THE BIGTIME SERIES

by

Jennifer Estep

Karma Girl – Book One

Hot Mama – Book Two

Jinx – Book Three

A Karma Girl Christmas – Holiday Story

Nightingale – Book Four

THE BIGTIME SERIES

Karma Girl

Copyright © 2007, 2011, 2012, and 2013 by Jennifer Estep

Hot Mama

Copyright © 2007, 2011, 2012, and 2013 by Jennifer Estep

Jinx

Copyright © 2008, 2011, 2012, and 2013 Jennifer Estep

A Karma Girl Christmas

Copyright © 2011, 2012, and 2013 by Jennifer Estep

Nightingale

Copyright © 2012, 2013 by Jennifer Estep

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual or fictional characters or actual or fictional events, locales, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. The fictional characters in this story have no relation to any other fictional characters, except those in works by this author.

All rights reserved by the author.

Author’s Digital Edition

ISBN:  978-0-9884232-9-9

Cover Art by The Killion Group

Digital Formatting by Author E.M.S.

KARMA GIRL – BOOK ONE

Investigative reporter Carmen Cole gets the surprise of her life on her wedding day when she discovers that her fiancé and best friend are sleeping together—and that the two of them are her town’s resident superhero and ubervillain. Shocked and hurt, Carmen reveals their secret identities and then decides to devote her life to unmasking every superhero and ubervillain who crosses her path.

A series of successful unmaskings lands Carmen a job at The Exposé, one of the biggest newspapers in Bigtime, New York, a city that’s full of superheroes and ubervillains. Carmen is in her element—until she gets kidnapped by the Terrible Triad, Bigtime’s most dangerous ubervillain team.

The Triad orders Carmen to uncover the secret identity of Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five, Bigtime’s most popular superhero team—or else they’ll drop her in a vat of radioactive goo. With that threat hanging over her, Carmen sets out to unmask Striker, but what she doesn’t count on is falling for the sexy superhero. But with the Terrible Triad lurking around, this is one story that just might be the death of her....

HOT MAMA – BOOK TWO

Fiona Fine is the hottest fashion designer in Bigtime, N.Y.—literally. That’s because she moonlights as Fiera, a superhero with superstrength and volatile, fire-based powers. As Fiera, she’s also a member of the Fearless Five, the city’s most powerful and popular superhero team.

However, Fiona’s been through a lot lately, including the death of her fiancé, who was murdered by an ubervillain. But Fiona is ready to move on with her life, so it seems like good karma when she meets sexy businessman Johnny Bulluci at a friend’s wedding.

But Fiona has little time to think of love thanks to Siren and Intelligal—the city’s newest ubervillains who crash the wedding and then go on a city-wide crime spree. Fiona doesn’t know exactly what the ubervillains are up to, but if she doesn’t figure it out, she’s the one who just might go up in flames this time....

JINX – BOOK THREE

Thanks to her unwanted superpower, fashion designer Bella Bulluci may be the luckiest woman in Bigtime, N.Y. But luck can be good or bad, and it seems like just as many embarrassing things happen to Bella as do positive ones.

Like when a charity event that Bella plans get crashed by Hangman, a deadly ubervillain who’s after a prize sapphire that’s on display. Hangman almost succeeds in stealing the jewel for his evil ubervillain boss, Prism, but Bella’s luck helps her escape with the sapphire—along with some help from the suave and charming Debonair.

Debonair’s not an ubervillain, but he’s not really a superhero either. Still, Bella can’t help but fall for him, despite her personal vow to have as little to do with heroes and villains as possible. But with Hangman and Prism still after the sapphire, Bella’s going to need every bit of her luck power just to survive....

A KARMA GIRL CHRISTMAS – HOLIDAY STORY

It’s Christmastime in Bigtime, New York, but society reporter Carmen Cole isn’t in the mood to celebrate since her husband, Sam, has to go on a business trip and might not make it home for the holiday. But Carmen has plenty to keep her busy, since she moonlights as Karma Girl, a member of the Fearless Five superhero team.

On Christmas Eve, Carmen, as Karma Girl, is assigned to guard toys, clothes, food, and more that are intended for needy children and their families. But an ubervillain also has his eye on the toys and plans to steal and then sell them to the highest bidder. Carmen will have to use all her empathic powers just to stay alive, not to mention make sure Christmas is a happy one for all the kids who are counting on her. It’s all in a night’s work for a superhero....

NIGHTINGALE – BOOK FOUR

Anxious brides. Drunken businessmen. Panicked partygoers. As Bigtime, New York’s premiere event planner, Abby Appleby is capable of handling almost any crisis, but even she’s not prepared when she finds herself in the middle of a fight between superhero Talon and his ubervillain nemesis Bandit. Abby manages to save Talon, but the superhero is temporarily blinded, so she takes him back to her loft, where the two wait out a snowstorm. During a blizzard that shuts down the city, Abby and Talon grow close, and he starts calling her Nightingale because of her love of music and singing.

But Abby is afraid of what Talon will think when he can see the real her, so she conceals her identity from the sexy superhero, and they go their separate ways. However, Abby discovers that Talon is looking for Nightingale, looking for her—and so is Bandit. The mercenary ubervillain thinks that Abby has information that belongs to his boss, the mysterious Tycoon. Abby knows that she’s in serious trouble and that not even Talon—or the Fearless Five—may be able to save her....

Dedication

To all the fans of the Bigtime series, thank you. This is for you.

KARMA GIRL – BOOK ONE

Investigative reporter Carmen Cole gets the surprise of her life on her wedding day when she discovers that her fiancé and best friend are sleeping together—and that the two of them are her town’s resident superhero and ubervillain. Shocked and hurt, Carmen reveals their secret identities and then decides to devote her life to unmasking every superhero and ubervillain who crosses her path.

A series of successful unmaskings lands Carmen a job at The Exposé, one of the biggest newspapers in Bigtime, New York, a city that’s full of superheroes and ubervillains. Carmen is in her element—until she gets kidnapped by the Terrible Triad, Bigtime’s most dangerous ubervillain team.

The Triad orders Carmen to uncover the secret identity of Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five, Bigtime’s most popular superhero team—or else they’ll drop her in a vat of radioactive goo. With that threat hanging over her, Carmen sets out to unmask Striker, but what she doesn’t count on is falling for the sexy superhero. But with the Terrible Triad lurking around, this is one story that just might be the death of her....

Dedication

To my mom. Thanks for taking me to the library all those Saturdays. You’ve given me more than you will ever know.

And to my grandma. Thanks for just being you and for making the best fried chicken and biscuits in the world.

I love you both more than words can say.

PART ONE

BEGINNINGS

Chapter One

My wedding day.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. A time of joy and celebration and new beginnings. The day every girl dreams of from the time she’s old enough to play dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

It wasn’t that sort of day at all.

I stalked up and down the narrow hotel room. My hellish high-heeled shoes poked holes in the thick carpet and rubbed hot blisters on my aching feet. My white tulle dress rustled with every step I took.

Something was wrong. Very wrong.

I’d had the feeling for weeks now that something just wasn’t quite right between me and my fiancé, Matt Marion. He’d been distant lately, distracted. We’d been together more than two years now, and I loved Matt with all my heart. But his odd behavior was enough to make the most trusting woman suspicious. I’d asked Matt many times if anything was wrong, if he had cold feet and wanted to postpone the wedding, but he’d repeatedly assured me that everything was fine.

Matt had been working lots of overtime at his construction job and had all sorts of unexplained bruises and scratches on his body. He’d blamed his frequent absences and injuries on work, but I couldn’t quite shake this cold sense of dread deep down in my stomach. Doubts whispered in my mind. I’d learned long ago to listen to my inner voice. Following my instincts was the reason I’d become the top investigative reporter at the Beginnings Bugle, the town newspaper.

I wasn’t about to ignore my instincts now. I couldn’t get married with this doubt hanging over me. I had to ask Matt one more time what was bothering him.

I grabbed my cell phone, slipped out of my hotel room, and made my way to the elevator. It had been Matt’s idea to get married at Forever Inn, the most romantic hotel in all of Beginnings, Tennessee. Weddings took place on a daily basis at the four-star hotel, so no one batted an eye when I crowded into the elevator in my billowing dress and sparkling diamond tiara.

I rode up to the next floor and walked to Matt’s room. It was bad luck—bad karma—for the bride and groom to see each other before the wedding, but I had to talk to Matt. My inner voice wouldn’t shut up until I did.

I raised my hand to knock. A low, muffled moan escaped through the thick, wooden door. Was Matt hurt? I frowned and inserted my key card, the one I had in case of an emergency. The door opened, and I stepped inside.

“Yes, Yes, YES!!!!” a woman screamed out from deeper in the room.

Oh. That’s what that sound was. Someone was having a little afternoon delight. Good for them. I turned to give the enthusiastic couple their privacy when reality hit me.

Why was someone having sex in Matt’s room? He should have been in there, getting ready for his wedding, which was only thirty minutes away. His wedding to me.

I froze. A ball of ice formed in the pit of my stomach. I wasn’t going to like what I was about to see, I just knew it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I tiptoed to the doorframe, so that I remained hidden from view, and peeked into the bedroom.

Karen Crush, my best friend since the fourth grade, was straddling Matt, my oh-so-faithful fiancé, who was perched on the edge of the bed. Karen’s pale blue bridesmaid’s dress was bunched around her waist, exposing her lean legs. Matt’s pants pooled around his ankles. A lacy thong sat crumpled beside the bed, along with some other pieces of blue and red fabric.

Karen flipped her black curls over her shoulder and threw her head back in pure bliss. The ecstatic look on Matt’s face told me he was thoroughly enjoying himself as well. The bastard.

My world spun. Sharp pains pierced my chest, as though someone had stabbed me with a butcher knife. Twice. Hot tears welled up in my eyes and trickled down my face. My knees shook. My legs threatened to buckle. Now, I knew what had been so wrong. Why Matt had been so distant. This one moment, this horrible sight, made it all so clear. So painfully clear. Love, friendship, humanity in general. My faith in those was gone. Obliterated by the two people I loved most in the world.

Matt and Karen expressed more cries of pleasure, oblivious to me. To my pain.

The sounds shattered my heart into a thousand sharp, jagged pieces. Each one cut me like a razor. I wanted to run out the door, to cry my eyes out, to sob and scream until I was hoarse from both. But a flash of bright blue underneath Matt’s unbuttoned shirt caught my eye. I squinted through my cascading tears. It looked like...spandex.

Spandex?

“Oooh, I love it when you kiss my neck like that.” A giggle escaped from Karen’s perfect, heart-shaped lips.

I loved it when Matt kissed my neck like that too. Anger bubbled up in my chest like a volcano about to explode. I swiped away my hot tears and straightened my spine. I wasn’t going to run. Not from the two of them. Not until I had some answers.

Karen ran her hands down Matt’s broad chest. Her long nails zipped along the fabric like scissors. She ripped his shirt open the rest of the way, revealing a blue spandex suit with a giant red M on the chest.

My mouth dropped open.

“Oh, baby. You drive me crazy!” Matt yanked Karen’s dress down to her waist, exposing a lingerie-like red bustier beneath. A yellow C stretched across her heaving chest.

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. But it was real—I would have known those costumes anywhere. Molten lava flowed through my veins, burning away everything but my all-consuming rage. My bubbling volcano of anger erupted with a scream of epic proportions. “Sonofabitch!”

Matt and Karen froze. Their heads snapped around to the doorway. Matt swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Karen’s eyes widened. For an instant, I wondered what they were more upset about—that someone had caught them cheating or discovered their other precious secret. I didn’t care either way. They’d both betrayed me.

My anger roared back, stronger than before, and I marched into the room. My hands balled into fists. My body rattled with rage. Even my wedding dress twitched with fury.

“Carmen! I…I can explain—”

I threw up my hand, cutting off Matt’s pitiful attempt. “You’re the Machinator?”

Matt sighed. He ran his fingers—the ones that weren’t latched on to my best friend’s exposed ass—through his blond hair. “I didn’t want you to find out this way, Carmen.”

“Oh no? When were you going to tell me you’re Beginnings’ own personal superhero? After we said I do? Maybe on our first anniversary? Or perhaps when our kids were in college? Or maybe right after you told me about sleeping with my best friend. On our wedding day.”

“It’s not his fault, Carmie,” Karen said, her brown eyes big and earnest. “He wanted to tell you. We both did. About everything.”

Carmie? I glared at my former best friend. She still had the nerve to call me that childish nickname even when she had her legs wrapped around my fiancé like he was a race horse and she was a jockey. The bitch. I wanted to rip her limb from limb. After I finished with Matt. “And you’re his archenemy, Crusher? The ubervillain of Beginnings?”

Karen nodded.

I rubbed my fingers over my throbbing temples. It was all too much to take in.

Sure, every town in the world had its own personal superhero, someone who showed up whenever the train ran off the tracks and wouldn’t stop. Or whenever there was a natural disaster that threatened to kill hundreds of people. Or even whenever little Timmy fell down a well and needed rescuing. Naturally, every town also had its own personal ubervillain, someone who wanted to rule supreme.

Beginnings was no different. We had the Machinator, a man who could control mechanical objects with his mind. The town’s ubervillain was Crusher, a woman of unbelievable strength who could break metal bars with her teeth and crush diamonds in her hand. The two were constantly at odds, with Crusher continually coming up with some wild scheme to either (a) take over Beginnings, (b) kill the Machinator, or (c) both. Usually, the Machinator would be put in grave danger before miraculously escaping to foil Crusher’s latest scheme. But Crusher always got away, or soon broke out of whatever high-security, supposedly inescapable ubervillain prison the authorities stuck her in. She’d come back to Beginnings, and the cycle would repeat itself, ad nauseam.

And the whole time, I’d never known the two of them were my fiancé and my best friend.

Never even suspected. Never had the slightest clue.

I’d been such a complete, total fool.

Some reporter I was. All the classic signs had been there. Matt’s many bruises and injuries, his late nights and odd hours. Karen’s long, strange absences from town and uncanny ability to open any jar, despite her petite size. The pieces clicked together in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle. The two of them must have spent hours laughing at my stupidity and nivet and trusting nature. When they weren’t having hot, superhero sex, that is.

My fiancé and best friend were sleeping together and hiding their secret identities from me. I didn’t know which betrayal hurt worse. Or which made me angrier.

“How long has this been going on? I would think given your...extracurricular activities that sleeping together would be out of the question.” I spat out the words. They left a foul, bitter taste in my mouth.

“Well, it’s actually a funny story.” Matt laughed in a vain effort to lighten the mood.

I crossed my arms over my chest, and his half-hearted chuckle died on his lips. Too bad he didn’t follow suit.

“Anyway, we were down at the old abandoned mill a couple of months ago, doing the usual epic battle, you know, explosions and danger and stuff, when Crusher, er, Karen, reached out and grabbed me. All this radioactive waste was leaking everywhere, and it was making us both feel really strange, and we just sort of kissed and...”

His voice trailed off under my red-hot glare. If I’d had the ability to shoot lasers out of my eyes, the two of them would have been extra-crispy by now. Too bad I didn’t have my own superpower.

Matt still sat on the bed, Karen straddling him. They made no move to disengage or hide their costumes. I knew at once they were actually relieved I had caught them, not only doing the nasty but exposing their secret identities. Relief filled their treacherous eyes, and tension oozed from their pores as if a weight had been lifted off their shoulders. They were happy they’d just ruined my life with their lies and deceit and betrayal. It made me ill.

I took a step back. I had to get away from them. From both of them. My heart couldn’t take any more. I whirled around to dash out of the room.

My high heels snagged on the thick carpet, and I went down in a pile of white tulle. My tiara slipped off my head and rolled across the floor, and my hair tumbled out of its pearl-studded clips. I struggled to stand, and my eyes fell on my cell phone, which I’d dropped, along with the key card. Hitting the floor had made the phone’s screen light up, showing the wallpaper picture of me with my arms around Matt, both of us smiling, both of us happy. At least, I had been happy—then.

The volcano of anger inside me cooled and congealed into a large, black lump of hate. Matt and Karen had had their fun at my expense. Now, I was going to do something about it. Something to even the score. The pieces of my broken heart twisted in my chest. Something to hurt them like they’d hurt me. Only worse.

I got to my feet, dusted myself off, and stalked over to my phone. Something crunched under the toes of my torturous shoes. I looked down. I’d just smashed my cubic zirconium tiara to bits. It, too, was fake, just like everything else in my life.

I snatched the cell phone.

“What are you doing?” Karen asked.

“Just giving the two of you what you so richly deserve.” I squinted at the traitorous, spandex-wearing pair on the phone’s screen. “Say cheese.”

* * *

The next day, the headline in the Beginnings Bugle screamed MACHINATOR UNMASKED! CRUSHER UNCOVERED! IDENTITIES REVEALED! Find out the truth behind town’s superhero, villain. Story and photos by Carmen Cole.

My story described in honest, if painful and humiliating detail, how I had uncovered the pair’s real identities. A photo of Karen and Matt, their spandex suits visible beneath their rumpled clothes, stretched across the front page of the newspaper. When they’d realized I was taking pictures of them, they’d tried to talk me out of it. Fools. They should have saved their breath. I would never listen to a word they said. Never again.

When asking nicely hadn’t worked, Karen tried to yank the cell phone out of my hands and squeeze it to bits. But Matt, being the valiant, noble, oh-so-faithful superhero he was, intervened. As I’d coolly backed out of that hotel room, they were rolling around on the floor, punching and kicking each other. I wasn’t sure if they were fighting or engaged in some sort of kinky, rough form of foreplay. Perhaps it was all the same to the superhero-and-villain set.

Not even stopping to change out of my wedding gown, I’d gone straight to the Bugle and told the editors what I had. It had been one of the most embarrassing, mortifying, downright degrading things I’d ever done, but I squared my shoulders and held my chin up. Page One had been cleared.

I’d spent the rest of the day at the newspaper, digging up all the information I could on Matt and Karen, aka the Machinator and Crusher. Matt’s supposed accidents at work always occurred the day the Machinator engaged in some big battle. Karen’s long absences and sudden arrivals in town coincided perfectly with Crusher’s stints upstate. Dates, times, places, injuries. It was all there. How stupid, how blind I’d been. I was ashamed to call myself a journalist.

When I didn’t show for the wedding ceremony, Matt’s mother called the paper. I told her everything.

She didn’t speak for a moment. “What about the flowers? And all the food? Everything’s already been paid for. I can’t eat a hundred chickens by myself.”

“Didn’t you hear me, Matilda? I just told you that your son is a superhero.”

“Oh, I know that. Who do you think makes his costumes?”

“And did you know about him and Karen too?”

“My boy is special. He gets tons of fan mail. You didn’t think he’d be happy with just one woman, did you?”

I hung up on the old bat. She’d never liked me anyway.

An hour later, the local news blared onto the television set. Matt and Karen had made quite a mess at the Forever Inn, and part of the historic building had collapsed. Some things just aren’t made to last. Or to withstand a superhero-ubervillain battle. I sent a photographer to get pictures.

A couple of friends called, trying to get me to calm down and give Matt a chance to explain. I told them to have fun eating Matilda’s precious, already-paid-for chicken and went back to work.

The next morning, the Bugle sold out in minutes. The press guys came back in to print an extra 10,000 copies. Phones rang off the hook, as the wire services and national media picked up the story. The Bugle’s stock soared. Management had never been happier. As for Karen and Matt, the two of them vanished once the story broke. No one could find them, or their alter egos.

I collected as many copies of the newspaper as I could and posted them all over my tiny cubicle. Everyone and his brother stopped by my desk to congratulate me on the big scoop. The publisher himself even came out of his office to give me an atta-girl speech. A few of the sports guys cracked jokes about how I’d gotten the story, but a heated look from me sent them scurrying for cover. I was in no mood to be made fun of.

After spending almost twenty-four hours at the newspaper, I went home. I opened the door to my apartment, tossed my keys onto a nearby table, and flipped on the lights. Piles of cardboard boxes greeted me. After our honeymoon in Hawaii, I was supposed to move in with Matt, and most of my things already had been packed away.

My thoughts turned to Matt. Where was he? Had he seen the story? Was he sorry he’d lied to me? Or was he with Karen? Picking up where they’d left off?

Had he ever really loved me?

My eyes traced over the boxes. Hearts and silly cartoon figures wearing lacy veils and diamond rings decorated the cardboard. The jagged pieces of my heart scraped against each other. The wedding, the honeymoon, the happily ever after. All gone. A few tears leaked out of my eyes, but I smacked them away. I’d done my crying on the way to the newspaper. I wouldn’t do any more.

I dug through one of the boxes, found some wrinkled sweats, and walked into the bedroom. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the dresser. My auburn hair stuck out at funny angles. Dark purple circles ringed my eyes. Pain and anger burned in the blue depths. I looked more than a little crazy. I felt that way too.

To top it off, I still wore my wedding dress, although I’d chucked the unbearable shoes hours ago. I smoothed down the ruined gown. The wear and tear of the day had turned the snow-white fabric a bland beige. The diamond in my engagement ring sparkled in the dim light. I’d been so happy the night Matt had put it on my finger. So sure of my love for him, and his for me. Now the ring just reminded me of broken promises, shattered dreams, and my own blind stupidity.

I yanked the ring off, marched over to the dresser, and pulled open a door on my jewelry box. I stared at the ring a moment, then stuffed it in the back of the drawer and shut it. I turned a key, locking it away.

I won’t be fooled again, I vowed. Not by anyone. Never again.

Chapter Two

From that day forward, I was on a mission.

A mission to unmask every single superhero and ubervillain in the entire world. Oh, I wouldn’t get around to all of them, but I was determined to out as many as I could, as fast as I could.

No one would be deceived as I had been. No woman would come home to find her boyfriend slipping into a neon pink codpiece. No man would be puzzled over why his wife had a strange collection of whips and an odd affinity for black leather. No mother would wonder why her son could never be on time for anything. Not if I could help it.

I started out small. After work and on the weekends, I traveled to neighboring towns and cities on my crusades, learning all I could about their respective superheroes and ubervillains. I looked at their websites and promotional materials. Read their poorly written autobiographies and rambling manifestos. Even bought a few plastic action figures for research purposes. Naturally, all of the superheroes and ubervillains had colorful names like Killer and Slasher and Halitosis Hal. The only things more flamboyant than their names and personalities were their costumes. The two groups had never met a skintight, spandex outfit studded with rhinestones they didn’t love.

All the superheroes and villains had strange, sometimes frightening powers, like the ability to move objects with their minds or shoot red-hot flames from their fingertips. Because the goals of the heroes and villains were at odds, they often engaged in long, lengthy battles that destroyed bridges, overpasses, and municipal buildings. Some of the bigger cities had several superheroes and ubervillains battling it out for supremacy while leveling skyscrapers right and left. And they all wore masks to hide their true identities and thus avoid paying for the public property they decimated on a weekly basis.

I had plenty of time to spend on my mission. My dad had died in a car crash when I was a kid, while my mom had passed away from breast cancer a few years ago. I didn’t have any other family, and Karen had been my only real friend. Everyone else had been Matt’s friend before they were mine. They drifted away like smoke after my story came out. In a week, I went from the belle of the ball to an outcast. I preferred it that way. There was no one left to lie to me, no one left to hurt me.

I perused police reports, scouted battle sites, and examined torn bits of masks and costumes. I worked up flowcharts of people kidnapped and saved by villains and heroes. I even recorded powers and weaknesses and costumes and symbols in a color-coded journal. I’d always had a knack for organization and a good memory, and both helped immeasurably as I sifted through mountains of raw data.

In the end, it was ridiculously easy. There was always someone the superhero saved over and over and over again, whether it was a wannabe girlfriend or a boyfriend or a kindly widowed aunt. All you had to do was find that special person and see who was closest to them. Then, bada-bing, bada-boom, you found your superhero.

As for the ubervillains, their hunger for money and power tripped them up. Most villains had buckets of cash acquired in less-than-legal ways and were often involved in shady, land-development deals.

Accidents involving radioactive materials raised a big red flag, because radioactive waste was a great way for heroes and villains to get their powers. So were magic rings, bites from rabid or otherwise altered animals, and the old-fashioned, natural, genetic mutation.

I soon learned that I had a knack for uncovering secret identities. All you had to do was dig long enough and hard enough and deep enough, and you’d uncover that one piece of information that would solve the riddle. I’d find a scrap of evidence, something seemingly inconsequential, and everything would fall into place. The dots connected. The picture cleared. I’d always loved puzzles, from crosswords to jumbles to word searches. Uncovering the identities of superheroes and ubervillains was the ultimate human jigsaw puzzle. And I was rapidly becoming a master.

Six months after my botched wedding, I left the Beginnings Bugle for a larger newspaper that wanted me to uncover the identities of the resident superhero and ubervillain. Three months later, the Kilted Scotsman and the Blue Berserker woke to find their faces splattered all over the front page. The public found out what the Scotsman really wore under his kilt, while the Berserker went, well, a little berserk over the whole thing.

A few months later, I went on to another newspaper.

And then another...

And another...

And another...

I left a trail of unmasked superheroes and ubervillains in my wake. Of course, not everyone was happy about my private vendetta, my endless exposés. The superheroes begged me to stop my activities or retract my stories, while the ubervillains tried to bribe or threaten me. But nothing matched the righteous fervor that had awakened in me. Not threats, not money, and especially not tearful pleas.

Nothing satisfied me more than a good unmasking.

* * *

Three years after my first superhero unmasking, I hit the jackpot.

The editors at The Exposé in Bigtime, New York, hired me to uncover the identities of the Fearless Five, a group of superheroes, and their enemies, the Terrible Triad.

The Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad were legends, not just in Bigtime but throughout the world. They had the strongest powers. They waged the biggest battles. They engaged in the most amazing escapes and the most elaborate schemes. They were the crème de la crème of superheroes and ubervillains.

What made the puzzle so tempting, so intriguing, was the fact that little was known about any of them. Oh, countless stories had chronicled their escapades, but no one had a clue as to their real identities. They would be tough puzzles to solve, but I was up to the task.

After all, I was Carmen Cole, reporter extraordinaire.

The job proved harder than expected. I worked for three months and came up with nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. I started with the superheroes as I always did, because they were easier to unmask. Ubervillains were naturally more conniving and not shy about killing people to keep them quiet. But the Fearless Five had covered their tracks well. I pored over police reports and mocked up flowcharts galore, but nothing linked the heroes to anyone. They were ghosts who showed up, battled evil, and saved the world before bedtime.

Then, one day, I got a break. A kid called in and said he saw a man in a tuxedo transform into Tornado, a member of the Fearless Five. Such tips were not uncommon, and most of the reporters at The Exposé hung up on the crackpot callers. Not me. I visited the kid, who gave me a description of the man in the tux. I had a sketch artist work with the kid, then took the drawing and compared it to the men I thought might be Tornado. I narrowed my list to three suspects, then dug deeper until I unmasked my superhero.

Tornado was Travis Teague, a wealthy businessman specializing in wind power. How clichéd. But I was sure. I could feel it deep down in the pit of my stomach. A couple of weeks later, I verified my suspicion by capturing Teague turning into Tornado through the use of a hidden camera. My inner voice crowed with pride and victory. I notched another superhero exposé on my belt.

Carmen 1, Fearless Five 0.

* * *

The day the story ran, the entire newsroom gathered around to toast me with champagne and pizza. Even the newspaper’s publisher, Morgana Madison, attended. In a way. She took in the rowdy scene from the windows of her office, which overlooked the newsroom. She was always up there, overseeing her massive media empire, while we slaved away earning her more millions.

I spotted the publisher and raised my glass. Morgana smiled and raised her own glass in response. Superhero exposés were terribly good for the bottom line, and there was nothing Morgana Madison cared about more than that. She was in the newspaper business to make money, and she didn’t hide her ambition.

Normally, I would have waited until I’d uncovered all of the heroes’ and villains’ identities and written one big exposé about everyone, but my editors insisted we run the story about Travis aka Tornado Teague right away. I went along with the plan. I was, after all, the golden child. I’d uncover the others’ identities soon enough.

Now, I was reaping the rewards of my clever brilliance, and so was everybody else. Everyone except Henry Harris, the newspaper’s technology reporter. He was the only person not joining in the festivities. Instead of drinking, he crouched at his desk near the back of the newsroom and stared at his computer screen. His fingers stabbed the keyboard with rapid strokes. Henry was a bit of an odd duck, his nose always glued to his computer or buried in some book about the latest, greatest, technological advances. I liked him, though. He was nice, polite, and always helped me unfreeze my computer when it freaked out.

I grabbed an extra glass of champagne, strolled over, and plopped it down on his desk.

Henry blinked like an owl. “Oh, thanks, Carmen. I didn’t realize it was time for the toast already. I guess I just lost track of things.”

“No problem, Henry. Come on, join the rest of us. We’ve got free booze and pizza, courtesy of the company.”

“Well, I really should finish this story—”

I pulled Henry out of his chair and into the middle of the newsroom. I wasn’t going to take no for an answer. This was one of the best days of my life, and everybody was going to share in it, whether they liked it or not.

“Speech! Speech!” one of the junior reporters shouted.

“Yeah, Carmen. Tell us why you do the things you do,” someone else asked.

“It’s like…karma,” I said, espousing my unmasking philosophy, which everyone had heard many, many times. “We all know that villains cheat and steal and lie, but the heroes do it too. They lie to their friends and families. They make excuses and let down those closest to them time after time. That’s bad karma. One day, all that lying is bound to catch up with them. I just make sure it happens sooner rather than later. What goes around comes around. It’s karma.”

“Hear, hear,” Henry said in a quiet voice.

I clinked champagne glasses with Henry and the rest of my drunken colleagues. I’d never felt so exhilarated in my entire life. I was floating, flying, soaring. I was on top of the world. Now that I’d unmasked Tornado, the rest of the Fearless Five would soon follow. After that, I’d tackle the Terrible Triad.

My phone rang, jarring me out of my smug, self-satisfied reverie. “Carmen Cole.”

“Carmen, it’s Chief Newman,” a deep Irish voice rumbled in my ear.

“Hey, Chief. What’s up? Calling to congratulate me?”

I’d spent many hours going through files with Bigtime’s chief of police, and the two of us had developed a good working relationship. The chief also wanted to learn the identities of the Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad. Both groups had destroyed their fair share of Bigtime, and Newman wanted them to foot the bill for the cleanup and repairs. Not to mention all the unpaid parking tickets they’d accumulated with their souped-up supercars and vans.

“Not exactly.” He paused. “I’ve got some bad news, Carmen. It’s about Travis Teague. He’s dead, Carmen. He committed suicide.”

My champagne glass slipped from my fingers. It shattered on the floor.

Chapter Three

Six months later

I swirled champagne around in my cut-crystal glass. Bubbles rose up in the golden liquid, then fizzed out.

Just like my life.

After Travis Teague committed suicide by throwing himself out of his office on the thirtieth floor of Teague Towers, my star hadn’t just fallen, it had been snuffed out like a candle. Unmasking was good for business. Having Tornado, one of the most beloved superheroes in the world, commit suicide because you unmasked him was not. I got numerous death threats, not only from Tornado’s fellow superheroes but also from the general public. People crossed the street to avoid walking past me. Restaurant waiters refused to serve me. Kids gathered in front of my apartment building and threw rocks whenever I stuck my head outside. People hated me with a passion heretofore reserved for heretics and lawyers.

I accepted the abuse. I deserved it. My guilt over Tornado’s death knew no bounds. I barely ate. I hardly slept. On the rare occasion I did drift off, nightmares plagued my feverish dreams. All I’d wanted was to tell the truth, to reveal the people behind the masks. But things had gone terribly wrong. Instead, my own bad karma had bitten me on the ass, and Travis Teague had paid the ultimate price for my smug, stupid arrogance.

After his suicide, the only thing I wanted was to hole up in my apartment and never come out again. However, the editors at The Exposé wouldn’t let me slip quietly into the good night. Hell, they wouldn’t even fire me outright. Oh no. The newspaper’s cross-town rival, The Chronicle, would get too much mileage and glee out of that. Instead of axing me, the editors at The Exposé devised a fate worse than death—they reassigned me to the society beat.

I trudged to function after boring function, chatting up old, rich ladies and their spoiled, horse-faced daughters. I’d learned more about shoes and designer dresses and accessories in the past six months than I had in my entire life. Not to mention plastic surgery, liposuction, and pre-nuptial agreements.

I lived a sort of half-life at the newspaper. I came in, schlepped out to the latest debutante ball or charity function on the schedule, schlepped back, wrote a story, e-mailed it to the society editor, and left. The only one who even acknowledged my presence was Henry Harris, and that was only when his nose wasn’t mashed against his computer screen.

Tonight, I was attending the opening of yet another art gallery. I’d been on the scene over an hour and had done all the usual things—chatted with the artist whose work was on display, gotten some quotes from the owner, taken notes about the latest in designer fashion. Now, I sipped flat champagne and tried to find someone who would say something moderately interesting about the opening. Sandra, the other reporter who reluctantly worked the society beat, had come in, gotten a few quotes, and left after ten minutes. Not me. I might not care about who was wearing what or who was sleeping with whom, but that wasn’t going to stop me from doing the best job possible. I still had a little pride left. It was the only thing I had left.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Sam Sloane, one of the wealthiest men and most eligible bachelors in all of Bigtime.

“Mr. Sloane! Mr. Sloane!” I waved.

Sam Sloane gave me a look that would have frozen ice. He walked right by me, his eyes fixed straight ahead. I sighed. Two months ago, my editor had ordered me to get an exclusive interview with Sloane, the owner of The Chronicle. I couldn’t understand why my editor wanted a story on Sloane, given his legendary business battles with Morgana Madison. The two hated each other with a passion, as did the staffs of their respective newspapers. Reporters and editors at The Chronicle and The Exposé always tried to one-up each other, just like Sloane and Morgana with their corporate shenanigans. Morgana barely tolerated Sloane’s name being mentioned in passing on the society page. She’d blow a gasket if we did a whole story on him. Perhaps my editor just wanted to get me fired.

Not that it really mattered. The assignment was impossible. Sloane never talked to anyone with the media, not even the reporters at his own newspaper. His conversation was reserved for the latest supermodel hanging on his arm. Unless I morphed into a six-foot-tall, blond Amazon with a tiny waist, fake boobs, and questionable morals, I wasn’t getting anywhere near Sam Sloane.

Even then, I would have a hard time fighting my way through the throngs of women who flocked around the billionaire. In addition to being richer than a sultan, Sam Sloane had dark good looks and a killer smile. Even I had to admit that a tuxedo had never looked better on a man. Sloane also was quite the charmer. Or so I’d been told. He’d never done more than stare coldly at me the few times he deigned to acknowledge my presence.

After another hour of flat champagne, moldy Brie, and stale crackers, I left the gallery and took a taxi downtown to the gigantic skyscraper that housed The Exposé. The glass-and-chrome building never failed to take my breath away. With its winking blue lights and glittering facade, it was even more impressive in the dark night. Only The Chronicle’s building, a gleaming skyscraper a few blocks away, rivaled The Exposé building’s height and beauty.

I rode the elevator up to the one-hundredth floor, where the reporters and editors worked. I walked the length of the newsroom, or the gauntlet, to the very back wall. I’d once had a desk right in the middle of the newsroom, where the golden girls and boys lorded over their beats like queens and kings. After the Tornado fiasco, I’d been shuffled to the back, along with the other rejects who hung on to their jobs like spinach stuck in your teeth.

I reached my desk, a tiny metal affair on four shaky feet, sank into my uncomfortable chair, and smacked on my computer.

“How’s it going, Carmen?” Henry Harris asked from his own desk a few feet away.

“Fine, Henry. The usual. Another night, another opening, another glass of flat champagne.”

Henry smiled and went back to his computer. He pushed up the sleeves of the white shirt he wore under his plaid sweater vest, adjusted his polka-dot bow tie, and started typing. The faint light emanating from the humming monitor gave his mocha skin a slightly blue tinge. The light also made his glasses gleam and highlighted the smooth planes of his face. Henry was just shy of thirty, but he looked much younger, despite the old-fashioned clothes he always wore.

For the next hour, I tuned out the world, including the giggles and whispers of the golden girls and boys. I wrote a glowing story about the gallery opening, describing the scene in detail and adding quotes from all the pertinent power players. I threw in some tidbits about the resident fashionistas and their outfits, shoes, and accessories, and sent my story to the society editor. I picked up one of the Rubik’s Cubes that littered my desk and fiddled with it, sliding the rows of colors back and forth. A few minutes later, my computer pinged with a new e-mail from the editor.

Fine. You can leave now.

Ah, short and sweet as always. I gathered up my things and headed toward the elevator.

“Later, Henry.”

He gave me a distracted little wave. His dark eyes never left his computer screen. I often wondered whether Henry ate or if he subsisted on data bytes alone. I’d put money on the data bytes.

I rode to the bottom floor, pushed through the heavy revolving doors, and stepped onto the street. It had rained while I’d been inside, and a damp, glossy sheen covered the sidewalk. Heavy clouds blanketed the night sky, and the metallic scent of more impending rain tickled my nose. No taxis cruised by, so I decided to walk. Home wasn’t far.

“Hey, baby! How about a little fun tonight?” a low voice called out from a dark doorway.

“Get lost, creep,” I snapped and kept walking.

My hand slipped into my purse, where I kept my pepper spray. Since Tornado’s suicide and the various death threats that had come my way, I’d started taking self-defense classes. Oh, the superheroes would never make good on their threats to injure me. Their moral compasses wouldn’t allow them to harm normal folks, not even a low-down, good-for-nothing reporter like me. No, it was regular people, the ones who called me nasty names and left dead fish outside my apartment, that I worried about.

Shoes squeaked on the slick sidewalk, and I glanced over my shoulder. Two men dressed in pinstriped suits lumbered along behind me, even though it was after midnight and all the downtown office buildings were closed. This wasn’t terribly unusual, as many Bigtime businessmen worked long, hard hours. But the flat, dead look in their eyes made me walk a little bit faster. Cold dread curled up in my stomach. My fist closed around the pepper spray.

I squinted, trying to make out the numbers on a nearby street sign. The subway was only two blocks away. Cops patrolled the underground tunnels all hours of the night and day, watching for purse snatchers and muggers. It would be safer down there. I picked up my pace. My feet snapped against the concrete like rubber bands. The footsteps behind me quickened, and I lunged out onto the street. A black sedan skidded to a halt in front of me. I jumped back onto the sidewalk.

“Hey!” I smacked the car’s hood with my purse. “Watch where you’re going!”

Something sharp pricked me. I yelped. One of the two men in suits shoved a syringe deeper into my arm. A strange, blue liquid glowed inside the glass tube. I yanked the pepper spray out of my purse and gave the goon a face full of it.

“You bitch!” he screamed and stumbled back.

I whirled around and gave the other goon the same treatment. He, too, cursed and stumbled away. The black sedan sat silent, its occupants enjoying the show. I tugged the empty syringe out of my arm and threw it down. The glass shattered. Blue liquid hissed onto the concrete, and white steam rose up from the strange substance.

My inner voice shrieked with fear. I was in serious trouble. I had to get away from these people, but everything seemed so strange. The world wouldn’t stay still. It kept spinning round and round and round like a carousel. I took a step forward. Two more blocks. I could make it two more blocks.

I took another step forward. Dizziness hit me like a tidal wave. I pitched to the ground, and darkness overcame me.

Chapter Four

I lost all sense of time and space. I was in a car, a car I didn’t want to be in, with some dangerous men. What they wanted and where they were taking me, I couldn’t imagine, but I didn’t feel frightened. A blue haze bathed my fear, softening it. Voices and bits of conversation floated in and out of my drugged mind.

“Can’t believe she got you two fools with pepper spray...”

“Not our fault...”

“Didn’t know...”

“Thought she’d go down quicker...”

I lapsed into unconsciousness once more.

* * *

Something hard and cold pressed against my cheek, so cold that it burned. I jerked my head up. A million needles stabbed my jumbled brain. The hot pricking traveled from my head down my spine and into my limbs. A groan of pain escaped my numb, cold, chapped lips.

“Well, well. Look who’s awake. Rise and shine.”

Cold, rough hands hauled me up. The room spun around, and I struggled to focus. I found myself face-to-face with one of my kidnappers. His beady eyes were bloodshot, and his nose was red and runny. I studied him, memorizing every detail of his flat face, his clothes, his mannerisms. I wanted to give the police an accurate description of my kidnapper, if somehow I got out of this alive.

We were in a small, empty, concrete room with only one door. I thought about distances and angles and running.

“Jimmy!” the man yelled. “We’ve got a live one.”

The second man entered the room and grabbed my arm. I studied him as well. They dragged me outside. The sudden motion made me sick. I took deep breaths and tried not to vomit. Focus, focus! I had to be sharp, be strong. That was the only way I was going to get out of this mess.

I forced my mind away from the stabbing needles and throbbing headache and concentrated on my surroundings. We stood in an enormous factory or plant of some kind. A long, winding assembly line snaked over pipes, under catwalks, and around huge vats. Fog puffed up from silver canisters. But what caught my attention was the ice—it covered everything, from the concrete floor to the metal pipes high overhead. The temperature hovered around the freezing mark. My ragged breath frosted in the air.

The two men half dragged, half carried me up a flight of stairs. I tried to dig my heels into the ground, but they skidded along the frozen floor like a pair of ice skates.

“I wish Frost had picked another place to do his experiments,” the second man grumbled after slipping on the icy incline.

“Quiet!” the first man hissed. “Or he’ll put the deep freeze on you.”

My own insides froze with fear. I knew who Frost was. The ubervillain was a member of the Terrible Triad, along with Scorpion and Malefica. If my head didn’t feel like a marching band had taken up residence inside, I might have been able to give my two kidnappers the slip. But I was no match for Frost or any other member of the Triad, even on their worst, most inept day. My inner voice let out a small, plaintive wail. This was not going to end well.

The goons dragged me through a dark hallway. We emerged onto a platform overlooking part of the factory. Ice and frost and metal stretched as far as I could see. The two men stopped. I hung between them like a rag doll.

I cocked my head. A faint sound echoed in the distance. I concentrated. The sound came again, then again. It took me a moment, but I recognized it. The distinctive click-click-clack of high-heel shoes rang out through the factory, getting louder and closer with every step. My doom approached.

Malefica, the leader of the Terrible Triad, strolled into view. Skintight, blood-red leather hugged her perfect figure from head to toe. A black leather whip looped around her impossibly thin waist, while a black M strained to cover her impressive chest. A black-and-red mask covered her eyes, while a red cowl hid her hair from sight. A scarlet cape and strappy sandals completed the fashionably evil ensemble.

“Ah. I see our guest has arrived. We’ve been expecting you, haven’t we, boys?”

Frost and Scorpion stepped out of the shadows. I gasped. Frost was a tall, skinny man clad in an ice-blue suit. A shock of white-blond hair stood straight up on his head, and his eyes glowed with a vivid, blue flame. With bulging, rippling muscles, very wide shoulders, and a shaved head, Scorpion was the polar opposite of Frost. He wore black from head to toe and looked as solid as cement.

And so I found myself face-to-face with every superhero’s worst nightmare—the Terrible Triad. I swallowed.

“Leave us,” Malefica barked to the two hired hands.

The men dropped my arms and scurried away like rats. I wobbled and struggled to remain upright.

Malefica’s ruby-red lips curved into a smile. “Carmen Cole. It’s an honor. I’ve been a fan of your work for some time now.”

My inner voice muttered. Somehow, I managed to speak. “Sorry, I can’t say the same.”

“Aren’t you the feisty one? Pity.”

Malefica backhanded me. The sound cracked like thunder. The woman worked out, that was for sure. I hit the ground like a sack of potatoes. The needles returned, worse than before. My head felt like it was going to explode into a million pulpy pieces. I bit back a groan of pain. I was nothing, less than nothing, to the Triad. I would likely be dead within the next five minutes, but I vowed not to show weakness in front of them. I would not! My scraps of pride wouldn’t let me.

I stared at the scarlet sandal tapping in front of my aching face and burning brain. It was the only way I could take my mind off the searing pain rippling up and down my body. Plus, I found it odd and somewhat funny how big and clownlike Malefica’s feet were in proportion to the rest of her lithe body.

“Nice sandals,” I croaked. “Bulluci’s fall collection?”

“Good eye,” Malefica said. “Now get up. We have things to discuss.”

I slowly staggered to my feet, held my head in my hands, and tried to keep the world from careening out of control. I wasn’t very successful. Unconcerned, Malefica sashayed away, her shoes click-click-clacking on the iced-over floor. Every footstep made my head ache more. I limped along behind her. Frost and Scorpion brought up the rear, making me the middle of an ubervillain sandwich. Terrific.

Malefica twisted and turned her way through the factory until we reached an office. I stepped over the threshold and blinked. It was a room fit for a queen. Wingback chairs and an enormous love seat sat on one side of the room, while a huge, canopied bed took up the other section. A mahogany desk piled high with papers crouched next to a tall liquor cabinet. Flames blazed in a marble fireplace, and sinfully thick carpet covered the floor. It was the plushest ubervillain lair money could buy. Despite my fear of imminent, painful death, I made mental notes, not only of the room but of the objects in it. Not that the police would believe I’d been kidnapped by ubervillains, but a girl had to try.

“Sit.”

I did as I was told. There was no point in being stubborn. Besides, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could stand. It was hard to remain upright when your knees shook like leaves in a tornado.

Malefica strolled over to the liquor cabinet. She plucked some crystal glasses and a bottle of amber-colored liquid out of the dark depths.

“Would you like something to drink?”

“No,” I said, even though my throat was as dry as a sandbox.

“Are you sure? It’s Brighton’s Best.”

I recognized the reference from my months on the society beat. Malefica was holding a fifteen-thousand-dollar bottle of Scotch. “No. I’m not much of a drinker.”

“Pity.”

Malefica poured a couple of fingers’ worth into a crystal tumbler. Frost and Scorpion settled themselves on the love seat.

My inner voice whispered. Suddenly, I knew that Malefica and her companions weren’t going to kill me. Not tonight. They’d gone to too much trouble to bring me here when they could have murdered me on the sidewalk. They wanted something from me. More cold dread filled my stomach. But what could it be?

Malefica reclined in the leather chair behind the desk. She took a long pull on her drink then set it aside. Unless I missed my guess, the glass was a Hilustar tumbler. The crystal cups went for five thousand bucks a pop, making them a pricey way to quench your thirst. Then again, it would be terribly gauche to drink fifteen-thousand-dollar Scotch from a plastic cup.

“The reason you’re not dead by now is that my associates and I have a job for you.” Malefica’s voice reminded me of a purring, pleased cat. I hated cats.

My instincts had been right once again. Maybe I would live through this yet. “A job? What sort of job?”

“A very special job, one that only you can do.”

I raised an eyebrow.

Malefica tapped her long, scarlet nails together. “We want you to uncover the identity of Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five.”

Laughter bubbled up inside me like fizzy champagne. I tried to stop it, as it wasn’t very polite or good for your health to guffaw at an ubervillain when she was trying to cow you into doing her bidding. But the cork popped, and it spewed out anyway. I laughed.

And laughed...

And laughed…

And laughed some more.

Malefica pressed her scarlet lips into a thin, hard line. Her green eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry. But you’re kidding, right?” I wiped away my tears of hysterical mirth.

“She’s quite serious,” Frost said in a, well, frosty sort of voice.

“You unmasked Tornado. What could be so hard about Striker?” Scorpion growled. He cracked a few of his massive knuckles. The sounds echoed through the room like gunshots. “He’s not really so tough once you beat on him a little.”

I stared at the mountain of a man. “Tornado was sloppy; he made a mistake. Striker doesn’t make mistakes. The guy’s a ghost. I researched him for months and months and found nothing. No habits, no hobbies, no girlfriends or boyfriends, no widowed aunts who need rescuing over and over again. He’s untraceable.”

“Well, I’m afraid you’re just going to have to find a way to track him down,” Malefica said. “Or else.”

I rolled my eyes. Ubervillains. Always so dramatic. My inner voice snickered, and a little bit of my courage returned. “Or else what? You’ll kill me until I’m dead, dead, dead? Sorry, you’ll have to be more creative. I’ve heard that one before.”

Malefica smiled. Chills zipped down my spine.

“Ah. Smart girl. I knew you’d ask. Let’s go for a walk.”

Malefica led the way to a large platform that overlooked another series of huge, metal vats. A bank of computers winked at one end of the room. Four large, glass tubes with wires and electrodes attached to them crouched next to the electronic equipment. Blue and green and red liquid dripped and bubbled and gurgled in beakers on top of a workbench. All sorts of odd-shaped gadgets and doodads and gewgaws covered another table. It was Dr. Frankenstein’s laboratory come to life. What the hell was the Triad up to?

Malefica pointed to the vats below us. “See those? Frost has concocted a special sort of...what did you so scientifically call it?”

“Radioactive, ice-cold goo,” Frost said. “Actually, it’s called freezeterium, a special chemical that produces some rather interesting effects in clinical trials.”

Malefica waved her hand. “You know how your scientific blathering bores me. Let’s move on.”

We walked down a flight of stairs. A row of cages sat on the floor next to the bottom of the vats. Animals stirred at the crunch of our shoes on the icy floor.

“Go ahead,” Malefica said. “Get a good look.”

I crept up to the first cage. A large wolf crouched inside. I edged closer. The creature rose to its feet, and I realized it was twice the size of a normal wolf, almost big enough to be a mythological Fenrir wolf. It turned around, and I gasped. It was a wolf and yet not a wolf.

It had probably been a wolf at some time in its life, but the creature was now a thing of nightmares. Long, jagged tusks jutted out from its enormous mouth. Ice-blue eyes the size of saucers stared at me. The creature yawned, revealing a long, black tongue and row upon row of razor-sharp teeth, teeth that could rip a man to shreds in an instant. My gaze traveled downward. The creature’s fur was the color of new snow, but huge, ugly, black talons curved out from its paws.

“Keep going,” Malefica ordered.

I swallowed a mouthful of bile. Sweat froze on my forehead. I tiptoed down the row of cages. Nightmare after nightmare greeted me from behind the metal bars.

“What are these things?”

“Wolves, mostly. A few foxes, the odd squirrel or two. The bears all died,” Frost replied in a cold, clinical voice. “The creatures have all been given varying doses of freezeterium, with a variety of outcomes, as you can see.”

At the sound of Frost’s voice, the animals leapt forward. They snarled and clawed at the bars on their cages. I leapt back. The animals’ rage, their absolute hatred for Frost, and their shame at being transformed into such monstrosities hit me like an ice-cold wave. My stomach flipped.

“See how my pets love me?” he cooed.

“What are you trying to do?” I whispered.

“I’m seeing what effect freezeterium has upon various animals before I begin conducting human trials.”

“Human trials? Why?”

Frost gave me patronizing look. “It’s what I do.”

“Frost fancies himself a scientist. He wants to create his own little army of snow-bunny soldiers,” Malefica explained.

“I am a scientist,” Frost sniffed. “It’s not my fault the academic community refuses to acknowledge my brilliance.”

Malefica put a hand around my shoulder and led me away from the cages. I shuddered at her touch. Her perfume worked its way up my nose and down my throat. It was a sweet, cloying scent that made me want to retch.

The ubervillain steered me back up the stairs to the glass tubes and computers. I’d always known the Triad was the worst of the worst, but the depths of their depravity stunned me. Experimenting on helpless animals, planning to do the same to humans. Hot, sour vomit rose in my throat. Somehow, I forced it down. I would get through this. I would. Then, I would find a way to stop these vile people.

Yeah, right. As if I had a chance against three of the world’s most powerful ubervillains. Right now, I would settle for just getting out of this alive.

“So you see, our proposition is really quite simple,” Malefica purred in a pleased tone. “You will discover Striker’s identity, or else Frost will drop you into the radioactive goo until you come out looking like one of his little pets. Only worse, I imagine. After all, his project is still in the experimental stages.”

“I see.” I forced the words out from my stiff, frozen lips. “Why me?”

“Because you have the best success rate. You’ve unmasked thirteen heroes and villains in a little over three years. Nobody else has even come close to that number. You seem to have a gift for it. Maybe that’s your superpower.” Malefica laughed at her bad joke. Her peals of merriment rang like a dirge for the dead in my head.

“You have one month from tomorrow. When the month is up, go to Laurel Park in Bigtime. There’s a bench at the far edge of the park next to a wooden swing set. Be there at midnight. Do you know where that is?”

I knew the park well. It was one of my favorite places to go for a walk. “Yes.”

“Good. Then our business is concluded.” Malefica’s green eyes grew dark and sinister. “One more thing. Should you discover Striker’s identity before the month is out, don’t even think about going to him—or any other superhero—for help. They can’t protect you from us. I imagine they would turn you down anyway, as much trouble as you’ve caused them.”

She was right. No superhero in his right mind would have anything to do with me, unless the fate of the world was at stake. I didn’t think saving my own miserable neck would measure up to that high standard. Without superpowers and a safe place to hide for the next fifty or so years, the ubervillains would eventually get me, unless I did exactly what they said, when they said it. Malefica and the others were alarmingly persistent about taking their revenge. More than one of the Triad’s flunkies had spilled his guts about the group’s latest world-domination scheme and disappeared into witness protection, only to wash up in the marina a couple of days later—missing several vital organs. It might not be tomorrow, or next week, or even next month, but the ubervillains would find me, corner me, and finish me off in the most drawn-out, painful manner possible if I crossed them in any way, shape, or form.

“We’ll be keeping tabs on you, Miss Cole, so don’t think about trying to leave town,” Malefica continued. “There’s nowhere you can hide. Ubervillains are surprisingly unselfish about sharing information when it comes to people who’ve done them wrong. But if by some miracle, we can’t find you, well, we’ll just have to take our anger out on someone else. Perhaps Henry Harris, that technology reporter at the newspaper. You seem to be fond of him. So, think carefully before you do anything rash.”

I closed my eyes. I was trapped, caught like a fly in a spider’s sticky web.

Malefica snapped her fingers. Something pricked my arm. Then, mercifully, I passed out.

Chapter Five

Sometime later, the black sedan slid to a halt. The door opened, and two sets of arms pushed me out. I hit the ground with a dull thud. My purse sailed out after me. The car sped off, its tires squealing. I coughed on exhaust fumes and pulled myself up. A low groan escaped my dry, cracked lips. Every part of my body ached, from the top of my throbbing head to the bottoms of my tired feet. I squinted. When the world came into focus, I realized I was in the alley next to my apartment building. Well, at least my kidnappers had been considerate enough to bring me back home after a night of hell. I grabbed my purse and staggered down the alley and around to the entrance.

“Rough night?” the doorman inquired in a bored tone.

“You could say that,” I muttered.

I rode the elevator up to my apartment, locked the door behind me, and collapsed on the couch.

* * *

I snuggled deeper into the groove on the soft sofa. What a crazy dream I’d been having. Being kidnapped and taken to the Terrible Triad’s secret lair. Seeing mutated creatures and vats of radioactive goo. I’d been reading too many comic books.

Sunlight warmed my face and told me it was well into the afternoon. Time to get ready for another night on the society circuit. I yawned and raised my arms over my head, stopping in mid-stretch. Needles of pain pricked their way up and down my body. My eyes popped open, and I eased up. I still had on the little black dress I’d worn to the gallery opening last night. Rips and tears dotted the jagged fabric, along with a variety of smudges and stains. I held out my arm. Two purple bruises marked the spots where I’d been jabbed with needles and injected with who-knew-what.

It hadn’t been a dream.

“Oh, bloody hell!”

Panic flooded my body. I jumped up off the couch, my eyes fixed on the door. I had to get out of my apartment. I had to get as far away from Bigtime as fast as I could.

I took a step forward. My foot snagged on one of the legs of the coffee table, and I fell for about the tenth time in the past twelve hours. I smacked into the floor, and the world went black for a moment. Silver stars exploded in front of my face.

The fall knocked a little bit of the panic out of me. I took deep breaths to slow my heart, which wanted to gallop up my throat and out of my body. I wrinkled my nose. The sour stench of stale beer, mold, and rotting garbage clung to me like a second skin. I smelled like I’d been sleeping in an alley all night. It wasn’t pleasant, but it brought me back to my senses. First things first. If I was going to panic, I at least wanted to be clean doing it.

After taking a long, hot shower, popping a couple aspirin, and eating massive amounts of chocolate, I felt a little calmer. But only a little. My temples pulsed and throbbed with every beat of my heart. My arm ached from the injections. A hard ball of fear sat in my stomach like a lead weight.

I picked up a Rubik’s Cube from my bookcase. I twisted and turned the pieces around and paced the length of my apartment, trying to puzzle out my next move.

My first option was, of course, to do exactly as Malefica had told me. Uncover Striker’s identity and report to the park in a month’s time. There were several problems with this option. First of all, I’d seen the Triad’s indifference to life up close and personal. If I gave them Striker’s identity, I knew they would kill him.

Then, I would have another superhero’s blood on my hands. I didn’t want that. I’d never wanted that. I only had wanted...what? Truth? Justice? The American way? But that was a question for another day.

And I knew it wouldn’t end with Striker. Malefica and the others would make me uncover the identities of the remaining members of the Fearless Five. The Triad would come back to me again and again, until they had eliminated every superhero who stood in their way. Or got bored and killed me.

No, that option was out. I clicked a row of colors into place and kept pacing.

My second option was to find a way to get a message to Striker or another member of the Fearless Five and tell them of Malefica’s plan. But I didn’t know how to contact them, other than running an ad in The Exposé that said, Help! Crazy ubervillains want me to expose your secret identities or they’ll throw me in a vat of radioactive goo.

Even if I did get a message to the Fearless Five, it didn’t mean they would respond. They might think it was an elaborate trick. Or worse, they just might let Malefica have her way with me. After what I had done to Tornado, I couldn’t really blame them.

I slid another set of colors into place.

My third option was to hightail it out of town and retire to some deserted island. But I didn’t have enough money to disappear, and even if I did, sooner or later, the Triad would find me, just as Malefica said they would. In my own way, I was as recognizable as the most popular superhero. But without the skintight spandex, leather whips, and flowing capes.

Another row of colors lined up.

But there was another option. I could try to uncover Malefica’s identity, then go public with it. Hopefully, Malefica would be too busy with the Fearless Five, various law enforcement agencies, and the IRS to worry about killing me. Then again, she would probably make it a point to personally thank me for unmasking her.

I frowned and undid some of the combinations on the Rubik’s Cube that I’d gotten wrong. I kept pacing.

No, that wouldn’t work either. I’d been working on Malefica’s identity for three months before Tornado’s suicide and had come up with less than zero. There was no way I’d ever uncover her identity in a month’s time. Besides, the superheroes always led me to the ubervillains, not the other way around. It was practically a rule, like putting the edges of a jigsaw puzzle together before you started working on the inside.

I stopped pacing.

The superheroes always led me to the ubervillains, not the other way around.

Perhaps...

Maybe...

Possibly...

What if I uncovered Striker’s identity first, then let him lead me to Malefica? Superheroes and ubervillains were always connected, whether they were family, friends, lovers, business associates, or even business rivals. I’d seen it time and time again. The Kilted Scotsman and the Blue Berserker had been best friends; the Joking Juggler and the Serious Samurai had been business partners; Matt and Karen had been lovers. The connection between heroes and villains was a weird sort of karma. One always followed the other around, like a dog chasing its own tail. The harder they tried to fight each other, the closer together they became.

If I could discover Striker’s identity, I might uncover Malefica’s as well. I would then give Striker Malefica’s true identity and hope I could slip away in the ruckus that would follow. It was my best hope, my only hope of getting out of this mess alive—and without fur. And perhaps by uncovering Malefica’s identity, I could earn a little redemption and ease the heavy blanket of guilt smothering me. Or at least receive forgiveness from the rest of the Fearless Five. Maybe even boost my karma a little bit. It was all I could do.

I snapped the final row of colors into place. For one brief moment, the puzzle seemed to be solved.

* * *

I opened a closet door, a door I had shut six months ago. I reached into the dark depths and pulled out a heavy cardboard box. The word Superheroes walked up one side of the cardboard, while Ubervillains ran down the other. Crudely drawn puzzle pieces and smiley faces wearing masks and capes and pointy boots took up the space in between.

I let out a long breath. I’d vowed never to open this box, this gigantic can of worms, ever again. Ah well. In the end, all promises were made to be broken. Matt had taught me that. The familiar pain of his betrayal pricked me, but I shoved the feeling aside.

I yanked the lid off the box. I was back in the game. For better or worse.

I dug out my color-coded binder, along with a flash drive. The five-inch-thick book and drive contained all of the information I’d ever collected on superheroes and ubervillains. I flipped to the book’s sections on the Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad. I’d spent so much time investigating the two groups that most of the information was permanently ingrained in my brain. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to get a refresher on their powers, costume colors, and hobbies. You never knew what small bit of information would be the key to solving the big mystery.

Fearless Five: Members are Striker, Fiera, Mr. Sage, Hermit, and Tornado.

Striker: Male. Wears black leather suit with gray accents. Special abilities include above-average strength, unbelievable reflexes and agility, and the power to regenerate, or heal wounds rapidly. Uses two swords that return to his hand when called back.

Fiera: Female. Wears reddish-orange catsuit. Outfit and general body type are remarkably similar to Malefica’s (see below). Special abilities include creating, controlling, and manipulating fire. Also has incredible strength.

Mr. Sage: Male. Wears green-and-white outfit. Special abilities include telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with his mind, and some psychic abilities, such as telepathy and premonition.

Hermit: Gender unknown. Costume unknown. Never or very rarely participates in battle. Seems mostly to provide technical support. Not known if he/she has superpowers.

Tornado: Male. Wears silver outfit. Special abilities include creating, controlling, and manipulating air and wind.

Underneath a variety of other information about Tornado, I’d written my last entry six months ago—TORNADO IS TRAVIS TEAGUE. GOTCHA!

I wrestled with my guilt over Tornado’s death. It was a black demon that would never let me be. My guilt was like karma; it always came back around. But I had a job to do, and no time for regrets. I pushed my troubled feelings aside, then moved on to the villains.

Terrible Triad: Members are Malefica, Frost, and Scorpion.

Malefica: Female. Wears skintight, red leather catsuit. Outfit seems more designed to accentuate her tiny waist and large chest rather than for practicality in battle (see Fiera above). Special abilities include telekinesis, which she uses to fly. Has psychic abilities as well, including a strong gift for premonition.

Frost: Male. Wears ice-blue outfit. Special abilities include creating, controlling, and manipulating ice. Rumored to be incredibly intelligent.

Scorpion: Male. Wears black leather. Special abilities include incredible strength, agility, and regeneration. Can poison victims by scratching them with his talon-like fingernails.

Once I’d brought myself up to speed, I put out feelers to my old contacts. I called and e-mailed everyone I’d ever gotten a hot, superhero-sighting tip from. I also set up a meeting with a less-than-upright citizen who had clued me in on criminal activity in the past. She might know of something that would interest Striker and the rest of the Fearless Five. Finally, I called Chief Newman and set up an appointment to look at mug shots. It was doubtful I would find my kidnappers in the thousands of photos at the station, but I had to try.

My life depended on it.

* * *

I slid into one of my many little black dresses, put on my nightly war paint, er, makeup, and headed downtown to the police station.

I threaded my way through the crowd of detectives eating candy bars and headed for the chief’s office. I spoke to the secretary, and a moment later, Chief Sean Newman stuck his head outside. Something like surprise flickered in his blue eyes. I hadn’t come around the station much since Tornado’s suicide, due to my own guilt and the way the detectives stared at me, as if they’d like to shoot me on the spot.

“Carmen, how nice to see you again,” the chief rumbled in his deep Irish brogue. “Come in, come in.”

I entered the chief’s office, which was as neat as always. Every paper, pen, and paper clip rested in its own little organized tray, waiting to be plucked up and used. Even the crystal paperweights and framed photos lined up in a tidy row.

I sat down in a chair in front of the chief’s gray metal desk and explained the events of the previous night, leaving out a few pertinent details, like Malefica’s job for me and Frost’s desire to turn me into an icicle. I couldn’t tell Chief Newman the truth, not with Malefica’s dire threats hanging over my head. I wouldn’t be able to stand it if he or Henry or anyone else got hurt because of me. My karma was bad enough already. I didn’t need to make it worse.

“Two men drugged you and tried to get you into a car, but you used your pepper spray and got away?” The chief stared at me, his face lined with worry.

“That’s right. I think they were just a couple of guys, drunk most likely, painting the town red, and upset over the whole Tornado incident. Still, I thought I’d take a look at the books.”

“I think you need to do more than that,” Chief Newman said. “I think you need a guard, Carmen, somebody to watch over you.”

“No!” I shouted.

The chief raised a bushy eyebrow at me.

I fumbled for a reason to refuse. “I wouldn’t be able to do my...job with somebody following me around. Besides, your detectives have much more important things to do than look after me. Murders, robberies, rapes, that sort of thing.”

“Well, I can’t make you accept protection,” the chief said. “Still, you need to be careful, Carmen. There are a lot of folks who are still upset over Travis Teague’s suicide. Who knows what some of them might do to you?”

Visions of giant vats of radioactive goo and horribly mutated animals flashed through my mind. If you only knew. The chief frowned, as if he could sense my dark thoughts.

“I’ll be fine,” I said in a too-bright voice. “I’ve got pepper spray and six months’ worth of self-defense classes under my belt. What more does a girl need?”

* * *

I spent the next hour flipping through book after book after book of mug shots. My two kidnappers were nowhere to be found. Frustrated, I slammed the last book shut, thanked the chief for his time, and headed out.

I opened the door to the station and immediately stepped back. A guy dressed in black tumbled inside. He slid across the tile floor and landed with a loud thump against the information desk. An old woman followed him in. She wore a flowered dress, support hose, sensible shoes, and a string of large pearls. She looked like your typical grandmother, except for the flowered, purple mask that covered her face and the cape-like flow to her white angora sweater. She held a diamond-topped walking stick in her right hand. A large handbag hung off her left arm. Ah, Granny Cane was in the house.

A cop stepped forward and helped the guy to his feet.

“Another mugger, Granny?” the cop asked, slapping some cuffs on the dazed man.

“Yep,” the superhero crowed. “Tried to take my purse down on Thirteenth Street. I showed him who was boss, though.” She smacked her walking stick against her left palm and launched into her story about how she had whacked the thief into submission.

I skirted around the three of them and headed outside. I didn’t give the seventy-something superhero a second glance. Granny Cane had been stopping would-be thieves from preying on the elderly for twenty years now. You’d think that Bigtime’s criminals would wise up and stop trying to rob an old woman wearing a purple mask. But no. Every other week, some scumbag tried to take Granny Cane’s purse and was soundly beaten with her walking stick for his trouble.

I scurried across town to attend the latest, greatest society function, this time a fashion show by designer-to-the-stars Fiona Fine. Fiona was a real rags-to-riches story, having burst upon the fashion scene as a penniless college student and clawed her way to the top. Unlike most designers, Fiona had managed to stay there, although I couldn’t see why.

She used all sorts of bold colors, canary yellows and blazing oranges and lime greens that made my head ache. Even worse, Fiona adorned said colors with feathers and faux furs and glittering rhinestones. She would have been the perfect person to design costumes for Vegas showgirls. She had gaudy and over-the-top down pat. Not to mention the fact Fiona’s clothes only flattered supermodels and other women with perfectly skeletal bodies and amazingly full chests.

“Fiona! Fiona!” I shouted over the crush of people surrounding the designer. “How about a comment on your new collection?”

At the sound of my voice, Fiona turned. She was a perfectly tall woman with perfectly long, flowing blond hair and perfectly blue eyes. Fiona was so perfect she could have modeled her own clothes and looked fabulous, even if she designed potato sacks. Though she wore a dress that reminded me of an eggplant with ruffles, Fiona still looked, well, perfect.

“My collection is fabulous, as always.” Fiona’s blue eyes rolled over me. “Unlike your dress. Where did you get it, the Salvation Army?” she snickered.

My cheeks flamed. There was nothing wrong with my dress. I was always neat and clean, and I ironed all my clothes regularly. Hell, I even ironed my sheets on occasion.

So what if I wore a little black dress to every event? So what if I was more comfortable in jeans, sneakers, and a grungy T-shirt than anything else? I didn’t have thousands to burn on clothes the way the jet-set crowd did.

Anger bubbled up in my chest. In the last day, I’d been kidnapped, drugged, and threatened. Now, some spoiled, snotty, rich-bitch designer was taking potshots at my wardrobe and reminding me yet again that I didn’t belong among the glitz and glamour. I might have to write about these people, but I didn’t have to take their insults.

“No, not the Salvation Army.” I straightened my shoulders. “I got it at Oodles o’ Stuff downtown during the big clearance sale. It’s actually from your last collection, when you were going through your black, depressed phase. Remember that one? Pity you didn’t stay in it. It was so much classier than your typical crayon-colored creations.”

Fiona gasped. I stalked through the crowd, grabbed a glass of champagne, and gulped it down. Everyone stared at me, even Sam Sloane and his latest supermodel. I chugged down another glass of champagne.

Fiona shot me heated, why-don’t-you-drop-dead-bitch looks the rest of the night, but I didn’t care. I stayed another hour to show people I wouldn’t be insulted by the likes of Fiona Fine and went back to the office. Although I wanted to write a less-than-flattering story about Fiona, her enormous ego, and horrible clothes, I typed up a bland, harmless little bit of fluff. I had to concentrate all my energy on finding Striker. I didn’t have time to get into pissy catfights with Fiona Fine. The woman hated me. I didn’t really care why.

I turned in my story, waited for the short-but-sweet response from my editor, and packed up my things. Rapid typing caught my attention. Henry hunched over his keyboard. My inner voice whispered. A thought occurred to me, another way I might uncover Striker and Malefica’s identities. I stopped at his desk, which was a haphazard mess of papers and wires and odd, electronic devices.

“Henry, could you do me a favor?”

He peered at me through his glasses. The thick lenses made his dark eyes seem twice their natural size. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Could you get me a list of the fifty richest men and women in Bigtime, along with their major assets, stock holdings, and companies?” I asked. “I need it for something I’m working on.”

“Oh, sure. No problem. Something for the society section?”

“You might say that.”

I’d long suspected there were a few superheroes and ubervillains hiding among the high-society, rich-as-sin crowd I covered. After all, heroes and villains needed vast amounts of money to pay for their high-tech toys and construct their secret, state-of-the-art underground lairs. Following the money trail had led me to more than one hero and villain. But if someone was leading a double life on the Bigtime social scene, he or she hid it well. Everyone on the society circuit seemed about as deep and interesting as a champagne flute.

“Can you give it to me by tomorrow?” I could have compiled the information myself, but it would have taken hours of digging through databases and stock reports and the like at the library, precious hours I didn’t have. Plus, Henry was a real whiz at things like that. He could type a few buttons and find all the information I needed in a matter of minutes.

“Well, I have some other things I’m working on right now. I can get it to you by the end of the week, or the beginning of next,” Henry said.

I tapped my foot. I needed the list right now, or tomorrow at the very latest. I needed as much information as I could get as quickly as I could get it to uncover Striker’s identity. I didn’t have time to wait around. Unlike some people in Bigtime, I wasn’t a psychic or a miracle worker or even a mind reader. Not even close.

Still, it wasn’t Henry’s fault I was in this mess. I had nobody to blame but myself. I made my lips smile. “Thanks, Henry. This week or next will be fine. Take your time.”

* * *

I left the gleaming skyscraper that housed The Exposé behind, took a right, and started walking. I glanced at my watch. I’d have to hustle to make it to the meeting with my contact.

“Hey, hey, hot mama! Looking for some action?” a voice called out from a dark doorway.

It was the same male pig who harassed me every night. “Forget it, loser,” I growled. The guy so needed to get a life.

A few blocks later, I reached Paradise Park in the heart of downtown Bigtime. With a zoo, carousel, carnival rides, and concession stands galore, the park was one of the major attractions in the city. Thousands of people visited it each day, and the park never closed, not even on Christmas. Even now on a late September night, faint music and squeals of laughter rose up from the Ferris wheel and merry-go-round. The smell of hot popcorn and greasy funnel cakes permeated the cool air. I walked past the fun and games, making my way to a fountain in the far corner of the park. I sat down next to a pair of frolicking nymphs that spat water out of their mouths every few seconds.

Twenty minutes later, I checked my faux silver watch for the umpteenth time. It was nearing midnight. Lulu should have been here by now, but the only people I’d seen had been a few sweaty joggers and the occasional homeless person looking for a place to curl up for the night. I’d given one of the hobos twenty bucks and sent him on his way.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck stood straight up. My inner voice chirped. I didn’t have enhanced senses, but I knew someone was watching me. A small hum sounded above the bubbling water, confirming my suspicion.

“You’re late,” I said.

A woman in a wheelchair zoomed out of the shadows. She shrugged. “Traffic. Cars won’t stop for anybody these days. Some guy on Broadway almost mowed me down. Big mistake. I got his license plate number. Tomorrow, his credit will be toast.”

I turned to look at Lulu. She was a skinny girl about twenty-five with a pretty, heart-shaped face. Neon blue streaks gleamed in her short, spiky, black hair. She looked fairly harmless and innocent, but Lulu knew everybody who was anybody in Bigtime. Information was her game, and she played it very well. Lulu was one of the best computer whizzes and hackers in the business. She had her own little empire of information trading and corporate espionage that netted her millions, as evidenced by the elaborate, motorized wheelchair she sat in and the Bulluci fleece pullover jacket she wore that cost more than my first car.

I had met Lulu Lo while doing a story on Yee-haw!, a therapeutic riding center that helped paralyzed and injured kids and adults. At first, I’d thought that Lulu was just another one of the program’s clients. Then, I’d started digging around and discovered the center was financed almost entirely by her. Further investigation revealed Lulu’s extracurricular activities weren’t exactly legal. Despite the dubious nature of its financing, my story had focused on all the good the program did. Lulu had gotten some legitimate contributions from the article, and since then, we’d developed a tit-for-tat relationship. Lulu gave me the lowdown on what was happening around town, and every couple of months, I did another glowing feature about the program’s latest success story.

“What can I do for you, Sister Carmen? You sounded rather frantic on the phone. Not like your usual cool self at all.”

Lulu always called me Sister Carmen. She had since the first day we’d met. I didn’t really know why. I’d asked her about it one time, and she’d mumbled something about us being in the ubervillain fight together. Like sisters. I didn’t understand what she meant, but I didn’t mind the odd nickname. After all, Lulu was the closest thing I had to a friend these days, besides Henry.

“I want information on Striker and the rest of the Fearless Five. Do you know anything? Are any of the gangs in town up to something that might catch their interest?”

Lula’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask?”

“Let’s just say I’m getting back in the game.” I liked Lulu, but I wasn’t about to tell her my troubles. You couldn’t trust anybody, not even your fiancé or best friend. A needle of pain pierced my heart. “Do you know anything?”

“There have been some rumors that the Five, or the Four these days, haven’t been too happy about the Southside crew that’s been smuggling drugs into the city. Word on the street is Striker is looking to take them out.”

Lulu pulled a small laptop computer out of a bag attached to her chair. She fired it up and began to type. Invoices and spreadsheets flashed across the screen faster than I could blink. At times like these, Lulu reminded me of a prettier, female version of Henry Harris. One with much better taste in clothes.

“Hmmm, looks like you’re in luck, Sister Carmen. The Southside crew has a shipment coming in tomorrow night. I’d lay even money on Striker and his friends being there. I’ll e-mail you the time and location.”

“Thanks, Lulu. I appreciate it.” I got to my feet.

“What are you planning to do? Going to expose Striker and the rest of the Fearless Five?”

“Something like that,” I said in a vague tone. “Is that a problem?”

“No, no, no. I don’t judge. I merely facilitate. And instigate on occasion.” Lulu grinned. “Playing it close to the vest, huh? I can respect that. Will I see you at the annual benefit? We’re joining forces with the police department this year. All the big power players will be there. Can you imagine me chatting up the chief of police?”

“I’m sure you’ll do a great job, and I’ll be there to cover every detail,” I promised.

Lulu dropped her gaze to her computer. Her fingers pounded on the keyboard, and she hunched over the laptop just like Henry. My inner voice whispered.

“Lulu, are you seeing anybody right now?”

Her face grew guarded. “No. Why? You got some loser you want to foist off on me? Some hillbilly cousin from Ashland who’s missing his teeth?”

I gave her a sour look.

“What?” Lulu asked in a defensive tone. “I know how things work down in the South. I’ve seen Deliverance.”

I dug a piece of paper out of my purse and scribbled down Henry’s work number. “Give this guy a call. I think you two would really hit it off. You’re both computer nerds.”

“I prefer the term information engineer,” Lulu retorted. “You’re worse than my mom trying to fix me up.”

“Just give him a call. Tell him I gave you his number. This guy works with me. He writes a computer column. I’m sure you’ll like him.”

And I was sure. The two of them had so much in common. They could talk about data bytes and hard drives for days and days and never come up for air, before getting around to the good stuff like networks and wireless connections and firewalls.

I gave Lulu the paper. She reluctantly took it and slid it into her computer bag.

“Thanks for the info, Lulu. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a superhero to stalk.”

Chapter Six

I spent most of the next day at the Bigtime Public Library, tracking down every newspaper story, magazine article, and research paper ever written on the Fearless Five. I roamed through the stacks of books, and a strange feeling of déjà vu swept over me. The last time I’d done this, I’d been hot on the trail of Tornado, aka Travis Teague. He’d committed suicide as a result. What would Striker do when I discovered his true identity?

I pushed away my guilty thoughts. I wasn’t here by choice. Malefica and her vats of radioactive goo were making me do this. But I’d turn the tables on her. I’d track down Striker, then use him to lead me to her. The Fearless Five would take care of the rest. It would all work out right this time. It had to. For the sake of my conscience, my heart, and my general well-being.

Truth be told, wandering through the library was a pleasant way to pass the day. It was one of my favorite places in all of Bigtime. The library took up its own square city block in the middle of the downtown district. The stone building housed hundreds of thousands of books, magazines, newspapers, and more. Overstuffed chairs and sofas sat throughout the library’s many floors, inviting people to relax and read the day away in some cozy, secluded corner. Floor-to-ceiling glass windows overlooked an open-air garden that crouched in the center of the library’s block.

I downloaded every story I found, no matter how inconsequential or trivial it seemed, to a flash drive so I could search through the information on my computer later. I also made paper copies of all the articles, just in case some of them didn’t download correctly. Of course, I’d done this same thing when I’d first arrived in town, but I’d thrown most of the papers away after Travis’s death. By the time I finished, my flash drive was full, I had several reams of paper to go through, the Bigtime Public Library was several hundred dollars richer, and another thousand acres of the Brazilian rain forest had been decimated. All in a day’s work.

I stuffed the papers in a large trash bag and ignored the strange, suspicious looks from the library’s older patrons. When everything was sacked away, I used my cell phone to check my e-mail. A note from Lulu waited in my inbox.

Delivery and show set for midnight. Address is 1313 Good Intentions Lane. Suggested viewing from top of adjacent building. Doorman/escort expecting you. Code word is Striker. Be careful. L.

I sent back a brief reply. Thanks for the info. See you at the benefit. Carmen.

I put away my phone. Then, I hoisted the heavy sack of papers over my shoulder like Santa Claus carrying a bagful of Christmas toys and left the library.

Six blocks down the street, I hit a wall of people. Up ahead, flames and smoke boiled out of a high-rise office building. Soot and ash floated like confetti in the breeze. Police had the area cordoned off. They directed traffic down side streets, blew silver whistles, and shouted garbled information at the crowd through bullhorns. Firemen perched on ladders and hosed the building with powerful jets of water, but the liquid streams had little effect on the hungry flames. An explosion roared. Glass zipped through the air like shotgun pellets. People screamed, shouted, and ducked for cover.

“There go the last of the windows,” an old man said. He sat on a nearby stoop staring at the commotion. “The fire just started about ten minutes ago, but half the building’s already gone.”

His companion, a woman with a tight, white bun and wrinkled face, tapped her chin. “So who do you think will show this time?”

“I’d put even money on the Fearless Five.”

“Nah,” she replied. “Swifte works this part of downtown. Besides, he’s faster.”

“Care to make a little friendly wager?”

She smiled. “Of course.”

“I’ll take that action,” a college kid with a bulging backpack chimed in.

“Me too.”

“Count me in.”

Other bystanders fished out their wallets. Soon, the stoop had blossomed into a mini betting parlor, and the man had a stack of cash three inches thick.

I gave the old guy five bucks on the Fearless Five. Who knew? If they showed up, maybe I could just follow them back to their supersecret lair and abandon my boring research. Yeah, right. My karma could never be that good.

I stood there with the rest of the crowd, gawking. A woman darted past one of the policemen.

“My baby! My baby!” the woman screamed, pointing at the burning building.

“Baby?” the old man asked. “In that big high-rise?”

The old woman nodded. “Yep. There’s a day-care center inside for all the moms who work in the building. Everyone else got out already. I guess the kid got overlooked in the rush.”

A policeman struggled with the woman, trying to shove her back behind the barricade. Suddenly, a multicolored blur zipped by. Swifte stopped. I blinked. One minute he wasn’t there, the next he was.

Swifte was a lean man dressed in an iridescent white spandex suit. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet—all the colors of the rainbow flashed in his opalescent costume. Swifte claimed he could travel faster than the speed of light. I rather doubted it, but he was quicker than anyone else in Bigtime.

“Told you,” the old woman said, elbowing the man.

Groans and grumbles went up from the losers, including me. Five bucks down the superhero drain.

Swifte zoomed over to the frantic woman and grabbed her hand. “Have no fear, good lady. I’ll save your baby.”

He turned his good side to the SNN and other TV news cameras set up on the street and let them get some footage before dashing into the building. Seven seconds later, Swifte sped back out, cradling a small infant in his arms. Once clear of the blazing building, the superhero slowed to normal walking speed to make sure the cameras caught every single moment of his daring rescue. Swifte was one of the superheroes who loved the attention. He was never too busy to chat with fans or pose for a photo. He even kept a daily blog on his website of his latest victories. He worked the press like a pro.

Swifte handed the tiny tot over to the grateful mother. People cheered and clapped and stomped their feet. Swifte put his hands on his hips, sucked in his chest, and stuck out his chin. Behind him, the building continued to burn. It was the perfect superhero pose.

Superheroes. Always so dramatic.

* * *

I trudged home with my heavy cargo and spent the rest of the day sorting and organizing the information. I plugged the flash drive into my computer, pinpointed what seemed to be the most important, interesting, and relevant articles, and set those printouts aside. Maybe it was old-fashioned, but I liked being able to mark up and highlight passages on the paper copies. Plus, the sheets of paper almost seemed like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. Once I put them together in the right pattern, the picture—or, in this case, the superheroes’ identities—would be revealed.

The number of articles written about the Fearless Five amazed me, as did the sorts of things published in so-called respectable, scholarly journals. I found stories on everything from the superheroes’ powers to their hobbies to their favorite sports teams. A couple of professors with way too much time on their hands had written journal articles about the superheroes’ costumes and what the colors signified about each person’s inner child. Academics. Sheesh.

Fiera was the most frequently mentioned member of the Fearless Five, and her impressive attributes were the most frequently mentioned thing about her. I flipped through glossy photo after glossy photo of Fiera in all her flaming glory. Long legs, small waist, huge breasts, a fiery cascade of silken hair, smoldering eyes. She looked like a doll somebody had poured gasoline on and lit up. She was smokin’ hot. Literally. It was no wonder I couldn’t get a date to save my life. Every male in Bigtime from fanboys to professional journalists sang Fiera’s praises in their stories. Drool practically dripped off the pages. She even had her own pinup calendar, with the proceeds going to a charity to help burn victims. Naturally.

Tornado was second on the most-written-about list, with the articles being of two different sorts—before and after death. Before his death, Tornado had been a whirlwind of energy and exuberance. Most of the articles dealt with his work with charities for victims of natural disasters and appearances as a guest meteorologist on various weather channels. However, in the past six months, the articles almost exclusively dealt with Tornado’s real identity as Travis Teague and his sudden, unexpected suicide. I stared at a picture of Travis taken a month before his death. He looked straight into the camera, his brown eyes boring into mine. A smile curved his lips. He looked so happy, so carefree. Now, he was dead because of me. A giant fist of guilt squeezed my heart. I put the article aside. I couldn’t bear to look at it.

Mr. Sage came in third in the popularity contest. He dispensed wise, moderate advice to the down-and-out and lovelorn in a number of self-help and humor columns in various publications. He also appeared at several events, reading people’s futures to raise money for various Bigtime charities.

Striker rarely appeared in print, except to growl at nosy reporters who had gotten too close to a battle scene.

I could only find a few passing references to Hermit, including one that referred to him or her as the greatest technological wizard ever.

By the time I finished, I had five stacks of papers, one for each superhero. I put the Striker stack on top of the coffee table and shoved the others under the sofa. Time to go see if I could spot the man, the hero, the legend in person.

I threw on some jeans, a T-shirt, and a black fleece jacket. I pulled my auburn hair into a short ponytail and grabbed my pepper spray and stun gun. I also locked and loaded the tranquilizer dart gun I’d purchased a few months ago and tucked it in the back of my jeans. Despite its name, Good Intentions Lane wasn’t in the best part of town.

I took a taxi to the specified location, arriving about thirty minutes early. Good Intentions Lane squatted about twenty miles past the wrong side of the tracks. The street looked like a war zone or the epicenter of the most violent superhero-ubervillain battle ever. Abandoned buildings covered in graffiti and gang symbols lined the street. Broken windows and busted-down doors grinned like dark, gaping maws. A few fires smoldered in overflowing trash cans that dotted the cracked sidewalks. Flickering traffic lights swung in the breeze.

“You sure you want to get out here, miss?” the taxi driver asked. “This doesn’t look like the safest place to be.”

“Unfortunately, I must take the road less traveled. I’m afraid that I have promises to keep, and miles to go before I sleep,” I quipped.

The driver gave me a funny look, like I was a few sandwiches short of a picnic. Maybe I was, quoting Robert Frost at a time like this. I paid the man and got out of the taxi. The driver put his foot to the floor, and the yellow car sped away into the dark night. What a gentleman.

I looked up and down the street. Nothing moved or stirred in the night, except the foot-long rats that made their homes in the deserted buildings and alleyways. I put my hand in my jacket pocket, clutched my pepper spray and stun gun, and walked down the lonely street. Garbage and empty fast-food cartons crunched under my feet. I moved as fast as I could. I checked the address Lulu had e-mailed me and jogged up the steps to a rickety-looking building, the only one on the whole block that still had a door attached to it.

My knuckles cracked against the steel door, shattering the chilling silence. I fought the urge to duck for cover.

“What’s the word?” a low male voice asked from the other side.

“The word is Striker,” I replied.

Several locks clicked, and the door creaked open. A short, fat man glared at me. Suspicion darkened his eyes.

“You here for the show?” he asked. “You’re early.”

“You betcha. I brought popcorn and soda and everything. I always come early to get the best seat in the house.”

The man frowned, failing to see the humor in my joke. Most people did. He turned and walked deeper into the building. I followed him, keeping a tight grip on my stun gun. Graffiti scrawled across the walls, and worn-out mattresses covered the floor. The whole building reeked of greasy French fries, wet dogs, and human excrement. I wrinkled my nose.

We worked our way up a couple flights of rotted stairs to the top of the building. The man unlocked a metal door and held it open.

“This goes to the roof. Enjoy. I’ll be waiting downstairs to let you out when the show’s over.” He turned and disappeared back down the hall.

A wave of fear and doubt washed over me. What was I doing here in a strange building in a bad part of town in the middle of the night? I was going to get myself killed—or worse. Surely, there had to be an easier way, a safer way, to uncover Striker’s identity. Visions of my body covered in fur with eyes the size of golf balls danced through my head. I swallowed. I didn’t have time to be overly concerned with my safety. Besides, if I got killed, I would cheat Malefica out of the chance to turn me into a monster. There was a small glimmer of satisfaction in that thought.

I squared my shoulders, stepped through the door, and climbed another flight of stairs. I emerged on the roof and gulped in the cool night air, trying to get the building’s sickening stench out of my nose and mouth. The fresh air also helped settle my jangled nerves. A breeze ruffled my hair. The moon shone like a huge lantern in the night sky and bathed everything in a silvery glow. Stars twinkled like fireflies far above. There was plenty of light for the lens of my night-vision digital camera. Good.

I walked to the side of the roof that overlooked the street. Silence. Even the rats were quiet and still for once. I dug my camera out of my purse. It was no larger than a deck of cards, but could do all sorts of things, like take photos, record video, and even pick up sound three hundred feet away. Henry had given the gizmo a rare, five-star rating in his technology column. I switched it on and set the device on the three-foot-high wall that ringed the roof.

My tool of the trade ready, I sat on the ledge, leaned up against the side of a chimney that jutted up from the roof, and settled down to wait.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, a pair of headlights popped on at the far end of Good Intentions Lane. Midnight. Right on schedule. Another set of headlights lit up at the opposite end of the street, and the two cars flashed their lights several times in some sort of code. The vehicles crept toward each other.

I sat up and grabbed my camera.

The cars stopped, and several men of varying ages and ethnicities emerged. One group favored designer business suits and glossy wingtips, while the others opted for sweatshirts, pricey sneakers, and baggy pants. Drugs brought people together no matter what their socioeconomic backgrounds might be. How comforting.

Both parties hauled thick, metal briefcases out of their respective vehicles and put them on the hoods, which faced each other.

“You got the stuff?”

“If you’ve got the money.”

Voices floated up to me, and the briefcases snapped open. The case on the designer suit side brimmed over with the aforementioned money, while the other on the sweatshirt side contained large white packets of what I assumed was heroin, cocaine, or some other nasty, illegal substance. I snapped a few pictures with my super-duper night vision lens. Even if Striker didn’t show, Chief Newman would find the photos interesting.

The money and drugs exchanged hands. Once the deal was done and the briefcases safely stowed away, the men relaxed. They joked and talked and laughed about bitches, basketball, and various other topics.

I scanned the street and the surrounding alleys. Nothing. I bit back a growl of frustration. Striker wasn’t going to show. I had come down to Drugs R Us and put myself in danger for nothing, not to mention wasted precious hours I could have spent researching Striker and his cohorts. For once, Lulu’s information had been wrong.

I switched off the camera and glanced over the edge of the roof. Both groups drifted back to their respective vehicles. The party was breaking up. I turned to go.

Suddenly, I stopped. A feeling swept over me, and I knew, just knew, I shouldn’t leave yet. I listened to that inner feeling, that voice whispering in the back of my mind. It had never let me down before. I flipped my camera back on and resumed my position.

I squinted and peered into the shadows. A flash of silver caught my eye, then vanished. My heart sped up. Had it come from that alley over there? Or from behind the building over—

A sword sailed through the air, landing in the rear tire of one of the cars. It wobbled back and forth, and the tire hissed and flattened. As quickly as it had appeared, the sword flew out of the tire and back into the shadows. Moments later, the process repeated itself, this time on the other car.

Striker had arrived.

I fumbled for my camera. I set it to video mode and leaned over the roof, almost falling off in the process. A few loose bits of bricks slid off the edge and plummeted to the street below, but the gangbangers were too preoccupied to notice.

Shouts rose up from inside the vehicles. Doors popped open, and men poured out. This time, they sported guns instead of briefcases. Evidently, semiautomatic pistols and multiple clips fit perfectly into the pockets of designer suits these days.

But no more swords appeared. No superheroes swooped into sight, either. The men stood still. Their excited breath spurted out in huffs and puffs. They crouched beside their cars for several minutes in a silent Mexican standoff with someone they couldn’t see. The men stared into the shadows and waited for the next attack, while I watched from above, my camera capturing every slow, agonizing second.

After five minutes, the men began to grumble. They exchanged glares and shrugs and dropped their guns to their sides.

Suddenly, a black figure sprang from the shadows.

He landed between the two cars. The headlights spotlighted him, and I got my first good look at Striker in the flesh. My mouth went dry. He was tall with a lean figure and perfectly sculpted muscles in all the right places. Twin swords rose above his shoulders, held in place by some kind of scabbard built into his black leather suit. A black-and-gray mask covered his face, while the F5 insignia stretched across his chest. His black hair glistened like onyx under the bright headlights.

Striker lifted his head. I gasped at the sight of his eyes. They were gray, a shimmering, ethereal sort of gray that made me think of moonlight and the stars far above. But there was a fire in his eyes, a fire that could sear your very soul with its heat. I shivered.

Striker moved. His two swords flashed like lightning. He ran through the men like a lawnmower chugging through dry grass. Fists met flesh and bones cracked. Swords sliced through gun barrels as if they were made of paper. Bodies flew through the air, landing with dull thuds on the street.

In less than a minute, it was over. Striker stood alone. A dozen gang members littered the ground around him, taking their rightful place with the rest of the garbage. The men cried and moaned and whined in pain. Those who could crawled away. Those who couldn’t hugged their knees to their chests and hoped for mercy. Striker stood still amid the chaos.

I switched from video to camera mode. I shot picture after picture of the superhero. I couldn’t stop myself. Something about him was so impressive, so mesmerizing, so captivating. I couldn’t look away, and I didn’t want to. My camera clicked and whirred with each frame.

Striker cocked his head. I stopped. Surely, he couldn’t hear my camera over the whimpers of the men. Why, he’d have to have the most amazing hearing in the world to do that—

Striker’s head snapped up. He stared right at me with those searing, piercing, gray eyes. I froze. My heart slammed against my ribs. He frowned.

Uh-oh.

The superhero’s eyes narrowed to slits. Yet they glittered like diamonds in the dark night. My breath caught in my throat. He recognized me. How could he not? After all, I was the woman who’d driven his friend to commit suicide. Guilt tightened my chest.

I started to duck behind the wall, to hunker down and cower, to do something, anything to hide from Striker’s piercing eyes. But my inner voice chattered, and I stopped. Oh, what the hell. He’d find out I was tracking him sooner or later. Who knew, it might make my job easier in the end.

So I waved at him.

Chapter Seven

Striker was not amused. His gray eyes glowed with anger, and his gloved hands clenched into fists. He stepped over one of the weeping gang members and started toward the building. A vision of myself shish-kebabed on his swords flashed through my mind.

Striker stopped and cocked his head. A moment later, the thin wail of a siren sliced through the air, and flashing red lights appeared at the far end of Good Intentions Lane. Striker stared at the oncoming police cars, then up at me. Debating. He turned and melted back into the shadows like the ghost he was. A long, tense breath escaped my lips. I didn’t know what I would have done if he’d come up here and confronted me. Quivered with fear and begged for mercy, most likely. And probably ogled the sexy superhero. I shook my head. Why the hell would I be thinking about ogling—

The door to the roof banged open. I shrieked and fumbled for my stun gun. The short man stuck his head out.

“The cops are coming. Let’s go!”

I didn’t need encouragement. I shoved my camera into my purse. The man held the door open, then took the lead as I pounded down the stairs after him. He led me through the building and out a back door that opened up onto the opposite side of the building from Striker and the approaching cops. We cut through a dilapidated parking lot. Weeds and crushed beer cans crackled under our feet.

“This way! This way!” he hissed. “The subway’s only three blocks ahead.”

He might have been short and fat, but the man ran as if a whole gang of ubervillains was after him. Maybe they were.

I struggled to keep up. My purse slapped against my thigh like a lead weight. My lungs burned. My heart pounded. A stitch embedded itself in my side.

Just when I thought I couldn’t run another step, the man slowed. A cracked subway sign flickered up ahead, and a set of graffiti-covered stairs led underground.

“I’m going first. Wait here a minute, then come down. You never saw me. I never saw you,” the man said. “Forget what I look like. I’ll do the same.”

I nodded, more concerned with gulping air than responding. The man slid down the stairs. I put my hands on my hips and concentrated on breathing. When I felt like my lungs weren’t going to explode, I shouldered my heavy purse and plodded down the grimy stairs to the subway platform.

It was close to one o’clock in the morning now. A couple of homeless guys slept over a steam vent, while a bored transit cop read a comic book inside his bulletproof booth. My erstwhile guide had vanished like a puff of smoke blown away by the wind. I clutched my stun gun and tried not to look nervous.

A train rumbled into the station a minute later. I paid for a token and sank onto a hard, plastic seat. I was the only passenger. The doors hissed shut, and the train slid away from the platform. I let out a breath. Safe. For now.

On the ride home, I thought about Striker. He’d recognized me. The question was, what would he do now?

I chewed my lip. Striker would go back to the Fearless Five’s supersecret headquarters and tell them Carmen Cole was up to her old tricks again. Given Tornado’s suicide and my involvement in it, they’d try to figure out what I was up to, if I was trying to expose the rest of them.

They’d start investigating me, just like I was investigating them.

And they’d have a much easier time of it. If Hermit was the technological wizard he or she was rumored to be, the superhero had hacked into every part of my life by now. Hermit most likely had my bank records, credit history, library card number, grade school report cards, everything. He was probably reading the story about my doomed wedding and superhero ex-fiancé at this very moment. Other than the usual little prick of pain, the thought didn’t bother me. I had nothing to hide. My humiliation was public record, and I was the one who had made it that way.

My thoughts turned back to Striker. The image of him spotlighted between the two cars flashed through my head. His pictures didn’t do the man justice. I’d seen plenty of superheroes before. Hell, I’d even slept with one. But something about Striker captured my imagination like no one else ever had. Those piercing eyes, those perfect, chiseled lips, that hard, sculpted body that just begged to be touched. And kissed. And caressed. And covered with whipped cream.

Striker had looked good. Very, very good. Mouthwatering good. Toe-curling good. On a scale of one to ten, Striker was definitely a thirteen and a half. I wondered if he looked as fantastic out of that costume as he did in it. Somehow, I knew he did. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t been wearing a sculpted codpiece so many of the macho, male superheroes favored. Heat flooded my body. I shifted on the hard seat and fanned myself with my hand.

I shook my head. Why was I thinking about how well Striker filled out his leather costume? So what if he had the perfect body with lots of muscles in all the right places? Most superheroes did. It was practically a job requirement. Superheroes couldn’t afford to let themselves go. Their adoring publics wouldn’t let them. Nobody wanted to see overweight, out-of-shape superheroes. It just wasn’t done. Fiera’s pinup calendar was proof of that.

It had to be hormones. I hadn’t had a decent date, much less sex, in forever. I’d gone without, and my hormones had kicked into overdrive at the sight of a sexy superhero. That’s why I was lusting after Striker. That’s why I was imagining the feel of his lips on mine. That’s why I was fantasizing about peeling that leather suit off his body to see if he was as rock-solid as he looked.

That pair of searing gray eyes filled my memory. They had burned into mine, as if they could see into the very depths of my soul. A shiver swept up my spine.

Hormones or not, it would be a very, very long time before I forgot about those amazing eyes.

* * *

The next morning, I flipped through The Exposé. The drug-bust story covered the front page, along with police photos of the dealers in various states of pain and agony. I scanned the story, written by one of the newspaper’s many crime reporters. The police had confiscated more than a hundred pounds of heroin. Chief Newman said the arrests resulted from an anonymous tip. He didn’t confirm or deny that Striker and the Fearless Five had been involved. Perhaps he didn’t know. The police always seemed to be the last to know anything in Bigtime.

I threw down the paper and paced around my apartment. Every time I made a lap, I stopped and stared out the living room windows into the street below. People bustled down the sidewalk, coffee and cell phones in hand. Cars jockeyed for room while horns blared out their harsh notes. Vendors hawked everything from magazines to giant pretzels to knock-off watches in loud, obnoxious voices. Another typical day in Bigtime. My eyes scanned the crush of people, peering into the alleys, squinting into every nook and cranny. Looking for someone. Looking for him.

Looking for Striker.

I knew he would seek me out. By now, the Fearless Five had figured out I was investigating them, trying to uncover their identities again. They wouldn’t be pleased by the realization. I’d half expected Striker to be waiting in my apartment when I got home last night, hiding in the dark shadows, ready to spring out and order me to cease and desist with my investigations, as any good superhero would. But everything had been as I’d left it, and there were no nasty surprises waiting inside.

No strange phone calls, no sudden knocks on the door, no windows breaking in the middle of the night. Nothing. Striker hadn’t shown himself. Still, I knew he was coming, that he would be here soon. To my surprise, I was eager to see him again, although I couldn’t quite figure out why. My eyes scanned the crush of people again, looking, searching, seeking.

There he was!

My heart stopped. A figure clad in black crouched on top of a city bus rumbling down the street toward my apartment building. That lithe form. That hard body. That elaborate snakelike headdress—

Wait a minute. The bus stopped in the street below, and I got a good look at the figure riding on top of it. The costume was black, but the figure squeezed inside it was definitely female. I sighed. It was Black Samba, another of the city’s resident superheroes. Along with some weird voodoo powers, snakes were her thing, and they wrapped around her arms like multicolored bangle bracelets. She also liked to dance, hence her name.

The bus pulled back into traffic. I turned away from the windows and sighed. Malefica’s deadline drew closer with every passing second. I didn’t have time to waste worrying when Striker would appear on my doorstep. Not if I didn’t want to end up looking like a radioactive snow bunny.

There were no society events scheduled for the evening, so I returned to the Bigtime Public Library. This time, I gathered information on the Terrible Triad. Every newspaper column, every glossy magazine spread, every journal article written about the ubervillains. I downloaded them all to a flash drive, stuffed the paper copies in a trash bag, and headed home.

It was late when I unlocked the door to my apartment and stepped over the threshold. I flipped on the lights, threw my keys down on a nearby table, and walked over to the alarm system. I punched in the code. I shivered and glanced at the thermostat. Sixty-five degrees. I frowned. The thermostat was set at seventy-two. It should be a lot warmer than that in here—

My fingers stilled for a second. Then, I leaned forward and fiddled with the thermostat, pretending to punch in an elaborate command. My eyes scanned what I could see of the living room. One of the windows was open. A cool breeze invaded the room and fluttered the white curtains.

There was only one problem. I hadn’t left the window open. I never did, not since a kid had climbed up the fire escape, slipped inside, and hidden two pounds of rotten fish under the sofa. Someone had broken into my apartment. Another, more disturbing thought popped into my frantic, confused brain.

He might still be in here.

For a moment, I wanted to scream and bolt through the door. Instead of running, I reached out into the hallway and picked up my garbage bag filled with papers. I knew who had come calling while I wasn’t home. I was just surprised it had taken him this long.

I lugged the bag to the coffee table and plopped it down. The table creaked under the weight.

“Whew!” I said for the benefit of whoever might be listening and wiped a bit of imaginary sweat from my forehead. “That one was even heavier than the last batch. Time to take a shower.”

I walked down the hall as if everything was perfectly normal, even though my heart pounded and blood roared in my ears. I went into the bathroom and closed the door not quite all the way. I stood at the crack, listening. Nothing. Was complete silence one of his superpowers? For once, my memory failed me. My jumbled brain couldn’t recall.

I turned on the water in the sink. The steady hiss drowned the rapid beating of my heart. I reached under the toilet and yanked off a piece of duct tape. A gun fell into my sweaty hand, along with an extra clip of ammo. It comforted me. I was pretty sure who my intruder was and that he wouldn’t hurt me, but it was better to be safe than sorry. I racked back the slide and stuck the clip in my waistband. My hands trembled.

I took a deep breath to steady myself. Then, I tiptoed to the door and squeezed through the opening. I padded down the hall, as silent as any mouse. I stood in the pool of darkness that separated the hall from the living room and kitchen. I held the gun up, waiting, watching, listening.

Come out, come out, wherever you are…

A long, tall shadow detached itself from the refrigerator and headed for the open window. I raised the gun and aimed at the shadow’s back. I pulled the trigger.

I wasn’t fast enough. The shadow whirled around, sensing my presence. A dart hit the wall behind where he’d been standing a moment ago. So I fired again.

And again.

And again.

And again.

He kept moving. Dart after dart followed him through the kitchen. Glasses shattered and dishes broke as the tiny missiles hit them. Damn, he was fast, even for a superhero. A hollow click rang out, followed by another, then another. Out of ammo.

“Oh, bloody hell.”

I popped out the clip and jammed in the fresh one. Slow, slow, slow! I was moving too slow, like I was underwater. I expected a body to slam into me at any second. Or a gloved hand to yank the gun from my shaky, sweaty grasp. But nothing happened.

I snapped up the gun. The shadow stilled. We stood there in a silent standoff. Then slowly, oh so slowly, he eased forward into the light that spilled in through the window.

Striker.

He looked just the same as he had last night. Black suit. Black mask. Black hair. Silver swords. Gray eyes. But the effect was far more devastating up close and personal. A dark, dangerous air buzzed around him like an electric current. He stood still, sizing up the situation. Striker was a predator. I was just his chosen prey for the evening.

I licked my lips. Hot, nervous sweat trickled down the back of my neck, plastering my hair to my skin. My hands shook. The gun bobbed up and down. I steadied my grip.

Striker pried a dart out of the kitchen wall and held it up by the feathered end. His movements were lithe and fluid and controlled like those of a jungle cat. He seemed unconcerned with me and my gun.

“Tranquilizers.” I answered his silent question. “With enough juice in them to knock out an elephant. Striker, I presume?”

He nodded.

“I assume you know who I am.”

He nodded again.

We stood there in silence. I kept my gun leveled at him. Striker leaned back against the kitchen counter as if he owned the place. His gray eyes slid over my body in a frank, assessing manner that made me tremble from head to toe. I felt like a fattened calf on the auction block being inspected by would-be buyers. I wondered if Striker liked what he saw. The thought startled me. I looked down at my faded, ripped jeans, battered sneakers, and T-shirt that read 0 to Bitch in 7.7 seconds or your money back. Probably not. Ugh.

“How did you know I was in here?” His voice was deep, rough, and rich, with an edge of cool sophistication. The sort of voice that made women melt. Including me.

“It was cold.” I, on the other hand, squeaked like a mouse caught in a trap. “You forgot to shut the window.”

“I see.”

More silence.

“So, what do you want?”

Striker blinked. “Excuse me?”

“What do you want? I assume there was a reason you broke into my apartment. Or is it something you do for kicks?”

“You want me to tell you the reason I’m here?”

“Yes,” I said. “Aren’t superheroes supposed to be honest, forthright, and have outstanding morals? Isn’t that part of the job description, along with helping little old ladies cross the street?”

Striker hesitated, as if he didn’t know what to say. “Shut up,” he growled.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you.” He pointed to his ear. “One of my colleagues is listening in on our conversation. He’s laughing at your last statement. Evidently, he doesn’t think I’m very forthright.”

“Oh.” I wondered which one of the Fearless Five was tuning in to our chat. Probably Hermit, given the fact that Striker had some sort of listening gizmo in his ear.

The silence gathered around us once more. Striker stared at me with his piercing gray eyes. The dark current snapped and hummed around him like a live wire. The man oozed danger and sensuality. Every part of my body tingled and tightened in response, and in anticipation of something I couldn’t quite identify.

I dropped my eyes from his face. My gaze landed on his fantastic chest and slid down his rippling stomach to his… I snapped my head back up. My cheeks flamed.

“Look, I’ve had a really long day, and I’m tired. I would like nothing more than to take a shower and go to bed, plus my arm is starting to cramp from holding this gun. So, why don’t you just tell me what you want? Who knows? I just might give it to you. You can be on your merry way, and I can get some sleep.”

“Why don’t you put the gun down first, and then we’ll talk.”

I chewed my lip. “Might as well. I imagine you could take it away from me before I could blink if you wanted to.”

Suddenly, Striker moved. He sprang at me like a panther leaping upon a plump little bird. I blinked once before he pulled the gun out of my hand. I didn’t even feel him do it. For a moment, he stood there in front of me, so close that his breath kissed my face, so close that I could see the flecks of electric blue in his hypnotic eyes. My heart slammed against my rib cage.

“I did just take your gun away. Quite easily. But hold on to it if it makes you feel better.”

He stepped back and tossed the weapon to me. Somehow, I managed to catch it.

“Well, there’s no reason to get all cocky about it,” I muttered, trying to hide my intense reaction to him.

I stumbled forward on shaky feet and put the gun on the coffee table. I sank down into the groove on the sofa, kicked off my sneakers, and propped my feet up on the trash bag. I tried to look tougher, stronger, and calmer than I felt.

Striker leaned against the entertainment center. “What’s in the bag?”

“Papers.”

“What sort of papers?”

My eyes flicked over the table. “The sort of papers you’ve been going through, judging by the mess you’ve made. You could have just copied all of them off my computer. I have digital versions too.”

“More papers on me?” A hard edge crept into his voice. It cut me like a razor.

“Not exactly.”

“Then what sort of papers, exactly?”

“Papers on the Terrible Triad. Malefica, Frost, Scorpion, their various escapades.”

Striker cocked his head to one side, listening to whatever his comrade said. “My friend says you’re telling the truth. That all you’ve been doing all night is downloading articles and making copies at the library. Why are you gathering information on the Triad? Given our…previous meeting, I thought I was the one you were after.”

“Not exactly.”

Striker jerked his head at the table. “Those papers tell me otherwise. You’ve gathered quite a bit of information on me, and I saw you on top of that roof last night. I assume you weren’t there to buy drugs. Are you trying to uncover my identity? Planning to expose me to the world?”

I hesitated. “Not exactly.”

“Then what are you doing, exactly?”

“I don’t have to tell you that.”

Striker’s hands curled into fists. His gray eyes bored into mine. They glowed with barely suppressed anger.

I shivered under the intense scrutiny. I didn’t think Striker would hurt me. The superhero code of ethics wouldn’t allow him to. Then again, I hadn’t thought Tornado would commit suicide either. Or that Matt would cheat on me. I wasn’t the best judge of character when it came to superheroes.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” I mumbled.

“Try me.”

I weighed the pros and cons. Oh, what the hell? I’d probably never get another opportunity to talk face-to-face with Striker. I might as well lay my puzzle pieces on the table.

I rolled up my T-shirt. Two bruises colored my arms in angry purple and garish green. “Your good friend Malefica paid me a visit a few nights ago. Or rather, she made me pay her one. Two goons kidnapped me and drugged me. When I woke up, I was in some kind of factory. Malefica was there with Frost and Scorpion.”

Striker’s eyes bored into me like hot laser beams. My temperature shot up about ten degrees. “I’m listening.”

“Frost had some animals that he’d done experiments on. They were...they were...” I took a deep breath to steady my shaky nerves. The memory of those poor creatures made me sick. I could still feel their pain and horror. “He had changed them, into monsters. Malefica told me that unless I discovered your identity in a month’s time and gave it to her, she would turn me over to Frost and let him do the same thing to me.”

“I see.”

Silence.

“But I have a plan,” I continued.

“A plan?”

“Yes. I’ve been gathering information on you in hopes of uncovering your true identity.”

“And what happens if you do? How does that help you, other than keep you out of Frost’s grasp? Or perhaps get you back in the good graces of the editors at The Exposé?” Striker’s voice could have frozen boiling lava.

“Simple.” I picked up a wayward Rubik’s Cube and fiddled with it. “I use you to lead me to Malefica. I uncover her real identity and give it to you. You and the rest of the Fearless Five go after her, while I slip off into the sunset. You apprehend your greatest enemy, I don’t get turned into a yeti, and we all go home happy, except for Malefica and her boys, who will hopefully get twenty-to-life in a secure facility for insane ubervillains.”

“I see. Why not just concentrate on Malefica? Why drag me into it?” His voice was quiet and calm, but I could hear the anger in it. Striker didn’t approve of my master plan.

“Because I need you to lead me to Malefica. That’s how it works. The superheroes always lead me to the ubervillains, not the other way around.” I slid a row of colors into place. My hands trembled, and I hoped Striker didn’t notice how much he affected me.

“What makes you think I have anything to do with Malefica?”

I looked up at him. “Karma.”

“Karma?”

“Karma.” I got up off the sofa and paced around. I couldn’t sit still. Not when he stared at me like that. “Good and evil always balance each other out. Superheroes and ubervillains are always connected in some way. They’re like magnets, always attracting and repelling each other. It’s fascinating. Malefica is somewhere in your life. She might be a friend, a girlfriend, a business partner, maybe even your wife. You just don’t know it or refuse to see it.”

Striker paused. His eyes turned inward, mentally sorting through every person in his life, trying to figure out who might fit the mold.

“Come up with any suspects? Anybody sneak off in the middle of an important business meeting? Any girlfriends fail to show up for dates? Any so-called friends have odd, unexplainable injuries?”

“No,” he growled.

“Too bad.”

I finished my Rubik’s Cube and put it on the bookshelf.

“So, I’ve told you my plans. How about taking off that mask?” I asked in a bright, cheery voice to hide my nervousness. “I’m sure you’d be much more comfortable without it. I’ve always wondered how you people breathe through those things. They look terribly thick. And I really don’t see how you move around in those leather suits either. Or is yours some sort of special spandex?”

Striker crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a cold look that would have made Frost icy with envy.

I shrugged. “It never hurts to ask. And it would make my job a lot easier.”

He didn’t respond.

“Look, I don’t want to expose you. I’m not going to reveal your identity to anyone. I promise. I’m through with that. For good.”

Striker’s eyes slammed into mine. “Why should I believe you?”

“Because of what happened to Tornado.”

The words just popped out. A muscle in Striker’s clenched jaw twitched. His eyes grew dark and stormy as a thundercloud. I shrank back against the bookcase. I didn’t need my inner voice to tell me I’d just stepped way over the line.

Still, there was something I had wanted to say for a long time, something I needed to say, whether he believed me or not. I turned my back to the superhero, unable to meet his damning, angry gaze. “I’m sorry. I truly, truly am. I never meant for that to happen. If I’d had any idea Tornado would react that way, I never would have written the story. I hope you can accept my apology and sympathy for your loss.”

The silence deafened me. I turned. The apartment was empty.

Striker had left the building.

Chapter Eight

I stared at the swirls in the ceiling above the bed. Noon sunlight peeked through the closed curtains and warmed my bedroom. I should have been up hours ago, hard at work on my superhero jigsaw puzzle. Instead, I lay in bed, replaying the events of the past night over and over again in my head.

I couldn’t get Striker out of my mind.

I had been face-to-face with one of the most powerful, revered superheroes in the world. Striker munched on burglars at breakfast, snacked on evildoers over lunch, and ate ubervillains for dinner. Oh, the irony. A few months ago, the encounter would have been a dream come true, a chance to confront one of the mysterious, masked crusaders up close and personal. Now, the whole affair left a sour, bitter taste in my mouth.

Superheroes and ubervillains had always been abstract thoughts to me, puzzles to be solved. I’d never considered them to be people too, with thoughts and feelings and emotions. I had been too angry and hurt and self-righteous to do that. Matt and Karen had ignored my feelings, so I’d steamrolled over everyone else’s.

Seeing Striker made that impossible. The hurt in his piercing gray eyes when I mentioned Tornado had hit me like a sledgehammer. His pain, his anguish at the loss of his friend. You could almost drown in the intensity of it. The feeling increased my own guilt tenfold.

And yet, despite his anger, there was something about Striker that had made me want to go to him, to brush his black hair off his face, and tell him everything was going to be okay. I wanted to comfort him in some small way. Yearned to. The depth of the feeling surprised me, shook me to the core. But acting on this strange feeling, of course, had been—and would always be—out of the question.

I sighed. Tornado was gone. There was nothing I could do about that, other than struggle to live with my own guilt and shame.

I could, however, do something to help Striker and the rest of the Fearless Five. I threw back the covers.

Time to go to work.

* * *

I padded into the living room and ripped open the trash bag on the coffee table. For the next few hours, I sorted through and organized all the information on the Terrible Triad, as well as the papers Striker had disturbed during his nocturnal visit. Every so often, I stopped and glanced at the windows. Striker’s presence lingered in my apartment, an invisible ghost haunting me. Where was he? What he was doing? Would he ever come through my window again?

After mooning for the better part of five minutes, I focused my attention on the task at hand. As far as the Terrible Triad was concerned, there wasn’t much to go on. Little had been written about the group except for the usual articles about how evil they were, their epic battles with the Fearless Five, and so on and so forth. Those same professors with way too much time on their hands had written another set of journal articles about the ubervillains’ costumes and what the colors said about each one’s inner child.

Frost had penned several papers in some less-than-reputable scientific journals about his various experiments involving animals. I skimmed through one of the stories. Most of the information dealt with radioactive isotopes, the effects different chemical compounds and doses produced, and other things far beyond my understanding. I flipped to the next page, which contained before-and-after pictures of Frost’s handiwork. More mutated animals. I gagged and threw the story aside.

The intellectual media paid little attention to Scorpion, but he regularly appeared in a variety of mainstream wrestling and other sporting magazines. Most of the stories dealt with his tendency to crash professional wrestling and other strongman fights. Scorpion had a habit of leaping into the ring and taking on all the competitors at the same time. He always won, leaving a trail of broken bones and mangled bodies in his wake.

I moved on to Malefica. The ubervillain never wrote anything herself, and she never did anything to get herself mentioned in the media, other than try to take over the city every few weeks. She was a ghost, like Striker.

However, one fashion magazine had devoted an entire spread to Malefica’s sense of style. Evidently, the editors found her blood-red leather ensemble to be terribly sophisticated and the height of haute couture among the superhero-ubervillain set. The photos showed how Malefica’s ensemble had changed. Ten years ago, diamonds, rubies, and gold thread had adorned her costume, which the editors thought was rather cartoonish and over the top. Since then, Malefica had developed a classier, more understated style with her sleek, jewel-free catsuit, cape, and thigh-high boots. I wondered what the fashion editors would think of the Bulluci sandals she sported now. They would probably approve.

By the time I’d reviewed the material, I had a headache the size of Texas. I squinted at the small print just to get the words to focus. I rubbed my aching temples. Either I was concussed from all the falls I’d taken or my eyesight was going the way everything did as you aged—south. Great, something else to worry about. Going blind at the ripe old age of twenty-eight. On the bright side, if my vision worsened, I wouldn’t be able to see myself when Frost turned me into the Abominable Snowwoman.

The thought didn’t cheer me up.

* * *

After reviewing papers for a couple of hours and getting nowhere, I took a break to go do another necessary evil.

Shopping.

I needed to replace the little black dress and shoes that Frost and his two goons had ruined the night they’d kidnapped me. I’d put it off as long as I could. Shopping wasn’t my favorite activity. Not even close. Perhaps I’d enjoy it more if I actually had some money to spend on all the pretties I saw. Most journalists get rather pitiful salaries, and I’d decided long ago I’d rather eat on a regular basis than wear the latest designs by the likes of Fiona Fine and Bella Bulluci.

I slapped on some makeup, combed out my tangled hair, and headed to Oodles o’ Stuff, the biggest department store in all of Bigtime. You could find anything you wanted in the massive building from shoes to clothes to makeup to consumer electronics. I headed for the subbasements, where the sale items were kept.

On the way down the escalator, I spotted not one, not two, but three superheroes. Gentleman George tried on some silk ties and ascots on level three, the Toastmaster showed off his new line of kitchen gizmos on level two, and reformed ubervillain Shrieker signed copies of her tell-all memoir on level one.

Superheroes loved Oodles. The store gave them discounts on everything, and in return, the superheroes tried to keep their building-leveling battles away from the historic structure. Also, it didn’t hurt to have the heroes mingle with the other customers. Not to mention that it made the muggers and shoplifters think twice.

I reached the second subbasement and shoved my way through the maddening crowd. Regular folks also loved Oodles, especially the subbasements, which had the best bargains around. It was the only place where you could get a slightly imperfect Fiona Fine original for under a hundred bucks. If, of course, you wanted to look like an abstract painting. With sequins.

I grabbed the first black dress that fit and was seventy-five percent off, picked up some high heels that weren’t too monstrous, and got the heck outta Dodge. With my shopping complete for the next two months, I went home to change.

That night, I suffered through another boring society soiree, the annual fundraiser for the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra, held at the spacious and lavish Bigtime Convention Center and Orchestra Hall. Naturally, the fundraising committee had chosen a musical theme for the event. Plastic music notes, paper pianos, and cardboard violins dangled from the ceiling while members of the orchestra played classics by the likes of Mozart and Bach.

All of the usual suspects attended. Sam Sloane and his supermodel of the week. Fiona Fine wearing her latest feather-covered creation. Even Morgana Madison came out for the event.

I tapped my finger against my champagne glass. This was supposed to have been my night off, but Sandra had called in sick. Instead of working on uncovering Striker’s identity, I’d been called in to cover another bit of society fluff. I’d done my interviews and taken notes in record time. All I needed was a quote from the orchestra’s conductor, and I could go write my story. I wandered through the orchestra pit, where the bar had been set up, waiting for the conductor to finish schmoozing with his rich patrons before I pounced on him.

“I didn’t realize they let just anyone into these things,” Fiona sniffed. The tall blond elbowed me out of the way and ordered a double gin-and-tonic.

“Hello, Miss Fine,” I said in a sweet, sugary tone that would rot teeth. “It’s good to see you again too. Tell me, did you make your dress yourself, or did it come out of a paint-by-numbers catalog?”

Fiona’s pink lips pressed together. Too bad her face didn’t crack from the strain. I glared at the haughty fashion designer, daring her to make a scene. I wasn’t afraid of these people, and I wouldn’t be cowed by them. Not anymore. I didn’t even care if I kept my lousy job on the society beat. Let the editors at The Exposé fire me for offending Fiona Fine. The threat of being dumped into a vat of radioactive goo made my other trials and tribulations pale in comparison.

“Carmen, what a pleasant surprise,” Chief Newman’s deep brogue cut in.

Fiona gave the police chief a heated look, grabbed her drink, and flounced away. The chief appeared at my elbow. He had traded in his usual subdued suit and tie for a brand-new tuxedo. He looked quite distinguished, and many of the wealthy widows eyed him like hungry vultures flying over a piece of fresh meat.

“Hello, Chief. Good to see you.”

Newman lowered his voice. “Listen, I know it’s a lousy time to talk business, but I want you to come down to the station tomorrow and take a look at a couple of bodies we found out by the marina.”

“Bodies? Why?”

“They might be your two kidnappers. They match your description.”

“How did they die?” I asked.

“They froze to death in one of the big fish freezers down by the docks.”

For a moment, my vision fuzzed over. I shook my head, and the world returned to normal. Still, I couldn’t stop the chill slithering up my spine.

“They probably got drunk and wandered into the freezer by accident. We found several beer cans at the scene. The coroner says their blood alcohol levels were off the charts.”

I knew better. Frost’s icy handprints covered this one. My inner voice chattered. He’d murdered his two henchmen. The question was, why? Had they stepped out of line? Or were Frost and the rest of the Triad trying to send me a message?

“Are you ready for me, Miss Cole?” The conductor, a thin man with a receding hairline, interrupted our conversation.

I felt stiff, frozen inside. Every movement was an effort. “Sure thing, Mr. Muzicale. I’ll see you tomorrow, Chief.”

“Just come by when you get a chance. I’ll be in all day.”

The chief strolled away. Matronly, marriage-minded society types trailed after him like sharks drawn to blood in the water. I focused my attention on the balding conductor and plastered a big, fake smile on my face.

“Tell me, Mr. Muzicale. What does the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra have on tap for patrons this season?”

* * *

Two hours later, I put the finishing touches on my story and sent it to the society editor. After getting the usual response, I walked over to Henry’s desk. He wore his usual shirt, sweater vest, khakis, and bow tie. Henry had skipped right over his youth. He wasn’t even thirty yet, but he already dressed like an old man.

His nose hovered next to the flickering computer monitor. His fingers danced over the keyboard in a rapid, staccato rhythm.

“Henry? Henry?”

No response. I put a hand on his shoulder. A static shock sparked and cracked between us.

“Yikes!” Henry jumped a foot out of his chair. “You scared me!”

“Sorry for the interruption.” I shook my tingling hand. “I was wondering if you had compiled that list for me.”

Henry blinked. “Sure. I’ve got it here somewhere. Let me check.”

He dug through a tall stack of papers. Minutes ticked by. I frowned. Even though his desk was Chaos Central, Henry could usually find a pin in less than a second. What was up with him?

Ten minutes later, Henry yanked a thick binder out from under a pile of half-empty, takeout Chinese cartons on the back of his desk. I wrinkled my nose. The paper containers reeked of two-week-old General’s Chicken.

“Here you go. All the info on the fifty wealthiest citizens of Bigtime. The binder has copies of all the information, so you can mark up the pages any way you like. I’ll e-mail you the digital files in a few minutes.”

“Thanks, Henry.” I stuffed the binder into my purse. “By the way, did someone named Lulu call you?”

Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes, yes, she did.”

“And what did you think of her?”

“She seemed like a very nice woman.”

I arched an eyebrow. “A nice woman? A nice woman you might take to dinner if you could tear yourself away from your computer long enough?”

Henry fiddled with his glasses again. “Um, well, you see…”

“Never mind, Henry. I’ll let you two work it out. I just wanted to make sure she’d called you and got the ball rolling.”

Henry and Lulu had made contact. My inner voice whispered with satisfaction. The rest would take care of itself. Who knew? Maybe Lulu could introduce Henry to Bella Bulluci’s men’s collection and get rid of those horrid polka-dot bow ties. Or at least get him to stop wearing stripes with them.

I told Henry good night and made my way through the gauntlet to the elevator. I rode to the ground floor, brushed past the doorman, and headed out onto the sidewalk.

“Hey, baby. Where you off to? Why don’t you come over here and sit on Daddy’s lap?” my familiar harasser cooed from his stoop.

“Get a life, loser,” I snapped and kept walking.

After two blocks, I stopped. A faint scuffle sounded behind me. I turned, but there was no one on the deserted street. I didn’t even see any headlights coming in my direction. No people, no cars, nothing. A shiver slid up my spine. I eased a hand down into my purse and grabbed my pepper spray. I continued on, quickening my strides.

The uneasy feeling continued for several more blocks. My inner voice murmured, and I knew who was, well, stalking me.

“Oh come out,” I snapped. “I really hate playing hide-and-seek, especially with superheroes. You’re all so much better at it than I am. It’s so not fair.”

I scanned the long, dark shadows. I squinted hard but saw nothing unusual, just walls and parked cars and expired meters. “Well, are you going to show yourself or not?”

A couple of college-age kids with backpacks slung over their shoulders plodded down the steps of the Bigtime Public Library. They must have heard the tail end of my conversation with my invisible friend, because they gave me a wide berth, giggling as they passed. They probably thought I was some drugged-out hooker talking to myself. They disappeared around the corner. More laughter floated on the air.

I tapped my shoe on the pavement. It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play games tonight. “Hello? Is anyone out there? Striker?”

He didn’t appear. After a long, tense moment, I let out a breath. If Striker wanted to follow me home, so be it. I couldn’t stop him. If he was even out there to start with. Maybe I was just imagining things due to my odd, intense desire to see the sexy superhero again.

I turned around to continue my trek home. Striker stood in front of me.

I shrieked and stumbled back. My heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. My arms windmilled. My body tilted backward. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, painful impact.

It never came. I opened my eyes. Striker had caught me. The superhero loomed over me. His arms supported my back, and he held me like we were ballroom dancers frozen in an elegant dip. His hot breath brushed against my cheek as soft as a butterfly’s kiss on my feverish skin. He smelled of musk and the cool night, and his leather costume felt smooth and supple under my grasping fingers. Striker’s firm, hard thigh lodged between my legs. He shifted his weight, rubbing my thighs ever so slightly. My breasts tightened at the sensual contact, and a warm sensation flooded my veins. I couldn’t breathe. Striker’s eyes widened. Hot, electric-blue sparks flared to life in their silvery depths. A current snapped and hummed between us. For a mad, mad moment, I thought Striker might lean in and kiss me, capture my lips with his. I parted my own. I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to. Every molecule of my overheated body screamed at him to do it.

Striker pulled me upright. His hands slid down my back, scorching my skin through my jacket and the thin silk of my dress. He held on to me a moment longer than necessary, then dropped his hands. My head felt light and airy as a cloud. I didn’t know if I was dizzy from the abrupt change in elevation or from the feel of Striker’s strong arms around me. Maybe both.

“Don’t do that,” I snapped, trying to hide my hormonal flare-up. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?”

Striker shrugged. “Sorry. You said to come out. I was just waiting for the kids to go by. How did you know I was following you?”

“It was quiet. Too quiet,” I said in a deep, serious voice.

Striker folded his arms over his chest.

“It was a dark and stormy night?” I tried again.

He looked up. The moon glittered like a giant opal in the sky.

“I just knew, okay?”

Curiosity filled Striker’s eyes, but I didn’t feel like explaining myself. He had his secrets, I would keep mine. Including the fact that I was desperately, dangerously attracted to him.

“So are you going to walk me home or what?” I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. “It’s rather cold. I’d really hate to get frostbite and rob Malefica and Frost of their chance to turn me into a monster.”

Striker gestured at the deserted street. I began to walk, and the superhero fell in step beside me, sliding from shadow to shadow like the creature of the night he was. A block went by, then another, then another. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, given the way our last conversation had gone. It hadn’t been a smashing success.

“So, how was your day?” I asked.

“Excuse me?”

“How was your day? Bust any more drug-runners? Apprehend any thieves? Have any building-leveling fights with ubervillains?”

“Why do you ask?” Suspicion colored Striker’s deep voice.

I closed my eyes a moment, letting his rich tone wash over me. Even his voice was sexy. “I’m just making conversation. That’s what people do, you know. There’s no ulterior motive. I promise.”

“Well, I got up this morning, went to work—” He stopped.

“Went to work and what?”

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Well, what did you do after work?”

“I can’t tell you that either.”

“Well, what did you have for lunch?” I snapped. “Surely that’s not top-secret superhero information.”

“Steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad,” Striker replied. “And a piece of chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”

I gave up on conversation after that. I was too jealous of the cheesecake to continue.

We strolled along. I glanced at Striker out of the corner of my eye. His silvery eyes glowed like a cat’s in the twilight, and his hair glistened under the fluorescent streetlights. My gaze traced his lean, muscled form. His black leather suit clung to his body like a second skin. The man certainly filled it out well. My eyes dipped lower. In all sorts of places. My cheeks flushed. Despite the chill in the air, I felt very warm.

Focus, Carmen, focus. I pulled my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Striker knew what I was up to. So why had he sought me out? He should have been busy burying all traces of his real identity from my prying eyes. Instead, he walked me home as if we were a couple of teenagers on a date. Maybe he’d mistaken me for a little old lady who needed help crossing the street. I bit back a laugh. Not likely.

Several minutes later, we arrived at my apartment building, and I still hadn’t come up with any answers to my burning questions. Or a way to cool this sudden sexual fire inside me.

“Well, here we are,” I said. “Home, sweet home. Thanks for the company.”

“You know, you really shouldn’t walk on the streets at night by yourself,” Striker said. “It’s not very safe, especially now that Malefica has targeted you.”

“Yeah, well. It’s cheaper than taking a cab all the time. Some of us have to live within our means.”

“Why do you say that?”

I eyed Striker’s supple leather suit and the two swords peeking up over his shoulder. “Your getup there probably costs more than everything I own put together. It’s obvious you’re not a poor man, Striker. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re just another bored billionaire who does this for kicks in his spare time. Right? Tell me, are you hooked on the adrenaline rush or just a slave to the noble idea of making the world a better place?”

Striker’s eyes darkened to a stormy gray. He didn’t reply. Ah, so I’d hit the nail on the head. Perhaps Henry’s list would be more useful than I thought.

I fished my keys out of my battered purse. “Did you want something else? It’s been a long day, and I’d like to go inside and get some sleep.”

“The reason I followed you tonight was to offer you protection,” Striker muttered.

My mouth dropped open. “Protection?”

“Yes. We can protect you from Malefica and the rest of the Triad until we figure a way out of this mess.”

All I could do was just stare at him. Then, reality kicked in. “How could you protect me? Put me up in a safe house somewhere with round-the-clock guards?” I shook my head. “Sorry, I’ve read that story before. Everything would be fine for a while. But one day, your guard would be down, and Malefica would come for me. Besides, I can’t go into hiding and keep my job. Like I said before, I’m not independently wealthy. Protection isn’t really an option for me.”

Still, the offer touched me. Despite everything I’d done to them, the Fearless Five was still willing to help me. Perhaps there was a reason they called them superheroes after all. I stared down at the sidewalk. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. And I want to thank you for it. I know it must have been a difficult decision, given my history with Tornado.”

Silence greeted me. I looked up. I whirled round and round, but Striker had disappeared into the night. There was no sign of the sexy superhero.

How the hell did he do that?

Chapter Nine

I stood in front of my dresser, brushing my wet hair. A cold chill swept through my body, and a familiar current flooded the room. I glanced into the mirror. He was there behind me.

I put down my brush and faced him. Without a word, Striker pulled me into his arms. His lips captured mine. They were just as warm and firm as I’d imagined. I opened my mouth, and his tongue slipped inside. I loved the clean taste of him, the feel of his muscled arms around me, his musky scent. He filled my senses until there was nothing else.

Striker laid me down on the bed. I pulled him on top of me, enjoying the feel of his weight on my feverish body. My clothes disappeared. So did his leather suit. Only the black mask that covered his face separated us. His gray eyes burned into mine. I kissed him, long and hard and deep. Our hands explored each other’s bodies with hungry purpose. He trailed his fingers down my breastbone and over my quivering stomach. I opened my legs, and he sank his fingers into me.

I cried out. Waves of pleasure rippled through my body. Striker stroked me until I was dizzy with desire. Then, he pulled back. I whimpered at the loss of contact, at the loss of his touch. Striker loomed over me. His eyes shimmered with the brilliance of a thousand stars. I knew what he wanted. It was the same thing I did. I opened my legs once more, and he plunged into me. He began to move—

I gasped and sat up. My eyes flew around the dark room. The door was shut, the windows locked. Everything was in its place. No sexy superheroes lurked in the shadows that pooled on the floor around the bed. Alone. I was alone. All alone. It had been a dream. Just a dream. I flopped back against the pillows.

Damn.

* * *

After a long night of heated dreams, I woke early and walked down to the police station. I met up with Chief Newman, and we headed for the morgue in the basement.

I’d been to the morgue many times before, when I’d been working the investigative and police beats. It was a dark, depressing place that smelled of harsh chemicals and decay. Sometimes, I thought I saw the blood of the murder victims puddling on the floor and dripping down the walls. Not a pleasant vision.

We entered the viewing area. A glass partition separated us from the autopsy room. The coroner, a tall, square man, stood on the other side of the glass in front of a large metal table. Blue toes peeked out from under two white sheets.

“I’ll warn you, this isn’t a pretty sight,” Chief Newman said. “Are you ready?”

I nodded. The coroner pulled back the sheets.

I gagged and turned away.

“Easy, easy,” the chief rumbled. He put a hand on my arm to steady me. “Is that them?”

“Yes.”

I forced myself to turn back and look at the two bodies. I recognized my kidnappers, despite their condition. Their skin was pale as ice and looked twice as hard, while their hair had turned an unnatural white. Blue and purple veins popped out on their faces, reminding me of some kind of macabre spider’s web. The men’s eyes and mouths gaped open, frozen in sheer terror. Even their tongues had turned blue. Even though the men were dead, I could feel their horrific fear as they’d realized what was about to befall them. A chill crawled up my spine. This was what Malefica and Frost had in store for me if I didn’t uncover Striker’s identity.

“We haven’t identified them yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Why don’t you go back home and get some rest? If I find out anything, I’ll give you a call,” Chief Newman said in a comforting tone. “I don’t think there’s anything more you can do here.”

Dazed, I made my way back up to the ground floor. My stride quickened with every step. I stumbled outside and started to run. But even as my sneakers smacked against the concrete, I knew I couldn’t outrun Frost or my own inevitable, chilly fate.

* * *

My days fell into a pattern. I spent the better part of the morning and afternoon doing research, searching for the slightest clue that would tell me who Striker and Malefica really were. I went to the latest society bash at night, wrote my story, and left. More often than not, Striker popped up outside The Exposé and walked me home. He never said much, but he was always there, watching me.

I didn’t know whether to be frightened or flattered. I strained to hear his silent footsteps, peered into the shadows hoping to get the smallest glimpse of him, breathed in the night air in hopes of catching a trace of his musky scent. It was pathetic, but I could no more stop myself from searching for Striker than I could quit breathing.

And I always knew when he was around. My inner voice slyly whispered his presence to me. An electric current surged through my body, and I felt all warm and tingly inside. When I’d finally spot him, well, my hormones kicked into overdrive. It was all I could do to suppress the urge to drag him into the shadows and kiss him senseless.

But I could never, ever do that. I could never have Striker. I could never even do anything as simple as be his friend.

Every time I looked at Striker, I could see the pain of Tornado’s loss in his silvery eyes. Striker’s grief, his sorrow, radiated off him. It intensified my own guilt and shame.

Every day, I told myself there could never be anything between Striker and me.

Never.

But oh, how I wanted there to be.

* * *

One night about two weeks after our initial meeting, a cool breeze kissed my back while I worked in the kitchen. Electricity charged the air, and my stomach tightened.

“Hello, Striker.”

I stirred the pasta salad I was whipping up for dinner. I’d left work early for a change and hadn’t seen Striker on my way home. I’d been planning to drown my disappointment in a bowlful of carbs. A poor substitute, I know.

“How do you always know it’s me? I could be a burglar.”

I stared at the superhero, who leaned against the refrigerator. “Well, I don’t have any other superheroes stalking me. At least, not yet. Besides, a burglar could never be as quiet as you are.”

“And yet you always know when I’m here.”

I wasn’t about to tell Striker about my inner voice, my gut instincts. He’d just laugh. He had real superpowers, not strange, imaginary twinges like mine. As I stirred the pasta salad, Striker’s gray eyes traced my body. I gripped the spoon tighter to keep from shivering.

More than once, I’d wondered what Striker thought about me. Why he kept coming back to see me. Whether he felt anything at all toward me. Sometimes, I almost thought I saw a shimmer, a faint spark of desire in his eyes when I neared him. But that was just my wishful, sex-starved imagination.

It had to be. Striker could never want somebody like me. Somebody so out of his league. Somebody so unworthy.

I dumped the pasta in a bowl and turned around. Striker stood between me and the kitchen table. I hesitated. I didn’t want to get within arm’s reach of him. Didn’t want to get close enough to see the blue flecks in his silvery eyes. Didn’t want to smell him. Didn’t want to feel his hot breath on my cheek. I would only be tormented that much more by my attraction to him—and the complete hopelessness of it.

But this was my apartment, not his. It was bad enough Striker waltzed in whenever he wanted, and I did nothing to discourage him. I wouldn’t let him dictate where I walked too. I squared my shoulders and stepped forward.

“Excuse me,” I said.

Striker moved back a fraction of an inch. I squeezed by, so close that I brushed up against his tall form. The brief contact made me hum and spark deep down inside, like a live wire ripped free from its power source. All my previous intentions to keep my distance burned away. I longed to reach out and touch Striker, to see if his chest was as hard and muscled as it looked, to see if he was really here, and not some figment of my feverish, overactive imagination.

I dropped the bowl onto the table and sank into my chair. I grabbed my glass of water and downed half of it in one gulp. My hand shook.

It took me a moment, but I composed myself. I pointed to the chair across from me. “Sit down. Have some food. I made plenty. Too much just for me.”

Striker eyed the pasta with suspicion.

“Oh, it’s not drugged or poisoned or whatever you think.” I stabbed a bite of the creamy salad with my fork, chewed, and swallowed. “See? I haven’t keeled over yet.”

Striker hesitated, then dropped into the other chair. I dished us up some pasta. A roll of crusty French bread and sharp cheddar cheese completed the meal. We ate in silence. I kept my eyes fixed on my food so I wouldn’t stare at Striker like a schoolgirl with a movie star crush.

“This is really good.” Striker helped himself to some more food.

“You sound surprised.”

Striker shrugged. “It’s a nice surprise. You don’t strike me as a woman who likes to cook.”

I smiled. The backhanded compliment pleased me. But then, I scowled. Why did I care what Striker thought of me? Why did I listen for his footsteps? Why did his mere presence affect me so? It had to be the costume. I’d always been a sucker for guys in black leather jackets. A superhero suit wasn’t much different. It was just bigger. And tighter. And filled out a lot better—

I chugged down the rest of my water. We finished our meal. I gathered up the dishes and dumped them in the sink. Striker leaned against the refrigerator as usual. I turned to face him.

“So, now that I’ve fed you, want to take off your mask for me?” I asked the question every time I saw him.

“No.”

Unfortunately, the answer was always the same.

“I’m going to find out who you are eventually. You could save me a lot of trouble. Not to mention all the money I’ve been spending on highlighters and photocopies and sticky pads.”

Striker stared at me, his gray eyes dark and hooded.

“Why do you do it, anyway?” I blurted out. It was the one question I’d never been able to puzzle out the answer to, despite all my superhero and ubervillain exposés.

“Do what?”

I gestured at him. “The whole superhero thing. Fighting evil, battling ubervillains, the whole shebang. It’s not like you get paid to put yourself in danger.”

Striker looked at me as though the answer was self-explanatory. “I have a gift, powers I can use to help others, powers I can use for good. It’s a calling for me. It’s something I have to do.”

“But why hide your true identity if what you do is so noble? Why wear the mask and the costume?”

“A secret identity is the only way superheroes can exist, the only way we can lead any semblance of a normal life. I don’t fight evil all the time, you know. I have other interests and hobbies and responsibilities. If we didn’t wear masks and costumes, people would never leave us alone. They’d want us to help them with everything. We’d never get any work done. Not to mention the fact that ubervillains could pick us off one by one.” Striker’s voice was cold and hard.

“But what about your friends and family? Why hide what you do from them?”

His lips tightened. “Because if they were ever captured by an enemy, they could be forced to reveal my true identity.”

“But don’t they have a right to know? You put them in danger just by doing what you do. Maybe if they knew, they could take better care of themselves and you.” I persisted with my questions, even though I was antagonizing the superhero. I couldn’t stop myself. I wanted answers. Wanted satisfaction. That, and I wanted him.

Striker crossed his arms over his lean chest. “Really? Like the way you took care of the Machinator?”

I froze.

“Oh yes. I read your story about your would-be wedding. How you caught your fiancé cheating with your best friend, how you discovered their alter egos, how you exposed them. Tell me, Carmen. Why do you do what you do? Are you trying to punish every superhero for your fiancé’s infidelity? Does his betrayal still hurt that much?”

My mouth dropped open. How dare he! How dare Striker question my motives. I wasn’t the one who crept around in the shadows. I wasn’t the one parading around in skintight black leather. I wasn’t the one hiding myself from the world.

Rage and hurt bubbled up inside me. Needles pricked the pieces of my broken heart. My arm jerked forward, and I slapped Striker. The crack roared like thunder in the small kitchen. My hand left a red welt on his exposed cheek. In seconds, it faded away, as though I had never even hit him. The sight only fueled my anger.

“I forgot. You regenerate. Neat trick. I guess I’ll just have to hit you harder.”

I raised my hand to hit him again. Striker grabbed my arm and pulled me forward. His breath brushed my flushed face. My breasts flattened against his supple leather suit, and my body hummed at the touch. I stared up into his masked face. Striker’s silver eyes glowed in the faint light. Hot, blue sparks glittered in the depths of his hypnotic eyes.

My inner voice shouted a warning. For once in my life, I ignored it.

I pressed my lips to his.

Striker stilled, as shocked by my action as I was. He started to pull back. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer. He wasn’t walking away from me. Striker wasn’t disappearing into the shadows. I wasn’t letting the superhero slip through my fingers.

Not tonight.

His lips opened as if to say something. My tongue plunged inside his hot, moist mouth. Teasing. Testing. Tempting.

Striker’s hands wavered in the air like a drowning man debating on whether to reach for a life preserver. The sane thing, the safe thing, would have been to stop. To end the kiss. To step back. But I didn’t want to be sane tonight. I wanted Striker to drown. In me. With me.

I continued my exploration of his mouth. My tongue slid across his teeth. I nibbled the corner of his lips and trailed soft kisses down his neck. Striker’s hands settled on my back. He growled and yanked me to him.

Our lips melded together. Our tongues dipped and darted and dodged, finding each other time and time again. Striker’s hands settled on my waist, pulling my hips toward his. Mine roamed over his slick leather suit. The material felt as smooth as silk under my frantic fingers. Striker’s erection burned against my thigh. He wanted me just as much as I wanted him. Good.

My anger and frustration and confusion melted into a tidal wave of hot, liquid desire. We spun around and around in the kitchen. Tasting, caressing, driving each other mad. Dishes shattered on the floor. Chairs flipped over. Food spilled everywhere.

The air sparked and snapped between us. Electricity hummed through my body, burning me from the inside out. I’d been jolted out of the half-alive state I’d been trapped in for so long. Everything felt more vivid, more intense, and far more pleasurable.

We stumbled into the living room and fell onto the sofa. Striker’s gloved hands roamed over my body.

“Not enough,” he muttered. “Not nearly enough.”

He ripped off one glove with his teeth. The other followed. Striker lifted my T-shirt over my head. My bra unsnapped with a whisper. The shock of his bare hands on my body heightened my desire. I ached for him. Striker’s warm, sure hands stroked my taut breasts, cupping them, circling my stiff nipples. I arched my back in pleasure. He dipped his head. Striker’s wet tongue trailed down my breastbone, and he closed his mouth over my nipple. I gasped.

He ran his tongue round and round my nipple while his hands moved down my body. My jeans popped open. With sure, hot strokes, Striker trailed his hand into my underwear. I opened my legs, and he dipped his finger inside me. Wave after wave of pleasure cascaded through me. I was drowning in a waterfall of sensations. I shuddered and cried out.

“Better,” Striker murmured in a hoarse, husky voice. “Much, much better.”

I thrashed on the sofa. A whimper escaped my throat. I wanted to touch him like he was touching me. Pleasure him as he was pleasuring me. My fingers clawed at the slick leather, seeking some sort of entry. Somehow, I found a zipper, yanked it open, and shoved my hand inside. Striker’s flesh was as warm and solid as I’d dreamed. More so. My fingers trailed down his sculpted abdomen, past his navel. I took him in my hand, stroking him. That, too, was just as hard and solid as I’d thought it would be. Striker’s breath quickened.

“Carmen,” he murmured in my ear. Raw need filled his rich, deep voice. “Carmen.”

The pressure inside me reached a fevered peak. It needed to be released. Now. I lifted my hips off the sofa. Striker slid my jeans down. My panties followed. I yanked on the bottom half of his suit, exposing his erection.

I crossed my legs around his waist. He slid inside me, filling me.

Our eyes locked.

“Striker,” I whispered. “Striker.”

Slowly, we moved together. We rocked back and forth. Every thrust went deeper. Every thrust pulled me under even more. I was caught in an undertow I couldn’t escape. One I didn’t want to escape.

Striker kissed my neck. I ran my hands up and down his back. Our strokes grew quicker, faster, surer. Desire had swallowed us both whole.

* * *

Oh. My. God.

That single thought kept running through my head the next morning. Somehow, after making frenzied love to Striker, I’d drifted off to sleep. In the middle of the night, I’d woken up on the sofa, with a blanket covering my naked body. The only thing I’d still had on were my socks. Striker, of course, was long gone. He’d even shut the window on his way out. How considerate of him. I wondered if he treated all of his late-night conquests with such respect.

Now, I sat on the sofa, the blanket still wrapped around me. Early morning sunlight peeked in through the windows, illuminating my apartment and the colossal mess I’d made of my life.

What had I done? What the hell had I been thinking?

I hadn’t been thinking. I’d ignored my inner voice, and to my utter shame and mortification, I’d had sex with a superhero. And not just any superhero. Striker. The superhero whose identity I was trying to uncover. The superhero who had every reason to hate me.

I groaned.

I wasn’t the sort of woman who slept around. I’d had only a few lovers—my college boyfriends, Matt, and Striker. I’d dated Matt for almost a year before we’d had sex. Yet somehow, I’d slept with Striker after knowing him only a few weeks. And I didn’t even know the real him. He was just a guy in a leather costume and a mask who followed me around and broke into my apartment on a regular basis. How kinky was that? I had no idea who he was. He could be married for all I knew. I smacked my hand against my forehead. Adultery. I didn’t need to add that to my list of sins. My karma was already black enough.

But the worst part was I couldn’t get Striker out of my mind. I could still feel his lips on mine. Still feel his hands caressing my body. Still feel him moving deep inside me. It made me want him all over again. I felt warm and squishy inside just thinking about him. If Striker were to slide through my window right now, I’d welcome him with open arms. Hell, I’d probably pounce on the poor man and demand he pleasure me again and again and again. I buried my nose in the blanket. It smelled like him. Musky, manly, sexy. I sighed.

Sex with Matt had been good. Sex with Striker the superhero had been, well, super. All right. Better than super. Fantastic. Amazing. Earth-shattering. Everything I’d ever dreamed of and more.

But there was more to it than sex. I’d felt safe in Striker’s arms. Completely safe. And even cared for. That thought, the need for it to be true, rattled me. Striker had stirred up emotions I thought I’d buried for good after the brutal breakup with Matt.

Snap out of it, Carmen! So what if I had sex with Striker? It didn’t mean anything. According to all the articles I’d read, superheroes sleeping with people they’d saved wasn’t uncommon. Some of them even got off on having anonymous sex with strangers. On the flip side, there was a whole cult of people called Slaves for Superhero Sex who put themselves in danger just so they could get rescued and make time with a superhero.

At least I wasn’t that far gone.

Yet.

Besides, it wasn’t like Striker and I could ever have a real relationship. There was too much bad karma between us. He was a superhero, and I was a nosy reporter. The two just didn’t mix, no matter how much chemistry we might have.

And did we have chemistry. I’d been so hot for Striker I thought I might spontaneously combust. Judging by the way he’d called out my name, Striker had had just as good a time as me. At least, I hoped so.

I shook my head to clear away my charged thoughts. I’d chalk up last night to a temporary bout of insanity and the fact that I hadn’t had sex in more than three years. Maybe the drug Frost had knocked me out with had some sort of weird pheromones in it. Maybe that’s why I was so attracted to Striker. Or maybe the superhero sprayed his costume with some woman-attracting musk that made him irresistible to the opposite sex. My weak excuses did little to comfort me, but they were all that I had.

At least I was on the pill, so I didn’t have to worry about getting knocked up by the superhero. How embarrassing would that be? Unless, of course, Striker had some sort of weird, superstrong sperm that could thwart any attempts to counteract it. Were supercharged sex organs part of being a superhero? I’d seen some sort of journal article on superhero-and-ubervillain reproduction during my research, but I couldn’t remember the details.

My inner voice chattered, and another alarming thought popped into my mind.

What if Striker had been wearing an earpiece, as he did so many nights when he dropped in? The other members of the Fearless Five could have heard every word, every sound, every moan and cry of pleasure. They could even be dissecting our night of passion at this very moment.

My cheeks flamed. I buried my face in my hands.

Oh. My. God.

Chapter Ten

Somehow, I pulled my thoughts away from Striker. I took a long, hot shower, cleaned up the mess we’d made in the kitchen during our fit of passion, and got dressed.

That night, I attended the annual Fall Ball, hosted by the Bigtime Debutante Society. It was the night when all the proud, marriage-minded mothers introduced their daughters to Bigtime society and made them go trolling for suitably rich husbands.

My eyes roamed over the crowd. I studied all of the men, comparing them to Striker. I wondered if one of them sported a black leather suit underneath his tuxedo. Wondered if one of them had a mask hidden in his jacket pocket. Wondered if one of them was thinking about what had happened between us last night. Wondered—

High-pitched laughter caught my ear. A cluster of twenty-something debutantes gathered around Sam Sloane, giggling at his every word. For once, the billionaire appeared to be a little flustered by the hungry, female attention. He seemed distracted and kept glancing around, scanning the crowd. Who could he possibly be searching for? People flocked to Sloane. He didn’t have to seek out company of any kind—female or otherwise. And where was his latest supermodel? The billionaire looked rather exposed without a towering blond clutching his arm.

I stared at Sloane. Wondering. Comparing. Contrasting.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Oh, he had black hair like Striker, but so did tons of rich businessmen. It was practically a job requirement on the society scene. If you weren’t a thirtyish playboy with dark good looks, then you were fifty-plus, with a mane of silver hair, and searching for trophy wife number three. Besides, Sloane just didn’t seem to have Striker’s intensity. Sloane was as handsome as the next playboy, but he couldn’t turn me into a puddle of mush with a single glance. Still, for some reason, my eyes strayed back to him again and again. Perhaps I should use Henry’s list to dig a little deeper into Sam Sloane, just to be sure he wasn’t Striker.

Sam Sloane, Nate Norris, Devlin Dash. Each of them and a dozen others fit Striker’s general description. I paid special attention to Dash, who always sported a pair of silver-rimmed glasses, usually a dead giveaway. But Dash seemed too quiet and introverted to be the leader of a team of superheroes like the Fearless Five. All he did was wander around, sip champagne, and look at the paintings that adorned the walls.

After an hour of sizing up every man on the premises, I gave up. If Striker was hidden among the high-society crowd, I wasn’t going to discover his identity tonight. There were just too many suspects.

I was finishing up my last interview when excited whispers cut through the air. A group of people clustered around an older man. A cell phone flickered in his hand, and I spotted an SNN logo on the screen.

“What’s going on?” I asked, shoving my way through the crowd.

“The Terrible Triad’s on a rampage,” a matronly mother piped up. “They’ve ransacked the Complete Computer Company already, and they’re at the Super Duper Sweeper Upper Vacuum Cleaner Plant right now. Everybody’s wondering where the Fearless Five are. Why they haven’t stopped them yet.”

My breath caught in my throat. Where the Terrible Triad were, the Fearless Five would soon follow. Including Striker. I dashed out of the ball, flagged down a taxi, and leapt into the back seat.

“The Super Duper Sweeper Upper Vacuum Cleaner Plant. And step on it.”

“What’s the address?”

“How the hell should I know? Just follow the police cars and the sound of the explosions.”

“What are you?” the driver asked. “One of those weird superhero chasers?”

“Something like that,” I muttered. Superhero-obsessed slut was more like it.

The cabbie double-timed it, and ten minutes later, we stopped a block away from the plant. I shoved the fare at him, scrambled out of the taxi, and started running. Now, running toward the scene of an ubervillain crime spree wasn’t the smartest thing in the world to do, especially when Malefica wanted to turn me into a monster. But I couldn’t stay away. Not if there was even the smallest chance he would be there. Striker…Striker…Striker. My footsteps pounded out his name as I sprinted toward the plant.

The cops were already on the scene. Police cars, SWAT vehicles, and a couple of tanks crouched in front of the plant, a square, squat building in one of Bigtime’s blue-collar neighborhoods. Lights swirled on top of the vehicles, bathing everything in a harsh, red glow. I dashed past the old ladies in their curlers and housecoats and the kids in their baggy sweats. A beefy cop held up his hand, but I flashed my press pass at him and zoomed by before he could protest. Sirens screeched, and walkie-talkies cracked and squawked. I made my way as close to the front of the barricade as I could, grabbed an official-looking guy in a dark suit, switched on the audio recorder in my camera, and held up the device.

“Carmen Cole with The Exposé. What’s the situation?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, we’ve got three ubervillains on the roof who don’t want to come down. That’s the situation,” he growled. The guy pulled his arm free and turned back to his fellow policemen.

I craned my neck up. Sure enough, the Terrible Triad stood on top of the two-story building. Malefica put her hands on her hips. Frost cradled his infamous freezoray gun in his arms, while a large metal briefcase dangled from Scorpion’s meaty hand. I eyed the briefcase. What could there possibly be of value at a vacuum cleaner plant?

The three of them stared down at the crowd, unconcerned by the cops’ considerable show of strength.

“Put your weapons down and your hands up!” a cop roared through a bullhorn.

Malefica laughed. The pealing cackles sent chills up my spine. She turned to Frost and gestured at the policemen. The thin ubervillain stepped forward. His icy eyes swept the crowd.

“Damn, that’s cold!” a cop close to me muttered.

Something hit the ground next to my feet. It had been a gun at one time, but now a solid lump of ice covered the weapon. One by one, the cops dropped their frozen guns. Even the ones on the tanks iced over. Frost sneered.

“Your puny weapons are no match for me!” the ubervillain shouted. “And your lack of intellect is too small to calculate!”

Scorpion cracked his knuckles. He looked like he wanted to drop the briefcase and dive off the roof onto the cops below. Malefica waved and blew kisses to the crowd. Some of the men cheered her name and let out low whistles and catcalls. At least, until their wives glared at them.

The policemen exchanged nervous glances. A couple checked their watches. They were outmatched, and they knew it. I looked for Chief Newman, but I couldn’t spot him in the crowd. And where were the Fearless Five—

Suddenly, a fireball slammed into the building where the Terrible Triad stood. Three more figures popped up on the far side of the roof. The Fearless Five had arrived. Fiera flashed by in all her flaming glory and hurled a fireball at Scorpion, who ducked out of the way. Mr. Sage focused his gaze on Frost’s gun, trying to rip it out of his hand with his telekinesis while the ubervillain tried to put the deep freeze on him.

But I had eyes only for Striker. He ran at Malefica as if to tackle her, but she used her telekinetic powers to pick up a couple of cement blocks and throw them at the superhero. The blocks slammed into his chest, and Striker fell to his knees. I gasped. But the superhero got right back up and went after Malefica again.

For the next ten minutes, the two groups tried to kill each other and level the surrounding neighborhood. Fireballs, rubble, and more flew through the air. Explosion after explosion roared out. Grunts, shouts, and curses floated down from the rooftop.

The spectators oohed and aahed at the pyrotechnic show. Girls played with Fiera action figures. Boys crossed mock Striker swords. Teenagers punched each other with foam Scorpion fists. Just another typical superhero-ubervillain battle in Bigtime.

With a loud groan, part of the roof collapsed. All sorts of things smashed, cracked, and shattered. A cloud of smoke puffed up, obscuring the roof. Everyone screamed and leapt back except me. I couldn’t move. Not until I was sure that Striker was okay. It was suddenly very important to me that he was all right.

“Let’s go!” Malefica shouted above the roar of the crowd.

A horrible screech rang out. It was like a thousand ice picks stabbing into my brain at the same time. Agony, pure agony. I stuck my fingers in my ears to try to block the noise, but it didn’t work. The sound intensified. Just when I thought I couldn’t stand another second of it, the terrible noise stopped. I shook my head, trying to clear away the painful fog. All the cops around me wore similar, dazed expressions.

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know.”

“Are the Fearless Five okay?”

“Did the Triad escape?”

“Is anyone hurt?”

Murmurs and whispers filled the air. My eyes returned to the collapsed roof. Seconds ticked by. Minutes passed. Still no sign of the Fearless Five. Come on. The superheroes had to be okay. Striker had to be okay.

Finally, just when I was about to leapfrog over the police barricade and run to the demolished building, three figures climbed back up on the part of the roof that hadn’t collapsed. The crowd cheered. Mr. Sage gave a half-hearted wave. Fiera shot a few sparks off her fingertips. Striker just stood there, looking at the mess and the cheering crowd.

“Striker! Striker!” I shouted.

I knew he’d never hear me, one voice in a thousand. But for some reason, his gaze turned in my direction. Our eyes locked. All of the emotions, the hot touches and whispered caresses of last night, flashed through my mind. I’d come to the battle site because I wanted to see Striker again. Because I wondered if he’d felt the things that I had. If he wanted me as much as I still wanted him.

Evidently, the answer was a resounding no. Striker stared at me for a moment, then turned and disappeared into the dark night.

* * *

Once the excitement died down, I took a taxi to The Exposé, wrote my society story, and left. I walked as slowly as I could back to my apartment.

Striker didn’t show up during my walk home, and he wasn’t waiting for me inside. He’d seen me at the vacuum cleaner plant. I knew he had. Did he think I’d just gone down there for my health? Disappointment filled my heart, along with anger. What had I expected? Roses? Chocolates? A mushy card? A repeat of last night’s performance?

Still, I unlocked one of the living room windows, just in case.

Striker didn’t come to me that night. Or the next. Or the next. He didn’t follow me home from work. He didn’t pop into my apartment. The superhero quit stalking me. He melted into the shadows from which he’d come.

Typical. Sleep with a guy, and he disappears. In a way, it was comforting to know some things were predictable. Even if my hormones and emotions weren’t.

* * *

The days flew by all too quickly, despite Striker’s absence. Time passed, until I had only three days left before Malefica’s deadline.

I threw down my highlighter. I’d been working nonstop for the last three weeks, and I was no closer to uncovering Striker’s identity than when I started. I’d slept with him, for crying out loud, and I still couldn’t figure out who he was. How pathetic was that? I fumed for a moment, then picked up my blue highlighter. I didn’t have time to be discouraged or angry. Every second counted.

I flipped through the list of the fifty richest men and women in Bigtime that Henry had provided me. Notes and scribbles and highlighted passages dotted the pages. I’d crossed off some of the names right away. After all, ninety-year-old widows with rheumatoid arthritis weren’t the stuff superheroes were made of. Ubervillains, perhaps, but not superheroes.

I’d been depressed to find out exactly how rich the rich and famous of Bigtime were. Morgana Madison topped the list with assets in excess of one hundred billion, not counting the stacks of cash and ropes of diamonds she probably had secreted away in foreign banks. When I’d first come to Bigtime, I’d dug into my boss, wondering if she could be one of the villains I was after. You had to be extremely lucky or do some extremely illegal things to accumulate that much wealth, and ubervillains loved money. The only thing they coveted more than wealth was power. Morgana had plenty of both. But she always seemed to be at a society function or on some overseas teleconference call when the Triad or other ubervillains tore through town.

So, I moved on. Berkley Brighton, Joanne James, Nate Norris, Bella Bulluci. All the usual suspects were also on the list. Or were they?

I frowned. I’d been over the list a dozen times, but I had a nagging feeling I was missing something. The list seemed…short. I flipped through the pages and counted the names. I came up with forty-eight. I counted again. Forty-eight. And again. Forty-eight. I checked the files Henry had e-mailed me, but they were missing two names as well. Odd. Henry was usually so thorough in his work. I’d never known him to make a mistake before. Who had Henry left off?

I closed my eyes and went through a mental list of Bigtime’s richest, but I couldn’t put my finger on the missing billionaires. I had the forty-eight richest men and women. Two more probably weren’t going to make a difference, but I didn’t want to overlook anything at this stage of the game. It was fourth and long, the clock was running down, and I was miles away from the end zone.

I picked up the phone and dialed Henry.

“Hi, this is Henry Harris…” His answering machine clicked on after five rings.

“Henry, it’s Carmen. There’s some missing information on this list you gave me. I really, really, really need the missing info. I’m on a tight deadline. Call me back as soon as you get this, either at home or on my cell. Thanks.” I rattled off my numbers and hung up.

Henry was probably lost somewhere in the land of gigabytes. I drummed my fingers on my thigh. Who knew when he’d get around to calling me back? I’d get the information myself. I grabbed my purse and coat and headed for the Bigtime Public Library.

For the next few hours, I surfed through stock holdings and perused tax reports. Finally, I gave up. It was after midnight, and I still couldn’t pinpoint the two missing billionaires. I went to the office, but for once, Henry wasn’t there. Curious. No, more than curious. Though, perhaps he’d finally asked Lulu out to dinner. Either way, I’d have to get Henry to give me the missing information tomorrow.

I left The Exposé offices and began my trek home, right past my nightly harasser’s stoop.

“Hey there, sweet stuff,” the familiar, obnoxious voice called out.

“Get over yourself, loser.” I was in no mood to be hit on. Men. They were all the same, superheroes or not. They all wanted one thing. Sex. Once they got it, it was hasta la vista, baby.

“Bitch,” he muttered.

I kept walking. Sneakers squeaked on the pavement, and I glanced over my shoulder. A large man emerged from the shadowy doorway. Even though it was chilly, he wore a sleeveless, white shirt. Tattoos covered his muscled arms, and a large, gold cross dangled from a thick chain around his neck. My inner voice whispered in warning. I picked up my pace.

He dialed a series of numbers on his cell phone. “The corner of Seventh and Thirteenth. Now. See you, bro.”

I glanced up at a nearby street sign. That was the block the two of us were on. Not good. I pulled my pepper spray out of my purse and crossed the street. The man jogged over as well. I glanced around, praying for a taxi to miraculously drive by. None came. There was no one on the street besides the two of us.

Suddenly, as if in answer to my prayers, two men stepped into view about a block ahead. A wave of relief hit me. The two men stood there, watching me walk. I slowed. It was almost as if they were waiting for me. I stopped. The man behind me kept coming.

“You ready to have a little fun now, bitch?” he called out in a mocking tone. “Me and my boys are hot to trot tonight, if you know what I mean.”

My inner voice screamed. I ran. The men laughed. I dashed across the street and into an alley. Footsteps pounded on the pavement behind me. I ran faster than I’d ever run before. My heart slammed against my ribs. My lungs burned. My legs ached. Still, I ran. My life depended on it.

I rounded a corner and skidded to a halt. Dead end. I whirled around, ready to run again, but the men blocked the alley. My eyes darted around. Desperate. No way out. I flipped the nozzle on my pepper spray and tried to remember self-defense moves from my various classes. My fingers trembled. Sweat dripped down the back of my neck.

The men circled me. I turned first one way then another, trying to keep an eye on all of them at the same time. Suddenly, they lunged at me. One of them knocked the pepper spray from my hand, while another slapped me across the face. Pain flooded my body, and I tumbled to the ground. Two of the men grabbed my arms and yanked me to my feet. I kicked out. They easily avoided my awkward, flailing blows.

In a moment, it was over. Two of the men pinned me against the wall. The rough brick dug into my back, cutting through my jacket and T-shirt. I kept struggling, twisting and turning in an attempt to break free, but it was no use. They both had a hundred pounds of muscle on me. Still, I fought. I had to. I had to get away, or I was in for something more horrible than anything the Terrible Triad could ever dream up.

“Now, sweet stuff, we’re going to have a little fun.” The tattooed leader grinned. Gold-capped teeth glistened in his mouth.

Bile and fear and terror rose up in my throat. My inner voice screamed and wailed. I was going to be raped. Perhaps worse, if there was such a thing.

The leader pushed my jacket aside and ran a finger down my chest. “Now, let’s get to the sweet stuff.”

He eyed me in a cold, casual way, like I was a piece of meat he was about to sink his teeth into. The callous disregard enraged me, breaking through my fear. I wasn’t going down without a fight. Carmen Cole never gave in, not even when things seemed hopeless. So, I did the only thing I could—I spat at him. “Go to hell and die, you bastard.”

The man wiped the spit off his face. Blackness filled his empty eyes. He stared at me a moment, then backhanded me. I cried out in pain. Blood pooled in my mouth. The men chuckled, and the leader reached for me.

His hand never touched me.

A force yanked him back with a furious vengeance. He hit the wall on the other side of the alley and slumped down.

Striker leapt out of the shadows. My heart swelled. I had never been so grateful to see anyone in my entire life.

“Let her go.” His voice was harsh, demanding, furious.

“No need to get all heroic, bro,” one of the men said. “There’s plenty here to share.”

Striker didn’t respond. His gloved hands tightened into fists.

“If that’s the way you want to play it, bro, we’re game.”

The two men jumped at Striker. My knees buckled with relief, and I slid to the ground.

Seconds after that, so did the men.

Fists pummeled flesh. A tooth clinked away into the darkness. Bones snapped like dry twigs. The men whimpered for mercy.

I struggled to my feet. My vision clouded over, and I squinted through the fog. Striker towered over the three men, who curled into fetal positions. The leather-clad superhero stepped over them and came to me.

“Are you okay, Carmen?” His voice sounded gentle, concerned.

“I’m fine, Striker.” For some reason, I felt unnaturally calm. Disjointed even, as though I was standing outside my own body.

“I—”

“I said I’m fine. I’m going to go home now. Good night.”

I grabbed my purse and pepper spray and hobbled down the alley and onto the main street. I didn’t turn around to see if Striker was following me. He was. I could feel his eyes on me. A taxi cruised by. Where the hell had the cabbie been five minutes ago? I lurched into the street, waved my hands, and flagged down the car.

“Are you all right, lady?” The driver stared at me in the rearview mirror.

“Fine. Just drive.” I gave him my address.

I stared at the back of his bald head, thinking of nothing in particular. Lights and streets whizzed by, but I couldn’t quite focus on them. Ten minutes later, the taxi pulled up to my building. I paid him and got out. Every movement hurt, stabbing through the strange, calm cocoon that wrapped around my mind. I brushed by the doorman, who gave me a bored look, and got into the elevator. I concentrated on the buttons. Five more floors. Three. Two. One. The elevator pinged open. I cringed at the sound and dashed to my apartment. My hands shook as I put the key in the lock.

I went through the apartment, double-checking to make sure every window was locked. I bolted the door and dragged a chair in front of it. Then, I stripped off my clothes and threw them away. I wanted nothing to remind me of this night and what had almost happened. Nothing.

I got into the shower. The white tile cooled my burning feet. I turned the water on full blast as hot as it would go and scrubbed everything hard—three times. I leaned against the shower wall. The water cascaded over me. The steady hiss blocked out everything. Everything except my memories of the past hour.

I got out of the shower, dried off, and put on a pair of plaid, fleece pajamas. I peered at my face in the bathroom mirror. The would-be rapists had split my lip with their slaps, and a nasty-looking, purple bruise had formed under my right eye. I ran my tongue around the inside of my mouth. No loose teeth, though. I dabbed some ointment on my swollen face, took a couple of aspirin, and turned out the light.

After triple-checking the door and windows, I padded into the bedroom and put my stun gun and pepper spray underneath my pillow. They hadn’t done me much good before, but I wanted them near. I drew back the comforter, snuggled beneath the soft sheets, and curled into a tight ball.

As I lay there, the rest of my odd calm cracked and flaked and peeled away, like old paint chipping off a house. The alley. The men. Their hands on me. The images invaded my mind, whirling round and round like a kaleidoscope. Then, the tears came, slowly at first, trickling out of the corner of my eyes like a leaky faucet. I did nothing to hold them back. I couldn’t have even if I’d wanted to. Soon, my whole body shook with intense sobs and muffled cries. The enormity of what had almost happened hit me like a tidal wave.

I’d escaped being raped, but I would never be the same. Before, I’d roamed around the city at all hours of the day and night, never really worrying about the danger. Getting mugged, getting raped, getting murdered, those things happened to other people. Never to me or anyone I knew. I’d always felt relatively safe. Or at least before Frost and his goons had kidnapped me. Even that had been a fluke, a freakish, once-in-a-lifetime event. What had happened tonight could happen again, to me.

At any time.

In any city.

Now, I would always look over my shoulder and wonder who was walking behind me, what they might want to do to me. Malefica and Frost’s tubs of radioactive goo had frightened me. Now, their threats seemed petty, almost cartoonish, in comparison to the attack tonight.

Suddenly, a quiet stillness filled the room. He was there watching me have a nervous breakdown. And probably enjoying it immensely.

“Go away,” I said through my sobs, embarrassed and ashamed of my cosmic meltdown.

“I just wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I’m fine. Now please, go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.”

“Like what?” Striker asked in a gentle tone.

“Frightened, weak, crying my eyes out. I must seem so pathetic to you.” I closed my eyes, squeezing back the tears. I wouldn’t cry again until he left. I would not.

Striker sat down on the edge of the bed. It dipped with his solid weight. “Superheroes aren’t perfect, you know. Just because some of us have superstrength doesn’t mean we never get scared. We have fears and insecurities and worries too.”

I rolled over to look at him. “Fear? What fear? I didn’t see any fear in you tonight. You took out those guys like it was nothing, just like you took out the drug runners a few weeks ago.” Just like you made love to me.

“I was afraid tonight. Afraid for you. I saw the men chase you into the alley. I was afraid I wouldn’t be quick enough to save you, fast enough to stop them.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“Yes, it is.”

I let out a snort. “You almost sound like you care.”

His eyes locked with mine. Some emotion I couldn’t quite identify shimmered in the silvery depths. “I do.”

“Then why haven’t I seen you since…that night?” It was a question I’d asked myself a hundred times. A thousand times.

He dropped his eyes. “I’ve been around. I just—I didn’t know—I couldn’t—”

Striker reached out. He hesitated, then put his hand on my head. He stroked my damp hair. The image of my would-be rapists flashed through my head. Instead of Striker’s gentle touch, I felt their cruel hands marching all over me.

My stomach churned, and I rolled away from the superhero. “Please just leave.”

Striker didn’t listen. Instead, he lay down on the bed next to me and drew me into his arms. I let him. I was weak and scared and terrified, so I let him hold me.

The tears came back. For the second time that night, I did nothing to stop them.

Chapter Eleven

I woke up early the next morning. I opened my eyes, and the room slowly came into focus. The last thing I remembered was crying my eyes out while Striker held me. Was he still here? I heard nothing over the sound of my own quick breathing. I rolled over.

Striker was gone. Only a slight indentation in the bed revealed he had ever been there. Relief washed over me. Mornings after were always tricky. I had never known what to say to Matt or any other man in my bed first thing in the morning. What could I say to the superhero whose secret identity I was trying to uncover after he’d just saved my life? What could I say to someone who could give me incredible pleasure one night, then hold me so gently the next?

What the hell could I say to a man I’d come to care about?

Nothing.

Carmen Cole, reporter extraordinaire, superhero-ubervillain exposer, could never say anything to Striker.

Never.

I got out of bed. My vision blurred, and the room zipped around. I sat back down. After a moment, my head cleared. I was really going to have to stop falling down and getting the stuffing beat out of me. I padded into the bathroom to assess the damage.

I stared into the mirror in horror. Malefica wouldn’t have to work too hard to turn me into a monster. My lip had doubled to twice its normal size. A few cuts and scrapes slashed across my face, and a lovely purple bruise had taken up residence high on my right cheek. The bruise went along nicely with my puffy, bloodshot eyes. The faces of my attackers popped into my head. Imaginary hands brushed my body.

My cell phone rang, chasing away the horrid memories. For now.

“Hello?”

“Carmen, it’s Henry. Are you okay? You don’t sound too good.”

I didn’t feel too good either. Every muscle ached, my head throbbed, and my stomach still churned with fear. “I’m fine, Henry. What’s up?”

“I got your message. I don’t know what happened. It must have been a glitch in my computer program, but I left off the last two names. I didn’t save a copy of the information though. If you still want it, I would have to go back through and recompile it.”

My brows knit together. Henry saved everything, even old gum wrappers, by the looks of his overcrowded desk. What was going on with the computer guru?

I walked into the kitchen and looked at the calendar on my refrigerator. Two days to go until Malefica’s deadline. The two missing billionaires weren’t going to save me. Nothing could. “No, that’s okay. Never mind. It’s not that important.”

“Well, okay. I guess I’ll see you at the benefit tonight then.”

“Benefit? What benefit?”

“The benefit for Yee-haw!, the therapeutic riding program.”

I groaned. That couldn’t be tonight. I glanced back at my calendar. Sure enough, there it was spelled out in big, blue letters.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” One of the biggest social events of the year, and I looked like death warmed over.

“Lulu invited me to go with her,” Henry said in a shy tone. “We had dinner last night. We really hit it off. I’m glad you gave her my number.”

“That’s nice, Henry. Really, it is.”

“Are you sure you’re okay? You sound kind of tired.”

“Yeah, that’s it. I’m tired. I had a rough night last night. Couldn’t sleep a wink.” It was partly true.

“Okay, well, I’ll let you go. See you tonight.”

“Bye, Henry.”

He hung up. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, pull the covers up, and never come out again. I couldn’t do that, though. I owed Lulu, and I’d promised her I would cover the benefit and write a wonderful story. I wanted to pay off my debts before my meeting with the Triad. This would be the last opportunity I had to write an article about the riding program. Hell, it would probably be the last story I wrote for the society page. No more flat champagne, no more moldy cheese, no more dealing with the likes of Fiona Fine.

That was a little something to look forward to before Frost turned me into a female version of Bigfoot.

* * *

Several hours and a couple of pounds of makeup later, I arrived at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art. Located across the street from the library, the museum was the crowning jewel of art and culture in Bigtime. Wide marble steps led up to the entrance, which was framed by massive columns. The building itself towered several stories into the air. An enormous banner draped over the entrance read: Yee-haw coppers! Benefit for Bigtime’s finest tonight.

After I gave my engraved invitation to the doorman and showed him my wrinkled press pass, I entered the museum and made my way to the main gallery. I paused at the entrance. The museum always took my breath away. White lights ran up the shining marble columns and lent a soft glow to the enormous room. Cherub angels played and danced in the frescoes on the ceiling, while paintings splashed the walls with vibrant colors. Classical music whispered in the background. Everything gleamed and glistened as if it had been personally spit-shined.

People dressed in designer tuxedoes and glittering gowns clustered around long tables set up in the middle of the gallery. Pricey watches, diamond rings, concert tickets, movie roles. All were being auctioned off for charity. Waiters distributed champagne and fancy finger food to the crowd.

A motor whined, and Lulu zoomed up with Henry in tow.

“Sister Carmen, good to see you,” Lulu said. “Nice dress.”

“Thanks.” I’d forgone my basic black for a lovely lavender ball gown with a poofy skirt. It was the only thing that looked halfway decent with the outrageous purple eye shadow and thick makeup I’d slathered on to hide my bruised, battered face. “You look nice too.”

Lulu had chosen a vivid blue dress with silver trim that was one of Fiona Fine’s more restrained designs. The color brought out Lulu’s flawless pale skin and accented her dark eyes. And the neon blue streaks in her hair.

“Why, Henry, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tuxedo before.”

“It’s only for special occasions.” He tugged at his bow tie, probably wishing it had polka dots on it. His silver glasses gleamed in the soft light.

“Well, it looks wonderful. The two of you make quite the dashing couple.”

They both blushed and exchanged shy smiles. Henry took Lulu’s hand. I grinned. So far, my inner voice had been right on target. At least I’d done something good these past few weeks.

“If you’ll excuse me, Sister Carmen, I have to mix and mingle with all these society types and remind them to open their checkbooks before they leave.”

Lulu and Henry moved off into the crowd. I dug my notepad and camera out of my purse. Time to go to work.

This night, I went well beyond my usual spiel. I talked not only to the major power players but to every single person I could corner. This was more than likely going to be my final story. I wanted to make it one of the best I’d ever written, even if it was going to end up buried on the back page of the society section.

I finished my last interview and grabbed a glass of champagne. I wandered out of the gallery and looked at the various pieces of art housed in the adjoining areas. Paintings by the likes of van Gogh and Renoir adorned the slick marble walls, while bronze sculptures pondered what they meant from the middle of the floor. I roamed into a room devoted to medieval weapons and suits of armor. I strolled past the displays. Silver swords glittered on the walls, reminding me of Striker.

Why had he been so kind to me last night? Had he really been concerned about me? Did he actually care about me? Or was comforting weeping and wailing women just part of being a superhero? Did I mean anything at all to him?

“Fascinating, aren’t they?” a deep voice said.

I turned. Sam Sloane stood a few feet from me. Reclusive billionaire, eligible bachelor, and all-around, It-on-a-stick Sam Sloane.

“Don’t you think?” he asked.

I glanced around. There was no one else within earshot, no one else in the entire room. He must be talking to me.

Sam Sloane talking to me?

“Um, yes. Fascinating.”

“The craftsmanship is incredible.” He pointed to one of the swords and explained the process by which blind Tibetan monks handcrafted the instrument.

I paid little attention to what he was saying. I couldn’t get over the fact I was actually standing next to Sam Sloane and that he was talking. To me, of all people.

My inner voice chirped. Why would Sam Sloane deign to talk to me? He hated reporters, especially ones from The Exposé. I frowned. And where was his supermodel of the evening? Usually, nothing could tear Sam Sloane’s dates off his arm, not even buckets of free champagne. The idea of becoming Mrs. Sam Sloane was far more intoxicating.

“Is something wrong? You’re frowning.”

I snapped out of my reverie. “Oh no. Everything’s fine. I was just thinking how hard it must be to make a sword if you were blind. I imagine you’d cut yourself quite a bit.”

Amusement lit up his eyes. “Yes, I imagine you would.”

High heels clicked on the floor, and a tall blond sashayed into the gallery. I stifled a groan. Not her again.

Fiona Fine flounced up to us. The fashion designer wore a gown of shimmering silver beads that brought out every curve of her perfectly perfect body. Her eyes flicked over me, and she put her hand on Sloane’s arm. I immediately got the message.

“Sam, what are you doing in here?”

“Just looking at the swords.”

The two of them exchanged a long, tense look. I could have cut the air between them with a dull spoon.

“We really must get back to the benefit. Chief Newman was looking for you,” Fiona emphasized.

Sloane’s pale eyes darkened, and he turned to me. “Please excuse me.”

“Thank you for telling me about the swords,” I said.

Fiona shot me another nasty look and led Sloane away as fast as she could in her towering high heels. I frowned. What was that all about?

Although I’d gathered more than enough information for my story, I stayed at the benefit and kept an eagle eye on Sam Sloane. He shook hands, greased palms, and worked the room like the business tycoon he was. He seemed equally comfortable talking to ancient widows as he did flirting with their twenty-something granddaughters. Sloane charmed everyone. Well, almost everyone.

