“How’d that go?”

As the other angel crossed his arms over his chest and thinned out his mouth, Adrian thought, oh, fuck….

“You were with her again, weren’t you,” he said in a dead voice.

Jim cleared his throat. “I was angry—so was she. It just…you know, happened.”

“Well, guess that’s one way of arguing. Who won?”

“Not a win/lose sitch.”

Ad wasn’t so sure about that. “Where’s the bitch now?”

“I don’t know.”

As the guy glanced down at the elevator like he was worried about Matthias’s female, Ad nodded. “Go check on Mels—I’ll keep an eye on Prince Charming.”

“I won’t be far.”

“Take your time. I got this.” Unsheathing his crystal dagger, he held it up so that the transparent blade caught the light. “Trust me.”

Jim hesitated. “Call if you need me.”

“I won’t, but I will.”

Cue the poof! and Heron was gone.

Adrian limped to the door, rapped with his knuckles, and then opened the way in. Matthias was yanking some pants on, and he froze in midpull.

“I knocked,” Ad said dryly.

The other guy finished the job, cranked the sweatpants’ tie tight around his waist, and tucked in his Caldwell Red Wings T-shirt. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you.”

Sure enough, the gun wasn’t far, and Ad knew for a fact that it had been reloaded after the showdown in the forest. Still, it wasn’t like the forty was capable of doing anything more than annoy him.

“You off to somewhere?” Ad asked.

Moving fast, the man sat down on the edge of the bed and shoved his feet into those black Nikes. “You always so good with doors?”

“I’m good with a lot of things.”

Matthias paused. “You’re limping, you know that?”

Ad shrugged. “Bad foot.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ve said all I’m going to.”

Matthias cursed as he got up to collect his wallet and windbreaker. “Okay, fine. But we’ve got to leave—the cops are on the way. Or will be shortly.”

“Why?”

“Mels is going to them right now—she figured out that Jim and I got busy in the basement here the other night. My memory’s back, by the way.”

“Everything?”

“Yup.”

Shit. “Congratulations.”

“Not really.” The man was speaking quick and concisely. “Listen, Jim said I’m going to face a crossroads?”

Ad nodded. “What happened to your girl?”

“She figured out who I really was.”

“That’s so not going to help us.”

“Well, the eye-opener helped her, and that’s more important. I should never have been with the woman.”

On that note, Matthias got quiet, and yeah, wow, you could practically smell the wood burning.

“I know what I have to do,” he said after a moment. “It’s the only way…to make things right. I know exactly what to do.”

Ad let his head fall back in frustration. What this situation did not need was any more bright ideas.

“We’ve gotta blow this place,” Matthias said, as he stalked to the door. “But first, a little breaking and entering on the way out.”

“Isn’t that an oxymoron?”

As the guy just walked into the hallway, Adrian cursed and snagged the cane from where it was by the television built-in thingy.

Turned out it was a good call—the old-man affect increased his speed. Hard to get used to needing the thing, however.

Not really his style.

As Matthias hit the emergency exit into the stairwell, and started descending the concrete steps, Mels’s voice dogged him.

It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.

That one sentence, over and over again, like a repeating rifle—or a machine gun—until he prayed for the amnesia to come back.

The tragedy was that nothing around how he’d felt about her had been anything less than the God’s honest truth. Same with the physical condition he’d been in, and his sense of where he’d been…and where he was in danger of returning.

But over the course of his life? Shit, yeah, there had been too many deceptions to count.

And that was what he was going to take care of.

With him leaving her as she had, and his memory now back in full force, there was no way he couldn’t do something about the web of lies and evil he’d spun for so long.

This was indeed the reckoning he’d earned, and he was damn well going to pay the price…and do the right thing. Finally.

Keeping up the quick, silent pace down the stairwell, it dawned on him that his partner in crime, so to speak, was probably not making the kind of time he was. Which was so fucked-up. Glancing over his shoulder, he—

Matthias stopped dead and gripped the rail.

The bastard behind him was hovering about three inches over the stairs, ghosting above them like he had anti-gravity shoes on.

“What are you?” Matthias breathed.

Instantly, the man’s combat boots went terra firma. “Nothing special.”

“Bullshit.”

“Aren’t we running from the cops? Do you really want to do this now?”

Guy had a point, but there was a lot at stake. If only in the mental-health department. “Just answer me one thing. Which side are you on? And before you hit me with another round of ‘no BFD,’ I know where I’ve been—and I’m not talking about the Middle East.”

“I’m on the side that thinks it’s good.”

“Which tells me nothing. Even the devil believes he’s right.”

“She’s not.”

“She, huh.” As the guy shrugged like they were talking about sports…or cars…or the Thursday-night lineup on NBC, Matthias cursed softly. “So you know the devil, and you’re just a normal guy. You assume all of my injuries, internal and otherwise, and you’re nothing special.”

The roommate lifted one shoulder again, and looked utterly unconcerned with whatever mind-fuck Matthias was rocking.

It was lies, all of it—wasn’t it.

“You know,” Matthias said roughly, “I’ve heard about the devil—that he—that she is a great liar.”

“It’s the only thing you can trust.”

“Guess I got that in common with her.”

