From out of the crowd, a figure stepped into view, a tall, proud figure dressed in a white robe. As it arrived, the scent of the flowers grew so strong, it overpowered everything—

Eddie.

It was the real Eddie, standing true and real, unbowed and whole in the midst of a crowd of walking dead.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake. Just when things were getting interesting.”

Ad’s head shot around. Devina was beside him on the other end of the couch, for once wearing her true guise: She was a corpse animated, her flesh in a perpetual free fall from her gray bones, her grotesque rotting palms on the br**sts of the almost-pretty woman. The demon’s expression was one of annoyance, her loose lips and sagging jawline as clenched as they could get.

Adrian shouted and went to jump up, but the redhead held his hand in place—and as he struggled against her astronomical strength, she morphed into what she really was: a decrepit has-been, the illusion of loveliness gone as if it were no longer sustainable.

As he tried to pull free, a black stain began to creep up his arm, starting at his fingers, riding up his wrist, staking claim to his elbow.

Screaming loud, he jerked violently, but he was a fly stuck on paper, a mouse in a trap, a—

Eddie, the real one, the dead one, broke the connection with a simple touch, not on Ad but the redhead: Suddenly appearing beside them all, he just leaned in and put his forefinger to the harpy’s shoulder, and poof! it was gone.

As Devina cursed the angel, Adrian ripped free of the hold, his body falling backward off the couch, his eyes only for Eddie as his heart shattered, the loss that had really occurred coming home to rest yet again.

“Fuck you,” Devina spat at the angel.

Eddie’s wonderful face, that kind, smart, handsome face, showed no reaction to the insult. He just nodded over at the Coors Light and drawled, “In your condition, I’d be worried about a hell of a lot more than my figure.”

Vile epithets were hurled from the couch, but Devina did nothing more—to the point where you had to wonder what exactly Eddie had done with that ET-finger-move thing.

The other angel looked at Ad for what seemed like the longest time, as if the dead missed the living even more. “I’m never far,” Eddie said in a cracking voice.

“Ah, shit…don’t go,” Ad moaned. “Just stay here—”

“So f**king touching.” Devina’s black eyes were livid. “You two want to make out before he leaves?”

Eddie began to recede like he was a statue on a rolling platform, his still body drawn backward through the milling crowd, that smell of a fresh meadow going with him.

“Eddie!” As Ad reached forward, the stain on his arm was nearly to his shoulder.

“I’m in you,” Devina said with satisfaction. “And it’s too late for you to do anything about it. Too damn late.”

Adrian screamed at the top of his lungs—

7

Matthias woke up because sunlight was shining on his face. He wasn’t sure when that nurse with the wandering hands had left, but he’d intended to take off right after she had. No go. An unnatural sleep had rolled over him, sucking him under in a way that made him feel owned.

Frankly, he was surprised to have come out of it at all.

The hospital room looked exactly the same, but like it would have changed in the night? And he did feel better, as if his body were a car that had been sent in for a fender-to-fender service.

Who knew a handjob you didn’t want could lead to such a turnaround…

And it was strange. As he glanced around, he had a thought that it was a miracle he was still on the “outside.” But the outside of what—prison? A mental hospital? Something even worse?

Forcing his sloppy brain to come to attention, he tried to remember where he’d been the night before, what had happened before he’d woken up here….

I hit you with my car. I’m so sorry.

He closed his eyes and remembered that woman, that Mels Carmichael. Something about her had pierced through the fog that surrounded him, reaching him where it counted. Why? He had no clue—but under different circumstances, he could have spent a hell of a lot more time with her.

So much more.

But come on, he was not the romance type—his gut was loud and clear on that.

Shoving himself off the pillows, he was surprised he didn’t feel worse, and he gave his body a chance to file a different kind of report, one more consistent with someone who had been a hood ornament less than twelve hours ago.

Nope. Still felt better—

Get out of here. Get moving now.

Okay, it would help if he knew who was after him, or why he was running, but he wasn’t going to waste time trying to fight with those questions—not when his adrenal gland was consistently pointing at the door and yelling at him to get the fuck—

“I guess you’re not a John Doe after all.”

Matthias reached for a gun he didn’t have and looked across the way. The nurse was back, standing just inside the room, her presence like a draft.

Her affect was different in the daylight. No more seducer.

Maybe she was a vampire. Ha. Ha.

“They found your wallet,” she said, holding up a black billfold. “Everything’s in here, ID, Visa—oh, and your health insurance card. Your copay’s going to be up there, but most of the charges will be covered.”

She walked over and put the thing on the rolling table, right beside the card that the reporter had left behind. Then she stepped back like she knew he wanted space.

Long pause.

“Thanks,” he said into the conversational void.

She was dressed in street clothes: blue jeans, black clogs, puffy white Patagonia jacket that was pristine. Her hair was down around her shoulders, and she smoothed it even though it was glossy-magazine perfect.

“I also got you some clothes.” She nodded over her shoulder. “They’re in the half closet behind there. I hope they fit.”

“So they’re going to let me go?”

“As long as you check out all right this morning. Do you have anyone to go home to?”

He didn’t reply—and not because he didn’t know the answer for himself. No questions answered, not to anybody. That was the way he was.

Long pause number two.