Joanne James didn’t seem very impressed with the businessman. At one point, Sam tried to engage her in conversation, but Joanne ignored him, downing another glass of champagne. Then again, Joanne was hard to impress. She was one of Bigtime’s wealthiest women—and the black widow of the society circuit. The forty-something, multiple divorcée was always on the lookout for her next husband.

From the way she went from man to man, I’d always thought that Joanne had to have some sort of seductive superpower. And that she was really an ubervillain in disguise—maybe even Malefica herself. Joanne had the same sort of fantastic body as the ubervillain, and she was about the right age. I stared at Joanne, wondering if she was the one threatening to drown me in radioactive goo unless I did her bidding. She could do it. Joanne was someone you didn’t mess with. She hadn’t gotten to where she was today by being the shy, retiring, wallflower type.

Joanne’s eyes settled on Berkley Brighton, the whiskey billionaire, and she strolled away from Sloane without a backward glance. Maybe he just wasn’t rich enough for her.

Morgana Madison also wasn’t a fan of Sloane’s. The two ignored each other all night long, even when they were talking to the same people. According to business reports, they wanted to buy the same computer company and were currently locked in their latest business battle.

However, one person had a very keen interest in Sloane—Fiona Fine. She kept a grip on his arm the rest of the night. It was a wonder the poor man didn’t have claw marks. Evidently, Fiona didn’t want me anywhere near him. I wondered when the fashion designer had become so protective of Sloane. The two were friends but had never been an item. The couple made their way to Chief Newman, who stood next to Lulu and Henry. Lulu said something, and they all laughed. Suddenly, Sam Sloane turned, as if he could sense me staring at him. Our eyes locked. My inner voice whispered.

And I knew.

I knew.

I knew who I’d had incredible sex with. Who had made me feel so passionate, so alive, so vibrant. Who had saved me from my would-be rapists. Who had held me so tenderly while I’d cried.

I couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact.

Just like that. Out of the blue. The puzzle pieces snapped into place. The picture came into focus. All my research, my encounters with Striker, the folks on the society circuit, the list of the richest men and women in Bigtime—it all finally fit together.

I knew who Striker was. And Fiera, and Mr. Sage, and I had a sneaking suspicion about Hermit too. I could have smacked myself for not seeing it sooner. They had been there right under my nose the whole time, just as I suspected. The irony of it all made me take a long swig of my champagne. The golden bubbles rose to the top of the glass and fizzed out.

So what the hell was I going to do now?

Chapter Twelve

I sat in my apartment and brooded.

Roamed around the library and brooded.

Wandered through the park and brooded.

I spent the better part of the next day brooding in and around the greater downtown area of Bigtime.

To tell or not to tell, that was the question.

After writing a glowing story about the benefit, I stayed up all night filtering through facts, following the money trail, and checking dates and times. There was nothing conclusive, but I could see a pattern, tiny little threads that would lead me to Striker’s real identity and a bona fide Page One exposé of epic proportions. He’d been careful, but not quite careful enough. They never were, in the end.

On my way home from the park, I passed a newsstand. I elbowed my way through the crowd, bought a copy of the day’s edition of The Exposé, and flipped to the society pages. The headline on the front of the section screamed: Yee-haw indeed! Benefit raises more than $3 million for riding program, police department. Story by Carmen Cole. I couldn’t remember the last time a story of mine had made the cover of, well, anything. At least I was going to go out on top, or at least on top of the society section. Plus, Lulu and the chief had a nice chunk of change to put toward their various do-good programs.

I tucked the newspaper under my arm and walked on. An hour later, without meaning to, I found myself at the corner of Seventh and Thirteenth streets. There it was, right over there, an alley that ran between two of the high-rise buildings. I slowed, took a deep breath, and crossed the street.

The alley seemed far less sinister than it had that night. It was just an alley, three brick walls strung together, stone piled on stone. My eyes swept over the scene. They had pinned me to the wall there, and they had all fallen over there when Striker pulled them off me. My body still ached from the brutal assault, and my battered face had turned several interesting shades of green and purple. But no physical trace of the attack remained in the alley, other than the raw memories and jagged echoes in my mind. My fist tightened around the bottle stuck in my jacket pocket. I always kept one hand on my pepper spray now, even during daylight hours.

I took a long, last look at the alley. Then, I stepped back out onto the main street. I squared my shoulders. There was only one thing I could do. I pulled out my cell phone and punched in a number.

“Talk to me.”

“It’s Carmen. I need to meet.”

* * *

“Are you sure about this? Really, really sure?” Lulu asked.

“Positive.”

The two of us were back in Paradise Park, next to the fountain where the nymphs danced in their never-ending circle. I chewed on a big cone of strawberry cotton candy I’d snagged while walking past one of the carnival vendors. Lulu sat silent, although her laptop hummed like a drowsy bee. Five minutes had passed since I told Lulu what I wanted. The information queen had spent the last four trying to talk me out of it.

But I’d made my decision, for better or worse. I wasn’t going to give up Striker to Malefica, not after he’d saved me. I owed him that much, no matter what else had happened between us. My original plan had been to use Striker’s real identity to lead me to Malefica’s. But with less than twenty-four hours left until the ubervillain’s deadline, I didn’t have enough time to uncover her real identity, unless she ripped off her mask herself for the whole world to see. But I wasn’t just going to roll over for Malefica either. I had a plan. A stupid, probably fatal plan, but a plan nonetheless.

“Can he get me the stuff?” I asked. “I need it by tomorrow. And I need to know how to use it.”

“He can, but it will be expensive on such short notice, especially the lesson.”

Lulu rattled off a prospective price. I winced. It would pretty much deplete my nest egg and ensure a steady diet of macaroni and cheese for the next few years. Then again, if things went wrong, I wouldn’t have much use for money anyway. “I can pay it. Do it.”

Lulu began to type.

* * *

An hour later, I knocked on the door of one of the nicer brownstones in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Bigtime. An intercom crackled to life, and a security camera swiveled around to focus on Lulu and me.

“What’s the word?” a gruff, male voice asked.

“The word is boom-boom,” Lulu replied.

The door buzzed open. A tall, thin man waited inside. A diamond twinkled in his ear, while glasses perched on the end of his hawk-like nose.

“Jasper, what’s going on?” Lulu asked.

The two engaged in a complicated handshake.

“Not much, L. This your friend?”

“Yeah. I told her you could help her out.”

Jasper peered at me. “You got the money?”

“I’ve got it,” I said. “You got what I want?”

“Always. Follow me, ladies.”

Jasper walked farther back into the house. To my surprise, the inside of the brownstone was just as nice and normal as the outside. Overstuffed, slightly chintzy furniture crouched in the spacious rooms, along with cabinets full of crystal knickknacks and several bookcases.

Jasper came to a metal door and stopped. He punched in a series of codes, and we went down some steps and through several more doors before reaching a small, cramped workroom. Twisted bits of metal and wire littered a long table, along with tools of every shape and size. I didn’t even know the names for most of the devices. Jasper pulled a heavy lead box from a safe underneath the table. He opened it, revealing some small metal balls and even more wires.

“You sure you want to do this?” Jasper asked. “This stuff is pretty potent.”

“Teach me everything you know. By the way, will you take a check?”

Lulu waved her hand. “Forget it, Sister Carmen. Your money’s no good here. I’ve got this one.”

“But—”

“But nothing. That story you did was terrific. Calls have been pouring in, and we’ve raised more money than ever before. I owe you this and the next three favors. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth.

I just hoped I’d be around long enough to collect on our bargain.

* * *

I did absolutely nothing that night. I played hooky from work, took a catnap, and whiled away the hours in whatever manner I saw fit.

I finished the thriller I’d been reading. I solved all of my Rubik’s Cubes and snapped the final piece of my latest jigsaw puzzle into place. I ate deep-fried, fatty foods and didn’t even think about exercising. I didn’t bother with makeup and wore the most comfortable pair of sweats I owned. I was a condemned woman, and I thoroughly enjoyed my last free hours on earth.

Mostly, though, I thought about Striker and his alter ego. About our passionate night together. About how he’d held me so gently when I needed it the most. I thought about what this strange thing was between us and tried to puzzle out my attraction to him. I wanted to know if I’d meant more to him than just a one-night stand. Striker had come to mean a lot more than that to me, whether he realized it or not. Despite my best intentions. Despite everything.

Finally, the day arrived.

The day.

I went for a walk early the next morning to check out the scene of my impending demise. Laurel Park perched on the outskirts of Bigtime. It was a small area that catered to families and senior citizens who liked to explore the many trails or feed the pigeons that populated the grassy lawns.

I strolled through the winding paths until I found the bench Malefica had mentioned. Children shrieked and played on a wooden swing set nearby while their parents kept a watchful eye on them from under the shelter of a picnic awning. I stretched and did jumping jacks until they left, then did a little more exploratory work and put my plan into action using Lulu’s generous gift. I power walked through the rest of the park and headed back downtown. There was one more thing I needed to do.

I bought a dozen red roses from a street vendor and made my way to Bigtime Cemetery. A row of pines separated the cemetery from Paradise Park and muted the wild, calliope music of the carousel. A wrought-iron gate surrounded the lush, green expanse, and tombstones and angel statues dotted the manicured lawn. Old women wearing towering hats and gardening gloves planted purple pansies in a bed of dirt. Nearby, a man clutched a tattered picture and stared at a fresh grave twenty feet away. Tears ran down his wrinkled face.

I headed for my destination. My stomach twisted. It always did when I came here. Row 17. Plot 325. An ordinary grave, topped with a simple, white marble tombstone that read Travis Templeton Teague. Beloved by all. Tornado action figures marched across the top of the stone, while flowers, teddy bears, and cards clustered around the bottom. Six months had passed since he’d died, and people still left mementoes on his grave. I laid my roses next to the others.

I stared at the tombstone, my heart aching. After Travis’s suicide, I’d dug deeper into his past, frantic to understand why he’d killed himself. I learned Travis was an only child. His parents had died when he was a teenager, and he’d been raised by an uncle. Travis had worked three jobs to put himself through Bigtime University. Eventually, he’d founded a company specializing in wind power and other alternative sources of energy. The company’s innovative technology had made him rich, but Travis didn’t forget his struggles. He’d given gobs of money to charity and started college scholarships for inner-city kids. Travis always paid his taxes on time, and had never gotten so much as a parking ticket. Everyone described him as kind, caring, and considerate.

Travis aka Tornado Teague had been a good man. And I’d killed him.

Even now, I wondered why. Why had he done it? Had Travis snapped because of the exposure? Been unable to handle the rabid media attention? Worried about the anonymity of his fellow superheroes? Whatever Travis’s reason, my exposé had been the catalyst. Guilt tightened my chest, making it hard to breathe. Tears streaked my face.

After a moment, I wiped them away. I couldn’t change the tragedy I’d caused, but I could prevent another one from happening.

Or die trying.

* * *

I went back to my apartment and took a long shower, as if the water could cleanse my soul and wash away my guilt. I put on my makeup with care and slipped into my favorite pair of faded jeans and a T-shirt that read I’m smarter than I look. I hoped the logo would be true tonight. I wanted to look my best, even if I was going to my own funeral.

I took a last look around my apartment at all my books and puzzles and knickknacks. It had been my home since I’d come to Bigtime. It was a cozy space, and I was going to miss it. I ran my fingers over the finished jigsaw puzzle on the kitchen table. The peaceful scene of floating water lilies did little to soothe my taut nerves.

I took the notes I’d written to the landlord and Chief Newman and propped them up on the kitchen table. The letter to the landlord instructed him to donate my clothes and books to local charities, while the missive to the chief explained what had happened to me.

I picked up the final note I’d written. To Striker. The superhero had been conspicuously absent the last few days. I had neither seen him nor felt him watching me. I wasn’t sure whether I was grateful or annoyed over the lack of attention. I left the note for him on the coffee table among all the papers and articles I’d collected on the Fearless Five.

Don’t worry. Your secret’s safe with me. Thanks again for the rescue the other night. Carmen.

It was terribly short, but for once, I hadn’t known exactly what to write. What could you say to a superhero you’d slept with? Thank you? Atta-boy? Keep up the good work? Striker had been unbelievably kind to me, despite the fact that I was trying to uncover his identity, despite the fact that I’d driven his friend to commit suicide. Despite everything. Words couldn’t express how grateful I was for my rescue. Perhaps what I was about to do would. It might even help my karma a little bit. Maybe I’d come back as a bird or a butterfly, instead of a cockroach.

I grabbed my supplies and stuffed them in my jacket pockets. I let out a long breath.

Time to go to work.

* * *

I took a taxi to the park, got out, paid the fare, and checked my silver watch. Eleven forty-five. Right on time. I walked slowly through the park and scanned the shadows. But my friendly neighborhood ubervillains were nowhere to be found. I kept my hands in my pockets, made my way to the appropriate bench, and sat down.

“Come out, come out wherever you are,” I whispered.

The birds didn’t sing. The bugs didn’t chirp. All was quiet and still and hushed, but they were out there in the shadows watching me. I could feel their eyes on me.

At exactly midnight, they appeared. Scorpion lumbered out of the shadows to my left. His bald head gleamed under the faint moonlight. He cracked his knuckles together and grinned. Frost appeared from the right and crossed his arms over his skinny chest. Malefica came at me straight on, her enormous, thigh-high, red boots crushing the dewy grass with every step, as if she were Bigfoot lumbering through the forest.

“Well, well, if it isn’t our good friend, Carmen Cole,” Malefica purred. “Right on time. I do so like punctual people.”

I shrugged. “It’s a habit of mine.”

She turned to Frost. “You owe me a million dollars. He didn’t think you’d come. Didn’t think you were smart enough to realize it was your only option. Or that you had the spine to show up.”

“Really?” I said. “And here I thought he didn’t have a brain.”

“I have more of a brain than you’ve ever dreamed of,” Frost snapped back. “I’ve been educated in the finest schools on the East Coast. Where did you graduate from? Hillbilly High?”

“Enough,” Malefica interrupted. “We all know why we’re here. Let’s get down to business. Your month is up, Miss Cole. What I want to know is this: Did you find the answer to my question?”

“Yes. Yes, I did.”

“So you know who Striker is?” Breathy excitement colored Malefica’s voice. “His true identity?”

“Yep. I know his name, age, marital status, and shoe size. It’s eleven and a half, if you’re curious. I know just about everything about him except whether he prefers boxers or briefs. Is that enough information for you?” Striker liked to go commando under his black leather suit, but I wasn’t about to share that little tidbit with Malefica.

She licked her ruby red lips in anticipation. “Who? Who is he?”

“I’m afraid I’m not going to tell you.”

Malefica laughed. The gleeful chuckle grated on my nerves. “Oh please. You’re going to tell us. Either now, when you can still pass for a moderately attractive woman, or later, after Frost has dipped you in his freezeterium like an overgrown Easter egg.”

The three of them started toward me.

“Ah, ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” I took my right hand out of my pocket, exposing a small metal tube. A blue light glowed on top of the device.

Malefica’s eyes narrowed. “What is that?”

“It’s a remote-trigger device,” I said. “A bomb switch, in layman’s terms. You see, I’ve rigged myself, this bench, and the entire area where you’re standing with enough explodium to kill us all.”

The three ubervillains looked at the ground beneath their booted feet.

“You’re bluffing,” Frost sneered.

I turned my gaze to him. “No, actually, I’m not. I’m not much of a scientist like you, but I’ve learned quite a bit about explodium in the past few days. It’s a radioactive isotope. Makes dynamite look like a firecracker. Packs enough punch to take down entire city blocks with just a few ounces. Just imagine what it would do to those icy good looks of yours. Shatter them in an instant, I imagine.”

Frost gave me a, well, frosty look. Scorpion clenched and unclenched his hands into giant fists, as though he wanted to pound me into oblivion.

“Did I mention that any move on your part, one way or the other, and the bomb goes off? The whole area is wired. If I let go of this trigger, the bomb goes off. If I so much as sneeze, the bomb goes off.”

“So much for your brilliant plan,” Frost hissed at Malefica. “Your little pet project is going to blow us to hell and back!”

“Shut up!” Malefica plastered a bright smile on her face. “Miss Cole, I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement. There’s no need to get violent.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Really? What sort of arrangement? Let me guess. You’re going to offer me money and power and all the usual perks, right? Perhaps even offer to make me some sort of partner in your evil empire. Then, of course, when my guard is down and you no longer have any use for me, you’ll shove me into one of those vats or come up with some equally clever and painful way of killing me. Sorry. I’ve read that story before. I don’t like the ending.”

Malefica’s green eyes grew as hard as marbles. “Pity. I would have so enjoyed double-crossing you. I guess I’ll just have to settle for killing you now.”

Her eyes began to glow. She rose into the air, using her telekinesis to move out of range of the bomb. She sailed through the air and set herself down forty feet away. Malefica raised her hands, picked up Scorpion and Frost with her mind, and put them down near her next to the wooden swing set. It happened in seconds.

Something tugged on me, and a giant, invisible fist tried to pull the bomb trigger out of my hand. I yanked my hand back, but the invisible fist was stronger. It pried my fingers open and closed itself around the trigger. I swiped at it, but the device dodged my grasp. The trigger floated through the air until it was in Frost’s line of sight.

Frost stared at it, and ice formed on the device. A moment later, it looked like a very large ice cube. Malefica let go of it, and the trigger clattered to the ground. Useless.

“It seems that your little plan has hit a snag. No trigger, no bomb, no explosion. Pity.” Malefica laughed and blew me a kiss.

Frost pulled out his freezoray gun and leveled it at me. “Shall I put her on ice?”

“I say we just tear her apart with our bare hands,” Scorpion chimed in. His poison-tipped talons gleamed in the moonlight.

“No, I think we need to come up with something a little more special for Miss Cole for refusing to go quietly.” Malefica tapped her booted foot on the grass. “How about Frost hits her with his freezoray gun, then you shatter her icy limbs one at a time?”

“Works for me,” Scorpion replied.

“I hate to interrupt,” I called out. “After all, it is terribly fascinating to watch you three plot my demise, but there’s something you should know.”

“Oh really?” Frost sneered. “What are you going to do now? Plead for your life?”

“No. I just thought you should know I’ve got another trigger.” I took my left hand out of my pocket and held up the metal device so they could see it.

I hadn’t rigged the ground in front of me or the bench or even myself. I just said that to keep the ubervillains away. Without superpowers, I could never go toe-to-toe with any of them, even if I had a bottle of pepper spray the size of a jumbo jet. Instead, I’d rigged the swing set. According to Jasper, explodium produced a concentrated blast with no shrapnel and no debris. It sucked everything in toward itself. His bombs had a blast radius of no more than twenty-five feet, meaning I should be safe at this distance.

By moving away from me and my supposed bomb, the Terrible Triad had floated right into my trap. I might have been crazy trying to take on the Triad by myself, but I didn’t have a death wish.

Malefica’s eyes began to glow again. I knew I only had seconds before she yanked the second trigger out of my hand.

I loosened my grip—

A silver sword sailed through the air. It embedded itself in a nearby tree, which burst into flame.

“No, no, no!” Malefica shrieked.

Striker leapt out from the shadows and landed on Scorpion. The two went down in a pile of flailing arms and legs. A line of flames cut the two off from Malefica and Frost.

“Hit her, Frost!” Malefica screamed. “Hit her now!”

Frost pulled the trigger on his freezoray gun.

I threw my hands up, still clutching the trigger. Instead of an icy blast, something stung my shoulder. I looked at my jacket, where a tiny dart stuck out. What the hell—

Another tree erupted into flames. Frost threw switches and raked back the slide on his fancy-looking gun. Scorpion and Striker struggled on the ground. They rolled over and over each other, hitting, punching, kicking, clawing. They sounded like a marching band clanging and crashing together. A trash can zipped up into the air and zoomed toward Malefica. She held out her hand, stopping it.

Still holding the bomb trigger, I ran around the bench. While grateful for Striker’s intervention, I couldn’t help but be annoyed. Another three seconds, and Malefica and Co. would have been snoring through dirt. Permanently. My problem, Striker’s problem, would have been solved. Now, I couldn’t blow the bomb without catching the Fearless Five in the blast. Plus, I had no desire to be at ground zero during a superhero-ubervillain battle. They’d destroy the whole park before they were done. This time, I didn’t have a police barricade to keep me a safe distance away.

A figure wrapped in red-hot flames emerged from the shadows to my left. I put my hands up to ward off the intense heat and light.

“Stay out of the way!” Fiera hissed.

The superhero ran past me. Sparks landed on my jacket and roared to life. With one hand, I ripped off the smoldering cloth and stomped on it. My inner voice cried out. Something came up fast behind me. I hit the ground. A metal trash can sailed over my head and off into the darkness.

I scrambled to my feet. Malefica stared at me. The ubervillain’s eyes glowed neon green with hate and rage. Another trash can came at me. I ducked back behind the bench. The can hit it and rattled off.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a green-and-white figure. Malefica saw him too. She picked up another bench with her mind and tossed it at Mr. Sage. One of the discarded trash cans zoomed through the air to meet it. The bench and the can seesawed back and forth, creaking and cracking and groaning. Another wall of fire roared up between Malefica and Mr. Sage.

“Let’s go!” Malefica screamed. “Now!”

Frost hit another button on his gun and pulled the trigger. A shrieking sound ripped through the air, just like it had at the vacuum cleaner plant. I clapped my hands over my ears, but it wasn’t enough to block out the excruciating wail. My brain felt like it was on fire. Mr. Sage, Striker, and Fiera clutched their heads in agony, but the noise didn’t affect the Triad. They scampered away, vanishing into the dark woods on the far side of the park.

After a few seconds, the sound faded away. The fires snuffed out. I stood. The superheroes clustered together, checking to make sure no one was seriously injured. They turned toward me.

“Thank you—”

My vision fuzzed over. I shook my head. The world spun around, and a searing pain roared to life in the back of my skull.

“Carmen? Carmen!”

Striker’s voice sounded long and slow, like he was underwater. I staggered. I squinted as hard as I could, but I couldn’t focus. What the hell had Frost injected me with? My throat closed up. I couldn’t talk. Couldn’t breathe. My foot snagged on something, and I tumbled to the ground. I tried to hold on to the bomb trigger so I wouldn’t blow us all to bits, but my fingers felt numb, lifeless. The metal device slid from my grasp.

The light on top of the trigger flashed once.

An enormous roar ripped through the air.

Heat washed over me.

Then, everything went black.

PART TWO

SUPERHERO CENTRAL

Chapter Thirteen

The machine was the first thing I was aware of. It beeped and buzzed, making it impossible for me to sleep. I frowned. I didn’t have any sort of machine in my bedroom, other than my old clock radio. Had it suddenly gone haywire?

My eyes fluttered open. A blurry haze covered my vision. Slowly, a tile ceiling came into focus. The harsh fluorescent lights made me squint. I frowned again. My bedroom ceiling wasn’t tiled, and I didn’t have fluorescent lights. A muscle in my arm twitched. Pain shot up my shoulder.

The pain brought back memories of the battle between the Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad. Frost had shot me with some sort of dart before his gun had produced that horrid noise. I recalled lots of fire and trash cans flying through the air. Everything else was a bit foggy. Had the Fearless Five defeated the Terrible Triad? Or had it been the other way around? Had the bomb gone off? I couldn’t remember.

I sat up on my elbows and realized I was in a hospital bed. An IV dripped some sort of clear fluid into my arm. Another machine sounded out my heart rate and blood pressure every few seconds. Still more machines burped out information.

Several microscopes and other medical paraphernalia perched on a nearby table. Latex gloves peeked up out of a box. A large metal sink ran along one wall, and a long window with thick glass looked out onto an empty hallway. A set of hydraulic double doors sat at the far end, leading out to…where?

I wasn’t in a hospital or doctor’s office. Although the room had the antiseptic feel of an infirmary, it was too large to be your average hospital room, and the equipment seemed far too advanced. I couldn’t see anything beyond the doors, and I couldn’t hear anything except the whines and chirps of the various machines. No nurses, no doctors, no other whimpering patients. A ball of fear formed in my stomach.

Where the hell was I?

I threw back the bed sheets. A pair of white pajama pants, socks, and a loose T-shirt covered my body. Not your typical backless hospital gown. Who had put the clothes on me? And why? I looked like a rat ready to be dissected in a lab. Perhaps this was Frost’s lair, the place where he readied his test subjects before he experimented on them. My alarm grew.

I tumbled out of bed and started toward the door, but the wires from the various machines yanked me back. I ripped the IV out of my arm. Blood trickled out of the small wound. I tore off the heart monitor and other patches attached to my body, silencing the annoying machines. I staggered to the double doors.

“Hello? Hello!” I beat my hand on the door. “Can anyone hear me?”

No one answered.

I looked for a button or switch or trigger for the door, but the only things that greeted me were the smooth, blank walls. I cupped my hands together and peered out the long, narrow windows. A hallway branched off in both directions, and I spotted a ten-digit keypad outside. A red light blinked on the device, indicating the door was armed or locked or whatever. Somebody didn’t want me to leave this room.

I was a prisoner.

Well, not for long.

I scoured the room, opened the metal cabinets, and looked for anything useful, anything that could help me escape, anything I could use as a weapon. I didn’t know who exactly was waiting outside the doors or what they might have in store for me, but I wanted to be prepared no matter what.

The cabinets contained medical supplies—gloves, syringes, bandages. I also discovered a box full of packets of brown pills with the initials RID on them. I squinted at the tiny print. Radioactive Isotope Diminisher. Interesting, but not helpful. I threw the pills back in the box and kept searching, but the cabinets held no other secrets.

I turned my attention to the odd machines in the room. Most of them were squat, square, metal contraptions with all sorts of knobs and controls and wires. I had no idea what they did, and after I determined that they were of no use to me, I didn’t care.

I searched the rest of the room but found nothing that would help me escape. I plopped back on the bed. Frustrated, I kicked the IV stand with my foot.

Not smart.

My toes hit the unyielding metal with a loud crack. A strangled cry of pain escaped my lips. I leapt up off the bed and hopped around on one foot.

Once the throbbing subsided, I hobbled over to the IV stand, a tall metal pole with four legs. I took the bag of fluid off the hook at the top and unplugged the various wires that anchored the stand to the bed. I lifted it and hefted it in my arms. It would make an excellent battering ram. I took a long, hard look at the locked double doors, held the stand out like a lance, and ran toward the doors as fast as my socked feet would let me.

The stand skidded off the door.

I bounced back. My feet slipped sideways. I barely caught myself before I busted my ass on the hard, slick floor. Once I regained my balance, I picked up the stand and tried again.

And again…

And again…

And again…

After ten minutes, all I had succeeded in doing was putting a few scratches on the metal doors. I wasn’t going to get out that way.

I turned my attention to the window and chewed my lip. I’d avoided the window until now for a number of reasons. First of all, I didn’t want to get a faceful of glass trying to get out, not to mention the noise it would make when I shattered it. Still, it was my only way out. I didn’t want to be in the room when my captors came back for me, whoever they might be.

I yanked the sheets off the bed, ripped one into long, thin strips, and wrapped them around my hands. I wound more strips around my head and face until I looked like a mummy come to life. I took hold of the stand and went over to the window. I closed my eyes a moment, gathering my thoughts. Then, I picked up the IV stand, raised it high, and turned my head away from the window. I shoved the metal stand through the glass with all my might.

It didn’t shatter.

I frowned and rammed the stand through the window again.

It still didn’t shatter.

I tapped on the window. It was made of some sort of thick substance more like plastic than glass. I peered at the surface. Tiny cracks ran out from the spot where I’d hit it.

Well, it was a start.

I stabbed the window with the stand over and over and over again. Ten minutes later, small cracks and fissures dotted the surface like the delicate threads of a spider’s web. I wiped the sweat off my face. Escaping was hard work. I studied the lines and cracks. A couple more good, strategically placed whacks should do it.

I picked up the metal pole again. On the fifth whack, the stand punched through the window. It exploded outward. It sounded louder than a sonic boom in the enclosed space. The flying glass shredded my makeshift gloves. A few pieces stung my arms like small, angry bees.

An alarm blared to life.

Uh-oh.

I threw down the stand, stepped over the broken glass, climbed out the window, and started running.

* * *

Ten minutes later, I slumped against the wall, gasping and panting for breath. I felt like I’d been running for hours and hours. My lungs ached and burned with the effort, and a throbbing stitch pulsed in my side. I pushed away from the wall. I didn’t have time for such weakness. I had to escape.

Somehow.

It was proving to be more difficult than I’d imagined. The first hallway I’d run down had branched off into another hallway. That hallway had branched out into another hallway. The place was huge. It reminded me of some medieval castle, complete with a labyrinth in the dungeon that poor prisoners like me never escaped from. And the blaring alarm was giving me a killer headache.

I walked as fast as I could. No more running blind. I had to think, get some direction. I came to another branch in the hallway. I went left and kept going left at every new intersection.

Finally, I reached a large set of doors, yanked one open, and slipped into a massive kitchen. I squinted in the semidarkness. Pots and pans and big spatulas hung from metal racks. Gleaming knives and other cutlery sat in thick, wooden blocks. Rows of refrigerators and freezers flanked the walls. Another dead end.

A door clicked open at the other end of the room. I grabbed a frying pan from an overhead rack and ducked behind one of the refrigerators, which was roughly the size of a humpback whale. Soft footsteps whispered. A black shadow pooled on the floor, growing larger and larger. I tensed, ready to strike. My heart hammered against my ribs. Blood roared in my buzzing ears. My breaths came in shallow gasps.

A figure strolled into view. I leapt out and swung the frying pan at its head. Too slow. The figure turned and grabbed my wrist, bending it downward. I dropped the pan, and it skittered off into the darkness. I lashed out with my free fist. The figure caught that hand too. A body pinned me against the refrigerator and pressed into mine. Visions of the almost-rape flooded my mind. I shrieked and struggled, trying to get away from my assailant.

“Carmen! Carmen! Calm down! It’s me.”

Striker’s deep voice cut through my panic. I quit fighting. My senses flared to life, and I realized what a cozy position we were in. His leg rested between mine, spreading them apart. I could feel the sleek leather fabric of his suit through my thin pajama bottoms. He shifted his stance, and a heavy dampness gathered between my thighs at the intimate contact. Striker’s gloved hands held my wrists against the refrigerator. His arms brushed the sides of my breasts, which swelled in response. My nipples hardened, and I panted for breath once more.

Electric-blue flecks sparked to life deep in Striker’s silver eyes. For a moment, I thought he might lean forward and kiss me, capture my lips with his. I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to. I burned for him to do that and much, much more.

Striker hissed. He let out a long breath, pulled back, and dropped his arms. I bit my lip.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” he said. “Why did you break out of the infirmary?”

“I didn’t know where I was or who had me. I figured I didn’t want to stick around to find out.”

“Don’t you remember what happened at the park? That we defeated the Triad?”

“Not really. It’s all kind of a blur.”

The alarm stopped. The silence seemed strange after the constant blaring.

“How are you feeling?” Striker asked, concern evident in his voice.

“Not too bad, I suppose. Got my morning walk in today anyway.” A sudden chill swept over me. My head throbbed. The veins in my eyeballs twitched. “Actually, I’m kind of cold. Do you think you could—”

I pitched forward headfirst.

In addition to his other superpowers, Striker had excellent reflexes. He caught me before I hit the floor.

* * *

My eyes fluttered open. For the second time that day, I found myself staring at a tiled ceiling.

I sat up, back in the same room I’d woken up in. The same machines beeped and chirped and hummed, and an IV dripped into my arm. A piece of cardboard covered the shattered window. However, there was a new addition to the room.

Striker.

He sat in a chair in the corner, staring at me. “How are you feeling?” Striker asked, his silver eyes bright.

“Okay, I suppose.” My throat felt like it had sand in it. “Can I have some water, please?”

Striker walked over to the sink, his stride fluid and graceful. I eyed his backside while he filled a glass. Even his ass was perfect. He handed the cup to me, and our fingers brushed. A tingle shot up my arm, and I gulped down the water. Some of the sand cleared out of my throat, but my body still burned.

“How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.

“This time, only a few hours. Before that, almost three days.”

“Three days? What the hell did Frost shoot me with?”

“We’re not sure, but we think it was some kind of tranquilizer. Evidently, it had some residual effect as well, which your journey through the manor didn’t help. That’s why you passed out again.”

“Oh.”

I tilted my head. Striker looked rather silly wearing black leather in the all-white hospital room, especially with the two swords peeping up over his back. Sexy, but silly too. What was going to attack him in here? A nasty microbe? I felt a sudden urge to giggle.

“What’s so funny?” he asked.

I smoothed my face over. This was no laughing matter, and I knew it.

“You know, you can take off that costume. I know who you are,” I said in a quiet voice. “I’ve known for a while now.”

Striker froze.

I gathered up what was left of my courage. “So why don’t you take off the mask, Sam? Or should I call you Mr. Sloane?”

Chapter Fourteen

Striker let out a deep breath. He reached up, and his fingers touched his black mask. They lingered there a moment, and Striker closed his eyes. Then, he yanked the leather over his head.

Sam Sloane stared back at me.

I studied him. Black hair flopped over his forehead, and a long, thin scar slashed a white line down his right cheek. His nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken once upon a time. He was a handsome man, but his eyes were what set him apart. They were the brightest, most brilliant silver eyes I had ever seen. The sort of eyes a woman could lose herself in forever.

I compared the man before me to the masked superhero. Now that I knew exactly what to look for, the mask really was a thin disguise and did very little to hide his features, especially his intense eyes. How had no one uncovered Striker’s true identity before? Why hadn’t I seen it before?

“How did you figure it out?” he asked.

“You made a mistake at the charity benefit. You spoke to me. Why would billionaire Sam Sloane talk to me? He hates reporters, especially the ones from The Exposé. But you talked to me, made polite chitchat. And I wondered—why? The answer was he wouldn’t. Sam Sloane would never talk to me. I’m a reporter, I’m the enemy. But Striker would. He would want to talk to me and see how I was doing after the attack and…everything else. So I watched you the rest of the evening, trying to figure it out. And it just came to me. I just knew. I went back and looked through all the files I’d collected and found some facts to support my theory.”

“In a way, I’m glad you know.” Sam poked his fingers through the eyeholes in his mask. “I wasn’t looking forward to running around in my costume the whole time you were here.”

I glanced at the white walls. “Where might here be?”

“Sublime, my manor on the outskirts of Bigtime. We’re in a sublevel in the left wing.”

“Ah.”

I’d heard about the luxurious estate while covering the society beat. It was the crème de la crème of houses in Bigtime. Sublime featured several hundred spacious rooms full of all sorts of pricey antiques, art collections, and more. The manor could house an army of people and had been the scene of many a society benefit. The grounds were just as impressive, if not more so, than the house. They featured an extensive network of gardens full of exotic, fragrant flowers in addition to fish-filled ponds, marble fountains, and even a bird sanctuary or five.

“So where are the others?” I asked.

“Others?”

“Fiona Fine, Henry Harris, Chief Sean Newman.”

“Why would those people be in my house?”

Sam’s voice was calm, cool, controlled, but I detected the faintest bit of shock in it. I was getting better at reading him.

“Because they’re the other members of the Fearless Five.”

Sam’s eyes drifted to a light on the ceiling. My inner voice chattered.

“Is there a hidden camera up there? Are they watching us right now from some super-duper secret control room deep in the bowels of this place?”

“Yes, yes, they are.”

I looked up and waved. “Hi, guys. What’s up?”

* * *

“Are you sure you feel okay?” Sam asked ten minutes later. “Maybe you should spend the day in here resting.”

“I’m fine,” I said for the twentieth time. “Now, can we please get out of here? I’d like to take a shower and clean up.” I glanced down at my white pajama ensemble. “And put on some real clothes, if you have any.”

“Actually, we brought all your things here.”

I blinked. “You did?”

“Yes. I let myself into your apartment after we fought off the Triad. The chief and I packed up your stuff and brought it here.”

“But how did you know I was going to the park? I made it a point not to tell you.”

“I went to your apartment to check on you, just like always, but you weren’t there.”

“Just like always?”

Sam dropped his eyes. “I’ve been swinging by your building at night to make sure you were safe.”

“How long have you been doing that? Since the night I was attacked?”

“No. Not since that night. The other night. The night we were…together.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t know what to say. All this time I had thought he didn’t care. That I hadn’t mattered to him. That that night had been nothing more than satisfying sex between two willing partners. But he had been watching me, looking out for me. The knowledge thrilled me. My heart lifted.

Sam continued with his story. “Since you weren’t in your apartment, I nosed around. You had the meeting written down on the calendar on your refrigerator in big letters. I knew the month was probably up. I saw the notes you left on the table and figured out the rest. You should have told me that it was time, Carmen.”

I stared at the floor. “I didn’t want anyone else to get hurt. It was my mess. I wanted to get out of it myself.”

“Really? Is that why you had a couple of pounds of explodium taped to that swing set?”

“I was hoping I could eliminate the Triad by myself. Or at least go out trying.”

Sam raised a black eyebrow. “You wanted to commit suicide by blowing yourself to kingdom come?”

“It would have been better than what Frost had in store for me.”

He didn’t argue.

Suddenly, a horrible thought flashed through my mind. “What about the others? Are they okay? They didn’t get caught in the blast, did they?”

Sam shook his head. “No. Everyone’s fine. Fiera was closest to the swing set, but obviously, the fire didn’t hurt her. The rest of us were out of range.”

I closed my eyes. Thank heavens. I couldn’t have lived with myself if I’d hurt another superhero, especially a member of the Fearless Five.

Sam slipped the IV needle out of my arm and put a small bandage over the wound. His skin felt warm and smooth on my own. More tingles spread through my body. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation, remembering how good, how solid the rest of him had felt against me. In me. Sam’s ragged breath brushed my hair, and I knew he felt it too, this strange magnetism, this odd chemistry between us.

“Come on,” Sam said, breaking contact and stepping away from me. “Since you’re bound and determined not to rest, I’ll show you to your room.”

* * *

Sam led me through a series of long hallways. “We’re a couple of hundred feet underground here, in case you’re curious.”

“Three hundred thirty-seven feet to be precise. I saw the construction invoice when I was investigating you,” I said. “Underground construction is a giant red flag. It practically screams supersecret underground lair, both for superheroes and ubervillains. It’s like drawing a great big bull’s-eye on yourself. I can’t tell you how many people I busted on underground construction bills alone. The Kilted Scotsman, the Blue Berserker, Shrooma.”

Sam’s face tightened at the mention of the other superheroes and ubervillains I’d exposed. I shut up. I was blathering anyway, trying to fill the silence. It was an annoying habit I developed whenever I was nervous or guilty or both. Being in the Fearless Five’s headquarters was more than enough to make me feel guilty, given Tornado’s suicide. And queasy. As for Sam, well, just thinking about him was enough to get me worked up in a completely different, totally unacceptable way.

We arrived at an elevator. Sam punched in a series of numbers on a keypad next to the doors. They slid open. He punched in another code on a pad inside the elevator. The doors pinged closed, and the elevator rose.

I studied Sam. He stared straight ahead at the smooth door. I couldn’t decide who was sexier—Sam Sloane or Striker. He looked damn good either way. My eyes trailed down Sam’s lean, firm body. I imagined him stopping the elevator, turning to me, taking me into his arms, peeling the white pajamas from my body, and then—

I shook my head. I really needed to get some new fantasies. Ones that didn’t star Sam aka Striker Sloane. I’d almost died a couple days ago, and now I was thinking about jumping him in an elevator. What the hell was wrong with me?

Several floors later, the elevator stopped. Sam punched in yet another code. The doors slid open, revealing a small, black space.

“Where are we?”

“This leads out to the wine cellar.” He hit some more keys, and another door opened.

We emerged in the far corner of a massive wine cellar. Rack after wooden rack of bottles stood like quiet sentinels in the damp, cool space. Sam flipped open a panel in the wall and punched in one final code. The secret door slid shut, and he closed the panel.

I eyed the labels as we walked by. From the stories I’d done on the society beat, I knew the bottles in Sam’s cellar went for thousands and thousands of dollars apiece. He probably even had some Brighton’s Best whiskey stashed away somewhere, just like Malefica had in her secret lair. A vague thought stirred in my mind. Brighton’s Best—

Sam opened another door, and the thought fled. We climbed up a flight of stairs and emerged into a wide hallway. Gilded mirrors lined the walls. A crystal chandelier dangled hundreds of feet overhead. Ivory and jade statues peeked out from wall recesses. Wide marble stairs led up to the top floors of the manor.

I tried hard not to gawk. I’d been to high-society affairs before at some of the finest homes in Bigtime, but Sublime blew me away. Everything whispered of money and elegance and power. It was enough to make a middle-class country gal from Tennessee feel, well, just a little inadequate. All right, downright inferior. Especially when I was wearing a lab-rat getup and smelled like I hadn’t had a shower in days. All the opulence reminded me once again of the painful fact that I was way out of my league when it came to Sam Sloane. Hell, I wasn’t even in the same time zone.

Sam wound his way up the stairs and past yet more lavishly filled rooms. He came to a set of doors at the very end of one hallway, and we entered an enormous room.

“This is your suite. There’s a bedroom, bathroom, walk-in closet, and living room complete with an entertainment center and all the other usual bells and whistles.”

It was all that and a bag of chips too. A couple of bags. Big bags. I worked very hard to keep my jaw from dropping open. The suite was three times the size of my apartment and just as richly furnished as the rest of the manor. I pinched myself. Just to make sure I wasn’t dreaming. Or dead.

“Your stuff is over there.” Sam pointed to a pile of boxes next to the wall near the king-size bed. “And here’s the intercom. I’ve had it connected to my room. Just push the button if you need something. If I’m not in my room, the call gets routed throughout the manor. It might take a few minutes, but Henry or someone else will answer you.”

“You mean you don’t have a trusty butler with a stuffy British accent to do your bidding and help you slip into your superhero getup? I thought that was a requirement for all you rich, superhero types,” I quipped. “How terribly disappointing.”

“Sorry. I tried the whole servants thing, but it just didn’t work. Servants are too nosy for their own good. I have someone come in a couple of times a week to cook and clean, but that’s it. But if you know where I can find a trusty butler with a stuffy British accent to do my bidding, please, let me know.”

Sam grinned. His white teeth contrasted with his dark, tanned face. His pale eyes sparkled, and little laugh lines appeared at the corners. The effect devastated me. My heart skipped about twenty beats. No wonder every eligible debutante in Bigtime wanted to hook Sam Sloane. The man was gorgeous from head to toe. I knew. I’d seen most of him.

“Dinner is at six sharp. Everyone will be there. We need to talk about what our next move should be. I’ll come back up and get you then. In the meantime, make yourself comfortable. Try to relax.”

My eyes drifted to the bed. I’d like to relax in that, all right, with Sam next to me. Or on top of me. Or under me. I wasn’t picky. I pushed the wicked thought out of my mind.

“Thanks.”

Sam winked at me, walked across the room, and closed the door.

I sank down onto the plush bed. A silly little grin turned up the corners of my mouth. He’d winked at me! Sam Sloane had winked at me! Then, reality intruded, as it so often did. My grin faded. What was wrong with me?

Mooning over Sam would get me nothing but trouble, and I didn’t need my karma to get any worse.

And, of course, there was the fact that I’d made the superhero-dating mistake before with Matt, although technically I hadn’t known he was a superhero. Still, all the long hours, mysterious disappearances, and strange injuries had been difficult to put up with, to say the least. And then there was the betrayal of Matt cheating on me with Karen, my best friend and the local ubervillain. I had no desire to repeat that. No desire whatsoever.

Well…

Maybe just a little…

A tiny, tiny bit of desire…

I growled. Maybe Frost had given me some kind of bizarre love potion in addition to the tranquilizer. Maybe that explained my odd attraction to Sam and my fascination with his brilliant eyes. I snorted. Yeah, right.

More than likely, I was feeling the so-called superhero swoon effect. It was a well-known fact that after someone was saved by a superhero, she usually developed a mad, mad crush on her savior. The victim bought the hero chocolates, flowers, and other trinkets and made a pest of herself until the superhero oh-so-gently told her they could never be together. It was a well-documented phenomenon. Countless journal articles had been written about it, often by bitter female researchers who had been under the effects of the superhero swoon once upon a time.

Except, in my case, I’d actually slept with said superhero before he’d saved me. And no matter how I tried to deny it, I wanted to again. And again. And again. I groaned and flopped back on the bed. There was no way things could ever work out between Sam and me, no matter how super the sex had been.

There were just too many things between us, namely the ghost of a dead man and a malicious ubervillain who wanted our heads on a silver platter. Malefica was out there somewhere plotting her revenge, trying to get me back in her sights. I couldn’t bear it if something happened to Sam because of me. But what could I do to stop it?

I mulled over the predicament, pushing possible options around in my mind like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. I sat up and squared my shoulders. I would go to dinner tonight and be nice and polite to everyone, even Fiona Fine. Then, I would pack up my things and leave Sam Sloane and the rest of the Fearless Five alone.

Forever.

It was the only chance I had to keep Sam and the others safe from Malefica’s wrath.

And the only way I could keep my shattered heart from taking another pummeling at the hands of a superhero.

Chapter Fifteen

After spending fifteen minutes chastising myself and vowing never to look at Sam Sloane ever again, I stripped off my hospital clothes and took the longest bath in the history of mankind. Well, one of the longest.

Like the rest of the suite, the bathroom had everything a girl could want. Bath beads, exotic body oils, even scented soap-on-a-rope. I threw a couple of different scents into the swimming-pool-sized tub and filled it to the brim with the hottest water I could stand. I plunged into the bubbles and scrubbed myself down.

When I finished, I wrapped myself in a fluffy, white bath towel, unstopped the tub, and watched as the soapy water swirled down the drain. If only my troubles could disappear so easily.

* * *

Sam knocked on the door at exactly six. The superhero had shed his skintight leather suit for a perfectly fitted tuxedo. The black coat and white shirt only enhanced his dark good looks. My heart fluttered.

Sam’s silver eyes flicked over my body. I looked down at my ensemble, a less-than-glamorous combo of faded jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a T-shirt that read Love just weighs a woman down. A pink anvil covered with hearts crushed a woman to death on the front of the shirt. I cringed, aware once again of the enormous socioeconomic gap between us. I looked like a bag lady next to Sam.

“I didn’t realize we were dressing up for dinner. If you give me a few minutes, I can change—”

“No, no. You look fine. It doesn’t matter. I should have told you. It’s something we do around here. There’s no reason to change.”

Superheroes who dressed up for dinner? Odd. I wouldn’t think they would have time to do something so fancy, what with all the crime in Bigtime. I wondered what other strange superhero behavior I was going to witness tonight.

“Are you ready?” Sam asked.

Ready to face the friends of a superhero I’d driven to commit suicide? Sure, no problem. I did that every day and twice on Sundays.

Or not.

A ball of nerves knotted up in my stomach, and I let out a long breath. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t worry. Nobody blames you for Travis’s death,” he said in a gentle voice. “Everything will be fine.”

I didn’t believe him for an instant. They all blamed me, and I knew it.

I could feel it in my very soul.

* * *

Sam led me down various hallways and flights of stairs until we reached the dining room. I stepped over the threshold and stopped. A chandelier the size of a compact car hung over the table and bathed the room in a pure, white light. A table filled with delicate china, antique crystal, and lit candles crouched below. Impressionist paintings in silver frames adorned the walls, while gleaming suits of armors stood guard beside them. I felt small, insignificant, and shabby in the enormous room, which could easily hold a couple hundred people. The others clustered around one end of the long, square table. They rose, and I realized they were just as dressed up as Sam was. Henry and the chief wore dark tuxedos, while Fiona sported a bright blue gown.

“Carmen, good to see you,” Chief Sean Newman rumbled.

“Hi, Carmen.” Henry gave me a shy wave.

Fiona remained silent. Anger and loathing for me radiated from her with the heat of a thousand suns. Beads of sweat popped out on my face. If Fiona got any hotter, my hair would light up like a Christmas tree.

“Chief, Henry, Fiona.”

I stared at the unmasked superheroes. They stared back. The knot in my stomach ballooned to the size of a basketball. Tension blanketed the air like a heavy fog.

“I think we all know each other,” Sam said. “Why don’t we sit down and have dinner?”

He walked to the table and pulled out a chair next to Henry. My knees shook, as I sank into it. Fiona and Chief Newman faced me across the table, and Sam took his place at the head. Silver trays of cheeses, fruits, and vegetables filled the table, along with tureens of steaming soup, bowls of salads, and a turkey large enough to feed a third-world country. A luscious-looking chocolate cheesecake perched at the far end.

“Dig in, dig in, don’t be shy,” Sam said. “There’s plenty to go around.”

The others picked up their silverware and passed around the various platters and bowls. Once everyone had been served, we dug in. Silverware and cutlery clinked together, creating a pleasant-sounding symphony to accompany the meal.

I picked at my food. I had no appetite for the fantastic spread, even though I hadn’t eaten in several days. The ball in my stomach spread into my throat. I could barely breathe.

Fiona had no such problem. The fashion designer took three portions of everything and wolfed them down in record time. She was on her fourth helping of mashed potatoes and gravy before the others finished their first. It was fascinating, in a gluttonous sort of way. The gusto and speed with which the other woman ate transfixed me. Watching food disappear from Fiona’s plate would make for excellent time-lapse photography.

“What are you staring at?” Fiona snapped.

“Nothing,” I said. “It’s just…how can you eat so much and stay so thin? What’s your secret?”

“I have a high metabolism. I can eat whatever I want and never gain an ounce. I burn all the calories away. Literally.” Her blue eyes flicked over me. “Unlike some people.”

I sucked in my less-than-flat stomach. I wasn’t fat, but I didn’t have a supermodel’s perfect, stick-thin figure. I never would without liposuction and some sort of serious eating disorder. Still, I put my fork down.

Once everyone had finished, Chief Newman picked up the chocolate cheesecake. “Would you like some, Carmen?”

I started to say no when a smirk flitted across Fiona’s face.

“Yes, please. I’d love a piece.”

Chief Newman passed me the dessert. I helped myself to a piece of cheesecake and took a big bite. The chocolate melted in my mouth, and I polished off the rest of it. Fiona Fine and her perfect figure be damned. Life was too short to count calories. Especially when I had a malevolent ubervillain to worry about.

The others dawdled over their cheesecake, and my curiosity crept up over my nervousness. The reporter in me yearned to ask questions. Just like always.

“So, do you all live here at Sublime?” I asked.

“Not exactly,” Sam replied. “We all have separate apartments and homes. However, everybody does have their own suite of rooms downstairs that they can crash in whenever we come back from a mission.”

“Downstairs? I thought we were on the bottom floor.”

Sam made a gesture with his hand. “You know, downstairs.”

“Oh.”

“I have a question for you, Carmen. How did you figure out our identities?” Henry asked, his glasses gleaming in the dim light. “We’re all dying to know.”

“Well, like I told Sam, he made a mistake. He talked to me at the benefit, and I wondered why. Sam Sloane would never talk to me. Then, Fiona came in and dragged him away from me because Chief Newman wanted to see him. I just had a feeling about the four of you. I saw you standing together, and everything just fit. Sam talking to me, the chief wanting to see him, Fiona pulling him away. Later that night, I went back home and started digging into your backgrounds. I found some more information that confirmed my hunch.”

Fiona let out a snort. “You had a feeling? What are you, psychic now?”

“No,” I said in a defensive tone. “I’m not psychic. I just get these feelings sometimes, little flashes in my head. I just know things. It’s a gut instinct, I guess, an inner voice that whispers to me.”

“Interesting,” Chief Newman murmured. His blue eyes darkened. “Very interesting.”

“And what about me?” Henry asked. “How did you figure me out? Nobody knows what Hermit looks like or what powers he has.”

I smiled. “You made a mistake too, with the list I asked you to compile of the fifty richest men and women in Bigtime. The Henry Harris I know would never leave two names off a list like that, and it certainly wouldn’t be because there was a flaw in his computer program. When I realized the two names you had left off were Sam and Fiona, I knew you were Hermit.”

Henry looked at Fiona. “I told you she’d figure that out.”

Fiona sniffed. “Yes, well, I suppose anyone can count.”

I glared at the other woman.

Sam cleared his throat before things got any more heated. “We all know why we’re here. The question is, what do we do now?”

“Actually, before we talk about that, I have something I want to say to all of you. Something I’ve wanted to say for a long time.” I took a deep breath. This was the reason my stomach had been overtaken by a basketball. Still, it was something I had to do, something I needed to do, no matter how difficult it was. I swallowed. The ball blew up to gigantic proportions.

“I just wanted you all to know how sorry I am about Tornado, er, Travis’s death. If I’d known how my article would have affected him, I never would have written it. Never. I hope you can accept my apology and my sympathy. I truly am very, very sorry for your loss.”

Sam’s eyes glittered. Henry stared at his fork. Mr. Sage interlaced his fingers.

Fiona stood. Her blue eyes burned into me, and my own temperature rose in response. Sweat gathered and trickled down the small of my back. Fiona threw her napkin down. Sparks flew from her fingertips and smoked on the white tablecloth. She stalked away, her shoes leaving black scorch marks on the floor. She wrenched open the door, walked through, and slammed it shut.

The door had other ideas. Set in motion by Fiona’s incredible strength, it kept going. The door exploded through the wall and zipped through the air. It skidded to a halt two rooms over.

Fiona never looked back.

Well, that certainly had not gone well. I was lucky Fiona hadn’t reduced me to a pile of ash on the spot. Or squeezed me until I popped like a piece of bubble wrap. I turned a wary eye to the others, wondering what other superhero powers I was about to witness.

“You’ll have to forgive my daughter,” Chief Newman said. “Travis was special to her. His death has hit her very hard.”

My mouth dropped open. “Your daughter?” My research had never revealed any family connections between any members of the Fearless Five. How could I have missed that? More importantly, how could such a kind, calm man like the chief have such a hot-tempered, obnoxious daughter like Fiona?

“Yes, Fiona’s my daughter. It’s something we keep to ourselves for our safety. She has her mother’s temper.”

Chief Newman reading my mind and answering my silent questions unnerved me. Had he sensed my nervousness and fear the whole evening? Was he peering into my thoughts even now? Did he know about Sam and me—

I immediately cut that thought off.

A ghost of a smile drifted across the chief’s face. “Yes, I did sense your nervousness, and yes, I am reading your mind, Carmen.”

“Stop that!”

Henry gave me a small grin. “Unfortunately, having your mind read comes with the territory around here.”

I eyed one of the empty soup tureens. I wondered if putting it on my head would block my thoughts from Chief Newman. Or maybe I could make myself a hat out of aluminum foil. That was good for keeping the aliens away. At least, that’s what all the crazy homeless people at Paradise Park claimed.

Chief Newman chuckled. “I imagine that would look rather funny, Carmen.”

I gave him a sour look. He chuckled again.

“Even though Fiona has decided to leave, we still need to discuss our next move,” Sam reminded us.

The mood darkened.

“First things first.” Sam turned to me. “You’ve got to stay here at Sublime where you’ll be safe.”

“Until when?”

“Until we figure out a way to stop Malefica for good.”

“How long might that be?”

“I have no idea.”

“I can’t stay here forever. What about my job? My apartment? My overdue library books? I have a life, you know.” I clapped a hand to my head and groaned. “I bet they’ve already fired me. I haven’t been to work in almost a week.”

“Actually, I took care of that,” Chief Newman said. “You’ve been given a brief sabbatical from the newspaper, and your rent’s been paid up through the end of the year.”

“How did you manage that? I’ve already used up all my vacation days for the entire year.” I’d blown through them after Travis Teague’s suicide. There was something about driving a man to take his own life that made you want to never be seen again.

The chief laced his fingers together. “I merely called up some of the editors and told them what a valuable employee you were, what a hard worker. They were more than happy to give you the time off.”

“What he means is that he hypnotized them into doing what he wanted,” Henry added. “It’s one of his more useful powers.”

“You hypnotized my bosses?”

“I prefer the term suggestive encouragement.” The chief’s blue eyes twinkled.

“Oh. That doesn’t matter. I still can’t stay here.” Panic strained my voice. “I just can’t.”

I didn’t belong here among all the glitz and glamour, and I didn’t belong within twenty feet of any superheroes. I certainly didn’t need to be in such close proximity to Sam Sloane for any length of time. Given my intense attraction to him, eventually I’d do something stupid, like lock him in my room and beg him to make love to me again. My heart had already been broken once. I couldn’t risk it a second time, especially not with my bad karma regarding men and superheroes. And everything else, for that matter.

“You can stay here, and you will,” Sam snapped.

His authoritative tone grated on my nerves. If there was one thing I hated, it was when other people tried to tell me what to do. No matter how sexy the person might be. “It’s my life, and I want to get back to it as soon as I can. I’ll do what I want to.”

“And if you want to keep it, you’ll stay right here where it’s safe, where we can protect you.”

My blue eyes narrowed. Sam glared at me, his silver eyes shimmering with emotion.

“Why don’t we just take it one day at a time and see what develops?” Chief Newman suggested. “There’s no need to make a hasty decision now we might regret later.”

I drummed my fingers on the table. Besides my unwanted, relentless attraction to Sam, my other major problem was Malefica. If I left the safety of Sublime and went back to Bigtime, she’d track me down faster than a Southern bloodhound treeing raccoons. I’d felt Malefica’s rage, her absolute hatred of me, at the park. I had dared to stand up to the ubervillain, and Malefica hadn’t liked it. Not one little bit.

I shuddered to think what would happen if she got her inch-long nails into me. How could I deal with this threat? Despite my reprieve from work, I couldn’t spend the rest of my life hiding from the Terrible Triad. There had to be a way out of this mess. I turned the problem round and round in my mind.

Besides her superpowers, Malefica’s only real advantage was her anonymity. That, however, was something I could change. And it would drastically level the playing field.

“Did you guys bring all my stuff from my apartment?”

“Yes. We shoved everything into those cardboard boxes in your suite,” Sam replied.

“All of it? Even the papers I had on the coffee table? And the flash drives plugged into my computer?”

“Yes, why do you ask?”

“Because if my notes are here, I can get back to work.”

“On what?”

“Uncovering Malefica’s real identity.”

The three superheroes exchanged worried glances. I stood and paced back and forth beside the table.

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to expose you or dig up your deepest, darkest secrets, but we need to uncover Malefica’s identity. If I do that, I can serve her up to you, just the way she wanted to give me to Frost. You guys can ambush her, and she’ll never know what hit her. Once she’s safely locked away for the remainder of her natural life, I can get back to mine, and you guys can go back to saving Bigtime on a weekly basis. Everyone wins. It’s the same game plan I had in the beginning, the same one I told Striker about. Except now, I have all your identities. That should make Malefica much easier to unmask.”

“Do you think you can really do that?” Henry said. “Uncover her identity? I’ve been trying for years.”

I shrugged. “I’ve done it before. It’s really not difficult. You superheroes and ubervillains aren’t nearly as clever as you think you are.”

The three men stared at me.

“Well, you’re not,” I said in a defensive tone. “Anyone with half a brain and a little bit of time can figure out who most of you are. C’mon. What sort of lame-ass disguise is a pair of glasses and skintight spandex anyway?”

Chapter Sixteen

I started Operation Unmask the next morning. By nine o’clock, I’d dressed, put on my usual war paint, and was ready to face the day and my superhero hosts. I opened the door to my room and stuck my head outside. An empty hallway greeted me.

“Hello? Is anyone out here? Hello?”

Silence echoed back.

I pushed the intercom button. It squawked.

“Um, Sam? Are you there?”

No one answered. So much for my call being routed through the manor. Perhaps I was the only one up. Maybe superheroes slept late because they fought crime into the wee hours of the morning. Matt had certainly never been able to get up early. Matt. For once, it didn’t hurt to think about him. No needles of pain pierced my heart. Maybe I was finally getting over his betrayal. Or maybe I just had bigger things to worry about at the moment, like keeping my head attached to my body and free of frostbite.

I pushed the intercom button three more times, but no one responded. I’d just have to navigate the twisting hallways alone. I saw no one, and nothing moved or stirred. The gigantic house soaked up sound, hushing the plop of my sneakers on the thick carpet and the rustle of my jeans. The only other people I spotted were the figures in the various paintings that lined the walls, along with the marble statues and suits of armor. Their empty eyes followed me wherever I went. Creepy.

Finally, I stumbled across the kitchen. It, too, was deserted. I settled myself on a stool next to a long, skinny island in the middle of the open space. Surely, the others would come down—or up—for breakfast, given the fancy dinner they’d had last night. Meals seemed to be a group affair around here.

But ten minutes later, I remained alone. I hadn’t heard a whisper of movement. My stomach rumbled, reminding me how long it had been since I’d had a substantial meal. I chewed my lip and stared at the stainless steel refrigerator. Sam had told me not to be shy. Of course, I wasn’t shy by nature, not by a long shot, but it didn’t hurt to have permission from the man of the manor.

I scooted off my stool and opened the refrigerator. Cheeses, meats, vegetables, fruits, breads, juices, milk, and more. It was better than a grocery store. My mouth watered. I helped myself to some fresh fruit, orange juice, bagels, and cream cheese. I rustled through the various drawers and cabinets until I found dishes and silverware, carried my plates to the island, and chowed down. Ah, the breakfast of superheroes. Or nosy reporters.

Twenty minutes later, I popped the last bite of bagel into my mouth and polished off the rest of my juice. No one had appeared. I put my dirty dishes in one of the sinks that lined the walls. Well, if no one was going to find me, I was just going to have to find them. Like usual.

I went back upstairs, paying careful attention to the layout of the hallways and various rooms. This time, I made it back to my suite in only five minutes. I tried the intercom again. No response.

I found my laptop, flash drives, and two boxes of notes on the Terrible Triad and the Fearless Five and lugged everything down to the kitchen. I left everything on the island and scouted out the rest of the first floor. I wandered through all sorts of theme rooms. There was one filled with portraits, a room of statues, a room of crystal figurines, and even a game room with multiple pool tables and a big-screen TV. Finally, I found what I was looking for—the wine cellar. I trooped back to the kitchen, retrieved my laptop, flash drives, and boxes, and hauled them down to the cellar. I pushed open the door with my foot and walked past the rows and rows of wine bottles. I wrinkled my nose at the sour, musty smell.

I went to the far corner and put down the boxes. Empty walls stared back at me, and I felt along them. The stone felt cool and smooth and slightly damp under my probing fingers. I ran my hands up and down and sideways. My fingertips snagged on a jagged spot. A-ha! There it was. I took a step back. If you knew where it was, the secret panel looked just as fake as the plastic rocks people hid extra house keys in and put in their yards. I pried the panel open with my fingernails.

I squinted at the keypad. I hadn’t caught all of the numbers yesterday when Sam had punched in the three-digit code, but he’d started with a 5. I tried various combinations for the next ten minutes. The keypad beeped each time I entered the wrong combination. Frustrated, I smacked it with my hand. It beeped again. Stupid computer.

I leaned in and stared at the numbers. It was your typical ten-digit keypad, with an enter key and a few other sundry buttons to one side. I scanned the device, looking for fingerprints or telltale grooves or smudges—anything that would tell me which numbers were used. If I only knew the other two numbers, I could try all those combinations until one of them worked. I saw nothing out of the ordinary, except for the fact that a piece of paint had been chipped off the number 5. I leaned closer. In fact, the number 5 looked as if it was the only number ever touched. Hmmm. My inner voice whispered.

I punched in 555.

The door slid open. 555 for the Fearless Five. How...predictable. Why hadn’t I tried that combination first? It was so obvious. You would think superheroes desperate to keep their identities secret would be a little more creative. It was worse than using your birthday as your bank account PIN number.

I gathered up my things, blew out a long breath, and stepped into the elevator.

* * *

The elevator descended into the underground depths of Sublime and floated to a stop. I punched in 555 again. So far, the code on every one of the doors had been the same. The doors pinged open. I shook my head. Some security system. A child could break in here. What would the Fearless Five do if Malefica and her friends came to call one day?

I stepped into the hallway. “Hello? Is anyone down here? Anyone at all?”

No answer.

I felt sneaky, tiptoeing and creeping around the manor house, stealing breakfast for myself, and now breaking into the supersecret superhero lair. I squared my shoulders. I’d tried to call Sam, and I’d called out to anyone who might be lurking nearby. He was the one who hadn’t answered. I’d done nothing wrong. For a change.

I hauled my boxes through the labyrinth of hallways, past the sick room where I’d woken up yesterday. Someone had already replaced the glass window I’d broken. Well, they were certainly efficient. I wondered which one of the superheroes moonlighted as a glazier. Or perhaps Sam had a contractor on call to come out and repair anything around the manor that mysteriously broke. I wondered how he explained all the accidents. I imagined Fiona melted her share of furniture, doors, and walls. Oops, it just broke would only work so many times before a normal person got suspicious. Perhaps the contractor was paid to look the other way. Or maybe Chief Newman hypnotized him into forgetting.

I passed more sick rooms, five in all. A long, glass window on my right revealed a gym full of treadmills, elliptical trainers, stationary bikes, and other complicated-looking equipment. A hot tub bubbled on one side of the room, and I spied a wooden door that probably led to a pool or sauna. Interesting. I’d never thought superheroes would have to work out to stay in shape. Of course, it would be terribly embarrassing for a superhero to let himself or herself go, what with all the skintight spandex and leather they wore. After all, there was only so much flesh you could shove into a size 0 catsuit.

The brotherhood of superheroes and ubervillains probably frowned upon beer bellies, love handles, and stretch marks. There was probably even a superhero-ubervillain required attributes job application. Some long-winded form you had to sign before you could officially join up with the latest and greatest superhero or ubervillain team. Only tall, svelte women with big breasts and small waists, and muscle-bound men with chiseled biceps and rock-hard abs need apply.

I sucked in my own squishy stomach. Good thing I wasn’t a superhero. I’d definitely flunk that portion of the standard requirements. Sam wouldn’t, though. I thought back to that night in my apartment and the feel of his sculpted stomach under my searching fingers. Rock-hard didn’t do them justice. His abs probably were carved out of slick, sleek marble. Other things had also been rock-hard…

After a minute, I realized I was smiling and staring at nothing. I pushed away my lustful memories and walked on. Farther down the hallway was an even bigger version of the game room I’d seen upstairs. Clusters of chairs and couches crouched around entertainment centers filled with TV sets and stereo systems. A couple of pool balls sat on a table next to some abandoned cues. Someone’s game had been interrupted. A variety of pinball machines jutted out from one wall. I spotted shelves upon shelves full of CDs, DVDs, books, and even some board games. What did superheroes play to get themselves pumped up for battle? Carly Simon always worked for me. What did they listen to after they returned home? Jimmy Buffett was my choice for that.

Next, I passed the kitchen I’d explored during my escape attempt. It, too, was even larger than the one upstairs. Two refrigerators bore the name Fiera. The fiery superhero could eat two whole refrigerators’ worth of food by herself? I wondered if that was on a daily or weekly basis. Fascinating…and a little disgusting. What would the fanboys say if they learned that detail? It probably wouldn’t distract them from admiring Fiera’s other ample assets.

I continued on, past five doors with the names Striker, Mr. Sage, Fiera, Tornado, and Hermit embossed on them. Everyone had his or her own personal suite underground, just as Sam had said. How cozy. I paused in front of the door marked Tornado. My inner voice whispered, and I reached for the doorknob. No. I wouldn’t look in there. I dropped my hand. I had no right to snoop through the things of a dead man. No right at all. Especially this dead man. One I had driven to commit suicide.

I walked past, shadowed by my guilt and sadness. Finally, I reached a set of double doors. There was no window cut into the wall, so I couldn’t peek inside. Curious, I pushed one of the doors open and found myself in the biggest private library I’d ever seen. It almost rivaled the Bigtime Public Library for space and grandeur. Books and magazines and encyclopedias fought for space on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. A large film screen hung halfway down one wall, while a massive table dominated the middle of the plush room. The hardwood floor gleamed underfoot in the places where it wasn’t covered by thick, colorful Persian rugs. It was the closest thing to a control room or Superhero Central that I had seen. Surely, somebody would come in here sometime soon to check up on something. Either way, I was tired of lugging my heavy boxes down the never-ending hallways, so I set them down on a small table in the far corner. I roamed through the room, peering into the bookshelves, pulling down maps, spinning the glossy globes round and round.

I moved over to the table, which boasted five chairs. Computers and wires and high-tech gadgets surrounded one chair. I smiled. Henry’s seat. A series of burn marks and scorches marked Fiona’s place. Two other chairs revealed nothing about their occupants. A layer of dust covered the fifth and final chair, as if it hadn’t been used in a while. I knew whose chair that used to be. A hard lump of guilt formed in my throat. I stared at the enormous F5 insignia, a circle surrounded by five pointed rays. I traced my fingers over the image carved into the heavy wood. My vision blurred, then cleared. I shivered, suddenly cold.

The door banged open. I yelped and turned to face it. Fiona stood in the threshold, her mouth open in surprise. Surprise that melted into red-hot anger. “What the hell are you doing in here?” Fiona’s blond hair burst into flames.

Uh-oh.

Chapter Seventeen

Of the four superheroes I could have run into while snooping, Fiona aka Fiera Fine was last on my list. Sparks shot out of her clenched fists, fists that looked like they wanted to pummel me into oblivion.

“Um, well, I was just—”

“How did you get past the security doors? And the codes?” Fiona’s eyes narrowed. They glowed with a red-hot intensity.

“Well, you see—”

“Are you spying on us?” Flames licked at her fingertips. “Secretly working for Malefica?”

“Of course not!”

My eyes darted around, looking for some means of escape. I took another step back and bumped into the table. I scooted around it, putting it between myself and the fiery superhero. Not that it would do any good; it was made of solid wood.

Fiona stepped forward. “I’ll get to the truth—one way or another.”

“Carmen! There you are!” Henry said, entering the library. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

I had never been so grateful to see him and his polka-dot bow tie.

“I found her roaming around in here like she owned the place.” Fiona crossed her arms over her chest. Smoke rose from her body. “Evidently, she managed to get past the security doors and codes upstairs.”

Henry blinked. “You did? How?”

I shrugged. “I figured it out. You know, 555 isn’t the safest thing to use.”

“I’ve been telling Sam that for years,” Henry replied. “But no. The code has sentimental value, he says. It’s the only thing we can all remember, he says—”

Fiona shot him a heated look.

“So, er, what are you doing in here?” Henry asked, changing the subject.

I pointed to my boxes. “I brought my things down. I was going to start working on Malefica’s identity. I thought you guys might have some high-powered gizmos or information that might help me.”

“So you thought you’d sneak down here and snoop around while no one was watching?” Fiona said, her eyes suspicious slits in her face.

I put my hands on my hips. “I tried using the intercom. Nobody answered. I called out. Nobody answered. I ate breakfast, and nobody showed up. I did everything but dial 911 to try to get somebody to answer me.”

Fiona glared at me. I returned her hot stare, even though sweat dripped down the back of my neck. I wasn’t going to give the other woman the satisfaction of looking away first. Not unless my eyeballs started to melt.

Henry looked back and forth between the two of us. “We might have some things that you can use, Carmen. I’m not sure exactly how you go about doing what, er, you do.”

“It’s really pretty simple.”

“Well, you two have fun,” Fiona said. “Some of us have to go to work today.”

She flounced out of the room and slammed the door shut behind her. The wood shuddered but remained in its frame. I winced at the big bang.

“I bet you guys go through a lot of doors around here.”

“You have no idea,” Henry replied. “Don’t mind Fiona. She’s just had a rough time of it since—”

“Since Tornado committed suicide.” I finished his sentence.

“They were engaged. They were really crazy about each other. She took his death a bit harder than the rest of us.”

No wonder Fiona hated me. Even though I didn’t think it was humanly possible, I felt even guiltier than before. Driving somebody’s fiancé to commit suicide was definitely not good for one’s karma. My own turned a little darker. Soon, it would be as black as Malefica’s surely was.

“So, where are Sam and Mr. Sage? I mean Striker and Chief Newman?” I shook my head. “What do I even call you guys? Henry or Hermit? I’m not familiar with superhero etiquette.” I’d never had to worry about such niceties before. No superhero in his or her right mind had ever wanted to talk to me.

“Generally, when we’re out on a mission or when we have our uniforms on, we call each other by our superhero names. The rest of the time, we use our real names.”

“Okay, got it. So where are the others?”

“The chief is at work. He said he’d try to drop by after his shift. Sam had some big business deal to tend to. He’ll be holed up in his office upstairs the rest of the day.”

“Oh.” A wave of disappointment washed over me. I’d been looking forward to seeing him, to just being near him. I bit my lip. His absence was for the best, though. Hadn’t I made a solemn vow last night to keep my distance from Sam Sloane? Here I was longing for his presence, for a mere glimpse of him. Geez. I was a mess.

“Well, we should get started. I have some files to go through. I’m trying to track down the Triad through their Internet accounts.” Henry booted up one computer after another. “So far, I’m not having much luck.”

I walked to the table where I’d dropped my boxes. I tugged the top off one and pulled out a stack of papers, along with my laptop.

“You could work over here at the table with me,” Henry suggested. “There’s plenty of room.”

I stared at the empty, dust-covered chair. My stomach twisted. “No, I’m fine where I am.”

A few minutes later, I was ready to throttle Sam and Chief Newman. They had made a complete mess of my carefully compiled and filed papers. Evidently, the two men had just shoved everything into the boxes without trying to keep it organized. As a result, all of the papers were mixed together and out of place. I finally just dumped the contents of the two boxes on the floor, sat down in the middle of the snowy pile, and began sorting through it all. Again. Henry’s staccato, gunshot-loud typing accompanied my work.

After about an hour, silence intruded on my thoughts. No more rat-a-tats sounded. Henry had quit typing. I looked up. He stared blankly at the screen. His fingers rested on top of the keyboard. He seemed totally absorbed in whatever he was looking at.

Curious, I walked across the room and peeked over Henry’s shoulder. Rows and rows of numbers and letters flashed on the screen. In an instant, they were gone, replaced by even more numbers and letters. A strange, bluish-white glow connected his hands to the keyboard. Even though the light crackled and sparked like electricity, it didn’t seem to bother Henry. He didn’t move a muscle, not even to blink. I stared at his chest to make sure he was still breathing. How strange. I reached out my hand—

“Don’t touch me,” Henry said. “Or you’ll get the shock of your life.”

I froze.

Henry’s hands lost their glow. His dark eyes cleared. He blinked several times.

“What were you doing?” I asked.

“Mind-melding with the computer. It’s my power.”

“Your power? I thought Hermit didn’t have a power, that you just—” I bit off my words.

Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “That I just provided technical support to the group? That I’m just some computer geek who spends his time hiding in a black van while the others go out and fight? A lot of people think that. But I do, in fact, have a power. I can open my mind up to computers and other electronic devices and use them. It’s called mind-melding. It’s actually a pretty useful skill. The human brain is far more complex than any computer and operates several times faster. I can view hundreds of characters in mere seconds. I also have a photographic memory, which comes in handy when you’re sorting through billions of bytes of information.”

“I see.” I fell silent for a moment. “How did you get it? Your power? Were you born with it? Or did something happen to you to cause it?”

“No.” Henry stared at his flickering computer screen. The light made the white dots on his bow tie gleam. “When I was a kid, I spent most of my time in my room, playing fantasy games on my computer, trying to hack into the FBI directory, your usual crazy kids’ stuff.”

I blinked. I’d done my share of stupid stuff as a kid, but I couldn’t ever remember trying to hack into the FBI mainframe. Drink a few wine coolers, sure. Break into a secure government network, not so much.

Henry continued with his story. “I didn’t have many friends, except for a few people I’d met online, and those didn’t really count. Anyway, one night when I was sixteen, there was this huge electrical storm. The rain was coming down so hard you couldn’t see two feet in front of your face. It was one of the worst storms we’d ever had, before or since. It flooded most of the city and knocked out the power for days. Despite all this, I was on my computer in the middle of the storm, because we still had electricity. My mom told me to turn it off, but I wanted to finish this game.”

“Lightning hit the power line outside. Thousands and thousands of volts of electricity surged inside the house right into my computer. But it didn’t stop there. The body is a wonderful conductor of electricity, you know. The current ran up my fingers and throughout the rest of my body.”

“Did it hurt?” I could see it in my head. Henry typing away, when suddenly...BAM!

“Not really. I blacked out after the first few seconds. When I came to, it was almost like something had snapped open inside my head, like a light had been turned on. I could see things I hadn’t been able to before. I could reach out to the computer and make it do anything I wanted.”

“How did you get involved with the Fearless Five?”

“Mr. Sage sensed me. He’s always on the lookout for spikes in psychic energy. He felt my...transformation. At first, I didn’t understand what had happened, and I got terrible headaches. Mr. Sage found me. He taught me how to control my power, how to use it to benefit others. Mr. Sage and the rest of the group needed somebody who understood computers and could do what I could. So, I joined the group, and the rest is history.”

“Do you ever regret it? Having powers, I mean? Not being…ordinary?”

“Sometimes. I like helping people, I really do, but being a superhero is a full-time job. And it’s an awesome responsibility. There’s always somebody who needs help or wants to rule the world. Sometimes, I wish I could be just like everybody else. Plus, mind-melding can give you one killer headache, particularly if you run into a virus or some nasty security firewall on the Internet.” Henry took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.

His story awed and humbled me. I couldn’t imagine being a teenager who suddenly developed this fantastical power. I wouldn’t have been able to handle it. Yet Henry had become a good, kind man despite having this power thrust upon him. He truly was amazing.

“Well, from everything I’ve seen and read, you do a great job, Hermit,” I said. “I’m sure everyone is grateful that you do what you do. I know I am.”

Henry smiled.

I grinned back. “Now, if you feel up to it, why don’t we use that power of yours to track down an ubervillain?”

“I’m always up for that.” Henry slid his glasses back on his face. “Let’s go get her.”

* * *

We spent the next two hours going through files and reviewing all of the information we’d gathered on Malefica and the rest of the Terrible Triad. The answer to Malefica’s real identity was hidden somewhere among my papers and the information on my flash drives. I could feel it. I just didn’t know where to look. Yet.

Henry left to go to work at The Exposé, but I stayed in the library. By the time I finished reorganizing my papers, it was close to six. I stretched my arms up over my head. My bones snapped and popped in a pleasant way. My stomach rumbled. Time for dinner. Malefica would have to wait until tomorrow.

I turned off the light and left the library. I walked back down the hallways, rode the elevator up to the wine cellar, and made my way to the kitchen. It was deserted, just like this morning. This time, I didn’t hesitate. After all my hard work, I was in the mood for a little comfort—Southern style. I gathered up the necessary ingredients for a bona fide Southern feast. Soon, chicken sizzled in a hot skillet while biscuits baked in the oven. Peach tea chilled in the refrigerator.

“Something smells good.”

I shrieked at the sound of Sam’s deep voice. A spatula slipped from my fingers.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to do that?” I clutched a hand over my racing heart.

“It’s one of my many talents,” he replied.

I glared at him. Or at least I tried to. He leaned against the side of the refrigerator. A navy blue business suit hugged his body to perfection and brought out his brilliant eyes. He looked good. Too good. I turned back to the stove so he wouldn’t notice the flush in my cheeks. It was a good thing he couldn’t read minds, because mine was once more full of lustful thoughts.

Sam walked over and snitched a piece of chicken from the pan.

“Stop that. It’s not ready.” I swiped at him, but he easily ducked out of the way. Stupid superhuman reflexes.

“Mmmm. Tastes ready to me. Where did you learn to cook like that?”

I sniffed. “I, sir, am a Southerner. And every Southerner, no matter the gender, learns at a very young age to make three essential things—fried chicken, buttermilk biscuits, and iced tea. All of which I have prepared tonight and will soon be dining on.”

“Care if I join you?”

I looked into his eyes. They were the most unusual color, and varied with his mood, from dark, gunmetal gray when he was angry or upset to light silver when he was calm and relaxed, like now. I realized I was alone with Sam aka Striker Sloane, the one person I should be avoiding at all costs, other than Malefica. I thought back to that night in my apartment and how it had all started in my kitchen.

I dropped my gaze to the crispy chicken. “Um, well, I’m not sure I made enough for two people.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t eat nearly as much as Fiona does.”

I laughed. Despite my earlier vow, I wanted to have dinner with Sam. Wanted to know the man behind the mask. So, I did something I shouldn’t have.

“I’d love to have some company,” I said.

* * *

We settled ourselves at the island in the middle of the kitchen. Sam loosened his silk tie while I filled our plates.

“Mmm-mmm. I think I’m in heaven.” Sam rolled his eyes for emphasis and took another bite of his buttered biscuit.

I laughed again. “I wouldn’t go that far, but it certainly beats flat champagne and moldy cheese.”

“Ah, the gourmet cuisine of the Bigtime society crowd.”

For the next half hour, we regaled each other with tales from the society scene. Sam talked about how hard it was to avoid all the money-hungry debutantes and their marriage-minded mothers, while I spun horror stories about the drunken businessmen who hit on me, even though their stone-cold-sober wives stood all of two feet away.

The conversation moved on to other topics. I told Sam about my childhood and what it was like to grow up in the Tennessee hills. He told me about taking his father’s small construction business and turning it into a multibillion-dollar empire that included everything from newspapers to computer companies to farming interests. Sam liked football, hockey, and other contact sports. I told him about my fascination with puzzles. We talked about favorite movies and books and music and more. If it hadn’t been for the fact that I was in hiding, Sam was pretty much stuck with me, and we’d already had sex, I would have sworn I was having the best first date of my life.

I’d never found someone who was so easy to talk to. Sam and I chatted about everything—except that night in my apartment. That was the one topic I didn’t know how to bring up or even what to say. Was it good for you too? What was that thing you did with your hands that drove me crazy? Want to do it again? I didn’t have the courage to ask Sam any of those questions, especially the last one.

Suddenly, Sam cocked his head to one side. “Nine o’clock already.”

“How do you know that?” I didn’t see any clocks in the kitchen.

“There’s an antique grandfather clock in the main hallway. It chimes the hours.”

I could just barely hear the faint murmur. “You must have amazing hearing.”

“Supersenses, remember?” Sam stood. “I’d love to stay, but I have to go downstairs. I’m on call tonight.”

“You go ahead. I’ll clean up.” I rose from my stool as well.

“No, you cooked. I’ll clean up.”

We both reached for the same plate, and our hands collided. A jolt of electricity zipped up my arm at his touch. I stared into Sam’s eyes. They really were the most brilliant eyes I’d ever seen. Eyes that could look right into your soul. I wondered what he saw in mine. Wondered if he could see how attracted I was to him. Wondered if he could see how much I desired him.

“Carmen, what’s happening between us?” Sam asked, his silver eyes burning into mine.

I tugged the plate out of his hand, turned away, and dumped it in the sink. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I made my voice light and cheery, even though I trembled inside.

“I’m talking about the night in your apartment. The night we made love.”

“Oh. That.” I closed my eyes to try to block out the memory. But I couldn’t.

“Oh, that? Is that all you have to say?”

I faced him. Sam’s eyes were dark and guarded, his body tense like a coiled spring.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to say, other than it happened, and we can’t change it.”

“I don’t want to change it.”

“Then what do you want?” My heart smashed against my ribs with every breath like waves crashing on a sandy beach. The wrong word, the wrong look from Sam, and my heart would break once more.

“I want to know how it happened. Why. If you enjoyed it. How you felt…afterwards. If you thought about me.” Sam ran his hand through his thick, dark hair. “I don’t know about you, but I don’t do that sort of thing.”

“What sort of thing?”

“Sleep with people I barely know.”

“Never?”

Sam shook his head. “Never. I don’t sleep around, especially not with the women I save. I’m not that kind of superhero.”

“Why not? I’m sure you get lots of offers.” He had to, given how scrumptious he looked in his tight, leather suit.

“It’s not fair. They don’t owe me anything, especially not their bodies. I save people because I want to, not because I expect some reward.”

“And what about your personal life? When you’re Sam Sloane?” All the tall, beautiful supermodels I’d seen him squiring around Bigtime danced through my head.

He sighed. “Not then either. I have a hard time trusting women, letting them get close to me, what with the secret identity and all.”

“So why did you sleep with me? I would think after what happened with Tornado you would hate me. That you would want nothing to do with me. Ever.” The words popped out before I could stop them.

“After Travis died, I did blame you, Carmen. I did hate you.”

Sam’s words pierced my heart. I closed my eyes.

“But I came to realize that Travis’s death wasn’t your fault.”

“Of course it was,” I snapped. “How could it not be?”

Sam shook his head. “You might have exposed him, but he’s the one who decided to take his own life. Travis made that decision, not you, Carmen.”

“But I drove him to it,” I whispered. My stomach turned over.

“No. I don’t think that and neither should you. Being exposed is a fear every superhero lives with. It’s one of the job hazards. Travis knew that, he accepted the risk. We could have gotten through it, if only he’d given us a chance to.”

Sam’s words did little to comfort me. He might not blame me for Travis’s death, but I knew the truth—it was my fault. It would always be my fault.

I’d learned the answer to one of my burning questions. I had to know the other one. “But why sleep with me?”

He stared at me as if the answer was obvious. “You’re a desirable woman, Carmen.”

I snorted. “Oh, get real.”

“Excuse me?”

“Sam, you’re an incredibly handsome man. You look better in a business suit than any guy I’ve ever seen. Not to mention the fact you’re smart, charming, and incredibly rich. You’re every woman’s fantasy. And when you put your superhero suit on, well, let’s just say it doesn’t hurt matters.” I gestured at my ratty jeans and T-shirt. “I, on the other hand, am not the stuff men’s dreams are made of.”

Sam tilted my chin up until my eyes met his. “You’re a beautiful, strong, intelligent woman, Carmen Cole. A man would have to be a fool not to want you.”

The sincerity in his eyes startled me. Could billionaire Sam Sloane really be attracted to me? Could he want me like I wanted him? Could our time together actually have meant something to him?

The image of Matt and Karen doing the deed flashed through my head. “Tell that to my ex-fiancé.”

“He was an enormous idiot to let you get away.” Sam grinned. “Besides, have you seen Crusher lately? She’s almost as ripped as Scorpion. That can be a little intimidating, even for a superhero.”

His catty comment brought a smile to my face. I stood on my tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Thanks for that. And for lying.”

Sam stared at me. Then, he backed me up against the sink and put his hands on either side. I caught a whiff of his musky, manly scent. His silver eyes locked with mine.

“What—what are you doing?” I asked, breathless.

“Proving to you I’m not lying.”

Sam lowered his lips to mine. For a moment, I couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t believe this was happening again. I’d never thought it would. Never thought I would be this lucky.

Sam nibbled at my lips. I opened my mouth, and he slipped his tongue inside. Desire exploded deep within me. Every part of my body hummed and throbbed at Sam’s firm touch. At the feel of his lips on mine.

“I can’t think straight whenever I’m near you. All I want to do is touch you, Carmen. Taste you. All of you,” Sam whispered. He pressed hot kisses against my throat.

I buried my hands in his thick, silky hair and pulled him closer. I wanted him to touch me. All of me.

Sam picked me up and set me on the edge of the sink. His hands trailed up my leg to the junction of my thighs, stroking my wet heat. I hissed. The touch scorched me, even through the thick denim of my blue jeans. I ran my hands up and down his back, marveling at his taut muscles. Why did the man always have to have a shirt on? He’d look so much better without one. He’d feel so much better without one.

We kissed again, long and hard and deep. Sam’s hands ran up my body and dipped under the bottom of my T-shirt. His hands cupped my swollen breasts, while his fingers traced my hard nipples. Waves of pleasure cascaded through me. Thank heavens I’d decided not to wear a bra today.

Sam pushed my shirt up, and I shivered as the cool air hit my flushed skin. I wrapped my legs around his waist and leaned back, knowing what he wanted. It was the same thing I did. Sam dipped his head to my stomach. He kissed his way up my chest and took my exposed nipple in his mouth. He ran his tongue round and round and round until I felt dizzy from the pleasure.

I moaned, on fire, burning alive from the inside out. There was only one thing that could quench the heat in me, the raging need. Sam.

Suddenly, Sam froze, his tongue hot and wet on my breast. A second later, someone called out.

“Sam? Are you up here?” Fiona’s lilting voice echoed through the manor.

My eyes widened. Fiona was the very last person I wanted to find out about Sam and me. She’d fry me alive.

“She’s coming this way,” Sam said.

I dropped my arms from Sam’s neck and pushed him away. I pulled my T-shirt down, darted around him, ran to the island, and lunged onto my stool.

“Carmen, wait—” Sam put his hand on my arm.

Sweat popped out on the nape of my neck. My temperature shot up at least five degrees.

“Well, isn’t this a cozy little scene?” Fiona Fine called out from the doorway.

* * *

I froze. And tried to avoid thinking about what had just happened between us. It was a good thing Fiona wasn’t a psychic like her father.

“Mind if I join you?” she asked.

Fiona pulled out a third stool at the head of the island and wormed her way in between Sam and me. She sat down and flipped her long, blond hair over her shoulder. Every strand landed perfectly back in place. I eyed Fiona’s outfit. The fashion designer had on a neon pink dress dotted with black-and-white spots. She looked like a cross between a flamingo and a Dalmatian. Somehow though, Fiona still looked fabulous. I stared down at my T-shirt that read Addicted to shopping, chocolate, and men. Not necessarily in that order. Truer words had never been printed. I was addicted all right. To Sam Sloane.

“We were just finishing up dinner,” Sam explained. His voice was cool and calm, even though we’d been engaged in some hot ’n’ heavy action a minute before. How had he regained his composure so quickly? My heart was still beating so fast I thought it might explode.

“Really? I’m famished.” Fiona reached for a piece of chicken.

“Actually, Carmen cooked tonight. You should try her fried chicken. It’s excellent.”

Fiona’s hand hovered over the plate. I watched as the other woman debated with herself, weighing her burning hunger against her intense dislike of me. Fiona dropped her hand.

“Actually, I had chicken for lunch. And fried chicken isn’t terribly good for one’s figure. Too much fat, too many calories.”

“I thought you weren’t concerned about calories, what with your fiery metabolism and all,” I said in a snide tone.

Sam coughed, although it sounded more like a laugh. Fiona glared at both of us.

“Your loss,” I continued in a cheerful voice, trying to take my mind off my latest encounter with Sam. “I make excellent fried chicken. The best there is, or so I’ve been told.”

Fiona gave me a sour look.

“So how was your day, Fiona?” Sam asked, changing the subject.

“The usual. Made some sketches for the new collection. Screamed at my suppliers. Sewed my fingers off. By the way, Sam, I have some more models I’d love to introduce you to. Really beautiful women.” Fiona shot me a pointed look.

I gripped the counter so hard my knuckles turned white. “So that’s where Sam gets all his dates from. I didn’t know you ran an escort service, Fiona.”

I was being bitchy, but I didn’t care. Images of beautiful, buxom, blond models drooling all over Sam floated through my mind. I felt fat and inadequate and depressed. My ego deflated like a popped balloon. Who was I kidding thinking someone like Sam could be interested in me? I hadn’t even been able to keep my ex-fiancé away from my ex-best friend. How could I hang on to super rich, super cool, super sexy Sam for any length of time? Sure, we had great chemistry, but it took a lot more than that to make a relationship work.

“I take the models out as favors to Fiona, that’s all,” Sam responded, almost as if he knew my dark, depressing thoughts. “Being seen with me helps them get other jobs. It ups their credibility or something like that. I’m not sure how it works.”

“What it means is that the model is attractive to wealthy men. Wealthy men have wealthy wives or well-off ex-wives. Those wives want to look good for their husbands or potential husbands. They see a wealthy man with a model, and they want to look like her. Specifically, they want to wear what she’s wearing in hopes of pleasing their men. So I let Sam take out my models, wearing my latest designs. The models get some exposure, Sam has some fun, and my business goes through the roof. Everybody wins.”

Fiona’s logic made sense in a weird sort of way. I hadn’t thought she had anything more than a pretty face and hot disposition going for her. Maybe there actually was a brain beneath that golden hair. Still, I didn’t like the Sam having fun part. Not one bit.

Fiona tore into a biscuit and slathered it with butter. “Speaking of well-off ex-wives, I did have a problem today with Joanne James.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And how is Joanne today?”

Although Joanne James was one of Bigtime’s wealthiest women, she also was a notorious miser. The divorcée never met a penny she couldn’t pinch a few more cents out of. I’d come to dread any society event she was involved in. Joanne James’s champagne was not only flat, but watered down. Her cheapskate tendencies were another reason I’d always thought she might be an ubervillain. Evil types didn’t like to part with their money, not a nickel of it, unless they absolutely had to.

“She tried to tell me that I had charged her too much for the couture gown I designed for her. I had a written contract right in front of her with the exact price and her signature on it, and she still insisted I was overcharging her. I wanted to scorch her with my eyeballs. I almost set her dress on fire with her in it. Who does she think she is trying to cheat me? I’m Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. I don’t cheat people.”

Fiona’s hair hissed and sizzled. I scooted away from the sudden flare-up. Maybe I should cut down on the bitchy remarks. Making Fiona, er, Fiera mad could be hazardous for my health.

Fiona raged on for another ten minutes about Joanne James and her cheapskate tendencies. I made mental notes. The hot-tempered fashion designer had quite a way with words. She spat out several four-letter ones I’d never heard before.

While Sam tried to calm Fiona down, I gathered up the rest of the dirty dishes, dumped them in one of the stainless steel sinks, and rinsed them off. A chill swept over me, and my vision blurred. The room spun around, and I put my hands on the countertop to keep myself from falling.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked, putting a hand on my back. His warmth drove away the cold and ignited a fire of a different sort deep inside me. What was it about him that affected me so?

I shook my head. The world returned to normal, but I felt tired. My head throbbed. “I’m fine. It’s just been a long day. I’m going to take a shower and go to bed. Good night.”

I left the kitchen, trying hard not to collapse. I didn’t want to get dragged back down to the sick bay. Sam started to follow me, but Fiona called out to him. Sam hesitated.

“I’ll be fine.” I waved him away. I needed some time to myself right now. Time to think.

“Call me if you need anything. Anything at all.”

Our eyes locked. I shivered at the heat in his gaze. I needed something, all right. Him. That was the problem.

Sam headed back into the kitchen. I crept through the manor with one hand on the wall. After about five agonizing minutes, I reached my room, shut the door, and collapsed on the bed.

I stared up at the ceiling, and my thoughts turned to Sam. I closed my eyes, remembering every detail of the evening. His quick wit, his smile, his laugh, his voice. The way he kissed me. The way he touched me. The way he melted my defenses. If Fiona hadn’t walked in, we would have made love in the kitchen.

Damn.

I sighed. It was for the best, though. I didn’t need to get any more involved with Sam Sloane. We could never have a future together. There was too much bad karma between us.

My inner voice chided me. I was already in too deep. I’d learned so much about the billionaire-turned-superhero tonight, and I wanted to know even more. What his hopes and dreams were, how and why he’d become a superhero, whether he thought about me as much as I did about him.

Sam.

His brilliant silver eyes were the last thing I thought of before my strange symptoms overcame me.

Chapter Eighteen

For the next two days, I worked feverishly on Malefica’s identity, stopping only to eat and collapse into bed at night. There were no more intimate moments with Sam. No more long talks. No more make-out sessions in the kitchen. I kept my distance from him, and he did the same. I didn’t know whether to be hurt or relieved the superhero didn’t press the issue. It was for the best, but I still wanted him desperately. Dreamed about him even.

After dinner, the others put on their superhero suits and went out to apprehend the criminals who prowled the streets of Bigtime. There were no run-ins with the Triad, but it was only a matter of time. Malefica, Frost, and Scorpion were out there somewhere, plotting their next move. They were up to something. My inner voice constantly grumbled about it. I just didn’t know what it could possibly be.

While the Fearless Five made the streets safe, I was left alone to pace the halls of Sublime. I never went with the Fearless Five on any of their forays into the real world. They kept that part of themselves separate from me, and I respected their privacy.

But that didn’t keep me from watching them on TV. Every night, I went down to the underground library and tuned the monitors to SNN, the Superhero News Network. The round-the-clock TV station was dedicated to, you guessed it, all things superhero. From in-depth profiles to the latest action-figure and video-game releases, the station covered everything that had anything to do with superheroes. But the station got its biggest ratings from its live coverage. At least once a day, the anchor went out to some reporter on the scene of an ongoing superhero-ubervillain battle. Or one of the reporters interviewed Swifte or some other hero about his latest, greatest rescue of a grandma wandering into traffic or a kitten from a towering tree. Sometimes, they’d even read the latest diatribes and demands from ubervillains like Mad Maria or Noxious or Captain Sushi.

I sat down, put my feet up on my table, and flipped on SNN. When I’d first come to Bigtime, I hadn’t watched SNN. I hadn’t wanted the station’s stories to influence my own reporting or color my investigations into the Fearless Five.

But now, I watched the channel every night. It was the only way I could keep track of the Fearless Five on their missions. The only way I had of knowing whether or not Sam was coming back safe and sound. That had suddenly become very important to me.

I sat through a program about how the Invisible Ingénues were, well, invisible to men and had a hard time finding dates. Suddenly, the anchor touched his earpiece. His words grew sharp and clipped.

“We interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to take you out live to the streets of Bigtime.” The anchor turned to two chairs that looked empty. “Sorry, girls.”

“Don’t worry. We’re used to it.” A soft, feminine voice floated through the monitor.

“We now take you to our woman on the street, Kelly Caleb. Kelly, what’s the situation?”

The camera cut to a young, thin, pretty blond woman with a wide smile and unnaturally white teeth. “Well, James, it seems that Bigtime’s favorite superheroes, the Fearless Five, have cornered a gang of armed robbers in an alley across the street. The superheroes picked up the robbers’ trail after they tripped the silent alarm at Jewel’s Jewel Emporium in downtown Bigtime. Let’s see how the Five are faring.”

The camera zoomed over to the alley, and I perched on the edge of my seat. I had an urge for popcorn.

A body flew out of the dark hole and landed with an audible crack on the sidewalk. The robber, who was wearing black clothes and a tattered ski mask, let out a low groan. Five more bodies followed in quick succession.

Striker strode out of the shadows, followed by Fiera and Mr. Sage. My mouth went dry. Good grief, the man knew how to wear leather well. Especially on TV. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. The camera panned across the street, where a large group of twenty- and thirty-something women stood behind a police barricade.

“Striker! Striker! He’s our man! If he can’t spank us, no one can!” the women cheered in unison.

They shook their booties and waved and clapped. A couple of them even sported cheerleader uniforms and sparkling, silver pom-poms. Tramps.

Kelly Caleb trotted over to the superheroes as fast as her stilettos would let her. She ignored Fiera and Mr. Sage and stuck her microphone in Striker’s face.

“Striker, Kelly Caleb with SNN. What’s the situation?”

Striker seemed baffled by her obvious question. He gestured at the moaning, groaning robbers. A couple of cops came over and started slapping handcuffs on them. “The robbers have been apprehended, as you can see. The police are taking them into custody.”

Kelly opened her mouth to ask him something else, when a woman shoved past her.

“Striker! I love you! Be mine!”

The woman, one of the pom-pom carriers, wrapped something that looked like a bra around Striker’s neck, pulled his head down, and kissed him on the mouth.

I gasped. The brazen hussy!

The kiss went on…and on…and on… I threw my Rubik’s Cube at one of the monitors. It bounced off and dropped to the floor.

“Get your hands off him, you slut!” I shouted.

Fiera came to Striker’s rescue and yanked the woman off him. “That’s enough of that,” she snapped. “Have a little respect for yourself, lady.”

For once, I was grateful to the hotheaded superhero. Any other time, I would have thought Striker looked like a clown with a white bra draped over his black suit. But I wasn’t in a humorous mood now.

“Time to go,” Mr. Sage said. “Kelly, thank you for your interest and stellar reporting, as usual. Until next time.”

Mr. Sage kissed her hand. Kelly blushed and stuttered something incoherent. Smooth. Very smooth. Mr. Sage was another hero who knew how to work the media.

The Fearless Five jogged away. The women screamed for Striker to stop. Bras, panties, and other articles of clothing sailed after the sexy superhero. My hands curled into fists. A large, black van skidded to a halt at the end of the street. The door slid back, and the superheroes dived inside. The van sped away, trailed by sex-starved women shouting phone numbers and lewd suggestions.

I snapped off the monitor and glared into space. Striker wasn’t their man. He was mine. I sighed. No, he wasn’t mine either. No matter how much I wanted him to be.

* * *

Another day passed, and I was still no closer to uncovering Malefica’s identity. I threw down my pen in disgust. I’d been over and over all the information I had. Nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Malefica might as well have not even existed as far as I was getting.

I picked up a Rubik’s Cube from my makeshift desk in the library, slid the rows of colors round and round, and muttered obscenities about Malefica’s parentage.

“Carmen, that’s not very nice,” Henry chided, staring at me over the top of his computer monitor.

“Well, Malefica’s not a very nice person,” I snapped.

I finished the Rubik’s Cube, put it down, and scooted over to the far side of my desk, where I had started a jigsaw puzzle. I’d completed the border yesterday. Now, I was trying to fill in the center of the puzzle, a picture of purple pansies. However, the cheery colors did little to ease my frustrations.

After a few minutes, the puzzle pieces blurred. My head started to throb. I groaned and closed my eyes.

“Another headache?”

“Unfortunately.” I rubbed my aching temples.

According to Chief Newman, I was still feeling the aftereffects from the dart Frost had shot me with. The chief hadn’t been able to identify the exact drug the ubervillain used. I reached for the giant bottle of aspirin perched on my desk, poured two pills out of the plastic bottle, and swallowed them.

“Maybe you need a break,” Henry suggested. “We’re going to do some training this afternoon. Would you like to watch?”

“Training?”

“It’s something we do once a month. We go through battle simulations, plot strategies, test our powers, things like that. War games. It’s Sam’s way of making sure we stay fresh and sharp.”

I eyed the piles of papers on my desk. Anything sounded better than sorting through more boring articles detailing Malefica’s impeccable sense of style and expensive tastes. Plus, I was more than a little curious to see the Fearless Five in action again.

“Let the games begin,” I said.

* * *

Henry led me down a hallway I hadn’t explored. This one twisted and turned like a snake writhing along the floor. It went deeper and deeper underground until it seemed as though we were in the middle of the earth itself.

We reached a thick metal door, and Henry punched in the 555 code. The door slid open, revealing a long hallway with various doors branching off it. Sam, Fiona, and Chief Newman stood in the center of the hallway, already in costume.

“There you are, Henry. We’ve been waiting for you,” Mr. Sage said.

I drank in the sight of Striker. His black leather suit hugged every part of his firm body. Our eyes met. The superhero shot me a quick smile, which I shyly returned.

“What’s she doing here?” Fiera hissed. Her hair sparked and crackled with fire. “Don’t we have any secrets left?”

“She wanted to watch,” Henry said.

He went to a door marked Equipment and punched in the code. He gestured at me, and I walked inside. The others followed.

My mouth dropped open. Rows and rows of superhero suits hung behind glass doors along one side of the room. The colorful costumes provided a bright, almost gaudy, contrast to the gray, metal walls. Another glass case contained boots and gloves and masks galore, all lined up from largest to smallest and sorted by color. Stacks of swords identical to the two Striker carried glistened from their place on steel racks anchored to another wall. Whips, utility belts, and various other odds and ends sat on stands in the middle of the room just waiting to be grabbed and used. The area contained enough suits and gizmos to equip an entire army of superheroes. I truly was in Superhero Central.

“This is incredible. How much money do you spend on all this stuff?” I whispered.

“Too much. Why do you think I’m such a ruthless businessman? Somebody’s got to pay for all of this,” Striker quipped. “Being a superhero isn’t cheap.”

Fiera put her hands on her hips. “My fashion designs accounted for a good portion of our budget last year. Certainly more than Henry’s and my father’s meager contributions.”

“Yes, well, some of us aren’t independently wealthy,” Henry replied. “Ask Carmen. She knows how badly journalists are paid, especially those at The Exposé. Morgana Madison has Striker beat in the ruthless category.”

“She’s something, all right,” Striker said in a wry tone.

A vague thought swirled around in my mind. Something connected to karma—

“Can we get started already?” Fiera asked. “I have clients I need to see later.”

The thought went down the drain of my mind.

* * *

Henry walked to a door marked Training. He entered the code, and the door slid open. We trooped inside. The room reminded me of a recording studio. A control panel with thousands of buttons, switches, and lights lined one wall. A window situated over the panel overlooked a sunken, metal room the size of a football field. I eyed the scorch marks on the walls and floor below. Interesting.

Striker, Fiera, and Mr. Sage clustered around a locker. Each one grabbed a silver helmet and put it on. The helmets had black visors that covered the superheroes’ eyes, along with microphones attached to one side. Henry punched buttons and threw switches on the control panel.

“Everybody turn on your helmets,” he said.

The visors darkened, and flickering lights reflected onto the superheroes’ faces. The visor seemed to be some sort of interactive screen. Curious.

“Now the chinstrap,” Henry said.

The three superheroes ran the straps underneath their chins and snapped them to the opposite side of the helmet.

“Whenever you’re ready, guys,” Henry said.

“Enjoy the show.” Fiera gave us a mock salute.

The three superheroes opened a metal door and pounded down a flight of stairs to the room below. The door clanged shut behind them.

“Aren’t you going downstairs too?” I asked Henry.

“No, I don’t need to. This is my job—to stay in the van and provide technical support. Today, I’m running the simulation instead.”

Henry waited until the superheroes had made their way to the middle of the gigantic area. Then, he hit more buttons. “We’re going to replay the incident in the park when the Triad attacked you. Watch the room.”

I peered out of the window and scanned the walls and floor. The big metal room was a big metal room. Not much else to see—

Wait a minute. I squinted. Something was coming up out of the metal floor. It looked like…grass.

Grass?

I leaned forward until my nose pressed against the window. I squinted. My eyes weren’t playing tricks on me. It was grass.

A green, velvety carpet sprouted up out of the floor, while the roof took on the appearance of the night sky, complete with a crescent moon and a sprinkling of stars. Trash cans popped up out of nowhere, along with picnic tables. Walking trails zigged and zagged over the grass. In less than a minute, the room went from an empty metal box to a perfect replica of Laurel Park.

“It looks so real,” I whispered.

“Doesn’t it?” Henry aka Hermit said. His bow tie perked up with pride. “Computer chips and monitors embedded in the walls and floors project the 3-D images. Some other adjustments I’ve made pump in sounds, smells, wind, everything. The grass even feels real.”

A woman walked on one of the paths and sat down on a bench near the swing set. I blinked.

“Is that me?”

“You bet. I recorded the whole incident. All of our costumes have cameras imbedded in the F5 insignia, so I was able to record the battle from different perspectives. I took the images of you, digitized them, and inserted a composite into this simulation. We try to make things as authentic as possible.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or creeped out that I was starring in a Fearless Five training simulation. I stared at the image of myself. One thing was for sure—I needed to do something different with my hair. It looked like a rat’s nest of auburn tangles.

A series of beeps caught my attention. “What’s that?”

Hermit pointed to five monitors, three of which had rows of pulsing lines. “There are a variety of sensors embedded in the chinstraps that tell me everybody’s heart rate, blood pressure, other vital signs, and the intensity of any pain they feel.”

“Pain?”

“Not only do things look and feel real, so do any injuries that occur, even though it’s just a mixture of holograms and computer images. Nobody actually gets hurt. Sort of like a Jedi mind trick.”

“That’s incredible,” I said. “Did you think of all this by yourself?”

Hermit shrugged in a modest sort of way. “Most of it. Striker came up with some of the concepts and told me what he wanted. I designed all of the electronics. Mr. Sage helped with some of the illusions and sensations.”

“Speaking of Striker, where did he and the others go?”

The superheroes had disappeared.

“They’ve gone to wait in the spots where they started the attack from.”

I watched myself sit on the bench. Moments later, an image of Scorpion appeared, followed by ones of Frost and Malefica. It was a bit disconcerting and disorienting to see myself clutching a bomb trigger and threatening ubervillains with annihilation. What the hell had I been thinking? I felt as though I’d stepped outside my body. In a way, I had.

Striker launched himself out from behind a tree. He crashed into the image of Scorpion, and the two of them fell to the ground. Fiera lit up another tree, and the battle was on. Things progressed just as they had in real life, with the Fearless Five defeating the Terrible Triad.

I frowned. Something wasn’t right. It almost looked as if the Triad had retreated on purpose, instead of being beaten back. Something about the smile on Malefica’s face bothered me. The ubervillain was cocky, but her ear-to-ear grin seemed out of place when she was under attack from three of the world’s greatest superheroes. Something was wrong with the whole scenario. My inner voice murmured.

The battle ended. I watched myself pass out. Striker picked up my body. Too bad I wasn’t really in the room. I wouldn’t have minded being close to the superhero again, even if I was drugged and unconscious.

“That was the first run. We always do the first one just the way events transpired in real life,” Hermit explained. “Now, we’ll do other configurations and methods of attack and see how things might have played out differently.

“Okay, guys. Mix it up this time.” Hermit spoke into one of the microphones that jutted up from the control panel. His voice echoed in the enormous metal room.

The scene reset itself. Once again, I watched myself walk through the park, sit down on the bench, and threaten Malefica with my bomb. The Fearless Five appeared, and the fight commenced.

Fiera threw a fireball at Malefica, who used her telekinesis to send it flying through the air. The red-hot ball of energy smacked into the window in front of me. I screamed and threw my hands up, expecting to be burned alive.

“Don’t worry,” Hermit said. “The glass is bulletproof, shatterproof, and Fiera-proof.”

I lowered my hands. My face turned tomato red. Of course the glass was fireproof. It would have to be to withstand Fiera’s fury. Despite the computer guru’s reassurance, I took a small step back. Just in case.

The rest of the battle didn’t go as well as it had before. Malefica knocked out Mr. Sage with a trash can to the head, Frost hit Fiera with his freezoray gun and gave her frostbite, and Scorpion body-slammed Striker to the ground and raked his poisoned talons across the superhero’s face. Even though it wasn’t real, I had to stop myself from screaming at the sight of Striker being injured.

“Everybody catch their breath, and let’s go again,” Hermit said.

The superheroes got to their feet. The scene rewound.

They fought battle after battle after battle. Sometimes, the Fearless Five won, but more often than not, the Terrible Triad triumphed. The groups were fairly evenly matched, but the Fearless Five seemed out of sync during the fights. They bumped into each other, made mistakes, and targeted the wrong members of the Triad with their powers. Striker against Scorpion was a fair matchup, as was Fiera against Frost. Regeneration versus poison, fire versus ice. Their powers balanced out. But Mr. Sage versus Scorpion ended in disaster every time, as did Fiera against Malefica. In short, the Fearless Five needed another superhero, someone to round out their attacks and powers.

A wave of guilt swallowed me. They used to have someone else, someone to watch their backs and turn the tide in their favor. The Fearless Five used to have Tornado.

* * *

Hermit ran a final simulation, which the Fearless Five won, and the superheroes quit for the day.

“So what did you think?” Striker asked when we were back in the equipment room. He peeled off his mask, grabbed a towel from a nearby locker, and wiped the sweat from his face.

All I could do was just stare at Sam. The man was gorgeous, even when covered in shimmering sweat. My eyes traced over his costume. I wanted to strip the smooth fabric away from his body and—

“Carmen?” Sam asked.

I pushed away my lustful thoughts and opened my mouth to respond when Fiona cut in.

“We kicked ass like we usually do. We’re superheroes, for crying out loud. Enough said,” Fiona crowed.

Evidently, Fiona had already forgotten the simulation in which Frost had turned her into a giant, flame-shaped ice sculpture.

“Ah, you must be one of those,” I said.

“One of those?” Fiona’s red-and-orange catsuit glowed. “What do you mean by that?”

Sweat popped out on my forehead. I wanted to kick myself as soon as the words left my mouth. Why did I say things like that out loud where other people could hear them? The others looked at me with questions in their eyes. In for a penny.

“It has been my experience that a great many superheroes and ubervillains think their powers make them special, make them better than everybody else. And that because of this, they have the right to do whatever they want, whenever they want.”

Fiona sniffed. “Of course our powers make us special. That’s why they call us superheroes.”

I shook my head. “No, actually they don’t. Your powers just make you different, not special. It’s a common misconception, particularly among ubervillains. It’s where a lot of your I’m-all-powerful-and-destined-to-rule-the-world psychotic dreams and schemes come from.”

“Really? Can you melt metal with your eyeballs? Make fireballs shoot out of your fingertips? Defeat ubervillains with one hand tied behind your back?”

“No, I can’t,” I replied in an even tone.

“Then you don’t know what you’re talking about. You wouldn’t last two seconds against Malefica.”

Fiona took a seat on a nearby bench and unzipped her chunky boots. The superhero ignored me like I was a bug crawling on the wall. My temper flared up, and my foot tapped out an angry, staccato rhythm.

“Can you play the piano like Beethoven? Or sing like Carly Simon? Can you take five pages’ worth of quotes and turn them into a usable story ten minutes before deadline? I don’t think so, unless you have more hidden talents I don’t know about. We all have our special skills. They don’t make us better or worse than each other. Just different.”

“You’re just jealous,” Fiona snapped. “Most people are.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t want superpowers. I have enough problems, in case you haven’t noticed, which is why I’m here with you.”

“Hopefully, not for long,” she growled.

I glared at Fiona. My hands curled into fists. She was getting on my last nerve. If the superhero didn’t have the ability to reduce me to a pile of ash, I would have punched her. Fiona should be grateful for her superpowers—they were all that was saving her from a knuckle sandwich.

Sensing my dark, violent thoughts, Chief Newman stepped between us. “That’s an interesting theory, Carmen. Why don’t you meet me in the library? We can discuss it further.”

“Fine.”

I continued to glare at Fiona. Suddenly, the superhero’s face blurred, and a massive headache roared to life inside my skull. My veins quivered and pulsed with every breath. A chill ran down my spine, and I put my hands on my head.

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked. His silver eyes darkened with concern.

“Nothing,” I muttered. “Just another superhero-induced headache.”

Chapter Nineteen

I stumbled back to the library, grabbed my bottle of aspirin, and downed two of them. Only a few more rattled around inside the plastic container. Almost empty. I might as well buy stock in the pills as fast as I was popping them. I plopped down in my chair in the corner, leaned back, closed my eyes, and massaged my aching temples. Frost’s mystery drug combined with Fiona’s cattiness made for one hell of a headache.

“Feeling better?” Chief Newman asked, entering the library a few minutes later.

“I will once the aspirin kicks in. The headaches never seem to last long. A few more painful minutes, and I should be fine.”

“I’m still trying to identify the drug Frost injected you with. I can’t quite nail it down. Once I do, I should be able to stop the headaches and the blurry vision.”

“I hope so.”

“I know Fiona doesn’t help matters.”

I snorted. “You could say that again. I know she’s your daughter and your comrade in arms, and she has every right to be angry with me because of Travis. I try to be nice to her, I really do, but something about her just makes me—”

“Burn with anger?”

I nodded. “It’s a cliché, but true.”

“But what you said about having powers is right. Sometimes, Fiona forgets that. Sometimes, we all do.”

“How did the two of you even—”

“Get our powers?” Chief Newman finished my question.

I nodded.

“We were born with them.”

I blinked. I hadn’t encountered many natural superheroes or ubervillains during my investigations. Most got their powers as a result of exposure to radioactive waste, animal bites, or magical objects. Not to mention the occasional super intelligent, talking animal with plans of human enslavement and world domination.

“As a child I knew I was different,” Chief Newman explained. “I could see things others couldn’t, glimpses of the future. I could feel others’ emotions, almost see the thoughts that danced through their heads. Sometimes, if I concentrated, I could even move objects with my mind. Eventually, I learned to develop and control my power.”

“What about Fiona?” I leaned forward, my headache forgotten.

Chief Newman’s blue eyes grew distant with memories. “I met her mother, Finola, when I was in my twenties. Finola was a fiery Irish lass with quite a temper. She didn’t have any powers, but she was very understanding of my desire to use mine to help others. A few years later, Fiona was born. I watched her closely, of course, trying to determine if I’d passed my gift on to her. To my surprise, her mother’s temper had combined with my powers and created something quite unique.”

“Fire-based powers.”

Mr. Sage nodded his head.

“But how did you guys even—”

“Become superheroes in the first place?”

I sighed. “I really wish you would quit doing that. It’s rather disconcerting. Some of us like to finish our own sentences.”

“Sorry. It’s a bad habit of mine. Finola died of cancer when Fiona was in high school. That was a dark time for us.” A shadow passed over Chief Newman’s face. “Fiona knew what I did in my spare time. With her mother gone, she demanded I take her along. Said she wanted to look after me. I said no at first, but Fiona can be quite stubborn, a trait she gets from her mother.”

Fiona? Stubborn? I never would have guessed.

“One night, I gave in. Fiona had been making my costumes for years and had already designed one for herself. She even had a superhero name already picked out—Fiera. To my surprise, we worked well together. It was nice to have someone to watch my back after all those years alone. At first, it was just Fiera and me. We would go out and catch criminals or fight other minor ubervillains like the Hunter or the Prankster or Johnny Angel. One night, we ran into Striker. He was after the same thieves we were. Of course, being a billionaire, Striker was much better equipped to be a superhero than we were. He had a leather costume, twin swords, and lots of fancy computer equipment. We were in store-bought masks and the homemade costumes Fiona had sewn.”

“Striker helped us apprehend the thieves. Over the next few months, we ran into him again and again. We seemed to be on the same wavelength, so we joined forces. Striker brought Tornado on board, and I found Hermit a few months later. The five of us just gelled. The rest is history.”

The scenes flashed through my mind. Mr. Sage and Fiera stalking criminals on the streets, running into Striker, Tornado and Hermit joining the group, the five of them forming one of the greatest superhero teams in the world. A few months ago, I would have taken this knowledge and splashed it all over the front page of The Exposé. Now, I felt as though I’d been trusted with a precious secret. I almost felt like one of the gang. Or at least a sidekick. Almost. I certainly had the sidekick habit of needing to be rescued every few minutes down pat.

But the Fearless Five’s back story, no matter how intriguing, still didn’t help me figure out how to deal with Fiona. Or help me find a cure for these killer headaches. I rubbed my temples.

“Has Fiona always been so...combustible?”

“Oh yes. You should have seen her as a child whenever she didn’t get her way. We went through a lot of furniture, tables, lamps, chairs.” Chief Newman grinned. “It was a good thing we lived next door to the fire department. Although the firefighters thought Fiona was quite the little arsonist.”

I smiled at the chief’s joke, but my thoughts turned to a more serious matter. “Can I ask you something?”

The chief looked at me. His blue eyes glowed. “You want to know why Henry and I were still your friends after Travis died.”

I nodded. “I don’t understand it. The two of you should have hated me, should still hate me for what I did. But you never showed the slightest bit of anger toward me. Not once.”

“That’s because it wasn’t your fault, Carmen.”

“Of course it was,” I snapped.

“Suicide is a person’s choice. You might have exposed Travis, but he was the one who decided to end his life. He made that decision himself. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”

“What? Why?”

“I should have sensed Travis’s pain, his intentions.” Raw pain filled the chief’s eyes. Lines of grief etched his face.

The sight only fueled my own guilt. Despite the chief’s kind words, I was to blame for Travis’s suicide. Nobody else.

Chief Newman let out a long breath. “Unfortunately, Fiona hasn’t accepted Travis’s decision yet. She still misses him terribly. We all do, and we all loved him, but Fiona more so than any of us.”

“So how should I handle her?” I asked. “I don’t want to fight with her anymore.”

“You could try explaining the reasons you started exposing superheroes. Fiona might be hot-tempered, but she’s not unreasonable.”

It was worth a shot. What was the worst Fiona could do to me? Fry me like a slab of bacon? Melt my eyeballs out of my head? My veins throbbed and pulsed in my skull. Melted eyeballs didn’t sound so bad. They would be much more preferable than the ten-trombone parade marching through my brain.

I popped another aspirin in my mouth. On the bright side, if Fiona reduced me to a pile of ash, I wouldn’t have any more headaches.

* * *

I didn’t get a chance to corner Fiona until that afternoon. The superhero strode through the halls of Sublime, her impossibly high heels pounding on the marble floors. How on earth did she walk in those things?

Fiona entered the wine cellar, and I followed the hollow echo of her footsteps. I hurried over to the secret door and jabbed the keypad. After several long seconds, the elevator arrived. I dashed in and punched the appropriate buttons. It descended. The elevator slowed, and the doors opened. I dashed down the hall, wanting to catch up to Fiona before she got to the library. I didn’t want to try to explain myself and my actions in front of everyone. I rounded a corner. Up ahead, Fiona opened a door and went inside. I skidded to a halt in front of Tornado’s room.

Uh-oh.

I stood outside. How was I supposed to handle this? I didn’t want to disturb Fiona in what was a moment of private, personal grief. I chewed my lip. And yet...I had to go into the room. I wanted to explain to Fiona why I’d done the things I’d done. I needed to. We would never be friends, but I wanted her to understand, wanted her forgiveness.

Do it...

Do it...

Do it...

The inner voice whispered in my head, the voice I never doubted.

I reached for the door handle.

* * *

When I eased open the heavy door, I found myself in the middle of a suite remarkably similar to mine upstairs. Bedroom, living room, bathroom. Glossy magazines about meteorology leaned on a coffee table next to a half-eaten piece of moldy toast. The bed sheets had been thrown to one side as if someone had just gotten up. A man’s clothes lay scattered on the floor, and a thick layer of dust covered everything. The room smelled like old mothballs. I knew nothing had been touched in six months. This was exactly the way Travis Teague had left his room the day he’d committed suicide. Guilt sparked to life in my stomach. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Fiona sat on a low, long sofa in the middle of the living room. She clutched a silver picture frame in her hands. Tears slid down her pink cheeks and evaporated off her flushed face.

“Um, Fiona? Can I talk to you a minute?”

“Get out,” Fiona snarled. “I don’t want you in here.”

I felt physically sick from the hurt and anger in her voice. I took a step back. I should go.

No...

Not yet...

Must explain...

My inner voice whispered, and I squared my shoulders. I walked over to the couch, sat down on the far end, and squinted at the picture in Fiona’s hands. Travis Teague beamed at her from beneath the glass.

“He seems like he was a nice man.”

Fiona stroked the picture with her fingertips. “He was a nice man, the best man there was, until you came along and ruined everything.”

I took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to intrude on your grief, but I want to explain to you why I did what I did. I’m not asking for your forgiveness. That’s too much to ask. But maybe if I tell you the reasons why, you might be able to at least understand.”

“Never. I’ll never understand you and your twisted obsession with us. You ruined our lives. And for what? To sell a few more thousand copies of that rag of a newspaper you work for?”

Fiona’s eyes burned into me. My temperature shot up about five degrees. Sweat trickled down my neck.

“Not exactly,” I replied.

Fiona’s hands gripped the picture frame so hard I thought it would crack. A diamond ring glowed like a white-hot star on her left hand. A diamond ring... An idea popped into my mind.

“You know, I was engaged at one time,” I said in a cautious voice.

“Good for you. What was he, blind? Or just deaf and dumb?”

I bit my tongue. Although I wanted to snap back at Fiona, I would say my piece and go. The rest was up to her.

“No, he wasn’t blind or deaf or dumb. His name was Matt. He was a very nice man. Loving, kind, considerate. He always remembered my birthday and never left the toilet seat up. We dated for a long time. The day he proposed to me was one of the happiest days of my life. I thought we would be together forever. Build a house with a white picket fence, have a couple of kids, get a dog. But things didn’t quite turn out that way.”

Fiona said nothing, but I could feel the other woman struggling to contain her curiosity. That was the thing about stories. You always wanted to know how they turned out, even if they ended badly. They hooked you like a fish, and you couldn’t wriggle away until you’d heard the whole thing.

“So what happened?” Fiona asked. “Where is this Matt character?”

“He’s back in Beginnings, my hometown, doing what he used to do.”

More silence.

“So why didn’t you marry him?”

I smiled. I’d hooked the superhero. “I was going to. It was our wedding day. I was in my dress, and the wedding was less than thirty minutes away. But I was having second thoughts. I felt as though Matt was keeping something from me. Something big. He’d been acting strangely, coming home at odd hours and whatnot.”

“What did you do?”

“I went to Matt’s room to ask him what was bothering him. I found him rolling around on the bed with Karen, my best friend and maid of honor.” The scene flashed through my mind. This time, though, it didn’t stir as much anger and hurt as it used to. I could look back on it calmly, rationally, and not turn into a jealous monster.

Fiona sniffed. “Must have sucked to have been you.”

“That wasn’t the worst part.”

“There’s something worse than catching your fiancé and your best friend together on your wedding day?”

“There’s always something worse. In my case, it was the discovery my beloved fiancé was actually the Machinator, the superhero. During all the rolling around, their clothes had come undone, and the costume peeked out from under his shirt.”

Fiona arched a blond eyebrow. “You were engaged to the Machinator? The guy who can control machines with his mind?”

“Yep. And my best friend was Crusher. You can imagine my shock, not just at finding the two of them together, but also at the fact they were a superhero and ubervillain. They were going at it like bunny rabbits. And do you know what they blamed their transgression on? The reason they told me they had to sleep together? Radioactive waste. Can you believe that?”

Fiona gave me a look that was almost pitying. Almost.

“After that, I snapped,” I continued. “I took pictures of the two of them in their costumes right there on the bed. The pictures ran in the newspaper the next day. But exposing the two of them wasn’t enough for me. It didn’t take the hurt away. It didn’t ease my pain. So I made a vow to myself, to the whole world. Nobody was going to be fooled like I was ever again. Nobody. I went from town to town, newspaper to newspaper, exposing superheroes and ubervillains. Finally, I wound up in Bigtime. You know the rest.”

Fiona stared at the picture in her hands.

“Funny, isn’t it?” I let out a bitter laugh. “How one event can affect the lives of so many. But that’s karma for you.”

“Karma?”

“Destiny. Fate. Kismet. What goes around comes around. Karma.”

Fiona didn’t reply.

I stood. My time with the superhero was up. I’d said what I needed to. “I wanted you to hear my side of the story, and now you have. You can hate me if you want to. Avoid me, berate me, whatever. I deserve all that and more. No matter what the others say, it’s my fault that Travis is dead. If I could take it back, I would. But I can’t. That’s the really bad thing about karma. You don’t get any second chances. At least, not in this lifetime.”

Chapter Twenty

After that, my relationship with Fiona changed. She no longer disparaged or mocked every single thing I did. Just every other thing. It was a truce. Of sorts.

Another day passed. I stared at my papers and graphs and flowcharts. I was no closer to uncovering Malefica’s identity. I snatched the paper in front of me, wadded it up into a tight ball and tossed it at the trash can. It bounced off the top of the massive pile and landed on the floor. I glared at it, wishing I had Fiona’s ability to make it burst into flames.

I’d spent the past three hours poring over a variety of documents relating to the Terrible Triad and had gotten absolutely nowhere. I rolled my neck around to relieve some of the tension and looked at one of the clocks on the walls. Nine-thirty. Quitting time.

I pulled open the door to the library and ambled down the hall. A loud scuffle up ahead caught my attention. Who could that be? The others were all taking a rare night off so they could catch up on their other lives. Sam was plotting his next business takeover. Henry was at work writing about the latest, greatest computer advancements. Chief Newman was hot on the trail of a group of thieves who’d hit three banks in the past two days. And Fiona was busy coming up with new color combinations that would make a flamingo neon pink with envy. Or just give the poor creature a massive headache.

I reached one of the training rooms. Inside, Striker jousted with invisible enemies. His swords zipped through the air, and he moved with the easy grace of a dancer. My eyes traced over him, especially because he was clothed in his black leather costume. My heart fluttered, and my hormones kicked into high gear. Oh, the things that man did for a leather suit. It was practically criminal.

I hadn’t seen much of Sam. We had been avoiding each other since that night in the kitchen, when we’d almost made love. It was for the best, but still... There was something about him that made me weak in the knees. And it didn’t have anything to do with radioactive waste. At least, I didn’t think it did.

I knocked on the window, and Striker waved me in. I pushed open the door.

“Hey, I thought you had a business meeting tonight.”

“It got moved to next week.”

“Oh.” I shifted from one foot to the other. “Care if I watch you? I need to unwind before I go to bed.”

“Help yourself.”

I settled on the padded floor in a corner of the room. Striker resumed his stance. He dodged and darted like a panther on the prowl, and his swords sliced through the air as he cut down enemy after enemy. Suddenly, he turned and threw one of the swords behind him. It landed in the middle of a target. He made a strange motion with his wrist. The sword flew back out of the target and landed in his hands. Striker went through another series of attacks before landing in a low crouch.

I clapped. Striker straightened and bowed to me.

“Very impressive. I think you killed everything in your way.”

“Thanks. That’s the plan.” He wiped the glistening sweat from his forehead.

I glanced at the two swords dangling from his hands. “How do they work? I’ve always wondered.”

“Get up, and I’ll show you.”

Striker put one of the swords on a nearby rack, then offered his hand to me. I took it, and he pulled me up. My body brushed against his, and his musky scent filled my nose. A warm sensation flooded my veins, and my whole body tingled. I stepped back.

Striker held out a sword, and I took it. Although it was made out of some silver metal, the weapon was surprisingly lightweight. It curved a bit at the end, like a scimitar, and the simple, unadorned pommel fit nicely into my hand. I swung the sword back and forth a few times. It felt as light as a pencil.

Striker reached for the sword, and I gave it back to him. Our fingers touched for a brief moment. A jolt of electricity zinged through me. The air between us hummed, sparked, and snapped. Striker cleared his throat and pointed to the pommel. He slid open a small compartment.

“The swords each contain a microchip in the hilt, along with a propulsion motor,” he explained. “These microchips are linked to the one in the insignia on my costume.” He pointed to the F5 shape stitched across his leather-bound chest. “I control the swords with nerve impulses. In other words, I move my hand a certain way, and the swords automatically come back to me. It’s something Henry and I dreamed up.”

“Amazing,” I said. “I always thought they were magical or something.”

Striker laughed. The warm, husky sound made tingles shoot through my body. “Not quite.”

I stared at him, curious to know more about the sexy superhero. “So, how did you get your powers? If you don’t mind my asking.”

“I don’t mind. My father’s construction company was erecting a building near the Bigtime Nuclear Power Plant. Travis and I decided to go down to the site one night and goof off, ride our skateboards and bikes around, things like that. We were thirteen.” Striker’s eyes grew dark and gray with memories.

“My father warned us not to get too close to the edge of the site that bordered the power plant. There were all kinds of pools of radioactive waste and other nasty things there. Of course, we did get too close. I rode my bike down a hill, lost control, and fell into one of the pools. It looked like green sludge, only it glowed. I couldn’t swim very well then. The sludge was thick and heavy, and I thought I was going to drown. Travis didn’t hesitate. He dove in and pulled me out. We crawled back up the hill.”

“I don’t remember much after that, just lying there and feeling things happen in my body. I passed out. When I came to, my senses were heightened. Even though it was after midnight, I could see in the dark. I could smell things better, hear better. Everything seemed amped up, magnified. I stumbled around in the dark for a few minutes, trying to get my bearings. I fell and cut my hand. I looked at it, and the skin began to...move. The wound sewed itself shut. Later, I realized I had the ability to regenerate or heal quickly.”

“What about Travis?”

“He’d been affected by whatever was in that pool too. He eventually woke up. When he did, the wind picked up. It howled around us like a tornado. I was scared to death, but Travis never moved a muscle. He seemed...comforted by the wind somehow.”

“You know the rest of the story. He became Tornado, and I became Striker. Eventually, we hooked up with Fiera and Mr. Sage. Hermit joined the group later. The Fearless Five were born. But no more. Now, Tornado’s gone. My best friend is gone. Forever.” His voice ended with a whisper.

And it’s all my fault. I put a hand on his arm, wanting to comfort the superhero. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Striker stared into my face. His eyes burned as bright as two silver stars. I moved closer to him, drawn by his hypnotic gaze.

“Carmen,” he whispered.

Striker leaned down and kissed me. A thousand things sprang to life inside me. Guilt, desire, heat, longing, more desire. I wrapped my arms around his neck and drew him closer. Striker growled in response. This felt good—right somehow. For once, the voice inside my head didn’t chatter at me to stop or keep my distance from the hunky superhero. Maybe I just couldn’t hear it over the rapid thumping of my heart. Maybe I didn’t want to hear it.

The kiss deepened. Our tongues dueled. Teasing. Tasting. Tempting. Striker picked me up as though I weighed nothing and pulled me closer. I wrapped my legs around his waist, feeling his hard body flex beneath my own. Striker’s hands moved to cup my bottom, and a low growl escaped his throat.

“I want you, Carmen. Heaven help me, but tonight, I need you.”

I pulled back and stared into his eyes. Guilt, desire, longing. All those emotions and more swirled in the silvery depths. The same emotions reflected in my own eyes. The safe thing to do, the sane thing to do, would have been to stop. To walk away. To pretend this never happened. To pretend there was nothing between us.

But I’d never been one to play it safe. I didn’t care about the past or the future or my own bad karma with men. All that mattered was the two of us and this moment, these feelings between us.

“Then take me to your room,” I whispered. “Take me there. Now.”

Striker didn’t have to be told twice. We were outside the door to his suite before I knew exactly how we’d gotten there. I twisted the knob open. Striker carried me inside and kicked the door shut with his heavy boot. He set me down in front of him, and I moved back into his arms. I drew his head down to mine, delving into the hot, moist depths of his welcoming mouth. Striker’s hands roamed up and down my back, kneading, caressing, sculpting. His erection pressed into my thigh, letting me know he wanted me as much as I wanted him. It was nice to be wanted. Very, very nice.

He walked me backward until my legs hit the edge of the bed. Striker leaned over me, and I let gravity do the rest. I sank onto the bed and pulled Striker down on top of me. The weight of his hard body on mine only fueled my desire.

Striker rained hungry kisses down my neck. Cold chills swept through my hot, aching body. I tangled my fingers in his thick, black hair. It felt smoother than satin. Striker moved back to my mouth, and we exchanged another long, heated kiss that left me panting for breath. We broke apart for a moment. Striker’s eyes glowed like white-hot coals, contrasting with the black mask that covered his chiseled face.

I tugged off his mask and threw it aside. “I want Sam Sloane to make love to me tonight. Not Striker.”

“You’ve got us both, Carmen. You’ve got us both,” he whispered before capturing my mouth with his.

* * *

We lay there on the bed kissing for a long time. Slow kisses, deep kisses, lingering kisses.

Sam sat up and pulled me onto his lap. “I want to taste you, Carmen. All of you.”

He drew my T-shirt up over my head. I shivered as the cool air hit my bare skin. We kissed once more, and then he reached around my back and undid the clasp on my bra. My breasts spilled into his smooth, waiting hands. I gasped at his firm touch.

“You’re so beautiful,” Sam whispered.

He leaned down and took my nipple into his hot, wet mouth. I arched my back, letting out little moans of pleasure. His other hand moved to the clasp of my jeans and farther on into my panties. I rose up on my knees and parted my legs. He plunged his fingers inside me. Sam stroked me, slow at first, drawing lazy circles and figure eights with his nimble fingers. I whimpered. It was so pleasurable it was almost painful. I felt like a champagne cork about to pop from the built-up pressure. Finally, I did.

“Sam!” I screamed and shuddered my release.

As I lay there, spent and euphoric, Sam continued on with his explorations. The rest of my clothes followed my T-shirt and bra and sailed to the floor. I gave myself over to Sam’s masterful touch. Kissing. Licking. Caressing. From head to toe, he explored my body as if I were some unknown continent he’d just discovered and was eager to conquer.

I happily surrendered.

But I burned for him, yearned to touch him the way he was touching me, longed to feel him inside me. My fingers probed and prodded and plucked, but I couldn’t quite find a way to get through the thick leather that covered his body.

“Damn superhero suit,” I muttered.

Sam laughed. “Let me.”

He stood up. Sam grabbed some sort of zipper or toggle and yanked off the top part of the suit, exposing his perfect chest. He peeled off his pants, shucked off his boots, and stood there, naked before me.

I eyed his sculpted chest, his rippling six-pack abs, his long, hard erection. My mouth went as dry as a cotton field in summertime. The man was beautiful, perfect, gorgeous. A true Adonis come to life. And he wanted me. I still couldn’t believe it.

Sam came back to bed and reached for me. I pushed him onto his back, avoiding his seeking hands.

“Oh no,” I said in wicked voice. “It’s my turn to play.”

So I did. Teasing. Tasting. Tempting. Tormenting him just the way he had done to me. I ran my tongue down his chest, following the trail of dark hair that led south. Sam smelled of musk and tasted of salty sweat. The combination was more intoxicating than any drug I’d ever had. I closed my hand around him, stroking his hard, swollen shaft.

“Carmen!” His fingers twisted the silken sheets beneath us.

“What?” I asked in a taunting tone. “Am I doing something wrong? Maybe you’d like it better if I did something like this.” I ran my tongue up and down him.

He moaned in response. I continued my ministrations. I loved the feel of him, the smell, the taste. He filled up my senses until there was nothing else.

“That’s enough of that,” he finally growled.

Sam reached over, yanked open the nightstand drawer, and drew out a condom. Superspeed must have been another one of his powers, because he had it on before I could blink.

Sam grabbed my hands. He pulled me on top of him, flipped me over, and slid inside me all in one smooth motion. I gasped at the full length of him filling me. I wrapped my legs around his waist, and Sam began to move over me. I met him kiss for kiss, thrust for thrust, moan for moan.

We moved faster, harder together. The bed rocked back and forth in time. We called out each other’s names and rode that final wave of passion to its ultimate destination.

Afterward, we lay there in silence, nestled in each other’s arms.

“Wow,” I said when I got my breath back. “That was certainly something.”

“Yes, it was.” Sam leaned up on his elbow. His silver eyes glowed in the semidarkness. “I don’t know what it is about you, Carmen, but I just can’t seem to control myself whenever you’re around.”

I laughed. “Ditto.”

I turned over to stare at him and felt him harden against my thigh. I arched an eyebrow. “No way. You can’t be ready to do that again.”

Sam grinned. His fingers trailed down my body and slid inside me, making slow and steady circles. “Don’t you know endurance is one of my superpowers?”

I shook my head, unable to breathe, unable to concentrate on anything else except the heat roaring through my body.

So Sam showed me exactly what he meant.

Five more fabulous times.

* * *

The next morning, I rolled over and bumped into something warm and hard. My eyes popped open. Sam snuggled next to me, his face calm and smooth in sleep.

For a moment, I just looked at him. His face, his chest, his glorious body. My inner voice sang with happiness. Somehow, in the course of the past few weeks, Sam Sloane had come to mean a great deal to me. Somehow, he’d become my friend and my lover.

And what a lover he was. The sex had been fantastic. Everything I’d ever dreamed of and then some. But there was more to it than that. I cared about Sam. A lot. More than I wanted to admit to myself. More than was wise, given my track record with men, especially superheroes.

I was falling in love with him.

And I didn’t know what to do about it.

I thought about the puzzle, trying to make the pieces fit together in some sort of order. But the edges were too rough, too raw, too new. I couldn’t make sense of my feelings.

Because I didn’t know the answer to my silent questions, I rolled over and eyed the clock on the nightstand. After ten. I groaned. I hadn’t meant to sleep so late. Then again, I hadn’t planned on staying up most of the night making love to a superhero either. Funny how things never turned out the way you expected. That was karma for you. I just wondered how I was going to end up paying for my glorious night with Sam. What cruel thing fate would throw my way.

I shoved that thought aside and focused on the present. I leaned over and kissed his cheek. Sam’s silver eyes opened. They brightened at the sight of me.

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

“Hey there, yourself.” Sam pushed a lock of hair back over my shoulder. Heat flared to life inside me at his gentle touch.

I kissed him lightly on the mouth and scooted back. I slipped out of his grasp and moved around the room, picking up and putting on my discarded clothes.

“You know, you could stay here with me.” Sam patted the mattress. “There’s plenty of room.”

I eyed the thin sheet that just barely covered his fantastic body. It took all of my willpower not to shuck my clothes and throw myself on top of him. “As much as I’d love to stay and let you show me some more of your superpowers, duty calls. You have to go to work, and I still have an ubervillain to track down.” Plus, I needed some space, some time to think about what had happened.

I sat back down on the bed and pulled on my socks and shoes. Sam watched me run my fingers through my auburn hair in an effort to remove some of the tangles.

“Carmen, about last night—”

I put my fingers to his lips. “Don’t say anything. Last night was wonderful. One of the best nights of my life. Let’s just leave it at that, okay?”

After a moment, he nodded. I kissed him once more, got to my feet, and opened the door.

Fiona stood outside, her hand poised in midair as if to knock.

I froze. Uh-oh.

Sam came up behind me, a sheet wrapped around his lean waist. “Carmen, what’s the matter—”

Fiona’s eyes widened. Her mouth dropped open. Her hair flamed to life. “Are the two of you—are you—are you sleeping together?”

I grimaced at the high-pitched screech. My karmic retribution had come around already to bite me on the ass. I should have known better.

“How could you do this, Sam? Are you insane?”

“Fiona—”

“No.” Her hair sparked and hissed. “Don’t you dare try to explain this. She’s the one who exposed Tornado, who wanted to expose us all for no other reason than the fact that she wanted to. She killed him, Sam, just as surely as if she’d pushed him out that window. Or did you conveniently forget that when she was screwing your brains out?”

Sam’s face paled. Guilt flashed in his eyes.

“I hope she was worth betraying us, Sam.”

Fiona stared at me so hard I thought my hair would catch fire. “You bloody bitch,” she snarled. “Wasn’t it enough for you to find out who we all really are? Wasn’t it enough for us to rescue you from Malefica? Wasn’t it enough for us to bring you here? When will you be satisfied? When you’ve completely destroyed us?”

“Fiona—”

“And do you know what the worst part is? I almost felt sorry for you the other day when you told me your sob story about your fiancé and best friend. What a fool I was. You expose Tornado, get us to rescue you and keep you safe, and now you’ve even seduced Sam. You’re nothing but a manipulator. You’ve done nothing but use us all from day one.”

“It’s not like that—”

Her balled fists burst into flames. “Don’t you ever speak to me again, Carmen Cole. Don’t even look at me. You’re lucky I don’t drop-kick your ass all the way back to Bigtime. We should have let Malefica and Frost have your miserable, worthless, rotten hide. Saving you is a mistake I’ll regret to my dying day.”

Sam stepped forward and held out his hand. “Fiona, stop. That’s enough. Quit attacking Carmen. We’re both adults, and what happened between us was perfectly mutual—”

“Shut up, Sam. It’s obvious what part of your body you’re thinking with at the moment. And it’s definitely not your brain. I don’t want to hear your sorry excuses.”

Fiona stomped away. The carpet smoldered with every hot step she took. Smoke poured off her body and blackened the walls.

“I’m sorry about that,” Sam said in a quiet voice. “She’s wrong, you know.”

“No,” I whispered. “She’s right. She’s absolutely right. I did it. I exposed Travis because I was angry and hurt, and he killed himself because of it. Because of my need for revenge. Everyone knows it. You’re all just too kind to say it to my face.”

Sam gripped my shoulders and made me face him. “Carmen, you’re not responsible for Travis’s death. If anybody is, I am. He was my best friend. I should have known how troubled he was. I should have sensed something, anything. I’m the one who’s to blame, not you.”

Guilt and pain and grief darkened Sam’s silver eyes. The sight burned me more than Fiona’s hot words ever could. My heart cracked. I’d caused him so much pain. I’d caused them all so much pain.

I was such a sad cliché. A woman scorned who had to take everyone else down with her. Sam, Striker, had asked me once why I did what I did, why I’d exposed all those superheroes and ubervillains.

Spite. Jealousy. Anger. Revenge.

Those were the real reasons. Not because superheroes lied or ubervillains stole or even because of my own warped view of karma. No, I’d wanted revenge on Matt and Karen, and I’d used everyone else as my scapegoats. A man was dead as a result of my haughty, selfish actions, and his friends were grieving his loss. I’d hurt the wrong people. I’d hurt Sam, the one person I would never, ever want to bring harm to.

“Carmen, it’s not your fault. It never was,” Sam said.

His words only increased my self-loathing. I’d made such a mess of everything. How could he stand to look at me? To touch me? I couldn’t bear my own self. Sam might not blame me for Travis’s death now, but one day he would. The newness would wear off our relationship, and he’d realize that he was so much better than me. That I didn’t deserve him. He’d find someone else. Someone more suitable. Another super rich superhero to share his life with. I couldn’t bear that. I couldn’t bear being tossed aside for someone else. Not again. Not from Sam.

I closed my eyes to try to shut out the image of Sam. But I couldn’t. It was seared into my mind. My heart.

“This was a mistake, Sam. A huge mistake.”

“Carmen—”

I backed up. “No, don’t touch me. I just—I can’t. I’m sorry.”

I turned and ran down the hall.

Chapter Twenty-One

I took the elevator upstairs and ran back to my room. But I couldn’t outrun the pain in Sam’s eyes. The pain I’d caused.

Tears trickled down my flushed face. I sank onto the bed and buried my head in my hands. What had happened to my steely resolve, my complete determination to stay away from Sam Sloane? Some determination. With one kiss, it melted faster than a bag of chocolate in Fiona’s hot hands.

A long sigh escaped my lips. I’d just slept with a man who had been mourning his best friend. And the dead man’s fiancée had caught us not quite in the act. Guilt rose up in me like a tidal wave. No good could come of this. My karma darkened, blackened with every second.

But I was halfway in love with Sam aka Striker Sloane. I loved his dry wit, his sense of duty, his kindness toward others. And oh, the way he kissed me. I got all tingly inside just thinking about it.

My guilt, my shame warred with my feelings for Sam. I couldn’t leave Sublime, not without risking another run-in with Malefica. Despite everything, I didn’t want to die or be turned into a monster. Deep down, I was a coward.

I paced the length of my suite, trying to figure out some solution to my latest catastrophe, some way to right all the wrongs. I decided to avoid the others like the plague. Especially Sam. It was the only thing I could do. If Sam walked past me, I would stare at the floor until he passed. If he spoke to me, I would not reply. There would be no more longing glances. No more heated kisses. No more nights of hot, superhero sex.

I would uncover Malefica’s real identity, give it to the Fearless Five, and get the heck outta Dodge. I didn’t belong here at Sublime among all the finery any more than a piece of coal belonged in a jewelry store. I didn’t belong underground with the superheroes. And I certainly didn’t belong with Sam Sloane. Damaged, hazardous goods. That’s what I was. A giant pool of radioactive waste that infected everyone who came into contact with me. I wanted, no, I needed to go back to my safe, boring life. The one where nobody touched me, where nobody had the power to hurt me, and where the damage I did was limited to the society pages of The Exposé.

So, I would avoid Sam. I would. The safety of my heart—of everyone’s hearts—depended on it.

* * *

Another night passed. I held firm to my decision to avoid the superheroes. I came out of my suite only when they were busy with their day jobs or out chasing criminals. Whenever I did bump into the others, I averted my eyes, mumbled some excuse, and ran away. Fiona glared at me whenever our paths crossed, wanting to boil me with her hot gaze. Chief Newman and Henry didn’t say anything, but Fiona had told them about Sam and me. The knowledge glittered in their eyes.

Avoiding everyone wasn’t my only problem. I still hadn’t been able to uncover Malefica’s identity. I was missing something, something obvious among my papers and flowcharts and notes. I could feel it. Too bad I had no idea what it was. Still, I worked feverishly, determined to leave Sublime before I brought another disaster down on Sam and the rest of the Fearless Five. Plus, my headaches had gotten even worse, to the point they were almost debilitating. My vision blurred at least once an hour, and I was popping aspirin like a crack addict constantly in need of a fix.

After spending the morning fruitlessly searching through my papers, I went outside to the expansive gardens, hoping a little sunshine and fresh air would clear my mind and ease my throbbing head. Or at least cheer me up.

The gardens were exquisite. Flowers of all shapes and sizes lined the dirt beds and filled the air with their fragrant scents. Roses, orchids, tulips, pansies, and more brightened the ground with a rainbow of colors. Hummingbirds darted in and out of the blossoms, along with bees and other nectar-seeking insects. More birds sang from the trees that towered over the gardens. It was a virtual paradise.

I ambled along the crushed-shell paths, stooped over, and plucked a rose off a massive bush. I twirled the bright flower in my hand and plucked the petals off one by one. He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me...

“Enjoying the gardens?”

I shrieked. Sam stood behind me. He looked oh-so-elegant in a dark blue suit and polished wingtips. My heart warmed, despite my best intentions.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Don’t do that!”

Sam shrugged. “Sorry. Sneaking up on people is a habit of mine.”

“I thought you had a meeting.” My eyes darted around, looking for some means of escape. What excuse could I use to get away? Allergies? A bee sting? A sudden aversion to beautiful flowers?

“It got canceled. I thought I’d come out and get some fresh air. The chief thought it would be good for me. He thinks I’ve been working too hard.”

My inner voice whispered, and my eyes narrowed. “The chief? That’s the same thing he told me.” He’d shouted out the words this morning as I ran down the hall away from him.

We stared at each other.

“I guess he wanted us to run into each other,” I said.

“I guess so.”

I shifted from one foot to the other. “Well, I was just going back to the house.”

“Can I walk with you?”

I couldn’t see a polite enough way to tell him no, so I gave in. “Sure.” The truth was I missed him terribly. I wanted to be close to him, even if it was only for a little while.

We left the gardens and strolled across the massive lawn. The house stood like a sleeping giant about a half mile away. I kept three feet of space in between us. I wasn’t about to tempt fate—or myself—again.

“So do you want to talk about it?” Sam asked.

“About what?”

“Our night together.”

I stopped. My face flushed. “Oh. That.”

“Yes, that.” Sam cleared his throat. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Oh.” Disappointment swept over me. Evidently, he hadn’t felt the things I’d felt during our time together. Even now, my fingers itched to touch him, to pull him toward me and lose myself in his hot embrace.

“I’m sorry because I was hurting, and I took advantage of you.”

“That’s okay. I don’t mind. You can take advantage of me anytime.”

Sam raised an eyebrow.

“Er, what I mean is...um, if you feel the need...I mean, if you want to...” My voice trailed off under his intense scrutiny. “Never mind.”

“Anyway, I wanted to apologize. I’ve been avoiding you because of that...and other things. I thought you should know why.”

“I’ve been avoiding you too.” I sighed, suddenly tired of dancing around Sam Sloane. “Look, I like you, Sam. I really do. You’re a great guy. Intelligent, funny, charming, a good kisser, and more gorgeous than any man has a right to be. The other night was absolutely fantastic. One of the best nights of my life. Certainly the best sex of my life.”

“But…”

I took in a deep breath. “But it would never work out between us. We live in two completely different worlds. You’re a billionaire playboy. I’m a lowly society reporter. You’re a superhero. I expose superheroes for a living. And with Tornado’s suicide and Malefica lurking around, there’s just too much bad karma in the mix.” Every single thing I said was true, but the words still hurt. My inner voice whimpered.

“And I’m pretty sure Fiona would fry me alive if she found out I was sticking around a second longer than necessary,” I said in an effort to lighten the mood. That was me. Plucky to the bitter, bitter end.

A ghost of a smile crossed Sam’s face. “Fiona probably would fry me too.”

We stood there on the lawn, still and silent. My eyes locked onto Sam’s handsome face, memorizing every curve, every line. Soon, memories would be all that I had left. A dull ache formed in my heart.

I stuck out my hand before I did something stupid, like beg him to kiss me. “So, just friends then?”

He stared at my outstretched hand for a long, long moment. “Just friends then.”

Sam took my hand. All the feelings and sensations of the other night flashed through my head. Tangled sheets. Hot kisses. Slow caresses. I gritted my teeth to keep from pulling him toward me and picking up where we’d left off.

Suddenly, Sam cocked his head to one side, listening. He dropped my hand.

“What is it?” I heard nothing other than the tweet of the birds and the occasional drone of a bumblebee.

Sam frowned. “It sounds like a helicopter.”

“A helicopter? Is that something to worry about?”

“No, but it’s odd because Sublime extends out in all directions for several miles. And no one can fly over the estate without my permission.” He shrugged. “It’s probably somebody who’s just gotten off course. It happens.”

I opened my mouth to reply when an icy wave of pain shot through my body. I doubled over. I felt numb, frozen inside. My teeth chattered. My dull headache exploded into a raging migraine. My vision went black. My inner voice screamed.

“Carmen? Carmen!”

“I don’t...feel so good,” I mumbled.

I pitched forward. Sam caught me and lowered me to the ground.

“Cold...so...cold.” My teeth bounced together like a child’s rattle.

Sam took off his suit jacket and draped it over my body. “Lie still. I’m going to get help.”

“No! Stay with me,” I said, clutching at him.

“I have to, Carmen. I’ll be back soon. I promise.”

Sam cupped my cheek in his warm hand. Blue waves seemed to surround his body. And there was something behind him. I squinted. A black helicopter hovered overhead. Fear crawled up my spine.

“Go! Leave me!” I shouted to Sam.

The roar of the helicopter’s motors drowned me out. Flower petals and dead leaves fluttered into the air, whipping around like shrapnel. Trees bowed under the sudden gust of wind. The helicopter landed on the green lawn. The door slid open, and three figures emerged. My heart sank.

Uh-oh.

Malefica, Scorpion, and Frost sprinted toward us. Sam crouched over me.

“Run! Go!” I screamed.

“I’m not leaving you!”

The three ubervillains came closer...and closer...and closer. I looked toward the house. Where the hell were the others? Hadn’t they heard the chopper land on the lawn? Didn’t the house have some sort of alarm system? Shouldn’t the ground open up to let rockets come flying out or something?

The ubervillains stopped a few feet away. Sam stood. His hands clenched into fists. Somehow, I managed to sit up.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Sam Sloane,” Malefica drawled. “Or should I call you Striker?”

Sam didn’t reply.

“Nothing to say? No witty remarks? No pithy comeback? What a pity. Take him out.”

Sam launched himself at Scorpion. The ubervillain threw Sam over his shoulder with ease. Sam hit the ground rolling and bounced right back up. A blue streak zapped through the air and hit the superhero in the chest. He rocked back on his heels and wobbled like a seesaw. Sam’s eyes opened wide and grew glassy. Then, he fell to the ground.

“Noooo!” I screamed. “No! No! Noooo!”

I tried to crawl toward Sam, but the pain pulsing through my body was too great. Every part of me ached with cold. I slumped to the ground, panting for air. Every breath was an enormous effort.

A pair of strappy red sandals strolled into view. Even though every muscle in my body screamed at me to stop moving, I looked up past the enormous shoes.

Malefica loomed over me. A smile stretched across the ubervillain’s ruby red lips. “Well, well, if it isn’t my good friend Carmen Cole. Feeling a little ill? Pity.”

“What have you done to Sam?” I mumbled through my frozen lips. “How did you find us?”

“Oh, don’t worry about Striker. He’s not dead. Yet.”

Fear blanketed my heart like an icy shroud.

“As for you, remember that dart Frost shot you with? It contained a radioactive isotope, which lives in the human body a very long time. After a few days have passed, the isotope mutates and gives off a particular amount of radiation that’s very unique. And very easy to track if you have the proper equipment. Think of it as a sort of homing beacon. You led us right to Striker.”

I closed my eyes. So this had been Malefica’s real plan all along. To use me to track down Striker. That was why the Triad had retreated from the park that night. That was why the Fearless Five had driven them away so easily. I’d played right into the ubervillains’ evil hands.

Frost stared at me like a doctor examining a patient. “Hmmm. Interesting side effects. See how blue her lips are? I bet her body temperature has dropped at least five degrees in the last few minutes. Are you cold, Miss Cole? Feel like your insides are made out of ice cubes? Hmmm? Have you had any migraines or problems with your vision lately?”

I didn’t reply.

“Well, if you’re not going to be a cooperative test subject and tell me how you’re feeling, I have no further use for you. Shall I take care of her once and for all?” Frost asked.

I stared into the black eyehole of Frost’s freezoray gun. My eyes widened. I was about to get dead.

Malefica tapped her long nails on her lips. “Leave her. The rest of the Fearless Five will take care of her when they find out we have Striker. After all, someone has to be the bearer of good news. Get him back to the helicopter.”

Scorpion picked up Sam’s limp form, slung him over his massive shoulder, and lumbered away. Frost followed.

Malefica leaned down until her green eyes were level with mine. “I just wanted to thank you, Carmen. You played your part perfectly.”

“You’ll pay for this,” I spat out.

“I doubt it. Without Striker, the Fearless Five are nothing but a bunch of second-string superheroes. With him out of the way, we can pick the others off one by one by one until there’s no one left. Once the Fearless Five are gone, Bigtime will be mine. After that...who knows? And you made it all possible.”

Malefica straightened. “Please remember to give my regards to Fiera and the others. And my sympathy on their untimely loss.” She laughed, her voice filled with malicious glee and triumph.

I glared at her. If looks could kill, Malefica would have been stone-cold dead. Too bad I didn’t have that particular superpower.

Malefica blew me a kiss and sidled away, her curvy form swinging with every step. She boarded the helicopter and shut the door. The motor roared to life. In seconds, the helicopter was airborne. It roared across the sky and disappeared from sight, taking Sam and the Terrible Triad with it.

Then, the pain came again, stronger this time, and I knew no more.

PART THREE

BIGTIME

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I’m fine,” I snapped. “Will you quit shining that light in my eyes?”

“You most certainly are not fine, Carmen,” Chief Newman retorted. “We found you lying on the lawn, as cold and unconscious as a rock. If what Malefica said is true, you’ve been under the effects of a powerful drug for days now. You don’t just recover from that. Now, hold still.”

I waved his hand and the light away. “I’m fine. You gave me those RIP pills. I feel much better.”

“Those are RID pills, Radioactive Isotope Diminishers. They will absorb the radioactivity in your system and cleanse your body of the drug. But they’re not a cure-all, especially for something as nasty as what Frost slipped you.”

“Whatever. The point is I feel much better.”

I slid off the hospital bed and stood. The world swam back and forth. I wobbled.

“Fine, huh?” the chief asked.

He eased me onto the bed. I was back in the sick bay in another pair of clinical, white, lab-rat pajamas. I’d woken up an hour ago to find Henry, Chief Newman, and even Fiona clustered around me with concerned looks on their faces. Their alarm had grown by leaps and bounds as I described how Malefica, Scorpion, and Frost had kidnapped Sam. Fiona and Henry had dashed out of the room in hopes of trying to track down the Terrible Triad, while Chief Newman had stayed to tend to me.

Luckily, I’d been passed out only for about ten minutes before Henry had found me. The three of them had been running through some battle simulations underground. By the time they came back to the library, heard the alarm, and raced outside, it’d been too late to save Sam and almost too late for me. Fiona had carried me inside, where the chief poured just about every drug known to superhero down my throat, as well as poking and prodding me with all sorts of cold, metal devices. In addition to being the chief of police, Sean was a first-rate doctor.

I stared straight ahead as the chief shined his small penlight into my eyes. I swung my feet back and forth and tapped my fingers against the metal rail on the bed. I didn’t need to be here. I needed to be in the library with Henry and Fiona trying to locate Sam. I needed to be doing something, anything but sitting still.

“It’s not your fault, Carmen,” the chief said in a gentle tone.

“Yes, it is. Malefica used me like a puppet, and I didn’t even know it.” A bitter taste filled my mouth. “And now Sam’s going to pay the price. If only I’d seen what she was up to. I knew there was something wrong about the attack in the park. I could feel it. You guys didn’t beat the Triad back. They left because they’d done what they’d needed to do—infect me with their radioactive tracking drug. Too bad I didn’t realize what it was.”

“None of us did. Not even me, and I’m the one who’s psychic. Don’t beat yourself up. It’s happened to all of us at one time or another. The important thing now is that you rest and get your strength back. We’ll find him, Carmen. We will.”

I looked at the chief. “What do you see now? What do your visions tell you? What’s going to happen to Sam?”

The chief shook his head. “I only see pieces, fragments of futures that could be. Some of them are quite unpleasant and better left unsaid.”

Panic swelled up in my chest. “But some of them are pleasant, aren’t they? Aren’t they?”

“Yes, some of them are. The future’s a funny thing. You can never tell exactly how it’s going to turn out until you’re in it. It’s constantly changing as people act and react to each other. That’s the trouble with relying on visions or premonitions to guide you. They’re terribly unpredictable. Like Malefica’s plan. It depended on several things going exactly her way. Frost hitting you with the drug, us taking you in, you agreeing to stay here, and so on and so forth.”

“Well, I’m going to derail her plan this time, whatever it is.” I stood again. “I’m going to find her, find out who she is and what dark hole she’s hiding in, and then I’m going to find Sam.”

The chief blinked at the vehemence in my voice. “I’m not going to be able to stop you, am I?”

“Not unless you chain me to the bed.”

“Very well. But I want you to stay seated and take frequent breaks. Agreed?”

“Sure,” I replied, even though I had no intention of resting a single second until I’d uncovered Malefica’s true identity and, more importantly, where the ubervillain was holding Sam.

I retrieved my jeans and T-shirt from the plastic bag the chief had put them in. I dressed as fast as I could and hurried off to the library.

I threw open the door. Fiona and Henry were already inside. Henry had all of his computers fired up and his mind plugged into them. A bluish-white glow emanated from his fingertips, and his eyes were far away and distant behind his thick glasses. Document after document flashed on the flat screens.

Fiona stalked around behind Henry. Her catsuit fit her perfect body like a second skin, and sparks flew from her hair. Fiera was all suited up and ready to go.

“Will you go pace somewhere else?” Henry snapped. “I’m trying to work.”

“No.” Fiona spotted me in the doorway. “What the hell are you doing here? Get out. We have work to do.”

“So do I.”

I ignored Fiona, walked over to my desk, and sat down. I stared at the mounds of papers and notes and charts that littered the area. Time to go to work. This time, I had to find the answer. This time, I had to uncover Malefica’s real identity.

This time, Sam’s life depended on it.

* * *

An hour later, I rubbed my aching head, opened my aspirin bottle, and downed three of the hard, white pills.

“Anything, Henry?”

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I checked all the airports and helipads, although I knew they probably wouldn’t go anywhere near those. Nothing. I hacked into the local FAA system, but I couldn’t find any mention of a black helicopter taking off or landing anywhere within fifty miles of Bigtime. I expanded my search out to a hundred miles. Nothing. It’s like they disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“There has to be some way to track them down,” Fiona said. “They can’t disappear. They’re not the Invisible Ingénues, you know.”

The superhero stalked around the room. Her shoes click-click-clacked on the hardwood floor. Fiona had been pacing nonstop for the past hour. Every step slammed another ice pick of pain into my brain. I massaged my throbbing temples.

“Will you please stop pacing back and forth? The noise is driving me insane.” I stared at her high-heeled boots. “I don’t even see how you can walk in those shoes—”

Shoes...

Sandals...

Strappy, red sandals...

My inner voice whispered. I flashed back to my first meeting with Malefica. The ubervillain’s long, red shoes tap-tap-tapped in front of my face.

“Nice shoes,” I croaked. “Bulluci’s fall collection?”

“Good eye,” Malefica said. “Now get up. We have things to discuss.”

“Carmen? Carmen, are you okay?” Henry asked. “You have a strange look on your face.”

“Bulluci’s fall collection,” I whispered. “Bulluci’s fall collection!”

“Why are you babbling on about fashion designers at a time like this?” Fiona growled.

I ignored her, grabbed my Rubik’s Cube, and twisted it round and round in my hand. There was something else, something important swimming around in the back of my mind. I thought back, concentrating on that meeting, trying to remember every detail, every single snippet of conversation...

“Would you like something to drink?” Malefica asked.

“No,” I said.

“Are you sure? It’s Brighton’s Best.”

And I remembered...

Malefica reclined in the leather chair behind the desk. She took a long pull on her drink then set it aside. Unless I missed my guess, the glass was a Hilustar tumbler.

“Brighton’s Best. Hilustar tumblers. Bulluci’s fall collection. That’s it! That’s it! That’s it!” I shouted.

The pieces clicked together in my mind like a jigsaw puzzle. I grabbed Fiona’s hot hands and jumped up and down with glee.

“What are you going on about? Have you finally lost what little bit of sanity that you have?” Fiona yanked her hands away.

“No,” I said. “But I’ve just figured out a way to find out who Malefica really is.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

“What are you talking about?” Fiona asked. “You’ve been trying to uncover Malefica’s real identity for days now with no success.”

“That’s because I was overlooking something. Henry, I need you to start hacking and see who’s ordered red sandals from Bulluci’s fall collection, Brighton’s Best Scotch whiskey, and Hilustar crystal tumblers in the past six months. And I need to know where everything was shipped.”

“But I—”

“Just do it, Henry. Trust me.”

Henry and Fiona exchanged oh-the-poor-girl-she’s-finally-snapped looks. I paid them no attention. Instead, I dug around on my desk until I found the list of the fifty richest men and women Henry had compiled for me so many weeks ago.

Ten minutes later, Henry handed me a stack of papers. “There you go.”

I whipped out my pink highlighter and cross-referenced the names on the lists with the wealthiest women in Bigtime. Many of the names appeared on one or two of the lists. The upper crust of Bigtime certainly liked their whiskey and in large quantities. The amount of hard liquor some of the more genteel widows packed away in a month shocked me. Several of them needed a ride to Alcoholics Anonymous. Pronto.

But there was only one woman who had special-ordered red sandals, whiskey, and crystal glasses in the past six months who was among the richest women in Bigtime.

Morgana Madison.

The name stunned me. Could it be? Could my boss, the owner of The Exposé, really be one of the most feared ubervillains in the world? She always seemed to be somewhere else when the Triad struck. I shook my head. Seemed to be. That was the problem. Appearing at society functions and taking phone calls weren’t iron-clad alibis. Phone logs could be altered, meetings could be rescheduled. During any event, Morgana could have gone off to powder her nose, slipped out of the bathroom, committed an hour’s worth of crime, mischief, and mayhem, and slipped back in before anyone noticed she was missing. It would be difficult, but not impossible to pull off. Not with Malefica’s psychic powers. She could probably give someone a subtle mental command and make him think he’d seen her when he really hadn’t. Or any number of other things to protect her secret identity. Just like Chief Newman had done when he got me time off from work.

Fingers trembling, I went back through the lists and double-checked all the names. Morgana Madison. I triple-checked. Morgana.

I closed my eyes and pictured Morgana Madison and Malefica, putting the two of them side by side in my mind. They were the same age, height, and weight. They had the same facial features and curvy figures. I thought back to the day in the newsroom when I’d exposed Tornado and the silent toast Morgana had given me. My inner voice whispered. All of a sudden, I knew, I just knew Morgana was really Malefica.

“Morgana Madison is Malefica,” I whispered. “Incredible.”

Henry looked up from his computer. “What? What did you say?”

“Morgana Madison is Malefica. It’s her. It is.”

Fiona arched an eyebrow. “And you know this how?”

I held up the papers. “From these. Listen. When Malefica kidnapped me, she was wearing a new pair of Bulluci shoes.”

“So what? She has good taste. Bella Bulluci is a great designer. Even I’ll admit that,” Fiona said.

“But that’s not all. She took me to her office and drank Brighton’s Best whiskey from a Hilustar crystal tumbler. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.”

“Those are pretty expensive items,” Henry said, picking up on my train of thought. “Not a lot of people could afford one of them, let alone all three.”

“Exactly,” I beamed. “Everyone knows how much ubervillains love to flaunt their wealth. I cross-referenced the names on the list Henry compiled for me of the richest men and women in Bigtime with people who had purchased these items in the past six months. Morgana Madison is the only name that’s on all of the lists.”

Henry’s fingers slid over the keyboard like he was playing a piano. “Let me pull up some photos of the two of them.”

Seconds later, the three of us stared at pictures of Malefica that Henry had recorded at the park and a photo of Morgana Madison that had appeared in the society section of The Exposé. Side by side, the resemblance was obvious.

I could have smacked myself for not seeing it earlier. For making a rookie mistake and not digging deeper into Morgana from the very beginning. I’d told Sam it was all about karma, that Malefica was in his life somewhere. It made perfect sense. Sam and Morgana hated each other in real life just as much as their alter egos did. Their business battles were just as brutal as the superhero-ubervillain duels they staged on a weekly basis.

“Bloody hell,” Fiona said. “She’s been right under our noses the whole time. I even made a dress for her earlier this year. She was rather bitchy about the price too.”

“I never even suspected it might be her,” Henry said. “And I’ve worked at The Exposé for years.”

“But it is her.” I pumped my fist. “Gotcha!”

* * *

Henry and I pored over the records, trying to determine exactly where the goods had been shipped to in hopes of locating Sam. Fiona ran off to tell Chief Newman we’d uncovered Malefica’s true identity. This time, the slap of her shoes on the floor didn’t bother me in the slightest. My headache had vanished as well.

“She’s got shell company after shell company.” I flipped through a stack of papers. “Look at all these corporations. She’s got more branches than McDonald’s.”

Henry sat at the computer. His fingers glowed. “You’ve only got the parts I’ve printed out. The woman has her fingers into everything. Oil, natural gas, communications, construction. The list is endless.”

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” I muttered. “I’ve got the shoes. She had them shipped to her apartment in the city to start with. From there, a courier service picked them up. They went to her office at The Exposé and then out to her country home. Eventually, they arrived at the Snowdom Ice Cream Factory on the outskirts of Bigtime. You know what? She put the courier service on her credit card.”

Stupid move. Ubervillains thought they were so smart. But all it took was one little receipt to blow their cover wide open.

“The ice cream factory? That place has been closed for more than a year now,” Henry said. “The company couldn’t compete with the other big chains, all the workers were laid off, and the plant was shut down. Tracy, the business reporter at The Exposé, did a story on it. The building’s been empty ever since.”

I remembered the story. I closed my eyes and thought back to my first meeting with Malefica. I tried to recall every single detail of the building I’d been taken to. Concrete floors and walls, enormous steel vats, lots of catwalks, bitter cold. I frowned. Had there been any words on the giant metal vats? Any markings or letters on the doors or floors or walls? I couldn’t remember. At the time, I’d been more concerned with being dropped into the radioactive goo than my surroundings. But it could have been an ice cream factory. It had all the necessary equipment. Plus, that might explain how Frost had been able to turn it into his own personal playground.

“I think that’s it,” I said. “It makes sense.”

“Let me pull up the deed and blueprints,” Henry said.

The glow from his fingertips brightened. I peered over his shoulder at the computer screen. A series of images flashed across it.

“Okay, these are the blueprints. It’s a pretty big place and covers a couple of acres. Lots of entrances and exits. There don’t seem to be any buildings near it. It would be the perfect place for the Triad to hide. Now, on to the deed and other paperwork.”

A document popped up on the monitor. I ran my finger down the screen. “Bill of sale, estimated worth, acreage, utility hookups, blah, blah, blah. Wait. Here is it. The current owner of record of the Snowdom Ice Cream Factory is one Morgana Madison. That’s it, Henry. That’s where she’s got him. I can feel it.”

* * *

“I want to go with you,” I protested. “You can’t just leave me behind.”

“We can and we will,” Chief Newman said. “You’re in no condition to go anywhere.”

“I’m fine now. Do you want me to run a marathon to prove it? I will.”

Chief Newman gave me a disbelieving look.

“Okay, so I couldn’t run a marathon on my best day. But I do feel much better now.” I really did. My headache was gone, and my vision hadn’t gotten fuzzy since the chief had dumped those RID pills down my throat.

Chief Newman ignored me. The four of us stood in the equipment room. Fiona was ablaze in reddish-orange, while the chief was clad in Irish green with white accents. Now, they were Fiera and Mr. Sage, and they were ready to do battle with the Terrible Triad. Henry emerged from behind a row of lockers. A checkered, black-and-white costume covered his tall frame, and a mask complete with prescription eye goggles wrapped around his head.

“Nice costume,” I said. “I didn’t think that you actually wore one.”

Henry shrugged. “I do. But nobody ever sees it since I’m in the van most of the time. Tonight, though, I’m going in with Fiera and Mr. Sage.”

I itched to get in on the act. I grabbed one of Striker’s swords from a nearby rack.

“I could really be of use to you guys—”

I didn’t get a very good grip on the sword, and it plummeted downward. The metal weapon clanged off the floor, narrowly missing Fiera’s booted foot.

Fiera grabbed the sword. “Give me that before you cut yourself.” She put the weapon back in its proper place on the rack.

“You have to let me do something. I’ll go crazy just sitting here waiting for you guys to come back,” I whined.

“That’s why I set up the big screen in the library so you can see, hear, and talk to us,” Hermit said. “That way you’ll know the moment we rescue Striker. The other computers have background information on Malefica, photos, stuff like that in case you wanted to dig a little deeper into her once we’ve gotten Striker back.”

Sometimes, Hermit’s efficiency was so annoying. I opened my mouth to protest, but Mr. Sage cut me off.

“We need to focus on finding Striker. We don’t need any distractions. You want us to bring him back safely, don’t you? We don’t need to worry about the Triad capturing you, Carmen.”

He had me, and he knew it. There was nothing more in the entire world I wanted than to see Sam safe and sound again.

“Fine. I’ll stay here like a good little girl and play nice. Just bring him back. Please.” My heart squeezed tight. I couldn’t handle having another superhero’s death on my hands. Especially Striker’s.

“We will, Carmen.” Mr. Sage put a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry. We will.”

Mr. Sage and Hermit went to the library to grab a few more pieces of equipment, leaving me alone with Fiera.

“Well, good luck,” I said.

“Thanks.” Fiera turned toward the door. She stopped and looked over her shoulder.

“I’ve never liked you, Carmen. You know that, and you know why. I thought this was all part of some plan of Malefica’s, some scheme the two of you had cooked up to trick us. And when I found you with Sam, I wasn’t happy about that either. But you came through for us when it really counted. You found Striker. We couldn’t have done it without you. I’m sorry I thought that you were working with Malefica.”

“Apology accepted.” I grinned. “Now, get out there and go get the man back.”

* * *

The group roared out of the underground garage a few minutes later. I settled myself in the library to wait. I wasn’t happy they’d left me behind, but I understood their reasons. They didn’t need to worry about someone else, especially someone without superpowers. Their sole focus should be on rescuing Striker before it was too late.

The minutes dragged by. It was after seven now. Malefica had kidnapped Striker a little over six hours ago. I tried not to think of what she might be doing to Striker at this very moment, the vicious ways she might be torturing him. But the images played over and over and over again in my mind like a CD stuck on one really bad song.

I buried my head in my hands. If anything happened to Sam, I’d never forgive myself. Never. He’d been kind to me when no one else had, when I didn’t deserve it. He’d saved me from those would-be rapists. Held me when I cried. Taken me in when I had no place else to go. Those were just a few of the reasons I’d come to care for Sam. Just a few of the reasons I’d come to love him.

Oh, how I loved him.

“Carmen, can you hear me?” Mr. Sage’s voice crackled and echoed through the library.

I leaned forward and spoke into the microphone Hermit had rigged up next to one of his computers for me. “Loud and clear.”

“We’re here,” Mr. Sage said. “We’ve hidden the van in the woods outside the ice cream factory. We’re going in now.”

“Be careful. There’s no telling what Malefica might have in store for you.” I swallowed. “Or what she’s done to Striker.” With the superhero’s ability to regenerate, Malefica could torture him for hours on end.

“We will, don’t worry. I’m turning on the camera in my suit. Over and out.”

A moment later, a large bush came into view on the screen. A green, gloved hand pushed the thick limbs aside. A tall building lay about three hundred yards ahead. I perched on the edge of my seat. I was seeing exactly what Mr. Sage and the others were.

The superheroes crept toward the building. Nothing stirred. As they drew closer to the factory, I could tell that it had seen better days. Debris, mostly rocks and broken bits of rubble, littered the cracked, uneven parking lot. Graffiti and gang signs crawled over the walls, and all the windows on the bottom floors had been busted out. The setting sun caught on the delicate spider webs that spanned the empty windows, making them glisten like silver. The superheroes reached a metal door tucked away in one corner of the building. An exit sign swung in the breeze, creaking over their heads.

Through the microphone, I heard Hermit tap a few buttons on his handheld supercomputer.

“I’m not detecting any outer alarms or electrical devices,” he whispered. “I’ve got no thermal images. Nothing within two hundred feet. The walls are too thick for my sensors to penetrate any deeper.”

“Then, let’s go in. But keep your eyes open,” Mr. Sage replied.

“Always,” Fiera chimed in. “Always.”

Mr. Sage opened the door. Nothing but darkness lay inside.

“Here we go,” Mr. Sage whispered.

“Good luck,” I whispered back.

* * *

The superheroes stepped inside, and the door snickered shut. The camera on Mr. Sage’s suit automatically adjusted to the faint light, allowing me to see just as clearly as if I had Striker’s supersenses. Hermit took point, and the three superheroes eased into the factory.

They worked their way through a series of long hallways that turned and twisted back on each other. Finally, the superheroes reached a large, open space. On the far side of the room, a few thousand feet away, an assembly line led deeper into the factory. A metal catwalk ringed the entire area.

“This is it,” I said into the microphone. “This is definitely the place Malefica took me the night her goons kidnapped me. Everything looks just the way I remember it.”

“Good,” Mr. Sage whispered. “Let’s find Striker and get out of here.”

The three superheroes moved deeper into the abandoned factory.

My inner voice muttered. It all seemed too easy. If I were an ubervillain who had just kidnapped one of the world’s greatest superheroes, I’d know his friends would come after him. I would have more security and guards around my supersecret lair than Fort Knox. At the very least, I would have set up alarms on all of the outer doors to let me know if somebody was trying to break in. But there were no alarms; no loud, squealing sirens; no red, flashing danger signs. Nothing but eerie silence and the labored breathing of Fiera, Hermit, and Mr. Sage.

“That’s funny,” Hermit said. “There’s a wall in front of us. That wasn’t on the blueprints I found online.”

“The Triad’s probably done some remodeling,” Fiera said. “You know how Scorpion likes to exercise—by smashing through walls.”

They continued on. My uneasy feeling ballooned with every step the group took. They met no resistance, not even a couple of token, throwaway goons like the two who’d kidnapped me. The factory seemed to be deserted. There weren’t even any rats or bugs crawling around in the rubble and broken pipes. Of course, Frost had probably used them all in his experiments. Still, something wasn’t right.

I could feel it.

The group kept going. They reached the assembly line and crouched under it. I turned my attention to another computer, the one with all of the information on Malefica. I pulled up files and photos of the ubervillain. Document after document, photo after photo zipped by.

I stopped when I came to an article that analyzed Malefica’s fashion sense. It was the same story I’d read so many weeks ago in the comfort of my apartment. My eyes traced over the pictures that chronicled the changing looks of Malefica. There was something odd about the pictures, something I was missing. What was it?

I got closer to the screen, so close my nose almost touched the monitor, and looked at the sequence of photos. Over the years, Malefica had changed the color of her suit from bright crimson to a darker blood-red. She’d ditched the glittering rhinestones and sparkling rubies on her catsuit for a simpler, classier design. On the flip side, there was one constant. Her shoes were exactly the same in every picture—

It hit me. I knew what was wrong. In every single one of the pictures, Malefica was wearing boots. Red, thigh-high boots.

Boots—not sandals.

I chewed my lip and picked up one of my Rubik’s Cubes. I turned the puzzle round and round in my hands. It was probably nothing. Perhaps the ubervillain had grown tired of her boots, as women were so wont to do with their footwear and other accessories. Perhaps she was now into sandals. Perhaps she had just wanted to show off her pedicure.

Still...

But maybe...

What if...

My inner voice nagged me. I thought back to the night in the park when I’d gone to meet the Terrible Triad. Malefica had been wearing boots then, because I remembered the way the enormous shoes had flattened the grass. My frown deepened. But Malefica had sported sandals when she’d kidnapped Striker earlier in the day. Why would she switch from sandals to boots and then back to sandals? Superheroes and ubervillains rarely changed anything about their costumes once they got used to them. They might tweak them a little bit, as Malefica had done by removing the gaudy rhinestones from her catsuit, but they wouldn’t change anything major. It made it too hard for the public to recognize and identify them, not to mention all the subsequent marketing headaches it created. So why would Malefica change her look now? Why now when she was hot on the trail of the Fearless Five?

I slid a row of colors into place on the Rubik’s Cube. The answer was that Malefica wouldn’t. Not unless she had specifically wanted me to notice her sandals. But why? Why would Malefica want that? What would that get her? What could she possible gain from that?

I paced around the room and clutched the Rubik’s Cube in my icy hands. The only reason I’d even recognized Malefica’s shoes was because of my time on the society beat. A month before Malefica had kidnapped me, I had done a lengthy feature story on Bella Bulluci and her fall shoe collection. Bella had shown me a pair of sandals exactly like the ones Malefica had been wearing. The photo had run a good four columns wide across the top of one of the society pages.

I put the cube down, sat in front of Henry’s computer, and went to The Exposé’s website. I entered my password and searched through the archives until I found the story on the Bulluci sandals. It was your usual fluffy, society piece, but my eyes snagged on a sentence near the bottom. The sandals are only available in sizes 6 through 9… I riffled through the papers until I found the order form Malefica, er, Morgana had used to purchase the sandals. Her shoe size was 10 ½. Bigfoot, indeed. She’d had to pay another five thousand dollars to special-order the shoes, and she’d added another three grand to the total to have them delivered by September 1—two weeks before the Triad had kidnapped me.

