I’m really sorry about this,” Matheus said. “You seem like a perfectly nice person.”
He knelt down and straightened the unconscious woman’s skirt.
“Except for the whole attempting to claw out my eyes. Which I can hardly blame you for; I would do the same thing. Not quite as effectively, perhaps. I bite my nails. I had quit, but then my life just became a whole mess of unholy stress and I don’t smoke, so … .”
Matheus trailed off, ending the stream of babble. He shifted his weight from side to side, putting his hands into the pockets of his lab coat, then taking them out again. He was about to sacrifice a living, breathing person to save a murderer. His murderer. He shoved his hands into his pockets again. The woman looked in her twenties, with a neat pixie cut, and gold-rimmed glasses. A bruise covered the left side of her face, where Matheus had struck her with a paperweight. She’d lost one of her shoes when he dragged her into the back room. A run in her nylon stretched from her toe to the top of her knee.