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—”