I grabbed my cube and started pacing again. Other pieces of the puzzle snapped into place inside my head. The week before the Bulluci cover, I’d done a piece on fine liquor, including Brighton’s Best whiskey. I remembered whistling when the salesman had told me how expensive it was. A week earlier, I’d written a glowing story about crystal, specifically Hilustar tumblers.

What if...

Could it be...

Was it possible...

The society page editor had assigned me all of those stories. The society editor, like all the others, had to get her story ideas approved through the managing editor, who reported to Morgana Madison, aka Malefica. It would have been easy for Morgana to whisper into the managing editor’s ear and get me assigned to certain stories. Everyone in the newsroom knew what a good memory I had. I could still recall names, dates, and places from stories I’d written in college. Like all journalists, I was a compendium of useless facts I’d picked up during my years on the job. A cold, iron fist wrapped itself around my heart and squeezed tight.

What if Malefica had been planning something far more sinister than kidnapping Striker all along? What if she wasn’t through with her plan yet? What if this was just the beginning?

I stalked around the room, twisting and turning the cubed puzzle in my hands. I flashed back to the night in the factory and the tour that Malefica had taken me on. I hadn’t thought too much of the ubervillain’s secret lair. It was a run-down factory. The only thing that had looked remotely sinister besides the vats of goo and mutated animals had been the bank of computers plugged into those four glass tubes. But what could Malefica do with those?

I clicked the last row of colors into place on the Rubik’s Cube. There had been four glass tubes next to the computers. Not one, not two, not three, but four. Four, man-sized, glass tubes. Suddenly, I knew.

I just knew.

The Fearless Five were walking straight into a trap.

And it was all my fault.

Chapter Twenty-Four

I dropped the Rubik’s Cube, lunged forward, and grabbed the microphone on the table. “Hermit! Mr. Sage! Fiera! Can you hear me? Come in! Come in now!”

“Ouch!” Hermit’s tinny voice echoed back to me. “There’s no need to shout, Carmen. I can hear you just fine. What’s the matter?”

“It’s a trap. Malefica set up this whole thing. She wants to capture all of you, not just Striker. Get out! Get out now!”

“What? What is she babbling about this time?” Fiera said.

“Are you sure, Carmen?” Mr. Sage asked. “Everything seems to be quiet. Hermit’s just gotten a possible location for Striker.”

“Yes, I’m sure. Leave! Right now! Before it’s too late!”

“Okay. You heard her. Let’s go.”

“But what about Striker?” Fiera asked.

“We’ll have to come back later. We can’t risk it if Malefica’s expecting us.”

Mr. Sage turned. Suddenly, a brilliant blue light flashed in front of the camera. Mr. Sage stumbled back.

“Run,” he said in a weak voice. “While you still can—”

The superhero went down on his knees and flopped over on his back. The camera on his suit pointed straight up. I had a lovely view of the iced-over, thick, metal pipes that hung down from the ceiling, but nothing else. Scuffles, loud crashes, and bangs cracked and shrieked through the microphone. Fiera let out a string of curses. Hermit shouted something unintelligible. The blue light flashed over Mr. Sage two more times. And then—

Silence.

Complete, utter, chilling silence.

“Mr. Sage? Mr. Sage?! Fiera?! Hermit?!” I shouted into the microphone. “Answer me!”

No one responded. I opened my mouth to yell at the superheroes again when I heard something. I listened.

Click-click-clack.

The sound grew louder and louder and louder. My heart sank. That sound had echoed through my nightmares many times.

A long, dark shadow fell over Mr. Sage. A flash of red blocked my view for a moment. The figure pulled back, and Malefica stared into the camera. Her green eyes bored into the lens.

“I can’t see you, Miss Cole, but I know you’re watching. Pity you couldn’t be here in person to witness the end of the Fearless Five. It’s going to make for a hell of a good story.” Malefica laughed in triumph.

A bitter taste filled my mouth. A tight, hard knot formed in my stomach. My inner voice wailed.

“Then again, I have you to thank for my victory, don’t I? Have you figured it out yet? Probably not. Few people can rarely see the big picture. Let me fill you in. I owe you that much.” Malefica leaned closer to the camera, like she was sharing an important secret with her best friend. Me. “I’ve been after the Fearless Five for years. But all my plans to eliminate them always backfired. Until now. I knew your reputation for unmasking superheroes. It’s the reason I hired you to work at The Exposé. You did your job beautifully, until Tornado’s oh-so-tragic suicide. I, of course, wanted you to unmask the rest of the Fearless Five, but you had a change of heart. Pity what guilt does to a person. Of course, I’ve never had a problem with it.”

“I had to find some way to get you back on track, some way to motivate you. That’s why I kidnapped you and let Frost threaten to turn you into his latest science project. It worked like the proverbial charm, and you went back to your old Nancy Drew ways. I knew your snooping around would attract the attention of the Fearless Five and that they’d take you in to protect you from me. With Frost’s tracking drug, you led me right to Striker. Then came the tricky part of my plan. How to get you to lead the rest of the Fearless Five into my trap?”

I closed my eyes. I felt physically ill.

“The answer was obvious. I had to let you unmask me. I couldn’t make it too easy, of course, or you might suspect something. So how to do it? Again, the answer was obvious. Any beat reporter worth her salt comes to know a great deal about the people she covers. How they think, what’s important to them. What do rich people care about? What would a society-beat reporter write stories about? Money, expensive baubles, pricey trinkets. I tossed a few breadcrumbs your way, namely the Bulluci shoes, and left a paper trail you could easily follow. I knew you’d figure it out sooner or later. You didn’t disappoint me, which is why I’m going to spare your pathetic life.”

Malefica smiled. “Aren’t you going to say something? Tell me how I’m going to pay for this? Threaten me with bodily harm? Vow to get your revenge come hell or high water?”

Tears trickled down my cheeks. I’d thought I was so clever, figuring out Malefica’s real identity. I was nothing but a colossal fool.

“Guess not. Pity. One more thing, Miss Cole. Don’t bother trying to expose my real identity to the world now. No one will believe you.”

“Why not?” I whispered.

“Because as of this morning, you were officially fired from The Exposé. Something to do with your mentally fragile state—and the fact that you’d broken into my office, threatened me, and stolen some petty cash. Lies, of course, but very believable ones, with police reports and other documentation to back them up. Well, I guess this concludes our business. Enjoy the rest of your evening. I know I will.”

Malefica blew me a kiss and reached toward the camera. Her hand covered the lens. Something ripped and snapped.

Then, the screen went black.

* * *

I sat there, stunned. Malefica had been using me the entire time. All this time, I’d thought I was in the one in control, but Malefica had been pulling my strings like I was a child’s puppet. Now, the Fearless Five were going to pay the ultimate price for my stupidity and arrogance. If they hadn’t already. Sam and the others were going to die.

I buried my head in my hands and sobbed.

Hot tears dripped down my face into my hands and then slid down my arms. A few of the salty drops splattered onto the computer keyboard.

“Ouch!”

I lurched back from the keyboard and rubbed the spot on my elbow where the computer had zapped me. Water and electricity do not mix. I should have remembered that from my story on the Electric Eelinator.

“Stupid computer. I’m trying to have a breakdown here,” I muttered.

But the shock jolted me out of my sobbing fit. I took deep breaths and wiped away the rest of my tears. Now was not the time to cry. The Fearless Five were in danger because of me. I had to do something to help them. And not just because they were righteous superheroes. I’d come to think of them as my friends these past few weeks. Even Fiera. And Striker...well, he was something more entirely. Much, much more.

But what? What could I possibly do? I could call the police, but they wouldn’t believe me, not without Chief Newman around to vouch for me. Morgana Madison had made sure of that. Anyway, Bigtime’s finest would be no match for the Triad. They’d be slaughtered like newborn lambs. I couldn’t handle any more blood on my hands.

I picked up my discarded Rubik’s Cube. The only people capable of rescuing the Fearless Five were other superheroes. But I didn’t know any superhero who would help me after what I’d done to the brotherhood. And I couldn’t exactly go through the yellow pages and call them up. Where was the Serious Samurai when you needed him?

I let out a long breath. It was up to me now. There was no one else.

Oh, I had no illusions about myself. Not anymore. I was definitely not a superhero. I didn’t have superstrength. I couldn’t form fireballs with my hands. I couldn’t read other people’s minds. I didn’t have anything to rely on, except myself. A ball of fear knotted in my throat. I didn’t think that I was strong enough, that I would be enough.

Malefica’s cackle of triumph echoed through my head. The ubervillain had threatened me, manipulated me, used me like a tissue, and then tossed me aside. I wasn’t anybody’s patsy. Not anymore. I slammed the cube down onto the table.

I wasn’t a superhero, but I was seriously pissed off. Malefica was going to pay for what she’d done to me and the Fearless Five. She’d made one major mistake and miscalculation. Everybody knew you didn’t piss off a Southern woman. We might look all sweet and nice and innocent, but every single one of us had a memory an elephant would envy and a mean streak to match. I was no exception. I never forgot, and I very rarely forgave.

“I am woman, hear me roar, Malefica,” I said. “I’m coming to get you, bitch.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

The first thing I did was try to get the camera back online. I fiddled with switches and turned dials and pushed buttons. Nothing. No sound, no video, no feedback. I couldn’t see anything happening inside the factory, not even the evil tortures Malefica was subjecting my friends to. Perhaps it was better that way.

Because the camera was dead, I would have to do things on my own. I’d have to go in blind. I sat and thought for a minute. Then, I walked over to my desk, picked up a phone, and punched in a number I knew by heart.

“Talk to me.”

* * *

“You want blueprints of the Snowdom Ice Cream Factory so you can bust in and save the Fearless Five from the vile clutches of the Terrible Triad?” Lulu asked.

I could hear the disbelief in the other woman’s voice. “I know I sound a little nuts right now, but it’s the truth, I swear.”

“Have you been drinking? Or were there pills involved?”

“No, I have not been drinking. Or popping pills.” That wasn’t entirely true, but I was in no mood to confess to my growing dependence on aspirin. “Listen up. I’m only going to tell this story to you once.”

I told Lulu everything. How I’d been kidnapped by Malefica, why I’d started digging into the Fearless Five’s real identities again, the battle at the park, my time with the superheroes, Malefica’s dastardly plan. Of course, I left out a few pertinent details like the real identities of the Fearless Five. However, I had no such qualms about unmasking Malefica, despite her threats that no one would believe me.

“Morgana Madison?! You’ve got to be kidding me, Sister Carmen. She’s one of the most respected businesswomen in Bigtime—not to mention the richest. Why would she masquerade as an ubervillain?”

“Who knows? Maybe she’s a thrill-seeker. Maybe her parents didn’t love her enough as a child. Maybe she was dropped on her head when she was a baby. I don’t really care what drove her to her life of crime. I just want to stop her and rescue the Fearless Five. Do me a favor. Pull up a photo of Malefica off the Internet and compare it to one of Morgana. That’s all I ask. If you don’t believe me then, you can hang up.”

Through the phone, I could hear Lulu pounding away on her computer. The typing stopped, and Lulu let out a low whistle.

“Well, well, well, as I live and breathe. Hello, Malefica. Or should I call her Morgana Madison?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “There’s some weird superhero-ubervillain etiquette about that I don’t really understand. I’m sticking with Malefica. Or the bitch who must die. Whichever you prefer.”

“Meow!” Lulu purred. “So Sister Carmen, what exactly do you need?”

“First of all, I need the blueprints for the ice cream factory. Get the originals from city hall if you can. I think Malefica tampered with the ones that Hermit found online.”

“Got it. What else?”

“I need you to see if you can find someone who used to work at the factory. Someone who remembers the layout, what kind of chemicals the workers used, what’s the best way in and out of the building, that sort of thing.”

“Why?”

“It never hurts to have too much information. I want to know as much as I can about the building before I go in.”

“Anything else?”

“Remember your friend Jasper? I need some more supplies from him. As soon as possible.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? From what you’ve told me, you almost blew yourself up the last time Jasper gave you some supplies.”

The memory of the fiasco in the park gave me another headache. I reached across my desk for my bottle of aspirin. I shook it. Empty. I’d grab some from the sick bay on my way out.

“I don’t have a choice, Lulu. Not unless you’ve got a superhero or five up your sleeve.”

“Sadly, that’s the one commodity I can’t quite seem to get my hands on. I’m working on it, though.”

“Meet me at the Wolf’s Den as soon as you’ve got everything. It’s an all-night diner about five miles from the factory.”

“I know the place, but it will take me some time to get this stuff together. I’m not Swifte, you know.”

“How long?” I ground my teeth together.

Every minute, every second counted. I didn’t know how long Malefica would keep the Fearless Five alive. My guess was not very long. Malefica would gloat for a while, then get bored with her prisoners. After that—I didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Lulu’s fingers snapped against the keyboard. “I can get what you need and be there in an hour.”

I glanced at the clock. It was almost ten now. “Fine. See you there.”

“Be there or be square, Sister Carmen.”

I hung up the phone and went over to the round table in the center of the library. I stared at the five empty chairs and the F5 insignia. I brushed my fingers over the carved wood. I would save the Fearless Five. I would.

Or die trying.

* * *

I put aside my raging emotions and ransacked the library, searching for anything that might help me in my upcoming battle. I found nothing I could use, unless I wanted to brain Scorpion with a very thick encyclopedia. I didn’t think that would slow down the ubervillain for a second, although a book without pictures might confuse him.

Next, I jogged down to the hall to the equipment room. I jabbed in the code, and the door slid open. I walked toward the colorful leather costumes hanging behind the glass doors and reached for the handle. My hand dropped to my side. No. I wasn’t a superhero. I wasn’t going to play dress-up and pretend to be one at this stage of the game. I was Carmen Cole, the woman who lived in jeans and a T-shirt. The woman who was probably going to die in jeans and a T-shirt.

No use thinking about that right now. When Malefica got her hands on me or Frost dumped me in a vat of radioactive goo, that would be a good time to have a proper panic.

I turned and surveyed the rest of the room. Striker’s gleaming, silver swords caught my eye. I went over and picked one up. I twirled the sword in my hand. It weighed less than a feather. A weapon I didn’t know how to use was better than no weapon at all. I grabbed another sword off the rack. And two weapons were definitely better than one. I found a scabbard for the swords and strapped them to my back. I spent a few minutes practicing pulling the swords out and putting them back in the leather slots.

Once I’d familiarized myself with the swords, I tore through the rest of the room. I found nothing else remotely helpful. No guns, no knives, no quarterstaffs, no throwing stars. Nothing. You’d think Sam would have invested a little more money in weapons given how much he spent on the rest of the group’s equipment. But that was a superhero for you. Always confident his power would be enough to see him through any battle. That was the problem with having superpowers—you came to rely on them too much. When they went away, as they so often did, you were left defenseless, helpless. It had happened to the Colorful Crusader and countless others.

Still, reliable or not, I would have given anything to have a superpower right now.

My next stop was the sick bay. Again, I found nothing helpful. The room was filled with odd machines and other devices much too complicated for me to understand, let alone find any use for. Odd drugs with bizarre, never-ending names and too many vowels sat inside most of the cabinets and drawers. I had a rule about medicine—I never took anything I couldn’t pronounce.

A box on one of the counters caught my eye. More RID pills. Evidently, it was Mr. Sage’s drug of choice. I turned the box over and read the label. Caution: Take one pill per day as needed to absorb and diminish radioactive isotopes. More than one pill per day may result in serious side effects, such as nausea, dizziness, headaches, and fatigue. Extreme overdoses could result in death. Consult your doctor for more information...

Big metal vats of radioactive goo flashed through my mind. My inner voice whispered. I had a funny feeling I’d be taking a cold, cold bath before the night was over. What the hell? I wasn’t likely to live through this little adventure anyway. Maybe they’d help my headache.

I downed ten of the pills.

Once I was done scouring the underground lair for weapons, I took the elevator upstairs and paced through the silent halls. My sneakers squeaked on the slick marble floors. The eyes of the statues and paintings followed my every step.

The manor seemed so empty without the others in it. I kept expecting to turn a corner and run into Sam carrying a briefcase full of papers from his latest business meeting. Or see Fiona snacking on a couple dozen pizzas in the kitchen. Or find Henry and Chief Newman playing pool in the game room.

I made my way to my room and plopped down on the thick bed. I glanced at the alarm clock. A little after ten. I closed my eyes, then opened them. I sat up. I got off the bed and paced around the room. I stared at the clock. Exactly two minutes had passed.

I couldn’t sit still until it was time to meet Lulu without going crazy. So, I took a quick shower to kill some time. I turned the water up as hot as I could stand it and let it soak into my body, as if it would linger there and drive away the cold of the factory. Once I’d dried off, I put on my favorite pair of faded jeans, sneakers, and a T-shirt with Pow! and Bif! and Bam! and other cartoon words on it.

I took extra care with my makeup. I was going to war, so I put on all my paint. Foundation, powder, eye shadow, mascara, lipstick. After all, a girl should look her best when she was about to meet her inevitable doom and death. A leather jacket completed the look. It wasn’t Bulluci’s fall collection, but it would have to do.

I grabbed a couple of Carly Simon CDs out of the cardboard boxes that littered the floor and tossed them into a bag with the swords and scabbard. I needed to psych myself up a little bit for the mission at hand. Okay, a lot. A whole hell of a lot.

I took a long, last look at myself in the mirror. Fear, panic, worry. All those emotions and more swirled in my troubled blue eyes. Tension tightened my face underneath all the makeup. I blew out a long, long breath. My emotions, my fears, my concerns didn’t matter anymore. All that was important now was saving Striker and the rest of the Fearless Five.

It was time to go to work.

Chapter Twenty-Six

I walked to the garage attached to the far side of the manor and flipped a switch. The bright lights illuminated row after row of cars, motorcycles, and vans. I randomly picked a set of keys off a pegboard near the door and hit the alarm button. The lights on a silver Aston Martin lit up. Not a bad ride. Not a bad ride at all.

I opened the driver’s side door, slid inside, and put my bag of swords in the passenger seat. I adjusted the mirrors, fastened my seat belt, and popped in a CD. Carly Simon’s deep, husky, angry voice blared out. She sang about people being vain, among other things.

My spirits lifted just a bit. “Ready or not, here I come. Carmen Cole, reporter extraordinaire, to the rescue.”

I stomped down on the gas.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, I tapped my fingers on the side of my parfait glass. The dark dregs of a triple-chocolate milkshake clung to the bottom of the container. I glanced at my watch. Eleven-fifteen. Lulu was late. My inner voice chattered. I couldn’t wait any longer. I had to go. Now. I put a ten-dollar bill on the table and stood.

The door chimed open. A motor sounded, and Lulu zoomed into the diner. She zipped over to me. The cobalt streaks in her black hair gleamed under the bright lights. I sank back down into my cherry-colored vinyl booth.

“Sorry. Traffic was terrible,” Lulu said. “Yeti Girl was throwing cars around the freeway. Swifte showed up and helped the cops tranq her, but it took them forever to get the debris off the road.”

“I was about to give up on you.”

“Now, you should know better than that, Sister Carmen. I always deliver. I’m better than the post office. If you’ll step outside with me, I have the items you requested.”

I followed Lulu out to the parking lot. A black van not unlike the one the Fearless Five used sat in the shadows. Lulu knocked once on the door. It slid open, revealing Jasper. He smiled at me.

“Step into my parlor,” Lulu said.

A hydraulic lift hissed to life. Lulu strapped her chair to the device, which picked her up and deposited her inside the van. Once Lulu was settled, I climbed inside and shut the door behind me.

“You remember Jasper.”

I nodded at the bomb expert.

“He has the items you wanted.”

Jasper opened a black duffel bag at his feet. He pulled out a device shaped like a cherry with the stem attached. “These contain a very concentrated form of explodium. Think of them as mini-grenades that pack a hell of a punch. I’ve made ten of them for you.”

“How big a punch?” I asked.

“Let’s just say you wouldn’t want to be anywhere within fifty feet of them when they go off. You can throw them, and they’ll explode on impact, or you can set them on a timer to detonate when you choose. I would suggest the latter method, unless you’re the Baseballer. I’ve included a remote trigger for you, or you can set the time on the bomb itself and watch it count down, just like in the movies.”

Jasper demonstrated how to arm the bomb and made me do the same. When he was convinced I sort of knew what I was doing, he pulled another device out of the bag. This one was shaped like a pineapple.

“And this is the big bang. The boom-boom, if you will. This bomb has enough explodium in it to level a building—something Lulu said you might be interested in.”

“You’ve got that right.” I’d like nothing better than to destroy the Triad’s lair, after I saved Striker and the others.

“Again, it has a remote trigger, or you can set the timer.”

Jasper showed me how to operate the device and made me repeat the steps back to him.

“And that concludes my business here. Enjoy.” He winked at me. “Don’t blow yourself up, Carmen. You’re becoming one of my best clients.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. I’d never thought I’d be on a bomber’s preferred client list. Although, if he gave me a discount, it might be worth it.

Lulu handed Jasper a thick, brown envelope. “Thank you for your speedy assistance, Brother Jasper. Have a good evening.”

Jasper pocketed the envelope. “You girls have fun. Try not to destroy too much of the city.”

He opened the van door, got out, and shut it behind him.

“How much money did you give him?” I asked.

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars. He wanted an even half million, but I talked him down.”

“Lulu!” I closed my eyes. My nest egg looked like a single chicken feather compared to that dollar amount. A moldy, moth-eaten feather. “I don’t have that kind of money. I’ll never be able to pay you back. Not in a million years.”

Lulu waved her hand. “I told you. The next three favors are on me, remember? Besides it’s time somebody taught Malefica and her crew a lesson.”

The hard tone in her voice caught my attention. “What do you mean by that?”

Lulu stared at her legs. And I just knew.

“Malefica’s the reason you’re in that chair,” I whispered.

Lulu nodded. Her black hair bobbed back and forth. “Five years ago, the Triad broke into the Complete Computer Company. They wanted the company’s new microchip. I was there doing an internship. The Fearless Five showed up, and a big battle ensued. In the confusion, Malefica grabbed me. She used me as a human shield so she and the Triad could get away. We went up to the roof, and Malefica forced me into a helicopter. We took off and hovered over the building. The Fearless Five came out on the roof. And—”

“And Malefica dropped you out of the helicopter,” I finished.

“Striker tried to catch me, but he missed. I didn’t fall that far, maybe twenty feet, but I broke my back and messed up my spinal cord. Hence, the wheelchair.”

I put my hand on Lulu’s arm. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me before?”

Lulu shrugged. “It didn’t matter. You can’t change what happened. Nobody can.” Her dark eyes drilled into mine. “But Malefica needs to pay for what she’s done. Not only to me, but to you, to the Fearless Five, to every person she’s ever hurt or used or manipulated. If you’re going to go after her, I’ll help you any way I can.”

Lulu handed me a folder filled with papers. “I got the original blueprints from city hall just like you wanted. You were right. Malefica had tampered with a set I found online. I also found an old-timer who worked at the ice cream factory for more than thirty years. He said the best way in and out of the plant is through this loading dock here. From your description, he figures Malefica’s office is there, and the computers and the Fearless Five are probably here.” She pointed to the locations on the map. “See these exes? If you place your bombs there, you should be able to bring down the whole building. Jasper was kind enough to mark the structural hot spots for me.”

“Thanks, Lulu.” I stuffed the papers into the bag with the bombs. “Now, I want you to promise me something.”

“What?”

“If I don’t make it back—”

“You will. You’ll be fine,” Lulu protested.

“Be real. I’m going up against three of the world’s most vicious ubervillains. I have a very, very slim chance of survival. I have a better chance of winning the lottery, and I don’t even play. The most I can hope for is to free a member of the Fearless Five and hope he or she can get the others out.”

“I have faith in you, Sister Carmen. You’ve made it this far. You’ll find a way to survive.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. But if I don’t make it out, I want you to expose Morgana Madison. Tell the whole world she’s really Malefica, but do it anonymously. She’s already discredited me, and I don’t want her to come after you too.” I pulled a CD out of my jacket and handed it to Lulu. “All the information you need is on here. Photos, documents, the money trail. Leak it to The Chronicle and SNN first. They’ll eat it up. It’ll go national in five seconds. We can have our revenge, one way or the other.”

“It’ll be my pleasure.” Lulu palmed the disc. “Take care, Sister Carmen. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll need it.”

* * *

I got out of the van and shut the door behind me. Lulu cranked the motor and drove away. I watched the taillights fade into the dark night, carefully picked up the bag of bombs, and walked to the borrowed Aston Martin. The bag went in the back, while I slid into the front seat.

Ten minutes later, I steered the car off the side of the road. The ice cream factory towered in the distance about a quarter mile away. I drove the car into the woods, where it couldn’t be seen, parked, killed the headlights, and got out. The ground felt moist and springy underfoot, and the scent of pine trees and sap tickled my nose. A crescent moon hung like a silver lantern in the sky. It might be the last moon I’d ever see. I shoved that unpleasant thought aside.

I grabbed the swords and scabbard, took off my leather jacket, and tossed it in the car. The night air chilled my skin, but I had no doubt that I’d soon be much, much colder. I strapped on the scabbard and put the two swords into their slots. The weapons felt odd on my back. I picked up the black duffel bag and eased it over my shoulder.

I walked through the woods toward the ice cream factory. A few bugs chirped in the deep shadows. Bullfrogs bellowed, and owls hooted in the treetops. Dry leaves crackled under my sneakers, their earthy aroma mingling with the sticky sap of the pine trees. The sounds and smells of the woods comforted me. I was a country girl at heart, no matter how long I’d been in the big city.

I reached the edge of the woods, crouched down, and peered through the trees. The ice cream factory towered above me. With its shattered windows and graffiti-covered walls, the building looked like it belonged in the middle of a war zone. I stopped where I was, looking, listening. Nothing moved outside the building, and I couldn’t detect any noise or movement inside.

I checked the swords on my back and the bag slung over my shoulder one more time. Everything was in place. It was now or never.

I crept forward.

* * *

Using the trees for cover, I skirted around the building until I came to the loading dock entrance. I pulled out Lulu’s blueprints and double-checked the location. Right on track. I stuffed the papers into my back pocket, got a firm grip on the duffel bag, and darted across the parking lot as fast as I could. I eased myself up against the building, then stopped and waited, looking, listening. Nothing, except my ragged breaths and the frantic beating of my heart.

I crept over to the door and tried the knob. It turned, and I inched open the door. No alarms sounded, no sirens blared. I snuck inside and closed the door behind me. I stood at the entrance a moment, letting my eyes adjust to the dim light. I was in a large, square room. Empty buckets and barrels littered the floor, and I tiptoed through the debris. Goosebumps covered my arms. It couldn’t be more than thirty degrees inside the factory. Evidently, Frost was up to his usual tricks.

I peeked around the corner. The room opened up into the main factory floor. A catwalk crisscrossed over my head. No one in sight. I turned right and headed for a metal support beam in the center of the wall. According to Jasper’s directions, I should plant the first bomb here. I took one of the cherry-shaped devices out of my bag, flicked a switch to arm it, and nestled it next to the beam. I paused every few seconds to look and listen. Nothing. I grabbed some loose pieces of brick and piled them over the bomb to hide it. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but hopefully it would pass a casual inspection. I let out a breath. One down. Lots more to go.

I repeated the process over and over, making a circle around the inside of the factory, until I’d planted all of my bombs. Luckily, the points Jasper had marked on the map were away from the very center of the factory, where Malefica was holding the Fearless Five.

Once the final bomb was in place, I pulled out the remote trigger and programmed it to detonate the bombs in one hour. If we weren’t out in an hour, we weren’t getting out at all. I stuffed the duffel bag and remote trigger down a metal grate about twenty feet from the last bomb. I also ripped up the blueprints and threw the pieces down the grate as well, piling bricks on top of it so it couldn’t be seen. The Terrible Triad might find some of the bombs and disarm them, but it was unlikely they could get to them all without the trigger.

My hands shook. Now came the hard part. I reached over my back and drew the two swords out of the leather scabbard. I twirled them in my hands to get a feel for them. I took a long breath and blew it out to steady my ragged nerves. I could do this. I’d planted the bombs without being detected. All I had to do now was free the Fearless Five. If they were still alive.

I closed my eyes and thought of Sam. His eyes, his smile, the way his lips felt on mine. My heart tightened. He had to be alive. He just had to be. They all had to be alive.

I tiptoed through the factory. I moved slowly, cautiously, and kept to the shadows. I passed the room where I’d been held on my last visit. I went by and ducked under a set of metal stairs. Icicles hung like jagged daggers from the underside. I peeked around a tall canister. Through the maze of pipes, I spotted the cages that contained Frost’s pet projects. The animals must be sleeping because I didn’t hear any moans or growls or howls. I gulped. The cages stood right next to the giant vats of radioactive goo.

Suddenly, a large shadow fell over me. Knuckles cracked together.

Uh-oh.

I turned. Scorpion stood right behind me.

He swatted the swords out of my hand. They hit the icy floor and slid away. I tried to run, but he grabbed me by the back of my shirt. He picked me up like I was a naughty puppy and dangled me in front of him.

“Little girls shouldn’t play with toothpicks,” he said.

Scorpion slung me over his shoulder and scooped up the swords.

“Put me down, you big bully!”

I struggled and tried to slide free, but my strength was no match for the ubervillain’s. An eighteen-wheeler going over a hundred would have had a hard time slowing him down. All I could do was pound my fists against his back like an indignant child.

Scorpion climbed up a set of stairs. Laughter floated down. Scorpion reached the top. I swayed from side to side, catching sight of the vats below. Fog rose up from them. I shivered.

“Malefica, Frost, look what I found creeping around the factory—a little mouse,” Scorpion said.

He dumped me on the floor, and a pair of red boots came into view.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” Malefica said, her green eyes lighting up.

Uh-oh.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“Carmen!” Sam shouted.

My heart lit up like a firecracker at the sound of Sam’s voice. I looked past Malefica and spotted him standing in one of the glass tubes. I drank in the sight of him. Lines of fatigue etched his handsome face, which was tight with worry. Other than that, Sam looked no worse for wear. My eyes flicked to the others in the tubes next to him. They all looked a little beat-up but not seriously injured. Fiona, Henry, and Chief Newman stared back at me. My heart plummeted. None of them were wearing their masks. Malefica had unmasked them, all of them. She knew who they were.

The ubervillain paced around me. I got to my feet.

“She had these with her.” Scorpion held out the swords.

Malefica waved her hands, and the swords floated toward her. “Running with sharp objects? Tisk, tisk, Miss Cole.”

The swords sailed over and landed in front of Sam’s tube. He eyed them like a starving man staring at a thick, juicy steak.

“What did you think you would accomplish by breaking in here?” Malefica asked.

I didn’t reply.

“Surely you didn’t think you could defeat us,” Frost sneered. “That would go against all the laws of science, logic, and chance.”

I shrugged. “It was a thought. Everybody gets lucky every now and then. I thought tonight might be my night.”

“Well, it was a bad thought. In fact, it’s the last one you’ll ever have,” Malefica said. “You know, I was going to let you live out the rest of your pathetic life, wracked by guilt over your part in the demise of the Fearless Five. I was going to enjoy tormenting you from afar. It would have been a pleasant diversion. Not anymore. You’ve caused far too much trouble, popping up like this just as we were about to get on with things. I hate delays of any sort.”

“I’m sorry, am I keeping you from an important dinner date?”

Malefica backhanded me. Pain exploded in my cheek. I rocked back, but I didn’t fall to the ground. I refused to give her that satisfaction. Sam hissed.

“You pathetic woman. You still haven’t figured it out, have you? Do you even know what this is all about?”

“Of course I know what it’s about,” I mumbled through my split lip. Blood pooled in my mouth, and a few drops spattered onto the icy floor. “It’s what superhero-ubervillain battles are always about. You’ve captured the Fearless Five. You’ve unmasked them, and soon you’re going to kill them.”

Malefica shook her head. “Your vision is so shortsighted. I want more than to merely unmask the Fearless Five. I want their powers as well.”

I froze. My eyes flew to the tubes and the computer.

“Let me explain it to you, Miss Cole. I, being the brilliant scientist I am, have designed a complicated superhero suction system. My glass, power vacuumers will suck the superstrength right out of the Fearless Five, along with the rest of their powers.” Frost preened like a proud father over his monstrous device. “The powers will be transferred through the computer and reconfigured so we can absorb them through this tube.”

I followed Frost’s gloved finger. Another glass tube, one I hadn’t noticed before, sat on the far side of the computers. Glass, power vacuumers? So that’s why the Triad had robbed the vacuum cleaner plant. Frost had needed parts for his gruesome project.

Malefica smiled. “Of course, when we have their powers, we’ll be invincible. No one will be able to stop us…”

I tuned out the rest of the ubervillain’s chatter and threats. I glanced at my watch. Forty minutes until the bombs went off. Hopefully, Malefica would keep talking right up until the last second. My eyes flicked up. Frost stared at me. Uh-oh.

“She looked at her watch,” Frost said, interrupting Malefica’s rant. “You might want to make sure the area is secure before you do away with her.”

“What are you scheming now, Miss Cole?” Malefica’s eyes glowed.

I could almost feel the other woman peering into my mind. I had to think of something, anything, but the bombs. Something completely unrelated to bombs and explosives and... Coconut! That was fairly inane and harmless, although I hated the taste of it. Coconut, coconut, coconut... I repeated it over and over in my mind.

“She’s planted several bombs in the building.” Malefica rattled off a list of locations. “Go disarm them, now.”

Scorpion lumbered down the icy stairs. My heart sank. So much for my backup plan. What was wrong with me? Was my mind that simple? Was I an open book any psychic could read?

“Should we abort?” Frost asked. “He might not find them all in time.”

“No.” Malefica turned her head to look at the other ubervillain. “As long as he gets most of them, we’ll be all right. Keep going.”

I was out of options. It was time to do something drastic. I eyed Malefica, shifted my feet, and prepared to spring.

Suddenly, a giant, invisible hand picked me up. I yelped. The hand closed around me, pinning my arms to my side. I felt like the damsel-in-distress in one of those old black-and-white King Kong movies.

“As for you, Miss Cole, I’m afraid you have outlived your usefulness. You really should have listened to me. I don’t make idle threats.”

Malefica waved her hand. Slowly, I moved. I floated about twenty feet up into the air, up over the metal railing, until I dangled right over one of the vats.

The radioactive liquid bubbled and gurgled below. White fog drifted up from the vat, and the bottoms of my sneakers iced over. My stomach morphed into a giant ball of fear. Terrified, I looked up and locked eyes with Sam. I saw the panic and fear in his eyes and knew it was reflected in my own.

“Sam,” I whispered.

Malefica twitched her hand, and I plunged into the vat.

* * *

Cold.

No, icy.

No, frigid.

No...

Words couldn’t describe the sensation, although it was rather funny I was trying to find a way to explain what it felt like to freeze to death.

The liquid closed over me like a shroud. It poured into my ears and mouth and forced its way down my throat. It tasted like old, crystallized, vanilla ice cream. Blech. And it was cold, colder than death. Colder than anything I’d ever felt before. It made the harshest winter, the bitterest wind feel balmy by comparison. I froze on the inside and outside. I immediately lost feeling in my fingers and toes. Ice formed on my clothes and in my hair. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe...

Suddenly, an invisible hand yanked me up out of the liquid. I coughed and gasped for air. My teeth rattled together like dominos.

“How’s the water?” Malefica asked. “Let’s go for another dip.”

I plunged back into the vat. The cold was worse this time, if that was possible. The frigid sensation worked its way up my arms and legs. My internal organs iced over one by one...

I flew up out of the liquid again. Malefica danced me around like a puppet. Bits and pieces of ice broke off my clothes and disappeared into the fog below. I couldn’t feel anything. Not my fingers, not my toes, not even my own eyes as they struggled to blink.

“Not quite done yet,” Malefica cackled and blew me a kiss.

I went into the vat for a third time. The cold engulfed my body. Something cracked open in my head and trickled down into the back of my eyes. I floated away on a cold cloud...

Just when I thought this was the end, the invisible hand again lifted me up out of the goo. I stood frozen and stiff in midair, a human icicle come to life.

“I think that’s enough.” Malefica waved her hand.

I sailed through the air and landed on the metal platform in between Malefica and the caged superheroes. I couldn’t move or speak or even whimper. I could barely make myself breathe. Fiona’s horrified face swam in front of my eyes. Sam shouted, but his voice seemed far away.

“Well, I have to say, Frost, I’m most impressed. That stuff really packs a punch. Is she still alive?”

Frost peered at me. “For the moment. She won’t last much longer.”

Malefica leaned down. “There’s one more secret I want to share with you before you depart this earth, Miss Cole. Something I’ve been keeping to myself for six delicious months now.”

I struggled to focus on the ubervillain. My vision had gone haywire, along with everything else. Malefica looked like a jumbled mass of black waves bouncing off each other.

“You see, I know how guilty you’ve been feeling over Tornado’s death. But I just want to tell you this—your guilt was for nothing. He didn’t commit suicide. I killed him.”

“What? What are you saying?” Fiona demanded, pounding the inside of her tube with her fist.

Malefica turned to the superhero. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? You superheroes...so gullible. Never thinking about the big picture. Pity.”

“I got an advance copy of Carmen’s story identifying Travis Teague as Tornado. I was thrilled when I got the news. As Morgana Madison, it was so easy to arrange a meeting with dear Travis to talk about investing in his wind power company. Once I was in his office, I hit him with Frost’s freezoray gun, then dumped him out the window. Don’t worry. I’m sure he didn’t feel a thing.”

“You bitch!”

Fiona exploded into a roaring mass of red and orange and yellow waves. I could almost feel her heat, even though the glass tube separated us. A small spark of anger sizzled up in me. Malefica had used me from the very beginning, used me to murder Tornado, to capture the Fearless Five. Now, she was going to kill them all, kill my friends, kill Sam, the man I so desperately loved. The cold returned, stronger this time. The little spark flickered, dimmed, and faded away...

No!

I focused my energy on that spark. Anger was good. Anger meant I was still alive and not sliding into cold, cold oblivion. I stared at the dazzling waves dancing around Fiona. If only I could reach out and touch that warmth somehow...wrap it around myself...I might have a chance... I had to fight... I strained toward the fiery waves...

“Now, now, now,” Malefica said to Fiona. “There’s no need to get all upset. I could have let the poor girl die thinking she was responsible for Tornado’s death. Instead, I’ve chosen to do the noble thing, the honorable thing, and confess my wicked, wicked sins. You should applaud me.”

“You’re despicable,” Sam spat out. “Rot in hell.”

“You first, darling.” Malefica puckered her lips and blew a kiss to the trapped superhero.

Water dripped off my frozen, ice-covered fingers. It puddled on the floor underneath me. Still, I stared at Fiona. The flames around her flickered and dimmed. Her face paled. Somehow, though, I didn’t feel quite as cold as before.

Frost circled me. “Interesting. She should be frozen solid by now. She must be made of sturdier stuff than I thought. Or perhaps the ambient temperature is slowly thawing her out. It will be too little, too late, though.” He drew his freezoray gun out from the holster on his utility belt. “Are you going to finish her off, Malefica? Or shall I?”

“You get back to work on the computers. I’ll take care of Miss Cole.”

Frost put his weapon away. He took up his previous post in front of the computer and began flipping switches and pushing buttons.

Malefica used her boot to roll me over onto my back. I made no sound, although I stared at Malefica. The ubervillain paid no attention to the hate burning in my eyes—or to the fact my skin was no longer quite as blue as Frost’s costume. Malefica made a grand sweep with her hand, and Sam’s two swords rose up into the air.

“I think I’ll let Striker’s weapons of choice be the means of your demise, Miss Cole. Watching someone die from hypothermia brought on by radioactive goo isn’t terribly exciting. There’s no blood, no spatter, no real artistry to it.”

“Don’t do this, Malefica. Please. She’s an innocent. She doesn’t even have any powers,” Sam pleaded.

Malefica smiled. “What’s this? Are you begging me to spare her life? She won’t last more than a few more minutes either way, you know.” Her eyes glowed. “Do you actually...care about her?”

Sam stared at my still form. He lowered his head.

“You do!” Malefica laughed. “How ironic. Striker has feelings for the woman who exposed him to me. How deliciously ironic.”

The swords floated over my body.

“And now, Miss Cole, it’s time for you to die.” Malefica snapped her hands downward.

“No!” Sam shouted.

The swords zoomed straight at my chest.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

“How ironic. Striker has feelings for the woman who exposed him to me.”

Striker has feelings for...

Feelings for...

Feelings...

The words echoed in my mind. My lips twitched upwards. He cares about me? Sam aka Striker Sloane actually cares about me?

The little spark of anger that I’d been holding on to blossomed into something much, much greater. I moved my head an inch. He stood in his glass tube, a look of utter despair and hopelessness on his handsome face. Sam. The strange, warm feeling grew inside me. The cold receded from my bones.

I moved my head back. The swords hovered above me. Behind them, I could see Malefica, and the waves that surrounded the ubervillain. They looked just like the waves I’d seen around Fiona, except they were black, just like Malefica’s twisted soul.

Malefica moved her hand. The swords plunged downward, about to make me the world’s largest pin cushion. If I could have put my hands up, I would have. If I could have screamed, I might have done that too.

But I couldn’t. I couldn’t do any of those things.

All I could do was stare at the black waves and concentrate.

It was enough.

The swords stopped an inch from my chest. They hovered there like long, slender helicopters. Malefica frowned. She waved her hand. The swords backed off, then plunged at me again.

Again, they stopped.

I stared at the ubervillain. Malefica repeated the process a third time.

Again, the swords stopped short of plunging into my cold body.

“What are you doing?” Frost demanded, putting his hands on his thin hips. “Quit fooling around. Kill her already. We have superpowers to suck, you know.”

“I’m trying,” Malefica muttered. “I’m trying.”

I wasn’t quite sure why I wasn’t dead yet. It had something to do with the black waves boiling around Malefica. They pulsated just a few feet away. They weren’t hot like the waves around Fiona. These waves had a different sort of power. They felt like...the ocean. Perpetual motion. Like all you had to do was think about something and it would move for you.

The waves around Malefica surged forward, and the swords came at me once more. I stared at the waves and pictured myself using their power to shove the swords back at the ubervillain.

The weapons stopped.

“What—what are you doing? Stop that!” Malefica shrieked.

“Malefica, what’s going on?” Frost asked.

“It’s...her! She’s interfering with my telekinesis!”

“Impossible!” Frost scoffed. “You just aren’t concentrating. Focus on the task at hand.” He turned back to the computers.

“Fine,” she muttered. “I’ll do it myself. It’s always more fun that way.”

Malefica waved her hand. One of the swords flew through the room and embedded itself in the wall. The ubervillain took hold of the other one and towered over me. Malefica lifted the sword up high above her head. The black waves around her intensified.

My fingers fluttered.

The sword ripped out of Malefica’s hand, hit the floor, and slid to a stop in front of Sam’s tube. Malefica’s mouth dropped open. She stared at me. For the first time, the ubervillain realized I wasn’t frozen anymore. All of the ice had melted off my body. My skin was no longer pale and blue, my hair no longer white with frost.

“Your eyes,” she whispered. “They’re glowing!”

Malefica took an uncertain step back.

I stared at the black waves around the ubervillain and imagined using their power to pull myself into a sitting position. Beads of sweat popped out on my face. It took so much effort to concentrate, to focus, to try to move. And yet, slowly, oh-so-slowly, my body propped itself up.

“Carmen?” Sam said. “Carmen!”

I stared at the caged superhero. Soothing sapphire waves rippled out from his body. I could feel their healing powers, their ability to continually restore. If only I could use them to heal myself... I reached out with my mind toward the pulsating waves...

“Bloody hell,” Fiona said. “Look at her eyes!”

“Everyone be quiet. Stop talking to her, Sam. Carmen needs to concentrate,” Chief Newman said in a low voice.

“What’s happening to her?” Henry asked.

“What happened to all of us,” the chief replied in a cryptic tone. “Now be quiet and watch.”

I barely comprehended the superheroes’ conversation. All I was aware of were the soothing, soothing waves. I reached for them, and their power trickled into my body. A warm glow enveloped me, jump-starting my heart, restoring my circulation. My breathing grew easier. Pricks and needles of pain ran up and down my arms and legs. I wiggled my toes. I could feel them again.

Inside the tube, Sam fell to his knees. Sweat streamed down his anguish-filled face. I frowned. I was hurting him. I let go. Sam fell back against the side of the tube. Malefica’s eyes flicked back and forth between us.

I rolled over onto my knees. Water dripped down my face and plopped onto the metal floor. I pushed myself up. My knees wobbled. I lurched over to the metal railing and hung on to it for support.

Malefica took another step back. “Frost, Frost! Quit messing with that stupid computer.”

“What do you want? I’m trying to work here in case you haven’t noticed. Just kill her already…” The ubervillain caught sight of my glowing eyes. His voice trailed off.

“What’s in that vat I dropped her in?” Malefica asked.

“Nothing special. Just a mixture of radioactive isotopes and chemical compounds. Your usual goo.” Frost studied me. “Although it seems as if it has quite a different effect on humans than on animals. How fascinating.”

“Fascinating, my ass! Look at her!”

Frost waved his hand. “So her eyes are glowing. No big deal. It’s probably just a temporary effect.”

Malefica shook her head. “You’re wrong. I can feel the power pouring off her. Quick! Hit her with the freezoray gun!”

Frost sighed. “Always so demanding.”

Snow-white waves rippled out from the ubervillain. Cold waves. I stared at the gun on Frost’s side and reached for the power.

Frost went for his weapon. Too little, too late. A large block of ice encased his freezoray gun, rendering it useless.

I took a step forward.

Malefica and Frost looked at each other. Meanwhile, Scorpion appeared at the top of the stairs.

“I found several bombs. They’ve been shut down—”

“That doesn’t matter right now. Scorpion, get her!” Malefica shrieked.

The giant, hulking ubervillain shrugged. “Okay.”

He lumbered over to me, put his hand on my throat, and picked me up. “Now what?”

Malefica pointed. “Throw her back into the vat! Now!”

Scorpion raised me high into the air. I looked at Fiona and the red-hot waves that enveloped her. I put my hand on Scorpion’s chest.

He dropped me like a hot potato.

At that moment, I was one. I used Fiona’s power to superheat my hand. Scorpion now had a giant smoking hole on his chest. Blisters popped out on his massive form, although they began to heal within seconds due to his regenerative abilities.

“What’s the matter, Scorpion? Am I a little too hot to handle?” I said, getting to my feet.

The ubervillain growled in pain. Malefica and Frost stared at me. Fear and confusion shimmered in their eyes.

“What’s wrong? Can’t take a little taste of your own medicine?” I said.

The three ubervillains didn’t reply.

“Or perhaps you’re frightened of me. Imagine that. The Terrible Triad quaking in their boots because of Carmen Cole. What a strange day this is turning out to be. Wouldn’t you say?” I sounded crazy and I knew it. I felt crazy. All jumbled up inside.

Scorpion charged at me. I stared at Malefica and used the ubervillain’s telekinetic power waves to pick up Scorpion and fling him across the room. He crashed into the computers, shattering them with his massive form. The blinking lights snuffed out like a candle. Scorpion groaned once and lay still.

Frost wasn’t nearly so bold and daring. He ran. He clattered down the steps as fast as he could toward the cages that held his pet projects. I grabbed Malefica’s powers again. The locks on the metal cages popped off. I waved my hand, and the doors creaked open. Frost stopped. He turned to look at me.

“What are you doing?! My work!”

“Is about to come back and bite you in the ass. Just like karma.”

I used Malefica’s power to rattle the cages. Low snarls erupted from within. A white, furry head appeared. Then another, then another. Frost’s mouth dropped open in horror. He backed up against the wall. The mutated creatures caught sight of him. They growled with one voice and advanced on him.

“No! Stop! I created you! I am your master! You have to listen to me—”

Frost went down in a heap of teeth and claws and fur.

“Behind you!” Sam shouted.

I ducked. A sword zipped by my head. Malefica stared at me, her green eyes glittering with hate and rage.

“Do you want to play too?” I asked. “There’s plenty of me to go around.”

“You get a little taste of power and you think you’re something special,” Malefica hissed. “You’re nothing compared to me.”

“You’re the one who’s nothing,” I spat back.

The ubervillain threw her arms wide. Bricks, loose wires, small pieces of metal, everything that wasn’t tied down rose into the air. Malefica shoved her arms forward and threw the mass of stuff at me at warp speed.

I hit the ground, and the debris sailed over my head. Most of it clattered off the railing and disappeared into the bubbling liquid below. Pieces cut my arms and hands and shredded the back of my T-shirt.

I scrambled to my feet and threw myself at her. We went down in a pile on the slick, cold floor. We rolled around, each trying to get the upper hand. Malefica slapped me across the face. I sank my teeth into her forearm. Blood filled my mouth, and Malefica howled in pain. She hit me in the head. We kicked and clawed and bit and scratched like two she-cats.

“Get her, Carmen!”

“Kick her ass!”

“Atta girl!”

“Go Carmen!”

Cheered on by the superheroes’ shouts, I positioned myself on top of Malefica, reared back my hand, and punched the ubervillain with all my might. I had never punched anyone in my entire life.

It felt good.

Really good.

Incredibly good.

So I did it again. And again. And again.

“Carmen! Carmen, stop! She’s out of it!”

Sam’s voice penetrated my rage. Malefica lay slack and silent underneath me. The ubervillain’s beautiful face was a pulpy, bloody mess. I quit punching her and staggered to my feet. The world spun around. I lurched forward and grabbed the railing for support. My friends shouted something to me, but I couldn’t quite make it out over the ringing in my head.

My inner voice screamed. I turned. Somehow, Malefica had gotten up. She ran at me, but I sidestepped out of the way. Malefica hit the railing. Her momentum carried her forward, and she flipped up and over the side. She shrieked once and splashed into the cold liquid below. And then—

Silence.

I stared into the white fog. The liquid gurgled and bubbled once.

“Carmen? Carmen! Are you okay?”

I lumbered around at the sound of Sam’s voice. The four superheroes stared at me, worry in their eyes.

“I...think so.”

I felt drained and utterly exhausted. But I couldn’t stop. Not yet. Not until I’d freed my friends. I staggered over to the smashed computers. Scorpion was gone. A pool of black blood glistened on the floor where he’d been. I squinted at the buttons and switches and wires. My hands hovered over the twisted metal.

“Hit the one on the far side of the computer. The one that isn’t broken off like the others,” Henry said.

I threw the switch, and the doors on the glass tubes hissed open. The superheroes tumbled out of their cages. They exchanged wary glances and slowly approached me. I looked at them. The waves of power still billowed out from them. I shook my head, and my vision cleared. The waves disappeared, and my friends came into focus.

Sam put his arms around me. I smiled at him. He had never looked more handsome.

“It’s good to see you,” he said.

“You too,” I replied.

Sam’s face swam before my eyes. I smiled again. Then, the darkness came, and I fell into its sweet embrace.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

My eyes fluttered open, and I stared at the ceiling overhead. I recognized it immediately. Back in the sick bay again. A heart monitor beeped next to me, along with all the other usual medical devices. An IV pumped fluid into my arm.

I could feel someone else in the room. I turned my head. Sam sat in a chair next to the bed.

“Hey there, handsome,” I croaked. My throat had about a gallon of sand in it.

His silver eyes lit up. “Hey there, yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Better. Still kind of tired and sleepy.”

He reached out and took my hand. “You gave us all quite a scare, you know.”

“Did I? I’m sorry.”

Sam stroked his thumb over my hand. Tingles of pleasure ran up and down my hand at his warm touch. I twitched my fingers in response.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Just making sure I can still feel them,” I joked.

Sam smiled. I’d never thought I would see him smile again. The effect was more devastating than I remembered. My eyes traced over him. No cuts, no bruises, no nicks or scrapes could be seen on his face and arms. He looked completely healthy. Then again, he would be. He could regenerate, after all. My heart swelled with love and tenderness. Sam was safe. I’d never been happier.

“What day is it?” I asked, trying to take my mind off Sam’s incredible smile.

“Friday.”

“Friday the thirteenth?” Surely, I’d been asleep longer than just a day.

“No, Friday, the twentieth.”

Sam filled me in on what had happened after I collapsed. Henry and Chief Newman had made sure the glass tubes and computers had been destroyed. Then, Fiona picked me up, and the five of us had raced out of the ice cream factory. Moments later, the building had exploded. Scorpion hadn’t gotten to all of the bombs, after all. The factory collapsed in on itself. While the superheroes had fully recovered from the effects of Frost’s freezoray gun, there had been no sign of Malefica, Frost, or Scorpion since the explosion.

“Do you think they’re dead?” I asked.

“I think Scorpion made it out. He crawled away while you and Malefica were fighting. I don’t know about Frost. By the time we got down the stairs, the animals had all escaped. We’re trying to track them down now. There was a lot of blood on the floor, along with some pieces torn from his costume. As for Malefica, it’s possible she survived being in the vat. You did.”

I flashed back to the factory. Malefica laughing, dropping me into the vat. The cold liquid closing over me. Freezing me, squeezing the warmth, the life from my body. I trembled and pulled the covers up to my neck. I wondered if I would ever forget that awful, awful cold, if I’d ever be truly warm again.

“Don’t think about that,” Sam said. “You’re safe now, Carmen. The Triad will never hurt you again. I promise.”

A shiver slithered up my spine. My inner voice whispered. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Well, I am. Rest now. We’ll have time to talk once you’re completely well.”

Sam kissed my cheek and smoothed my hair back. His gentle touch brought hot tears to my eyes. I cupped his head in my hands and pressed my lips to his. Desire flared to life deep inside me. I wrapped my arms around Sam’s neck, drawing him closer, even as my tongue sought out his.

“If you keep kissing me like that, I’m going to have a hard time leaving,” Sam murmured in a low, husky voice.

“Then don’t,” I whispered.

Sam disentangled himself from my greedy grasp. He pressed a kiss to the palm of my hand. “Unfortunately, I have to. The chief’s orders. He told me in no uncertain terms not to do anything to upset you.”

I arched an eyebrow. “You don’t upset me. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

“I think the chief was speaking in code.”

“Oh.”

Sam smiled. “Sleep now. I’ll be back soon.”

“Promise?”

He crossed his heart. “Promise.”

He kissed me lightly and left. The door hissed shut behind him. I touched my fingers to my lips. They still felt warm and tingly from his kiss. A goofy grin spread across my face. I sat up, wanting to go after him, to make sure this was real, that he was real, and not some figment of my frozen imagination. A rustle of fabric caught my attention.

Oh no. Not again.

I peeked under the covers. A brand new pair of lab-rat, white pajamas covered my pale body. I sighed. In a way, it was comforting to know some things would never change.

* * *

The next day and several naps later, I felt well enough to get out of bed. My first order of business was to have Sam help me upstairs to my suite, where I took a long, hot bath and pulled on some clean, non-pajama-like clothes.

I felt more like myself in my usual uniform of jeans and a T-shirt. My stomach rumbled. I was starving. I turned sideways and looked at myself in the bathroom mirror. On the up side, being unconscious was certainly good for the diet.

Someone knocked on the door. I opened it. Sam was there, wearing an impeccable business suit just like always.

“Ready for dinner?”

My stomach rumbled again. I blushed.

Sam grinned. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“You can take it any way you want to, as long as you feed me.”

Sam held out his arm. I took it, and we walked downstairs. Sam opened the door to the dining room. Fiona, Henry, and Chief Newman waited inside. The three superheroes stood. When I entered the room, they clapped. Sam joined in as well. Fiona put her fingers to her lips and let out an ear-splitting whistle. The chief wiggled his hand, and an enormous banner attached to one wall unfurled. It read To Carmen.

My eyes widened. I ran to the table and hugged all the superheroes, even Fiona.

“Sit, sit,” Henry said. “You’re our guest of honor tonight.” He pulled out the seat at the head of the table.

I sank into the chair and wiped away the tears that threatened to trickle down my face. Sam disappeared into the kitchen and returned carrying an enormous chocolate cake. Fiona waved her hand, and candles lit up on the smooth, frosted surface. It also said To Carmen. Henry rushed forward and put a glass of champagne in my hands.

“You guys, I don’t deserve this.”

“You most certainly do,” Sam said. “All this and much more.”

“No, it’s too much,” I protested.

“Nonsense.” Sam lifted his glass. “I propose a toast. To Carmen!”

“To Carmen!” the superheroes shouted.

We raised our glasses high and clinked them together.

“We just wanted to show our appreciation,” the chief said, his blue eyes twinkling. “If it wasn’t for you, none of us would be here now.”

“I don’t know about that. You guys are the Fearless Five. You would have found some way to escape Malefica’s evil clutches. You’re superheroes. It’s what you do.”

“Let’s not talk about that now,” Sam said. A dark shadow passed over his face. “Tonight, we’re celebrating our rescuer, Carmen Cole. So let’s eat. Our girl’s hungry.”

They brought out dish after dish of food. My mouth watered. Fried chicken, mashed potatoes, biscuits, vegetables. All my favorites. I took big helpings of everything, wolfed them down, and went back for seconds.

“Slow down there, tiger,” Fiona said. “You’re giving me a run for my money tonight.”

My fork froze over my mashed potatoes. I stared at Fiona, but I didn’t detect any hostility in the other woman’s tone or gaze. I didn’t even feel any warmer than usual. No sweat. No flare-ups. Nothing.

“I’m just kidding,” Fiona laughed. “I’ll fight you for the last piece of fried chicken.”

I smiled. “You’re on.”

In the end, Fiona got the last piece of chicken. I retaliated by eating not one, not two, but three pieces of the scrumptious chocolate cake. We ate and laughed and talked and ate some more. It was one of the best nights of my life.

Once we’d finished dessert, the conversation wound down. Even though I was grateful for the party and festive atmosphere, there were still questions I needed answers to.

“So what exactly happened to me?”

The four superheroes exchanged glances.

“That’s something we’ve talked about a great deal. We’ve concluded it was a combination of many things all working together.” Chief Newman shoved back his empty plate and pulled a pack of RID pills out of his pocket. “Exactly how many of these did you take before you stormed the ice cream factory?”

“About ten or so.”

Henry whistled. “You’re only supposed to take one a day. Didn’t you read the warning label?”

I shrugged. “I figured warning labels didn’t matter when you were going up against the Triad and their vats of radioactive goo. I didn’t really expect to make it out of the factory alive.”

“Just as I suspected,” Chief Newman said. “It’s a good thing you took the pills. They absorbed most of the radiation you were exposed to. They saved your life.”

“So what about...the other stuff?” I asked.

“Other stuff?” the chief asked.

“You mean when you burned Scorpion and threw him around like a rag doll?” Fiona asked. “Or do you mean when you iced Frost’s freezoray gun? Or perhaps you’re talking about when your eyes went all neon blue and glowy, and you wailed on Malefica?”

I swallowed. “Um, all of the above, I suppose.”

“Well, it’s quite simple,” the chief said. “For that brief time in the factory, you, my dear, had superpowers.”

My mouth fell open. Superpowers? Me? “No way!”

“Believe it,” Sam said. “We all saw what you did. Somehow, you found a way to use the Triad’s power against them.”

Deep down, I’d known that’s what had happened to me. Hell, I’d been drunk with the power. A ball of worry took root in my stomach. Ever since I’d woken up, I’d been hoping it was just a figment of my imagination.

The chief continued. “What we need to determine now is if it was just a fluke.”

“A fluke?”

“A one-time occurrence,” Henry said. “Sometimes, people gain or even lose superpowers after exposure to radioactive isotopes and other materials. Most of the time, the powers fade away after a few days.”

“Oh.” The tight ball loosened a bit. “How are we going to do that?”

“First of all, how did you feel after you came out of the vat? What did you see?” the chief asked.

“It was cold, colder than anything you could possibly imagine. My vision went haywire, and I could see these waves around you guys. The waves seemed to have different feels to them. I just...sort of...reached out for them and stuff happened.”

Chief Newman and Sam exchanged a quick glance.

“Why don’t you see if you can do that again?” the chief asked in a gentle voice. “If you feel like you’re up to it.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. I pushed my chair away from the table and backed up until I could see all four of them. My eyes zipped from Fiona to Henry to Chief Newman to Sam, and back again.

Nothing.

Not even a flicker of a wave or a splash of color.

Relief surged through me. I didn’t see anything. Not one thing—

Wait a minute.

Sam shifted in his chair, and I spotted something out of the corner of my eye. I turned my head and squinted at him. Sam crossed his arms over his chest, and the faintest bit of color sparked around his arms. The air around him shimmered sapphire blue, just like before.

“Well?” Fiona asked. “Do you see anything?”

“Quiet, Fiona,” Chief Newman said. “She’s trying to concentrate.”

I tilted my head. Fiona’s blond hair seemed to be glowing a rather red color. Fiona shot her father a sour look, and the color intensified. My eyes flew to Henry, who drummed his fingers on the table. Every time his fingers hit the smooth wood, they sent out small, bluish-white waves. I turned to the chief. Lazy green waves swirled about his head. I looked down at my hands and wiggled my fingers. Silver waves radiated out from me.

Uh-oh.

My shoulders sagged.

“You don’t see anything,” Sam said.

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “Unfortunately, I see everything.”

Chapter Thirty

I sank down into my chair. “I can’t believe this is happening to me. To me, of all people.” I laughed. “How ironic. How pathetically ironic. But I suppose that’s karma for you.”

“So what exactly do you see?” Fiona asked.

I told the others about the waves of energy around them.

“I’m red? Hmmm. I always thought I’d be more of a cool, silver color,” Fiona said. “Or maybe blue to match my eyes.”

I shot Chief Newman a look. He shrugged.

“So do you think you can do something?” Fiona asked.

“Like what?”

Fiona threw her arms out. “I don’t know. Something, anything. You can still see the waves. See if you can still use them.”

I stared at Fiona and reached for the waves of red-hot energy. A fiery power poured into my body, and I fluttered my fingers. The candles on the cake flared back to life even though I’d blown them out long ago.

“Bloody hell,” Fiona said. “That’s just like what you did at the factory.”

“Unfortunately,” I muttered. “Why couldn’t it just go away? Do you think it might in a few more days?”

The chief shook his head. “Probably not. If it’s lasted this long, then it’s more than likely permanent.”

I groaned and buried my head in my hands.

“Being an empath is nothing to be worried about or scared of, my dear.” The chief put a comforting hand on my shoulder.

I frowned. “An empath? What are you talking about?”

“Your power. You’re an empath. When you first came here, I thought you might have some latent ability. You kept mentioning how you knew certain things would happen right before they did. You called it instinct. It’s really empathy, the ability to tune into the emotions and feelings of others and sense their thoughts and future actions. It’s a rare gift. In your case, you seem to be able not only to sense other people’s feelings but to actually see the psychic energy that surrounds them. In the Triad’s case, you tapped into their powers and used them to your advantage.”

“But I don’t want to be an empath,” I wailed.

The chief chuckled. “I’m afraid you don’t have a choice.”

I put my head down into my arms. “Fantastic,” I muttered. “Just fantastic.”

Soon after, I claimed I had a headache and wanted to go to bed. I left the others, including Sam, in the dining room and made my way up to my suite. I shut the door, flopped down onto the bed, and stared at the plush carpet.

I couldn’t quite wrap my head around everything that had happened in the past week or so. I’d gone from getting Sam kidnapped, to finding out Malefica’s real identity, to getting the rest of the Fearless Five captured, to being dumped in a vat of radioactive waste, to somehow saving everyone. Oh yes, and now I had powers.

Superpowers.

I rubbed my aching temples. I didn’t want powers of any kind, much less superpowers. But it seemed as though I was stuck with them. Whether I liked it or not.

The question now was what the hell was I going to do with them?

* * *

The next morning, I went out into the garden. I wandered among the flowers and tried not to think about the green energy rippling out of them. Flowers, plants, trees. Even the grass underfoot radiated waves of energy. All the untapped power pulsed and flowed around me, just begging me to reach out and latch on to it. I refused to give in to the temptation. I did my best to pretend everything was normal, that my vision wasn’t awash in shimmering, colorful waves. If I didn’t specifically look for them, I could almost ignore the energy waves. Almost.

I frowned. My inner voice chirped. Someone was watching me. I stared at a bush up ahead—a bush with sapphire blue waves radiating out of it.

“I know you’re there. Come out, Sam.”

He pushed some branches aside and stepped forward. “How did you know—”

I pointed to my eyes. “I’ve got super-vision now, remember?”

“Yes, well, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.” He peered at me, his eyes full of concern. “How are you doing?”

I shrugged. “As well as can be expected, I suppose. After all, it’s not every day you learn you’ve developed superpowers. So far, I’ve only hyperventilated once.”

Sam smiled. “That’s good. Superheroes really shouldn’t hyperventilate. Especially those in the Fearless Five.”

I froze. “What?”

Sam took a breath. “We want you to become the newest member of the Fearless Five.”

My mouth dropped open. “You want me to what?”

“Join the Fearless Five,” Sam repeated.

I shook my head. I felt like I had water in my ears. “I’m sorry. Could you repeat that one more time?”

Sam took my hands. “Join us. Be part of the team. Like you were when you went up against the Triad.”

I flashed back to the factory. Something Malefica had said echoed in my mind, and I stared up into his silvery eyes. “Was Malefica right? When she said you cared about me?”

Sam stared deep into my eyes. “Yes, she was. I’ve come to care a great deal about you, Carmen, despite my best intentions to stay away, to let you go back to your old life once the Triad was defeated. The question is, how do you feel about me?”

“I care about you too.”

Suddenly, we were kissing. Sam plundered my mouth with his demanding tongue. I pulled him tighter to me and ran my hands up and down his muscled back. Everything felt just as good as it had before. Better, actually. But my inner voice chattered, and I couldn’t stop the nagging thought running through my head. I pulled back and broke off the passionate kiss.

“What do you really want, Sam? Me or my new powers?”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“I have to know. You want me to join the Fearless Five in one breath, and in the next, you’re telling me how much you care about me. What do you really want?”

“I—I want both,” he admitted. “I care about you, Carmen. I do. But I also think you’d make a great addition to the team. We would be the Fearless Five again.”

My heart sank to my ankles and bled out my shoes. Sam didn’t want me. He didn’t want Carmen Cole—he just wanted the superhero he thought I could be. “I see.”

“So what do you say?” Sam asked. His hands settled on my waist, and his silver eyes glowed with hope and excitement.

It broke my heart.

I closed my eyes, drinking in his musky scent, savoring the feel of his warm hands on my body. For the last time. I stared at him, memorizing every line, every curve of his handsome face. Then, I stepped back.

“I’m sorry, Sam. I just—I can’t,” I said.

I turned and ran away.

Chapter Thirty-One

One month later

I swirled the champagne around in my glass. Bubbles rose up in the golden liquid, then fizzed out.

Just like my life.

After leaving Sam in the garden, I’d spent a few more days at Sublime, recovering my strength and learning to control my newfound, unwanted power. The chief had asked me to stay longer, but I’d packed up my things and moved back into my apartment. I couldn’t face Sam, and I didn’t want to learn about my power. I just wanted it to go away. I just wanted things to return to normal. I wanted to go back to the good ole days when people hated me for killing Tornado, and I was toiling away on the society beat.

I took a swig from the glass. In a way, things had returned to normal. I’d put everything back into place in my apartment, and the chief had hypnotized his officers and the editors at The Exposé into forgetting about Morgana’s frame-up of me. I’d even resumed my duties on the society beat, although I was keeping a low profile. The newspaper was in quite an uproar. Lulu had more than kept her word. A few hours after I’d gone into the ice cream factory, the computer whiz had leaked Malefica’s real identity to the press, much to the chagrin of the editors at The Exposé. Given the fact that Morgana Madison hadn’t been seen or heard from in over a month, the editors had been forced to run the story and admit their conquering hero was an ubervillain. One who was missing in action. I bought every copy of the newspaper I could get my hands on and pasted them up all over my apartment. I didn’t know if Malefica was alive or not, but her cover as Morgana Madison had been completely blown. To my complete and utter delight.

Tonight, I was at the annual holiday ball hosted by the performing arts center. Another night, another society benefit, another glass of flat champagne. My eyes roamed the crowd. All the usual suspects were in attendance.

Except Sam Sloane.

The broken pieces of my heart twisted in my chest. Sam had been noticeably absent from the society scene lately. I hadn’t seen him since I’d left Sublime, although he starred in my feverish dreams every night. There, he would come to me, kiss me, make passionate love to me. All the while, Sam would whisper that he loved me for me—not for my new powers. Every morning, I woke up smooching my pillow and murmuring how much I loved him in return. My heart shattered all over again when I realized it wasn’t real. That Sam wasn’t there beside me.

That he didn’t love me.

I was torn between wanting to see Sam and glad I didn’t have to face him. I certainly didn’t want to see him with some skinny, perfect supermodel hanging on to his arm. And I didn’t want to do something foolish, like throw myself at him and beg him to love me for me.

I stared into the crowd once more. This time, though, I concentrated. Waves of power shimmered to life, and the room erupted with color. Every person radiated his or her own unique shade. More often than not, the color, the feel of the waves corresponded to someone’s personality. Blues often indicated a strong, take-charge soul, while greens were usually caring, compassionate people. Whites tended to be shy, retiring types, while reds, yellows, and oranges almost always surrounded loud, boisterous extroverts. In a way, it was like looking at someone’s karma.

I quit concentrating. The waves vanished, and the colors faded. I sighed. Every so often I tested out my power, hoping it had deserted me. Hoping it had gone away. It hadn’t, and it never would.

I gave my empty glass to a passing waiter. I’d already gotten quotes for my story. Time to leave. I turned and smacked into someone.

“Oh! Excuse me. I’m sorry.”

“No need to apologize, Carmen,” Fiona purred.

Fiona had been trying to corner me at every society benefit this week. So far I’d been able to avoid her. I could spot her heat signature a hundred feet away, but I’d been too depressed and distracted to watch out for her tonight.

“So, how are things?” Fiona asked, her blue eyes wide and curious. She was trying to look all sweet and innocent. She didn’t fool me for a second.

“Fine. And you?”

“Well, I’m not so fine. Do you know why?”

I stared at Fiona’s flamboyant dress. “Because you’re wearing something that would make a peacock blush?”

Fiona sniffed and smoothed down the sequined ruffles on her colorful gown. “I’m going to chalk that comment up to your lack of fashion expertise. No, I’m not fine because Sam is not fine. All he does is mope around the house. He’s been a real sourpuss lately. It’s getting on my last nerve. I’m the one with the bad attitude, not him.”

“Why are you telling me this?” I asked in a guarded tone. I didn’t know what Fiona was up to.

“Because I think you should give Sam a call. He misses you.”

Sam missed me. For a moment, happiness flooded my body. Then, all my doubts and fears roared back to the surface. “I’ve got nothing to say to him.”

Fiona arched one of her perfect, blond eyebrows. “I’d say the two of you have lots to talk about. Didn’t you see him when Malefica dropped you into that tub of radioactive goo? He was frantic. Sam really does care about you, Carmen, whether you believe it or not.”

I glanced around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on us and lowered my voice. “Listen to me. I’m only going to say this once. I’m not a superhero. I never will be. And that’s what Sam really wants. He doesn’t want me. He doesn’t care about me. He just wants to add another member to the team.”

“Oh come on,” Fiona snapped. Her blond hair shimmered. “Wake up and smell the champagne, Carmen. Sam wants you. He doesn’t care about your powers at all. For some reason I can’t fathom, he actually cares about you.”

“Even if he did, and that’s a very big if, we could never be together.” A sour, bitter taste filled my mouth.

“Why the hell not? You’ve been together plenty of times already.”

“I’m not talking about sex,” I snapped. “I mean we couldn’t ever have a real, lasting relationship. There’s too much bad karma between us.”

“Like what?”

I threw up my hands. I’d only been talking to Fiona two minutes, and she had already exasperated me. “I’m talking about the fact that I used to expose superheroes for a living. I’m talking about the fact that my relationships with men, especially superheroes, never work out. I’m talking about the fact that I almost got you all killed.” I drew in a deep breath. “And then there’s the biggie—Travis’s death.”

Sadness filled Fiona’s eyes.

“Despite what Malefica said, I’m the reason he’s dead. I led her straight to him.”

“I miss Travis. I always will. But Malefica’s the one responsible. She killed him, Carmen, not you. Even I see that now. I don’t blame you anymore.”

I arched an eyebrow.

“Well, maybe just a little bit,” Fiona admitted. “We’ll never be best friends, but I can tolerate your presence now—for Sam’s sake.”

“Gee, thanks for the ringing endorsement.”

Fiona glared at me. This time, though, my temperature didn’t shoot up. I used the energy waves in the room to buffer me from Fiona’s heated gaze. There were some advantages to having superpowers.

Finally, I looked away. I was tired. So tired of everything. “Why are you telling me this? You don’t even like me.”

Fiona shrugged. “I want Sam to be happy, and you seem to make him happy. Give him a chance, Carmen, that’s all I’m asking.” She turned on her high heel and flounced away. The ruffles on her dressed floated around her like butterflies.

All I could do was watch her leave and try to squash the sudden hope that flared in my shattered heart.

* * *

I went back to the newspaper and wrote my story. I waited for the usual e-mail response, packed up my things, and left. I passed Henry’s empty desk on the way out. He’d been spending less and less of his spare time at the office and more and more of it with Lulu. I was glad the computer whiz wasn’t in his chair. I didn’t need another superhero telling me how to run my life.

I pulled on my jacket and stepped outside. After the attack, I’d tried to avoid walking home alone late at night. I wasn’t afraid of being raped or mugged now. Funny what being dropped into a vat of radioactive waste did for your courage.

I ambled down the streets and brooded. I thought about Sam and the Fearless Five and Sam and Sam some more. I’d been so hurt by Matt. Did I want to take a chance on having my heart broken by another superhero? One who seemed to want my powers just as much as he wanted me? Suddenly, my inner voice screeched.

“Help! Somebody please help me!” a woman’s voice rang out.

Somebody was in trouble. I picked up my pace. I turned a corner and found a young woman with her back pressed against the wall. Three men stood in front of the woman, who clutched her purse over her chest.

“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” I shouted.

One of the men glanced over his shoulder. I froze. It was the same man who had tried to rape me all those weeks ago. The same man Striker had reduced to a pile of mush. Why the hell was he walking around free as a bird? Maybe he’d taken up the bad ubervillain habit of not staying in prison more than a few days before busting out.

“Well, well, sweet stuff. How are tricks?” the man crooned. He grinned, and I noticed he was missing some of his gold-capped teeth. “Looks like we’re going to get two for the price of one tonight, boys.”

The men laughed. I took a breath to calm my nerves. Striker wasn’t going to swoop in and save me this time. I’d have to do it myself. The leader walked toward me, and I concentrated on him just the way Chief Newman had taught me. Slowly but surely, I spotted wavy lines of psychic energy emanating from his body. Black waves. Just like his soul.

The man drew closer, and I reached for the waves. He put his hand on my chest and drew me toward him. I ducked under the man’s body and used his own power to flip him over my shoulder. He hit the sidewalk with a satisfying thud.

Another one of the men came at me. I tapped into his psychic energy to throw him back against the wall. The men shook off their injuries and came at me again. Once more, I used their own power to propel them back into the wall. They slammed against it so hard that bits of crumbled brick broke off. Dust thickened the air. The men staggered to their feet and lunged at me. For the third time, I sent them flying through the air. This time, they didn’t get up.

The other man, seeing what I had done to his companions, ran away.

I stepped over the groaning men toward the woman. “Are you okay?”

“I—I—I think so. How did you do that? It was amazing!” The woman’s eyes were as big and round as marbles.

“Um, well, I take, um, karate lessons. Karate is all about using your opponent’s strength against him.”

“You saved me. You’re my hero.” The woman pumped my hand like she was meeting a rock star. “How can I ever thank you?”

“Call the police and report the men. I bet you’re not the first woman they’ve attacked. And don’t walk down the street by yourself at night. This neighborhood is dangerous. You’re just asking for trouble when you do that.” Said the voice of experience. Me.

“I will, and I won’t. Thanks again.” The woman whipped out her cell phone.

She dialed 911. I ducked around the corner and hid in the shadows until I saw the flashing lights of a police car. Once the officer approached the woman, I eased down the street. I had no desire to be identified as the Good Samaritan and explain how I took out two men with my bare hands and scared another one away. My karate story wouldn’t cut it with the cops.

“Nicely done, although I would have stuck around for the TV cameras. It’s always good to remind people just how noble and heroic you are,” a low, male voice murmured behind me.

I shrieked and whirled around, ready to do battle once more. To my surprise, Swifte stood behind me. I hadn’t even heard the speedy superhero approach.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, wary.

“Nothing much. Just doing my usual patrols. I heard the woman scream and zipped over.” Swifte eyed me. “And you were on the scene.”

I froze. Had Swifte seen me take out those goons? Had he seen me use powers? Oh God, was he going to expose me as I’d exposed so many superheroes? For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. That’d be some karmic retribution all right.

“Yeah. I got lucky.” I made my voice light and cheery, as though I tackled would-be rapists every day. “I’ve been taking karate lessons, you see.”

“Karate. Right.” Swifte started to lean against the side of the building but thought better of it, given his shimmering, white suit. “What you did back there looked like superpowers to me. Some sort of fancy telekinesis or something.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” When caught, deny all knowledge.

“Of course you don’t,” he said.

We stood there in silence. Finally, Swifte spoke again.

“There’s been a lot of talk about you lately, Carmen. The incident at the ice cream factory is all that anyone can think about these days.”

My mouth dropped open. “How do you know about that?” Nobody in the media had any idea what had really happened at the factory. Even SNN hadn’t broken the story. Police officials, including Chief Newman, had blamed the explosion on gas leaks.

“Word gets around. Most of us superheroes know how you saved the Fearless Five and that Malefica was really the one who killed Tornado. You’re no longer public enemy number one among the crowd.”

“Word gets around? Or just you?”

Swifte smiled, and his eyes glittered. “Both. But it was good of you, saving that woman. Who knows? Maybe I’ll see you around again. Your karate skills would come in quite handy in certain organizations in Bigtime. I hear the Fearless Five have an opening. But you already know that, don’t you, Carmen?”

I opened my mouth to deny once again that I had any sort of superpowers or connection to the Fearless Five, but Swifte sped off before I formed the first syllable. Damn, he was fast.

I did the same. I scurried through the deserted streets to my apartment, shut the door behind me, and locked it. I sank onto the sofa and stared into space. The enormity of what had just happened hit me. My hands trembled. My knees quivered. I’d used my power to save someone else. I’d acted like, well, a superhero. Reckless and daring and unconcerned for my own safety. One false move, one lucky shot from those men, and I could have been raped or worse along with that other woman. But I hadn’t been thinking about myself. All that had concerned me was saving her. Making sure she didn’t get hurt.

It had felt good, right, like what I was supposed to do with my life.

It felt like karma.

My karma had lightened in recent days. It had gone from deep black to a misty shade of gray. Even though Malefica had been the one who had murdered Tornado, I would always feel a deep sense of guilt, of responsibility for his death. After all, if I hadn’t exposed him, then Malefica would never have been able to target him. My inner voice whispered a surprising thought to me, one I had never considered before.

Perhaps this was a way to atone for my many sins. To become the very thing I had vowed to destroy—a superhero. I let out a bitter laugh. Karma was funny that way. Just when you thought you had everything worked out, something totally unexpected happened. Like being dropped into a vat of radioactive liquid and getting superpowers.

But did having powers automatically make me a superhero? Was that all it took? I didn’t know the answer to that question.

All I knew was that I had to find out. One way or another.

I picked up the phone.

“Talk to me.”

* * *

I met Lulu the next day in our usual spot by the fountain in the park.

“Sister Carmen, it’s good to see you.”

“You too, Lulu. You too.”

We made small talk for a few moments. I smiled as Lulu gushed about what a great guy Henry was and how thrilled she was I had introduced the two of them.

“I knew you two would like each other,” I said in a smug voice.

“Really? How?”

“Oh, it was just a feeling that I had.” I wasn’t ready to tell Lulu my secret. Maybe someday, but not today. “By the way, I want to thank you for leaking the information about Malefica to the press. Everyone is having a field day with it. Morgana Madison can never show her face in this town again, if she’s even still alive.”

Lulu grinned. “It was my pleasure. I’m just glad that you’re all right. When I didn’t hear from you, I was a little concerned. Of course, if I’d known you’d gotten bonked in the head and that the Fearless Five had taken you in, I wouldn’t have worried quite so much.”

I winced. “Sorry about that. But in my defense, I was unconscious for over a week.”

“Just don’t let it happen again. Now, down to business. What can I do for you today, Sister Carmen?”

“I need you to find out where the Fearless Five are going to be tonight. Who’s on their to-get list.”

Lulu arched an eyebrow. “Why do I get a strange sense of déjà vu?”

“It’s not like that. I’m not going to expose them. I just want to...thank them for everything they’ve done for me. That’s all.” I crossed my heart. “I promise.”

“All right. Only because it’s you, and I need another reminder about the riding program put in the newspaper.”

“Consider it done,” I said.

Lulu’s fingers moved over her keyboard, reminding me of Henry. Documents and files flashed up on the screen and then disappeared just as quickly. I could have called up Henry or the chief and gotten the info myself, but I didn’t want them to know I was coming. I needed to be sure before I did anything drastic.

“Looks like the Five aren’t too happy with the Westsiders. They’re a bunch of gangbangers who run drugs and gambling. They’ve been trying to muscle in on the Southside crew’s turf since that big drug bust a couple of months ago. Some of them have some minor superpowers, but nothing the Fearless Five can’t handle. The Westsiders are having a little get-together tonight to elect a new head honcho. The last guy got gunned down last week. The Fearless Five might try to bust up the meeting.” Lulu rattled off an address.

I wrote it down. “Thanks, Lulu.”

“Anytime, Sister Carmen. Anytime.”

* * *

Lulu zoomed off to meet Henry for coffee, and I strolled through the thick pines to Bigtime Cemetery. Row 17. Plot 325. I made my way to Travis aka Tornado Teague’s grave. Sun bounced off the white marble, which shimmered like a star.

“Well, I suppose you know why I’m here. I’ve decided to give this superhero thing a whirl. I’ll never be as good as you, but I have to try.”

A bee buzzed by, and a flock of pigeons cooed nearby. A chipmunk skittered up a tree.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. For what Malefica did. If I’d known, well, things would have been different. But I’m going to spend the rest of my life trying to make it up to you and the Fearless Five. I’m going to be the best superhero I can be. I swear.”

Travis’s ghost didn’t appear to tell me I was doing the right thing. No triumphant music played. Lightning didn’t crisscross the sky. I didn’t even get a warm, fuzzy glow.

But my heart felt a little lighter, my karma a little brighter. It was enough.

I said my goodbyes to Travis and walked back to my apartment to get ready for tonight. I did the usual routine. Shower, clothes, makeup. I stood in front of the dresser in the bedroom and pulled my hair back into a ponytail. My eyes fell on my jewelry box, and my inner voice murmured.

I unlocked the bottom drawer and pulled out the engagement ring Matt had given to me all those years ago. It was a square diamond set in a gold band. I held it up to the light and turned it around. The ring looked smaller than I remembered. Dimmer. It didn’t hurt me to look at it, as it once had. Matt and I had had some good times, before the end. I would remember those.

I put the ring back in the drawer, but I didn’t lock it away. I didn’t need to.

My heart belonged to Sam now. The superhero would take better care of it than Matt had.

I was counting on it.

Chapter Thirty-Two

That night, I was once again on Good Intentions Lane, despite my own best intentions. Or rather, because of them. I shifted. Something squeaked in the trash can next to me, and I inched away from it. I didn’t want to see the foot-long rat staring at me from the piles of rotting garbage. I could see the waves of energy radiating off its body. That was more than enough.

At the stroke of midnight, the Westsiders appeared, just as Lulu had said they would. The Westsiders were men in their early twenties and thirties dressed in baggy pants and expensive sneakers. They climbed out of black SUVs and low-riders that blared rap music. The men slapped hands and did those complicated handshakes I could never follow.

Suddenly, a silver sword sailed through the air, just as it had so many weeks ago, and planted itself into one of the tires on a particularly large SUV. Striker leapt out onto the hood of a car and launched himself into the crowd. Moments later, Fiera and Mr. Sage appeared. I even spotted Hermit in the mix. The superheroes waded through the gangsters like a chainsaw cutting through butter. In less than a minute, half the gangsters were down. In another minute, the ones who could still move were running or crawling away.

My eyes focused on Striker. He punched a Westsider and lashed out at another one with his booted foot. He moved with deadly grace, just like always. He looked even better than I remembered. Even better than in my most vivid dream. My heart leapt at the sight of him. There was just something about that tight, black leather suit that drove me crazy.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted someone sneaking up behind Striker. The superhero was busy battling two other Westsiders. A ball of lightning glimmered in the hidden man’s hand. I reached for the gray waves of energy around him. The ball fizzed out, and I used the ambient energy to throw the man into a nearby wall. He didn’t get up.

Striker finished pummeling his foes. He whirled around, not quite sure what had happened. I stepped out from the shadows. He spotted me immediately.

“Carmen.” His eyes brightened, burning into me.

Striker opened his mouth to say something, when Hermit came over.

“Carmen! It’s good to see you!” He clapped me on the back.

“You too, Hermit.”

Fiera and Mr. Sage joined us. Westsiders groaned and moaned on the ground.

“So what brings you down here? Other than helping us out again,” Hermit asked. His goggles gleamed in the dark night.

I took a deep breath. “I want to join the team. If you guys will still have me.”

“Of course we will. We’d be honored,” Striker said in a low, hesitant voice. “If you’re sure this is what you really want. We don’t want to pressure you into anything.”

“I’m sure. This is where I need to be. I can feel it.” I gave him a tentative smile, which Striker returned. My heart pounded.

“Excellent. Most excellent,” Mr. Sage said, pumping my hand. “Welcome aboard, Carmen.”

“Thanks.”

Hermit smiled and clapped me on the shoulder. I looked at Fiera.

She stared at me. Finally, she nodded her head. “Welcome to the team.”

I let out a breath. “Thanks. I won’t let you down. I promise.”

“We’ll see about that.” Fiera stalked around me, her blue eyes hot and thoughtful.

I shifted under her probing gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’m just sizing you up,” Fiera said.

“Why?”

She put her hands on her hips. “So I can make your costume, silly.”

* * *

I rode back to Sublime in the van with the Fearless Five. Once everyone had showered and changed into their regular clothes, we went upstairs to the kitchen. We ate junk food and talked and laughed and joked late into the night. Finally, though, the conversation turned to me and my new job as a superhero.

“There are several things we need to take care of,” Chief Newman said. “First of all, we’ve got to work on your power. You’ve got a good grasp on it, but I think you could do more with it.”

“I need to plug her into all the computer systems, not to mention get her set up on all the communication equipment,” Henry added.

“She needs a costume and a mask,” Fiona said. “I’ve got that covered.”

“Carmen needs her own room downstairs too,” Sam finished.

The four of them exchanged awkward glances. I knew what they were thinking.

“No,” I said. “Tornado will always be with you guys. I can’t take his place, and I don’t want to. I’ll use another room.”

Fiona squeezed my hand so hard I thought she was going to break my fingers. Somehow, I managed not to wince at her firm grip. Too much.

Finally, we said good night. I went up to my old suite and sat on the bed, waiting. A knock sounded a few moments later. My inner voice whispered. This was it. The big moment. The one I’d been waiting for all night.

I opened the door. Sam stood outside. For once, the superhero wore a pair of loose jeans and a black T-shirt. Maybe my bad habits were rubbing off on him. He looked as yummy in them as he did everything else, and my hormones kicked into overdrive.

“Hey,” I said in what I hoped was a cool, collected voice.

“Hey, yourself.”

He stood there in front of me. So close. So far away.

I stepped back. “Come in, if you want.”

Sam didn’t hesitate. He stepped inside, and I closed the door behind him.

“We need to talk,” he said, settling on the couch.

“I know.” I plopped down on the other end. I didn’t trust myself to get any closer to him. Not yet. Not until I knew the answer to my question.

Sam raked his hand through his dark hair. “I don’t know how to start.”

“Just start,” I said. “We’ll figure it out.”

He nodded. “That day in the garden when you asked me what I wanted, I didn’t handle things well. You were going through a lot. I should have understood. I should have been more patient.”

I shook my head. “I’ve been meaning to apologize to you. I was going through a lot, but I shouldn’t have flipped out like that. I shouldn’t have accused you of just wanting my power. I should have known better.”

“No,” Sam said. “I’m sorry. I sprang that on you with no warning, without even thinking.”

“And what do you want now?” I asked, breathless.

“You, Carmen. Just you.”

My heart soared.

“Even if you don’t stay with us, even if you decide one day you don’t want to be a superhero, I still want to try and figure out what this thing is between us. I care about you, Carmen. More than I’ve cared about anyone in a long time. I don’t want to lose you. Ever.” He took a deep breath. “I wanted to die when Malefica dumped you in that vat. I felt like my heart had been ripped out of my chest. For the first time in my life, I didn’t want to fight. I only wanted to save you. The truth is, I love you, Carmen. I have for weeks now—”

That was all Sam got out before I threw myself at him. I pressed him down onto the sofa and rained kisses on his mouth, his cheeks, even his eyelids.

He laughed and caught my hands in his. I kept on kissing him. “Well, this wasn’t exactly the response I thought I’d get, but I’ll definitely take it. Does this mean that—”

“It means I love you too,” I said. “I love you, Sam Striker Sloane.”

Our lips met. Happiness swelled my heart until I thought it would burst. Not to mention the liquid fire Sam ignited deep within me.

The kissed ended, and I drew back. “Now that we’ve gotten those pesky declarations of love out of the way, why don’t you carry me over to that big, beautiful bed and make love to me?”

“Why walk all that distance?”

Sam pulled me closer, and I melted in his arms.

* * *

Two days later, I sat in the underground library. Swatches of color littered the wooden table in front of me.

“Which do you like better, flamingo or fuchsia?” Fiona asked.

“How about something a little less…flamboyant?” I said. “I’m not really an over-the-top sort of girl.”

Fiona had kept her word. She was outfitting me with a superhero costume. We’d been looking at color swatches and samples for more than an hour, each one more outrageous than the last.

Fiona waved her hand. “Sure you are. You just don’t know it yet. Being over-the-top is what being a superhero is all about. Do you have a name picked out for yourself? I was thinking of something bold, something daring, something that looks good in neon pink.”

I could barely contain my shudder of revulsion. Neon pink? Ugh! “Actually, I have a name for myself, one I think is quite appropriate.”

“Really? What is it?”

I smiled. “Karma Girl.”

“Karma Girl? What kind of superhero name is that?” Fiona scoffed. “It doesn’t say anything about you. It doesn’t even say what your power is.”

“You’re wrong,” I said. “It says everything about me.”

After much haggling and some heated words, the two of us agreed on a color—a nice silver that didn’t have too many sparkles in it. Now, I could only pray I’d actually fit into the catsuit Fiona was designing for me.

A few hours later, I stared at myself in the mirror. “I look ridiculous. Like a giant snowflake come to life. Or an oversized disco ball.”

“You look fine,” Fiona snapped. “After all, you’re wearing a Fiona Fine original. Put on the mask.”

I dutifully pulled on the mask. I barely recognized myself. Silver spandex covered me from head to toe, and the mask obscured the top half of my face. Chunky boots encased my feet, and a pair of gloves completed the look. Fiona wanted to add a cape to my new superhero ensemble, but I refused. I wasn’t wearing a cape. No way, no how. I might be a superhero, but I had to draw the line somewhere.

“I don’t know if I can wear this out in public,” I said. “I feel like I’m wearing a really ugly Halloween costume.”

“Yeah, that’s a common reaction at first, but you’ll get used to it,” Fiona said. “We all did. Soon, you won’t want to go anywhere without wearing your superhero suit underneath your clothes or having a backup in your purse.”

“Really?”

Fiona nodded. “Trust me. You won’t want to leave home without it. After all, you never know when you might have to battle an ubervillain or save some kid who’s trapped in a well.”

Epilogue

Two weeks later

Sam and I snuggled together, still blissful from our latest round of passion. We’d both played hooky from work and spent the afternoon making love in his massive bed. I’d never been happier in my entire life. I didn’t know what I had done to deserve Sam, but I was damn sure going to do everything in my power to keep him. Bad karma or no karma.

A loud crackle sounded, startling me out of my dreamy reverie.

“What’s that?” I whispered, pulling the sheets up to my chin.

“The intercom.” Sam pushed a button on the wall next to the bed.

“Um, guys?” Henry’s voice echoed through the room. “I really hate to…interrupt, but we’ve got a bit of a situation.”

“What sort of situation?” Sam asked.

“The chief just e-mailed me some information about a new group of ubervillains in town. They’ve robbed a couple of museums today, and the police are chasing them. With no success, of course. We need to stop them before they level the city.”

“We’ll be there shortly,” Sam said.

“Roger that. Over and out.”

Sam flicked off the intercom. “It looks like we’ll just have to wait to pick up where we left off later. Unfortunately, untimely interruptions are part of the job.”

“I understand.” I smiled. “I guess it’s time we went to work.”

I started to rise, but Sam pulled me back down on top of him. “We still have a few minutes.” His fingers began their familiar route down my body.

I shivered at the wicked, wanton light in his silvery eyes. “Then let’s make the most of it,” I whispered before lowering my lips to his.

HOT MAMA – BOOK TWO

Fiona Fine is the hottest fashion designer in Bigtime, N.Y.—literally. That’s because she moonlights as Fiera, a superhero with superstrength and volatile, fire-based powers. As Fiera, she’s also a member of the Fearless Five, the city’s most powerful and popular superhero team.

However, Fiona’s been through a lot lately, including the death of her fiancé, who was murdered by an ubervillain. But Fiona is ready to move on with her life, so it seems like good karma when she meets sexy businessman Johnny Bulluci at a friend’s wedding.

But Fiona has little time to think of love thanks to Siren and Intelligal—the city’s newest ubervillains who crash the wedding and then go on a city-wide crime spree. Fiona doesn’t know exactly what the ubervillains are up to, but if she doesn’t figure it out, she’s the one who just might go up in flames this time....

Dedication

To my mom, the best person I know.

And to Andre, who coined the phrase “So, are you going to eat that?”

PART ONE

WEDDING BELLS

Chapter One

My wedding day.

It was supposed to be the happiest day of my life. A time of joy and celebration and new beginnings. The day every girl dreams of from the time she’s old enough to play dress-up in her mother’s clothes.

It was exactly that sort of day.

Joy. Hope. New beginnings.

But it wasn’t mine.

Carmen Cole twirled in front of the full-length mirror. Her white satin wedding dress swung out in an arc then gathered back in on itself. Thousands of crystals dotted the fitted bodice and full skirt, giving the dress a shimmering, ethereal air. A matching crystal necklace sparkled like a ring of stars around her neck.

“How do I look, Fiona?” Carmen turned her blue eyes to mine.

I hated to admit it, but Carmen looked fantastic. Absolutely fantastic. A rosy flush tinted her cheeks. Excitement brightened her eyes. Even her auburn hair glistened underneath her simple lace veil.

“You look fabulous. After all, you’re wearing a Fiona Fine original.”

Carmen frowned at her reflection. “I know it’s one of your more subdued designs, but I still think it’s a little much.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. An errant spark flew from my thumb and landed on the beige carpet. I squashed it with my stiletto. A little much? Please. If Carmen had gotten her way, she would have worn holey jeans, worn-out sneakers, and a ratty T-shirt with some cutesy saying on it to the wedding.

Luckily, hotter heads had prevailed. Mine. Then again, it was easy to get your way when you had the ability to shoot fire out of your fingertips. Getting my way was one of the prime benefits of being a superhero. My favorite benefit.

Just because I moonlight as a superhero doesn’t mean that I can’t be a little selfish—or enjoy the perks of having superpowers. Usually, I’m perfectly happy just being Fiera, one of many superheroes in Bigtime, New York, fighting evil, cracking skulls, and making life miserable for all those pesky ubervillains who want to take over the city, then the world. But every once in a while, I enjoy showing off my fiery skills, especially when it’s for the greater good, such as making sure Carmen didn’t look like a bag lady at her own wedding.

A knock sounded on the door, the knob turned, and Lulu Lo zipped her motorized wheelchair into the room. A royal-blue dress covered her slender form, bringing out the smoothness of her porcelain skin and the cobalt streaks in her spiky, black hair. Since we were both bridesmaids, I wore a matching gown, but with a few modifications—a lower bodice, a tighter fit, and a higher slit up the side.

“Nice dress, Sister Carmen.” Lulu whistled. “That’ll make Sam sit up and take notice.”

Carmen grinned. Another spark shot out from my thumb. Sam had already taken plenty of notice of Carmen, despite my efforts to the contrary. The two of them were always sneaking off to have wild sex in some corner of the manor house.

“Of course Sam will notice,” I snapped. “I designed the dress. Ours too, if you’ll remember. They’re all fabulous.”

“Well, you do look very hot, Fiona.” Lulu laughed.

I glowered at Lulu. Just because I was a member of the Fearless Five, one of the most esteemed superhero teams in the world, didn’t mean that I didn’t get snarly from time to time—or that civilians like Lulu had the right to poke fun at me.

Of course, none of this would be happening if Carmen, aka Karma Girl, hadn’t insisted that we tell Lulu our secret superhero identities. Carmen had argued that Lulu deserved to know the truth since she’d helped save us from the Terrible Triad, a group of ubervillains. Lulu was also the main squeeze of Henry Harris, aka Hermit of the Fearless Five, and he’d wanted to tell her the truth as well. The other two members of the Fearless Five, Sam “Striker” Sloane and Sean “Mr. Sage” Newman, had agreed with Carmen.

So the four of them told Lulu everything, despite my protests. Once the shock wore off, Lulu ingratiated herself with the rest of the Fearless Five. Now, everybody else treated her like one of the gang. She even had her own room in the top-secret, underground compound with the rest of us.

I ignored Lulu whenever possible. It was bad enough that she knew our real identities. I didn’t want to invite her any more into our lives. Lulu was a computer hacker. She did all sorts of highly illegal things, like breaking into the FBI mainframe and swapping corporate secrets, but nobody cared except me. Not even my father, the esteemed police chief of Bigtime, as well as a member of the Fearless Five.

In return for my blatant hostility, Lulu zinged me with heat-related puns whenever we crossed paths. Fiona’s hot. Fiona’s smokin’. Fiona’s on fire. Like I hadn’t heard them all a hundred thousand times before. Ha, ha, ha, ha. Lulu could have at least come up with something original, if she was going to mock me on a daily basis.

My eyes fixed on Lulu’s hair. I could turn those blue streaks red in a heartbeat. Heat pulsed through my body. My fingers twitched. Just one little spark...

“Fiona,” Carmen warned. “There will be no flare-ups today. You promised Sam.”

I had promised Sam. And my father. And Henry. And even Carmen. Three times each. I let go of the fire coursing through my veins and banked it deep inside me. It didn’t matter anyway. Carmen would have just done her empathy thing and used the ambient energy in the room to buffer Lulu and herself from my heat. Carmen had the ability to tap into other people and use their own energy against them. I hated her power, mainly because I hadn’t figured out a way to counteract it yet. Most of the time, I either punched or flambéed my way through danger. But I couldn’t do that with Carmen, because she gave just as good as she got.

Lulu smirked at me and motored away. She’d probably max out my credit cards or do some other devious, identity-theft thing as soon as the wedding ended. I didn’t know what Henry saw in her. Maybe he was just glad that he’d finally found someone who understood all the techno-babble he spouted on a daily basis.

Lulu left the door open, and classical music drifted in, along with the murmur of distant conversations. I eyed the clock on the wall. Five minutes to go. Good. The sooner this spectacle was over with, the better. I wasn’t in the mood for a wedding today. Not any day. Not anymore.

Carmen picked up on my dark thoughts and stared at me in the mirror. “I know this has been hard for you, Fiona. The engagement, the wedding, everything. I’m sorry. I wish things were different. I wish Tornado were still here...”

Her soft, Southern twang trailed off under my hot gaze. Hard for me? She had no idea.

It’d been more than a year since my fiancé, Tornado, had been murdered. Carmen had exposed the superhero’s secret identity as Travis Teague to the world, including our archenemies, the Terrible Triad. The ubervillains had killed Travis and used Carmen to get to the rest of us. We’d been captured, stuffed in glass tubes, and almost sucked dry of our superpowers before Carmen had saved us by getting dumped into a vat of radioactive goo and developing superpowers herself.

Sometimes, I couldn’t believe the irony of it. Carmen exposing superheroes, becoming one herself, and now marrying one. Things never seemed to turn out the way you thought they would, especially in Bigtime.

Mostly though, I still couldn’t believe that Travis was gone. Forever. My heart twisted, and the burning fire inside me flickered and dimmed. My eyes dropped to the square, diamond engagement ring on my finger. Travis had given it to me a week before he’d died. I hadn’t taken it off since.

“Fiona? Are you okay?” Carmen asked.

I wasn’t. Not even close. But this was Carmen’s big day, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “In fact, I was thinking that it’s time for me to get out and start dating again. I’ve done the men of Bigtime a cruel, heartless injustice, depriving them of my fabulous company all this time.” I tossed my long, blond hair over my shoulder for effect.

Carmen’s face lit up like I’d just hit her with a fireball between the eyes. “That’s wonderful, Fiona! Just wonderful!”

Her blue eyes grew cloudy and distant, the way they always did when she was listening to the strange whispers in her head. Carmen called them her inner voice, her instincts. I thought she had more than a few loose rocks rattling around in all that empty space.

“Maybe you’ll meet somebody at the reception,” she murmured.

I huffed. Please. I’d been active on the social scene ever since I’d moved to Bigtime some fifteen years ago, and I knew everybody invited to the wedding. There wasn’t a man among them that I’d date, let alone sleep with.

I twisted the ring on my finger. The silver solidium band heated up on my hot hand, and the diamond glowed like a tiny moon. Still, I would like to find somebody. It’d be nice to be part of a couple again. To laugh and talk and have dinner with someone who wasn’t a relative or an employee or a fellow superhero. To find somebody who looked at me the way that Sam looked at Carmen.

Plus, I liked sex. A lot. It sucked to go without.

My hand stilled. Maybe that’s what I should do. Get drunk at the reception, have a one-night stand with some anonymous guy to take the edge off, and then start looking for someone suitable. Someone more long-term. The only problem with my plan was that it would take an ocean of champagne to get me drunk, given my fast-burning metabolism. Well, it was a good thing Sam was richer than almost everyone else on the planet put together. He could afford a couple hundred thousand dollars’ worth of bubbly if it meant me getting lucky.

The music quickened and swelled, and the conversations faded away. The air hummed with energy and anticipation.

“Time to go.” Carmen smoothed down her billowing skirt. Her hand trembled just a bit.

I picked up her long train, careful not to singe the fabric with my fingers. I’d spent too much time sewing the damn thing to ruin it now. Carmen turned and grabbed my arm.

“Do you think this is the right thing to do? Do you think we should go through with it? Do you think we’re ready? You know how badly my last wedding turned out.” Panic filled her blue eyes.

Badly was the understatement of the century. Right before the wedding, Carmen had found her fiancé boinking her best friend and discovered that the two were her town’s resident superhero and ubervillain. That, of course, had set Carmen off on her little mission to expose the identity of every superhero and ubervillain who crossed her path. Which, of course, was how Carmen had met Sam and the rest of us. Karma, she called it. Destiny, kismet, fate. I just thought of it as bad luck on our part.

But I bit back the sarcastic retort I’d been ready to let loose. The nosy reporter had grown on me, despite my best efforts. And she had saved my life and everyone else’s. I owed her for that. Plus, it was my solemn duty as a bridesmaid to support the bride—even if Carmen occasionally made me want to put my fist through a wall.

“Do you love Sam?”

Carmen nodded. Some of the tension left her body. “With all my heart.”

“Then, it’ll be fine,” I said. “Sam loves you, and you love him. You’re going to have a fabulous wedding, a fantastic honeymoon, and a wonderful life together. Plus, you’re wearing a Fiona Fine original couture gown. And what could possibly be better than that?”

Chapter Two

After Carmen calmed down, we made our way through Sublime, Sam’s mansion on the outskirts of Bigtime. Roughly the size of a small country, the manor house contained just about every antique and art object known to man and superhero. Polished suits of armor, colorful paintings, detailed sculptures, exquisite tapestries. Even though I’d been prowling the halls for years now, the rich furnishings still impressed me. And it took a lot to impress me.

Carmen tiptoed her way through the manor, struggling to stay upright in her towering heels. I stalked along behind, holding up the train so it wouldn’t get snagged on a piece of furniture, and wishing the bride-to-be would move a little faster. I could always zing Carmen with a hot flash. That would get her moving. But I couldn’t risk ruining the gown. Not now. I’d already had to redo it twice because of some temperamental flare-ups on my part.

Carmen stumbled on the edge of an Oriental rug and almost fell on her face.

“Stupid shoes,” she muttered, glaring at me.

Her three-inch strappy sandals had been another hotly contested point between us. Carmen had wanted to wear these ugly, flat, ballet slippers that had gone out of style twenty years ago. I’d told her point-blank that she wasn’t wearing those monstrosities with a Fiona Fine wedding gown. She wasn’t ruining my hard work with her fashion faux pas. Of course, I had to roast most of Carmen’s worn-out tennis shoes before she agreed to wear the sandals, but the important thing was that I, and designer fashion, had triumphed yet again.

“I don’t see how you walk in these things,” Carmen said, tugging on one of the white straps wrapped around her ankle.

“It’s easy,” I snapped. “Millions of women do it every day. Now quit whining and walk. You’ve got a superhero to marry.”

Carmen gave me another annoyed glance, but she shuffled forward. Despite Carmen’s time covering the Bigtime society beat, fashion wasn’t her forte. That was my domain. And I knew, like all good designers know, that no outfit is complete without a pair of killer shoes, preferably stilettos. The higher, the better.

After a couple more stumbles and a string of curses, we stopped in front of a pair of doors that led outside. Lulu sat there waiting, along with Chief Sean Newman. Sunlight streamed in through the glass, warming the alcove where we stood. The ceremony was taking place in the luscious gardens that surrounded the enormous estate, as befitting a traditional May wedding.

I peeked through the doors. Henry Harris, the best man, and Sam Sloane, the anxious groom, had already taken their places in front of the minister at the far end of the long aisle.

“Carmen, Fiona,” Chief Newman rumbled in his deep Irish brogue. “You both look beautiful.”

“Chief.” I kissed my father on the cheek.

I’d always called my father chief, ever since I was a little girl and had first seen him in his police uniform. It was a habit I continued out of necessity. Nobody knew about our family connection, except the other members of the Fearless Five and now Lulu. It was safer that way. Since people, and more importantly ubervillains, didn’t know about our relationship, they couldn’t kidnap and use us against each other, either in our real lives or as our superhero alter egos, Fiera and Mr. Sage.

The first notes of the classic wedding march sounded, and the hundreds of guests outside rose to their feet.

“Here we go,” Carmen whispered, her face pale and slightly sweaty.

“Heaven help us all,” I muttered.

Two ushers stepped forward, and the double doors creaked open. The chief took Carmen’s arm, while Lulu motored out. I waited for her to get halfway to the end before stepping outside and strolling along the rose-covered aisle.

A thick, white carpet stretched three hundred feet toward a raised dais, which stood beneath an enormous trellis strung with silver roses and purple pansies. Oak and elm trees hovered in the background, providing splashes of green to the scene. Men and women dressed in dark tuxedos, sparkling gowns, and flashing jewels stood on either side of the aisle, adding even more color to the gardens. The sweet, thick scent of the flowers mixed with the men’s and women’s spicy colognes and heady perfumes. A full orchestra sat on one side of the dais, but their instruments couldn’t quite drown out the low, steady drone of bumblebees in the distance. The sun hung like a ball of orange sherbet in the evening sky, and a faint breeze ruffled my long hair. Late spring was a perfect time for a wedding.

My blue eyes traced over the area, drinking in the sights and sounds. Everything that I’d wanted for my own wedding was right here. Everything except Travis. I clutched my bouquet of roses and turned my engagement ring around.

I took my place next to Lulu and winked at Sam, trying not to look as sad as I felt. I was happy for him and Carmen, truly I was. But I couldn’t stop the pang of longing and jealousy that stabbed my heart with every beat of the soaring music.

The businessman-superhero gave me a nervous grin and tugged on his sleeves. With his dark hair and light, grayish eyes, Sam looked like he’d just stepped out of a men’s magazine.

So did Henry, for once. His glasses gleamed in the late-afternoon sunlight, along with his mocha skin. He flashed me a shy smile and yanked on his tie. Like Carmen, Henry would have worn his usual attire to the wedding—a rumpled sweater vest, plaid pants, and a polka-dot bow tie—if I hadn’t intervened. I’d had to melt a couple of the wires attached to his precious computers, but Henry had eventually seen things my way. Most people did, sooner or later. Especially when I turned up the heat.

The music swelled to a thundering crescendo, and Carmen stepped into view. Sam’s face grew soft and dreamy and dopey at the sight of her. I smiled. Too much? Please. Score another one for Fiona Fine Fashions.

My father escorted Carmen down the aisle. She beamed like a neon light. If she got any happier, she’d blow a bulb. A few people tried to catch her gaze, but the only one Carmen acknowledged was her friend Jasper, Bigtime’s resident mad bomber. Then, Carmen turned her attention to Sam, and the rest of the world fell away. She only had eyes for him, and he for her. The two of them couldn’t stop staring at each other. Cold envy frosted over my aching heart.

The music faded away, and the minister stepped forward.

“Dearly beloved, we are gathered here today...”

* * *

Thirty minutes later, Carmen and Sam professed their true and undying love for each other. They kissed, everyone cheered, and the wedding ended. I half expected to see white doves and fluffy bunnies stampede down the long aisle, but thankfully, people just blew soap bubbles at the happy couple.

The blushing bride, handsome groom, and other members of the wedding party stayed in the garden to pose for the all-important, post-ceremony pictures. Meanwhile, the rich, distinguished guests drifted out onto the mile-wide lawn where hundreds of tables, gallons of champagne, and thousands of pounds of chicken cordon bleu and other choice foodstuffs had been set out. Waiters and caterers zipped through the crowd, dishing up food and drinks as fast as they could.

I spotted Kyle Quicke among the caterers. I’d gone to Bigtime University with Kyle, and his family owned Quicke’s, one of my favorite restaurants in Bigtime. I watched Kyle cut a slice of chocolate cake and hand it to a waiting guest. My stomach rumbled. I could use some food. A lot of food.

“Come on, Fiona. It’s time for the pictures,” the chief murmured in my ear, dashing my hopes of a stealthy getaway.

I rolled my eyes and turned back toward the dais.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later, I tapped my fingers on my arm. “How many pictures are you going to take?” I snapped at the photographer. Patience was not one of my virtues. In fact, I didn’t think it was any sort of virtue at all.

The short, fat man wilted under my hot gaze. Most everybody did. My eyes went to his digital camera. One little flare-up, and it would look like something that came out of a kiln. There’d definitely be no more pictures then....

“Fiona.” The chief’s blue eyes narrowed in warning.

I shot him a sour look and dampened my temper. That was the problem with your father being a psychic superhero. You could never get away with anything.

“Actually, I’m done with the wedding party. I just want to get a few more shots of the bride and groom,” the photographer said.

“It’s about bloody time,” I muttered.

I stomped out of the garden and onto the lawn. My stilettos sank into the damp earth, but I yanked up my feet and kept going. Another benefit of having superstrength. Henry, Lulu, and my father followed at a more sedate pace.

Most of the male guests had settled down at the tables and were busy stuffing themselves with chicken, spring vegetables, and fancy sourdough rolls baked in the shape of curling vines and flowers. Not so for the women. Every woman under sixty gathered around the wide, long bar, downing glass after glass of champagne. Some stared at nothing in particular. A few snuffled into their crystal flutes, while others dabbed at their runny mascara. They weren’t tears of joy. Quite the contrary. Three hundred women’s dreams of becoming Mrs. Sam Sloane had just been dashed by a lowly society reporter. It was more than enough to make the stoutest society matron weepy, depressed, and drunk as a skunk.

I shoved my way through the crowd, zapped a few people with hot flashes to make them move, and grabbed the biggest champagne glass I could find. Bubbles fizzed up in the golden liquid. I drained the glass and twitched my nose to ease the sudden tickling sensation. I didn’t need to sneeze flames in front of a thousand people.

“Fiona! Fiona Fine!”

I turned at the sound of my name and spotted Joanne James fluttering her hand at me. Joanne was a tall, skinny woman with a rather large chest and too-smooth features. Hair blacker than shoe polish brushed her slender shoulders, contrasting with the ropes of pearls that encircled her gaunt neck.

Oh boy. I was going to need something a lot stronger than champagne. I ordered a gin and tonic from one of the bartenders and downed two doubles before Joanne sashayed her way through the crowd to my side.

“Fiona, darling!”

“Joanne, darling!”

We air-kissed the way that society women are supposed to. My eyes raked over Joanne’s outfit, a gunmetal-gray halter dress with a slinky, sequined skirt. Not bad, but it wasn’t one of mine. Joanne also sized me up, her gaze critiquing everything from my shoes to my chandelier earrings. Standard operating procedure among the women in Bigtime. Once that was out of the way, we made polite chitchat about how fabulous and thin we both looked before Joanne got down to business.

“I’m getting married again next month. I was wondering if I could come in and talk to you about another gown.”

I almost choked on my drink. “What will this one be? Number five?”

Joanne James went through husbands like they were tissues—she used one up and then tossed him aside for another.

“Six actually.”

“Who’s the lucky fellow?” My lips only twitched a little. It was amazing the things you could say with a straight face.

“Berkley Brighton, the whiskey billionaire.”

“Of course.”

Joanne James didn’t waste her time on small-time fish. She only went after the big, big catches. She was Bigtime’s resident black widow, but she didn’t kill her husbands. Instead, Joanne bled her hubbies dry, added their money to her own considerable fortune, and somehow managed to wiggle out of paying for anything—even her own divorce attorneys. In a way, it was her own personal superpower. Joanne was a legend in Bigtime, and more than a few society mamas urged their daughters to emulate her marriage merry-go-round.

“I thought you would have asked Bella Bulluci to design your gown. She did your last two, didn’t she?” I couldn’t resist the dig. Joanne had gone to Bella after complaining that my services were too expensive. As if. Fashion genius like mine was priceless.

Joanne swallowed some champagne. “To be honest, I did ask Bella first, but she turned me down.”

“Really? Why?”

Joanne waved her hand, and I squinted at the sudden glare. The diamond boulder on her finger could easily feed the people of a third world country for years. “Oh, she said she was taking some time off to concentrate on family affairs because of her father’s death. I think she just didn’t want to bother with it.”

Bella Bulluci was one of Bigtime’s most popular designers, next to me, of course. Bella had plenty of talent, but I’d always thought her creations were a bit conservative, tame even. Bella was very fond of solid colors and subtle pinstripes. I was more of a polka-dot, plaid, and leopard-print girl. All rolled into one. With neon sequins and a feather boa to match.

I signaled the bartender and ordered another drink. I didn’t like being anyone’s second choice, but my eyes strayed back to Joanne’s ring. That thing had to be at least ten flawless carats.

Being a superhero had plenty of perks, but there was one major drawback—it was a pricey occupation. We all had to pitch in to keep the Fearless Five out and about fighting crime. Carmen and Henry didn’t contribute much to our annual budget. They couldn’t with the pitiful paychecks they earned as newspaper reporters at The Exposé. My father wasn’t much better off. Even though he was the chief of police, his salary wasn’t what it should be, mainly because most of the city’s budget went to repairing the municipal buildings, bridges, and overpasses that us superheroes and ubervillains obliterated during our epic battles.

That left Sam and me to shoulder the monetary load. With his various business interests and billion-dollar bank balance, Sam gave the most for the greater good. But I chipped in at least five million every year. Sometimes more. Outfitting Joanne James with wedding gown number six would keep us all in black leather and orange-red spandex for the foreseeable future.

“Have your assistant call the store, and we’ll set something up for later this week,” I promised and downed my third gin and tonic.

Joanne smiled, her lips lavender against her pale face. “Fiona, darling, it’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

We air-kissed again and exchanged more meaningless pleasantries. Then, Joanne strutted back through the crowd to Berkley Brighton, a short, square man who’d made his fortune selling Brighton’s Best whiskey. Joanne latched on to his arm, and the pretty young things who’d been clustered around the boisterous billionaire scattered like minnows fleeing a hungry barracuda. Joanne wasn’t someone you wanted to mess with—especially when she was husband hunting. Berkley actually beamed at Joanne, happy to see his honey.

I snorted. Poor guy. He might as well just sign over his family’s secret whiskey recipe to Joanne right now. It would save him a lot of trouble and hefty lawyers’ fees down the road.

While I’d been talking to Joanne, Carmen and Sam had joined the festivities. They walked from table to table, greeting the wedding guests and basking in the afterglow of the ceremony. After paying their respects to the bride and groom, people finished their dinners and drifted out onto the tile dance floor that had been planted on the lawn for the grand occasion. A twelve-piece band to one side of the floor played a loud, brassy version of “The Right Thing To Do” by Carly Simon, Carmen’s favorite singer.

My eyes scanned the glittering crowd. Joanne and Berkley. Carmen and Sam. Henry and Lulu. Even my father was dancing with one of Bigtime’s rich, lonely widows. Couples, couples, everywhere. But no Travis.

No Travis.

The happy society scene and all the couples burned me out. I needed some peace and quiet. Now.

I shoved through the crowd, wrenched open a side door, and stomped inside the manor. The usual rich, shiny trappings greeted me, but for once, I didn’t pay attention to them. Sam wouldn’t like it if I accidentally melted some ancient knight’s suit of armor or fried another one of his Monets. The mood I was in, they’d go up like dry newspaper.

The music and laughter and happy sounds faded away, replaced by the thwack of my heels on the hardwood floors. I walked into one of the many game rooms that populated the manor and sank down onto the smooth leather couch. A big-screen TV took up one wall, while a pool table crouched in the middle of the floor. Dart boards and various other sports-like contraptions filled the rest of the area, but I didn’t really see them. I didn’t see any of it.

I twisted the ring on my finger. It wasn’t nearly as big as Joanne James’s was, but it meant the world to me, even now. Travis. My heart squeezed like a dishrag being wrung out.

“A beautiful bridesmaid alone by herself. What a sad, sad cliché,” a low, cultured voice called out.

I looked up. A man stood in the doorway. He topped out at just over six feet, with a mane of tawny blond hair that curled around the collar of his impeccable tuxedo. Flashing green eyes contrasted with his golden skin, making him look like a sleek lion in the gathering shadows. He strode into the room, his black suit flowing with easy grace around his perfect figure. It fit him well. Then again, just about anything would have looked good on him.

My eyes widened. If Sam resembled a male model, then this guy was the Goliath of male models. Yummy.

The man stared at me, and his eyes crinkled in amusement. The merriment dancing in his sharp gaze made him look that much better, even if he seemed to be making fun of me. I didn’t like people making fun of me, and I especially didn’t like being looked down on. I got to my feet and tossed my long hair back. With my stilettos, he only had half an inch on me.

“I’m not a cliché,” I snapped.

“Really? You were one of the bridesmaids, right?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re sitting here all alone.”

“Yes.”

“And you certainly are beautiful.”

“Oh, yes.”

Modesty is another one of my nonexistent virtues. On a scale of one to ten, I’m a solid eight and a half. With my blond hair, blue eyes, and up-to-there legs, I’ve got the Barbie look men love down pat. The only problem is they think I’m as dumb as one of the plastic dolls. The same thing goes for my alter ego, Fiera. But more than one ubervillain had gotten badly burned by underestimating me.

Still, the compliment pleased me. Every woman likes to be told she’s beautiful, but coming from Mr. Model, it sounded...better. Truer. Sexier.

“If all that’s not a cliché, then I don’t know what is.” His voice was deep with a hint of an accent I couldn’t quite place. White teeth gleamed in his tan face, adding to his already staggering sex appeal.

I crossed my arms over my chest and flipped through my mental Rolodex of Bigtime society players. No match. He must be new in town. I certainly would have remembered him. My eyes drifted over his suit, which draped perfectly over his broad shoulders and chest. Oh yeah. I would have remembered him.

I suddenly realized that I was twisting the ring on my finger. Bloody hell. I’d gone from pining over Travis to ogling a complete stranger in the space of a minute. I really did need to get lucky before my hormones made me have a total meltdown. Literally.

The man continued. “You certainly looked sad and lonely sitting there, staring into space.”

“I was doing nothing of the sort.”

I couldn’t tell him that I’d been looking at the ring my murdered fiancé had given me before he’d died. My pain was my own. I didn’t go blabbing about it to strangers. Besides, no one except the Fearless Five had even known Travis and I were engaged. It was another little secret we’d decided to keep to ourselves.

“I was just taking a break from the festivities,” I replied in my best cool, bored society voice. “All that happiness can be a bit grating after a while.”

“Really? You know we could create our own festivities, you and me.”

I stifled a laugh. That was one of the lamest lines I’d ever heard. “Really? And how could we do that?”

“Let me show you.”

He flashed me a devilish grin, pulled me into his arms, and planted his lips on mine.

Chapter Three

For a moment, I couldn’t believe it. Who the bloody hell did this jerk think he was, kissing me? I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Superhero du jour. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. I could snap his neck like a pretzel stick. I could light his ass up like a firecracker with a mere thought.

I thought of doing both—at the same time. Then, something strange happened.

I realized that I liked kissing him.

A lot.

A whole lot.

He had fantastic lips. Soft, firm, smooth. He tasted like fizzy champagne and smelled of some subtle, spicy soap. The combination made my head spin more than the three drinks I’d just had.

At five foot nine, I’m no small, petite thing, but I felt dwarfed by him. His sculpted chest felt like sun-warmed stone under my hands, and his heart thumped under my clenched fingers. His arms held me securely in place. I opened my mouth to tell him something, I wasn’t quite sure what, and he dipped his tongue in. The taste of him, the feel of his mouth, his tongue on mine overwhelmed my senses. I felt like I’d been zapped with a couple dozen stun guns—all weak and twitchy.

He plundered my mouth like a pirate seeking buried treasure. Nibbling my lips. Skimming my teeth. Probing with his tongue. I couldn’t resist him, and I didn’t really want to. I’d been thinking about having a one-night stand. Let’s see how Mr. Model measured up.

So I opened my mouth wider, and my tongue met his. Then, I went on the offensive. Nibbling on his lips. Skimming his teeth. Probing with my tongue. He pulled me closer until I thought we would melt into each other. I certainly felt like I was on fire in more ways than one.

His fingers skimmed my neck and traced down to the tops of my breasts. He slid his hand inside the scooped neckline and stroked my chest. My nipples sprang to attention. His other hand went through the slit in the side of my dress and moved up my leg with quick, sure purpose. Damn, he didn’t waste any time. Smooth, sexy, and bold. I loved it. Absolutely loved it.

A warm, pleasant tingling started between my thighs and spread throughout my body. My stomach quivered the tiniest bit, and my breath came in soft gasps. My hormones had already kicked into overdrive. If he kept this up much longer, I’d have to throw him onto the couch instead of through the wall. Or on the floor. Or maybe on the pool table. It looked sturdy enough—

“Ahem.”

A cool, feminine voice dampened the liquid fire burning inside me.

“Ahem.”

The man sighed in disappointment against my mouth. He pressed his lips to mine once more, withdrew his hands, and stepped back. I tried not to stagger. I felt like I was drunk. And I never got drunk.

“Hello, Bella,” the man said. Regret tinged his deep voice, and his hot green gaze burned into me.

The intensity of his stare made me shiver, a rare thing for me.

I turned my head. Bella Bulluci hovered just inside the door. A forest-green dress of her own design clung to her curvy body, while a simple silver necklace accentuated her graceful neck. A small pair of angel wings dangled from the end of the chain. Bella’s foot tapped out a rapid pattern, smacking onto the wooden floor.

“Fiona.”

“Bella.”

I not-so-discreetly yanked the bodice of my dress back into its proper place. It didn’t have far to go, really.

Bella’s hazel eyes flicked to the man beside me. “Well, I see you’ve met Johnny.”

“Johnny?” So that’s what his name was.

“Johnny Bulluci. My older brother.”

“Your brother?”

“Guilty as charged, I’m afraid.” Johnny strolled over to his sister and planted a chaste kiss on her cheek.

My eyes zipped back and forth between them. Side by side, the resemblance was obvious. Same tawny hair, same golden skin, same killer cheekbones. The only difference was their eyes. Bella’s were a soft hazel while Johnny’s were as green as polished jade. Johnny also had almost a foot on his sister. Bella was a bit on the short side.

Bella looked at me, then her brother. She shook her head and looped an arm around his waist. “Seducing another unsuspecting bridesmaid, brother dear?” she asked in a teasing tone.

“Make a habit of it, do you, Johnny?” I asked, smoothing down my skirt.

“Only with the exceptionally beautiful ones.” He winked.

I crossed my arms over my still-tingling chest. His sister had just caught us making out like a couple of sex-starved teenagers, and the man still had the nerve to wink at me. Johnny Bulluci had no shame. I rather liked that about him.

“Johnny’s moved back home from Greece,” Bella explained. “He’s been looking after our business interests overseas.”

So that’s why I hadn’t seen him around Bigtime before. It explained the accent too.

“He arrived in town several weeks ago, and I thought the wedding would be a perfect opportunity for him to meet and mingle. I didn’t know he was going to disappear. I should warn you, Fiona, my brother is a notorious playboy. Always has been.” Bella’s voice was light, but there was a hint of disapproval to it. Her foot kept up its annoyed, tapping pattern.

“No harm done,” I said in a cool voice and flipped my hair over my shoulder. “Johnny and I were just getting better acquainted.”

“Indeed,” Johnny said, his eyes catching mine again. “Indeed—”

Frantic screams slashed through the air. A bright white light flashed outside, followed by a crack of thunder. The ground trembled as though it were going to split open beneath our feet.

We stood there, stunned.

“Grandfather!” Bella shouted.

She ran out the door. Johnny gave me another quick, regretful look and rushed after her.

I stuck my head out into the hall to make sure that they weren’t going to double back and drag me with them, but the pair had already disappeared from sight. Damn, Bella could scoot in those heels. Carmen could definitely learn a thing or two from her.

I locked the door to the game room, ran to the pool table, and twisted a knob hidden underneath one of the corners. The green felt top slid back with a whisper, revealing a row of neatly folded costumes, masks, and shoes. The pool table was one of many objects throughout the manor that held more than just a good time.

It took me about thirty seconds to ditch the bridesmaid dress, stilettos, and earrings and shimmy into my costume. The orange-red spandex molded to my body like plastic wrap, familiar and comfortable as always. I shoved my feet into my chunky, steel-toed, kick-ass boots and slapped on my flame-shaped mask. Then, I stuffed my dress and heels into the pool table and twisted the knob. The hidden compartment disappeared from sight.

The screams had quieted down, but cracks of thunder ripped through the air like gunfire. My hands curled into fists. Sparks flared to life in my hair. Flames licked at my fingers.

Unless I missed my guess, it was time for Fiera to go kick some ubervillain ass.

Goody.

* * *

I ran through the halls until I reached the doors that led outside, zoomed down the white carpet that had served as the aisle, and sprinted to the edge of the garden. A row of thick holly bushes separated the lush, flowering plants from the smooth lawn. I slid to a halt and peeked through one of the small gaps in the glossy greenery.

Bigtime’s finest stood on the lawn, blank looks on their faces. They seemed not to notice the overturned tables, broken dishes, spilled food, and general chaos that surrounded them. Acrid smoke snaked up from an oak tree that had been split in two. Smoldering, snapped branches and shredded leaves littered the singed grass.

A woman dressed in a neon blue suit stood in the middle of the dance floor. Siren. She had a tangle of black curls and an hourglass figure that would make even a blind monk look twice at her. The silver zipper on her suit was open almost to her navel, showing off enough buoyant cleavage to raise the Titanic. A mask in the shape of a zigzagged lightning bolt covered her bright blue eyes.

But she wasn’t alone. A woman in a shiny silver suit hovered next to Siren in a floating chair. Intelligal. Thick, black goggles highlighted her dark eyes, making them seem as big and round as quarters. A silver cowl clung to her egg-shaped head, hiding her hair from sight, and her suit was zipped up to her neck. It was a good thing too. Intelligal didn’t have the body to pull off the evil sexpot look. She had about as many curves as a board.

So, our new neighborhood ubervillains had decided to crash the wedding. I wasn’t terribly surprised. Siren and Intelligal had come to town about six months ago, right after the members of the Terrible Triad had disappeared. The two had been raising hell ever since. Breaking into computer companies, stealing electronic and media equipment, robbing anyone and everyone they could get their hands on.

But even worse than the general mayhem the pair caused were their powers. It was bad enough that Siren could create powerful lightning bolts and energy balls with her bare hands. But her real weapon was her voice. One throaty whisper from Siren was all it took to turn most people into mindless, willing slaves. Her power especially seemed to work on men. Naturally. Of course, her looks didn’t hurt either when it came to turning men into helpless puppets.

Intelligal didn’t seem to have any superpowers of her own, but she really didn’t need them. Her Intellichair did the work for her. The device was a flying, open-topped tank that wrapped around the ubervillain’s legs and torso. Equipped with heat-seeking missiles, machine-gun turrets, and a force field, the chair was like something out of a James Bond movie. Only better. The Intellichair was also scratch-proof, fire-proof, and virtually indestructible. Most things made out of solidium were. I knew. I’d been trying to melt and smash the chair to pieces for months with no success. I hadn’t even been able to put so much as a dent in the dull gray metal.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I’m terribly sorry if I frightened you, but I’m afraid my invitation to the wedding got lost in the mail,” Siren cooed into the microphone she’d taken from the band leader. “And I just couldn’t miss the social event of the season.”

Her voice was low and husky and throaty. To the men, it whispered of sexual fantasies come to life. To the women, it was the conspiratorial tone of a trusted friend and confidant. Just about everyone in the crowd nodded their heads, accepting Siren’s explanation for her little lightning storm.

Siren’s dulcet tones curled through the air, seeking out everyone within hearing distance. I felt the humming melody in her voice coiling around me like a boa constrictor, trying to squeeze my will into hers. Trying to make me one of her mindless lackeys. But I was too strong-willed and too temperamental to be manipulated by the likes of Siren. I grabbed on to the roaring fire inside me and concentrated on the heat. The coils burned away, and my head cleared.

So was Carmen. The blushing bride eyed the busty ubervillain with open hatred. Soot streaked her white dress, and her auburn hair had tumbled out of its elegant updo. Carmen’s fingers twitched, and I knew she wanted to tap into Siren’s powers and give the ubervillain a taste of her own medicine. But she couldn’t. Not without blowing her cover as Karma Girl and ruining what was left of her wedding.

I looked for the other members of the Fearless Five. Sam and Henry both wore slightly vacant, dazed expressions. Sam’s tie had come undone, and Henry’s glasses dangled on the end of his nose. They’d been getting better at resisting Siren’s call, but her hypnotic voice still affected them. I snorted. Men. Please. They really were the weaker sex, in every sense of the word. The first time we’d gone up against her, Siren had convinced Sam aka Striker to attack me. It had taken one of my fireballs to the chest to bring him back to his senses. But since Striker regenerated, the only thing my fireball had really hurt was his pride.

My father looked bemused and a bit pained by the whole thing. Siren purred into the microphone again, and the chief massaged his temples. With his psychic powers, he was well beyond Siren’s call, although her voice always left him with one hell of a headache.

Lulu sat next to the chief and gazed at Intelligal’s chair. A calculating expression filled her smooth face, and her fingers tapped against the arm of her wheelchair like it was a keyboard. The computer hacker was probably wondering how she could get Henry aka Hermit to make her a similar contraption. I didn’t blame her. Although I had little use for gadgets, given my natural superpowers, even I had to admit the Intellichair was a cool, deadly gizmo. Especially since it had been kicking our asses for the last six months.

“I do hope you all will forgive my rude outburst,” Siren continued. “I really want to make a good impression on everyone, being so new in town. I’ve heard such lovely, lovely things about Bigtime and all of you. I just want to fit in.”

I rolled my eyes. Good grief, she was simpering now. Did the woman have no pride? She was giving ubervillains everywhere a bad name. As much as I hated evildoers like Malefica, the Wallflower, and Hydra, at least I had some respect for them. They would never have lowered themselves to play to a crowd of civilians.

“Oh, get on with it, Siren. Quit showing off,” Intelligal snapped and crossed her arms over her flat chest. The geeky ubervillain had little use for her partner’s sexy antics. That was two of us.

“You always spoil my fun.” Siren stuck her lip out and pouted.

“I’ll kill her for you, Siren!” one of the wealthy businessmen volunteered.

“Me too!”

“And me!”

“No, let me do it!”

Siren smiled, and several of the older men in the crowd clutched their chests, ready to have coronary episodes if she so much as crooked her pinky. “Thank you, darlings, but that won’t be necessary.”

I thought she muttered the word yet, but I couldn’t be sure. The two ubervillains might work together, but they definitely were not the best of friends. Too bad they wouldn’t take each other out and save me the trouble.

“Intelligal is going to come over to you now. If you’ll be so kind as to put your necklaces, watches, rings, and other valuables into her bag, we would greatly appreciate it.”

Siren’s husky voice wrapped around me again, and I burned away the tight, grasping tendrils. Intelligal zoomed into the glassy-eyed crowd. She hit a button, and the side of her chair opened up. A mechanical arm holding a soft, cloth bag stretched out.

The ubervillain floated through the crowd, robbing Bigtime’s richest, while Siren cooed into the microphone and kept them in line. Although I wanted to lob a fireball or three her way, I couldn’t risk it. There were too many people around. Frying civilians was not good for my image. Or for sales of my action figures, calendars, and other officially licensed merchandise.

Intelligal motored round and round, collecting millions in jewels, watches, and other baubles. Of course, there were a few willful holdouts who weren’t under Siren’s spell and didn’t want to give up their precious shinies. Joanne James was among them. Intelligal had to threaten to shoot Berkley with the machine guns mounted on her chair before Joanne parted with her pearls and enormous engagement ring. Even then, it took her a while to decide between imminent, bloody death and going without her status symbols.

To my surprise, Johnny Bulluci was also among the people who resisted Siren’s throaty call. Unlike the others, he didn’t have a blank look on his face. He and Bella hovered protectively over an old man in a navy tuxedo. That must be the grandfather they’d rushed out to save. What was his name? Something with an R. Reed, Reynolds, Richards, Roger, Rob, Roberto! That was it. Roberto Bulluci. Bobby for short.

Intelligal drifted their way, and Johnny’s eyes narrowed to slits. He shifted his stance, and his jacket opened up, exposing his white shirt. I remembered the solid feel of his chest next to mine. His lips on mine. His hands on my body. I could still smell his spicy scent. My temperature roared up a few hundred degrees. The man was sexy, there was no doubt about that. None whatsoever. Even now, I was thinking about how we could pick up where we’d left off earlier. But I pushed that thought aside. My duty as a superhero came first—pummeling ubervillains whenever possible.

Intelligal stopped in front of the Bullucis. Johnny stepped forward to shield his family from the ubervillain. His hands clenched and unclenched into fists, and Johnny looked like he wanted to leap onto Intelligal’s chair and punch her over and over again. The old man put a wrinkled, restraining hand on Johnny’s arm and shook his head. Johnny shot his grandfather an annoyed look, but he relaxed just a bit. To my surprise, Bella’s lips tightened into a thin line, and her hazel eyes glittered with rage. Bella? Angry? The mild-mannered designer never got angry, not even when she lost out on the Bigtime Fashion Designer of the Year Award to me. Despite his age, Bobby was just as worked up as his grandchildren. Even he shot the ubervillain a look of disgust and loathing.

Johnny handed over a thick watch and his engraved cufflinks. Bella took off her silver chain and charm and threw them into the bag, while Bobby passed over a diamond pinky ring. Intelligal moved on to her next victims, but all three of the Bullucis kept their eyes on her, wishing that looks could kill.

After about twenty minutes, Intelligal finished her mission. The mechanical arm clamped down on the bag, securing it and the goodies inside. She floated back to the dance floor, where Siren waited.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, it’s been a real pleasure. But I’m afraid it’s time for us to leave.”

“Siren, don’t go!”

“Please stay!”

“We’ll do anything you want!”

Men and a few women called out to the ubervillain, pleading with her to stay.

Siren smiled. “I know you will, darlings, but I really must go before the Fearless Five show up. Now, why don’t you all do me a favor and talk quietly among yourselves for, say, ten minutes? That would make me so happy. And you want to make me happy, don’t you?”

Just about everyone in the crowd immediately turned to each other and began chatting about the weather, the wedding, and how fabulous Siren looked. Siren tossed the microphone back to the befuddled bandleader and hopped onto the arm of Intelligal’s chair. The two of them zoomed up off the dance floor.

Ah, my cue at last.

I grabbed the fire pulsing through me, and my body exploded into flames.

Chapter Four

I plowed through the prickly holly bushes and pointed my finger. Flames arced outward, and a line of fire roared up between the ubervillains and the crowd. A few people snapped out of their trances, but most just stared at the flames. I pointed my other finger. Another line of fire sprang up, cutting off the ubervillains’ escape route. I sprinted forward through the flames toward the evildoers.

Siren and Intelligal froze. The chair hovered in midair, and their heads snapped around to me.

“You!” Siren screamed.

Her voice morphed from sultry and simpering to sharp and jagged in an instant. It felt like cold razors slicing into my brain. I clapped my hands to my head, trying to block out the horrible sound.

A bluish energy ball popped into her hand, and Siren reared back to throw it at me. But a streak of lightning cut through the air and slammed into Siren’s back. Shocked, the ubervillain flew off the arm of Intelligal’s chair and hit the ground. Behind her, Carmen waved at me and smiled.

“Get her, Intelligal!” Siren shrieked through a mouthful of dirt. The harsh tone in her voice cut through me again.

Intelligal zoomed up over the dancing flames and punched some buttons on her floating chair. Two flaps opened on the front of the metal contraption, and missiles rocketed out—straight at me. I waited until they were in range, lobbed two fireballs at them, and rolled out of the way. My fireballs slammed into the missiles, and they exploded in midair. The thunderous roar and resulting shockwave jolted the rest of the crowd out of its sheep-like state. People screamed and stampeded and sprinted down the lawn toward the metal gates a mile away. Smoke, soot, and ash darkened the spring sky.

Siren scrambled to her feet and sent a lightning bolt my way. I ducked it and retaliated with a fireball. Intelligal zipped back and forth over us, trying to get a clear shot at me with some more of her pesky missiles.

Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Johnny Bulluci. He ran through the wall of flames and launched himself onto Intelligal’s chair like it was something he did every day. What the hell did he think he was doing? I was the hero here, not him. The fool was going to get himself killed, and me along with him.

But I was too busy trying to dodge Siren’s energy balls and fry her alive to pay much attention to Johnny. I tried to get close enough to touch Siren, but she kept flinging lightning bolts at me. She was too smart to let me get within arm’s reach. Siren knew I could crush her to goo with my bare hands. I would, given half a chance. I’d wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze her like an orange.

After a few minutes of back-and-forth action, I started to wear Siren down. Her lightning bolts grew weaker, shorter, and slower, and she started backing away from me. I crouched down, ready to pounce on her, when something smacked into me.

“Oof!” I hit the ground so hard my flame-shaped mask left an impression in the smoldering grass.

It took me a second to realize Johnny Bulluci had fallen on top of me. Intelligal must have shaken him off her chair. Johnny didn’t look like it, but the guy weighed a ton. I knew. That’s what I bench-pressed.

“Move, move, move!” I roared.

Johnny rolled off me, onto his feet, and pulled me up in one smooth motion. I shoved him aside and raced toward the ubervillains. Too little, too late.

Siren hopped back onto Intelligal’s chair. A helicopter rotor sprang up from somewhere inside the device and started to whine and whir. Good grief, how many gadgets did the woman have on that thing? The two of them motored up, up, and away. I tossed a couple fireballs in the air, but Intelligal easily steered clear of them. Seconds later, the ubervillains disappeared from sight.

Damn. Just when I was getting warmed up.

“Fiera! Fiera!” someone shouted.

I turned. Chief Newman pointed at the lines of fire still burning on the lawn and threatening to scorch the gardens. I concentrated, pulling the heat back into my own body, and the flames snuffed out. The chief and the others started forward to see if I was injured. I waved them off and marched over to Johnny, who was staring into the sky as if he could see where the ubervillains had gone. Bella and Bobby Bulluci stood next to him, alternating their gazes between Johnny and the wild blue yonder.

“What the hell did you think you were doing? You almost got yourself killed,” I snapped.

“I was trying to take back what was mine and everybody else’s,” Johnny growled, not the least bit intimidated by the orange-red flames surrounding my body.

I leaned forward and focused my anger—and heat—on him. “That’s not your job, your responsibility. That’s what I’m here for. And I didn’t just go a couple of rounds with some ubervillains so you could try to play hero and die a horrible, static-charged death.”

“As you can see, I’m fine.” His green eyes narrowed. “And if I want to play hero as you put it, it’s no business of yours. Just because you’re a superhero doesn’t mean you can tell the rest of us what to do.”

That’s exactly what it meant, at least to me. Putting life and limb on the line for the fine citizens of Bigtime entitled me to a few perks. Bossing people around was one of them.

Johnny continued to glare at me. My hair sparked and crackled with fire. Arrogant man. First, he tried to seduce me, and now he thought he knew how to do my job better than I did. Johnny Bulluci didn’t know how close he was to getting strangled. I also had the oddest desire to singe his clothes off, yank him toward me, and kiss him until his eyeballs melted. Well, I’d stop before the eyeball-melting part. That could get a little icky.

I opened my mouth to berate Johnny some more when a white blur zipped by.

Swifte stopped in the middle of the lawn and struck a heroic pose. Hands on his hips, chest out, chin up. He was a tall, thin man who reminded me of a string bean. As his name suggested, Swifte was built for speed, not strength. The afternoon sun hit his back, and all the colors of the rainbow shimmered in the superhero’s opalescent spandex suit. Silver sparkles glittered on the edges of the wing-shaped mask that covered his face. I eyed him with distaste. Swifte’s getup was rather over the top, even for me. Superheroes, especially men, should not wear head-to-toe white. Ever. He so needed a makeover.

The superhero was so quick that he didn’t even stir up any of the sooty dust or hot embers that coated the grass. A black bag dangled from his gloved hand.

“You’re a little late, aren’t you, Swifte?” I sniped. “The party’s over.”

The superhero relaxed his media pose. He shrugged. “I was around. I heard the commotion and thought you might need a hand, especially since none of your friends showed up to help. Where’s the rest of the F5 gang?”

“Oh, they’re around somewhere,” I replied in a vague voice.

“Of course they are,” Swifte murmured, looking at Carmen.

I thought Carmen blushed. But it was probably just the heat lingering in the air that painted her cheeks a bright pink.

Swifte gazed out at the smoke and debris. “Well, you acquitted yourself nicely, Fiera. Even without your friends’ help.”

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “I always do.”

“Well, I’ll just drop these off and be on my way.” Swifte shoved the bag at me and tipped his head to Carmen and Sam. “My congrats to the happy bride and groom.”

The superhero put his hands back on his hips and struck another pose. Then, he disappeared. One second he was here, the next he was halfway to Cypress Mountain.

I hefted the bag. The telltale clink and rattle of jewels and chains sounded.

“Is that what I think it is?” Henry asked, pushing his soot-streaked glasses up his nose.

I opened the bag and peered inside at the gleaming gems. “Yep. Somehow, Swifte lifted the stolen jewels off Intelligal’s chair.”

“That’s pretty impressive,” Lulu chimed in. “I didn’t even see him.”

“Swifte is quick, I’ll give him that,” I said.

He was also rather annoying, popping up when you least expected him to, sort of like a zit. And he always zoomed off before you had a chance to talk to him. The only people who ever got to say more than twenty words to Swifte were the reporters from the Superhero News Network and other media outlets. He always had plenty of time to stop and talk to them. Showboat.

“Well, now that everything’s settled, can I have my watch back?” Johnny said.

I couldn’t believe his nerve. He’d gotten in my way, let the ubervillains escape, and now he wanted his shinies back? How shallow. Even for a rich, spoiled playboy.

“I don’t think so,” I snapped. “Not after the way you behaved. You can wait. The Fearless Five will get your items back to you in a few days.”

It was standard operating procedure in cases like this. We’d sort through the items, determine what belonged to whom, and mail them back to the rightful owners. It kept people like Joanne James from claiming that certain pieces of jewelry belonged to them when they really didn’t.

Johnny’s face hardened, his lips forming a tight line. I tore my gaze away from them and tried not to think about just how firm and warm they’d been earlier.

“Let’s go, Johnny. Now.” Bella’s voice was sharp as a stiletto and twice as pointed.

“Yes, come along, Johnny,” Bobby Bulluci added. “I hardly think Fiera’s going to keep anything for herself. We can get the watch back later.”

I eyed the grandfather. Even though he was over seventy, Bobby Bulluci was still a handsome man. He stood straight and tall, with a trim body. His hair was a burnished silver, but his eyes were the same remarkable green that Johnny’s were. If Bobby was what Johnny would look like in another forty years, then the younger Bulluci was one lucky devil.

Johnny stared at his sister and grandfather. He turned back to me and took a deep breath. “The watch was my father’s. I’d like it back. Please. It has a lot of sentimental value to me, to my whole family.”

I started to say no, but something in his eyes stopped me. A bright flash of pain I knew all too well. The pain of losing someone you loved. I remembered what Joanne had told me about Bella’s father dying.

I held out the bag. “Take it.”

Johnny reached for the bag. Our fingers brushed, and I felt the need to blow off some steam. A few sparks flew out of my fingertips and landed on Johnny’s torn, dirty tux. He paused and patted them out.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Job hazard.”

“No problem.”

Johnny dug through the fancy baubles until he found what he was looking for—a simple silver watch. All that decorated the timepiece’s black face were a pair of wings, inlaid in mother-of-pearl. No diamonds, no jewels, nothing fancy. It wasn’t even a Rolex. Odd. Given how much he wanted it back, you’d think the watch would have been made out of solid platinum.

Johnny fastened the timepiece around his left wrist. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Johnny took his grandfather’s arm, and the Bullucis headed toward the gates, where the rest of the wedding guests milled about, waiting for their stretch limos to come take them home. That left just the six of us.

The chief put a concerned hand on my shoulder. “Are you all right, Fiona? That was a pretty nasty fight.”

I stretched my arms over my head and did a mental inventory of my body. I felt a little sore in places, but that was it. With my superstrength, it took a lot to hurt me.

“Oh, I’m fine. It’s nothing a little liquor won’t cure. I need a drink. Fighting ubervillains is thirsty work.”

I strolled over to the bar, which had somehow survived the fires and explosions and lightning bolts, and grabbed a bottle of champagne. I yanked the cork out, took a long swig of the warm, bubbly liquid, and raised the bottle to the others. “Cheers.”

Chapter Five

“Are you sure we don’t need to stay here?” Carmen asked.

I rolled my eyes. “If you ask me that again, I’m going to burn your tongue.”

The five of us, plus Lulu, were down in the secret library underneath Sublime. Superhero Central, Carmen called it. To me, it was our War Room, despite the books and magazines and encyclopedias that clustered in the floor-to-ceiling shelves.

After calming down the frantic wedding guests and escorting them off the grounds, the Fearless Five had gone into full-fledged superhero mode. We’d spent the last couple hours in the library trying to track down Siren and Intelligal. With no luck.

“Intelligal must have some sort of cloaking device on that chair,” Henry muttered.

He was using his power, mind-melding with his supercomputer, to try and locate the ubervillains. A soft, bluish-white glow connected his fingers to the keyboard. The monitor reflected numbers and letters onto his round glasses, making them gleam. The symbols flashed by too fast for me to follow, but Henry had no trouble deciphering them with his photographic memory.

“There’s no trace of them. Not even a heat signature on the radar.”

“I’m sure you’ll find her, babe,” Lulu said, pounding away on her own computer nearby. “You always do.”

“Maybe we should stay here,” Carmen repeated.

“And abandon your honeymoon plans?” Chief Newman said. “There’s no need for that.”

Carmen paced around the room. She picked up one of her Rubik’s Cubes and turned it round and round in her hands as she slid the plastic rows of colors back and forth. “I feel like Siren and Intelligal are up to something. Something big.”

“Aren’t they always? It’s sort of what ubervillains do.” I leaned back in my chair and put my feet up on the round table that dominated the middle of the room. My black stilettos rested on top of the giant F5 insignia carved into the heavy wood.

Carmen shook her head. “This feels bigger than that. Like world-domination big.”

“Chief?” I asked my father.

He laced his fingers together. “I think Carmen’s right. They’re definitely up to something. They took a big risk crashing the wedding, and I’ve got the headache to prove it.”

“See? We should stay. Besides, those bitches ruined my wedding. They should pay.”

Carmen’s eyes flashed neon blue with rage. They only did that when she was very, very angry. Even I didn’t like to go up against Carmen when she was angry.

Sam put an arm around her shoulder and hugged her to him. Carmen’s eyes brightened, taking on a different sort of glow.

“Don’t worry, they will,” Sam said. “The chief and the others will take care of them. You don’t want to cancel our trip, do you?”

An extravagant, no-holds-barred, month-long honeymoon around the world was Sam’s wedding present to Carmen. She’d be a fool to cancel on him just to track down a couple of measly ubervillains. But if she did, I’d be happy to take her place, and eat and shop my way around the globe. I could use a vacation, especially after today. As much as I loved being a superhero, there were times when the epic battles got a bit old. Unfortunately, ubervillains were a dime a dozen in this town, and somebody was always up to something. Which meant we superheroes always had to be on the lookout for trouble with a capital T.

“No, of course not,” Carmen said, leaning into Sam that much more. “But you know how I worry.”

“There’s nothing to worry about, Sister Carmen,” Lulu said. “Henry will track them down, and then Fiona will fry their asses.”

“Sounds like a plan to me,” I said. “I’m always up for a good barbecue.”

In the end, Carmen gave in. She and Sam got into a limo and headed for the Bigtime Airport, where Sam’s private jet was waiting to take them to London. They didn’t even make it out of the driveway before they tinted the windows and started canoodling in the backseat.

After seeing them off, in more ways than one, the rest of us talked for a few more minutes about the ubervillains and what they might be up to. But nobody had any bright, earth-shattering ideas, so we sorted through the stolen jewelry and packed it up to mail back to its rightful owners. Then, we closed down shop for the night. Too tired to make the drive back to my apartment in the city, I went to my suite down the hall.

Our underground lair beneath Sublime took up almost as much space as the manor house did aboveground. Wing after wing contained training rooms, gyms, kitchens, sick bays, and everything else a superhero could ever want or need. My suite was an enormous area, bigger than most apartments, and featured a bedroom, bathroom, living room, and kitchen all rolled into one, along with a pitifully small closet. The others’ suites all had a similar setup except for one thing—mine boasted three oversized refrigerators.

I rustled around in one of the metal behemoths and came up with a platter of cold cuts, three kinds of cheese, and a loaf of crusty French bread. I made myself seven sandwiches and downed them with a six-pack of lemon-lime soda and a box of chocolate snack cakes. Due to my fiery metabolism, I could eat whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to, and never gain an ounce. A whole pizza for breakfast, ten burgers and a bucket of fries for lunch, a couple of steaks and a pound of pasta for dinner. The only downside was that I constantly had to eat to keep up my strength. It got a little tiring sometimes. Not to mention grossed people out. My father and Travis were the only ones who didn’t seem disturbed by my never-ending hunger and enormous appetite.

Travis. An icy hand squeezed my heart. I plopped down on the king-sized bed and picked up the picture of him on my nightstand. Blond hair, brown eyes, terrific smile. Travis Teague beamed at me. I’d missed him today. A lot. Carmen and Sam’s wedding had only reminded me of what I’d lost when Travis had been killed over a year ago. Of what I should have right now. I turned my ring around on my finger.

But as I looked at Travis’s picture, my thoughts drifted back to Johnny Bulluci and our encounter in the game room. The man could kiss, that was for sure. A couple of sparks flew from my fingertips and landed on the tile floor. If Johnny could work with his hands as well as he did with his lips and tongue, well, he could seduce me anytime.

Johnny Bulluci could be my rebound guy, I decided. Someone to have a little fun and a lot of steamy sex with before I started looking for the next Mr. Right. Travis had been my Mr. Right, but he was gone now. I would always miss him, but he wouldn’t want me to be a nun the rest of my life. Travis had been generous to a fault. He would understand me moving on. He’d encourage me to. I put Travis’s picture on the nightstand and carefully positioned it so he was smiling at me.

Yes, it was time to get out and live a little.

It was time for Fiona Fine to get back into the dating game.

* * *

The next morning, I drove my convertible into the city. I put the top down, stepped on the gas, and let the warm wind whip my blond locks into a tangled mess. The sporty car had been my present to myself for my thirtieth birthday a couple months ago. I loved the sleek design, the smooth ride, the fire-engine-red color. The four hundred horses under the hood weren’t too shabby either.

Before work, I swung by my apartment, located in the penthouse in Tip-Top Tower, one of the most expensive and exclusive buildings in Bigtime. I opened the door, flicked on the lights, and tossed my keys onto a table. My apartment featured ivory-colored granite floors and walls, fireproof up to three thousand degrees. No thick, shag carpet for me. I’d ruined too much of it in my life to risk having it in my home. No chintzy curtains either. Instead, metal screens covered the tall windows like blinds, giving me privacy from prying eyes, without being a fire hazard.

I walked into the living room. A long sofa the color of Bing cherries sat against one wall, flanked by four black armchairs. The rest of the furniture was done in various shades of red, black, and white. Sometimes all three. Paintings behind shatterproof and fire-resistant glass added even more color to the pale walls.

I took a quick shower, dried off in about two seconds, and moved to my favorite part of my apartment—my closet. I flicked on the lights in the walk-in closet, which took up more than two thousand square feet. Rack after rack of shirts, skirts, slacks, shoes, and more, along with drawers full of jewelry and handbags, crouched inside the massive space. The bright fabrics, outrageous patterns, and bold colors always brought a smile to my face. Life was too short for drab beiges and tame taupes and basic blacks. Give me electric blue and lime green and shocking purple any day.

Now, on to the most important question of the day. What to wear? So many color combinations, so little time. I flipped through the racks of clothes, choosing a short, hot-pink skirt and a sleeveless, black, V-necked top with huge pink polka dots. A pair of matching kitten heels, a heart-shaped bag, and plastic, hoop earrings finished off the look.

I left the convertible in the building’s parking garage and walked the few blocks to my store. It was just after nine, and most folks were grabbing a last cup of coffee and a doughnut before heading off to work. I stopped in front of Bryn’s Bakery, eyeing the delectable-looking bear claws through the windows. The bag of blueberry bagels, tub of cream cheese, and quart of apple juice I’d had for breakfast were already long gone.

A siren screamed out, and a brigade of fire trucks roared by. I squinted into the morning sun. Black smoke boiled up from a building a couple of blocks away. I stood on the sidewalk, torn between the bear claws and whipping my spare Fiera costume and boots out of the special, air-compressed compartment in my purse.

“Out of my way! Move it! Now!”

A woman dressed in a formfitting, ebony jumpsuit strutted by me. Green and gold snakes curled around her arms like bracelets, hissing and snapping at people to get them to move out of the way. More snakes writhed on top of her sky-high headdress. Ah, Black Samba was coming to the rescue today.

Black Samba marched into the street and held out her hand. She chanted in an odd, sibilant language. Five seconds later, a city bus rounded a corner and stopped in front of her. Along with the snakes, Black Samba had some sort of magic voodoo powers I didn’t really understand. I preferred a simpler style, punching and smashing and frying to get things done. But the mumbo-jumbo worked for her.

Black Samba leapt up onto the hood, told the driver to head toward the fire, then scampered up onto the roof. Bus tops were her preferred mode of transportation around the city. For some reason, her snakes didn’t like the subway. At least, that’s what I’d heard through the superhero grapevine.

“Wait for me!” an older, feminine voice called out.

A diamond-topped walking stick snapped against the sidewalk, and the crowd parted to let Granny Cane through. She looked like your average grandmother, except for the flowered purple mask that covered her face and the cape-like flow to her matching angora sweater. Granny Cane prowled the streets of Bigtime, getting thieves to try to mug her before wailing on them with her enormous handbag and walking stick and dragging them to the police station. Granny was a lot stronger and sturdier than she looked.

“Hurry up, old woman!” Black Samba snapped, stalking up and down the top of the bus. Her snakes hissed in time to her footsteps.

“Don’t make me wash your mouth out with soap, missy.” Granny pointed her cane at the other superhero. “There’s no need to be disrespectful to your elders.”

Granny hopped onto the bus, and it pulled away into traffic. Well, with Black Samba and Granny Cane on the way, there was no need for me to get involved. They could handle a simple fire-and-rescue operation. Besides, too many superheroes on the scene wasn’t really a good thing. Everybody always wanted to get in on the drama. When there wasn’t enough danger to go around, the stronger superheroes tended to assert themselves, which often led to ego-bruising and spats. We all wanted to be the best—and most popular. It was sort of like being back in high school. With superpowers, a good image, and action-figure sales to maintain—instead of a cool quotient, high grades, and clear skin.

I did, however, still need to get to work. So, I forced myself away from the bakery and walked on.

Fiona Fine Fashions sat in the middle of Retail Row in the heart of Bigtime’s downtown shopping district. The front of the multistory building housed the runway and store, while workers sewed garments and more in the back. A huge, marble F towered three stories above the sidewalk and announced the store’s presence to shoppers.

I breezed through the front door. A bell chimed, letting everyone know that I had arrived. The inside of the store was rather like my apartment, in that it featured white marble walls and floors. Everything was simple and clean and colorless, the better to focus attention on my bright, bold, daring clothes. Racks of the Fiona Fine originals sat throughout the store, while a long runway cut through the middle of the open space. Models in various shapes and sizes trotted up and down the catwalk, showing off the latest, greatest designs to customers, who sat on plush leather chairs munching on champagne and gourmet chocolates. Techno music pulsed out a snappy, happy beat through the sound system. Clerks bustled back and forth, fetching food and taking orders. I waved to them and to the society women I recognized. They fluttered their hands at me and kept on eating and drinking. I’d learned a long time ago that society ladies felt they deserved to be pampered, so I catered to their whims.

My eyes traced over the store with pride. The gleaming marble and pricey clothes were a long way from the simple home where I’d grown up in Ireland. Like so many others, my father had moved the family here in search of the American dream. I was one of the lucky ones who’d gotten mine. I sewed until my fingers bled to get to the top of the fashion world, and I did everything I could to stay there.

I strolled through the store, punched in the security code on the back door, and headed for the factory floor. The whine and whir of sewing machines, ringing phones, and other equipment replaced the pulsing music. Men and women sat in colorful, ergonomically designed cubicles and sewed dresses, tops, skirts, and more. Some placed dainty crystals on supple leather handbags, while a few worked with sapphires, rubies, and emeralds. The gems glistened and sparkled under the white lights. My jewelry line was launching this fall, and it was going to be just as fabulous as everything else I designed.

More than a few folks called out and waved to me, and I answered them in kind. My workers earned top dollar and excellent benefits for their time, diligence, and quality craftsmanship. I could afford to be generous. Most of my creations retailed for at least five thousand dollars, and everything was backordered for six weeks. The only other designer who commanded similar prices was Bella Bulluci.

Johnny Bulluci’s handsome face flashed through my mind. I’d have to ask around and get some more dirt on him. I remembered the suave way he’d kissed me at the wedding. A spark sizzled on the tip of my thumb. Oh yes. I definitely wanted my rebound relationship to ramp up as soon as possible.

I put that thought away and stepped into Piper Perez’s office, which was next to mine. Piper typed away on a keyboard and murmured into a headset attached to one side of her cats-eye glasses. She was an average-sized woman with glossy black hair, tan skin, and warm, brown eyes.

Piper also was my chief financial officer and anal to a fault. Everything on her desk was arranged from tallest (her computer monitor) to shortest (a pink sticky pad) and sorted by color, shape, and times used during the day. Piper was insanely proud of her straitlaced, obsessive tendencies. She should be. Her organizational and accounting skills earned her more than most CEOs.

“Morning, Piper.”

Piper said her goodbyes to her caller, punched a button on her headset, and ended the conversation. “Morning, Fiona.”

She stopped typing and handed me a stack of papers. “The front desk gave me your latest messages by mistake. I went ahead and placed the oldest ones on top so you can return those calls first. I also put the cost-comparison reports about the fabric and gemstone suppliers on your desk. And Joanne James called me personally, demanding to know when you would be available. Her highness wants to come in for a fitting.”

I groaned, tempted to burn the message and drop the charred remains in Piper’s spotless steel trash can. Then, I thought about that flashing rock on Joanne’s finger. I really could use a couple of new Fiera suits, and the flame-proof fabric I had to make them out of wasn’t cheap. I might be rich, but I wasn’t going to turn down a hefty payday, even if I had to deal with the black widow of Bigtime. “All right. Have somebody set it up. But be sure we have plenty of champagne on hand that day.”

“For Joanne?”

“No, for me. I’m going to need it.”

“If you think you’re going to need it then, just wait a minute,” Piper said.

“What? What did you say?”

“Oh nothing,” Piper chirped in a cheery voice that didn’t fool me for a minute.

My eyes narrowed. “What are you up to?”

Piper blinked. “Nothing. Nothing at all, Fiona.”

At times like this, the chief’s mind-reading powers would so come in handy. I thought about sweating the truth out of Piper but decided against it. She’d just spend the rest of the morning in the bathroom touching up her makeup until it was perfect again. Piper was as obsessive about her appearance as she was about her desk. I gave her a last suspicious look, opened the door to my office, and stepped inside.

Words escaped me.

Flowers, flowers, and more flowers covered every inch of my desk, surrounding shelves, and windowsills. Roses, tulips, orchids, and more painted the room in a wild, vivid rainbow of color. My nose twitched at the heady, rich scents all mingled and mashed together.

Piper leaned against the doorframe. “They’ve been arriving every half hour since eight this morning.”

“Where and who did all these come from?” I fingered the petals on a blue orchid. I loved flowers, especially orchids, but I never bought them for myself. Unfortunately, they had a tendency to go up like smoke around me.

Piper pulled out a card embossed with silver filigree. Fiona. So sorry we got interrupted yesterday at the wedding. Dinner tonight? I’ll pick you up at seven at your apartment. Johnny Bulluci.

I managed not to squeal. Instead, I took the card from her and read it myself. Three times.

“Who’s the guy?” Piper asked. “I haven’t heard you mention him before. Then again, I haven’t heard you mention anyone in a long time.”

“Bella’s brother. He’s new in town,” I said in an absent tone, my eyes still fixed on the card, which was made out of thick, creamy paper. I traced over the silver letters with my finger, careful not to scorch the stationary.

“Bella? As in Bella Bulluci? Our archrival in the design world?”

“The one and the same.”

I read the card again. Tingles spread through my heated body. Johnny Bulluci liked me. Enough to want to see me again. Either that or he just thought I was extremely easy. I remembered his spicy smell, his firm hands on my feverish body, the way I’d offered no resistance to his skillful advances. Yeah, he probably thought I was easy. Didn’t bother me any.

“You know, I don’t remember seeing you with this guy at the wedding. So what exactly were the two of you doing yesterday? And where?” Piper’s dark eyes sparkled. “Or should I even ask? It must have been something to get this kind of enthusiastic response.”

I flipped my long, blond hair over my shoulder. “Why, Piper, don’t you know? It’s always something with me.”

Piper just snickered.

Chapter Six

I spent the rest of the day working on my new fall lines. Fiona Fine Fashions was an empire unto itself, and I had my fingers in everything from evening wear for society matrons to couture wedding gowns to sportswear to baby clothes. Yes, baby clothes. It was never too early to start teaching kids about fabulous fashion.

Today, though, my main focus was on Fine Finds by Fiona, an affordable businesswear collection for professional women debuting in stores across America later this year. I was taking the basic, black work suit and dressing it up with stripes, plaids, paisleys, and most importantly, color. Your job might be boring, but your clothes should never be.

At least, I tried to work. I kept staring at the flowers clustered around me. It was like sitting in my own personal jungle. My eyes traced over the kaleidoscope sprays with their soft, velvety petals. Inspired, I fished a large pad out of my messy desk and started sketching. Two hours later, I had over a dozen drawings, each one bigger and bolder and better than the last. I’d been looking for a theme for next year’s spring line. Flower power would be perfect. After all, flowers featured everything that I loved—wild patterns, brilliant colors, sleek designs.

A knock on the door interrupted the flow of my creative juices.

Piper held up three white paper bags that looked like they were ready to pop. “I went to Quicke’s for a meeting and thought you might be hungry. I got you a couple of grilled chicken sandwiches, a Caesar salad, large fries, a dozen cookies, and the biggest raspberry tea I could find.”

I glanced at the clock. Three in the afternoon already. My stomach rumbled. “Thanks, Piper. You’re a lifesaver.”

Piper deposited the bags on my crowded desk. She’d long ago grown used to my enormous appetite, although she thought I had some sort of eating disorder, like binging and purging. Every so often, I’d come into the office to find pamphlets on anorexia and other eating-disorder clinics and programs on my desk, courtesy of Piper. I reduced them to ash, ignored Piper’s prying looks, and continued to eat like there was no tomorrow. I couldn’t exactly tell her the truth—that I was a superhero with a superhigh metabolism. Piper was my friend, but I had a secret identity to protect. The Terrible Triad had taught me the importance of anonymity.

I polished off the food in about fifteen minutes under Piper’s watchful eyes. She stuck her head into my office several times that afternoon, probably hoping to catch me hurling into one of the empty paper bags, but I disappointed her by slaving away at my desk.

In addition to my work as head of Fiona Fine Fashions, I also had to attend to my duties and business as Fiera. Being a superhero was just as much about public relations as it was about saving kittens from trees and babies from burning buildings. Most of us had our own websites, merchandise, fan clubs, and more so we could control who did what with our image. The same went for the ubervillains. Unfortunately, evil appealed to just as many folks as good did.

Some superheroes, namely Swifte, really hammed it up. They blogged and did webcasts and wrote tell-all biographies, regaling the masses with their latest daring adventures and narrow escapes. I and the other members of the Fearless Five were much more restrained. We had a simple website where folks could e-mail us and sign up for our newsletter, as well as buy our merchandise, namely copies of my annual calendar and latest action figures. The others didn’t have action figures. At least not officially sanctioned, royalty-paying ones. They weren’t so into the marketing end of things, especially Sam. The man would have been a shadow if he could.

But I didn’t keep any money I made as Fiera. Neither did the rest of the Fearless Five. Not a penny. We split the profits evenly and donated them all to worthy causes. My cut went to a charity that helped burn victims get reconstructive surgery and to the Bigtime Municipal Building Restoration Fund. After all, if you tear it down, you really should help rebuild it. And I’d destroyed more than one building in Bigtime over the years.

Of course, some folks like Gentleman George and the Baseballer spurned the spotlight, preferring to keep to themselves and avoid the hoopla. Sometimes, I thought about going that route. Taking down the website, discontinuing my annual calendar, canceling my few public appearances. But part of me liked the attention. Modesty wasn’t one of my virtues, and I enjoyed being recognized for saving the city every couple of weeks. My father had taught me long ago that I had special gifts that I must use to help others. He called it my duty, my purpose in life. I just thought it was fun. At least, it was most of the time.

I logged into my Fiera accounts and checked on sales of the calendar and a few other things that needed my attention. All of the money flowed from the website through untraceable, numbered overseas accounts to our favorite charities. Sam was a real whiz at setting up things like that. Plus, Henry had put tons of security gizmos on my computer, ensuring that only I could access the Fiera files hidden on my hard drive.

Once that was done, I switched over to my e-mails. I got dozens of e-mails and instant messages every day, most of them from fanboys who wanted me to autograph their inflatable Fiera dolls or their tighty-whities—sometimes both. I usually ignored those. I also got a lot of letters from kids asking me to find their lost puppies or to please, please, please bring their pet hamster back to life. Those I answered as best I could. Despite my superpowers, I couldn’t help everybody, couldn’t save everybody. I did what I could, when I could. That was another thing my father had taught me. You could be a hero, do your duty, and still have a life outside the masks and capes and spandex costumes. If you didn’t, you’d drive yourself crazy.

By the time I finished my sketches, returned messages, and caught up on my paperwork, superhero-related and otherwise, it was after five. Time to go home and get ready for my night out on the town with the delectable Johnny Bulluci.

Goody.

* * *

I walked home in record time. Thankfully, there were no more fires or other emergencies to distract me. After grabbing a couple of apples from the fruit bowl on the kitchen counter, I strolled into the bathroom, peeled off my clothes, and ran some water into the claw-foot tub. While I chomped on the tart fruit, I fluttered my fingers, heating the water until it was nice and toasty. Then, I did the whole I-have-a-hot-date-and-might-even-have-sex-tonight routine. Lathered up with some vanilla-scented soap. Washed my hair. Shaved everything.

I dried off in about three seconds, went into the bedroom, and flicked on the light in my closet to begin my search for the perfect first-date outfit. I wanted something cool, something sophisticated, something that said, We’ll probably have sex if you behave yourself and buy me a nice, big dinner first. After flipping through three racks, I picked a tight scarlet dress covered in matching sequins that set off my blond hair and rosy skin. Heavy black eye shadow, red lipstick, a ruby solitaire pendant, and red stilettos polished off the outfit. The dress didn’t have too many buttons down the back, and the short skirt would provide easy access, if desired. I closed my eyes and thought of Johnny’s lips on mine. There would probably be some desire tonight. Maybe even some satisfaction, if Johnny was a very good boy. Or a very bad one, depending on your point of view.

I twirled around in front of the mirrors that lined one wall of the bedroom. I looked hot. Smokin’ even, as Lulu would say. I put my hands on my hips, admiring my reflection. My engagement ring caught the light and flashed it back to me. I twisted it around on my finger. My good mood vanished.

Should I really be doing this? Going out with somebody else? Thinking about sleeping with someone else? Travis was gone, but I still loved him. I always would. I didn’t know if there was room in my heart for someone else. If I could even love somebody again. If I really even wanted to.

If you loved someone, you gave him power over you. Power to hurt you, whether he did it on purpose or not. I didn’t ever want to feel the way I had when Travis died. Alone. Grief-stricken. Helpless. Numb. Maybe I should wait awhile longer to get back into the social scene. Maybe I should cancel—

The phone rang, interrupting my troubled thoughts.

“Fiona Fine.”

“It’s me,” the chief’s voice rumbled through the receiver. “I just wanted to check in with you. I’m on call tonight.”

Each member of the Fearless Five took turns sitting in the underground library and monitoring SNN and the local police scanners in case an ubervillain decided to wreak havoc or some natural disaster tore through Bigtime. The rest of us were equipped with cell phones, ready to respond in case bad stuff went down. With Carmen and Sam gone on their honeymoon, the chief, Henry, and I would be pulling double duty for the next month.

“How are things at the manor? Any sign of Siren and Intelligal yet?”

“Not a trace of them so far. Everything’s quiet. Henry and Lulu are working on tracking them down. Carmen and Sam called earlier. They’re having a wonderful time in London, although Carmen’s still worried about the ubervillains.”

I was surprised the happy couple had found time to call or to actually see any of London. You’d think they would have spent all day in bed, given their propensity for doing so at Sublime. Their happiness was so annoying sometimes.

My father paused. “Have fun on your date tonight. Make sure he treats you right.”

I rolled my eyes. “How many times have I asked you not to peer into my mind?”

“I’m your father, Fiona. I’ll be doing it until the end of time.”

“Just because you’re psychic doesn’t give you the right to use your powers on others whenever you want. Remember that lecture? You used to give it to me whenever I’d singe one of the bullies in my class with a fireball or pick them up and spin them around until they screamed for me to stop.” I’d gotten more than a few of those talks.

The chief chuckled. “I remember you spent more time in the principal’s office than a classroom full of kids.” His voice grew serious. “You should go out, Fiona. Travis would want you to get on with your life.”

I looked at the ring on my finger. “I know he would. But it’s easier said than done.”

“Go out. Have fun. Be your usual charming self.”

I sniffed. “I’m always that.”

“I know. Now, I need to go. Henry wanted me to look over some new computer program he’s invented to track Siren and Intelligal’s crimes.”

Henry and his computer programs. Sometimes, I wondered if the man was even human or just a robot in disguise. If he were a robot, though, you’d think his designer would have given him some fashion sense. Polka-dot bow ties and sweater vests were not the stuff women’s dreams were made of. Except maybe Lulu’s.

“Well, you two be careful tonight. Call me if you need me. I love you.” I always ended our conversations like this now. I’d learned the hard way that just because we were superheroes didn’t mean we were invincible. Quite the opposite, unfortunately.

“I love you, too,” the chief rumbled.

I hung up. For a moment, I stared at my engagement ring. Then, my eyes went to the mirror. I smoothed my dress down and turned sideways. I did look good tonight. Damn good. Self-esteem was another area where I didn’t have a lot of problems.

I let out a long, hot breath. I might as well go out. The chief was right. It was time for me to move on, whether I thought I was ready to or not.

Besides, it’d be a shame to get all dressed up for nothing.

* * *

The doorbell rang at exactly seven o’clock, just as I was powdering my nose. My date had arrived right on time. I loved punctual men.

I opened the door to find another bouquet of orchids outside. These were picture-perfect and more beautiful than all the rest combined. They made the ones in my office look like cheap, plastic imitations. I could just make out Johnny’s green eyes through the exquisite purple-and-white petals.

“Do you know where I might find a beautiful bridesmaid?”

His voice was just as rich and cultured as I remembered. His faint accent sounded sophisticated, sultry, and utterly sexy. I’d always been a sucker for accents.

“I’m not a bridesmaid anymore,” I said, stepping back to let him inside.

“But you’re still beautiful.”

“Aren’t you the charmer?”

He winked. “Always, Fiona. Always.” Johnny tossed the flowers onto a nearby table and swept me into his arms. The man didn’t waste any time, that was for sure.

His lips covered mine, and all thought vanished. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He opened his mouth, and I slid my tongue inside the hot depths. He tasted like mouthwash, tart and tangy. His spicy soap wafted up my nose, and I breathed in, enjoying the aroma. Whatever that scent was, it complemented him perfectly. Johnny’s hands traced circles up and down my back as I explored his mouth with my tongue. It was a long, slow, lingering kiss. The sort that whispered of even better, slower, longer, harder things to come.

After a good two minutes, we came up for air.

“You know, we could just order in,” Johnny murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat. My pulse roared under his lips.

“Dinner first,” I said, stepping back.

I had an image to maintain, and I didn’t want him to think I was too eager. Or know that single kiss had me ready to toss him over my shoulder, carry him back to the bedroom, and ravish him from head to toe. Three times over.

The truth was the intense attraction unnerved me. One look, one kiss, one minute alone with him, and I was all hot and bothered. At least, more so than usual. I’d never believed in love at first sight, but lust was another matter. Or was it? Did Johnny Bulluci really have that much of an effect on me? Or were my hormones just hot to trot because of the long drought?

I didn’t know the answers to my questions, so I concentrated on him. His tawny mane of hair glistened under the dim lights, and his eyes were as green as polished turquoise. Johnny wore a navy-blue suit with a faint pinstripe. It looked fantastic on him. Or he looked fantastic wearing it. I couldn’t decide which one it really was. Maybe I should get him to model some designs for me, provided I could lure him away from Bella. With him in the store, sales would go through the roof. If I could stop the society types from tearing off his clothes, something I was dangerously close to doing myself.

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” Johnny said. “We really should eat dinner first, before getting to dessert.”

Johnny smiled. A sly, impish, wicked sort of grin spread across his face, while his eyes devoured me from head to toe. I had no doubt what he meant by dessert. I shivered, something I never did, not even when Frost hit me with his freezoray gun.

Johnny offered me his arm, and away we went. A limo waiting downstairs took us to Quicke’s, a restaurant famous for its speedy service, reasonable prices, terrific food, and most important, generous portions. A blue neon light flashed on and off above the revolving door, announcing the restaurant’s name. Quicke’s was located downtown, a couple of blocks from my store, and it was one of my favorite places to get a fast burger or ten for lunch. I practically kept the place in business with my massive orders.

Johnny opened the door for me, and when I stepped through, he put his hand on the small of my back to guide me inside. Some women would have been insulted by this, but not me. Maybe it’s because I moonlight as a superhero, but I like strong, take-charge men. They’re the only ones who can keep up with me.

Kyle Quicke was working as the host tonight, the latest in a long line of Quickes to run the restaurant. With his chestnut hair, light eyes, and thin physique, Kyle was cute in a boy-next-door sort of way. We’d gone to college together, back when we’d both been penniless nobodies. I, of course, had made my fortune in fashion, while Kyle had gotten his business degree and taken over the family restaurant. During his tenure, Quicke’s had increased its already healthy profits so much that the restaurant had opened a number of smaller cafs and eateries throughout Bigtime.

“Hello, Kyle.”

“Fiona Fine. Always a pleasure.”

I threw my long hair over my shoulder. “Of course it is. And you as well. Loved the food you did for the wedding.” What little of it I’d gotten to eat had been delicious as always.

“Thanks. I aim to please.” Kyle’s eyes flicked over us. “Table for two?”

“Obviously.”

“This way.”

Kyle grabbed a couple of leather-bound menus and zipped through the crowded restaurant, darting around tables and bustling waiters with a grace I didn’t know he possessed. I followed, and Johnny put his hand on my back again. Another shiver swept through me. A girl could get used to that strong, firm touch. In all sorts of places.

The inside of Quicke’s looked like your typical bar and grill, only a bit nicer. Round tables covered with white linen tablecloths took up most of the first floor and part of the second. Roses perched in tall vases on every table, along with skinny votive candles. A bar with a gleaming brass rail and mirror behind it ran the whole length of the building. Shouts and curses drifted out from behind the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, along with the sizzle of frying meat and the yeasty aroma of baking bread. My stomach quivered in anticipation at the mouthwatering scents.

The restaurant’s patrons wore everything from torn jeans and sneakers to designer ball gowns and tuxedos. Quicke’s catered to all segments of Bigtime’s population, including superheroes and ubervillains. Framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the brick walls. Action figures crouched in mock-fighting positions on the shelves behind the bar, along with car replicas and plush toys. I was pleased to note there were more than a few Fiera figures among the mix, including one scene where a six-inch-tall version of me pummeled Scorpion. I smiled.

I scanned the tables, but I didn’t see any neon-colored costumes among the crowd. Quicke’s was one of the few places considered to be neutral territory in Bigtime. Both superheroes and ubervillains could eat here without worrying about being hit with heat rays or thrown through the plate-glass windows. In fact, with its fast turnaround time, more than one superhero and ubervillain grabbed a sandwich or salad at Quicke’s before heading out to do battle for the night. Or even in the middle of a fight. Debonair, a sometimes hero, sometimes thief with teleportation powers, was particularly fond of doing that.

Kyle seated us at a cozy table in back next to one of the windows that fronted part of Paradise Park. The colorful lights of the carousel spun round and round in the distance like a never-ending comet. Shrieks and shouts of glee penetrated the window, along with the jingle and jangle of the various other rides and attractions at the park.

Kyle gave us our menus and went back to his post at the front of the restaurant. A fat waiter named Ray came over to fill our water glasses and take our orders. Johnny decided on a black-pepper-seasoned steak with the usual trimmings, and the waiter turned to me.

“Your usual, Miss Fine?” Ray asked. Most of the staff at the restaurant knew me by name.

I started to say you betcha, but caught myself just in time. My usual consisted of half a dozen various sandwiches, five jumbo orders of fries, onion rings, hot ’n’ spicy buffalo wings, two bowls of soup, a couple liters of soda, and the cake of the day. Three of them.

“I’ll have the grilled chicken special.” It came with only a couple of measly sides. It wasn’t going to be enough food. I tried not to cringe.

The waiter looked at me, waiting for the rest of my order.

“That’s all.”

“That’s all? Are you sure, Miss Fine?”

“Positive.” I snapped the menu shut and gave it to him.

The waiter gave me an odd look, but he bowed and walked away.

Johnny grinned. “They seem to know you pretty well here, Fiona.”

I shrugged. “My store’s a couple blocks over. I eat here a lot. I was rather surprised you decided to bring me here for dinner. I expected Chezanne’s or one of the other fancy French places.”

“Why’s that?”

I stared at his expensive attire, then at the rough brick walls and simple bar that made up the restaurant. “This place seems a little tame for you.”

It was his turn to shrug. “I like good food. And Quicke’s has the best in town from what I remember.”

“From what you remember?”

Johnny nodded. “I’ve spent the past few years mostly overseas looking after our European interests, but I grew up in Bigtime and went to college here.”

From what I’d read and heard on the society circuit, Bulluci Industries was a massive corporation. The Bullucis had immigrated from the Mediterranean region a couple of generations ago, and they’d achieved the American dream of owning their own business and becoming fabulously wealthy. Besides Bella’s fashion empire, the Bullucis had several oil wells, mining interests, olive oil plants, and even a couple of automotive and motorcycle factories.

