The Masked Truth(64)

He grins at her. She does not smile back. Instead, she says, “I suppose this sister is also very pretty.”

“Yes, she’s, like, totally hot. Which is the only reason I helped her escape. If she’d been a complete cow, I’d have left her behind.”

“There’s no need to be shirty, Max.”

“Yes, there is, because your implication is that I only helped her because she’s pretty. Or that I’m only eagerly waiting to see her because she’s pretty. She is pretty. She’s also smart, funny and sweet, and was, a mere hour ago, fighting for her life after being both shot and stabbed. I’m going to see her now, because even if she’s unconscious, she’s still very pretty.” He leans over and whispers, “In fact, to be honest, pretty girls are better that way. No talking required.”

She gives him a sour look. He grins and, in return, gives her a one-armed squeeze.

“I’m going to pop in and see her,” he says. “I’ll be back in a minute.”

“Max?” she says as he starts to bounce off, and he considers pretending he didn’t hear her, but he wasn’t raised that way. Nor does she deserve rudeness.

He turns, and she says, “Are you all right?”

He resists the urge to say “Right as rain.” He’ll save that for Riley. Instead, he smiles and says, “Very all right, Maman. More all right than I have been in a long time. Don’t I seem it?”

“You do seem very happy.”

“There you are, then.”

She hesitates and then says, “You’ve just escaped dangerous killers, Maximus. Perhaps happy isn’t the proper emotion?”

She lowers her voice as she says it, just as she did when she asked if he’d had his meds, and again he resists the urge to tense.

See, Max, you don’t need to watch so carefully for signs. She’s there to do it for you.

“It’s actual happiness, Mum, not inappropriate affect.”

“I wasn’t suggesting—”

“I’m happy because I survived and Riley survived and we’ll both be fine, and we did it. I did it. I faced hell tonight and I got through it just as I would have before this mess started.”

“I know, and that’s admirable, but it doesn’t mean—”

“Yes, I know. It doesn’t mean I’m better. I’ll never be better. But I accomplished this, and I’m going to ask you to let me have my victory. Just a taste of normal, all right? Don’t worry. I won’t let it go to my head.”

Her gaze drops. “Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Max. I didn’t mean—”

“You’re just watching out for me. I know.” Another one-armed hug, and this time she accepts it. He even smacks a kiss on her cheek before saying, “I’ll only be a moment.” Then he starts loping off.

He gets exactly three steps before a voice says, “Maximus Cross?” and he turns to see two plainclothes police officers bearing down on him.

“We need to speak to you.”





CHAPTER 22


I’m not dead. That’s my second thought on waking. Yes, it should probably be my first, but there was that groggy moment when I opened my eyes and saw white and heard murmuring voices and the exact state of my existence wasn’t obvious. Then one of the voices came clear—Sloane’s—and that answered the question.

Did I really think I died in that alley? Yes. I don’t know how close I actually came to it, but in that moment, lying there, I’d been certain that’s what was happening, and equally certain there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I always expected that when the end came, I’d fight like hell. I had, up to that point, but then I’d crossed over it and the inevitable seemed, well, inevitable. Like seeing a meteor falling and you’re running as fast as you can until the shadow covers you and you look up and realize it’s too big to outrun. In that moment—that final moment—all I’d cared about was that I wasn’t alone. That someone else cared enough to stay at my side. And so, when I wake, there’s one name on my lips.

“Max?” I whisper, lifting my head.

He’s not there. Nor does anyone immediately rush to my bedside, as they do in the movies. That’s because no one happens to be looking my way. Mom’s talking to the doctor with her back to me. Sloane is at the window, looking out. They don’t hear my scratchy whisper.

I slump back onto the bed, and that’s when Mom turns, and she sees my eyes open and gives a little chirp of an “Oh!” as she rushes over, and that’s when I get my cinematic moment, family clustered at my bedside, telling me how glad they are that I’m awake, how I’ve been through so much but I’m fine now, crying happy tears.

Okay, Mom does all that. Sloane stands at my bedside and says, “Thank God you’re awake. You were starting to smell.” And Mom says, “Sloane!” and I wait for my sister’s usual “What?” but instead she smiles at me and leans over to kiss my forehead and whispers, “Good to see you back. But you do smell.”

“Thanks.” I shift and I brace for pain, but nothing comes. Good meds, I guess. “How long have I been out?”

“It’s Sunday,” Sloane says. “Which means you’re twenty-four hours overdue for a shower.”