversation in the background—Matthias telling his girlie to chill out and that they’d get the answers when Jim woke up.

Maybe, maybe not, Ad thought.

After passing the thing over to them, Ad hit the phone and ordered the crap out of dinner. Hanging up, he glanced at the couple. “We’re ruining your date night, aren’t we.”

Cue the foot shuffle on both sides—nice touch, as neither of them were standing up.

“I really can go,” Jim said, pushing himself off the pillows.

“Will you quit it?” Adrian snapped, abruptly feeling caged. “Fuck it, I’m going out in the hall to wait for the grub.”

The truth was, his brain was humming, and everything in that room was in danger of getting on his nerves: that woman, Matthias, Jim with his barfing. He suddenly wanted to scream at all of them, at himself, at f**king Eddie for dying, at Devina—

Always at Devina.

Out in the corridor, he shut the door and leaned against it, closing his eyes.

“Mommy, it’s the angel again!”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

And he’d forgotten to go invisi.

Lifting his lids, he stared down at that little girl with the big eyes. Tonight, her hair was pulled back in a ribbon that matched her blue dress, and her smile was so open and honest, it made him feel a million years old.

“You’re a angel!” The skinny thing seemed capable of speaking only with exclamations—like maybe the height differential required greater volume. “Can I see your wings?”

The mother hightailed it down the hall and arrived with that same cloud of exhaustion, the weight of whatever world she was living in clearly wearing her out. “I’m sorry. Come on—”

“Please? I want to see your wings.”

Ad shook his head. “I don’t have any. Sorry.”

“You do—all angels have wings.”

“I’m not an angel.”

The mother put an arm around her daughter’s shoulder—and was no doubt ready to pull a fireman’s hold on the kid if things didn’t get moving. “Come on. We’ve got to go.”

Mom refused to make eye contact—then again, the child was doing enough of that for the pair of them.

“Come on.”

The whining started, but the little girl allowed herself to be pulled away. “I want to see your wings….”

Adrian focused on his combat boots, locking his eyeballs on the steel toes, letting the mother steer that precious cargo over to the elevators and off the floor.

“Rather harsh on the wee one, don’t you think?”

Adrian exhaled a curse at the familiar aristocratic inflection.

Fantastic, a visit from upstairs. Just what he needed. “Hello, Nigel.”

The archangel stayed quiet until Ad glanced up. Another nice outfit, go fig: The dandy was kitted out in a fitted linen suit with a matching waistcoat in a white so bright it made Ad want to Ray-Ban it up like Matthias. Cravat was candy-striped pink and white. So was the pocket square.

SOB looked like an ad for Orbit gum.

“I thought I’d come and check on you,” Nigel said, hauteur turning the kindness into condescension. Or maybe that was just Ad’s mood.

“Not Jim?”

“Him as well.”

“We’re great. Havin’ a ball, and you?” As those shimmering eyes of the Capo di tutti capi narrowed into slits, Ad cocked his head. “Tell me something—if you’re so concerned about your team down here, why don’t you bring Eddie back.”