“You went to Bigtime U? I don’t remember you.” And I certainly would have. My eyes traced over his firm body. Oh yeah. I would have remembered. And done everything in my power to make sure he remembered me too.

“I think it was a little before your time. I’m seven years older than Bella. You were probably still in high school when I was at Bigtime U.”

Actually, I was probably still in Ireland at the time. We hadn’t come to America until my mother died after a long battle with breast cancer. Seven years older than Bella? Let’s see. That would make him about thirty-six, thirty-seven. Not too old. That was another mark in his favor, along with his surprisingly good choice of restaurant.

I opened my mouth to ask Johnny another question, when a soft, breathy voice cut in.

“Well, if it isn’t Fiona Fine, designer to the rich and famous.”

My eyes narrowed. I knew that voice, and I didn’t like the person it belonged to one bit. I looked up to find Erica Songe hovering over us. Erica was a news reporter for SNN, the Superhero News Network. She was one of SNN’s rising stars, having gone from being the substitute late-night weather girl on the weekends to an evening news on-air personality in a matter of months.

Now, I don’t like reporters in general. They’re always getting in the way when I’m trying to roast some ubervillains, shoving a camera in my face afterward, or attempting to uncover my real identity, just like Carmen had done. Why did they have to be so nosy and demanding all the time? I couldn’t understand why reporters just didn’t stay away and let me do my kick-ass thing. It would work out better for everyone. At least the photographers and videographers knew enough to steer clear of me. Or at least stay a couple hundred feet away. Ruin a few five-thousand-dollar cameras and people weren’t so eager to take your picture anymore.

But Erica Songe was the worst of the worst. Just because she was on television, she thought that made her special. Erica had come into my store when she’d first gotten into town and ordered several pricey suits for her on-air appearances. The clothes she wanted were on backorder, along with everything else. The reporter had hit the roof when I told her that she’d have to wait just like everyone else. She thought she deserved special treatment just because she was a member of the media. Please.

Erica Songe had acted more spoiled than Joanne James ever dreamed of being. Screaming. Yelling. Threatening the staff. Demanding that we treat her like the princess she was. Or else. It had taken every bit of patience I had not to drop-kick Erica out onto the sidewalk. I’d settled for ripping up her orders and barring her from the store. For life. She tried to act cool about it, always coming up and speaking to me and being as sweet as honey whenever we crossed paths. But I knew she hated me. The feeling was mutual.

“Nice to see you too, Erica.”

“Who’s your handsome friend?” she asked, her eyes zeroing in on Johnny.

Erica had long, black hair, blue eyes, and lips that had so much collagen in them they looked like they were about to explode. Her size-two figure was poured into a black dress that showed off as much tanned flesh as it concealed. Erica had a sultry, sex-kitten vibe to her that turned more than one head in the room, not all of them male.

“My handsome date is Johnny Bulluci.” I reached over and put my hand on top of Johnny’s, staking my claim for the evening.

His warm thumb drew lazy circles on the back of my hand. I looked up. Johnny’s eyes were on me, not Erica. Score another one for Johnny Bulluci. I loved attentive men.

“Care if I join you?” Erica asked.

“Actually, we were right in the middle of a very intense, very private discussion. We don’t really feel like company tonight. Sorry, Erica. I’m sure you understand.”

A tight, annoyed smile curved Erica’s oversized lips, and I knew she wanted to wrap her purse strap around my throat and strangle me with it. But her face smoothed over after only a few seconds. Nothing rattled her for long.

“Of course, Fiona.” Erica drew a small piece of paper out of her handbag. “Just let me leave my card with Johnny. In case he ever gets tired of...well, whatever.” She licked her lips and gave him her best I’m-so-slutty-I’ll-do-you-under-the-table stare.

I snatched Erica’s card out of her hands before Johnny could even reach for it and tore it into pieces. “So sorry, Erica. The only number Johnny needs to remember tonight and for the foreseeable future is mine.”

Erica’s mouth opened and closed. She seemed shocked that someone would spoil her fun when she was trying to be cute and coy and seductive. Erica turned on her heel and stalked off. I watched her sashay over to the bar, where Kelly Caleb, another SNN reporter, perched on a round stool.

The two of them couldn’t have been more different. While Erica’s barely there clothes screamed trashy whore, Kelly wore a navy dress with a modest neckline that brushed the tops of her ankles. Kelly’s blond hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her face was free of the heavy makeup she wore on television. Erica had enough lipstick and eyeliner on to paint a clown’s face.

Erica snapped her fingers, and the bartender rushed to get her a drink. Erica turned to Kelly, gesturing wildly and no doubt saying all sorts of horrid things about me. Kelly’s gaze met mine, and her eye twitched, almost in a wink. The blond woman’s wide lips quivered, as though she was trying not to laugh at Erica’s tirade.

I didn’t particularly care for Kelly either. She was, after all, a reporter and thus the enemy, but I waved at her and smiled. Erica might think that she was the baddest bitch in the room, but she had nothing on me. I was Fiona Fine, for crying out loud. I’d been playing the society game in Bigtime before she’d even thought about having fat stuffed in her lips or saline in her breasts.

“Well that was interesting.” Johnny leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I take it she’s not a friend of yours.”

“I can’t stand that woman. Something about her just rubs me the wrong way.” Actually, it was everything about her.

“Well, I’m glad you got rid of her. You’re the one I asked to dinner, not her.”

Johnny’s eyes met mine. My heart fluttered.

Our food arrived, and we spent the next half hour eating, talking, and laughing. Johnny Bulluci had a teasing, devilish sense of humor I found refreshing after all the posing, pretentious playboys that populated the Bigtime society scene. He was frank, honest, and not above telling humiliating stories about himself. I particularly enjoyed the one about him stealing his father’s car when he was thirteen and taking Bella to ride on the carousel in Paradise Park. And he had the most fantastic laugh, warm and throaty and deep. It made me smile, something I hadn’t done much of in a very long time.

The only problem was that I polished off my grilled chicken, vegetables, a side salad, and half a bottle of wine before Johnny was even halfway done with his steak, baked potato, and cheddar cheese soup. And he didn’t seem too interested in his food. He’d put his fork down ten minutes ago and was listening intently to everything I said. Now, I didn’t really mind that, as it was always nice to be the center of attention, especially when that attention was coming from a handsome man. But ignoring a black-pepper-seasoned steak from Quicke’s? That was just criminal.

“So, are you going to eat that?” I asked, eyeing his half-finished steak.

Johnny stared at the meat, then at me. My stomach chose that moment to let out an ominous rumble. Mount St. Fiera needed some fuel. I cringed. My enormous appetite and related bodily functions were the only things that ever really embarrassed me.

“Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t have any lunch today.” Lame, but it was the only excuse I could think of.

Johnny laughed and pushed his plate over to me. “I don’t mind. I like a woman with a healthy appetite.”

Healthy appetite? Please. If he only knew.

I polished off Johnny’s steak, a basket of sourdough rolls, and an enormous chocolate soufflé.

“Didn’t have lunch, eh?” Johnny asked, amused by the stacks of plates, glasses, and silverware littering the table.

“Or breakfast either,” I lied.

We finished with our meal. Johnny insisted on paying, which I found to be very old-fashioned and charming. I might be a modern, liberated woman, but it was nice to be treated to an evening out every now and again, especially since my big hunger pangs led to so many big bills. It was another point in his favor.

Once the check was squared away, we went out through the restaurant’s side exit. We stood there in the warm twilight, listening to the cheery carousel music from the park. Now came the tricky part of the evening. Did I really want to invite Johnny back to my apartment? Sure, we’d made out at the wedding and shared a steamy kiss earlier this evening, but did I want to go the rest of the way? Was I ready to do that? Especially with someone I’d known only two days? It had seemed like a terrific idea at the wedding, but now, I wasn’t so sure.

Oh, I liked sex, and I wasn’t ashamed of it. I’d had my share of ill-advised, torrid affairs in college, including a couple of one-night stands. But with Travis, sex had come to mean something else entirely. It had been making love, sharing my body with someone who cared about me as much as I cared about him. Not to mention the fact that we’d been together five years. I wasn’t sure I knew how to be with anybody else. My hand crept to my engagement ring. Or if I even wanted to, sex or no sex. There was always self-fulfillment, so to speak.

“How about a stroll through the park?” Johnny suggested.

“That’d be nice,” I said, relieved I wouldn’t have to make a decision just yet.

We crossed the street and entered Paradise Park, one of Bigtime’s biggest tourist attractions. The park featured just about every carnival ride and game in the known universe. A carousel, Ferris wheel, ring tosses, water guns, strength tests. Even now, after nine in the evening, thousands of people crowded into the park to eat funnel cakes, get dizzy and sick on the spinning rides, and try to win overpriced stuffed animals for their honeys.

The air smelled of popcorn and grease. Still hungry, I got the biggest cone of cherry-flavored cotton candy the vendor had. The pure, spun sugar melted on my tongue and quieted my stomach. There was nothing better than sugar for a quick boost of energy. It was why I kept an emergency stash of candy bars in my desk at work.

Johnny and I wandered arm-in-arm through the park, just another couple taking in the sights and sounds. To my surprise, he seemed content to stroll along the gum-littered pavement alongside the harried parents, shrieking children, and bawdy vendors. All the other men on the society circuit would have blown up like a balloon if they so much as scuffed their polished wingtips. They would have sneered in disdain at the noisy families and demanded that the park be closed down just for their visit. Not Johnny.

“You know, this doesn’t exactly strike me as your kind of scene,” I said.

“Why not?”

“From all appearances, you seem to be just another rich, spoiled playboy.” Subtlety was another area where I was lacking. “Yet here you are walking through a park instead of some posh art gallery.”

“Oh, I’m all of those things,” Johnny said. “Rich, spoiled, a playboy. But I happen to like parks. Posh art galleries are so boring. Besides, you’re one to talk.”

“Oh?”

“You seem...different from the other women I’ve met in Bigtime,” he said.

“Different? Different how?”

He shrugged. “Like you’ve got more on your mind than what you’re going to wear to the latest society bash. Sometimes, you look almost...sad.”

Sad? My cool, haughty mask must be slipping. “Sad?” I forced myself to laugh. “I’m a fabulously wealthy woman who designs fabulous clothes. What do I have to be sad about?” Just because my fiancé had been murdered by ubervillains was no reason to feel blue. Yeah right.

Johnny stared at me with his gorgeous green eyes. “I don’t know. But I can see it.”

I didn’t respond.

Johnny bought two tickets for the Ferris wheel. We climbed on board and sailed up into the night sky. We went round and round and up and down. Finally, the ride stopped to let the lovers on board have a little private time with each other. Our cart was near the top of the ride, giving us a spectacular view of the park and the city lights. Everything looked fresh and clean from this height, and the lights resembled twinkling, colored stars that had fallen from the sky.

“It’s just as beautiful as I remember,” Johnny said. “My father, James, used to bring Bella and me here at least once a week to ride the carousel and visit the animals in the zoo.” A sad, wistful tone crept into his voice.

I remembered what Joanne James had said about Bella’s father dying. “He passed away recently, didn’t he? Your father.”

Johnny’s eyes hardened. “He was murdered. A couple months ago.”

“I’m so sorry.” I put a hand on his arm. “I know what it’s like to lose someone you love so brutally.”

“Is that why you wear an engagement ring, even though there’s no fiancé around?”

Surprised, my thumb sparked. I clenched my fist to keep it from igniting. “How do you know that?”

“I asked around. There’s no fiancé or boyfriend in the picture. In fact, no one even knows who you were engaged to, according to Bella.”

I dropped my hand from his arm and twisted the ring around on my finger. Nobody had known about my engagement to Travis because we’d thought it would be safer that way. But he’d still died. Travis deserved better than to remain some anonymous, faceless figure from my past.

“I was engaged to a wonderful man. His name was Travis. He was murdered too.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s good to talk about him. My friends are afraid to ask me about him, to even mention his name. They don’t want to stir up bad memories.”

Johnny put his arm around me, and I leaned into him. His shoulder felt warm and solid under my cheek. “Tell me about him, Fiona. Tell me about Travis.”

So I did. I told him how kind and caring Travis was, how much I loved him, our plans and hopes and dreams. The only thing I left out was our nighttime occupation as Bigtime’s resident superheroes and how it had led to his death.

“What happened to the person who killed him?” Johnny asked when I wound down.

The image of Malefica plunging into a vat of radioactive goo flashed through my mind. “Oh, she got what she deserved in the end. What about your father? What was he like?”

“He was a lot like your Travis. Kind, caring, considerate. He was a wonderful father. The only thing we ever argued about was—” Johnny cut off his words.

“Was what?”

He hesitated. “My taking over part of...the family business.”

“I thought you’d done that already.”

“Most of it, yes. But there was one area I wasn’t particularly interested in. That’s where my father and I disagreed. In fact, I hung up on him the last time we talked about it. It was the last time I ever spoke to him.” Sadness and guilt tightened his handsome face.

I squeezed his hand. “Have the police caught the person responsible for his death?”

“The police are useless. They can’t do anything about it. But I can. And I will. The people responsible are going to pay. More than they ever dreamed of.” The vehemence in his voice startled me. His eyes glittered with anger and a deadly promise.

Johnny turned to me, and some of the anger melted away. “But let’s think about happier things. Here we are stuck on top of a Ferris wheel, the whole city at our feet. It would be a shame to let the view go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Johnny pulled me toward him. His eyes glowed like a lion’s in the twilight, illuminating the chiseled planes of his face. My heart quickened. My lips parted. I leaned forward. He did the same. And then—

My cell phone rang.

Chapter Seven

We stared at each other, frozen in an almost-kiss. My phone kept ringing out the old song “Light My Fire,” by The Doors. The loud, blaring rock tune could mean only one thing. Fiera was needed. My desire to kiss Johnny warred with my duty and responsibilities as a superhero. It was a short, tough battle, but duty won out. Drat. Why did my father have to raise me to always do the right thing?

“Please excuse me.” I dug through my purse, grabbed my phone, looked at the caller ID, and tapped the screen. “This better be good, Henry.”

“Sorry to interrupt, Fiona, but we’ve got a tip on a possible location for Siren and Intelligal. The chief wants you here ASAP. We’re going to go after them and see if we can shut them down.”

I was about to respond when Johnny’s phone started to ring. I recognized the tune as “I Won’t Back Down,” by Tom Petty. He gave me a sheepish grin and answered the call. Johnny listened for a moment, then turned away from me and started speaking in a low, hushed voice.

I focused on Henry. “All right, I’ll be there as soon as I can. But tell the chief that he’s going to pull one of my shifts for interrupting my date.” Sometimes, I wondered whether my father used his psychic radar to monitor me a little too closely, especially now that Travis was gone.

“You’re out on a date? That’s wonderful, Fiona!” I could almost see Henry beaming at me through the phone. “It’s about time you started dating again. Are you having a good time? Did he take you somewhere nice? He should try to make a good impression on the first date. Did he bring you flowers? Or chocolates?”

I rolled my eyes. Ever since he’d hooked up with Lulu, Henry thought he knew a thing or two about love. Like most men, the computer geek would be forever clueless.

“He made a terrific impression. See you soon.” I hung up.

Johnny finished his call and turned to me.

“That was Henry. He…keeps an eye on the store for me at night. There’s a problem with one of my suppliers. I’m afraid I’m going to have to cut the evening short and go deal with it.”

Johnny shook his head. “This seems to be the night for emergencies. Bella called. One of my business managers is concerned about a potential investor. Seems he wants to back out of a previously negotiated deal. I’m afraid I have to leave as well.” Regret tinged his voice, as though he didn’t want the evening to end.

I didn’t either. To my surprise, I’d been having a wonderful time, memories of Travis and all. There was more to Johnny Bulluci than just a handsome face and hard body. A lot more. I wanted to see him again. Soon. So, I told him.

“I’d like to see you again too, Fiona. Why don’t we meet up Monday night?” Johnny asked. “Unfortunately, I have to work this weekend, or I would suggest we get together sooner.”

Tonight was Thursday. Monday, Monday. I flipped through my mental calendar. Work in the morning, followed by an afternoon of PR as Fiera, then a benefit that night.

I shook my head. “I can’t. I have to attend the annual fundraiser for the Bigtime Observatory. It’ll be so boring, all those scientific, astronomer types talking about star charts and aliens and whatnot, but I already sent in my RSVP.”

In addition to always doing my duty as a superhero, my father had also drilled it into my head how important it was to keep the promises I made, no matter how small or trivial they might seem. But that didn’t mean I still couldn’t have some fun with Johnny.

“You could meet me there, and we could sneak out afterwards,” I suggested.

“It’s a date.”

He grinned, and my heart fluttered. The man had one hell of a smile. And great eyes. And a terrific body. And... The list went on for quite a while.

“So I guess this is good night,” Johnny said.

“I guess so.”

I stared into Johnny’s eyes. Then, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He put his arms around me and pulled me closer. This kiss wasn’t like the others. Oh, it was still hot and passionate. But there was a gentle sweetness to it, a sense of letting down our cool, guarded, society façades. The rich, charming playboy and the bitchy fashion designer were getting to know each other, faults and all. The Ferris wheel jerked and began to drift downward. We kissed until the ride stopped.

* * *

I had Johnny drop me off outside my store to keep up appearances. I waited until the limo’s taillights disappeared, hailed a cab, and went back to my apartment to get my convertible.

Twenty minutes later, I got off the interstate and turned onto a pothole-filled dirt road that seemed to end in the middle of the woods. I kept my foot on the gas, plunging the car into a dark stand of pine trees. My tires fell into a well-worn track, and my headlights bounced off a rock wall up ahead. I flicked them on and off five times in rapid succession. The wall slid aside, and I drove into a lighted tunnel, which stretched out for another mile before expanding into an underground garage.

The garage, like the rest of the underground Fearless Five compound, was hollowed out of the extensive network of caverns beneath Sublime. Wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools lined the garage walls, along with cans of oil, wires, and other automotive parts. Five black vans huddled together inside the open space. They were our preferred mode of transportation when we went out into the city at night to fight crime and help with natural disasters. The vans resembled the one from the old A-Team television show, only the F5 vehicles had more computer equipment and electronic gizmos stuffed inside them than collagen in Erica Songe’s pouty lips. Thanks to Sam’s money and Henry’s technological genius, the vans were also bullet-, bomb-, and ubervillain-proof.

Henry’s small, white scooter was also parked inside the garage, along with my father’s city-issued sedan. So was Lulu’s van. I frowned. What was the computer guru doing down here this late at night? She should be at home trying to hack into the CIA mainframe or hijack the SNN nightly newscast or something equally geeky.

I parked my convertible and strolled over to the metal door set into the far wall. The lights flickered, reminding me that I had only thirty seconds left before the garage would be filled with a potent sleeping gas. I punched in 555, the security code, on the blinking keypad and stepped inside. The door whooshed shut and locked behind me, another layer of security. If someone ever stumbled into the garage from the outside, she wouldn’t be able to go any farther into the compound without the code. And once the gas took effect, we could transport her out of the garage without her ever being the wiser. At least, that was the theory. No one had ever breached our defenses before, except Carmen, and now Lulu.

I strode down the halls until I reached the double doors that led into the library. The others were gathered inside, costumes on. My father wore a green-and-white outfit with a flowing cape that transformed him into Mr. Sage, while Henry’s black-and-white uniform and matching goggles morphed him into Hermit. Lulu wore her usual getup of designer jeans and a Bulluci fleece pullover. The cobalt streaks in her hair gleamed under the flickering screen mounted on one wall. Blueprints winked on and off like a pair of bloodshot eyes blinking at me.

“Finally. We’ve been waiting almost an hour,” Hermit said.

I flipped my hair over my shoulder. “I came as fast as I could. I had to get rid of my date first, you know. I couldn’t just fire up and come running.”

“Was he a little too hot for you to handle, Fiona?” Lulu joked.

I glared at the computer hacker. Another heat-related pun. Ha, ha, ha, ha. One of these days I was going to show her just how hot under the collar I could get. My fingers curled into loose fists. Red-hot sparks landed on the Persian rug under my feet.

My father stomped them out and put a restraining hand on my arm. “Go get changed and meet us back in the garage. There’s no time to waste.”

Lulu zoomed out of the room, followed by Henry and my father. I jogged down to the equipment room, punched in the code, and went inside. I grabbed one of my many superhero suits hanging behind a pair of glass doors along one side of the room and the rest of my gear from another compartment. While I shimmied into the spandex, I glanced at a rack of swords sitting in the middle of the room. I thought about taking them along but decided against it. Weapons were Sam’s—Striker’s—thing. Not mine. My flames and fists were enough.

Fiera costume on, I retraced my route to the garage, stopping when I got to the kitchen. I glanced down the hall. Another minute wouldn’t hurt. Besides, I needed to keep up my strength in case I got to toast Siren and Intelligal tonight. It was hard to do my sacred superhero duty on an empty stomach. I grabbed three bags of chocolate chip cookies from one of the kitchen counters and continued on to the garage.

Hermit was already in the driver’s seat in one of the vans. The side door was open, and the engine idled. I started to get into the van when I realized Lulu was strapped inside. In my seat.

“She’s coming?”

“Of course,” Hermit said, turning around. “She helped me track down Siren and Intelligal. Since Karma Girl and Striker are on hiatus, I asked her to come along and man the van and comm links, while I help you guys in the field.”

“Oh, goody.”

I slid into Karma Girl’s usual spot in the very back and crossed my arms over my chest. Lulu ignored my hot stare, pulled out her laptop, and started banging away. My father turned around in his seat and gave me a look, clearly wanting me to play nice. That was something else I’d never quite learned to do. At least, not very well. Being an only child, I was used to getting my way. All the time. And I liked it.

I rolled my eyes. But parental guilt could still make me do funny things sometimes, like be polite to a criminal mastermind. “So where are our two ubervillains at?” I asked, attempting to be marginally friendly.

“Right now, they’re holed up in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, a couple of miles away from the old Snowdom Ice Cream Factory. Or what’s left of it.”

In other words, the ubervillains were squatting next to a big pile of rubble. The Fearless Five had spent some time at the factory last year during our run-in with the Terrible Triad. The factory had paid the price for being the site of a superhero-ubervillain battle. Not to mention the fact that Carmen had stuffed enough explodium bombs in the building to decimate the whole city.

“How did you find them?” I asked. “I thought they were untraceable or some such nonsense.”

Hermit glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “I created a new computer program to track the exhaust fumes from Intelligal’s chair. It’s powered with a combination of electricity, gas, and some sort of radioactive isotope I haven’t identified yet. The point is that it lets off a particular combination of fumes and radiation.”

“Clever as always, Hermit,” Mr. Sage said.

“I couldn’t have done it without Lulu’s help,” Hermit said.

Lulu smiled at her honey’s praise, a goofy grin spreading across her heart-shaped face. She stared at his back, her eyes soft and dreamy. Her obvious affection for him almost made her part of the team. Almost.

“So what do you think they’re doing at that factory? Braiding each other’s hair?”

I snickered. More than likely, the two ubervillains were trying to pull it out. For partners in crime, they didn’t seem to get along too well.

“I have no idea. Their crime wave doesn’t make any sense,” Hermit said. “One day, they’re stealing electronic equipment. The next, they’re loading up on computer chips. The day after that, they’re taking jewels from Bigtime’s finest. I can’t figure out what they’re up to.”

I shrugged. “Does it really matter? They’re bad, we’re good, and we’re going to stop them.” Being a superhero had always been rather black-and-white to me. No gray allowed. Nobody looked good in gray, especially superheroes.

Hermit drove through the streets of Bigtime, stopping at a red light. Suddenly, Swifte was there. The speedy, iridescent-clad superhero skidded to a stop in front of the van. He waved at us and dashed away to do whatever it was he did all by himself late at night. Before the light changed, three police cars hauled ass in the same direction. A white van bearing the SNN logo zoomed by a couple seconds after that.

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“Big traffic accident on the southbound side of the interstate. Looks like fifty cars involved. Injuries, gasoline fires, people trapped in their vehicles, the usual,” Lulu explained, staring at her computer screen.

“Should we divert?” Mr. Sage asked.

Lulu pounded a few more keys. “Nah. Swifte’s already there, along with the Invisible Ingénues. It looks like they’ve got things under control.”

“How can you tell the Ingénues are on the scene?” I asked.

“Because they’re not quite so invisible when they’re covered with soot and ash. Look.”

Lulu turned the screen around. Sure enough, I spotted two shapely outlines pulling people out of burning, crumpled cars.

“Good for them. Who knows? Maybe they’ll finally get the recognition they deserve, and not be so invisible anymore.” I laughed. Lulu wasn’t the only one who could do bad puns.

The others looked at me like I’d just sprouted a third eye. Lulu shook her head and went back to her typing. Mr. Sage stared out the window, while Hermit concentrated on his driving.

I ignored them. It was funny. Johnny would have laughed at my joke. Johnny. My hands crept up to my lips. I could still feel his lips on mine, still smell his rich, exotic scent. Maybe I’d call him when I got home. Rich, spoiled playboys kept late hours. It might not be too late for a booty call—

“We’re here,” Hermit said, stopping the van and killing the headlights.

I peered out the front. We sat at the end of a long, deserted street. Buildings squatted all around us. Even though it was dark, I could see the graffiti on the walls and the broken doors and windows. Trash and debris cluttered the streets and alleyways, spilling out of the tops of metal cans and Dumpsters. A few streetlights flickered on and off, as though in pain.

“Where are we?” I asked.

“About two miles east of Good Intentions Lane,” Lulu said.

That explained it. Good Intentions Lane made a mockery of its own name. It was one of the worst streets in Bigtime and the major hangout of drug-running gangs like the Westsiders. Every couple of weeks, we had to come down here and clean out the riffraff. The gangbangers were like cockroaches, though. You could never get them all, and they always scuttled back out from their hiding places when the lights were turned off—or when there were no superheroes or cops around.

“The factory’s a block ahead on the right,” Hermit said. “I figured you could go through the front, Fiera, while Mr. Sage and I went in through the back.”

“Works for me.” We always sent the muscle in first. Me.

We piled out of the van. Hermit, Mr. Sage, and I activated the cameras in the F5 insignias on our costumes and shoved miniature two-way transmitters into our ears.

“Check, check,” Lulu said, her voice crackling in my ear.

We checked back to her.

Lulu’s slender fingers danced over the keyboard, and her laptop whirred and sputtered. “All right. You guys are online. I’ve got visual and audio on all of you.”

“Then let’s rock ’n’ roll,” I said.

“Be careful,” Lulu said.

Hermit squeezed her hand. “Always.”

We locked Lulu in the van and crept down the block. Discarded candy wrappers and empty soda cans littered the street, crackling under our boots. Enormous rats scurried back and forth in the debris, their eyes red pinpricks of light in the semidarkness. I glared at the odious little monsters. Maybe if I barbecued a couple, the others would get the message and run away. Probably not. Rats were nasty, tenacious creatures. Rather like ubervillains.

The wind shifted, whipping trash into the air and gusting down the street toward us. The smell of rotten garbage, wet fur, and fresh dirt filled the night. I also caught a whiff of something sickeningly sweet, almost like perfume. My nose twitched. For a second, I felt slow and limp and languid, like my body wasn’t my own to command. Then, the scent was gone, overpowered by the filth around us. The weak sensation faded. My eyes scanned the street, but I didn’t spot anything moving among the piles of trash, except for the foot-long rodents.

We rounded the corner of a building. A cracked parking lot stretched out in front of us, leading to a low, square building set back from the dilapidated street a couple hundred yards.

“This is it. This is where I tracked Intelligal’s chair to. It used to be a television factory way back when.” Hermit hit a few buttons on his handheld supercomputer. “Here are the entrances and exits. You should go in through the front here, Fiera. Mr. Sage and I will come in back here, and we’ll meet in the middle there.” He pointed to various squiggles on the screen.

“Front door. Got it.”

We huddled together in the shadows. Our eyes went to each other’s faces. Despite our powers, we knew that one night all of us might not come back. It had happened before when we’d least expected it. And it could happen again. I put my fist over my heart. Mr. Sage and Hermit followed suit. Courage, all.

Then, one by one, we eased toward the factory and the ubervillains inside.

* * *

I waited for Mr. Sage and Hermit to slip into the dark alley that ran along the side of the building before I scurried across the parking lot. I made it to the entrance without incident and glanced over my shoulder. Nothing.

A set of uneven steps led up to the front door, which was boarded over with rotten-looking two-by-fours. I paused. Looking. Listening. Nothing. I started up the steps, which shrieked and groaned like a woman in labor under my weight. I winced. Good grief. I bet they heard that in the next time zone. I might have a variety of superpowers and skills, but moving quietly wasn’t one of them. So, I did what I do best—I put a little muscle into the situation.

I yanked the boards off the building and tossed them over my shoulder. The door followed three seconds later. Darkness spilled out from the interior, and I stepped inside. I made my way through a series of abandoned offices that lined the front of the building. Moonlight shimmered in through the broken windows, painting the square, empty rooms with an eerie gray glow. The usual assortment of crushed cigarettes, empty beer bottles, and used condoms covered the floor. How romantic.

I found a set of metal doors that led into the factory and peered through the grimy windows on them. The doors opened up into one enormous room. Assembly lines, pipes, and more snaked through the open space. I couldn’t see the back wall for all the metal zigzagging everywhere. I couldn’t see very far into the factory at all.

“Anything, guys?” I whispered.

“Nothing so far, Fiera. We’re at the back door ready to come inside,” Hermit said in my ear.

“Lulu?” I asked.

“Everything’s fine, as far as I can tell.”

“All right. Here I go.”

I tried the metal knob. Locked. Not for long. I gave it a good tug, pulled the knob off, yanked the door open, and stepped through. I paused. Waiting. Watching. Listening. Everything was still and quiet and hushed inside. I moved slowly, staying in the shadows and trying to keep my chunky boots from clacking too loudly on the hard floor. I went a hundred feet, then two hundred, then three. Pipes, pipes, and more pipes. The place seemed endless.

I stumbled and almost cracked my head on a metal support beam. I muttered a curse and looked down. A power cable curled around my feet. Unlike everything else in the building, it wasn’t coated with a layer of gray dust and cobwebs. It looked brand-spanking-new.

At last. A clue.

Keeping one eye on the black cable, I moved farther into the factory. I realized it was getting brighter. There was a light up ahead.

“I think I’ve got something,” I whispered. “Lights in the factory.”

“Then go with your hot self,” Lulu replied.

I rolled my eyes and kept moving. I rounded the edge of one of the assembly lines and stopped. I’d finally gotten to the belly of the beast, as it were. Halogen bulbs illuminated the scene. Computers, power cables, and more clustered together. Bits and pieces of metal littered the floor and a couple of steel tables. Soldering irons, wire cutters, and other tools crouched on wooden stools and plastic milk crates. Blueprints and schematics and weird diagrams hung on a corkboard. It was your usual ubervillain, mad-scientist lab. Intelligal was hard at work on something.

Some sort of giant, radio-karaoke-like thing stood in the middle of the makeshift workshop. I spotted a cordless microphone, a bunch of wires, and what looked like a flat-screen plasma monitor. I squinted. Where those diamonds lining the thin screen?

“Are you getting this, Lulu?” I whispered.

“Every last pixel,” the computer hacker muttered. “Although I don’t have a clue as to what that thing is or does.”

I didn’t really care what it did. When in doubt, smash. That was my philosophy. I raised my fist and focused, ready to punch through that metal like it was a piece of paper. Suddenly, I realized the hairs on the back of my neck were standing straight out. Not good.

I hit the ground rolling. A blue lightning bolt zigzagged over my head and rattled off into the darkness. Now, I don’t have my father’s psychic abilities or even Carmen’s inner voice, but after some fifteen years as a superhero, I know when an ubervillain’s trying to get the drop on me. Siren had been quiet as death, but the electrical charge in the air from her powers had given her away.

I popped up on my feet and turned around, a fireball in my hand. “Hello, Siren. So nice to see you again.”

The ubervillain stood behind me, looking as voluptuous as ever in her electric-blue suit. For once, the zipper was at a reasonable level, showing just a hint of cleavage. Evidently, Siren knew her charms would be utterly wasted on me. That or she was just cold.

“I wish I could say the same, Fiera. You and yours just keep showing up wherever Intelligal and I go,” Siren purred. “Wouldn’t you much rather put those nasty fireballs away and have a nice talk with me? I’m sure we have a lot in common, being such strong, powerful women.”

Her husky tone wrapped around my body, slowly tightening its grip. I concentrated on the fire inside me, burned away the coils, and ignored the hypnotic pull of her voice. That trick was really wearing thin. I hated women who relied solely on their bodies to get them through life. I wasn’t above using my feminine wiles to work things to my advantage every once in a while, but I also used my brains, brawn, and general bitchiness in equal parts as well. Besides lightning bolts, all Siren seemed to have was her body. What would the ubervillain do when her voice went? Or when her bazooka boobs started to sag? She wouldn’t be nearly so alluring then.

“Honey,” I said. “You’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Your two-bit persuasive thing might work on weak-willed, sex-starved men, but not me. Where’d you learn that trick anyway? Hookers High?” When in doubt, taunt the enemy. It always worked on the society circuit.

Siren’s eyes glittered with rage. A crackling energy ball popped into her hand. Her white, French-tipped nails curled around it like she was caressing her lover. “I could just electrocute you.”

My body burst into flames. “You could try.”

A loud roar filled the air, cutting off Siren’s clichéd retort. Good grief. It sounded like a couple of tanks were rolling my way. The floor trembled beneath my feet.

“Lulu, what the hell is that?” I shouted.

Lulu squawked something in my ear, but I couldn’t hear her over the rumbling. Ten seconds later, I got the answer. A sleek, silver-and-black motorcycle grumbled to a stop in between Siren and me. A motorcycle? In the middle of a factory?

A figure clad in black leather pants sat astride the huge vehicle. Angel wings shimmered on the back of his tough-guy jacket. Johnny Angel. He was a minor player in the superhero-ubervillain scene in Bigtime, not really on one side or the other. Angel was more intent on riding his motorcycle around the city late at night and raising hell than anything else. The local motorcycle gangs loved him and often tagged along, whooping and hollering and making pests of themselves.

But Angel wasn’t all bad. Sometimes, he helped out people who needed it. Damsels in distress mostly. Women about to be mugged. Women who were carjacked. Women fleeing abusive boyfriends. To them, he was an angel. To the Fearless Five, he was a minor blip on the radar screen.

“Well, if it isn’t Johnny Angel. Back from the dead so soon?” Siren cooed. “And here I thought Intelligal had finished you off for good with her heat-seeking missiles.”

I frowned. What the hell was Siren talking about? Johnny Angel wasn’t dead. He was sitting right there between us—

Angel swung one leg over his bike, and I caught a glimpse of his face. His smooth, unlined face. With a start, I realized that he was around my age. Usually, this wouldn’t be of any importance, as most superheroes and ubervillains fell in the twenty-to-forty age range, with a few exceptions like my father, who was creeping up on fifty-five, or the Tween Terrors, who hadn’t hit puberty yet. But the last time I’d seen Johnny Angel, he’d been limping down an alley, struggling to keep up with the thug he’d been chasing. Lines and sweat had painted his strained, red face. Gray had glistened in his brownish hair. He’d moved slowly, as though every step hurt.

He’d been an older man, just like my father.

Not this guy. He moved with a loose, easy confidence. Blond hair. Tan face. Light eyes. Black-and-silver, wing-shaped mask. That was all I saw before Angel turned to face Siren. I frowned. Johnny Angel might not be an ubervillain, but he should know better than to turn his back on me. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. I could melt his ass like a candle, if I wanted to.

“There’s a new Angel in town,” he snarled in a low, throaty voice. “And you’re going to pay for what you did to my predecessor.”

Siren put her hands on her hips and laughed. The dulcet tones rang like church bells, all sweetness and light. “Now why would you want to hurt little ole me?” Siren lowered the zipper on her suit, exposing more of her buoyant chest. She focused her eyes on Angel like a snake trying to hypnotize a helpless bunny. “I’m just a simple girl who’s trying to make a name for herself in the big, bad city.”

Yeah right. And I was the freaking Tooth Fairy.

Angel stilled, struggling against the pull of Siren’s voice. Since the ubervillain’s attention was focused on Angel, her tone didn’t bother me as much as usual. I circled to one side, easing to the left of them.

“Are you guys hearing this?” I muttered.

“Every word,” Mr. Sage whispered in my ear. “We’re almost there to back you up. Let them keep talking.”

Siren and Angel stared at each other, ignoring me. I took the chance to study the man. He was taller than his predecessor, his skin darker, his hair longer. My gaze swept lower, tracing over his leather jacket and the pants he’d poured himself into. And he was definitely in much better shape than the previous Angel. The old guy had a bit of a potbelly.

Now, I’d run into my fair share of superheroes and ubervillains over the years. I’d seen more buff bodies, rippling abs, and bulging biceps in skintight spandex than I could remember. But Angel gave buns of steel a whole new meaning. I frowned. But there was something strange about his skin. It almost looked hard—

“Am I interrupting something?” a tight, cold voice cut in.

My head snapped up. Intelligal hovered over us in her chair. Damn. I’d forgotten about her during my perusal of Johnny Angel’s new, improved body.

“It’s about time you got here,” Siren snapped. “Take care of them. Now.”

Intelligal hit a button, and two missiles spewed out of the depths of her chair.

Right at Angel and me.

Chapter Eight

I immediately hurled a fireball at my incoming missile. The two met in midair and exploded. Smoke, ash, and sharp bits of flying silver metal filled the factory. I ignored the smoldering debris and turned to help Angel. But it was too late. The missile was bearing down on him. Angel was going to get blown to hell and back in two seconds.

But he didn’t run or duck or even try to leap out of the way. Instead, Angel curled his hands into fists, held them down by his legs, and flexed. Please. All the chiseled muscles in the world weren’t going to save him from a rocket. The missile hit him in the chest and exploded.

I threw up my hands to ward off the bloody man-chunks and brain matter that were coming my way. To my surprise, nothing hit me, except a few bits of metal shrapnel that stung my hands and arms. Dust and soot hung like thick clouds in the air. I waved the smoke away from my face and squinted through the soupy fog.

My mouth gaped open. Johnny Angel stood in the exact spot where the missile had hit. He was still alive, although his bike was a smoldering piece of melted junk now. Incredible.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Angel mocked.

The explosion had ripped into his white T-shirt, black leather jacket, pants, and boots, but the man himself didn’t seem to have a scratch on him. His hair wasn’t even mussed. Now that was a neat trick.

“Do you care to explain this, Intelligal?” Siren hissed, taking a few steps back.

“He...he should be dead!” Intelligal sputtered. “Those are hundred-load explodium missiles! He should be nothing but a stain on the floor!”

Angel kicked aside his melted motorcycle and stepped forward. “Well, I guess it’s a good thing I have a superstrong exoskeleton then, isn’t it?”

My eyes narrowed. Wait a minute. The old Angel hadn’t had any superpowers that I’d known of, just a souped-up motorcycle. It looked like this guy was the new and improved model. My eyes strayed back to the hard body. In more ways than one.

“Don’t just hover up there!” Siren screeched. “Gas them, you fool!”

I started forward to body slam Siren into next week when a puff of light blue smoke exploded in my face. I coughed and gagged and tried not to retch. It was the same odd smell that I’d inhaled before outside the factory. The sweet, noxious stench worked its way down my throat and into my lungs. My arms and legs felt like gelatin, all loose and wobbly. Beside me, Angel choked and sputtered. We both slid to the ground, caught in a cloud of blue gas. I tried to focus. Where were Hermit and Mr. Sage?

“Hurry up! Get it loaded!” Intelligal’s voice drifted through the fog.

Metal screeched. Something hit the floor. Siren cursed.

Somehow, I rolled over onto my hands and knees. Those bitches didn’t know who they were dealing with. I was Fiera. Member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour. A little knockout gas wasn’t going to keep me from kicking their asses. Slowly, very, very slowly, I crawled forward. Metal dug into my hands and scraped my knees, but I ignored the pain and kept going. After about twenty feet, I broke free of the cloud. I drew in a deep breath of soot-filled air. I still felt weak and disjointed, but some of the feeling returned to my arms and legs.

Too late. Siren stuffed something in the side of Intelligal’s chair and hopped on the arm. The helicopter rotor popped up out of the back, and the chair whirred and flew right over me. I pointed my finger at them, but I couldn’t find the strength to muster up so much as a single spark. I couldn’t even roast a marshmallow, the shape I was in right now.

A pair of familiar green boots flashed in front of my face. “Fiera! Are you all right?” Mr. Sage asked, his eyes bright with concern.

I coughed some more. “Johnny Angel...still...in...there,” I wheezed. My tongue felt like I’d eaten a whole tube of sugar-flavored toothpaste, sticky and gooey sweet. Yuck.

“I’ll get him,” Hermit said.

He took a breath, held it, and plunged into the blue gas.

“A little help, please!” Hermit called out. “He’s too heavy for me!”

Mr. Sage reached into the cloud and helped drag Angel free of the fumes. I got to my feet, wobbling back and forth like a newborn fawn. The others weren’t in much better shape.

Something smacked against the front of the building. The windows that weren’t already busted out shattered with a collective roar. The factory quivered and trembled like a feather floating on the breeze.

“Intelligal’s firing explodium missiles at the factory! The whole place is going to come down on top of you! Get out! Get out now!” Lulu screamed in my ear.

I took another breath. My head cleared, and most of my strength returned. I put my arm under Johnny Angel’s shoulder, and my knees threatened to buckle. Hermit was right. He was heavier than he looked. The other superhero and I half carried, half dragged Angel toward the back of the factory.

“Back there!” Hermit shouted, pointing toward a door a couple hundred feet away.

Mr. Sage stopped long enough to grab some of Intelligal’s weird schematics and drawings, then followed us.

A hundred feet to go. More explosions ripped through the building. Pipes creaked and snapped like dry twigs, while the floor ripped and bucked like water.

Fifty feet. Fire shot through the air above our heads. Smoke seared my lungs.

Twenty, ten, five...

We stumbled out the door and down some steps. The night air, still reeking of garbage, revived me the rest of the way, and the fire inside me flared back to life. Behind us, the building moaned and creaked. The front section collapsed with a low, long groan, and the resulting shockwave threw us fifteen feet forward. We scrambled up and kept hobbling along, trying to get clear of the dust and debris.

About a quarter mile away, we lunged out into the street and stopped. Angel slumped against the side of a nearby building. Hermit put one knee on the ground, while Mr. Sage rested a hand on his shoulder. I put my hands on my hips, trying to get my breath back. Superstrong exoskeleton indeed. Superheavy was more like it. The four of us stood there, gulping down air.

After a few minutes, Johnny Angel straightened. His eyes swept over us. Then, he turned and started to walk away.

“Hey! Come back here!” I grabbed his arm.

“Let go of me!” he snapped.

He tried to shake me off, but I tightened my grip. It was like trying to squeeze a cement block, but I held on. Superstrength came in handy sometimes.

“Who are you? What happened to the old Johnny Angel?”

“None of your damn business.”

I pointed a smoking finger at his chest. His skin felt like solid steel through the thin fabric of his ripped, blackened T-shirt. “When you waltz in when I’m trying to apprehend two ubervillains and almost get my friends and me blown to smithereens, then you make it my business. What the hell did you think you were doing in there?”

His face hardened. Angry gold flecks sparked in the depths of his eyes, which glowed a rich green. “None of your damn business.”

“We’re not going to hurt you, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Mr. Sage said in a calm, soothing voice. “We only want to talk.”

Hermit nodded. Smoke smudged his thick goggles.

Johnny Angel stared at the three of us. Outnumbered. He nodded. “All right. We’ll talk.”

He stared down at my hand on his arm. I dropped it, even though I didn’t want to let go.

Angel leaned back against the side of the pockmarked building. From his pants pocket, he fished out a pack of cigarettes and a black lighter that had somehow survived Intelligal’s missile. Silver angel wings gleamed on the dark surface. He lit his cigarette, drew in a long drag, and blew smoke out his nostrils, showing us what a badass he was. Please. One snap of my fingers, and that cancer stick would blow up in his face like a grenade. I should light up the cigarette anyway. Didn’t he know those things would kill you? Or perhaps his lungs were as hard as his chest. And his head.

After another couple of puffs of his cigarette, Johnny spoke. “I’m the new Angel. I have been for a few months now, ever since Siren and Intelligal killed my predecessor.”

“We hadn’t heard. How did it happen?” Mr. Sage asked, his voice soft and kind. My father. Always the diplomat.

Angel stared at the ruined factory, which smoldered behind us. “The two muscled in on some of the High Riders’ territory. The motorcycle gang asked the old Angel to get rid of them. He owed the gang a favor, so he took the job. It was going to be his last gig, since he’d been training me to take over as Angel. One night, he tracked down the ubervillains and confronted them. He told them to get out of town or else. They just laughed at him, and Intelligal fired off some of her heat-seeking explodium missiles. He tried to outrun the missiles on his motorcycle, but he never had a chance.” Sad, bitter anger colored his low, throaty voice.

“Because he didn’t have superpowers,” Hermit said.

Angel nodded. “All he had was his bike. It wasn’t fast enough.”

I stood to one side and listened to the question-and-answer session. Generational superheroes and ubervillains were rare, but not unheard of. Fathers and mothers who moonlighted for the greater good or evil often passed down their powers or some variation thereof to their children. When the old folks got tired of fighting or creating crime, the youngsters donned the cape and spandex and took up the family mantle. It didn’t even have to be a family member. More than one aging hero and villain had plucked a young orphan off the streets, trained her, and introduced her to Bigtime and the world as the new whomever. Pistol Pete and Hangglider were classic examples. If I remembered correctly, Johnny Angel had been around in three incarnations now, counting the new guy.

“But you have powers, don’t you?” Mr. Sage asked. “I believe you mentioned something about an exoskeleton?”

Angel rolled up the sleeve of his tattered T-shirt and flexed his bicep. At first, I couldn’t see the difference between his bicep and anybody else’s. Well, it might have been a bit more defined than the average superhero’s. But when I looked closer, I realized there was a hard look to his skin, almost like it was stretched over steel. Plus, I could just make out a faint, weblike pattern in it.

“When I concentrate and focus on what I want to do, I’m impervious to pretty much everything. Missiles, guns, grenades, lasers.” Angel’s eyes flicked to me. “Fire.”

“Fascinating,” Hermit murmured, tapping a few buttons on his computer and angling the camera embedded in his suit for a closer look.

“We’re very sorry for your loss,” Mr. Sage said. “Believe me, we know how hard it is to lose a member of your team. But killing Siren and Intelligal won’t bring back your friend and mentor. And it won’t ease your pain. We need to capture them and turn them over to the police before they hurt someone else. That’s what superheroes do. It’s our duty. Dishing out your own brand of vigilante justice isn’t the way.”

“Turn them over to the police? Why? So they can spend a couple of weeks in prison before they break out and come back to Bigtime? The police in this town are useless. They always have been, and they always will be,” Angel scoffed.

Ouch. I glanced at Mr. Sage. His face was smooth and unreadable, but his eyes glittered. Being the chief of police, he didn’t think his men were useless. Quite the opposite. They provided valuable support to the superheroes in town, as well as taking care of the more ordinary, mundane crimes.

“I’m going after Siren and Intelligal, and there’s nothing you can do to stop me.” Angel’s green eyes shimmered in his tight face. “Get in my way, and you’ll be sorry.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. “Kill us too?”

“If you get in my way—yes. I will kill you, superheroes or not. I won’t hesitate. Not for a second. Remember that. Or suffer the consequences.”

With those words, Angel turned and stalked into the darkening night.

Chapter Nine

“Can you believe the nerve of that guy? Telling us, the Fearless Five, to stay out of his way or he’ll kill us? He must have a pair of steel balls on him to go along with that exoskeleton,” I snapped.

“Fiona,” my father chided. “There is no need for such language.”

“Well, he must,” I muttered.

After Johnny Angel huffed and puffed and stormed away, Lulu had brought the van around, and we’d gone back to Sublime. Now, we were gathered in the underground library, reviewing the mission and planning our next move. The others clustered in front of the film screen, staring at the footage from inside the factory. I sat in the corner, munching on the cookies I hadn’t had a chance to eat in the van, along with a couple of cheese burritos, a tray of tortilla chips and hot salsa, Spanish rice, refried beans, and a gallon of raspberry iced tea. The fight with the ubervillains and dragging Mr. Two-Ton Ego around had zapped a lot of my energy, so I’d made Henry stop at Olé, an all-night Mexican joint, before we headed home.

“Right now, I’m more worried about that doomsday-looking contraption the ubervillains were building. Not to mention whatever it was they gassed you with, Fiona,” Lulu said.

“Gas, missiles, flying chairs, weird inventions. It comes with the territory.” I took another bite of my cheese burrito. Spicy Monterey Jack cheese melted in my mouth. Ah, so good.

“Speaking of the gas, I collected a sample for the chief to analyze,” Henry said, holding up a glass tube full of light blue fumes. “I got it while I was trying to drag Angel out of the cloud. It looks like a fascinating chemical compound.”

Only Henry would stop in the middle of a battle to take a scientific sample of the enemies’ weapon of choice. I rolled my eyes. I loved him like a brother, but he was such a complete geek.

“Judging from the effect the gas had on Fiona, I’d say it contained some sort of superpotent muscle relaxer,” Chief Newman said, lacing his long fingers together. “Perhaps even a power inhibitor.”

“Smelled like cheap perfume to me,” I said. “As befits Siren.”

My nose twitched. I’d taken a steamy shower and washed my hair twice, but I could still smell the gas. It clung to my body like Joanne James on a widowed billionaire’s arm. Even the extra onions and hot sauce on my burritos couldn’t quite overpower the sweet, jaw-locking taste in my mouth.

“Whatever it is, I need to make some sort of antidote for it,” the chief continued. “Especially since it didn’t seem to affect Siren and Intelligal in the slightest.”

I looked at my father. “Whatever you do, just make sure it doesn’t taste like toothpaste.”

* * *

I spent the next few days working. During regular business hours, I finished up the business-wear line for fall and took care of a thousand other fashion-related details. Then, at night, it was time to suit up as Fiera, answer my fan mail, and squash the evildoers who crossed my path.

The rest of the Fearless Five worked just as hard as I did at their day jobs, and at night, we all focused on Siren and Intelligal. The chief started cooking up some antidote to neutralize the stuff they’d gassed us with, as well as putting the final touches on some earplugs to block Siren’s hypnotic voice. But Henry couldn’t figure out what their radio-like device did, and Lulu couldn’t find whatever abandoned building they were holed up in.

Still, we searched, prowling the streets in the F5 van. A few times, Johnny Angel zoomed by on a new, shiny, silver bike. We tried to flag him down, but he always ignored us, the hardheaded, egotistical snot. We even gave chase in the van a couple of times, but he was always too quick for us to catch or darted into some narrow space where we couldn’t follow. Show-off.

As for the other Johnny, Johnny Bulluci, I didn’t see him, since we were both so busy with work. That didn’t stop me from thinking about him, though. I replayed our date over and over again in my head. He was a rich, spoiled playboy. Smooth, suave, used to getting his own way. But he’d also been kind, considerate, and caring. How many guys would have sat there listening to a woman gush about her dead fiancé? Not many. We’d clicked, connected that night in the park. I was beginning to think maybe Johnny Bulluci had potential beyond being Rebound Guy.

Johnny hadn’t forgotten about me, either. The day after our date, he had a black-pepper-seasoned steak from Quicke’s delivered to my office. I’d squealed so loudly when I opened the package that Piper thought I’d gotten a box full of diamonds or something equally expensive. I’d returned the favor by sending two tickets to the Ferris wheel and a funnel cake to Bulluci Enterprises. Two hours later, I’d received a stick of cotton candy and a stuffed purple rabbit. We exchanged gag gifts the rest of the day. A sense of humor was another thing I liked in a man. Life was too short to be taken seriously. Especially when you went around town wearing body-hugging, orange-red spandex and shooting fire out of your fingertips.

Monday rolled around. I left the final details of the fall collection in Piper’s capable, anal-retentive, obsessive-compulsive hands and went home early to get ready for my latest public appearance as Fiera.

Every couple of months, SNN, The Exposé, The Chronicle, and the other media outlets in the city sponsored Meet Bigtime’s Superheroes in Paradise Park. The events were a chance for regular folks to mix and mingle with their favorite superheroes and learn about our powers, as well as raise money for some worthy causes. The members of the Fearless Five took turns attending the functions, and I was the lucky superhero today. I didn’t mind too much, though. It was fun to show off in front of people. Kids, in particular, always got a kick out of my fireball-juggling skills.

Once I was suited up, I flipped a switch just inside the door. It looked like any other light switch, but it was a special feature Henry had installed for me when I’d moved into the apartment. The switch sent out a signal that scrambled the building’s security cameras and locked down all the elevators except for the one I used for five minutes. Since I had the whole floor to myself, I didn’t have to worry about nosy neighbors—just about getting out of the building without being seen.

I rode the elevator down to the fifth subbasement, the very bottom of Tip-Top Tower. The doors pinged open, revealing a dark space filled with metal trash chutes and overflowing dumpsters. Black mold covered the damp walls, and the air smelled of rotten pizza, greasy French fries, and overripe fruit. Tip-Top Tower might be one of the most exclusive buildings in Bigtime, but it still had to have a place to collect tenants’ trash, just like every other apartment complex. Nobody, not even the maintenance men, came down here unless they absolutely had to. Lucky for me.

I walked to the very back corner of the subbasement, where a metal door stood. The lock and knob were long gone, and the door had a smushed look to it, like a bag of chocolate that had been out in the sun too long. I pointed my finger at the door, letting out a steady stream of concentrated flame, and traced along its borders. The metal heated up in seconds, casting a red-hot glow onto the rotting trash. I pulled the door open, stepped through, and repeated my welding process, sealing it behind me. The building managers thought the door had been melted shut by a long-ago gas explosion. They didn’t know it was my secret way out of the building. Slipping out of my apartment in my costume unseen by the other tenants was a necessary skill that I’d perfected over the years, especially since I couldn’t just go up to the roof and fly away like Hangman and Rocket Ron and the other winged types.

I strolled through the dark passageway, using my flaming hand as a torch. The passageway twisted and turned underneath a couple of city blocks. It was part of a network of old tunnels that ran under most of the downtown area and was one of the main reasons I’d chosen to live in Tip-Top Tower.

A pinprick of light flashed up ahead, and I dimmed my hand. The tunnel opened up into an alley close to the Bigtime Public Library. A few weeds and some loose bricks cluttered the entrance, along with the backside of a metal Dumpster. I shimmied through the space between the Dumpster and the alley wall. I peeked around the corner of the metal container, but I was the only person in the alley. With its Dumpsters, bits of smelly garbage, and cracked pavement, the alley wasn’t the sort of place most people would willingly walk into, even during the middle of the afternoon.

There were other ways out of my apartment building, but I’d found this to be the quickest and safest. Even if someone moved the Dumpster and stumbled into the passageway, they’d never get through the door at the far end without some sort of superpower. Even then, there was nothing in the tunnel that could be traced back to me. I wasn’t dumb enough to leave costumes lying around or stupid enough to write FIERA WAS HERE on the walls.

Once I was satisfied that no one was watching, I slipped out into the main street with the city’s other citizens. Most folks didn’t give me a second look. There were so many superheroes in Bigtime these days that people didn’t get too excited unless we were going fist-to-fist with ubervillains on top of a skyscraper somewhere. Still, a few people stopped and asked me for autographs, which I graciously signed.

I made my way to Paradise Park. An enormous banner across the front entrance proclaimed that it was A Super Day for Superheroes! Thousands of people, parents with kids mostly, along with the requisite fanboys, crowded into the park anxious to see their heroes in the flesh and fur. And of course, some folks from Slaves for Superhero Sex had shown up. SSS was a cult group whose members put themselves in danger in order to get close to heroes and villains. You could spot them a mile away. They always thought they had to dress up in cheerleading, French maid, and other costumes to attract the attention of their favorite hero. I thought they were all fruitcakes.

I headed for the check-in station, where a twentysomething woman carrying an enormous clipboard barked orders at her teenage underlings. A headset clung to the side of her square sunglasses, while pens, paperclips, a stun gun, and more hung in the mesh khaki vest that covered her chest. Abby Appleby. She stabbed a pen at a boy who didn’t look old enough to shave yet.

“You! Go take the Caffeinator a fresh supply of chocolate bars and coffee. Now!”

The poor kid grabbed a box of candy and a bag of beans and scurried off to do her bidding like he had jets attached to his sneakers.

Abby zeroed in on me and plastered a smile on her face. “Fiera. Glad you could make it. If you’ll follow me, I’ll show you to your booth. Everybody else is here already.”

Abby Appleby was one of the premiere event planners in Bigtime. She did everything from weddings to birthday parties to funerals. Abby had a reputation for throwing fantastic events, as well as bringing everything in on time and under budget—no matter how many toes and legs and other things she had to break to get it done. She was also one of Piper’s best friends. It was no wonder, given how tightly the two of them were wound.

“Here we are,” Abby said, stopping in front of a wooden booth decorated with orange-and-red cardboard flames and the F5 insignia.

Next door, a tall, Nordic-looking woman created snow cones with her bare hands, covered them with sugary, blue goo, and dished them out to a line of anxious kids. A giant snowflake flashed like a strobe light on her ice-blue costume.

“You’re putting me next to Wynter again?”

Wynter looked up from her snow cone making. Her blue eyes frosted over at the sight of me. Fire and ice never mixed, and Wynter and I had never gotten along. She was a bit cold and distant for my liking. I’d never once seen her smile or laugh, not even when she was taking out Hot Stuff, her archenemy.

“Sorry,” Abby apologized, pointing to another booth. “The only other spot I have is down at the end with Halitosis Hal, and you know I can’t put the two of you together.”

I followed her finger and spotted the other superhero. Halitosis Hal was a short guy with a wide but solid frame. His costume was a putrid green color, but it worked with his dark skin and hair. He was busy handing out gas masks to the folks lined up in front of his booth, which was decorated with cardboard cutouts of garlic, anchovies, and other smelly things.

No, Abby couldn’t put me down there. As his name suggested, Halitosis Hal’s superpower was his superbad breath. One whiff of it could stop the strongest ubervillain in his tracks. In addition to smelling like something that died two months ago, Hal’s breath also contained a mixture of nitrous and other flammable gases. Whenever we got too close to each other, things blew up. And not in a good way.

“I understand,” I said, slipping into the booth.

For the next three hours, I juggled fireballs, made my fingers flash like sparklers, bench-pressed parents, and scampered around in my skintight spandex costume, much to the delight of shrieking kids and fawning fanboys. I, of course, was among the more popular superheroes in attendance. Folks lined up three-deep around my booth to see me light myself on fire, get autographs, and snap up official Fiera merchandise.

Everything was going fine until Kelly Caleb arrived. She had her game face on today—a smart red suit, perfect makeup, flawless hair. She was like a blond version of Erica Songe, except her suit wasn’t slit down to her bellybutton and up to her hips. Kelly wandered through the rows of booths with her SNN cameraman, chatting and shaking hands with the superheroes like they were her close, personal friends. She even hugged Halitosis Hal and Pistol Pete. Hugging. Please. Superheroes did not hug people. At least, not this superhero.

The news reporter stopped in front of my booth and gestured for her cameraman to shoot some video of me juggling fireballs. I thought about using one of them to melt the television camera but decided against it. I’d promised my father that I wouldn’t set anything on fire at the park today. I supposed that included nosy news reporters.

“Fiera.”

“Kelly.”

“I was wondering if I could have a moment of your time.” The news reporter gave me her trademark toothy grin.

“I’m sort of busy right now.”

My pointed tone didn’t faze her. “It will only take a few minutes. You and the other members of the Fearless Five haven’t given me an interview in months, ever since you introduced Karma Girl as your new member. I’m beginning to think you’re ignoring me on purpose. And I’d hate for that to be the case. Heroes like Swifte give me all the interviews I want. Since you’re so busy, maybe I should go see if he’s here. I’m sure he’d love to be the featured lead on the evening news, especially since he’s got that new video game to promote. From what I hear, it’s selling extremely well. Even better than your action figures.”

Kelly’s voice was mild, but her tone was just as sharp as mine had been. The message was clear—play nice or else. If it had just been me, I would have ignored her. But I had a duty to the rest of the F5 team to make us look good—whether I wanted to or not. Unfortunately, duty was about doing a lot of things you didn’t want to.

So, I snuffed out the fireballs and plastered something that resembled a smile on my face. “Well, I suppose I can give you a few minutes.”

Kelly shoved a microphone at me and peppered me with questions. What I and the other team members had been up to. How Karma Girl was fitting in with the rest of the Fearless Five. If we’d heard anything from Malefica and the other members of the Terrible Triad. She skillfully moved from one topic to the next and crammed in more questions in five minutes than most reporters could get to in half an hour. Even I couldn’t deny that Kelly was good at her job. She was still a reporter, though. One that I didn’t like, no matter how fabulous she looked in the suit that I’d designed.

After another round of nosy questions, Kelly wrapped up the interview and told her cameraman to stop shooting.

“Now, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” Kelly asked.

“No,” I muttered. “I suppose not. It could have been worse. Erica Songe could have been here.”

I hadn’t meant for Kelly to hear me, but she did. The reporter’s face tightened at the mention of the other woman.

“Not a fan either?” I asked.

“You know we’re all just one big, happy family at SNN.” Kelly smiled, although it looked more like a grimace. “Erica has her uses.”

I couldn’t resist twisting the knife a little. “Like covering Black Samba and Granny Cane rescuing those trapped firefighters a couple days ago? I saw the news and was surprised to see Erica on the scene. I thought superheroes and ubervillains were your exclusive beat at SNN. Or is that one of Erica’s uses?”

Ice filled Kelly’s eyes, turning them the same cold blue color as Wynter’s snow cones. “I know what you’re implying, but nobody muscles in on my territory. I’m the number one superhero reporter in this city, and I plan on keeping it that way—whatever it takes. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Fiera, I need to get this on the air for the six o’clock news. Thanks for the interview.”

Kelly jerked her head at the cameraman, and the two of them left the park. Sometimes, I thought corporate politics were just as dangerous as superhero-ubervillain battles, although without the building-leveling explosions. I shook my head and returned to my fans.

After Kelly left, the event wound down, and the other superheroes started packing up, ready to go out and prowl the streets for the night. I gave my regards to Abby, who was now barking orders at the cleanup crew, and headed for home.

I started to walk back to the alley next to the library. On an impulse, I cut through a row of pine trees that marked the park’s borders and headed for Bigtime Cemetery. A wrought-iron gate surrounded the sloping, green expanse, and marble tombstones, pinnacles, and angel statues dotted the manicured lawn. The wild carousel music and shrieks of glee from the park faded away to mere whispers.

My steps grew slower, heavier as I headed for my destination, but I pushed on until I reached a white marble tombstone. The words Travis Templeton Teague. Beloved by all flowed across the marker. A few wilted flowers and cracked, faded, weather-worn action figures surrounded the gravesite. People didn’t leave as many flowers and cards as they used to. Superheroes and ubervillains came and went in Bigtime, and most folks were slowly forgetting about Travis aka Tornado.

Not me. I would never forget him. Never. I crouched down, straightening the action figures and arranging the flowers into a tidy pile. I did that for a long time, thinking about him and how much love there had been between us. My heart ached, and hot tears steamed off my flushed cheeks.

Travis had been taken from me before his time. It was cruel, unfair, and there was nothing I could do about it. But he was in a better place now, watching over me. I knew he was. I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. I would give anything for Travis to be here with me now. But that would never happen.

It was time to move on. To date again. To laugh again. To fall in love again. My father was right. I couldn’t live in the past forever, and Travis wouldn’t want me to. He would want me to be happy, to be with someone who made me happy, whether it was Johnny Bulluci or someone else further down the line. I quit twisting my ring and stood.

“I love you, Travis. I always will.” I pressed a kiss to my hand and put it on top of the tombstone. The sun-warmed marble felt smooth as glass under my fingers.

Then, I turned and walked away.

Chapter Ten

After leaving the cemetery, I slipped back into my apartment, stripped off my superhero suit, and got ready for the observatory benefit.

I took extra care with my I-might-have-sex-tonight beauty rituals. Daydreaming about Johnny all weekend had fired up my hormones even more than usual. I liked him. He liked me. Why shouldn’t we have a little fun after the party tonight?

Then, it was time to pick my dress for the evening. I hadn’t seen Johnny in a few days, and I wanted to remind him just how fabulous I was. I walked up and down the rows of clothes in my massive closet, pulling things out, tossing them aside, grabbing even more outfits. After about thirty minutes of contemplation, I decided on a jade-green ball gown with a high neck, long sleeves, and a skirt that reached to my ankles.

From a distance, the dress looked very prim and proper, but the back was completely exposed, showing off my shoulders and muscles, while the sequined fabric clung to my body, hinting at what lay beneath. I pulled my hair back into a smooth, coiled bun. Strappy silver stilettos and long, dangly emerald earrings completed the sophisticated look. Perfect.

I eyeballed my purse. Something was missing from the mess inside. Lipstick, compact, cell phone, credit cards. I remembered what I’d forgotten. I rummaged around in my nightstand drawer and drew out a couple of dust-covered condoms. I stared at the foil packages, and the old, nagging doubt flared up inside me.

Despite my visit to the cemetery, I couldn’t quite shake the feeling that I was betraying Travis by moving on. But Travis would want me to be happy. He would. And Johnny made me happy. For the moment. He might turn out to be a loathsome little toad tomorrow, but tonight, he was Mr. Right.

I pushed aside my guilt and stuffed the condoms in my purse. If you were going to play around, you should be safe doing it. I was already on the pill, but a girl couldn’t be too careful, even if she was a superhero. Better to have the condoms and chicken out than push ahead without them.

I drove my convertible to the benefit, top up to preserve my hair, handed the keys to a tuxedo-clad valet, and walked up the curving steps to the observatory. Situated on a towering hill on the outskirts of town, the Bigtime Observatory was the highest point in the city, farther up than even the gleaming skyscrapers downtown. A museum to all things star-related sat on top of the hill, along with the round, white dome that housed the observatory’s powerful telescope and other sensitive scientific equipment. The observatory was also connected to a nature center and park, where people could come and get up close and personal with smaller woodsy animals like owls, otters, and foxes. A manmade river flowed down the steep hill, through the woods and animal habitats that surrounded the observatory, forming a waterfall and small lake, before continuing its journey toward the city and out into Bigtime Bay.

Every spring, the scientists who ran the observatory and nature center put away their pocket protectors, telescopes, and black glasses, and threw a party to raise enough money to keep operating for another year. In addition to scientific research, the observatory was a favorite with Bigtime teachers, who brought thousands of students to the facility every year to stargaze, visit the animals, and swim in the lake. Science wasn’t my favorite thing, not by a long shot, but my pockets were deep enough to get me invited to the party every year.

I gave my engraved invitation to the guy working the door and stepped inside. The observatory featured square, white rooms, sharp angles, and high ceilings. Scientific instruments with names too long to pronounce, detailed star charts, and planetary images adorned the walls, along with interactive displays about physics and astronauts and trips to the moon. The displays had already captivated some of Bigtime’s finest, who were pushing buttons and staring at the flashing lights like kids high on sugar.

I walked to the museum’s main auditorium, where most of the school programs were held. The semicircle of hard, wooden chairs had been replaced with circular tables, and big models of planets dangled from the ceiling. A band played swing tunes on the stage at the far end of the room, while waiters dispensed food to the hungry crowd. Through it all, the observatory’s scientists tried to blend in with the suave, sophisticated businessmen and women. But it was easy to tell who was who. The scientists kept tugging on their too-tight ties and ill-fitting dresses.

I grabbed a glass of champagne and roamed through the crowd looking for Johnny Bulluci. All the usual partygoers were in attendance, with Joanne James and Berkley Brighton holding court in the middle of the auditorium. The sparkle from Joanne’s engagement ring would blind a bat at thirty paces. My father stood near them, schmoozing with a couple of lonely widows. I caught his eye and waved.

To my surprise and displeasure, news reporter Erica Songe was also on the scene. She stood at the far end of the room next to a short, slender woman. The contrast between the two was striking. Erica’s voluptuous form was poured into a pink dress that looked like transparent pieces of tissue sewn together. The flimsy garment exposed far more than it covered up, and more than a few men had their eyes firmly fixed on Erica’s cleavage. How trashy.

The other woman wore a black, kimono-style garment that covered her from neck to feet. The bulky fabric swallowed her up, hiding any hints about her figure. Her mousy, brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and a scowl painted her pasty face. Tortoiseshell glasses perched on her nose, which was set rather high in the air. She might as well have had NERDY SCIENTIST tattooed on her chest. A tall, fat cameraman hovered nearby, downing champagne like he was dying of thirst. I didn’t blame him. I’d drink too if I had to work with the likes of Erica Songe.

A familiar motorized whir caught my ear, and I zeroed in on Henry and Lulu. Henry had traded in his usual polka-dot bow ties for one of my classy tuxedoes, while Lulu wore a scarlet dress that showed off her pale skin and blue-and-black hair. The two huddled in a corner by themselves, engaged in an intense conversation. Henry held on to Lulu’s hand and said something, almost pleading with her. Lulu shook her head. Henry dropped her hand, turned on his heel, and stalked away. Lulu stared at his retreating back. What was that about?

Determined to find out, I marched over to the other woman. “Trouble in paradise?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you, Fiona?” Lulu looked away, but not before I caught the gleam of tears in her dark eyes. “For Henry to dump me.”

The hurt tone in Lulu’s voice made me hesitate. I didn’t like the computer hacker. I’d made no secret of that. We’d come too close to getting killed last year to take any more chances than necessary. Letting Lulu Lo, one of Bigtime’s computer geniuses and not-quite-aboveboard citizens, in on our secret identities wasn’t the smartest thing we’d ever done.

But Carmen trusted her, and Henry loved her. And Lulu loved Henry, from what I’d seen. I loved Henry too, and I wanted him to be happy. If Lulu made him happy, well, I supposed I could live with her. After all, I’d come to live with Carmen. So, I decided to put my personal feelings aside and do my duty to support Henry—and his hacker honey.

“No, I don’t want Henry to dump you.”

Lulu snorted. “Oh, come off it, Fiona. You can’t stand me.”

I ignored her comment. “Why would Henry dump you? Are the two of you fighting? The two of you never fight.” In addition to having superstrength, I was also supertenacious, especially when it came to the people I cared about.

“It’s nothing. Absolutely nothing,” Lulu muttered. She hit a button on her wheelchair and zoomed away.

I started to melt her tires to get her to stop, when a low voice sounded behind me.

“Hello, beautiful.”

My heart fluttered. I put my most dazzling smile on my face and turned around. Johnny Bulluci stood behind me, wearing a perfectly fitted tuxedo that showed off his golden hair and bronze skin. My eyes zipped up and down him. The man looked yummy enough to eat. And I was always hungry. For all sorts of things.

Johnny leaned in and planted a kiss on my cheek. His lips felt warm even against my flushed skin. I closed my eyes, drinking in his spicy aroma.

“Hello yourself, handsome.”

Johnny’s eyes raked over me in a slow fashion. He let out a low whistle. “Nice dress.”

I smoothed down the slinky fabric. “I thought you might like it.”

“I do. A lot.” He gave me a wolfish grin and took my hand. “Come on, I want you to meet my grandfather.”

Johnny led me through the chattering crowd. More than a few eyebrows rose when we passed, and hushed whispers broke out in our wake. Gossiping about everyone and everything was one of the main activities in Bigtime society. Actually, in Bigtime in general. Tomorrow, we’d be the talk among the city’s matrons, more than a few who’d probably like to foist their daughters off on Johnny. Too bad. The man was mine. At least for tonight. I tightened my grip on his hand. And I was planning on keeping him all to myself.

Johnny strolled over to a table set against the wall, where Bella sat with their grandfather. Tonight, Bella wore a simple, peach-colored, satin sheath dress that brought out her tan skin. Pearl combs glinted in her amber-colored hair, while her usual silver angel charm hung around her throat. The two of them rose at our approach.

“Fiona.”

“Bella.”

“Nice dress,” we said in unison.

We looked at each other, not sure if we were being catty or not. A slow smile spread across Bella’s face. I grinned in return, and we laughed.

Johnny drew me forward. “Grandfather, this is Fiona Fine. Fiona, this is my grandfather, Roberto.”

“I’ve long been a fan of your work, Miss Fine.” Roberto Bulluci’s voice was just as rich and cultured as Johnny’s, except his accent was far more pronounced. He bowed low, pressed a kiss to my hand, and gave me a sly wink that would have been right at home on a much younger man. “And please call me Bobby. All my friends do.”

I laughed. “Well, I see where Johnny gets his charm from.”

“Johnny has told us quite a bit about you, including your fondness for steaks. You must come have dinner with us one evening, Miss Fine,” Bobby said. “Perhaps Bella will let me have some red meat and wine if you do.”

Bella’s lips pursed as though she’d bitten into a lemon. “Grandfather, you know the doctor said you shouldn’t eat—”

Bobby Bulluci waved his hand. A silver ring set with diamonds sparkled on his pinkie. “Bah! I’m seventy-two years old, Bella. If I want to eat steak and drink fine wine in my golden years, then I should be able to—no matter what any doctor says. They’re all fools anyway.”

Bella put her hands on her hips. “Not if you want to live to see seventy-three.”

Bobby eyed his no-nonsense granddaughter. “Just like your father, you are. Everything must always be by the book.” His tone was light and teasing.

“Well, perhaps if he were here, I’d have an easier time keeping you in line and out of trouble,” Bella said.

Her words hit a little too close to home. A cold shadow fell over the three of them at the mention of James Bulluci. Johnny’s hand tightened around mine.

“Let’s get some champagne,” I said, trying to lighten the darkening mood.

It worked. Just like always. A waiter came around, and we grabbed tall flutes filled with bubbling, golden liquid. I kept up a steady stream of chatter, and slowly but surely, the darkness faded away and the ice broke. Then again, it usually did when I was around.

Bella and I talked about our fall lines. I was going for a hip yet preppy look. Lots of bright, multicolored plaid. Lots of blazers. Lots of chunky jewelry. Bella, meanwhile, had chosen to focus on every Bigtime woman’s favorite color—black. How boring. I was sure her clothes would be exquisitely made and very beautiful, but the girl really needed to mix it up a bit. She needed some color in her life—in more ways than one.

After we exhausted the world of fashion, Bella drifted off to speak to one of the society types about her latest dress, leaving me alone with the men. After a couple of false starts, the boys and I found a topic we could talk about—soccer.

“Soccer is the true football,” I said. “Americans really don’t know what they’re missing. Anybody can kick a ball with his foot. Bouncing it off his head is what takes real talent.”

Bobby’s green eyes lit up. “Ah! A woman after my own heart.”

We chatted about various European leagues and teams and the latest scandals, and Johnny jumped in with his thoughts. After about half an hour of sports talk, Johnny took my arm again.

“I’m sorry to leave you alone, but we really need to mingle for a while, Grandfather,” Johnny said. “I’m sure Fiona has some friends that she’d like to say hello to tonight.”

“Of course, of course. Just as I have some lovely ladies that I would like to speak to as well.”

Bobby winked and pointed at a group of older women standing by the bar. The spry septuagenarian strode off, his walk tall and strong. He strolled right into the midst of the women, and more than a few of the elderly ladies perked up at his presence.

“Your grandfather is a real character,” I said. “Very charming, very lively.”

Johnny smiled. “He’s always up to something. That’s why I love him.”

We moved off into the crowd and made a circuit of the auditorium, speaking to people we knew, including Chief Newman. My father’s eyes grew dark and curious when I introduced him to Johnny.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Mr. Bulluci,” my father said, shaking Johnny’s hand.

Johnny looked at me. “I hope it’s been good.”

“So far. So far, my boy.”

The two of them started talking about manly things, like cars and sports and fine cigars. Johnny turned out to be quite an expert on the last subject, giving my father tips about what cigars to buy and where to get them from.

“I didn’t know you smoked,” I said.

Johnny shrugged. “Occasionally. Not so much since I came back to Bigtime. Americans are very uptight about it, far more so than Europeans. It takes the fun out of it. Plus, Bella won’t let me smoke in the house. She’s a real stickler for things like that.”

As the conversation progressed, my father kept lacing his fingers together and peering into Johnny’s eyes, as though deep in thought. His own eyes seemed to be glowing ever so faintly. I frowned. Johnny moved off to speak to one of Bella’s friends, and I grabbed my father’s arm.

“Stop that!” I hissed.

“Stop what?”

“Trying to read his mind.”

“Would I do something like that?”

My father smiled and tried to look innocent. Please. I didn’t have to be a psychic to know he was faking.

“You’ve always done it, ever since I started dating boys in high school. Remember the guy who took me to the prom? I thought he was going to have a heart attack when you started asking him about the hotel room he’d booked for the two of us for after the dance.”

My father chuckled at the memory. I rolled my eyes.

“So what’s the verdict?” I asked.

My father frowned. “I’ll get back to you on that.”

Johnny returned before I could interrogate Chief Newman further about his cryptic comment. A widow dripping with jewels wiggled in between us and pulled my father onto the dance floor. Johnny and I made another lap around the room. It was close to midnight, and I was ready to move on to the next part of the evening—whatever it might entail.

“Are you ready to blow this joint?” I asked.

Johnny opened his mouth to reply, when a low, sultry voice cut in.

“Mr. Bulluci. Hello. So nice to see you again.” Erica Songe batted her long, black lashes at Johnny. They were fake, just like her lips and boobs. “Oh, Fiona. I didn’t see you there.”

“Erica,” I said through gritted teeth. Up close, the reporter’s filmy dress was practically transparent, giving everyone a view of all her charms, including Johnny. “That’s a nice little dress you’re wearing.”

“Isn’t it just fabulous?”

Erica put her hands on her curvy hips and preened. The woman actually thought I was being serious and giving her a genuine compliment. Please.

“Actually, I prefer a more understated look on a woman.” Johnny smiled and put his arm around my waist. “It leaves more to the imagination.”

“But sometimes the real thing’s so much better than your imagination,” she purred.

I rolled my eyes. The woman had no shame and zero class. Slut.

Johnny’s cool green eyes flicked over her. “Not in this case, I think.”

Erica’s mouth opened and closed as though she couldn’t believe there was a man alive who didn’t want her. Who could resist her. She pouted, sticking her lower lip out as far as it would go. If she kept that up much longer, her whole face would explode.

But I had to give Erica credit, she recovered quickly. She brushed off Johnny’s comment like it was nothing more than a piece of lint sticking to her see-through dress. She gestured to her cameraman, who was still guzzling champagne, and whipped out a microphone. The guy wobbled over and pointed his video camera in our general direction.

“Well, while I have you cornered, what do you think about the benefit? I’m covering this tonight for SNN.”

“Really? Why?” I asked. “Shouldn’t you be out chasing down superheroes and ubervillains like Kelly Caleb?”

“Kelly is a bit limited in what she can do, poor girl. The network wants to broaden its horizons beyond just superheroes. I’m the go-to girl for the more high-profile assignments these days,” Erica replied in a smooth tone.

In other words, Erica had somehow wrangled the assignment away from the other reporter. I didn’t like reporters much, but Kelly Caleb was good at her job. If there was any scoop to be had, she was the one who knew about it. I wondered who Erica had to sleep with to beat out the other woman. That was the only way I could imagine that she’d one-upped Kelly.

“Care to comment about the benefit, Johnny?” Erica shoved the microphone and her chest in Johnny’s face.

“Well,” he said, keeping his eyes fixed on Erica’s face. “I think the observatory is an important asset to the community...”

While Johnny expounded on the virtues of the Bigtime Observatory, nature center, and sundry related programs, I wandered away and grabbed a couple of crab cake appetizers from a passing waiter. I would have taken the whole tray away from the guy, but there were too many witnesses.

Instead, I polished off the batter-dipped bites, licked the crumbs off my fingers, and watched Erica interrogate Johnny. A scuffle sounded, and the kimono-clad scientist I’d spotted with the reporter earlier stopped next to me. The woman stared at the curvaceous news reporter. A disapproving frown covered her white, makeup-free face.

“Not enjoying the show?” I asked.

“Oh, preening for the camera and throwing herself at men is what Erica does best.” The woman sniffed. “After a while, the spectacle gets old.”

“You sound like you know her pretty well.”

“Unfortunately,” the woman replied, “we share the same gene pool.”

I eyed her. With her headache-inducing bun and buttoned-up-to-there dress, the woman didn’t look a thing like Erica I’m-so-slutty Songe. “Cousins?”

“Sisters. Unfortunately.”

“I’m Fiona Fine, and you are...”

“Irene Songe.”

We shook hands. Irene’s grip felt as cold and passionless as an ice cube. It matched her pale face. We stood there drinking champagne and watching Erica do her best to let Johnny Bulluci know she was up for anything, anytime. After about five minutes, Johnny managed to extricate himself from Erica’s clutches and head back to me. Erica trailed along behind him, not quite ready to admit defeat. The cameraman grabbed some more champagne. It was a wonder the guy could still stand—or that his liver didn’t burst.

Erica stopped short when she spotted her sister talking to me. “Enjoying yourself, Irene?”

“Of course,” Irene replied.

The two women looked at each other with barely disguised hostility. Definitely no love lost there. One sister an exhibitionist, the other a repressed, wound-up scientist. I couldn’t imagine why they didn’t get along.

Erica turned to Johnny and flashed him another smile. She opened her mouth to proposition Johnny yet again, but he beat her to the punch.

“It was so nice talking to you, Erica. But if you’ll excuse us, Fiona and I have somewhere we need to be. Now.”

Johnny offered me his arm, and we walked away. I looked back over my shoulder and smiled at Erica. Her face reddened, and her hands clenched into fists, as though she wanted to stab me with her microphone. Let her try. I could kick her ass blindfolded. Irene whispered something to her, and Erica turned and snapped at her sister.

“Forget about her,” Johnny said. “You’re the only woman I have eyes for tonight.”

I smiled at him. “Smooth. Very, very smooth.”

“Let’s get out of here,” Johnny said, his eyes burning into mine. “And go somewhere a bit more private.”

My stomach quivered. “Let’s go,” I said.

He pulled me toward the door.

Chapter Eleven

We strolled out the back of the auditorium and onto a stone balcony that overlooked the gardens and nature preserve that surrounded the observatory. Acres of flowers, grassy knolls, and low bushes stretched out before us into the dark night before melting into the black woods. A few other couples stood on the balcony, whispering, drinking, and enjoying the scenic view.

“Care to go for a walk in the moonlight?” Johnny asked.

“I’d love to.”

We picked our way down the stone steps and onto one of the crushed-shell paths that wound through the tame jungle. Antique streetlamps lit the way, along with the moon and stars above. A steady breeze blew from the north, pushing a few wisps of clouds across the sky and bringing with it the heady scent of roses, orchids, and more. But all I was aware of was Johnny walking next to me. His spicy cologne tickled my nose, and his body felt warm and solid next to mine.

We strolled in silence, leaving the noise and gaiety and lights of the benefit behind. Crickets chirped in the dew-covered grass. A bullfrog let out a loud bellow. Doves cooed and fluttered in the trees above. We crossed a stone bridge that arched over the manmade river. Water gurgled below our feet.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “Let’s take a detour.”

He took my hand and led me down a path that curved back under the bridge. After going under the bridge, the river tumbled down a hill, forming a small, fifteen-foot-high waterfall. The water pooled into a shallow lake a little less than two miles across before rushing on down the hillside. Fiberglass picnic tables and stone benches dotted the lake’s edge. Brilliant moonlight bounced off the water’s surface, making it shimmer like liquid silver. Cattails and other vegetation surrounded the water’s edge, and a few water lilies floated in the pool, bouncing up and down on the rippling waves.

“It’s beautiful,” I whispered.

“Want to go for a swim?”

“Now? In the middle of the night?”

I loved to swim, loved to lose myself in cool, soothing water and rhythmic strokes. But coming up to the lake for some late-night swimming, skinny-dipping, and a little necking was a popular pastime for local teens and college students. When Johnny had said he wanted to go somewhere more private, I’d been thinking about my apartment, specifically my bed.

Johnny grinned, his teeth flashing in the darkness. “Why not? There’s nobody around but the two of us. I won’t tell if you won’t tell.”

He slipped off his jacket and shoes and put them on a nearby bench. His shirt and pants soon followed. All I could do was stare at the man before me. I’d thought there was a body to die for under those clothes, but I had no idea how deadly it was. Sculpted biceps. Rippling abs. Solid muscles. My eyes dipped lower. Everywhere. Yummy. Johnny Bulluci was one fine-looking man. I closed my hands to keep unwanted sparks from shooting out of my fingertips.

I ogled him a minute longer, then laughed. “Cherubs?”

Johnny put his hands on his hips, proud of his boxers. Fat, happy-looking cherubs frolicking on puffy clouds decorated the slick, silk fabric. “Just because I’m no angel doesn’t mean I can’t wear them. Now, are you coming or not?”

I hesitated, twisting the ring around my finger. The time for being wishy-washy was long gone. I stopped and let out a long, hot breath. “I’m coming.”

I stripped off my dress and high heels, folding the fabric into a neat pile. It would have a million wrinkles in it, but I could always make another one just like it. In a moment, I was standing there in a lacy green bra and matching panties. I always wore the good underwear when there was a chance of someone else taking it off.

Johnny’s eyes traced over my body. “You know, I think Erica was right. The real thing is so much better than my imagination.”

I smiled and lifted my chin up. “Of course it is, when I’m involved.”

We strolled down to the water’s edge and plunged into the frothy spray. We treaded water a few minutes, letting our bodies adjust to the cool temperature. Even though it was the middle of May, the water hovered around seventy degrees, a bit chilly for most people. Not Johnny, though. He swam and dove like a duck. If anything, the water invigorated him. Or perhaps it was just the sight of me in my wet skivvies. Yeah, that’s what I was going with.

“Is the water too cold for you?” Johnny asked.

“No.” I was never cold. But the hunger in Johnny’s eyes made me shiver.

We swam back and forth in the pool, shrieking and splashing water and pulling each other under like a couple of teenagers. After about half an hour, we headed for shore. We flopped onto the grass and stared at the smattering of stars high above.

“It’s so peaceful here,” I murmured. “So beautiful.”

“Not as beautiful as you,” Johnny whispered in a husky voice.

I stared into his eyes. This was it. Decision time. The old guilt flared to life inside me. But Travis was gone, and Johnny was here. Now. With me.

So, I kissed him. His tongue met mine, and I was lost.

My bra and panties disappeared before I knew what had happened. So did Johnny’s boxers. Everything else faded away until there was nothing but the soft grass below us, the stars above, and Johnny’s hands on me.

We lay there for a long time. Kissing. Stroking. Caressing.

Johnny pulled back. He pushed a wisp of hair off my face and stared into my eyes. His own glistened like jewels in the moonlight.

“I want to do something for you, Fiona,” Johnny said. “Do you trust me?”

I went quiet and still. I wasn’t good at trusting people. I’d gone through too many battles with too many ubervillains to give my trust lightly to anyone. But there was something about Johnny that made me want to trust him. Made me want to lower my defenses. Made me want to believe in him. “Yes, I do.”

“Then roll over onto your stomach.”

I did, and to my surprise, he started to massage me. There was nothing overtly sexual about it. Just Johnny’s firm hands kneading my body with the detachment of a large Swedish woman. He started at my feet, moving up my calves to my thighs. His fingers worked on my ass, molding, sculpting, before going up to my lower back and shoulders. He even worked on my head, loosening my hair from its wet bun and massaging my scalp.

Heaven. Sheer heaven.

“Now, the other side,” Johnny whispered.

I turned over onto my back, eager for more. Much, much more. Johnny repeated the process, this time starting with my neck and working his way down. His fingers pressed gently into me, soothing away my doubts and fears. His sure hands moved to my breasts, massaging each one in turn. My nipples hardened under his touch, but Johnny ignored them and went on with the massage, focusing on my stomach, before sliding lower.

I trembled when he reached my pelvic area. I thought he might slip his fingers inside me, but Johnny moved on as though he wasn’t the least bit interested in that part of my anatomy. He worked on my thighs, then calves, then feet. Slowly, the fireball of guilt and tension in my stomach faded away, replaced by a different, though no less dangerous, sort of liquid heat.

“That was wonderful,” I sighed when he finished. “Absolutely wonderful.”

Johnny grinned. A devilish light sparked in his eyes. “Baby, if you thought that was wonderful, how about this?”

He eased my thighs apart and lowered his mouth to me. I gasped at the sudden, unexpected sensation.

“Do you like that, baby?” he asked.

I buried my fingers in his hair and whimpered.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Johnny delved into me like I was a delectable dessert just waiting to be sampled, and he was a sugar addict. His tongue. His fingers. Stroking. Caressing. Driving me crazy.

Sweet, painful pressure built up in my body, and I thought my hair would catch fire from the sensation. But I’d learned long ago to dampen down the physical manifestation of my power during sex. To let all that fire melt into liquid desire coursing through my veins.

“Johnny...I...can’t...wait...much...longer,” I panted, fingers clenching the grass.

“You don’t have to, baby,” he murmured. “I’m ready for you.”

We kissed, then I rolled Johnny onto his back. I reached for my purse and pulled out one of the condoms. Johnny tried to take it from me, but I pushed him back against the ground.

“Let me,” I whispered, tearing the packet open with my teeth.

I trailed my fingers up and down his long length before slipping the condom over him. Johnny’s eyes widened at the sensation, and he hissed.

Then, I got on my knees and straddled him, taking his stiff shaft deep inside my fiery body. Johnny was so much more than just ready for me. Hard didn’t do the man justice. Even steely couldn’t quite describe it.

“Oh, baby, you’re so tight,” Johnny murmured. “So tight and hot and wet.”

I rocked back and forth, thrusting against him. Johnny’s hands stroked my breasts as I rode him, squeezing my nipples until they ached and throbbed along with the rest of me. It only made me want him that much more. All that sweet liquid fire bubbled up in my veins like a volcano about to erupt. A moment later, it did. An orgasm tore through my body, and I cried out. So did he, and we rode up into the stars together.

Sometime later, I slumped over Johnny with him still inside me.

“That was fantastic,” I said, nuzzling his neck. Sweat covered my body, and my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. Smoke puffed away from the ends of my fingers, but you could barely see it in the darkness.

“That was fantastic, but we’re not done yet,” Johnny said.

He eased me off him and got rid of the condom. Then, he pulled me to my feet and led me down into the lake. The water washed away the slick sweat and cooled my feverish body, as much as it could. Johnny kissed the back of my neck while his hands slid around and covered my breasts, rubbing my nipples until they were hard and aching once more.

“Come on,” he whispered, withdrawing his hands.

I followed him. Johnny walked up the bank and tugged me over to one of the picnic tables that flanked the lake.

“This looks about right,” he said.

“Yes, it does.”

Johnny reached for me, but I eluded his grasp, grabbing another condom from my purse. Then, I went down on my knees and took his shaft in my mouth. Johnny gasped in surprise. He staggered, and his back went against the table.

“You’re not the only one who likes to be shocking,” I said.

I ran my tongue up and down his penis while my fingers stroked him. Johnny twitched and trembled with every flick of my hot tongue. Now, I was the one in control. Just the way I liked it.

Not for long, though. Johnny reached down and plucked the condom from me, unrolling it in record time. Then, he picked me up and placed me on top of the picnic table. My legs locked around his waist. Johnny leaned over me, bracing his hands on the cool fiberglass. He stared into my eyes for a heartbeat. Then, he thrust into me. His hungry mouth covered mine, hushing my cries and moans of pleasure.

Johnny plunged into me over and over again. My hands were everywhere. His hair. Neck. Chest. Abs. Our tongues dueled back and forth even as we pushed together. I couldn’t get enough of him. I urged him on, wanting him to go deeper and deeper.

So, he did.

And I loved it.

Every fantastic, pleasurable, white-hot second.

Chapter Twelve

Afterward, we lay there on the cool grass for a long time, looking at the stars and lying in each other’s arms.

“This is perfect, absolutely perfect,” I said.

“Yes, yes it is,” Johnny replied in a soft tone.

“So where do we go from here?”

Johnny propped his elbow up and stared into my eyes. “I want to keep seeing you, Fiona, if that’s what you’re asking. I might be a rich, spoiled playboy, but I have been known to engage in actual relationships, every now and then. Especially with such an incredible woman like you.”

It was exactly what I was asking—and exactly the response I wanted.

“Good. I might be a bitchy fashion designer, but I’ve also been known to indulge in relationships—with certain equally fabulous people.”

“And do I fit that bill?” Johnny asked.

“Absolutely. I want to keep seeing you too.” I trailed my fingers down his abdomen. “All of you.”

Johnny grinned and reached for me again.

* * *

Eventually, we put on our clothes and headed back to the observatory. It was closer to morning than midnight now, and the birds and bugs and bullfrogs had quieted down to sleep. Only a few drunken stragglers remained at the benefit, sitting at tables and guzzling down what was left of the champagne, along with the science types who had organized the event. But they were too busy counting money and tallying up checks and contributions to notice Johnny and me and our disheveled appearance.

Johnny walked me outside, and a sleepy-looking valet retrieved my convertible. I threw my purse in the car and turned to face Johnny.

“Dinner tomorrow night?” he asked, cupping my cheek in his hand.

I hesitated. I liked Johnny, I really did, but the sex hadn’t been as casual as I thought it would be. Quite the opposite. I’d been looking for a rebound guy, not somebody long-term. But this felt like the beginning of something big, something serious. Despite our earlier promises to keep seeing each other, I didn’t know exactly how I felt about the sexy businessman. Other than hot and bothered.

“Come on. You promised grandfather you’d come. You wouldn’t want him to miss out on his steak and wine, would you? He was really looking forward to it,” Johnny wheedled.

I laughed. “Far be it from me to let your grandfather down. Dinner tomorrow night. Or rather, tonight. Eight o’clock?”

“It’s a date.” Johnny flashed me another sexy grin, leaned in, and kissed me.

It was another fifteen minutes before I was able to get in my car and drive away.

* * *

I entered my apartment at six in the morning. I tossed my purse on a table and sank onto the scarlet-upholstered sofa. A smile spread across my face. Tonight had been fabulous. Completely, wonderfully, absolutely, perfectly fabulous. I stretched my arms over my head. The dry spell was over. I was totally satisfied. Johnny Bulluci should have been a sculptor instead of a businessman. The things that man could do with his hands. And tongue. And lips...

My thoughts strayed for a little while, replaying the evening over and over again in my mind. But my stomach rumbled, and I realized that I was starving. Sex really was great for burning calories, not that I had any problem in that department anyway. And it was definitely a lot more fun than exercise.

I was halfway through a gallon of strawberry cheesecake ice cream when the phone rang. I frowned. Who could be calling me at this hour? Johnny? My heart quickened.

“Fiona Fine.”

“Well, it’s about time you got home,” Carmen said. “I left you a message hours ago.”

I looked at the answering machine. Sure enough, the red light blinked on and off. I’d been so busy thinking about Johnny that I hadn’t even noticed it. “Sorry. I was out.”

“Don’t worry. I didn’t want anything important. But tell me, how was your date?”

“What date?” I mumbled through a mouthful of melted ice cream.

“The hot date that ended in you having fantastic sex.”

The spoon slipped from my fingers. “How do you know that?”

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re practically purring, Fiona. And the chief called and said you disappeared with some hot new guy you’ve been seeing. That the two of you were looking at each other a certain way. I just put two and two together.”

I cursed and picked up my spoon. Carmen’s inherent nosiness could be so annoying sometimes, especially when coupled with her new empathic powers. Didn’t I have any secrets from anybody anymore?

“I’m happy for you, Fiona. That you found somebody you like. I really am. It’s time you got back out there again. Now, if only I could get Lulu to—” Carmen cut off her sentence.

“Get Lulu to what?”

“Nothing. Never mind.”

“What’s going on with Henry and Lulu?” I asked. “It looked like they were fighting at the benefit.”

Carmen was silent. “You’ll have to ask Lulu about that.”

“I did. She told me to buzz off. She almost ran over my feet with her wheelchair.” I scraped the bottom of the ice cream carton.

“Well, I wouldn’t worry about it. The two of them will work things out. Eventually.”

The last luscious bite of ice cream melted in my mouth. Gone already. Damn. I should have gotten the grocery service to deliver more than just one gallon. “Well, if they do break up, can I finally set Lulu’s hair on fire?”

“Fiona! That’s not very nice.”

“What?” I asked. “She’s always telling me how hot I am. I’d like to show her how right she is. Just once.”

“Henry and Lulu are not going to break up. They’re just having a little problem right now.”

“But you’re not going to tell me what it is.”

“No. It’s not my place to say anything.” Carmen switched gears. “Now, back to you and the hot guy. How was it? I want all the juicy details.”

I sat back against the cushy sofa. Carmen was the closest thing to a girlfriend that I had, and I couldn’t exactly talk to my father about this. Plus, I felt like bragging. Just a little bit. All right. A lot. Who wanted to be modest when Johnny Bulluci was in the picture?

“Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. The man knows how to use his hands very well, if you know what I mean. As well as other parts of his anatomy.”

“So, who is the mystery guy?”

“Johnny Bulluci. Bella Bulluci’s brother.”

“I didn’t know Bella had a brother.”

“Well, she does. I met him at the wedding. He was the guy who thought he could take out Siren and Intelligal by himself.”

“You met him at the wedding? Really?”

I rolled my eyes at the note of triumph in Carmen’s voice. “Yes, really.”

“Tell me about him,” she said.

So I did. I told Carmen how funny and charming and wickedly sweet Johnny was. How he made me laugh. And how he had reduced me to a puddle of oozing mush.

“He sounds terrific,” Carmen said.

“He is,” I admitted. “I just don’t know what to do about it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well,” I said. “At first, I was just going to have a fling with him to get my feet wet again, so to speak. But I really like him. A lot more than I thought I would. That’s complicated enough by itself. Then, there’s the whole secret-identity thing. I’ve never figured out how you tell a guy, Oh, by the way, I moonlight as one of the most famous superheroes in the world. I can create fireballs with my hands and bench-press a couple thousand pounds. It’s not exactly pillow talk. Most guys are intimidated by things like that, especially the superhuman strength part.”

“You’re not thinking about telling him that you’re Fiera, are you? You’ve only known the guy a few days!”

I wanted to point out that Carmen hadn’t even known Sam’s real identity before she’d slept with him, but I was too relaxed and mellow to quibble over that fact. Right now, anyway.

“Of course I’m not going to tell him that I’m Fiera. How stupid do you think I am? I’ve been a superhero a long time now. It’s not something you just blurt out to people.”

It’d be a long, long, long time before I told Johnny what I did in my spare time. If ever. I’d had more than one guy dump me as a result of my nighttime escapades. Guys had one of two reactions when they learned about my secret identity—they freaked out and broke up with me, or they got totally kinky and wanted me to dress up in the Fiera costume for them. It was rather embarrassing when you had to get your father to mind-wipe your boyfriend because he couldn’t handle the fact that you could break his arm like a peppermint stick or barbecue him with a thought. Or when he wanted you to play dress-up in the bedroom all the time.

“Well, whenever you tell him, if Johnny can’t understand your other job, he’s not worth having. Just take it one day at a time. That’s what Sam and I did in the beginning.” Carmen hesitated. “But you need to be careful, Fiona.”

“Why’s that?” I got off the couch and opened the refrigerator door, still hungry.

“The chief told me about your run-in with Siren and Intelligal the other night. Those two are up to something, I’m sure of it. Something big. Something dangerous.”

“Is that what the voices in your head are telling you?” I snickered.

“Yes,” Carmen snapped. She tended to get a little touchy about her powers sometimes, just like newbie heroes always did. “That’s what the voices in my head are telling me.”

“All right, Mom, I’ll be careful.” I pulled a frozen pizza out of the refrigerator, tore off the wrapper, and put it on a baking sheet.

“Good.”

I wiggled my fingers, spreading flames over the ham, pineapple, and cheese concoction. “So how’s the honeymoon going? Where’s Sam at?”

“Right here beside me.”

My eyes narrowed. “Are you guys still in bed? Isn’t it like noon over there by now?”

“Eleven o’clock actually,” Carmen said in a cheery voice. “You didn’t think you were the only one who got lucky last night, did you?”

* * *

After eating my pizza, a bag of chips, three cinnamon buns, and washing it all down with a six-pack of soda, I went to bed. Due to my late night out, I didn’t get to work until almost noon. Good thing I owned the place, or I would have been so fired. I strolled into Piper’s dust-free office, and she gave me a sly smile.

“Someone must have had a good time last night,” Piper said, her eyes sparkling. “A very good time.”

“Why do you say that?”

She jerked her head at my office. I opened the door to find more flowers and chocolates crammed into the room than I’d seen in my entire life. There were three times as many as before, and they covered every single surface, even the floor. It looked like the Petal Pusher had set up her evil, flower-filled lair inside. I picked up one of the boxes scrunched next to a towering bouquet of white roses. Chocolate truffles filled with raspberry. Johnny Bulluci definitely had good taste.

Piper leaned in the doorway. “Like I said, you must have had a really good time last night.”

I just grinned.

I spent the rest of the day working. At least I tried to. It took almost an hour to clear out some of the flowers so I could actually get to my desk. More often than not, I ended up mentally replaying last night with Johnny. I’d catch myself staring at the flowers and chocolates and smiling. Well, at the flowers anyway. The chocolates didn’t last past twelve-thirty.

Eventually, I buckled down and got busy. I okayed Piper’s final pricing suggestions on the fall line and contacted the necessary fabric suppliers. I called a few of Bigtime’s rich society types to let them know their orders would be available for pickup next week and signed a variety of forms and initialed them in triplicate. I even answered all my outstanding Fiera e-mails.

Piper came in my office around three, bearing bags full of burgers, soups, salads, and desserts from Quicke’s.

“You’re a lifesaver,” I said, unwrapping a double cheeseburger as fast as I could without burning off the cellophane. I bit into the warm, cheese-covered bun. Mayonnaise, chargrilled meat, tomatoes, onions, and more exploded onto my tastebuds. Ah, heaven.

“I know. You should give me a raise. A big one.” Piper snitched a French fry from one of the bags.

I nodded, too caught up in my burger to protest or smack her hand away from the fries. I didn’t like people messing with my food, especially eating what was mine. That was how nasty, fire-filled accidents happened.

“And don’t forget. Joanne James is coming in at four to talk about her next wedding dress.”

I groaned. “Is that today?”

Piper nodded. “Yep. You told me to set it up, remember?”

I groaned again and stared at the white paper bags. “So that’s why you brought me all this food. You were softening me up. Trying to bribe me with burgers so I wouldn’t weasel out of the appointment.”

“Guilty as charged,” Piper said, breezing out. “But it worked, didn’t it?”

I just took another bite of my burger.

* * *

Joanne James arrived at exactly four. She glided through the front door like she was the queen of Bigtime, even though she wouldn’t officially get that title until she married Berkley. She wore a sleek, lavender Bulluci suit and matching heels that set off her blacker-than-black hair. Amethysts bigger than small potatoes ringed her thin throat. They looked like something out of a Cracker Jack box. Except I knew the gems were real. The necklace had to weigh a ton. I didn’t see how Joanne held her neck up with that thing strung on it, much less walked around. When you factored in her golf-ball-size engagement ring, the jewelry she wore probably weighed more than her scrawny body. Like most women on the society circuit, Joanne was painfully thin.

“Fiona, darling!” she cried out, removing a pair of oversized black sunglasses studded with diamonds.

“Joanne, darling!”

We air-kissed and told each other how fabulous we both looked. Once the fake pleasantries were out of the way, I led Joanne to one of the many spacious consultation rooms that branched off the storefront. The area featured plush chairs, a low settee, flowers, and sample books of all the garments I’d designed, along with trays of fabric swatches. A round, raised dais and three-sided mirror stood in the middle of the area. It was everything I needed to outfit the fabulously wealthy—and unbelievably picky.

A knock sounded on the door, and one of the clerks came by with a tray of vanilla-crème-filled gourmet chocolates and champagne. Joanne nibbled on one of the sweet confections, while I gulped down two glasses of the bubbly.

“Leave the bottle, and keep the booze coming,” I muttered to the clerk. “Slip me something stronger, if you’ve got it.”

She nodded with sympathy. She’d had a few run-ins with Joanne. The clerk left, and Joanne settled herself on the settee, sitting up smartly as to not wrinkle her five-thousand-dollar suit.

“First of all, let’s talk price,” I said.

It was always better to lock down the money up front. That way, I wouldn’t spend my time and energy coming up with something fabulous only to have some penny-pinching rich bitch try to stiff me on the bill. Joanne was particularly notorious for doing that. Sometimes, I thought she should have gone into business instead of trolling for husbands. She was a tough negotiator.

Joanne waved her hand. The sparkles from her ring made my eyes hurt. “Money is no problem. Charge whatever you want for the dress. Berkley is footing the bill for everything. It’s his wedding gift to me. I told him that I wanted the wedding of my dreams, and he is more than happy to give it to me. He’s very sweet that way.”

Sweet wasn’t the word I would use. Complete, utter, blind fool would be more appropriate. But if Berkley Brighton wanted to blow his whiskey millions on the wedding and throw some of that money my way, who was I to argue? Still, I couldn’t stop myself from asking the painfully obvious question.

“Haven’t you already had the wedding of your dreams? You have been married five times now.”

“Of course. The first one left a lot to be desired, but the last four were absolutely wonderful. But there’s always room for improvement, Fiona.” Joanne polished off her chocolate. “Now, on to the color. I was thinking of something in a rich red. Burgundy maybe, or perhaps scarlet.”

“Scarlet?” I said. “Are you sure? What about white? Or maybe a nice ivory or pale pink?”

“I look like a ghost in white and utterly washed out in ivory. Pale pink? Disgusting. Besides, it’s not like I’m some quaking virgin who’s never been with a man. I’ve been around the block, several times, and we all know it.”

Despite her other faults, Joanne didn’t mince words or pull punches, not even at herself. I admired that small part of her personality.

“All right, red it is,” I said, pulling out a thick book.

For the next half hour, Joanne looked at fabric swatches. She settled on a crushed velvet in a deep, wine-red color that contrasted nicely with her blacker-than-black hair and pale skin. Next, it was on to the dress itself. I showed her some preliminary sketches I’d done for various lines.

“No, no, no, no.” She flipped through the pages. “Too poofy. Too saccharine. Too much tulle. Too many sequins. Wait a minute. This. Now this, I like.”

Joanne pointed to a sketch, and I snorted. I should have known she’d pick that one. The dress featured a long, flowing, almost transparent silk skirt and a lace-up, leather bustier. The dress was a little too slutty for your traditional brides, looking more hooker than virgin. I’d actually been thinking of adding it to my lingerie line for next year.

“Are you sure?” I asked. “I was going to use that garment for a more intimate line of apparel.”

“Absolutely. That will look marvelous on me.” Joanne’s voice rang with certainty.

Lingerie for a wedding dress? Well, it’d certainly look good in red.

Joanne stripped down to her undies so I could take her measurements. I couldn’t really tell how old Joanne was, giving her ageless-looking face and rumored propensity for plastic surgery. But she still had a fabulous body, trim and toned, if a bit on the bony side. Tiny amethysts sparkled on her lilac-colored underwear, matching the jewels around her neck. Talk about flaunting your wealth.

Once that was done, I draped a piece of white muslin over her and started shaping it into the dress she’d picked out so she could see how it would fit and look.

“The wedding’s in two months. When will you have the dress done?” Joanne asked.

“We’ll do the final fitting in a couple of weeks.”

“Good.” Joanne’s eyes met mine in the mirror. “I want this dress to be especially fabulous, Fiona. The best thing you’ve ever done for me. This is going to be my last wedding, and I want to look my very best.”

I stifled a giggle. “Your last wedding? Are you sure about that, Joanne?”

A dreamy, faraway look crept over Joanne’s unnaturally smooth face. “Oh yes. Berkley is everything I’ve ever wanted in a man. Kind, caring, sweet, richer than a sultan, fantastic in bed. He’s a very generous lover, the best I’ve ever had.”

I almost swallowed a pin. The woman looked as besotted as a teenager with a movie star. Joanne James truly in love? A scary, scary thought.

“He always makes sure that I’m satisfied, and he does the most marvelous thing with his...”

Somehow, I managed to focus on the dress and block out most of the details of Joanne’s sex life with Berkley. Those were mental images I definitely did not need.

“...then again, you’d know how important the bedroom is in a relationship, wouldn’t you, Fiona?”

“What? What did you say?” I mumbled through a mouthful of pins.

“I’m talking about you and Johnny Bulluci.” Joanne gave me a sly look in the mirror. “The two of you looked quite cozy at the observatory benefit last night. Until you disappeared, that is. Tell me, are the waterfall and lake still as beautiful as I remember?”

“I wouldn’t know,” I replied in an even tone, resisting the urge to stick a sharp pin in Joanne’s bony ass.

I’d known we’d be the talk of town after slipping out of the benefit, but Joanne’s catty tone still irked me. What I did with Johnny was nobody’s business but mine. Especially since I wasn’t quite sure what I was doing with Johnny yet. Other than having amazing sex.

“Now, now, Fiona. We’re all friends here. Like father, like son.”

I shook my head. “I really have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about the fact that James Bulluci and I used to meet at the observatory, go down to the waterfall, and become otherwise engaged for several hours. I hadn’t realized Johnny had taken up his father’s bad habits until I saw you two slip away from the party last night.”

“You knew Johnny’s father?”

“Oh yes. James Bulluci and I were quite the item at one time, although he was several years older than me.” Joanne preened. “I was in high school, and he was finishing up his second business degree at Bigtime U when we started dating. He was such a sweet boy. He even gave me his college football ring. I wore it until when we broke up shortly before he graduated. I hated to give it back, though.”

“Why? Was it covered with diamonds?” I couldn’t resist the dig.

“Oh no. It was made out of silver and onyx, if you can believe that. Completely worthless. But it had the most beautiful design of wings on it.”

I frowned. Wings? On a college class ring? I flashed back to Johnny’s cherub boxers and his silver watch, and Bella’s necklace. The Bullucis seemed to have a strange fascination with winged, angel-like spirits. One that bordered on obsession. Who knew? Maybe they were the ones who supplied Angel with all his embossed gear.

A vague unease filled me at that odd idea. I couldn’t quite put my finger on why connecting Angel to the Bullucis upset me. But it did. For a moment, I felt like Carmen listening to the voices in her head. That couldn’t be good.

“James was very, very good with his hands, from what I remember. We spent many hours down by that waterfall skinny-dipping and doing other things...”

Joanne chattered on about James Bulluci and his magnificent hands, chasing my stray thought away. I finished pinning up the dress, and Joanne twirled around and looked at the rough copy.

“You’ve outdone yourself again, Fiona. This will be perfect, absolutely perfect.”

It’d come with a perfect price tag too. I’d make sure of that. Joanne slipped out of the dress and back into her suit. She fluffed out her hair and put on a fresh coat of lavender lipstick.

Joanne eyed me in the mirror. “Come on, Fiona. Everybody saw you with Johnny at the benefit. Give me something, some little detail to share with the girls at the spa.”

I stared at Joanne. Then, I smiled. “Like father, like son.”

Chapter Thirteen

I finished up with Joanne James and sped home. I was due at the Bulluci manor at eight, leaving me less than two hours to get my fabulous self ready. Of course, I always looked fabulous, but I really wanted to knock Johnny’s socks off. Along with the rest of his clothes.

I took a shower and dried my hair in a nanosecond. Then, I paced back and forth through my closet, trying to find the perfect dress to wear, while I scarfed down a couple bags of key-lime cookies. The gown couldn’t be too casual—or too revealing. I wouldn’t want to give Bobby Bulluci a heart attack by shoving my cleavage at him á la Erica Songe. Although from the way the old man had worked the crowd at the benefit the other night, maybe I was the one who should watch out. Charm seemed to run in the family, except for Bella, who was far too serious and uptight for her own good.

I decided on a short, sleeveless, silver lamé number with lots of cowgirl-like fringe in strategic places. The requisite stilettos and bag polished off the look, along with large diamond studs and a matching tennis bracelet. Joanne James wasn’t the only one who could sparkle like an electrified disco ball when she wanted to.

By the time I was dressed, it was creeping up on seven-thirty. I put the gas pedal to the floor and roared across town in my convertible to the Bulluci manor in record time, traveling fifteen miles through heavy traffic in about ten minutes. Swifte couldn’t have done much better himself.

Tires squealing, I took an exit off the interstate and threaded my way through more traffic before pulling onto Lucky Way. Old, twisted cypress trees and Spanish moss hung over Lucky Way, bathing it in long, soft shadows. Lawns as smooth as carpet led up from the street to some of the priciest homes in Bigtime. We were talking castles here, turrets, moats, and all. Joanne James had a mansion in the area. So did Berkley Brighton, Nate Norris, Wesley Weston, and all the other power players.

I double-checked the address Johnny had given me and turned into a driveway that curled up a steep hill. The wrought-iron gates swung open at my approach. The black pavement curved into a circle that went by the front of the house before looping back around on itself and flowing down the hill. I pulled up to the front steps, got out of the car, and paused to stare at the massive building. I’d been to the mansion a couple of times before during some of Bella’s fashion shows, but it still wowed me. It wasn’t as large as Sublime, but the house had an old-world feel to it that I admired. The red-tile roof, wide stone arches, and numerous balconies and patios reminded me of a villa on the coast of Italy or Greece. Perhaps Bobby Bulluci had built it to remind himself of his homeland. Either way, the manor had a bright, cheery feel. In the light of day, it would be even more impressive.

A tuxedo-clad butler greeted me at the front door, crooked his finger, and beckoned me to follow him. We moved deeper into the house, and my eyes roamed over the rich furnishings. In a way, it was exactly like Sublime. Tapestries covered the walls, and statues and other pricey knickknacks clustered in curio cabinets.

But as I looked around, I noticed there was a definite, odd pattern to the finery. Almost every single item had some sort of angel-like figure on it. Fat cherubs smiled from frescoes on the walls. Wings adorned the backs of tall chairs. Miniature halos dangled from a pair of crystal wind chimes. Even the light fixtures looked like marshmallow clouds drifting by. I’d have to ask Johnny about his family’s strange obsession.

We reached a massive wooden door. The butler knocked once before pulling it open. My gaze went to the knob, which was shaped like angel’s head, halo and all. It was kind of creepy.

“Miss Fiona Fine.” The butler bowed and left the room.

I strode inside. Johnny, Bella, and Bobby sat on a long sofa staring at an enormous plasma-screen television. Soccer players shouted and screamed and slammed into each other on the flickering monitor.

“Johnny. Bella. Bobby.”

They echoed my greeting, but Johnny and Bobby’s eyes remained glued to the television. I snorted. Men. Bella rose and walked over to me. She wore a shimmering dress of the palest pink imaginable. Despite Joanne James’s hatred of it, the color looked wonderful on Bella, and the embroidery on the bodice was exquisite and dainty. I peered closer at the pattern. Tiny angels ran along the high-fitting neckline, and the usual silver angel charm ringed Bella’s throat. What was it with these people and angels?

“Sorry about them,” Bella said, rolling her eyes at her male relatives. “I told them that you’d be here at eight sharp, but they just had to check out the highlights from today’s games. Didn’t you, Johnny?” Bella leaned over the couch and mussed her brother’s tawny locks.

Johnny swatted her hand away. “Fiona likes soccer too. She completely understands. Don’t you, Fiona?”

He looked and sounded like such a little boy that I had to laugh. “Believe me, I understand. My friend Sam never leaves the house without seeing what the latest football and hockey scores are.”

After several more loud, jovial, clichéd comments, the sportscaster bid his captivated audience good night, and Johnny clicked off the television. “Now it’s over.”

Bobby came around the couch and bowed to me. “And now we can properly entertain our lovely, lovely guest.” The old man pressed a dry kiss to my hand.

“All right, that’s enough of that,” Johnny growled in a playful tone. He took my hand away from his grandfather.

“Afraid the old man might be too smooth for you, eh, Johnny boy?” Bobby elbowed his grandson in the ribs and shot me a playful look.

“Of course not,” Johnny replied in an even tone. “I not only have my father’s charm, I have my mother’s good looks as well. No woman can resist the combination.”

Bella crossed her arms over her chest. “I don’t think Fiona will be as easily swayed as that.”

“Oh, I don’t know. I think I’ve made considerable progress so far. We had a wonderful time at the observatory benefit, didn’t we, Fiona?” Johnny grinned.

The feel of Johnny’s hands, his lips, his tongue on me, in me flashed through my head. For the first time in a very long time, I blushed. “Yes, we did,” I murmured, catching his dancing eyes. “Yes, we did.”

Bella looked back and forth between me and her brother, frowning. She really needed to lighten up. Bobby clapped his hands together.

“Come! Let’s eat! I want my steak and wine and chocolate.” Bobby beamed at me. “And not necessarily in that order.”

“Grandfather...” Bella warned.

Bobby pulled himself up to his full height. “We have a guest tonight, Bella. I will not insult her by eating that tasteless gruel the doctor calls food in front of her. The chef has prepared an excellent meal, and we will all dine well tonight.”

Bella sighed, giving in to the old man. I didn’t envy her. Bobby Bulluci was quite a handful, even if he was on the downhill side of seventy. I put my hand on Johnny’s arm, and he escorted me to the dining room. It was a long, narrow room with a long, narrow table that looked like it could seat five hundred people and then some. More tapestries lined the walls, including one that featured more fat, happy cherubs shining their gleaming halos on puffy clouds.

The more I stared at the cherubs, the more I wondered why the Bullucis had so many of them. So, I asked.

“You guys seem to have a thing for angels. Everywhere I turn, there they are. Is your family crest a halo or something?”

Bella’s mouth dropped open. Bobby’s step faltered. Johnny’s arm tensed under my fingertips.

“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”

My eyes flicked back and forth between the three of them. What was that about? You’d think I’d just uncovered a skeleton in the hall closet or their secret identities as superheroes or something.

Secret identities as superheroes... I frowned. I’d seen a lot of angels lately, mostly adorning the clothes and sundry gear of Johnny Angel. Could the Bullucis be connected to him? If so, how? Bobby and Bella certainly weren’t the motorcycle rider. And it wasn’t like Johnny could actually be Angel…could he?

No, I decided. Johnny didn’t have Angel’s attitude problems. Besides, Johnny hadn’t even been in the country until recently, and Angel had been around Bigtime for years. At least, his old incarnation had been. I didn’t know how long the new guy had been prowling the streets.

Johnny forced himself to relax. “Of course not. Angels aren’t our...family crest.” He looked at his grandfather. “But we all like them. It’s sort of a family...tradition to collect them.”

“Oh.”

I didn’t quite believe his explanation, although there was no real reason for me not to. But I decided to let the matter drop. I wasn’t as nosy and paranoid as Carmen. I didn’t think everyone was harboring a secret identity or wearing a spandex suit underneath his tuxedo. In fact, I didn’t really care who was who, as long as they stayed out of my way.

We sat down at one end of the table. Servants hustled in, bringing with them tempting dishes that smelled like they’d come down from heaven itself. My stomach rumbled, and I forgot about my unease and suspicions. The bags of cookies were long gone.

“Grilled filet mignon, roasted potatoes, fried zucchini, Italian bread, butter, a Caesar salad, and enough olive oil to grease a car.” Bella looked at her grandfather. “Going all out, aren’t we?”

Bobby smiled. “Well, I had to make sure we had enough food for our guest. Johnny told me that she has quite the healthy appetite.”

Bella’s eyes flicked to me. For the second time that evening, I found myself blushing. My stomach gurgled again, this time loud enough for everyone to hear. Bella looked shocked by the grumbling sound, while the men seemed amused.

“Guilty as charged,” I said, reaching for the nearest dish.

* * *

We spent the next hour dining and making small talk. The Bullucis were a delightful bunch, merry and funny with no hints of the self-importance and pretentiousness that plagued so many on the society circuit. They didn’t take themselves or anyone else too seriously. Even Bella loosened up a bit and let me see that she had a dry, biting sense of humor under her by-the-book façade. She was the straight woman who kept the men in line. As much as she could anyway.

But I was most impressed by the food. Everything was just as scrumptious as Bobby had promised it would be. The vegetables were fresh, crisp, and perfectly seasoned. The bread was warm and chewy. And the steak was so tender I could have cut it with a toothpick.

I took big portions of everything and wolfed them down in about fifteen minutes. Then, I went back for seconds. I finished those up about the time the others had washed down their first helpings with a superb bottle of wine. I eyed the platters, wondering if I dared to take any more food. I didn’t want to come across as a total glutton. Johnny saw me eyeing the potatoes with barely restrained desire.

“Let me guess. You didn’t have breakfast or lunch again today,” Johnny said, sliding his half-eaten steak over to me.

I looked down at the juicy, medium-well steak. A man who gave up his food for me? I could get used to this. Quite easily. The thought startled me, but not enough to make me turn down the meat. I stabbed my fork at him. “You guessed it.”

So, I ate the rest of his steak.

And the bread.

And the potatoes.

And the wine.

In the end, I gobbled down more than the three of them put together. Bella looked back and forth at me and the now-empty platters. Then, she turned her gaze to her brother. Johnny shrugged. Bella probably thought I had an eating disorder, just like Piper did. I’d probably find more pamphlets on my desk in the morning. Ah, well. The steak alone had been worth it.

More servants appeared to clear the dishes away and present us with a monstrous three-tiered cake. The flavor came as a bit of a surprise to me, although it really shouldn’t have.

It was angel food, of course.

The cake, topped with cherries, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream, was just as wonderful as everything else had been. I ate four big pieces and put my fork down in contentment. Steak and potatoes were wonderful, high-calorie, filling, stick-to-your ribs food. I’d be all right until I got my midnight snack.

“Well, I don’t know about you young folks, but this old man is ready for bed,” Bobby announced, pushing his chair away from the table. “Too much wine and food make me sleepy these days.”

Bella also rose to her feet. “I’ll help you, Grandfather.” She looked at Johnny and me. “I’m sure Johnny and Fiona would like some time to themselves.”

Johnny turned to me. “I’ll show you around the house.” The devilish glint in his eyes told me that the tour would probably end up in his bedroom. I wasn’t sure quite how I felt about that. Other than hot and panting.

Bella and Bobby disappeared up a flight of stairs, while Johnny led me down a series of wide hallways. Strolling through the house was a little like walking through a church. More angels decorated everything from paintings to furniture to even the carpet under our feet.

We reached a hall filled with large oil paintings. Smiling, similar-looking people sat in the portraits, their eyes filled with light and joy. I didn’t need Johnny to tell me that I was staring at pictures of the Bullucis through the centuries.

Johnny tugged me down the hall, stopping at a portrait of a middle-aged man on a motorcycle. “This is my father, James. I wasn’t sure if you remembered him or not. He wasn’t much for the society scene, preferring to concentrate on looking after our business interests. He rarely attended events, preferring to leave that to Bella and Grandfather.”

I stared at the picture. Blue eyes. Tan skin. A mane of chestnut hair. James Bulluci had been a handsome man. But the more I looked at the picture, the more it bothered me. There was something else very familiar about James Bulluci. Something in his eyes and the set of his jaw reminded me of—

“And this is my mother, Lucia,” Johnny continued, pointing to the next portrait.

My tremulous thought fled. Johnny hadn’t been bragging earlier when he’d said he’d inherited his mother’s good looks. Blond hair. Green eyes. Fabulous figure. Tawny skin. Lucia Bulluci was a goddess in mortal form.

“Funny, I don’t remember her either,” I said, staring at the picture.

“She died when I was a teenager,” Johnny said. Sadness colored his voice, a sadness I recognized.

“My mother died when I was young too,” I said, squeezing his hand.

“What about your father? You don’t talk about him much.”

I hesitated. I couldn’t tell Johnny who my father really was, but I didn’t want to deceive him either. “Oh, he’s...around. His work takes up a lot of his time, and we don’t see as much of each other as we’d like.”

It wasn’t a complete lie. The only times I got to see the chief these days were when we went out as Fiera and Mr. Sage to do battle with Bigtime’s ubervillains or braved the society crowd at the latest benefit.

“What does he do for a living?”

“He’s in, ah, security.” Another half-truth.

“Like a bodyguard?”

“Sort of.” Did protecting the citizens of Bigtime from ubervillains qualify you to be a bodyguard? I supposed it did.

“What’s his name?”

Finally, an easy one. “Sean.”

“Sean? That’s very Irish.”

I laughed. “We’re a very Irish sort of family. My mother’s name was Finola.”

“Irish, huh? Does that mean if I kiss you, I’ll have good luck for the rest of the year?”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder. “I don’t know about having good luck in the future, but you just might get lucky tonight.”

“Well, then, let’s test your theory out right now,” he murmured.

Johnny dipped his head forward and kissed me. His lips felt like liquid fire on my own. I opened my mouth, and Johnny darted his tongue inside. He tasted like chocolate and wine, and his spicy scent filled my nostrils. Yummy.

Johnny eased me up against the wall. We kept kissing, our tongues moving back and forth. I raised one leg around his waist. Johnny’s sure, confident hands moved up and down my body. Kneading. Caressing. Sculpting. He moved from my breasts to my stomach down to the junction between my thighs. I hissed as he stroked me through my silken panties, and a warm, heavy wetness pooled between my legs.

“Would you care to continue the tour? Say, upstairs?” Johnny nibbled on the side of my neck.

Tingles of pleasure shot through me. My neck was very sensitive. I dug my fingers into his hair and pulled him closer. “Is that where your bedroom is?”

“Mmm-hmm.” Johnny continued to kiss my neck as one hand cupped my breast. “So what do you say?”

Breathless, I couldn’t speak. I raised his head and stared in his shimmering green eyes. I opened my mouth to respond, but Johnny swooped in and cut me off with another hot kiss.

Then, the worst thing in the world happened.

My cell phone rang.

Chapter Fourteen

“That’s becoming a rather annoying habit of yours,” Johnny said, his lips still touching mine.

“Sorry,” I muttered. “It’s one I’m trying to break.”

Johnny stepped back and dropped his hands. I bit my lip. All worked up and no relief in sight. The things I gave up for my city. Stupid superhero duty.

I dug through my purse, grabbed my phone, and answered the call. “What is it, Henry? I’m right in the middle of something.”

“We’ve got a lead on Siren and Intelligal,” Henry replied, not the least bit put off by my fierce growl. He’d long ago grown used to it. “We’re heading out soon to see if we can track them down and stop them. The chief wants you here ten minutes ago.”

I stared at Johnny, who leaned forward and pressed another kiss to my neck. I closed my eyes. Mmm. “Do I have to?” Whining just a bit.

“Well, you don’t have to, of course,” Henry replied. “We could go after the ubervillains by ourselves. But since you’re the strongest and since we’re down two members, it might be a good idea for you to come in. You do have the most firepower, after all. “

I snorted. “Firepower? You’ve been hanging around Lulu too long.”

“I have not,” Henry snapped back. “And you should be nicer to her, Fiona. If I get my way, Lulu will be part of the team permanently.”

I narrowed my eyes. Permanently? I didn’t like the sound of that. What was up with Henry and the computer hacker? “What do you mean by that?”

“None of your business at the moment. Now, are you coming in or not?” he asked.

Johnny’s hand slipped under my short skirt and started creeping upward. He stroked my thigh. For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I ended the call.

“Let me guess. Henry has more problems at the store.” Johnny arched an eyebrow.

“Unfortunately.”

“Perhaps you should think about getting another night manager. He always seems to call you at the most inappropriate moments,” Johnny said.

“You’re telling me. I’m sorry I have to go, Johnny. I was having a fabulous time.” Regret tinged my voice. It had been wonderful spending the evening with Johnny and his family. And then being alone afterward with the man himself.

“I know, and I understand. But since you have to leave, we should make the most of this brief time we have together, shouldn’t we?”

Johnny flashed me a wicked, wanton grin and sank to his knees in front of me. Johnny stroked my thighs with his fingers. I gasped at the sensation.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he said in a quiet voice.

I couldn’t say a word, and I didn’t want to. For a moment, Travis’s face flashed through my mind. Then, Johnny moved his hand, and the image disappeared.

“Go ahead.” My voice was thick and husky with passion, desire, need.

Before I knew what he was doing, Johnny had pushed my skirt up and my panties down. I stepped out of the filmy lace and kicked them down the hall. Johnny hooked one of my long legs over his shoulder. Then, he leaned forward and put his mouth on me.

Licking. Tasting. Teasing. Driving me insane.

I dug my hands into his shoulders. “Johnny!” Begging him to stop. Wanting him to go on.

Johnny chose to think of my strangled cry as one of encouragement. He quickened his pace, his tongue probing deeper and deeper with every sure stroke, as though he wanted to lick his way to the very core of me. Liquid desire flowed like thick lava through my veins. Pressure built deep in my stomach. My whole body trembled.

And then—

An eruption of epic proportions. But in a good way.

I just stood there, wrapped in the soft blanket of sexual bliss. Afterglow, people called it. I felt as warm and fuzzy as a fleece blanket that had just tumbled out of the dryer.

“Wow!” That was all I could say.

“I aim to please,” Johnny said, rising to his feet. “Again...and again...and again...” He planted more kisses on my throat. His tongue flicked over my rapid, throbbing pulse.

“I have to go,” I said in a weak tone, even as I drew him closer.

We kissed long and slow and deep. Johnny’s hands moved up and down my body. I kneaded his back, his chest, his abdomen with my grasping fingers. I wanted to touch him. All of him. Over and over again until we were both sweaty, satisfied, and utterly spent. And then some. But Johnny had other ideas.

“Oh, I think we have a little more time left,” he said, grinning.

Johnny went down on his knees again.

* * *

It was close to midnight by the time I reached the underground garage at Sublime and parked my convertible next to one of the Fearless Five vans. It’d been almost half an hour since I’d left Johnny, and I couldn’t stop smiling. I’d even been humming on the drive across town. Humming! I never hummed. Superheroes did not hum.

I made my way to the equipment room and changed into my orange-red Fiera outfit. I felt good tonight, charged, pumped up. Like I could take on Siren and Intelligal with one hand tied behind my back. And it was all thanks to Johnny. Oh, the things that man could do with his tongue...

A loud squawk sounded, cutting through my sexual daydreams.

“Fiona, are you almost ready? You’ve been in there almost twenty minutes.” The chief’s voice cracked over the underground intercom system.

“Coming.”

Since my dinner had been burned away by my time with Johnny, I stopped by the kitchen, made myself ten tomato-and-cheese sandwiches, and grabbed a two-liter soda before heading to the library. The others waited inside.

“Hello, all,” I said in a cheery tone. “Ready to go kick some ubervillain ass?”

They just stared at me.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong? Why are you all looking at me like that?”

The chief cleared his throat. “You’re glowing, Fiona.”

I looked down. Sure enough, a soft, orangey glow enveloped my entire body. I hadn’t even noticed it, and I was pretty good about keeping my flare-ups in check. Even when I let myself go, most of the time I emanated more of an angry red. I glowed orange only when I was extremely relaxed or very, very happy. I was both right now.

“Well, well, someone must have gotten lucky tonight,” Lulu drawled. “Did we have a hot date, Fiona?”

I narrowed my eyes at the computer hacker. A spark flew from my fingertip. My orange glow took on a reddish tint. One day I was going to get her for those stupid heat-related puns. One day soon...

My father cleared his throat again.

But not today. Too many witnesses around. So instead of frying Lulu from the inside out, I tossed my hair back.

“As I matter of fact, I did have a hot date tonight. Unlike you two. Let me guess. You’ve been sitting here all night pounding away on your keyboards trying to track down ubervillains. Is that your idea of a good time, or are the two of you still not over your tiff from the benefit?”

Lulu’s lips tightened into a thin line. Henry stopped typing. The two of them looked at me, then each other, then back at their computers. I stared at my father. He shook his head, his way of telling me not to butt in. I glared at him. Lulu had just shoved her way into my business, but I couldn’t get a little get-back? So not fair.

I learned long ago there was only one thing to do when life wasn’t fair. So, I marched over to the table with its F5 insignia, put my feet up, cracked open my soda, and started eating my melted, cheese-and-tomato sandwiches.

Chapter Fifteen

While I polished off my midnight snack, Henry and Lulu used one of their umpteen computer programs to pinpoint Siren and Intelligal’s exact location. Surprise, surprise, the ubervillains were holed up in another dilapidated warehouse. This time, though, they were near the downtown area. So, we loaded up the van, exited the garage, and headed toward Bigtime.

We’d just gotten on the interstate when Lulu frowned.

“Uh-oh,” she said.

“What?” I asked. “What’s wrong now?”

“SNN just cut into their charity benefit. Halitosis Hal and Pistol Pete were engaging in a mock fight to raise money for the children’s hospital. Pete would fire his pistol at Hal, but his breath would stop the bullets in midair. Funny stuff.”

“But now...” I prompted.

“They’re live at the construction site where the city’s building the new sports complex. The whole thing’s collapsed.” Lulu stared at her laptop. “Kelly Caleb’s on the scene. She’s saying that Swifte got trapped inside while he was trying to rescue some of the construction crew.”

“Why is a construction crew working on a building after midnight?” I asked.

“It’s a city contract, and the sports complex is two months behind schedule due to the snow we had this winter. They’ve been working round-the-clock shifts for the last six weeks to try to get back on track,” Mr. Sage said. “Is anyone else on the scene besides Swifte? Anyone providing security or backup for him?”

Lulu shook her head. “Not yet. The police, fire, and rescue squads are there, but no other superheroes.” She hesitated. “It looks pretty bad.”

She turned the laptop around to us. The skeleton dome of the sports complex had folded in on itself, like a deck of cards knocked over by a gust of wind. Hoarse screams and shouts could be heard over Kelly Caleb’s clipped voice. Sirens flashed blue and red in the distance while dust drifted through the air, obscuring the camera’s view. Lulu was right. It looked bad.

I stared at my father. His was face smooth, but his eyes glowed neon green. He was reaching out with his psychic powers, trying to tap into people’s vibrations, emotions, fears. “It is bad. The worst accident we’ve had in some time. Turn around, Hermit. We need to go help.”

“What about Siren and Intelligal?” I asked.

“They’ll have to wait,” Mr. Sage said. “This is more important. Agreed?”

I’d been looking forward to getting another chance to wrap my hands around Siren’s scrawny neck and squeeze until her head popped off her overinflated body. But I’d just have to settle for moving rocks around and saving sweaty construction guys instead. It wasn’t a bad trade-off. “Agreed.”

Hermit whipped a U-turn, and we headed back toward the collapsed building. You could see the smoke and dust miles away, billowing into the night sky like a mushroom cloud.

“Hermit?” Mr. Sage asked.

“I know,” he answered. “Step on it.”

Hermit’s hands tightened around the wheel, and we made it to the construction site in less than seven minutes. He might be unnaturally fond of computers, but Hermit could drive when he put his mind to it. I thought it was one of his most useful skills.

We stopped the van in a dark alley about two blocks from the construction site. Lulu outfitted us with two-way earpieces and turned on the cameras in our suits. Once we were set up, Hermit, Mr. Sage, and I jogged over to the scene, while Lulu stayed in the van to monitor us and the news channels.

People were everywhere, like ants running around a pool of hot honey. They crowded into the streets, climbed onto parked cars, and hung out apartment windows high above to get a better view of the action. They chattered like magpies, their voices building to a cacophony of high-pitched, excited sound.

I plowed into the crush, trying to clear a path. “Excuse me, excuse me, coming through. Now. Move, please. Thank you.” I kept up a steady stream of patter as I zinged people with hot flashes to get them out of the way.

Finally, though, someone took notice of us.

“Look! It’s Fiera!”

“And Mr. Sage and Hermit!”

“The Fearless Five are here!”

Claps, cheers, and whistles sounded. People got the message and stepped aside to let us by. I smiled and shot a few sparks off my fingertips, my signature move. Folks roared in response. It was always nice to be recognized. That was another perk of being a superhero. People knew you wherever you went, and you never had to wait in line for anything.

A woman darted through an opening in the crowd and clutched at my arm. “Please! Please! You’ve got to help them! My husband is trapped in there!”

I’m used to such tearful pleas. I’ve heard thousands of them during my time as a superhero. But the raw panic in her eyes touched my heart. I’d felt the same way about Travis aka Tornado every time he’d gone out on a mission. Panicked and worried and slightly crazed.

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” I patted her arm, careful not to burn her, and gently shook off her hand.

The three of us made our way to the police barricade, where the esteemed members of the press waited. My eyes scanned over the crowd, and I spotted reporters from The Chronicle, The Exposé, and of course, SNN. Word of our arrival had already spread, because Kelly Caleb was ready and waiting for us. She shoved her microphone in my face the second we approached the cops. The white lights of her television camera cranked up like headlights in my face. I squinted against the blinding glare.

“Fiera! Fiera! Have you come to help? What’s the status of the trapped workers? Do you think you’re too late already?”

“Later, Kelly,” I snapped and kept moving. Unlike Swifte, I didn’t have time to give interviews before I saved people.

Besides, reporters were always so difficult. Why couldn’t they just leave us alone to do our jobs? Public’s right to know, my ass. All the public needed to know was that I would do my superhero duty—to protect and serve—no matter what.

We went around the police barricade and entered the construction site, which was cordoned off from the street by a metal chain-link fence topped with razor wire. Cranes and bulldozers and backhoes sat behind the fence, along with tin trailers, cement mixers, trucks, and portable toilets.

Police, fire, and other emergency rescue officials hovered around the back of a pickup truck, where a beefy guy with a dirt-covered face sat. His arm was in a makeshift sling, and cuts and bruises dotted his bulging body. He looked like he’d just barely escaped the collapse himself, but he was busy looking at several papers.

The police let us through, just like they always did, and Mr. Sage headed straight for Beefcake.

“What’s the situation, sir?” Mr. Sage asked in a calm but strong voice.

Some of the tension dribbled out of the cluster of people around us. That was my father for you. He could calm down a hurricane if he wanted to. He’d done it many times before.

“I’m Jim, the foreman. I was overseeing the night shift when she came down. Scariest thing I’ve ever lived through.” His eyes flicked to the destroyed building.

“Any idea what caused the collapse?” Hermit asked, punching some buttons on his handheld computer. No doubt he was accessing the building’s blueprints, looking for structural weak spots and the like.

“Not a clue.” Jim hesitated. “But right before she came down, I heard this...sound. Sort of like purring or something. It was the oddest thing.”

Some of the policemen chuckled. A few meowed. The foreman shot them angry stares.

“Well, that’s what it sounded like to me,” he growled. “Instead of just standing around, why don’t you boys in blue get in gear and get my folks out?”

That shut the cops up real quick. I gave Jim an encouraging nod.

“Please. Let us offer our assistance,” Mr. Sage cut in.

Jim nodded. “I’ve been going over the blueprints. We’ve got some folks in sector two.” The foreman pointed to the area in question. “Swifte arrived about two minutes after she went down, but more of the building gave way and sealed off the entrance. He went in there, but he hasn’t come back out. Neither has anyone else.”

“All right,” Mr. Sage said. “The first thing we need to do is shore up that section so it won’t cave in on us when we go in. Fiera, you move the big pieces out of the way. I’ll use my telekinesis to help and make sure that everything doesn’t come falling down on you.”

I nodded. Standard operating procedure. This wasn’t the first collapsed building we’d seen in Bigtime. We’d run into and dug our way out of more than a few ourselves.

“Let me help too,” a cool voice cut through the air.

I snapped my head around. Johnny Angel stood behind us, looking like his usual badass self in his shiny black leather.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped. “I thought you were busy with your vengeance mission. Shouldn’t you be plotting ways to run down ubervillains with your bike?”

“I heard about the collapse on television. I just want to help,” he said in a quiet, defensive tone.

“Us too,” a pair of feminine voices chimed in.

My eyes darted over the crowd. I couldn’t see them, but I knew they were there. Finally, I spotted two pairs of footprints in the dirt about ten feet away. I squinted and could just make out the faint outlines of two curvy figures. It was like I was looking at something through cloudy water.

“The Invisible Ingénues. It’s been a while since we’ve seen you girls.” I’d been hanging around Lulu too long. I just couldn’t seem to stop with the bad puns.

“Oh, we’ve been around...”

“Just like always.”

The Ingénues were sisters who had a strange habit of finishing each other’s sentences. I’d wondered more than once if they were joined at the hip. I couldn’t tell, though, since they were invisible.

I looked at Hermit, who shrugged. I turned to Mr. Sage. His eyes glowed for half a second, and he nodded.

“All right, Angel, Ingénues,” Mr. Sage said. “We can use all the help we can get. Let’s move, people.”

Jim told us a few more pertinent details. Some of his folks had called in sick, and he’d been working with a skeleton crew. “There were thirteen of us inside when she went down. Me and five others made it out. That leaves seven, plus Swifte.”

Once we got all the information we could from Jim, we stepped through the police barricade and approached the building. The sports center—what was left of it—looked like a doll’s house that had been upset by a child’s angry tantrum. Steel beams as thick as my body stuck up at weird angles. Bricks, concrete blocks, wires, cables, and more spilled down from the towering heap of metal. Every once in a while, something deep inside the structure would moan and creak and groan.

“Right here,” Hermit said. “That’s where the entrance was.”

Steel beams and pieces of building the size of small cars covered the exit. Nothing I couldn’t handle. I cracked my knuckles and did a few stretches to limber up. It was always important to stretch before undertaking big tasks. I might be a superhero, but I could still blow out my knee or tear my biceps.

“Which side do you want, Ingénues?”

Like most superheroes, the girls had some muscle on them, especially when they worked together.

“We’ll take...”

“The left side.”

“Good. I’ve got the right then.”

I looked over my shoulder, making sure no one was behind me so they wouldn’t get hit by the boulders I was about to toss back. Then, I went to work.

So did Johnny Angel. In addition to having a superhard exoskeleton, Angel was stronger than average. After twenty minutes, the four of us had cleared a space big enough for a couple of people to walk through. I peered into the darkness. More beams lay inside crisscrossed over each other like the teeth of a zipper. Whoever went in would have to be very, very careful. It would be worse than walking through a maze of razor wire—one that could come down on your head and crush you at any moment.

“It might work better if Fiera and I went inside together. She can hold up the roof and move things as needed, while I drag the people out,” Angel suggested. “As long as I keep concentrating on my exoskeleton, the debris won’t hurt me.”

Mr. Sage peered into the dark hole. “You’re right. Hermit and I will stay here with the Ingénues and monitor the building from the outside. I’ll use my telekinesis to try to steady some of the structural points. Be careful. Both of you.”

I pressed my fist to my heart. Mr. Sage and Hermit did the same. The Ingénues had seen the salute before, but Angel stared at us. Curiosity glimmered in his eyes.

I turned to him. “All right, Angel. Follow me.”

I took a deep breath and stepped inside the collapsed building.

* * *

The inside was even worse than the outside. The main support beams had crumpled in on each other like cheap tinfoil. Dust hung in the air like a wet blanket, and debris littered the uneven ground. Rocks slid and shifted under our feet with every step we took. It would have been safer to walk through a minefield, but we plunged inside anyway. We had to. People were counting on us. I wrapped myself in flames to light the way, careful not to burn too bright, so I wouldn’t ignite whatever gas or chemicals might be in the air.

I didn’t have many fears, but being in a small, unstable space was one of them. I could feel the weight of the building hovering over my head. All that metal. All that steel. All that concrete. Just waiting to come crashing down and bury me forever. It reminded me of the unbreakable glass tube I’d been stuck in last year when the others and I had been captured by the Terrible Triad. I’d felt the tube pressing in on me in the exact same manner. I panted for air.

“Just take deep breaths,” Angel said, touching my arm. “It’ll help.”

I stiffened, hating myself for letting my nervousness show. Still, the feel of his hand reminded me that I wasn’t alone in this. And that there were eight people somewhere in here that were in much worse shape than me. I had a duty to help them. I couldn’t afford to chicken out now.

I drew in a breath and let it out slowly. My nerves steadied.

“Fiera, turn left. According to the heat-sensing camera in your suit, there’s a thermal image about a hundred yards ahead of you,” Hermit’s voice crackled in my ear.

“Copy that.” I jerked my head at Angel. “This way.”

We eased through the metal maze. Ten yards in, twenty, fifty, a hundred. I upped the dimmer on my body and peered into the darkness, trying to see something, anything that resembled a human form. A flash of shimmering white caught my eye. “Swifte!”

I eased over to the superhero. Now I knew why he hadn’t made it back out of the building. Two metal beams had crashed down on him. One lay on his leg, the other on his back. His costume was torn in several places, and blood blackened the dirt under his body. For a moment, I thought he was unconscious or maybe even dead, but Swifte turned his head to stare at my boots.

“Hey, Swifte. What’s shaking?” I asked.

The superfast superhero grinned into the dirt. “Not much at the moment.” His voice was raspy and strained. The beam must be pressing down on his lungs, making it hard for him to breathe.

“You know, I’ve never seen you like this before. Usually, you just zip in and zip out of these situations,” I said, being my usual bitchy self to lighten the mood.

He shrugged. Or at least, he tried to. He got about halfway there before stopping in pain. “Normally I do. But it’s a little more difficult when there’s a thousand beams raining down on you at once.”

“Well, hold still. We’re going to get you out of here.”

Swifte shook his head an inch. “Get the others out first. I’m all right.” He grimaced.

“Are you sure?” Angel asked. “Because you look pretty messed up to me, man.”

“Get the others out first,” Swifte wheezed. “They’re only a couple hundred yards up ahead.”

“Noble to the end, huh, Swifte?” I said.

“Just doing my job, Fiera. Just doing my job.”

I could respect that. While we talked, I heard the sound of buttons being punched in my ear.

“Swifte’s right. I’ve got more images about two hundred yards farther in,” Hermit said.

“All right. We’re going to get the others out. But we’ll be back for you in a few minutes. Okay, Swifte?”

The superhero chuckled. “Of course. Unfortunately, I’m not going anywhere at the moment.”

I nodded to Angel. “Let’s go.”

Hermit guided us through the remains of the ruined building. It was slow going, but ten minutes later, we stumbled onto the rest of the construction crew. They huddled together in a space about the size of a large desk that was amazingly free of debris. Other than cuts and scrapes, a few broken bones, and having a decade or so scared out of them, the men and women were in remarkably good shape. Somebody upstairs had been smiling on them tonight.

Angel surprised me again. One by one, he pulled the men and women to their feet. He spoke to them in soft, soothing tones and guided them back through the metal maze. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought that Johnny Angel was one of Bigtime’s finest superheroes. I stayed behind to help calm the others while they waited for their turn. Every other minute, the building creaked and shrieked like a tree caught in a hurricane, but it stayed up, thanks to my father and his mind of steel.

Angel put his arm around the last construction crew member, and the three of us headed back to Swifte. I picked up the beams pinning down the speedy superhero, and Angel pulled Swifte out from under them. The superhero’s suit was in tatters, and blood stained the opalescent fabric a dark scarlet. A long, deep gash decorated his right thigh where shrapnel had cut into him. I winced. Blood didn’t bother me, but Swifte’s wound looked nasty and painful.

“I don’t think you’ll be running any marathons anytime soon,” Angel said, staring at the superhero’s leg.

“That’s what you think,” Swifte said.

He took a step as though to dart away. I caught him before he smacked into the ground.

“Easy, big boy,” I said. “There’ll be plenty of time to disappear on us later.”

Swifte mumbled something under his breath.

“You’re welcome,” I replied.

I picked up Swifte and carried him outside, while Angel took care of the construction guy. The four of us emerged from the building, and the crowd erupted into wild, happy cheers. Cameras flashed. Sirens sounded. People whistled and clapped and yelled until they were hoarse. The roar was deafening.

I put Swifte down in the back of an ambulance and struck my best, classic superhero pose. Hands on hips, stomach in, breasts out. The crowd cheered even louder. I smiled and shot more sparks off my fingertips. A little good press never hurt anyone. There were so many heroes in Bigtime these days it was hard to stand out from the crowd.

A couple of paramedics came over to treat Swifte. Mr. Sage and Hermit moved to stand beside me.

Mr. Sage put a hand on my shoulder. “Good work, Fiera.”

“Thanks, Dad,” I said in a soft voice only he could hear.

My gaze went to the people we’d pulled from the rubble. I stared at the worried husbands and wives who hovered over their injured spouses as the paramedics checked them out. I thought of Travis. He would have loved to have been part of such a successful rescue. But he wasn’t here. And he would never be again.

But the thought didn’t make me feel so empty, so hollow, as it usually did. I could remember the good times now, instead of just the aching pain of Travis’s loss. I knew Johnny Bulluci had a great deal to do with that.

Speaking of Johnnies, I drifted over to Angel, who was standing next to his motorcycle smoking a cigarette. I didn’t really want to say thank you, especially to someone who’d threatened to kill us if we got in the way of his pursuit of Siren and Intelligal. But I had to. My silly superhero honor wouldn’t let me not do it. “Thanks for helping me out in there. I don’t do so well in tiny spaces.”

“No problem. I’m glad you let me help.” Angel’s eyes wandered over to the construction-crew members, who were busy hugging and kissing their weeping spouses and children. “We did a good thing tonight.”

“Yes, we did.”

We exchanged a smile, in sync for once. Angel turned and got on his motorcycle.

Something clinked, and a spot of silver on the black pavement caught my eye.

“Hey, wait! You lost your watch.” I leaned down, picked up the silver watch, and turned it over so I could see what time it was. It had to be almost three in the morning by now—

I froze.

A pair of silver angel wings decorated the watch’s black face. I recognized it immediately. It was the same watch Siren and Intelligal had stolen at Carmen’s wedding. The same watch I’d handed back to Johnny Bulluci.

Johnny Bulluci.

Johnny Angel.

My eyes flew to his face. And I knew they were one and the same.

“Thanks,” he said, taking the watch from my sparking fingers. “I’d hate to lose this.”

Angel snapped the timepiece around his wrist and gave me a mock salute. Then, he fired up his motorcycle and rumbled away into the night.

All I could do was stare at his retreating form.

PART TWO

THE HONEYMOON’S OVER

Chapter Sixteen

After shaking hands with everyone, working the crowd, and reluctantly giving interviews to reporters from SNN and the two newspapers in town, The Chronicle and The Exposé, we piled into the van and headed back to Sublime.

The others chattered about the rescue and wondered who or what could have brought down the massive sports complex. I sat in the back and stared out the tinted windows. Brooding.

Johnny Bulluci was Johnny Angel. I was still trying to figure out what it meant. How I felt about it. The guy I’d been having a hot fling with was actually a...a what? He wasn’t a hard-core ubervillain like Malefica, but Angel was no, well, angel. At least, his last incarnation hadn’t been.

Johnny’s anger over his father’s death. Angel’s vow of revenge on Siren and Intelligal for killing his predecessor. All those freaking angels in the Bulluci mansion. I hated to admit it, but Carmen was right. We superheroes weren’t the brightest bunch when it came to disguising our real identities. I could have firebombed myself for not seeing Angel’s real identity sooner. Say, before I’d gone and slept with him.

“You’re awfully quiet, Fiona,” the chief said in his thick brogue. “Is something wrong?”

“I’m just tired.” I was tired. And cranky. And famished. Not to mention the shock I’d just received.

“Well, I don’t want to pry, but if you want to talk about it, I’m here for you.”

Grateful that he wasn’t going to read my mind tonight, I nodded and returned to my brooding.

* * *

I crashed in my underground suite at Sublime and didn’t get up until almost four the next afternoon. I hadn’t slept well. In my dreams, Johnny Bulluci had kept morphing into Johnny Angel and back again until I couldn’t tell where one man started and the other ended. Not the most pleasant dream to have about your lover. Especially when you moonlighted as a superhero who was supposed to fight crime, and your honey was out to kill a couple of ubervillains, no matter what. And it was your responsibility to stop bad things like murders from taking place, no matter how much someone might deserve it.

Grumbling, I got out of bed, showered, and went to the kitchen. I wolfed down five pizzas, three hamburgers, a twelve-pack of soda, two chocolate cheesecakes, an apple pie, and three gallons of vanilla ice cream. I always ate more when I was angry or upset. Johnny’s secret identity was more than enough to make me both.

After polishing off my late lunch, I went to the library looking for Henry. I wanted him to get me all the information on Johnny Bulluci that he could find. I opened the double doors and stopped short. Instead of Henry, Lulu sat inside the spacious room. The fan in her laptop whirred to life at my arrival.

“Oh, you’re here—” I started to say again, but I caught myself.

“Nice to see you too, Fiona,” Lulu replied.

“Where are the others?”

Lulu hit a few buttons on her computer. “The chief had some big city meeting he had to go to about the collapse of the sports complex. Evidently, the powers that be want to know why it happened and how much it’s going to cost to clean it up and get the project back on track.”

No big shock there. Assessing the damage was the first thing the Bigtime city government did the morning after accidents like last night’s incident. They set aside one morning a week to devote to all the buildings, cars, and streetlights the city’s superheroes and ubervillains destroyed. Epic battles might have been bad for the historic structures in the city, but they kept the local construction companies in business. There was always a building boom of one kind or another in Bigtime.

“And Henry?” He was the one I was really interested in at the moment.

“He’s down at the Complete Computer Company trying out some new microprocessor for his technology column in the newspaper. He won’t be back until late tonight.”

Damn. Where was the computer geek when I needed him? There was nothing I could do about it, though, short of calling Henry and demanding that he torpedo his job to help me. I knew from past experience that wouldn’t work. For some strange reason, Henry actually liked his crummy day job at The Exposé. He would play hooky from work only if one of the Fearless Five was in mortal danger—or his precious computer was about to explode.

I sat down in my usual seat at the F5 table and drummed my fingers on the top. Sparks flew everywhere, adding more scars to the scorched wood. My stomach rumbled. Lunch was gone already.

“Do you need something, Fiona?” Lulu asked.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you look just like Carmen did when she was hot on the trail of a superhero she was about to expose. All tense and twitchy and bothered.”

Being compared to Carmen aka Karma Girl Cole didn’t help my sour mood. But I stopped drumming my fingers. Lulu would find out about Johnny when I told Henry and the chief. I might as well tell her what I wanted and get the information now. I didn’t want to wait a second longer than necessary to get the goods on Johnny Bulluci. I wasn’t good at waiting. Patience was something else I’d never seen the virtue in.

“I need everything you can dig up on Johnny Bulluci.”

Lulu arched an eyebrow. “Why is that? Is he your new honey?”

“Yes, he’s my new honey,” I snarled.

“Mmm-hmm.” Lulu shot me a coy look. “So that’s who had you all hot and bothered last night.”

I rolled my eyes at her obvious pun. “Yes, that’s who had me all hot and bothered last night. But there’s more to it than that.”

“Sure there is,” Lulu smirked.

She was getting on my last nerve, so I did my best to shut her up. “Oh, there’s a lot more to it. I’m pretty sure he’s really Johnny Angel. You know, the guy who rides around on the motorcycle? The one who threatened to kill us?”

Lulu stopped typing. Her head snapped up. “No way!”

“Way.”

I told her everything. About Johnny’s anger over his father’s death, the family obsession with angels, the watch. All of it.

Lulu let out a low whistle. “So you’ve been getting hot ’n’ heavy with the guy who’s vowed to destroy Siren and Intelligal, and the Fearless Five if you get in his way.”

I shot my finger at her. “You’ve got it.”

“And I thought I had problems,” Lulu muttered.

My eyes narrowed. “What do you mean by that? What’s going on with you and Henry?”

Lulu looked at her computer screen and refused to meet my hot, searching gaze.

“Oh, come on,” I snapped. “I spilled to you, now you spill to me. I won’t laugh, if that’s what you’re worried about.” At least, I’d try not to.

“Henry asked me to marry him,” Lulu said in a soft tone.

Straight arrow, geek-to-the-max Henry aka Hermit Harris had proposed marriage to one of the most notorious computer hackers in Bigtime. A woman who could expose us with a click of her mouse. Fabulous. Just fabulous.

“When?”

“Three weeks ago.”

I thought back. “Wasn’t that the weekend you guys went to that big ubergeek conference in Ashland?”

Lulu glared at me. “It was not an ubergeek conference. It was a computer symposium about Internet security.”

I snorted. “Like there’s a difference.”

“Anyway,” Lulu continued with her story. “We stayed at this quaint little bed-and-breakfast just outside the city and went to the conference during the day. One night when we came back to the room, everything was covered in rose petals. There were flowers and champagne. Henry had hidden the ring in a chocolate cake. He had it made in the shape of a laptop. It was so romantic.” Lulu’s eyes went all soft and dreamy.

Rose petals? Champagne? A ring hidden in a computer-shaped chocolate cake? Henry was more of a romantic than I’d given him credit for. In a completely geeky sort of way.

“Well, that’s wonderful, isn’t it?”

My voice didn’t come out too strangled. I, of course, thought Henry was making a terrible mistake, just like I’d thought Sam had been making a terrible mistake when he’d started boinking Carmen when the Terrible Triad was after us. But I forced myself to be polite. For once. For Henry’s sake.

Lulu stared at me like I’d just said the dumbest thing in the world. Maybe I had. A superhero and a computer hacker? Not a good combo.

“Look at me, Fiona. I’m in a wheelchair, in case it’s escaped your notice. It’s not all hearts and flowers, you know.”

“So? Lots of people are in wheelchairs. It doesn’t seem to bother Henry any, so why should it bother you?”

Lulu sighed and pushed a wisp of black-and-blue hair out of her face. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Is it because of sex?” In relationships, just about everything came back to sex in the end. Sex or money. Or both. “The two of you do have sex, don’t you?”

“Of course we have sex,” she snapped. “Just because I’m in a wheelchair doesn’t mean I don’t have needs. That Henry doesn’t have needs. In fact, Henry and I have sex quite frequently—”

I held my hand up. “Don’t tell me. I don’t need the mental image of you two supernerds going at it. It’s bad enough Carmen and Sam do the nasty in every corner of the manor imaginable. I don’t want to hear about anyone else or I’ll never be able to sit on the furniture again. So if sex isn’t the problem, what is?”

Lulu stared at her still legs. “I’m not just paralyzed. I can’t have kids either,” she mumbled.

“What?” I asked, straining to hear her. “What did you say?”

“I can’t have kids. I can’t marry Henry because I can’t have kids. There. I’ve told you what’s wrong. Are you happy now?” Tears shimmered in Lulu’s dark eyes.

“So what?”

Her mouth gaped open. “So what?”

I shrugged. “So what? So you can’t have kids. Lots of women and men can’t have kids. Besides, do the two of you even want kids right now? Aren’t you a little young for that? You’re not even thirty yet.”

“No, we don’t want kids right now. But someday we would, and I can’t give them to Henry.” More tears puddled in her eyes, threatening to spill down her cheeks.

“You could always adopt,” I pointed out. “There are lots of great kids out there who need a good home.”

Lulu shook her head. “It wouldn’t be the same.”

“Why the hell not?”

Lulu stared at me as if the answer should be obvious. I was getting rather tired of that look. I wasn’t a mind reader like my father was. I couldn’t discern someone’s innermost thoughts with a single, soul-searing gaze. Beat it out of them, yes. Fry them alive? Always. But glean pertinent information with a quick look? No, not so much.

“Because of Henry’s power.”

“What does Henry’s power have to do with you not being able—Ah.” The lightbulb switched on inside my head. “If you can’t have kids, then Henry couldn’t pass his mind-melding power on to the next generation of Lo-Harrises.”

“Bingo. If we adopted a kid one day, we’d love her to death, but she wouldn’t have Henry’s power.”

“But you don’t even know that Henry’s kid would get his power anyway. Or that it would manifest in the same way. Sometimes, these things skip a couple of generations.”

My father and I were a prime example. It had been my mother and her fiery temper that had influenced my power, not my father’s calm sensibility. Johnny and James Bulluci were another pair that proved my point. Johnny had a power his father had probably never dreamed of. But that’s what happened when you battled ubervillains on a regular basis. The villains always seemed to live in the nastiest places, surrounded by acres of radioactive waste. The goo wasn’t good for your skin or hair—or for your genes. More than one hero had had her powers altered by being exposed to radioactive waste over the years. And if it didn’t get you, then it would more than likely get your kids and change them in some way—either good or bad.

“I don’t think Henry would care about whether or not his kid had powers. He’d love him or her just the same.”

Lulu shook her head. “I’ve run the numbers. There’s a good chance the kid would either have Henry’s power or some other manifestation of it. I don’t want to take that chance, that opportunity, away from Henry.”

Run the numbers? Lulu was making decisions about her love life based on some statistics a computer program had spit out. How romantic.

The other woman eyed me. “Haven’t you ever thought about having kids? About passing your powers on? Isn’t that what you would want?”

I thought about it. I’d been a fire-starting hellion when I was a kid. Everyone on the street where we’d lived in Ireland had thought that I was an arsonist and hopped up on steroids. Only the fact that my father was a policeman had kept me out of juvenile detention. Even as a kid, I had a tendency to beat up bullies.

Travis and I had talked about having children, about the fact that we might pass our powers on to them. Travis had been thrilled with the idea, but I was more ambivalent about it. Don’t get me wrong. I loved having superstrength and the ability to zap a pizza with my eyeballs. But powers weren’t the beat-all, end-all of the world, as Carmen was so fond of reminding me. Sure, superheroes got plenty of perks, but being one was a lot of hassle too. The long hours and late nights. The constant beatings and narrow escapes. The continual drain on my finances. Having to make nice with the likes of Kelly Caleb, Erica Songe, and other members of the press. My constant need to eat everything in sight. It got old sometimes.

But the most important thing I’d learned over my years of being a superhero was this—having powers couldn’t keep you safe from all the big, bad things out there in the world. Travis’s death was proof of that.

I answered Lulu. “It’d be nice to pass my power on, but it wouldn’t determine if I loved my kid or not. And it sure as hell wouldn’t keep me from being with the man I loved.”

I opened my mouth to further argue my point, but Lulu snapped her hand up.

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said through gritted teeth. “Talking won’t fix anything, especially not my shriveled-up ovaries and useless legs. Let’s get back to your problem.”

She pounded away on her laptop, signaling the end of our conversation. For now.

I started drumming my fingers on the table again while Lulu typed and clicked and muttered under her breath.

“Oh, go hoover down a pizza or something,” Lulu snapped about five minutes later. “I can’t concentrate with you giving me the laser gaze. All those heat waves make my computer freak out.”

“Fine,” I sniffed, threw my hair over my shoulder, and flounced out of the library.

I stalked to the underground kitchen, but I didn’t hoover down a pizza as Lulu had so indelicately suggested. Instead, I ate three boxes of Oreos and drank two gallons of milk. I was just finishing up when Lulu’s voice bellowed out of the intercom.

“I’ve got the information. You can come back to the library now.”

“Gee, thanks,” I said, draining the last of my milk.

By the time I returned to the library, Lulu had compiled several of inches of paper on Johnny Bulluci. A printer whirred and chugged in the background, spitting out more reams.

“How did you get so much information so fast?” I asked.

“Carmen showed me how she does it,” Lulu said. “She’s still working on Frost and Scorpion’s real identities, although they didn’t leave a trail for her to follow like Malefica did. Carmen doesn’t think any of them died at the ice cream factory, not even Malefica.”

“I doubt any of them are dead myself,” I replied. “Unfortunately, ubervillains are very resilient. One or all the members of the Terrible Triad will come back to Bigtime someday, and we’ll be ready for them, real identities or not.”

“Anyway, I set up a couple of computer programs to facilitate the process. I’m just printing the last of it now,” Lulu said, tidying up some pages. “This is all pretty normal stuff. School, college, business honors. Lots of friends, female and otherwise. Until three months ago.”

“When his father died, and he took over as Johnny Angel.”

“You betcha.” Lulu grabbed the last of the pages from the printer and shoved them into a thick blue binder. “After that, the life of Johnny Bulluci gets a bit more murky.”

“Naturally.”

Life was always murky in the world of superheroes and ubervillains. For someone like Johnny, who wasn’t on one side or the other, it would be positively gray. And I hated gray.

Lulu tossed me the binder. “Knock yourself out.” She paused. “And try not to set those on fire, okay? I don’t want to have to print them out again.”

“I won’t, Mom,” I muttered, settling myself at the round, wooden table.

Lulu steered her chair toward the door.

“Hey, Lulu?”

She stopped. “What?”

“Thanks. I really do appreciate it.”

I’d said thank you twice now in less than twenty-four hours. I really was going to have to quit freaking out and getting people to do me favors.

She nodded. “Back at you.”

“What did I do?”

Lulu stared at me. “You listened.”

Then, she opened the door and zoomed away.

Chapter Seventeen

I waited until the sound of Lulu’s wheelchair faded away. Then, I cracked open the binder and started reading.

Lulu had compiled quite a bit of information on James John aka Johnny Bulluci. Age thirty-six. Hair blond. Eyes green. Blah, blah, blah. I knew the boring facts already. I wanted to get to the good stuff.

I skimmed through pages detailing Johnny’s progress in high school and college, as well as the business accolades he’d received over the years. To my surprise, there were more than a few of those. I flipped through pages of earnings and stock reports. Since Bobby had retired and Johnny had taken over the majority of Bulluci Industries, the company had almost doubled its profits. Johnny was definitely more than just a sexy guy. He was a shrewd businessman who wasn’t afraid to take risks. Sam would have approved.

Finally, I found what I was looking for—James Bulluci’s obituary. It had appeared in both The Chronicle and The Exposé. Lulu had even downloaded the transcripts off the SNN archive service for me.

James Michael Bulluci, 58, died in a fiery car accident on Feb. 7. According to Bigtime police, an unknown driver apparently hit the rear of Bulluci’s silver Mercedes, causing the gas tank to explode. Bulluci’s body was badly burned and partially disintegrated. He was pronounced dead at the scene. The family will receive guests at 6 p.m. Feb. 10 at Bigtime Funeral Home. The burial will take place at 10 a.m. Feb. 11 at Bigtime Cemetery. In lieu of flowers, the family asks that donations be made to the Cure Cancer Research Facility...

I frowned. Died in a fiery car crash? I wondered how the Bullucis had pulled off that lie. They must have paid someone in the coroner’s office to look the other way. Or perhaps one of them had some sort of psychic power or mind-control gizmo. It didn’t really matter how they had done it. Only that they had.

I kept reading. The obit went on to detail James’s life and his work at the helm of his family’s company, as well as his many contributions to Bigtime charities. The local media had covered the funeral, of course, since the Bulluci family was so prominent in Bigtime society. I’d been out of town on a business trip and hadn’t gone to the funeral, but I remembered Sam talking about attending and what a sad day it had been.

I stared at a picture of Johnny with his arm around Bella, comforting his weeping sister. Johnny’s mouth was set in a hard, tight line. Even though the picture was in black and white, his eyes practically glowed with fury. The casket stood in the foreground. It was closed. Not surprising. If Intelligal had killed James Bulluci with explodium missiles like Angel claimed, there wouldn’t have been enough of him left to put in a spoon, much less a casket. Died in a car crash, my ass.

After the funeral, there were no more mentions of James Bulluci or Johnny Angel. For a while. Then, about a month after the funeral, SNN reported an Angel sighting at the Everything Electronics Store in downtown Bigtime.

Wait a minute. That name sounded familiar. I closed my eyes and thought back. That was one of the places Siren and Intelligal had hit during their crime spree. I remembered because we’d gone tearing after them when they’d robbed the store, but we’d lost them in traffic. All Siren had to do was crook her finger, and twenty cars had slammed into each other. I snorted. Men. And people thought women drivers were hazardous. Please.

I kept reading. According to the television transcripts, Angel had shown up just as the reporter was leaving. That’s why we hadn’t spotted him that time, but he’d been tracking them even then.

I wondered how he did it. And how he’d known the ubervillains were in the factory a few days ago. Did he sit by the police scanner at night like the newspaper reporters did? Or did he prowl the streets like the roving crews for SNN? Maybe his father’s old motorcycle gang friends had given him the heads-up. Perhaps his grandfather helped him. Or even Bella. She had to know the family secret. She might even have some sort of power herself, since Johnny did. She was probably too uptight to use it, though.

As the months went by, more and more sightings of Johnny Angel were reported. He always popped up where Siren and Intelligal had been, sometimes missing them by minutes. Occasionally, he’d save somebody from a burning building or chase off some would-be rapists, but he spent most of his time hunting the two ubervillains. Trying to get his revenge.

Revenge. Johnny wanted revenge on the ubervillains for killing his father. I couldn’t blame him for that. When I’d thought Travis had committed suicide because Carmen had exposed him, I’d wanted to tear her into little pieces and feed her to the fish in the marina. My father had to slip me sleeping pills for a week before I’d calmed down enough to even think about letting Carmen live.

When I learned that Malefica had actually murdered the man I loved, I’d gone ballistic. If I could have gotten my hands on the ubervillain, I would have ripped the skin from her body an inch at a time, sewn it back on, and started all over again. And again. And again. So, I didn’t begrudge Johnny his revenge. I understood the need for it all too well.

But in the end, revenge wasn’t as satisfying as it seemed. There had been plenty of people and ubervillains who had done me wrong over the years. Caveman Stan, the Undertaker, Frost, Carmen, Malefica. Some of them had gotten their comeuppance and then some. Caveman Stan had been buried alive in a cave-in. Frost got attacked by his own monstrous creations. Malefica had disappeared into a vat of radioactive goo.

But it had all been so hollow, so anticlimactic. Oh, the idea of revenge tempted you with its sweet, deadly song, whispered sly promises in your ear. But it didn’t bring back the person you loved. It didn’t change the past. It didn’t heal your hurt. Revenge only made you feel that much more empty inside. At least it had me.

No, Fiona Fine didn’t begrudge Johnny Bulluci his revenge. But as Fiera, the superhero, I was honor-bound to stop him. I was in the business of saving lives, not taking them. Not even the lives of ubervillains the world would be better off without. It wasn’t for me to decide who lived and who died. That had been one of the first lessons my father had drilled into my head when I’d decided to become a superhero like him. I might be powerful, but I wasn’t God. And according to Carmen, karma took care of everybody in the end, good and bad. From what I’d seen so far, she was right. Bad things had a way of happening to bad people. It might take a while, longer than it should, but in the end, you got what you deserved.

But if I stopped Johnny from taking his revenge, things would end between us. I knew his secret, what he did when he thought no one was watching. The knowledge would only fester and rankle between us until the connection we had turned into something sour and rotten.

I didn’t want that to happen. But I couldn’t ignore my calling, my duty either. And I didn’t know if I could risk telling him the truth about me, about what I did when no one was watching.

So what was I going to do?

* * *

I sat in the library staring into space, brooding, and eating candy bars until the others came in around eleven that night.

“Fiona, is something wrong?” the chief asked, his green eyes bright with concern.

I licked a bit of caramel off my finger and shoved the binder over to him. “Oh no. Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything’s just dandy. In fact, I’ve been reading up on a good friend of mine. Johnny Bulluci. Aka Johnny Angel.”

My father froze, his fingers hovering over the binder. “Johnny Bulluci is really Angel? Are you sure?”

“You’ve got to be kidding,” Henry said, his glasses gleaming in the dim light.

I shook my head. “Unfortunately, I’m not. It’s all there. Read it for yourselves.”

Henry and the chief pored over the pages, while I told them about Johnny’s watch and all the angels floating around the Bulluci household.

“You found this information yourself?” the chief asked Lulu.

She shrugged. “I’ve been getting pointers from Carmen. She’s right, you know. It really is easy to figure out who you guys are.”

“It makes sense,” Henry said, pushing his glasses up his nose. He leaned over his computer and started to type. “Each Bulluci generation has had at least one son in it, and we know Johnny Angel is a generational superhero/ubervillain. Not to mention the fact that one of Bulluci Industries’ specialties is the production of custom motorcycles. It all fits together. The secret identity, the business, everything.”

Something Johnny had said before echoed in my mind. “He told me once that the only thing he and his father ever argued about was his taking over part of the family business. I didn’t think anything of it at the time, but he must have been talking about becoming Johnny Angel.”

“But now he is Angel,” Lulu pointed out. “And we know what he wants.”

“To kill Siren and Intelligal for murdering his father,” I replied.

Chief Newman put his hand on mine. “Fiona, I know Johnny is your...special friend, but we can’t let him kill Siren and Intelligal. That’s not how we do things around here. We put ubervillains behind bars. We don’t execute them. Just because we have superpowers doesn’t mean that we’re above the law. And neither is Angel.”

“I know,” I said in a low tone. “We’ve got to stop him. No matter what.”

“No matter how much you might like him,” my father said in a kind tone. “No matter how much you think you might come to care for him.”

“I do.” I rubbed my aching head. “I do care for him. And that makes this whole thing suck even more.”

Chapter Eighteen

We sat there in silence, each of us digesting this latest secret-identity exposé.

And a loud bell blared out.

Henry jumped like Siren had just electrified him with a couple thousand volts. I thought his polka-dot bow tie would pop right off his neck, along with his plaid sweater vest. Henry punched buttons on one of his many computers. His fingers flashed over the keyboard faster than Swifte zipping down the freeway.

“I’ve got them!” he said. “I’ve got Siren and Intelligal!”

We clustered around his computer.

“Where? Where are they?” I asked.

Henry punched some more keys. “They’re downtown. Right next to Oodles o’ Stuff.”

Oodles o’ Stuff was the shopping center of shopping centers in Bigtime. The mall of malls. The store of stores. The multistoried building had more levels than a wedding cake and featured everything from clothes to jewelry to makeup to consumer electronics. The only thing I didn’t like about the store were its subbasements, where last season’s Fiona Fine originals could be had for up to seventy-five percent off. Oodles’ extreme sales cut into my profit margins far more than I liked.

“What would they be doing there?” I asked. “They wouldn’t be dumb enough to try to rob the place, would they?”

Like Quicke’s, Oodles was considered neutral territory for everyone in Bigtime. After all, even villains had to shop for essentials from time to time—namely, boots, masks, stilettos, and neon, sequined spandex. Oodles carried all of the above in large quantities.

But the owners of Oodles weren’t stupid. They knew better than to rely on the kindness of ubervillains—or your average shoplifter. The store had one of the best security systems in Bigtime. Guards, dogs, lasers, cameras, steel doors, ink-filled security tags. Not to mention the superheroes who shopped there during regular business hours. Oodles had more security than some of the banks in town.

Then again, Siren could charm just about anybody out of just about anything she wanted to in record time. Oodles’ security wouldn’t faze her or Intelligal a bit.

“Well, Swifte did stop them from taking everyone’s jewels at the wedding, and Oodles has more jewelry than anyone else in town,” Lulu pointed out. “Maybe Siren and Intelligal need to stock up on diamonds or something. There were gems all along the border of their radio device.”

“I don’t know why they’re there,” Henry said, still typing. “But they’ve been popping up in and around the area for a couple of days now. Maybe they’ve set up shop somewhere downtown. Intelligal must have figured out how I found them last time, because she masked the exhaust system on her chair. But I locked in on that strange gas she gave you guys. It contained a small amount of a very rare radioactive isotope that I was able to track through the atmosphere—”

I held up my hand. “Enough of the geek talk. It doesn’t matter what they’re doing at Oodles, only that we’ve tracked them down. Let’s go.” I took a deep breath. “Before Johnny Angel beats us to them.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, we were suited up and in the van. Hermit zoomed out of the underground garage and raced through the empty streets.

Worries and fears rattled around inside my head like electrified dice. Siren and Intelligal were deadly enough on their own, but now we had Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel to worry about. What would I do if Angel showed up? What would I do if he tried to kill the ubervillains? Or worse yet, tried to hurt one of us for getting in his way? I didn’t know the answers to my troubling questions.

My father leaned over and took my hand. “Don’t worry, Fiera. It will work out all right in the end. You’ll see.”

I squeezed his hand, comforted as always by his cheerful, optimistic calm.

“Mr. Sage is right. We might not even see Angel tonight,” Hermit called out from the driver’s seat. “I was only able to trace the ubervillains by using my radioactive isotope tracker. Angel’s not exactly known for his technological devices.”

I brightened. “So he probably can’t even track them on his own. Excellent.”

“Unless he’s watching for us,” Lulu piped up. “The van’s pretty easy to spot. If I were Angel, I wouldn’t even try to find Siren and Intelligal on my own. I’d just be looking out for the Fearless Five. Because where you guys are, ubervillains are sure to follow.”

My good mood vanished, and I glared at her. “You’re not helping.”

“Well, forgive me for thinking.”

We rode in silence the rest of the way. Since it was so late, downtown was largely deserted, and Hermit was able to park right in front of Oodles. Normally, at this time of night, steel bars and shutters would have covered the store’s plate-glass windows, along with the revolving doors that led inside. But the bars were up, and light spilled out from the building. Siren and Intelligal were here all right. Ubervillains were always so brazen when it came to strong-arm robberies.

“Same procedure as before?” I asked. “You boys in the back, me in the front?”

Mr. Sage nodded. “You’ve got it. And Hermit and I have whipped up something special for tonight, just in case Intelligal decides to spread some more of her gas around.” He held up a small, white pill.

I took the pill and gulped it down. “So this will keep me from having gas?” I snickered.

Lulu groaned. Hermit rolled his eyes. Mr. Sage just smiled.

“Oh, come on, Lulu,” I said. “It’s not any worse than the corny puns you come up with.”

“That was terrible, Fiera,” Lulu said. “Absolutely terrible.”

“Yes, this will keep you from being affected by the gas,” Hermit said. “It absorbs the gas before it gets into your bloodstream, sort of like an RID pill. But it only works for about twenty minutes. Mr. Sage and I haven’t come up with a permanent solution yet.”

“And it will probably only work half as long for you, Fiera,” my father added. “Maybe even less, given your rapid metabolism.”

“You know you could make millions from flatulent Americans if you could perfect it.”

No one responded. Ah well. Some people just didn’t have the vision I did. While Mr. Sage and Hermit ate their pills, Lulu gave us all earpieces and activated the cameras in the F5 insignias on our suits. Then, it was time to get out and about and see if we could catch us a couple of ubervillains hell-bent on destruction, world domination, and the like.

Mr. Sage and Hermit ran around to the back of the building. I marched over to the first door I saw and shoved through it, not even bothering to be quiet or sneaky. I wanted to get this over and done with before Angel showed up. I didn’t want to face Johnny just yet. Not until I figured out how I really felt about him. And how big an obstacle our secret identities were going to be to our blossoming relationship. With Travis, it had been so easy. We’d both known who we were when the lights went out, and we’d both been on the same side. But things wouldn’t be that simple with Johnny and me. Not by a long shot.

A couple of large, vicious-looking Dobermans lay inside the door. At least, they would have been vicious-looking if they weren’t snoring like lumberjacks and piled on top of each other like puppies. Ten feet behind the dogs, four guards slumped against counters full of designer handbags. They, too, were sleeping, and slightly goofy smiles curved their lips.

I sniffed. The sweet, sickening stench of the ubervillains’ gas lingered in the air, although there was a slightly more floral aroma to it this time, almost like jasmine. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that Siren and Intelligal had used the blue gas or some variation of it to knock out the guards and dogs. At least they hadn’t killed them.

“Hey, guys, I found the dogs and the guards. At least, the ones on this side of the building.” I pointed the camera in my suit at the snoring piles so Lulu could get a look at them. “Everyone seems to be having sweet dreams.”

“They’ll be all right,” Lulu squawked in my ear. “They have good, steady vital signs, and according to our analysis, the gas gets flushed out of people’s bodies pretty quickly. They’ll probably just sleep for a couple of hours. Keep going, Fiera.”

The first floor contained women’s clothes and accessories, from lacy lingerie to simple socks to stern business suits to slick panty hose. Even though the store had closed only a few minutes ago at midnight, all the clothes hung neatly from the racks, and the sweaters, shirts, and other items were folded and stacked on wooden tables in tidy piles. The staff at Oodles prided itself on making sure everything was meticulously arranged and easy to find.

I was happy to note that some of my goods, including my latest collection of affordable cocktail dresses, were prominently featured in a display near the middle of the first floor. I stopped to straighten a mannequin’s wayward spaghetti strap and continued on. I walked up to one of the many maps located throughout the store. My eyes scanned over the diagrams and lists of products and services available on each floor. If I were Siren and Intelligal, where would I go? What would I need to complete my scheme for world domination? I thought back to the device I’d seen in the abandoned warehouse and the spare bits of metal that had been lying around. Parts. That’s what I’d need.

“I’m heading up to the third floor, where the consumer electronics are,” I said to the others.

“Roger that,” Mr. Sage replied in a tinny voice. “Hermit and I will go up to the fifth floor, where the jewelry’s located.”

I headed for the nearest escalator and walked up a flight of frozen steps. The second floor was devoted to home goods, like kitchen appliances, bedding, and shower curtains. I resisted the urge to see how many of my new linens were left on the shelves and climbed the next flight of stopped stairs.

The staff at Oodles was also known for its marketing savvy, which was why the third floor was split between menswear and consumer electronics, with electronics taking up the majority of the space. Someone had realized long ago that men were far more likely to drop a couple thousand dollars on plasma-screen TVs instead of business suits.

“I’m on three. I’m heading in,” I whispered to the others.