She cleared her throat and didn’t meet his eyes. “Listen, about last night…”

Oh, so that’s what this was about. “I’m going to forget about it, and you should do the same,” he said dryly.

Shit knew he had bigger fish to fry than a rubout forced on him by a beautiful woman.

Yeah, what a sob story that was. Especially compared to the crap he’d done to others—

Memories Loch Ness’ed below the surface of his consciousness, something shocking and monstrous threatening to make an appearance.

Who was he? he wondered.

Abruptly, the nurse’s dark eyes, those windows of the soul, locked onto his own. “I’m so sorry. That was really wrong of me. I should never have…”

Snapping back to the present, Matthias thought it was funny that in the daylight, all that power she’d had over him was nowhere to be seen. She didn’t even appear to be the type of woman who could be so aggressive. She was just a pretty young nurse with a hot body and great hair, who was looking vulnerable.

Had it even happened? They’d probably given him painkillers, and God knew that could f**k your head up.

Then again, if nothing had gone down, she wouldn’t be apologizing, would she.

“It was a total breach of protocol, and I’ve never done anything like that before. It’s just…you were in so much pain, and you wanted it…and…”

Had he? He remembered it had been very much the opposite. Except what did he know—he thought he’d actually orgasmed. Maybe that hadn’t happened, either.

Which would make sense.

“Anyway, I just thought I’d tell you that before I go—and you’ll be out by the time I come back from my days off.”

She seemed so honestly ashamed and distraught. And for some reason, he had a feeling it was entirely within his character to take advantage of her, for no other reason than that it would make her uncomfortable.

“It was my fault,” he heard himself say—and the instant the words were out, he believed the confession. “I’m the one who should be sorry.”

After all, pity f**ks operated on the same principle whether the damn things went all the way or not: woe is me; can you take care of my cock; thanks, honey.

The nurse trailed a pale hand on the fake-wood footboard of the bed. “I just…yeah, well, I don’t want you to think I go around doing that.” She laughed awkwardly. “I’m not sure why it matters, but it does.”

“You don’t have to explain.”

As she glanced over, her cautious expression relaxed into an honest smile. To the point where he found himself checking her ring finger for evidence of a marriage certificate.

Nope. Bare.

“Thanks for being cool about it all.” She looked over her shoulder at the door. “I guess I should go. Take care of yourself—and please remember to follow up with your own doctor. Head injuries are nothing to fool around with, and memory loss is serious.”

“Yeah. I’ll do that.”

The lie was so easy, he knew he’d told a lot of them in his lifetime. And as he returned her wave, he was processing her like she was a memo or a piece of mail.

Not something human—and that wasn’t her fault.

He had a feeling it was his hard wiring.

Great. Nothing like waking up and learning piece by piece that you were a real asshole…

He glanced over at the bedside table. The business card and the wallet were right next to each other, one black and thicker, one white and thin.

As he reached his hand forward, he didn’t know which one he was going for—

Ultimately, the wallet held the greater allure. Opening the folded leather, he stared at the driver’s license that had been slid into the clear slot. The picture was…well, he didn’t recognize the guy, but the nurse with the magic touch certainly seemed to think it was him. Was this what he looked like? A guy with black hair and a face that was handsome, but cold.

The printed info told him that his eyes were blue—and it looked like they were both working as they focused on the camera. Date of birth was this month. License expired then.

The first name, Matthias, was the one he went by, and the address was in Caldwell, New York, which solved the geographic question—oh, yeah, which he hadn’t been aware he’d had.

Caldwell, New York.

Back again. Or at least that’s what his instincts told him—

Get out of here. Get moving now.

Urgency aside, he took getting off the bed slowly, and when shit didn’t buckle, he pulled out the IVs from his vein and the pads from his chest. Leaning into the monitoring equipment, he muted the alarms before shuffling over to the bathroom.

The light was off, and as he stepped inside, he flipped the switch…and it was showtime.

As he met his own reflection in the mirror over the sink, he dragged in a raw breath. His eye on the one side was milky white, and his face was carved with the indelible lines of a lot of past pain—as well as some faded scaring at the temple where his ocular injury had occured.

That photograph on the ID was definitely him, if you added a little gray at the temples, but it had been taken before he’d—

“Sir, I’m going to ask you to get back in bed—you’re a slip-and-fall risk. And you should not have taken out the—”

He ignored the new nurse. “I’m leaving. Right now—AMA, yeah, I know.”

He shut the door in her face and started the shower. For some reason, as he refocused on the mirror, he thought of Mels Carmichael. No wonder her first reaction had been in the OMG category.

Not exactly a looker—

Christ, why was he thinking like that? What did it matter how anyone viewed him?

In a quick surge of coordination, he reopened the door to the room and stuck his head out. The nurse was gone, but no doubt she was coming back with someone who had Dr. in front of his or her name—time to move fast. He snagged the card that Mels had left and put it in the wallet. Then he grabbed the clothes from the closet and shut himself in the bathroom.

Ten minutes later he had clean hair and a clean body and was dressed in a plain black T-shirt, a black windbreaker, and a pair of loose jeans.

On his way out the door, he snagged a cane that he inferred had been brought for him.

The thing felt normal against his palm, and his gait was much faster with it. Like he was used to using one.

Heading for the elevators, he didn’t check in with anyone, no good-byes, no signing on the dotted line. Their billing department would find the man at the address listed on the driver’s license.