“You do, but times change, don’t they.”

“How does Jim Heron fit into this?”

Adrian exhaled like he was ancient. “Worry about yourself, Matthias. That’s the only advice I can give you—just do the right thing, even if it hurts.”

Matthias focused on that cloudy eye—which had been his own just twelve hours ago. “Speaking from firsthand experience?”

“Not at all. Now, shouldn’t we be running from the CPD?”

Abruptly, he thought about the night with Mels. Shit had ended so very badly, but the night…and everything that had had to do with her…had helped him find his soul. Without that, and without her, he would have just left Caldwell—and his past—behind.

“Thank you,” Matthias murmured. “I owe you.”

“I don’t know what the f**k you’re talking about.”

Clearly, he was knocking on a door that was locked, dead-bolted, chained, and barred. Fine. He knew how that was—gratitude could be harder to bear than pain.

At least he knew what to do. There was just one more thing….

“Is Jim like you,” he demanded.

The guy looked like he was so done with the talking, he was ready to scream, but tough shit.

“Tell me,” Matthias barked. “I gotta have some kind of solid in this.”

Adrian rubbed his jaw. “You can talk to Jim about that—when this is over, ’kay? Right now, my job is to keep you alive so that you can do the right thing when it comes along. I can’t tell you how important this is. Just do the right damn thing for once in your miserable existence.”

“Roger that,” Matthias said, turning away and taking off once more.

48

Several blocks over from the Marriott, in the CCJ newsroom, Mels sat in her musical chair, rocking back and forth to the tune of “Yankee Doodle.” Her e-mail account was up on her computer monitor, and periodically the auto send/receive coughed another couple of entries into her in-box. The screensaver came on at regular intervals, too, and each time the rainbow-colored bubbles appeared, she’d reach out, fuss the mouse, and keep things alive.

The only call she’d made since she’d come in had been to Tony’s contact down in the CSI lab. She’d told him that she’d called Detective de la Cruz and made a statement about everything.

She’d been hoping the phone would ring at any minute with an update on the situation, but de la Cruz and his team were no doubt busy down at the hotel, searching an empty room.

Matthias was long gone—

“Psst.”

Shaking herself, she glanced across the aisle. Tony was leaning forward in his seat with a Ding Dong in his palm, offering the little wheel of chemical, chocolaty glory like it was a diamond. “You look like you could use this.”

“Thanks.” She forced a smile—and thought, What the hell. Maybe a load of sugar and preservatives would wake her up out of this stupor. “Not myself today.”

“I can tell. You’ve been sitting there staring at that screen for the last hour.”

“Lot of e-mail to read.”

“Then why haven’t you been reading it?”

Popping the seal on the Hostess bomb and biting into the thing, the outer shell flaked and sent bits and pieces into her lap. Before they melted and fused at the molecular level with the fabric of her slacks, she picked them off and flicked them into the wastepaper basket.

Man, Ding Dongs tasted delicious.

Better munching through chemistry.

“Hey, listen, Tony…I know we’ve never really talked career stuff, but do you have an endgame with this paper? I mean, is this the place where you see yourself staying for the rest of your working life?”

Her buddy shrugged. “I don’t think a lot about that shit. I just work on my articles, do my digging—I’m chill with the future. If this is all I have? I’m good.” He grabbed a Ho Ho for himself and stripped off its wrapper. “But I’ve been waiting for you to pull out.”

“From Caldwell? Really?”

“Yup.” He took a bite. “You’ve never settled in. Made the contacts. Kept them going.”

He was right, of course. And maybe that was why she hadn’t really accomplished as much as she’d wanted to in the last couple of years. Yes, Dick was a prick and a confirmed member of the old boy club, but it was possible she’d been hiding behind that as an excuse for phoning things in.

“I think I want to go back to New York City.” Actually, take out the “think,” she realized with a jolt. “It’s time.”

Her mother was okay; Mels was the one who needed direction. And she had a feeling that would be “south.”

“You’re a damn good reporter.” Tony took another bite. “And you’re under-utilized here—I think Dick knows it.”

“He and I have never gotten along.”

“That’s true of him and women, generally.” Tony crushed the wrapper and tossed it. “So, what are you going to do? You got any in’s down in Manhattan?”

Opening up her drawer, she took out a card she’d stuffed in there the day she’d moved to the desk. It read, PETER W. NEWCASTLE, FEATURES EDITOR—and had the iconic New York Times masthead right under his title.

Back in the day, she’d met Peter in and around Manhattan, and he was still at the Times. She’d seen his name just last Sunday.

“Yeah, I think I do,” she murmured. “Hey, speaking of leaving, I have something I’d like to give you.”

“Lunch, I hope?”

She laughed a little. “Tragically, no.”

Kicking herself out of neutral, she opened up her e-file on all the research she’d done on those missing person cases. Staring at the words she’d typed, the tables she’d made, the references she’d listed, she couldn’t help thinking that all this was what she’d been doing before the storm had rolled through her life.

Memories of Matthias rose like spikes breaking through skin, the pain making her short of breath.

Closing her eyes briefly, she told herself to get a grip.

“It’s coming over e-mail,” she said gruffly.