“Be careful,” Hermit whispered back to me.

I slid behind a row of suits and headed for the electronics side of the floor. I stopped every few feet, looking and listening, but all I could hear was the hum of the air-conditioning system, and the others breathing in my ear. I wandered through the rows of televisions, computers, and digital cameras, searching for the ubervillains and exchanging hushed updates with the rest of the gang. After a few minutes of searching, I found the ubervillains’ spur-of-the-moment lair.

It was the same setup as before. Someone had shoved a cash register and displays of chocolate bars off a long counter to make way for the strange, radio-like device. Lots of tools and blueprints and papers were also strewn about the area, and more electronic junk sat in a shopping cart. I picked up something that looked like a subwoofer for a speaker. Maybe the villains were getting into the car stereo installation business. I tossed it aside.

“You getting this, Lulu?” I asked.

“Yep, but focus on the blueprints this time,” Lulu chirped in my ear. “I’ve got plenty of pictures of the actual device from the other night.”

I did as she asked, pointing my chest and the camera hidden there at the writings and scribblings and schematics on the counter.

“Interesting. It seems to be some sort of sound device,” Lulu murmured.

I snorted. “I could have told you that. The thing looks like a giant radio.”

I wandered among the debris, getting pictures of everything for Lulu. Siren and Intelligal were nowhere to be found. They must have been supremely confident to leave their doomsday device sitting here by itself. Or supremely stupid. It was all the same when it came to ubervillains. Besides me, the only thing that was talking was a television set tuned to SNN, where Erica Songe preened for the camera.

When I was done taking images for Lulu, I went back to the radio-looking gizmo and reared back my fist.

“Shall I smash it to bits?” I asked the others.

“Why don’t you just stand guard over it?” Hermit suggested. “I’d love to take a look at the device and see some of Intelligal’s handiwork. The ubervillains aren’t up here on the fifth floor, although there seems to be some jewelry missing. We’ll be down in a minute.”

I rolled my eyes. Hermit was such a technology nerd. But I did as he asked, leaning against a display filled with the newest laser-jet printers. I opened my mouth to tell him to double-time it when a mechanical whir sounded above Erica Songe’s voice. Intelligal floated into view.

The two of us stared at each other.

“You again! Can’t you go set yourself on fire or something?” Intelligal muttered.

I didn’t bother responding. That was another comment I’d heard about a thousand times. Instead, I grabbed the biggest printer I saw off one of the tables and hurled it at the ubervillain. The action surprised her, and she didn’t have time to get her force field up before the printer smacked into the bottom of the chair.

The plastic case shattered, and parts pinged everywhere, along with a good amount of colored ink. Intelligal fumbled for her controls. The chair spun round and round like a child’s top before slamming into a thick, metal support beam and sliding to the floor. A bit of smoke spewed out from the back of the trunk, like a car with a coughing fit.

The impact threw Intelligal out of her seat, and she hit a counter hard before sliding off. She sprawled on the floor, and I stood over her. The ubervillain looked small and sad and lost without her massive, gadget-filled chair. She stared up at me, her eyes dark and unreadable behind her thick, black glasses.

Someone started to clap.

I turned. Johnny Angel stood behind me, looking dangerous in his head-to-toe black leather. My heart sank. Where had he come from?

“Very nicely done,” he said.

“What are you doing here?” I snapped. “Are you following us?”

Angel tipped his head. “Guilty as charged, I’m afraid. I saw your van outside and couldn’t resist following you. Now, if you’ll just step aside, I’ll finish the job you so elegantly started. I owe the old Angel that much.” His voice twisted with guilt, and I knew that Angel, that Johnny, was thinking of his father.

I looked at Intelligal. The ubervillain blanched and scooted backward on her heels, like a crab scrabbling along a sandy beach. She bumped into a glass counter and stopped, trapped. She didn’t have any powers without her ruined chair; otherwise she would have used them on me. Right now, Intelligal was as helpless as any other Bigtime citizen. My heart heavy, I turned back to Angel.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that,” I said. “It’s my duty to turn her over to the police.”

“And it’s my duty to avenge my predecessor, no matter what. Now, get out of my way.” Angel took a step forward. His hands curled into fists. “Don’t make me hurt you to get to her.”

“I can’t let you kill her so you can take your revenge. I’m in the business of stopping ubervillains, not murdering them.”

“Then it’s a good thing I don’t have such qualms.”

Angel marched straight at me. I knew he wasn’t going to stop. Not when I was standing between him and Intelligal. Angel wouldn’t stop. Neither would Johnny Bulluci. It was my bad fortune they were one and the same.

And that I was Fiera, member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Defender of democracy. Superhero du jour. I couldn’t just let Angel murder Intelligal, no matter how much he wanted to, no matter how much she might deserve it. My duty, my code of honor as a superhero, wouldn’t let me.

So, I slow-pitched a fireball at him, making sure to give him enough time to defend himself. Angel stopped and flexed, his skin taking on a hard, chiseled look. The liquid ball of heat hissed through the air and exploded on his chest. Angel’s jacket and T-shirt disintegrated into ash. On the bright side, that gave me an eyeful of nicely toned man-flesh. On the dark side, it didn’t slow him down a bit.

Smoke boiled in the store, setting off the fire alarms. Sprinklers dropped down from the ceiling and spewed out a puffy, white, heat- and flame-retardant foam. Oodles had contingency plans for just about everything, including a superhero-ubervillain battle in the middle of the store. It had happened before when Gentleman George and the Dapper Duke both wanted the same silk ascot. George had won, but by the time the fire was out, the ascot had been reduced to ash.

Angel laughed and tapped his chest. It sounded like metal ringing. “Superstrong exoskeleton, remember? Your fireballs won’t hurt me a bit, but I’ll forgive you for that one, Fiera.”

I looked back at the ubervillain. Intelligal had flopped over on her hands and knees and started crawling around the counter. Sweat poured down her face, and a bit of blood darkened the side of her silver suit. She must have injured herself when the chair hit the support beam.

Angel kept coming, his green eyes as hard as jade. My eyes flicked around, trying to figure out a way to stop him without hurting him too much. He was on me in a second.

“Move out of my way, Fiera,” Angel growled, his eyes focused on Intelligal. “Or else.”

I was out of options and out of time.

So, I punched him.

Chapter Nineteen

I really should have restrained myself. It was like trying to punch through granite or slamming my hand into a wall of concrete. Pain pulsed through my fingers, up my wrist, and into my arm and shoulder.

“Son of a bitch, that hurt!” I cursed, shaking my hand. I’d have bruises tomorrow for sure.

“I told you, Fiera. You...can’t...hurt...me,” Angel emphasized. “Now stand aside. Or else.”

“Or else what?” I taunted, stalling for time.

Time to do what, I hadn’t a clue. My options were severely limited. Johnny Angel was strong, and with his heavy exoskeleton, I’d have a hard time wrestling him or pinning him to the ground until the others came to help. I couldn’t keep him at bay with my fireballs without destroying the entire floor. The only thing I could do would be to beat on him a little, but my blows wouldn’t have any effect as long as he was concentrating on his exoskeleton.

“Or else, I’ll move you. And I don’t think you’ll like it.”

My eyes darted back and forth. I didn’t want to hurt Angel aka Johnny Bulluci, but I couldn’t let him kill Intelligal either. I just couldn’t. Not and still call myself a superhero. I spotted a long, thick pipe among the junk in the shopping cart. I came up with a hasty plan. The only kind of plan I did, really.

I sighed. A great, big, heaving I’m-such-a-wimpy-girl-I-just-have-to-give-in-before-I-break-a-nail sigh. “All right, you can have her. Just let me tie my shoes first.”

My excuse was totally lame, but it worked. The girly sigh, combined with my Barbie doll looks and baby blues, gets ’em every time. Angel’s eyes dropped to my shoes, and the hard, chiseled look left his skin.

“Tie your shoes? But you’re wearing boots—”

I reached over, grabbed the pipe, and smacked Angel with it. That got his attention. He staggered back and fell to one knee.

“Kinky. I like it,” he mumbled. Blood welled up out of the cut I’d sliced across his left cheek.

He got back up and charged at me, but he forgot to concentrate on forming his exoskeleton—exactly what I’d been counting on. I sidestepped him and whacked him across the back with the pipe. But Angel limped to his feet again. And again. And again.

Every time Angel got back up, I hit him. Every time, the pipe got a bit heavier in my hands. Every cut, every bruise made me feel sick inside. Every blow I gave him was like a knife in my own heart. Despite his faults and desperate need for vengeance, I really liked Angel aka Johnny Bulluci. I hated to hurt him. I hated to hurt all innocents. But he’d left me with no choice. Sometimes, being a superhero really sucked. Damn duty.

Angel’s skeleton might have been superstrong, but so was I. With the pipe, I was able to put a few dents in him. Drops of blood slid down his chest like a trail of rubies. The sight made me want to retch. But he kept coming at me. Stupid, stubborn fool.

Didn’t the man realize that he was beaten? Evidently not, because Angel stumbled to his feet after a long moment of kissing the floor. He seesawed back and forth like a kid’s teeter-totter. Then, he took a step forward. He wasn’t going to stop until I killed him. Well, I wasn’t going to do that. Not to Angel. Not to Johnny. I’d had enough of this. I marched over to him.

“You really should have stayed down that last time,” I snarled.

I reared back and gave him the ole Fist-o-Might. I put everything I had into the punch. All my strength, all my anger, all my guilt, all my shame. My fist cracked against his jaw, and Angel crumpled to the ground like a paper doll. I let him. Maybe the fall would knock some sense into that hard head of his, although I doubted it.

This time, Angel didn’t get up. He lay there on the floor. I drew in a deep breath and threw the pipe away. I didn’t want to look at it. Or the blood trickling out of the many wounds I’d inflicted on Angel. On Johnny. I closed my eyes. What had I done?

A gloved hand settled on my shoulder. I shrieked, reached back for the hand, and flipped the person it belonged to over my shoulder. A blur of green slammed into the floor in front of me.

Mr. Sage’s masked face stared up at me. His mouth opened and closed in pain, and his eyes rolled around in his head like marbles. I cringed. First my lover, now my father. I was batting a thousand today. Who was next? Some orphan out on the street? How about a senior citizen on his way home from the bingo parlor? Maybe I could knock Lulu around a little. That would make my day complete.

“Oh, sorry about that. You startled me.”

I reached down and helped Mr. Sage to his feet. His green eyes were dark and dazed. I kept a hand on his arm to keep him from plummeting back to the floor.

Hermit moved over to the unconscious Angel. “Fiera, what, uh, happened here?”

“I had Intelligal cornered, and Angel showed up. He wanted me to step aside so he could finish her off—Intelligal!” During my sickening fight with Angel, I’d forgotten about the supersmart ubervillain.

I whipped around. She was gone, along with all the blueprints, the shopping cart full of stuff, and the curious machine she’d been working on. Her chair sat where it had fallen, slowly getting covered with sticky, white foam, just like everything else in the store.

Damn. I put my fist through a computer monitor, not even caring about the mess I made. I couldn’t believe I’d been so stupid as to let her get away. She’d been injured, for crying out loud. What kind of superhero was I? I beat up on people who helped me and let ubervillains escape. Maybe it was time to hang up the skintight spandex and mask. I punched through another monitor.

“Easy, Fiera. Easy,” Mr. Sage said, stepping back to avoid the flying debris. “It’s not your fault she got away, so please don’t destroy any more of Oodles’ stock than necessary.”

“Was there any sign of Siren?” I asked.

Hermit shook his head. “Not a trace of her, although there was a smashed jewelry case on the fifth floor. It looks like Intelligal broke in alone.” He spotted the ruined Intellichair and brightened. “But at least she left her chair behind. I’ve been itching to get my hands on it and see the technology she’s got hard-wired inside it.”

Hermit pulled out his computer and started to walk toward the chair.

Mr. Sage’s eyes glowed. “No, Hermit!”

A tall, skinny cylinder popped up on top of the chair, and a red light flashed on and off. Red lights were never, ever good. I didn’t have to be psychic to know what was going to happen next. I grabbed Hermit by the back of his black-and-white suit and sprinted toward the escalator, dragging him along behind me.

“Get Johnny!” I screamed at my father.

Mr. Sage used his telekinesis to pick up Johnny’s unconscious form, which zipped ahead of him. Johnny sailed down the frozen escalator with Mr. Sage right behind. Hermit pounded down after them.

“Go, go, go!” I shouted.

Being the strongest and fire-resistant, I stayed in the back this time, so I could shield the others from the force of the explosion—

Intelligal’s chair self-destructed with a roar. I don’t know what sort of explosive she had in that thing, but it packed one hell of a punch. Even better than my trusty Fist-o-Might. The others had just reached the bottom of the escalator and I was halfway down when the shockwave from the explosion knocked me into them. I felt like I was a human bowling ball, and they were a set of pins. We went down in a tangle of limbs, boots, and spandex. The building shook, and fire raced down the escalator, threatening to roast the others. I scrambled on top, trying to shield them from the searing heat. But it wasn’t going to be enough.

Another set of sprinklers dropped down from the ceiling and spit out a pale, blue foam, adding to the mounds of white. The color scheme reminded me of some sort of winter wonderland. But the blue foam did its job, and the fire snuffed out just as it hit the bottom of the escalator—inches away from our feet. A second later, fans rumbled to life, pulling the smoke and soot from the explosion up out of the building. Bless Oodles and its efficient safety system.

The foam covered everything. By the time we got to our feet, we were ankle-deep in the stuff. Everybody was a little shaken up, but nobody had any serious injuries. Nobody except Johnny. Hermit managed to prop him up against a table full of blenders. Blood dripped from the cuts on his face and chest, a bright, scarlet contrast to the white and blue around us.

“Let’s go,” Mr. Sage said. “The ubervillains are gone, and the fire department will be on their way to assess the damage. There’s nothing more we can do here tonight. We need to get Angel back to Sublime and treat his injuries.”

I sighed. I knew I’d done the right thing by stopping him, but seeing him there on the floor beaten, bloody, and bruised made something twist deep inside me. I knelt down beside him and brushed his hair back from his face.

“I’m so sorry, Johnny. So sorry,” I whispered. “But you wouldn’t stop. You wouldn’t listen to me. And I couldn’t let you do it. I just couldn’t.”

He didn’t respond. So, I picked up Angel, heaved him over my shoulder, and followed the others out of the building.

* * *

Two hours later, I stood outside one of the underground sick bays in Sublime. I stared through the tinted glass window at the unconscious Johnny Angel. After waking up the unconscious guards and filling them in on what had happened, we’d ridden back to the manor in silence.

I’d put Johnny in one of the sick bays we used when we had unexpected guests. The chief and Henry had treated Angel’s cuts and bruises with their magic mojo pills, salves, and ointments. I hadn’t beaten him as badly as I feared, and the chief promised me that he would make a full recovery. It didn’t ease my guilt any, though. Now, the four of us waited outside the room trying to decide what we were going to do when Angel woke up.

“Beating up the guy you’re sleeping with. That’s twisted, Fiona, even for a superhero,” Lulu said, attempting a joke.

“He didn’t exactly give me a choice,” I growled. “I couldn’t let him just kill Intelligal, especially when she was completely out of it. They call that murder, you know. “

My father placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “You did what had to be done. We know you’d never intentionally harm someone, Fiona. Don’t we, Lulu?”

The computer hacker didn’t quite meet his gaze. Or mine. “Sure, we know that, Chief Newman.”

“What you think I might do or not do doesn’t matter. The fact is that I beat Angel to a bloody pulp.”

If it had been Scorpion or Frost or some other ubervillain in that bed, I would have been beaming like a comet, proud of whipping an evildoer. Now, I just felt sick and cold and tired.

My eyes traced over Johnny’s face. We’d left his mask on, of course, but bruises had already started to form on his golden skin. A white T-shirt stretched over his chest, while a cotton sheet covered the rest of his body. An IV dripped antibiotics into his arm, while more machines monitored his heart and blood pressure. Johnny looked so sad, so battered, so broken lying in that hospital bed. And it was all because of me.

Even worse, it could happen again if Johnny kept on with his mission of vengeance. I couldn’t bear to stop him. Not Johnny. Not again. My heart couldn’t take it.

In that instant, I made a decision. Probably a bad decision, probably the wrong move to make, but it was the only plan I could come up with. I looked at the others.

“I have to tell him that I know who he is, and I have to tell him who I am too.”

Everyone stilled. Then, Lulu whistled. Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. The chief laced his fingers together.

Finally, Chief Newman spoke. “Do you think that’s a good idea, Fiona?”

I shrugged. “I haven’t got a clue. But it’s the only way I can think of to get him to stop this vendetta. We got lucky tonight. If Intelligal hadn’t been injured, she could have killed us both. She could have gassed us and shot us and not thought twice about it. Next time, we might not be so lucky. Maybe if Johnny knows who I really am and knows I’ll see that justice is served, he’ll think twice about killing the ubervillains.”

“You think he cares for you?” the chief asked. His eyes glowed a second, like the quick flare of a cigarette.

I thought back to the time I’d spent with Johnny. Our dinner at Quicke’s. Riding the Ferris wheel. Sneaking out of the observatory. Swimming in the lake. Dinner at his house. The way he kissed me. The way he held me. The way he made my heart quicken just by thinking about him.

“I don’t know exactly how he feels about me,” I replied. “But I care about him. I have to try to stop him before he hurts himself—or somebody else.”

From inside the sick bay, Angel let out a low moan. The sound tugged at my heart. He was beginning to come around. I put my mask back, opened the door, and stepped inside the room. His head turned in my direction.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite sadist,” Angel said. His voice was thick and slurred like he’d been drinking instead of unconscious.

I settled myself in a chair next to the bed. My eyes flicked to the many monitors that surrounded Angel. Heart, lungs, brain. Everything was fine, despite the smackdown I’d given him. Relief filled my body, along with guilt and shame.

“I’m sorry about that,” I said in a low voice, not quite looking into his bleary eyes. “But you didn’t give me a choice.”

“No, I suppose I didn’t.” He rubbed his bruised jaw. “You’ve got quite the right hook going there. Especially when you’re swinging something heavy to go along with it.”

I didn’t respond. There was nothing I could say to change the fact that I’d just kicked his ass. He was taking it better than I had expected, though. Most men would have been curled up in a fetal position and whimpering by now if they’d been knocked out by a woman, even one with superstrength. No matter whether they were ubervillains or not, getting beaten up by a girl was enough to make the strongest man just fall to pieces.

“Where am I?” Angel asked, looking around at the gleaming medical equipment.

“At Fearless Five headquarters. In one of our sick bays. It’s where we bring team members to rest and recuperate when we get injured—or other people who need medical attention.”

Angel struggled to sit up. I put my hand under his shoulder to help him, but he flinched and jerked away. I dropped my hand and stepped back, my heart heavy and aching. I twisted my engagement ring around my finger. His eyes went to the ring, and my hand stilled.

Angel managed to raise himself up. He fell back against the bed, panting a bit from the effort. When he got his breath back, his eyes went around the room again, more focused now. Taking in every little detail. Then, he peeked under the covers. In addition to being the chief of police, my father was also a first-rate doctor. He’d cut Angel’s skin-tight pants off so he could examine his whole body. I’d been torn between watching and leering and staying away. In the end, I’d stayed away, not wanting to see any more of the damage I’d done than necessary.

“Nice jammies,” Angel said. “Do they come with the room?”

How he could crack a joke at a time like this, I didn’t know. But some of the anguish dripped out of my heart. “You might say that.”

Angel examined the rest of his body, flexing his arms and legs and making sure everything was in working order, more or less. His hands went up to his face and the mask that was still there. His head snapped around to me.

“Did you...?”

I shook my head. “No, I didn’t peek and see who you really are under there. Neither did the others.”

Tension ebbed out of his body.

“I didn’t need to look under your mask,” I continued. “Because I knew who you were already.”

“Really?” he said in a fake, cheery, carefree voice. “And who do you think I am?”

“Johnny Bulluci.”

Angel looked at me. His shoulders sagged. Then, he did the last thing I expected him to do. He reached up and yanked his mask off. Johnny Bulluci stared back at me. Green eyes. Tawny hair. Golden skin. My gaze traced over his features. He was still as handsome as handsome could be, even with the blue and purple bruises that colored his face.

“How did you figure it out?” he asked in a low voice.

“You gave yourself away with all those angels,” I replied in a soft tone. “All angels, all the time.”

Johnny’s green eyes narrowed, and he looked at me. Wondering. Thinking. Remembering. And he knew. Just as I had known. The knowledge blazed in his eyes.

There was only one thing left to do. I reached up and took off my own mask.

“Hello, Johnny,” I said.

Chapter Twenty

The act shocked him as much as his unmasking had startled me.

Johnny’s eyes widened. “Fiona? You’re really...Fiera?”

“In the flaming flesh,” I said, tossing my mask on the foot of the bed.

We stared at each other. Then, Johnny threw his head back and laughed.

He laughed...

And laughed...

And laughed...

“What’s so funny?” I growled.

“This! Us!” he said, wiping away tears of mirth from his battered face. “Look at us. You’re a superhero, and I’m...well, I’m not exactly as pure as vanilla. We just got into a knock-down, drag-out brawl over the life of an ubervillain who doesn’t deserve to live. You beat the snot out of me, and now I find out the superhero who kicked my ass is, in fact, the woman I’ve been seeing. It’s absurd. It’s ridiculous. It’s just...funny!”

Johnny started laughing again. Then, he winced and grabbed his taped ribs. His laughter died on his lips. My heart sank down into my rumbling stomach. There was nothing funny about what I’d done to Johnny Bulluci, nothing humorous or amusing about the beating I’d given him. All to save Intelligal’s worthless ass.

“It’s not funny,” I said in a cold tone. “It’s—” I bit my words off, shocked and more than a little disturbed by what I’d been about to say.

“It’s what?” Johnny asked. “What were you going to say?”

I rolled my eyes. “It’s karma.”

“Karma? Where are you getting that from?”

I sighed. “I have this friend, for lack of a better word. She thinks that everything we do affects everybody else in the world and that our actions determine events in our lives. That there are no coincidences, basically. That everything is destiny. Fate. Kismet. Karma.”

I was glad Carmen wasn’t here to hear me use her catchphrase and superhero name. I’d scoffed at her view of the world more than once. If she knew I was bandying around words like karma, I’d never hear the end of it. Ever. Lulu would probably tell her all about it, though.

Johnny’s green eyes narrowed. “Karma? As in Karma Girl? Wait a minute. Isn’t that the name of one of the Fearless Five now? The new member who took over Tornado’s slot after Malefica killed him—” Johnny stopped, guessing the rest of my secret.

“The man you were engaged to, the guy you’re so in love with, it was Tornado, wasn’t it? The superhero?”

I closed my eyes and nodded. “Yes, he was the man I was engaged to. And yes, Karma Girl is the name of the woman who took his place on the Fearless Five team.”

Johnny sat still, digesting everything. Me being Fiera. Me being engaged to a superhero who’d been murdered. Him being beaten down by the woman he was sleeping with. I couldn’t quite read the emotions swirling in his beautiful eyes, but I had to try to explain things to him. Johnny Bulluci had become very important to me these last few days. I wanted him to understand me, accept me. I needed him to.

“Johnny, I—”

A whoosh sounded at the far end of the room, and the door opened. To my surprise, the others trooped in. Costumes on. Masks off.

“What...what are you doing?!” I squealed.

The chief and Henry exchanged unapologetic shrugs.

“He knows who you are, he’d figure out the rest of us eventually. We thought we’d just speed along the process,” Henry said.

I sat back in my chair, dazed. Good grief, if we kept this up, everybody in the greater Bigtime metropolitan area would know our secret identities. We really needed to stop telling people what we did in our spare time.

Johnny’s mouth dropped open. “Chief Newman? The chief of police in Bigtime?” He stared at the chief, who was still wearing his green-and-white costume. “You’re Mr. Sage, the psychic superhero?”

“Guilty as charged,” the chief said, looking at me. “I’m also Fiona’s father.”

Johnny’s head snapped back to me. “Hold on. You said your father was a bodyguard. That his name was Sean and that you didn’t get to see him as often as you’d like because of his work.”

I winced and shrugged. “The chief’s first name is Sean. And he is a bodyguard, sort of. I mean, he is a superhero. That’s like being a bodyguard, except of the whole city instead of just one person. And we don’t really spend a lot of time together—”

“Except when you’re out chasing ubervillains,” Johnny finished.

I winced again.

His eyes moved over to Henry and his black-and-white outfit. “And who are you?”

Henry stepped forward and offered Johnny his hand to shake. “I’m Henry Harris, aka Hermit.”

“Hermit, the technical whiz, right?” Johnny gave Henry’s hand a hard squeeze.

The superhero stepped back, wincing and cradling his hand. “Guilty as charged.”

“You’re the Henry who calls Fiona at odd hours with those weird emergencies?”

“That’s me,” Henry said. “Sorry if I’ve been interrupting your dates lately, but we’ve had some situations going on these past couple days, as you’re well aware of.”

Johnny’s eyes moved over to Lulu. They lingered on the blue streaks in her black hair. “And who are you? Karma Girl? You’re not dressed in silver. In fact, you don’t really look like her. And, not to be rude, but she’s not in a wheelchair. Unless that’s part of your disguise or something.”

Lulu laughed. “Oh no. I’m not Karma Girl. Not even close. I’m Lulu Lo.”

Johnny frowned. “I’ve never heard of a superhero named Lulu.”

“Oh, I’m not a superhero. I just help the Five out from time to time. I’m sort of a sidekick. A groupie, if you will.”

I glared at Lulu. Superheroes did not have groupies. At least, not the real pros like us. Debonair might have legions of them, but not the Fearless Five. Lulu made us sound like we were some sort of strange rock band. Or encouraged those weird people who belonged to Slaves for Superhero Sex.

Henry put his arm around Lulu. “She’s also my fiancée.”

Lulu scowled. “Actually, that has yet to be decided,” she said, shrugging off his touch.

Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “Well, when exactly are you going to get around to deciding that?”

He sounded more than a little annoyed. I stared at the mild-mannered computer guru. Henry never got really cross, not even when I melted his computer wires. But now, he sounded rather like me when I hadn’t eaten for a couple of hours—ready to explode.

“I told you that I needed more time to think about your proposal, and I told you why,” Lulu snapped.

“It’s been almost a month already,” Henry snapped back. “Either you love me and want to marry me, or you don’t.”

“Of course I love you,” Lulu replied. “With all my heart. Even if I want to throttle you right now.”

Henry’s eyes narrowed. Lulu crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. Johnny looked back and forth between the couple, apparently amused by the squabbling supernerds.

My father stepped in between the feuding lovers and cleared his throat. “Why don’t we take this discussion to the library and leave Fiona and Johnny alone? I’m sure they have plenty of things to discuss.”

He squeezed my hand once, then walked out of the room, followed by Henry.

Lulu’s dark eyes flicked back and forth between the two of us. “Yes, lots of things to...discuss.” She snickered, then motored away.

The door whooshed shut behind them, and I let out a long breath.

“Sorry about that,” I said. “Usually, we’re not so boisterous. At least not Lulu and Henry. They’re the quiet ones of the gang. They hardly ever fight and never in front of other people.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny said. “It took my mind off my ribs for a few minutes.”

I grabbed his hand and stared into his eyes. “Johnny, I want you to know how sorry I am. I truly, truly am. But I couldn’t let you kill Intelligal. I just couldn’t.”

He dropped his eyes. “You know she’s evil. She and Siren have tried to kill you before. And when you figured out who I was, you knew the two of them killed my father. Why couldn’t you have just let me deal with her the way I wanted to?”

“Because I’m a superhero. I have a code of honor that I follow. I don’t kill ubervillains, no matter how heinous their crimes are. I only hurt others to protect myself or innocent people. If I went around killing ubervillains or punishing everyone who broke the law in whatever manner I saw fit, I wouldn’t be a superhero anymore. I’d just be a vigilante, dispensing what I saw as justice. Like Violet Crush and Sahara and all the others.”

“A vigilante? Is that what you think I am?” Johnny asked, his eyes bright and hard in his bruised face.

“No.” I shook my head. “I don’t think you’re a vigilante. I think you’re a son who misses his father very, very much.”

“Then, why didn’t you let me have her? Why?”

“Because killing her and even Siren too won’t take away your pain. It won’t bring your father back, Johnny. Nothing will do that. Believe me, I know.”

His eyes burned into mine. “What do you know about pain? You still have your father by your side. Fighting with you. Just like always. Mine is dead, Fiona. Dead. And he’s never coming back.”

Travis’s face flashed through my mind. His kind eyes. His sweet, happy smile. I turned my ring around my finger.

“I know your pain, your need for vengeance, a lot better than you think. Malefica murdered Tornado, the man I loved. The man I was going to marry. Don’t you think I wanted to kill her for that? Don’t you think I wanted to rip her black heart out of her chest and squeeze it until it burst like a piñata?”

“You said that the person who killed your fiancé got what she deserved. What happened to her? What happened to Malefica?”

I flashed back to that fateful night in the Snowdom Ice Cream Factory. I was trapped in a glass tube. And cold. So cold. And angry. And fearful. “Carmen Cole, Karma Girl, dropped her into a vat of radioactive something-or-other.”

“So, she’s dead.”

I shook my head. “We don’t know that. No one’s seen her since. Ubervillains are sort of like movie monsters. They always come back, even if they’ve been beaten, stabbed, shot, burned alive, and beheaded. I won’t believe Malefica or the other members of the Terrible Triad are dead until I see their bodies. “

“But Malefica is probably dead. Or at least horrible mutated.” Johnny’s voice was flat, cold, icy.

“Yes.”

“You got your revenge, Fiona. Malefica paid for what she did to you and yours. So why are you denying me my vengeance?”

I let out a long breath. “Inadvertently, yes, I did get my revenge. But it didn’t bring Travis back. It didn’t change the pain I felt when he was murdered. Can’t you see? If you pursue your vendetta against Siren and Intelligal, it won’t help you in the end. You could even die in the process, and where would that leave Bobby and Bella? Grieving for you and your father. Would you cause them more pain just to kill a couple of worthless ubervillains?”

Johnny didn’t respond. He looked at me, then turned over and rolled onto his side toward the wall. Away from me.

Suddenly tired, I let out a long sigh. Our conversation was clearly over. For now.

So I did the only thing I could. I opened the door and left the room.

* * *

I left Johnny to his brooding, stalked to my suite, and crashed onto the king-size bed. It was approaching dawn, and I was worn out. For once, I was even too tired to eat.

I fell into a dark, dreamless sleep and woke up around noon. To my surprise, I felt a little better. I knew Johnny’s secret, and now he knew mine. I didn’t really like keeping secrets, especially from a man I was sleeping with. One that I had come to care about. It was so much easier just to say what you wanted to, when you wanted to. Consequences be damned.

I took a hot shower and pondered my wardrobe for the day. I planned to give Johnny the grand tour of the Fearless Five headquarters, and I wanted to look damn good when he saw me. I needed to look good. I had a feeling I’d have to amp up the old Fiona Fine charm in order to get Johnny to forget about our boxing match and his kissing the ground multiple times last night. If he ever really could.

I riffled through the small, dark area. Unfortunately, I didn’t have quite the selection or closet space as I did in my apartment back in Bigtime. There were no lights in the closet, no stacks of shoes, no rows of purses, no chests filled with jewelry. Just a couple of pitiful metal racks that weren’t nearly long enough. In fact, Sam had limited me to one measly, ordinary-sized closet. He said the underground space was too valuable to use housing my enormous clothing collection. The man was so misguided sometimes. Just because the love of his life preferred ratty T-shirts and ripped jeans to real clothes didn’t mean the rest of us should have to suffer.

I settled on an available-but-casual outfit so I wouldn’t seem too eager. I’d done that already the other night, when Johnny had me moaning and begging for more against the wall. I put on a pair of tight, low-cut jeans that hugged my curves and a sleeveless, black top that laced up the front. It looked like something a working girl might have worn in an Old West saloon. Combined with the jeans, a pair of stilettos, and a black velvet choker, I had the whole hooker-with-a-heart-of-gold look going on. I turned, admiring myself in the mirror over the dresser. I liked it. I hoped Johnny would too.

I closed my eyes, strategizing. I’d go check on Johnny and, if he felt like it, give him the grand tour of the place. Then, maybe we could have lunch. My stomach rumbled. Well, maybe Johnny could have lunch, and I could have whatever he didn’t eat. And everything else in the refrigerators. All the refrigerators. Upstairs and downstairs.

I put on my makeup, brushed my golden hair until it gleamed, and headed for the sick bay. I peeked in through the window, not wanting to disturb Johnny if he was still asleep. But he was gone. The covers on the bed were thrown back, and the machines stood still and silent. My eyes flicked up and down the corridor. No broken glass, no busted door. Johnny hadn’t bashed his way out of the sick bay like Carmen had once. So where was he?

I spent the next twenty minutes stalking up and down the carpeted corridors of our underground lair. I checked the kitchen, the game room, the gym, the entertainment room, the garage. I reached the library. If he wasn’t in here, I’d send out a red alert. I cracked the door open and stuck my head in. Johnny was inside. Relief flooded my body, followed by a far more potent feeling.

I stared at him. Green eyes. Tawny skin. Golden hair. A hard body sent down from heaven itself. It was no wonder the Bullucis were obsessed with angels. With their golden good looks, they could have passed for the winged guardians themselves.

Johnny prowled around the room with a predator’s deadly grace. The bruises on his face and arms had faded to a soft purple, and most of the cuts had already sewn themselves shut. Johnny, Angel, must be a quick healer too. Most superheroes and ubervillains were. You sort of had to be in this business.

“Hey there, handsome,” I drawled in a light tone and stepped inside. I wanted things to go better today than they had last night. I needed them to. “What are you doing in here?”

“I’m looking for a phone,” Johnny said, eyeing Henry’s many computers, wires, and other gadgets. “That’s just about the only thing you people don’t seem to have around here.”

“Why do you want a phone?” My heart sank. I didn’t want him to leave just yet. Not until things were right between us, and I’d convinced him to let the Fearless Five handle Siren and Intelligal.

“When I’m out riding around as Johnny Angel, I check in with Bella and grandfather a couple of times a night. It’s been over twelve hours since I last contacted them.”

I slapped my head against my hand. “I’m so sorry! I should have thought of that last night. They’re probably worried sick.” I would have been. I’d always been worried when Travis had gone out on missions by himself. “Come on. You can use the phone in my room.”

I led Johnny down the twisting corridors to the one that housed our underground suites. His eyes flicked over the signs on the doors that designated whose room was where. They lingered on the one that read Tornado.

I opened the door to my suite, and we stepped inside. Johnny strode ahead, taking in the furniture and knickknacks. Johnny’s gaze focused on Travis’s picture before settling on the enormous bed. A wave of hot, fiery anticipation shot through my body.

“So this is where you stay when you’re fighting crime. I like it. It looks like you.”

I glanced around. Red sofa, black chairs, tile floors, white walls, fireproof paintings. The room was almost an exact copy of my apartment, except without the extra, much-needed closet space. “Thanks. The phone’s over there by the bed.”

Johnny’s lips twitched up into a seductive smile. “Really? How interesting.” He gave me a long, steady stare that made my hormones flare to life. “Perhaps we’ll explore that area of the suite later. Unfortunately, right now I really do need to make my phone call.”

A few sparks shot off the tips of my fingers and landed on the slick tile floor.

“Dial 5 to get out of the manor,” I said in a helpful, slightly flustered tone. Like Joanne James, I was no innocent, young thing, but something about Johnny Bulluci made me quiver deep down inside.

Johnny punched in a series of numbers on the black phone. “Hey, it’s me.”

“Where the hell have you been?”

I winced. I could hear Bella’s high-pitched screech across the room.

“Grandfather and I have been up all night!”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said. “I was unavoidably detained, but I’m fine now. In fact, I’m with Fiona.”

“Fiona?” Bella squawked. “Did the two of you have a sleepover? Is that why you didn’t call and check in last night? You should have told me where you were going, Johnny. If I’d known that you and your new girlfriend were having fun, then I would have done something nice for myself. Like gone to bed at a decent hour instead of sitting up, waiting and worrying about you.”

“We did something like that,” he replied. “I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner.”

Bella spent the next five minutes tearing into her brother for his lack of manners and total disregard for her feelings. “The next time you stay out all night with your girlfriend, you’d better call me, Johnny Bulluci. Or else it will be the last time you’re ever with a woman. And I do mean ever.”

“I’m sorry, Bella. I really am. It won’t happen again.” Johnny glanced at me. “Although I suppose I should tell you that I probably won’t be home tonight either. Fiona and I are right in the middle of something important. So, don’t wait up for me.”

“You—you—you!”

Bella sputtered incoherently, then slammed down the phone. The crack sounded like a concrete block being splintered. Johnny winced and rubbed his ear.

“She sounded really angry. I’m sorry I got you into trouble.”

Johnny shrugged and put the phone back in its cradle. “This isn’t the first time I’ve forgotten to check in. Bella will get over it. Eventually.”

“I hope so. For your sake. I always thought Bella was so cool, so calm, so collected, but she didn’t sound like someone I’d want to cross. Not even as Fiera.”

“You have no idea. Bella can get a little worked up at times. And when she does, well, strange things happen.” Johnny ran his fingers through his thick hair. “But I’m yours for another day, at least. So, how do you want to spend it?”

I knew exactly how I’d like to spend the day. In bed. With Johnny. I stared at him, wondering exactly how injured he still was—

“But before we do anything, do you think I could get some real clothes to wear?”

My eyes traced over his body, and I realized that Johnny was only wearing the white T-shirt and pajama bottoms we kept in the sick bay. The clothes were so thin they were practically transparent. More sparks fluttered from my fingertips, and I curled my hands into fists to keep them from igniting. Now was not the time to ogle Johnny. Not after I’d beaten him senseless only a few hours ago.

“Come on,” I said. “We’ll find you some clothes, then I’ll show you around.”

* * *

“Are you sure about this, Fiona?” Johnny asked half an hour later. “I know this might be upsetting for you.”

I closed my eyes. “It’s fine. Really, it is.”

After half an hour of rifling through the suites and pitifully small closets, we’d come up with nada. Nothing came close to fitting Johnny. My father’s and Sam’s shirts and pants were too small across the chest and too long. Henry’s clothes were too short and too mismatched. Besides, I wasn’t about to make Johnny wear polka-dot bow ties with plaid sweater vests. That was just cruel. Which meant the only other place to look for men’s clothes in the manor was in Travis’s room.

I opened the door to Travis’s suite, and we stepped inside. My heart twisted, the way it always did when I came in here. A fine layer of dust covered the coffee table and entertainment center. The bed was bare, stripped of its sheets, and the magazines and knickknacks had been removed from the bookshelves. A couple of months ago, I’d packed up Travis’s things and stacked them in some cardboard boxes in a corner of the room. I hadn’t had the heart to get rid of them or donate them to charity. Not yet. I turned the ring around on my finger. The diamond glowed under my hot hands.

Johnny put a hand on my shoulder. “Are you sure this is okay? I really don’t mind wearing the pajamas.”

My eyes slid over his perfect biceps. I didn’t mind him wearing the pajamas either. Or even nothing at all. That was the problem. “No, this is fine. Someone should get some use out of Travis’s clothes. I’ve been meaning to donate them to charity. I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

I stepped away from Johnny and tore into one of the boxes marked Clothes. I handed him a pair of jeans and a T-shirt that featured several white, cartoon clouds. “Here. Try these. They look like they’re about your size.”

Johnny nodded and stepped into the bathroom. He came back out wearing the clothes I’d given him. “They fit well enough,” he said, turning around. “How do I look?”

He looked perfect, of course, just like always. But my eyes misted over just a bit. That had been one of Travis’s favorite T-shirts. I’d given it to him as a gag gift for his birthday last year.

“Fine,” I said, dropping my eyes. “Let’s get out of here.”

We closed the door, and I took a deep breath. Remembering Travis was always a little difficult for me. So was going into his old room and realizing that he’d never come striding into it again. Still, it wasn’t quite as hard as it had been in the past. Johnny had made it a little easier for me. I only hoped I could do the same for him and his pain over his father’s death.

I took a step forward. My head spun, and I braced myself against the wall.

“Hey, are you all right?” Johnny asked, his eyes bright with concern. “If me wearing Travis’s clothes bothers you that much—”

“It’s not that. Sorry. I’m just a little light-headed. I get that way when I don’t eat enough.”

Johnny stared at me. “Really?”

My stomach chose that moment to let out what amounted to a plaintive wail. Feed me…feed me...feed me now, it whined.

Johnny’s eyes widened. “I didn’t know a person’s stomach could make that particular sound. Especially for that long.”

“Fiery metabolism,” I explained. “I have to eat quite a bit every couple hours or I get light-headed and weak. As you can tell from my complaining stomach.”

“Don’t worry about it. I could use a little something to eat myself. Food first. Then, we’ll explore. Deal?”

My stomach rumbled again. “Deal.”

I led Johnny to the underground kitchen and cracked open the refrigerators. I pulled out almost everything that was in there. Johnny started making some turkey-and-Swiss sandwiches. I couldn’t wait any longer, so I grabbed a frozen pizza and tore off the cellophane covering. I wiggled my fingers, and flames covered the dish. Thirty seconds later, the pizza was done. I put it on a plate, folded the pizza over, and prepared to sink my teeth into the cheesy, greasy concoction.

“Can I have some of that?” Johnny stared at me, a knife in one hand and a fork in the other.

“Sorry,” I said, putting down the pizza. “Everybody around here’s pretty used to my, ah, habits. Sometimes, when I’m hungry, I forget my manners around other people, including how to share my food. Here. Have some. Please.”

Johnny cut himself off a large slice, while I inhaled the rest of it. We sat there in silence, munching on pizza and sandwiches. After about twenty minutes, Johnny pushed his plate away. I kept eating.

My eyes zeroed in on the half-eaten sandwich on his plate. “So, are you going to eat that?”

Johnny shook his head and laughed. He slid his plate over to me. “I seem to be doing this a lot around you.”

“Oh? What’s that?”

“Missing meals.”

I rolled my eyes at his bad joke. Johnny chuckled, and the tension between us lightened. Soon, we were laughing and talking and joking just like we had before we’d discovered each other’s secret identities—and our confrontation at Oodles o’ Stuff. We were having such a good time I almost forgot that less than twenty-four hours earlier, we’d been at each other’s throats. Almost.

“I know this must have come as a shock to you,” I said, polishing off a bag of chocolate chip cookies. “Our secret lair. Me having superpowers. Especially the superstrength. That freaks a lot of people out, especially guys.”

“Actually, I think I always sort of knew,” Johnny said.

“Really? How?”

“I’m not quite sure. When I was Angel and I ran into you guys, I thought you looked very familiar. That you reminded me of somebody I knew. I just couldn’t quite put my finger on who it was.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You don’t happen to have an inner voice that whispers to you, do you?”

Johnny shook his head. “Sorry. Psychic powers aren’t my forte.”

Good. We had enough mind readers around here. It was getting to where a person couldn’t even think anything in private. Especially anything naughty.

“And there was the food, of course. You ate so much and were so thin I thought maybe you were anorexic or something.”

“You’re not the only one.”

Johnny continued with his story. “Plus, that night we had dinner with Bella and Grandfather, when we were looking at the portraits, your body was...warm, hot even. Unnaturally so.” A rueful grin crossed Johnny’s face. “I thought it was me at first, but I guess I can’t take credit for that now, can I?”

“Oh, it was mostly you,” I said, blushing just a bit as I remembered my outrageous behavior. I’d begged Johnny for more...and more...and more.

“Really? Well, then, I’ll have to remember that.”

And there he was, standing in front of me. “And exactly how I went about doing it.”

Johnny lowered his lips to mine. I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation. His tongue licked the corner of my mouth, and I opened it. Johnny plunged his tongue inside even as he pulled me toward him. His hands ran up and down my back. I tangled my fingers in his hair. I breathed in, letting his spicy scent make my head swim.

But I couldn’t fully enjoy the kiss. I kept seeing myself hitting Angel with that metal pipe, his blood zipping through the air. With a sigh, I broke off the kiss and stepped back.

“Johnny, about last night—”

He put his finger to my lips. Another fiery flare shot through me. “Let’s not talk about business today.” He smiled that crooked grin I knew and loved so well. “Didn’t you say something about a tour?”

* * *

“This is incredible. Absolutely incredible.” Wonderment filled Johnny’s green eyes. Which were pretty wondrous in and of themselves.

During the last hour, we’d done a complete sweep of the underground lair. The library, the kitchen, the suites, game room, equipment room, everything. Now, we stood in the training room watching a computer simulation of our previous battle with Siren and Intelligal at the factory near Good Intentions Lane.

“The equipment, the computers, the holograms. Where do you guys get the money for all this stuff?” Johnny asked, his eyes moving from the lifelike holograms to the rows of computers and blinking lights. I could almost see him trying to calculate the cost of everything.

I shrugged. “Being a superhero isn’t cheap, so it helps that Sam’s a billionaire.”

“Who’s Sam?” Johnny asked.

“Sam Sloane, the businessman,” I replied. “He’s Striker, another member of the Fearless Five, and one of the wealthiest guys in the city. He has plenty of money to burn on our superhero gear. And I don’t do so badly myself either. Fiona Fine Fashions has a very healthy profit margin.”

Johnny’s eyes slid over my shirt and jeans. “I’m sure it does, with such a beautiful woman running it.”

I smiled, pleased by the compliment. A lot of things about Johnny Bulluci pleased me.

He turned back to the holograms that flickered in the training room below us. “Do you have more of these? I’d love to watch them.”

“Of course. But they’re so boring. Why would you want to look at—” I knew why Johnny would want to watch our training simulations. He wanted to know more about Siren and Intelligal. Every strength. Every weakness. Every habit. He had to, if he was going to kill them.

“Oh, Johnny.”

“He was my father, and he was blown away. Can’t you understand that?” His voice was hard with emotion. Anger. Rage. Grief.

“Of course I can understand it.” I put a hand on his shoulder. “No matter what else has happened, you have to know that I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a loved one is never easy, no matter what the circumstances are. Losing your father the way you did is especially painful. I know you think that I’m against you, that the Fearless Five are against you, but we’re on your side. We want Siren and Intelligal brought to justice just as much as you do. They’re planning something—something that could hurt a lot of innocent people. We’ve got to stop them before they get a chance to do it.”

He didn’t respond, but his eyes went to my hand on his shoulder. They lingered on my diamond ring.

“Is there anything I can say to get you to change your mind? To work with us?” I said in a soft voice.

Johnny stared at me. “You have your duty, your code. And I have mine. I’m sorry, Fiona.”

Then, he turned and walked away.

Chapter Twenty-One

Johnny returned to the sick bay and spent the rest of the afternoon in bed recovering his strength. I paced around the library and brooded for an hour, before heading to the kitchen and polishing off everything I could get my hands on. Cookies, chips, pies, pizzas, cold cuts, cheese, bread. If it wasn’t nailed down, I ate it. If I’d had enough salt left, I would have gnawed on a couple of table legs. But I’d used it all on my French fries. Damn.

The chief came in late that afternoon after his shift and checked Johnny’s vitals. I stood in a corner and watched.

“Well, it looks like you’re healing up nicely, Johnny,” the chief said, listening to Johnny’s heart through a stethoscope. “In addition to your exoskeleton, I also believe you have a bit of regeneration. Then again, most superheroes do.”

“I’m not a superhero,” Johnny said.

He didn’t speak to me. He didn’t even look in my direction.

“Well, everything appears to be in order. I think you can return home tomorrow, if you wish. Try not to do anything too strenuous for a couple of days, though. Okay?” the chief asked.

Johnny nodded his head. “Okay. I’ll get out of your hair first thing in the morning.”

“I’ll drive you back to Bigtime,” I volunteered.

He stared at the tiled ceiling and shook his head. “That’s all right. I’ll just call a cab to take me back into town.”

“You can’t exactly do that,” I pointed out. “We’re a couple hundred feet underground here, you know. Plus, there’s our whole secret-identity thing. Calling a cab would officially blow our cover.”

“Then, I’ll go upstairs and call a cab from there. I’ll be fine. I always am.”

Our gazes locked. Johnny pulled the covers up to his chin and rolled over on his side.

Shutting me out again.

* * *

Tired, grouchy, and frustrated, I went to bed early. And I dreamed...

I stood between Johnny and Siren. We were all in costume, standing in the middle of an open field. Spring-green grass stretched for miles in every direction, contrasting with the gaudy colors of our suits. And the gunmetal-gray of the pistol in Johnny’s hand. It was a large weapon, more like a cannon than an actual gun.

Siren stared at me with her hypnotic blue eyes. “Are you just going to stand there and let him kill me? Or are you going to be a real superhero and save me?”

Her voice sounded harsh and demanding. I could feel her will wrapping around me, squeezing my thoughts, my actions into her wishes and desires. My feet moved of their own accord until I stood in front of Johnny.

“Please, Johnny,” I begged. “Please don’t do this. Don’t make me choose between the two of you. She’s not worth it. She’s nothing compared to you. Please, please don’t do this.”

Johnny raised his gun and pointed it right at me. I opened my mouth to beg, to plead with him one more time. But he didn’t listen. He pulled the trigger. The bullet punched through the air, slamming into my heart. Breaking it—

I woke up with a gasp and bolted upright. My heart pounded. My hair crackled and sizzled and hissed with fire. My fingertips glowed. Sparks flew everywhere, smoldering on my silk sheets. My eyes zipped around the room.

My room. I was in my room. Slowly, I relaxed. It was a dream. Just a dream. Just a nightmare. I flopped back against the bed and rubbed my blazing eyes.

For now.

I stripped the sheets off the bed so they wouldn’t catch fire, then lay back down. I tried to go back to sleep, but for once, it eluded me. Hot and sweaty, I got out of bed and grabbed a couple of thick towels and an itty-bitty bikini from my stash of swimsuits.

It was time for a midnight swim, something I’d started doing after Travis had died. I hadn’t slept well for months after his murder, and swimming was the only thing that calmed me down. The gentle splash of the water, the weightless feel of it against my skin, the rhythmic, repeated kick of my arms and legs soothed something primal deep inside me. For a little while, I could forget about my troubles, my pain, my anger. I could lose myself in the water. Plus, I didn’t have to worry about getting emotional and setting the pool on fire. I’d melted more than one treadmill that way.

I walked through the deserted halls of the underground lair. We were taking the night off, given the disastrous events of the previous evening. My father had gone back into the city to finish up some paperwork regarding the mess at Oodles. Henry and Lulu were around somewhere, probably huddled in the library type-type-typing away on their computers, but no one was officially on call.

I made my way to the exercise room. Unlike my pitiful closet space, Sam had spared no expense in outfitting the gym with the best treadmills, elliptical trainers, and strength-training devices money could buy. Row after row of gleaming machines sat in the long room, along with shelves full of exercise DVDs. Free weights, exercise balls, and yoga mats hung in racks in a corner of the room, which smelled like sweat, rubber, and old gym socks.

We couldn’t afford to let ourselves go or ubervillains would wipe the floor with us. And then there was the PR side of things. Nobody—not the public and certainly not SNN—wanted to see out-of-shape superheroes. Even the older heroes like Granny Cane kept themselves in tip-top condition. They needed to in order to sell their toys and video games. Given my fiery metabolism, I didn’t have a problem keeping the weight off, but the others had to work at it.

I strolled past the machines, opened a door, and stepped into the pool room. Sam had spared no expense here either. Cushioned lounge chairs and umbrella-topped tables crouched on either side of the Olympic-sized pool, along with metal lockers full of scuba, snorkeling, and other diving equipment. In addition to saving people on the mean streets of Bigtime, we’d also done more than a few underwater rescues. At least once a month, some civilian ran his car off the Skyline Bridge and into the marina. Or a cruise ship tipped over and had to be righted before it sank to the bottom of Bigtime Bay.

But perhaps the most unusual feature of the pool room was the ceiling. Instead of the usual tiled ceiling that hovered above so many of the hallways in the underground lair, this one featured embedded 3-D holograms similar to those in the training room. A knob on one wall let you set the ceiling to whatever scene you wanted to look at, from rolling clouds, to lightning, to several of the better-known constellations. I chose the night sky setting, remembering my time with Johnny at the observatory. The ceiling dimmed to a dusky gray, and a smattering of stars twinkled to life, along with a full moon. I hit another knob, and the soft sounds of crickets and other forest creatures filtered into the room. Ah, perfect.

The faintest hint of a spring breeze brushed my face, and I felt some of the tension ease out of my body. I spread my towels out next to the shallow end of the pool and did a few stretches to loosen up my tight muscles. Then, I climbed up the twenty-foot diving board, bounced once, and plunged into the deep, blue water.

The wetness closed over me, blocking out everything else. Johnny’s stubbornness, his vendetta, my fruitless attempts to stop him, these new feelings I was developing for him. I swam and swam, going from one end of the pool and back again in a thoughtless rhythm.

I popped up for air and found myself staring at a pair of bare feet. Slightly hairy, very male feet. My eyes snapped up.

Johnny towered above me, clad only in his pajama bottoms. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” I said, not quite sure what he was doing here. I swam over and sprawled across the steps that led down into the water.

Johnny followed me. He sat down on the edge a few feet away and dangled his legs in the warm water. I tried not to notice how the fabric clung to his toned calves. Or how see-through it became when wet.

“I wanted to talk to you about earlier today,” Johnny said. “I acted like a complete ass. I’m sorry.”

“There’s no need to apologize.”

“Yes, there is. You were trying to help me, and I shut you down.” He drew in a deep breath. “It’s just, I don’t know, I can’t think straight where Siren and Intelligal are concerned. It just hurts too much. All I can focus on is my father and what they did to him. But I took my pain, my frustration, out on you today. I’m sorry for that.”

“Forget about it. I understand. Really, I do.”

Johnny nodded. “That’s what makes it so hard sometimes.”

He stared out at the shimmering water, then back at me. “Care for some company?”

“I’d love some. Doing laps gets pretty boring after a while,” I joked, trying to lighten the mood.

I swam back out into the middle of the pool, so Johnny would have room to ease himself down into the water. To my surprise, he followed my progress alongside the edge of the pool, grinning.

“Cannonball!” Johnny shouted, throwing himself into the water.

An enormous wave washed over me. Water stung my face, and I laughed. Johnny came up for air, and we treaded water. We swam back and forth in the pool for a while.

After about half an hour, we raced back to the shallow end and got out. We flopped onto the thick beach towels and stared at the fake stars high above. If I hadn’t known better, I would have sworn I was lying on a deserted beach somewhere instead of underneath one of the finest homes in Bigtime.

“It all looks so real,” Johnny said. “Like you could almost reach up and pluck the stars out of the sky.”

“Sam, Henry, and the chief do a good job with the holograms.”

We lay there, still and silent and staring at the stars. I thought about asking Johnny one more time to forget his vendetta, to leave Siren and Intelligal to us. But I didn’t want to ruin the moment, so I kept quiet—for a change.

My stomach, though, had other ideas. It let out a long, gurgling roar that would have put a movie monster to shame.

Johnny turned over on his side and looked at me. A grin spread across his face. “Let me guess. No lunch or dinner, right?”

My stomach rumbled like thunder. “Oh no, I ate enough lunch and dinner for thirteen people. But unfortunately, my metabolism never, ever stops. Not even when I’m asleep.”

“Well, we better get you fed before you waste away to nothing. We can’t have you fighting crime on an empty stomach, now can we?”

I laughed, and Johnny pulled me to my feet. I grabbed my towels, and we headed for the underground kitchen.

I plopped down on one of the metal swivel stools while Johnny yanked open the door on one of the refrigerators. He stared inside, then glanced over his shoulder at me.

“I know.” I cringed just a bit. “It’s probably a little empty in there.”

“I’m sure I can find something for us to snack on.”

Johnny turned back to the refrigerator, and I used the opportunity to study him. His pants were still slightly damp, accentuating every muscle in his perfect body. Exoskeleton or not, the man looked like a marble statue come to life. One that was perfectly proportioned in all the right places. My eyes dipped lower. Everywhere.

“So, what do you want?” Johnny asked, rummaging around in the frosty depths. “I think there’s still enough roast beef left for a couple of sandwiches.”

I was hungry, but not for food for a change. I hungered for Johnny. And I was going to do something about it. Right now.

“Here, let me see what I can find.”

I strolled over to the refrigerator and scanned the contents. Johnny was right. There wasn’t much left, except a couple of boxes of baking soda and a few condiments. Even I couldn’t eat ketchup, mustard, or mayonnaise straight out of the bottle, no matter how famished I was. My eyes roamed over the metal racks. But it wasn’t a complete loss. I plucked out a skinny can.

“Whipped cream?” Johnny asked. “You’re going to eat chocolate whipped cream and nothing else?”

I grinned. “Absolutely.”

I shook the can. Then, I leaned over and squirted a little on the corner of Johnny’s mouth. I flicked my tongue over the chocolate frost and licked it off, lightning-quick. I repeated the process on the other corner of his mouth. Then, on the side of his neck. Then, in the hollow of his throat. Whipped cream had never tasted so good.

“Fiona...” Johnny said in a husky tone.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you like whipped cream?” I asked in a coy voice.

Johnny put his hands on my hips and rested his forehead on mine. His light touch made me burn that much more. “Are you sure you want to do this with everything that’s happened? With everything that’s between us? Because Siren and Intelligal are still out there, and I’m still—”

I put a bit of whipped cream on my finger and pressed it to his lips. “Enough about them. We’re here now, and that’s all that matters. Besides, I’m still hungry.” I licked the chocolate confection away. “Aren’t you?”

Johnny stared at me. Then, a slow, wicked grin spread across his face. “Baby, I’m always hungry.”

He took the can from me and squirted some of the cream into his mouth. I reached up and pulled his lips down to mine. The frothy chocolate melted as our tongues stroked back and forth. Even as the whipped cream disappeared, the liquid heat inside me grew and grew until it was a bonfire raging out of control, burning me alive. And there was only one thing that would douse the flames, only one thing that would cool my desire. Johnny. Now.

Right now.

I sank to my knees and pulled Johnny down with me. He lowered me the rest of the way to the floor. The tile was cool and slick beneath us, but I didn’t feel it. All I could feel, see, taste, hear, smell was Johnny.

Our kisses grew longer, harder, deeper, until we were both frantic and dizzy with need. We clawed at each other’s clothes, ripping aside the thin barriers. My bikini was shredded away. So were his pajama pants.

Johnny squeezed my breasts. I raked my nails down his back. He kissed my neck. I nibbled on his ear. Our legs tangled together, and fire throbbed and pulsed through my body, rocking me to my molten core. With one thought, we moved into each other. The white-hot feel of Johnny sinking into me made me cry out with pleasure.

It was quick and hard and good. We climaxed and lay there panting on the tile.

Johnny drew me into his arms and nuzzled my neck. I closed my eyes and stroked his damp hair, careful not to singe it with my sparking fingertips. A soft, warm glow wrapped around my body.

“Don’t you go to sleep on me just yet,” Johnny said.

I looked at him through slitted eyes. “Why not? Good sex always makes me sleepy. I think I held up my end of the bargain just now.”

Johnny reached over my head and grabbed the stray can of chocolate whipped cream. “Because, baby, we still have half a can of whipped cream left.”

Johnny shook the metal can. He leaned over and spread the cream on my nipples, my stomach, then farther down to more interesting places. The creamy frost felt like dew drops on my flushed skin.

“Johnny, what are you up to?”

He grinned and lowered his mouth to me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I woke up a couple hours later in Johnny’s arms. We were still in the kitchen, stretched out in front of the refrigerator. A couple of beach towels covered our bodies. I stretched my arms above my head. Every part of me felt warm and languid and relaxed. A sigh of contentment escaped my lips. I felt so satisfied, so peaceful, so loved.

A hand stroked my cheek. I turned, and Johnny was there. He rose up on one elbow and stared into my eyes.

“Hey there.”

“Hey there yourself.” I pressed my lips to his for a quick kiss. “That was pretty incredible.”

“Yes, it was. Although I’d use a better adjective than merely incredible. Lots of things are incredible. Give me something stronger.”

I arched an eyebrow. “Fantastic?”

Johnny shook his head. “Something stronger.”

“Unbelievable?”

“Nope.”

“Tip-top?”

Johnny shuddered.

“Super-duper?”

Johnny snapped his fingers. “Super-duper! That’s it! Fiona Fine, we have just made super-duper love together. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“And then some.”

We kissed again, and Johnny flopped onto his back. He stared up at the ceiling, and his smile faded away. I knew he was thinking of his father. And how he would never experience such pleasure again.

“Tell me about your father,” I asked, snuggling into the crook of his arm to distract him. “I told you about Travis. Tell me about your father, James.”

“Are you sure you want to hear about him now?” Johnny asked. “That’s sort of an odd conversation for pillow talk.”

I gestured at the tile floor beneath us. “Well, we’re not on pillows, we’re on the kitchen floor. And I’d like to know more about your father, more about Johnny Angel.”

“All right.”

Johnny told me everything about his father. How he’d been heartbroken when his wife Lucia had died. How he’d struggled to raise Johnny and Bella alone. How he’d given them everything he had. His love, his time, his business. Johnny’s love for his father radiated from him, along with some emotion I couldn’t quite identify.

“When was the last time you spoke to him?”

Johnny’s eyes darkened. “The night before he died. I was still in Greece then, and he called me to talk about a business deal I was working on. Then, we started talking about the other family business—Johnny Angel. He wanted me to come home to Bigtime and take over as Angel. He said he was getting too old, that he’d almost let a mugger get away from him a couple of weeks ago. I refused. I told him that life wasn’t for me. The fighting, the patrolling, the gang wars. It wasn’t what I wanted.”

“And then he died,” I prodded in a gentle tone.

Johnny sucked in a deep breath. “And then he died. Two days later, Bella called me, frantic. She hadn’t heard from Dad. I flew home at once. We went out to where he’d last been seen. We found some of the pieces of his motorcycle. They were charred and burned almost beyond recognition. And we found his watch. The glass case was busted, but it was still in one piece. That watch was my grandfather’s, the original Johnny Angel. My dad never went anywhere without it. We knew then that he was dead.”

My heart ached for Johnny. I touched his face with my fingertips, and Johnny pressed a kiss to my hand.

“I turned over our Greek operations to one of the other business managers and moved back home. I vowed to find the people responsible and make them pay.”

“Siren and Intelligal.”

Johnny nodded. “A contact in one of the local biker gangs overheard the two of them talking about how they’d killed Angel. They were bragging about it at Quicke’s one night. When I found out it was them, I swore a blood oath to my grandfather and Bella to kill them and avenge my father. And I will honor my vow.”

I opened my mouth to protest. To tell him once again that the Fearless Five would bring the ubervillains to justice. Johnny wasn’t having any of it, though. His fingers slid down my breasts, past my stomach. They penetrated me, exploring. I closed my eyes. Heat waves of pleasure sizzled through my body. I was so hot you could have fried bacon on my forehead.

“That’s...not...fair,” I rasped, digging my hands into his smooth, broad shoulders. “I...can’t think...straight...much less...argue...when you...do that.”

Johnny grinned. “Baby, nothing’s fair in love and war. Isn’t that how the old saying goes?”

He didn’t have to reach for me. I threw myself into his waiting arms.

* * *

We made love four more times. On the floor. On the countertop. Against the refrigerator. Sitting on top of a stool. The last one was particularly interesting. I’d never look at a chair the same way again.

When we were done, Johnny went back to the sick bay, and I slipped back into my suite. We both would have been much more comfortable in my bed, but I didn’t want the others to know everything we’d done just yet. I wasn’t worried about their disapproval. Despite Johnny’s desperate need for revenge, the others knew he was a good person deep down inside. Besides, I’d never needed other people’s approval anyway.

No, I didn’t want the others to know everything just yet because if they knew, then I’d have to admit to myself that Johnny and I were having more than a casual fling. That we were officially a couple. An item. Together. And that I was slowly but surely starting to forget about Travis.

I sat down on my bed. With a start, I realized that I hadn’t thought about Travis in hours now. Days, really. Oh, he crossed my mind every now and then, but he didn’t fill my thoughts anymore. My heart no longer ached like a rotten tooth, pulsing and throbbing with each strained beat. My eyes flickered to the beaming picture on my nightstand. Travis’s blond hair and brown eyes looked strange to me, almost as if I were seeing him for the first time. The pain of his loss wasn’t the only thing fading from my mind. My memories were getting fuzzed over as well. And that’s what really scared me. I didn’t want to forget him. Didn’t want to forget anything about him.

But I was.

My fingers traced over his wide smile. The diamond on my finger sparkled like a small sun on my hand. “Well, I suppose you know about me and Johnny by now. You’d like him, I think. He’s a lot like you. Fun, energetic, full of life,” I whispered. “He’ll never take your place, but I like him. And he likes me. He makes me laugh, just the way that you used to. I’ve missed that. Laughing.”

Talking to a picture of a dead man was rather silly, of course. He wasn’t going to talk back to me or suddenly appear beside my bed as a shimmering ghost. Whispering to Travis was something Carmen would do while listening to those pesky voices in her head. But it made me feel a little better, even if Travis didn’t respond. Even though he never would again.

I snapped out the lights and went to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, I stood in the sick bay with Johnny and the chief, who was giving him one more exam before discharging him. Johnny grinned at me while Chief Newman checked his temperature, pulse, and blood pressure. The last of his cuts and bruises had healed up, and Johnny looked no worse for wear, despite the fact I’d gone to town on him with a lead pipe. I didn’t feel quite so guilty about it as I had before. I figured last night had made up for it a little bit. Pleasure. Pain. There was a thin line between the two.

The chief tapped his knees with a metal hammer, making a hollow, ringing sound. Johnny slipped his hand in mine, while the chief continued his ministrations. I liked the solid feel of Johnny’s skin next to mine. All of his bare, naked, smooth, supple skin next to mine. His hard, muscled body on top of me. Under me. Beside me. In me—

“Fiona? Are you listening?” Chief Newman rumbled.

I snapped back to reality. “Of course. What did you say?”

“I said that Johnny’s fine, except he seems a little tired this morning. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” The chief turned his blue eyes to mine.

I flashed back to our time together in the kitchen. I could still taste the chocolate whipped cream on my lips. “Of course not.”

“I did tell him to avoid strenuous activities,” the chief continued. “But I don’t think he heeded my warning.”

Strenuous wouldn’t be the word I would use to describe last night. Perhaps vigorous or long-lasting or the previously agreed upon super-duper.

My father kept staring at me. His eyes glowed, like a match burning. Johnny looked back and forth between the two of us, still grinning.

“Johnny doesn’t seem to be one to heed warnings,” I said.

“That sounds like someone else I know,” the chief replied.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, but I couldn’t help the blush that crept up my cheeks. I’d just been busted for having a little nookie-time fun by my own father. Way to go, Fiona.

The chief finished up his examination, pronouncing Johnny fit to take on the world once more. Johnny put on some more of Travis’s old clothes, and we headed back to the city in my convertible. It was a beautiful May day, with plenty of sunshine and a steady breeze. I put the top down, tilted my face up, and drank in the vibrant rays. Johnny leaned his head against the back of his seat and did the same.

We didn’t speak on the way back to Bigtime. I didn’t know what to say to Johnny, other than to ask him once again to abandon his vendetta against Siren and Intelligal. I wasn’t sure how he would react to that.

We pulled into the long, curving driveway of the Bulluci manor about ten that morning. I stopped the car outside the front door and killed the engine.

Johnny turned to me. “Come in. Stay with me for a while.”

I stared up at the house. A white lace curtain in one of the upstairs windows twitched and fell back into place. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Unless I miss my guess, Bella’s waiting somewhere inside ready to pounce on you and demand an explanation. Given how your last conversation went, I imagine there’ll be some yelling involved too.”

“That’s precisely why I need you to come with me. To protect me from my big, bad, nasty sister.” Johnny grinned.

I found myself grinning back. “I do so admire manly men, especially those who quake at the thought of facing their little sister.”

Johnny shuddered. “You don’t know Bella. She might seem mild-mannered and sweet, but once she gets going, she’s hard to stop.”

“Well, if you insist...”

The truth was that I wanted to spend more time with Johnny. Every waking minute if I could. Anything to keep him close to me, to keep him safe. Anything to keep him from trying to fulfill his vendetta.

“I do insist with you, Fiona. Always.”

Johnny pulled me inside, and we wandered through the angel-filled rooms, searching for the rest of the Bullicis.

“Bella? Grandfather? I’m home,” Johnny announced. His voice boomed through the sprawling mansion.

No response.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “I know where they are.”

He led me to the den. Bella sat on the long sofa, watching some art restoration program on the enormous television. A sketch pad lay on her lap, but she snapped off the screen at the sight of us.

“Well, it’s about time you got home,” Bella said in a tight, cold voice. Her hazel eyes shimmered like liquid gold with anger. “I hope the two of you enjoyed yourselves these last few days. Some of us were working.”

“I didn’t mean to be gone so long, but I ran into a bit of trouble. Fiona helped me out of it.” Johnny strolled to Bella’s side and planted a kiss on her cheek like nothing was wrong.

Bella narrowed her eyes. “What sort of trouble? Did the two of you run out of condoms or something?”

I arched an eyebrow. I wouldn’t have thought quiet, shy Bella would have the gumption to say the word condoms out loud, much less in front of other people. Perhaps still waters really did run deep.

“Not exactly,” Johnny said. “Fiona beat the stuffing out of me.”

Confusion and worry spread across Bella’s face. “How would she be able to do that? Your exo—” She cut off her words and looked at me.

I rolled my eyes and tossed my hair over my shoulder. All these innuendos and shortened sentences and half truths were really starting to annoy me. So I did what I did best. I snapped my fingers, and a fireball popped into my hand. With my other hand, I picked up the sofa—with Bella still sitting on it. She let out a squeak of alarm and clung to the side of the furniture.

“This is how,” I replied.

Bella’s eyes zipped back and forth from me to the fireball to the sofa to Johnny and back to me. Comprehension filled her face. “You’re Fiera?” she screeched. “The superhero? A member of the Fearless Five?”

I winced. Bella could almost match Siren when it came to her piercing voice. “That’s right.”

Bella’s golden gaze flicked to her brother. “Why are you telling us your secret identity?” She tried to be cool and casual, but panic sparked in her eyes.

“You don’t have to pretend, Bella. Fiona knows that I’m Johnny Angel. She knows everything. About me, about Father, all of it.”

Bella’s mouth dropped open. She almost tumbled off the sofa. “Johnny! You didn’t!”

“He didn’t really have a choice,” I said. “I did beat the stuffing out of him. But I knew who he was before then.”

Bella turned on her brother. “Johnny, how could you be so reckless? Letting someone guess your secret identity. The family’s secret identity.”

I gestured at all the cherubs and angel wings and halos in the room. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out. In fact, it’s pretty obvious. You know, you guys might want to think about redecorating just a little bit. The angels are a dead giveaway.”

“That’s what their grandmother always thought, but I never listened to her.”

We turned at the sound of Bobby Bulluci’s voice. The old man stood in the doorway, staring at the three of us. His eyes went to the fireball on my hand and the sofa I had hoisted in midair. Busted again. If I kept this up, I might as well just take an ad out in The Chronicle or The Exposé announcing my secret identity to the entire world. Hell, maybe I’d just rip my mask off at the next superhero gathering at Paradise Park in front of Kelly Caleb. The SNN reporter would get the news out in no time flat. On the upside, I’d save a fortune in masks.

Bella rubbed her temples. “Let me get this straight. You knew that my brother, the man you’ve been dating, was Johnny Angel, yet you still beat up on him?”

“That’s right.”

“Johnny, do you care to explain this?” Bella crossed her arms over her chest, looking more like an uptight schoolteacher than a cutting-edge fashion designer.

“It’s a long story,” Johnny said. “Let’s sit down.”

I put the furniture and Bella back on the floor and snuffed the fireball out of my hand. We sat down on the lowered sofa, and Johnny spent the next ten minutes filling Bella and his grandfather in on everything that had happened since we’d had our knock-down, drag-out brawl at Oodles o’ Stuff.

“Incredible,” Bobby said. “All these years I’ve wondered about the Fearless Five, who they really were, and here you are, Fiera, sitting in my living room. Incredible.”

I shrugged in a modest sort of way. It was always nice to be thought of as incredible. My eyes went to Johnny. Or super-duper. I cleared my throat. Since all of our cards were on the table, I might as well appeal to Bella and Bobby to help me with my mission. My very personal mission.

“My friends and I have spent the last two days trying to convince Johnny to leave Siren and Intelligal to us. The two of them are planning something, and we need to figure out what it is and stop them before they hurt anyone else.”

“It is not simply a matter of stopping them,” Bobby said. Tears gathered in his eyes, and he suddenly seemed old and small and frail. “I believe in the old ways. Eye for an eye, blood for blood. Those two killed my James, my son. They should be killed in turn to set things right.”

“I understand your pain, sir, truly I do,” I said. “But killing them won’t bring your son back. It won’t take away your sadness.”

Bella nodded. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell them for months now. We’ve already lost Father. We don’t need to lose you too, Johnny.”

“He has a duty to his family, to carry on the legacy—” Bobby started.

“Oh, screw the stupid family legacy,” Bella snapped. “I’d rather have Johnny home safe and sound any day than lose him to your silly legacy.”

The two of them glared at each other. Yikes. And I thought I could get hot under the collar when I was angry. I had nothing on Bella Bulluci.

Disgusted with the men in her family, Bella grabbed her sketch pad off the sofa and threw it onto the glass-topped coffee table.

Crack!

The pad hit the table with a loud smack, and the glass split down the middle. The two pieces fell on top of each other, along with an assortment of coasters, magazines, and a mug that hit the floor and shattered.

When the noise faded and the glass and dust settled, I looked at Bella. Wondering.

“It’s nothing,” Bella muttered, avoiding my eyes. “Just another part of the stupid family legacy.”

One that was getting more interesting and unusual by the minute.

“Maybe you should go and let us talk about this, Fiona,” Johnny said in a soft voice. He squeezed my hand. “Please?”

I looked at the three of them. This was a family matter, and I wasn’t part of the family. The thought made me sadder than I would have imagined.

“All right. I’ll go. For now. But think about what I said. Let the Fearless Five handle the ubervillains. It’s what we do.”

“It’s what Johnny Angel does too,” Bobby replied. “It’s what we’ve done for three generations now. We take care of our own. We always have, and we always will. That’s our family’s real legacy.”

I didn’t have a response. Johnny’s eyes begged me to go before things got any more heated. So, I left.

Chapter Twenty-Three

I drove to my office. Paperwork cluttered my desk, along with the remains of the wilted flowers Johnny had sent me. I stared at the dried-up brown petals and hoped they weren’t an omen. That my relationship with Johnny wouldn’t soon be as dead and decayed as they were.

I rolled my eyes. Sheesh. I was getting as bad as Carmen and my father looking for doom-and-gloom portents of the future. I shoved the flowers into the trash can and stared at the piles of messages on my desk, the notes from suppliers, all the thousand small details that needed seeing to. I really needed to get to work.

But I couldn’t concentrate on any of it, not even my Fiera fan mail. All I could think about was Johnny and his family. I paced around my office. Bella had agreed with me, that the Fearless Five should be the ones to take care of Siren and Intelligal. But Johnny and his grandfather hadn’t. And I knew they wouldn’t. Their honor, their code, their legacy was just as important to them as my superhero duty was to me. Why did men have to be such fools sometimes?

“If you don’t cut that out, Fiona, you’re going to poke holes in the floor with your stilettos,” Piper called out from the doorway. “You don’t want a repeat of last time, do you?”

I grimaced. The last time Piper was referring to was when I’d put my foot through the floor after a particularly grueling fitting session with Joanne James. It was either that or put my foot through her bony ass. Joanne had gotten off lucky that day.

“Why don’t you use the balls I got you?” Piper suggested.

In addition to leaving eating disorder and other self-help pamphlets on my desk, Piper was also fond of giving me gifts like those rubber balls you squeeze in your hands. She thought I needed to relax.

Piper kept staring at me, so I yanked open my desk drawer and rummaged through the mess inside until I came up with one of the rubber gizmos, which was a little smaller than a tennis ball. I rhythmically flexed my fist around the puny ball.

Piper smiled, happy that she’d gotten me to do her bidding, and disappeared back into her office.

I waited to make sure she wasn’t coming back. Then, I squeezed the ball with all my might. It only took me a second to turn the rubber into a handful of goo. I tossed it in the trash and watched it smolder.

Piper was right. It did make me feel better. I always enjoyed melting things.

* * *

I worked the rest of the day, stopping only to eat a quick but massive lunch from Quicke’s. Every so often, I’d look at the phone, hoping Johnny would call. Hoping he’d tell me he’d changed his mind about going after Siren and Intelligal. That he was giving up his quest, his mission, his vendetta. But he never did. Men never called when you wanted them to.

I left work around six and headed back out to Sublime. Tonight was my night to be on duty in the library. I rolled my neck around, trying to ease some of the tension that had built up there. I’d zapped all of the rubber balls I could find in my desk, but they hadn’t helped much. Maybe I’d be able to do a few laps in the pool after my shift ended. Maybe not, the way things were going. It hadn’t exactly been a banner week so far. Except for my time with Johnny in the kitchen.

I stopped by the kitchen and made myself a couple of ham-and-cheese sandwiches, grabbed two bags of chips, and put a bottle of soda under my arm before heading to the library. One of the doors was cracked open, and loud, angry voices bounced down the hall. I frowned and quickened my pace. What the hell was going on?

“I don’t see why you have to be so stubborn,” Henry’s voice floated through the door. “I love you, and I want to marry you. What could be simpler than that?”

I peeked inside. Ah, the two lovenerds were squared off above their flickering computer monitors, each one glaring at the other.

“There’s nothing simple about it, and you know it,” Lulu snapped back. “Your power is a precious gift. You deserve to have kids who will follow in your footsteps—who’ll have your mind-melding power and help others with it.”

“You’re acting like there’s no hope,” Henry said. “But there are things we could try. Medical advances like in vitro fertilization, or a surrogate mother. And researchers are developing new methods all the time.”

Lulu shook her head. “But you should be able to have both—a woman who loves you and who can give you kids. It shouldn’t be this hard. Your power is too important to waste—”

“Oh, stuff my power.” Henry shoved his glasses up his nose. “I wouldn’t care if my power went away tomorrow, as long as I had you.”

Lulu’s face softened. Even I melted a little. Wow. Giving up your power to be with the person you loved? That was the ultimate sacrifice for superheroes and ubervillains alike.

Lulu drew in a deep breath. “We both know I can’t have kids. And unless they come up with some sort of new science in the next couple of years, I won’t ever be able to have children. I don’t want you to give that up for me, Henry.”

“But we can adopt,” Henry persisted. “It wouldn’t matter to me. You know that.”

Lulu shook her head. “But they wouldn’t have your powers. You’re far too strong and your power is far too important to let it end with you.”

Henry opened his mouth to protest again.

I cleared my throat, not wanting to hide outside any longer. “I hate to interrupt, but it’s my turn to be on call.”

The computer gurus stared at me, shocked that I’d overheard their conversation. I strolled inside, sat down at the table, put my feet up, and started eating sandwiches like I hadn’t heard a single word of their heated argument.

Henry and Lulu glared at me, then each other. Both of them looked at their monitors and began to pound away on their computers. I supposed that’s what geeks in love did after they had a fight. Scary.

After I finished my sandwiches and assorted munchies, I flipped through the stack of fashion magazines Sam kept in the library for me. But my heart wasn’t really into dissecting the latest looks from Paris and Milan. All I could think about was Johnny. I wondered where he was right now. What he was doing.

Was he getting ready to suit up and prowl the streets as Angel? Or had he taken my advice to heart and was staying home where he’d be safe? I didn’t know.

After about an hour of silence, Lulu let out a loud yell. “I’ve got them!” she cried. “I’ve got them! I’ve got them!”

“Who? What? Where?” Henry asked just like a good journalist would.

The two of us darted over to Lulu and peered at her computer monitor. The hacker’s thin fingers pounded the keyboard so hard I thought she was going to punch through the plastic keys.

“They’re holed up in one of the buildings down by the marina,” she said, pointing to a city map on her wide screen. “Right there next to the fish-packing plant.”

I put my hands on my hips. “The marina? What would they be doing at the marina? There’s nothing down there but boats and water and rotten fish. And, of course, the occasional dead body.”

Lulu stared at me. “How am I supposed to know what goes through the minds of ubervillains? But that’s where they’re at, according to my calculations.”

“I’ll call the chief,” Henry said. “If we’re lucky, we can trap them in the building and take them down. There’s nowhere for them to go but out into the water. It shouldn’t be so easy for them to slip through our fingers this time.”

He moved to his computer, pressed a few buttons, and spoke into a microphone. My father’s voice boomed into the room, and Henry told him the situation.

While they talked, I thought about calling Johnny. Perhaps if I asked him to fight with us instead of against us, it might satisfy him. Then, I remembered the pain in his eyes when he’d told me about his father’s death. The cold, hard rage in his voice. No, Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel wouldn’t be satisfied until Siren and Intelligal were dead. But perhaps I could save him from himself. And my heart in the process.

Henry cut the connection to the chief. “He’s in the area checking on a burglary. He’ll be here in fifteen minutes.”

“Good. Then let’s go end this thing. Once and for all,” I said.

Chapter Twenty-Four

The chief arrived, everyone suited up, and we piled into the van. Thirty minutes later, we skidded to a stop in front of the entrance to the Bigtime Marina.

Bigtime was situated on the eastern edge of New York, right on the Atlantic. The ocean cut into the middle of the city, almost like a jagged shark bite. It and the manmade river that flowed down the hill from the observatory formed Bigtime Bay. The bay’s waters were calm and shallow for the most part, making it the perfect place to come for a swim or day of sailing. Some of the society folks like Berkley Brighton and Devlin Dash even had their own private islands out in the middle of the bay, offering them impressive views of the city skyline.

Hermit eased the van over a couple of speed bumps. During the day, the cobblestone marina was a pedestrian area closed to vehicles, so the boating types had to wait until after sunset to put their ships into the water. In addition to fleets of sailboats, the marina featured a maritime museum where kids could pet stingrays and the like, and stores that carried all things nautical, from clothes to scuba gear to bait. A wooden pier stretched out like a finger into the bay. It was popular with people from all walks of life, many who came to fish and feed the flocks of gulls.

We left the sailboats behind and headed for the less glamorous side of the bay, where the loading docks, shipping yards, and industrial plants crouched against the water’s edge like barnacles.

“Before we go in, everyone be sure to take their gas pill.” Hermit passed out the medication to each of us. “Remember, it only lasts about twenty minutes, so we need to get in and take down Siren and Intelligal as quickly as possible.”

“And we’re sticking together this time,” Mr. Sage said. “I don’t want anybody being ambushed by the ubervillains or Angel, if he decides to make an appearance. We all go in together. We all come out together. Agreed?”

Hermit and I nodded.

“Then, let’s go.”

Lulu outfitted us with the usual cameras and transmitters, and the three of us left the van.

“Be safe,” she called after us, looking at Hermit.

“Always,” I replied, pressing my fist to my heart.

We tiptoed through the dark shadows, the bay a pool of black ink on our right. A few lights bobbed up and down on the water, and a foghorn sounded in the distance. A steady breeze blew the smell of salt to us. It made me want some pretzels.

“According to Lulu’s calculations, Siren and Intelligal are holed up in that building over there.” Hermit pointed to one of the frozen-fish-stick-processing plants.

I wrinkled my nose. Fish sticks. I hated fish sticks. They were just about the only food I wouldn’t eat. The stench alone was enough to make me gag. Why did ubervillains always have to pick the dingiest, dirtiest, most disgusting places imaginable for their supersecret, diabolically evil lairs? You’d think that, every once in a while, they’d spring for a nice room at the Bigtime Plaza or something. Most of them stole enough jewelry and other pricey baubles to stay anywhere they wanted to, anytime they wanted to. But no. Ubervillains skulked about in the shadows, and we always ended up saving the world in some abandoned, out-of-the-way dive.

A loud rumble cut through the air, and my heart sank like a cement block tossed in the bay. I knew that sound. A pair of halogen headlights popped into view down the street, and Johnny Bulluci aka Johnny Angel slid his motorcycle to a halt in front of us. His eyes warmed at the sight of me, and he shot me a crooked grin. My heart sped up, and I found myself smiling back. Then, I remembered why Angel was here—to kill the ubervillains who had murdered his father. My smile faded.

Still, I had to give him a chance, no matter how farfetched it might be. “What are you doing here, Angel?”

“Just looking after things, including my girl. Is that a crime?” he asked, his green eyes bright.

“Not as long as that’s all you’re doing. Is it?”

Angel shrugged. He drew his lighter out of his pocket and fired up a cigarette. “I spoke with Grandfather and Bella. The three of us decided that I should work with you, instead of against you. For now.”

Meaning he’d play nice until we had Siren and Intelligal right where he wanted them. I opened my mouth to protest, but my father cut me off.

“All right, Angel,” Mr. Sage said. “We’re a couple of hands short, so you can join us if you wish. But you follow our lead.”

Angel nodded his head. “Of course.”

I stared at my father. What was he thinking? He was psychic; he had to know that Johnny Angel had no intention of letting us turn Siren and Intelligal over to the Bigtime police. Hell, I wasn’t a psychic, and I could see it.

Johnny parked his bike, and the four of us headed for the fish-stick plant. It was a short, squat building that jutted up against the side of the bay. We faced the back part of the building, where the docks were that the fisherman used to drop off their daily hauls of tuna, flounder, and shrimp. The front of the building faced one of the downtown streets a couple of blocks over.

“Don’t you guys think this is sort of odd?” Lulu said in my ear.

“What’s that?” my father asked.

“Well, in my somewhat limited experience, ubervillains usually choose abandoned buildings to set up their headquarters. According to my information, Fred’s Fried Flounder Fish Sticks is the main supplier of fish sticks in Bigtime.”

“Who cares?” Angel asked. “All that matters is that they’re in there, and we’re going to get them. One way or another. I’m tired of waiting. Let’s go.”

Angel headed for the plant. I looked at my father, then Hermit. They shrugged. I shook my head and followed Angel.

I not-so-gently wrenched open one of the loading-dock doors, and we stepped inside. The four of us formed a line and searched the area. Lulu was right. Fred’s Fried Flounder Fish Sticks was very much a working operation. Everything was neat and orderly and clean, from the rows of forklifts to the stacks of cardboard boxes to the few workstations and desks that we passed.

We did a complete sweep of the facility. Other than a couple dozen industrial-size freezers full of frozen fish sticks and your usual assembly-line setup, there was nothing inside. No power cords. No radio-like device. No wires. No tools. No blueprints. No ubervillains. Nothing.

We backtracked to the center of the factory, hoping to find something we’d overlooked. Still nothing. Angel cursed and lit another cigarette. Hermit typed on his handheld computer and murmured to Lulu. My father laced his fingers together, deep in thought. I put my hands on my hips.

A chill swept over me that had nothing to do with the freezers. My nose twitched. I smelled something rotten, and it wasn’t fish sticks.

“This doesn’t feel right,” my father murmured.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. I think it’s about time you got here,” a sultry voice drawled out.

The four of us turned. Siren stood behind us, holding a curious-looking microphone in her manicured hands. Diamonds gleamed on the black metal surface. Intelligal floated high above. She flipped a couple of switches on a device that looked like an oversized boom box. It, too, was studded with diamonds.

Angel’s hands clenched into tight fists. He started forward, but I caught his arm. He took a half a step forward. I tightened my grip, stopping him.

“Not yet,” I whispered out of the corner of my mouth.

For a second, I thought Johnny would shake me off and launch himself at Siren. But he paused. I nodded my head at him. Maybe I had finally gotten through to him.

Because no matter what happened, Johnny wasn’t going to kill the ubervillains. I wasn’t going to let him. It wasn’t the Fearless Five way. It wasn’t my way, and I didn’t want it to be his way either.

And I hated to admit it, but Lulu was right. This was a little too pat, a little too rehearsed for my liking. The ubervillains were up to something. Well, more so than usual.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re here tonight,” Siren said.

Her soft, breathy voice curled around me like a rope. I reached for my inner fire and burned the coils away.

“Intelligal told me about Angel and Fiera’s tussle the other night, and I had an idea. Instead of trying to fight you off, I should bend you to my will, make you all my little puppets. Intelligal and I are going to need some help to fully implement our scheme.”

“And what scheme would that be?” I said.

“Oh, the usual,” Siren said. “Take over Bigtime, then the world.”

That was our cue to move. I loosened my grip on Johnny’s arm and tensed my muscles, ready to strike. He did the same. My father’s fingers fluttered, and Hermit fixed his computer on Intelligal’s chair. But before we could move, Siren held the strange microphone up to her lips.

“Now, now, I don’t want to fight. Why do the four of you?” she purred.

The microphone amplified the sultry, hypnotic pull of Siren’s voice a hundred times. A thousand times. I stopped cold. Maybe even a hundred thousand times. My brain screamed at my muscles to move, to attack, to lash out at Siren, but I couldn’t quite make myself do it. The others stood frozen beside me.

“I don’t want to fight, do you? Why don’t you clasp your hands behind your backs and stand there like good superheroes?” Siren lowered the zipper on her neon blue costume, exposing cleavage that would have put the Great Wall of China to shame.

Since Siren’s voice had more effect on men than women, the others did as she asked without question. Even my father, the great psychic, couldn’t resist Siren’s command with her new toy firmly in hand. The men had their hands behind their backs before she’d even finished speaking.

Not me.

Maybe I was just too much of a hothead to be easily controlled. Maybe my will was just a tad stronger than the others’. Or maybe I just hated the ubervillains more for what they’d done to the Bullucis, to James, to Johnny.

So, I didn’t succumb to Siren’s sultry song. Instead, I reached for my inner fire, concentrating on the searing, pulsing flames deep within me. I grabbed them and held on tight, focusing my energy on my fire, my anger, my will. The sweet, gauzy haze of Siren’s voice melted away like snow in a firestorm. My arms twitched.

The microphone. I had to destroy that damned microphone. Then the others would be free, and they could help me.

“What’s going on?” Lulu squawked in my ear. “Hermit, Mr. Sage, what are you doing? Why are you listening to her? Hermit, can you hear me?”

I blocked the computer hacker’s voice out of my mind. I couldn’t answer her and fight off Siren at the same time.

Siren noticed that I hadn’t done as she’d asked. She frowned and raised the microphone to her pouty lips again. “Siren says, put your hands behind your back, Fiera.”

I took a step forward. Sparks flew from my fingertips. Then another step. My hair hissed with fire. Another step. My body started to glow like a liquefied ruby. One more step.

Every step got a little easier, a little faster. The bitch wasn’t going to control my mind. I didn’t care what kind of souped-up karaoke machine she had. No way, no how. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour.

“Go to hell, Siren,” I muttered through gritted teeth.

“Gas her! Now!” Siren roared.

Intelligal hit a button on her chair, and that sickly sweet blue gas floated over me. I must have burned away Hermit’s antigas pill, because the feeling immediately went out of my arms and legs. The fire inside me snuffed out. I fell to the cold, slick floor, my arms and legs flopping around like a fish trying to breathe in the bottom of a boat.

“Now, Siren says, lie still.”

I growled at the silky, hypnotic purr. I couldn’t move my arms or legs, and I didn’t have my fire to sustain me. So I did the only other thing I could think of. I bit down on my tongue. Hard. Blood filled my mouth. The coppery taste washed away some of the sugary sweet gas and grounded me.

“Never.”

Siren stared up at her sister. “What’s wrong with her? Why isn’t she a puppet like the others? You told me this thing was foolproof.” She tapped her long nail against the top of the microphone.

Intelligal shrugged. “I never said it was foolproof. Only that ninety-seven percent of the population could be put under your control by using it. As for Fiera, she seems to have a stronger will than the others. And she’s female. You know you’ve never been able to get along with other women, even when you use your power to its fullest extent.”

“You’re right, of course. Oh well. Three superheroes will be more than enough to help us carry out our plan.”

The ubervillain leaned over me, giving me a closeup view of her overinflated breasts. They matched her ego perfectly.

“Sorry, Fiera, but Intelligal’s right. I’m just not into chicks. Since you won’t play nicely, you won’t play at all.” Siren laughed. “Siren says, throw her in one of the freezers, Angel. Now.”

“What? Don’t be a fool, Siren. Let me blast her with my explodium missiles,” Intelligal said, flipping switches on her chair. “Let’s kill her. Immediately.”

Lulu let out a loud shriek of dismay in my ear. I winced.

“Hold on, Fiera. I’m leaving the van! I’m getting out right now!” the computer hacker screamed.

Through my earpiece, I heard the hydraulic lift hiss to life on the van. But it was too little, too late. Lulu wouldn’t get here in time to save me. There wasn’t anything she could do against two ubervillains anyway. And there wasn’t any radioactive goo around that could turn her into Super Lulu.

“Come on, Siren,” Intelligal said. “Enough of this nonsense. One missile and Fiera will be history. Forever.”

“Calm down,” Siren snapped. “Look at her. She’s as helpless as a baby. She’s no threat to us now.”

Siren dug her pointed boot into my ribs. I couldn’t even feel it.

“Besides, you just finished calibrating the machine. I don’t want the shockwaves from the explosion throwing it off. Otherwise, we’ll have three pissed-off superheroes to deal with. I don’t think they’d take too kindly to the brutal demise of their comrade. That just might be enough to snap them out of my trance. And your missiles make such a mess of everything.” Siren fluffed out her black curls. “You know how I hate to have bad hair.”

Intelligal scowled, but her hands dropped from the switches. I let out a quiet sigh. Thank heavens for ubervillains and their vanity.

But my relief was short-lived. Angel jerked forward like a robot. He put his hands under my arms and hauled me to my feet. I dangled against him like a wet noodle. Limp and completely lifeless.

“Please, Angel. Please don’t do this. Fight her. I know you can.” My tongue felt thick and heavy in my bloody mouth.

Angel’s eyes remained blank and expressionless as a piece of paper.

“Mr. Sage? Hermit? Snap out of it, guys! She’s an ubervillain! Fight it! Fight her commands!”

My two fellow superheroes didn’t respond. They didn’t even seem to hear me. Instead, they stared at their new mistress, eager for another task.

Siren laughed. “Tearful pleas won’t do you any good, Fiera. Your friends are now under my control. If you haven’t figured it out by now, this device that Intelligal rigged up amplifies my power incredibly. With it, I’m going to enslave the people of Bigtime, then the rest of the world...”

I tuned out her long-winded, self-congratulatory explanation. Ubervillains always thought they had to explain every single, tiny, minute detail of their schemes. When you’ve heard one plan to take over the world, you’ve heard them all. It doesn’t really matter what the brilliant plan is—as long as you figure out a way to stop it.

But one thing Siren said did catch my attention.

“...And if city officials don’t believe I’m serious, well, I’ll just have to remind them about our demonstration at the sports complex a few days ago.”

“What? You used your karaoke thingy to bring down the sports complex?” I asked. “That’s why it collapsed?”

“Of course,” Intelligal answered. “That was our dry run, so to speak, to test the maximum power of the device, as well as its effect on solid matter. It was very effective, exceeding all of my calculations.”

Siren preened. “All it took was a couple of throaty whispers set to the right frequency to make the whole thing come tumbling down.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question, but the ubervillains were ready to wrap up their gloating. Siren snapped her fingers. Angel, Mr. Sage, and Hermit stiffened to attention at the sound.

“Siren says, take her to the freezer, Angel. Now.”

The superhero dragged me back toward one of the many freezers that lay inside the plant and threw me down. Siren, being ever-so-helpful, opened the door. Cold air blasted out. If my arms and legs hadn’t felt like soggy tissue paper, the frigid chill would have made even me wince. I focused my eyes on Angel.

“Come on, Angel. Fight her. Fight Siren. Do it. For me. Remember that night by the lake? When we made love? Our time together in the kitchen?” I pleaded, trying to spark some sort of memory. A super-duper memory.

“You two are an item? Well, isn’t that sweet? Superheroes in love. Or at least lust.” Siren slithered up to Angel, and her eyes roamed over his hard body. She leaned in and slid her manicured nails down Angel’s chest to his crotch.

“If you can inspire such devotion from Fiera, I just might have to give you a ride once this is over with.” She cupped him, and her face lit up. “Oh my, what a nice package.”

I wanted to rip the bitch limb from limb for touching my man like that. My hands jerked and spasmed. If only the gas would wear off, I would fireball her trashy ass. Hell, I’d boil the whole bay with her in it.

Siren snapped her fingers again, and Angel dragged me inside the freezer. It was one of those large, walk-in freezers favored by restaurants and, evidently, fish-stick factories. Boxes and boxes of fish sticks lined the walls. Blowers set into the ceiling churned out a steady stream of air, and a thick layer of ice covered everything. Frost gathered in Angel’s tawny hair, making it gleam like pure silver.

As a superhero, I’d been in plenty of tight spots before. I’d been thrown through walls, slammed through floors, dropped off high-rise buildings. So I wasn’t ready to panic just yet.

“Angel, please. I know you care about me. Don’t you know how much I care about you? Don’t you know how much I love you?”

I hadn’t planned on saying the words. Hadn’t really thought about them before. But as soon as they came out, I knew they were true. I did love Johnny Angel aka Johnny Bulluci. Somewhere, in the middle of this craziness, I’d fallen for the rich biker playboy. I loved him for his crooked grin, his devotion to his family, the way he could always make me laugh.

So I said it again. “I love you, Angel.”

Nothing.

Angel didn’t smile. Didn’t look at me. Didn’t even blink.

I poured my heart out to him, and he didn’t even care.

He didn’t respond to my desperate, heartfelt plea, and that hurt me worse than anything Siren had in mind.

I’d appealed to Johnny’s feelings for me. Evidently, he didn’t have any because it hadn’t worked. It always worked in the movies. I’d seen it work for Carmen and Sam. What was wrong with Johnny and me?

I shoved that painful thought aside and focused. I knew Johnny pretty well. What else did he care about? What else was important to him? What would snap him out of his trance? Finally, the answer hit me.

“Johnny Angel,” I said in a hard, sharp voice. “Your family needs you. I need you. You’re not responsible for your father’s death. Your father made his choice a long time ago. He knew the dangers. He knew the risks. It’s not your job to avenge him and uphold the family honor. But if you don’t fight Siren, if you don’t try, we’re all going to die. Your friends. Your family. Me. All of us are...going...to...die.”

For a moment, Angel’s face cleared. His hand slowly went to his jacket, and he fumbled with something in his pocket. Angel leaned over me. Concentrating. Trying. Something slipped from his fingers onto my stomach. I stretched my numb hand out and managed to cover up the lump of cold metal.

“Siren says, leave her there,” the ubervillain cooed.

Angel’s eyes widened. Sweat beaded and froze on his forehead, but he didn’t move away from me.

“Stop stalling!” Siren roared into her microphone. “Get out of there now!”

With a jerk, Angel straightened. He turned and walked out of the freezer. The last thing I saw before he shut the door was his eyes. They were ice-green.

Frozen.

Just like his heart.

PART THREE

BREAKUP BLUES?

Chapter Twenty-Five

The door slammed shut, and the metal bar on the other side clanged into place. Trapped. I was trapped in an industrial-strength freezer. With fish sticks. Things were definitely not going as planned. Then again, they rarely did in my line of work.

But what hurt more than my present situation was my heart, which felt as if the Ringer had used it as a punching bag. Johnny had succumbed to Siren’s song. He hadn’t cared enough about me to fight her off. Neither had Hermit or Mr. Sage. I wasn’t thrilled with my team members right now, but Johnny’s betrayal was the one that wounded me the most.

Oh sure, he was under the influence of a hypnotic ubervillain with more cleavage than a lingerie model. Oh sure, she had a fancy device that could enslave ninety-seven percent of the population. Pitiful excuses, at best. I’d told Johnny that I loved him, and he’d still abandoned me.

My fingers twitched. But maybe not entirely. Hands shaking, I uncurled my fingers. Johnny’s, Angel’s, lighter lay inside. A spark of hope flared to life inside me. In the end, Johnny had tried to help me. To give me a way out. Maybe I could forgive him, if I got out of this alive.

My body felt limp and tingly from Intelligal’s power-diluting gas, but I didn’t have time for such weakness. If I didn’t get out of here soon, I’d freeze to death. Even with my fiery superpowers, it would only be a matter of minutes before I was one big icicle. I hated to be cold, and I hated fish. But here I was, trapped with both. Ah, the glamorous life of a superhero.

“Lulu?” I asked, my voice weak and small. “Lulu, can you hear me?”

The computer hacker didn’t answer. Not even static crackled in my ear. The thick door must be blocking the signal, meaning I was on my own. Fabulous.

Somehow, I managed to roll over onto my knees. I could still taste the sickeningly sweet gas in my mouth, mixing and mingling with my blood. With my free hand, I scraped up a mound of frost off the floor and shoved it into my mouth. The ice crystals melted, washing away some of the gas. My head cleared, and I felt a little stronger.

I kept repeating the process until I had cleansed my mouth. My arms and legs twitched and jerked and spasmed, recovering from the effects of Intelligal’s gas. I crawled to the middle of the freezer and slung my numb limbs around until I faced the door. It was a thick metal door, designed to keep the cold in. Well, not for long.

My fingers trembled. I grasped the lighter and slowly clicked it. Once, twice, three times. Four, five. Nothing happened. I couldn’t quite grip the cold, slick metal with my weak, tingling fingers. Focus, Fiera, focus! I’d been in tighter spots than this, most notably when Prince Horrid had captured me with plans to add me to his harem as one of his pliant dancing girls. I’d gotten out of that mess. I’d get out of this one too. I was Fiera, for crying out loud. Member of the Fearless Five. Protector of the innocent. Superhero du jour. It was what I did.

Just when I thought I couldn’t hold it another second, the lighter sparked on. I cupped the tiny, weak flame like it was the most precious thing in the world. To me, it was. Slowly, my hands warmed. The lighter’s small flame fed my own inner power. My fingertips started to glow as the fire inside me rekindled. I concentrated on burning the rest of the limp, languid feeling from my body. High metabolism, help me now.

My emotions had always fueled my powers, and I grabbed hold of them. I remembered how Siren had tricked us, how she’d turned my friends against me, how the bitch had put her hands all over Johnny. I focused my anger, let it rage through me with the heat of a thousand suns. The fire inside me grew and grew and grew.

I formed a fireball with my hands. I took careful aim and threw it at the door. It exploded onto the cold metal, making it shriek and groan. Steam filled the freezer. I formed another fireball.

Then another one...

Then another one...

Then another one...

Ten minutes later, the last remains of the door melted away. I got to my feet, still a little shaky, and stumbled through the melted edges of the white-hot metal.

“Fiera! Fiera! Where are you?” Lulu’s voice squawked in my ear.

“Over by one of the freezers,” I said, sliding to the ground.

A motor whirred, and Lulu stopped in front of me, tires smoking.

“Where the hell have you been?” I muttered, trying to rub the rest of the feeling back into my arms and legs.

“I got here as quick as I could. I’m not Swifte, you know,” Lulu said in a defensive tone. Her eyes dropped to her wheelchair and legs. “Not by a long shot.”

I bit back my angry retort. It wasn’t Lulu’s fault. She’d done the best she’d could. And I had other things to think about right now. Like how to rescue the others and stop Siren’s evil plan to take over the city. “Did you hear Siren? Did you see where they went?”

“I heard everything, but by the time I got out of the van, it was too late.” Lulu shook her head. “Siren and Intelligal shepherded the others into a car on the far side of the building. They sped away before I could fix a tracker to it.”

I cursed. This was no time to be sitting around. I grabbed on to the remains of the melted door and pulled myself up. At least, I tried to. My arms buckled, and I wobbled back and forth before falling and smacking my ass against the cold concrete floor. I cursed again, loud and long, hating my sudden weakness.

“Whoa there, tiger!” Lulu put a hand on my shoulder. “You’re not in any position to be walking around right now. It’s a miracle you got out of that freezer alive.”

“Well, I can’t sit still. And it’s not like you can carry me out of here. Do you have another suggestion?”

Lulu patted her lap. “Hop on board the Lulu Lo Express. I can drive us both out of here.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am. Henry likes to ride around on my lap all the time.”

I groaned and put my head in my hands. “Too much information, Lulu. Too much information.”

* * *

In the end, I didn’t have a choice. After a good five minutes of cursing and snarling and trying to heft myself into an upright position, I crawled up onto Lulu’s lap, and she motored us back to the van.

“Damn, this thing can scoot,” I said, trying to distract myself from the fact I was hanging on to Lulu’s neck like we were lovers.

I was extremely glad it was after midnight and pitch-black, and that there was no one around to witness my humiliation. I’d never live down the shame. Fiera, member of the Fearless Five, protector of the innocent, reduced to clinging to a wheelchair to get around. Some superhero I was. I couldn’t even stand upright at the moment.

Lulu beamed and patted the side of the chair. “Of course it can. I’ve got almost two hundred horses in the motor. It tops out at about fifty miles an hour.”

We zoomed to a stop in front of the black van. I slid off Lulu’s lap and into the carpeted interior. The computer hacker strapped herself in the motorized lift and joined me.

Lulu rustled through one of the first-aid boxes we kept inside and handed me a small, foil packet. “Here. Take one of these. It should flush the rest of the radioactive gas out of your system.”

I took the packet, which contained a Radioactive Isotope Diminisher, or RID for short. The pills were the invention of some mad scientist who found himself constantly bombarded by radioactivity while he was researching something or other. They were like vitamins to superheroes, and the Fearless Five used them to keep from getting more mutated than we already were. They’d saved our asses on more than one occasion, especially Carmen’s last year when she’d gone up against the Terrible Triad by herself.

I swallowed the pill and felt the effects almost immediately. My limbs grew heavy and substantial once again, my superstrength returned, and my inner fire flared up to its usual slow, steady burn. I sat up. “All right. That did the trick.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Lulu asked. “We can sit here and rest a few more minutes if you need to.”

“I’m fine. And we don’t have any time to rest. We need to get our boys back.”

“How are we supposed to do that?” Lulu asked. “Carmen and Sam are halfway around the world, and Henry and the chief are under Siren’s spell, along with Johnny. We’re a little short of superheroes right now.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it. I know a couple of people who should be more than willing to help us,” I said. “Let’s go.”

* * *

“Are you sure this is a good idea, Fiona?” Lulu said.

I put my hands on my hips. “Of course I’m sure it’s a good idea. All my ideas are good ones.”

I tossed my hair over my shoulder, trying to look more confident than I felt. The truth was I wasn’t sure it was a good idea, but it was the only one I’d been able to come up with. Lulu and I needed help, and this was the only place we were likely to get it.

We stood outside the closed iron gates that led up to the Bulluci manor. Lulu pressed the button on the call box again. No response. We’d been standing out here for ten minutes, trying to get somebody to wake up and answer us.

“Oh, screw this.” I took hold of the iron gates and looked over my shoulder. “You might want to move back.”

Lulu eyed my glowing hands, which were clenched around the metal. “I think I’ll do that very thing.” She hit a button on her chair and zoomed out of the way.

I ripped open the gate. The iron wasn’t nearly as sturdy as it looked, and the gates cracked off their hinges. I didn’t even have to put any real muscle into it. Part of the surrounding wall crumbled in on itself.

Since Lulu’s chair could move a lot faster than I could walk, I hopped back on Lulu’s lap, and we scooted up the long driveway. I was getting almost used to sitting on top of the computer hacker. Almost.

The chair stopped. I climbed off and pounded on the front door, which was embossed with a giant B and another freaking angel wing. “Bella! Bobby! Open up! Now!”

A light flared to life in one of the upstairs windows. A curtain on the front door twitched, and Bella cracked it open. She wore a pair of short pajamas with white clouds on them. Naturally.

Her mouth dropped open at the sight of me. “Fiera? I mean Fiona? I mean...oh, you. What’s wrong?” Her eyes flicked to Lulu. “And who is this person with you?”

I took a deep breath. “Johnny’s in trouble. We need your help.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Lulu and I explained the situation to Bella. She woke up Bobby, they threw on some clothes, and we piled in the van and headed back to Sublime. Normally, I would have knocked them out or blindfolded them to keep them from seeing exactly where we were going, but I didn’t have time. Besides, sneakiness wasn’t my strong suit. That was more Sam and my father’s thing.

We led Bella and Bobby through the underground garage to the library. It was a good thing I hadn’t used blindfolds, because it was painfully slow going with the two Bullucis stopping every three feet to stare at something else.

“Come on, come on,” I snapped. “You guys can ooh and aah over the super-duper, supersecret superhero lair later.”

The two of them picked up their pace, and we reached the library. Lulu wheeled around and plugged her laptop into Henry’s network of computers. The Bullucis stood at the doorway, mouths hanging open.

“Oh, come in. It’s not that sacred.” I marched over, pulled them inside, and closed the double doors.

Bella and Bobby cautiously crept farther into the massive library.

“Please forgive my surprise. It’s just that I never thought I’d be invited in here,” Bobby said, running his hands over the F5 insignia carved into the table.

“Me either,” Bella whispered. “This is incredible. Look at all the books you have!” Her eyes flicked over to Lulu and her computers. “And the equipment. It’s so amazing!”

After a few more minutes of staring and sputtering, Bella and Bobby sat down with Lulu and me at the big, round table.

“Explain it to me again,” Bella said, rubbing her head. “I’m still a little confused. Johnny joined up with you guys to take out the ubervillains, but Siren hypnotized the men.”

“Right.” I nodded.

“How was she able to do that?” Bobby asked. “Surely Mr. Sage would have been able to resist her. He’s a powerful psychic in his own right.”

“It’s that damn microphone she had. It upped her power tremendously.” I drummed my fingers on the table. Sparks flew everywhere. “Nobody could resist it but me, and that’s only because I was a woman. And totally pissed off.”

“It’s not just the microphone, Fiona. Weren’t you paying attention to Siren? Didn’t you listen to what she said?” Lulu asked. “She told you exactly what she and Intelligal are up to.”

I shrugged. “Not really. I was more concerned with not being able to move at the time. And in the end, all ubervillains want the same thing—to rule the world. The only difference is the crackpot scheme they come up with to try to help them do it.”

“Well, let me tell you, Siren’s plan is a doozy.” Lulu typed on her computer. Images began to pop up on the film screen hanging on the wall.

“Hey, it’s that radio thingy the two of them were protecting so fiercely,” I said, staring at the box with its odd wires and diamond-studded frame.

“It’s not just a radio thingy,” Lulu corrected. “It’s a voice amplifier and projector. Or VAMP for short.”

I snorted. “How fitting.”

“Indeed. Anyway, the VAMP machine is designed to take a sound, like Siren’s voice, and distribute it over a wide area.”

“Like, say, the whole city?”

Lulu shot her finger at me. “Precisely. Siren mentioned something about a broadcast while she was rambling. They must be ready to use it.”

“What happens if they do that?” Bella asked.

“Siren’s voice will spread out over Bigtime. Not only does the VAMP machine boost the range of her voice, it also ups the power, which is how the others were brainwashed into doing her bidding. It’s really quite an impressive machine. Luckily, I thought to put a filter on everyone’s comm links to screen Siren’s voice, or I probably would have been under her spell too. But if we don’t stop them, Siren will enslave everyone.”

“Why would she want to do that?” Bobby said.

“Who knows why ubervillains do what they do? I quit trying to figure out their motivations a long time ago,” I said. “She’ll probably do something totally lame and cliché and hackneyed like get people to bring her all their money.”

“But wouldn’t she have to keep talking into the machine the whole time to keep people under her control?” Bella asked.

We looked at Lulu.

“Not necessarily,” Lulu said. “She could record her voice and just loop the recording so that it plays back over and over. The only problem with the VAMP machine is that it’s not quite powerful enough to broadcast Siren’s voice over the entire city. So she’s going to need another power source or a way to piggyback the signal onto one of the radio or television stations.”

“Then that’s what we need to figure out,” I said. “Where the ubervillains are going to go to unleash their doomsday device.”

“I’m on it,” Lulu said, hands flashing across her keyboard.

We sat there in silence while the computer hacker went to work. Bella and Bobby kept shooting furtive looks around at the maps and globes and books. I got up and paced back and forth behind Lulu.

Lulu glared over her shoulder at me. “You know I can’t concentrate when you flounce around like that.”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” I snarled. “I can’t sit still, and I can’t crack any skulls until we get a positive location for Siren and Intelligal.”

“Oh, go eat what’s left in the refrigerator or something. That’s what you usually do.”

Lulu turned her back to me and started typing again. I resisted the urge to light her hair on fire.

“Come on, Fiona. I’ll go with you,” Bella said. “Do you want anything, Grandfather?”

Bobby shook his head. “No. I think I’m just going to sit here and look at everything. If that’s all right with you, Fiona.”

I waved my hand. “Fine. Just as long as you don’t disturb her computer highness over there.”

Lulu shot me another dirty look. I just tossed my hair over my shoulder.

* * *

Bella and I walked down the deserted halls until we reached the underground kitchen. I opened the doors on the restocked refrigerators, desperately in need of ten thousand calories or so. It’d been a busy night so far, and tomorrow, rather, today would only be worse. I needed to keep my strength up.

“How about some cheesecake?” I said, pulling a large pie out of one of the refrigerators. “It’s triple chocolate, one of Quicke’s specialties.” The restaurant delivered a couple dozen of the delectable desserts to Sublime every week.

“Well, I really shouldn’t. I’m on a no-sugar diet...” Bella’s voice trailed off as she stared at the luscious cheesecake.

No-sugar diet? No wonder the poor thing was so uptight. No sugar, no fun, in my book.

“Well, you’re going to have a piece tonight,” I said, cutting her a slice. “I think we’ve all earned it. I certainly have.”

Bella took the cheesecake from me and poured herself a glass of milk. I thought she’d just pick at the yummy cake, but Bella downed it and came back for seconds. She was a quick eater, just like me. Maybe we’d get along better than I thought.

“I still can’t quite believe you’re a member of the Fearless Five. And that I’m sitting here with you in the supersecret Fearless Five headquarters.” Bella took another big bite of her cheesecake. “It’s all a bit surreal.”

“Tell me about it. I can’t believe you come from a family of generational superheroes. I also can’t believe your brother is actually Johnny Angel, and that I’ve been dating him.” I eyed Bella. “Do you moonlight as somebody too?”

“Of course not. Johnny Angel is the only one in our family.” She sounded offended, as though being a superhero was some vile occupation.

“Do you have an exoskeleton like Johnny does? Or some other sort of power?”

She hesitated. “I don’t know if you’d call it a power, exactly. It’s a little strange.”

“Oh really? Strange how? Strange like you can manipulate the weather with your bare hands? Strange like you can create unbreakable force fields around yourself? Strange like you can create earthquakes just by thinking about them?”

I stared at the fashion designer. Perhaps if Bella had some hidden superpower, she could suit up and go out into the field with me. I could use all the help I could get when I went after Siren and Intelligal. My eyes flicked over her body. She was about Carmen’s size, although quite a bit curvier. Surely, I could find her some sort of costume to wear—

Bella laughed. “Not that strange. I’m just lucky.”

So much for that thought. “Lucky? That’s not really a power, is it?”

Bella shrugged. “Not really. Not like your power.”

“So how does it even work?”

“I just think about things, and stuff...happens. Especially when I’m stressed out.”

I thought back. “Is that why the coffee table cracked when I was at your house?”

Bella nodded. “That’s one of the problems with it. You can have good luck...”

“Or bad luck,” I finished. “Show me. Show me how it works. Or doesn’t work.”

“I can’t control it all the time, but I’ll try.”

Bella stared at me. I looked back at her. Her eyes didn’t glow. Her hair didn’t snap and crackle. Sparks didn’t fly from her fingertips. She didn’t seem to be doing anything at all other than eyeing me. Some power.

But I kept that thought to myself and raised my fork to take another bite of cheesecake. To my surprise, my hand wobbled, and the cheesecake fell onto the table. What a waste. It was a good thing I still had plenty left. I stabbed another bite. Again, the cheesecake slid off my fork and splattered onto the table. I frowned at the chocolate stains. I wasn’t that clumsy, especially when it came to food.

I eyed Bella with suspicion. “Did you make me do that?”

She smiled and cut another piece of cheesecake off with her fork. “What do you think?”

Bella raised the fork to her lips. She was just getting ready to pop it into her mouth when the dessert slipped off the silver tines and joined the rest of mine on the table.

She stared at the chocolatey mess and let out a long sigh. “Unfortunately, it always seems to boomerang around back to me—in a bad way.”

Maybe there was something to this luck thing. Too bad Bella didn’t know how to control her power. Or at least make Siren and Intelligal have a string of bad, debilitating luck.

We sat there in silence. After I finished off the cheesecake, I made myself a dozen cucumber-and-tomato sandwiches, which I ate with three bags of chips, five liters of soda, a box of oatmeal-raisin cookies, another box of crackers, a pound of grapes, and a wheel of Gouda cheese.

Bella fixed her amber eyes on me. “So what are your intentions regarding my brother?”

I almost choked on my sandwich. “Excuse me?”

“What are your intentions regarding Johnny? Do you care about him? Or is he just a fling to you? Some random guy you can have great sex with?”

I wiped the mayonnaise off my mouth, stalling for time. I’d fallen in love with Johnny Bulluci, but I wasn’t sure quite how I felt about it. Much less what I should say to his sister about him.

“I ask because Johnny really likes you. I even think he’s starting to fall in love with you,” Bella said in a soft voice.

My mouth fell open. I couldn’t speak.

“Do you care about him, Fiona? Because if you don’t, you should walk away from him when this is over. I know Johnny appears as if he’s cheerful and carefree and that nothing can hurt him, literally, but you could. He told us about your fiancé. How he was murdered. How much you loved him. How you still wear his engagement ring. If you’re not over your fiancé yet, you need to tell Johnny now, before he gets any more involved with you.” Bella’s eyes bored into mine. “I won’t let my brother get hurt, especially not by a superhero. Do you understand me?”

For once, I chose my words carefully. “I care about your brother a great deal. I’m not leading him on. That would never be my intention. As for Travis, I’ll always love him. I’ll always miss him. But he wouldn’t want me to live my life in the past. He wasn’t that sort of man. As for me and Johnny, I’m just trying to take it one day at a time. Things are a little...complicated between us right now, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Some of the bright, angry glow drained out of Bella’s golden eyes. My words seemed to satisfy her. At least she hadn’t cracked the table this time. I’d hate to lose the rest of my food.

“I noticed,” Bella said. “Things are always complicated when it comes to my family.”

The odd tone in her voice struck me. “What do you mean?”

Bella sighed again. “It’s a long story.”

“I’ve got nothing but time until we find the ubervillains.”

Bella stared at the refrigerator, but the vacant look in her eyes told me that she wasn’t really seeing it. “I don’t know much about your childhood being the daughter of a superhero, but I grew up in a home where it was all Angel, all the time. If we weren’t talking about Angel or motorcycles or ubervillains, my mother and brother and I were patching up my father and grandfather when they’d come home late at night. Can you imagine being a kid and going through that?”

I flashed back to my high school years, when I’d go out and prowl the streets with my father, fighting crime. They were some of my fondest memories. “Oh, I can imagine.”

“When I was a kid, I thought it was so fascinating that my family were the ones behind Johnny Angel. I used to ride on the motorcycle with my father and dream of the day when I’d get to be Johnny Angel.” Bella’s mouth twisted into a wry grin. “Of course, I didn’t realize then that Angel was more of a man’s name. And a man’s tradition.”

“And when you grew up?” I asked, sensing this story wasn’t going to have a happy ending.

“I realized how silly it was. Dressing up in a costume, riding around town on a motorcycle, raising hell with other bikers. And I remembered the strain on my mother. How she’d sit up late at night worrying whether my father was going to come home or not. It’s the same thing I did with my father before he died. And it’s the same thing I do now with Johnny every night when he’s gone.” Bella rubbed her head. “I don’t want to have anything to do with superheroes and ubervillains and weekly battles anymore. I’m so tired of it all. Johnny Angel, the worrying, the constant fear. Johnny was too, until our father died.”

I squeezed her hand. “It’s not disrespectful, and it’s not wrong of you to want to have a superfree life. Some people can’t handle the lifestyle. Like you, I grew up around it. But to me, my powers have always been a part of who I am. I couldn’t imagine not being a superhero, not trying to help people, but I can understand how you feel.”

I took a deep breath. “When Travis was alive, he’d go out on missions by himself. I’d do the same thing you did—sit up and worry. I wore out more carpets pacing back and forth than you can imagine.”

Bella smiled. “You do seem like a bit of a pacer.”

“You have no idea.”

“What are you going to do if Johnny wants to quit being Angel? Or if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Let’s worry about rescuing him first and dealing with Siren and Intelligal. Then, we’ll talk about the complicated, relationship stuff.”

* * *

An hour and another cheesecake later, Bella and I went back to the library to check on Lulu and Bobby. The elderly Bulluci sat in front of one of the computer monitors, flipping through various television channels. He looked extremely bored, until he stumbled across a soccer game. That perked him up a bit.

Lulu sat nearby, type-type-typing away on her computer like usual. Sometimes, I wondered if she and Henry did anything but stare at their monitors when they went out on dates. The two of them were never far from an electronic device of some kind or another.

“Anything yet?” I asked.

Lulu shook her head. “I’m still trying to narrow down the list of places Siren and Intelligal might go to turn on their boom box. It has to be somewhere fairly high up so they can hook into a radio or television signal. I’ve been focusing on SNN and the other local television stations downtown, but I don’t know how the ubervillains would get past their security. Most of it is state-of-the-art.”

I snorted. “Get past security? Please. Intelligal can just use those cursed missiles of hers to blast their way in.”

Lulu shook her head. “I don’t think so. Remember in the fish-stick factory, Siren said the radio is very finely calibrated. That’s the reason they didn’t explode you right then and there. Siren didn’t want to risk the shockwave disrupting the VAMP machine.”

“So they’ll have to do it real quiet-like. Sneak in and set everything up before Siren goes live.”

“Bingo,” Lulu said.

“Well, let’s get cracking,” I said.

The four of us started naming the tallest buildings in Bigtime. Bobby not-so-humbly pointed out that Bulluci Industries was housed in one of the highest skyscrapers in the city.

“What about the observatory?” Bella asked. “Isn’t it officially the highest point in the city?”

I flashed back to the benefit and the scientific models I’d seen. More than a few of them remarked on the observatory’s height. “It sure is. Wouldn’t that be the logical spot for the ubervillains to turn the volume up on their radio? Wouldn’t they get the strongest, clearest signal from there?”

“They would. Let me check on something.” Lulu pounded away. After a couple of minutes, she stopped. “That’s funny.”

“What’s funny?” I asked.

“I hacked into the observatory’s database so I could see what programs were scheduled and how many people might be on the scene in case Siren and Intelligal tried to sneak in with the regular folks. Guess who’s doing a live morning show there for SNN in a couple of hours?”

“Who?” Bobby asked.

“Erica Songe,” Lulu replied. “And the weird thing is, she’s going when there are no school groups scheduled. No tours, no benefits, no press conferences, nothing.”

“Erica Songe? What would that little twit be doing at the observatory—”

An odd thought struck me. Erica Songe. I thought back to my run-ins with the news reporter. Her hissy fit at the shop a couple months ago. Her relentless flirtation with Johnny. Her pushiness at the observatory benefit. All the pieces slowly formed a picture. For a moment, I felt just like Carmen.

“You know, Erica Songe is a trashy little thing, just like Siren is.” I snapped my fingers together, remembering something else. “And she has a sister. Irene something. A total geek, just like you.”

Lulu stared at me. “You don’t think...”

I nodded. “I do think. And so do you.”

“Let me pull up some pictures of them off the Internet.” Lulu’s fingers smacked against her keyboard.

Bella looked back and forth between the two of us. “What are the two of you talking about?”

“We’re talking about Siren actually being Erica Songe, a news reporter for SNN,” I replied.

Bella, Bobby, and I hunched over Lulu’s shoulder as she pulled up photos of the two women. I studied the pictures. Same black hair. Same blue eyes. Same collagen-injected lips. Same supersized boobs. There was no mistake about it. Erica Songe was Siren.

“Hold on a minute, let’s see if I can get the sister too.” Lulu hit more buttons on her computer.

A photo of Irene popped up on the monitor. Lulu compared it to one of Intelligal. Same black glasses. Same sour expression. Same disdain for Siren and everyone else. I wanted to laugh. Carmen was right. Spandex costumes and bright masks really were very thin disguises. We all might as well go around with our real names tattooed on our foreheads.

“That’s her! She’s the one who killed my son!” Bobby pounded his fist into his hand and let out a long string of curses. His face turned red, then purple with rage and fury.

Bella put her arm around her grandfather’s shoulder, trying to comfort and calm him down before he had a heart attack. I turned to Lulu.

“It’s them. We agree that it is. Now, let’s figure out how we’re going to stop them,” I said.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

“The first thing we have to do is figure out how to resist Siren’s voice, especially now that she’s going to be plugged into that TRAMP machine,” I said. “I can’t very well smash it to bits and throttle her if I’m under her spell.”

“It’s actually called a VAMP machine,” Lulu corrected.

I waved my hand. “TRAMP, VAMP, whatever. They both describe her.”

“I might be able to help with that,” Lulu said. “Henry and the chief were working on some earplugs to block Siren’s voice. They’re not perfected yet, but they might work well enough for us, since we’ll be in the van.”

“In the van? I don’t want to stay in the van,” Bobby protested. “I want to go inside and save my grandson with you.”

“You’ll need all the help you can get, Fiona,” Bella added. “Why don’t you let us come with you?”

“Because it’s too dangerous. I can’t take a chance on one of you getting hurt. I can handle Siren and Intelligal by myself.”

Probably.

“But you can’t handle Angel, Hermit, and Mr. Sage too,” Bella pointed out. “You’re going to need some backup.”

I paced back and forth. “I need Carmen and Sam, or rather Karma Girl and Striker. Where are they now, Lulu?”

“Carmen called me yesterday before all of this went down. They’d just flown into Rome on Sam’s private jet. There’s no way they can get back here in time.” Lulu looked at the Bullucis. “I think they’re right, Fiona. You’re going to have to take us with you, whether you like it or not.”

I stared at the three of them, eyes shining, faces tight with hope. They were all so ready, willing, and eager to wade into battle and probably get themselves electrocuted or worse. Sending them up against Siren and Intelligal would be like throwing tender steaks to wolves—or to me. The ubervillains would gobble them down without a second thought. I saved innocents. That was my calling, my duty. I didn’t put them in danger.

But I didn’t have a choice. Not if I had any hope of rescuing the others. Bella was right. I couldn’t fight Siren and Intelligal and save the others at the same time. Even Swifte would have been hard-pressed to do it, no matter how speedy he was.

So, I thought about my three new teammates and how to minimize the danger to them. There wouldn’t be any radioactive goo around, so they wouldn’t become horribly mutated by going with me. At least, I didn’t think they would. You could never tell what sort of effect something like that stupid VAMP machine might have on regular folks. Carmen was proof of that.

Besides, Bella had a power that might come in handy. If luck was really a power, instead of just some weird, wild mojo, and if she could get it to work in our favor.

No radioactive goo and a little luck. Maybe things wouldn’t go too badly. I snorted. Yeah, right.

“Fine, you can come with me, but you have to stay out of the way. Agreed?”

The three of them nodded their heads.

“I mean it,” I snapped. “I’m not bringing you along so you can do something stupid, like die a noble, bloody death in order to save the others and the city. That’s my job. You’ll do what I say, when I say it. Or else I’ll lock you in the van and take the ubervillains on by myself. Got it?”

They nodded again, a bit more reluctantly this time. Bobby, in particular, shot me a sour look.

I resumed my pacing. “Even with you guys tagging along, I’m still going to need some extra help. Siren I can handle no problem. It’s Intelligal’s chair and her stupid missiles that always have me ducking for cover. I need to get her out of that chair, or at least neutralize it, if we have any hope of freeing the others and destroying that VAMP thing.”

“You know who you should talk to if you want more firepower,” Lulu said.

“Who?”

“Why, Jasper, of course.”

Jasper was one of Lulu’s more notorious friends and Bigtime’s underground bomb expert. If you needed something that went boom in a big way, you went to Jasper. What he did wasn’t exactly legal, of course. The chief had thought about busting him many times, but since Jasper had helped Carmen rescue us last year, he’d given the demolitions expert a free walk. For now.

“Jasper?” Bobby asked. “The Jasper who lives downtown in that big brownstone?”

Lulu nodded. “The one and only.”

“You know him?” I asked.

Bobby shrugged. “I’ve had use for a few of his items over the years.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

Bobby winked. “Oh, this and that.”

I opened my mouth to question him further, when Lulu interrupted.

“We should get going,” she said. “It’s after four now. Erica, I mean Siren, is set to go on the air at seven-ten sharp.”

“Then, off to Jasper’s we go,” I said.

* * *

Lulu and I went to the equipment room. I changed into a fresh superhero suit, one that didn’t smell like frozen fish sticks, while she gathered up a couple of things we might need, including the earplugs my father and Henry had been working on and some more of the gas-blocking and RID pills. Then, we went back to the library, grabbed Bella and Bobby, and loaded up the van.

Just after five in the morning, Lulu and I stood in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Bigtime. A massive brownstone that even finicky Joanne James wouldn’t have minded owning towered above us. Bella waited in the van, keeping the engine warm. Bobby sat in the passenger seat and peered out the window. The streets were still and quiet, and the air was cool and smelled of impending rain. The streetlights flickered on and off, confused by the grayish dawn.

Wide, shallow steps led up to the brownstone. Lulu hit a button on her wheelchair, and four jack-like devices sprang out from the sides. The jacks hissed as they planted themselves on the ground. They lifted the wheelchair several inches off the ground—high enough so Lulu could roll herself up onto the first step. She started to repeat the process, but I was too impatient to wait. I picked up Lulu, chair and all, and carried her to the front door.

“I can make it up and down stairs by myself,” Lulu protested. “I’ve been doing it for years.”

“We don’t have time for you to be stubborn and independent,” I said. “Now wake up Jasper.”

Lulu punched a box on the wall, and a security camera swiveled over to see who was calling at this early hour. I could almost see the lens in the camera widen at the sight of me. I wore my costume, and my hair crackled and sparked with fire. I didn’t think Jasper got many visits from the members of the Fearless Five. Well, except from Carmen and Lulu.

The box clicked on.

“What’s the word?” a male voice asked over the static.

“The word is silent night,” Lulu replied.

The camera lingered on us. Jasper wasn’t going to let us in. I clenched my hand into a fist. Sparks and smoke hissed out from between my fingers. We’d get in one way or another. I’d make sure of that.

The door buzzed open.

“I thought the word was boom-boom,” I whispered.

“He changed it right before Christmas.” Lulu shrugged. “Jasper has a strange sense of humor sometimes.”

No kidding. We entered the brownstone. A tall, thin man appeared at the far end of the hallway. A bathrobe hung on his bony figure, and his hair stuck out at those weird angles that were only made possible by a good night’s sleep. We made our way toward him. I moved slowly, keeping my hands in sight and the fire to a minimum. I’d been in the vicinity of one of Jasper’s bomb blasts before, and I’d been sore for a week as a result. So, I didn’t think it would be a good idea to startle the bomb guru. He might do something stupid, like try to blow us up.

“Lulu, how it’s going?” Jasper asked in a cautious voice, his eyes flicking over me.

Lulu extended her hand, and she and Jasper engaged in a series of slaps, high-fives, and other strange finger signals. “Fine, Jasper. Just fine. I know what you’re thinking, but don’t worry about ole Fiera here. We didn’t come here to bust you. In fact, quite the opposite. We need some supplies.”

Jasper looked at me. “You need supplies?” he asked in a rather disbelieving voice.

I shrugged. “I’m going up against a couple of ubervillains bent on taking over Bigtime, and I’m four team members down. I can use all the help I can get. Or rather, all the bombs you can give me. And anything else you think might come in handy.”

Jasper stared at me. Suddenly, a smile creased his face. “Well, then, who am I to turn away a potential customer? Plus, any friend of Lulu’s is a friend of mine. Come in, come in.”

He turned and led us farther into the dark brownstone.

“You know I’ve long been a fan of your work, Fiera,” Jasper said in a conversational voice. “Your fireballs are most impressive. The intensity of the heat, the explosion on impact, the massive damage they cause. I’d trade my explodium bombs for them in a second.”

The odd praise pleased me, even if it was coming from a somewhat mad bomber. “Thanks. Lulu’s told me a lot about your work too.”

Jasper gave the computer hacker a pointed look that would have cut glass. “Not too much, I hope.”

Lulu patted him on the arm. “Don’t worry, Jasper. Your trade secrets are safe with me.”

“Good to know,” he said. “Good to know.”

Jasper punched in a security code and went down a flight of stairs. I picked up Lulu and followed him. It looked like Intelligal’s lair, except it was much tidier. Wires and bits of metal were stacked in neat piles on top of several worktables. Soldering irons, pliers, and other tools hung from slots in a tall rack attached to one of the thick walls.

“You’ve done some redecorating, Jasper,” Lulu said. “The last time I came here, this place was a mess.”

Jasper shrugged. “I decided to get a little more organized. It was either that or blow myself up tripping over things.”

Lulu and I froze. We stared at each other, then Jasper. The bomb guru paid no attention to our sudden nervousness.

Jasper pulled out a legal pad and a pencil from a desk in the corner. “So tell me what you need.”

Lulu outlined Siren and Intelligal’s scheme to take over Bigtime and, subsequently, the world. “So as you can see, Fiera here needs some help.”

“What I need, specifically, is a way to disable Intelligal’s chair. Of course, I’ve tried many times myself. Fireballs, superstrength, collisions. Nothing seems to put much of a dent in it, except whatever Intelligal used to make it self-destruct.”

“It’s probably made out of solidium,” Jasper said. “It’s very rare and very expensive, but it’s the strongest, toughest metal known to man. Explodium won’t even scratch it. At least, not by itself. You have to mix some other explosives with it.”

“I don’t want to scratch it,” I snapped. “I want to completely destroy it. Think big fireball. Think catastrophic damage. Think crumpled lump of charred, twisted metal. That’s what I’m aiming for. First the chair, then the VAMP device. Maybe even the ubervillains if they get in my way.”

Jasper looked at me as though I were the love of his life. His eyes went all soft and warm. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He took my hand and pressed a kiss to it. “For you, my lady, only the best.”

I stared at Lulu. Her lips twitched, and I could tell she was trying to keep from laughing. I rolled my eyes.

Jasper spent the next few minutes puttering around, grabbing strange-looking objects out of various safes and lead boxes hidden throughout the room. Finally, he pulled out a small, square box. He bowed to me and cracked open the lid. Nestled inside were ten round, brown-colored objects. They reminded me of chocolate-covered bon-bons, although I doubted they tasted as good. My stomach rumbled. I’d have to eat some more food before I went toe-to-toe with Siren and Intelligal.

“For you, Fiera, only the best. This is something new I’ve been working on. Explodium has become rather passé this last year. Everybody’s working with it these days, and you can practically buy it on the street corner,” Jasper said. “But this, this is something special. I call it obliteron.”

“Obliteron?” I asked.

“Obliteron, because it not only destroys matter, it pretty much obliterates it.”

I nodded as if I knew exactly what he was talking about. As a superhero, I’m used to the creative, colorful, and sometimes ridiculous names my fellow heroes and ubervillains call themselves. Halitosis Hal was a prime example. But obliteron? For a bomb? Oh my.

Jasper picked up one of the bon-bons and rolled it around in his hand. “Obliteron is a special form of explodium, a mixture of it and a few other key radioactive isotopes. I’ve managed to put my own stamp on it with these little beauties. Inside each of these thick, plastic shells is a liquid ball of obliteron.”

I eyed the bon-bon. “If it’s as dangerous as you say, do you think you should be tossing it around like that? I don’t want to get blown up before I get to the ubervillains.” That wouldn’t help anybody, especially not Johnny, my father, and Henry.

Jasper waved his hand. “Oh, in this form, it’s perfectly harmless. You see, I’ve encased it in a special, highly protective plastic shell. You could even play baseball with it, and it wouldn’t detonate.”

“So how do I arm it?” I asked, reaching for the small ball.

Jasper held it out of my reach. “All it needs is a little heat to fire it up. The plastic disintegrates, and the obliteron becomes active. There’s a twenty-second fuse, but I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that. A flare-up from you will more than do the trick. Along with a stabilizing agent, the outer shell also contains a form of heat-activated, superstrong glue. Once the shell starts to melt, it will stick to any surface you throw it at. So once it’s hot, let it fly. When it blows, well, let’s just say that you don’t want to be anywhere near it.”

I thought about the observatory. Some of the rooms were cramped, and I had no idea where Siren and Intelligal would set up their VAMP device. I didn’t want the others to get caught in the crossfire. “What’s the blast radius?”

“Like explodium, obliteron produces a limited blast range, about thirty feet or so. But it packs a hell of a punch and it burns superhot. A couple of these balls would be more than enough to bring down any building, any structure in the greater Bigtime area.”

I eyed him. “Like, say, the new paper mill they were going to build out next to the ice cream factory? The one that was going to infringe on part of the observatory’s wildlife sanctuary? There was some sort of explosion out there a couple of weeks ago late at night when nobody was around. The damage was so severe that construction was halted. Permanently, I believe.”

“I didn’t have anything to do with that,” Jasper said in a hurt, offended tone.

I kept staring at him.

“I might not be as heroic as you are, Fiera, but I’m not a bad person. I might blow things up, but I never sell my goods to anyone who’s going to use them to hurt other people.”

“So who do you sell your wares to then?”

He shrugged. “People who want to collect on insurance, mostly. I also get a lot of business from the construction crews in town. A few of the more radical environmental groups. Sometimes, the bomb squad even calls me in to consult on cases. Now, do you want the obliteron or not?”

“I do.” I didn’t really have a choice. Not if I wanted to save the others and the rest of Bigtime. Besides, I could always come back and bust Jasper later.

Jasper nodded. “Good. Let me package them for you. Don’t fire them up until you’re absolutely sure you want to blow something up. Unlike some of my other work, these can’t be diffused.”

He rustled around the underground laboratory, fishing a heavy, lead briefcase out of one of the safes. Jasper carefully put ten of the obliteron bon-bons in the dark, foam-lined depths. Then, he turned and handed it to me.

“Let me carry them. Better not to take any more chances than necessary. I’m not as hot under the collar as other folks around here.” Lulu shot me an amused look out of the corner of her eye.

I gritted my teeth at the bad pun and tried to remain calm. Now was not the time to set Lulu’s hair on fire. I would do that later. After I’d rescued everyone and reduced Siren and Intelligal to weeping, wailing heaps on the floor.

Lulu took the case from Jasper and set it on her lap. I eyed a clock on the wall. Just before six. Time to go.

“Ah, before you leave, there is the matter of my fee,” Jasper reminded us in a soft voice.

Lulu and I looked at each other.

“How much?” she asked.

Jasper tapped his finger on his lips. “For ten of my obliteron delights? I’d say an even two million would cover it.”

I winced. There went my fat fee for designing Joanne James’s latest wedding dress. Unless... The bomber wore a tattered bathrobe that had definitely seen better days. The slippers on his feet had holes in them, and his socks were threadbare. Plus, everything was the same, drab, gray color. Rather like Jasper’s pale skin. I really, really hated gray.

“How would you like some clothes instead?” I said. “I happen to know a designer who does incredible work. She makes men’s suits that are to die for. Very bold. Very colorful. Just the thing for you to entertain prospective clients in. Or to wear for a night out on the town with your lady. I’m sure she’d be happy to outfit you with a whole new wardrobe.”

Jasper just blinked.

* * *

Ten minutes later, Lulu and I left Jasper’s brownstone.

“I can’t believe Jasper agreed to waive his two million dollars for a closet full of clothes,” Lulu said, maneuvering her wheelchair down the sidewalk. “I think Jasper’s taken one too many blows to the head recently. Or all the radioactivity is making him go soft.”

“It’s much simpler than that, Lulu. The truth is that everybody wants to look good,” I said in a smug tone. “Even mad bombers. And they’re not just clothes. I plan on outfitting Jasper with the finest menswear Fiona Fine Fashions has to offer.”

Bobby saw us coming. He hopped out of the front seat and opened the side door of the van. Too impatient to bother with the chair lift, I picked up Lulu and deposited her in the van, along with the precious case of Jasper’s bombs.

“Did you get everything you needed?” Bella asked from the driver’s seat.

“And then some,” I said, slamming the door shut. “Now, let’s go take those bitches out.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

We drove through the streets of Bigtime in silence. It was early, and most folks hadn’t yet started their commute into the city from the outlying suburbs. Most of them probably hadn’t even had their first cup of coffee yet. The sun was just creeping above the tops of the skyscrapers that housed The Exposé and The Chronicle.

I took the opportunity to eat the emergency bucket of food I had stashed in the van. It was mostly junk food, stuff like candy bars and peanut butter crackers that would keep forever. But all that sweet, sweet sugar was more than enough to give me a boost of energy for the big battle ahead. I wasn’t psychic like my father or Carmen, but I had a feeling I’d need it.

We pulled into the long drive that led up to the observatory a little after six thirty. We didn’t see anyone. No cars climbing up the hill. No buses pulling in with sleepy, cranky students. Even the guardhouse at the bottom of the steep hill was empty, although the door looked like it had been ripped off its hinges, along with the gate that blocked the road up to the observatory. I wondered if that’s what Siren had needed the others for—a little extra muscle.

But other than the mangled gate, everything else seemed normal, and the place was deserted. Except for two maniacal ubervillains lurking around somewhere. Plus, my hoodwinked teammates and the man I loved.

Bella drove the van to one of the garages attached to the side of the observatory. She parked on the lowest level, out of sight from anyone who might be watching from inside. The only other vehicle in the garage was a small SUV bearing the colorful SNN logo. I rattled the door. Locked. I put a little muscle into it, yanked the whole thing off, and set the crumpled metal aside. I rustled through the interior of the vehicle, but there was nothing inside besides your usual assortment of bad CDs, gum wrappers, and empty fast-food cartons.

“Anything?” Lulu asked, smacking her computer, which sat on top of Jasper’s case of bombs on her lap.

“Nothing. But at least we know they’re here,” I replied. “Something wrong over there?”

“Stupid case,” Lulu muttered. “I’m trying to pull up the blueprints that I downloaded of the observatory, but the radioactivity from Jasper’s bombs is interfering with my laptop. The case he gave us isn’t quite as secure as it looks.”

“Why don’t you let me hold on to those?” Bella asked, sliding the case out from under Lulu’s computer. “It might be better for us all.”

“A little luck certainly couldn’t hurt,” I quipped. “As long as it’s good.”

Bobby laughed. Bella glared at her grandfather.

“All right, folks, gather round,” I said.

My three troops clustered near me.

“Okay, here’s the game plan. I go in first. Every single time. If we run into Siren and Intelligal, you guys stay back out of sight. Let me take care of the ubervillains. If the situation gets really desperate, Bella can toss me a couple of the bombs so I can even things out. I said it before, and I’ll say it again—I don’t want any of you trying to play hero. That’s my job. Under no circumstances are you to engage Siren or Intelligal by yourselves. Agreed?”

I looked at each one of them in turn, giving them my I’m-a-powerful-superhero-so-don’t-even-think-about-messing-with-me look. It seemed to work, because they nodded.

“Okay then. Let’s go get our boys back,” I said.

* * *

We took a few minutes to get our gear together. Lulu passed out the earplugs Henry and my father had been working on and hooked them into her laptop. Like our other equipment, the earplugs were equipped with microphones so we could all talk to each other. Then, Lulu piggybacked her computer onto one of the electrical boxes that lined the empty parking structure. She started to disable the alarm, but someone had already done it.

“Hermit,” I said. “That’s what Siren needed him for. She probably got Mr. Sage and Johnny to move the gate, then let him do the rest.”

Since Hermit had done the hard part already, I opened one of the metal doors that led from the garage to the observatory, and we scuttled inside.

“Where do we go from here?” I asked Lulu in a hushed voice.

Normally, I would have gone in fireballs a’blazing, but I couldn’t risk alerting the ubervillains to our presence. Not with the others following behind me like ducklings waddling after their mother.

“According to my calculations, they’re probably in the main auditorium,” Lulu whispered. “That would be the most logical place to set up the VAMP device. And if I remember correctly, that’s where SNN usually does their live feeds from.”

“Then that’s where we go.”

The four of us made our way through the silent, empty halls. A few of the interactive displays flickered to life as we passed, spewing out facts about the observatory and other scientific babble about stars and planets and black holes. A couple of heated jerks from me, and the machines died a painful, fiery death. We stopped at the edge of one of the observatory’s main crosswalks to catch our breath and get a little more direction.

“Time?” I asked.

Bella checked her watch, which looked like a smaller, female version of Johnny’s, complete with wings. “Ten minutes until seven.”

“We need to keep moving,” I said, pushing away from the slick, marble wall.

After some more slow going, we reached the auditorium. I moved the others back down the hall. Then I dropped down on my stomach, slid forward, and stuck my head around the doorjamb.

We’d guessed right. They were all inside. Siren, Intelligal, Johnny Angel, Mr. Sage, Hermit, and the same weary cameraman I’d seen the night of the observatory benefit. My eyes flicked over my fellow superheroes. They looked no worse for wear, even though their eyes and faces were as blank and smooth as sheets of glass.

My gaze lingered on Johnny, and my heart squeezed in on itself. He looked fine, physically. I just wondered what the toll would be when Johnny realized that Siren had roped him into doing her bidding. That he’d tried to kill me and take over the city on orders from one of the women he hated most in the world.

As for the ubervillains, they stood in the middle of the auditorium in all their foul glory. They must have felt supremely confident in their dastardly plan, because they didn’t even have their masks on. I looked at Erica Songe and her geeky scientist sister, Irene. I’d been right on that count too. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Didn’t they know something always went wrong with the best-laid plans of ubervillains? And here they were without their masks on, running around for the whole world to see.

I shook my head. Sometimes, ubervillains just weren’t as classy—or as smart—as they used to be. Frost certainly would never have tried to take over the world without wearing his mask. Neither would Scorpion or Mad Maria or any of the other colorful, certifiable characters I’d battled over the years. If things went wrong, as they so often did, then they wouldn’t have their real identities to protect and hide them. Erica’s, Siren’s, ego was definitely as big as her overinflated chest.

Intelligal fiddled with switches on the VAMP device, which sat on the auditorium stage. Her face was set in its usual dour expression. You’d think she would have been a little happier about her Frankenstein machine finally coming to life. Every once in a while, a loud squawk would fill the air. A series of wires snaked across the floor from the radio-like object and plugged into the SNN camera standing in the middle of the empty auditorium, along with some lights. I eyed the machines and wires. I’d definitely have to do something about those.

As for Siren, she used the fancy VAMP microphone to berate and bark orders to her hypnotized cameraman about the hot lighting ruining her makeup. At least, that’s what she did when she wasn’t cuddling up to Johnny and rubbing herself against him like a cat in heat. She purred something into his ear. The tramp. Johnny stared blankly ahead, as if he couldn’t even feel Siren’s slutty hands roaming all over him.

I hoped he couldn’t. More than that, I hoped he wasn’t enjoying it, dazed though he was. My own hands clenched into fists. A couple of sparks shot up in the air. I was so going to enjoy reducing Siren to a crimson stain on the floor and throwing her ass in jail.

I watched them for a few more seconds before sliding back out of the auditorium into the corridor.

“Well?” Bobby asked in a low voice, his eyes bright. “Are they in there? Is Johnny with them? How does he look?”

“Easy, easy. They’re all in there. Siren and Intelligal are fiddling with the VAMP machine. Johnny and the others are fine, if a little spaced out.”

“So what’s our next move?” Bella asked, clutching the case full of bombs.

I thought. Planning and strategy weren’t my strengths, but improvising was. “We’ll do what we usually do. Or rather, what the Fearless Five usually do. I’ll go in through the front door, and you guys circle around the back. Is there another way to get in there?”

“There’s another entrance on the far side,” Lulu said, pounding keys. “The one that leads out to the gardens.”

Of course. I flashed back to that wonderful night I’d spent with Johnny out next to the waterfall. I allowed myself to remember. All the hot kisses, the soft caresses, the whispered endearments. Then, I pushed those thoughts, those feelings aside. It was time to put on my game face. My angry, I’m-going-to-kick-your-evil-ubervillain-ass game face.

“Here’s what we’re going to do. I’m going in through the front door and toss a couple of fireballs at them. While I’ve got Siren and Intelligal occupied, you guys go in the back and get the others out. Don’t forget the cameraman. Stuff the extra earplugs in their ears. Maybe that will bring them around. If the ubervillains try to stop you, somebody throw the bombs at them and retreat with the others. Any questions?”

Everyone shook their heads no.

I took a deep breath. “Then, let’s go.”

* * *

Lulu, Bella, and Bobby snuck off to skirt around the building and come in through the back of the auditorium. I gave them three minutes to get into position, then eased into the room, crouching behind a row of chairs. Intelligal was still fiddling with the VAMP machine. Siren stood nearby, checking her pale, flawless reflection in a small, compact mirror. I narrowed my eyes. Too bad the Pimpler wasn’t here right now. He’d turn Siren’s smooth face as red and ragged as the top of a pizza in a matter of seconds.

“How much longer?” Siren asked.

Intelligal checked a watch on her wrist. “Five minutes until the SNN studio cuts to you.”

“Excellent.” Siren snapped her compact shut and fluffed out her black hair. “Just think, in a few minutes, we’ll own this city and everyone and everything in it. No more doing stupid live shots of superheroes flaunting their latest triumph. No more skulking around abandoned factories. No more taking insults from Bigtime’s high and mighty. We’ll be the ones in control. Permanently.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Intelligal cautioned. “Things could still go wrong.”

Siren waved her hand. “You worry too much. Things won’t go wrong. Karma Girl and Striker are nowhere to be found. We’ve taken care of Fiera, and Mr. Sage, Hermit, and Johnny Angel are under our control. “

“Not completely,” Intelligal snapped. “They all balked when you wanted them to take off their masks.”

Siren’s thick lips turned down in a poor imitation of a pout. Her lips had so much collagen in them that it didn’t quite work. “Yes, well, keeping your real identity secret is the very first thing you learn to do as a superhero or ubervillain. It’s ingrained so deep in their subconscious even I couldn’t break through that particular barrier with my hypnosis. At least, not yet. Don’t worry, sister dear. We’ll uncover their identities soon enough. And have the rest of the city’s superheroes and ubervillains eating out of our hands. Let’s talk about something more interesting. What’s the first thing you’re going to do when we take over the city?”

Intelligal spliced two wires together. “Quit my miserable job here at the observatory. Perhaps use some of the other scientists as test subjects. I’m curious as to what the effect of explodium is on a normal human body. Angel’s remains didn’t give me much to work with.”

My eyes went to Johnny. I thought I saw a bit of anger spark to life in his green eyes, but it was quickly swallowed up by the emptiness.

“And you, sister?” Intelligal asked.

Siren tapped a finger on her lips. “I’m not sure. Perhaps I’ll have a little fun with Mr. Johnny Angel here. He certainly has the equipment for it. And I plan on taking certain individuals down a few pegs from their lofty heights. Speaking of Johnnies, perhaps I’ll start with Mr. Johnny Bulluci and his trashy cohort, Fiona Fine. What the world sees in that woman’s fashion designs is beyond me. Yes, I think those two will be the first ones to feel the new city order under Siren.”

I smiled. That was my cue. Siren wanted a dose of Fiona Fine? Well, she was sure as hell going to get it. And then some. I straightened up and stepped into view.

“Oh, why wait another five minutes?” I called out. “Let’s get the fun started now.”

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Siren and Intelligal’s mouths dropped open so far that their teeth almost hit the floor.

“You...you...you’re supposed to be dead!” Siren shrieked. “Frozen solid like the rest of those fish sticks!”

I winced at the high-pitched sound, grateful the earplugs muffled the worst of it. “If I had a dollar for every time I’d heard that, I’d be even richer than I am right now. But enough chitchat.” I took aim and lobbed a fireball at Siren. “I’ve got some ubervillains to get rid of.”

Siren ducked down, and Intelligal soared up into the air. The fireball sailed right between the two ubervillains.

“You missed!” Siren crowed in a loud voice.

The red-hot ball of fire streaked through the air like a meteor and slammed into the television camera in the middle of the auditorium. The wires and camera exploded like firecrackers. Metal and glass zipped everywhere. When the smoke cleared, all that was left of the camera and the large majority of wires attached to the VAMP machine was a puddle of melted black metal.

“No, I didn’t.” It was my turn to crow. “Oops. Did I break your television camera? So sorry. I think your feed’s been interrupted. Permanently.”

“You’re going to pay for that,” Siren hissed.

“Bring it on, bitch.”

An energy ball popped into Siren’s hand, and she threw it at me. I ducked down, and the ball smacked against the back wall of the auditorium. Sparks flew everywhere, and static electricity gathered in my hair and on my fingertips.

Unnoticed by the ubervillains, the door that led to the gardens behind them opened. Lulu motored into the room, followed by Bella and Bobby. Lulu clutched the open case full of bombs on her lap. The Bullucis ran over to the three frozen superheroes and the cameraman and stuffed the Siren-proof plugs into their ears.

I threw another fireball, this time at Intelligal. She zipped out of the way, and the ball burst into flames on the ceiling. A display of planets hanging there went up like kindling. Somewhere in the distance, a fire alarm blared to life.

“Turn on the machine!” Siren screamed. “Now!”

Intelligal started to whirl her chair around, but I sent another fireball her way. She turned back to me. I kept lobbing my fireballs at the two ubervillains, trying to give the Bullucis enough time to get the others out the back door. Bella stuffed the earplugs in her brother’s ears and shot me a thumbs-up. She half pushed, half dragged Johnny toward the door, where the others were waiting.

Intelligal saw the sudden movement out of the corner of her eye. Her mouth dropped open for the second time in as many minutes. “Get them, Siren! Don’t let them get away!”

Siren spun, formed an energy ball in her hands, and hurled it through the air with a furious shriek. It seemed to grow in size as it sped through the room, as though all the ambient energy were attracted to it. The ball zoomed through the air toward the others. Right at Johnny’s retreating back.

My heart froze in my chest. Even as I started running, I knew I wouldn’t get there in time to save him. I wasn’t going to be able to save Johnny. The man I loved was going to die.

Again.

Suddenly, Lulu did the one thing I’d asked her not to—she played the part of the self-sacrificing hero and zoomed in front of Bella and Johnny. Siren’s energy ball hit her in the chest. Lulu’s dark eyes lit up with an inner fire, and her arms and legs twitched wildly. Then, the computer hacker slumped over in her wheelchair. The metal case slipped from her lifeless fingers, and the bombs rolled over the floor like shiny, chocolate marbles.

“Lulu!” Hermit screamed. He ran back inside the auditorium.

The sight of Lulu getting electrocuted also snapped the others out of their Siren-induced reverie. Mr. Sage and Angel stormed back into the room. I raced forward. Siren and Intelligal swiveled back and forth between us. They didn’t like being in the middle of a superhero sandwich.

“Get the machine and let’s get out of here!” Siren screamed.

“I don’t think so, bitch,” I muttered.

I put on an extra burst of speed and reached the VAMP machine the same time Intelligal did. A mechanical arm shot out of her chair and grabbed the device, ready to lift it into the trunk on the back of the chair. I grabbed the other side of the machine, latching on to the frame. The VAMP machine seesawed back and forth between us. In the background, I heard Siren battling the others. Energy balls zipped through the air. People screamed and shouted and cursed. Ash fluttered around like confetti.

“Oh, to hell with this,” I said.

With a mighty roar, I yanked the VAMP machine toward me and drove my free hand through the metal casing at the same time. Glass tubes and bits of metal snapped deep inside the device, which let out something that sounded like the screech of a wounded animal.

“No, no, no!” Intelligal screamed. “Not my beautiful machine!”

“Hell yeah, your beautiful machine.” I grabbed some of the wires inside and yanked them out, along with my hand. Then, I reared back and punched another hole in the side of it. Intelligal’s eyes bulged so far out of her head I thought they’d bust through her thick goggles.

“No!” she wailed, sounding just like the broken machine.

I let go of the device. Intelligal’s chair floated down, and she hovered over the ruined machine. I knew from experience that she’d be out of commission for a few minutes. All the geeky, science types hated it when you destroyed their pet projects.

I turned to the others. Bobby and Bella were pushing the unconscious Lulu out the door, while Hermit and Mr. Sage guarded their backs.

But Johnny wasn’t retreating with the others. Instead, he stalked toward Siren, who shot energy ball after energy ball at him. Angel flexed and laughed as the bolts bounced harmlessly off his chest.

“Don’t you know, you can’t electrocute a rock?” he snarled.

“Johnny!” I shouted. “Don’t do it!”

He didn’t even looked at me. “Stay out of this!”

I raced toward him, desperate to get to him before he got to Siren. My foot slipped on something, and I almost fell. Johnny shot ahead of me, reaching for Siren. I looked down. One of Jasper’s bombs rolled past my feet. It kept going and going and going across the floor. The bomb stopped—in front of the still-smoldering camera.

Flames licked at it, and the plastic shell began to melt before my horrified eyes.

“Get out! Get out now! The whole place is going to blow!” I screamed.

With a burst of speed, I grabbed Johnny’s leather jacket and yanked him away from Siren. He struggled against me, but I was stronger. Thank heavens for superstrength. I picked him up, panting from the effort, spun around, and tossed him toward the door.

Mr. Sage did the rest. His eyes glowed, and he used his telekinesis to float a still-struggling Johnny outside. I looked over my shoulder. Siren and Intelligal hovered over the machine, trying to salvage it, oblivious to everything else. Including the bon-bon bombs rolling around on the floor.

“Get out now!” I yelled. “There are bombs everywhere!”

“Go to hell, bitch!” For once, Siren and Intelligal were in agreement. They screamed the epithet at me.

Well, I’d tried. It was all I could do. My conscience was clear. I started running for the back door.

But I wasn’t quite quick enough this time. A loud roar sounded behind me, followed by a rush of heat and fire. The shockwave from the bombs threw me forward. I slammed into the back wall of the auditorium and out into the gardens below. Darkness overcame me just before I hit the ground.

Chapter Thirty

My eyes fluttered open, and my dazed mind wondered what had happened. Where I was. Why the sun was searing my eyeballs. Then, I remembered. Ubervillains. Battle. Explosion. The usual.

I was lying on the garden overlook on the back of the destroyed auditorium. The stone platform felt rough beneath my cheek. The rest of the fog faded from my mind. I wiggled my toes. Then, my fingers. Everything seemed to be in working order. Good to know. I focused on my arms and legs, moving them just a bit. Pain rippled through my body, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle, being a superstrong superhero and all.

I pushed myself up on my hands and knees. Debris fell off my back, and glass tinkled out of my hair and crunched under my fingers. I winced at the stinging sensation in my palms. Somehow, I made myself stand up and dug the plugs out of my ears. I groaned and staggered back as more pain ripped through my body. I’d be sore for a week because of this escapade. But that was the price of saving the city and the world yet again.

I turned to look at the auditorium. Or what was left of it. The whole back of the building had been blown out, and nothing remained except the stone platform I was standing on and some smoldering bits of debris and rubble. Soot blackened the air, making it hard to breathe. Jasper had been right. His new bombs made Intelligal’s explodium missiles look like toy sparklers. I’d have to come up with some extra-special designs for the bomb guru.

My eyes flicked around the empty, ruined shell of a room. Not a trace of the VAMP machine remained. There was a large, charred lump I thought might be Intelligal’s almost indestructible chair. I didn’t see any blood or body parts, though. I crept inside, careful of the rubble. Something glinted, and I walked over to it. A silver zipper, halfway undone, lay in one of the smoldering piles. I kicked it with my boot, and it disintegrated.

“Fiona! Fiera! Fiona!”

I winced at the loud voices. They didn’t mesh so well with the harsh buzzing in my ears. I stepped outside to find the Bullucis scrambling up the broken stone steps.

“Fiona! Are you all right?” Bella asked, putting her hand on my shoulder.

“Fine, I’m fine. Just a little shaken up.”

I looked down the steps, expecting to see Hermit, Mr. Sage, and Lulu at the bottom. But they weren’t there, and they didn’t appear.

“Lulu?” I asked, feeling more concerned than I’d thought possible. The computer hacker wasn’t so bad if she’d only stop peppering me with her cheesy, heat-related puns.

Bobby shook his head. “She’s in pretty bad shape. Mr. Sage sent us to come get you so he and Hermit could work on her. She needs to be taken back to the manor as soon as possible.”

“I’m just glad you’re all right, Fiona,” Johnny said, pulling me into a rough, tight hug.

I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of his warm body against mine. I pulled back and just looked at him. Johnny. He was alive, and the ubervillains were gone. Everything was going to be all right. I grabbed Johnny’s face and pulled it down to mine. Then, I gave him the hottest kiss I could manage. I lost myself in the feel of him, the smell, the taste.

“Ahem.”

I ignored Bella.

“Ahem!”

If she did that any louder, she was going to bring the rest of the observatory down around us. Reluctantly, I broke off the kiss. Johnny brushed my hair back from my face. I touched his lips with my fingers. His green eyes softened. Suddenly, he grinned.

“Now that’s how I like to be greeted,” Johnny said, reaching for me again.

I stiff-armed him and stepped back. “Hold it, buster. It’s going to take a lot more than one kiss to get back in my good graces.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. Dust flapped off the limp, dirty locks.

Johnny stuck out his lip in a mock pout. Bella and Bobby just laughed.

* * *

My happiness at saving Johnny and the day was muted by the seriousness of Lulu’s condition. Siren’s energy ball had done quite a number on her. In addition to the burns on her body, the electricity had also interrupted her heartbeat and brain activities. The chief had to shock her twice with the defibrillator in the back of the van when she flat-lined. We raced back to Sublime in silence, and Henry and the chief put her in one of the sick bays moments after we parked in the underground garage.

The Bullucis and I stood vigil outside the room, watching the chief work on Lulu. An hour later, he came out. The chief looked exhausted, and worry lines tightened his long face.

“She’s stabilized, but it’s still touch-and-go. If she makes it through the night, then I think she’ll be all right. Henry’s in there with her. I suggest you all go home and get some rest. There’s nothing you can do at the moment.”

One by one, we drifted away. Johnny took his sister and grandfather home to change clothes and freshen up. The Bullucis promised to return as soon as they could. I made my way to my suite, stripped off my tattered, ruined costume, and took a long shower to wash away the grime of the fight and explosion. I changed into jeans, stilettos, and a fitted white shirt.

I lay down on my bed, but I couldn’t sleep. Even though I’d been up more than twenty-four hours, I was still too wired from everything that had happened. So, I got up and went to the kitchen, where I made a dozen roast-beef-and-cheddar-cheese sandwiches. I put four aside for Henry and the chief and downed the rest of them, along with a gallon of milk and a deep-dish apple pie topped with vanilla bean ice cream. My father found me inside just as I was scraping the last bite of melted ice cream out of the bowl.

“Sorry,” I said, pushing him the plate full of sandwiches. “If you wanted pie, you should have gotten here three minutes ago.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, taking one of the sandwiches. “I’m used to it.”

After the chief finished his first sandwich, he spoke again.

“You’ve been incredibly strong these last few hours. Escaping the freezer, figuring out the ubervillains’ scheme. You saved us, Fiona. You saved all of us today. I don’t think I’ve ever been prouder of you,” the chief said, his eyes bright.

I nodded. “I only wish Lulu hadn’t gotten hurt in the process. Is there any change?”

The chief shook his head. “We’ll just have to wait and see. It’s out of my hands now.”

Hot tears gathered in my eyes. My father opened his arms, and we hugged for a long time.

* * *

The chief left to go to his own suite and shower before he checked on Lulu again. I went down to the sick bay to give Henry a break. The doors swooshed open, and I stepped inside. The harsh, chemical smell of disinfectant and ointment filled the room. I walked over to the bed where Lulu lay.

The computer hacker’s face was paler than usual, and her hair stood out like black-and-blue ink against the white of her pillow. Thick gauze bandages covered her chest, and she seemed about an inch away from death. Henry sat by her side, still in costume, holding her hand and whispering words of encouragement.

I tapped him on the shoulder. Henry yelped and almost jumped out of his chair.

“Oh, it’s you, Fiona. You scared me.”

I pulled up a chair and sat next to him. “How is she?”

Henry sighed, his eyes dark and sad. “The same. No worse, no better.”

“Why don’t you go get some rest? I’ll sit with her until you get back,” I said in a gentle tone.

“No, I’m not going anywhere. Not until she wakes up.”

“You’re dirty and exhausted. You’re not any good to Lulu right now.”

Henry looked down at his ripped, torn costume. He shifted in his chair, and bits of ash flaked off the spandex. “So what?”

“So, you look almost as bad as she does. You certainly smell worse. Now go.” I grabbed the back of his suit and pushed him toward the door. “I’ll watch her while you get cleaned up. I promise.”

“Come get me if anything, anything at all, changes,” Henry said, clutching the doorframe.

I pulled his fingers off, but he grabbed on to the other side. “I will. Now go.”

After a few more false starts and forceful shoves, I convinced Henry to leave Lulu to me for a little while. I plopped down in the chair beside her bed. After about a minute, I drummed my fingers on my knee. Shifted back and forth in my seat. Fiddled with my hair. If I’d had some gum, I would have blown big bubbles. I’d never been good at sitting still, and I absolutely hated waiting.

But I’d promised Henry. Plus, it was my fault that Lulu was hurt. I was the one who’d let her come along. I should have locked her and the Bullucis in the van where they would have been safe. Instead, Lulu had gone all noble on me and kept Siren from zapping Johnny. I should have been able to take out Siren before she got that shot off. I should have been quicker, smarter, stronger. Now, the computer hacker was paying the price for my mistakes—and her own bravery.

Coulda, woulda, shoulda. Unfortunately, after-the-fact clarity was another thing that went along with being a superhero.

“You know, you need to snap out of this coma thing you’ve got going on,” I said in a conversational tone. “It’s not doing you any good, and you’ve got everybody else worried sick about you. Especially Henry. If you go and die on him, well, I’ll have to kill you all over again.”

I rolled my eyes. I sounded dumb even to myself. Perhaps dying wasn’t the best thing to talk to Lulu about. A good bedside manner was not my specialty. That was Chief Newman’s department.

So, I sat there and talked to Lulu about all sorts of things. The battle, how Siren and Intelligal had been toasted by the bombs, how brave but stupid I thought she’d been saving Johnny, how I hoped that Johnny and I could get past today.

“I really, really like him,” I said. “And not just because the sex is incredible and he’s one of the most gorgeous men I’ve ever had the privilege to sleep with. I like his sense of humor, his quick wit, his silly grins.” I leaned forward and dropped my voice to a whisper. “The truth is that I love him. But let’s just keep that between you and me for right now.”

After going on for a good while about my feelings for Johnny, I lapsed into silence. I didn’t have any more words left in me. So, I clutched Lulu’s hand and tried to feel soothing and calm.

I sat beside her, my head bowed, for almost an hour. A small rustle sounded. My head snapped up. Lulu’s eyes fluttered open. My breath caught in my throat. This was a good sign, right? I mean, she wasn’t going to die on us if she was awake, was she?

“Henry?” Lulu croaked, her voice weak and raspy.

“Hey,” I said, leaning over so she could see me. “Henry’s not here right now. It’s me, Fiona. You’re back at the manor in one of the sick bays.”

“Henry?”

“Henry’s fine, and so is everybody else. The ubervillains are dead.”

After a moment of thinking and staring at me, Lulu’s eyes cleared. “Fiona. Of course. That’s why it’s so hot in here.”

I rolled my eyes. “You must be getting better if you can crack bad jokes like that.”

Lulu chuckled. At least she tried to. She gave up, gasping for air.

“Easy, easy. Don’t overdo it.”

Lulu nodded. “I’ll try. What happened? The last thing I remember is this big blue ball of energy slamming into me.”

I filled her in again on the battle at the observatory.

“I’m glad those bitches are dead,” Lulu said. “My chest feels like it’s on fire.”

“Do you want me to get the chief? I’m sure he can give you some more painkillers.”

Lulu shook her head. “No, I’m fine. Really sleepy, actually. Where’s Henry?”

“Get some sleep. He’ll be back in a few minutes.”

Lulu relaxed. “You were right about one thing, Fiona.”

“Really? What was that?”

“Me being in a wheelchair and having kids or not having kids isn’t that important. All that matters is Henry and me and how we feel about each other.”

“So, does this mean there’ll be another wedding around here in the near future?” I asked. “Because I know this designer who does really fabulous gowns.”

“You can count on it,” Lulu said, drifting off. “Tell Henry I said yes...yes...yes...”

I smiled. “I’ll be sure to relay the message.”

Lulu’s eyes slid shut before I finished speaking.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the chief announced that Lulu had stabilized and that she should make a slow, but full, recovery. The computer hacker drifted in and out of consciousness the rest of the day. She came awake long enough to tell Henry that she wanted to marry him, then promptly fell asleep when he leaned over to kiss her. Ah, love among nerds. It was a beautiful thing.

The Bullucis returned that night bearing pasta, wine, and more. After a brief, somewhat subdued celebration in Lulu’s room, which the guest of honor slept through, we moved the party to the library. Henry went to check on Lulu every few minutes, while my father entertained the Bullucis with superhero stories.

But I had a different sort of party in mind. One that involved only two people—Johnny and me. I walked over and drew him away from the others.

“Let’s get out of here,” I said in a low voice. “We need to talk.”

Johnny nodded. He put down his champagne, and we slipped out of the library.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You’ll see.”

I dragged Johnny down the halls until we reached my suite. I threw open the door, pulled him inside, and shut it behind us. Then, I wrapped my arms around his neck and lifted my lips to his.

I loved him. I really, really loved him. I’d admitted it to myself and Lulu, and now I was going to tell Johnny. Somehow, some way in the last few days, I’d fallen in love with him. Travis would always be a part of me, always have a piece of my heart. But I was ready to get on with my life. And I wanted to do it with Johnny Bulluci. Mr. Right Now had turned into Mr. Forever.

The kiss went on for a long time. I tried to take a few steps to the side, where the bed was oh-so-conveniently waiting for us to make wild, crazy love in it. But Johnny wasn’t cooperating. The kiss ended, and he pulled back.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, eyeing the bed. If I could just maneuver him a few more feet to the right—

“I’ve been thinking a lot today. About you, me, my father, Angel, everything. I...we...we can’t be together, Fiona,” he said in a low voice.

All thoughts of the bed and what we could do in it fled. “What? Why?” My voice came out as more of a shriek than a wail.

Johnny ran his hand through his tawny hair. “Because of Siren and Intelligal. Because...of everything.”

“But it’s over now,” I protested. “We stopped them. The ubervillains are dead. They’ll never bother us again. Justice has been served.”

“Thanks to you. You saved us all, Fiona. Your father, Henry, me, Lulu, my family. All I did was almost get myself and you killed.” Johnny’s eyes were dark and troubled. His gaze wandered around the room, settling on something over my shoulder.

“But—”

“No buts. You were right. This whole time, you were right. I let my need for vengeance blind me. I acted like a reckless, selfish fool, and I almost killed you in the process. I let an ubervillain take over my mind and make me her puppet. I put you in a fish freezer and left you to die.”

“But you helped me escape,” I pointed out. “You gave me your lighter.”

Johnny’s mouth twisted. “Too little, almost too late. How can I expect you to forgive me for that? I can’t even forgive myself for hurting you. How can we be together after everything that’s happened? I’m sorry, Fiona. I don’t deserve you. I never have, and I never will.”

Johnny stared at me, as if memorizing the curves of my face. Then, he opened the door and left the room.

Leaving me alone.

Chapter Thirty-One

To say that I spent the next few days in a bad mood would be the understatement of the year. The century even. After Johnny left me, I stayed in a perpetual pissy state. I alternated between crying, swimming, and growling at everyone who crossed my path.

And eating. I ate everything I could sink my teeth into. I always ate more when I was heartbroken.

Almost three weeks after the battle at the observatory, Carmen and Sam returned from their honeymoon. They looked rested, tanned, and more in love than ever. Their happiness and Lulu and Henry’s engagement only made me more painfully aware of what I could have had with Johnny if he hadn’t been such a hard-headed, stubborn ass.

I tried to get through to him, of course. I called him and sent gag gifts and even showed up at the Bulluci mansion with dinner from Quicke’s. But Johnny didn’t take my calls. Didn’t return my gifts. Didn’t even acknowledge my visit.

It was a problem I couldn’t fix by using my fists or fireballs or general fabulousness. I didn’t know what to do.

Carmen, being the unbearable, cheerful newlywed, made light of my disastrous love life.

“He’ll come around eventually, Fiona,” she murmured, her eyes vacant the way they always were when she was listening to the voices in her head. “I just know he will.”

Stupid voices in Carmen’s head. They gave me a shred of hope. But as the days passed and Johnny didn’t respond to my reconciliation attempts, my depression only grew. Four weeks after the incident in my suite, I paced around my office. Brooding as usual.

A knock sounded, and Piper entered the room. She set a bag of doughnuts down on my desk. I tore into them like a dog snapping at a bone. Sugar was always good for a broken heart.

“Do you want to tell me what’s bothering you?” Piper asked.

“It’s nothing a couple dozen of these babies won’t fix,” I said, shoving a chocolate-glazed pastry into my mouth.

“If you say so.” Piper leaned against the doorway. “Well, now that the fall line has finally been shipped out to our suppliers, I had a chance to look over your sketches for spring.”

I stared at her, another sticky doughnut halfway to my lips. “What sketches?”

Piper held out a stack of papers. “These sketches. Don’t you remember?”

I took the papers from her and flipped through them. My heart sank. They were the drawings I’d done the first time Johnny had sent me flowers. Now, they just reminded me of what I had lost and would never have again. I tossed them aside and ate another doughnut, a cream-cheese-filled one this time.

Piper flipped through the pages of discarded drawings. “I love it, Fiona. The color, the patterns, everything. I think it will be one of your best lines ever.”

I snorted. “It’s crap, Piper. Garbage. Those designs don’t have any edge, any real style. I’m going to totally redo the spring line for next year. I’ll do something bold, something daring, something...in black, I think.”

“Black? You only use black when you’re depressed about something.” Piper’s eyes narrowed. “Or when you have man troubles. What’s his name and what’s he done to you, Fiona? It’s Johnny Bulluci, isn’t it?”

Just hearing his name was painful. “What makes you think that?”

Piper sighed. “Because you’ve eaten half a dozen doughnuts in the space of about two minutes.”

“So?” I asked, popping another one of the sugary treats into my mouth. “What does that prove?”

“It doesn’t prove anything. But it’s a bit of a record, even for you. You can talk to me, Fiona. I’m more than your business partner. I’m your friend too.”

Piper had such a sweet, earnest look on her face that it made me sigh.

“I know,” I said, licking a bit of glaze off my finger. “And I appreciate you wanting to help me through this. But honestly, the only thing that eases the pain is food.”

I reached into the bag for another doughnut. My hand clutched at air. I peered into the bag. Empty already.

Damn.

* * *

That night, I headed out to the manor, since it was my turn to be on call. Superhero duties went on, broken heart or no broken heart.

I wandered into the library to find Lulu sitting inside. The computer hacker had recovered from Siren’s energy blast, except for the burns on her chest and arms. Even those would heal with time, which meant Lulu was back to compiling information and weaving her web of wickedness on the Internet.

“Where are the others?” I asked.

“Carmen and Sam had some society benefit to go to, and Henry and the chief had to work late.” Lulu didn’t even glance up from her monitor.

“Oh,” I said, feeling deflated. I’d hoped somebody would be around. I’d wanted to go a few rounds in the training room with Sam to burn off some of my pent-up anger and frustration.

Lulu heard the sadness in my tone. “Any word from Johnny?”

I shook my head and started pacing. “Of course not.”

Bored, I grabbed a Rubik’s Cube off Carmen’s desk in the corner and tossed it back and forth in my hands. I put it down when the plastic started to melt. Carmen got a little touchy about people messing with her stuff. But the cube was already too far gone. It slid off the desk and hit Lulu’s knee before falling to the floor and soaking into the Persian rug.

“Watch it!” Lulu said, rubbing her knee. “Some of us aren’t made out of steel, you know.”

I looked at the melted plastic, then at Lulu’s knees. What the hell? My eyes widened.

I leaned over Lulu and hit her leg. I didn’t give her the ole Fist-o-Might, but I smacked her hard enough so that it would hurt.

“Ouch! What did you do that for?” Lulu glared at me.

I hit her again.

“Fiona! What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m hitting your leg. Can you feel it?”

“Hell yeah, I feel it, and it bloody well hurts—”

Lulu’s eyes got as big and round as balloons. “I can feel it. I can feel you hitting my leg. Do it again, Fiona! Do it again!”

I was happy to oblige her.

“I can feel it! I can feel it! I can feel it!” Lulu screamed.

We started laughing. I kept hitting Lulu, and we both kept laughing and screaming and crying until the chief and Henry walked in an hour later.

They thought we were insane. At first.

Once I explained why I was playing pin the fist on Lulu, the chief whisked her away to do some tests. A few hours later, we gathered in the sick bay to get the results.

The chief pointed to some X-rays he’d taken of Lulu’s back and said a bunch of scientific mumbo-jumbo about neurons and electricity that I mostly tuned out. I loved my father, but he could be such a bore sometimes, especially when he was in doctor mode.

“Oh, get to the point, Dad,” I snapped.

“Please, chief,” Lulu begged. “What does it all mean?”

“Well, I can’t be sure without running an extensive battery of tests, but it seems that Siren’s energy ball has kick-started the dead nerves in your spine.”

“And what does that mean?” Lulu asked, clutching Henry’s hand so hard I thought it would pop off.

“It means, my dear, that one day, I think you’ll be able to walk again,” Chief Newman said.

There was complete silence.

Then, we all started screaming.

* * *

As it turned out, the chief was right. Siren’s energy bolt had done a number on Lulu. The huge amount of electricity she’d been hit with had fired up the synapses and nerves and other things that make up a person’s spine. In short, Siren had jumpstarted Lulu’s body into healing the damage done when she’d broken her back a few years ago. With massive amounts of physical therapy, she should be able to walk again.

The next night, the members of the Fearless Five gathered in the library to celebrate the good news with champagne and chocolate. I stood a little apart from the others, watching them laugh and talk and celebrate. I was happy for Lulu, truly I was, but I still felt sorry for myself. I wanted Johnny here to celebrate with us. I wanted...I just wanted him. Always. Forever.

Carmen detached herself from Sam and strolled in my direction. I stifled a groan and downed the rest of my champagne. I didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that another unwanted probe of my psyche was coming up. Carmen stood beside me, sipping from her own glass of champagne.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” she murmured.

“It’s just ducky.”

She sighed. “I’m sorry you’re hurting, Fiona. I really, really am. But you don’t have to take it, you know. You can always do something about your situation.”

“What do you want me to do? Beg Johnny to love me?” I snapped. “Johnny has made it perfectly clear he never wants to see me ever again.”

“You’re a fighter. You’re Fiera, for crying out loud. Protector of the innocent and all that. So do what you do best. Fight for your man, Fiona. Fight for Johnny.”

Carmen moved back to Sam. He wrapped his arm around her waist, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.

Suddenly tired, I said my good-nights to everybody and went to my suite. I flopped down on my bed, grabbed the picture of Travis, and stared into his dark, smiling eyes.

“It was always so easy with you and me,” I said. “Why can’t it be that way with Johnny?”

I stroked his face with my fingers, but Travis didn’t have any answers for me.

My fingers stilled. Or maybe he did.

The truth was things hadn’t always been easy for Travis and me. Sure, we’d loved each other, but we’d also had our share of fights and arguments and problems just like everybody else did. But we’d worked through them all. Together.

I thought about Carmen’s words, about how I should fight for what I wanted. I thought about Johnny and how he made me feel. The way he listened to me, laughed with me, loved me.

“She’s right,” I whispered to Travis. “I hate to admit it, but she’s absolutely right.”

It was time to fight. Time for a new beginning.

Starting right now.

I went over to the dresser, shoved aside some of my fashion magazines, and gently put Travis’s picture down in the clear spot. He looked a little strange, a little out of place sitting there, but I knew I would get used to it.

I’d gotten used to the pain of his loss, and I’d found new love in the process. Johnny would never take Travis’s place, but he had an equal share of my heart. He was here now, and we could have a life together. A fabulous life.

All we had to do was fight for it.

I’d never been very good at waiting, and I’d never been a quitter. I wasn’t going to give up on Johnny now. Not now, not ever. Miracles really did happen. Lulu was proof of that.

Now, it was time to make a miracle of my own.

Chapter Thirty-Two

I placed a few strategic phone calls to recruit some spies and put my plan into action the very next night at Paradise Park.

After a leisurely dinner at Quicke’s, Bella, Bobby, and Johnny Bulluci strolled into the park at exactly eight o’clock. While Bobby yammered into Johnny’s ear about something, Bella flashed me a discreet thumbs-up as they walked by. Everything was in place and right on schedule.

I swallowed the rest of my raspberry-flavored cotton candy and followed the Bullucis as the three of them wandered around the park, keeping a good distance between us. I was also wearing a floppy hat, oversized sunglasses, and a tight-fitting, black trench coat so Johnny wouldn’t spot me. Bella and Bobby chatted and laughed and even played a few of the carnival contests. Bella won every game she played, even the rigged ones. Bobby bought a large funnel cake from one of the vendors and ate all of it, despite his granddaughter’s dire warnings and hot glares.

Johnny just looked pained the whole time. I wondered if he was remembering our first date here. I hoped so. It was why I’d chosen the spot.

Bella pulled Johnny over to the enormous Ferris wheel. The ride stopped, and people filed off. At first, Johnny balked, not wanting to ride, but she whined and pleaded and begged until she got him to the front of the line. I elbowed people aside until I was right behind them. Meanwhile, Bobby went over and talked to the operator, whispering in his ear and slipping him some money.

Johnny sat down in one of the swinging carts, scooting over to the far side. Bella started to get in next to him, but stopped.

“You know what? I just remembered there’s somewhere else I need to be,” Bella said.

She stepped aside. I tossed my hat and sunglasses to Bobby and took her place.

“Hi, Johnny. What’s up?” I slid in next to him and yanked the bar down over us.

“Sorry, folks. This is a private ride,” the operator said to the other people in line.

A groan went up through the crowd. The ride started, and we sailed into the air before Johnny could protest, much less get off. Bella and Bobby waved to us once and then disappeared to check out the rest of the park. Johnny didn’t say anything, but his eyes looked frantic and confused. I smiled. It was always good to keep a man guessing.

We went round one time as the calliope music played. Then, just as we crested the top the second time, the wheel jerked to a halt. We dangled in the air, high above the shrieking carnival goers.

“Why are we stopped?” Johnny asked. “Did you have something to do with this?”

“Of course I did. So did Bella and Bobby. It was really a team effort.”

Johnny sighed. “So how long are we stuck up here?”

“Oh, we’re not coming down until you tell me why you dumped me,” I said in a cheerful tone.

Johnny stared at the city lights around us. “We’ve been through this before, Fiona.”

“Johnny, I don’t care about the past. I only care about the future and you.”

He seemed surprised. “You don’t care that I attacked you? You don’t care that I was a complete ass to you and the rest of the Fearless Five? You don’t care that I tried to kill you? You don’t care that I let my need for vengeance blind me to everything else? You don’t care—”

I put a finger on his lips. “Of course I care. But it’s nothing that we can’t work through. Together. I’m willing to try. Why aren’t you?”

“Because I’m not a superhero. I never have been, and I don’t know that I can ever be one. You’re Fiera, a member of the Fearless Five. You do good things, important things. I’m just Johnny Angel. A guy who rides around the city on a motorcycle and looks cool because it’s what his father used to do, and his grandfather before him.”

“I don’t care whether or not you’re a superhero. As for being Johnny Angel, it’s part of your family legacy, and that’s part of who you are. I understand that, and I don’t want to change it.”

“What about Travis?” he asked in a soft voice.

“What about him?”

“You’re still in love with your dead fiancé, Fiona.” Johnny looked away. “You still have his things. You still have his picture by your bed. You still wear his ring.”

I thought back to my conversation with Bella in the kitchen when she’d accused me of the same thing. The constant looks Johnny shot at my ring and Travis’s picture. It all became clear to me. Johnny thought I didn’t love him. That’s what he was really afraid of. He’d told Bella that, which is why she’d warned me to be careful with him, with his feelings.

I’d made my peace with Travis and his death. Now, it was time for Johnny to do the same.

So, I did something I’d never done before—I took the engagement ring off my finger. A white band marked its place on my hand.

“I love Travis. I always will. But there’s plenty of room in my heart, and it’s time to move on. That’s what I want to do. With you. The man I love.”

Johnny’s head snapped up. “The man you love?”

I nodded and stuffed the ring in my pocket. “The man I love. That would be you, stubborn, rock-headed ass that you are. I love you, Johnny Bulluci. Do you believe me? Or am I going to have to beat it into you?”

Johnny’s eyes lit up. “No, you don’t have to beat it into me. At least, not anymore. I love you too, Fiona.”

We kissed, and everything was fabulous. Just the way it should be.

Just the way I was going to make sure it would always be.

“Have you ever made love on a Ferris wheel?” Johnny murmured, pressing a kiss to the hollow of my throat.

I cupped his head in my hands and stared into his magnificent eyes. Passion, love, and more than a little wickedness glinted in the green depths.

I laughed. “A Ferris wheel? Aren’t you the adventurous one.”

Johnny grinned that sly, crooked grin I loved so well. “Always, baby.”

He leaned over and looked down at the people below. “Exactly how long did you tell the operator to leave us dangling up here?”

I smiled. “Thirty minutes.”

“Well then, we’ve got plenty of time, haven’t we?” Johnny said and reached for me again.

We didn’t come down for a very, very long time.

Epilogue

Three months later

Johnny and I lay sprawled on the floor in the underground kitchen at Sublime. I put my arm over the beach towel covering our bodies and snuggled closer to him.

“Super-duper once again, Mr. Bulluci,” I purred, nibbling on his ear.

“I agree. Super-duper once again, Mrs. Bulluci.”

I flashed the square diamond on my hand at him. It was almost as big as Joanne James’ was and more precious to me than anything—except Johnny himself. “Not Mrs. Bulluci just yet. We only got engaged last week. And I’m keeping my name. Or at least hyphenating it.”

Johnny grinned. “Fiona Fine-Bulluci. I like the sound of that. Especially the last part.”

Johnny put his arm around me and pulled me closer. I rested my head on his shoulder, happy, content, and suitably satiated. After taking a dip in the pool, we’d come to the kitchen for a midnight snack. But, of course, things had gotten a little heated between the two of us, especially since I made a point to keep a couple of cans of chocolate whipped cream in the refrigerator at all times now.

The door to the kitchen creaked open, and a walker appeared, followed by Lulu. She shoved the metal device forward and dragged her feet toward it. Lulu couldn’t walk on her own yet, but she was getting a little stronger every day. Her hands clenched around the frame, and her face was set and determined. Henry followed along behind her.

“Why don’t you just use your wheelchair? Just for tonight?” Henry asked.

“No,” Lulu snapped. “Using the walker is part of my physical therapy. You know that. Besides, I made a promise to myself that I was going to walk down the aisle at our wedding, and I intend to keep it. No matter how much it might hurt right now.”

“But Lulu—”

The words died on Henry’s lips as he caught sight of Johnny and me lying on the floor. Lulu spotted us a second later.

Lulu put a hand over her eyes. “Don’t mind us. We just came in to get some coffee. We don’t see a thing.” She peeked between her fingers. “Well, not much. Nice abs, Johnny.”

“Thanks, Lulu.”

I not-so-gently punched him in his perfect abs. Johnny just grinned. Henry stared at us while Lulu rustled around in one of the refrigerators.

Henry straightened his ever-present, polka-dot bow tie. Then, he turned to Lulu and picked her up.

“Henry!” she squealed. “What are you doing?”

He pressed a quick kiss to her lips. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for coffee anymore. Are you?”

Lulu looked at Henry, then down at us.

“Ohhh,” Lulu drawled. She wrapped her arms around his neck. “Well, when you put it like that, I think I’ve had enough coffee tonight too.”

Henry headed for the door. Lulu waved at us.

“Hey, Fiona,” she called out just before the door swung shut behind them. “Try not to melt the floor tiles again, okay?”

I sat up, fingers sparking, ready to light Lulu’s hair up like a firecracker. But before I could focus my power, Johnny pulled me back down on top of him. His hands moved down my body, and I started thinking about a different sort of fire.

“Let them have their fun, baby,” he whispered, stroking me. “So we can have ours.”

I threw my head back and enjoyed the liquid fire coursing through me. Then, I reached for the almost-empty can of whipped cream we’d dropped in our haste.

“Well, let the good times roll,” I said.

JINX – BOOK THREE

Thanks to her unwanted superpower, fashion designer Bella Bulluci may be the luckiest woman in Bigtime, N.Y. But luck can be good or bad, and it seems like just as many embarrassing things happen to Bella as do positive ones.

Like when a charity event that Bella plans get crashed by Hangman, a deadly ubervillain who’s after a prize sapphire that’s on display. Hangman almost succeeds in stealing the jewel for his evil ubervillain boss, Prism, but Bella’s luck helps her escape with the sapphire—along with some help from the suave and charming Debonair.

Debonair’s not an ubervillain, but he’s not really a superhero either. Still, Bella can’t help but fall for him, despite her personal vow to have as little to do with heroes and villains as possible. But with Hangman and Prism still after the sapphire, Bella’s going to need every bit of her luck power just to survive....

Dedication

To my mother and grandmother,

for always taking care of me.

PART ONE

I HATE SUPERHEROES

Chapter One

Dinner with superheroes.

It’s an interesting experience—and one that I rather hate.

The empty wineglass floated past me, sailing along as though carried by a steady, invisible hand. I tried to pretend it wasn’t there. That I didn’t see it. That the glass was as invisible as the force propelling it forward. But that was hard to do since it landed on the table next to me.

I further tried to pretend I didn’t see the crystal carafe beside my elbow rise up, tip itself over, and pour ruby-red sangria into the waiting glass. I even tried to convince myself I didn’t really see the glass float back across the table.

I failed miserably at all three.

The other people gathered round didn’t pay any attention to the floating glass. Didn’t slow their conversation or ignore their food for an instant.

Unfortunately, floating glasses had become a normal sight around the Bulluci household these days—no matter how I wished otherwise.

“Is that really necessary?” I asked, my voice a little snappish. “I would have been happy to pour you some more wine.”

Chief Sean Newman held out his hand, and the glass drifted over to him. “There was no need to bother you, Bella, when I could do it for myself.”

“But you could have just asked,” I persisted. “You didn’t have to use your powers like that.”

“Please,” Fiona Fine cut in, turning her blue eyes to me. “What’s the point of having superpowers if you don’t use them?”

Fiona grabbed the bread basket and waved her hand over the top. A few red-hot sparks shot off the ends of her fingertips, and the delicious smell of warm cheese bread filled the air.

“Lighten up, Bella,” Fiona continued, putting the entire loaf on one of the dozen plates in front of her. “We all know each other here—alter egos and otherwise. It’s not like there are other people around to catch us in the act.”

No, there weren’t any other people around. No normal people anyway. Just me, Fiona, Chief Newman, my brother, Johnny, and my grandfather, Bobby.

I’d barely touched my whole wheat ravioli, but I put my fork down. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I never was when there were superheroes around.

But Fiona and Chief Newman weren’t just any superheroes. There were plenty of those in Bigtime, New York. No, they were Fiera and Mr. Sage, members of the Fearless Five—the most powerful, elite team of heroes in the city. In addition to being stronger than five people put together, Fiera could also form fireballs with her bare hands, while Mr. Sage had all sorts of psychic powers, including telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with his mind.

And now, they were part of my family.

Fiona had gotten engaged to my brother, Johnny, a couple of months ago after she’d saved him from two ubervillains who were trying to enslave the city. During all the commotion, Fiona had revealed her secret identity as Fiera to my grandfather and me and gotten us to help her rescue Johnny. And Chief Newman was Fiona’s father, as well as her teammate.

But they weren’t the only superheroes in the family these days.

The Fearless Five were a package deal. In addition to Fiera and Mr. Sage, we also got Karma Girl, Striker, and Hermit. Or Carmen Cole, Sam Sloane, and Henry Harris. That’s how I thought of them. As nice, regular people who were mostly normal. Never as their alter egos. I tried to pretend those other people didn’t exist.

I tried to pretend a lot of things didn’t exist.

Especially my own supposed superpower.

My grandfather, Bobby Bulluci, clapped his hands together. “Come! Let’s talk of other things.” He turned to Fiona and Johnny. “Are the two of you packed for your trip?”

Johnny had some business to take care of in the overseas divisions of Bulluci Industries, so he and Fiona had decided to make a working vacation out of it. The two were leaving tomorrow on a month-long trip to explore the Mediterranean.

“Of course,” Johnny answered, flashing Fiona a grin. “Although I don’t know how we’re going to get all of Fiona’s clothes onto the plane.”

Fiona reached over and punched my brother. Johnny flexed his bicep, which took on a hard look—like his skin had suddenly morphed into metal. Fiona’s fist smacked into his arm, and she frowned and shook her hand. Even with her great strength, it hurt to punch my brother when he formed his superhard, supertough exoskeleton. It made Johnny immune to just about everything. Kicks, punches, explosions, Fiona’s flare-ups. That was good, since my brother had an annoying tendency to dress up in tacky, formfitting, black leather, zoom around town on his motorcycle, and fight ubervillains.

Instead of an exoskeleton, I’d gotten something far less useful from the mutated family gene pool—luck. As if that was any kind of superpower. Superannoying was more like it.

Fiona sniffed and tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. “I’ve told you a million times you can never have too many clothes, especially when you’re going on vacation. Besides, we’re taking Sam’s private jet. There’ll be more than enough room for my things.”

Johnny gave Fiona another wicked smile. “But, baby, you know I think you look fine in whatever you wear—especially when it’s nothing at all.”

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Please. There’s nothing sexier than a well-dressed woman. Right, Bella?”

“Of course,” I murmured.

Fiona and I knew a few things about well-dressed women, since we both worked as fashion designers. Fiona fronted Fiona Fine Fashions, while I ran the design portion of Bulluci Industries. Fiona and I had completely different styles, and we’d been friendly rivals for years. She created garments that screamed Here I am! Look at me! I’m fabulous! with their bright colors, wild patterns, and mounds of sequins and feathers. I preferred simpler styles, with muted hues, clean lines, and absolutely, positively no sequins. Ever.

Don’t get me wrong. I liked Fiona just fine. Her father too. And I was glad Johnny had found someone he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

But there was nothing I hated more than superheroes and ubervillains. Dressing up in those silly costumes. Calling themselves absurd names. Plotting and scheming and planning elaborate ways to take over the city and rule the world. It was all so dramatically ridiculous.

C’mon. Who would want to rule the world, really? It’d be nothing but a giant headache, with everyone constantly whining and crying at you. Not to mention all the paperwork and demands on your free time. But the ubervillains always tried to reign supreme, and the superheroes always stopped them. The cycle was endless.

Unfortunately, I had lots of experience with superheroes. Or rather, pseudo heroes. All the men in my family masqueraded as Johnny Angel in their youth, riding around Bigtime on a tricked-out motorcycle, getting into trouble, and taking on ubervillains when the mood hit them. Masquerading as Johnny Angel was how my brother had first met Fiona a few months ago.

And how my father, James, had died.

I was happy for Johnny, but I couldn’t help shuddering at the fact he’d added another superhero to the family tree. Five of them. Six, actually, if you counted Lulu Lo, the computer hacker who was engaged to Henry Harris.

Oh, I liked Fiona, Carmen, Sam, Henry, and Chief Newman just fine when they were themselves. It was their nightly habit of turning into Fiera, Karma Girl, Striker, Hermit, and Mr. Sage that had me concerned.

And knowing the Fearless Five’s secret identities was sort of like being in a mob family—once you were in, you were all the way in whether you wanted to be or not. And you couldn’t get out, no matter how hard you tried. Whenever we had any of the heroes over for dinner, all they talked about were their latest epic battles and daring escapes. Or the new equipment Henry Hermit Harris had purchased for their underground lair. Or the current ubervillains populating Bigtime. Or a dozen other superhero-related things that made me grind my teeth. Last week, Fiona had even asked me if I thought her costume needed a redesign. Sheesh.

My power flared up at my dark thoughts. I didn’t know how the other superheroes felt their power, but mine was sort of like standing in a ball of static electricity. My skin hummed. My fingertips itched. And worst of all, my caramel-colored hair frizzed out to alarming proportions. There wasn’t a conditioner on the market that could tame it. Believe me, I’d tried them all. Together. At the same time.

The overall sensation wasn’t uncomfortable so much as it was aggravating. Because the static, the power, the energy built and built until it had to be discharged. And when it did, well, watch out. More often than not, whatever was around me either exploded, shattered, fell from the sky, or spontaneously combusted. Sometimes all at once. My luck was like some sort of supercharged telekinesis I couldn’t control. Stuff just happened, whether I wanted it to or not. And here’s the really annoying thing about having luck as a superpower—it can be good or bad.

Sometimes, if I thought about something, wanted it to happen, willed it to be, I’d get my heart’s desire. I’d catch the subway a second before the doors closed. Snag the last seat in a crowded movie theater. Find the only dress in my size. I even won five hundred dollars in a sweepstakes as a kid just by staring at my entry form before I sent it in and wishing I could win.

But just as often, my luck turned on me. I’d catch the subway but rip my jacket on the doors. Get the last seat but sit down in a puddle of sticky soda. Find the perfect dress but forget my credit cards. Win the lottery but lose my ticket.

Luck, the most capricious thing in the world. That was my supposed power. My curse was more like it.

My jinx.

I always felt the static energy around me and did my best to keep it clamped down and under control. But the sudden surge told me that it was time for it to let loose—and for something to happen. I could never tell whether that something would be good or bad, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I slowly, carefully, calmly pushed my chair back from the table, making sure I was clear of the tablecloth, candles, bread basket, wineglasses, plates, silverware, and anything else I could drag down or knock off or upset in any way. Then, I stood.

With small, thoughtful steps, I backed around the chair until I stood five feet away from the table—and out of range of everyone and everything. Now, nobody else would get caught in the crossfire if something crazy happened, like the chandelier above my head plummeting from the ceiling, despite the ten or so bolts that held it in place.

“Bella? Are you all right?” Chief Newman asked, his eyes flashing a brilliant green. “Is your power bothering you again?”

Chief Newman had offered to work with me, to try to find some way to help me control my power. I’d refused. You couldn’t control luck. I’d long ago given up hope of ever taming it, along with my hair.

The doorbell rang, saving me from an explanation.

“I’ll get it,” I said. “It’s probably more trick-or-treaters.”

It was late October and still several days before Halloween, but little ghosts and ghouls and goblins had already started showing up asking for candy. Or else. Halloween was a two-week-long event in Bigtime that wouldn’t wrap up until the night of the thirty-first. The extended holiday gave everybody, kids and adults alike, a chance to go around town all dressed up, instead of just the heroes and villains.

“What are you giving them?” Fiona asked, her eyes gleaming at the thought of Halloween candy. “Snickers? M&Ms? Chocolate Twinkies?”

The only thing Fiona loved as much as Johnny was food. With her fire-based superpowers and high metabolism, Fiona could eat whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to, and never gain a pound. Besides her nighttime gig as a superhero, that was the only other thing I really hated about her. Well, that and her sky-high legs. I was just a couple inches over five feet. And her perfectly smooth blond hair and gorgeous baby blues. My tawny locks resembled a bush more often than not, while my hazel eyes just sort of faded into my bronze face. All right, so I really hated a lot of things about Fiona.

“Hardly. I’m giving them apples, fat-free trail mix, boxes of raisins, and bags of unpopped, butter-free microwave popcorn.” I pointed to the far end of the long table, where I’d put the plastic bowls of goodies.

“What’s the fun in that?” Fiona said.

“Not contributing to the American epidemic of childhood obesity, for one,” I snapped.

Fiona rolled her eyes. “Your house is so going to be covered in toilet paper in the morning.”

Bobby cleared his throat. “Actually, Bella, I took the liberty of buying some candy bars on my way home today. Just in case you ran out of apples.”

“Chocolate? Where?” Fiona demanded.

I put my hands on my hips and glared at my grandfather. There was a devilish twinkle in his green eyes I knew all too well.

“And how many did you eat before you put them away?”

His lips twitched. “Bella, you’ve told me many times I shouldn’t eat candy. I didn’t have a single one.”

Right. And I looked good in a thong.

“Grandfather,” I warned.

Bobby’s heart, cholesterol, and blood pressure weren’t the best in the world, something I was trying to change. With little success. My grandfather still ate like he was twenty-three, instead of seventy-three, despite doctor’s orders and my constant nagging. And don’t even get me started on his other bad habit—motorcycle riding. Bobby had broken his leg two years ago gallivanting around town, and I’d moved back home to take care of and keep an eye on him.

Bobby ignored me. “They’re in the kitchen, Fiona, if you want to hand them out.”

Fiona snapped to her feet. “Count me in.”

Bobby’s eyes sparkled. “Try to leave some for the kids.”

Fiona sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulder again before disappearing into the kitchen.

I grabbed the bowls of apples, raisins, and popcorn and carried them to the front door. The static crackled around me like an invisible force field, but it seemed to be holding steady. For the moment. Fiona came out of the kitchen and fell in step beside me, candy bars in hand. She opened the door, and I smiled, ready to greet our visitors.

“Trick or treat!” the kids shouted, holding out plastic orange pumpkins.

There were five of them, of course. Each one dressed like a member of the Fearless Five. A girl clad in orange-red spandex was supposed to be Fiera, and one in silver represented Karma Girl. One of the little boys sported an Irish green cape as Mr. Sage, while the other had on black leather and two long swords made out of aluminum foil for Striker. The man with them wore black-and-white goggles, representing Hermit.

Superheroes. More stupid superheroes. What happened to the good old days when kids dressed up as princesses and cowboys and monsters?

My smile faltered, but I held out the bowls. “Who wants some apples?”

Silence. Dead silence. I didn’t even hear crickets chirping in the front yard.

The kids looked at me, then each other, then at the man. No one said anything.

My power surged again. The static discharged.

And the plastic bowls in my hands shattered.

You would have thought I had some explodium in the containers instead of healthy snacks. Raisins and popcorn showered us all, while bits of pulverized apple pelted my thick, curly hair and face. The few apples that survived the explosion intact bounced down the long driveway and out of sight. The pieces of the splintered bowls zipped through the air, embedding themselves in the stone steps like daggers around my feet. In a perfect circle, no less.

I sighed and wiped a bit of apple juice off my nose. I’d long ago grown used to my power—and the embarrassment that went along with it.

“I’m so sorry,” I said, scooping raisins and popcorn into my hands. “I have more inside. Let me get that.”

I’d been prepared for such a disaster. In fact, I always bought five of everything, whether it was candy or jewelry or clothes. Years of bad luck had taught me that my jinxed power would find a way to trash even the safest, sturdiest object. In the last six months, I’d gone through seven purses, dozens of shirts, and more shoes than I cared to admit. And two cars.

“Um, I think we’ll just try the next house,” the man replied, drawing the kids close to him.

Fiona not-so-gently shouldered past me. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some chocolate bars right here. They’re a little melted, but they’re still good.”

“Yeah!”

The kids stepped forward, and Fiona gave them each a chocolate bar. The girl in the Fiera costume got two. Naturally.

Satisfied, the kids headed back down the driveway in search of more Halloween goodies to rot their teeth and drive their sugar levels through the roof.

Fiona smirked. “See? I told you the kids would want candy.”

I sighed again. I should have known better. After all, it was almost Halloween.

And the perfect time of year for my power to play tricks on me.

Chapter Two

After cleaning up my unwanted goodies and picking most of the apples out of my hair, I went back to the dining room, where I said my good-nights to everyone and wished Johnny and Fiona a safe trip.

“Call me when you land, and remember to check in every other day,” I said. “I want to know how you’re doing and what you’ve seen.”

Johnny gave me a tight hug. “Don’t worry, Bella. Nothing’s going to happen. We’ll be fine.”

“Of course, we will,” Fiona added, unwrapping her third candy bar in as many minutes. “No work, no ubervillains, no city to save. Just fun, sun, and food. Lots of food. We’re going to have a fabulous time, and that’s all there is to it. Relax, Bella. I’ll bring Johnny home in one piece. Don’t I always?”

I started to remind her about the incident two weeks ago, when the two of them had run into Yeti Girl, who’d almost removed Johnny’s head from his body. But Grandfather cut me off.

“Of course, you will,” Bobby said, winking at her.

I bit my lip. Everyone thought I was a silly worrywart who saw danger lurking around every corner. Well, it did. You could never be too vigilant or too careful. Not only did you have to worry about superheroes and ubervillains in this city, but there were ordinary things to be cautious of too—muggers, car accidents, paper cuts, carbs. Add all that to my capricious luck and you had a recipe for disaster.

Chief Newman’s eyes flashed. “Yes, I think you’ll have a wonderful time. And I think I’ll have some more of that delicious sangria.”

The older superhero waved his hand, and his wineglass floated back across the table toward me.

I headed upstairs and went to bed. I’d had enough superheroes—pint-sized and otherwise—for one evening.

* * *

Early the next morning, I plodded down to the gym in the basement of the Bulluci mansion. I started every day by huffing and puffing on the elliptical trainer for at least thirty minutes. Unlike Fiona, I had to work out like a fiend to stay in reasonably good shape.

In addition to my sun-kissed skin, my mother, Lucia, had also passed down her curvy form to me. While it had looked good on her, I was all hips and thighs. Just staring at food was enough to make me gain three pounds. It didn’t help that I had an unhealthy weakness for carbs—namely mounds of pasta and piles of French fries.

I let myself daydream about a plate of cheese fries from Quicke’s for two whole minutes. Then, I flipped on my favorite oldies CD, climbed onto the machine, and went to work. I pushed myself hard, staying on the elliptical trainer for the better part of an hour, until my legs burned and screamed for mercy.

Grandfather and Johnny didn’t understand my need to live healthily. They didn’t know why I worked out so much or tried to get them to eat things that weren’t drenched in oil and butter and salt. I couldn’t control my supposed superpower, but I could control the rest of my body and what I put into it. I had enough things to worry about. My health wasn’t going to be one of them.

I finished my workout with a little yoga and some slow stretches. The static gathered round my body, ready to lash out. My skin hummed with energy, but I ignored the sensation. Sometimes, if I pretended I couldn’t feel the static, I could delay the chaos. For a few minutes.

I headed to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast. My grandfather had built our villa-style house when he came to the States some fifty years ago, and the kitchen was one of my favorite rooms. White cabinets with angel outlines carved into the wood hovered above a tile counter that ran along one wall. A round, maple-colored table sat in the middle of the open area, underneath a crystal, wing-shaped light fixture. A sliding glass door led out to a stone patio, where you could view the orange, fig, olive, and other trees in the orchard in the backyard. More angels decorated the refrigerator magnets, the fresco on one wall, and even the folded dish towels beside the stainless steel sink.

Grandfather lounged at the table reading the morning editions of The Chronicle and The Exposé, the city’s two major newspapers. The remains of a bagel and some fresh fruit littered a plate in front of him. I looked around, but I didn’t see or smell any telltale signs of steak, bacon, eggs, and hash browns—Bobby’s breakfast of choice.

“Anything exciting going on?” I moved over to one of the refrigerators and poured myself some calcium-fortified, low-calorie, low-sugar orange juice.

The kitchen was one of the biggest rooms in the mansion. It needed to be to house all our appliances. Two of everything crowded in here—stoves, refrigerators, microwaves, coffeepots, juicers, blenders, food processors. Not to mention the drawers full of silverware, plates, and glasses. We needed all the backups, since I had a nasty habit of destroying them. You’d be surprised how easy it is to blow up a microwave or snap the handle off a stainless steel pot.

Plus, the extra refrigerator helped feed Fiona and her enormous appetite. Although, when I zapped one of them, she was more than happy to eat everything inside before it spoiled, including some of the condiments. Fiona had a particular fondness for chocolate-flavored whipped cream, a craving I didn’t really understand. She was always grabbing a can of it and rushing off to find Johnny.

“Not much,” Bobby said, rustling the tall pages. “A pileup on the interstate, a purse snatching downtown, a home invasion. Some guy got beat up pretty badly in that one, but Swifte came along and broke it up. He rushed the guy to the hospital.”

Swifte was another one of Bigtime’s superheroes, famous for his speed, public-relations skills, and shimmering white costume. He zoomed around town fighting evil and getting every bit of press coverage he could. Unlike the Fearless Five, who tried to keep a low profile, Swifte loved the spotlight.

I helped myself to some more orange juice, along with a bowl of apple-cinnamon-flavored oatmeal and a banana.

“I’m going to see Joanne James and the rest of the committee about the museum benefit,” I said between sweet, steaming bites. “It’s our last major planning session, so I probably won’t be home until late. What do you have planned for today? Going to have lunch with your lady friend again?”

Lady friend was Bobby’s term for the woman he’d been seeing for the last month. I didn’t know where he’d met her or even who she was, but Bobby had been spending a lot of time with her. Having lunch and dinner together. Walking through Paradise Park. Going dancing at some of the jazz clubs. He’d even stayed overnight at her place a few times.

My grandmother had died years ago, and Bobby had dated plenty since then. But a smile creased his face and his step pepped up whenever he talked about his lady friend that made me think she might be more than just another casual flirtation.

I was thrilled for Grandfather but a little concerned I didn’t know who she was. I wanted to make sure Bobby found someone who loved him for him, and not for his money or the Bulluci name. I was also a tiny bit jealous. Johnny had Fiona, and now Bobby had a lady friend. I wanted someone special in my life too.

“No, we’re not having lunch today,” Bobby said. “But I’m sure I’ll find something to do.”

“So when are you going to introduce her?” I asked. “I’m dying to meet the woman who’s captivated you.”

Bobby waggled his finger. “Soon, Bella. Soon. She’s busy with her work right now, but once that’s done, I promise we’ll have her over for dinner, and you can grill her to your heart’s content.”

Just because I’d asked Fiona what her intentions were toward Johnny, I’d gotten a reputation for being overprotective when it came to my brother and grandfather’s love lives. I just wanted to keep them safe from everything, including broken hearts.

“Has Johnny called yet?” I asked, scooping up the last of my oatmeal. “Did they get to the hotel all right?”

“He called this morning before you were up.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Because everything was fine, and they were on their way out to do some sightseeing. Johnny said he’ll call back in a couple of days. You can talk to your brother then.”

Grandfather stuck his nose in the sports section, reading the latest European soccer news. Unlike me, he didn’t feel the need to know where the members of his family were every single hour of the day. Maybe it was his age or all that he’d seen in his seventy-three years, but Bobby had a very casual, relaxed attitude about life. He could always find something to laugh at or smile about, no matter how bad things were. I envied his carefree nature.

Bobby kept reading his papers, so I finished my breakfast and went upstairs. I took a quick shower, then put on a crisp, tailored, white shirt, fitted black pants, and sensible black pumps. Fiona could wear jungle prints and leopard spots and zebra stripes all she wanted, but nothing was classier and more elegant than basic black with a refreshing splash of white.

I rummaged through my jewelry box until I came up with a short, thin silver chain. I fastened it around my neck, and a small pair of diamond-cut angel wings settled into the hollow of my throat.

Given my male relatives’ propensity for morphing into Johnny Angel, we Bullucis have become collectors and connoisseurs of all things angel-related. From furniture to carpets to light fixtures, if it has an angel or cherub or pair of wings on it, we probably have one. Or thirteen.

In my set of rooms alone, angel and wing and halo carvings decorated the headboard on my bed, the coffee table in the sitting room, and the desk where I kept my sketch pads and art supplies. Clouds puffed across the walls and ceiling in the bathroom, and instead of claw feet, four small angel heads supported my oversized bathtub.

I looked into the full-length mirror in the corner of the bedroom. My eyes lingered on my necklace. The chain and winged charm had been a present from my father, James, on my sixteenth birthday. I’d started wearing them more often since he’d been murdered. It made me feel closer to him, even though he was gone. I fingered the charm, and my father’s face flashed through my mind.

Sandy hair, tan skin, blue eyes, strong, sure hands. James Bulluci had been a wonderful father. Kind, caring, and never too busy to read me a story or tuck me into bed. After my mother died in a car accident, he’d doubled his efforts to be a good father. He’d taken Johnny and me out at least once a week to spend some quality time together. We’d go to Paradise Park to ride the Ferris wheel, or to the library to listen to tall tales, or even to the art museum to look at all the wonderful paintings and sculptures.

I’d loved my father dearly. Except for one thing—his alter ego, Johnny Angel. A tradition he’d inherited from my grandfather, the original Angel. I’d never understood why the two of them had felt the need to dress up in black leather. They weren’t superheroes. At least, not traditional heroes like the Fearless Five. Neither one had a power. But for years, they’d both ridden around Bigtime on custom-made motorcycles, hanging out with the local biker gangs and getting into trouble.

And fighting ubervillains.

At least once a week, my father would come home bloody and bruised from some battle. And I’d be waiting to patch him up. I’d help him out of his torn, ripped costume, wipe the blood off his face, assess the damage, and go to work with my needle and thread. I knew as much about cuts and stitches and setting broken bones as any ER doc did. Maybe more, given all the ones I’d treated over the years.

But the wounds weren’t the worst part.

It was the waiting. The wondering. The heavy, crushing fear my father wouldn’t come home. Ever again. That some ubervillain would kill him. Or that he’d get beaten to death in a bar fight. Or the more pedestrian worry that he’d have a motorcycle accident.

Just about every night, I’d sit up with my mother and wait for my father to come home. After she died, I did it by myself. Sometimes, Grandfather and Johnny would wait with me, but most nights, I was alone. They didn’t worry like I did. They always thought my father would come home safe and more or less sound.

Until one night, he didn’t.

Two ubervillains, Siren and Intelligal, had muscled in on territory controlled by some bikers my father was friendly with. They’d asked him to help get rid of the ubervillains. My father confronted them, and Intelligal had launched a couple of explodium missiles at him. He’d tried to outrun the missiles on his motorcycle, but he’d never had a chance. All we’d found of my father had been his watch—without his hand attached.

My brother, Johnny, had become Angel then, determined to bring my father’s killers to justice. That’s when he’d crossed paths with Fiera and the rest of the Fearless Five. The superheroes had been after Siren and Intelligal as well, and Fiera had convinced Johnny to join forces with them. But Johnny had still almost died when the ubervillains kidnapped and held him hostage.

My power pulsed, and my wavy, shoulder-length hair started to frizz, despite the bottle of extra-strength conditioner I’d just used. My luck always got more unstable when I was emotional. I closed my eyes and took deep breaths, pulling the air down into the pit of my stomach.

I pushed away my troubled thoughts and fastened a silver watch onto my wrist. At least, I tried to. Bright, blue, static-charged sparks shot out as soon as I touched the metal and sent the watch flying across the room. It landed with a soft thump on the far side of the sofa.

I walked over and picked up the watch, which was embossed with angel wings. Luckily, it hadn’t broken, and I looked at the time. Almost noon. I needed to get going. A chairperson should always be on time for her own called meeting.

Besides, Joanne James would eat me alive if I was late. In her own way, the Bigtime society queen was scarier than even the most feared ubervillain.

* * *

I grabbed my black leather shoulder bag and headed outside. A beautiful October day greeted me, and I breathed in, enjoying the rich, earthy aroma of the changing seasons. Fall was my favorite time of year. The sun seared my eyes with its brilliance, but the air still felt damp and cool. Puffy clouds zoomed across the sky, pushed on by a steady breeze. The wind stirred the scarlet leaves on the maple trees lining the curving driveway, and a few fluttered down to the burnished brown of the lawn. I made a mental note to make some sketches of the trees before they lost all their magnificent leaves. Everything was showing off a last bit of color before the gray winter took hold, and I wanted to capture the city in all its autumn glory.

Joanne only lived three houses down, but on Lucky Way, the street where we lived, that was more like three miles. So, I got in my car, a nice, safe, reliable Benz, and steered down the driveway and through the iron gate that bordered our property.

I saw Brilliance, the Berkley Brighton estate, two miles before I actually got to it. No trees surrounded Berkley’s mansion to hide it from sight. It would take a whole mountain range to do that. The house sat on a tall rise that afforded the whiskey billionaire a spectacular view of Bigtime Bay from his seventh-story windows. That story was glassed in on all sides, along with the first, third, and fifth floors. The rest of the mansion was constructed of steel and chrome, giving it a very chic, sleek feel. You would never run out of things to do at Brilliance, which featured an Olympic-sized hot tub, three tennis courts, and two helicopter pads. And that was just on the roof.

The Bulluci manor was large, but Berkley’s sprawling, modern-day behemoth made it look like a doll’s house. The only other residence in all of Bigtime that exceeded the size of Brilliance was Sublime, the enormous estate owned by Sam Sloane.

I drove up the mile-long drive and stopped the car at the front door. A tuxedo-clad valet greeted me and whisked away my vehicle to Berkley’s private garage. Another valet scurried to open the front door for me while still another waited inside to take my black pea coat, brush it, steam it, and hang it in an empty, spotless closet.

Berkley wasn’t into antiques and suits of armor like Sam Sloane was. Instead, his house featured lots of open space with modern, deco-style furniture done mostly in whites, silvers, and grays, with a few black pinstripes. Very minimalist, very modern, very sophisticated. I loved it.

A butler led me to one of the libraries on the second floor. Books and globes and maps galore decorated the room, along with a white-marble fireplace, several tables, and five sets of cream-colored chairs. Gray rugs covered the marble floor, and the heavy, black drapes on the windows were open, offering a wonderful view of the dark, dense woods that lined the back of the mansion.

Joanne James waited in the library, with her husband, Berkley, by her side. Joanne was a tall, skinny, almost anorexic-looking woman with black curls that cascaded halfway down her back. Her eyes were a vivid blue, almost violet, and her skin was as smooth and flawless as ivory. Even though it was a bit chilly in the library, Joanne wore a sleeveless, powder-blue suit with square, white buttons. A Fiona Fine original, given the amount of leg and cleavage it showed.

Berkley was a short, square, fifty-something man with a mane of blondish hair. He was also the richest person in Bigtime, having turned his family’s secret whiskey recipe into a multi-billion-dollar empire. Brighton’s Best whiskey was legendary for its smooth flavor and hefty price tag.

At the moment, though, Joanne and Berkley didn’t look like the obscenely rich, high-powered couple they were. Berkley leaned over the back of a chair and kissed Joanne’s throat while his hand caressed her exposed breast. Joanne’s chin was up, her eyes closed, her lips parted. She was thoroughly enjoying her husband’s, um, attention.

Joanne and Berkley had gotten married three months ago during a late-summer ceremony in Paradise Park. They’d pulled out all the stops for the wedding, renting out the whole park for three days. Food. Flowers. Oceans of champagne. Mountains of presents. And that was just for the two thousand invited guests. I could only imagine what Berkley and Joanne had treated each other to in private.

Like Berkley, Joanne had plenty of money of her own. She’d just gotten it a different way. Joanne wasn’t a superhero, but she had a superhero-like nickname—the black widow. That’s what Fiona and some of the other society folks called her. Joanne had married and divorced several men over the years, adding to her bank balance every time.

But she truly seemed to care about Berkley, and he about her. It never ceased to amaze me. A pang of loneliness stabbed my heart at the sight of them bonding so, um, vigorously. I hadn’t even been out on a date since before my father was murdered.

But first things first. I had a meeting to attend and a benefit to plan. If I could break up the happy couple.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat. “Ahem.”

Joanne opened her eyes, but Berkley kept kissing her throat and stroking her chest.

“Oh, hello, Bella,” Joanne said, her voice low and husky. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

I doubted she would have heard a marching band, the way she purred under Berkley’s touch.

“Hello, Joanne,” I replied, staring at the Oriental rug under my pumps instead of at her breasts.

“Hello, Bella.” Berkley straightened, took his hand out of Joanne’s top, and quit kissing her. “It’s so nice to see you again.”

“You too, Berkley.” Normally, I would have shaken his hand. Not today.

“How’s Bobby doing?” Berkley asked, a smile creasing his face. “I haven’t seen him in a few weeks.”

“He’s fine.”

Berkley had been friends with my father and grandfather for years. The three shared a love of motorcycles, and Berkley had convinced my father to build several for him. Berkley had spent many nights in the Bulluci manor, drinking wine and talking about paint jobs and chrome pipes and everything else related to motorcycles. But he was never too busy to speak to me, and he’d brought me all sorts of dolls and stuffed animals and art supplies when I was a kid. I thought of him as an uncle of sorts.

“Well, I’m afraid I have a conference call to sit in on. I’ll leave you girls to your planning,” Berkley said, pressing a kiss to the top of Joanne’s head.

She grabbed his hand. “I’m not sure what time we’ll be done. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover today.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll wait up for you. In more ways than one.” Berkley winked at his new bride.

“Just like always?” Joanne asked in a teasing tone.

“Just like always.”

Berkley touched Joanne’s cheek. She put her hand over his and gave it a gentle squeeze. Berkley squeezed back and left the library, whistling a cheery tune.

I sank into a chair on the opposite side of the table from Joanne. I pulled my notes and files out of my shoulder bag, pretending not to notice the other woman buttoning up her blouse. Evidently, Joanne hadn’t felt the need to wear a bra today. I couldn’t help but hope my breasts looked that good when I was her age. Whatever it was. Joanne’s smooth, unlined face made it was hard to tell exactly how old she was, although I would guess she had to be at least forty.

“Sorry if we shocked you, Bella.” Joanne fluffed out her mass of raven-colored curls. “Newlyweds, you know. We just can’t seem to get enough of each other.”

“Of course,” I murmured. “Think nothing of it.”

I didn’t really mind Joanne and Berkley’s open display of affection. After all, it was better than watching superhero-propelled glasses float past me.

Chapter Three

While Joanne applied a fresh coat of lavender lipstick and powdered her nose, the rest of the committee trickled into the library—Grace Caleb, Abby Appleby, and Hannah Harmon.

I greeted each in turn, shaking their hands. “Grace. Abby. Hannah. So glad you could make it.”

Grace Caleb was a seventy-something widow and one of the bastions of Bigtime society. She came from money so old no one could remember how she’d gotten it in the first place. Grace was the sort of genteel lady who grew roses and drank tea and played bridge. She wore a sedate, flowered dress topped off with a knit mauve sweater set with pearls. Grace never went anywhere without a sweater or shawl of some kind.

Where Grace was sweet, pink softness, Hannah Harmon was all bright, hard lines. Her glossy, auburn hair, cut in a razor-sharp bob, ended at her chin, highlighting her killer cheekbones. Her thin, red lips slashed across her face, while her brown eyes were slightly pointed, like a cat’s. A heavy gold chain flashed around her neck, contrasting with the coffee color of her silk blouse and skirt. Gold rings set with rubies sparkled on her fingers, and a gold, filigree bracelet encircled her wrist. Hannah came from new money, and she liked showing it off.

Abby Appleby was somewhere in between, although much farther down on the income ladder. Her brown hair was pulled back into a sensible ponytail, and clear gloss covered her lips. She wore olive-colored cargo pants and a white, lacy camisole topped with a green plaid, button-up shirt. A thick, wide watch clamped across her wrist looked like it could tell you what time it was in New Zealand, Thailand, and Madagascar—all at once. My attention went to the bag slung over Abby’s shoulder. It resembled a large suitcase and had more zippers and pockets and hidey holes than a box full of purses.

The three women took seats around the table, murmuring hellos to me and each other.

I took my own chair across from Joanne and flipped through the files I’d brought. “I thought we’d start with a quick recap of what we decided on last time.”

Given my rabid love of art, I’d been elected chairperson of the Friends of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art a couple months ago. My main duty as madam chairperson was to plan and organize the museum’s annual fall fundraiser. The museum, which relied heavily on public donations, had opened up a new wing and needed money to finish paying for it.

Joanne and Grace were also involved in the Friends group. Joanne because she was the richest woman in the city and that’s what rich women did, and Grace because she was one of the best-loved society matrons and actually liked art. They’d both volunteered to help with the benefit.

Abby was the professional event planner in Bigtime. Whether you were having a wedding, a funeral, or a convention, you called Abby to plan it. She’d built her reputation and her business, A+ Events, on her ability to pull off complicated events in a matter of weeks, sometimes days. Abby fronted just about every fundraising committee in the city, and I’d drafted her for this one too.

Hannah had also offered her services. The businesswoman had lots of connections and knew how to get things done, which is why I’d been happy to let her help.

The five of us had been meeting for the last two months. The benefit was less than a week away, and it was crunch time.

I scanned my papers. “We agreed to have the Bigtime Bachelors event at Quicke’s, starting two hours before the official benefit at the museum. We’ve sent out invitations to all the eligible bachelors and bachelorettes. Abby, how are we coming on that?”

Abby unzipped a pocket on her enormous bag and pulled out some laminated, color-coded pages, along with an itemized list and three highlighters. “We signed the contract with Quicke’s to supply food and space for the bachelor auction, as well as food and drinks at the museum. Kyle Quicke haggled with me, but I got him down into our price range. Most of the bachelors and bachelorettes we approached have agreed to participate. I’m still tracking down a few stragglers, but we’ll have more than enough people.”

“Good,” I replied. “What else?”

“We also approved my costume-ball idea for the overall theme,” Grace added in her soft voice.

I grimaced. I’d been horrified when Grace brought up the idea of a masquerade ball. More than enough people ran around Bigtime in costumes already. But the others had agreed with Grace, and I’d been outvoted. Joanne, in particular, thought it sounded like marvelous fun, especially since the benefit was scheduled for Halloween night. Evidently, Joanne was tired of dressing up in the finest clothes money could buy, and she wanted to slum in spandex. Designer-made, of course.

“Right. That.” I tried to muster up some semblance of enthusiasm. “Are the invitations done yet?”

Grace nodded, her coifed, silver hair bobbing up and down. “I okayed the final proof a week ago, and they went out in the mail that same afternoon.”

We’d been announcing the date of the benefit for weeks to drum up interest and solicit early donations. But I wanted to make sure all the bigwigs got a personal invitation to attend, as well as a follow-up phone call to confirm their RSVP. Such specialized attention made them more agreeable to parting with some of their cash. You had to suck up a lot to get a whole lot more. That was the way the game was played in Bigtime.

“And the decorations?” I asked.

“We can’t put up much in the museum because of the security and climate-control issues, but I’ve arranged for some greenery and lights,” Grace replied. “They’ll arrive at the museum the day before the benefit.”

“Good.” I turned to Joanne and Hannah, who were handling the most delicate part of the event. “And how are the other donations coming?”

“Fine,” Joanne said. “For the most part.”

Lots of wealthy art lovers and collectors lived in the city, and many had more than a few priceless pieces tucked away in their mansions. My idea had been to get the Bigtime high-society members to donate art from their private collections. The pieces would be housed in the museum’s new wing as part of a special exhibit that would open the night of the benefit. My plan was for the pieces to remain on display through the end of the year, so everyone in Bigtime could come and see them. Public interest alone, along with a small admission fee, should raise over two million, more than enough to pay off the new wing.

“It’s going fine? What does that mean?” I asked. “If it’s the security they’re worried about—”

“It’s not the security,” Joanne said. “We’ve gotten verbal commitments from everyone to donate something.”

“Verbal commitments? That’s all? The benefit’s in six days. Stuff should already be arriving at the museum.”

My hair frizzed, and my fingertips itched with static. My luck always acted up when I was emotional or stressed out. The thought of the benefit being a miserable failure put me on the edge of panic.

“No one wants to commit until they know what everyone else is donating. They all feel the need to outdo each other.” Hannah sniffed.

“But the point of this was to donate different things, quirky, fun things, not the same old Picassos and Rembrandts and Renoirs,” I said. “Our theme is Whimsical Wonders. Who cares how much a statue cost?”

Abby gave me an amused look. “Why, they do, of course. Everything’s a competition in this town. You should know that, Bella, given how you and Fiona go at it.”

I grimaced. Fiona and I didn’t really go at it. We’d never romped around in fountains or pulled out each other’s hair, but we were the top two designers in the city. With our radically different styles, people just assumed we hated each other, especially since Fiona had gotten engaged to Johnny.

“It really doesn’t matter, though,” Joanne said in a proud voice. “Naturally, Berkley will have the most expensive item on display.”

That small item Joanne so casually referred to was the Star Sapphire. Weighing in at a couple hundred carats, the sapphire was one of the most expensive gemstones in the world. Berkley had graciously agreed to put the sapphire on display. After I’d more or less begged him and signed on to design a whole new wardrobe for Joanne. At cost.

I’d do anything to ensure the benefit was a success, even sew until my fingers fell off for Joanne James. It was all going to be worth it in the end. The Star Sapphire was the centerpiece of the Whimsical Wonders exhibit, and we’d used pictures of the enormous stone in all our promotional materials. Ticket sales to see the gem had already exceeded everyone’s loftiest expectations. Even Arthur Anders, the quiet, reserved curator of the museum, salivated about the prospect of it going on display.

Joanne waved her hand. “Don’t worry, Bella. I’ll put the word out Berkley is donating several more items no one can hope to top, and everyone else will fall in line. They always do.”

It was true. Whatever Berkley Brighton did, people hurried to hop on the bandwagon.

“Are you sure?” I asked.

Joanne nodded. “Sugar, I’m always sure.”

* * *

Several hours later, I slumped back in my chair and rubbed my aching head. We’d gone over every possible thing three times. The food. Auction. Bachelors. RSVPs. Decorations. Donated art. I knew the details by heart. I could recite the menu forward and backward. Spit out the exact number of cream puffs we’d ordered. Rattle off the names of the bachelors we’d signed up. Remember the exact cost of the potted plants. Conjure up obscure facts about the art exhibit.

And I still felt like I was forgetting something.

We decided to take a break before wrapping up for the evening. One of the cooks brought in a silver tray full of star-shaped cucumber sandwiches, three kinds of cheese, crackers, fresh fruit, and steaming tea.

Grace and Joanne chatted about an event they’d attended last night. Abby shuffled her papers, pens, and files back into the proper slots in her shoulder bag while Hannah sipped some cinnamon-flavored tea. I desperately wanted something to eat, but I scooted my chair away from the table. I didn’t want my luck to flare up and cause me to upset the whole tray. The way my fingers itched, it was only a matter of time before something bad happened.

“What did you think of Nate Norris’s barbecue, Hannah?” Grace asked, turning her blue eyes to the other woman.

“I don’t know. I wasn’t invited.” Hannah said in a frosty voice.

“Careful, sugar,” Joanne said in a glib tone, her violet eyes sparkling. “The chip on your shoulder’s showing again.”

Hannah’s red lips puckered. Like most women on the society circuit, Hannah was a millionaire in her own right. It was how she’d gotten her money that some people had problems with. Hannah’s specialty was hostile takeovers. She took bankrupt corporations, bought up all the stock to get a controlling interest, made the businesses profitable again, then sold off the pieces for far more than she’d invested in the first place. The whole process resulted in a lot of hurt feelings all the way around.

Of course, there was some other talk about Hannah as well. That she used less-than-legal methods to divide and conquer. Some folks even whispered that she had ties to ubervillains and employed them on occasion to get what she wanted. But nothing had ever been proven. In addition to being a ruthless businesswoman, Hannah had enough money to make just about any problem disappear, including society gossip.

But she couldn’t quite break through the thin, pink wall put up by the older matrons, no matter how hard she tried. And Hannah tried. Taking people to lunch, sending them presents and hard-to-get items, throwing lavish parties herself. For some reason, being rich wasn’t enough for Hannah. She wanted to be one of the in-crowd too.

“That was probably just an oversight on Nate’s part. Next time, dear, I’m sure you’ll get an invitation. It was nothing, really. Just a simple barbecue,” Grace said.

She let out a sympathetic cluck and leaned over to pat the other woman’s hand. But Hannah jerked hers away, almost spilling her tea. Joanne smiled and poured herself a cup of the steaming beverage. Abby kept on shuffling her things, ignoring the drama.

I decided to follow suit and reached for one of the star-shaped sandwiches. Surely, a few carbs wouldn’t hurt. I could pretend the bread was whole-wheat—

My power surged the moment I picked up the soft mound. I immediately dropped the sandwich back onto the silver platter.

Too late.

The feather-light sandwich hit the edge of the platter with the force of an anvil. The dish flew into the air, flipping end over end six—no, seven—times before landing right side up in the exact spot where it had been a moment before. The sandwiches that had been on the platter also rose into the air before stacking themselves neatly back onto the silver surface—one on top of the other until they formed a perfect little pyramid. The final sandwich plunged point first into the others, creating a star shape atop the mound of bread. No chef alive could have created a more perfect display.

Mouths agape, everyone stared at the now-immaculate platter. I sat perfectly still, scarcely daring to breathe.

“Well, you certainly don’t see that every day,” Joanne said in a wry tone.

“No,” Hannah replied. “You certainly don’t.”

Hannah put her teacup down on the platter. She did it gently, with caution, given the weirdness of a moment ago. But that one small act was enough to upset the delicate balance my luck had achieved between platter and bread.

And send the pyramid of sandwiches tumbling into my lap.

Bread and cucumbers and cheese and mayonnaise splattered onto the front of my shirt and dripped off my lap onto the thick rugs below. But that wasn’t the worst part. The cup tipped over too, sending a spray of tea at me. The brown liquid hit my chest before dribbling down my torso, making one enormous, soupy mess.

At least the tea had cooled down. Otherwise, I would have been badly burned. That was the weird thing about my luck. It made bad things happen to me, but they were never terribly serious or life threatening. Just horribly embarrassing. Like this particular moment.

The other women stared at me. Shocked and disgusted.

“Well,” I said, trying to laugh as I picked a bit of cucumber off my cheek. “I guess I won’t be needing a facial anytime soon. Mayonnaise is supposed to be great for your skin, right?”

Nobody answered me.

Chapter Four

The meeting broke up after that. Grace, Hannah, and Abby said their good-byes to Joanne and me. I echoed their sentiments from the floor, where I crawled around on my hands and knees picking up soggy pieces of tea-soaked bread.

Joanne lounged in her chair and surveyed the mess. A smile played across her lavender lips. “You certainly know how to clear a room, Bella.”

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to ignore the slick, greasy feel of mayonnaise on my hands. “I’ll clean it up and pay for the rug. I know it must be expensive.”

Joanne waved her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve been dying to get a new one anyway. Now, I have the perfect excuse. There’s a bathroom down the hall. Go get yourself cleaned up. And try to do something with your hair, will you? It looks all nappy and frizzy. I’ll get one of the housekeepers to take care of this.”

“Are you sure? About the rug, I mean—”

“Go!” Joanne pointed her manicured nail toward the door. “Berkley has a hundred rugs like this one. He won’t miss it, I promise.”

Well, I’d offered. That was all I could do. This wasn’t the first rug I’d ruined, and it wouldn’t be the last. In fact, there were several locations in the greater Bigtime area where I was no longer welcome because I’d caused so many catastrophes. Just last week, I’d been barred for life from Jewel’s Jewel Emporium. I’d obliterated not one, not two, but three diamond-solitaire pendants. It was very, very hard to break diamonds, but somehow, I’d found a way to reduce them all to powder. With my bare hands.

I followed Joanne’s directions as best I could. Down the hall might as well have been in another state, as big as the mansion was. It took me ten minutes to find the bathroom, which could have housed a whale. Everything sparkled, the surfaces so clean and white and sterile I doubted anything in the room had ever been used. I ran the tub-sized sink full of hot, soapy water, stripped off my white shirt, and scrubbed it. Despite the soaked-in globs of mayonnaise, the fabric came clean almost immediately. That was another strange thing about my luck. Sometimes, it was actually good, a blessing instead of just a jinx.

As for my hair, well, until Berkley or some other tycoon started making super—and I mean really, really super—strength conditioner, I’d just have to live with it. And so would Joanne.

I rummaged around in the tall cabinets until I found a hair dryer. I plugged it in one of the wall outlets, far, far away from the sink and bathtub so I wouldn’t almost electrocute myself. Or blow every fuse in the mansion. Using the hot, steady blast from the hair dryer, I got most of the moisture out of my shirt. Fifteen minutes later, I was ready to face the world again.

I headed back toward the library, admiring the rooms and furnishings I passed. Many of them were familiar to me. Johnny and I used to have a ball playing hide-and-seek in the mansion while Berkley entertained Bobby and James. Sometimes, it took us hours to find each other. Once, Johnny had hidden so well Berkley had to get his staff to help me look for him so we could go home. We finally found Johnny asleep in a bedroom closet—

POP!

I stopped, wondering at the strange sound. It reminded me of cereal snapping when you poured cold milk on it. For a moment, I wondered if I’d imagined the noise. And why. I didn’t particularly like cereal.

POP!

POP!

POP!

The sound came again and again, louder every time, and I knew I wasn’t daydreaming. The pops! emanated from a salon a few feet ahead. I crept up to the doorway and peered inside one of Berkley’s viewing rooms, where he kept his paintings and statues and other expensive, important works of art. Cushioned chairs and low couches scattered throughout the area invited people to sit and stare at everything. Night had already fallen outside, but white footlights highlighted the art against the dark walls. I’d spent many hours in this room and others like it, trying to draw and paint and sketch as well as the masters.

POP!

A man appeared in front of a particularly abstract Picasso, where there had only been empty space a moment before. He wore a formfitting, leather suit so blue it was almost black. The insignia of a scarlet rose intertwined with a silver thorn flashed on his chest. Dark hair curled around his face and silver mask, which had jagged edges that matched the thorn insignia. Although I tried to listen to as little superhero and ubervillain gossip as possible, I still recognized him.

Debonair.

One of the most notorious rakes—superhero, ubervillain, or otherwise—in Bigtime. He seduced women of all ages like other men breathed—with supreme, unconscious ease. He had a body that even the other male superheroes envied—totally, perfectly chiseled. Michelangelo’s David come to life. He wasn’t too tall or too short and had a dazzling smile that could make a blind woman see. The gallant teleporter oozed sex appeal from head to toe and billed himself as the ultimate lover and seducer. Debonair even had his own aptly named hideaway—the Lair of Seduction. Any woman who spent any time with Debonair there couldn’t help but fall under his charming spell. At least, that’s what they said on SNN, the Superhero News Network. I’d never found blue-black leather to be any sort of turn-on, no matter how impressive the body underneath it was.

Debonair wasn’t a superhero, but he wasn’t quite an ubervillain either. He didn’t care about taking over the city or world domination. Instead, he was a master thief. Of sorts. Several priceless works of art had gone missing from various homes and galleries in Bigtime over the years after Debonair had paid them a visit. But just as many had later turned up in museums and other public places around town. Debonair had his own shady agenda no one had ever really been able to figure out. The only thing you could really count on was for him to pop! in using his teleportation superpower, make some witty, charming quip, and pop! back out. He was rather like Swifte that way.

Debonair snapped his gloved fingers. A painting depicting a field of irises left its frame and appeared in his hand a second later. Berkley had more security than Fort Knox, and I waited for an alarm to start blaring. Sirens to sound. Bars to crash down over the doors and windows.

Nothing. Not even a whisper.

Debonair snapped his fingers again. A long, hollow tube appeared in his other hand. He carefully rolled up the painting and stuffed it inside. He snapped his fingers a third time, and the tube disappeared. My eyes darted around the room, wondering where the container had gone, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Only an empty frame remained where the painting had hung on the wall.

I looked up at the ceiling. The mansion’s security cameras swiveled left and right and up and down as though everything was fine and dandy. Debonair must have done something to them, obscured them in some way. Or maybe he teleported around too fast for them to follow. Either way, it was up to me to stop him.

“Hey!” I said. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Debonair turned at the sound of my voice. He didn’t seem alarmed by the fact I’d caught him stealing the painting. Didn’t seem worried or bothered in the slightest. Instead, the thief tilted his head and gave me a thorough once-over. I crossed my arms over my chest and tried to look taller and scarier than I really was. Of course, that’s rather hard to do when you’re just over five feet. Still, I tried.

POP!

He appeared at my elbow, and I stifled a surprised scream. I would have stepped back, but he grabbed my hand and pulled me toward him. I put my other hand out to brace myself against his chest and immediately realized that Debonair didn’t wear a sculpted breastplate like some of the other superheroes and ubervillains did to improve their looks or hold in a less-than-flat midsection. Those tight, taut muscles under that slick leather were all him.

My fingers spread out. Oh my. I couldn’t help but be impressed, despite my hatred of all things superhero.

“Bella Bulluci. What a delightful surprise.” His voice was low and throaty.

“You know my name?”

I stared at his broad chest, the rose insignia just even with my eyes. He smelled of some sweet smoke, like smoldering rose petals. The heady scent made my head fuzzy.

Debonair put a finger under my chin and tipped it up. His eyes slammed into my hazel ones. They were blue—as blue as blue could possibly be and then some. A ring of silver and black shimmered around the edge of his bright irises, adding to the intensity of his gaze.

“Of course, I know your name. You make some of the finest clothes in all of Bigtime. And, as you may know, I’m a purveyor of fine things.” His gaze raked over me in a slow, sensual way that made my breath catch in my throat. “All sorts of fine things. In fact, I think it’s time for me to sample one right now.”

Debonair leaned in and lowered his lips to mine.

And I got angry. Really, really angry. Yeti Girl angry. Debonair might be attractive—okay, sexy with a capital S—but that didn’t give him the right to just pop! over here and manhandle me. Lots of sexy heroes and villains called Bigtime home.

But Debonair thought he was going to kiss me just because he could? Without any encouragement whatsoever from me? After he’d stolen from my friends? I didn’t think so.

I might be short, but I can take care of myself. Johnny’s supertough exoskeleton had given him an unfair advantage when we were kids. As a result, I’d learned lots of dirty tricks to ward off unwanted noogie and tickle attacks. Like the one I was about to use right now.

I ducked Debonair’s looming lips, turned my body into his broad chest, grabbed his left arm, and flipped him over my shoulder.

POP!

He teleported away a second before he slammed into the floor. My eyes flicked around, wondering where he’d poof to next.

POP!

He appeared in the hallway in front of me. “That wasn’t very nice, Bella. All I wanted to do was kiss you.”

“Well, I didn’t want you to kiss me.”

“But I’m Debonair,” he said.

His tone was smug and self-assured, like the very mention of his name should be enough to make any woman his willing slave. And get her to take off her panties. Sexy and arrogant. A dangerous combination. One I had to work very hard not to find attractive. Maybe the Casanova routine worked on other women, but it wasn’t going to on me.

“Oh, get over yourself,” I snapped. “You’re not all that.”

He smiled. That, too, was perfect, just like the rest of him. White teeth. Nice lips. A tiny dimple in his chin.

“I think the folks in SSS would disagree with you. I’ve been their Man of the Year three times in a row now.”

“Slaves for Superhero Sex? The cult group full of crazies who worship heroes?” I snorted. “They’re hardly an appropriate judge of character. They’ll do anything in spandex.”

That was an understatement. Slaves for Superhero Sex was a group of men and women whose sole purpose in life was to get up close and personal with superheroes. SSS members deliberately did stupid, life-endangering things—like handcuff themselves to railroad tracks and swallow the key or climb to the top of the Skyline Bridge—in hopes that some superhero would come along and rescue them. Not only that, they usually tried to make time with their superhero savior after they were out of danger. In recent months, some of the more enthusiastic, morally challenged members had gone over to the dark side and started volunteering to be flunkies for various villains. At least, that’s what had been reported on SNN.

“And what about you, Bella? Do you like spandex? Or are you more of a whips-and-chains kind of girl?” Debonair asked.

“That’s none of your business!”

I couldn’t stop myself from blushing. Whips and chains? I’d never dream of doing such a thing. Why, I hadn’t even been much of a regular-sex girl lately. Not since before my father died, really.

Debonair gave me another sexy, knowing smirk, but I’d had enough of the witty banter. I was damp and tired and smelled like moldy bread. So, I skirted around him, careful to stay at least six feet away at all times, and headed down the hall.

“Where are you going?” he called out. “We were just starting to warm up to each other.”

“You want warm?” I asked, stopping in front of a small, red knob. “Think how warm you’ll be when the police show up and toss you in the slammer. Stealing from Berkley Brighton? Now, that was dumb. But pissing me off? That’s what’s really going to get you into trouble.”

I yanked down the fire alarm. Loud bells and sirens blared to life throughout the massive house. Please exit the building, a man’s voice intoned over the commotion. Please exit the building.

Debonair smiled and bowed his head to me. “Well, it seems you’ve bested me. I’m afraid I’ll have to take my leave of you now. Until we meet again, Bella Bulluci.”

“Which will hopefully be never.”

Debonair gave me another long look. “We’ll see.”

POP!

He appeared in front of me again. Before I could stop him, the thief grabbed my hand and pressed a quick kiss to the inside of my wrist. Then, he gave me a sly wink and teleported away.

I leaned against the wall and let out a long breath. I suddenly felt weak and shaky. And for some strange reason, my pulse pounded in time to the fire alarm.

* * *

“I’m sorry he got away, Berkley,” I said. “Maybe if I’d pulled the alarm sooner, the police would have been able to catch him.”

An hour had passed since I’d set off the fire alarm. Now, Berkley, Joanne, and I stood in the salon, along with a couple of Bigtime Police detectives, Chief Sean Newman, and Berkley’s personal insurance adjuster. My eyes scanned the room, taking in the damage. There really wasn’t any. Unless you considered the loss of a priceless painting to be a catastrophe. I did.

“It’s not your fault, Bella. I knew this would happen, sooner or later.” Berkley stared at the empty frame.

“What do you mean?”

“Someone’s been trying to get into the mansion,” he replied, running a hand through his wavy hair. “The alarms have been going off all week. It must have been Debonair. I guess tonight he found a way to succeed.”

“Well, he’s certainly bold, I’ll give him that,” Joanne said.

“And effective,” Berkley added. “According to my security chief, he managed to bypass all the alarms. The heat sensors, the motion detectors, the tripwires, the lasers, everything.”

“Well, most alarms aren’t designed to deal with someone with teleporting superpowers,” I said. “Is there anything I can do for you? Anything at all? I feel like this is all my fault.”

It was, given how terrible my luck was. Even now, I felt the static building up around me, waiting to lash out yet again. And I should have pulled the alarm right away, instead of confronting the thief. I knew better than that.

Berkley shook his head. “Thank you, Bella. But no.”

After giving my statement to the detectives and Chief Newman, I drove back home. It was almost midnight now, and the street was dark and empty. My thoughts turned to Debonair.

And I wondered why—why had he wanted to kiss me?

Had he just wanted to distract me? Or was there some other reason?

I shook my head. Debonair was just another guy who dressed up in leather and went around Bigtime doing whatever and whomever he pleased. I wasn’t going to give him another thought. Not a second more of my time or attention.

Easier said than done.

Ten minutes later, I parked the car in the driveway. My stomach rumbled, letting out a sound that would have made Fiona proud. So, I headed for the kitchen, determined to get something, anything to eat before going to bed, even if I had to scoop it up off the floor.

Bobby sat at the kitchen table, sipping a glass of red wine. “Ah, Bella. There you are.”

“Waiting up for me?” I asked. “That’s not like you. I said I was fine.”

I’d called Grandfather and told him what happened at Berkley’s. The robbery would be big news, and I didn’t want him to worry.

Bobby shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep. I thought a nice glass of wine might help me relax. Do you want some?”

“Please.” I wanted the whole bottle, maybe two, but unlike Fiona, I had some restraint when it came to food. I had to, given my thunder thighs.

Bobby poured me a glass, which I carefully picked up. I swirled the wine around and took a deep drink. The fruity liquid coated my tongue with its sweet-and-sour taste. I swallowed, and a pleasant warmth spread through me, melting my tension.

“Do you want some food?” Bobby said. “Let me make you a sandwich, and you can tell me about the robbery. I want all the details. What he took. What he said. What his costume looked like.”

Like many older folks, Grandfather was a news junkie. He read several papers every day to learn about the latest goings-on in Bigtime and around the world. Given his time as Johnny Angel, Grandfather was also obsessed with heroes and villains, which is why SNN was his favorite TV channel.

“Not a sandwich,” I said, remembering what had happened to Joanne’s rug. “How about a salad?”

“Done.”

Grandfather pulled lettuce, cheese, carrots, tomatoes, oil, vinegar, and more out of one of the refrigerators. I told him about finding Debonair and how I’d pulled the fire alarm to summon help. The only part I omitted was when the thief tried to kiss me—and the whole whips-and-chains comment. I just couldn’t talk to my grandfather about some things. Sex was definitely one of them.

“Well, I’m just glad you’re all right.” Bobby slid a bowl full of salad across the counter to me. “From what I’ve read, Debonair isn’t too terrible a fellow, but you never know what someone will do when he’s cornered.”

I made a noncommittal sound. After tonight, I thought Debonair was the worst of the worst. With other heroes and villains, all you had to contend with was them trying to save or kill you with their superpowers. But kissing people’s wrists? Seducing unsuspecting women? That was just weird. In a sexy kind of way.

I reached for the bowl, and my power flared. The round container scooted off the island. It was plastic, like all the other dishes I used, so it didn’t break. At least, not this time. Instead, it zoomed along the floor like a bowling ball. Rolling, rolling, rolling. I stared at the container, wishing it would somehow stop without spewing my salad everywhere. I really wanted to eat something tonight.

I felt the energy gather round me again, but I kept looking at the bowl. The container slowed and tipped itself upright, contents intact. I relaxed my concentration, smiled, and looked at Bobby.

And that’s when the bowl began to spin.

Round and round it turned, like a washing machine out of control. Pieces of cheese and lettuce and tomato whirled out of the spinning container one after the other, splattering onto the floor and ceiling and cabinets. A particularly buoyant carrot bounced up onto the sliding glass door on the opposite side of the room, a good thirty feet away. Oil and vinegar also arced out of the bowl, splashing around and creating even more of a mess. By the time the container stopped spinning, the kitchen looked like a vegetable cart had exploded inside.

I surveyed the damage for a moment, then opened a drawer and plucked out a fork. Utensil in hand, I sat down cross-legged in the middle of the kitchen floor and stabbed the first cherry tomato within easy reach. I bit down and sighed with pleasure as the tart juices filled my mouth. I was so hungry I didn’t even care if it had a little dirt on it.

“What are you doing?” Bobby asked.

“Eating dinner,” I replied, spearing a carrot. “While I still can.”

Chapter Five

The next morning, I went down to the gym for my daily workout and flipped the TV mounted on the wall to SNN. Sure enough, Debonair robbing Berkley was the major news story of the day. The tanned anchor sent the continuing coverage out to Kelly Caleb, SNN’s star reporter and Grace’s granddaughter. Kelly stood outside the closed gates to Berkley’s mansion. She flashed the camera her trademark, toothy smile and launched into a recap of last night’s events.

“Well, Jim, it seems even the richest man in Bigtime isn’t safe from crime. Bigtime police were called out to the home of whiskey billionaire Berkley Brighton around nine o’clock last night. Debonair, one of the city’s most notorious thieves, broke into Berkley’s home and removed a painting worth almost three million dollars. Brighton’s home is one of several Debonair has allegedly robbed in recent years...”

While Kelly recapped Debonair’s life of crime, SNN showed a photo montage of the thief, including still shots from his video game, Debonair Deluxe. A panoramic scan of his action figures sitting on the shelves at the department store, Oodles o’ Stuff. Even some footage of him accepting an award from the Slaves for Superhero Sex group. He looked the same in every single photo. Black hair. Blue eyes. Self-confident smirk.

I listened to the report with half an ear, my thoughts turning back to Debonair. I didn’t know why I was thinking about him again. He was just another super-something-or-other. Strong. Devious. Sexy.

I sighed. So sexy. Too bad he felt the need to go prancing around in head-to-toe leather. Because if there was one thing I would never, ever do, it was date a superhero. Or pseudo superhero. Or whatever Debonair thought he was, other than a lousy thief.

Kelly pitched her segment back to the anchor sitting in the SNN studio.

“…so Kelly, how will this affect plans for the Whimsical Wonders benefit, set for Saturday night at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art? I understand Berkley Brighton was going to donate several items to be displayed as part of a special exhibition. Is he worried about security at the museum? Especially since his own house was victimized?”

My hair frizzed out to I-stuck-my-finger-in-a-light-socket proportions. Static electricity gathered around me. And my fingers itched so badly I felt like there were bugs crawling on them. I tightened my grip on the handles of the elliptical trainer.

But my jinx wouldn’t let me be.

Blue-and-white sparks flew out from my palms, and a few of them landed on the control panel of the elliptical trainer. The machine started shrieking. Gears whined. Lights flashed. Smoke spewed up from the top. And then the device abruptly stopped, almost throwing me off.

I stumbled away, but the destruction continued. Bolts flew out of their joints. Screws popped loose. Even the paint flaked off the handlebars. Thirty seconds later, the once-sturdy elliptical trainer collapsed in on itself, reduced to the sum of its parts, as it were.

I put my hands on my hips, slumped over, and tried to get my emotions in check. Breathe. Breathe. I needed to just breathe…

I exhaled, grimacing all the while, and not because I’d just reduced another thousand-dollar piece of gym equipment to scrap metal. We didn’t need this sort of bad publicity, especially this close to the benefit. If people thought the museum wasn’t safe, they wouldn’t loan out their items. The special exhibition would be canceled, and the museum would have to return the money it had made from advance ticket sales. The benefit would flop, and it would be all my fault. Sometimes, it just didn’t pay to get out of bed in the morning.

On the TV screen, Kelly nodded to the anchor and gripped her microphone a little tighter. “Well, Jim, I spoke with Berkley’s wife, Joanne James. She said Berkley isn’t worried about security at his home or at the museum. He considers this to be a fluke and nothing more. In fact, he’s decided to donate even more items to the museum to show his good faith.”

I could have wept. “Bless you, Joanne. Bless you.”

Eventually, SNN moved on to the other stories of the day, including a brief blurb about the man Swifte had taken to the hospital. He was expected to make a full recovery. Good for him.

“And speaking of Swifte, we go back out live to Kelly Caleb, who’s managed to catch up with the speedy superhero. Or rather, he’s caught up with her,” Jim said.

Kelly popped back up on the screen. A white, almost silver blur ran circles around her before abruptly stopping. The cameraman swung his lens to the right and zoomed in on Swifte, who leaned one arm on Kelly’s shoulder and smiled.

I flipped off the TV. I didn’t want to hear the superhero blather on about his latest rescue. I didn’t want to think about any superheroes or ubervillains.

Especially not Debonair.

My hair poofed out again. Somehow, my extra-arch support, non-skid sneakers slid out from under me, and I tumbled to the ground, almost whacking my head on the side of the ruined elliptical trainer.

Even though pain flooded my body, I knew nothing was broken. I never broke anything when I fell or stumbled or slipped, except dishes. Heck, I hadn’t even gotten a concussion when a piano had rolled off its dais and slammed me into the makeup counter at Oodles o’ Stuff two months ago. What I would have tomorrow, though, would be lots of nasty-colored bruises. They’d replace the ones from last week that were just fading away.

I sighed into the carpet. I tried to shrug off my disasters as best I could, to be as upbeat as possible. But first, dinner with Fiona and Chief Newman. Spilling my goodies in front of the trick-or-treaters. My run-in with Debonair. The bad press about the upcoming benefit. Dropping every bit of food I tried to put in my mouth. It was only Monday, but I’d already had enough bad luck to last most people for an entire year.

Unfortunately, I had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

My jinx was rather predictable that way.

* * *

I spent the next few days working nonstop on the Whimsical Wonders benefit. The committee had made a lot of progress during our last meeting, but there were still a thousand little details to see to in order to make sure the event went off without a hitch. Not to mention the fact I had to repair the damage done by Debonair and his visit to Berkley’s mansion. Why, oh why couldn’t he have waited until after the benefit to rob Berkley? It would have made my life so much easier.

Speaking of Debonair, I had the strangest feeling the thief was following me around. More than once, I thought I heard that distinctive pop! that signaled his arrival or smelled his sexy, smoky scent. But whenever I looked for him, he was nowhere to be seen.

In the end, I decided my imagination was playing tricks on me. Debonair wasn’t interested in me. I certainly had no interest in him. None at all. At least, that’s what I kept telling myself. Surely, if I repeated it enough times, I could pretend it was really true.

So, I carried on with the benefit work. I met with the staff at Quicke’s to review seating arrangements. Locked down the bachelor lineup. Double-checked the security setup at the museum. Called all the bigwigs and assured them their priceless art objects would be perfectly safe. The list went on and on.

I had plenty of time to devote to the benefit, since I was taking a two-month sabbatical from Bulluci Industries, where I oversaw our fashion and houseware lines. With my father’s death and Johnny’s engagement and all the other changes in my life, I needed a break. Some time off to figure things out. That was the perk of working for the family company—I could hand things off to Johnny and Grandfather for a few weeks. It wasn’t that I was unhappy with work, but I felt there was more I could be doing with my life than designing dresses for the rich and infamous. Like maybe be a different kind of artist.

A museum-quality artist.

I’d loved drawing and painting from the first time I picked up a brush, but sketching portraits was my specialty. Over the years, I’d drawn countless pictures of Bobby, Johnny, and James. Movie stars. My favorite authors. People I passed on the street. I even used to do superheroes, back in my younger, more foolish days.

Secretly, I longed to have my works hang next to the other masterpieces inside the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art. But it was a dream I kept to myself. I didn’t know if I had the talent to be a real artist. It was a completely different sort of skill set than designing clothes. Fiona would disagree with me, of course, but anybody with a needle and thread could sew, however poorly. Not everybody who picked up a pencil could draw with it.

Besides, the one time I’d attempted to break into the art world, I hadn’t exactly been greeted with open arms. Heartbreak was more like it.

“Hey, you! You with the vase! Do NOT drop that unless you want me to use your head as a bowling ball!”

Abby’s sharp voice pulled me back to reality. It was Friday, the day before the benefit, and we stood in the new wing of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art. The two of us, along with Hannah, were overseeing the installation of the pieces for the Whimsical Wonders exhibition, while Grace and Joanne had headed over to Quicke’s to make sure everything was coming together at the restaurant.

The burly guy who Abby had just admonished wrapped his whole beefy hand around the Ming vase he’d been carrying, instead of just sticking his fingers in the top of it. Abby nodded her approval and checked off something on her enormous clipboard. The event planner wore her usual getup today—cargo pants, a camisole, and a flannel shirt.

And the vest.

No matter how fancy or simple the party, Abby always wore a khaki, mesh vest to any event she planned. It reminded me of something a fisherman would wear, although with more pockets and zippers and hidden compartments. Pens, highlighters, note pads, a water bottle, a stun gun. That was just the stuff I could see hanging off the front. Abby had more supplies stuffed in the inner pockets, and the vest had to weigh ten pounds if it weighed an ounce. She could probably survive in the wilderness for a month with all the gear she had crammed into that thing.

I’d dressed down today, wearing my favorite pair of jeans and a blue-striped Oxford shirt. Hannah was a different story. Instead of jeans or khakis, she sported a wraparound silk top and pencil-skirt in a deep burgundy color. Gold sparkled around her neck and her fingers, and she looked as put-together and polished as ever. Hannah stood off in a corner, shooting looks at the art and murmuring into her cell phone.

My eyes drifted over the rest of the wing, which had opened a month ago. The area, done in white, flecked marble like the rest of the building, rose seven stories into the air and was three times as wide. The first floor featured a vast, open space with black granite benches set in front of particularly significant or popular pieces. Greek-style columns marked recesses in the walls that people could wander through and examine rotating exhibits. Three scalloped archways allowed access to the other, older parts of the museum, while stairs set in the corners led up to the upper floors. Each story sported a wraparound balcony that overlooked the main exhibition space. Diamond-shaped panes of glass crisscrossed with silver solidium beams comprised the pointed ceiling far above. Natural light filtered in through the glass and let people see the art as it really was. Clean white. Bits of color in the marble. Smooth curves. Round, soft edges. No matter how many times I visited the museum, I never tired of it. The architecture itself was a work of art, along with the paintings on the walls.

“Will you look at that?”

Abby stabbed her pen at two guys up on ladders in one corner of the room. A large, rather gaudy picture of Elvis hung between them. Painted on velvet, of course. That had been one of Joanne’s donations. If it had been anyone else, I would have told them to keep Elvis away from the light of day, where he belonged. Forever.

But I couldn’t exactly inform Joanne that velvet Elvis wasn’t whimsical or wonderful. After all, she was sort of an aunt to me. Not to mention the richest woman in the city.

“I’ve told those guys at least five times the painting of Elvis goes on the left wall, not the right. Idiots. I’m surrounded by idiots,” Abby muttered.

The event planner stomped off to go make some more of the movers cry. I shook my head, glad I wasn’t in the line of fire. And Fiona thought I was wound too tightly. She needed to spend some quality time with Abby, who morphed into Ms. Hyde the second she stepped into the museum. I didn’t know what was wrong with the event planner, but every single thing had annoyed her today, from the smell of the cleaning supplies used in the museum to the glare of the lights overhead. Abby even complained the movers made too much noise walking around—even though they wore thick coveralls that just barely whispered together.

Footsteps sounded on the smooth marble floor, and Arthur Anders appeared in one of the wide arches. He was a thin man who always wore a brown plaid jacket and corduroy pants. Half-moon glasses perched on the end of his nose, and he sported a small goatee. Arthur was the museum curator and sort of a mentor to me. He also worked as a professor at Bigtime University, and I’d taken many of his classes. The man knew more about art than anyone else in the city. Even now, several years removed from college, his discerning eye and expertise still awed me.

“It’s coming along nicely, Bella. Very nicely,” Arthur said, taking in the items already on display.

People had donated a little bit of everything, from elaborate crystal candlesticks and animal figurines to antique, miniature cars to old-fashioned dolls to Faberge eggs to a painting of the mountains in Ashland. The gleam of gold. The red fabric of the dolls’ dresses. The luster of the dishes. The objects decorated the room with a rainbow of colors and shapes. Everything was classy but fun, just the way I’d intended it to be. Art wasn’t just about O’Keefes and Whistlers and Pollocks. To me, anything well crafted with loving care was art.

Well, anything except velvet Elvises.

“Thank you. But I couldn’t have done it all without the others, especially Hannah and Joanne. They’re the ones who convinced people to donate such wonderful, interesting items.”

“I still can’t believe you got Berkley Brighton to show the Star Sapphire,” Arthur said, his eyes going to the gem. “That was quite a coup, Bella.”

I shrugged. “Berkley is a family friend and Joanne’s husband. It really wasn’t that difficult.”

The sapphire was the first thing we’d put into the room this morning—in the very center, of course. The gem, cut into an oval bigger than my fist, rested on three curved, silver tines. Thanks to the maintenance workers positioning the lights just so, the sapphire cast out hundreds of rays of cool, blue light that reached into the farthest corners of the open area. The display dazzled me, even if the stone rested behind four inches of bulletproof, shatterproof glass rigged with more alarms than a fire truck. Berkley hadn’t gotten to be one of the wealthiest men in the world by taking chances with his treasures, and I wasn’t about to take any with his most prized possession.

“Still, we’ve had more excitement about this exhibit than any we’ve had in a long time,” Arthur said. “You’ve done a wonderful job.”

“Don’t congratulate me just yet,” I warned. “There’s still plenty that could go wrong.”

Like Debonair or someone else breaking in and stealing Berkley’s sapphire. That was my main, paranoid fear, although the museum staff and I had done everything in our power to prevent that from happening. Added more patrolling guards. Increased the number of cameras in the room. Blanketed the entire wing with alarms and lasers and every other conceivable security device. Arthur had even called upon the Fearless Five to be on standby during the exhibit to apprehend any would-be thieves. One panicked phone call or tripped alarm, and the superheroes would be on their way to the museum.

Then, of course, there was my other fear—that I’d have a colossal bout of bad luck during the benefit and bring every single display tumbling down like dominoes. Even now, the static gathered around me, ready to strike.

“Oh, nonsense, Bella. What’s the worst that could happen?” Arthur asked.

My hair began its daily climb upward. I just grimaced.

* * *

We didn’t finish installing the exhibition until almost midnight. We would have been done a lot sooner, but my power kept flaring up at the most inopportune times. Like when one of heavy, overhead light fixtures I was staring at decided to break free from the wall and plummet to the ground—missing my head by about six inches.

Or when we ordered dinner from Quicke’s. I’d taken the box of food from the delivery guy and started up the museum steps. I got all the way to the top before my power pulsed. The box exploded, and its contents slid through my hands, tumbling down the stairs. Every single one of the lids popped off the takeout containers. Salads, pasta, burgers, fries, sodas, milkshakes. It wasn’t pretty. I might have been willing to eat off the kitchen floor at home, but there was no way I was scraping up anything off these steps and putting it in my mouth.

But, on the bright side, as I scrambled around cleaning up the mess, a gust of wind blew by—and plastered a pair of hundred-dollar bills to my forehead. It wasn’t the first time this had happened, and I snagged the money before it could blow away again. The C-notes were more than enough to pay for another order of food from Quicke’s. I even got fifteen bucks back in change—until I managed to drop it down the subway vent outside the museum. Easy come, easy go.

But my luck didn’t bother me too much. Well, no more than usual. I was just grateful nobody dropped or broke any of the exhibit pieces.

And I’d actually had another bit of good luck today, besides the money. No matter how hard the museum staff tried, they just couldn’t seem to hang Joanne’s hideous painting of Elvis. Something untoward happened every time they attempted it. One of the workers would lose his grip on the side of the painting and drop it. Or it would fall off the wall by itself. Or one of the strings anchoring it to the ceiling would snap. Finally, even Arthur gave up and put Elvis back in storage for safekeeping.

Now, after hours of work, everything was finally finished, which meant I could mostly relax tomorrow night. At least until the bachelor auction. Abby had insisted I put myself on the auction block, since I was chairperson of the benefit and a somewhat noteworthy citizen. According to her estimates and the fancy calculator she kept in one of her vest pockets, I should bring in a couple thousand dollars at least. I just hoped someone bid on me. It would be rather embarrassing to be passed over at my own event.

Abby and I said our good-nights to Arthur and the rest of the staff. Hannah had left hours ago, claiming she had an important business meeting. Grace and Joanne had called to tell me that everything was a go at Quicke’s, and they’d packed up shop too. Abby had stayed to the bitter end, although I’d had things more or less under control. But she was a perfectionist that way.

We stepped outside, and a cool, crisp, fall breeze kissed my face. I shivered and stuck my hands in my pockets, wishing I’d brought my wool pea coat.

“I’m heading for the subway. Want to walk together?” Abby offered.

“No, thanks,” I said. “My car’s right there.”

Abby frowned and looked at my car parked at the bottom of the museum steps. “How did you manage to snag that spot? There’s never any parking on this street during the day.”

“Oh, a car pulled out right when I drove by.”

Despite my dislike of my supposed superpower, I could always find a parking space, no matter how crowded the street was. It was one of the few things I was consistently lucky at, along with miraculously avoiding death and broken bones from exploding exercise equipment. Sometimes, I could even put an extra hour on the meter just by focusing on it. When I didn’t make it crumple into a metal heap.

Abby and I went our separate ways. I got into my silver Benz, locked the doors, turned on the heater, and headed for home. The downtown streets were mostly deserted, except for the occasional homeless person huddled over a steaming subway grate. The wind picked up, and a rain of dry, brown leaves splattered against my windshield and off into the night.

The usual nighttime sights greeted me as I headed for home. A few shoppers walking out of Oodles o’ Stuff, their arms full of bags. The three-story-high F that marked the entrance to Fiona Fine Fashions. Reporters huddled in the doorway at The Exposé offices puffing at cigarettes, while the skyscraper loomed over them with its winking blue lights. The same scene over at The Chronicle. Muted shrieks of childish glee and calliope music drifting out of Paradise Park.

The light in front of me flashed to red, and I cruised to a stop. I never ran traffic signals, not even this late at night. With my luck, a cop would be waiting just around the corner who’d be more than happy to write me a three-hundred-dollar ticket. And impound my car when my taillights and windshield spontaneously shattered. It had happened before.

I sat at the intersection, waiting for the light to change, and a strange sort of thump-thump-thumping sound caught my attention. A man in black flew through the air, across my windshield, and smacked into the pavement. I winced. Definitely not the most graceful landing.

The man struggled to get up, but a seventy-something woman sprinted into view and brought a diamond-topped cane down on the man’s most sensitive area. He howled, curled up into a tight ball, and grabbed himself. The woman smacked her cane in her hand, ready to dish out another wallop if the guy did anything but whimper. A large, white pocketbook dangled from her arm while gravel-sized pearls hung around her throat. A purple, angora sweater fluttered like a mini-cape around her shoulders, and a flower-shaped mask covered most of her face.

Granny Cane. One of Bigtime’s older and most respected superheroes. She didn’t have any powers I knew of—just a diamond-topped walking stick she used to beat muggers and purse-snatchers into submission. Granny claimed she kept the streets safe for the elderly. I thought she liked dressing up and showing off, just like all the other heroes and villains. C’mon. A stun gun would have been much more effective for subduing bad guys than a wooden stick.

Granny hauled the injured man to his feet, grabbed his ear, and stepped into the crosswalk. She yanked him along after her, evidently not caring that he now had a pronounced limp and would probably never be able to have children. I averted my eyes, pretending she was just another little old lady crossing the street—albeit one with a weeping, masked man in tow.

Granny Cane made it to the other side and kept walking. She was probably heading toward the Bigtime Police Station to turn in her latest capture. It was only a couple blocks away.

I shook my head and kept on driving, hoping she’d be the only superhero I’d see.

No such luck.

Even though it was after midnight, it was still a hot time in the old town tonight because the superheroes were out in full force. Swifte sped by me a couple of times, followed by police cars and an SNN news truck. Pistol Pete, a superhero who dressed like a cowboy, pulled out his six-shooters and performed some quick-draw tricks for a crowd of onlookers near Laurel Park while the Fearless Five van cruised around the downtown area.

I also drove by more than a few villains trying to get the upper hand on the heroes. Big, brawny Yeti Girl duked it out with Black Samba on top of one of the city buses. But Black Samba danced away from her every time while the snakes on the superhero’s arms and in her headdress hissed their displeasure at the ubervillain.

Hot Stuff, an ubervillain who thought she was, well, hot stuff, threw Molotov cocktails at Wynter from her perch on top of the Bigtime Public Library. But the superhero used her ice-based powers to shield herself from the worst of the explosions.

And finally, there was the Mintilator, the villain devoted to making the world a germ-free, minty fresh place. He was trying rather unsuccessfully to fend off Halitosis Hal and his horrid breath over next to the entrance to the marina.

Sheesh. Didn’t these people have real lives? Wives and husbands to go home to? Kids to take care of? Elderly parents to visit? Apparently not.

After a few more unwanted hero and villain sightings, I reached the house. The light above the front door burned, but the rest of the mansion was dark. I’d called Grandfather hours ago and told him not to wait up. Looked like he’d taken my advice. That, or he hadn’t come home yet. He’d told me he had a date with his lady friend and might be late.

I’d asked him once again whom he was going out with, but Grandfather had been his usual cagey self. He still hadn’t introduced me to his lady friend, something I was going to rectify, even if I had to start following him when he left the house. Maybe I could get Lulu Lo to put some sort of tracking device in his silver angel cufflinks. She was good at that sort of thing. The best, actually. With her computer skills and shady contacts, Lulu could find out anything about anyone. Lulu was like a sixth member of the Fearless Five, even though she didn’t have any official superpowers. She’d been let in on the group’s secret identities when she’d started dating Henry Harris.

I fished my keys out of my purse and got out of my Benz. It had been a hectic, stressful day, and I was completely exhausted. I needed a hot shower before climbing into bed—

POP!

Debonair puffed into view on the hood of my car. Surprised, I screamed and stepped back, slamming my butt into the driver’s side door. Despite my love of pasta and potatoes, my ass isn’t that big, but the metal still caved in with a screech, forming a dent about two feet wide and a foot deep.

“Well, that wasn’t exactly the reaction I was hoping for,” Debonair said in his low, seductive voice.

I rubbed my butt until it quit throbbing. Then, I balled up my fist, focused on the car door, and smacked my hand against it. The massive imprint popped right back out. This wasn’t the first time I’d put a dent in my car—or taken one out. Things like this were rather routine in my life, along with odd items like air conditioners falling from the sky and coming thisclose to hitting me in the head. I didn’t even flinch anymore when that happened. I just kept walking.

“How are you tonight, Bella?” Debonair asked, lounging on the hood like some lingerie model.

“I was fine, until you showed up,” I muttered, trying to pretend the thief didn’t look as sexy as ever in his leather costume. Blue-black leather was not attractive. The same color in cashmere? Maybe. Leather? No. Definitely not.

“Well, I didn’t want to teleport into your car. That’s how accidents happen.”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “What are you saying? That you’ve been following me tonight? Why?”

So, I hadn’t been imagining him lurking around these past few days. I wondered why he was following me. And how many times he’d seen me explode or shatter or destroy something. I might have been cursed with bad luck, but what I really hated was for other people to see the messes I made. I couldn’t stand the thought of other people laughing at me. If Debonair had been following me, he would have seen and done both. Many, many times.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly talk to you at the museum. Arthur Anders tends to get a little upset whenever he sees me. Did you know the even-tempered curator actually has a shotgun in his office with my name engraved on it?”

“I can’t imagine why,” I sniped. “Oh, wait. Yes, I can. Perhaps it’s because you go around town stealing art.”

Debonair gave a not-so-modest shrug. “Everyone should have a hobby.”

“And stealing is yours?”

He smirked. A horrifying thought struck me, and my hair morphed into a bush around my head.

“You didn’t steal anything, did you? Tonight? At the museum?”

“Would I do something like that?” he asked, his blue eyes wide and innocent.

“Absolutely.”

Debonair held his arms out, giving me an unobstructed view of his chest. His very broad, very solid chest. “Well, why don’t you come here and frisk me? And see if I took anything from the museum?”

I couldn’t tell if he was serious or just being kinky. I stared at him, and he looked at me. His lips twitched. A slight little quiver that somehow made him more attractive. Making fun of me. He was making fun of me.

Pushing my buttons, yet again.

Somehow, he seemed to know every single one, even though we’d only spoken a few dozen sentences to each other.

My power surged, my hair frizzed, and I just lost it.

I threw my shoulder bag at him. The black missile hit Debonair in the chest and exploded.

Literally.

The straps snapped. The pockets sprang open. And the zipper ripped off the top. Pens and papers and lipstick and loose change flew everywhere, plinking away into the dark, cool night. I knew I’d never find everything. I was still picking up apples from the trick-or-treating fiasco, and they were a lot easier to spot.

Debonair chuckled, amused by my humiliation. Red-faced, I curled my hands into fists, wishing I had the strength to pummel him. Where was Fiera when you really needed her?

“Well, that was something,” Debonair said. “Do your purses always do that?”

“Just when I’m around you,” I snarled.

Debonair put his arms behind his head and leaned back on the windshield like it was a recliner. I could see him striking that same pose in bed, after a night of long, slow lovemaking—

“I rather like you, Bella Bulluci. You’re spunky.”

“Spunky?” I said, pulling my thoughts back to the here and now. “You think I’m spunky? Wonderful.”

“What’s wrong with spunky?”

“Kids are spunky. Old ladies who speak their minds are spunky. Lots of things are spunky. I’m not one of them.”

“What are you then?” Debonair asked. His blue eyes flashed like the Star Sapphire in the darkness.

I ignored the suggestive tone in his voice. “Listen, I don’t know what sort of game you’re playing, why you decided to visit—and I use that word loosely—me tonight, but I’ve had a long day. I’m tired, and I want to go to bed.”

“I told you why I’m here. I like you.”

“You like me? Like me how? Like a cold sore on prom night? Because that’s exactly how I like you.”

Debonair smiled. “That’s how you like me now. But you’ll warm up to me once you get to know me. Everybody does. So, how about dinner? Say, Monday night?”

My mouth fell open. “Are you asking me out?”

“Yes, on a thing called a date. I’m sure you’ve had at least one before.”

“Of course, I’ve been out on a date before,” I snapped. “But why would you want to go out with me?”

“Have you looked in a mirror lately?” Debonair gave me an appreciative leer. “Those big hazel eyes, that mane of hair, those killer curves. You’re gorgeous, Bella. Not to mention that wild, passionate personality, just waiting to get out from under all this buttoned-up repression.”

He thought I was gorgeous? A little thrill of excitement surged through me, along with my usual wave of static electricity. It lasted about three seconds. Then, I snapped back to reality.

“Forget it,” I said. “I don’t date superheroes or ubervillains or anyone in between.”

“Why not?” Debonair asked, looking puzzled.

“Let’s be clear. I don’t like thieves, despise ubervillains, and barely tolerate superheroes. You’re a bit of all three. You and me? Never going to happen. So, go pop off to one of your Slaves for Superhero Sex groupies, and let them fawn all over you, because I’m not interested.”

It was the truth. I’d made a vow a long time ago to never get involved with superheroes and ubervillains. In any way, shape, or form. I’d been successful at keeping it too, until my brother had decided to become Johnny Angel in order to track down our father’s killers. Then, he’d gone and fallen for Fiona, who’d brought not only herself but the other members of the Fearless Five into our lives. Now, I couldn’t take two steps in my own house without running into a hero or listening to them talk about how hard it was to avoid a panty line under their spandex suits.

“Are you sure? Because I think the two of us could have a good time together,” Debonair said, his voice husky, his eyes flashing. “A very good time.”

I let myself fantasize. With his hard body and suave ways, and my general loneliness, we could have more than a good time. Much, much more. If Debonair was as good as everyone claimed, the sex would be amazing. I got a little out of breath just thinking about it.

After about a minute, I put the fantasy aside, just like the smushed fries I’d refused for dinner. They might taste good going down, but I’d regret eating them later. Just like I’d regret doing anything with Debonair.

“Sorry, I’m not interested. Besides, if you really wanted to show me a good time, you’d help me pick up everything that was in my purse.”

Debonair gave me a small, slightly sad smile. “All you had to do was ask, Bella. Your wish is my command—whatever it might be.”

Anticipation pulsed through me, despite my pretending I was completely indifferent to his suggestive proposal.

Debonair snapped his fingers in rapid succession. The bag appeared in my hands and began to fill. A minute later, I stared down at it in awe. I didn’t know how he did it, but everything was in there. My compact, cell phone, wallet, keys, lipstick, quarters.

“Um, thanks,” I said, not sure what to make of it. “That was actually kind of nice of you.”

Debonair slid off the car hood and sauntered over to me. I clutched my purse to my chest, as if that would protect me from him. And all my conflicting emotions.

“Think nothing of it, Bella. Until we meet again.”

Debonair grabbed my wrist and kissed it, just as he had before. His lips lingered on my skin, and I knew he could feel my roaring pulse. Then, Debonair straightened, gave a little flourish with his hand, and—

POP!

He teleported away into the starry night.

Chapter Six

An hour later, I sat on my bed, combing out my tangled mane of hair. After Debonair had teleported away, I’d taken my much-longed-for shower. I was almost ready for bed, but I wasn’t tired anymore. In fact, I doubted I’d be able to sleep much tonight.

And it was all his fault.

I kept replaying my meeting with Debonair. I didn’t understand the handsome thief. Why had he come back to see me? I’d made it perfectly clear I had no interest in him. Hell, I’d given the police a statement about the robbery, which had led to a warrant being issued for his arrest, one of many already on file. Maybe he was one of those guys who pursued you that much harder if you rejected him. Or turned him into the cops.

Since I couldn’t sleep, I grabbed one of my sketch pads and went out into the hall. The house was quiet and still, the night air chilly on my bare feet. From the carpet to the crown molding to the light fixtures, angel eyes followed me from the floors and walls and ceilings, tracking my every move. Some people would have found them creepy, but they comforted me. I always thought of them as my own guardian angels, watching over me.

I turned into a hallway filled with portraits of my ancestors. Generations of Bullucis stared back at me. Some smiled, some didn’t. Some were old, some young. But there was something in their eyes, an intensity, a look that told you they had a zest, a passion for life that couldn’t be denied. I’d spent many hours here, going from portrait to portrait, trying to capture that elusive sparkle on paper—and wondering if I had it too.

I stopped in front of the painting of my father, James. Tan skin. Blue eyes. Slightly bushy, chestnut hair. He looked the same as always—and I felt the familiar ache gather in my heart at his loss. I ran my fingers over the nameplate on the bottom of the painting, then moved on.

A large, cushioned window seat lay at the end of the hall. Besides the kitchen, it was my favorite place in the entire house. The window seat looked out into the backyard, with its exotic trees and shrubs and flowers. I’d spent many hours here, daydreaming and sketching. I sank onto the cushion and curled my feet up under the hem of my thick, cloud-covered, terrycloth robe.

I stared into the backyard, admiring the way the moonlight frosted everything, from the leaves and branches of the trees to the tiny blades of grass. Then, I flipped to a new page in my pad and started doodling nothing in particular. As my charcoal pencil moved over the blank paper, my thoughts turned back to Debonair.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind, which wasn’t like me at all. I prided myself on being extremely sensible, especially when it came to my love life. I liked nice, normal men who brought me flowers, could carry on an intelligent conversation, and didn’t wish I had bigger boobs, smaller hips, and smoother hair.

Debonair was not a nice man. And it would not be at all sensible to get involved with him. He’d propositioned me twice in less than a week. He was a thief. A lout. And he wore blue-black leather. Three big turn-offs. I couldn’t possibly like him.

The grandfather clock down the hall chimed out the hour. Two in the morning. It was time to go to bed, whether I thought I could sleep or not. It wouldn’t do to be auctioned off with bags under my eyes.

I sighed and glanced down at my sketch. My pencil froze in mid-stroke.

Debonair’s masked face smiled up at me.

* * *

“Let’s start the bidding at one thousand dollars. Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand from the gentleman in the back.”

I squinted into the bright lights, but I couldn’t tell who’d bid to go to dinner with me. The night of the benefit had arrived, and the bachelor auction was in full swing at Quicke’s. Joanne and the others insisted I should be the first one auctioned off, since I was the chairperson. So here I was, standing on a stage next to the long bar, trying to look nice and friendly, instead of scrunching my face up against the hot glare of the spotlights.

“Two thousand? Do I hear two thousand dollars?”

The auctioneer’s loud voice spurred the crowd into further action. A flurry of bids filled the air, and my worth quickly increased to just under five thousand dollars. Not too bad. More than I’d hoped for, actually. I didn’t have a rep for being a boozy party girl like some of the other fashion designers in town.

“Ten thousand dollars. I bid ten thousand dollars.” Bobby’s booming voice cut through the murmurs of conversation and clink of glasses and silverware.

I hid a smile. Trust Grandfather to drive up my price, even if he had to do the bidding himself.

“Twenty thousand dollars,” a male voice called out.

“Twenty thousand!” the auctioneer crowed. “A very lovely offer for this very lovely lady. Do I hear twenty-one? Anyone? Anyone? No? All right, twenty thousand dollars. Going once…going twice…sold! To the gentleman in the front.”

I squinted through the lights to see Devlin Dash holding up a numbered placard. Devlin was another one of Bigtime’s wealthy businessmen, having half a dozen companies under his command. But Devlin didn’t quite look or act the part. His ink-black hair had more cowlicks than a little boy’s, while thick, silver-rimmed glasses obscured his eyes. Devlin also had a habit of pulling at his tie, as if it was always just a bit too tight. He wasn’t nearly as suave as the other billionaire playboys. In fact, he sort of reminded me of Henry Harris, the technological whiz for the Fearless Five. Henry had a nasty habit of wearing polka-dot bow ties with plaid sweater vests, something Fiona and I were trying to change, with a little help from Lulu.

Devlin also happened to be Grace Caleb’s grandson, along with Kyle Quicke, the restaurant owner. She’d probably told him to bid on me. During our time working together, Grace had dropped more than a few hints to Abby and me about what a nice young man Devlin was and what a good family he came from. She’d also gone through all the bachelor files, looking for someone for Kelly. Kyle had recently broken up with Piper Perez, Fiona’s chief financial officer, so he was off the market. For the moment. Still, it was pretty clear Grace wanted some grandchildren. The sooner, the better.

I actually liked Devlin. We’d chaired an art auction together earlier this year and had dinner once. He was a sweet guy, very quiet and almost painfully shy. And a real, old-fashioned gentleman, the kind who hurried to open doors and asked before he even thought about kissing you. I wouldn’t have to worry about him trying to paw me at the end of the night. Twenty thousand dollars could buy a lot of things, but it did not get you an all-expenses-paid trip around the world with Bella Bulluci.

I left the stage to polite applause and stopped to let my eyes adjust to the light. Abby Appleby stood just to the right of the stage. In keeping with the costume-ball theme, she’d come dressed as a rock ’n’ roll queen and wore tight, black leather pants, spiked heels, and a paint-splattered, shredded white T-shirt with a lacy black camisole underneath. At least, I thought that’s what she had on. It was tough to tell with the khaki vest covering most of her torso. Not to mention the massive clipboard she held in her hands and the many pens stuck in her teased hair. I’d told Abby to just relax tonight and enjoy the benefit, but obviously, she hadn’t listened to me.

Abby nodded her head. “Way to start things off, Bella. Let’s hope everybody goes for as much as you did.” She ticked something off her board and started doing some calculations, probably trying to guess the final tally already.

I shook my head and moved off into the crowded restaurant. Quicke’s had some of the best food in the city, and their cheese fries were to die for, but I didn’t really like coming to the restaurant for one reason—it was a shrine to all things superhero.

During normal business hours, framed posters, newspaper clippings, and autographed pictures of heroes and villains covered the red brick walls from floor to ceiling. Plastic action figures posed in mock-battle positions lined the shelves behind the bar, along with liquor bottles. Board games, miniature cars, die cast models, and every other merchandising tie-in you could dream of peeked out from windowsills and the rest of the available space. Superheroes might be dedicated to saving the city and the world, but most of them weren’t above making a few bucks doing it. Along with Oodles o’ Stuff, Quicke’s was a great place to have their products showcased.

Several menu items were even named after Bigtime’s various heroes and villains, like the Caveman Stan Steak or the Wynter Cosmopolitan. When I was in the mood for Quicke’s, I always got takeout. I couldn’t stomach actually eating inside the building. Especially since more than a few Johnny Angel posters decorated the walls—one each of my grandfather, father, and brother.

But everybody else loved Quicke’s, even ubervillains, which was why, along with its close proximity to the museum, we’d decided to have the bachelor auction here. Tonight, the restaurant had packed up its superhero stuff and been transformed into a fairyland. Ropes of glossy ivy, white roses, and baby’s breath crisscrossed overhead, creating a green canopy that contrasted with the rust-colored walls. More greenery curled around the edges of the bar, partially obscuring the brassy railing. White lights entwined with the ivy twinkled like small stars while Chinese-style lanterns perched on every table, adding more illumination to the scene. Jazz music played in the background, softening the harsh buzz of conversations and the clink and rattle of dishes. Grace had really done a wonderful job on the decorations.

“Bella! Bella! Over here!”

Speaking of Grace Caleb, the old woman fluttered her hand, and I walked over to her table.

“Devlin, Grace. You’re both looking wonderful tonight,” I said.

Grace had dressed like a flapper from the Roaring Twenties. She wore a knee-length silver dress, ropes of fake pearls, and chunky heels. Her silver hair lay in waves against her head, held back with a pearl-studded headband, while a lacy white shawl covered her arms. Devlin wore a dull, gray jumpsuit with matching boots and gloves. I think he was supposed to be a race-car driver. Either that or an astronaut, but I didn’t want to be rude and ask.

“So do you, Bella,” Grace replied. “Even if you’re not wearing a proper costume.”

There was no way I was dressing up in costume—especially one that involved spandex or leather. Instead, I’d opted for a long-sleeved, powder-blue dress with a flowing skirt that reached to my ankles. The scooped-out neck showed off my angel charm and silver chain. My only concession to tonight’s party theme had been the silver-tinsel halo I’d placed on top of my head. I’d plucked it out of the very first box of Christmas decorations I’d looked in out of the dozens that gathered dust in the attic. The halo had been right on top too.

“Bella is so lovely she doesn’t need a costume, Grams,” Devlin said, shooting me a shy smile.

“Why, thank you, Devlin. What a sweet thing to say.”

I smiled back, and Devlin’s cheeks exploded with color. He took a long swig of his champagne, but it must have gone down the wrong way, because he started coughing. Grace whacked him on the back a few times, and Devlin managed to catch his breath.

I couldn’t help but compare his awkward behavior with Debonair’s smooth surety. The thief wouldn’t be flustered by giving or getting such a simple compliment. He’d probably start talking about all the sweet things we could do together. With handcuffs. More than once tonight, I’d scanned the crowd, wondering if the handsome thief was here—and who he might be masquerading as.

Grace cleared her throat, and I realized that she and Devlin were staring at me.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?”

Devlin looked at me. “I asked when you might want to have dinner. How about Monday?”

“Oh, just about any night is fine with me. Give me a call tomorrow, and we’ll set it up.” My social calendar wasn’t exactly full these days. Unlike Debonair, who probably had a different woman penciled in every night of the week. Maybe two or three.

“Oh. Okay.”

Through the crowd, Joanne James crooked her finger at me in a clear come-here-right-now gesture.

“Please excuse me.”

I flashed Devlin and Grace another smile and headed for Joanne. Unlike me, she’d gone all-out for the costume part of the evening. Joanne wore a bustier, miniskirt, and four-inch, leather boots that reached up to her thighs. All of which were a bright lavender. The material was shiny, almost like vinyl, and clung to her body like wet cotton. It seemed like Joanne was going for the dominatrix look tonight. All she needed was a whip and some chains and she’d be Debonair’s dream woman.

“What’s up?” I asked, trying to pretend I couldn’t see Joanne’s pale cleavage yet again. What was it with this woman flashing her chest at me?

Joanne jerked her head toward the stage. “I think we’re going to have a problem. No one’s bidding on Hannah, and she seems to be getting rather upset about it.”

Hannah Harmon stood in the middle of the stage, her hands on her hips. She’d come dressed as a she-devil, with a long, red, flowing cape and a headband topped with tiny horns.

“Do I hear one thousand dollars? One thousand? Anyone?” the auctioneer asked. “Anyone at all?”

Hannah glared at him, and he edged away from her.

“What’s wrong?” I asked. “Hannah’s rich and attractive. What’s the problem?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Joanne asked.

“Heard what?”

She shook her head, her black curls spilling over her bare shoulder. “Bella, sometimes, you’re so sweet and naïve you make my teeth hurt. Hannah made an offer on DCQ Enterprises yesterday. She went before the board and pretty much demanded they accept the bid, or she’d take over the company, split it up, and sell off the pieces just like she always does.”

“DCQ? But that’s—”

“Devlin Dash’s company. Dash-Caleb-Quicke. Grace is on the board too, along with Kyle Quicke and Kelly Caleb. Hannah’s tirade didn’t please any of them.”

“Oh.” I looked at her. “How do you know this?”

“Berkley’s on the board, of course. And so am I.”

“So Grace decided to have Hannah blackballed because of the takeover? She told people not to bid on Hannah tonight?”

That didn’t seem like Grace. If anything, the society matron would kill you with kindness, no matter how rude you were to her.

Joanne laughed. “Of course not. Grace would never do anything like that. She’s far too nice and generous.” She smiled. “But I would.”

“Why?”

Joanne looked toward the stage, where Hannah glared at the auctioneer. “Because Hannah Harmon is nothing but a bully in a short skirt and high heels. She thinks just because she has a little money she can do whatever she wants—and that everyone should love her.”

I wanted to point out Joanne was wearing a shorter skirt and higher heels than Hannah. And that she had more money. And that she pretty much did whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to. But Joanne wasn’t through with her rant.

“The woman’s an egotistical ass. I know. I’ve been married to a few.” Joanne turned her violet eyes to me. “Did you know she made a play for Berkley while we were engaged? She practically took off her clothes and danced around naked in front of him. She still hits on him every time she sees him, and she’s always calling and asking for his advice on business deals or wanting to see his art collection. Like I don’t know what that means.”

Ah, now we’d gotten to the real reason Joanne had sabotaged Hannah—she’d tried to horn in on Joanne’s man. Her prize possession, as it were, just like the Star Sapphire was Berkley’s. I rubbed my temple and tried to talk some sense into Joanne.

“So Hannah’s not the nicest person around. So she made a couple of passes at Berkley. That’s not a crime. Besides, it’s not like he reciprocated. Everyone knows he’s crazy about you, Joanne. So why did you have to do this tonight of all nights? You know how important the benefit is to the museum. Pissing off Hannah won’t help our cause one bit.”

“Don’t worry. I’m going to write the museum a check that will cover whatever pitiful amount Hannah might have raised tonight.”

I sighed. “Joanne—”

“Oh, there’s Berkley. Gotta run, Bella. See you later.”

I tried to grab Joanne’s arm, to stop her and demand she find a way to fix this. But my power flared, and a waiter chose that exact moment to step between us. I just barely managed not to slam into him. Joanne darted through the swirling crowd.

“…sold! To the gentlemen at the bar for one thousand dollars!”

The auctioneer brought down his gavel. Hannah clomped off the stage, grabbed a drink from the closest server, and downed it in one gulp. Her fingers tightened around the empty glass, and she looked like she wanted to throw it at somebody. Joanne was right. Hannah looked pissed. I’d never liked dealing with angry people, but I, being the diplomat, decided to go over and see if I could cheer her up.

“Hi, Hannah.” I plastered a smile on face. “Are you having a good time? I love your costume.”

Hannah looked down at me over the rim of her champagne flute. “A good time? Of course, I’m having a good time, Bella. I was just humiliated in front of five hundred of Bigtime’s wealthiest citizens. And now I have to go have dinner with Milton Moore for a measly thousand bucks.”

“What’s wrong with Milton?”

My eyes flicked to the man in question. Milton Moore sat at the bar, a nurse on either side of him. They were real-life nurses, dressed in flowered scrubs and sensible, thick-soled shoes. Milton never went anywhere without at least two of them by his side. It cut down on his trips to the emergency room. Sensing our stares, Milton took a hit off his oxygen tank and waved his aged hand in our direction. A glass of Scotch trembled in his fingers.

“The man’s ninety-five years old, and he smells like mothballs,” Hannah snapped. “That’s what’s wrong with him.”

She grabbed another drink from a passing waiter and chugged it down too. “I’m so sick of the people in this town. They think they’re so special just because they’ve had money for a couple of generations. They try to pretend like they never had to work. Or if they did, that everything was always by the book and perfectly legal. They’re nothing but a bunch of phonies. Fakes. Liars. They’ve all got skeletons and secrets in their closets. They’re no better than me. Not a single one of them. One day, they’ll realize it.”

Hannah wasn’t the easiest person to get along with, but I’d never heard her talk this way before. Her voice was so harsh, so angry that I took a step back.

“It just takes time,” I said. “They’ll come around eventually. I think most people—”

“Oh, I don’t care what you think, Bulluci. You’re just as bad as the rest of them.”

Hannah turned on her heel, leaving me to stare at her retreating back. The businesswoman stormed through the crowd, right past Joanne.

Joanne watched her go, a smile playing across her lips. She spied me staring at her and raised a glass, as though she’d just won some great victory.

All I could do was just sigh.

Chapter Seven

Thankfully, the rest of the bachelors and bachelorettes were auctioned off without incident. SNN news reporter Kelly Caleb, Grace’s granddaughter, raised the most money, bringing in a bid of just over forty thousand dollars for a night of drinks, dinner, and dancing.

Once the crowd exhausted the food and liquor at Quicke’s, everyone trekked to the museum a block away, hurrying up the flat, wide steps. Spotlights at the bottom of the stairs pointed upward and highlighted the Whimsical Wonders banner that stretched over the massive columns framing the entrance. More lights picked up the pink and blue and green flecks in the white marble, and the stone shimmered in the dark night.

The crowd stampeded into the new wing. Several squeals of delight rippled through the room as people saw what everyone else had donated and where all the items had been positioned. Folks rushed from one side of the room to the other, trying to look at everything at once, and people clustered three-deep around the Star Sapphire, which looked even more dazzling tonight. I stood to one side of the wing, watching the scene unfold. Everyone seemed impressed by the exhibit, and Arthur Anders flashed me a discrete thumbs-up.

I hadn’t thought it possible, given all the catastrophes of yesterday, but the exhibit looked marvelous. Round, white globes hung from the high, glass ceiling while potted palms twined with lights perched in the corners. The soft light made the colors in the cars and dolls and crystal figurines that much more vibrant. Everything gleamed and glistened and glowed, from the items on display to the sequined-covered costumes of the people surrounding them. Classical music trilled in the background, adding a finishing note to the festivities.

It was all very clean, very classy, very Bella Bulluci.

Everything was going so smoothly I decided to allow myself a treat, carbs and calories be damned. I flagged down a waiter and took a glass of champagne off his silver tray. But as soon as I grabbed the crystal flute, my power flared. My fingers twitched. My hair frizzed. And my body hummed with static energy.

And things had been going so well. I hadn’t exploded food or shattered diamonds or been almost brained by a falling anvil the entire day. I’d hoped to get through the rest of the evening without incident.

But my itchy fingers told me one thing—that I would spill the drink before the night was over. Probably in the loudest, most embarrassing, attention-getting manner possible. My fingers tightened around the crystal flute, as if they could keep the golden liquid in my grasp. In the end, that small action wouldn’t save me. But maybe it would be enough to delay the disaster until after the benefit. A girl could dream, couldn’t she?

“Why are you frowning, Bella?” a thick, familiar voice rumbled in my ear.

“I wasn’t frowning, Grandfather.”

Bobby waggled his white eyebrows. “My dear, I know a frown when I see one, especially on your beautiful face. Why are you unhappy? Tonight is your big night, and it’s gone off wonderfully.”

“So far,” I said, clutching the glass to my chest.

“It’s too bad Johnny couldn’t be here,” my grandfather said. “I’m sure he and Fiona would have been very proud of you.”

“Actually, Johnny called to congratulate me this morning and tell me what a wonderful time they’re having in Greece.” I took a cautious sip of my champagne. Perhaps if I drank it slowly, it would be gone before I spilled it. Then, I’d only have the glass to worry about. Not that that would be much better. I could do things to glasses that would make angels weep. “I’m actually glad Fiona isn’t here.”

“Why’s that?”

“If she’d come tonight, I would have been forced to add another ten thousand dollars to the food budget just to keep her modestly fed. You know how she eats.”

My grandfather threw back his head and laughed. “That she does, with gusto. It’s one of the things I like about her.”

Fiona did just about everything with gusto, from eating like she had four stomachs instead of just one to designing clothes to battling ubervillains. She could afford to. She had a useful power, one she could control, instead of it controlling her, like mine always did.

“You’re frowning again,” Bobby accused. “What’s wrong?”

I plastered a smile on my face. “It’s nothing, Grandfather. I just feel some bad luck coming on.”

“Maybe you’re wrong this time.”

“I’m never wrong. Something bad will happen before the night is through. You’ll see.”

“Well, everyone is having a marvelous time, and the museum has received several large donations already, including one from this old man.” Bobby winked. “What’s a little bad luck compared to all that?”

This time, my smile was genuine. Grandfather was so cheerfully exasperating he always took my mind off my troubles.

“Come,” Bobby said, offering his arm to me. “I want to take another look at Berkley’s sapphire before he hides it back in his vault.”

“Why? Are you thinking of stealing it?”

Bobby’s green eyes were sly and bright in his face. “Perhaps. If my Angel wings hadn’t been clipped long ago.”

My grandfather led me through the room, making sure to greet each and every woman we passed. He kissed hands and flirted and laughed, in keeping with his costume. Grandfather had chosen to come dressed as a pirate. He wore a white shirt with flowing cuffs, along with black boots and breeches. A red sash added a bit of color around his waist, while a black eye patch gave him a dashing, slightly dangerous air.

I kept a close eye on the women he talked to, seeing if one had a certain reaction to my grandfather. A soft look on her face. A shy smile. A particular sparkle in her eyes. But I couldn’t tell who Bobby’s mysterious lady friend might be.

After a good twenty minutes of small talk, we reached the center of the room, where the Star Sapphire rested on top of its white pedestal. It looked as dazzling as ever, throwing out endless rays of cool, blue light. The gem’s deep, brilliant color reminded me of Debonair’s eyes.

Grandfather wandered off to talk to some of his old cronies. I stared at the sapphire, mesmerized by the way each one of its thousands of facets caught and reflected the gleaming light. I bit my lip, wishing I’d brought along a sketch pad tonight so I could try to capture its beauty.

“It’s fantastic, isn’t it?” a voice murmured.

I started. I’d been so deep into my admiration of the gem I hadn’t even heard Devlin Dash walk up beside me.

“It is impressive,” I admitted.

“What do you like best about it?” Devlin asked.

I cocked my head to one side, studying the glistening jewel. “I love the way it catches the light and glows, as if it has an inner fire.”

“Why, Bella, I didn’t realize you were quite so passionate about the arts,” Devlin said.

If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was teasing me. But I’d never known Devlin Dash to tell a joke. At least, not without stumbling over the punch line.

“The arts are one of my main delights in life,” I said. “What about you, Mr. Dash? Are you passionate enough to give the museum another hefty contribution this year?”

Normally, I would never be this blunt and aggressive, but the museum deserved all the funds it could get. And it was my job as chairperson to make sure I squeezed every penny out of every person I could, even shy, awkward businessmen.

“Of course,” Devlin said. “I’ll be more than happy to write you and the museum a check.”

I smiled. “That would be wonderful. Anything you could do to support the museum would be most appreciated.”

Devlin opened his mouth to respond, but Joanne James walked up to us, still wearing her outrageous, lavender leather getup. Devlin’s mouth fell open a little more. The businessman’s six-foot form gave him a perfect, bird’s-eye view down Joanne’s low-cut bustier. But to his credit, Devlin took a nervous swallow of his champagne and moved off to admire some Faberge miniatures instead of Joanne’s chest.

“It really is something, isn’t it?” Joanne said, referring to the sapphire and not her costume. I hoped. “It’s just a shame it’s too big to wear. And that Berkley won’t have it cut just a little bit.”

Her eyes dropped to the enormous diamond ring on her finger. It wasn’t much smaller than the sapphire. I took another cautious sip of my champagne and shook my head. You could always count on Joanne to be openly avaricious.

“I rather like it the way it is,” I said. “I don’t think it would be nearly as beautiful cut up into rings.”

“I agree,” a cold, feminine voice cut in. “Something that exquisite shouldn’t be divided into shallow pieces. It should stay just the way it is.”

Hannah Harmon joined us. She looked remarkably calm, giving her rant against everyone in attendance less than an hour ago. She tipped her head to me, then turned and gave Joanne a look that would have caused a lesser woman to spontaneously combust. Evidently, Hannah had figured out who’d sabotaged her at the auction.

“Are you enjoying the benefit, Hannah?” I asked in a sympathetic tone.

Despite her earlier outburst, I felt rather sorry for Hannah and what Joanne had done to ruin her evening. I’d never understood why people felt the need to be nasty to each other. Or call themselves weird names. Or dress up in spandex. Sometimes, I didn’t understand very much at all about life in Bigtime.

“Of course, Bella,” Hannah murmured, her eyes fixed on the sapphire. “I never stay down for long. No matter how much some people might wish otherwise.”

Joanne snorted, but Hannah pretended not to notice.

“Well, I just want to tell you again how much I appreciate your hard work. The exhibit wouldn’t be nearly the success it is without you,” I said, trying to smooth things over.

Hannah didn’t respond. Instead, she admired the sapphire another moment before drifting off into the crowd. She strolled over to a guy in a wheelchair, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. Nathan Nichols was his name, I believed. He did something for one of Hannah’s many companies, although I couldn’t recall exactly what.

“I can’t stand that woman,” Joanne declared, tossing her black hair over her thin shoulder. “She’s such a fake. Everyone knows what a complete bitch she is, no matter how hard she tries to hide it.”

I eyed Joanne, looking at her forty-something face, which was curiously free of wrinkles, and her full chest that didn’t quite seem to match her stick-thin body. But I didn’t say anything. We’d already had enough catfights for one night. I was just glad the two of them weren’t grappling on the floor, kicking and clawing and screaming.

Joanne and I started talking about other things, mainly when I was going to get started on the clothes I’d promised her. Eventually, she wandered off to see what Berkley was up to. I stayed in front of the sapphire, admiring its many depths and committing them to memory so I could draw the jewel later. It truly was stunning.

While I not-so-discreetly gawked, Carmen Cole came up to me.

“Bella! It’s so nice to see you,” Carmen said. A soft, Southern twang colored her voice.

I smiled at the taller woman, grateful to see that someone else had decided not to dress up. Carmen had forgone the costume theme in favor of a little black dress. Then again, your typical, little black dress was Carmen’s costume of choice for functions like these. Despite being married to billionaire Sam Sloane, Carmen still kept her day job as a society reporter for The Exposé. I also thought the simple black dresses were Carmen’s way of compensating for her superhero suit. Her silver spandex Karma Girl costume had plenty of flash to it.

“Where’s Sam?” I asked, scanning the crowd for the handsome billionaire.

“He couldn’t make it, unfortunately. Since Johnny and Fiona are taking their vacation, he had to stay at the manor and be on call tonight. Work. You know how it is.”

I grimaced. In other words, Sam was sitting in the secret underground library that functioned as the headquarters of the Fearless Five listening to the police scanner, ready to go out and battle evil. I could have thought of a thousand ways I would rather have spent an evening, but that was superheroes for you. Putting their powers and responsibilities above everything else—their jobs, their lives, their families.

My father’s face flashed before my eyes, and I felt the familiar pain of his loss. He should have been here tonight. Enjoying the exhibit. Laughing and talking and drinking with Berkley and his other friends. Encouraging me about my art. He should have been here.

He would have been here if he hadn’t gone out as Johnny Angel. If he hadn’t tried to take on Siren and Intelligal by himself. But no. He’d been hooked on the adrenaline high and spandex fumes, and he’d paid the ultimate price for it. A spurt of anger replaced my sadness. Sometimes, I was so mad at my father for getting himself killed I couldn’t think straight.

Sensing my thoughts, Carmen placed a gentle hand on my arm, but I shook it off. I liked Carmen just fine, but I didn’t want her superpowered sympathy. Not now.

“Can I get a few quotes from the woman of the hour?” Carmen asked in a kind voice, pulling her cell phone out of her purse so she could record our conversation.

I let out a long breath and nodded. It wasn’t Carmen’s fault my father was dead. Besides, as chairperson of the benefit, I still had a job to do. Hopefully, Carmen’s story would encourage people to come see the exhibit and donate even more money to the museum.

Once I gave Carmen the inside scoop she wanted, I wandered through the museum, accepting everyone’s praise and reminding them to open up their wallets, checkbooks, and trust funds. But I couldn’t quite shake off my anger at my father or my melancholy at missing him.

Once I’d worked the room for the umpteenth time, I turned to take one more look at the sapphire, hoping the sight would cheer me up. The instant my foot pivoted, I knew I was in trouble. My hair went windblown wild. My fingers sparked. And the static around me snapped tight for an instant, like a rubber band stretched to its breaking point. I was about to have my bad luck. In spades.

SMACK!

I crashed into someone behind me. The champagne flew up out of my glass, splattering all over Devlin Dash. He took a step back at the jarring impact, his silver glasses teetering on the end of his nose. A golden drop of champagne rolled down one of the lenses and splashed onto my hand. That little plop of pressure sent the glass sliding from my fingers. It hit the marble floor and splintered into at least a hundred pieces.

Every eye in the room turned to the two of us. All conversation stopped. Even the music quit playing.

For a long, horrified moment, I stared at Devlin. I’d just soaked one of the wealthiest men in Bigtime with champagne in front of five hundred people. At my own benefit. Before he could write me a check.

I truly was jinxed.

Chapter Eight

To my credit, I didn’t sputter or stammer or spew out endless apologies. Didn’t cry or scream or run away in horror. Didn’t even blush. Well, not much. I’d long ago grown used to my jinx. Resigned myself to it, actually.

“Wait here,” I told Devlin. “I’ll get you some napkins. Try not to step in the glass.”

I grabbed some white linen cloths from a passing waiter and handed them to Devlin so he could wipe the alcohol off his smeared lenses. Everyone watched us a minute longer. When they realized Devlin wasn’t going to blow up at me, they returned to their drinks and conversation.

“I really am sorry,” I said. “I’m such a klutz sometimes. I hope this accident won’t change your mind about donating to the museum.”

Devlin pulled a wet sheet of paper out of the inside of his gray spacesuit costume. He didn’t even have to say anything. I took the check from him, and the soggy mess fell apart in my hands.

Devlin went to the bathroom to wash the champagne off his face while one of the waiters rushed forward to clean up the shattered glass.

The party wound down soon after that. Joanne was right. I really did know how to clear a room. Despite my earlier embarrassment, I stationed myself by the exit and thanked the society patrons for their time and generous donations.

My grandfather was among the last to leave. “It was a wonderful evening, Bella. You should be proud of yourself.”

I grimaced, thinking of Devlin Dash and his waterlogged check.

Bobby didn’t notice my sour expression. “Do you want to ride home with me in the limo?”

“No, I’ll catch a cab. I have to stay and take care of a few more things. I’ll see you there.”

Bobby’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe, maybe not. I have a date tonight.”

“Now?” I checked my silver watch. It was after two in the morning. “With whom?”

“Why, my lady friend, of course.”

“So are you finally going to tell me who she is?” I asked, scanning the remaining stragglers for a likely suspect. “Or do I have to guess?”

“Now, you know a true gentleman never kisses and tells. She’s a lovely lady, and that’s all you need to know. We’ll have dinner one night this week, I promise. Don’t wait up for me, Bella.” Grandfather leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Go home and get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

“Call me later!” I shouted to his retreating back.

Bobby waved his hand and walked outside. I sighed. He wouldn’t call me, and I’d spend the rest of the night sitting up and waiting for him to get home. Sometimes, watching after my grandfather was worse than trying to deal with a hormonal teenager.

Even though I was bone-tired, I spent the next hour helping the other volunteers count donations and tally up contributions. In the end, it was worth it. The benefit had raised over five million dollars for the museum, more than enough to pay off the new wing and far beyond my cautious estimates. Grandfather was right. The benefit had been a smashing success, despite my bad-luck run-in with Devlin Dash.

* * *

“This is wonderful, Bella. Just wonderful.” Arthur Anders beamed. “The benefit has exceeded all my expectations. We’ve gotten enough donations to keep the museum in tip-top shape for the next three years. We’ll even be able to add some pieces I’ve had my eye on.”

“I’m glad I could help,” I said. “You know the museum has always been one of my favorite places—and favorite causes.”

We were in Arthur’s office, and he’d just put the last of the checks into his personal safe. Arthur spun the dial around on the metal door, locking it, and moved over to his executive-style chair. I sat across from him, sipping some bottled water. Hopefully, I could finish it without soaking the papers on Arthur’s antique desk. I sat six feet away from them. Just in case.

“I know, and I appreciate it, now more than ever.” Arthur leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers over his stomach. “So tell me, how is your own art going, Bella? Are you still sketching?”

Of all the things we could talk about, he had to bring up my art. I sank a little lower into my chair. Once in college, I’d shown Arthur some portraits I’d drawn. Although they were well done from a mechanics standpoint, he said they didn’t have any real passion or life or enthusiasm in them. Arthur’s comments had been thoughtful and constructive and helpful, but I’d still been devastated. Completely, utterly devastated. My mentor, the man I admired, the person whose opinion mattered to lots of people, had told me my work was adequate. Merely adequate, not spectacular or noteworthy or amazing at all.

That was ego-crushing enough, but that hadn’t been the worst part. I’d foolishly submitted the portraits for inclusion in the senior art show, which was run by Arthur’s teaching assistant, an odious, sniveling weasel named Terrence Torres. I’d thought Terrence might have a different opinion of my work, especially since I was sleeping with him at the time. But no. Terrence had totally trashed every single piece I’d given him. He’d called my work amateurish and flat and boring and lacking any semblance of artistic merit. Then, he’d put my portraits in the senior show—as an example of what not to do. Terrence might as well have just burned the pieces in front of me. Oh, and he’d dumped me too, claiming our artistic visions were just too different. I didn’t find out until later that he’d been cheating on me with another student, one with a more suitable vision—and a C cup.

Between Arthur and Terrence, I’d never had the heart to show anything else I’d done to anyone outside my family, no matter how good I thought it was.

“Sometimes,” I murmured, answering Arthur’s question. “Not so much since my father died.”

My father had been the one who’d encouraged me the most, the one who thought I had real talent. He’d been the one who kept telling me not to give up, to keep on drawing and painting and sketching, no matter what. He was also the one who’d threatened to run over Terrence and Arthur with his motorcycle. It was one of the many things I missed about him.

Arthur nodded. “Well, I can understand that. But you should keep working. After all, a true artist never gives up, no matter how long it takes to find success.”

Sheesh. What a sugarcoated platitude. “Of course not.”

Arthur got to his feet. “I don’t know about you, but I’m ready to lock up and call it a night.”

“Just let me grab my purse, and I’ll be ready to go.”

“I’ll be waiting here to let you out.”

I headed down the hall to the small office where I’d stashed my things this afternoon before the benefit. I put my purse strap across my chest and made sure my pepper spray lay in the top of the bag. Granny Cane might be a superhero, but even she couldn’t stop all the muggers out there. It would be just my luck to run into the one guy she hadn’t carted off to the police station tonight.

I flipped off the lights in the office and headed back to the new wing. I wanted to check on things one more time before I left.

I stopped in the archway and peered inside. The benefit had barely been over an hour, but all the glasses and food and trash had already been cleared away. Kyle Quicke and the rest of Quicke’s staff, along with the museum’s, were extremely efficient. All the items seemed to be in their proper place, with the Star Sapphire in the middle of the room, standing guard over everything.

I turned to go back to Arthur’s office, when I felt my luck flare up. I froze.

What was I going to do now? Fall on the slick floor? Knock over one of the statues and shatter it? Get one of the paintings on the wall to burst into flames? Hmm. That last one wouldn’t be so bad—as long as it was Joanne’s velvet Elvis painting that was in the line of fire.

But instead of pulling me down or sideways or causing the art to fly around, my power quieted, returning to its usual, steady hum.

I shook my head and took a step forward

POP!

Debonair puffed in front of me. I managed not to scream or fall or otherwise do something stupid. I’d sort of been expecting him to show up. Looking forward to it, actually. Which wasn’t like me at all.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. “Come to steal something else?”

Debonair bowed his head. “Of course not. I came to congratulate you on your success. Your hard work really paid off. Everything went smoothly tonight.”

I thought of Devlin Dash again and grimaced. “Not everything.”

“I take it you’re referring to the champagne you spilled on Mr. Dash? I wouldn’t worry about that. Although, the man did look like a deer blinded by headlights. The whole scene was rather amusing.” Debonair smirked.

“I like Devlin,” I said, defending the awkward businessman. “He’s a nice guy. Unlike you.”

“Don’t you know nice guys finish last?” Debonair flashed me a sexy smile. “And that women, real women, like bad boys better?”

“Bad boys?” I snorted. “Oh, give me a break. Women like to fantasize about bad boys, but no one in her right mind would actually want to have a real relationship with one.”

Debonair looked amused. “Really? Why not?”

“One, they’re probably going to cheat on you. Bad boys tend to think rather highly of themselves. Two, the surly attitude and skintight leather get really old after a while. Three, most of them don’t know anything about art or poetry or music or books. All they want to talk about is their car or their motorcycle or their perfectly ripped abs.” I ticked off the points on my fingers. “I want a nice guy. A nice, normal, stable guy who doesn’t think he’s God’s gift to women and that it’s his sworn duty to spread himself around to anyone who’ll have him.”

“You want a nice guy?” Debonair asked.

He stepped closer to me, and my senses kicked into overdrive. I could smell the smoky scent that clung to his skin. See the silver and black rimming his blue eyes. Imagine his hot mouth pressed against mine. My pulse started to throb—along with other parts of my anatomy.

“Of course that’s what I want,” I snapped, pretending I wasn’t the least bit attracted to the sexy thief. “That’s what every woman really wants, deep down inside.”

“And you think I’m a bad boy?”

I eyed his leather costume and perfect body. “In every sense of the word.”

Debonair smiled. “Well, then, I guess I should play the part, shouldn’t I?”

Before I could stop him, Debonair pulled me toward him and lowered his lips to mine.

He smelled of sweet smoke, like smoldering rose petals. The heady aroma seemed to permeate his skin, his lips, his tongue. I found myself lost in a sensual haze, swept away in a fog of sultry emotions.

And I did something I would never, ever do. At least not before the end of a first date that included dinner and a movie. I kissed him back. I wanted to taste him the way he was tasting me. Wanted to lose myself in this moment, this feeling, this bright flare of attraction.

Being on the short side, I had to stand on my tiptoes to weave my fingers through his thick hair. But I did that too, pulling him even closer. Electricity that had nothing to do with my luck rippled against my skin in a most pleasant way.

The kiss went on for quite a while. I enjoyed every second of it. Every playful nip. Every sure flick. Every thrust of our tongues against each other.

Debonair drew away and pressed a kiss to the inside of my shaking wrist. My pulse roared under his lips. He dropped my hand.

“See? I told you bad boys have more fun. But darling, delicious, delectable Bella, I’m afraid I must be on my way.” His voice was as smooth and suave as ever, but his eyes were dim, as if he were troubled by our kiss.

Had I not measured up to his Slaves for Superhero Sex standards? The thought disappointed me, even as I tried not to stagger around like a drunk. The man was intoxicating in every sense of the word, and he could kiss like nobody’s business. No wonder women threw themselves at him.

“I’ve enjoyed our time together, and I bid you a very fond good-night.” Debonair tipped his head to me, turned toward the door, and walked away.

I admired the view for a moment. Then, my head cleared. He’d enjoyed our time together? What was I? A hooker he’d paid for an evening’s amusement?

Like hell.

Debonair wasn’t leaving that easily. He wasn’t going to kiss me and walk away like I was another one of the countless women he’d loved and left without a backwards glance.

My eyes narrowed, and I ran after him, focused on his retreating form. “Stop right there!”

For once, luck was on my side. Static pulsed around my body, and Debonair’s boots slid out from under him, as if he’d stepped on a patch of ice. His arms flailed. Then—

POP!

He disappeared. I sprinted forward to the spot where he’d been, right in front of the Star Sapphire. It reminded me of Debonair’s eyes—only not quite as blue.

My power hummed around my body, almost in warning. I turned. Debonair stood behind me. I hadn’t even heard him teleport back into the room.

He stared at the floor, then raised his gaze to me. His eyes were dark now, almost black. “Did you make me do that, Bella? Did you make me fall?”

“Of course not. How could I make you fall?”

We might have just shared a hair-raising kiss, but my power, or lack thereof, was none of his business.

“I’m not sure, but I find the possibility very interesting,” Debonair said in a smooth voice, moving closer to me.

I backed up against the display case that housed the sapphire. My fingers itched. My hair frizzed. Static gathered around my body once more.

And then, the roof shattered.

Chapter Nine

For a moment, I thought my luck had gone completely haywire. That I’d somehow, some way shattered the glass roof hundreds of feet above our heads. Quite an accomplishment, even for me. Then, luck or not, my sense of self-preservation kicked in. I screamed and dove out of the way of the falling shards, sliding across the smooth floor. My power kicked in of its own accord, as it so often did, and the static field propelled me farther than I could have ever gotten on my own.

Of course, I couldn’t get clear of all of it. I was lucky, not indestructible. I threw my arms over my head, even as bits and pieces of glass sliced into my skin. My blood spattered scarlet against the white floor, reminding me of the red rose on Debonair’s costume.

Thinking of Debonair, I didn’t hear him pop! out of the way, but he must have, because the sweet smell of rose-scented smoke filled my nose, making my head swim. Well, that and the blood loss.

The tinkling rain of glass stopped, replaced by the museum’s ringing alarms and a faint, whooshing sound, like I had water in my ears. I looked up. A shadow fell over the sapphire, and a muscular man in a gray spandex suit glided to a stop in the middle of the museum. He was enormous—seven feet tall and almost as wide with biceps bigger than my waist. A gray cowl covered his hair while a black mask obscured his face. A variety of odd items, including what looked like grenades, hung off the silver utility belt around his waist. It too was big—larger and thicker than my arm.

And so I got my first look at Hangman, one of Bigtime’s preeminent ubervillains. Unlike the Fearless Five, Hangman didn’t hang around with other ubervillains. He didn’t have to. With his ability to fly, superstrength, and gadget-filled belt, Hangman was an army all by himself. Which is why he hired out as a contract assassin, enforcer, and all-around bad guy. If you wanted someone dead, mangled, or beaten to a bloody pulp, especially someone with superpowers, Hangman was your guy.

So what was he doing at the museum? What was he after? There were all sorts of paintings and statues here that would tempt even the richest—

The ubervillain drew back his hand and drove his massive fist through the glass case housing the Star Sapphire. I should have guessed. I closed my eyes. Should have known. Hangman was stealing Berkley’s sapphire and who knew what else from the exhibit. Yep, my jinx was definitely working overtime. Although I suppose I should be grateful he’d at least waited until the opening was over.

Right now, though, I had more important things to worry about. Like getting out of the room alive. My father had died at the hands of ubervillains. I had no desire to repeat his fate—especially at the tender age of thirty. Grandfather had already outlived his only child. It would be a shame for him to outlive me too.

I rose to my knees, trying not to dig my hands into the supposedly shatterproof, bulletproof, ubervillainproof glass surrounding me like a glittering crystal carpet. Superhearing must have been another one of Hangman’s powers because his head snapped in my direction.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he snarled, reaching for one of the pineapple-shaped grenades on his belt.

I froze. Panic filled my body. If he threw that, there wouldn’t be enough of me left to put into a spoon—just like my father. I was about to die exactly the way he had, despite all the precautions I’d taken to stay as far away from ubervillains as possible. The irony wasn’t lost on me.

POP!

Debonair teleported in front of me and glanced over his shoulder. Once he saw I was more or less in one piece, he leaned against one of the Greek columns like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Hey, Hangman. How’s it hanging these days?” Debonair’s voice was low and smooth, but there was a hard, slightly mocking edge to it. “I haven’t seen you flying around the city much these days. Still upset I clipped the wings off that missile launcher Violet Crush paid you to set up?”

“Not as upset as you’re going to be when I get through with you, runt,” Hangman snarled.

The ubervillain’s hands hovered over his grenades like he was some gunslinger from the Old West. Debonair just smirked.

Every hero had his villain, and Hangman was Debonair’s. They’d been battling each other for years. In fact, theirs was the preeminent duel in Bigtime, since the Fearless Five had taken out the Terrible Triad. About a month ago, Debonair and Hangman had made news after one of their battles spilled over into Paradise Park. Another ubervillain, Violet Crush, had hired Hangman to set off some sort of horrible device to blackmail the city into naming a street after her. Or some such nonsense. Debonair had intervened, and the usual round of fistfights, explosions, and daring escapes had ensued. I remembered because Grandfather had made me watch it on SNN with him.

Debonair relaxed even more, as though he couldn’t care less that he was standing in an angry ubervillain’s line of fire. “If you’re going to do something, then do it. Because your conversation bores me.”

Hangman’s fingers fluttered over his grenades, ready to draw down on Debonair.

“Stop right now! Both of you!” Another voice rang out.

Striker stormed into the room, followed by Karma Girl, Hermit, and Mr. Sage. Black, silver, more black, green. They formed a colorful line in their costumes, cutting off the front door. The Fearless Five—well, four of them—had finally arrived. For once, I was glad to see them.

Hangman cursed. His hand flew to his waist, and he hurled a grenade at the four superheroes, taking them by surprise.

My eyes widened. We were going to die. In about ten seconds. Not to mention all the priceless works of art around us. If that thing went off, the whole room would go up in flames. All the Whimsical Wonders would be reduced to smithereens. Not to mention the Monets, the Renoirs, and the Van Goghs in the upstairs galleries. They’d be destroyed too. I didn’t know which was worse—us dying or the art being obliterated.

I shouldn’t have worried, though. Mr. Sage used his telekinesis to stop the grenade in mid-air and launch it back at the ubervillain.

“No! Not at him!” I pointed up to the blasted out ceiling. “Throw it up there! Now!”

I didn’t know if Mr. Sage heard me or not, or if my luck finally decided to cooperate with my will, but the grenade veered upwards, sailing toward the massive hole in the ceiling.

Just before the grenade cleared the roof, it exploded. Fire roared out from the small device, filling the room with thick, black smoke. The shock from the explosion tossed me back, thankfully away from most of the broken glass on the floor. I slammed into a life-size statue of a mythological Fenrir wolf made out of toothpicks and bounced off. The statue swayed, but it didn’t break.

Me too. Everything went dark for a second before my vision snapped back into focus. I shook my head, trying to clear the fog from my mind. Somehow, I got to my feet and started forward. I couldn’t see the door, though. I couldn’t see much of anything except the smoke blanketing the room.

Something soft and gooey touched my arm. I screamed and jumped back before I realized it was snowing. Well, not exactly snowing, but white foam flew through the air like tiny flakes. The explosion must have set off the museum’s fire-alarm system. Although I couldn’t see them, I knew sprinklers had popped out from their hiding places in the marble walls. That’s where the foam was coming from. It was a special kind of fire-retardant chemical that could be wiped off paintings and other artwork without leaving any stains behind. Practically all the businesses in Bigtime featured some sort of similar system. Most of the homes too. They had to, if they wanted to survive any kind of superhero-ubervillain battle.

The white foam also helped dissipate the smoke. I waved my hand in front of my face, helping it along. After about ten seconds, my eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I spotted the others. Debonair and Hangman stood next to the sapphire, grappling with each other, while Striker, Mr. Sage, and Hermit hovered around them.

A shrill, creaking sound caught my ear, and I looked up.

A chunk of debris broke loose from the ceiling and headed for the pedestal holding the Star Sapphire. My eyes widened, and I felt my power discharge. A second before the debris made impact, the pedestal tipped over, and the gem slid across the floor, landing at the feet of a mermaid statue. Hangman cursed and scrambled toward it.

POP!

Debonair beat him to it. The thief reached for the stone, but Hangman crashed into him just before he picked it up. The two of them rolled around on the floor, bouncing off statues, walls, and anything else in their way.

A hand grabbed my arm. I turned and screamed, right into Karma Girl’s face.

“Are you all right, Bella?” Karma Girl asked, her eyes glowing a bright blue.

I swallowed another scream. “I’m fine. Just a few cuts and bruises. But you guys have to take out Hangman before he gets the gem—and destroys any more of the museum.”

“We’ll handle it. You need to get out of here.” She pointed me toward the door.

I nodded and staggered toward the archway, happy to comply. Unlike my grandfather and brother, I had no desire to trade punches with evildoers. At that moment, all I wanted to do was pretend like tonight had never happened.

Except for my kiss with Debonair. That was definitely worth remembering, even if the man was a thief and a blatant lothario. Who knew? Maybe I’d splurge and buy his video game.

I shook my head and made a mental note to stop at the emergency room on the way home. Because I definitely had to have a concussion to be thinking about how sexy Debonair was at a time like this.

Another explosion ripped through the room, sending rubble and glass everywhere. My power flared, but it didn’t throw me forward or backward or sideways. Instead, for some reason, my foot lurched forward.

A moment later, the Star Sapphire skidded across the floor and stopped at my shoe. The shimmering blue facets caught what little light there was, reflecting it into my face. Mesmerized, I picked up the heavy gem.

My power pulsed again, and I ducked. Striker flew past me, slamming into the wall. His head snapped against the hard marble, and he slumped to the ground and didn’t get up. I ran over to him and put my finger against his throat. His pulse thumped steady and strong. As I looked at the superhero, a nasty cut over his right eye sewed itself shut. An instant later, you couldn’t tell he’d been injured at all, except for the dried blood on his face. It was a good thing Striker regenerated. He’d be okay in a minute or so.

I squinted, but I couldn’t see the other members of the Fearless Five through the blizzard of foam. What I did see was a very tall, very menacing figure. Hangman. Coming right at me. I barely had time to scramble to my feet before he was there.

“Give me that. Now,” Hangman snarled, drawing back his fist to punch me.

A blow from him would break my neck like a piñata. Even as I took a step back, I knew I couldn’t get out of the way in time. He was going to knock me into next week. Next month. Next year. This was going to hurt. A lot.

I was vaguely aware of Striker, or maybe it was Karma Girl, shouting something to me, but I was more concerned with the fist coming at my face to pay any attention.

Then, an arm wrapped around my waist, and the world disappeared.

Chapter Ten

Well, the world didn’t exactly disappear. It just sped by in a jumbled mishmash of color and light and sound. It was like being in the world’s biggest kaleidoscope and roller coaster at the same time. My body felt like it was being pulled apart, even as the sights and sounds of Bigtime flashed before my eyes. The museum steps. Paradise Park. The marina.

Finally, things stayed still for longer than half a second. A cold, fall wind whipped around me, tossing my caramel-colored hair in my face. I clawed the frizzy mess out of my eyes so I could see, and my mouth dropped open. I teetered on a small metal platform. Empty space surrounded me while cars crawled along a thousand feet beneath my trembling high heels.

The Skyline Bridge. We stood on top of the Skyline Bridge that spanned Bigtime Bay. No matter how unlucky and jinxed and jaded I was, this was not what I’d expected when I’d agreed to chair the museum benefit. So, I did what any sane woman would do under these circumstances.

I screamed.

“Quit struggling and be quiet. I’m teleporting us out of danger,” Debonair snapped in my ear. He wrapped his arm around my waist again before I could stop him. “We’ll be there in a minute.”

That minute involved trips to the top of the skyscraper that housed The Exposé, the women’s wear floor of Oodles o’ Stuff, and half a dozen other places. Debonair snapped his fingers, popping certain items off to wherever, before grabbing me and teleporting us on to our next destination. Debonair even poofed into Quicke’s long enough to get takeout. Takeout!

I screamed through most of it. I just couldn’t help myself. My power kept snapping and pulsing and crackling around my body, as thrown off by all this teleporting as I was. I couldn’t even see half the time, we moved so fast. Swifte had nothing on Debonair.

Finally, though, the world slowed into focus.

“Here we are. You’re safe now, Bella.” Debonair’s voice was gentler than it had been before.

“No more teleporting around the city?” I asked, my legs wobbling.

I tried to focus on Debonair’s face, but the room wouldn’t stop spinning. I felt like I was trapped in a giant hamster wheel. Going round and round with no end in sight.

“No more teleporting. At least not until I decide what to do with you—and the gem.”

I looked down. Even though I couldn’t see it all that well, I still clutched the Star Sapphire in my fist. I was surprised I’d managed to hold on to it this long. Debonair’s gloved hand closed around my wrist. My fingers tightened around the sapphire. I wasn’t losing it. Not now. Not after all of this.

Debonair sighed. “What am I going to do with you, Bella Bulluci? You haven’t left me with many choices.”

That sounded fairly ominous, even for the daughter of a sometime superhero. So, I did what any good damsel in distress would when faced with a strange man who’d just kidnapped her.

I fainted.

* * *

Sometime later, I woke. I snuggled my cheek deeper into the pillow under my head. It was large and fluffy and plump, just the way I liked. And the sheets were cool and slick against my skin—

Hold on. My eyes snapped open. I liked cotton sheets. Plain, sensible, sturdy cotton. Flannel in the wintertime. But sheets made of the finest, softest silk imaginable encased my body. I sat up, panicked.

And promptly sank down and rose back up like I was in a boat. I was lying in the middle of the biggest waterbed I’d ever seen. One with black-and-scarlet-striped sheets.

I waited for the wave to subside and scooted over to the edge of the bed, determined to get out of the locomotion love nest. Something filmy brushed against my leg. I peeked under the covers and realized I wore a lacy scarlet teddy that just barely covered anything at all. Where was I? And why was I wearing something so trashy?

After a few seconds, it all came back to me.

Benefit. Museum. Debonair. Kiss. Hangman. Explosions. Teleporting.

Debonair.

I clutched the sheets up to my chest. My eyes darted around the room. Empty. He wasn’t here. Debonair wasn’t in here.

I took a deep breath, fought back my panic, and thought about things. Debonair hadn’t hurt me. He’d saved me from having my face smashed in by Hangman. Besides, Debonair was more of a lover than a fighter anyway. He probably wouldn’t kill me. More than likely, he’d try to seduce me. The teddy and waterbed were proof enough of that.

After a few more breaths, I came the rest of the way back to my senses and scanned the area. It was large, sort of like a swanky loft. The bed, where I was, took up a good part of the left side of the room while a black-and-white-plaid sofa flanked the opposite wall, along with four chairs and a love seat. A large, ebony cabinet sitting against another wall looked like it held a television and other entertainment devices. A small, glass-topped table was tucked away in one corner, while watercolors of men and women in the throes of passion adorned the walls. Crimson roses clustered in crystal vases throughout the room, making it smell sweet and inviting. An open door on one side led to a bathroom. Through a glittering, beaded, red curtain, I spotted what looked like a black granite tub sunk into the floor. Another door, closed, presumably led out to the real world.

I’d heard about this place. The Lair of Seduction. It had been profiled in countless men’s magazines. In addition to being a thief, Debonair also dispensed romance tips to lonely men and women in a variety of Bigtime publications. He was always particularly prominent around Valentine’s Day. I even thought SNN had given him his own half-hour show on V-Day this year, but I wasn’t sure. I tried to ignore superheroes and ubervillains whenever possible, as if by not thinking about them, I could make them go away. Now that would have been a useful superpower.

I was in Debonair’s Lair of Seduction wearing a silk teddy and a grimace. This was not how I wanted to start my day. If it was even day yet. Or still day.

There were no windows or clocks in the room, so I had no sense of time. Or where I could possibly be. In the city, in the country, on another planet. I could have been anywhere.

Another flash of scarlet caught my eye, and I spotted a robe that matched the teddy on one of the chairs near the bed. He’d left me a robe. Thank heavens. I might work out every day, but I definitely didn’t have a superhero’s hard body. Or even one that could pull off wearing a barely there teddy. I was too curvy in all the wrong places.

I surfed off the waterbed, snatched up the robe, and wrapped it around my body. It didn’t cover up much more than the teddy did, but at least there wasn’t a draft everywhere anymore. My eyes fell to the floor, and I spotted a pair of kitten heels that matched the rest of my outrageous ensemble. Naturally.

Oh my. Debonair was certainly serious about keeping up his image. A teddy, a robe, and heels with feathers attached to them. The fashion designer and wannabe artist in me shuddered, but I put on the shoes anyway. Debonair had style, all right; too bad it just wasn’t current. Or classy. Fiona, no doubt, would have loved this place.

Static surged around me. I stopped, not wanting to fall in the shoes.

POP!

Debonair teleported into the room and settled on the long sofa. Blue-black leather suit. Dark hair. Blue eyes. And a body that was too good to be true. I couldn’t take my eyes off him. He really was handsome. Too handsome for his own good. For my own good. Because all I wanted to do at the moment was put my hand on his chest, right over the scarlet rose, and draw his lips down to mine.

Concussed. I was definitely concussed. Or perhaps I’d lost more blood than I’d thought—

“Did you sleep well?” Debonair asked, his voice as husky and sexy as ever.

“I wouldn’t call it sleeping. But yes, I feel a little better.” Except for this insane attraction that kept sweeping over me.

“Good.”

His eyes drifted over my body, taking in the flimsy robe and ridiculous shoes. Realizing how precariously close to naked I was, I clutched the robe tighter around my body. Debonair’s eyes flared, and the smell of smoldering roses intensified. I felt like a kitten caught high in a tree. One false move and I’d plummet to my death. Or, in this case, be ravished by a notorious rogue. And probably enjoy it a little too much.

He kept staring at me, evidently content to do that and nothing else. I tried not to teeter in the heels.

“Where’s the sapphire?” I asked, desperate to focus on something other than the fact he kept looking at me like he enjoyed the sight very, very much.

Debonair jerked his head, and I spotted the sapphire sitting on the carpet at the foot of the waterbed.

“Why did you just leave it there?”

“For one, I had a hell of a time prying it out of your fingers to start with. Then, when I did that, it kept slipping out of my grasp. That was as far as I got with it before I realized it didn’t want to leave your side. Or that you weren’t letting it out of your sight.” Debonair’s eyes held mine. “You’ll have to tell me how you do that, especially since you were unconscious at the time. I’m most curious.”

“I didn’t do anything. Maybe you were just being clumsy.”

“Darling Bella, I’m never, ever clumsy. No matter what I do. Or who I do it with.”

My breath caught in my throat. Kisses. Caresses. Long, slow strokes. All sorts of sensual things flashed through my head, and I stared at the floor to keep my eyes off the suggestive paintings on the walls.

I bit my lip to bring myself back to my senses. Debonair might dazzle the other women he brought here, but not me. I wasn’t going to succumb to his charm. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to sleep with him—or any other superhero. There was too much heartache, too much worrying involved in superheroes. Even pseudo superheroes like Debonair. And my father.

All I wanted to do was go home. Back to the Bulluci mansion, back to Grandfather, and back to my safe, calm, mostly superhero-free life.

“Can I go home now? Please?”

Debonair shook his head. “I’m afraid that’s out of the question, Bella. Not until I figure out a few things.”

“Like what?”

Debonair gestured at the jewel on the floor. “Like what Hangman wanted with that. He seemed most anxious to get it, taking on me and the Fearless Five at the same time. Usually, he’s smarter than that, loathe as I am to admit it.”

He reached down. My power flared up, and the static arced out, not wanting the handsome thief to pick up the gem. Somehow, I managed to squash it. Debonair didn’t need to know about my power—or lack thereof. He might try to make me use it for his benefit. He wasn’t taking advantage of me anymore than he already had.

Debonair’s hand closed around the sapphire, and he straightened. “It really is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”

“You have to give it back to the museum,” I protested. “It’s not yours. Neither is that painting you stole from Berkley.”

“Why should I give back the sapphire? Finders keepers and all that.”

“Because the gem belongs to Berkley, and he loaned it to the museum so everyone could have a chance to enjoy it. Not just you.”

Debonair cocked his head to one side, staring at me as though he were seeing me for the very first time. “That’s an interesting theory, Bella.”

“It’s not a theory. It’s the truth. By hoarding the art you steal or whatever you do with it, you’re denying others the chance to enjoy its beauty. It’s criminal. It’s worse than whatever Hangman wanted to do with the sapphire.”

“Oh, I doubt that. Hangman is much fonder of killing people than I am.”

I gulped. That was true too.

Debonair tossed the sapphire in the air and caught it. Then, he turned to me. “So, what do you want, Bella?”

“What do you mean?”

He sauntered toward me. I tried not to notice how his muscles coiled and rippled with every step.

“Well, I like my guests, particularly my female guests, to feel at home. And you’re going to be here for a while, Bella. So, tell me, what is it you want right now?”

I want you to kiss me again. Kiss me like I’m the only woman in the world. I must have really, really hit my head hard at the museum because, strangely enough, that was the first thing I thought of. But I pushed that silly fancy aside and moved on to more sensible matters. I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity.

“I want some food and water, of course. I’m not picky. I want my dress and purse back. And I want to call my grandfather and tell him that I’m all right.”

“I think I can do a little better than just food and water. But your dress was ruined beyond all repair, which is why you’re wearing that robe.”

I stared at the scarlet fabric. “You undressed me?” I cringed, thinking of love handles and stretch marks and cellulite, all of which I had in abundance.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t look.” Debonair winked. “Too much.”

Which meant he had seen my thunder thighs in all their huge glory. Wonderful.

He ticked off answers to the rest of my demands. “I’ll give you back the purse, but calling your grandfather is out of the question. There aren’t any phones in this room.”

I threw up my hands. “Well, can’t you just pop! one in here like you do everything else?”

“I’m afraid not. Besides, I don’t even think they’ll work down here.”

Down here. That meant I was probably underground or that the walls were excessively thick. It didn’t inspire me with a lot of confidence about my chances of escaping.

“You have to let me call him.” My panic bubbled back to the surface. “You have to.”

“No, I don’t.”

I shook my head. “You don’t understand. My father was…he…he was killed earlier this year. He didn’t come home on time, but I…just thought he was wrapped up in a business deal or something. And then, we, um, got the news that his body had been found. Or what was left of it. Ever since then, I’ve made it a point to check in with my grandfather every few hours. He’ll be worried sick, especially when he hears about what happened at the museum.”

Debonair studied me, his eyes tracing over my face. I didn’t want to beg, but I didn’t want Grandfather to worry. I didn’t want him to experience the same fear I had every night for so long.

“Please, please let me call him. I’ll do anything you want, and I won’t say anything about where I am. I can’t anyway because I don’t even know where I am. I don’t have a clue.”

“I’ll think about it,” Debonair said.

I bit my lip to keep from pleading with him some more.

“Is there anything else you need or require?” he asked in a soft voice.

“Can you find me some other clothes?”

“Why? Aren’t you comfortable?”

“You’re kidding, right?” I threw my arms out wide. “Look at me. I look ridiculous in this getup. Not to mention it’s rather cold in here.”

Debonair’s eyes dropped to my nipples, clearly visible through the thin silk. “Yes, I suppose it is.”

Embarrassed beyond belief, I crossed my arms over my chest. Debonair got up and walked over to me. He stretched out a hand.

For a moment, I thought he was going to pull me to him. My breath caught in my throat in fear and more than a little anticipation. I didn’t know what I would do if he kissed me again. Melt in his arms, most likely. What was it about him that had me so worked up?

Instead, he fingered the sleeve of my silk robe. “I think you look quite fetching, Bella. You really should wear red more often. It suits you.” Debonair dropped his hand. “But I’ll see what I can do about getting you some other clothes.”

All I could do was just look at him.

Then—

POP!

Debonair vanished, taking the sapphire with him and leaving me alone.

And strangely wishing he’d come back.

Chapter Eleven

I hadn’t taken half a step toward the closed door when things started popping! into the room.

First, food appeared on the glass table in the corner. Debonair wasn’t boasting. He could do a whole lot better than just bread and water. A veritable feast poofed into being right before my eyes. Cheeses and breads and fresh fruits and chocolates galore, along with a bottle of fine champagne. The spread was even more impressive than what Quicke’s had served at the benefit. The sight made my stomach roar and my mouth water.

Second, my purse teleported in, along with my dress. Both landed at the foot of the enormous waterbed. Debonair was right. The dress was beyond saving. Soot and ash and blood dirtied the satin fabric, along with more rips and tears than I could ever hope to sew shut again. Stains also covered the matching purse, but it, at least, was in one piece.

Third, a set of clothes materialized. A pair of hip-hugging, tight-fitting khakis teleported into the room, along with a sleeveless, paisley shirt so low-cut it wasn’t much better than the teddy. A moment later, a matching, green leather jacket appeared, along with a pair of low, sling-back heels. Everything had sequins on it, from the multicolored flowers on the pockets of the khakis to the flashing rhinestones that dotted the shirt, to the tiny pearls stitched across the top of the shoes. Sequins and rhinestones and pearls. The outfit looked like something Fiona would wear, only more flamboyant. Not my usual style, but I was just going to have to make do. Or keep wearing the silk teddy, which wasn’t an option.

Fourth—

There was no fourth.

No phone materialized in the room as I’d requested. So, I dug through my purse until I found my own cell phone. A message on the screen told me there was no signal and to seek higher ground or my nearest cell tower.

Disappointed, I put the phone away. Debonair hadn’t been lying when he said one wouldn’t work down here. I supposed I should be grateful to my captor for what he’d given me. I doubted Hangman would have been so generous. But I found myself listening, waiting for one more pop! that would tell me Debonair had returned.

He didn’t appear either. I wasn’t sure why I was so disappointed.

But I was.

Still, I was too sensible to mope for long. Not if I had any hope of getting out of my prison. Debonair hadn’t said anything about letting me go, and I had no reason to think he wouldn’t. But I wasn’t about to take any chances. Not with the sexy thief. I didn’t trust him. Or maybe I didn’t trust myself around him.

Either way, I got busy.

I pushed through the beaded curtain, stepped into the bathroom, and locked the door behind me. Not that a locked door would keep him out, of course. Debonair could probably teleport into any place he wanted. But it made me feel a little bit better.

The first thing I did was examine my various wounds. They dotted my arms and hands and knees like a bad case of acne. But none were so deep they’d need stitches. In fact, most weren’t much more than paper cuts. Any other person would have probably been sliced to ribbons by the shattered glass from the museum roof. I knew it was because of my luck. For every bad thing that happened, something good did too. So, while I’d been in the middle of a superhero-ubervillain battle, I’d escaped it with just a few minor injuries. Not a bad tradeoff.

So I moved on. Bruises had formed on a large portion of my body, which meant that I’d be extremely sore in a few hours. But nothing seemed to be sprained or twisted or broken. I also didn’t feel any telltale lumps or bumps on my head, and my vision was fine. Which meant I probably didn’t have a concussion. I wasn’t so sure I was happy about that. Otherwise, how could I explain this intense attraction I felt for someone as inappropriate as Debonair?

I took a quick dip in the oversized bathtub, scrubbing everything several times, including my thick hair. Then, I stuffed myself into the clothes, albeit sans underwear. The bra and panties I’d been wearing under my dress were as bloody and dirty as it was, and I just couldn’t bear to put the bloodstained fabric back against my clean skin. So I went without, even though I didn’t particularly like going commando.

The clothes fit, but just barely. And the shirt was practically indecent without the jacket to cover it. Debonair had quite the eye when it came to guessing a woman’s size. There wasn’t an inch of extra fabric. Anywhere.

I wiped the steam off the mirror over the sink in the bathroom and stared at my reflection. Tawny, curly hair. Hazel eyes. And an outfit so garish it was almost pretty. I looked like me but different. It wasn’t the clothes so much as it was something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. A flush colored my cheeks, and a light gleamed in my eyes that hadn’t been there before. Who knew? Maybe being in mortal danger and kidnapped by a handsome thief agreed with me. Or was at least good for my skin. Or maybe I really was concussed and just didn’t know it.

Once I was more or less properly clothed, I sat down at the table and devoured the food, not even caring about calories and carbs. Fiona would have been proud of me. I ate all the cheese. All the chocolates. All the fruit. And all the bread, except for the crusts. I’d never liked crusts.

I didn’t drink the champagne, though, instead getting some water from the bathroom. I wanted a clear head. I’d need one, if I had any chance of escaping.

Once I was through with my meal, I tried the door. Locked. So, I ransacked the room, opening the drawers and cabinets, peering under the furniture, checking around the edges of the massive waterbed.

Nothing. There was nothing that would help me escape. Not even so much as a rusty nail I could pry out of the wall and stab Debonair with. If I could muster up the courage to do that and not just stare dreamily into his eyes. The man was gorgeous, but why was I acting this way? You’d think I’d never seen a hot superhero or ubervillain before. That I’d never even had sex before. Of course, it had been a while, but that was no excuse. Debonair had kidnapped me and told me in no uncertain terms I was his prisoner. I should hate him.

But, for some reason, I didn’t.

And he wasn’t all bad. He’d saved me from Hangman. He’d given me everything I’d asked for, except a phone. Still, thinking about him didn’t help me out of my present situation.

So, I got up off the bed and went through the room again, slower and more carefully. Opened all the drawers. Peered under the furniture. Checked around the edges of the waterbed.

And I realized things seemed a little…off.

Oh, lots of DVDs lay next to the TV inside the entertainment center. But the covers were all slick and shiny, as though they’d never even been opened.

Oh, lots of exotic bath oils and warming lotions and soothing creams lined a shelf in the bathroom. But the lids were screwed on, and the bottles were all full, as though they’d never been used.

Oh, lots of faux sex toys, like fake, fur-lined handcuffs and edible underwear, populated the dresser next to the bed. But they looked brand-new, and none of the underwear seemed to be missing from its foil package.

And I didn’t find any condoms.

Not a single one.

You’d think a Romeo like Debonair would have had an industrial pack stashed away somewhere in his Lair of Seduction. Maybe even two or three if he was really the stud he was rumored to be. But I didn’t find any.

And I started to wonder—was the whole Lair of Seduction thing even real?

Or was it all for show?

And if so, why?

I wasn’t sure I really wanted to know. The whole place gave me a weird vibe. So, I grabbed a pad and pencil I’d found stuffed in one of the drawers in the entertainment center and plopped down on the waterbed.

It didn’t matter what Debonair did in here or with whom. There was one thing that was real—I wasn’t getting out of here by myself. I’d just have to wait for the Fearless Five to come rescue me. Surely, they were on their way by now. Sam and Carmen probably had Henry Harris and Lulu Lo working overtime on their computers trying to find me. If anyone could, it would be the two computer gurus. After all, Lulu had managed to find Johnny earlier this year, when he’d been hypnotized and kidnapped by Siren and Intelligal.

My eyes scanned the room for about the tenth time, and an idea hit me. I started sketching the layout of the Lair of Seduction and made note of all the items inside. Doing this same thing had helped Carmen Cole uncover the real identities of the Terrible Triad last year. Instead of being a superhero, the newspaper reporter had once exposed heroes’ and villains’ secret identities. Maybe my list would help her puzzle out Debonair’s alter ego when they rescued me.

I did a couple of quick drawings of the room and bathroom. Then, I moved on to Debonair. To my surprise, he was easy to draw. Or maybe I was just obsessed. I filled page after page with images of the handsome thief. Him standing in the museum. Him holding the sapphire in his hand. Him staring at me.

But the sketch I was proudest of was a close-up portrait of Debonair’s face. I drew him in profile, half turned toward me, half hidden by shadows that spilled over the page. A half smile pulled his lips upward, hinting at his roguish, rakish nature, and he peeked at me out of the corner of his eye.

I added a bit more shading to his hair and looked at my drawing, pleased with my effort. I’d majored in art in college and had taken a few classes on my own since then, so I knew good work when I saw it—even if it was my own. I doubted Arthur Anders would have been able to find fault with my sketch. Not that he was ever going to see it, though.

My art was my private, personal escape—one I didn’t share with anyone else, except Johnny and Grandfather. They encouraged me, but I don’t think they knew how important my art was to me—and how passionate I was about it. No one really knew, except for my father, and he was gone now.

Tired and spent, I yawned. The fight at the museum had taken a lot out of me, as had the wild teleportation around the city and waking up to find myself wearing nothing but a silk teddy. But my ordeal was almost over. The Fearless Five would find me soon, and I could go home, where I belonged.

Since there was nothing I could do to escape, I curled up on the waterbed, pad beside me, and went to sleep.

Chapter Twelve

I knew he was in the room the second I woke up. The smell of smoky roses permeated the air, and there was a stillness I was coming to recognize as the calm after the storm. Or more like the quiet after the pop!

I sat up to find him lounging on the sofa, staring at me. His eyes were dark and thoughtful. I wondered how long he’d been sitting there. Watching me. And what he’d thought about while he did it.

“What time is it?” I asked, my voice thick with sleep.

“A little before midnight. You’ve been asleep all afternoon.”

I rubbed my eyes and cleared the rest of the cobwebs from my mind. I’d been gone almost a whole day. Grandfather would be frantic by now. I would have been, in his shoes. I hoped the stress wouldn’t be too much for him. And that he wasn’t using this as an excuse to eat and smoke and drink whatever he wanted. Just because I’d been in mortal danger was no reason for him to turn to chocolate cannolis for comfort.

A faint rustle broke through my worry. I looked up. Debonair held the pad filled with my drawings in his gloved hands. Horror, pure horror, filled me. I never, ever showed my work to anyone but Grandfather and Johnny. I was too afraid of what they’d say. That they’d laugh or scoff or make fun of it like Terrence had. That they’d confirm my suspicion I was wasting my time on a dream that would never come true. Having it confirmed by a third party was a bit more soul-crushing.

Debonair saw me looking at the pages. “The pad was lodged under your arm. It looked like it was making you uncomfortable, so I took the liberty of removing it.”

“Give it back.” My fingers dug into the silk sheets, twisting them. “Please.”

Debonair crossed one leg over the other and flipped through the drawings, studying each one.

“I was just doodling.” Panic colored my voice, even though I was trying to be as nonchalant as possible. “It’s something I do when I’m bored.”

“Well, you can doodle quite nicely. I particularly like this one.” He pointed to the portrait of his face. “You have some real talent, Bella. Do you draw all the time?”

“I dabble a bit, that’s all.”

“Well, you should do it more. And you should let people see your work. It’s quite good. Your strokes are sure and firm, the proportions are spot-on, and your shading is exquisite.”

His praise pleased me. More than I would have thought possible. Johnny and Grandfather both told me repeatedly that I had talent, that I should show my work to others. So had my father, James, when he’d been alive. But it was quite another thing to hear it coming from a complete stranger—well, almost a complete stranger. And one who stole fine art. Maybe my dream of being an artist wasn’t so far-fetched—if I could muster up the courage to pursue it.

“Do you really like it? Or are you just being nice?”

Debonair smiled. “I really like it, Bella. Truly, I do.”

My heart fluttered, and I didn’t know if it was because of his kind words or incredible smile.

“In fact, I like it so much I’m going to give it the official Debonair seal of approval.” He snapped his fingers, and a pencil appeared in them. “Do you mind?”

“No. Please. Go ahead.”

Debonair scrawled his name across the bottom of the drawing and held it out to me. I scooted off the waterbed, took the paper, and squinted.

“You call that a signature? It looks like a big D with some squiggles after it.”

Debonair shrugged. “Unfortunately, penmanship is not one of my superpowers. We all have our weaknesses.”

He held out his hand. “Come. It’s time for dinner. I’ve brought you something a little more substantial than bread and cheese this time.”

I hesitated, then slipped my hand in his gloved one. It felt better than I thought it would. Almost natural.

Debonair led me over to the table in the corner of the room. He’d been busy while I’d been asleep. Covered platters sat on the smooth surface, along with several lit candles and a fresh bouquet of roses. A bucket of white wine chilled next to the table, which had been set with fine china and crystal. A perfect, romantic scene, like something out of a book or movie. The sight made me uncomfortable.

Debonair held out a chair. I slid into the seat while he dropped into the opposite one. The thief took a folded, white napkin, whipped it open, and settled it in his lap with an innate grace I envied. If I tried to do that, I’d probably give myself a black eye.

Then, Debonair took off his leather gloves and laid them aside. I stared at his hands. Maybe it was the artist in me, but I always looked at people’s hands. His were very nice. Strong and capable-looking, with short, neat nails and just a sprinkling of dark hair across the knuckles.

“How about some wine?” he asked, holding up a bottle. “Or would you prefer something stronger?”

I loved wine, but I didn’t drink it that often. Or rather, I couldn’t. Whenever I tried, my luck usually went helter-skelter, and I ended up wearing more of the liquid than I actually drank, probably because of my underlying guilt about all the calories. As a result, I usually stuck to low-calorie, vitamin-enhanced water. It didn’t leave as many stains behind on the floor or table or my clothes.

But I couldn’t be too picky tonight. Debonair had given me so much already. I hated to ask for more, even if I was here against my will. I’d just have to hope my luck wouldn’t decide to make me do something particularly chaotic.

“White wine is fine.”

He poured us both some, then snapped his fingers. The covers on the platters disappeared, revealing orange-glazed chicken next to a medley of mixed vegetables, toasted baguettes, and mounds of mashed potatoes covered with butter, sour cream, bacon bits, and cheddar cheese.

Steam rose up from the chicken and vegetables, overpowering the rosy scent in the room. My stomach rumbled, even though I’d eaten a few hours ago. Or had it been longer? I couldn’t tell.

“Please. Help yourself. I know you must be hungry after everything you’ve been through,” Debonair said.

I eyed the food like Fiona would look at a bag of candy bars. Heaven on a plate, despite the heavy carb load. But I figured I’d earned the right to splurge. It wasn’t every day I survived being in the middle of a superhero-ubervillain battle.

I bit into the tender chicken and sighed as the sweet-and-sour juices filled my mouth. “This is delicious.”

Debonair raised his wineglass. “Only the best for you, Bella.”

Normally, I would have been nice and polite and merely picked at my meal, avoiding most of the treacherous bread and potatoes. But I was too hungry to care what Debonair thought of my table manners. Or maybe watching Fiona inhale food like there was no tomorrow had affected me more than I’d realized. Either way, I polished off my meal in a matter of minutes without dropping or spilling anything. My luck kept to a low, steady buzz around me, content not to interfere. For a change.

“Do you want some more?” Debonair asked.

“No,” I said, dabbing at my lips with a crisp, linen napkin. “That was more than enough, and everything was wonderful.”

He smiled. “I’m glad you approve. The chicken and vegetables are an old family recipe. My grandmother taught me to make them many years ago.”

“Your grandmother, is she here?”

Perhaps if she was, I could appeal to her to help me escape. Or at least get her to let me call my grandfather. Despite Debonair’s obvious charms, I couldn’t let myself think he was anything but my kidnapper. Albeit the nicest kidnapper anyone had probably ever had.

Debonair shook his head. “She’s still alive, if that’s what you’re asking. But she’s not here. She’s a wonderful woman.”

“What’s her name?” I asked, hoping to catch him off guard.

“You know I can’t tell you that, Bella.”

I didn’t really expect it to work, so I tried another tactic. “You love your grandmother very much, don’t you?”

He seemed almost insulted by my question. “Of course, I love my grandmother. I might be a rake and a thief, but I do have a heart.”

“So you can imagine how worried your grandmother would be if you were, say, kidnapped. You’d want to call her and let her know you were all right, wouldn’t you?”

Debonair sighed. “I can’t let you call your grandfather, Bella. Anything else you want, I’ll freely give to you, but not that.”

“Why won’t you let me call him? All I want to do is let him know I’m okay.”

“Because he’s got the whole city looking for you, superheroes included. If I let you call him, odds are he’ll trace it back to me. Call me a coward if you want, but I don’t want to face your grandfather. Or your brother, Johnny. They’re both very powerful men.” A sly smile flitted across his face. “They’d tear me limb from limb for kidnapping you, even if I did so with the best of intentions.”

I couldn’t argue with him. Family and honor and traditions meant everything to my brother and grandfather. They’d do more than just tear Debonair limb from limb. They’d put him back together and repeat the process. Several times. Then, they’d both probably dress up as Johnny Angel and run him over with their motorcycles. I might want to go home, but I didn’t want to do it at that cost. I might despise heroes and villains, but I couldn’t deny the sexy thief had sort of grown on me. And he’d saved my life. That counted for a lot.

“Well, have you figured out what Hangman wants with the Star Sapphire?”

Debonair shook his head. “Not yet. He could want it just to want it, of course. But Hangman’s never been known to be overly greedy, just power hungry. I think someone else hired him to steal the sapphire. What that person plans to do with it, I have no idea. Maybe if I had more resources, I’d be able to discover the answer quicker. But I must confess that I’ve fallen on hard times recently.”

My eyes flicked around the room, taking in all the rich furnishings, as well as the exquisite meal we’d just eaten. This didn’t look like hard times to me.

“Well, I can’t stay here forever. I can’t put my grandfather through that. Surely, you can understand?”

“I do. More than you know. But I can’t risk Hangman coming after you to get to me. He will, you know. He saw me teleport you away. He knows I have the sapphire. He’ll come to you and demand to know where I am, who I am. And when you can’t tell him, he’ll hurt you. Terribly.”

“I can take care of myself. And I have friends who will help me. Powerful friends.” If I could put aside my dislike of the Fearless Five’s spandex costumes and alter egos long enough to let them help.

“That won’t be enough. Not against Hangman.” Debonair stared into my eyes. “I don’t want anything to happen to you, Bella. You’re far too important to me.”

I laughed. “You almost sound like you care about me. Me, a complete stranger!”

“You’re not a complete stranger to me, Bella. You’re not a stranger at all.”

Debonair looked like he wanted to bite his tongue the second the words came out. He dropped his eyes to his half-eaten chicken and fiddled with his fork. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I thought I saw a blush creeping up the side of his neck. Debonair? Blushing?

His confession confused me as well.

“Do I—do I know you? The real you?”

He looked away, and I knew the answer.

“Who are you?”

For a moment, Debonair chewed on his lower lip. He looked lost, unsure, and nothing at all like the suave rake he was. Then, his eyes shuttered, and he came back to himself.

“That’s not important,” he said in a smooth voice. “What is important is keeping you safe. That’s why you’re going to stay here until I can figure out what Hangman is up to.”

He wasn’t going to let me go. Not anytime soon, at least. My thoughts turned to Grandfather. He’d be worried. He was probably sitting up now, just like I’d done so many nights when my father and brother were out prowling the streets as Johnny Angel. Grandfather would be staring at the phone, praying for it to ring. And afraid that when it did, it would be the police or the Fearless Five on the other end of the line with bad news.

Frustrated, I threw down my napkin. My power flared, and the cloth landed on top of one of the candles. It immediately caught fire. The candle tipped over, and the flaming cloth hit my half-drunk glass of wine, spilling it. In an instant, hot, hungry flames engulfed the table.

Not for long, though. Debonair snapped his fingers, and a fire extinguisher popped into his hands. He pulled the pin out of the device and squeezed down on the metal handle. White foam spewed over the table, smothering the red-orange flames, and the fire ended as quickly as it had begun.

I just sat there, looking at the remains of the ruined table and watching smoke puff away from the mess.

The battle, the kidnapping, the Lair of Seduction, not being able to contact Grandfather, Debonair, my jinx. It was too much. It was just too damn much.

I got to my feet and stalked over to the waterbed. I tried to muffle it, but a small sob escaped my lips.

“Bella…”

“Please just go.” My voice cracked, and I closed my eyes to keep tears from spilling down my face. “Please.”

Hands settled on my shoulders and gently turned me around. I opened my eyes and found myself looking at the scarlet rose and silver thorn that decorated Debonair’s blue-black leather costume. The thief tipped up my chin so he could see into my face.

“Don’t cry,” Debonair whispered, wiping away a tear from my cheek. “Please. I can’t stand to see you cry. I’ll find a way to get a message to your grandfather. Somehow.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

For some reason, I believed him. Debonair wiped another tear off my face. He stared at me, and I at him. I realized how hot his hand felt on my cheek. Realized how close our bodies were. Realized how much I suddenly wanted him to stay.

“Bella, do you know how beautiful you are?” he said.

I forced myself to laugh, even though I trembled inside. “I bet you say that to all the women you bring here.”

His eyes flared sapphire blue, and his mouth opened as if he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he reached out and rubbed a lock of my frizzy hair between his bare fingers.

“Soft and smooth, just as I imagined it would be.” Debonair held the strand up to his nose. “It smells like roses. Sweet and delectable.”

“You’re the one who smells like roses,” I corrected. “That’s just your shampoo I used earlier.”

Amusement sparkled in his eyes. “You’re very practical, do you know that?”

“And you’re very impractical, do you know that?” I countered.

“That’s what makes me so adorable.” He smirked.

I couldn’t stop myself from laughing.

“You should do that more often.”

“What?”

“Laugh,” Debonair said. “I like the sound of it.”

I just looked at him. His perfect body. His blue-black suit. His dark, curly hair.

Debonair stared back, a hungry expression in his blue eyes.

“Well, it’s been a long day,” I said, nervous. “I suppose this is good-night.”

“Good night, Bella.” His voice was low and husky.

“Thank you for dinner. And for agreeing to contact my grandfather. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

On an impulse, I leaned up on my tiptoes to give him a quick peck on the cheek, but Debonair turned his head, capturing my lips with his.

Suave. Very, very suave.

Debonair wound his hand in my hair and pulled me to him, so close that our bodies were flush against each other. His thickening erection pressed into my thigh, making me ache as he probed my mouth with his tongue. He smelled of sultry smoke and tasted sweet, like the orange sauce we’d just eaten.

I ran my fingers up and down his broad chest, marveling at his smooth muscles, wishing I could touch his bare skin. He seemed pleased by my explorations, growling and cupping my ass in his hands.

Debonair slid the leather jacket from my body, exposing my mostly bare shoulders. He pressed soft kisses to my eyelids and cheeks and nose. Then, his lips moved lower, scorching a path down my chest. His lips closed over my taut nipple, sucking at it through the thin fabric of the shirt. And I was suddenly, extremely, undeniably grateful that underwear hadn’t been part of the ensemble he’d given me earlier.

I arched my back. My power pulsed and surged around me, static electricity gathering in my hair and on my fingertips. But it was nothing compared to the sensations snapping and popping and sparking through my body like firecrackers one after the other.

Debonair was on his knees before me. “I’ve wanted you for so long now. Tell me you want me too, Bella. Tell me.”

I traced his face with my fingers, ignoring the mask that obscured most of it, pretending it wasn’t really there. Instead, I focused on the curve of his chin. His tiny dimple. His straight nose. His thick, perfect lips.

“I want you too,” I whispered, surprised by the truth of it.

“You don’t want me to stop?”

His voice was small and timid, as though he was afraid I was going to reject him. Me. Reject Debonair. The sexiest superhero in the city.

Debonair might be a seductive rake, but I somehow knew he wouldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to. He was still a gentleman at heart, and his shy uncertainty touched me. So, I did something that I never, ever did.

I gave in.

“No, I don’t want you to stop.”

A slow smile spread across his face, as if he’d just won the lottery. Debonair retraced his path up my body with his lips. He eased me back, and I sank onto the waterbed. Debonair joined me a moment later. I reached for him and pulled him on top of me, reveling in the feel of his body on mine. His warmth. His touch. His smoky scent.

Part of my mind screamed at me to stop, to think, to be sensible.

He was Debonair. A thief, a rake, a notorious playboy, a super-something-or-other.

I was Bella Bulluci. The woman who liked nice guys and hated superheroes above all else.

And yet, I still wanted him. Desperately. Totally. Impossibly.

I didn’t want to be sensible tonight.

Tonight, I wanted to be free.

Free of my rules and worries and constant fears.

Tonight, I wanted Debonair.

We kissed and kissed, until I was dizzy from the feel of his tongue on mine. His hands moved up my chest, cupping my breasts through the thin shirt. I couldn’t stop the moan that tumbled from my lips.

“Do you like that?” he asked, staring into my eyes.

I nodded.

“So do I. But I think we’ll both like this a lot better.”

He snapped his fingers, and my shirt disappeared.

I gasped at the rush of cool air on my skin and pressed my hands over my exposed chest. “You can pop people’s clothes on and off at will?”

He smiled. “Teleportation has its uses, Bella.”

He drew my hands away from my breasts and pressed them against the bed. His eyes roamed over me, devouring me from head to toe. The hunger in his gaze startled me.

“Do you know how beautiful you are, Bella? How much I want you?”

I shook my head.

“Well, let me show you.”

Debonair dipped his head to my breast, sucking and scraping the nipple with his teeth. He lavished attention on first one, then the other, over and over again. I cried out from the pleasure of it all, writhing under him. The waterbed roiled and heaved with our movements.

He licked his way up my throat. I grabbed his head and pulled his lips to mine for another heated kiss.

“Take off your clothes,” I whispered against his warm, inviting mouth. “I want to touch you too.”

Debonair snapped his fingers. His leather suit and boots vanished, along with the rest of my clothes. I propped myself up on my elbow and looked at him. His chest was broad, with firm, defined muscles. More dark hair covered the expanse, trailing downward past his taut stomach. No wonder women threw themselves at him. He truly was perfect. My eyes went lower. In every single way.

I scooted back into his arms, splaying my hand across his chest and planting kisses on his face and neck.

“What are you up to?” Debonair asked, his breath catching in his throat.

“You’ll see.”

Without warning, I took him in my hand and stroked him, even as I darted my tongue in and out of his mouth. Usually during sex, I let the guy take charge, set the pace of things. Maybe it was the wine I’d had. Or his sweet, intoxicating scent. Or maybe I’d just snapped from all the stress. But for once in my life, I was being bold and daring and adventurous. And loving every second of it.

“Bella…” Debonair murmured, closing his eyes. “Bella!”

His release was sudden and swift. I watched the euphoria dance across his face, pleased that I was able to bring him so much pleasure. The last shudder left his body, and he turned to me and smiled.

Then—

POP!

I found myself on my back with Debonair lying on top of me. And his fingers inside me.

“That’s not fair!” I squealed.

Debonair moved his fingers in and out of me in a slow motion. “Who said anything about being fair?”

He took my nipple in his mouth even as his fingers continued their delicate work. My power flared as bright as a star as I writhed and thrashed with passion. I was hot, aching, desperate for him to stop, eager for him to go on.

I felt him harden against my thigh again, and Debonair rose up above me, ready to take the final step.

“Wait… Wait,” I panted. I wasn’t so far gone that I didn’t remember to be safe about this. Well, physically safe at least. “Protection…must…use protection. Do you have…any?”

He snapped his fingers, and a foil packet appeared. “I do now.”

Debonair covered himself with the condom. He eased my legs apart and sank into me.

My breath caught in my throat.

“Am I hurting you?” he asked, stilling.

I clutched at his back, wanting him to go farther. “No. You could never hurt me.”

I wrapped my legs around his waist and pulled him closer, deeper into me. He moved slowly at first, sliding in and out with a steady rhythm.

I wasn’t nearly so sweet and gentle. I raked my nails up and down his back. My mouth latched on to his, and I drove my tongue inside.

“Bella, I can’t concentrate when you do that. I can’t hold back,” he whispered against my cheek.

“I don’t want you to hold back,” I rasped. “I want you inside me, now. All of you.”

So, he didn’t.

Debonair thrust himself at me, and I welcomed him. I marveled at the thick length of him filling me. At his hot, hard body covering my own. At the pleasure building and building inside me. We rode up and down on the bed as the water crested below us.

Then, with a final plunge, we both shuddered and were still.

Chapter Thirteen

I woke up some time later. I breathed in deeply, but no smell of smoked roses lingered in the air. I opened my eyes and sat up.

I scanned the room, peering in every corner and even the bathroom. But he wasn’t here. The ruined table was gone, and the place looked like it had been tidied up. But Debonair was nowhere to be found. I didn’t know whether I was relieved or disappointed.

Without the sexy thief here to distract me, all my fears and doubts and worries roared back to the surface. My sensible nature took over, the way it always did. I flopped back down on the waterbed and put my hands over my eyes. I couldn’t believe it. I’d broken my own number-one rule—never, ever get involved with superheroes and ubervillains.

And yet, I’d slept with one.

And thoroughly enjoyed it.

What was wrong with me?

I didn’t want any part of superheroes and ubervillains and epic battles. It was all so silly. Spandex, leather, masks, secret identities. Didn’t people have better things to do with their time than play dress-up?

Or sleep with people who did?

But the irony was that when I was a kid, I’d longed to be a superhero. I’d dreamed of taking over the family mantle of Johnny Angel, going out into the city and righting wrongs. But the years of waiting up and wondering if my father was going to come home had taken their toll. Now, all I saw was the absurdity of the whole thing.

My family had gone through too much already. I’d gone through too much already. I wasn’t going to sit at home waiting for the phone to ring or some other superhero to knock on the door and tell me that I needed to come down to the city morgue. I wouldn’t put myself through that. Not for Debonair. Not for anyone.

I shook my head. Why was I even thinking about having a relationship with Debonair? Sure, we’d slept together, but it wasn’t like the handsome thief cared about me. He couldn’t possibly. I was just another woman he’d brought here and seduced with his charm and sharp wit and dark good looks. Dinner, wine, roses, sweet words. It was probably the same tired routine he used every single time.

And I’d fallen for it.

I wallowed in my shame and self-pity for the better part of two minutes. Mentally berated and beat myself up for being such an eager, willing, lonely fool. Then, I thought about things a little more calmly, a little more rationally. At least the sex had been good.

And then some.

But that didn’t change the fact that I didn’t want to be here when Debonair came back. I couldn’t face him. I’d fallen under his spell once—I wasn’t going to be so stupid a second time.

Today, I was escaping—one way or another.

* * *

Luckily, Debonair had just teleported my clothes over to one of the chairs, instead of leaving me with nothing but a silk sheet to wear. I put on my borrowed clothes, wincing a bit as I stuffed my stiff, sore body into the fabric. Funny, but I wasn’t hurting from the attack at the museum. It was my other, ah, activities that had left certain parts of me rather sensitive.

As I dressed, I tried not to look at the bed, tried not to think of what had happened in it. How I’d begged him to pleasure me.

Me, begging a superhero.

I’d never thought it would happen. Well, Debonair wasn’t exactly a superhero, but he wasn’t an ubervillain either.

I tried the door, of course. Rattled it until my arms ached. But the wood was so warped it didn’t budge. I doubted even Fiona could have opened it with her superstrength. I didn’t have superstrength—just capricious, whimsical, unpredictable luck. And precious little of it to start with.

So, I did the only thing I could—I reached for my power.

Normally, I did my best to ignore the static electricity crackling around my body. Ignored the sudden pulses of energy. Ignored my itchy fingers and mile-high hair. As if, by ignoring it, I could pretend it wasn’t there. That it wasn’t real. That I wasn’t the unluckiest woman in Bigtime.

My power, my luck, my jinx rarely brought me anything but misery and embarrassment. But now, I concentrated on it. Imagined the force field around me, gathering strength, gathering power. My fingers twitched in anticipation. So did my hair.

I looked at the door. I couldn’t go through it, but maybe I could get around it another way. My eyes flicked to the hinges that held it to the wall. I focused my attention on them, my energy, my power, my luck. Imagined them popping off as easily as I could crack open a bottle of water. Then, I willed my power, my charged-up luck, all my jumbled emotions at the door.

I didn’t really expect it to work.

But somehow it did.

Perhaps it was my desperation. Or maybe my luck just decided to give me a break for being so supremely stupid already. But I pulled on the top hinge. It snapped off like popcorn in the microwave. I repeated the process on the second and third hinges. They, too, popped off into my waiting hands.

It took me a few minutes to shove aside the heavy door, but when I did, I found myself in a long, carpeted hallway. I quit concentrating on my power, ignoring it like usual, and took a step forward.

And promptly tripped.

My foot caught on a nonexistent wrinkle in the smooth carpet, and I smacked into the wall before falling to my knees. I huddled there in the hallway, grimacing at the pain pulsing through my body. It wasn’t serious, wasn’t anything I hadn’t felt a thousand times before. In the morning, I’d have a few more cuts and bruises to add to the collection Hangman had given me.

So, I ignored the dull throbs in various parts of my body, got back to my feet, and walked forward. I moved as quietly as I could, stopping every few feet to look ahead and back and listen. I didn’t want Debonair to find me roaming the halls. He’d teleport us both back into his Lair of Seduction, and then who knew what would happen? He’d be angry at me for trying to escape. And I couldn’t help but feel he’d be hurt and disappointed as well.

I bit my lip. Why should I care if he was hurt and disappointed? He was the one who’d kidnapped me. Who wouldn’t let me call my grandfather. Who’d started this game. Not me.

The hallway ended at the bottom of a flight of wooden stairs. I hugged the wall and crept up them. One of the stairs creaked, and I froze, afraid that he’d heard me. But Debonair didn’t pop into sight, and my power kept to its usual, low buzz. I kept climbing.

I stopped a few steps from the top and peeked over them. A large, open space lay up ahead, with another long hallway on the far side. I spied a set of doors several hundred feet away at the very end. That was my goal. Surely those led outside the house or mansion or wherever I was. If I could get outside, I could get away.

I entered the open room and slithered along the wall, keeping to the shadows as I moved around the perimeter. My eyes flicked over the empty space. It might have been a living room or even a ballroom at one time, but nothing remained inside now but dust. Large outlines of what I assumed used to be furniture sat in the gray film. Thick cobwebs hung in the corners, as though the room hadn’t been used or cleaned in a very long time. The air smelled wet and musty.

I eased into the hallway and slid down the wall, stopping every few feet to peer into the rooms that branched off it. They were all curiously empty, just like the area I’d snuck through. I could see outlines on the walls where paintings had hung, as well as scuff marks on the floor where sofas, armoires, and other furnishings had stood. Even the light fixtures had been taken out, bathing the interior in long, murky shadows. Well, at least none of them could plummet from the ceiling and almost bonk me on the head.

It might have been a grand house at one time, but now, everything was empty and barren and rather sad-looking. In fact, the only furniture I’d seen had been the items in the subterranean Lair of Seduction.

I thought back to Debonair’s talk of hard times. Perhaps he’d been telling the truth. Or maybe he was one of the superheroes and ubervillains who weren’t independently wealthy. But this place, this house, didn’t look abandoned, merely rundown. It was the home of a very rich person. At least, it had been at one time.

I stuck my head into another room and stopped. This one was different from the others. For one thing, it had a smattering of furniture. For another, the Star Sapphire rested on a pedestal on top of a table, along with some microscopes and other scientific equipment. I stepped inside and looked at the papers and gadgets, careful not to touch anything. My luck cooperated, and I didn’t crack the lens on a five-thousand-dollar microscope just by looking at it as I threaded my way through the area.

I stopped in front of the sapphire. A few papers lay scattered about it. I squinted, but they were written in Debonair’s indistinguishable scrawl. I could make out the words carats and reflective properties? among the mess, but that was about it.

I slid the sapphire and papers into my stained purse and put the long strap over my head so I wouldn’t lose it. Debonair might not be able to figure out what Hangman wanted with the sapphire, but the Fearless Five surely would. Besides, he’d taken something from me—my dignity. I wanted to return the favor. Petty, I know. But it was the only thing keeping me going.

I left the room and continued on my prison break. I started to ease by another door when a splash of color caught my eye. I turned my head and gasped. A menagerie of paintings and sculptures and drawings crowded inside the room, along with tables full of paint, brushes, and other art supplies. It was sort of like being in a wing at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art—albeit a rundown version.

My eyes roamed over the jeweler’s eyes, paint scrapers, and other art paraphernalia. I walked toward a painting of irises leaning on an easel on one side of the room. I recognized it as the one Debonair had stolen from Berkley’s house. Notes covered the wall next to it, pointing out flaws and a small patch of mold on the painting.

I frowned. It almost looked like he was restoring the painting. Debonair? An art lover? Was that why he stole paintings? To restore them? I didn’t understand. Then again, I’d never understood what drove a person to make himself a spandex suit, dress up in it, and call himself by another name. Sheer lunacy, if you ask me.

I turned to go when another drawing caught my eye. The one that I’d done of Debonair. The one with his illegible signature. It lay in the middle of a small table, with no brushes or paints anywhere near it. Instead, a heavy silver frame sat next to it, as though he’d planned on keeping it. I stared at the drawing, looking at the face I’d sketched. The face of the man I’d slept with.

I took the drawing, rolled it up, and put it in my purse. I don’t know why I did it. Perhaps I wanted something to remind me of my time here. Or maybe I just wanted to take back what was left of my sanity. I didn’t know anymore. For once, my calm, rational sensibility had deserted me.

The art room was the last one before the doors. I tried the knob. Unlocked. I slipped through and found myself on a wide, stone balcony, as empty as the rest of the house had been. But the emptiness wasn’t what made my heart squeeze in on itself. It was what lay beyond it.

Water. It stretched out for miles in front of me before the dull gray waves faded into the early morning skyline of Bigtime. A horrible suspicion filled my body.

I ran to the other side of the balcony. It had the same view. I sprinted to the third side. More of the same.

Water, water everywhere.

An island.

I was trapped on an island in the middle of Bigtime Bay.

Chapter Fourteen

I stared at the shimmering water. An island. How the hell was I supposed to get off an island? The shore was miles away, much too far for me to swim. Besides, it was November. I’d get hypothermia if I even tried.

I let myself panic for about thirty seconds. Let my heart pound. My hands shake. And little whimpers of panic tighten my throat.

Then, I took a deep breath and started thinking about my predicament. There had to be a boat here somewhere. That was the only way to reach the islands in Bigtime Bay. Of course, Debonair could just pop! over whenever he wanted, but surely he had other people out here sometimes. He’d have to bring them by boat, if he didn’t want to risk blowing his real identity to his guests.

I hurried down a set of spiral stairs that wound down one side of the overlook. A carpet of grass rolled out from under the balcony, shaded by rows of pear trees. Their scarlet leaves provided a colorful contrast to the grass. It was a beautiful spot, the perfect place to take a long nap or enjoy a picnic. Normally, I would have stopped a few minutes to do some rough sketches of the trees and the way the gathering sunlight brightened the dew drops on the crimson leaves. But I didn’t have time for such fancies now.

I had a boat to find.

I walked underneath the trees, keeping to the shortening shadows. It couldn’t have been much past six or seven in the morning, because the sun had just crested over the tops of the distant skyscrapers. A wet chill hung over much of the bay, along with a thin, soupy fog. I shivered and put my hands in the pockets of my jacket, grateful Debonair had left it behind. A few birds twittered in the trees while an occasional frog croaked from a hidden spot in the grass. Everything smelled of salt and brine, and my nose tingled at the rough scent.

I broke free of the trees and headed for the water’s edge. The grass gave way to a rocky, pebble-filled beach. The grayish sand reminded me of the color of Hangman’s uniform. I put one hand on a rock for support and stuck the other in the lapping water. My hand turned to ice in an instant. I shuddered. Much too cold to swim.

So, I moved on and kept looking for a boat or a canoe or a kayak or something, anything I could use to get off the island. I’d walked about a half mile along the shore when I spotted a dock. It stretched out into the water about thirty feet, a long, pale arrow pointing toward the city. Like the rest of the house, it looked like it had seen better days. The boards appeared warped and weathered, with more than a few cracked or missing altogether.

But my eyes scanned past the wet wood and latched onto the prize at the very end—a small sailboat. My ticket off this rock and away from Debonair and all these strange, unwanted feelings he stirred in me.

I stepped onto the dock. The wood moaned, and the board sank down under my weight, but it didn’t break. I took another step. Then another, walking slowly and carefully. Putting each foot down before I lifted the last one up. A small slip and I’d get dumped into the bay. Then, I wouldn’t have to worry about getting rescued. I’d freeze to death before anyone found me.

I navigated past the missing boards, but the closer I got to the boat, the more my heart sank. The vessel couldn’t be more than twelve feet long and appeared just as ratty and rundown as the rest of the house. The scarlet paint had cracked and peeled so much I couldn’t even tell what the boat’s name had been. Mold and mildew blackened the sail, and the ropes tying the vessel to the dock looked like they might snap at any moment. Still, it bobbed up and down with the gentle waves and looked seaworthy enough. It was going to have to be.

I didn’t know anything about sailing or seafaring, but I stepped down into the boat and untied the flimsy ropes that held the craft to the dock. The boat drifted out into the bay, pulled along by the brisk current. There was little wind, but maybe I could fix that. I reached for my power again and focused my attention on the limp sail, willing the wind to come along. My power flared, and a breeze whistled down.

I smiled, pleased my luck cooperated for a change. But the breeze didn’t last long. After about thirty seconds, it died away altogether. Ah, well. I’d take what I could get.

Still, the boat floated farther out into the bay, pulled on by the occasional gust of wind and growing current. I used the opportunity to dig through my purse and grab my phone. The signal was clear and strong now, and I dialed 555-5555, the emergency hotline for the Fearless Five.

Carmen Cole picked up on the first ring. “Bella! Where are you?!”

“I’m in a boat in the middle of Bigtime Bay,” I said. “I’m fine. For the most part. Didn’t Debonair get a message to you guys? Or my grandfather?”

“No, we haven’t gotten any message from him. We’ve been looking for you nonstop. Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

I bit my lip. He’d lied to me. He hadn’t sent a message to Grandfather. He hadn’t sent a message to anyone. What a fool I was.

I told Carmen about Debonair saving me and holding me in his Lair of Seduction. I left out the part where I’d slept with my captor, though. I didn’t want Carmen to think I was one of the nutty people in the Slaves for Superhero Sex club who put themselves in danger on purpose so they could cozy up to heroes. Or that I’d enjoyed being a prisoner, despite the fact part of me had.

“How’s Grandfather?” I asked.

“I’m fine, Bella. I’m right here.” Bobby’s sharp, strong voice came through the line. “Did he hurt you?”

“No, Grandfather. He didn’t hurt me. Just scared me a little.”

Carmen came back on the phone. “All right, Bella. Stay on the phone. Henry and Lulu are working on pinpointing your location. Sam, Chief Newman, and I are heading out now to come get you. Look for a big, black boat.”

“You guys have a boat?”

“Of course we have a boat,” Carmen replied. “We’re the best superheroes in the city. We’re prepared for anything, and we have everything, thanks to Sam. Now, here’s Bobby again.”

“Grandfather?”

“I’m here, Bella.”

Now that help was officially on the way, I leaned against the rail and told my grandfather the same story I’d told Carmen. Debonair had teleported me around the city before taking me to his Lair of Seduction.

“Lair of Seduction? Bah!” My grandfather snorted. “If I were ten years younger, I’d hop on my motorcycle and mow him down for scaring you like that. Johnny Angel could teach him a thing or two about how to treat a lady. These young superheroes just don’t have the proper respect for anybody.”

“Don’t talk like that. Debonair didn’t hurt me,” I protested. “He saved me from Hangman. In fact, he was very kind and generous.”

Especially in bed, but I couldn’t tell Grandfather that. I couldn’t tell anyone that. Ever.

An odd noise penetrated my conflicted thoughts. Music—wild, happy music with a pulsing, calypso beat.

Calypso music? In the middle of the bay?

“Hold a second, Grandfather. I hear something strange.”

I looked around, trying to find the source of the sound. The hum of a powerful motor filled the air, and a moment later, a boat cut through the dissipating fog—the most colorful, buoyant vessel I’d ever seen. The ship was painted in wild, tie-dye colors that ranged from electrified orange to vitriolic violet and every other shocking shade in between. All swirled together. Free love! Free beer! Free seas! declared a banner hung between two billowing sails. It took me a minute to put it together, but I realized whose ship it was.

Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches. Cap’n was another one of Bigtime’s shady characters—not quite an ubervillain but definitely not a superhero either. The modern-day pirate and his band of Saucy Wenches sailed out on the bay almost every day on their psychedelic party barge. Sometimes, they’d help lost fishermen get back to shore or tow in a broken-down boat. But they spent most of their time waylaying the big cruise ships and stealing all the liquor and food they could carry. The cruise ships didn’t mind so much, though. The pirate was good for business. People flocked to the ships just on the off chance they’d run into Cap’n, be shanghaied, and get taken over to his boat to party with the crew.

The ship sailed by, and I got a good look at Cap’n Freebeard. He was a tall man with sun-kissed skin and hair so blond it was almost white. Tiny silver bells and bits of coral dangled from the ends of his dreadlocks and the bottom of his thick, curly beard. Cap’n stood in front of a shining, silver wheel, flanked on all sides by topless—and sometimes bottomless—beauties. They all had rather buoyant personalities, if you know what I mean. Especially since it was so cold this morning.

Cap’n spotted me too. He took off his floppy straw hat and tipped it to me in a respectful fashion while the wenches hung over the railing and blew me flirty kisses.

“What’s that noise?” Bobby asked.

“Nothing,” I replied, trying not to stare at all the bare, naked, oily flesh passing in front of me. “Nothing at all.”

Cap’n Freebeard and his merry band sped on by, and I kept talking to Grandfather. But after a few minutes, a weird whooshing sound caught my attention. At first, I thought it was fish, splashing and leaping and playing in the salty water. Dolphins and whales and other interesting creatures populated Bigtime Bay. But then, my fingers started to itch, and my hair frizzed. The whooshing sound came again, louder this time. My heart started to pound. And not in a good way.

A tall shadow fell over me.

Boots smacked against the deck.

And I turned to find Hangman standing behind me.

Chapter Fifteen

“Hangman’s here. Tell the Fearless Five to hurry!” I screamed into the phone before the ubervillain smacked it out of my hand.

The phone hit the brass railing. For a moment, I thought it would go overboard and be lost in the depths of the deep, blue sea. But the silver phone bounced back toward me and landed on the deck. I hoped it was still on and that Grandfather hadn’t been cut off.

“Where is it? Where’s the sapphire?” Hangman growled, advancing on me again.

I shrank back, eyes frantic, looking for a place to hide, a weapon, something, anything that would keep me alive until the Fearless Five arrived. But there was nothing, not even a cracked oar to help me. Hangman stretched his massive hand toward my throat, no doubt to throttle the life from my body. I panicked, and my power flared to life.

Wind screamed into the sail, and the ropes holding it in place snapped like toothpicks. The sail tumbled down, landing on top of Hangman. The ubervillain cursed and tried to free himself from the heavy canvas. I leaned down, grabbed my phone, and ran all of ten feet to the other end of the boat.

“Grandfather!”

“Hang on, Bella! They’re almost there!”

Sure enough, in the distance, I spotted a rapidly moving black speck. Come on, I begged. Come on!

With a mighty, angry roar, Hangman ripped free of the sail. There was only one thing left to do. I kicked off my shoes and climbed up onto the railing—ready to swim for it. But a hand latched around my ankle and dragged me down before I could leap over the side. That same hand tossed me up in the air like a tennis ball before catching me right side up.

Hangman put his hand around my throat and lifted me up so that my face was level with his. My feet barely reached to his knees. I tried to plant my toes on his utility belt to take some of the pressure off my neck, but my feet kept slipping off the cold, hard metal.

I stared into his face. Hangman’s eyes were as light as the sky—colorless, really, except for the cold rage burning in the depths.

“Where’s the stone? Tell me now, and I’ll make your death quick and mostly painless. Otherwise, I’ll give you to Prism. She won’t be nearly as pleasant as I am.”

“I…don’t…know…” I wheezed, trying not to black out.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

Hangman’s grip tightened, and stars exploded before my eyes. Then—

POP!

The smell of smoke and roses filled the air. My eyes flicked behind Hangman’s shoulder. Debonair stood behind him, hands clenched into tight fists. My heart swelled with relief.

“Let her go,” Debonair snarled, his eyes glowing with rage. “I’m the one you want. I’ve got the sapphire. Not her.”

Hangman threw me aside like I was a wadded-up piece of paper. I hit the railing, momentum pushing me overboard. I willed myself to stop and somehow avoided flipping over into the cold water below. I slumped to the bottom of the boat, dazed by the hard hit I’d taken but not seriously injured. Despite my dislike of my supposed superpower, sometimes, it was good to be lucky. Very, very good.

Hangman launched himself at Debonair, who teleported out of the way at the very last second. Hangman slipped on the tattered sail and banged his head against the side of the boat. The thief reappeared by my side.

“Are you all right, Bella? Did he hurt you?” Debonair asked, cupping my cheek with his hand.

I jerked my head away from his familiar, comforting touch. “I’m fine. Now leave me alone.”

Confusion and hurt flashed across his face. “What’s wrong? Why did you run away?”

I glared at him. “Why didn’t you get a message to my grandfather?”

He didn’t have time to answer. The Fearless Five pulled along beside us in a sleek, black vessel. Hermit manned the wheel while Karma Girl, Striker, and Mr. Sage stood on the deck ready to board the sailboat.

Striker raised a bullhorn to his lips. “This is the Fearless Five! Hangman, Debonair, put up your hands! Both of you! Now!”

Hangman struggled to stand, his feet still tangled in the ripped sail. “To hell with that!”

He grabbed a grenade from the belt around his waist and dropped it on the deck. Then, he held his hands up and zoomed away into the blue sky, the sail flapping around his ankles.

I watched, horrified, as the grenade tink-tink-tinked around the sailboat. It skidded to a stop, and a red light on the top began to blink. I tried to move, to launch myself overboard. But my power pulsed, and my bad luck boomeranged around the way it always did at crucial moments. My feet slid out from under me.

Suddenly, Debonair grabbed my waist.

POP!

The world disappeared as he teleported me over to the Fearless Five’s boat. A second later, the grenade exploded, sending fire and smoke and bits of boat hundreds of feet into the air. Debonair forced me to the deck, covering my body with his, as the debris rained down on us. Striker did the same to Karma Girl, while Hermit and Mr. Sage crouched underneath the boat’s wheel.

The boat bucked and heaved from the shockwave of the explosion, making me sick. But the seas eventually calmed. The smoke and ash and fire faded away, swallowed up by the cold water. We all got to our shaky feet.

“Are you all right?” Debonair asked, helping me up.

“Fine. Now let go of me,” I snarled, pushing him away.

“Bella?” Karma Girl asked, approaching us. Striker followed behind her.

“I’m fine, Karma Girl. Really, I am.”

The two superheroes looked at each other, then moved to flank Debonair.

“We need to talk to you, Debonair,” Striker said, his eyes going to me. “About a lot of things.”

But the thief didn’t pay any attention to the two superheroes. He kept staring at me, hurt shimmering in his sapphire eyes. For a moment, I wanted to go to him, to tell him I was sorry for running away, for leaving him behind. Then, I remembered how he’d lied to me about Grandfather. The notion faded.

Debonair leaned forward. “We’re not through, you and me. Not by a long shot.”

“Yes, we are. Leave me alone. Please.”

Debonair stared at me. Then, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to mine in a rough, hard kiss that left me breathless. He stepped back. Debonair gave me a smirk and bowed with a small flourish.

“Stop!” Karma Girl said, her eyes beginning to glow neon blue.

But it was too late.

POP!

Debonair had already teleported away.

PART TWO

AN EXCEPTION TO THE RULE?

Chapter Sixteen

“Anything, Hermit?” Striker growled.

Hermit’s fingers glowed a bluish-white color over the keys on his laptop as he used his superpower to plug his brain into the computer and sort through billions of data bytes. Mind melding, Hermit called it. After a moment, the glow disappeared, his fingers returned to their normal mocha color, and he shook his head. His eyes were wide and apologetic behind his round goggles.

“Lulu?” Striker asked.

The pretty woman with spiky, blue-and-black hair tapped away on another computer. “Nothing. Not a trace of either one of them. Hangman went up, up, and away, and Debonair just went poof. They’re both gone.”

The six of us sat in the main stateroom in the Fearless Five boat—Striker, Karma Girl, Hermit, Mr. Sage, Lulu, and me. It was a little like being trapped in a color wheel. Hermit wore a black-and-white checkerboard outfit with matching goggles, while Karma Girl dazzled in her silver spandex. Mr. Sage was clad in green and white, while Striker wore a tight, black-leather suit that reminded me of Debonair. Lulu and I were the only ones not in costume. Fiona Fine would have been here too, in her orange-red catsuit, if she and Johnny hadn’t been on their vacation.

“How are you feeling, Bella?” Mr. Sage asked, his blue eyes soft and kind as he took my blood pressure.

“A little shaken up,” I admitted. “I’m glad you guys showed up when you did.”

It was one thing to be the daughter of a murdered sometimes superhero. I could afford to be angry and bitter and bitchy in the safety of my own home. It was quite another to be attacked, kidnapped, attacked again, and rescued all in the space of a day and a half. I was exhausted—physically, emotionally, sexually.

“Are you sure they’re gone?” Striker asked.

Lulu nodded. “Unfortunately. We left in such a rush I didn’t have time to grab all my gear. This laptop you had on board is a piece of junk, along with the rest of this stuff. There’s no way to track them with this.”

The computer hacker gestured at the monitors and keyboards that surrounded her. It didn’t look like junk to me. The stateroom had almost as many gadgets and maps and pieces of computer equipment as the Fearless Five’s underground library did. It always amazed me how much time and money superheroes spent on their toys. Then again, there was a reason the Fearless Five were the preeminent superhero team in Bigtime. And right now, I was grateful to be among superheroes—instead of sleeping with the fishes in Bigtime Bay.

“All right then, I’ll set the course back to the cove,” Striker said, punching in some commands on a large control panel.

He took off his black mask, and the others followed suit, revealing their true identities—Sam Sloane, Carmen Cole, Henry Harris, and Chief Sean Newman.

“Your blood pressure and temperature are fine. I’m a bit worried about that bump on your head, though. And I’m afraid you’re going to be quite stiff and sore in the morning,” Chief Newman rumbled in his Irish brogue. “But other than that, you’ll be fine.”

In addition to masquerading as a superhero, Chief Newman was also the Fearless Five’s resident doctor.

“Thanks,” I said, flashing him a smile as he took the tight cuff off my right arm. “Where’s Grandfather? He didn’t come with you?”

Carmen shook her head. “He didn’t want to leave the phone. He told us to come on and that he’d wait at Sublime until we brought you back.”

Sublime was Sam Sloane’s mansion on the outskirts of Bigtime. It was one of the most impressive homes in all the city, but few people knew that a maze of caverns under the mansion housed the members of the Fearless Five and their gizmos. I hadn’t known about it either, until Fiona had taken Grandfather and me there when we were frantically searching for Johnny when he’d been kidnapped by ubervillains.

“I just sent Bobby a text message telling him that you were safe and sound,” Lulu said.

“Grandfather doesn’t do so well with computers. Maybe I should just call him.”

Lulu smiled. “Don’t worry. I programmed it to flash on the big screen in the library. There’s no way he can miss it.”

While we motored back to the Fearless Five headquarters, I filled the superheroes and Lulu in on everything that had happened on the boat, including Hangman’s mention of someone named Prism.

“Prism?” Carmen asked. “What a strange name. I wonder what her power is. Have you ever heard of her, Sam?”

The handsome businessman shook his head. “No. Have you guys?”

Both Henry and the chief shook their heads. Lulu cleared her throat, and all eyes turned to her.

“It’s probably nothing,” she said.

“Which means it’s definitely something,” Carmen replied, picking up a Rubik’s Cube and twisting the cube around in her hands. “Spill it, Lulu.”

“Well, you guys know about my other interests outside the Fearless Five, right?”

The chief laced his fingers together and stared at the younger woman. “You mean your network of spies and information traders? Or your friendship with a notorious bomb maker? Or perhaps the corporate espionage you’ve been dabbling in recently? You have lots of interests, Lulu. Not all of which are legal. We’ve discussed them on many occasions, but apparently with little success.”

The computer hacker looked a bit sheepish, despite her mane of multicolored hair. “Yeah, well, this is about Jasper. I talked to him last week, just catching up and stuff, and he mentioned the name Prism. Said somebody by that name wanted him to do some work for her, but he turned down the job.”

Jasper was one of Lulu’s many shady friends. He specialized in blowing up things in Bigtime, but he’d also helped out the Fearless Five on more than one occasion.

“Well, we’ll just have to go pay Jasper a visit and see what he knows about the mysterious Prism,” Carmen said to Lulu.

“I want to go too,” I piped up.

The others stared at me like I’d hit my head a little too hard. Maybe I had.

“I would think you would want to go back to headquarters or even home,” Carmen said in a soft tone. “We know how you feel about superheroes and ubervillains, Bella.”

“I know.” I shifted under her curious, probing stare. “But I was the one who got attacked and kidnapped and almost blown to bits. Twice. I want to know what the hell is going on. Besides, maybe if we show Jasper this, it will help.”

I pulled the Star Sapphire out of my battered purse and set it on a table in front of me. Somehow, I’d held on to it again through all the commotion. Lulu reached over and picked up the gem.

“Look how big this sucker is.” She turned it around so the sapphire caught the light streaming in through the portholes. “You know, Henry, if you wanted to get me something for Christmas, this would make a very nice engagement ring.”

Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “But you already have an engagement ring.”

Lulu held up her pale hand. A not-so-small emerald sparkled on her finger. “But just think how much better they’d look together.”

Lulu grinned at Henry, and I just had to laugh.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, we stood on deck as Henry steered the boat into a small, secluded cove that branched off the bay. He aimed the vessel right at a sheer rock cliff. I looked at him, then at the cliff, then at the others. Everyone else seemed unconcerned by the fact we were going to get splattered against the sharp rocks in another three seconds.

I closed my eyes, bracing for the hard, jarring impact, but it never came. Something cool slid over my skin, and a white light flared against my eyelids. I opened them and realized we were in some kind of watery cave. I looked back. The cliff face stood behind us, looking as solid and real as ever.

“It’s a 3D hologram,” Henry explained, seeing my confused look. “The cliff’s not really there.”

“Neat trick.” I shook my head.

The boat sailed on through the cave. Lights set at various intervals in the rocky walls cast a dim, yellow glow on the rocks, highlighting the specks of fool’s gold and rose quartz embedded in the grayish stone. A few bats hid in the darker cracks and crevices. The creatures were small, no bigger than my hand, and had their wings wrapped tight over their inverted bodies, sleeping. The air smelled of the salty sea, with just a hint of sulfur. Everything was quiet except for the drone of the boat’s engine and the occasional splash from a passing fish.

We rode in silence for another five minutes before coming to a steel door that stretched from the top of the cave down below the water line. Something told me this door was very real. Henry held out a small clicker that looked like a garage door opener and punched it five times in rapid succession. The steel door rattled up, revealing a metal dock flanked by all kinds of boats, life jackets, and other sailing equipment. Henry steered the boat into an empty slot. Two more just like it took up the other spaces.

“I didn’t know you guys had an underground harbor down here too.” I marveled at the expensive, high-tech equipment. I’d only been in Fearless Five headquarters a few times, but whenever I came down, it always seemed like the superheroes had added a whole new wing of stuff.

“It’s a fairly recent addition,” Sam said, tying the boat to the wide dock. “I got tired of storing the boat in the marina. People took pictures of it all the time, and we could never get to it when we needed to.”

We’d just stepped onto the floating dock when a booming voice called out. “Bella!”

Grandfather appeared at the far end of the room. I ran to him as fast as I could with my various aches and pains. I threw my arms around him and hugged him tight. The static pulsed around me, fueled by my intense relief, but it didn’t make me fall or trip or suddenly go sideways. For now, anyway.

“Oh, Bella, I’m so glad you’re safe,” Grandfather said, stroking my snarled, frizzy hair.

“Me too,” I whispered. “Me too.”

Despite my protests, Chief Newman ushered me off to the sick bay while the others trooped to the library to see if they could find Hangman or Debonair. I spent the rest of the afternoon being poked and prodded and pricked in all sorts of uncomfortable, unmentionable places. I also managed to break a thermometer, three plastic syringes, and a heart monitor just by looking at them.

At the end of the torture session, the chief said he’d keep me overnight for observation before letting me go home tomorrow.

Grandfather sat by my bed, holding my hand during the examination and cleaning up the various messes I made. Once the chief left, Grandfather peppered me with questions about the attack at the museum and, more specifically, about how Debonair had treated me. I answered most of them honestly, telling Bobby that the sexy thief had shown me the utmost respect—except for the part where he refused to let me go and all the sex we’d had. You just couldn’t tell your grandfather about some things, no matter how hip and cool he was.

“Well, I suppose I can understand his reasoning,” Bobby grumbled. “He was trying to keep you safe.”

If you considered safe sleeping with a notorious playboy and thief, sure, I suppose Debonair had kept me safe enough. At least we’d used protection. That was probably the safest thing we’d done during our time together.

“Did you call Johnny and tell him what happened?” I asked, changing the subject.

Bobby nodded. “He wanted to come home immediately, but I told him there was no reason to now. I hope that was all right with you. He’s going to call and check on you in the morning.”

“Of course.”

I was fine now. There was no need for Johnny and Fiona to cut their vacation short. Unfortunately, the Bulluci family had gone through a lot worse than this before. On a scale of one to ten, one being a minor fender-bender and ten being my father’s murder, my ordeal didn’t rate more than a four—at least not in Bigtime.

Finally, Bobby ran out of questions. “You should rest, Bella. I know you must be tired. We’ll talk more later. Try to get some sleep.”

Grandfather pressed a kiss to my forehead, turned off the lights, and left the infirmary.

I settled down and tried to get comfortable. Like everything else in the Fearless Five’s headquarters, the hospital bed was the best that money could buy. The thick mattress cushioned my aching body, along with several fluffy pillows and soft, five-hundred-thread-count sheets. Despite the luxuries, I couldn’t sleep.

And it was all his fault.

Debonair. My thoughts turned back to the handsome thief. I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I kept remembering the way he’d kissed me. The way he’d held me. How gentle he’d been.

I even thought about who he might be—who he really was under all that blue-black leather. Try as I might, though, I couldn’t figure out his true identity. Maybe Carmen could help me puzzle it out. She had a knack for that sort of thing.

Mostly, though, I replayed last night over and over again in my mind. The dinner, the wine, the great sex.

Although I was as weary as weary could be, it was still several hours before I drifted off to sleep.

* * *

“Are you sure you want to come along?” Carmen asked me for about the fifth time. “You don’t have to.”

It was the next morning. After spending the night in the sick bay, Chief Newman had given me the green light to resume normal activities and rejoin the rest of the world. Grandfather had gone home last night, after I’d insisted I didn’t need him to stay.

Besides, Bobby had told me he’d promised his lady friend that he’d check in with her after I was safe and sound. The warm glow in Bobby’s green eyes when he talked about this mystery woman told me that my hunch was right—she was more than just a casual acquaintance or dinner date to him.

I was happy for my grandfather. I knew how lonely being single could be. Besides, who was I to deny the old man the pleasure of a woman’s company? As long as he was responsible about things, of course. But I hadn’t let Bobby leave until he promised to introduce me to his lady friend this week.

“Bella?” Carmen asked.

“Yes,” I said, focusing on the other woman. “I want to go. I need to go.”

Carmen, Lulu, and I sat in the library around an enormous wooden table bearing the F5 insignia. It was just us girls today. Sam, Henry, and Chief Newman were all busy with their day jobs. Sam adding to his billion-dollar business empire, Henry working on his latest technology column for The Exposé, and the chief overseeing the Bigtime police department and catching criminals.

“I want to know why Hangman wants the sapphire so badly, and who Prism is.” I took a deep breath. “And I want you to help me figure out who Debonair is. I want to know who he really is. I need to know.”

“But you hate superheroes,” Lulu said, her dark eyes never leaving the computer monitor in front of her. “You only tolerate us because Fiona’s marrying your brother. Why do you care who Debonair is? I would think you’d be happy enough to go home and forget about the whole thing.”

Carmen looked up from the jigsaw puzzle she was working and stared at me. Her blue eyes grew cloudy, then cleared. “You slept with him, didn’t you?”

I couldn’t stop my mouth from dropping open. Carmen was an empath, a sort of psychic who could tap into people’s emotions and even their powers, but I’d never expected her to guess my deepest, darkest secret. Especially since it was only twenty-four hours old. My fingers twitched, my hair frizzed, and my power flared up like a neon sign.

It was like something out of a cartoon. Loose puzzle pieces flew through the air, bouncing off books and walls. A few of the small missiles hit the various globes in the room, making them spin round and round in perfect time. Some pinged off Lulu’s laptop, and she ducked farther down behind the monitor. And, of course, one puzzle piece shot up into the air like a rocket, hitting the enormous film screen that hung down from the wall. Even though it was bolted to the ceiling in six places, the screen wobbled for half a second, then crashed down, frame and all, making a thunderous roar as it slammed into the floor. Carmen and Lulu jumped, startled by the sudden collapse. I didn’t even have to look over my shoulder to know that the screen had landed right behind me. If my chair had been back two more inches, I would have gotten brained by the frame. But I’d been just out range, just like always. Lucky me.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Carmen said, moving to pick up the wayward pieces.

I grimaced, ashamed by my sudden outburst and unwanted power display. “How did you know?”

Carmen grinned. “There are some benefits to being a psychic empath. Guessing your friend’s secret is one of them. So come on, Bella. Spill it.”

“Yeah, I slept with him,” I muttered.

I told the two women about Debonair asking me out, kissing me in the museum, how we’d had dinner together in the Lair of Seduction, and what happened afterward.

“And he said the weirdest thing—that I wasn’t a stranger to him, that I was important to him. I didn’t know what to make of it then. I still don’t. Do you think I know him? The real him?”

“Probably,” Carmen said. “He’s probably another one of the rich businessmen on the society circuit. Hell, he might have even written you a fat check at the museum benefit the other night. Either way, I’ll help you find out who he is.”

“I feel like such a fool,” I admitted. “He’s probably seduced hundreds of women, and I fell for all his lines, just like everybody else.”

“You shouldn’t feel too bad, Bella. These things happen. I think it has something to do with those tight, leather costumes, myself.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, looking at Carmen.

“Carmen means she did the exact same thing—slept with a superhero,” Lulu chimed in.

“You did?”

A sheepish grin spread over Carmen’s face, and she nodded. “Yeah, I slept with Sam before I knew who he really was.”

My confession was enough to get Lulu’s full and undivided attention.

“Speaking of superhero sex, how was it?” she asked, her dark eyes bright with curiosity. “Debonair’s supposed to be very skillful in all sorts of interesting things. At least, that’s what I’ve heard.”

“You’re engaged. What does it matter to you?”

Lulu held up her hand. “Just because there’s a ring on this finger doesn’t mean a girl can’t have fantasies.”

“Doesn’t Henry take care of all your fantasies?” I sniped.

I was being bitchy, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want to talk about what had happened between Debonair and me. Didn’t want to admit how easily I’d fallen under his spell—and how foolish I felt that part of me wanted to see him again, despite the fact he’d lied to me.

Lulu paid no attention to my sharp tone. Her eyes narrowed, and she gave me a sly, satisfied smile. “Henry does just fine in the fantasy department. He can do more with his fingers than just type really, really fast, if you know what I mean. Lots more. But there’s always room for improvement.”

* * *

The three of us got in Lulu’s van and headed into the city. Lulu kept questioning me about Debonair and his legendary skills in the bedroom, but I was able to ignore her—for the most part.

Twenty minutes later, Carmen stopped the van in one of the nicer neighborhoods in Bigtime and parked in front of a well-kept brownstone that took up the better part of the block. A wrought iron railing flanked the steps while a cement, urn-shaped flowerpot beside the front door held a smattering of fall pansies. More flowers bloomed in the window boxes on the upper floors. Just looking at it, you’d expect a wealthy widow and her yippy, teacup-sized dog to occupy this upper-class home—instead of the city’s foremost explosives expert.

I’d been to this same brownstone earlier this year when Fiona and Lulu had gotten some bombs to help us battle the ubervillains who’d kidnapped Johnny and the other members of the Fearless Five. Using Jasper’s bombs, we’d managed to save the others and obliterate most of the Bigtime Observatory in the process. The city was still rebuilding the structure. Like the superheroes, Jasper was also very, very good at what he did.

Carmen and I got out of the van and waited on Lulu to grab her cane. A few years ago, Lulu had been used as a hostage during a battle between the Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad. She’d been crippled and confined to a wheelchair as a result. She hadn’t been able to walk at all until Siren had zapped her with a couple thousand volts of electricity during the battle at the observatory. As a result, Lulu’s body and broken back had managed to regenerate themselves. After countless hours of physical therapy, Lulu was no longer confined to her wheelchair. She wasn’t quite able to walk on her own just yet, but she’d get there someday. I admired her determination. Funny how things could change in a heartbeat in Bigtime.

Carmen and I helped Lulu up the steps, and she punched a call box attached to one wall. A security camera swiveled over our heads, zooming in on our faces. Jasper was very particular about his security. He had to be, in his line of work.

“What’s the word?” a low voice asked.

“Is it boom-boom again?” Carmen asked.

“No,” Lulu replied. “It’s not silent night either. He’s changed it twice since then.”

The two of them bickered back and forth a minute, trying to come up with the right code. Lulu snapped her fingers.

“I know. The word is lucky charms.”

“Lucky charms?” I asked, not quite getting Jasper’s odd sense of humor.

Lulu shrugged. “It’s something new he said he was working on.”

She repeated the phrase into the call box. The door buzzed open, and we stepped inside.

“Jasper?” Lulu called out when the bomber didn’t appear to greet us.

“In the living room,” a male voice called out from deeper in the house. “Down the hall on your right.”

Lulu looked at Carmen, who shrugged. But I noticed Carmen’s eyes began to glow ever so slightly. The three of us walked through the wide hallway, rounded a corner, and stopped in front of an open door.

Jasper sat on a sofa in the room in front of us. White-plaster casts covered his left leg and arm, and his face was cut, swollen, and bruised beyond belief. He looked like he’d been used as a punching bag by the Ringer—for a full ten rounds.

Jasper peered through his glasses at us, trying to focus through his half-shut black eye.

“Well, it’s about time you guys got here,” he said.

Chapter Seventeen

“Jasper, what happened to you?” Lulu asked, hobbling over to sit next to the battered man.

Carmen and I settled ourselves on some nearby chairs.

“Not what, who.” Jasper picked up a half-melted bag of ice from the cushion beside him. He took off his glasses and put the ice over his black eye, wincing. “I had a visitor a couple of nights ago.”

“Let me guess—Hangman,” Carmen replied.

Jasper nodded. At least, he tried to. His head got about halfway down before stopping in pain. “He broke in after midnight. Crashed through one of the skylights in the bedroom. Said he was here to collect some things his employer wanted.”

“Prism?” I asked.

Jasper tilted his neck a tiny bit to look at me. “You’ve heard of her?”

“Sort of.”

“That’s what we’re here about,” Lulu said. “We want to know everything you know about her.”

“Not much. I never met her face-to-face. I don’t even know her real name, but she calls herself Prism.”

“Dumb name,” Carmen said. “It doesn’t even say what her power is.”

“Dumb or not, she sent me an e-mail about a month ago wanting me to do some special work for her,” Jasper said.

“What sort of special work?” Carmen asked.

Jasper just looked at her with his one good eye.

“Oh. That.”

Jasper was Bigtime’s preeminent bomb maker. If you wanted something to blow up in the most impressive, spectacular manner possible, you went to Jasper. He did a lot of demolition work for the city’s construction companies, but he also sold explosives and the like to various shady characters and greedy, desperate people who wanted to collect on their insurance policies. Jasper wasn’t hard-core evil—he didn’t deal with ubervillains—but he wasn’t lily-white either. He was sort of like Debonair, but without the sexy body. And eyes. And hair. And lips—

Carmen elbowed me in the side. “Focus, Bella. You can think about your dreamboat later.”

I rubbed my aching ribs and glared at the other woman. Psychics. Geez. Out of all the superheroes, I hated them the most. There was nothing you could do to keep them from intruding on your thoughts. Even my luck couldn’t help me with that.

“What, exactly, did Prism want you to do?” Lulu asked. “What sort of bomb did she want?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Jasper said. “She didn’t want a bomb. Not exactly. It was more like a consulting job. She wanted me to look at specs for some device she’d created to see if it would actually work.”

Jasper was also something of a mad inventor and kept coming up with strange, new ways to blow the city to smithereens.

“It wasn’t a radio was it?” Lulu asked. “Some sort of giant karaoke machine?”

The two of us exchanged nervous looks. A few months ago, Siren and Intelligal had built such a device to be the ultimate human controller—and almost enslaved the city in the process.

Jasper halfway shook his head. “No, it was more like a giant laser—the sort of device that can cut through anything—bank vaults, steel doors, iron bars, even solidium. Only an ubervillain would want something like that, which is why I didn’t take the job. She offered me a nice fee, though. A very, very nice fee.” His one open eye grew soft and dreamy at the thought of the money.

“Focus, Jasper. Fees aren’t everything,” Carmen said.

Jasper’s good eye cleared. “I don’t know what she planned on doing with it. She just wanted to know if it would actually work.”

“What did you tell her?” Lulu asked.

A sly grin pulled at Jasper’s lips. “Nothing, of course. I didn’t agree to accept the job. Even if I did, I would have demanded double the fee she offered me before telling her the time of day.”

“Why would Prism need to steal the sapphire if she’s building a laser?” Carmen asked.

“What sapphire?” Jasper asked.

“You haven’t heard? About the robbery at the museum?” I asked.

He tried to hold up his plaster-covered, broken arm. “I’ve been a little under the weather. Please, enlighten me.”

I filled Jasper in on what had happened at the museum—starting with Hangman’s attack and ending with the Fearless Five rescuing me. I didn’t mention any of the superheroes’ real names, of course. Jasper knew Carmen and Lulu were friends with the Fearless Five, but he didn’t know Carmen was actually Karma Girl or that Lulu was engaged to Hermit. At least, I didn’t think he did.

“I still don’t understand what she wants with the sapphire, though,” Carmen repeated. Her fingers twitched, as though working on an invisible puzzle no one could see or feel except her.

Lulu snorted. “Haven’t you ever seen a science fiction movie? She’s going to use the sapphire to increase the power or focus of the laser, maybe both. Right, Jasper?”

The bomber nodded and winced. “That could be what she wants with it. The reflective properties of something like the Star Sapphire could be used that way—to great effect if you had the proper know-how.”

“What we really need to see are the specs for the laser. You wouldn’t happen to have kept a copy, would you?” Lulu asked.

Jasper gave her another sly grin.

* * *

Carmen and I put our arms under Jasper’s shoulders and helped him downstairs to his bomb-making lair. Lulu hobbled along behind us, her cane thumping against the steps. Jasper leaned against Carmen’s shoulder and punched in a series of codes on a keypad next to the thick, metal door. My eyes flicked to the center of the door, which sported a fist-shaped dent as big as my head. I didn’t need Jasper to tell me that Hangman had come knocking.

The door whispered back, and we stepped inside Jasper’s lab. The air smelled like rusty metal, even though a fan whirred in the back of the room. I looked around at all the wires and weird gizmos and blackened bits of metal stacked on the long worktables. I hadn’t come inside the house with Lulu and Fiona when they’d gotten the bombs last time. Bombers were too close to superheroes and ubervillains for my liking.

On a normal day, the workshop would be cluttered enough, but it looked like a tornado had swept through the underground lab. Wires, springs, and tools littered the floor, along with clocks, timers, and other strange devices. Papers had been yanked off corkboards, while various technical manuals had been ripped in half and tossed aside.

Lulu let out a low whistle. “Hangman really did a number on the place, didn’t he? What did he take, Jasper?”

The bomb maker sank down onto a wooden bench and scratched the side of his face, careful not to touch his swollen eye. “Nothing too important. Several explodium grenades I had lying around. He was really after the machine blueprints. Prism didn’t take too kindly to me rejecting her offer. Hangman dragged me down here and demanded I show him where I’d hidden them. When I didn’t give them up, he decided to tap-dance on my face. Lucky for me, Hangman set off my alarms when he busted through the skylight. Swifte showed up about three minutes later, and the police five minutes after him. Hangman split, and Swifte rushed me to the hospital.”

“So you’re the guy in the newspaper, the one Swifte took to the hospital.” My eyes narrowed. “Wait a minute. The papers and SNN said muggers attacked you, not an ubervillain. Why did you lie?”

Jasper stuck a finger inside his cast and scratched his injured arm. “Because I, and my clients, like my anonymity. If I told people I was attacked by Hangman, I’d have Kelly Caleb and the other news hounds camped out on my doorstep. Besides, it was just easier to lie. There’s less paperwork to fill out.”

“Since when are you dealing with Swifte?” Carmen asked, her voice high and squeaky. For some reason, she always got a little nervous whenever Swifte’s name came up.

Jasper shrugged. “I see him around, and we came to an agreement. If somebody breaks into my house, he responds.”

“And in return?” I asked.

Jasper pushed his glasses up his nose. “I don’t sell my supplies to anyone who’s going to use them within three blocks of Quicke’s. Evidently, it’s Swifte’s favorite restaurant, and he doesn’t want anybody blowing it up.”

It made sense in a way. Quicke’s was supposed to be neutral territory in Bigtime—both superheroes and ubervillains could eat there without fear of reprisal from each other or even the police. But I supposed it never hurt to have a little extra insurance. Swifte was probably like Fiona in the fact that he constantly had to eat to keep up his strength and superspeed. And Quicke’s did have some of the best food in town. Even if it was filled to the brim with hero-villain memorabilia.

Jasper pointed to a dusty floorboard. “The blueprints are on a flash drive taped to the bottom. One copy, anyway. What are you girls planning on doing with them?”

“We’re going to pass the information along to the Fearless Five, of course,” Carmen said in a steady voice, prying up the board and reaching down to retrieve the flash drive.

I admired her smoothness. I’d never been very good at lying or hiding my emotions, but Carmen didn’t even blink as she fibbed to her friend. Then again, it wasn’t exactly a lie.

“Do you girls or your superhero friends need some extra firepower? Or should I even ask?” Jasper raised an eyebrow.

Lulu and Carmen exchanged a look.

“Let’s see what you’ve got,” Lulu said.

* * *

Jasper gave Carmen some directions, and she pulled several hidden bombs and explosive devices from metal safes in the walls and floors. There was even a case strapped to the ceiling that looked like an air vent.

Jasper took one of the lead boxes from Carmen and opened it on his lap. Inside lay a black velvet case, like the kind women get jewelry in on Valentine’s Day. Jasper cracked open the case, revealing a shiny, silver bracelet with a variety of charms dangling off it. There was a tiny book, a high-heeled shoe, a beach umbrella, a martini glass, and other items—thirteen charms in all. All cute and whimsical and exquisitely made. If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought it was a handcrafted piece from Jewel’s Jewel Emporium.

“This is my latest project,” he said.

“Lucky charms?” I asked, thinking of the door code.

Jasper nodded.

“I didn’t know you were branching out into jewelry, Jasper.” Lulu smirked. “People are going to think you’re going soft.”

Jasper scoffed. “Soft? Hardly. The charms have enough explodium in them to level a city block. They can be used in combination, depending on how much power you need, or one at a time for smaller jobs. Use them all and the bracelet at the same time, and you’ve got something that would take out most of the downtown area.”

Lulu let out a low whistle.

“But wait, there’s more,” Jasper said, beaming over his creation. “The bracelet is voice-activated and key-coded so that only the wearer can use it.”

“How many of these things do you have?” Lulu asked.

“I have a prototype, of course. But this is the only other working model I have at the moment.”

Carmen and Lulu exchanged a look, and Carmen lifted the bracelet out of the velvet case.

“We’ll take it,” Lulu said. “But who gets it?”

Carmen’s eyes glowed for a second. “I think Bella should have it,” she murmured.

Carmen held out the charm bracelet to me. I didn’t want to take it. I didn’t need to be anywhere near any sort of explosives—not with my uncontrollable power. And I definitely didn’t want to be in a situation where I’d have to use the charms and bracelet. I’d never get out of it alive. Even I wasn’t that lucky.

“Trust me, Bella,” Carmen said in a soft voice. “I’m getting pretty good at judging these things.”

Despite my frizzing hair and itchy fingers and general nervousness, I let her fasten it on my wrist. It was pretty, in a one-false-move-and-I’ll-blow-your-arm-off kind of way.

“Now, just tell me the code word or words you want to arm and trigger the explosives in the bracelet, and I’ll program it for you,” Jasper said, gesturing at Lulu to hand him some sort of electronic doodad that resembled a calculator.

I gingerly shook the bracelet, watching the charms jiggle back and forth. They tinkled as they brushed against each other. My power pulsed, sensing the new device swinging from my wrist. For a moment, I thought something very, very bad might happen, but my power fell down to its usual, low hum. Still, it gave me an idea for the words Jasper needed.

“Let’s go with luck be a lady,” I said.

“Why, Bella, are we feeling lucky today?” Lulu quipped.

I ignored her bad pun. Lulu wouldn’t be nearly so chipper if she were the one with this thing strapped to her wrist. Still, maybe Carmen was right. It might come in handy if I ran into Hangman again—or the mysterious Prism. Luck wasn’t much of a power when it came to the world of superheroes and ubervillains. It was barely a blip on the radar screen, compared to the people who could form fireballs with their bare hands or freeze a person from head to toe or zip through the sky like a rocket. Still, I was going to be extra, extra careful with my new piece of jewelry.

Jasper tuned something on his gizmo, then made me speak my command words again. Sapphire eyes on one of the charms—an angel’s head—blinked on and off three times.

“The angel is the key,” Jasper explained. “Once her eyes start blinking, you have about twenty seconds to get clear or get rid of the bomb.”

“Got it.”

Jasper showed me how to slip the charms on and off the silver links and told me which ones were more powerful than others. When we finished, Carmen looked at her silver watch while Lulu grabbed her cane and headed for the stairs.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Jasper asked.

“What?” Lulu replied. “We got information on the ubervillains, figured out more or less what they’re up to, found the blueprints to their ultimate-evil device, and got Bella some brand-new, supercharged explosives. I think we’re good.”

Jasper cleared his throat. “Well, there is the small matter of my fee.”

Ah, Jasper. Ever the businessman.

Chapter Eighteen

“I can’t believe you gave him a million dollars for that bracelet,” Carmen said ten minutes later as we headed for the van. “You didn’t even try to negotiate with him.”

“There was no point. He wasn’t going to get suckered again,” Lulu said. “He let Fiona buy him off with clothes last time because he has a thing for her alter ego, Fiera. He wasn’t going to let me get away with that too. Besides, he still gave me a discount. We are becoming regular customers of his, whether you like it or not. The man could retire on what we’ve spent on explosives in the past year. Sam should just put him on retainer. It would be cheaper, in the end.”

Carmen sighed. “I know, I know. I’ll get Sam to write you a check tonight after work.”

“Nonsense. I’m as much a part of the team as you are, even if I don’t dress up in a costume. Just write another glowing feature on Yee-haw!, and we’ll call it even,” Lulu said. “They’ve really done wonders for me these past few months.”

Yee-haw! was a therapeutic riding program financed almost in its entirety by Lulu Lo and her illegal life of crime and computer hacking. She’d been one of the program’s clients for years and was forever expounding on its virtues. In fact, getting publicity for Yee-haw! was one of Lulu’s main passions in life—along with Henry, computers, and making groan-inducing puns all the time.

We left Jasper behind with plenty of aspirin and promised to check on him later. Then, Lulu and Carmen drove me home. Or at least, they started to.

Carmen sat in the driver’s seat, but she didn’t crank the engine. “Maybe we should rethink our plan about taking you home, Bella. If Prism is anything like Malefica, she won’t stop until she’s got the sapphire. She’ll be sure to sic Hangman on you again if she thinks there’s even the slightest chance you have it or know where it is. She might even kidnap you and try to trade you for the sapphire. Then, we’d be right back where we started.”

The plan the superheroes and I had come up with to keep Hangman away from me had been to let Lulu spread the word via her shady contacts that the Fearless Five had recovered the Star Sapphire from Debonair—and for the superheroes to announce it themselves on SNN. If I didn’t have the stone, there was no reason for the villains to come after me. At least, that was the theory. You could never really tell what ubervillains were going to do.

“Why don’t you guys just return the sapphire to the museum?” I said.

“Why would we want to do that?” Lulu asked. “That’s just stupid.”

I shook my head. “If Hangman and Prism want the sapphire to power their laser, they’ll have to try and steal it from the museum again. When they do, the Fearless Five can be there ready and waiting. You guys can capture the ubervillains, keep them from taking the sapphire, and save the city in a single night.”

I might not like superheroes and ubervillains, but I sure as hell could think and plot like one.

“And what happens if the ubervillains get past us?” Carmen asked.

“You guys are the Fearless Five. Surely that won’t happen.”

Carmen gave me a look. “You should know by now not to take anything for granted—or to be too confident.”

Truer words were never spoken, but I persisted. I didn’t want to sit in the Fearless Five headquarters until they managed to capture Hangman. I’d be bored to tears. And probably have an allergic reaction to all that spandex. Besides, if I was tucked away in a supersecret superhero lair, I wouldn’t be able to see Debonair again. And I wanted to.

Or did I? Did I really want to see the handsome thief? Just because we’d had a hot, one-night stand didn’t mean he cared about me. Or that he’d even want to see me again. He’d probably had a couple more sexual encounters since our night together. Hell, maybe even a dozen, if the rumors about him were true.

But part of me still wanted to see him. Wanted to know more about him. Wanted to know if he’d felt anything for me besides lust—because I’d definitely felt something for him. It wasn’t love, but I had a soft spot in my heart for the thief now—even if he’d seduced his way into my good graces and bed. Plus, he kept saving my life. It was really hard to be angry with a guy when he did that.

After another ten minutes of arguing, I convinced Carmen to drive me home. I thought about pressing her into looking into Debonair’s real identity, but that would be pushing it. Tomorrow. I’d ask her tomorrow. It was well into the afternoon now, and all I wanted to do was go home and pretend like everything was normal. Like I hadn’t spent the last few days on the roller coaster ride of a lifetime.

Carmen drove across town and turned the van onto Lucky Way. An abundance of cypress trees and Spanish moss flanked the wide street, swaying like strands of green-gray hair in the fall breeze. Smooth, perfect, manicured lawns led up from the road, and mansion after mansion stood tall in the quiet, subdued neighborhood. Sun bounced off the roofs of the BMWs and Aston Martins and other pricey cars parked at the top of the winding driveways. Everything was the same as the last time I’d seen it, but the street and houses looked different to me. They looked…smaller somehow, less intimidating.

Carmen turned into the driveway, and the wrought iron gates swung open at her approach. I leaned forward in my seat, and the Bulluci mansion came into view. Red-tile roof, stone arches, balconies, tall, narrow windows. The house wasn’t nearly as large or impressive as Sublime or Brilliance, but seeing it always gave me a sense of peace. It was home, and I was glad to be back.

Carmen parked the van in front of the house, and the three of us got out.

“No valets?” Lulu asked. “No butlers to greet us?”

“We never really had any. We just hired people to come in and help whenever I had a fashion show here or if we had guests over for dinner. Now, we don’t even do that, since Fiona and Johnny hooked up. They didn’t want to take the risk of someone asking why Fiona eats the way she does,” I explained, taking a key from my stained purse and sliding it into the front door.

We stepped inside. My eyes traced over the tile floors, the high ceilings, the familiar furnishings embellished with angels and halos and wings. I let out a long breath. Home. This was where I belonged. Not in the Fearless Five headquarters. Not in Jasper’s bomb lab. And definitely not in the Lair of Seduction.

“Grandfather? Where are you?” I called out.

A loud thump sounded, followed by some sort of banging noise and a low moan.

“What was that?” I asked.

Panic pulsed through my body, shooting my hair to new heights. Had Hangman broken into the mansion like he’d done at Jasper’s brownstone? Was he in here now? Hurting my grandfather, torturing Bobby to get him to tell the ubervillain where I, or even the sapphire, was?

“Bella, wait—”

Carmen started to say something, but I rushed deeper into the house. My power surged. My foot hit a rug in one of the entryways and threatened to go out from under me. But I focused, willing myself not to fall, and somehow, I turned my skid into a long, smooth slide. The rug hit a doorjamb and stopped.

“Ha!” I shouted in triumph, leapt off the rug, and kept going.

The odd noises seemed to be coming from the downstairs living room. I picked up a small, wooden chair by the door, stepped inside, and pulled it over my shoulder, ready to crash it down on Hangman’s basketball-sized head.

I didn’t see anyone in the room, but more sounds came from the direction of the sofa. Hangman probably had my grandfather pinned down on the floor, crushing the life out of him, just like he’d tried to do to me.

Nobody was hurting my family again. Nobody. Especially not some ubervillain hell-bent on taking over Bigtime. I drew in a breath, careened around the edge of the sofa, and raised the chair up high.

And found my grandfather in a very interesting position—with a woman.

Chapter Nineteen

I stared at the tangled limbs with amazement and horror. I hadn’t known Bobby was that flexible. That anyone his age was that flexible. The lady he was with was also rather bendy. In all sorts of ways.

Finding my grandfather doing the nasty with his lady friend was not what I’d expected when I’d come into the room—it was far worse. My power pulsed again, and the raised chair suffered for it. The chair didn’t explode so much as I ripped it in two. The two legs I had my hands on snapped off from the rest of the frame, which plummeted to the floor. As my luck would have it, one of the legs I wasn’t holding on to banged into my knee before the other one stabbed my foot. Pain exploded in my toes, and I bit back a howl.

Carmen walked into the room a couple of seconds later, followed by Lulu. I hobbled around on one foot, trying to pretend I hadn’t just gotten an eyeful of bare, somewhat wrinkled flesh.

“That’s what I was trying to tell you—it wasn’t anything serious,” Carmen whispered.

Lulu peered over the back of the sofa and tilted her head to one side. “Looks pretty serious to me. Seriously kinky.”

I shooed the two of them outside and hopped back to the sofa.

“Ahem.” I cleared my throat.

The two of them kept right on going like they were seventeen, instead of seventy-something.

“Ahem!”

They finally stopped what they were doing, and my grandfather looked over his shoulder at me.

“Oh, Bella! I didn’t hear you come in,” Bobby said, disengaging himself from the woman beneath him.

He could have been telling the truth. It was rather hard to hear when there were legs clamped over your ears. Bobby buttoned his shirt and drew back, giving me a look at his lady friend’s flushed face. I managed to keep my mouth from falling open. But just barely.

“Hello, Grace,” I said in the politest voice I could muster. “It’s lovely to, um, see you again.”

Grace adjusted her violet, angora sweater over her shoulders, smoothed down her skirt, and sat up. “You too, Bella.”

Of course, I hadn’t expected to see quite so much of Grace Caleb at one time, but I wasn’t going to say that. It was better to pretend the last two minutes had never happened. Hell, that the last few days had never happened.

“I didn’t get a chance to tell you before, but the benefit was absolutely wonderful.” Grace’s voice was calm and serene as ever. From her smooth, even tone, you would have thought she and my grandfather hadn’t been doing anything more strenuous than playing canasta. “We raised more money than ever, which, sadly, we’re going to need now to repair the museum.”

“How is the museum? How many items were damaged? Was the wing completely destroyed?” I asked, ashamed that I hadn’t been by the museum yet to see the destruction for myself.

“At first glance, it looked catastrophic, but the damage wasn’t as bad as we feared,” Grace replied, pinning her silver hair back into place. “Several of the paintings and sculptures suffered fire and smoke damage, but Arthur says they can all be repaired. Of course, the roof was completely destroyed, along with part of one wall. Everyone keeps saying how lucky we were that Hangman didn’t level the whole building.”

Grandfather gave me a knowing look, which I ignored.

“But the community has really pitched in. Several superheroes, including Swifte, the Invisible Ingénues, Pistol Pete, and Halitosis Hal, have been working to get the museum whipped into shape so it can open back up to the public as soon as possible…”

Grace loved the museum almost as much as I did. She launched into a detailed account of which items had been damaged and what was being done to repair them. I didn’t know if Grace was genuinely aware of what she was saying or just talking to fill the silence. She took a breath, and Grandfather interrupted her.

“You and Grace can chat more about the museum tomorrow. Grace is going to join us for dinner, aren’t you, darling?” Bobby pressed a kiss to her wrinkled hand.

The older woman patted her coif of silver hair. A blush painted her cheeks a delicate pink. “Well, if you insist, Bobby.”

“I do insist,” he said, pressing another kiss to her hand. “And Bella does too, don’t you, Bella?”

“Of course,” I murmured.

We made some more polite, meaningless, let’s-pretend-I-didn’t-see-you-two-having-sex chitchat. Thankfully, Grace announced she had a dinner date and had to go, ending the awkward torture session. We said our good-byes, and Bobby offered to walk her out. They started whispering to each other as soon as they left the room. A giggle followed, along with some smacking noises that sounded suspiciously like French kissing. My grandfather, French kissing! The thought was almost too much to bear.

I gave Bobby and Grace a few minutes to get out of sight. Then, I left the living room and went looking for Carmen and Lulu. I found them in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Lulu had her laptop out, scanning through the blueprints Jasper had given us. Bobby joined us several minutes later, his silver hair mussed and his shirt unbuttoned once more.

“Grace? Grace Caleb? She’s your mystery woman?” I asked my grandfather the second he stepped into the kitchen. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I didn’t think you’d approve,” Bobby replied.

“It’s not that I don’t approve. I just didn’t think she was your type.”

From our time together planning the museum benefit, I knew Grace Caleb was a reserved sort of woman. She drank tea and baked blueberry scones and never said a bad word about anyone. She was quiet and shy and retiring. And she never went anywhere without her angora sweater and string of pearls. Grace even wore gloves on occasion. The white, frilly kind with fifty-year-old lace.

She was nothing like my grandfather, who was loud and boisterous and full of life. Bobby liked to drink, all right, but tea wasn’t his beverage of choice. Try Brighton’s Best whiskey. He’d rather have chocolate cake than scones, and he always said exactly what was on his mind—whether you liked it or not. Hell, Bobby still occasionally borrowed my brother’s motorcycle and took it for a spin through the streets of Bigtime—in the middle of the night.

But everyone says opposites attract—and the two of them were definitely opposites. Besides, I couldn’t talk. I’d done the one thing I’d sworn to never do—get romantically involved with a superhero. If, of course, you considered a one-night stand any sort of real involvement. The jury was still out on that one.

Bobby’s face fell at my comment, making me feel about five inches tall. So, I added to my statement. I could never bear to see my grandfather sad or upset, especially when I was the cause of it.

“But she is a lovely woman, Grandfather. If she makes you happy, then I’m thrilled for both of you.”

Bobby smiled and squeezed my hand. “She does, Bella. Very much so.”

I opened my mouth to grill Bobby about how they’d met, how long they’d been together, and what her intentions were toward him.

“Hey, guys, come check this out.” Lulu cut me off. “I’ve pulled up the blueprints Jasper gave us.”

I filled Bobby in on what Jasper had told us, and we all crowded around Lulu’s laptop to get a look at Prism’s device. The computer hacker was right. It did look like something out of a science fiction movie—only much more sinister. The laser was about thirty feet long and resembled a bulldozer with a barrel on the end. Mirrors and power amplifiers and batteries decorated it from top to bottom. A seat in the middle of the device lay behind a control panel, and the whole cab section swiveled around so you could take aim at whatever you wanted to.

“This must be where the sapphire goes,” Lulu said, pointing to an empty, rounded space on the blueprints just inside the end of the barrel that delivered the laser. “She’s going to use it to increase the laser’s power and its range.”

“How catastrophic are we talking?” Carmen asked, her eyes fixed on the monitor.

“Let’s just say if I had a choice between the laser and Bella’s shiny new bracelet, I wouldn’t know which one to pick,” Lulu said. “This thing could do major, major damage to anything in its path. Cars, buildings, people. The heat would be so intense it would fry anyone within a foot of the beam.”

“Terrific. Just terrific,” Carmen muttered.

I shook my head. I’d never understood why ubervillains (and superheroes too) felt the need to create these elaborate contraptions. Gadgets, names, clothes, shoes. Simpler was always better. And why couldn’t they just use their maniacal genius for good or world peace? Even if there wasn’t any profit in it?

Carmen paced around the table. “All we have to do now is figure out what Prism’s going to do with the laser and where she’s hiding it. And that’s always the hardest part, unfortunately. Just when you think you’ve got things worked out, something unexpected happens—which makes everything else that much worse.”

Bobby looked at me. “Maybe you should go back to the Fearless Five headquarters, Bella, until this is all settled. Hangman is dangerous enough, but I really don’t like the sound of this Prism person.”

“I’m not going back,” I said. “I’ve already had this conversation with Carmen. It might be days or even weeks before the superheroes figure out what the ubervillains are up to. I can’t hide that long, and I don’t want to. These people have upset my life enough already. I won’t let them hold me hostage any longer. Don’t worry, I’ll be safe here with you.”

“But the Fearless Five can protect you. I can’t—not anymore. Not like I used to.”

Bobby’s green eyes clouded over, growing dark and sad and weary. Being Johnny Angel had been one of the most exhilarating times in my grandfather’s life, and he still missed it.

“Don’t worry, Grandfather,” I said, holding up my new bracelet. “I’ve got plenty of protection—enough to blow most of the city to smithereens. If Hangman or Prism comes anywhere near me, they’ll get a nasty surprise, one they won’t recover from.”

Of course, the down side was I probably wouldn’t recover either. No matter how lucky I was.

* * *

In the end, I convinced the others to let me stay home. Carmen and Lulu left to go back to the F5 library to further analyze the blueprints, leaving Grandfather and me alone in the house—albeit with an open line to the superheroes. Lulu rigged up some device so that all we had to do was whisper the word help anywhere in the house and the Fearless Five would get the message and come immediately.

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, though. No ubervillains crashed through the front door. No laser burned the house to the ground. No one made threatening phone calls telling me to give up the sapphire or else. All I got were the usual, insistent requests from Kelly Caleb and the city’s other reporters for an exclusive interview on my horrific kidnapping and heroic rescue. I turned them all down.

Abby Appleby phoned too, wanting to see how I was doing—and wondering if I was upset with her because the benefit hadn’t gone off exactly as planned. I assured Abby that I didn’t blame her for things not going the way they were supposed to. Abby might be the city’s best event planner, but even she couldn’t stop an ubervillain from crashing a party.

Johnny also called that afternoon.

“Hi, Johnny,” I said into the receiver.

“How did you know it was me?” My brother’s familiar voice filled my ear.

“Caller ID, of course. Besides, Grandfather said you were going to call.”

“Well, I had to check up on my baby sister.” Johnny turned to more serious matters. “How are you, Bella? I know the last few days must have been rough, especially for you. Do you want me to come home?”

Johnny knew how much I hated the whole superhero-ubervillain lifestyle. He’d seen the stress and toll waiting up for our father had taken on me over the years. But instead of pretending Angel didn’t exist, Johnny had gone a different route—he’d refused to take over being Angel from my father. It was the only thing the two of them had ever fought about. Like me, Johnny hadn’t wanted any part of heroes and villains. At least, not until our father had been murdered. That’s when my brother had suited up as Angel and gone out to track down his killers.

Now, Johnny occasionally roamed the streets as Angel, usually to watch Fiona’s back when she was out being Fiera. He liked the rush of being a sometimes hero, but he wasn’t obsessed with it like our father had been. I was glad Johnny wasn’t going to turn Angel into a full-time hobby, but I still worried about him on the nights he did go out.

“No, don’t come home,” I said. “Stay. Finish up your business, and enjoy your vacation.”

“Are you sure?” Johnny persisted.

“Yes, I’m sure. I’m fine now. Physically, at least.”

“Why do you say that?”

I bit my lip, wishing I hadn’t said anything.

“Come on, Bella,” Johnny wheedled. “Tell me what’s wrong. This is your big brother here.”

I sighed. I’d never been good at hiding things, especially from Johnny. He knew me better than anyone. “I sort of…met someone.”

“That’s great, Bella. Although I’ll have to meet him before I give him the official big-brother seal of approval,” Johnny joked.

“There’s a problem. He’s a superhero. More or less.”

“Ah.” Johnny’s voice rang with understanding. “That complicates things, doesn’t it? Especially for you.”

“Doesn’t it always?” I sniped.

“So, how serious is it?”

I hesitated. I wanted to tell Johnny it wasn’t serious at all. That it had been a one-time lapse of judgment on my part and nothing else. But for some reason, I couldn’t do that. I might be good at pretending things weren’t exactly what they seemed, but I tried not to out-and-out lie to myself. “I don’t know. It’s too soon to tell.”

“Well, superhero or not, he better treat you right. Or he’ll have to answer to me,” Johnny said. “And Angel.”

An image of Johnny mowing down Debonair with his motorcycle flashed through my mind. My brother beating up the man I’d slept with. That was just what I needed. Not. It was definitely time to change the subject.

“So, where are you at now? Are you having fun?”

“We’re having a wonderful time. We flew into Athens today. Fiona did a little sight-seeing while I met with some of our investors. Now, we’re back at the hotel. We just ordered room service.”

Dishes clinked and rattled in the background. “You mean Fiona ordered room service. How many meals did she get this time? Ten? Fifteen? Or everything on the menu times three?”

Johnny just laughed.

* * *

That night after dinner and a long bath, I sat at the window seat in the hall, sketch pad and charcoal pencil in hand. A cool breeze skipped through the open window, fluttering the white-lace curtains and kissing my face. I stared outside at the orchard below. Moonlight streamed through the leaves and branches, making them seem as though they’d been dipped in silver. A few birds called to each other in the trees, while squirrels and rabbits chattered from their hiding places in the tall grass.

Dozens of drawings littered the cushioned seat and floor around me, but they weren’t of the garden or the impressive view below. They were of him.

Debonair.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind. His voice. His lips. His touch. I might not be in the Lair of Seduction anymore, but, in a way, I was still his prisoner—helpless to stop thinking about him. Helpless to stop wondering where he was, what he was doing. So, I’d spent the last two hours doing sketch after sketch, as if that would help me make sense of these strange feelings I’d developed for the sexy thief.

My nose twitched. The smell of smoked roses filled the air, and I knew he was here. Watching me.

“Hello, Debonair,” I said in a quiet voice and put down my pencil.

He stood in the shadows along one side of the hall, his eyes glowing in the darkness. My eyes traced over his muscled form from head to toe. My power flared, and I remembered the delicious things he’d done to my body—and that I’d done to his. For once, I didn’t mind the static sensation. Or the fact my hair was about two feet tall.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my heart smashing against my ribs.

He stepped closer. The moonlight hit his hair, making it gleam. The color of his eyes intensified to the bluest blue I’d ever seen. His gaze was much more powerful than an ubervillain’s laser could ever be.

“I wanted to make sure you were okay. I’ve been looking for you for hours now.”

“I was with the Fearless Five,” I explained, hating myself for reassuring him. “They checked me out and made sure everything was all right. There’s nothing wrong with me.”

He let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it in with worry. “That’s good. I’m glad you’re okay.”

I didn’t offer up any more information, and he didn’t ask me any more questions. Instead, Debonair shifted on his feet, as if unsure of himself. Gone was the cocky, self-assured thief I’d first encountered. In his place was someone I didn’t quite recognize. Maybe he didn’t know what to make of our night of passion any more than I did. The thought gave me hope.

His eyes fell on the drawings on the floor, and he picked up one.

“What’s this?” he asked, his eyes scanning the paper.

I snatched the drawing away from him, hating the fact he’d seen it. That he knew how much he’d affected me. How much he still affected me. Even now, after everything that had happened, I wanted to reach for him. To press my lips to his. To lose myself in his embrace. Somehow, the thief had stolen away all of my reason, my logic, my sensibilities. And I liked it. More than I would have thought possible.

But my feelings didn’t change the fact that he was one of them—another super-something-or-other who dressed up in leather and roamed the streets. I could never be with him—not again. I could never have a relationship with someone who would eventually get himself killed. I’d gone through that heartbreak with my father. I wasn’t going to go through it again. Not even for someone as sexy as Debonair.

The thief snapped his fingers, and the drawing popped out of my hand and back into his.

“That’s not fair,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest.

He gave me a sly smile, seeming a bit more like his rakish, charming self. “Whoever said life was fair?”

He studied the drawing, then picked up several more from the floor. “What’s not fair is you keeping these to yourself, Bella. You have a remarkable gift. Your work should be in all the museums in Bigtime.”

“Why? So somebody like you could steal it?”

He drew nearer. The silver and black rings around his irises shimmered in the faint light. “The only thing I steal, Bella, is kisses. And I find that most of those are freely given.”

Just the sound of his husky voice made my fingers itch.

Suddenly, he was holding me, and we were kissing. His lips, his tongue, his touch. It overwhelmed me. I found myself kissing him as frantically as he did me. I moaned as his hands roamed over my body, igniting all sorts of hot feelings that made me want to melt into the floor—and drag him down with me.

But I couldn’t stop the nagging feeling he was using me. Again.

“No,” I said, breaking off the kiss and pushing him away. “I don’t want to be just another couple of notches on your belt. Or sex handcuffs or whatever you use to keep track of all the women you’ve slept with.”

“You’re not another notch to me,” he protested. “I don’t do that sort of thing.”

I barked out a laugh. “Please. You’re Debonair. One of the most notorious rogues in all of Bigtime. Seducing women is what you do. You’ve practically made it an art form.”

A sad smile curved his lips. “You don’t understand, Bella. Things aren’t always what they seem.”

“So you don’t go around kissing random women then?”

“Oh no. I do that. It’s sort of part of my job.” He didn’t sound the least bit apologetic about it.

“And, of course, the kissing naturally leads to other things.”

“Are you jealous, Bella? You have no reason to be. There’s no other woman for me but you.”

My heart leapt at the words, but I forced myself to be calm. He might have come here tonight to check on me, but he probably thought he could get lucky again too. I knew a thing or two about luck—all kinds of luck.

“What are you saying?” I asked, trying not to sound too eager or hopeful. “That you want to go steady or something? If so, you’re out of luck.”

“What about the other night?” he asked, looming over me in the darkness.

I put a hand on his chest, stopping him from coming any closer. “The other night was an aberration, nothing more. I wasn’t myself, and you were. Let’s just chalk it up as one big mistake. I don’t date superheroes or ubervillains or anyone who wears a leather mask late at night. I’ve told you that before.”

Debonair arched an eyebrow. “Why not? Most women enjoy that sort of thing. The mystery, the leather, the, ah, superpowers.”

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” I snapped.

Debonair looked away and sighed. “How can I get you to believe me when I tell you that I’m not the playboy you think I am? That I do have feelings for you?”

“Tell me who you really are.”

His eyes widened. Fear and panic shimmered in the blue depths. “I can’t do that. You know I can’t do that.”

“Why not? I won’t tell anybody your real identity. I promise. Trust me. I’m good at keeping those kinds of secrets.”

Fiona and the other members of the Fearless Five could testify to that. Actually, my whole family could back up my statement.

Debonair mumbled something.

“What was that?” I asked.

He stared at me. “I can’t tell you who I really am because you won’t feel the same way about me as you do about Debonair.” Bitterness tinged his voice.

“How do you know what I’ll think of the real you?”

He looked away. “I just know.”

I stared at him. “I do know you, don’t I? I know who you are, the real you. Do you think I’m that shallow? That I won’t like you just because you’re not wearing a sexy costume?”

He gave me a sad smile. “I know it. And that’s the problem, Bella. I’m not who you think I am. Not really. Not at all, actually. This is just a disguise, a show. Nothing else. It’s not the real me, just someone I like to pretend that I am.”

I wondered at his words. He sounded so alone, so forlorn I wanted to reach out to him, to tell him it didn’t matter who he was underneath all the leather, that I’d like him anyway. But I couldn’t do that. I had to stick to my rules. Had to be strong. Had to resist the temptation in front of me.

Debonair pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. My pulse thrummed in response. Suddenly, I didn’t want him to go. I wanted him to stay. With me. If only to talk. Or do nothing at all. I opened my mouth to ask him to when—

POP!

He teleported away.

Leaving me alone.

Again.

Chapter Twenty

The next day, I started to the museum to check on the damage. But Bobby didn’t want me to go anywhere because of Hangman, and I agreed to spend one more day at home.

The doorbell rang around nine o’clock, just as Grandfather and I finished up a late breakfast of whole wheat waffles, low-fat turkey bacon, and fresh grapefruit.

“Who could that be?” I asked, nervous.

“Don’t worry, Bella,” Bobby said, getting to his feet. “Hangman wouldn’t be so considerate as to ring the bell.”

He had a point. Ubervillains didn’t usually knock when they stormed into your house. Superheroes didn’t either. In fact, the front gate still creaked from where Fiera had ripped it off its hinges a few months ago when she’d decided to pay us a visit in the middle of the night.

Still, I didn’t let Grandfather go to the door alone. I might have been scared of Hangman, but I wasn’t about to let Bobby risk his life defending me.

Bobby made his way to the front door and reached for the knob.

“Wait a minute. Aren’t you even going to look out and see who is it?” I asked, coming up behind him and trying to squint through the curtains.

Bobby gave me an amused look. “You worry too much, Bella. It’s not Hangman. Even if it were, I doubt a simple door would stop him.”

He had another point, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. So, I grabbed a tall, black umbrella from the silver stand by the door and held it out like a sword, ready to shove the heavy point into someone’s stomach. An umbrella wasn’t a traditional weapon, but, in my hands, just about anything could be deadly. Another rare upside of having luck as a superpower. After all, I was the woman who could make steel pots explode and chandeliers fall just by looking at them. I could skewer a wild boar with the umbrella if things went just my way. Besides, if the umbrella didn’t scare off Hangman, my out-to-there hair surely would.

Bobby shook his head and opened the door. To my surprise, Joanne James and Berkley Brighton stood outside.

“Bella, darling!” Joanne said, swooping on me like a perfumed, couture-clad vulture. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” I twitched my nose to keep from sneezing.

Joanne air-kissed both my cheeks and stepped back. Her eyes flicked to the umbrella, then back outside. Sunlight flooded the hall where we stood, warming my toes through my thick, wool socks.

My face flushed, and I stuck the umbrella back in the stand by the door. At least, I tried to. The static crackled around me. Every time I attempted to slide the umbrella back into place, the tip caught on the edge and made a loud, ear-splitting clang. The third time I tried, the umbrella popped open and refused to close. Finally, I gave up and tossed the open umbrella outside. The wind picked it up and carried it farther down the driveway. I glared at the hateful thing. The umbrella could stay out there for all I cared, along with those stupid apples I hadn’t been able to find.

“How are you really, Bella?” Berkley asked in a kind, concerned tone once I’d shut the door. The short businessman came over and gave me a quick hug.

“I’m really fine, Berkley. But thanks for asking.” I stepped back and smiled at him. “What brings you two here?”

“Why, you, of course,” Joanne said, as if the answer should be obvious.

I opened my mouth, but Joanne had already gone on the offensive. She moved farther into the house as if it were hers instead of ours. I looked at Grandfather. He just grinned and shrugged. Grandfather had always had a thing for strong, take-charge women. Berkley smiled too, amused by his wife’s antics.

The three of us followed Joanne, who strolled into the downstairs living room. She plopped on the love seat in the corner and patted the cloud-covered cushion next to her. Berkley gracefully took that spot. He put his arm around her shoulders, and Joanne leaned back against his chest.

Grandfather took a seat on the matching couch—the same couch I’d found him on with Grace Caleb yesterday. I started to sit down but thought better of it. Instead, I perched on the edge of the coffee table. I wasn’t sitting on that couch again. At least, not until I’d had it reupholstered.

“Can I get you anything?” I asked the couple. “Coffee? Tea? Juice?”

“No, thanks,” Joanne said. “We can’t stay long. We have a lunch date.”

“Oh? With whom?” I asked.

Joanne looked up into Berkley’s face and smiled. “With each other.”

She snuggled a little closer to him, and I thought back to the day I’d found them making out in the library. I hoped they weren’t going to give me a repeat show. Otherwise, I’d have to have that love seat reupholstered, too. Given how amorous Fiona and Johnny were, I might as well do the rest of the furniture while I was at it.

“We just wanted to come by and see how you were, Bella,” Berkley replied, his blue eyes catching mine. “It couldn’t have been easy for you, being caught between the Fearless Five and Hangman at the museum.”

“It certainly wasn’t easy for us, realizing the sapphire had been taken,” Joanne added. “I’m just glad my velvet Elvis painting was locked away in the vault. Otherwise, it might have been damaged like so many of the other pieces were.”

My eyes widened. With everything that had been going on, I’d completely forgotten about Berkley. And the fact that he was probably wondering what had happened to his prize possession.

“I’m so, so sorry. I should have called you. The sapphire—”

Berkley waved his hand. “Don’t worry. I’ve already had several conversations with my insurance people. Not that it matters anymore. I got a call this morning from the Fearless Five. They recovered the sapphire and plan on returning it to the museum. So, all’s well that ends well.”

I let out a quiet sigh of relief. Sam Striker Sloane had probably made the call. At least he’d had the sense to remember to. But there was another question that needed answering.

“Are you going to leave the gem on display?”

Berkley opened his mouth, but Joanne cut him off.

“Well, I think he should have it shipped back to Brilliance where it belongs,” she grumbled. “Where it’ll be safe.”

Berkley squeezed her arm. “Now, Joanne, you know we can’t do that. The whole point was to let other people see the stone and to raise money for the museum. They’ll need the money now more than ever. Arthur Anders has assured me that he’ll take appropriate measures to increase security. The important thing is that no one was injured. If I’d been there, I would have gladly given Hangman the sapphire to keep him from harming Bella or anyone else.”

My throat closed up, and I couldn’t speak. Berkley had always been so kind to me. Most men would have been yelling and screaming and demanding their property be returned immediately after the fiasco at the museum. Instead, Berkley was willing to risk the loss of the sapphire again. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Berkley could afford to buy a dozen Star Sapphires. But his generosity still touched me.

“Thank you, Berkley,” I said, leaning over and squeezing his hand. “I’m sure Arthur appreciates your trust and good faith. I know I do.”

“No problem, Bella.” Berkley cleared his throat and looked at Bobby. “Although, I have to admit my interest isn’t entirely selfless. I’ve been thinking about adding another motorcycle to my collection—if I can talk your grandfather into building it for me.”

Bobby winked. “Of course. What are friends for?”

We all laughed.

Talk turned to other things, mainly a business deal Berkley wanted to propose to Johnny when he and Fiona got back from their vacation.

While the others chatted, I stared at Berkley and Joanne. The two of them had sunk into the soft cushions on the love seat, but they didn’t seem to mind. Their hands were entwined, their bodies flush against each other. They were as close as they could be and still have clothes on.

They looked so happy together, so comfortable, so in love. It was hard to believe Joanne could care about anyone besides herself, but her affection for Berkley was real. I could see it in her eyes every time she looked at him. Sense it in the way she hovered close to him. Hear it in her voice when she said his name.

The sight made me think about Debonair. I wondered if I looked and acted the same way whenever I was around the sexy thief. And I couldn’t help but wish he would gaze at me the same adoring way Berkley did at Joanne.

“Well, I’m afraid we must be going,” Berkley said, interrupting my thoughts. “Like Joanne said, we do have a lunch date.”

He brought her hand to his lips and placed a soft kiss on her knuckles. Joanne let out a squeaky noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle. Joanne James, giggling? I never thought I’d live to hear that.

The two of them got to their feet. Bobby followed suit, and so did I.

At least, I tried to.

Perhaps it was all my thoughts of Debonair. Or maybe it was just time for another round of bad luck. Either way, my power pulsed. I started to get up, but my feet skidded on the shag carpet and slid out from under me. My butt plopped down on the coffee table—hard. The solid wood let out a low groan, the legs shook, and the top split down the middle.

The table collapsed and splintered into a hundred pieces. Bits of wood shot out everywhere, pinging off the walls and tinking off the ceiling fan. I knew because I was now flat on my back, staring up at the spinning fan.

“Bella!” Bobby asked, leaning over me. “Are you all right?”

“Sure,” I wheezed. “We needed to get a new table anyway.”

* * *

Joanne and Berkley left soon after that. People just never stayed around after I had one of my accidents. It took me over an hour to clean up the remains of the coffee table, then another one to fix the mess I’d made cleaning that up.

By the time I finished, it was lunchtime, and I decided to take a much-needed break. So, I walked out to the orchard behind the house. It wasn’t nearly as big as the acres of gardens out at Sublime, but I admired its quiet beauty just the same. Pear, orange, and other trees towered over me like silent giants. A faint breeze whistled through the grove, rustling the dry leaves and sending them twirling downward like tiny helicopters.

I leaned back against a pear tree and shut my eyes against the bright glow of the noon sun. Birds twittered in the branches above, while a few bugs droned in the distance. The cool air smelled of damp leaves and turned earth.

Something crawled across my hand, and I brushed away an ant without even opening my eyes. Determined to have a nice, normal, peaceful lunch, I’d brought a blanket, my sketch pad, and some picnic goodies outside to the orchard. But, of course, my luck decided to assert itself. The plastic plates shattered, splattering me, the blanket, and the surrounding grass with low-fat, sugar-free fruit salad. It really was amazing how far strawberries could bounce, especially considering the fact they weren’t exactly round. My pulverized food had attracted the attention of a colony of ants. But since they seemed content to carry off pulpy bits of orange and pineapple and not swarm all over me, I left them alone. At least someone was going to get properly fed today.

My fingers traced over the soft, fleecy blanket. The fabric reminded me of Debonair’s skin—only it wasn’t as smooth and warm. For the last hour, I’d tried to concentrate on my sketches, tried to draw the beauty around me, but I kept thinking about the sexy thief and what he’d said last night. His fear that I wouldn’t like the real him as much as I did Debonair.

His confession had surprised me. Most superhero and ubervillain types were cocky to the extreme, especially the villains. They thought just because they could walk on water or stride through fire or scale skyscrapers that nothing could ever hurt or touch or bother them.

But Debonair seemed to have more of a split personality than the other heroes and villains I’d encountered. On more than one occasion, he’d almost seemed unsure of himself, hesitant even. I didn’t understand why. He was charming and witty, and women of all ages threw themselves at him. I didn’t understand his insecurities, whatever they were.

Maybe he thought the idea of Debonair, the memory of our night together, would cloud things between us if he told me who he really was. Maybe it would. I didn’t know.

But I really wanted to find out.

I checked my watch. Later. I was going to have to find out later, because I had things to do right now. I got to my feet and picked up the bits of fruit the ants hadn’t carried off. While I worked, another breeze blew through the orchard, bringing something along with it this time—the umbrella I’d tossed out the door this morning. Mouth open, I watched as the umbrella somehow bobbed up and down on the breeze like an oddly shaped kite. But that wasn’t the weirdest thing. The umbrella was still open—and filled with apples. I narrowed my eyes. Apples that looked suspiciously like the ones I’d lost during the trick-or-treat incident several days ago.

The breeze died down, and the umbrella floated to a stop at my feet, its point sticking into the ground just so.

“Well, lucky me,” I muttered.

* * *

For dinner with Bobby and Grace Caleb, I chose a short, simple, emerald-colored dress that set off my caramel-colored hair and eyes, and fastened my silver angel necklace around my throat. Jasper’s bombastic bracelet hung off my right wrist. I hadn’t taken it off since the bomber had given it to me. Not even when I took a shower.

There’d been no sign of Hangman or Prism, and I didn’t think I was in any real danger anymore. Everyone knew the Fearless Five had the Star Sapphire and were going to return it to the museum. SNN had run a special report on the latest developments, with Kelly Caleb reading a press release from the superheroes on the evening broadcast. But the way my luck went, the second I decided I didn’t need the bracelet would be the exact moment the ubervillains came after me. So, I kept it on.

The doorbell rang promptly at eight. Grandfather answered it and led Grace Caleb into the downstairs living room where I waited. Grace looked elegant in a pale lilac-flowered dress that highlighted her silver hair and blue eyes. For once, she wasn’t wearing a sweater. Instead, a lavender shawl wrapped around her bare shoulders while an egg-sized amethyst hung from her throat. A matching purple handbag dangled from her arm, which was rather well muscled for a woman in her seventies.

But Grace wasn’t alone.

Devlin Dash trailed into the room behind her. He wore a classic tuxedo just like Grandfather, although he kept tugging at his tie as if it were strangling him. The gleam from his round glasses made it look like there were two silver coins where his eyes should be.

“Grace,” Bobby said, kissing her hand. “You are truly a vision.”

Grace’s eyes slid down my grandfather’s body in a frank, rather hungry way that startled me. “So are you, Bobby.”

He leaned in and whispered something in her ear. Grace giggled in response. I looked at Devlin, who kept yanking at his tie. He avoided my eyes. Bobby cooed more sweet nothings into Grace’s eager ear.

“Ahem.”

I cleared my throat, reminding them that there were other people in the room. I didn’t want a repeat of yesterday’s couch incident. That image, unfortunately, would be seared into my brain for many, many days to come.

“Hello, Bella,” Grace said. “You look wonderful tonight.”

“Grace. So do you. It’s so nice to see you again.” I wanted to add wearing clothes but decided not to.

“And of course you know my grandson, Devlin,” Grace said, stepping aside.

Devlin held out his hand, which I took. He started to raise it to his lips for a chaste kiss but decided against it in mid-flight. Devlin settled for covering my hand with his other one and squeezing it. His fingers bit into my skin, and I winced at his firm grip.

“Oh! Sorry,” Devlin said in a sheepish tone. He dropped my hand like it burned him. “I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”

I grimaced and tried not to wring out my hand in front of him. I wouldn’t have thought he would have had such a strong grip. Devlin didn’t strike me as the athletic type. Strange. Very strange.

I didn’t have time to wonder at Devlin’s sudden show of machismo. Bobby offered Grace his arm and escorted her into the dining room. Devlin did the same for me.

“You look lovely, Bella,” he said in a low voice. “That color really suits you.”

“Thank you, Devlin. You look very handsome as well.”

He surprised me again by not stuttering or stammering. For a change. And then there was the fact he’d complimented me at all. I’d never known Devlin to pay too much attention to women or what they were wearing. Or for women to pay much attention to him. Most of the ladies on the society circuit fawned and drooled over the suave playboys. Devlin wasn’t one of them. Oh, he was handsome enough in his own right, but he didn’t have the polish of a Sam Sloane or Nate Norris, or the obscene wealth of a Berkley Brighton or Wesley Weston. In Bigtime, there was rich and handsome, and then there was super rich and super handsome. Devlin fell into the first of the two categories.

We entered the dining room, and Devlin pulled out my chair. I flashed back to my time with Debonair and how he’d done the exact same thing. I sat down on the seat.

And then, Devlin shoved me into the table.

It wasn’t completely his fault. My luck decided to pulse at that exact moment, and the chair slid forward a foot more than it should have, pinning me against the table. The heavy wood dug into my breasts, knocking the air out of my lungs.

“Oh! Sorry!” Devlin said.

I scooted my chair back so I could actually breathe. “Don’t worry about it,” I wheezed.

Devlin sat across from me, his cheeks red from his latest social fiasco. Grace settled in a chair next to him while Bobby took the one beside me.

Bobby wanted to impress Grace, so he’d had dinner catered in from Quicke’s. Several elegant warming platters perched on the table, along with candles encased in hurricane lanterns and a cornucopia stuffed full of fresh fruit and fall leaves.

Bobby removed the tops from the dishes, and I stared at the exposed food in alarm. Chicken Marsala topped with a boatload of Parmesan cheese, toasted garlic bread, a Caesar salad, fried eggplant and zucchini, broiled tomatoes, three bottles of red wine, and an angel food cake topped with strawberries and chocolate frosting. A heart attack waiting to happen, especially for Bobby.

“Grandfather,” I said in a warning tone. “You know what the doctor says about your cholesterol and blood pressure. They’re both far too high for you to eat like this.”

“Bah! Doctors, what do they know?” Bobby waved his hand. “Besides, we’re having guests tonight, Bella. We must make a good impression on them.”

Guests. My grandfather used this same excuse whenever we had company, no matter who it was. He’d once served the cable guy a three-course meal just for installing a new soccer channel. The next day, when the plumber came, he’d gotten similar treatment. The gardener, the pool guy, the electrician. Every time the doorbell rang, Bobby was ready with food for everyone—and a substantial serving set aside for himself. Grandfather even insisted that Fiona was still company. He knew it was the only way he could get away with eating all the things he wanted to—none of which were good for him.

I was tempted to use my power to make Bobby drop his fork or even his plate on the floor, but I didn’t want to embarrass him in front of Grace and Devlin. Besides, whenever I tried to use my power like that, I always ended up with egg on my face—literally. Luck was a lot like karma sometimes. So, I resisted the urge. But just barely.

Bobby clapped his hands together. “Come! Let’s eat before it gets cold!”

We dug into the hearty spread. Everything was just as wonderful as it looked. The chicken was fork-tender, the bread seasoned just so, and every bite of the cake was a little bit of heaven in my mouth. I’d have to spend two hours on the elliptical trainer tomorrow to burn off all the fat and calories, but it was worth a little sin tonight. I thought of Debonair. He would have approved of all this. Reveled in it.

Dinner was quite pleasant, especially since I didn’t have to worry about floating wineglasses or other superpowered displays. Grace was as witty and charming as ever, in addition to being a good sport. She responded to my grandfather’s bawdy jokes with some of her own that were even more risqué. Maybe there was a little bit of steel underneath that soft, flowery façade after all.

Devlin stayed quiet for most of the meal, as was his way, I supposed. I tried to engage him in conversation a couple of times, asking about DCQ, his business. Devlin answered my questions in monosyllables and stared at the half-eaten food on his plate. Every once in a while, I thought I saw him sneaking glances at me, but I couldn’t be sure. Besides, it wasn’t like there were a lot of people around the table to look at.

An hour later, we pushed back our chairs. Grace tucked her arm into Bobby’s and whispered something into his ear. It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought my grandfather blushed. And he never did that. If one of them blushed, it should have been Grace. She was the sweet old lady in the relationship. My grandfather was the former hellion.

“If you’ll excuse us, children, I’m going to take Grace on a tour of the house,” Bobby said. “We’ll be back in ten—”

Grace put her heel into his instep.

“Make that twenty minutes,” Bobby corrected. “Give or take a few. These old bones aren’t quite as quick as they used to be. Arthritis, you know.”

I narrowed my eyes. My grandfather hadn’t looked like he was suffering from arthritis yesterday.

Grace gave me an angelic smile, as though she hadn’t just crushed my grandfather’s foot—and wasn’t about to give him a heart attack with her sexual skills. Maybe the older woman had a little more hellion in her than I’d given her credit for. Maybe a lot more.

The two of them moved down the hall and rounded a corner. A second later, feet pounded away, as though they were running. Probably racing toward Bobby’s bedroom, I thought in a petulant mood. At least someone was going to get lucky tonight. I’d been hoping Debonair would pop into the house again today, but I hadn’t seen—or smelled—the sexy thief.

“They’re quite a pair, aren’t they?” Devlin murmured.

“Yes, they are.”

“It’s good to see Grams so happy.”

“Grams?” I asked.

“It’s my nickname for her.”

“The two of you seem very close.”

Devlin nodded. “My parents died in a boating accident when I was a kid. Grams took me in and raised me.”

I reached over and squeezed his hand. “That must have been rough. My mother died when I was a child too. But I still had my father and grandfather, although my dad passed away earlier this year.”

The pain of my mother’s loss was a familiar, small, dull ache. But it hurt to think about my father. I was still so angry with him for leaving us. For trying to be a hero. For putting that before everything else, including his family.

“I remember,” Devlin said. “I came to the funeral.”

“Did you? I’m sorry, but I don’t really remember that day.”

It had passed in a painful, hazy blur of tears and sobs and sniffles.

“You never called me after that,” he said in a soft voice.

“Excuse me?”

“You never called me, after the funeral.”

I frowned, confused. “Was I supposed to?”

Devlin tugged at his tie. “We went to dinner a couple of days before your father died. You, um, said you’d call me later in the week.”

And I remembered. We’d been finishing up the details of an art auction we’d chaired together, and we’d gone to Quicke’s for dinner afterward. From what I remembered, the evening had been nice enough—until my cell phone rang. My dinner with Devlin hadn’t been a couple of days before my father had died—it had been the night he’d died. The night he’d been murdered.

I’d been out with Devlin when Grandfather had called, worried he couldn’t find my father anywhere. For weeks after that, I’d beaten myself up—thinking I should have stayed home. Thinking I might have somehow saved my father or at least kept him from going out as Johnny Angel. That maybe even my luck would have kicked in and spared him.

“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I completely forgot with everything that happened.”

“Forget it,” Devlin said. “It was silly of me to bring it up now.”

We stood there, not quite looking at each other. I glanced at the angel-shaped clock on the wall. We had another seventeen minutes before Grandfather and Grace were supposed to come back from their rendezvous. What were we supposed to talk about until then? Even though we’d had dinner together, I barely knew Devlin. And why would he remind me now that I was supposed to have called him months ago? That was just weird.

Thankfully, the businessman broke the silence.

“Actually, I wanted to give you this before I forgot.” Devlin pulled a check out of the inside of his tuxedo. “Since the one at the benefit fell to pieces.”

I took the piece of paper from him. Our fingers brushed, and a certain sort of warmth traveled up my fingertips that had nothing to do with static electricity or bad luck. At least, I didn’t think it did. I couldn’t be attracted to Devlin Dash, could I? Uncomfortable, I turned my gaze to the check, which had several zeroes on it.

My eyes locked onto the signature. I froze, afraid my eyes were playing tricks on me. But they weren’t. Because no matter how many times I blinked, no matter how hard I squinted, it was still there. A big D with an illegible scrawl trailing along behind it. I’d seen that signature only once before. On a drawing I had smoothed out on the desk in my room.

The drawing I’d done of Debonair.

Debonair.

Who was really Devlin Dash.

Chapter Twenty-One

I couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even form a coherent thought. I stared at the check, my eyes not really seeing it anymore.

“Is something wrong?” Devlin asked in a concerned tone. “You look pale. Do you need to sit down?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” I lied, snapping out of my daze. “I was just a little surprised by the, ah, amount of your donation. It’s very generous.”

Devlin shrugged. “Not really. I’m sure twenty-five thousand dollars is just pocket change compared to what you raised at the benefit.”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Besides, the museum will need every penny since it was damaged by that awful ubervillain.”

Devlin fiddled with his glasses. “Of course. I read about that in the papers and saw it on SNN. It truly was a tragedy. I hope the police or the Fearless Five manage to catch the villain who’s responsible quickly.”

He’d done more than just read about it or watch it on TV. He’d been there, right alongside me. I opened my mouth to call him on it, to demand some sort of explanation, when a voice wafted down the hall.

“But why do you have to go now? I thought we were having a nice time,” Bobby said in a somewhat petulant tone.

Our grandparents appeared. Some of Grace’s hair had come loose from its sleek do, and Bobby’s tie and shirt looked rumpled. I peered at him. Was that pink lipstick on his collar? My grandfather, the seducer. He was getting as bad as Debonair in his old age.

“What’s going on?” I asked.

Grace held up a small cell phone. “I’m afraid I have an emergency. I need to leave immediately.”

“What sort of emergency?” Devlin asked.

She looked at her grandson. “A family emergency. Kelly’s sick and needs someone to come get her from work.”

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked. “I just saw her on the news this afternoon. She looked fine.”

Kelly Caleb had also called me earlier in the day demanding an exclusive interview, along with the other news hounds. I’d refused them all.

“Nothing serious. Just a case of the flu,” Grace said, her blue eyes not quite meeting mine. “But I want to go make sure she’s okay. I’m a bit of a worrier, especially when it comes to Kelly. The station works her to death, and her immune system isn’t what it should be.”

I didn’t understand why Kelly couldn’t just have a cab take her home, but Grace’s plea must have meant something to Devlin, because he nodded his head in understanding. The two of them said their good-byes and left less than a minute later.

“That was really weird,” I said, shaking my head and locking the door behind them. “Did you do something to upset her?”

Bobby gave me an offended look and loosened his tie the rest of the way. “Of course not. We were having a very stimulating evening, if you must know. We were having a wonderful time—until her cell phone rang.”

I thought of Johnny and Fiona. When the two of them were first dating, my brother used to complain about how Fiona’s cell phone would always ring at the worst possible moment. She always had to rush off to her store to take care of some emergency. Of course, there were no emergencies—not at her store anyway. The flimsy excuses had been part of her cover as Fiera, a member of the Fearless Five, and a way for her teammates to contact her if they needed her help.

I wondered if Grace was doing the same thing. Using the phone as a way of swapping supersecret messages for Devlin—or even herself. I knew Devlin was Debonair, but who on earth could Grace Caleb be masquerading as? She didn’t strike me as the superhero type. Then again, neither had Devlin. And if Grace was a superhero, wouldn’t she be upset her grandson was on the other side of the law? Maybe, maybe not. Maybe she was an ubervillain herself. Or maybe she just didn’t know he was really Debonair. There were just too many maybes right now.

I pushed those thoughts away and concentrated on my current crisis. “I’m actually glad they’re gone.”

“Why? Don’t you like Grace?” Bobby’s face fell a little more.

“Grace is just fine. But there’s a problem with her grandson. A big one.”

* * *

We went into the kitchen. Bobby sat down and listened while I told him my theory about Devlin Debonair Dash. He glanced at the check, then at the drawing I’d retrieved from my room.

“The signature looks the same,” he admitted. “But are you sure, Bella?”

I let out a long breath. “As sure as I can be right now. I’m going to get Carmen and Lulu to help me verify it in the morning.”

“I see.” Bobby gave me a sidelong glance. “You like him, don’t you?”

“What? Of course not.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Bah! You think these eyes are too old to see what’s right in front of them. But they’re not. You like this Debonair, don’t you? There’s no shame in it. From what I’ve seen and heard, he’s a handsome fellow. And Devlin seemed nice enough at dinner.”

I never could get anything past my grandfather. So, I nodded. “In a weird way, I do. But things could never work out between us.”

“Why not?”

I looked at him. “You know why. I don’t like superheroes. I’m certainly not going to date one.”

“Ah, Bella. When are you going to get over this dislike, this prejudice of yours? Superheroes and ubervillains are a part of our lives. They always have been, and they always will be. You should be proud to be a part of it, not ashamed.”

If there was one sore subject between my grandfather and me, this was definitely it.

“I’m not ashamed. I’m just tired of it,” I snapped. “Do you know how many nights I would lie awake and wonder if you and Dad were coming home? If I’d get up the next morning and read in the newspaper about how some ubervillains killed Johnny Angel? Do you know what that did to me? To my mother?”

“Being Johnny Angel was something I had to do. Your father understood, and so did your mother,” Bobby said in a defensive tone.

“Why?” I asked, getting defensive myself. “I never understood why you had to do it. You didn’t have any powers. You weren’t even a real superhero.”

I regretted the words as soon as they came out of my mouth.

Grandfather’s face jerked, as though I’d slapped him. “I wasn’t a superhero, no. I couldn’t do fantastic things just by thinking about them. I wasn’t incredible in any way at all. But I was strong and brave and smart, and I helped people.” His green eyes glittered. “And that was the most important thing.”

“More important than keeping yourself safe for your family?” I snapped, hot tears gathering in my eyes.

“Of course, I tried to keep myself safe for you. All of you. But helping others was something I had to do. Something I needed to do to be happy with myself. Someday you’ll understand,” Bobby said in a gentle tone.

I turned my face away and didn’t answer. Grandfather rested his hand on my shoulder. I tensed at his touch.

“Someday, you will, Bella,” he repeated. “Someday, you’ll understand why I did what I did. Why I became Johnny Angel. Your father too.”

I wiped away my tears. I thought I’d cried all that I could after my father died, but the ghost of Johnny Angel just wouldn’t let me be. Not even now.

Grandfather patted my shoulder. “I don’t know about you, but this old man needs his rest. Good night, Bella.”

“Good night,” I whispered.

Grandfather went off to sneak a cigar he thought I wouldn’t know about, and I slumped over the table. I left myself wallow in my misery and self-pity for a full minute before pulling myself back together.

My eyes flicked around the kitchen. Dirty dishes and plates from dinner covered the countertops. I really should wash them tonight, especially the bowl with the remains of the Chicken Marsala. Otherwise, the stains would never come out. It was busywork, of course, but I needed something to do. Something else to think about besides Debonair and superheroes and my murdered father.

I reached for the closest dish. My power flared, and the plate slid out of my fingers, clattered off the counter, and crashed onto the floor. The dish didn’t break, but pasta and sauce oozed over the tiles.

Normally, I would have hurried to clean up the mess before it soaked in. Sauce can be a real bitch to get out. But the more I stared at the red goo, the angrier I got. It was bad enough the men in my family felt the need to parade around in black leather, but why did they have to involve me in their schemes? I’d never asked to be part of a superhero family, and I’d certainly never asked to be cursed with an uncontrollable power, one that aggravated me at every turn.

So what if the pasta stained the damn floor? It wouldn’t be any worse than all the blood I’d washed out of my father’s clothes over the years. At that cheery thought, my power pulsed again, and more plates flew off the countertops, even though I was nowhere near them. Salad, breadsticks, and a carafe of wine joined the Chicken Marsala on the floor.

But I didn’t care. For once in my life, I was going to do what I wanted to. And right now, I didn’t feel like cleaning up.

I left the growing mess on the kitchen floor and headed for my room, determined to take a hot bath and fall into an oblivious sleep. Maybe tomorrow I’d feel more like my clean-freak self. Maybe tomorrow I could pretend everything was all right again—and not falling to pieces around me.

My bathroom branched off my bedroom and was almost as large. It featured a shower, along with a long counter topped with mirrors, and an old-fashioned, claw-foot tub resting on four, angel-head feet. I didn’t have quite the selection of assorted body oils and exotic bath scents Debonair did, but there were more than enough to meet my needs.

I ran myself a tub full of rose-scented bubbles and sank down into the steaming water. I sighed, long and loud, and rested my head on a folded towel I’d placed on the rim. I was still sore and bruised from my run-in with Hangman and all the bumps and falls I’d taken in the past week. Not to mention my fight with Grandfather. It was one we’d had many, many times before, but it always left me feeling drained and upset and worn out. I closed my eyes and sank a little farther into the water.

POP!

Debonair appeared on the edge of the bathtub, and I couldn’t stop myself from shrieking. My power flared, and somehow, despite my towel, I banged my head against the side of the porcelain. Pain shot up the back of my skull, and my eyes rattled around in their sockets.

“Bella! Are you all right?” Debonair asked, helping me sit up.

I touched the back of my head. A bump the size of a golf ball had already formed, throbbing with every breath I took. “I’ll be fine. Eventually.”

Debonair’s hot gaze was on me. I realized he was staring at my breasts, which had been exposed when I’d sat up. I scooted back down into the tub and scooped mounds of bubbles around me. Debonair looked amused by my attempts to hide my nakedness.

“What?” I snapped. “You’d do the same thing if the situation were reversed.”

Debonair picked up a handful of bubbles and blew them off his leather glove. “Actually, I wouldn’t. I’d be trying to figure out how to get you to join me in the tub.”

I thought of what we could do in the tub together, and it didn’t involve a rubber ducky. Well, not the traditional kind.

“You shouldn’t hide your body, Bella,” he continued. “It’s quite beautiful.”

His words pleased me, but I still slid a little lower into the water. Me being naked anywhere near Debonair was not good. Even being in the same room with him was pushing it.

“You probably think all women are beautiful—even your grandmother.”

“Everyone is beautiful in her own right. But in your case, my interest is a little more devious than it would be in my grandmother.” His eyes glowed.

I swallowed hard, trying to ignore a sudden surge that rippled through my body. “How is your grandmother, by the way?”

He frowned in confusion. “She’s fine. Why do you ask?”

Because she left in such a hurry. That’s what I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I didn’t want to confront Debonair about his real identity as Devlin Dash. Not yet. Not until I had more proof from Carmen and Lulu. There was still a small chance I was wrong, and I was too sensible to take the risk.

We sat there in silence. I kept sneaking peeks at Debonair’s face, comparing it to my memory of Devlin’s. It almost certainly had to be him. Same dark hair. Same nice cheekbones. Same straight nose. I couldn’t tell about the eyes, though. Not with Devlin’s thick glasses on his face. Who would have thought glasses would have been that good of a disguise?

“Well, I suppose I should be on my way. I’ll leave you to your bath.” He turned to go.

“Wait!”

I didn’t want him to go. He was a superhero who’d kept his real identity from me, who’d lied to me. I should hate him, but I didn’t. I just…couldn’t. No matter how hard I tried to pretend otherwise, I was attracted to Devlin Debonair Dash. More than I’d been attracted to anyone in a long, long time. Even if he was a damn superhero.

Debonair turned to face me. “Did you want something, Bella?”

I want you. I bit back the words. I didn’t need to get myself in deeper with the handsome thief. But I didn’t want to be sensible tonight. Didn’t want to play it safe or sane. I wanted to be kissed and held and loved, even if it was by a man whose motives I didn’t understand and probably never would.

“No,” I said. “But why are you leaving? You just popped in a minute ago.”

He stared at me. “Because if I don’t go now, I’m going to try to seduce you. And you said before you don’t want that. I might be a cad on occasion, but I try to respect a lady’s wishes. Every now and then anyway.”

Sure, that’s what I said when I was alone and could think and be sensible about things. I wasn’t so sure that’s what I wanted when I was face-to-face with the most handsome man I’d ever seen—and slept with. So I made a snap decision. One I was probably going to regret in the morning. But I was sure as hell going to enjoy it now. After the day I’d had, I deserved it.

“So, seduce me,” I said, rising to my feet. “Who knows? I just might enjoy it.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“Don’t tempt me, Bella.” Debonair’s voice was rough and raw with need.

“Me? Tempt you? I’d never dream of doing such a thing.”

I stepped out of the tub and moved closer to him, water and bubbles sliding off my body and making another mess on the floor. The rate I was going, the whole house would be a disaster area by morning.

“Besides,” I continued. “You’re the one who knows all about seduction. Not me.”

His gaze moved up and down my body, searing me with its heat. But he made no move to touch me. Seconds ticked by. Neither one of us so much as twitched. I barely breathed.

Debonair closed his eyes and dropped his head. Well, so much for my grand plan. Obviously, I wasn’t quite the mistress of seduction I thought I was. Maybe I should get some pointers from the folks in the Slaves for Superhero Sex club. I started to turn away and cover myself with a towel. But, with a low, hoarse growl, Debonair gathered me into his arms and crushed his mouth to mine.

The smell of smoky roses washed over me, and I sighed with pleasure. Debonair pulled me tighter, driving his tongue deep into my mouth before retreating and licking my lips. He pressed kisses to my eyelids, my cheeks, my neck. His gloves disappeared with a snap of his fingers, and his hands covered my breasts. They swelled and tightened in response.

“Do you want me, Bella? Do you burn for me like I burn for you?” he whispered against my breastbone, licking his way down my body.

I writhed against him. Lost in the sensations he stirred up inside me. Urged on by the relentless pressure mounting deep between my thighs.

The feel of his leather suit against my skin drove me crazy with need. My hands clawed at it, and I wished I had the power to teleport it away with my mind. I wanted to touch him. All of him. Feel his hard body pressed up against my own. Feel him moving inside me. Just like he had before.

My power surged, and somehow, the fabric of his suit ripped, right over the scarlet rose on his chest. I didn’t care. I slid my hand inside the leather, stroking the coarse hair on his solid chest. Debonair shoved aside the bottles of lotions and shampoo on the counter, then picked me up and set me there.

I hooked my leg over his thigh, drawing him closer. He slid his fingers down my damp body, tangling them in the curls at the junction of my thighs. Then—

Someone knocked on the door.

“Bella? Are you okay?” Bobby’s voice floated through the thick wood. “I thought I heard something fall.”

Debonair kept right on with his exploration of my body, even though my grandfather was standing less than two feet away from us. His mouth teased my nipple while his nimble fingers danced across my outer folds. My entire body quivered. Pleasure rippled through me, and I had to focus on answering my grandfather.

“I’m fine,” I rasped out, tangling my fingers in Debonair’s dark hair. “I just knocked over a couple of shampoo bottles.”

“It sounded like a louder bang that that,” Bobby said. “And I heard some noises coming from the kitchen earlier. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine. I’ll be coming out soon,” I promised, panting for air.

“Well, all right. I’m going to bed. Call me if you need me.”

Muffled footsteps moved away from the door. At least, I thought that’s what I heard. It was sort of hard to concentrate with Debonair stroking me. I caught his head in my hands and drew his lips up to mine again. Debonair responded by slipping his fingers farther inside me, even as his teeth raked across my lower lip.

I cried out my release in his mouth. But Debonair wasn’t satisfied. He kept right on stroking me, until I burned for him once more. Again and again he moved me, until I wasn’t sure where I left off and he began. Finally, though, the last shudder of pleasure cascaded through my body. I slumped against his shoulder and wrapped my arms around his neck.

“Well, Bella. If that’s how you’re going to respond, I think I’ll let you seduce me more often,” Debonair said in a playful, teasing tone. His eyes sparkled in the faint light.

All I could do was just look at him, still too drunk with passion and afterglow to respond. Sometimes, it felt absolutely wonderful to be completely senseless. He pressed a kiss to my temple, then grabbed a towel from a nearby rack and wrapped it around my body.

“Now, go put on some clothes. And be sure to get a heavy jacket.”

“Why?” I asked, not wanting to move away from him.

He pulled back and smiled. “Because, Bella, I’m taking you out for a night on the town—Debonair style.”

* * *

Twenty minutes later, a heavy, gray fisherman’s sweater covered my body, along with a pair of jeans and black boots with a low, sensible heel. I slid my arms into my favorite black, wool pea coat and pulled a pair of fleece-lined gloves onto my hands. Debonair leaned against my dresser, nodding his approval.

“You should be warm enough in that,” he said.

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why are you doing this? Why do you want to take me out?”

“Because, Bella, I want to spend time with you.”

He sounded sincere, but I still had a hard time believing him. He was Debonair. He could have just about any woman in Bigtime he desired. I couldn’t quite believe he wanted me, with my horrible hair and thunder thighs. Or that he was actually Devlin Dash under all that blue-black leather.

“But didn’t you already get what you wanted the other night when we slept together?”

He smiled. “Of course, I did. Didn’t you? If it wasn’t satisfying enough, maybe we can try something different next time. Like maybe handcuffs? Or whips and chains? You never did tell me the answer to that question.”

I couldn’t stop from blushing.

“Now, come on.” Debonair opened his arms wide.

I hesitated. This was not a good idea on so many levels.

“Please?” he asked, his voice quiet.

But I’d broken so many of my own rules the past few days. What was one more?

So, I stepped into his embrace and inhaled, letting his sweet, smoky scent fill my lungs.

“Now, just try to relax,” Debonair murmured, gathering me close. “Teleporting can be a bit disorienting. We won’t go far until you’re more comfortable with it.”

POP!

The world dropped away. There was blackness. Wind rushed against my face, further tangling my already snarled hair. The smell of damp, turned earth filled my nose. And then—

POP!

The world righted itself, and I blinked. We stood in the orchard in the backyard underneath the pear tree where I’d had my picnic earlier today.

“Amazing,” I said. “I wish I could get where I wanted to go so easily. It’d save me a ton of gas money.”

Debonair laughed. The sound warmed me, despite the frosty chill in the air.

“How does your power work?” I asked, for once curious about a superhero. “Can you just teleport anywhere you want?”

Debonair shook his head. “No, I can only teleport to places I’ve been before. And I can only teleport objects I’ve seen before. Plus, I have to know their exact location when I want to teleport them to me or to some other place. Otherwise, I would have been able to bring you back to the island when you sailed out into the bay. Or find you once you were in the custody of the Fearless Five.”

“I see.”

“So, are you ready to try something a bit more challenging?” he asked, smiling. “And fun?”

I nodded and stepped back into his arms.

POP!

Colors and lights dazzled my eyes. People laughed. Kids lets out squeals of joy and excitement. Music trilled in the night air. And then—

POP!

We landed on the main carousel at Paradise Park. I sat on a carved white horse, gliding up and down while Debonair perched on a black mount beside me.

“Look!”

“Over there!”

“It’s Debonair!”

Our sudden appearance caused quite a stir among the other riders, especially the women. More than a few fanned themselves with their purses, even though it couldn’t have been more than thirty degrees outside. One even managed to unhook her bra, write her phone number on it, and toss it his way—in under a minute. Debonair didn’t pick up the bit of pink lace, but I couldn’t keep from snorting. He gave me a satisfied smirk.

“Wait here. I’ll be back in a minute,” he said.

He bowed with a flourish, and then—

POP!

POP!

POP!

Debonair teleported all around the carousel, poofing onto every available seat. Everyone clapped and cheered at his antics. I laughed too, completely captivated by him.

The ride slowed, and Debonair teleported back to my side, standing up on the black horse and commanding everyone’s attention.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, I must bid you good night.”

People groaned, especially the women.

Debonair raised his finger. “But…I am going to leave you something to remember me by.”

Debonair pointed through the crowd toward a popcorn stand. A skinny man with a big nose stood inside the booth, handing out bags of the steamy, buttery confection to his customers. The vendor turned to reach for another bag, but it disappeared from sight. So did the rest of his wares. The man turned round and round in confusion while the bags reappeared on the carousel, one for each person on the ride.

“All right!”

“Free popcorn!”

“Debonair rules!”

This time, the kids sounded the cheers, even as they stuffed kernels into their mouths. Debonair took my hand, and we teleported away to the other side of the park. A fountain populated by stone nymphs gurgled beside us.

“That was really great of you,” I said, still laughing. “Although I bet the popcorn guy’s not too happy that all his bags disappeared.”

“Don’t worry,” Debonair replied. “When the vendor checks his cash register tonight, he’ll find a note with a couple extra hundreds in it for his trouble.”

“You mean to tell me that Debonair, superthief extraordinaire, actually pays for what he steals?”

He smiled. “Sometimes.”

I thought back to the painting he’d stolen from Berkley. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but Debonair took my hands in his.

“Now, let’s take a tour of the rest of Bigtime. My Bigtime.”

We teleported all over the city. Laurel Park. Quicke’s. The public library. The mostly rebuilt observatory.

The cloudless sky sported a heavy blanket of stars. The bright pinpricks reminded me of a mound of sequins on one of Fiona’s dresses, surrounded by oceans of black, velvet fabric. A full moon bathed everything in a hazy glow, softening the glare from the neon signs of the downtown businesses. Every part of the city twinkled now, just after midnight. It was so beautiful that, for once, I didn’t even mind all the superheroes we ran into. And there were plenty.

Granny Cane pummeled some mugger in Laurel Park. Wynter chowed down on a couple of burgers at Quicke’s. And we passed Black Samba so many times I lost count. Didn’t she have anything better to do than ride bus tops around town all night long? Evidently not.

But Swifte was the worst of the bunch. He lounged downtown near Jasper’s brownstone when we landed there. Even though the street was dark, I could still see Swifte. His shimmering white costume announced his presence a mile away. I’d once asked Fiona if she’d designed the garment, but she strenuously denied it, claiming men should never, ever wear white. Still, I wondered. It looked exactly like the sort of over-the-top outfit she’d create.

Debonair waved to Swifte, and then we popped over to the top of The Chronicle. Debonair looked down and pointed. A second later, Swifte skidded to a stop in the street below. He did the same thing a minute later when we landed on The Exposé’s skyscraper.

“Is he following us?” I asked.

“Yeah, it’s sort of a game we play.” Debonair grinned. “We’re always arguing over who’s power is better and faster—his superspeed or my teleportation.”

It seemed like a silly thing to argue about to me, but then again, I’d never professed to understand superheroes.

Debonair wrapped his arms around me. “Let’s give him a run for his money, shall we?”

POP!

POP!

POP!

We teleported to other places, so fast I barely registered where we were before we were off again. Oodles o’ Stuff. The front steps of the art museum. The marina. But instead of being frightened or disoriented, I found the experience exhilarating. And just fun. There was something so free and wonderful about being able to go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted. And it didn’t hurt matters that my luck decided not to bother me. Oh, the static was still around me, but I didn’t feel any disasters coming on.

Finally, we teleported back over to Quicke’s and waited. Swifte zoomed to a stop in front of us a second later.

“Bringing up the rear, just like always,” Debonair said, smiling at the masked man.

“Watching your back, just like always,” Swifte retorted.

The two of them punched each other on the shoulder, shook hands, and started exchanging the latest hero-villain gossip. Swifte did most of the talking, spitting out words as fast as he could run. I guess he got around more than Debonair did. Literally.

“Are the two of you friends?” I asked during a rare moment when Swifte stopped long enough to take a breath.

I didn’t know much about Swifte, but I’d never heard of him being part of a superhero team before. He was a loner, like Debonair. Swifte was one of the heroes who liked to keep the spotlight fixed on himself, but the two of them acted awfully chummy. They had to be more than casual acquaintances. Did superheroes have real friends? Or maybe their relationship was more of a professional colleague kind of thing.

“Not really,” Swifte said. “I’m just always around whenever D here gets himself into trouble.”

“Is that often?” I asked.

“Often enough.” The superhero looked me up and down. “So this is your main squeeze, huh, Debonair? The one you keep yammering about all the time. Not bad. Not bad at all.”

Debonair slung his arm around my shoulders. “Not bad? Bella is gorgeous from head to toe. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Besides, at least I have a main squeeze. How long has it been since you’ve had a date?”

Swifte grinned. “About two hours, if you count speed dating.”

Debonair shook his head, then laughed.

The way they poked fun at each other reminded me of my relationship with Johnny. I would have thought they were brothers, except I knew that Debonair, Devlin Dash, was an only child.

“Well, folks, I’d love to stay and chat, but I’ve got a city to patrol.” Swifte gave us a salute. “Later.”

I blinked, and he was gone. I shook my head, trying to get the world to slow back down to normal. Talking to Swifte was like living your life on permanent fast-forward.

“Now that we’ve gotten rid of motor-mouth, I’m going to take you somewhere really special,” Debonair said. “Hold on to me, and don’t let go.”

I was all too happy to wrap my arms around his waist, lean my head on his shoulder, and close my eyes.

POP!

The wind whipped my hair around my face, and I opened my eyes. We stood on top of the Skyline Bridge. The enormous suspension bridge stretched over the bay and connected one side of Bigtime to the other. The mile-high platform offered a sweeping view of the nighttime skyline. The towering skyscrapers resembled slender candles from this distance, set here and there with jeweled lights. Cars zoomed over the bridge below, their headlights winking like fireflies, while the lapping water of the bay shimmered all around us, a silver carpet at the bottom of the world.

“It’s amazing,” I whispered.

“Isn’t it?” Debonair said. “This is my favorite place in the entire city. I come up here a lot to get away from it all and just think.”

Debonair snapped his fingers. Two lawn chairs appeared, along with a thick stadium blanket.

“Shall we?” he asked.

I nodded. We sat in the chairs, scooting close together, and Debonair wrapped the blanket around us. I didn’t really need it, though. Just being near him was enough to keep me warm. We sat there, listening to the whistling wind and the hum of the cars below for a long time.

“So what do you think of superheroes now?” Debonair asked, his voice light and hopeful.

“What do you mean?”

“Are we all still as bad as you think we are?”

I frowned. “Wait a minute. That’s what this is about? You’ve been teleporting me around the city because you’re hoping I’ll change my mind about dating a superhero?”

He gave me a shy smile. “Guilty as charged. So, is it working? Being with a guy who can take you anywhere you want to go does have some perks, right?”

I shook my head. “It’s not about having powers. That’s not why I don’t like superheroes.”

“Then why?” Debonair asked. “What’s so terrible about being a superhero?”

“Because where there are heroes, there are also villains. Villains who want to do bad things. Villains who hurt people. Who kill people.”

“So, you’re afraid something will happen to me?” Debonair asked. “Bella, I can promise you—”

“Don’t,” I snapped, my voice as cold as the solidium cables around us. “Don’t you dare promise me that you won’t get hurt. I’ve had other people make those same promises to me. And they never, ever kept them.”

Memories of my father flooded my mind. His face. Smile. Laugh. Voice. All gone forever because he’d cared more about being Johnny Angel than he had about me and my brother.

I suddenly couldn’t stand to be near Debonair. To be touching him. To feel him next to me. I stood up and threw off the blanket. My power flared, and the wind whistled down and tore the fabric from my fingertips. Debonair reached for it, but the blanket sailed away, floating out over the bay.

“I’m sorry about that. I’ll buy you another blanket.” I rubbed my aching head. “I think you should take me home. Now.”

Debonair stared at me, his eyes two pools of blue against his pale face. “All right. If that’s what you really want.”

I nodded.

Debonair snapped his fingers, and the chairs disappeared. Then, he put his arm around me and teleported us back to my bedroom. I stepped away from him, shrugged out of my coat, and yanked off my gloves.

“Thank you for this evening. I had a nice time,” I said in a stiff voice.

And I had. For a little while, I’d been able to pretend Debonair wasn’t a superhero. That he was just a guy that I liked. Instead of someone I could never be with.

“Bella—” he started.

“I’ve had a long day, and I’m really tired. I think you should go.”

Debonair reached for my hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. I couldn’t stop my pulse from speeding up at his touch, but I kept my face and eyes hard.

“As you wish,” Debonair murmured, his voice sad.

Then—

POP!

He was gone.

Chapter Twenty-Three

After a night of fitful sleep, I headed into the city to visit the art museum the next morning. Despite Bobby’s protests, I needed to get out of the house. Needed some time away to think about me and Debonair. And if we could really have a future together. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, I’d started falling for the sexy thief, blue-black leather, mask, and all.

But before I left, I cleaned up the mess I’d made in the kitchen. It wasn’t pretty. The pasta and sauce had glued itself to the floor, and it took me twice as long to scrape it up than it would have last night. I’d almost finished when my luck turned against me, and I knocked over the bucket of water I’d used to mop up the pasta. I sighed and started all over again.

I showered, changed into a fitted black suit, and drove my Benz into the city. Even though it was lunchtime and downtown hummed with activity, I snagged a parking spot right outside the museum, just like usual. The Bigtime Museum of Modern Art was closed for repairs, but one of the security guards waved me through.

If I hadn’t known better, I would have thought there was another benefit planned. People scurried back and forth in the marble halls. But instead of fundraiser types, most of them were construction guys, hauling supplies over to the damaged wing. Just about everybody wore a hard hat and carried tape measures, rulers, or some other sort of tool. They chattered among themselves, shouting over the steady thwack and thump of the sledgehammers. The harsh, chemical smell of paint and plaster filled the air, burning my nose.

I walked over to the wing that housed the museum offices. I pushed open the glass door and went inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpeting. A secretary manned the information desk out front, her multiple phones jangling in time like instruments in a symphony. I waved at her and strolled down the hall to Arthur Anders’s office. I knocked on the door and cracked it open.

Arthur sat behind his desk, talking on the phone. He waved me in and finished his conversation. Then, he rose, straightened his plaid jacket, and came around the desk. Arthur gave me a friendly hug and kissed me on both cheeks. My old professor was very continental that way.

“Bella, how are you feeling?” Arthur gestured for me to sit down and took the chair opposite mine. “I was so glad to hear the Fearless Five rescued you. And so quickly.”

“I’m fine. I didn’t come to any real harm. Just got shaken up a bit.” I didn’t want to talk about my ordeal, so I switched the conversation back to the thing Arthur loved best—the museum.

“How are you holding up? How bad was the damage?”

“Not as catastrophic as it could have been. Being the location for a superhero-ubervillain battle has long been one of my greatest fears.” Arthur took his glasses off and started polishing them with the edge of his jacket. “The roof was destroyed, along with one wall. Most of the items on display escaped major damage, though. We were extremely lucky in that regard.”

I grimaced. There was that damn word again.

“We should be able to reopen in a couple of days,” Arthur continued.

“So soon?”

He slipped his glasses back on. “People have been wonderful. Donations have poured in to pay to repair the damage, and all the local construction crews have been more than willing to help get the museum back into shape. We’ve even had some heroes come and clear out the rubble and get things back on track.”

“That’s wonderful,” I said, grateful something was going to turn out right from all this messy drama.

“What’s even more wonderful is that the Fearless Five recovered the Star Sapphire. Berkley’s agreed to let us put it back on display and continue the Whimsical Wonders exhibit—with a bit more security, of course.”

“Of course,” I murmured.

Arthur’s phone rang again. He moved to pick up the receiver, and I waved a silent good-bye and left his office. I’d learned what I needed to. But I still wanted to see the damage for myself, so I headed back to the new wing of the museum.

Arthur was right. It wasn’t as bad as it could have been. One of the walls was gone, probably from the force of the grenade blast. Construction workers clustered around the empty space, measuring and talking about angles and structural soundness and other building terms. All the glass and rubble and debris had already been cleaned up. The roof had been replaced, as had the many spot- and footlights. All the items that had been on display were gone, though. They wouldn’t be brought back in until they’d been cleaned and everything was pristine and secure once more.

As I stared at the beefy workers, my thoughts wandered back to Debonair and what had happened between us last night.

Now that I knew—or at least thought—he was Devlin Dash, things were even more complicated. He wasn’t just some guy in a sexy suit who seduced me. He was a real person, someone I knew. Or at least, thought I did.

I thought back, trying to remember every encounter I’d had with the awkward businessman, including our dinner together the night my father had been murdered. I’d told him the truth. I couldn’t remember much of anything that had happened around the time of my father’s death. Oh, I remembered ordering the appropriate flowers, picking out a casket, making sure the newspapers printed the correct obituary. But the service itself was a blur. I’d felt that way for weeks afterward, like I was just going through the motions of life, instead of actually living it.

From what I could recall, I hadn’t thought of it as a date. Just a dinner between two acquaintances. We’d been working late, chairing the art auction, and had stopped by Quicke’s before heading to our respective homes. I wondered why Devlin thought it had been a date. And whether he actually wanted to see me now or was just hanging around because he knew he could get lucky—

My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and checked the caller ID. Hannah Harmon.

I frowned. What could she want? Despite working on the benefit, we weren’t exactly friends. We were just associates and barely that. Hannah had made noises after my father died about making a bid for Bulluci Industries. She’d retracted her offer after Grandfather had made it clear Bulluci was and always would be a family affair. Family was everything to Grandfather—and to me.

“Hello, Hannah. How are you?” I asked in my best business voice.

Family might be everything, but you should never burn bridges.

“I just wanted to call and see how you were doing.” Hannah’s voice was just as smooth and professional as mine. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Of course not.”

“I heard about what happened at the museum. What a terrible tragedy.”

“Yes, yes it was.”

“But thank goodness you’re all right. I heard the Fearless Five rescued you from Debonair.”

“Yes, they did. They also recovered the Star Sapphire, from what I remember.” I was purposefully vague on the details. Jasper was right. Sometimes, it was just easier to play dumb.

“From what you remember?”

“I took a rather nasty fall in the museum and hit my head quite hard. I don’t really remember much of what happened.” It was all part of the cover story the superheroes and I had come up with.

“But you’re feeling better now?” Hannah asked.

“Oh, yes. Much.”

“Well, that’s wonderful.”

Her expressionless voice didn’t quite match the good wishes coming out of her mouth. Then again, Hannah had never been overly charming to me. She wasn’t one for blowing smoke up people’s asses—unless she wanted something.

“Tell me, just out of curiosity, do you know what the Fearless Five are going to do with the sapphire? I imagine Berkley’s rather anxious to get it back.”

“Actually, I just talked with Arthur about that,” I replied. “The superheroes are going to return it to the museum so it can go back on display. They really didn’t include me in their plans. You know how the Fearless Five are. They just show up, rescue you, and leave.”

“I see.” Hannah paused. “Well, I know you must be busy. I’ll let you go.”

“Well, thanks for calling and for your concern—”

She hung up before I finished. I frowned at the phone, puzzled by the call. Was Hannah hoping another death in the family would convince my grandfather to sell out? It wasn’t happening, not unless Grandfather, Johnny, Fiona, and I all died in some terrible accident at the exact same time. Even then, our wills would ensure we left the company in the proper hands—Sam Sloane’s.

I didn’t have time to think about Hannah Harmon and her strange call. Not a moment after Hannah hung up, my phone rang again. Devlin Dash, the caller ID informed me.

My hands tightened around the phone. I thought about not answering it. For about half a second. “Hello.”

“Hi, Bella. It’s Devlin Dash.” His voice sounded cool and smooth over the phone. He seemed much more sure of himself when we weren’t actually talking face-to-face. Or when he was wearing a leather mask.

“Devlin. It’s nice to hear from you.” I tried to remain as calm as possible.

“I just wanted to call and say that Grams and I had a wonderful time last night. I’m sorry we had to cut it short.”

I hung onto his every word, looking for hidden meanings in each and every syllable. “I’m glad the two of you enjoyed yourselves. Did Grace take care of Kelly?”

“Oh, yes,” Devlin said. “It turned out to be something rather minor, actually.”

“Like what?” I asked, pressing for details, hoping he’d slip up and expose himself.

“Oh, nothing important. Kelly was just feeling a little tired, that’s all.”

“I see.”

Silence hung between us. I dug through my purse, snagging a pencil and a stray sheet of paper I’d tucked into one of the side pockets. I sat down on a nearby bench and started sketching another portrait of Debonair. Except this time, I put Devlin Dash’s face on the body of the handsome thief. It fit perfectly, further convincing me of the superhero’s true identity.

Devlin cleared his throat. “Anyway, I was also calling to…I was wondering…maybe…if you’d like to have dinner with me tonight? For the auction?” His voice wavered with every word.

I didn’t respond. I wanted more information before I saw Devlin—or Debonair—again. I wanted to be ready to confront him with the truth. I didn’t want our relationship to continue based on sex alone. Actually, I didn’t know if I wanted it to continue at all. In short, I needed Carmen Cole’s help before I saw him again.

“I’m sorry, Devlin. I can’t tonight. I’m having dinner with Carmen Cole and some other friends.”

“Oh.”

Disappointment tinged in his voice. In a weird way, it made me happy he wanted to see me as much as I wanted to see him.

I drew in a deep breath. “But how about tomorrow night?”

“That would be fantastic!” Devlin exclaimed. “Quicke’s at eight o’clock?”

“I’ll see you there,” I promised.

“Great! I’m looking forward to it,” he said.

I thought of our encounter in the bathroom last night. The way he’d touched me. Held me. Made me cry out his name.

“Me too,” I replied. “More than you know.”

* * *

I left the museum and headed out to Sublime, Sam Sloane’s mansion on the outskirts of the city. I pulled my Benz up to the front of the house and rang the buzzer. No one answered. I wasn’t surprised. Sam didn’t believe in having a housekeeping staff around. He thought it would be too easy for them to figure out his and the rest of the Fearless Five’s secret identities. The door was locked, but I punched in the 555 access code, and it buzzed open.

I stepped inside and made my way through the enormous halls. More antiques and paintings and statues clustered in the rooms than in all of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art. Every nook, every cranny, held another treasure. It was a wonder Debonair hadn’t broken in here already. Then again, Sam’s security system was extra tight—and supposedly included rockets buried in the lawn. Although the billionaire did let ordinary folks and even some school groups tour Sublime a couple of times a year. Closely supervised, of course.

I called out, but no one answered me. Again, not surprising. For all the finery and bells and whistles in his house, Sam and the others spent most of their time underground. Superheroes. They were so silly sometimes.

I made my way to the wine cellar, striding past the racks of bottled spirits. In the back corner, hidden behind a panel, was an elevator that went deep beneath Sublime. Fiona had shown me the entrance to the Fearless Five’s secret headquarters a few months ago, just in case of an emergency. I’d never thought I’d use the knowledge, though. Superheroes weren’t my favorite people in the world, and most of the time, I was perfectly happy pretending I didn’t know any of them.

But desperate, confused people did desperate, confusing things. Like me falling for Debonair. And now asking superheroes for help in confirming his real identity.

Five minutes and a couple hundred feet later, I pulled open the door to the library. Carmen Cole and Lulu Lo waited for me inside, just as I’d asked them to when I’d called from the car. They looked like they had been or were going to be busy. Carmen wore a black crepe dress with a modest neckline and flat, ballet-style shoes. She bent over her desk in the corner, working on an enormous jigsaw puzzle—the one I’d spilled all over the place.

Lulu sat at the round table and typed away on her high-powered laptop. A cobalt-blue pullover—one of my designs—covered her slim body. The fabric matched the bright streaks in her ebony hair.

Both of them looked up as I stepped inside.

Carmen smiled. “You slept with him again, didn’t you?”

How did she do that? And what could I do to make her stop?

“Not exactly,” I mumbled.

It was the truth, more or less. We hadn’t slept together. Debonair had just wreaked wicked, wanton havoc upon my willing, eager body.

“Uh-oh, Bella got lucky again.” Lulu snickered.

For once, I was in total agreement with Fiona. Somebody really needed to set Lulu’s hair on fire so she’d quit making those awful puns. Fiona kept threatening to use her fiery superpowers to do just that to the computer hacker.

“Spill it,” Carmen said.

I sat down at the massive wooden table and told them everything that had happened—editing the scene in the bathroom—and who I thought Debonair really was under all that leather.

“You’re telling me that Devlin Dash, who wouldn’t know what to do with a woman if she drew him a picture and climbed onto his lap to demonstrate, is actually Debonair, one of the most sought-after men in Bigtime?” Lulu asked. “The Romeo of Romeos? The Casanova of Casanovas?”

“You don’t believe me?” I asked. “I brought a copy of the check and the drawing along as proof.”

I laid the two items out on the table. Carmen and Lulu clustered around for a closer look.

“Well, they certainly look the same,” Carmen admitted. “Lulu?”

She took the drawing and the check and put them both in a large scanner tucked away in a corner of the library. She hit a few buttons, and the machine sputtered to life. A white light appeared between the cracks on the cover.

Lulu punched more buttons, bringing up images of the signatures on the check and drawing on her computer. Then, she overlapped them.

A perfect match. Just like I’d thought.

“Bella’s right. The signatures confirm it. Devlin Dash is in fact Debonair.” Lulu shook her head. “I don’t know what this town is coming to.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“First, I find out who the Fearless Five really are, then Johnny Angel, now Debonair. Pretty soon I’ll know who everybody is. And what’s the fun in that?” Lulu asked, her dark eyes serious. “Half the mystique of superheroes is the whole secret-identity thing.”

“Well, get Henry to put on his mask the next time the two of you are together,” I sniped. “Right now, we’ve got work to do. I need your help, both of you. I want to know everything there is to know about Devlin Dash and Debonair.”

Carmen arched an eyebrow. “Why the sudden interest, Bella? Or do I even have to ask?”

I crossed my arms over my chest. “If you must know, I have a date with Devlin tomorrow night.”

“Let me guess. You’re going to confront him about his real identity.” Lulu shook her head. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Why not? It will be so much simpler once everything’s out in the open.”

Carmen and Lulu exchanged a look, and the brunette reporter gave me a sad smile.

“I’m afraid that’s just when it gets that much more complicated,” Carmen said.

* * *

But I persisted until they agreed to help me. Carmen and Lulu tried to make me promise not to say anything to Devlin, to let him tell me that he was Debonair in his own time, but I refused. I was going to confront him whether it was the smart thing to do or not. I was tired of being sensible and calm and rational. I wanted Devlin to know I knew about his secret identity—and I wanted to find out if there was something real between us.

An hour later, Carmen and I pored through reams of paper while Lulu pulled up file after file on her computer. I read through the bio Carmen had compiled. Devlin Dash. Age thirty-five. Hair black, eyes a light blue. Graduated from Bigtime University with an MBA. Lots of academic and business honors. A Friend of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art—

Lulu let out a low whistle. “I’m afraid it’s not looking too good for your boy, Bella.”

“Oh, really? Why’s that?” I asked, distracted by a photo spread of Debonair and his Lair of Seduction. I doubted there was a camera made yet that could do him justice.

“His company, DCQ Enterprises, is in deep financial trouble. According to a story in the business section of The Exposé, the company’s chief financial officer, Nathan Nichols, was accused of embezzling several million dollars from the company coffers.”

A photo of Nathan Nichols flashed up on the screen. He was a normal-looking guy with big hands and thinning hair who was confined to a wheelchair. I vaguely recalled seeing him at some of the regular society events. Like Devlin, he didn’t seem to talk much.

“But nothing was ever proven, and no charges were filed against Nathan,” Lulu continued. “Over the last year, Devlin’s sold cars, yachts, family jewels, just about all the assets he has to keep the company afloat. His total net worth barely tops two million now. Definitely subpar by Bigtime society standards. Poor guy.” Lulu snickered at her bad joke.

“I remember hearing about that,” I said. “That happened around the time my father died. It was the talk of the society circuit for about a week.”

Most people had short attention spans in Bigtime.

“What does Devlin actually do?” Carmen asked. “What does DCQ deal in?”

Lulu scanned through more information. “Lots of real estate, restaurants, media and PR firms, art restoration—”

“Wait a minute. Art restoration?” I asked, thinking back to the room of paintings at the Lair of Seduction.

“That’s what it says. One of DCQ’s companies is called Amazing Art. They specialize in restoring and preserving paintings by the likes of Monet, Picasso, and others. Devlin seems to be the most heavily involved with that company. Grace Caleb runs everything else. Kelly Caleb and Kyle Quicke are the other major stockholders in DCQ, but they’re not really involved in the day-to-day business decisions.”

“So, Devlin really is an art lover,” I murmured.

Maybe all his talk about how good my work was hadn’t been just to get me into bed. The thought made me happier than I could have imagined.

Carmen flipped through the papers in her hands. “Well, he’s managed to hang on to the family mansion out in Bigtime Bay at least.” She looked at me. “It’s about three miles east of where we picked you up in the boat. But that shouldn’t come as a shock to you.”

I thought of all the empty rooms I’d seen with their missing furniture. Carmen was right. It didn’t surprise me. I didn’t think I could be any more shocked than I had the moment I’d realized who Debonair really was.

“There’s more,” Lulu added. “Devlin is currently fending off a hostile takeover bid from Hannah Harmon. He’s hanging on by the width of a spandex suit. And, in another interesting twist, Nathan Nichols now works for Hannah as her chief financial officer.”

I frowned. Hannah Harmon. That was the second time I’d heard her name today. That in and of itself wasn’t unusual. Hannah loved to take over floundering businesses. If Devlin was having as much trouble as Lulu claimed, it was only natural Hannah would come sniffing around looking to make more millions. Joanne had told me the same thing at the museum benefit. Still, I didn’t like coincidences.

“You don’t think Hannah could be an ubervillain, do you?” I asked, thinking out loud.

“Why do you ask?” Carmen said.

I told her about Hannah’s strange phone call.

Carmen’s eyes glowed for half a second. They always did that whenever she was feeling psychic vibrations. Or listening to the voices in her head, as Fiona called it. “She’s rich and ambitious, so she meets the basic ubervillain requirements, even if she’s not on my list.”

Lulu and I looked at the reporter.

“What list?” I asked.

A guilty blush spotted Carmen’s cheeks, and she mumbled something.

“What was that?”

“My list of all the superheroes and ubervillains in Bigtime,” Carmen said in a defensive tone. “I’ve been trying to figure out who’s who in my spare time. It’s sort of a hobby.”

“You didn’t tell me that, Sister Carmen,” Lulu accused.

Carmen fiddled with one of her Rubik’s Cubes. “Yeah, well, I figured the information could be useful someday. But I didn’t want to tell Sam and the others what I was doing. You know they’re all a little touchy about the secret-identity thing.”

“Well, they did get stuffed into glass tubes and almost died because you inadvertently revealed their secret identities to the Terrible Triad,” Lulu pointed out.

Carmen slouched farther down into her seat. Before she’d met Sam and become a superhero herself, Carmen used to expose the secret identities of heroes and villains for the newspaper The Exposé—until her boss turned out to be Malefica, the biggest, baddest ubervillain in Bigtime.

I looked through more files, stopping when I spotted a picture of Devlin standing with Grace Caleb at some society event last year.

“I want you to check up on Grace Caleb too,” I said, changing the subject.

Carmen shot me a grateful look.

“Why?” Lulu asked. “She’s just another old society lady. Sneeze and you’ll hit half a dozen in this town.”

“She’s Devlin’s grandmother—and she just happened to have a family emergency while we were having dinner last night.”

Carmen rolled her eyes. “Family emergency? That’s such a dead giveaway.”

We sifted through the information on Grace Caleb but couldn’t come up with anything conclusive. She seemed far too interested in her afternoon teas and bridge clubs to be a superhero. Then again, I never would have dreamed Devlin Dash was Debonair.

Two hours later, I stretched my arms over my head. The motion made the charms on my silver bracelet jangle together. The three of us froze. I hadn’t taken off the chain since Jasper had given it to me. I hadn’t needed to use it, so, for the most part, I was able to forget I was wearing something that could obliterate me in twenty seconds. Not now, though. I slowly lowered my arm and set it on the table. Nothing happened. We all let out a breath.

“How are you liking Jasper’s present?” Lulu asked, eyeing the bracelet.

“It’s a bit strange knowing I could blow up myself and most of Bigtime with a couple of words, but you get used to it.”

Carmen nodded. “You get used to a lot of strange things in this town.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

By the time we finished checking up on Devlin and Grace, it was close to midnight. Carmen invited me to stay in one of the hundred or so guest suites upstairs, but I headed home. I’d had enough superheroes for one day, no matter how nice they were. My luck decided to be good for a change, giving me nothing but green lights, and I got home in less than twenty minutes.

Debonair didn’t pop inside the house to surprise me, though. I didn’t know if it was because he’d gotten what he wanted last night, or if he was out being Devlin Dash. And I didn’t know what I would have done if he had appeared. Probably fallen into bed with him yet again. I had precious little control where the handsome thief was concerned.

I slept late for a change and didn’t get up until almost noon the next day. My luck kept pulsing around me, as if it knew I had an important day ahead. After I fried two elliptical trainers and a stationary bike, I threw in the towel on my workout and headed upstairs.

But I didn’t fare any better in the kitchen. I tried to make myself a veggie special sandwich on whole-grain, calcium-fortified bread. First, the bread fell apart in my hands. Then, a tomato flew off the counter and splattered onto one of the kitchen windows. The lettuce exploded, the cheese molded the second I took it out of the refrigerator, and I snapped a knife in two when I dipped it in a jar of low-fat mayonnaise. The jagged blade missed my big toe by less than an inch.

After destroying just about everything I touched, I went back upstairs and stayed in bed sketching until it was time to get ready for my date with Devlin. I wanted to look good when I confronted my sexy, leather-wearing lover, so I took a long shower and pampered myself with all sorts of lotions and creams and other assorted beauty products. I also put mounds of conditioner in my hair in the hope that, just once, it wouldn’t frizz. My nice, smooth look lasted about two minutes before my hair became sky-high once more.

Then, it was time to decide what to wear. I’d just settled on a nice, pinstriped skirt and white blouse when a flash of scarlet caught my eye. I reached into the back of my closet and pulled out a crimson dress Fiona had made me for my birthday. The fabric reached the floor, but it had a deep, V-shaped neckline and high slits all around the skirt that showed off my legs. The dress was made of soft, slick, shiny satin and dotted here and there with sequins, glass beads, and bits of feathers. It also happened to be the exact same color as the teddy I’d sported in the Lair of Seduction.

I’d never worn the dress before. It was a little too loud, a little too bold and daring and revealing for me. But I was in a bold sort of mood tonight. So, I slithered into the dress, put on the reddest lipstick I owned, and grabbed a matching purse and shoes. As a final touch, I fastened my favorite silver-angel charm around my throat. It went nicely with the bracelet Jasper had given me. I was getting rather used to having the bomb maker’s charms dangle off my wrist. I didn’t know whether that was good or bad.

I went downstairs around seven thirty to check on Bobby. He relaxed on the couch in the living room, watching a soccer game.

“You look marvelous.” Bobby whistled. “Is that a new dress?”

I turned around. “One of Fiona’s creations.”

“Well, it looks wonderful on you,” he said.

“Why are you sitting here alone? Shouldn’t you be out with Grace tonight? Or is she dropping by later?”

“She’s coming over later,” Bobby said. “She had a few errands to do first.”

“Maybe it will go better than the other night.”

My grandfather frowned. “We’ll see.”

“Well, I need to get going. I’ll call you if I’m going to be late,” I promised.

“Have a good time, darling.” Bobby turned back to his game.

I clutched my purse, which contained the drawing of Debonair that I’d done, along with the check Devlin had written me. “Oh, it will be very interesting, to say the least.”

* * *

Five minutes before eight, I stopped my silver Benz in front of Quicke’s. Despite the fact traffic crawled along and every spot on the street was taken, another vehicle decided to leave at the exact moment I turned onto the block. So, I slid my car into a parking spot with no problem. I’d make a fortune if only I could bottle this little bit of luck.

Devlin stood on the sidewalk, waiting for me. He came over and held out a hand to help me out of the car. I took it, noticing how sure and capable his hands were. They looked exactly like the same hands that had driven me mad the other night.

“Here. This is for you.” Devlin held out a single red rose.

“A rose. How lovely.”

I sniffed it. It didn’t smell nearly as wonderful as Debonair did. No rose ever could. They didn’t have his faint, smoky, masculine undertones.

Devlin’s eyes flicked up and down my body. “You look amazing, Bella. That color really looks wonderful on you.”

“So I’ve been told,” I said, baiting him just a little.

No reaction. Not even a blink. Maybe Devlin was better at this than I thought. Or maybe I just wasn’t as good.

“You look nice too. Very handsome.”

And he did. For once, Devlin wore a dark-blue business suit that seemed to fit just right. He’d forgone a tie, leaving his collar unbuttoned and exposing just the tiniest bit of his chest, including a patch of dark, curly hair. My power flared at the sight of him, and I had to will it to be still and not interfere.

Devlin held out his arm. “Shall we?”

I drew in a deep breath. “Let’s go.”

* * *

We stepped inside the restaurant, and Kyle Quicke greeted us. Like Bulluci Industries, Quicke’s was very much a family business, a couple of generations strong now. It seemed like Kyle was always at the restaurant, morning, noon, and night. With his chestnut hair, light eyes, and thin physique, Kyle was cute—if a bit on the lean side.

“Devlin, my man! Good to see you!” Kyle’s face broke into a grin at the sight of his cousin.

The two of them shook hands and exchanged hearty back slaps. Then, Devlin stepped aside.

“And I’m sure you know Bella Bulluci.”

Kyle nodded. “Bella.”

“Kyle.”

He grabbed a couple of menus from underneath the podium by the front door. “Let me show you guys to your table.”

We wound our way through the restaurant. All the greenery and twinkling lights for the bachelor auction had been cleared away, and the décor had reverted back to its usual superhero-and-ubervillain motif. The posters, the toys, the newspaper clippings. They beamed at me from their positions on the walls. I grimaced. Too bad.

Kyle seated us in a secluded booth at the back of the restaurant. Devlin helped me slip into my side, then took the opposite one. Kyle handed us both menus before leaving. We made small talk for a few minutes before giving the waiter our orders. Devlin opted for grilled swordfish while I gave in to temptation and ordered four-cheese manicotti. With berry-flavored sangria and a piece of cherry pie for dessert.

“I really shouldn’t be eating this,” I said fifteen minutes later, eyeing the steaming mound of pasta and cheese in front of me. “I don’t know why I ordered it. The carbs are going to wreck my diet.”

“You don’t look like you need to be on a diet.”

“That’s very sweet of you, but I could stand to lose a few pounds.”

“Oh, be dangerous. Live a little,” Devlin teased in a shy tone.

I stared at him. He was one to talk about living dangerously. Didn’t he realize the danger he put himself in every time he slipped into his silly costume? Every time he broke into some museum? Every time he took something that wasn’t his?

“Did I say something wrong?” Devlin asked, noticing my grimace.

“Of course not,” I replied. “I’m just thinking about how many hours I’m going to have to spend on the treadmill tomorrow to make up for tonight.”

“There are other ways to get your exercise.”

I flashed back to our time in bed together. That had certainly been a vigorous workout—very vigorous.

“Oh, really? What did you have in mind?” I asked in a sexy, impish voice.

Devlin almost spit out his wine. He started choking and didn’t recover his breath for several seconds. If I hadn’t known better, I would have bought the whole geeky, I’m-painfully-shy-around-women act. But I did know better. Devlin Dash could do things to a woman that she’d only dreamed about or read in romance novels.

Devlin did most of the talking during dinner, stammering through stories about Grace, Kyle, Kelly, and other far-flung members of his family. I made the appropriate noises, but I was too busy looking for hidden meanings in his words to add much to the conversation. An hour later, we finished dinner. Devlin looked positively miserable. He kept fiddling with his wineglass and rubbing his temples, as though the evening hadn’t gone as he’d planned.

“Would you like to go someplace? Maybe for a walk or something?” Devlin asked.

But evidently, he wasn’t miserable enough to end the evening. I didn’t plan on letting him do that anyway. Not until I’d confronted him.

I stared into his eyes, blue eyes that had haunted my dreams for days. “Sure. In fact, I know the perfect place.”

* * *

I asked Devlin where his car was and if he wanted to drive. The businessman claimed he had a friend drop him off. To me, it was another telltale sign he was really Debonair. Why drive when you could just teleport anywhere you wanted to?

“We’ll take my car, then,” I said, unlocking the Benz. “It’s not that far to the marina.”

Devlin looked at me strangely. “Why do you want to go to the marina this time of night?”

“I love listening to the waves and watching the moon rise over the bay. I think it’s very romantic. Don’t you?”

He didn’t answer.

We rode in silence through the quiet streets. For once, I didn’t see any superheroes out and about. No Granny Cane pummeling muggers. No Swifte racing to and fro. No Black Samba surfing on top of a city bus. After about ten minutes, I pulled to a stop in front of the entrance to the marina. Bigtime bordered the Atlantic, and the ocean cut a wide, jagged oval into the middle of the city. A manmade river flowed down the towering hill from the observatory, spilling out into the ocean and helping to form the shallow waters of Bigtime Bay.

I eased the Benz over a couple of speeds bumps and found the last empty space on the street. We got out of the car and strolled towards the water’s edge. Our shoes clacked on the round cobblestones that connected the street to the long boardwalk that wrapped around the bay. The tall spires of the Bigtime Maritime Museum hovered above us, along with the massive, pentagon-shaped beams that supported the Skyline Bridge. Lights from various boats bobbed up and down farther out in the bay. Chilled, I drew my scarlet wrap tighter around my shoulders.

“Here, let me.” Devlin took off his jacket and draped it over my shivering shoulders.

I buried my face in the collar. Smoldering roses. Of course.

We settled on an iron bench in the shadow of the Skyline Bridge and looked out over the bay. Despite my pretenses to get Devlin here, it really was a beautiful view. The moonlight made the waves seem like streams of silver coming into and going out from the sandy shore. A few gulls cried in the night sky, but the constant rush of the waves crashing on the pebbled beach muted their harsh calls.

We didn’t speak for a long time.

“You know, I’m surprised you agreed to come out with me tonight,” Devlin said. “Even if I did pay for the pleasure.”

“Really? Why’s that?”

“I don’t exactly seem like your type.” He picked up a loose bit of stone and skipped it across the water.

“And what would my type be?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Someone suave. Sophisticated. Confident. Handsome.”

“You’re not all of those things?” I said, trying to tease him a bit. “Because you hide it very well.”

“Not really.”

I was silent for a moment. “Actually, I was glad you called. I wanted to see you again.”

“Really? Why?” He sounded surprised.

“Because I wanted to talk to you. To tell you that I know the truth,” I said, staring him in the eyes. “To tell you that I know you’re really Debonair.”

Chapter Twenty-Five

Devlin stared at me. His face paled. Sweat beaded on his forehead. A bit of nervous laughter escaped his trembling lips.

“Well? What do you have to say for yourself?” I demanded.

Devlin took off his glasses and rubbed his temples.

“I could barely summon up enough courage to call you and ask you out, even though I bid on you at the auction.” Devlin put his glasses back on. “I’m a total klutz when it comes to women. And you think I’m Debonair? Of all the superheroes in Bigtime, he’s the one I’m least like.”

He let out a few more nervous giggles, trying to pass off my accusation as nothing more than a joke.

“Well, that’s funny,” I replied in a calm voice. “Especially since I have proof that you are, in fact, Debonair.”

I drew the drawing and the check out of my purse and showed them to him. “See? The two signatures match perfectly. Care to explain that?”

Devlin quit laughing. He looked at the two scraps of paper, then at me. I got the impression he wanted to teleport away. Somewhere far, far away.

I reached over and slid the glasses off his face. “You don’t have to hide from me. Not anymore, Devlin Debonair Dash.”

He looked at me, really looked at me, and I realized I was staring into the face of the man I’d slept with. The face of the man I’d come to care about.

Devlin tucked his glasses in his pocket. His mouth twisted. “Of course, I do. I have to hide from everyone. “

I thought about what Lulu said about how finding out a superhero’s real identity ruined the mystery, the fantasy, for her. Maybe Devlin thought that way too. “Why do you say that?”

He let out a harsh, self-deprecating laugh. “Because if people found out I was really Debonair, they’d be angry with me. Think I betrayed them in some way. That I’d lied to them all these years. They’d laugh and snicker and point their fingers, especially the women. I couldn’t stand that.”

“Why do you even do it?” I asked. “Why be somebody like Debonair?”

Devlin stared down at his scuffed wingtips. “I’m not like the other men on the society scene in Bigtime. I’m not that rich, at least not anymore. I’m not that handsome, and I never know the right thing to say. I can’t even tell a good joke. Half the time, I forget the punch line. I’ve always been awkward and self-conscious, particularly around women. I’ve never felt like I fit in, not even in my own family. Debonair is a way for me to be everything I want to be. Suave. Smooth. Cool. Confident. Everything I’m not in real life. It’s an escape from being average, boring, nerdy Devlin Dash, if only for a few hours at a time.”

“I see.”

And I did. I understood Devlin better than he realized. I used to dream of being Johnny Angel, and I’d seen the effect a secret identity had on people like my father. To some, it was better than the most potent drug. More desirable, more addictive, and much more harmful.

“I don’t think people would laugh at you if they knew the truth. You’re a very interesting, special man in your own right, Devlin.”

He gave me a wan smile, as if he didn’t really believe me.

“And your powers?” I asked, wanting to know the rest of the story. “How did you get your powers?”

Devlin looked out into the shimmering water. Memories clouded his blue eyes. “You know my grandmother, Grace, raised me. My parents died in a sailing accident when I was thirteen. What you don’t know, what very few people know, is that I was with them when it happened. We were out on the bay when a sudden storm swept up. My father tried to turn the boat back to shore, but the sail snapped. Lightning danced across the sky, coming toward the boat. I knew it was going to hit us. Right before it did, I felt this odd sort of power grow inside me. My vision grew fuzzy, hazy, almost like I was standing in a sea of fog. The next thing I knew, I was in the middle of the bay, trying not to drown. A second later, lightning struck the boat, and it exploded. They say my parents died instantly. They never found their bodies.”

“But you didn’t die.” I squeezed his hand, willing him to go on with his story. “You survived. How?”

Devlin drew in a deep breath. “Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches saw the explosion and came to help. They found me clinging to a piece of debris. They rescued me and kept me safe until Grams could come and get me.”

Devlin watching his parents drown, discovering his power, being taken aboard Freebeard’s love boat. That would have had a major impact on him. The shock, the trauma, the stress. It was the beginning of him becoming Debonair.

From his story, it sounded like Devlin had a natural, genetic mutation that gave him superpowers, unlike Carmen Cole, who’d only developed hers after being dropped into a vat of radioactive waste. Or Henry Harris, who’d been struck by lightning. Or a dozen other legends I’d heard. Devlin was more like me than I’d realized.

“I know why you were in Berkley’s house that night. You were stealing the painting so you could restore it, weren’t you? That’s why you steal all the art you do.”

He nodded. “I take the paintings, restore and preserve them, and then return them to their owners—or to the nearest museum. There’s no real harm in it. I do it because I can’t stand to see beautiful things wasting away. I suppose I’m an art lover, like you. I always have been.”

I took a deep breath and moved on to what I really wanted to know. “I understand why you saved me from Hangman. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But what I don’t understand is why you kept me in the Lair of Seduction. Is that standard operating procedure until your seduction techniques work? Or was there a special reason we slept together?”

“I kept you in the Lair of Seduction because I wanted to keep you safe and…because I wanted to spend time with you.”

“But why?”

I had to know. I just had to know.

Devlin stared into my eyes. “Because I’ve been in love with you for a long time now, Bella.”

My heart leapt up into my throat, and my stomach flipped over. “You’re what?!”

He took my cold hand in his own. “I’m in love with you, Bella Bulluci. I have been ever since we went out all those months ago.”

“But—but why? We only had dinner that one time. You barely knew me then. Or know me now. Or...whatever.”

“I’ve been interested in you ever since we chaired that art exhibit out at Paradise Park.”

“But that was months ago!”

“I know.”

I shook my head. “But you never called or asked me out. You didn’t even talk to me that much when I’d see you at events.”

A wry smile twisted Devlin’s face. “Like I said before, I’m not very good with women. But after that, I started watching you. Talking to you when I could. And I realized what a special person you are. How warm and kind and caring.”

“But why didn’t you say anything before?” I asked. “I would have gone out with you. I would have given you a chance.”

“I couldn’t. I was too afraid. You’re so beautiful, so sophisticated, so elegant. I thought you’d just laugh at me.”

With all the messes my jinx created, I knew what it felt like to be made fun of. I gripped his hand tighter. “I would never laugh at you.”

He squeezed back. “I know that now, Bella. When you put yourself up for auction at the museum benefit, I decided to bid on you.”

My eyebrows rose. “You spent twenty-thousand dollars just to have a date with me?”

“I’d spend that much and a thousand times more.”

I didn’t know whether to be flattered or frightened by the fervor in his voice.

“When we had dinner earlier this year, I thought we had a wonderful time. You smiled at me and seemed interested in what I was saying. You even laughed at my jokes. Nobody ever laughs at my jokes.” The smile left Devlin’s face. “But you never called me afterward like you said you would.”

“I was going to,” I said in a soft voice. “That night after dinner, I found out my father had been killed. Murdered, actually. I was a mess after that. It’s no excuse, but I forgot all about you. Afterward…other stuff just kept happening.”

“What other stuff?”

I grimaced. “Superhero stuff. My brother was kidnapped by ubervillains a couple months after my father was killed. It was a stressful time, to say the least.”

Devlin looked puzzled. “Who kidnapped your brother? I didn’t hear anything about that, and Kelly didn’t mention it to me.”

“It doesn’t really matter,” I said, glossing over the details.

We sat there for several minutes before Devlin spoke again.

“What about now, Bella? I know we haven’t exactly gotten off to the best start, but I want to be with you. Do you think there’s a chance you would want to be with me too?”

His voice sounded so fragile, so small, and yet so hopeful it broke my heart. Because the answer to his question was no, and it always would be.

“I don’t want to get involved with a superhero,” I said. “I can’t, Devlin.”

“Why not? I don’t understand why you hate superheroes so much.”

I closed my eyes, debating whether I should tell him my family secret. I supposed it was only fair, since I knew his. “Have you ever heard of Johnny Angel?”

“The guy who rides his motorcycle around town?” Devlin seemed startled by the abrupt change in conversation. “The one who wears the black leather jacket with the angel wings on the back and hangs out with the biker gangs?”

I nodded. “Well, let’s just say Johnny Angel is sort of a Bulluci family tradition.”

His blue eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

“My father died because he was Johnny Angel,” I said. “He tried to help some friends stop a couple of ubervillains, and they killed him for getting in the way.”

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”

I shrugged, used to hearing the condolences. “Not many people do.”

Devlin stared at me. “You’re afraid the same thing will happen to me. That Hangman or some ubervillain will kill me.”

“Yes,” I admitted. “I already have a bit of a soft spot for you, Devlin. I don’t need, I don’t want my heart to be crushed again by a superhero. And it would, if we starting seeing each other.”

“But I’m not a superhero,” Devlin said. “Not really.”

I shook my head. “You’re close enough. You go out and break into museums. Steal things from people. Teleport around the city and pick up sexy superhero awards. You even have an archenemy in Hangman.” Sadness tinged my voice.

“Bella—”

He started to protest, but I put a finger to his lips, shushing him. “No, Devlin. It would never work out between us. Trust me. Please. We can’t be together. Not now. Not ever.”

Devlin stared at me for a long time, his eyes dark and sad. Then—

POP!

He vanished.

Just like always.

* * *

I waited for him to return. To realize my finding out his secret identity wasn’t the end of the world. To tell me being a superhero wasn’t that dangerous. To ask me to reconsider. To demand we be together, now and always. But he didn’t.

And part of me wanted him to, no matter how I tried to pretend otherwise.

I waited half an hour before I realized he wasn’t coming back. At least not tonight. Maybe not ever, given the hurt look I’d seen in his eyes.

But it was for the best. I didn’t want to have a relationship with a superhero—or semi-superhero in Debonair’s case. I’d spent too many nights sitting up praying my grandfather, father, and now Johnny would come home safely. I wasn’t about to do that again. Not for anyone. Devlin would come to understand that in time, I hoped.

So, I wrapped his coat tighter around my chilled shoulders and headed back to my car. I was so preoccupied with my thoughts I didn’t even notice the Benz was on fire until I was twenty feet away from it.

I stared at the flames leaping out from underneath the hood in horror. Why was my car on fire? I hadn’t been anywhere near it for the last hour. There was no way my luck could have caused it to spontaneously combust. Even I wasn’t that jinxed. At least, not usually.

I whirled around, but I didn’t see anyone standing in the shadows. No superheroes, no ubervillains, no regular, old-fashioned gawkers come to check out all the commotion.

I stared at the burning car. Through the dancing, orange flames, a line of fire zipped straight up the hood to the melted windshield. It almost looked like the car had been cut in two before it exploded. What could do that to a car? I didn’t know of any ubervillains who were that powerful. Had someone new come to Bigtime?

My power pulsed. My fingers itched. My hair expanded to gravity- and conditioner-defying heights. Static energy wrapped itself around my body like a glove. Something very, very bad was about to happen.

“Ah, Bella Bulluci. Just the woman I was waiting for,” a feminine voice called out.

A woman stood behind me. She wore a buttercup-yellow suit that reminded me of Fiera’s costume—except it was made out of shiny leather. She wore matching boots with it, sort of like goulashes young kids were always forced to endure. The bright ensemble made me grimace. I thought Fiona was bad, but yellow leather? Talk about cheesy.

A triangular prism decorated the front of her costume. A beam of light slashed across her chest before hitting the prism and expanding into a rainbow spectrum on the other side. It was one of the weirdest insignias I’d seen. A yellow, triangle-shaped mask covered most of her face, the bottom point resting on her nose. Her bright eyes had a red tint to them.

The woman was tall, almost six feet, with auburn-colored hair that stuck up in spikes over her head. She had a decent enough figure—long legs, modest breasts, a relatively flat midsection. But her posture was ramrod-stiff. I didn’t think a five-star general could have stood up any taller or straighter. She almost looked like a board someone had stuffed into a costume.

But what caught my attention most was the device in her hand. The long, slender cylinder looked like a laser pointer, except for the reddish glow burning on the end of the barrel.

And it was aimed at me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

“Who are you?” I asked, not daring to take my eyes off the laser-like device for a second. My power pulsed around me, ready to add to the impending disaster.

She smiled. “I have lots of names, but you can call me Prism. I believe Hangman might have mentioned me.”

I licked my dry lips. “You’re his boss, right? The one who told him to break into the museum?”

She nodded. “That’s right. I want the Star Sapphire. And you’re going to give it to me, Bella.”

“But I don’t have it. The Fearless Five do. They took it from Debonair when they rescued me. Everybody knows that.”

Prism’s eyes glowed red-hot for a second. “I don’t believe you. You might not have the sapphire, but you know where it is and how I can get it.”

I shook my head. “Trust me. I don’t. I don’t know anything about the sapphire.”

Prism cocked her head to one side. “We’ll see.”

If I’d had any sense, I’d start running. But I had a funny feeling Prism and her laser would cut me down before I took five steps. It also didn’t help matters that I’d decided to wear three-inch heels tonight. Then again, I hadn’t thought I’d be face-to-face with an ubervillain. Most of my dates didn’t end this way. I certainly hadn’t planned on this one turning out like that.

My fingers crept up to my wrist and to Jasper’s bomb-laden bracelet. I thought about using it, but there was one small problem—Prism could pull the trigger on her weapon a lot faster than I could fumble with the charms, arm them, and try to throw them at her. Even then, she could still move out of the way. Or worse, stand still and take the blast. She could have superstrength, for all I knew, or be impervious to explosions, like Johnny was.

My eyes slid around, hoping some superhero would see the flames and smoke from the car and come to my rescue. Debonair, Swifte, the Fearless Five, Halitosis Hal, Pistol Pete, the Invisible Ingénues, Wynter. Somebody. Anybody.

Nobody came.

“Now, Bella, enough chitchat. You’re going to tell me where the sapphire is and exactly who has it.” Prism waved the laser around. Smoke and flames curled up from the silver barrel. “Or else.”

“Or else you’re going to shoot me, right? That thing, what does it do?” I asked, stalling for time. Having seen a couple of hero-villain battles, I knew there were few things ubervillains liked better than to show off their destructive gizmos.

“My laserama? Here. Let me show you.”

Prism pointed the laser at one of the iron streetlamps the city planners were so fond of. A red beam shot out from the barrel, cutting a straight line across the iron. The smell of burning metal filled the air. A second later, the top half of the pole slid off and crashed against the cobblestones. Bits of broken stone zipped through the air like wasps, stinging everything in sight. A car alarm blared in the background.

I bit my lip to keep from screaming in horror.

Prism raised the laser to her lips and blew a bit of smoke away from the barrel. “As you can see, my laserama is quite powerful. That was its lowest setting—slow burn. Just think what it would do to that pretty face of yours. There wouldn’t be enough of it left to put in a jar—much less a casket.”

The sight of my father’s closed coffin flashed through my mind. There hadn’t been enough of him to find either. Only his Johnny Angel watch and a few of his teeth had survived Intelligal’s explodium missiles.

Anger pulsed through my body, along with the usual static electricity. I didn’t want to end up like my father. My family had been through enough already. I wasn’t going to die tonight. If I was really, really lucky.

And an exceptionally good liar.

“I told you already, I don’t know where the sapphire is. The Fearless Five have it. That’s all I know, I swear.” I crossed my finger over my heart.

Prism shook her head. “Not good enough.”

She raised the laserama and pushed a button on the top. But I was expecting it and dove out of the way. I hit the cobblestones hard, but I kept rolling. Rolling. Rolling. Rolling. Then, I used my momentum to pull myself to my feet. My luck went along with my plan, and I did a smooth move that would have made the Bendy Brawler jealous. I started to run, but I hadn’t taken half a dozen steps when Prism called out.

“Stop! Or you’re dead!”

I froze.

“Turn around!”

I complied. Prism stood behind me, her red lips pressed together in anger. She leveled the laserama at my chest.

“Stupid bitch. No one gets away from me. No one. If you won’t tell me where the sapphire is, I’ll just kill you right here, right now.” Her finger started to press down on the button once more.

POP!

The smell of smoked roses permeated the air, and a dark shadow with glittering blue eyes appeared behind Prism.

“I’m sorry. But no one’s killing anyone tonight,” he growled.

Prism whirled around at the sound of his smooth voice. Debonair leapt at her, and they fell to the ground. The laserama slid across the cobblestones toward me, just as the Star Sapphire had all those days ago. I picked up the device—and dropped it the second my fingers came into contact with the hot metal. I blew on my hand, trying to cool it off. After a few seconds, the pain faded away. I didn’t think I’d touched the device long enough to burn myself. Lucky me.

Meanwhile, Prism positioned herself atop Debonair and repeatedly punched him in the face. She must have had superstrength because every blow snapped his head back against the stones. The sight made my heart twist.

Then, I noticed something even worse. Prism’s eyes. The red glow in the depths grew brighter and brighter with every second, as though she were powering them up.

“Watch out!” I yelled. “Watch out for her eyes!”

Debonair lurched his head to one side just as rays of light shot out from Prism’s eyes. The scarlet beams slammed into the stone, obliterating the spot where his face had been a moment before.

“Debonair! Let’s go! Now!” I screamed. I couldn’t bear to see him being hurt. Especially because of me.

POP!

Debonair teleported to my side and wrapped his hand around my waist.

A second later, the world disappeared.

* * *

Debonair, Devlin, teleported us all over the city, just as he had the night before. Quicke’s, Oodles o’ Stuff, the Bigtime Public Library, the top of the Skyline Bridge. The sudden flashes of colors and lights didn’t upset me this time. In fact, I would have enjoyed it immensely if an ubervillain hadn’t just tried to kill us.

We finally came to a stop in the Lair of Seduction. Enormous waterbed, furniture, entertainment center, cozy little table in the corner. It looked exactly the same. Debonair drew his arm away and sank onto the waterbed. A low groan escaped his lips. I sat down beside him. His face was red and swollen where Prism had hit him. Blood and bruises covered what I could see of his skin.

“You’re hurt,” I said, tipping his face up into the light and going into full-fledged nurse mode. “Do you have any bandages? Antibiotic ointment? Any medical supplies at all?”

Devlin snapped his fingers, and everything I requested appeared. I took his arm, dragged him off the sloshing bed, and led him into the bathroom.

“Take off the mask,” I commanded.

“What?”

“Take it off, Devlin. I need to see your face to patch you up. All of it.”

He let out a long sigh, then slipped the blue-black leather up over his head. I made him sit down on the closed toilet seat while I cleaned the cuts and scratches on his handsome face. Luckily, none of them were very deep.

The process reminded me of all the times I’d done the same thing for my father. Blood-soaked cotton balls sticking to my hands. The harsh smell of antiseptic. Greasy ointment coating my fingers. It was all the same. As was the cold, familiar mix of fear and relief pounding through my body.

I’d almost died tonight, and Devlin along with me. And for what? So some ubervillain could try to take over the city? It was all so ridiculous. So stupid. So irrational. It made me sick to my stomach. Angry too. Why couldn’t people just be content to rob and cheat and steal and lie? Why did they feel the need to dress up in costumes and try to bend everyone to their evil will? But that was Bigtime for you. Schemes and dreams. It always had been, and it always would be. I was just unlucky enough to be a part of it.

“You’re very gentle,” Devlin said after I’d finished pressing a butterfly bandage over a cut above his left eye. “I hardly felt a thing.”

“I’ve had lots of practice,” I muttered. “Unfortunately.”

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink. I didn’t look much better than Devlin. My dress was torn and dirty, with big smudges of oil all over it where I’d rolled across the cobblestones. A couple of scrapes slashed across my right cheek and arm where I’d hit the ground. I’d have bruises galore tomorrow, fresh ones to add to my never-ending collection.

A jangle caught my ear, and I looked down at my wrist. I might have been a wreck, but the bracelet Jasper had given me looked as good as new. None of the charms had so much as a scratch on them. I was just grateful it hadn’t spontaneously exploded while I dealt with Prism.

I picked up the remaining supplies, peered into the mirror, and went to work on myself, cleaning and bandaging. When I was finished, I put the lids back on the bottles and tubes of ointment. Waste not, want not, and all that. Plus, the way my luck was running tonight, if I didn’t clean up now, I’d do something clumsy later—like step on a tube and squirt petroleum jelly everywhere. Talk about a bitch to clean up.

Devlin sat there, watching me straighten things.

“Bella, I’m sorry I left you,” Devlin said. “I just—I didn’t know what to do. You knew my secret, you knew how I felt about you, and then you said we couldn’t be together. It was…hard for me.”

“I know,” I replied. “But tonight only proves my point. We both got off with only a few scrapes and bruises, but it could have been much, much worse.”

“Bella—”

“No,” I shook my head. “We were lucky, that was all.”

Much as it pained me to say the word.

“I’d like to think it was skill more than luck.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I said, my voice harsh and bitter. “Trust me. I know a lot about luck—especially bad luck.”

“What do you mean?”

I sat down on the edge of the bathtub. “Because that’s my power. Luck.”

I told him about how I could make good and bad things happen, depending on my mood and the capriciousness of my power. About my emotional flare-ups and all the chaos and explosions and disasters that went with them.

“But you can’t control it?” he asked.

I shook my head. “No, I’ve never been able to. Not really. Every once in a while, I can focus and get something to happen the way I want. But most of the time, my power does what it wants to, when it wants to. I’m just along for the ride.”

“I don’t think that’s right,” Devlin said. “It’s your power. It’s part of you, not the other way around. You should be able to do anything you want to with it. You should be able to control it as you see fit.”

“I don’t know,” I said, rubbing my head. “I don’t really want to know. I just wish it would go away. Forever.”

Devlin looked at me, horror in his blue eyes. “You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. More than you can possibly imagine.” I stood. “I should be getting home. Grandfather will be worried. I’m sure somebody’s found my burned car by now. It’ll be all over the news by morning.” I grimaced. “I’ll probably have your cousin Kelly Caleb camped out on my doorstep when she hears about this.”

Devlin caught my hand. “It might not be safe for you to go home. Prism and Hangman could be there waiting for you. You should stay here tonight. With me.”

I closed my eyes. I knew what would happen if I agreed. We’d wind up in bed together, and I’d only be more torn about my decision not to see the handsome thief again.

“No,” I said. “I can’t stay with you, Devlin. I’m sorry. I won’t put myself through this anymore. Not even for you. Please take me home.”

He argued with me about how the ubervillains might be waiting for us. He only agreed to take me home after I told him the Fearless Five were watching the house and would keep me safe. Finally, Devlin put his mask back on and teleported us just inside the front door of the Bulluci mansion. He stared into my eyes, but I scooted back out of his arms. I didn’t want to tempt fate. Or myself.

“Bella? Is that you?”

Grandfather appeared at the end of the hall and rushed toward us. He pulled me into a tight hug. “Thank heavens you’re all right! Chief Newman called and said they found your car on fire down by the marina. What happened?” His eyes went over my shoulder to Debonair, lurking in the shadows. “And who are you?”

Debonair stepped forward and shook my grandfather’s hand. “I’m Debonair, sir. Pleased to meet you.”

Bobby’s green eyes took in the blue-black leather costume, the scarlet rose, the mask, the bandages over Debonair’s eyes. “Are you the one who saved my granddaughter from Hangman at the museum?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And he saved me again tonight.” I filled Bobby in on Prism’s appearance and subsequent attack.

“She seems pretty desperate to get her hands on the sapphire,” Bobby mused. “That should work well for the Fearless Five and their plan to trap her.”

Debonair shot me a questioning look. I shook my head.

Bobby looked back and forth between us. “Well, now that I know you’re okay, Bella, I’ll leave you and your friend to your own devices. This old man needs some sleep. Tomorrow, I think, is going to be a very long day.”

He kissed me good night, then disappeared down the hall.

“What is he talking about?” Debonair asked. “What are the Fearless Five up to?”

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s go upstairs, and I’ll tell you everything.”

* * *

We ended up on the sofa in my sitting room. I explained the superheroes’ plan to capture Hangman and Prism when they made another grab for the sapphire.

“The Fearless Five are going to drop off the sapphire at the museum in the morning,” I said. “The museum plans to reopen tomorrow night and kick off another fundraiser to help repair the damage done during the fight. We figure Hangman and Prism will try to steal the sapphire again after the museum closes down.”

“And you’re going to be there tomorrow?”

I nodded. “I want to see this thing through to the end. I want to see Hangman and Prism get carted off to prison.”

“Then, I’m coming too,” Debonair said. “After all, I’m the reason you’re in this mess.”

“It’s not your fault. Just my own bad luck, bad sense of timing.”

Debonair took off his mask, and Devlin stared into my eyes. “Is that what you think meeting me, spending time with me has been? A run of bad luck?”

“Of course not! I’ve enjoyed our time together.”

Loved it, actually. But I couldn’t say that to him. It would just make things harder in the end.

Before I could stop him, Devlin pulled me into his lap and kissed me. I found myself responding, despite my promise to keep my distance.

“Let me love you, Bella. Please. Just for tonight,” he murmured against my mouth.

I couldn’t look away from the need in his eyes, the desire, the passion. Couldn’t pretend they weren’t there. Those same emotions filled me too. I’d almost died half a dozen times the past few days. I might die tomorrow night, despite the Fearless Five’s assurances that everything would go smoothly.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to pass up this chance, not when there were so many things that could go wrong. There would be time to be sensible later. There would be time to say good-bye to Devlin later.

Much, much later.

I climbed off his lap and got to my feet. Disappointment shimmered in his eyes. He thought I was going to tell him to leave again. I wasn’t. Not tonight, anyway.

I wasn’t bold and daring by nature, not like Fiona and Carmen were. But tonight, I felt like I could do anything. Try anything. Dare anything. Part of me felt like I had to. Just this once.

So, I unzipped the back of the dress, peeled it down my arms, and let it crumple to the floor. Most of Fiona’s gowns were so form-fitting you couldn’t really wear anything under them, except for a bit of perfume. I stepped out of the ruined fabric and kicked it aside, along with my broken shoes. I stood there before him, naked, except for the angel charm around my throat and the silver bracelet dangling from my wrist.

“Stand up,” I commanded.

He did as I asked. I moved toward him, careful not to actually touch his body. If I did that, I’d be a goner. So, I reached around his chest, drinking in the smell of smoky roses that emanated from him, and unzipped the back of his costume. I tugged the leather down his arms and threw it aside. Next, I undid his boots. Devlin stepped out of them. Finally, I came to his pants. I undid the zipper, slowly, slowly, slowly, then pulled down the tight fabric.

I moved my lips along his shaft, just brushing it with the softest, slightest touch. He stiffened and reached for me, but I evaded his grasp and finished lowering his pants. Devlin stepped out of those as well, and I drank in the sight of his naked form. He truly was a beautiful man. Toned. Muscled. And exquisitely hard just where he should be. And he was all mine. At least for tonight.

I stood up and pushed him back until his legs hit the sofa, and he sat down. I put my knees on either side of his legs, straddling him. I rested my hands on his shoulders, the only part of my body actually touching his.

“Do you want me, Devlin?” I asked, teasing him even more.

“You…know…that I…do,” he rasped, his fingers clenching the edge of the cushions.

His eyes locked with mine. The passion shimmering in the blue depths almost frightened me, but I was too far gone to care. And I wanted him just as badly as he wanted me. Maybe even more.

“Then love me, Devlin Debonair Dash. Now,” I whispered and lowered my lips to his.

I didn’t have to tell him twice. I’d pushed him to the edge of his control. His tongue plunged into my mouth, hard and demanding. His hands were everywhere. My face. My hair. Breasts. Stomach. Thighs. In seconds, we were both hot and ready and eager.

Debonair popped a condom into the room and covered himself. I immediately rose up on my knees again and sank down onto his stiff shaft. I slowly began to move, sliding up and down on the hard length, riding him. His groans and cries of pleasure mixed with my own. I increased my pace, increased my rhythm, taking him a little farther in every single time.

“Bella!” he cried out my name.

I threw my head back, rose up a final time, and sank back down to the hilt of him.

The world exploded as we came together.

I slumped over his body, spent and euphoric. He nuzzled my neck, pressing sweet, soft kisses to the hollow of my throat.

“Thank you for that,” he said.

“What?”

“Seducing me.”

I leaned back and cradled his face in my hands. “Well, I learned from a master.”

He shook his head. “No, you’ve far exceeded anything I’ve ever dreamed of. I love you, Bella.”

I bit my lip and didn’t respond. I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell him I loved him. It would only hurt that much more to let him go in the end. To walk away and never look back. Devlin’s eyes grew sad when I didn’t return his sentiment, but he smiled anyway.

“So what do you want to do now?” I asked, my eyes straying to the bed. It wouldn’t be quite as much fun as the waterbed, but it would definitely do.

An impish light appeared in his eyes. “You’ve had your turn, but I haven’t even gotten started yet, Bella.”

POP!

Suddenly, our positions were reversed. I lay on my back on the sofa while Debonair knelt on the floor beside me. He eased my thighs apart and lowered his mouth to my molten core. I arched up off the sofa, burying my fingers in his hair.

POP!

We stood against the wall. His mouth was on my breast, his teeth scraping my hard, aching nipple. His fingers dove inside me, stroking, teasing, caressing. My head spun round and round as desire overcame me once again.

POP!

We lay on the floor, side by side. Devlin traced lazy circles around my breast with one hand while the other explored my wet, aching folds.

“That’s…not…fair…using your…superpowers.” I gasped.

“But it sure is fun, isn’t it?”

He continued his ministrations. I panted as sensation after sensation filled every part of my body. Pleasure. Pressure. I wanted him again. And again. And again.

Now.

POP!

We landed in the bed. I drew him down to me, and Devlin covered my body with his. As he slid into me, I found my release.

And so did he.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

I woke the next morning wrapped in Devlin’s arms. It was a good place to be. Warm, safe, secure. I stared at him, watching him sleep. The early morning light streaming through the windows highlighted the sharp planes of his face. His bruises had faded to mere shadows, and the shallow cuts had sewn themselves shut overnight. Devlin must have a bit of regeneration in him. Most superheroes and ubervillains did. It helped in their line of work.

Devlin must have felt me staring at him, because his eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he looked confused, as if he couldn’t quite remember where he was or what had happened. Then, his eyes cleared, and he smiled.

“Hey there, sleepyhead,” I whispered.

“Hey there, yourself.” Devlin leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my lips.

We lay there kissing for a long while before I eased away and sat up.

“How about some breakfast?” I asked, sliding out of bed and pulling on a thick, terrycloth robe with black and white angels embroidered on it.

Devlin sat up. The cotton sheet fell away, exposing his chest. I eyed him, thinking maybe breakfast would be better in bed.

“I’m going to go,” he said, not quite looking at me. “I think it’s for the best right now.”

“Oh. All right.”

Part of me was disappointed. But part of me understood why he was leaving. He’d told me that he’d loved me, and I hadn’t responded. I’d hurt his feelings, but I didn’t have any choice. Not if I wanted to hang on to what was left of my sanity. But still another part of me longed to say the words back to him. Because they were true.

I was in love with Devlin Debonair Dash. And I didn’t want to be. I wasn’t going to be a superhero’s girlfriend. I’d already spent too much of my life patching up my superhero grandfather and father and brother. I didn’t want to do that anymore. Didn’t want to sit up nights worrying about whether Devlin was going to come home or not. I wouldn’t put myself through that. Not even for him.

Because if he died, it would break my heart all over again.

But I didn’t want him to leave. Not yet. Not like this. So, I did the only thing I could. I let the robe fall from my body and climbed back into bed. Devlin stared at me like I was Eve offering him a ripe, juicy apple. Maybe I was. I couldn’t tell Devlin that I loved him, but I could show him. In my own way.

“Are you sure you have to go?” I asked, tugging the sheet down off his wonderful body.

“Bella—” he said in a warning tone.

“Hmm?” I asked, lowering my mouth to his stiffening shaft. “What were you saying? Something about going home, I believe.”

“I think I can stay…a little longer,” he said, pulling me closer.

“Good,” I murmured before covering him with my mouth once again.

* * *

After another round of passion, we lay in bed, cuddled close together. We didn’t talk about last night or today or tomorrow. We just were, tangled together in easy silence. I closed my eyes and listened to Devlin’s heart thump-thump-thump under my ear. If I’d had the power to stop time, I would have used it to preserve this single, precious, perfect moment.

Finally, though, Devlin put on his costume, promising to meet me at the museum re-opening tonight. I told him the Fearless Five would have everything under control, but he insisted on being there. Just in case. His concern only made me love him that much more, and I bit my tongue to keep from telling him. Devlin pressed a kiss to my wrist and popped away.

After he left, I stayed in bed, huddled in the warm spot we’d created together. My eyes drifted over the clouds and cherubs frolicking on the ceiling, but I didn’t really see the blue and white paintings.

I was too busy wondering if I was doing the right thing.

Maybe…maybe I was wrong about us not being together. Maybe Devlin and I could make it work. Maybe there was a chance for us, mask and leather and all. I loved him so much. There had to be some way we could make it work. There just had to be.

But try as I might, I couldn’t think of what it could be.

Still, I went downstairs to the kitchen more cheerful and hopeful than I’d been in days. Bobby sat at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs with cheese and mustard and reading the latest editions of The Exposé and The Chronicle.

“Someone looks happy this morning,” Bobby said.

I couldn’t stop the blush that crept up my cheeks, so I concentrated on pouring some juice without spilling it. “I had a nice time last night with my date.”

“Ah, yes, your date.” Bobby smiled and stuck his face back behind the newspaper, saving me from any more embarrassment.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. I turned to the door, puzzled by who else could be in the house this early in the morning. Grace Caleb appeared. Her loose, silver hair flowed around her shoulders, and she looked just as rumpled and satisfied as me. I froze, my glass of orange juice halfway to my lips.

Grace sashayed over to Bobby and gave him a long, lingering kiss like I wasn’t even in the room.

“Ahem.”

She kept right on kissing him.

“Ahem!”

The two of them finally broke apart.

“Hello, Grace,” I said, taking a sip of my orange juice. The pulpy liquid tasted sweet and wet in my parched mouth.

“Hello, Bella. Did you sleep well?”

I flashed back to last night. I hadn’t gotten much sleep at all, not with Devlin popping us into a variety of interesting positions. But I didn’t feel tired. Not in the least.

“Oh, yes. And you?”

Grace shot Bobby a naughty grin. “Wonderful. The best sleep I’ve had in a long, long time.”

Grandfather gave her a slow wink. I sat there and tried really, really hard to pretend that sleep was all she was talking about.

* * *

Bobby had made enough eggs for the three of us, and we relaxed around the table making small talk. After we finished, Grace announced that she had to leave. Bobby pouted a bit, then walked her back to the guest room where she’d spent the night. They didn’t reappear for an hour.

Since Grandfather was otherwise engaged, I drove out to Sublime to check in with the Fearless Five and plot how things would work at the museum tonight. Carmen, Sam, Chief Newman, Henry, Lulu, and I met in the library, just like always. For once, I didn’t mind being part of the superheroes’ inner circle.

“Everything’s in place,” Carmen said. “We dropped off the sapphire at the museum this morning and watched while they put it back on display. It’s in the same spot as before, except with much more security.”

“What do you mean more security?” I asked.

Henry pulled up a schematic on his computer monitor. “Instead of the glass case the museum uses for precious items, we substituted one of our own. If the ubervillains do manage to steal the sapphire, they’ll have a hard time getting to it.”

I thought of Prism’s laserama. “Even with her laser gun?”

“The glass isn’t foolproof,” Henry admitted. “Nothing ever is.”

“Which is where the tracking device comes in,” Lulu said. “Henry and the chief sprayed the sapphire with a clear paint that has a radioactive signature. So, even if Prism and Hangman somehow manage to steal the sapphire, escape, and get it out of the case, we’ll still be able to track them down.”

“It sounds like you’ve thought of everything,” I chimed in, admiring their thoroughness.

Carmen picked up one of her Rubik’s Cubes and started playing with it. “I’m still worried,” she confessed, twisting the rows of colors back and forth in her hands. “I don’t like the fact the museum is reopening with so much fanfare. You don’t think the ubervillains will attack then, do you?”

Sam shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. Too many people around. More than likely, they’ll try to steal the stone after the museum closes. It’ll be easier then. At least, they’ll think so.”

Carmen kept pacing. Sam grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his lap. He took the puzzle from her fingers and put it down on the table.

“Don’t worry,” he said, gathering her close to him. “Nothing bad is going to happen. We’ve planned this all too well, and we’ll be there to make sure that nothing goes wrong. Okay?”

Carmen stared into his eyes, then pressed a kiss to his lips. “Okay.”

Seeing the two of them be so gentle, so tender with each other reminded me of Devlin and how much I’d come to love him. Carmen and Sam had overcome incredible odds to be together. Why couldn’t Devlin and I?

We could, I decided. We would. One way or another.

* * *

I left Sublime and went home to get ready for the reopening. Bobby had left a note in the kitchen, saying he and Grace were going to have dinner before going to the museum. I just smiled and shook my head. I was glad Grandfather had found someone to make him happy again. He’d been alone too long. We both had.

I picked out another one of Fiona’s gowns to wear, this one a deep, dark green that accentuated the bronze color of my hair, skin, and eyes. It was made of a soft, jersey material with lots of give, although the fabric still clung to my body. I twirled in front of the mirror, pleased by the effect and not the least bit self-conscious about my hips and thighs. Well, not as much as usual.

First the scarlet dress, now this one. Seducing Devlin, planning to do the same again tonight. I was ignoring my rules right and left. Not to mention my innate good taste. The next thing you knew, I’d be wearing sequins, feathers, and zebra stripes. All at once. I smiled.

Maybe being around Debonair had affected me more than I’d realized. I didn’t know, but I liked the feeling. I added my angel charm to the outfit, along with Jasper’s bomb bracelet.

Since Prism had toasted my Benz, I called a taxi and reached the museum a little after eight. Things were already in full swing. A banner stretched over the front steps said Grand reopening! Come and join the fun! Whimsical Wonders lives on!

I entered the museum and headed for the new wing. The last time I’d seen it, the area had been full of plaster and sweaty construction guys. Now, everything looked just the same as it always did. Immaculate marble walls. Vivid paintings. Unusual statues. And the Star Sapphire sitting in the middle of the grand hall, casting its cool, blue light on everything.

I worked my way through the chattering crowd, looking for one particular face. I spotted all the usual bigwigs, including Berkley Brighton and Joanne James. I even saw Jasper chatting up a woman in a corner. I waved to the bomber. His eyes landed on my bracelet, and he smiled and gave me a thumbs-up. I froze in mid-wave and carefully lowered my hand. I kept forgetting just how deadly my pretty bracelet was. I was just glad I hadn’t had to use Jasper’s creation. And, if things went well tonight, I could return it to him. Maybe he’d even give Lulu some of her money back.

“Hello, beautiful. Are you here alone?” a sexy voice murmured in my ear.

I smiled and turned to find Devlin standing behind me. He looked marvelous in a black tux and his silver glasses. How could I have ever thought him awkward and clumsy and shy? I stood on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Oh, no. I’m afraid I have a very hot date tonight,” I teased.

“Maybe you’d like to go home with me instead.”

I looked him up and down. “Maybe. But you’ll have to give me a good reason to.”

Devlin put his lips against my ear again. “How about a repeat performance of last night?”

I smiled. “That sounds like a good enough reason for me.”

“I’m glad.”

Devlin held out his hand, and I tucked my arm in his. The two of us wandered through the room, talking to everyone we knew. I spotted the members of the Fearless Five among the crowd. Carmen, Sam, Henry, Lulu, Chief Newman. They’d come to the reopening tonight just in case there was the slightest hint of trouble.

More than a few eyes landed on Devlin and me, and whispers followed us around the room. We’d be the talk of the society scene by morning, as were all the new couples who hooked up in public. But I didn’t care what other people thought. I loved Devlin. Now all I had to do was figure out a way to make it work between us.

Berkley and Joanne stood in the middle of the room next to the Star Sapphire, the center of attention just like always. Devlin and I strolled over to them. Hannah Harmon hovered nearby. She murmured pleasantries to the people she was talking to, but her eyes were firmly fixed on the sapphire.

“Bella! How lovely to see you again!” Joanne said, presenting her cheek for the usual air kiss.

I obliged her. “You too, Joanne. Berkley.”

The older billionaire nodded at me.

My eyes went to the sapphire resting on its pedestal. The glass case didn’t look any different than the one it had been under before, but I trusted the Fearless Five. Henry and Lulu knew exactly what to do when it came to gadgets—especially those designed to stop ubervillains.

By midnight I was ready for the event to end so I could head to the security room with the Fearless Five and wait for Prism and Hangman to show up and try to steal the gem. Then, this nightmare would be over, and I could get on with my life—hopefully with Devlin.

My power flared, the first time it had acted up all day, and my feet turned of their own volition toward the sapphire. Berkley and Joanne stood next to the gem, talking with Hannah. A man in a wheelchair sat next to them, his back to me. Something about the hard set of Joanne’s lips and the way she clutched Berkley’s hand bothered me. She almost looked worried, and Joanne James never worried about anything.

“What’s wrong?” Devlin asked.

“I don’t know,” I said, moving toward the sapphire.

Across the room, I saw Carmen do the same, drawn by the same bad feeling.

“I said no, Hannah,” Berkley Brighton’s baritone reverberated through the room. “I have no interest in what you’re proposing.”

“But Berkley, think of all the power we could have,” Hannah wheedled. “The money, the position, the influence.”

Berkley’s hand tightened around Joanne’s. “I happen to be very happy with my current situation—professionally and personally. I’m sorry.”

All conversation stopped. Hannah’s eyes flicked around. Everyone had heard Berkley turn her down. They all stared at her, mouths slightly agape. Then, the whispers began. A few people snickered with amusement. Something red and angry sparked in the depths of her eyes at the soft sounds.

“Fine, Berkley, if that’s the way you want it. Nobody move!” Hannah Harmon screamed, pulling what looked like a laser pointer out of her evening bag. “This is a robbery!”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Everybody froze.

My eyes went to the device in her hands, and my mouth dropped open. It was the same laserama she’d pointed at me last night. Hannah Harmon was Prism? It didn’t seem possible.

But things got even more bizarre. The man in the wheelchair sprang to his feet, kicked the contraption away, and turned to face me. I realized who he was—Nathan Nichols, the financial guru who’d bilked Devlin’s company out of millions and now worked for Hannah. Nichols ripped off his tuxedo, revealing a gray, spandex suit and a silver utility belt. Prism and Hangman were both here. And they were going to steal the Star Sapphire right now—no matter who got in the way.

I looked around to see where Carmen was, but she’d melted into the frightened crowd, along with the other members of the Fearless Five. So had Devlin. One moment, he was by my side, the next he was gone.

Hannah commanded everyone’s attention, holding her laserama on Berkley and Joanne.

“Why are you doing this, Hannah?” Berkley asked, his voice remarkably calm. “Surely my turning down your business and other proposal hasn’t upset you this much?”

Hannah threw back her head and laughed. “Don’t you understand, you fool?”

She jerked her head at Hangman. He stepped forward and ripped away the dress from her body, revealing a familiar yellow costume with a triangle on the front of it.

Joanne hissed. “You’re an ubervillain!”

“Right you are, Joanne. Right you are.” Hannah addressed the rest of the crowd. “My name is Prism. Learn my name, know it well, because you’ll be hearing a lot more of me. Very, very soon. In a couple of hours, I’m going to be the one running this town.”

Hannah, Prism, pointed her laserama up and pulled the trigger. A red beam shot out from the end of the barrel, shattering the restored glass ceiling with a tremendous roar. With one thought, people screamed and stampeded toward the exits even as glass rained down and the alarms started blaring. The crowd rushed past me, sweeping me back, and I lost sight of the ubervillains.

I stayed in the room, looking for Grandfather. I didn’t see Bobby among the panicked crowd, but I did spot Grace Caleb, half-hidden behind one of the statues. She whipped something out of her purse and snapped it down beside her leg. I squinted through the mad dash of people. It looked like a cane. A diamond-topped cane. Grace drew a mask out of her bag and slipped it over her head. Then, she draped an angora sweater across her shoulders. I recognized her at once.

My eyes threatened to pop out of my head. Grace Caleb was actually Granny Cane? The little old lady who went around Bigtime suckering thieves into mugging her? No wonder she’d had a family emergency the other night. I wondered if Bobby knew what Grace did when she wasn’t playing bridge or drinking tea. He’d definitely approve.

Hannah continued with her rant, brandishing her laser at Berkley and Joanne. “You all think you’re so clever, so smart with your little cliques and groups and inner circles. You’re nothing but a bunch of phonies. I’ve tried to fit in. I’ve tried to play your little popularity games. Well, I’m sick of it. Instead of pretending to be like the rest of you, I’m going to take what I want and damn the consequences.”

“People don’t like you enough so you decided to become an ubervillain?” Joanne snapped. “How pathetic.”

Hannah glared at the other woman. “No more pathetic than you marrying every other man in Bigtime, you tramp.”

“Sugar, I’m not a tramp. I’m not the one wearing yellow leather.” Joanne’s eyes flicked down the other woman’s form. “Without the figure to pull it off.”

Hannah held the laserama up to Joanne’s face.

“Stop!” another voice called out.

Striker strode into the room, followed by Karma Girl, Mr. Sage, and Hermit. Seeing the superheroes in their bright costumes reminded me of the last time I’d been here, when Hangman and Debonair had been fighting. I had the strangest sense of déjà vu.

“Come any closer, and I’ll blow her away,” Hannah warned, her finger hovering over the button.

Hangman eased off to one side, giving the superheroes two targets instead of just one. Striker’s eyes flicked around the room, analyzing the situation. His gaze cut to Karma Girl, who shook her head. Hermit did the same. Striker’s hand twitched, as though he was signaling one of the members of the team.

Mr. Sage’s eyes began to glow. A moment later, something yanked down on Hannah’s arm, pulling the laserama away from Joanne’s face.

“What—what are you doing?” Hannah screamed. “Nobody messes with me! Nobody messes with Prism!”

Hannah raised the laserama and pressed the button.

Joanne stood in front of the ubervillain, but somehow, Berkley shoved her out of the way at the last possible moment. Joanne crashed into Mr. Sage, who caught her. The laser slammed into the billionaire’s chest, and the stench of burning flesh filled the room. For an instant, Berkley’s eyes flashed as scarlet as Prism’s. A black, smoking hole appeared over his heart. Berkley stumbled back from the impact of the laser. He looked at his burning chest, then at Joanne. Then, he smiled once and crumpled to the floor.

Dead. I knew he was dead. No one could survive something like that. No one.

I clapped my hands over my mouth, horrified by what I’d just seen. Joanne wrenched herself free from Mr. Sage’s restraining hands.

“Berkley! Berkley! No, no, nooo!” Joanne screamed, throwing herself on top of Berkley’s lifeless body.

Hannah took aim at Joanne, who did something I never would have expected her to—she launched herself at the ubervillain.

Joanne might have been one of the richest women in Bigtime, but she certainly knew how to fight. She caught Prism around the ankles, and the two women hit the ground. They rolled around on the marble floor, shrieking and kicking and clawing among the shards of broken glass. Prism might have had superstrength, but it didn’t faze Joanne a bit. She fought like a woman possessed—like a woman who’d just lost her husband.

The Fearless Five started forward to break up the fight, but a grenade slid across the floor and landed at Striker’s feet. The sight snapped me out of my horrified daze.

“Grenade!” I screamed. “Grenade!”

Karma Girl grabbed Striker’s suit and yanked him back with a strength I didn’t know she had. The grenade exploded, and the room went orange, then black, then gray. The shock and fire from the blast knocked me to my knees. My power pulsed, and my feet slid out from under me just as a knife-like piece of shrapnel zipped through the space where my head had been. I landed hard on the floor. Smoke filled the air, making me cough and wheeze.

Through the billowing clouds, I felt something sticky plop onto my head. I reached up and brought my fingers back down. White foam from the sprinklers covered my whole hand. More bits sputtered through the air. I definitely had déjà vu now. And an intense desire to be somewhere other than here. I scrambled to my feet, ignoring the pain shooting through my knees and back where I’d hit the floor.

The gray haze started to clear. Hannah stood next to the sapphire, holding the laserama against Joanne’s temple and using her as a human shield against the Fearless Five. I didn’t see Hangman or Grace or Bobby through the dissipating smoke.

Or Devlin. Where was he?

“Stay back or she dies!” Hannah screamed at the Fearless Five.

Joanne twisted and struggled in the ubervillain’s grasp, mindless of the device pressed against her head. “Kill her! Kill her now, you fools!”

The superheroes froze. There was nothing they could do. If they moved an inch, Joanne would be just as dead as Berkley. From the tears streaming down her face, I didn’t think Joanne would mind that much.

But Hannah had her back to me. I looked at the ubervillain, then over my shoulder. The path to the door was clear this time, with no villains standing in my way. I could slip out of the room to safety, and no one would be the wiser. No one would know I’d even been in here. No one would know I hadn’t tried to save Joanne. No one but me.

I stepped back toward the door.

Joanne sobbed again and started cursing, struggling with all her might against Prism. My eyes went to Berkley’s body, lying on the marble floor. If not for the smoke rising from his chest, I would have almost thought he was sleeping. But he wasn’t. Berkley was dead. And Joanne would be too, if someone didn’t stop Prism.

If I didn’t stop Prism.

My foot hovered in mid-air. It would be so easy for me to put it down, turn, and run away. So, so easy. But I didn’t do that. I put my foot down, but this time, I stepped toward danger instead of away from it. For once in my life, I was willingly going to get involved in a hero-villain battle.

If I could use my power to get really, really lucky, I just might be able to get the laserama away from Prism before she could use it on Joanne. If I had any sense, I’d turn and run away. If I did, though, Joanne would die.

If, if, if.

Sensing my warring emotions, my power flared to life, going from a low drone to a rising hum. My fingers itched, my hair frizzed, and I eased forward, willing my luck to work, praying it would, just this once.

Karma Girl saw me out of the corner of her eye and gave me the tiniest nod. Go for it, I could almost hear her whisper in my mind. We’re out of options and almost out of time.

My hand went to my wrist, and I fingered the bracelet Jasper had given me. But there was no way I could use it in here without killing us all. So, I picked up a small bronze statue shaped like a pencil from one of the pedestals. A good smack across the back of the head should be enough to distract Hannah from lasering Joanne. Then, the Fearless Five could move in and capture the ubervillain—

Beefy fingers latched onto my arm and jerked me back.

“Going somewhere?” Hangman asked, his hand tightening around my arm.

My fingers went numb, and the statue slid from my grasp, clanking against the floor. Any tighter and he’d break my wrist with his grip. At the clanging noise, Hannah looked over her shoulder and forced Joanne to turn around so she could keep an eye on all of us at the same time.

WHACK!

Something smashed into the back of Hangman’s head. He let go of my arm and staggered away. Granny Cane stood behind the ubervillain, already bringing her cane around for another blow. But Hangman recovered quickly. He grabbed the cane and swung it and Granny up, around, over his head. The ubervillain let go and sent her flying through the room. Granny hit a wall on the opposite side of the museum and slumped to the floor. Another figure darted through the smoke and foam. Grandfather. Bobby dropped to a knee beside Granny Cane’s limp body. I started toward them.

“Forget the old woman! Get her! Get Bulluci!” Hannah screamed, her eyes fixed on me.

Hangman reached out—

POP!

And Debonair teleported right in front of me, protecting me from the advancing ubervillain yet again.

“Don’t you dare touch her,” he snarled at the taller man.

Hangman just laughed and swatted at Debonair like he was no more bothersome than a buzzing fly. But instead of teleporting out of the way, Debonair took the blow. He couldn’t move or I would have been the one getting my face smashed in.

Hangman’s fist hit Debonair’s nose, and the bones popped like cereal. Blood spewed out from his face. The blow stunned Debonair, and Hangman used the opportunity to grab his left arm. The ubervillain snapped the limb like it was a brittle piece of biscotti. Debonair groaned and slumped to the floor in agony, his face white with pain underneath all the blood.

“Debonair!” I screamed, reaching for him.

But Hangman was too quick. He grabbed me around the waist and hauled me toward the center of the room where Prism stood with Joanne. The Fearless Five started forward, but Prism pressed the laserama to Joanne’s temple.

“One more move by anyone and she dies, along with Bulluci!”

The superheroes stood there. Helpless.

“Get the sapphire and get us out of here! Now!” Prism barked at her henchman.

Hangman wrenched the glass case containing the sapphire off the pedestal. He shoved it at me.

“Hold it or die,” he hissed.

I didn’t have much choice in the matter, so I wrapped my shaking arms around the square box as best I could. Prism snapped some sort of cable onto the utility belt around Hangman’s waist and fastened it to a hidden hook in her own costume.

“Let’s go,” Prism commanded her henchman. “Now.”

“No!”

“Stop!”

“Bella!”

Everyone started screaming and shouting and rushing forward at once. But I only had eyes for Debonair. His bloody, pain-filled face was the last thing I saw before Hangman flew us up through the museum’s shattered ceiling.

PART THREE

I HEART DEBONAIR

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Flying in Hangman’s arms was nothing like teleporting around the city with Debonair. Joanne, Prism, and I hung off his belt like keys on a life-size ring, rattling and bumping and smacking together. The world zipped by in a haze of blue and white and black. The glass case felt heavy and slick in my sweaty, aching hands, but somehow I managed to hold on to it.

I wasn’t even aware I was screaming until Hangman yanked on my tangled hair.

“Shut up or I’ll knock out your teeth,” he snarled.

Since I wanted to keep my teeth right where they were, I shut up. Joanne wasn’t quite so sensible. As we soared through the cool, misty clouds, she kept punching and kicking Prism and screaming curses at the other woman. I would have helped if I hadn’t been afraid of dropping the sapphire into the middle of Bigtime Bay—and following it a second later when Hangman realized what I’d done. Finally, Prism clipped the side of Joanne’s temple with the laserama, and she went limp and still.

“What did you do to her?” I yelled above the rushing wind. “What did you do?”

“The bitch will be fine. I just knocked her out. Now quit talking!” Prism screamed back.

We flew for what seemed like hours, although it could only have been a few minutes. Hangman rocketed through the sky faster than any missile ever could. I had no sense of direction, only of color passing by me much, much faster than normal.

Hangman glided to a stop on top of a large yacht in the middle of the bay. He let go of me the second his booted feet touched the deck. I slumped on the slick wood, along with Joanne, who was still unconscious. My legs wouldn’t have supported a feather, much less me. I was just glad I was back on solid ground again. So to speak.

“Are we clear?” Hangman asked, unbuckling Prism from his utility belt.

Prism pulled some sort of small computer out of another pouch on Hangman’s belt and starting hitting buttons. “Yes. The cops are on the scene, but they don’t have a clue, like usual. No sign of the Fearless Five, but there’s no way they could have tracked us here. Besides, the cloaking shield went up as soon as we touched down. We’re fine.”

Cloaking shield? I didn’t like the sound of that. Somehow, I made my aching, shaking hands let go of the glass case, and I crawled over to Joanne. The other woman was a mess. Her hair hung in black strands around her face, which was bruised and bloody from her altercation with Prism. Her knuckles were scraped and her perfect nails broken beyond all repair. I checked Joanne’s pulse and watched her breathing. Both were strong and steady. Well, that was something to be grateful for.

My eyes flicked around, looking for a way off the yacht. But instead of a dinghy or life jacket, my gaze locked onto something far less useful—and far more horrifying.

The laser.

It sat in the middle of the deck, pointing out toward the city. It looked exactly the same as it had in the blueprints we’d gotten from Jasper—an enormous laser with a chair that swiveled around like a gun on a tank. Except for the fact the laser was bigger than a tank by itself. I didn’t see how the boat could support its weight and stay above the waterline.

“Get them inside before someone sees them,” Prism snapped, picking up the glass case. Her eyes gleamed with delight and triumph as she gazed at the enormous sapphire. “Mine. It’s finally mine,” she whispered.

“You’ve got the sapphire. You’ve got what you want. Let us go,” I said, trying to reason with the ubervillain. “You killed Berkley and destroyed the museum. Again. Isn’t that enough for you?”

Prism scoffed. “Hardly. That was just the opening act of this little drama. Save your breath, Bella. You won’t be breathing much longer.”

She turned and walked away. Hangman picked me up with one hand and Joanne with the other, like we were dumbbells. I was too shaken up to struggle with him. Prism went down a flight of stairs and through a door. Hangman followed her.

Most boats, no matter how big they look from the outside, are actually rather tiny when you go below deck. Not this one. It was all high ceilings, wide corridors, and massive rooms. With its gleaming brass and wood, it was one of the nicest yachts I’d ever been on. Except for the fact it belonged to an ubervillain.

We went down three more flights of stairs before coming to another door. Prism punched in a code on a keypad, then stuck her eye close to the machine for a retinal scan. The door slid back, and Hangman carried us inside.

Rows of computers and other equipment lined the walls, along with worktables, gadgets, gizmos, and the usual assortment of oddities. This must have been where Prism had assembled her enormous laser, one piece at a time. Windows wrapped all the way around the enormous space, offering an impressive view of the bay. The city skyline glittered in the distance, reminding me of an oasis. Or a mirage.

Hangman walked to the far side of the room, where another door stood. He leaned down and yanked it open, still carrying us. A row of metal cells lay inside, along with a few hard-looking cots. Ah, yes, the brig. What would an ubervillain lair be without someplace to hold the innocent and unsuspecting heroes while the villain gave her exposition? Except, of course, Joanne and I weren’t superheroes. Just unlucky victims.

Hangman slung us inside a metal cell and closed the door, locking it. Prism trailed along behind him to make sure he’d done the job right—and to gloat.

I got to my feet, ignoring the pain stabbing through my body, and lurched over to the bars. Prism regarded me with cool, calculating eyes. Even if they were glowing red orbs.

“I bet this isn’t how you thought your evening would end, is it, Bella?” she sneered.

“Not quite,” I admitted. “What do you plan on doing with the sapphire and that laser out there?”

Prism smiled. “Something I should have done a long time ago—destroy this city and its worthless inhabitants.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the fear that her words inspired. “And just how are you going to do that?”

Prism held up the glass case with the sapphire. “With this, of course. My laserama is quite powerful by itself. But with the Star Sapphire, it will be a weapon to truly be reckoned with. Nothing has more reflective and refractive capacity than the gem, and it will increase the power of my laser thirty-fold. In fact, the sapphire is going to be the centerpiece of my laserama. I was counting on the Fearless Five or some other superhero being kind enough to return it to the museum. I knew it would be a trap, of course, a way to lure me out into the open to try and steal it again. So, I decided to strike first. With tremendous success, I’d say.”

I closed my eyes. Berkley was dead, Joanne and I were kidnapped, Devlin had been injured, and Prism was about to destroy the city. Everything had gone so horribly, horribly wrong.

“By dawn, I’ll bring Bigtime to its knees,” Prism crowed. “I’ll own this city and everything and everyone in it. Who knows? If you’re lucky, I just might let you live long enough to see my plan reach its inevitable, triumphant conclusion.”

“What are you going to do? Blow up something?”

She laughed again. “Of course. At least, as a demonstration of my power and determination. Being out here on the bay gives me access to any number of targets. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll annihilate Paradise Park or Quicke’s. Maybe even Oodles o’ Stuff, although I hate to destroy that particular retail outlet. Then, I plan on holding the city hostage until my demands are met.”

I had to ask. “What demands?”

“One billion dollars transferred to a bank account of my choosing. A statue of me erected in the middle of the downtown district. Every street renamed after me. A public declaration by the Fearless Five on SNN acknowledging that I beat them at their own game.” Prism ticked off the demands on her fingers. “You know, all the usual stuff.”

“The Fearless Five will stop you,” I said, hoping my voice sounded stronger than I felt. “They will. And if they don’t, the other superheroes will band together. You won’t get away with this. None of it.”

Prism just chuckled. “That’s why you and Joanne are going to make such lovely hostages. No one will dare try anything as long as I’ve got you two under lock and key. After all, they wouldn’t want to blow up two of the richest and most beloved women in Bigtime, now would they? Especially since you seem to be on good terms with Debonair and the Fearless Five.”

“You can’t stay out here in the bay forever,” I pointed out. “Somebody will find you eventually.”

“I’m counting on it. I’m afraid when the superheroes decide to storm the yacht, there will be a horrible, tragic accident, which you and Joanne won’t survive. The superheroes will think Hangman and I perished as well.”

My eyes flicked to Hangman, who leaned against the wall, listening to us. “Why?”

Prism gave me a patronizing look. “Because I can’t very well retire to a nice tropical island and enjoy my victory if I’m constantly hounded by superheroes. Being an ubervillain has been fun, but I’m ready to have a little peace and quiet. The only way to do that is if everyone thinks I’m dead.”

I hated to admit it, but her plan was solid. Threaten the city with the laserama, hold Joanne and me as collateral, then fake everyone’s deaths. Well, Joanne and I wouldn’t be faking, but Prism and Hangman would. It was very clever, and I couldn’t think of a single way to stop it.

“You know, I should really thank you, Bella. You made all of this possible.”

“What do you mean?”

Prism smiled. “I’ve been trying for months to get my hands on the Star Sapphire, but Berkley didn’t warm up to any of my advances. And then, the most wonderful thing happened—you and Joanne convinced him to put it on display at the museum.”

The way she talked about Berkley made me think about the night of the bachelor auction and benefit, when Joanne had been so angry at Hannah for hitting on Berkley. Hannah hadn’t been trying to steal Berkley from Joanne. She’d just wanted the gem for her laser—and had been willing to do anything to get it.

“Of course, I tried to get the sapphire before it got to the museum,” Prism continued, giving Hangman a pointed look. “But some people weren’t up to the task.”

More memories flashed through my mind. The night Debonair broke into Brilliance, Berkley mentioned that the alarms had been going off all week. It hadn’t been Debonair trying to get inside, at least not those first few times. It had been Hangman, hoping to snatch the sapphire on Hannah’s orders.

Another realization popped into my head.

“That’s why you volunteered to help with the benefit in the first place,” I accused. “You were planning to steal the sapphire all along!”

Prism smiled. “Of course. In hostile takeovers, it’s smart to gather as much information as you can beforehand. It helps avoid nasty surprises. Helping with the benefit was an easy way to keep tabs on the sapphire and the security you arranged for it.”

I couldn’t believe I’d fallen for her scheme. I should have known Hannah had some ulterior motive. Like Joanne had said, she wasn’t a nice person, just a bully with lots of money.

Prism let out another laugh. “But now, I’m afraid we’re going to have to leave you and Joanne to your own devices. Come along, Hangman. It’s time to finish our plan.”

She walked away, followed by the tall ubervillain. The door shut behind them, and I heard the lock click home.

Let’s see. I was trapped in a cell with an injured, unconscious woman, while a maniacal ubervillain held me and the city hostage. My superhero friends had no idea where I was, and the man I loved had been seriously injured. And the whole situation was largely my fault. Yep, I was batting a thousand today.

Lucky me.

Chapter Thirty

I didn’t dwell on my precarious predicament. I’d learned a long time ago there was no use pondering the super messes I made. They never got cleaned up that way.

The first thing I did was tend to Joanne. Hangman had been considerate enough to sling her unconscious body onto one of the cots inside the cell. The bump on her head worried me, but I couldn’t do anything about that right now. I checked her pulse and breathing again. Both were still steady and strong, and the cuts and bruises on her face and hands were mostly superficial. Joanne James was made of tougher stuff than her stick figure let on. I smoothed her hair back from her face and put a blanket over her body, trying to make her as comfortable as possible, since it looked like we were going to be here awhile.

The second thing I did was try the cell door. It was just as solid and sturdy and steely as it looked. The bars didn’t budge—not even an inch. There weren’t any hinges to pop this time. I wouldn’t be getting out of this cell without some serious assistance. Too bad I didn’t have Fiona’s superstrength to help me bust out.

Frustrated, I smacked my hand against the bars. A familiar jangle sounded, and my eyes fell to the silver charm bracelet around my wrist. Then again, maybe I had something even better than superstrength—a toy from Jasper. I’d forgotten about the bomb-filled bracelet while Hangman flew us away, but I was sure going to use it now. If I could figure out how to do that without blowing Joanne and me up in the process.

“Bella?”

I turned to find Joanne sitting up on the cot. The other woman’s eyes went slowly around the brig, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing.

“Where are we?” Her words slurred together, her violet eyes hazy and out of focus.

“How are you feeling?” I asked, gently probing the bump on the side of Joanne’s head with my fingers. It had gone down considerably since I’d checked it a few minutes ago.

“I have a headache,” Joanne replied. “And my stomach hurts. What happened?”

“Don’t you remember?”

She shook her head and winced. “Not really. I just remember Berkley smiling at me…”

I hated to be the bearer of bad news, but I filled Joanne in on everything that had happened at the museum and since Prism had knocked her out, including the ubervillain’s master plan.

“She killed Berkley so she could use the sapphire to power her laser? To get money from the city?”

Joanne’s eyes filled with tears. She put her head in her hands. I put my arm around her. Joanne buried her face in my shoulder and cried. Violent sobs shook her thin body, and her hot tears dripped down my shoulder and arms. The salt from them made my own cuts burn.

Joanne let herself cry for five minutes. Then, she pulled away from me and swiped the rest of the tears from her eyes. Her mascara had cascaded down her face, reminding me of some sort of black superhero mask. Joanne got to her feet, marched over to the cell bars, and started tugging on them for all she was worth.

“What are you doing?” I asked, surprised by her actions. “You’re not some superhero in disguise, are you?”

“Of course not,” Joanne snapped in a dark, violent tone. “I don’t know about you, but I plan on getting out of here and derailing Prism’s little plan. After I kill the bitch. Now, are you going to sit there or are you going to get off your sorry ass and help me?”

I got off my sorry ass and went over to the bars. But instead of helping Joanne fruitlessly tug at them, I took the bracelet off my wrist and looked through the dangling silver charms.

“What the hell are you doing? Now is not the time to be admiring your jewelry, Bella.”

“I’m not admiring it,” I said, getting a little snappish. “And it’s not really a bracelet. If you must know, each one of these charms is really an explosive—far more valuable than a bracelet right now.”

Joanne’s sharp eyes locked onto the bracelet. “Did Jasper make that for you?”

“Yes. Do you know him?”

“You could say that.” Her mouth twisted. “He’s my brother.”

“Your brother?!” I screeched.

Joanne winced. “Tone it down, Bella. Your voice is getting almost as loud as your hair.”

I opened my mouth to pepper her with questions, but Joanne cut me off.

“Yes, Jasper’s my brother,” she said. “We don’t have the best relationship, which is why nobody knows we’re related. He doesn’t approve of my life choices, and I’m not too crazy about his.”

“But—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Joanne snapped, her violet eyes hard and angry. “Can we just focus on getting out of here?”

Joanne James, the sister of the city’s master bomber? It boggled the mind, but I decided to save my questions for later. Right now, all that mattered was the two of us getting out of here in more or less one piece.

“The problem is I can’t remember which charm he said had the least amount of explodium in it. Even if I could remember, the explosion would probably still kill us both.”

Joanne took the bracelet from my cold fingers and flipped through the charms. “Here, it’s this one.” She pointed to one in the shape of a small rose.

“How do you know that?”

“I just know.” Joanne’s mouth twisted again. “And don’t worry about the explosion. We can get behind the cot. We’ll be fine, trust me.”

Joanne seemed to have a lot of faith in Jasper, even if they were estranged. I decided to trust her. I didn’t have a lot of other options. Luck could only get you so far, and then you had to do things for yourself.

“But what are we going to do once we get out of here?” I pointed to the door at the far end of the room. “I heard them lock it. Even if we get through that door too, they’ll be waiting on the other side for us. Anyway, they’re bound to hear the explosion when we use the charm to blow open the cell door.”

Joanne shook her head. “Not with this one. It’ll make a small pop, but that’s about it.” She flipped through some more of the charms. “We can use the high-heel shoe to blast the lock on the next door. It’s not much more powerful than the rose.”

“And then what?”

Joanne hefted the bracelet in her bloody hands. “I’d say we arm the bracelet, toss it in the room with them, and take our chances.”

“That seems like a hell of a chance to take,” I said. “Jasper told me there was enough explodium in that thing to take out half the city.”

“We can modify the charge a bit, but he’s right. There’s enough explodium here to do that—and it should be more than enough to knock out Prism and Hangman. Or just kill them. I’m okay with either of those options.”

I worked it out in my mind. I couldn’t remember seeing another door in the room when we’d been brought in, but surely, there had to be another way off the boat besides going back up to the deck and flying off a lá Hangman.

“All right, then,” I said, making up my mind. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

With Joanne’s help, I dragged the cot away from the wall and tipped it over on its side. It wasn’t much, just some metal bars with a hard pallet over them, but it was better than nothing.

As we worked, my thoughts turned to Devlin. He’d looked half dead the last time I’d seen him. I didn’t know how badly he was hurt, and it was killing me. I could only imagine how Joanne felt, losing Berkley. I didn’t think I’d be holding up half as well as she was under the circumstances.

Once we had the cot arranged to our satisfaction, Joanne took the bracelet from me. She slipped the rose charm off the silver chain and popped it into the lock like a pro.

“Where did you learn so much about explosives?” I asked. “Did Jasper teach you?”

“Not exactly.”

Joanne didn’t volunteer any more information, and I decided not to pry. She’d been through enough already today.

“What’s the code?” Joanne said. “You have to say it out loud for the bomb to arm itself.”

She knew about Jasper’s code words too? Joanne was full of surprises.

I leaned down to the rose charm and said the magic words. “Luck be a lady.”

Joanne raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t say anything about my unusual choice. We scrambled back around the cot and crouched down behind it.

Pop!

Joanne was right. The sound was scarcely louder than someone clapping his hands together. But it was more than enough to blow the lock off the door. We waited for the smoke to clear, then stepped out of the cell and crept down to the other door. We stopped and listened, but I couldn’t hear anything through the thick, metal door—except for some weird sort of humming.

“What do you think that is?” Joanne asked in a hushed voice.

“Probably Prism firing up her laserama. She said she was going to own the city by dawn.” I checked my angel watch. “That’s less than thirty minutes from now. She must be getting ready to destroy whatever her target is.”

“What about the Fearless Five?” Joanne asked. “Why aren’t they here yet?”

“Prism has some kind of shielding device on the yacht. Don’t worry. They should find us before too long. They sprayed the sapphire with radioactive tracking paint. They’re probably on their way right now. They’ll save us.”

Joanne’s face hardened. “Like they saved Berkley?”

I couldn’t think of anything to say to that.

“Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer to save myself,” Joanne snapped. “Now give me your bracelet again.”

I did as she asked. Joanne slipped another charm—the high-heel shoe—off the bracelet and stuffed it into the lock. I said the magic words, and we scurried back down the hallway to our cell.

Pop! Pop!

The explosion made a bit more noise than before, but not enough to draw immediate attention, because neither Prism nor Hangman came to investigate. We crept back up to the door. A bit of smoke wafted away from the obliterated lock. It reminded me of smoldering roses, the same scent Debonair trailed behind him wherever he went. My heart twisted.

We went into the workroom, but the ubervillains weren’t down here anymore. I led Joanne through the halls, retracing the path the ubervillains had made. Our feet sank into the carpet. The only sounds were our labored breathing and that faint, ominous hum. We passed what looked like a living room, and Joanne motioned for me to stop. She slid inside and picked up a fireplace poker and then a phone on top of one of the tables. My heart lifted. If she could call for help, this whole mess would be over.

Joanne made a disgusted face and slammed down the phone. “No dial tone.”

So, we crept on, past room after room. We went up stairs and down stairs, but we couldn’t find another way off the boat—other than going back up to the main deck.

After a whispered discussion, we decided to make a break for it. We reached the door that led out to the deck. Joanne eased it open, and we stuck our heads outside. I didn’t see Prism anywhere, but Hangman stood next to the laser, making notations on a large clipboard. He’d already stuck the sapphire into the machine just in front of the barrel, and it bathed the whole deck in a harsh, blue glow. The machine also hummed, a low, steady drone that made it hard to think.

I scanned the deck, looking for a way off. My eyes landed on a couple of small dinghies lashed to one side. Too bad Hangman stood between us and them. There was no way we could sneak past the ubervillain without him seeing and stopping us—

The smell of roses filled the air.

POP!

Debonair teleported in front of Hangman. The ubervillain’s mouth dropped open in surprise.

“What the hell are you doing—”

That was all he got out before Debonair punched him in the face. The blow was enough to rock Hangman back on his feet but not enough to knock him down or unconscious. It was, however, enough to make Debonair wince. He looked even worse than he had at the museum. Blood covered his face and costume, and his left arm hung at his side in a weird, twisted angle. Pain whitened his face underneath his mask, and fever and exhaustion brightened his eyes. I grimaced at the sight of the sexy thief, sickened and angry by what the ubervillains had done to the man I loved.

Hangman shook off the blow and leapt at Debonair, and the two started teleporting and flying around the deck like madmen.

POP!

SMACK!

POP! POP!

SMACK!

It was like standing in the middle of a sound-effects machine.

“Where are they?” Debonair demanded, teleporting all around the boat, always just out of Hangman’s long grasp. “Where’s Bella? What have you done to her?”

In between teleports, Debonair would lash out with his one good arm and punch the ubervillain in the face or kick him with his boots. The sight warmed my heart, but it also filled me with nauseating dread. I hated seeing Debonair in danger, especially because of me.

My power pulsed, adding to my sense of unease. I realized something was missing, or rather, someone. Where was Prism?

I got my answer a second later. The ubervillain stepped out from behind the device. She smiled, drew the laserama from her belt, and pointed it at Debonair’s back. There was no time to get to her. No time to distract her or call out a warning. No time to do anything at all. Debonair was going to die just like Berkley Brighton had. Just like my father, James, had.

But somehow, I did something. I reached for my power, imagining Debonair’s feet sliding out from under him, willing it to happen, wishing for it like I’d never wished for anything before in my life.

And they did.

He took a step, and his boots skidded along the deck. Before I could warn him, Prism pushed the button on her laserama. Debonair hit the floor just as the red beam zapped through the air above his bloody chest. The laser hit one of the dinghies on the opposite side of the yacht. The wood burst into flames.

But, as my bad luck would have it, Debonair smacked his head against the deck when he fell. He let out a low groan and tried to get to his feet, but Hangman was too quick for him. The ubervillain put his enormous foot on Debonair’s chest, pinning him.

“Where did he come from?” Prism hissed. “How did he track us here?”

Hangman shrugged. “He must have been teleporting around the city looking for us. It’s been known to happen.”

Prism raised the laserama and aimed it at Debonair’s chest again. “Well, this is the last time it’s going to happen. Ever.” Her finger hovered over the button.

“Debonair!” I screamed.

Hangman and Prism’s heads whipped around to Joanne and me, still crouching inside the doorway. Joanne grabbed my arm, but I shook her off. This was exactly how my father had died—trying to fight off two ubervillains. I didn’t know what I would do if Debonair met his fate. My heart couldn’t take it—not again. I was going to save him—no matter what.

“Leave him alone!”

I walked to the center of the deck, where the ubervillains hovered over Debonair’s crumpled from. I tried not to look at him—or at the blood pooling underneath his body. But my eyes went to his, and he had the audacity to wink at me. Wink! Even though he was facing his own death. His sly sense of humor was just one of the many things I loved about him. One of the many, many things. Which was going to make leaving him that much harder. If we somehow lived through this.

Prism’s reddish eyes narrowed. “Well, well, you’re more resourceful than I gave you credit for, Bulluci. How did you get out of your cell? Not that it really matters, but it’s good that you’re here now to see your champion die.”

“I got out of my cell with this.” I yanked the bracelet off my wrist and held it in my fist. “You put your laser down and step away from him right now, or I’ll blow us all sky-high.”

Chapter Thirty-One

Prism’s eyes fixed on the bracelet. “You’re bluffing. That’s just a bracelet, not anything else.”

I held it up high. “It is a bracelet. And much more. This happens to have been made by my good friend, Jasper. You remember Jasper, don’t you, Hangman? You almost beat him to death when you broke into his house.”

Prism’s eyes slid to the other ubervillain, who nodded his head in confirmation. Her eyes glowed red with anger, but she plastered a fake smile on her face and turned back to me.

“Now, Bella, there’s no need to be hasty,” Prism said, trying to make her voice light and pleasant. “I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

My hand tightened around the cold metal. “The only arrangement we’re going to come to is the one where you put your laser away and let us off this boat—right now.”

Prism scoffed. “You’re bluffing. You’re not going to set off that thing. You don’t have the balls to do it.”

I didn’t know what to do. She was right. I didn’t want to blow up myself. I didn’t want to die. Not now. Not like this. Then, my eyes went back to the laser, and I thought of all the destruction Prism had wreaked—and would wreak—if somebody didn’t stop her. Of all the lives she would and could destroy.

And I realized that I would die—to stop her. In that instant, I realized what my grandfather had been talking about. Why he and my father and brother really dressed up as Johnny Angel. It wasn’t about getting a kick out of wearing a mask or riding around town raising hell. It was about being strong enough to take on ubervillains. Being strong enough to look out for the weak. Being strong enough to fight for those who couldn’t fight for themselves.

That realization, earth-shattering as it was, wasn’t enough to get me out of my present predicament, though.

“Give it up, Bella. Give me the bracelet.” Prism pointed her laserama at me. “Or I’ll just take it off your dead, burned body.”

Debonair let out a growl and started to rise, but Hangman slammed his foot into the superhero’s chest. Something snapped, and Debonair collapsed against the deck with a low, pained groan. Blood bubbled out of his mouth. The sight, the sound, of his agony sliced my heart like a paper shredder.

I didn’t get a chance to answer, because Joanne chose that moment to pounce. She’d crept around behind the laser during my confrontation with Prism.

“Don’t worry, Bella. I’ll take care of it,” Joanne said, climbing onto the side of the laserama.

“What—what are you doing? No!” Prism screamed.

But it was too late. Joanne reached into the machine and ripped the Star Sapphire from its position. But she didn’t stop there. With her other hand, she swung the fireplace poker at the laser, bashing a whole section of wires and doodads and gadgets. Bits of metal spewed everywhere, tinkling against the floor like someone was playing a piano. Joanne was stronger than she looked.

“This is for killing Berkley, you bitch!” Joanne screamed.

She kept hitting the laserama with the poker like her life depended on it. More pieces of metal broke free, smoke spewed out, and flames started to flicker inside the device. Joanne gave it one more good whack, then climbed down. An explosion ripped through the laser, and the flames and smoke grew brighter and thicker.

Prism cursed and raced over to her precious device, followed by Hangman. Joanne dashed around the other side to me. Another explosion rocked the boat as part of the machine collapsed in on itself. Blue and red sparks shot everywhere. Part of the deck began to burn, and smoke boiled out from the laser.

I dropped to my knees beside Debonair and stroked back his bloody, matted hair. He pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. My pulse pounded in response, even now in this time of crisis. I opened my mouth to ask him how hurt he was when something blue zoomed down from the sky and wrapped itself around my head.

Frantic, I clawed at the thing for about ten seconds before I realized that it was a blanket. I unwound the soft fabric from around my face and looked at it. My mouth fell open. Unless I was mistaken, it was Debonair’s stadium blanket—the same one I’d tossed off the Skyline Bridge a few days ago. A strange occurrence, even for me, but I covered Debonair with it.

“We’ve got to get off the boat,” I said. “Can you teleport us away?”

Debonair shook his head. “No, I’m too weak. I wouldn’t be able to get us to shore. But we can take one of the dinghies. I can row with one arm, well enough, anyway. Help me up.”

Joanne put her arm under Debonair’s shoulder while I did the same on the other side. We dragged the superhero over to the side of the deck to the remaining dinghy. Meanwhile, the ubervillains continued to mess with the imploding machine. I hoped it blew up in their faces—literally. I started forward to hoist the dinghy over the side and into the water. At least, I tried to. The wench that lifted the boat up and over the side of the yacht was stuck, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it to move. I turned to ask Joanne for help, but she had other ideas. She picked up her poker and started back toward the ubervillains.

“Where are you going?” I asked.

Joanne jerked her head toward them. “Back to finish what I started. To kill Prism, just the way she killed Berkley.”

“That’s suicide. She’s an ubervillain. They both are. And Prism still has her laserama.”

Raw, naked pain filled Joanne’s eyes. “I don’t care. I just want her dead.”

I grabbed her arm. “Berkley wouldn’t want you to die, Joanne. He wouldn’t want that for you. He saved you. He threw himself in front of that laser so you could live.”

For a moment, I thought Joanne was going to shake me off and charge back toward the smoking laser. But some of the rage faded from her purple eyes, and she nodded.

“All right. What now?” she asked.

I shielded my eyes against the harsh glare of the rising sun. Sometime during the middle of all this, night had given way to dawn.

“We wait for the cavalry to arrive and hope the ubervillains leave us alone until then. Somebody had to hear those explosions and call the police. Surely, there’s somebody else out here besides us.”

I was right. A few boats floated in the water around the yacht, and people were already gathering on the other decks. Although they didn’t look much bigger than ants, I could see them pointing and talking and gesturing. I waved my hands and jumped up and down, hoping someone would spot me.

“Help us!” I screamed, even though no one could hear me. “Please help us!”

Then, the most wonderful thing of all happened. A helicopter appeared on the horizon. A big, black, beautiful helicopter bearing the F5 insignia. It drew closer, and I realized just how big it was. This wasn’t your one- or two-seat chopper. Oh no. The thing was huge. An entire fleet of superheroes could sit inside. In fact, it looked like something the Coast Guard would use to rescue people stranded in bad weather out on the bay.

“A helicopter,” I said, shaking my head. “They even have a helicopter.”

But now was not the time to chastise Sam Striker Sloane about his expensive equipment, especially not when one of them was going to save my sorry ass. I waved my hands, urging the Fearless Five to land the chopper on the deck so we could climb aboard and soar away to safety.

I spotted Hermit at the controls, with Mr. Sage in the copilot’s seat. Striker stood in the open door, ready to hustle us inside. The chopper drew nearer to the yacht, whipping my tangled hair around my face. Suddenly, Hermit pushed the stick back, and the chopper snapped up, up, up into the blue sky.

“Where are you going? Come back! Come back!” I screamed, although the wind tore away my words before anyone could hear them.

A moment later, a grenade exploded where the helicopter had been. Hangman and Prism had noticed the chopper too—and were coming right at the three of us.

Joanne didn’t hesitate. She ran at Prism and plowed into the other woman like she was a linebacker for a football team. The two women went down on the deck.

Hangman’s eyes lit on Debonair’s still form, and he marched toward the fallen superhero.

“Go, Bella! Run! Save yourself!” Debonair said, as he got to his trembling feet.

I looked around for something I could use to fend off Hangman. Debonair was in no shape to stand, much less have another knock-down, drag-out fight with the ubervillain. Hangman would kill him.

But there was nothing on the deck. Not even so much as a loose metal pipe I could crack the ubervillain across the head with.

So, I stepped in front of Debonair. Hangman snickered. He looked amused to see me defending the superhero. I suppose he had a right to laugh. After all, he had at least a foot and a half and a hundred pounds on me.

“Get out of the way, little girl. Or I’ll throw you overboard,” he snarled. “After I break every bone in your body.”

“You’re not going to hurt him anymore,” I said, gritting my teeth.

“We’ll see about that.”

Hangman reached for me. And I did something I’d never done before—I gave in to my power.

Fully, completely, absolutely.

I let the static electricity build and build and build around me. Then, I reached for it. A strange sensation, an odd force, enveloped me, almost like there was an enormous hand wrapped around me, guiding my every movement.

Hangman came at me, but I ducked out of his grasp and kicked him in the ankles. The motion surprised the ubervillain, and he stumbled forward, hitting his knees on the dinghy.

“You’re going to pay for that, bitch,” he snarled.

“Then come and make me, you bastard!”

So, he did. Or tried to. Hangman stalked me around the deck, trying to wrap his massive hands around my throat, as well as punch and kick me into next week. But somehow, just before his hand connected with my face, he’d slip and fall. Or I’d jerk out of the way at the last possible second. We did a strange dance around the deck, bobbing and weaving at each other. I felt in total control of my body and completely not at the same time. But I went with the weirdness. It was the only thing keeping me alive. Somehow, my jinx had turned into a run of unbelievably good luck.

Hangman tried to punch me but slipped and fell to his knees again. A flash of movement caught my eye, and I turned.

“Now, it’s your turn to die, bitch!” Prism screamed above the roar of the hovering helicopter.

She stood over Joanne, the laserama pointed at the other woman’s chest. They were too far away, and there was nothing I could do.

Prism pushed the button. A red beam shot out—

And nothing happened.

Prism pushed it again.

Nothing happened.

Joanne didn’t crumple into a heap. A smoking hole didn’t suddenly appear in her chest. Her eyes didn’t flash red with fire as her internal organs cooked inside her body.

Instead, Joanne smiled. A big, wide, wolfish smile that showed off every one of her white teeth. Prism looked at her laser, then at the other woman. Confusion entered her reddish eyes. The laserama must have missed, because Joanne sprang to her feet and started clawing at Prism again.

But I had my own problems to worry about. My power threw me to one side. Hangman’s fist punched the air where I’d been a second ago. He came at me again. And again, my power pulled me out of the path of his enormous, beefy fist.

“Stand still!” he snarled, white spit flying from his thick lips.

“Go to hell!” Not the best or most original of retorts, but it was all I could come up with.

Hangman and I fell into a weird sort of dance. He tried to punch and strangle and snap me in two. I dodged his seeking grasp and got in what blows I could, but they didn’t really hurt the ubervillain—only his manly pride. I let my power take over my body, twisting me like a puppet. My body turned and moved in ways I hadn’t even dreamed were possible. The Bendy Brawler would have had a hard time keeping up with me.

Debonair slumped against the side of the boat, too injured to do anything but cheer me on with his encouraging eyes. While I danced with Hangman, I also kept an eye on Joanne and Prism. They were engaged in their own sort of dance, although Joanne was doing far more damage than I was.

Prism got in a lucky punch. Joanne stumbled back and fell on her ass. The ubervillain used the opportunity to run over to Hangman, who was still trying to knock me into next week.

“Forget about them! Let’s go! Let’s go!” Prism screamed, clipping herself to Hangman’s utility belt. “Fly! Fly! Fly!”

With my remarkable ability to elude him, and the Fearless Five helicopter hovering overhead, Hangman knew when he was beat. He gathered his strength, wrapped an arm around Prism, and looked up at the sky.

I watched in horror as the two ubervillains lifted off the yacht. My eyes went to the Fearless Five chopper. It was more stable than it had been when the grenade had exploded, but Hermit still struggled with the controls. They wouldn’t recover in time to give chase to the ubervillains.

Prism was going to get away. The woman who’d hurt Debonair, who’d killed Berkley, was going to sail away into the sky free as a bird.

Not if I could help it.

“Luck be a lady!” I screamed as loudly as I could.

The sapphires in the angel charm’s eyes flashed on and off in warning. I’d managed to hold onto the bracelet through my fight with Hangman, and I reared back and threw it with all my might. I’m not much of a thrower. I never played baseball or softball or anything like that in school. So, I reached for my power, willing the small silver chain to soar higher, faster, farther. Just when I thought it was going to fall short, a gust of wind snapped up the bracelet, and it somehow hooked itself onto Hangman’s utility belt.

Five seconds later, the bracelet exploded—taking Hangman and Prism along with it. One second, the ubervillains soared in midair. The next, they disappeared in a ball of orange fire that would have made Fiona very, very proud.

“How did you do that?” Joanne asked, mouth agape as pieces of ash and other things I didn’t want to think about fluttered by us on the breeze.

I just shrugged. “Sometimes, it’s better to be lucky than good.”

Chapter Thirty-Two

“If you touch me again, I’m going to take that tube and shove it where the sun doesn’t shine,” Joanne snapped.

I stared at the other woman, who glared at Mr. Sage. The superhero looked at me for help, but I shook my head. I wasn’t about to argue with Joanne. She’d just lost her husband and helped save my life in the space of a few hours. As far as I was concerned, she could do whatever she wanted.

Joanne crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her head up high, like she was the queen of the world instead of covered in enough blood, grime, soot, and ash for a whole legion of firefighters.

“I’m fine,” Joanne protested. “Just a little bruised and sore.”

“You’ve got several serious cuts, not to mention that bump on the side of your head. Now hold still.”

Mr. Sage dabbed some more ointment onto Joanne’s face. She turned her head away and refused to look at him.

Joanne, Debonair, and I were in the sick bay at Fearless Five headquarters. Hermit and Mr. Sage had gotten the helicopter under control enough to land on the yacht. Striker and Hermit had stayed behind to help the fire and police departments handle the cleanup, while Mr. Sage and Karma Girl whisked us injured folks back to headquarters—blindfolding us, of course, so we couldn’t see where we were going. Even though I knew, Joanne and Debonair didn’t.

Mr. Sage had seen to Debonair first. The superhero had a broken arm, cracked ribs, a broken nose, and a major concussion. Mr. Sage had set all the bones before giving Debonair a sedative for the pain and sticking him in another room. His injuries were serious but not life-threatening.

Then, the superhero had gone to work on Joanne and me. I’d happily submitted to Mr. Sage’s ministrations. He announced that I had gotten through my ordeal with just a few minor cuts and bruises, mostly from all the debris flying around Prism’s yacht, as well as from Jasper’s bombs. Joanne was a little more banged up, but not too bad off, considering she’d gone toe-to-toe with Prism. I still couldn’t quite believe she’d somehow escaped getting smoked by the laser.

“Enough!” Joanne snapped, knocking away Mr. Sage’s hand. “I want to see Berkley. Where is he? Where did they take him?”

“Bigtime University Hospital,” Mr. Sage said. “They pronounced him dead on arrival. I’m so sorry, Joanne.”

She stared at Mr. Sage. Pain, grief, anger, and more emotions swirled in her violet eyes one right after another. “Give me some drugs or blindfold me or do whatever the hell you have to do to protect your precious anonymity, then take me to the hospital.”

Mr. Sage’s green eyes flicked to me, and we both looked at Joanne.

“What are you waiting for? Now!” she snarled, her hands tightening around the metal rails of her bed.

“As you wish,” Mr. Sage replied.

He went to the cabinets that lined one wall and took out a syringe and a small vial. He came back to Joanne and injected the clear liquid into the IV already pumping fluid into her arm. Mr. Sage looked at me. I nodded, and we left the room.

“She’s not herself,” I said. “That’s why she’s acting this way.”

Mr. Sage looked through the glass at Joanne, who stared at the ceiling and tried not to cry as the drug took effect. Her eyelids fluttered once, then closed.

“Of course she’s not herself. She just lost her husband. Because of me.” Mr. Sage’s voice was sad and bitter.

I put my hand on his arm. “It’s not your fault. Prism was too quick for any of us to stop.”

The superhero shook his head. “I should have known what she was up to—that she would steal the sapphire in front of all those people. I’m a psychic. I should have known.”

“I’ve always thought being a psychic is sort of like being lucky—you have good days and you have bad days,” I said in a soft tone.

A wry smile twisted his face. “Yeah. Unfortunately, people always seem to suffer when I have bad days.”

I couldn’t argue with him. I knew about bad luck and making people suffer all too well. So, I didn’t even try.

* * *

I left Joanne to Mr. Sage and went next door to Debonair’s room. Debonair lay in the hospital bed, surrounded by clean white sheets with a dusty, black mask covering the top half of his face. Mr. Sage hadn’t removed it out of professional courtesy. Karma Girl sat in a nearby chair, playing with a Rubik’s Cube and keeping an eye on his vital signs.

“Any change?” I asked, looking at all the beeping and chirping machines.

“No. He’s still serious but stable. He’s going to pull through, Bella. Don’t worry.” Karma Girl’s eyes glowed for half a second. “I just know he is.”

My heart lifted. Karma Girl was never wrong. At least to my knowledge. If she said Debonair was going to be okay, then I believed her.

I dragged another chair up to the bed and sat down. Then, I reached over and took Debonair’s hand. It felt warm, almost hot. A fever was sweeping through his body as it tried to mend all the damage that had been done to it.

Karma Girl reached up and took off her mask, morphing into Carmen Cole once more.

“Why don’t you get some rest?” Carmen said in a soft voice. “You’ve had a hell of a day.”

I shook my head. “I’m fine, just a few bumps and bruises.” I sounded like Joanne now. “Besides, I want to be here when he wakes up so he can see I’m okay too.”

“All right. If you need anything, just use the intercom.”

I nodded. “Any word on Granny Cane?”

“Swifte showed up on the scene right after Hangman took off with you. He rushed her to the hospital. Granny Cane had a concussion and a broken wrist, but she’ll be fine. Your grandfather is with her. Once the doctors give her the all-clear sign, he’s going to drive out here.”

I nodded. “Good.”

Carmen got to her feet and left the room.

I turned back to Devlin. My eyes fixed on the cast on his left arm and the white bandages that swathed his chest. He was lucky he’d just gotten off with some broken bones. We’d all been very, very lucky today.

Everyone except Berkley. Poor Joanne. I knew what she must be going through right now. The pain, the anger, the grief, the rage. I’d experienced it all when my father had died. If Devlin had been killed instead of Berkley, I don’t think I would have been able to live with myself. It made what I had to tell him that much harder.

Because I’d finally realized we couldn’t be together. Before the second museum benefit, I’d been willing to try, to figure out some way to make things work. But they never would. Today had shown me that, and Berkley’s death had driven it home. I’d just been fooling myself before. Because Devlin was Debonair. A suave, sexy superhero. That leather costume he wore might as well have been a bull’s-eye on his back. He’d always be a target for both the ubervillains and the police. I wasn’t going to let my heart get caught in the crossfire when his luck finally ran out and some villain killed him. It had come so close to happening today that I still couldn’t quite breathe.

I grasped Devlin’s hand, leaned back in the chair, and closed my eyes. I didn’t mean to fall asleep, but I must have, because I woke to find Devlin staring at me, his blue eyes hazy from the drugs.

“Hey,” he said, his voice thick.

“Hey there, yourself. How are you feeling?”

“Tired. Stiff. Sore.” His eyes slowly wandered around the room. “Where are we?”

“You’re safe. We’re in the Fearless Five headquarters in one of the sick bays. Mr. Sage checked you out and says you’re going to be fine.”

I gave Devlin the lowdown on his injuries.

“And you? How are you?”

I smiled and squeezed his hand more tightly. “I’m fine. Just a few bumps and bruises. I got lucky today. It seems to be something I’m good at.”

Devlin tried to laugh but stopped because it hurt his ribs. “And Joanne?”

“She’s fine, physically. Emotionally, she’s a wreck. The Fearless Five are taking her to the hospital to see Berkley’s body.”

I couldn’t stop the tears from filling my eyes. Berkley had been a good friend and a wonderful man. He hadn’t deserved what Prism had done to him, and Joanne didn’t deserve to be suffering his loss now.

“Hey, hey. None of that,” Devlin said, squeezing my hand. “The ubervillains are dead, and the city is safe again. And we’ve got the rest of our lives to spend together. That’s the most important thing.”

I didn’t want to do this. Not today of all days. Not when he was sick and weak and injured. But I had to. Otherwise, I’d just keep putting it off…and putting it off…and putting it off until it would be too late.

I drew in a deep breath. “No, we don’t.”

“What? What are you talking about?” His eyes grew wide and frantic. “Are you hurt? Is something wrong with you?”

“No, I’m fine. But we can’t be together, Devlin. Not anymore.” My heart cracked a little as I said the words. But I knew they were true, that it was for the best.

“Why not? I love you, Bella, and I want to spend the rest of my life showing you just how much. Don’t you love me too?”

I bit my lip to keep from confessing the depth of my feelings. “I care about you. A lot. But we can’t be together, Devlin. It just wouldn’t work out. You’re a superhero. You always will be.”

“And you don’t want to be with a superhero,” Devlin said. “Because of what happened to your father. You’re afraid I’ll die just like he did. That a couple of ubervillains will corner me in a dark alley one night and kill me. It won’t happen, Bella. I promise. I won’t let it.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “You won’t let it? Don’t you think my father thought that very same thing? Don’t you think he would have come home to us if he could?”

Devlin didn’t respond.

“We almost died today—you, me, Joanne. And Berkley did die. I can’t go through this again. I can’t sit at home every night wondering whether or not you’re going to come back in the morning.”

Devlin looked at me. “I could always quit,” he said in a low voice.

I stared at him, stunned. “Quit? Quit what? Being Debonair?”

He nodded.

I shook my head. “You couldn’t do that any more than I could quit breathing. And I wouldn’t want you to.”

“You don’t want to be with me because I’m Debonair, but you don’t want me to stop being him? I don’t understand, Bella. I would give it up. I would do it for you. I’d do anything for you.”

The words and the love shining in Devlin’s eyes filled me with hope, but I pushed it back down, smothering it with reason. It wasn’t going to work out between us. We both had to accept that now.

I let out a long sigh. “I believe you. I know you would do it for me. But you’d be doing it for me, not for yourself. In time, you’d come to hate me for making you give up being Debonair. And I couldn’t stand it if you hated me. I just couldn’t.”

Devlin grabbed my hand. “I would quit for you, and I wouldn’t hate you for it. I could never hate you for anything. I’m not like your father, Bella. When are you going to realize that?”

A sad smile curved my lips. “The only problem is I’ve heard this all before. Word for word. Don’t you think my mother tried to make him quit? Don’t you think she begged and pleaded with him to stop putting himself in danger?”

Another bitter laugh escaped my lips. “They fought about it constantly while she was still alive. Sometimes, my father would listen to her. He’d give in and put the mask and the motorcycle and the leather jacket away. For a while. A week, a month, three months later, he’d put them back on, and the whole, sad cycle would repeat itself. I don’t want to go through that again. Any of it. Not again, and especially not with you.”

Devlin just stared at me, his eyes more hurt and wounded than the rest of his battered, bruised body.

“I’m sorry, Devlin.” I looked away. “But it’s over between us.”

Chapter Thirty-Three

Devlin tried to change my mind. He begged and pleaded and told me how much he loved me, but I didn’t listen. I couldn’t. I closed my eyes and ears and heart to him and held firm.

Mr. Sage made Devlin spend the rest of the day at Sublime for observation. I slept beside him in an extra bed. Around midnight, Devlin decided he felt well enough to go to the hospital to check on Granny Cane. I didn’t call him on her real identity as Grace Caleb. I’d had enough superheroes and ubervillains for one day. For a lifetime.

“Come with me, Bella. Please,” Devlin said, taking my hand again. “We can make this work, I know we can.”

“No,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat and pulling away. “Trust me. It’s better this way. It’s better to end things now. Go check on Granny Cane. She needs you.”

Devlin dropped my hand. Then—

POP!

He teleported away.

But this time was different. This time, I knew he wasn’t coming back. Devlin was gone.

Forever.

I couldn’t stop the tears from trickling down my flushed face.

* * *

Bobby came out to Sublime early the next morning to drive me home. On the ride back into the city, I told him everything that had happened after the disaster at the museum—including what Grace Caleb did late at night.

Bobby’s reaction to the news his lady friend masqueraded as a superhero surprised me, to say the least.

“Oh, I knew all about that,” he said, taking a sip of his early-morning espresso.

My mouth dropped open. “You knew Grace Caleb was Granny Cane? How did you figure it out?”

Bobby smiled. “Bella, when you’re as old as I am, you’ve seen it all—especially when it comes to superheroes and ubervillains. I knew the first time Grace left in the middle of one of our dates that she was Granny Cane. Nobody walks out on Bobby Bulluci without good reason. And what better reason could there be than being a superhero?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked, a bit miffed.

He shrugged. “It wasn’t my secret to tell. Unlike you young folks, I’m not obsessed with finding out who everybody really is. Now, tell me about Devlin. Why wasn’t he still at Sublime with you this morning? What’s going on between the two of you?”

I could never hide anything from Grandfather, so I decided to tell him the truth. “We broke up,” I said, looking out the window.

“Why?”

I told Bobby my reasons for ending things with Devlin Debonair Dash.

“Bah! Just because the boy’s a superhero is no reason not to be with him,” Bobby said, waving his hand.

“You don’t understand.” I looked at him. “Being Johnny Angel was always your choice. It was never mine. Going out, getting hurt, putting yourself in danger was always your choice, my father’s choice, and now Johnny’s choice. Well, I’m making a choice. And I choose not to go through that again. Not even for Devlin.”

“But you love him, don’t you, Bella?” Grandfather asked, his green eyes soft and sad.

“Yes,” I replied, staring out the window so he wouldn’t see me cry. “But sometimes, love isn’t enough. No matter how much you want it to be.”

* * *

Berkley Brighton’s funeral was held two days later at the Cathedral of the Angels. Practically the whole city showed up to put to rest one of its favorite sons. Berkley hadn’t only been rich—he’d used his money to help others, funding scholarships, grants, and much more in Bigtime and beyond.

I sat in a pew near the front of the massive church, nestled between Grandfather and Carmen Cole. Sam sat on the other side of Carmen, while Henry, Lulu, and Chief Newman slid into the seats behind us. The inside of the church was dim and smelled faintly of incense. A white light highlighted Berkley’s face, which looked calm and serene in his casket.

The service had already stretched into its third hour, with one person after another getting up to talk about Berkley and what he’d meant to them and the rest of the city. Grandfather had been among those to speak.

Another person left the stage, and I saw Abby Appleby gesture to the organist. Abby stood off to one side, partially hidden by a spray of roses. In addition to party planning, Abby also arranged funerals, and Joanne had called upon her to make sure Berkley had a proper send-off and burial. From the flowers to the casket to the order of speakers, everything had been perfect. Berkley would have approved.

Now, it was Joanne’s turn to talk. She wore a simple black suit, one of my designs. Her only jewelry was her enormous diamond ring. Her face looked even thinner and paler than before, and dark circles ringed her eyes. Even her perfect makeup couldn’t disguise the fact that she was grieving deeply. Joanne’s eyes swept over the crowd, taking in all of the people. Our gazes met for a moment before she continued on with her perusal. Then, she leaned toward the microphone.

“Well, Berkley would certainly be pleased with the turnout today. I am. I want to thank you all for coming and paying your respects to Berkley. He was a kind, gentle, caring man. He loved me, and I loved him more than words could ever say.” Joanne paused, struggling to keep her composure. “That’s it. That’s all I want to say. Because no amount of words will ever bring Berkley back. Nothing will. I love you, Berkley. Good-bye.”

Joanne walked away from the podium. She went over to where Berkley rested and placed a kiss on his cold lips. She motioned to the pallbearers, and they closed the casket and picked it up. Abby came over to Joanne to escort her outside, but she waved the event planner away. Joanne held up her chin, slid a pair of oversized sunglasses on her pale face, and strode outside. Her steps faltered only a little.

The casket glided out the stained glass doors of the cathedral. The crowd of mourners trailed along behind, walking the three short blocks to Bigtime Cemetery. We gathered around a freshly dug hole. The brown blotch ruined the smoothness of the grass. The cemetery workers lowered the casket into the ground while a minister said prayers of comfort and hope. Joanne stepped forward and threw a violet rose onto the casket just before they put the first scoop of dirt on the gleaming surface.

I looked up from the sight and locked eyes with Devlin. My breath caught in my throat as his blue gaze held mine. The minister kept saying prayers as the service continued, but I didn’t hear them. All I could hear, see, think about was Devlin. He moved through the crowd until he stood next to me. I drew in his scent of smoldering roses. It made me a little dizzy, the way it always did.

The service continued for the better part of an hour. Once the casket was completely covered, the minister finished his prayers. People said their condolences and good-byes to Joanne, then drifted off to their waiting limos.

To my surprise, Jasper stood at the edge of the thinning crowd, leaning on a set of crutches. Joanne spotted him about the same time I did. They stared at each other for several seconds before Jasper gave her a sad smile. Joanne’s lips quivered, and she nodded at him. Then, Jasper turned and hobbled away. Joanne watched him go, something like regret flashing in her eyes, before she turned to the next mourner, Chief Sean Newman. The chief whispered something in her ear. Joanne gave him a wan smile and moved on to the next well-wisher. The chief moved off to one side, his eyes lingering on the grieving widow.

Devlin took my elbow and led me over to a nearby bench. I let him. We sat there in silence for a long time, watching the workers erect the statue that would mark Berkley’s grave.

I’d thought of nothing but Devlin these last few days, and it was all I could do to keep from throwing myself into his arms and begging him to give up being Debonair. To tell him I loved him just as much as he loved me. To plead with him never to leave my side for anything ever again.

“Can we talk?” Devlin asked in a soft voice.

I devoured him with my hungry gaze. I’d missed him so much. I still wanted him so much. But it could never happen. We could never be together. Not again.

“Of course,” I said in my calmest, most sensible voice, trying to pretend we were just a couple of friends sitting on a bench together.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said. About how you didn’t want to be with a superhero. And you’re right. You shouldn’t have to go through all that again. Not for anybody.”

I nodded, glad he could see my side of the argument.

“But we live in a city, in a world, full of superheroes and ubervillains. You’re never going to be truly free of them, Bella. Never.”

“I know,” I replied. “But I can do everything in my power to stay away from them. That much I can do.”

“I’ve come to a decision. I’m going to do one more thing as Debonair, then I’m going to quit stealing art—forever.”

Devlin’s words thrilled me, but I couldn’t let him go through with his plan. I couldn’t let him change that part of himself just for me. He would come to hate me for it. I knew he would.

I put my hand on his. “That’s very noble of you, very sweet, Devlin. But it won’t work, and you know it. There’s always going to be one more thing you have to do, one more person you have to save, until one day, your luck is going to run out. And I’ll be back in this cemetery again, crying over your grave instead of Berkley’s.”

Devlin shook his head. “No, this is different. You’ll see. I’m not giving up on us, Bella. Not now, not ever. I love you too much to let you go.”

“Devlin—”

He pulled me into his arms and kissed me. And all the feelings I thought I’d buried, that I thought didn’t matter, roared back to the surface. In an instant, I was kissing him just as much as he was kissing me. Maybe even more so. We broke apart, breathing hard.

Tears gathered in my eyes. “Please, Devlin. Don’t make this any harder than it is already. Please.”

He stroked my cheek, then leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of my wrist. “Things will work out, you’ll see, Bella. Trust me. I’ll be in touch soon.”

For once, Devlin didn’t teleport away. He walked just like everybody else.

Chapter Thirty-Four

“You’re being stupid,” Fiona announced. “Completely, totally, willfully, horribly, awfully stupid.”

I gave her a sour look. Fiona was one to talk about being stupid. She’d had Johnny convinced she was still in love with her dead fiancé before they’d gotten together.

Fiona and I sat in the kitchen at the Bulluci mansion, along with Carmen and Lulu. Fiona and Johnny had come back from their trip early because of everything that had been going on. I’d invited Carmen and Lulu over to join us for brunch. Johnny and Grandfather were off watching a soccer game, while the other men in our lives were all busy with their day jobs.

It had been a little over a week since I’d last seen Devlin at the cemetery. He hadn’t called or even popped into the house to see me. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Still, I checked the news on SNN every night before I went to bed and first thing when I got up in the morning—praying I’d see Debonair on there and hoping I wouldn’t.

I was a mess. A sad, confused, conflicted mess, which is why I’d invited my few girlfriends over to commiserate with me. What I hadn’t expected was for Fiona to berate me for my lack of faith in love.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Fiona punctuated her statement by shoving a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth. Two empty plates sat on the table beside her, along with a pitcher of apple juice and a tub of cream cheese she’d slathered on the six bagels she’d eaten. So far. We’d only sat down to brunch fifteen minutes ago.

Carmen and Lulu looked back and forth between the two of us, amused by the whole exchange.

“Why am I being so stupid?” I asked. “It’s all perfectly clear and logical to me.”

“That’s your problem. You’re so damn sensible all the time,” Fiona said. “Sometimes, you just have to follow your heart, Bella. No matter where it leads you. Carmen and Sam and Lulu and Henry are proof of that. The four of them couldn’t have been more wrong for each other, but they made their relationships work. Despite my efforts to the contrary.” She muttered that last part under her breath.

“Hey!” Lulu growled. “Henry and I were, are, and will always be perfect for each other. Besides, I’m not the one who beat my future husband to a bloody pulp while we were dating. That was all you, Fiona.”

Fiona’s eyes fixed on Lulu’s blue-streaked hair, and a few sparks fluttered from her fingertips. I was very glad we had tile floors throughout the house. Otherwise, Fiona would have burned it down long ago.

“I think what Fiona and Lulu are trying to say is that it takes a lot of effort and compromise to make a relationship work, no matter how perfect you might be for the other person—or how much you love him,” Carmen said, sliding a stack of pancakes to Fiona.

Fiona’s eyes fixed on the food, and the sparks around her fingers snuffed out. She was easily distracted sometimes.

“I do love him, but it’s never going to work. I can’t ask him to give up being Debonair for me, and I don’t want to be with a superhero.”

Carmen put her hand on top of mine. “I know how you feel, Bella. But you have to ask yourself—do you love him enough to at least give it a chance? And isn’t getting your heart broken better than never knowing if it would have worked out or not?”

The three of them went back to their brunch, but I didn’t have any appetite for the high-protein, low-fat cheese-and-spinach quiche in front of me. I stabbed a bit of burned cheese and ate it without really even tasting it. Were my friends right? Should I try to make things work with Devlin, even if he was and would always be Debonair?

I thought back to all the time we’d spent together. That first confrontation in Joanne’s house, meeting at the museum, our time in the Lair of Seduction, the way he held me, the way he listened to me, the way he loved me. He was a nice, mostly normal guy wrapped up in a bad-boy package. He was everything I wanted. Everything I needed.

And I knew what I had to do. I had to at least give Devlin a chance. I had to try. It was the only sensible thing to do.

Carmen looked at me, as if she knew what I’d decided. She smiled. “Go answer the phone, Bella. It’s for you.”

I looked at her. “But it’s not even ring—”

A second later, the phone in the kitchen rang out, a loud, beeping sound.

I looked at the phone, then at Carmen. “That’s just creepy.”

“Tell us about it,” Lulu said, taking a swig of her mimosa. “You don’t see her that much. We’ve got to deal with that stuff all the time.”

I walked over and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hi, Bella. It’s Arthur Anders.”

“Hello, Arthur,” I said in a listless voice, wondering why the curator of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art was calling me on a Sunday morning. “What’s up?”

“Bella, could I ask you to come down to the museum? I’ve got something I’d like to show you.”

“What is it? Is something wrong with the exhibit again?” I asked, worried.

Despite the latest attack, the museum had reopened, and the Whimsical Wonders exhibit was still on display—minus the Star Sapphire. Joanne hadn’t wanted it to be part of the show again, and I hadn’t blamed her. But it would be just my luck if some other disaster befell the exhibition, now that it had already been wrecked by ubervillains twice and the main benefactor brutally murdered.

He hesitated. “Not exactly.”

Which meant that there was something seriously wrong. Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.

“I’ll be there in half an hour,” I promised and hung up.

“What was that about?” Fiona asked, slathering cream cheese on another blueberry bagel.

“I’m not sure, but it didn’t sound good.”

“Don’t worry, Bella. I think you’re in for a pleasant surprise.” Carmen’s eyes glowed for half a second. “A very pleasant surprise.”

“With my luck? I don’t think so, no matter what kind of psychic vibe you’re getting.”

“Oh, trust her, Bella,” Lulu piped up. “No matter how annoying she is, Sister Carmen and her psychic premonitions are rarely wrong.”

I didn’t know which I was more afraid of—my luck or Carmen’s uncanny ability to see into the future.

Chapter Thirty-Five

I kept my word, leaving the girls to their brunch and arriving at the museum about an hour later.

Arthur waited inside the door for me. I was a little taken back by his appearance—jeans and a white polo shirt. It was the first time I’d ever seen the curator not wearing his usual plaid jacket.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Calm down, Bella. Nothing’s wrong with the exhibit. In fact, a piece has been added to it. One that I think you’ll like very much.”

I frowned. “What are you talking about? We didn’t get any more donations. Not since the second ubervillain attack.”

After that, I’d had to work very hard to convince people to leave anything on display. To my surprise, Joanne had helped me, pretty much bullying everyone else into doing what she wanted. I still didn’t understand why.

Arthur gestured for me to follow him. “I got a call this morning from the security folks saying that someone had broken in. The weird thing was that he didn’t take anything. Instead, he left something behind for once. A drawing.”

My heart started to pound. Somehow, I knew Debonair was behind this. Devlin, Devlin, what had you done?

“Can I see it?” I asked.

“Of course, that’s why I called you. The person who broke in left a note, saying you were the one who had done the drawing, although you had nothing to do with the break-in itself.”

I almost fainted, and my hair frizzed so badly I thought it would leave my head altogether. I knew what I was going to see even before Arthur stepped aside to show me the piece of paper. My drawing of Debonair hung in the middle of a wall, right next to a painting by Monet, as though it were the same sort of masterpiece. Somehow, all the crinkles and stains and rumples had been smoothed out of the paper, and it had been mounted and framed in silver. Even if I hadn’t drawn it, I would have thought it was a breathtaking piece—or maybe that was just because I happened to be in love with the subject.

“Do you recognize it?” Arthur asked.

I swallowed. “Yes, it’s something I drew a few weeks ago after the first attack on the museum.”

“I see.”

Arthur continued to stare at the drawing, his eyes dark and hooded. He didn’t say anything, but I knew what he was thinking. That I was still an amateur artist with no real talent—and that I always would be.

“Here,” I said, stepping forward. “This must be someone’s idea of a practical joke. I’ll take it down.”

“Leave it up,” he said.

“What? Why?”

The curator smiled. “We’d like to keep it on display. In fact, if you have any more work that’s similar to this, we’d like to see that as well.”

“You want to what?” I asked, stunned.

“We want to do an exhibit of your drawings. You have a wonderful style, Bella. You’ve really grown as an artist. You’ve finally found your passion. You should share it with others.”

Arthur pointed to the drawing and began describing everything that he liked about it—from the shading to the subtle shadows to the smoky detail. In short, he loved it—and wanted to see more works. Pronto.

“This is like a dream,” I said in a shaky tone. My knees felt like they were going to buckle. “I can’t believe you like my work, especially after that critique you gave me in college.”

Arthur patted my arm. “Of course I like it. I’ve always liked it. You’re very talented, Bella. You just needed to find a way to fully express yourself. Your work has always been good, but this—this is truly magnificent.”

Arthur started talking to me about when I could show him more of my work, but all I could think about was Devlin and this moment of pure joy that he’d given me.

Carmen and the others were right. We could make it work. We could make anything work. Devlin had just made one of my dreams come true. I was going to spend the rest of my life making his a reality.

* * *

The moment I left the museum, I whipped out my cell phone and called Devlin. No response. The phone just kept ringing and ringing. I called his office, his cell phone, his home out in the bay. The last line had been disconnected, but none of the other numbers worked either. Try to tell a guy you love him, and he drops off the face of the earth.

Discouraged and frustrated, I went back home. Grace and Bobby were in the living room, watching television. For once, they weren’t kissing, just cuddling together. I plopped down on the love seat across from them and looked at Grace.

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“Who?” she replied, a smile curving her lips.

“Devlin. I need to talk to him. Now.”

Grace waved her hand. “Oh, he’s around somewhere.”

“Listen up, lady. I’m in love with your grandson. Totally, completely, madly in love. I plan on telling him this as soon as possible. So you’d better tell me where he is right now. Or else I’m going to knock you into next week, even if you are a superhero. Are we clear?”

Grace looked at me, then Bobby. “Well, it’s about time you came to your senses. Devlin has been worrying about you for days now. Change the channel to SNN, Bobby.”

“Where is he?” I asked, growing impatient with the older woman.

She pointed at the screen. “Just watch. He should be on in a few minutes.”

I looked at Grace, then the television. What would Devlin be doing on SNN? The only thing the television station covered was superheroes—

The anchor was prattling on about the latest ubervillain video game releases. Suddenly, his words became clipped and hurried.

“Now, we go out to our reporter Kelly Caleb with a breaking story. Kelly, what’s the situation?”

Kelly smiled into the camera, giving the audience a nice view of her trademarked teeth. “Well, Jim, I’m here at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art, where the board of directors has just made a surprising announcement regarding Debonair, one of the city’s resident superheroes. Debonair, can you tell the audience what this is all about?”

Debonair’s dashing face flashed onto the screen, and my pulse started to pound.

“Well, Kelly, as you know, I’ve been responsible for a string of art thefts in the past. I’m here today to tell you and your loyal viewers I’m turning over a new leaf. I’m no longer going to steal paintings—I’m going to help the museum restore them.”

Debonair went on to describe how he pilfered paintings from people’s homes in an effort to restore them before the works were lost forever. Arthur Anders came on a moment later to tell Kelly how happy the museum was to have someone of Debonair’s background working to preserve these priceless works of art. He kept shooting suspicious looks at Debonair, but Arthur seemed happy enough with the arrangement. The story went on for quite a while before Kelly had to send it back to the studio to cover Swifte rescuing a turtle from a storm drain over in Paradise Park.

Grace clicked off the television. I fell back against the sofa, stunned.

“I don’t believe it,” I said. “Why did he do that? Why did he agree to work for the museum?”

“Because he loves you and wants to make you happy,” Grace said in a soft voice. “He’s not giving up being Debonair completely. He’s just making himself a little safer. For you. All because of you.”

I looked at Grace and Bobby. Then, I got to my feet and rushed out the door to find Devlin and tell him how much I loved him. How much he meant to me.

I went back to the museum, but he wasn’t there anymore. I cornered Kelly and demanded to know where he was, but she didn’t know. Some cousin she was. Nobody did. I called all his numbers again. I didn’t get an answer, but there was a message waiting for me when I tried his cell phone.

“I’m in our special place. If you love me like I love you, come and find me there. I’ll be waiting. If not, well, I’ll try to understand.”

I hung up the phone in frustration. Our special place? We had lots of special places now. The museum, the bridge, the bench down by the marina. At least, I thought we did. Suddenly, the answer came to me, and I knew where he was.

I went down to the marina, determined to hop on board one of the tourist boats that cruised through the bay on an hourly basis. But there was no one milling around the stands where you bought tickets. I went over and banged on the ticket booth. No one answered. Finally, I spotted a sign on the door that read Closed until Dec. 1 for maintenance and repairs.

Well, this wasn’t going to stop me. I was a woman on a mission—one I was going to complete even if I had to hop in the water and swim all the way over to that damn island myself. Of course, I’d be frozen by the time I did that, but a few minutes with Devlin would be more than enough to thaw me out.

I stalked back and forth through the marina, fruitlessly searching for somebody, anybody with a boat that could ferry me out to the island where Devlin’s mansion was. But it was cold and rainy, and the marina was deserted, except for the gulls huddling underneath the picnic awnings. I prowled up and down the dock, considering stealing a boat, but then, of course, I didn’t have the keys and wouldn’t be able to start any of the monstrous yachts. I didn’t know anything at all about sailing, so the sailboats were out. I wasn’t dumb enough to try that again.

Just when I was about to call Sam Sloane and demand to use the Fearless Five rescue boat, I spotted a shimmer of color out on the horizon. Bright lights and crazy colors and calypso sounds that could only mean one thing—Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches were out on the bay partying while everyone else was home where it was nice and warm.

“Hey! Hey!” I screamed and jumped up and down, waving my arms. “Over here! Over here!”

My power flared, and I reached for it. It was something I was doing more and more of these days. Something had changed about my power, my luck, ever since I’d been trapped on Prism’s yacht. It wasn’t as much of a jinx anymore. Oh, things still exploded and spontaneously combusted and shattered whenever I was around, but the incidents were fewer and farther in between. It was as if I’d lifted the curse off myself by finally giving in to my power and accepting it. I’d even started working with Chief Newman to see if I could fully control it someday.

So, using my luck, I focused on the boat and willed it to turn in my direction. And it did. Ten minutes later, Cap’n Freebeard eased his massive party barge up to the end of the dock where I stood.

“Ahoy there, matey! What can I do for ye on this fine, salty day?” Cap’n growled, squinting even though the sun wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“I need your help, please.”

I explained the situation to Cap’n, telling him that I needed a ride out to Devlin’s house in the middle of the bay.

“Devlin Dash, eh? He’s a fine lad, a fine lad. Come aboard, missy.” Freebeard beamed at me. “And join the fun.”

* * *

I wouldn’t say it was fun, but it certainly was something. Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches knew how to have a good time. They boogied and drank and ate seashell-shaped sandwiches nonstop—when they weren’t slathering each other with coconut oil and singing sea shanties.

I stood next to the railing, tried not to get suntan lotion all over my clothes, and avoided staring at all the exposed cleavage around me. Somehow, I managed it.

After about half an hour of steady sailing, we came within sight of Devlin’s mansion and island.

“That’s my stop,” I said to Freebeard.

The dreadlocked captain swung the wheel around. “All right, lass. Here you go.”

He cruised the party barge up to the dock. I hopped off, careful to step on a steady-looking board, and waved back to the captain to tell him that I was okay. He took off his hat, waved it, then whipped the wheel back around. Two minutes later, the party barge was no more than a dot on the horizon. The thing had a powerful motor in it, much more so than it looked.

I turned toward the house. I had to pick my way carefully along the rotten dock, but as soon as my feet touched the grass, I started running. My luck held, and I only fell on my face once. But it didn’t hurt much, and I kept going.

I dashed along the lawn, through the copse of trees, ran up the steps to the house, then sprinted through the dusty, silent halls. I pounded my way back down the stairs to the Lair of Seduction and threw open the door.

Devlin waited inside. There was a table with flowers, champagne, chocolates, and more. But I only had eyes for him. He was wearing his Debonair suit, but his mask was off, exposing his beautiful face.

“Bella, I—”

That was all he could get out before I swooped down on him and pressed my lips to his. I planted kisses on his cheeks, his eyelids, even the tip of his slightly crooked nose.

“I love you,” I said. “I love you, Devlin Debonair Dash, and I want to make this work.”

Devlin’s eyes held mine. “Are you sure, Bella? Are you positive? I know you have a lot of issues regarding superheroes. Even sometimes heroes like me.”

I shook my head. “What you did today with the news conference blew me away. It was more than I could have ever hoped for. I know you’ll never stop being Debonair, and I don’t want you to. But you came halfway, so I can come the other half. I want to be with you, Devlin. If you’ll still have me.”

“Always, Bella. Always.”

We kissed again, and I felt Devlin nudge me back toward the bed. I happily obliged. It had been too long. A day was too long to go without him. An hour, a minute, a single second.

“You’re my superhero,” I said as he lowered me to the bed. “And that’s all that matters.”

Epilogue

Six weeks later

“How does it feel, Bella?” Joanne asked.

I clutched the glass of champagne in my hand. Tonight, I knew there was no way I was going to spill it. “Wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.”

Joanne’s eyes roamed over my drawings, which lined the walls of the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art. Tonight was the grand opening of my first art exhibit at the museum. All the bigwigs on the society circuit had turned out, including Carmen, Sam, Lulu, Henry, Johnny, Fiona, and Chief Newman.

“Well, your work seems to be very popular. Most of the sketches have already sold,” Joanne said. A sad smile tinged her lips. “I’m glad I got my request in early.”

I’d done a portrait of Berkley for her a few weeks ago. Joanne had given me three times what the drawing was worth. I hadn’t wanted to take her money, but she’d insisted. I think it was her way of paying me back for hanging in there with her when we’d been kidnapped.

“How are you?” I asked, putting my hand on her arm. “I haven’t seen you at many of the events lately.

Joanne shrugged. Her face looked thinner and paler than usual under her perfect makeup. “I’m getting by.”

“Call me if you need anything,” I said. “Even if it’s just to talk.”

“Of course.” Joanne downed the rest of her champagne and moved off into the crowd.

Bobby and Grace appeared at my elbow. Both congratulated me on the exhibit. I congratulated the couple on their engagement, even though I still had some reservations about it. But, as Bobby pointed out, there wasn’t much time to waste when you were their age. Still, I was happy for them, even if Bobby had started going out at night with Grace when she dressed up as Granny Cane. He called himself Grandpa Pain and carried a supercharged stun gun. That had been my idea. Somebody in this family had to be practical. I just hoped Bobby didn’t give himself a heart attack with it.

An arm slid around my waist, and the world brightened.

“It’s about time you got here,” I said, turning to face Devlin.

“Well, I had to appear at the opening as Debonair and mingle for a few minutes,” he said, blue eyes twinkling. “It is part of my contract.”

“Come on,” I said, taking his hand and dragging him off to a deserted corner behind a potted fern. “Let’s get out of here and go home.”

Home for me these days was Devlin’s mansion out in the middle of the bay. Piece by piece, bit by bit, we were slowly restoring the home to its former glory.

“But this is your big night,” he said. “Don’t you want to stay and soak up all the accolades?”

“And I’ll have lots more of them. Right now, I want to spend what’s left of the night with you.”

“I love you, Bella.”

“And I love you, Devlin. Now get us out of here. Pronto!”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

I put my arms around his neck. “I’m always sure with you. Now, take me home and seduce me. That’s an order.”

POP!

A KARMA GIRL CHRISTMAS – HOLIDAY STORY

It’s Christmastime in Bigtime, New York, but society reporter Carmen Cole isn’t in the mood to celebrate since her husband, Sam, has to go on a business trip and might not make it home for the holiday. But Carmen has plenty to keep her busy, since she moonlights as Karma Girl, a member of the Fearless Five superhero team.

On Christmas Eve, Carmen, as Karma Girl, is assigned to guard toys, clothes, food, and more that are intended for needy children and their families. But an ubervillain also has his eye on the toys and plans to steal and then sell them to the highest bidder. Carmen will have to use all her empathic powers just to stay alive, not to mention make sure Christmas is a happy one for all the kids who are counting on her. It’s all in a night’s work for a superhero....

Dedication

To all the fans of the Bigtime series who wanted more stories, this one’s for you.

Chapter One

“You want me to babysit a bunch of toys?”

“It’s not just a bunch of toys, Carmen,” Henry Harris said. “They’re the toys for Oodles o’ Stuff’s annual Christmas charity drive—the biggest holiday event in Bigtime. Here, I’ll show you.”

Henry leaned forward and started typing away on one of the computer keyboards surrounding his chair, along with three monitors and twice as many servers. He hit a final button on the keyboard, and a film screen dropped down from the ceiling at the opposite end of the room.

We sat at a round table in an enormous library containing every sort of book, magazine, and encyclopedia one could possibly imagine. Volume after volume filled the floor-to-ceiling shelves, while maps dangled from the walls and globes gleamed in the corners of the room. Thick rugs covered most of the floor, giving only a glimpse here and there of the beautiful hardwood that lay underneath. Just strolling through the library, you’d never realize it was located deep underground—and that it had another function besides being a place to relax with a good book.

A second later, images began to flicker on the film screen. I leaned back in my chair and watched the montage, which had been set to a medley of cheery holiday tunes.

The first image revealed a humongous pile of toys. Dolls, stuffed animals, trains, building blocks, basketballs, jump ropes, art supplies—every conceivable kind of toy flashed by on the screen. The next few showed volunteers putting the toys into boxes, wrapping them, and handing them out to kids. After that, there were shots of the kids tearing into the colorful paper, pulling out the toys, and playing with them. And finally, a little girl hugged a doll to her chest, a huge grin on her tiny face, before the screen went black and the music faded away.

“See? Isn’t it heartwarming?”

Henry beamed at me. The light from the monitors made his dark hair and mocha skin take on a faint silver tint, while his glasses gleamed on his face. The monitor’s glow also brought out the white polka dots in the red bow tie he wore over his green-plaid sweater vest. Just looking at him sitting amid all those keyboards, monitors, and wires, you’d probably peg Henry for the computer geek that he was—but you’d never guess that he was also Hermit, a technological whiz of a superhero.

“You want me to babysit a bunch of toys?” I asked again.

Maybe I was being dense, but usually, things were a little more life-and-death in the superhero business. And that’s what I was these days—a bona fide superhero. I even had a costume and everything.

By day, I was Carmen Cole, a society reporter for The Exposé, one of the biggest newspapers in Bigtime, New York. By night, I was Karma Girl, the newest member of the Fearless Five, the city’s most powerful and popular superhero team. The Fearless Five, along with the city’s other superheroes, spent their nights fighting crime and foiling the schemes of the many ubervillains that called Bigtime home.

My being a superhero was more than a little ironic, because not too long ago, I’d used my skills as an investigative reporter to expose the real identities of heroes and villains. But getting dropped into a vat of radioactive goo will change a girl’s perspective on a lot of things—and give her superpowers.

A delicate sniff interrupted my thoughts, and I looked at the woman sitting across the table from me. Fiona Fine was a tall, leggy blond with long, flowing hair and intense blue eyes, the perfectly gorgeous sort of woman that men tripped over themselves to talk to. The perfectly gorgeous sort of woman that made every other woman around her feel exceptionally dull and plain, including me.

Most folks knew Fiona as one of Bigtime’s premier fashion designers with a flair for bold colors, bright patterns, and dramatic styles. But to me, she was also Fiera, a member of the Fearless Five with incredible strength and the ability to shoot fire out of her fingertips.

Fiona had just returned from an evening patrol of the city, and her orange-red spandex Fiera outfit left little to the imagination, although she’d taken off her flame-shaped mask, because it was just us superheroes here in the library. Sexy fashion designer or sultry superhero—I never could decide which persona fit her better.

“It’s not just toys,” Fiona said. “I happen to have donated some fabulous children’s clothes for the charity drive. Some of my best designs done in a variety of spectacular colors and hip styles. Bella donated a bunch of stuff too. Of course, she decided to give the kids coats, boots, and winter gloves, instead of great sweaters and jeans like I did. But we all know how practical she is that way.”

The Bella she was talking about was Bella Bulluci, another Bigtime fashion designer and the sister to Fiona’s fiancé, Johnny Bulluci. Fiona liked Bella, but she just couldn’t understand why the other designer seemed to prefer a muted, black-and-white color palette over Fiona’s more flamboyant fashion choices.

Fiona sniffed again, then reached down and picked up a triple bacon cheeseburger—the fifth one she’d eaten since entering the library an hour ago. That wasn’t all that Fiona had inhaled. She’d also polished off three bags of onion rings, a tub of fries, and five cherry pies, along with the two peppermint milkshakes she’d used to wash it all down. It looked like she’d stolen all the burgers and fries from some fast-food restaurant and had decided to eat all of the evidence, leaving nothing behind but empty wrappers, flattened ketchup packets, and crumpled napkins.

Fiona’s fiery superpowers made her metabolism burn at an incredible rate, meaning she could eat whatever she wanted to, whenever she wanted to—and never gain an ounce. Really, Fiona had to constantly eat to keep up her strength; I still envied her more than a little for that particular superpower. I could have put a hurt on some milkshakes myself, if they wouldn’t go straight to my hips.

Sighing, I looked at the man sitting beside Fiona. He had the same blue eyes that she did and a kind, middle-aged face.

“And let me guess,” I said. “The Bigtime Police Department is involved in the toy drive as well.”

“That’s right, Carmen,” Chief Sean Newman, aka Mr. Sage, said in his Irish brogue. “The police department chipped in a nice sum of money to help buy toys, clothes, food, and even some school supplies to benefit needy kids and their families.”

“I get what a great cause it is, but I still don’t understand where I fit into all this,” I said.

“The owners of Oodles o’ Stuff ask the Fearless Five to safeguard the toys every year,” another male voice cut in.

My gaze went to the fifth and final person sitting at the table, a gorgeous man with black hair and the most beautiful gray eyes I’d ever seen. Sam Sloane, aka Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five—and my husband.

Sam’s eyes softened as he looked at me, and I knew I had the same sort of dreamy expression on my face. We’d been through so much together, and I still couldn’t believe how much I loved Sam—and was even more amazed that he loved me just as much in return.

Fiona noticed us gazing at each other and snorted. “Oh, give it a rest, you two. You’ve been married for months now. It is definitely time to get over the honeymoon phase. Or at least stop doing it where anyone can walk in on you. I so do not need to see Sam’s naked ass again.”

Sam winked at me, and a hot blush spread across my cheeks as I remembered exactly what we’d been doing when Fiona found us in the upstairs living room last week. Heat filled Sam’s eyes, making them gleam bright silver, and I knew he was thinking what a shame it was that she’d interrupted us.

Henry cleared his throat. “Anyway, it’s only three days until Christmas, which means all the toys and other donations have come in and are on display inside Oodles for everyone to see. Every year, we take turns watching over the toys on Christmas Eve to make sure that everything’s there when the kids and their parents come to the store on Christmas morning to get their presents.”

Fiona stuffed the last bite of cheeseburger into her mouth, then balled up the empty wrapper with one hand. A second later, her fist erupted into flames, and the paper disintegrated into ash. Fiona dusted off her hands, then pointed her finger at me.

“And since you’re the rookie superhero on the team, you get to guard the toys this year,” she said. “Especially since I covered for Sam last year when he wanted to spend the night with you instead of doing his job.”

Sam shrugged and gave me a guilty, slightly sheepish look.

“I’m not a rookie,” I muttered. “I’ve been a member of the Fearless Five for more than a year now. Besides, do we really need to do this? Because stealing toys from a bunch of needy kids would be pretty low, even by ubervillain standards.”

The other superheroes just looked at me.

Right. Dumb question. There was nothing that ubervillains wouldn’t do, and the more outrageous and over-the-top their scheme was, the more maniacal pleasure they derived from it. Ubervillains were exceptionally creative, in an ultimate evil, city-leveling, world-domination sort of way.

My eyes dropped to the F5 insignia carved into the wooden table. The overhead lights made the symbol gleam with a soft, golden glow, until it almost seemed like an eye staring steadily at me, reminding me that I’d decided to become a superhero to serve the greater good and make up for my past mistakes. Even if the job wasn’t always fun or glamorous.

I sighed again. “All right, all right. I guess toy patrol is a job for Karma Girl after all.”

Fiona gave me an evil grin. “You’d better believe it, rookie.”

* * *

Our evening briefing over, Fiona, Henry, and the chief headed back into the city to their apartments for the night, while Sam and I turned off the lights and closed the doors to the underground library that served as the Fearless Five’s supersecret headquarters. Then, we rode the hidden elevator up to the wine cellar and went into the part of the house that was aboveground—if you could call Sublime a mere house.

Sam’s mansion on the outskirts of Bigtime looked more like a museum than a place where someone actually lived. Paintings, sculptures, suits of armor, and other art objects could be found in every room, along with antique furniture in a variety of styles. Gilded mirrors hung on the walls, all the better to reflect back the soft white light cast out by the glittering crystal chandeliers high overhead.

I’d been living here ever since Sam and I had gotten married back in May, and I just couldn’t quite get used to all the grandeur. Every day, I found something new to take my breath away, and I still wasn’t comfortable sitting on most of the furniture, no matter how many times Sam told me that’s what it’s there for.

Sam and I ate a quick dinner of five-cheese lasagna, garlic breadsticks, and a garden salad we’d had delivered from Quicke’s restaurant, then went upstairs to our bedroom.

I lay on the king-size bed and watched Sam carry his suitcase out from one of the closets. We each had our own walk-in closet, but the clothes inside couldn’t have been more different. Sam was all about his business suits, while I went for faded comfort with my jeans and T-shirts.

Sam put the suitcase on a settee at the foot of the bed, then went back into the closet and started carrying out shirts, socks, ties, and everything else he would need for his trip.

“I wish you weren’t traveling so close to Christmas,” I said.

“Me too,” Sam said. “But it can’t be helped. I want to get the merger done before everything shuts down for the holidays.”

In addition to being a superhero, Sam happened to be one of the richest men in Bigtime, with business interests all over the world. One of his London-based companies was in the process of taking over another, smaller company, and Sam needed to be on hand to make sure the deal went through without a hitch.

This wasn’t the first time he’d gone away on business, but with Christmas only a few days away, there was a very real chance he wouldn’t make it home for the holiday. I’d thought about going with Sam but hadn’t been able to get any time off, because everybody on the Bigtime society circuit had decided to throw their holiday party, fundraiser, or music gala in the last few days. Today alone, I’d covered two food drives and a charity art auction.

Oh, I knew that I could have just quit my job when I married Sam. In fact, I still got questions as to why I hadn’t, from the more nosy society types like Joanne James. Despite the fact that Sam was a billionaire and could give me anything I ever wanted, I liked working. It gave me a sense of accomplishment and purpose, even if I was just covering the society beat these days, and not exposing heroes and villains like I used to.

Still, the thought of missing Christmas with Sam made me frown, especially because this would be our first one as a married couple. Sam must have sensed my melancholy; he stopped packing, sat down on the bed, and gathered me into his arms.

I knew what he saw when he looked at me—auburn hair, blue eyes, a nice smile. Pretty enough, but nothing special. Still, whenever I was in Sam’s arms, I felt like so much more, like I was the most gorgeous woman in Bigtime, instead of just Carmen Cole, lowly society reporter and newbie superhero.

“Don’t worry,” Sam said. “I’ll be home for Christmas, just like the song says. No matter what.”

“Promise?” I whispered.

“Promise.” He gave me a sexy grin. “And you know as a superhero, I always keep my word.”

My heart warmed with love for him. Sometimes, it was still hard to believe that Sam and I were actually married. We wouldn’t have even gotten together in the first place if Malefica, the leader of the Terrible Triad ubervillain team, hadn’t threatened to drop me into a vat of radioactive goo if I didn’t discover who Striker—who Sam—really was. Of course, I’d gotten doused in radioactive goo anyway, but Sam and I had fallen in love along the way—something I was grateful for every day, but especially at Christmastime.

Sam leaned over and pressed a kiss to my lips. “What I really wish is that I didn’t have such an early flight. There’s nothing I’d love more than to spend the morning in bed with you.”

I looked at him, at his handsome face, his quicksilver eyes, and the black hair that flopped over his forehead—and a different kind of heat filled my veins.

“Well, why don’t we make the most of tonight then,” I murmured, slipping his suit jacket off his muscled shoulders. “And just think, this time, Fiona’s not around to interrupt us.”

Answering heat flared to life in Sam’s eyes, turning them a stormy shade of gray that made me shiver with anticipation. His arms tightened around me, and I leaned back on the bed, drawing him down with me. His lips captured mine, desire sparked between us, and we both promptly forgot all about his trip and everything else.

Chapter Two

Just before nine o’clock on Christmas Eve, Henry pulled the Fearless Five van up to the sidewalk outside the Oodles o’ Stuff department store.

Calling Oodles a mere store was like saying that Sublime was just a really big house. Oodles soared into the Bigtime skyline and featured every consumer good you could possibly need or want, from the economical to the outlandish, with the prices to match. Jewelry, makeup, shoes, clothes, electronics, books, music, movies, housewares, and more filled the store’s many levels, with every item seemingly featured in a larger and more elaborate display than the last.

Light from the store spilled out into the street. Through the glass windows, I could see a crowd of shoppers inside, all needing to get a few last-minute presents before the store closed for the night.

I sat in the passenger’s seat next to Henry, with Chief Newman riding in the back of the van. We were all in costume tonight—Hermit in his checkered, black-and-white outfit; Mr. Sage in his green-and-white costume; and me in my silver spandex. While I was guarding the toys, Hermit and Mr. Sage were going to do one last patrol through the city, making sure no one was stranded and that folks got home safely from their holiday celebrations.

“Now, just remember to call us if you have any problems,” Mr. Sage said.

I leaned down and patted the side of my right boot, where my cell phone was hidden in a special pocket. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you guys programmed into my speed dial just like always.”

“Have fun,” Hermit said. “And try not to play with too many of the toys, okay?”

I grinned at him. “I’ll do my best. Although I need something to do to while away the hours.”

I got out of the van and shut the door behind me. I waved to Hermit and Mr. Sage before turning, crossing the sidewalk, and pushing through the revolving doors that led into the store.

For a moment, I stood by the entrance, looking for telltale splashes of color among the shoppers, but I didn’t see any bold blues, plummy purples, or outrageous oranges that would indicate there were any other heroes and villains here tonight. Oodles might have acres of merchandise, but what made the store really unique was that it was one of the few places in Bigtime that was considered neutral territory. Both superheroes and ubervillains could shop for whatever they needed at the store without fear of being hauled off by the police or worse—attacked by their fellow heroes and villains.

And the Oodles owners made sure to cater to their powerful clientele by carrying a wide selection of spandex, boots, capes, and masks, all in a variety of neon, sequined, and pastel prints, colors, and patterns. The Oodles owners knew that heroes and villains had cash to spend just like everyone else, and having them in the store attracted even more customers. Folks like those in Slaves for Superhero Sex, a group devoted to scoring with the city’s various heroes and villains, even if they had to put themselves in ridiculously dangerous situations to get noticed.

Yes, superheroes and ubervillains were a common sight at Oodles, but that didn’t mean people didn’t notice me as I walked deeper into the store.

“Hey, look! It’s Karma Girl!” someone said.

Murmurs and excited whispers rippled through the throngs of holiday shoppers, and it took me a second to realize they were actually talking about me. I’m still not used to everything about this superhero gig, especially strolling around in skintight silver spandex for everyone to see. Let’s just say that I’ve started paying a lot more attention to my diet and exercise routines since I’ve become Karma Girl. Not that it helped much, especially when Sam kept getting barbecue flown in from this restaurant called the Pork Pit down in Ashland, but a girl had to try.

I stopped a minute, struck a pose, and let everyone who wanted to snap a few photos with their cell phones. It didn’t take long, because I wasn’t nearly as popular as Fiona was as Fiera. The fanboys absolutely loved her long blond hair and big blue eyes, not to mention the oh-so-impressive way she filled out her costume. Me? Well, let’s just say my physique isn’t nearly as pinup-worthy as Fiera’s.

Once I’d smiled for the cameras, I walked to the center of the first floor, where the toy drive had been set up. From the photos Henry had shown me, I’d expected a simple bin crammed full of toys—but it was so much more.

A series of glass and metal balconies in this part of the store let shoppers on the upper floors look all the way down to the first level. A massive, metal Christmas tree had been erected in the middle of the open-air space, stretching all the way up to the store’s top floor. But it wasn’t your traditional Christmas tree, because instead of ornaments, toys dangled from its many branches.

Trucks, cars, model tanks, board games, baseballs, miniature tea sets, coloring books, action figures, chemistry kits, bikes, skateboards—all that and more had been hung on the tree. Mixed in with the toys, I saw some of the clothes that Fiona and Bella had donated. Underneath the tree, Chief Newman’s boxes of food and school supplies had been wrapped in bright paper and stuffed into red Santa sacks. Sparkling red and silver velvet ribbons had been wound through the toys, tightly securing them to the tree, and crystal stars shimmered here and there on the branches. Another, larger star topped the tree, sending out sparks of rainbow color in every direction. All put together, it was one of the most dazzling displays I’d ever seen.

My breath caught in my throat in wonderment, and for a moment, I felt like a kid again, giddy with excitement about what might be under the Christmas tree or hidden in my stocking.

“Pretty cool, huh?” a soft, feminine voice murmured.

I turned to find Abby Appleby standing beside me. Abby was a pretty woman, with brown hair and pale green eyes. She also was an event planner known throughout Bigtime for her ability to get things done—no matter what.

I liked Abby. She planned lots of the society events that I covered for The Exposé, and I found her to be smart and funny, if a little tightly wound. According to Henry, Abby had been hired to plan the toy drive this year, and it was on track to be the biggest success ever, thanks to her tireless efforts.

“I thought we’d do something special with the toys this year, instead of just piling them on top of each other or wrapping them up and hiding them from sight,” Abby said. “This way, everyone can enjoy them, especially the kids when they come into the store in the morning.”

My eyes traced over the tree again, and I realized that it had to be made out of solidium to support the weight of all the toys, clothes, and other items. The metal glistened underneath the red, green, and silver holiday lights wrapped around the branches.

I shook my head. “It’s amazing. Absolutely amazing. You’ve outdone yourself again, Abby.”

She frowned a little. As Abby and Carmen, we were friends, and I realized that I’d spoken to her that way instead of being the mysterious hero with the supersecret identity. She looked at me a second longer, obviously wondering at the familiar tone in my voice, but shrugged it off. Abby was used to dealing with superheroes and their quirks at the events she planned. Besides, she knew as well as I did that more than one well-to-do businesswoman on the society circuit moonlighted as a hero or villain in her spare time.

Abby pulled a cell phone out of one of the pockets on the khaki mesh vest she wore over her green sweater and black pants. She tapped a few buttons on her phone. “And you are right on schedule. I like that about you, Karma Girl. I’m glad you’re here tonight and not Fiera. She’s never on time for anything, and she always ends up melting something before the event is over. Her temper’s as fiery as her fists.”

I hid a grin at Abby’s rather apt description of Fiona.

“Anyway, I’m out of here for the night,” Abby said. “We’re locking the doors in five minutes. I don’t think you’ll have any problems, but you never know. Obviously, you can take care of yourself, and of course you can always call in the other members of the Fearless Five if anything happens.”

“Of course,” I murmured.

I didn’t tell Abby that everyone else was busy tonight. Sam was away on business, Fiona was spending some time with the Bullucis, and Henry and the chief were doing their sweep of the city. Besides, I didn’t plan on contacting the others unless I absolutely had to. I didn’t want to give Fiona any more excuses to keep ribbing me about being a rookie superhero, and calling in the crime-fighting cavalry on Christmas Eve would give her ammunition for weeks. I might be relatively new at this superhero gig, having only been wearing my silver spandex a little more than a year, but I still had my pride.

“Don’t worry,” I said in my most confident, earnest, sincere, authoritative superhero voice. “I’ll take care of the toys. I want those kids to have a great Christmas just as much as you do.”

Abby nodded, satisfied. She gave me a final smile then strolled down the store’s center aisle, heading for the front doors.

My eyes swept over the tree one more time, enjoying the colors and lights, before I started walking a slow circuit around the entire display.

Time to go to work.

* * *

The next half hour passed uneventfully. An announcement was made that the store was closing for the night, and all the shoppers drifted toward the exits. The security guards escorted everyone outside, then locked the doors and left as well. Normally, a few guards would stay behind in the store, but the owners had decided to give them the night off because I was here. What did you need with guys with guns when there was a real, live superhero on the premises?

Actually, I’d probably take the guys with the guns myself. Guns almost always worked the way that they were supposed to, whereas superpowers had a tendency to go on the fritz.

Either way, it looked like I was in for a long, silent night locked in the store by myself, with only the twinkling lights of the toy tree brightening the scene. Still, I couldn’t help but feel uneasy. My inner voice, the one I always listened to, was whispering to me. I just couldn’t quite figure out what it was saying—or what kind of trouble might appear before the night was through.

My inner voice was part of my powers as an empath, my ability to tune into the emotions and feelings of others and sense their thoughts and future actions. All my life, I’d had these little twinges, vibes, really, about things that were going to happen, sort of like knowing who was on the other end of a ringing phone before you ever picked it up.

According to Chief Newman, I’d always had a bit of a latent talent, but the radioactive goo—the freezeterium—that Malefica had dumped me into last year had cracked open that part of my brain and amplified the ability a hundred thousand times over. Now, not only could I sense other people’s emotions, but I could actually see the psychic energy that surrounded them—and tap into that power and use it any way I wanted.

As Karma Girl, I basically squinted at ubervillains until I saw the colorful waves of energy radiating from their bodies. Then I could mentally reach out and grab that energy and use the villains’ own powers against them. That’s how I’d defeated Malefica, along with Frost and Scorpion, the other members of the Terrible Triad. Maybe my power wasn’t quite as photogenic and impressive as Fiera’s fists continually bursting into flames, but it worked for me—

A faint tap-tap-tapping sound snapped me out of my thoughts.

My breath caught in my throat, and my heart leaped up into my chest. What the hell was that? I glanced at the tree, wondering if perhaps one of the toys had come loose, hit the floor, and was rolling around.

But there was nothing there. No toys, no clothes, nothing on the floor except the presents sitting in their sacks ready to be handed out in the morning.

The tap-tap-tapping came again—low, slow, and steady—and I knew I wasn’t alone.

I immediately reached for my empathic ability and scanned the area near the toy tree, turning in a slow circle and looking for the waves of psychic energy that would tell me someone was near—and exactly where he was.

But I didn’t see any waves—no blacks, no reds, no blues, no greens. There was simply too much stuff in the department store for me to easily zoom in on the mystery person’s location.

So I decided to go about things the old-fashioned way. I closed my eyes and listened—really listened—to the tapping, trying to determine exactly where the sound was coming from. Then, I opened my eyes, slid into the shadows cast out by the racks of clothes, and headed in that direction.

I crept through the clothes, careful not to brush them as I passed. Up ahead, the tap-tap-tapping grew louder, and I spotted a figure weaving through the glass makeup counters. I picked up my pace, moving at an angle and getting ahead of the figure. I stopped beside the last makeup counter and slid behind an oversized, smiling cardboard cutout of Swifte, Bigtime’s speediest and most flamboyant superhero. Apparently, Swifte had come out with his own cologne just in time for the holidays—Eau de Swifte.

The cardboard cutout had been spritzed with the cologne, which smelled fresh, like pine needles mixed with a faint citrus note. It made my nose twitch, but it was far more restrained than what I’d expected, given Swifte’s boisterous, showboat nature and rampant love of publicity. I shook my head, held back a sneeze, and focused.

My plan was simple. As soon as the mystery figure walked by my hiding spot, I’d sucker-punch whoever it was, grab her psychic energy, and use it against her. When I had the ubervillain secure, I’d fish my cell phone out of my boot and call the cops to come haul the evildoer off to jail.

I let out a breath and flexed my gloved fingers a few times before curling them into a tight fist. I didn’t have superstrength like Fiera did, but I’d been working out, and I could throw a punch when necessary. Besides, the element of surprise was the key thing here. You could take almost anyone down—superhero and ubervillain alike—as long as you had that.

The tap-tap-tapping grew louder. I frowned, and my inner voice chattered at me again, but not in warning this time. No, for some reason, that sound seemed…familiar to me now.

But I didn’t have time to figure out where I’d heard it before, because a shadow appeared on the floor, creeping closer and closer to me as the mystery figure neared my location. I sucked in a breath, drew back my fist, and got ready to strike—

A second later, a woman stepped into view—one I recognized.

High-end, Fiona Fine jeans and a red pullover made by Bella Bulluci covered her slender body. She also sported colorful streaks in her black, spiky hair. Normally, the streaks were blue, but she’d dyed them red back during Thanksgiving in honor of the holiday season.

I was so shocked by her appearance that I just stood there, mouth open and fist hovering in mid-air.

She must have sensed me hiding there, waiting to punch her, because she glanced over at me, cursed, and stumbled back in surprise. Her feet got tangled up in her cane, which slipped out of her hand, and she barely managed to grab one of the makeup counters and catch herself before she hit the floor. The backpack that she’d had looped over one shoulder fell off and went sliding across the floor, along with her cane.

I stepped out from behind the perfumed Swifte cutout and stared at the woman in front of me. Why was she here? More importantly, how had she gotten into the store past all the security?

Lulu Lo looked up and gave me a sheepish grin. “Hi there, Sister Carmen.”

Chapter Three

“Lulu?” I asked. “What are you doing here?”

Lulu grinned, her dark eyes gleaming in her face. “Why, backing you up, Sister Carmen. Henry told me you were on toy duty tonight, so I thought I’d come by and keep you company.”

I just stared at her, my mouth still open. Some superhero I was—I’d almost punched one of my best friends.

Because she was a computer whiz, hacker, and all-around information trader, Lulu knew everyone who was anyone in Bigtime—especially when it came to things that weren’t exactly on the up-and-up. She used to slip me information about Bigtime’s heroes, villains, and various criminals in exchange for my writing newspaper articles on Yee-Haw!, a therapeutic riding center that she helped fund.

These days, Lulu was one of the people who knew that I was really Karma Girl. She also knew the identities of the other members of the Fearless Five, because she was engaged to Henry. Lulu might not have a superpower, but she’d helped us with her tech skills more than once when we were chasing down the latest, greatest ubervillain.

“Um, a little help here, please?” Lulu asked, struggling to pull herself up onto her feet.

I snapped out of my daze. “Sure. Let me.”

I put my arm under Lulu’s shoulder and helped her stand. Then, I bent over and picked up the cane she’d dropped and handed it to her.

“Thanks,” Lulu said. “I’ll be glad when I can get around without using this thing. Although I can’t complain too much. I’m doing better now than I was this time last year.”

Lulu had once been caught in a battle between the Fearless Five and the Terrible Triad, and she’d been paralyzed as a result and forced to use a wheelchair. Then, earlier this year, Lulu had been in the middle of another battle. Only this time, she’d been struck by a massive energy ball, thanks to an ubervillain named Siren. Lulu’s heart had stopped, and she’d almost died, but the electricity had actually done some good in the end because it had kick-started all of the dead nerves in Lulu’s spine.

Since then, Lulu had been undergoing physical therapy with the goal of walking on her own—and she was slowly getting there. I was happy for my friend and all that she’d accomplished. In her own way, Lulu was tougher than any hero or villain.

I offered to help Lulu, but she insisted on walking over to the toy tree by herself. Still, I picked up the backpack she’d dropped and carried it, despite her protests that she could get it herself.

We stood there in front of the tree, staring at all of the toys, lights, presents, and ribbons, and Lulu let out a low whistle.

“Damn,” she said. “I never had a Christmas tree like that when I was younger. Makes me wish I was a kid again.”

I grinned. “Me too.”

I grabbed a couple of chairs from a nearby lawn furniture display and dragged them over to the tree so we could sit there in comfort. Lulu unzipped her backpack and pulled out a solidium thermos and two cups. She unscrewed the top of the thermos, and the rich smell of hot chocolate filled the air.

“Hot chocolate?” she asked. “I even brought those mini marshmallows shaped like the F5 insignia you like so much.”

My grin widened. “You’d better believe it.”

Lulu fixed us both a cup of the steaming hot chocolate, which she’d generously laced with a delicious raspberry syrup. I held the cup in my hands, just letting the warm, sweet aroma fill my lungs. We sat there in companionable silence for several minutes, sipping our sugary treat and enjoying the way the gleaming lights cast out a kaleidoscope of colors and star-shaped shadows everywhere.

“So you want to tell me how you got past the store’s security system?” I finally asked. “Because apparently, it’s not as foolproof as it’s supposed to be.”

Lulu shrugged. “It was easy. All I had to do was hack into the store’s security network and tell the system to unlock one of the side doors. Nothing to it.”

I raised my eyebrows and looked at her.

Lulu sighed. “But I was a good girl. I made sure the door was locked and shut behind me, and I reset the security network while I was at it. I think that’s enough to get me on Santa’s nice list this year. Besides, we don’t want any ubervillains crashing our holiday party and making off with the tree, now do we?”

“No, we don’t,” I said.

Once again, my little voice murmured in the back of my mind, and I didn’t know why. Everything was still and quiet, and there hadn’t been so much as a whisper of trouble so far, except for Lulu sneaking inside the store and scaring me half to death.

So why did I feel like we weren’t alone? And that the worst was yet to come?

We sat there sipping our hot chocolate and talking for a while, but eventually, Lulu got up and started wandering around the first floor, saying she wanted to see what was left on the racks for the after-Christmas sale. I got to my feet as well. It was almost midnight now, which meant it was time for me to do a walk-through of the store.

I headed to the front of the building and made sure the revolving doors were secure and the bars and shutters were in their proper places over the plate-glass windows. Then, I went around to all the various exits on the first floor and did the same thing. Everything was locked up tight, but my inner voice kept whispering to me, warning of danger…danger…danger...

I walked back to the windows at the front of the store and stood there, peering out through the bars, but all was calm, all was quiet. The entire city had shut down for Christmas, and not even a taxi could be seen driving down the street. A light snow had started to fall, coating the street lamps and sidewalks in a powdery coat of crystalline holiday cheer.

Still, my inner voice kept right on murmuring.

I shook my head and turned away from the door, ready to head back to the toy tree—and that’s when I first heard the smash-smash-smash.

Uh-oh.

* * *

I froze, wondering what the noise was and where it had come from.

Smash-smash-smash!

It took me a few seconds, but I realized the sound was someone very determinedly breaking the glass on one of the building’s side doors. I stood there, waiting for the store’s alarms to start blaring—but nothing happened.

No alarms, no sirens, no flashing red lights—nothing.

Whoever was forcing his way inside must have disabled the security system just as Lulu had earlier. Now, no alarms would be tripped, and nothing would alert the police or the Fearless Five that someone was breaking into the department store.

Which meant it was up to me to stop them—and for Karma Girl to come to the rescue.

I hurried toward the toy tree as fast as I could, running through racks of clothes and then past the makeup counters. I got back to that same cardboard cutout of Swifte, stopped there, and slowly peered around the side of the superhero’s grinning face.

A man stood in front of the Christmas tree, staring at all the toys just as I’d done, but instead of wonder, an expression of disgust curled up his lips. He wore a pale green costume, with matching boots, gloves, and a utility belt. A long, flowing, white cape swirled around his rather thin, bony body. His mask also was white, with a faint, sparkling sheen. A symbol shimmered in dark green sequins in the middle of his chest. I squinted, trying to make out what it was in the glow from the tree’s lights.

Was that—could it be—a spearmint leaf?

Weird. Even for Bigtime.

I quickly flipped through my mental dossier of all the male ubervillains in the city, alive, missing, and presumed dead. Captain Sushi, Frost, Scorpion…it was a pretty long list, and it took me several seconds to figure out who he was—the Mintilator.

That made things even weirder. The Mintilator was a germophobe more than anything else. Usually, he lurked outside of public restrooms and either berated or physically dragged folks back inside to make them wash their hands if they hadn’t already. Occasionally, he’d make them floss too. Which, really, weren’t bad things, especially compared to what the city’s other villains cooked up. Every once in a while, he’d hatch some elaborate plan to kill Halitosis Hal, because the superhero’s exceptionally bad breath went against all the minty goodness that the Mintilator stood for. But overall, the Mintilator was pretty low on the threat level list when it came to ubervillains. So what was he doing here tonight?

A movement across the aisle caught my eye, and I spotted Lulu waving at me. She must have heard the glass breaking because she’d hunkered down behind several female mannequins dressed in bright, colorful, shockingly skimpy negligees that I recognized as Fiona Fine originals.

The Mintilator was still busy staring up at the tree, so I took the opportunity to quickly cross the aisle and slide into the shadows next to Lulu.

“Is that the Mintilator?” Lulu whispered, peering around the mannequins. “I thought he was harmless, except for the whole forced hand-washing thing.”

“Apparently not,” I whispered back.

“I don’t even know what kind of power he has, do you?”

I shook my head. “No, but there’s one way to find out.”

I reached for my empathic ability and looked at the ubervillain, doing my best Clint Eastwood squint. Sure enough, pale green waves pulsed around his body. Everyone’s energy had a slightly different feel, but the sensation was always amplified when it came to heroes and villains. Usually, I could tell what kind of power someone had just from looking at their energy waves. The reddish ones around Fiona were always hot, given her fire-based power, while the ones around Sam were a cool, soothing, sapphire blue, given his regenerative abilities.

To my surprise, the waves of energy pulsing around the Mintilator felt hot, rough, and caustic, like I’d suddenly scrubbed my skin raw with harsh lye soap.

“I think he has some sort of acid-based power,” I told Lulu. “That’s what it feels like to me. What he can do with it exactly, I don’t know, but he’s not using it to destroy the toy tree. Not on my watch. I can probably take him out myself, but you stay here out of sight. Just in case the Mintilator has some tricks up his sleeves.”

“Like what? Squirting you in the eye with some of that super-strength hand sanitizer he always carries on his utility belt?” Lulu asked.

She snickered a little at her own bad joke, but she nodded her head. Despite how harmless he appeared to be, the Mintilator still dressed up in a costume and tried to make life miserable for other people, which meant that he had a few screws loose somewhere.

Then again, here I was lurking in the shadows wearing silver spandex in a department store on Christmas Eve. Maybe the Mintilator wasn’t the only one with some loose screws.

I scanned the area, but I didn’t see anyone else on either side of the tree, and I didn’t sense any more energy waves indicating there was another ubervillain on the premises. It looked like the Mintilator was alone, so I stood up and walked toward him. Maybe I could talk him out of whatever crazy plan he’d hatched. Heh. That would definitely be a Christmas miracle. Really, it would probably be a waste of breath, but I had to try. Superhero etiquette and all that.

Sometimes, I thought it would be so much simpler being a villain—they never, ever had to play fair or take stupid chances like this. Plus, they almost always got to blow something up. Yeah, villains totally had more fun.

The Mintilator stiffened at the sound of my boots clacking on the floor, and he slowly turned around. I stopped about ten feet away from him, still holding tight to my empathic ability. If he tried to use his power on me, I was ready to reach for it myself and turn it back against him. Ubervillains could dish it out, but they could rarely take it.

“Karma Girl.”

“Mintilator.”

We stood there facing each other, hands clenched into fists and our bodies tense, despite the cheerful holiday trappings around us. Up close, I could see that the Mintilator’s mask was a narrow strip that just covered his eyes. Deep lines creased into his forehead and around his mouth, as though he was always frowning. He looked to be about fifty or so, with thin, wispy white hair that had a few faint streaks of gray. His eyes were green, though—as bright and green as his costume.

“What brings you to Oodles o’ Stuff this late at night?” I asked.

“I suppose I could lie and say I needed one last present, but we’d both know that’s not true. Fact is, I’m here to take all of the presents—every last one.” He had a pleasant if slightly scolding voice, one that made me think of a teacher constantly chastising a student.

The Mintilator turned back toward the tree, making the sequined spearmint leaf on his chest sparkle and gleam. He seemed content to just stand there and stare at the toys, so I took the opportunity to creep a little closer.

“But why steal a bunch of toys?” I asked. “Especially when they’re supposed to go to needy kids? That’s pretty harsh, even for an ubervillain.”

He turned back to me and gave me a triumphant smile. “Exactly. In fact, that’s rather the point of my whole little endeavor here tonight. Tell me, Karma Girl, what do you know about me?”

“I know you’re really, really, really into hand-washing,” I said, creeping forward a little more. “You like to steal delivery trucks full of hand sanitizer, mouthwash, and toothpaste, and Halitosis Hal is your archenemy.”

He gave me a thin smile. “And that’s it, right? That’s all you know about me?”

I didn’t know what he wanted me to say, so I just shrugged.

He sighed. “That’s the problem, you see. No one thinks of me as a real threat, as a real ubervillain, despite the fact that I’ve been kicking around this town for thirty years now. I’m just some kooky guy who goes around Bigtime forcing people to practice good hygiene. I’m not even a B-list ubervillain. I’m barely even D-list.”

His voice was calm and pleasant, but I could hear the cold anger in his clipped tone. No, definitely not harmless.

“So you what?” I asked. “Decided to come here and steal the toys from the charity drive so people would take you seriously?”

He shrugged. “It was the most evil thing I could think of. Besides, do you know how much some of those toys cost? I can make a fortune selling them on the Internet. Not to mention the solidium the tree is made out of. Do you know how valuable that metal is? I can make several million breaking up the tree and selling off the branches. More than enough to fund my long-awaited retirement. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing. Taking the money and running. I hear Cypress Mountain is especially nice this time of year.”

Sadly, it wasn’t the strangest or most bizarre ubervillain plan I’d ever heard. Truth be told, it was pretty damn clever—not to mention profitable.

I shook my head. “We both know that I can’t let you do that. If you won’t be reasonable, then at least be logical about this. Even if you could knock me out or even kill me, how would you get all of the toys out of here? Not to mention the tree itself? There’s no way you could get them all out the door before the store opens in the morning.”

“That’s something else no one knows about me—the fact that I always come prepared,” the Mintilator said.

He pushed back his white cape, and for the first time, I realized there was a holster clipped to his utility belt, one holding something far more deadly than hand sanitizer—a gun.

The Mintilator pulled the gun out of the holster and held it up where I could see it. The gun was an overly complicated-looking thing, with lots of little buttons, switches, and most worrisome, a glass tube filled with a strange green gas. In my experience as a survivor of radioactive goo, any gas, liquid, or pill that was neon-colored never, ever did anything good.

“What’s that?” I asked, wondering which way I should dive when he decided to point that thing at me and pull the trigger. Right, I’d dive to the right and put the sacks of presents between us.

“Oh, it’s just a little something I found in one of Frost’s old labs,” the Mintilator said. “You’d be amazed at what you can find in abandoned ubervillain hideouts. I’ve found more goodies there than I could create in a decade on my own. In a way, I suppose I have you and the rest of the Fearless Five to thank for this particular gem, don’t I?”

He was closer to the truth than he knew, because I was the one responsible for Frost’s disappearance. During my fight with the Terrible Triad, I’d used my new empathic power to open the cages where Frost had kept the poor critters he’d experimented on with his freezeterium. The mutated animals had wasted no time tearing into Frost with their genetically altered teeth and claws. That was the last anyone had seen or heard from the cold-hearted ubervillain.

“I’m not sure what Frost called it, and honestly, I don’t really care. As for what it does,” the Mintilator said, “how about a demonstration?”

“No! Don’t—”

Before I could stop him, he turned toward the tree and pressed a button on the gun. That strange, green gas shot out of the end of the barrel and hit the trunk.

For a second, nothing happened. Then, the gas solidified into a liquid that started oozing over the entire tree, leaping from one branch to another and somehow going up as well as down. In less than a minute, everything on the tree—all the toys, all the clothes, all the lights, all the ribbons—was covered with a thin layer of glistening, green goo.

And then, it all started to shrink.

Down...down...down...

The tree seemed to draw in on itself, taking all the toys and everything else with it. I felt like Alice who’d just drunk the wrong potion in a Christmas-themed Wonderland and was watching everything around her suddenly get so much smaller as she grew and grew and grew.

In less than a minute, it was over. The tree stopped shrinking, and the green goo evaporated like fog off the solidium branches, dissipating into the air. The Mintilator walked over and stood beside the tree, which was now only ten feet tall—and easily transportable.

I’d seen some strange and amazing things since coming to Bigtime, but this was definitely up there in terms of sheer weirdness. I shook my head, pushing away my confusion. Shrinking tree or not, I couldn’t let the Mintilator leave with the toys—even if I didn’t know exactly how I was going to get them back to their correct size in time for Christmas morning.

“All right,” I snapped. “You’ve had your fun.”

The ubervillain smirked at me. “Why, I’m just getting started in the fun department.”

His green eyes looked past me, and he gave a sharp jerk of his head. Quick footsteps sounded behind me, and my inner voice started to wail.

Too late, I realized that the Mintilator wasn’t alone. I’d just started to turn my head when a fist plowed into my face, and everything went black.

Chapter Four

I woke up with a start.

One second, everything was dark. The next, I had a migraine that was bigger than Fiona’s appetite. A bright, steady glow filled my vision, hammering against my closed eyelids and adding to the pounding misery in my head. I cracked open my eyes, squinted against the harsh glare, and realized the glow was the Christmas tree the Mintilator had stolen from Oodles o’ Stuff—and that it was the right size once more.

Somehow, all the toys, all the clothes, and even the tree itself had been returned to their normal, original size. I supposed the gun the Mintilator had swiped from Frost’s lab had a reverse switch on it somewhere. Despite my migraine, I let out a sigh of relief. Well, that was one problem solved.

Now on to the next—figuring out where I was and how I could get out of here.

I was sitting in a metal chair, my arms and legs securely shackled to it. I rattled the chains, but unless I missed my guess, the cuffs and links were made out of solidium. I wouldn’t be getting out of the chains without help. The good news was I still had on my costume, and my mask still covered my face, so I didn’t think my real identity as Carmen Cole had been compromised yet. It also didn’t seem like much time had passed, although I couldn’t be sure; I didn’t see any clocks on the walls.

My eyes flicked over the rest of my surroundings. I seemed to be in an abandoned warehouse, judging from the smushed cigarettes, crushed soda cans, and other trash littering the dingy concrete floor. The windows had been boarded over, no doubt to hide the glow from the Christmas tree, and a pair of double doors off to my left was shut and probably locked.

I sighed. Sometimes, I wondered if there was any other kind of warehouse in Bigtime besides abandoned ones. You’d think the city planners would raze them all to the ground, because they made such great ubervillain hideouts—

“Well, it looks like Sleeping Beauty is finally awake,” a low voice murmured.

Footsteps slapped on the concrete floor, and a man shuffled into view in front of me. Despite the December chill in the air, he wore only a loose, one-shoulder, toga-like garment done in a garish, black-and-white, zebra-stripe pattern. The only saving grace was that he had the hard, muscled body to actually pull off the look. His hair and eyes were both a light brown, and a black mask covered his face, although his hands and feet were bare. An ebony club dangled from a slot in the leather belt cinched around his waist. Like the Mintilator, he looked to be middle-aged.

My head might be pounding, but I still recognized him—Caveman Stan, another one of Bigtime’s ubervillains, one known for his incredible strength. Actually, the Caveman moniker was a bit of a misnomer, because Stan was quite articulate, hip, and urbane—except for his old-fashioned views when it came to women. Caveman Stan thought the female race had been created specifically to feed him peeled grapes, massage his hulking shoulders, and sing his praises—literally, like sing about how awesome he was.

Stan attracted his share of willing women, but what he really liked to do was kidnap female heroes and villains and make them serve him. I supposed it made him feel even more powerful than he already was.

Supposedly, Stan had been buried in a cave-in the last time he’d battled Fiera, but reports of his death had obviously been greatly exaggerated. They always were when it came to ubervillains. No matter how sure you were that they were dead, no matter how impossible it would be for them to survive something like, say, getting pushed into a wood chipper and spit out the other side in bloody pieces, ubervillains always found a way to survive. Cockroaches could learn a thing or two from them.

Caveman Stan stepped forward and curled a lock of my auburn hair around his finger. “Normally, I prefer blonds, but I guess you’ll have to do.”

“I’ll have to do for what?” I asked in a guarded tone.

He grinned at me. “Why, to be my newest slave girl, of course.”

Slave girl? Seriously?

“It’s getting harder and harder to find good help these days,” he continued. “Women are so uppity now, with their power suits and fancy high heels and careers. You girls need to remember what life was like back in the good ole days, when you lived to serve your man and see to his every need. And I do mean every need.”

He winked and wet his lips with his tongue, telling me exactly what he was thinking.

Somehow, I managed not to shudder, even though my inner voice was wailing at me that I was in big, big trouble. Yeah, I didn’t need my empathic powers to figure that one out.

The ubervillain smoothed back my hair and walked around me. “First things first. We’ll have to get you some extensions. Your hair is way too short. I like long, flowing locks on my ladies. We’ll have to get rid of all that silver spandex too, and get you something in a nice animal print. Leopard, I think, in a pink-and-black pattern. And slim you down a bit. Slave girls should be svelte, and you, my dear, are definitely not svelte. Not to mention your regrettable lack of oomph up top.”

I rolled my eyes. If he wanted svelte and oomphy breasts, he should go after Fiera again. All the slimming down in the world would never give me the supermodel figure and perfect boobs Fiera had.

“So you’re the one who decked me inside Oodles o’ Stuff,” I said. “Why are you working with the Mintilator?”

Caveman Stan shrugged. “Old Minty makes some good points about us not being taken seriously as ubervillains. I mean, folks still talk about the Terrible Triad, and no one has seen or heard from any of them in more than a year now. But me and Minty? We’ve been around since before most of today’s so-called villains were hiding their pimply teenage faces with their very first masks, but we get never get any press. No calendars, no photo shoots, no video games, no action figures, nothing. And we’re out there every single day, pounding the pavement and doing bad things. But do we get any recognition? Hell, no. Well, that’s all going to change now. You gotta admit, stealing the tree and all those toys was a stroke of genius. It’s the kind of crime that people will be talking about for years. Why, me and Minty will go down in the annals of ubervillain history for this heist alone.”

What was this? D-list villains unite? I felt like I was trapped in a really bad, really cheesy holiday special. All we needed now were some evil singing elves, and the bizarreness would be complete.

More footsteps clacked on the concrete, and the Mintilator stepped out from behind the Christmas tree, striding across the warehouse toward us. Now, the ubervillain’s lips were turned up instead of down, and he was positively beaming with delighted evil.

“Ah, Stan, I see you’ve been entertaining our guest,” the Mintilator said. “I’m sorry we wound up with Karma Girl. I know you were hoping that it would be Fiera guarding the toys this year.”

Fiera, Fiera, Fiera. What was I? One of the Invisible Ingénues compared to her?

Stan shrugged his massive shoulders. “Oh, she’ll do, I suppose. In the end, one girl’s just like another.”

“That’s the spirit.” The Mintilator turned to me. “Well, Karma Girl, what do you think? Does my plan sound so outlandish now?”

I sighed, knowing what he expected me to say. “You’ll never get away with this.” I muttered the cliché line.

The Mintilator threw back his head and laughed. “But I already have. Come on, Stan. You can play with your new doll later. Right now, we need to get to work. We don’t have long before the Fearless Five will come looking for her and the tree.”

The Mintilator and Caveman Stan both moved over to the Christmas tree. While I’d been unconscious, the ubervillains had apparently been hard at work stripping the toys off the branches. Dolls, trucks, clothes, and more were stacked on a nearby metal work table, while others had already been packed into shipping boxes. The ubervillains walked around the tree and started discussing how best to go about getting the remaining toys off the branches and which ones they wanted to put up for Internet auction first. They focused in on a few video game consoles and laptop computers. Stan started ripping off the ribbons that secured the items to the branches and passed the electronics over to the Mintilator, who snapped a photo of every item with a digital camera before labeling it and placing it either on the work table or in a shipping box. I had to hand it to the ubervillains—they were nothing if not organized in their larceny.

The villains were so busy talking and working that they didn’t notice the faint tap-tap-tapping that whispered through the warehouse—but I did. My eyes narrowed, and I slowly turned my head to the left to see Lulu peering at me from around the corner of a stack of shipping crates.

The computer hacker grinned and waved at me. Somehow, she’d managed to track the Mintilator and Caveman Stan, following them to the warehouse.

My cell phone, I thought. I could feel it resting in the hidden pocket in the side of my boot. With her computer skills, it would have been easy for Lulu to use my cell phone to pinpoint my location. No doubt she’d alerted the others, which meant that Fiera, Mr. Sage, and Hermit were probably on their way here. I might have wanted to handle the ubervillains by myself, but right now, I’d take all the help I could get. All I had to do in the meantime was get free and make sure the Mintilator and Caveman Stan were still here when my teammates arrived—and that Lulu and I were still alive.

Lulu started to creep forward, but I shook my head, telling her to stay put. There was just too much open space for her to cover to get to me, and the ubervillains were bound to see her if she tried. Lulu stayed where she was, but she didn’t seem happy about it. Instead, she started looking around, probably searching for a metal pipe or something to help me get out of these chains—but I already had an idea about that.

I started squinting at Caveman Stan, who was still pulling toys off the tree. It took only an instant for me to see the black waves of energy pulsing around his muscular body. The waves felt like raw, brute force, and I reached out for his energy and grabbed it for my own.

Immediately, this unbelievable power filled my body, like I had the strength to do anything—even break the solidium chains that held me down. I kept focusing on Caveman Stan, grabbing more and more of his energy, his power, and making it my own.

It took a few seconds, but the ubervillain finally felt what I was doing, felt his strength being siphoned away. He staggered back a step and turned around and glared at me.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing—”

But it was too late. By that point, the energy had built in my body. With a roar, I unleashed that energy, ripping the chains off the chair arms and legs and causing the whole thing to collapse. I kicked away the pieces of the chair and scrambled to my feet. I wasn’t completely free, because the metal cuffs and links still dangled from my arms and legs, but at least I wasn’t tied down anymore.

“Get her!” the Mintilator hissed at the other ubervillain.

Caveman Stan let out a loud bellow, thumped his chest a few times, and ran in my direction. But I was still holding on to those black waves of energy that pulsed around him, still holding on to his power, which meant I was still as strong as he was.

Caveman Stan swung his fist at me, but I was able to avoid the blow. Stan drew back his fist for another pass, but I whirled around, building up enough momentum to raise the heavy chains and smash them into his face.

One of the links hit him just right, breaking his nose underneath his black mask. Blood gushed out of Stan’s nose, adding garish, red drops to his horrible, zebra-striped toga.

“You’ll pay for that, slave girl!” Stan bellowed.

“I’m not your stupid girl!” I yelled back. “And you could at least be politically correct and call them slave women!”

The ubervillain reached for me again. Once more, I dodged his blows. Only this time, one of my boots got caught in the dangling chains. I stumbled back, and Stan came after me. The ubervillain swung at me again, and all I could do was hold up my arm to ward off his blow—

“Duck!” I heard Lulu yell behind me.

I ducked.

WHACK!

Her cane arced through the air where my head had been a second before. Lulu timed her blow just right, her cane slamming into the side of Caveman Stan’s temple. The Baseballer himself couldn’t have executed a more perfect swing.

The ubervillain’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head, and he stumbled away. I chased after him and smashed the chains into his face again. Stan took three more steps before he crashed to the dingy floor. He moaned once and twitched, like he was going to get up, but then, his whole body went limp. The ubervillain was out cold.

I hurried over to Lulu, who had gone down on one knee. She’d put everything she had into that swing, and I helped her get to her feet. I eyed her cane, which she still clutched in her hands. It looked simple enough, with a shiny black finish, a silver tip, and a curved silver handle, but I was willing to bet there was more to that cane than met the eye.

“That’s a sturdy little device,” I said. “Want to tell me where you got it? Or do I even have to ask?”

“It was an early Christmas present from Jasper,” Lulu said, grinning. “It’s painted to look like ebony, but really, it’s made of pure solidium. He also included a few extra features for me. There are some special buttons hidden in the handle.”

By extra features, Lulu no doubt meant explosives, because her friend Jasper was Bigtime’s most notorious bomb maker.

I shook my head and started to ask her where Fiera, Mr. Sage, and Hermit were, but Lulu’s dark eyes widened.

“Duck!” Lulu shouted.

I ducked again.

That weird, green gas sprayed through the air over my head and hit a metal table. Once again, the gas turned into a shimmering goo that immediately started shrinking whatever it came into contact with. By the time I got up on my feet, the table looked like it belonged in one of the dollhouses on the toy tree.

“Drat!” the Mintilator cursed, shaking the gun he’d taken from Frost’s lab. “Empty already. But no matter.”

The ubervillain threw away the gun. The glass tube on top of it shattered against the concrete floor, and a last bit of green gas puffed up into the air. Well, that was one less thing to worry about.

But I had another—a ball of green acid coming my way. I ducked for a third time, and the acid whooshed past my head and slammed into the crates on the far side of the warehouse. The wood on the crates immediately disintegrated, dripping all over the floor like liquid splinters. Smoke boiled up from the crates, and the smell of spearmint filled the air, so sharp, clean, and fresh that it burned my lungs to breathe in the aroma.

I scrambled to my feet and whirled around to find the Mintilator standing behind me, forming another glowing green ball with his hands. I’d been right before when I’d thought that the ubervillain had an acid-based power. Apparently, he was so minty-fresh that he’d melt the skin right off your bones.

The Mintilator threw another acid ball at us, and I shoved Lulu out of the way. I rolled to my right and managed to pull myself back up onto my feet. I headed toward the ubervillain as fast as I could, my chains clanking like those attached to Marley’s ghost. I put myself in between the Mintilator and Lulu, who was struggling to crawl over to where her cane had fallen.

“It’s over,” I said. “Stan’s down already, and the rest of the Fearless Five will be here any minute. Give up now, before I have to hurt you.”

The Mintilator’s eyes narrowed with rage, his gaze just as green and glowy as the acid ball in his hands. “I don’t think so. I’ve worked too hard and come too far to let you ruin this for me now. This is it. My big score, my last hurrah, my retirement fund—and I’m not going to let some newbie superhero stop me now.”

Newbie superhero? Anger pulsed through my body at the casual way he dismissed me. I’d show him exactly what a newbie superhero could do. I reached for the green waves shimmering around his body, even as the ubervillain drew back his hand to throw the acid ball at me.

This time, I was quicker.

I grabbed hold of the Mintilator’s power and used it to form my own ball, and we both threw acid at each other at the same time. But instead of tossing it at the ubervillain’s chest as he did with me, I aimed lower, going for his knees, hoping to take him by surprise and make it harder for him to avoid it. I ducked out of the way of the acid he hurled at me, but the Mintilator wasn’t expecting the quick counterattack, and he wasn’t nearly so lucky—the acid hit him square in the balls, eating right through his costume.

Needless to say, having acid sprayed all over your, ah, sensitive regions is a bit painful, even for an ubervillain.

Make that excruciatingly painful, given how the Mintilator howled and howled and howled, dancing from one foot to the other. The ubervillain stumbled back, and his white cape wrapped around his legs. That was the proverbial straw. The Mintilator teetered back and forth, trying to find his footing, cursing and howling all the while. His boot caught in a crack in the concrete floor, and he slammed face-first into one of the solidium branches on the toy tree. I heard the crack of the impact all the way across the warehouse.

The Mintilator slumped to the floor without another sound.

I stood there, hunched over, my hands on my knees, trying to get my breath back. Taking on ubervillains was tough enough to start with. Doing it with thirty pounds of metal weighing me down hadn’t made it any easier—

Bang-bang-bang!

My head snapped up, and I wondered if there was yet a third ubervillain I’d somehow missed in all the confusion—one who was on his way to kill me right now.

Instead of another ubervillain, the double doors leading out of the warehouse rattled, like someone was trying to get inside. Then, one of the doors caved in, sporting a distinctive, fist-like dent. The person on the other side drove a fist into the door again, this time punching right through the metal. Gloved fingers curled around the opening and then—

SCREECH!

The door was torn off its hinges. A second later, Fiera strode inside in all her flaming, orange-red spandex glory, followed by Hermit and Mr. Sage. Fiera, who was holding the door with one hand, casually tossed it across the warehouse like the heavy metal weighed no more than a paper clip. To her, it didn’t.

Fiera marched over to me and stopped, staring at the unconscious forms of the Mintilator and Caveman Stan. Then, she looked at me. “Aw, you’ve had all the fun already. You should have at least left me one ubervillain to take down.”

“Yeah,” I wheezed, still trying to get my breath back. “I had that very thought while I was dodging balls of acid.”

Fiera sniffed and tossed her hair over her shoulders. “Rookies,” she muttered.

I closed my eyes and resisted the urge to wrap the chains hanging off my body around Fiera’s neck.

Teammates. Can’t live with them, can’t choke them unconscious.

Chapter Five

Using her superstrength, fire-based powers, and some explosives from Jasper that Lulu had stashed in her backpack, Fiera was able to blast the solidium chains off me. Meanwhile, Mr. Sage arranged for the police to transport the still-unconscious Mintilator and Caveman Stan to a secure ubervillain prison. Which, of course, they would no doubt escape from in a few months. But at least they wouldn’t be bothering anyone else—at least not before New Year’s.

But all I could do was stand there and look at the toy tree. The sun had come up while we were getting everything squared away, and it was now past seven in the morning. Oodles o’ Stuff was supposed to open at nine sharp so the kids and their families could get their Christmas presents and other goodies.

“How are we supposed to get the toys all the way across town in time for the store’s opening?” I asked, a sick feeling filling my stomach, eating at me like the Mintilator’s acid had him. “Not to mention the tree? All those kids and their parents. They’re going to be so disappointed, so heartbroken, and it’s my fault—all my fault.”

Mr. Sage put a hand on my shoulder. “It’s not your fault the tree got stolen, Karma Girl. Don’t worry. We’ll get everything back in time. I have a good feeling about this.”

I eyed him. “Is that what your psychic powers are telling you—”

The air whirled violently through the warehouse, drowning out the rest of my words and causing the remaining toys on the Christmas tree to sway back and forth. My head snapped right and then left as I wondered once again what new ubervillain had come out of the woodwork to wreak havoc on my holiday, but it wasn’t an ubervillain at all.

One second, there was only empty air in front of me. The next, Swifte was there, striking a cocky pose in his shimmering, opalescent costume. He stood like that for a second, making sure that we all got an eyeful of him in all his shimmering glory. Then, the speedy superhero turned to me and grinned.

“Karma Girl,” he chirped in a cheery tone. “You’re looking well, all things considered. Love the silver spandex, by the way. Have you been working out?”

Well, at least someone noticed my efforts. I started to ask Swifte why he was here, but my inner voice whispered, and I realized exactly who had called him. I looked at Lulu, who shrugged.

“Once I saw how many toys the villains had taken off the tree, I put out a citywide call to the other superheroes,” Lulu said. “I figured we’d need all the help we could get.”

“And naturally, I was the first one here,” Swifte said, striking another heroic pose, despite the fact that there weren’t any cameras around to capture him strutting his stuff. “Good thing too, because those toys aren’t even close to where they’re supposed to be.”

I shook my head. “Even you’re not that fast—or strong enough to carry everything across town in time for Oodles’s opening.”

Swifte just grinned at me. “Nope, but my friends are—and they should be getting here any second now.”

He turned toward the open warehouse door, and sure enough, one by one, they started trickling inside.

Granny Cane. Black Samba. Halitosis Hal. Pistol Pete. Wynter. The Invisible Ingénues. Okay, so I couldn’t exactly see the Ingénues, since they were, well, invisible, but they called out a cheery hello so I knew they were here.

Practically every superhero in Bigtime walked through the warehouse door. Even Debonair popped! in using his teleportation superpower. In minutes, I had an army of heroes standing before me, ready to make sure the kids of Bigtime and their families got the Christmas they deserved.

“All right, everybody, listen up,” I said, a smile spreading across my face. “We’ve got some toys to deliver.”

* * *

With Swifte’s superspeed, Black Samba and Granny Cane commandeering several city buses, and everyone else’s assorted powers, we managed to get all the toys and decorations back over to Oodles o’ Stuff. Using his teleportation power, Debonair was even able to transport the solidium tree back into its spot inside the store.

Just before nine on Christmas morning, I once again found myself inside Oodles o’ Stuff. The Mintilator and Caveman Stan had managed to strip hundreds of items off the tree, and I was trying to put everything back where it belonged—but not having that much success, because all the superheroes kept talking at once, offering their suggestions.

“I think the tea set goes over here, dear,” Granny Cane said, pointing her cane at a spot on the tree.

Wynter shook her head and hefted the box in her hands. The motion made the giant snowflake pulse like a strobe light in the center of her ice-blue costume. “I don’t think so. That branch is too small for this big box.”

“I’d say put it a little higher on the tree,” Swifte chimed in, zipping around both of them.

And on and on it went, until my head was pounding just like it had been after Caveman Stan had hit me. I was just about to step in and tell them that it didn’t matter exactly where the tea set went, when Fiera shoved her elbow into my side.

“Incoming,” Fiera muttered under her breath.

I rubbed my side and turned around, wondering what she could possibly be talking about. A second later, I realized it wasn’t a what so much as a who.

Abby Appleby marched over to me, a stony expression on her face. “Do you care to explain this—this mess, Karma Girl?”

I sighed. Abby had every right to be upset. Thanks to me, a couple of ubervillains had stolen the toy tree and almost ruined everything. Even as it was, the kids wouldn’t get the picture-perfect Christmas they were expecting. But Abby deserved an explanation, so I filled her in on everything that had happened.

I finished my story, and Abby looked around, her eyes going from the tree to the toys scattered around it to all the superheroes milling around. After a moment, her face softened.

“You did the best you could, Karma Girl,” she said. “The best anyone could do. You got the toys back here for the kids to enjoy. That’s the most important thing.”

Her features hardened once more. “But I’ll not have them digging through this disaster area. Swifte! Get your scrawny ass over here! Debonair! You too! Now! Now! Now!”

Abby’s voice roared through the store. The event planner started barking orders at the superheroes, telling them where she wanted the toys, the clothes, the decorations, and everything else to go.

Swifte raced around the store, stringing up lights and ribbons, while Debonair used his teleportation power to pop! things into place. Mr. Sage used his telekinesis to lift the heavier toys back where they were supposed to be, and the rest of the superheroes pitched in to help as well.

At nine o’clock sharp, the front doors opened, and the kids and their parents streamed inside Oodles o’ Stuff. For a moment, they all stood there, staring up at the toy tree, expressions of absolute wonder on the kids’ faces, and gratitude and more mingled together with the tears on the parents’ faces. Then, everyone started clapping, yelling, and jumping up and down in glee and sheer excitement.

The cheers made me smile—and I knew it would be the perfect Christmas after all.

* * *

The kids spent the next hour playing with the toys, trying on the clothes, and checking out the school supplies and other goodies while their parents watched. Then, everyone headed over to the store’s food court to dine on the ham, turkey, gravy, mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, pumpkin pies, and other holiday fixings that had been provided by Quicke’s restaurant.

No one noticed when Karma Girl slipped away from the crowd—or that Carmen Cole took her place a few minutes later to cover the event for The Exposé. And I wasn’t the only reporter in attendance. Kelly Caleb with SNN, the Superhero News Network, was on the scene to film a piece for the evening broadcast.

I talked to half a dozen kids and their parents, getting quotes for my story. I also made sure to interview Abby, because I wanted to highlight all of the hard work and long hours she’d put into the event. Finally, I talked to the superheroes who’d pitched in to help at the last minute.

Once I was done gathering material for my story, I stood off to one side, watching the kids, parents, and superheroes mingle, along with volunteers like Piper Perez and Roberto Bulluci who’d come to help with the event. Even Jasper, Lulu’s bomb-making friend, was here, along with Joanne James. Apparently, they’d both donated their time and money to the charity drive.

Johnny Bulluci, Fiona’s fiancé, had also shown up to lend a hand. Johnny was keeping his distance from Fiona while she was still in her Fiera costume, but the two of them exchanged more than one lingering look. And Fiona thought Sam and I were still in the honeymoon phase. Please. It was a wonder Johnny didn’t spontaneously combust with the hot glances she was sending his way.

I was happy that everyone was enjoying their Christmas—really, I was—but I couldn’t help but miss Sam and wish that he was here with me. It would make the day that much more perfect. With everything that had been going on, I hadn’t had a chance to call him, but Sam had sent me a text message saying that the merger had taken longer to wrap up than he’d thought. My heart ached at the idea of spending the holiday without him, but it looked like that was what was going to happen—

A pair of arms snaked around my waist, and a low, sexy voice murmured in my ear. “Guess who?”

My breath caught in my throat, and I whirled around. “Sam! You’re home!”

My husband grinned at me. “I told you I’d make it.”

“But how?” I asked. “In the message I got, you said your meetings had gone too long, and there was no way you could fly back in time for Christmas.”

He jerked his head at Debonair, who was standing next to Bella Bulluci. The two of them were showing a little boy how to mix the paints in the art set he’d gotten.

“When I realized I wasn’t going to make it back to Bigtime by plane, I called in a favor with Debonair,” Sam said.

“I didn’t know he could teleport so far,” I murmured. “But it doesn’t matter. The important thing is that you’re here with me now.”

All around us, the kids and their parents smiled and laughed, while the superheroes and volunteers watched. But I had eyes only for Sam, and him for me.

“Merry Christmas, Carmen,” Sam said.

“Merry Christmas, Sam,” I whispered back before I pulled his lips down to mine.

NIGHTINGALE – BOOK FOUR

Anxious brides. Drunken businessmen. Panicked partygoers. As Bigtime, New York’s premiere event planner, Abby Appleby is capable of handling almost any crisis, but even she’s not prepared when she finds herself in the middle of a fight between superhero Talon and his ubervillain nemesis Bandit. Abby manages to save Talon, but the superhero is temporarily blinded, so she takes him back to her loft, where the two wait out a snowstorm. During a blizzard that shuts down the city, Abby and Talon grow close, and he starts calling her Nightingale because of her love of music and singing.

But Abby is afraid of what Talon will think when he can see the real her, so she conceals her identity from the sexy superhero, and they go their separate ways. However, Abby discovers that Talon is looking for Nightingale, looking for her—and so is Bandit. The mercenary ubervillain thinks that Abby has information that belongs to his boss, the mysterious Tycoon. Abby knows that she’s in serious trouble and that not even Talon—or the Fearless Five—may be able to save her....

Dedication

To all the fans of the Bigtime series who wanted more stories, this one’s for you.

To my mom, grandma, and Andre—for everything

And to Lucky, one of the best dogs ever.

Nineteen years wasn’t long enough.

We’ll always love and miss you.

PART ONE

NIGHTINGALE

Chapter One

Sometimes, I really hate parties.

Especially engagement parties.

I hate the nose-watering flowers. The overpriced food. The endless champagne toasts. The hours-long parade of pomp, circumstance, and well wishes. The mushy exchanges of I love you that fail to last through the night, when the bride-to-be catches her fiancé in the broom closet with her best friend.

Most of all, I hate the unending crises surrounding any party—especially those of the rich and socially elite in Bigtime, New York.

Too bad I make my living planning such events.

A ragged breath cut through my dark reverie. I stood in a small antechamber deep inside the Bigtime Convention Center and Orchestra Hall. A woman dressed in a sequined, scarlet gown slouched in a chair in front of me, her head almost to her knees.

“This…is…wrong…Abby,” Olivia O’Hara wheezed. “This…is a…mistake. We’re doing this…for…all…the wrong…reasons.”

Another night, another debutante, another cosmic meltdown ten minutes before the party started. This scenario had played itself out so many times before I could have calculated it down to the second, although most folks waited until their actual wedding day before panicking. Debutantes. They were even more temperamental than the superheroes and ubervillains who populated the sprawling city of Bigtime.

“It’s not a terrible mistake.” I raised my green eyes heavenward, asking for patience. I’d given this pep talk more than once too. “You care about Paul, don’t you?”

Olivia hesitated. Her eyes dropped to the teardrop-shaped diamond on her left hand. She nodded again, stronger this time.

“As long as you care about him, it’s not a terrible mistake. And if it is, well, that’s what divorce lawyers are for. Just ask Joanne James. I’m sure she knows some good ones. Now, breathe into the bag before you start hyperventilating again.”

She stuck her nose and mouth back into the brown paper bag I’d given her two minutes earlier. Olivia might be having a nervous breakdown, but she took care not to smear her perfect makeup. That alone told me she was going to walk into the party right on schedule.

Of course, Olivia O’Hara wouldn’t smear her makeup anyway. Her family owned Oomph, one of the biggest makeup companies in the city. She’d been born with a mascara wand in one hand and lip liner in the other.

Still, if Olivia wasn’t being so careful of her face, or worse, started pulling the diamond-studded clips from her hair, well, then I’d be worried.

Soft jazz music drifted in from the main auditorium. I checked my watch and nodded in approval. The band started right on time. Olivia couldn’t hear the music. Nobody could have from this distance, unless they had superhearing—like me.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not a superhero. Not like the Fearless Five, Debonair, Swifte, or any of the other dozens of heroes who call Bigtime home. I don’t dress up in formfitting spandex. Don’t wear a mask. Don’t call myself by another name. And I definitely don’t go around fighting crime. I have enough trouble handling the crises at my events.

A couple of years ago, though, I just happened to have acquired supersenses, thanks to a spilled amaretto sour and an over-electrified amp at a karaoke bar. Enhanced eyesight. Supersharp hearing. A heightened sense of touch. Souped-up taste buds. A nose that can smell cheeseburgers a mile away. I got the whole shebang, thanks to a couple thousand volts of electricity surging through my body.

Olivia kept wheezing, shooting looks at the closed door in front of us. I checked my watch again. Seven minutes and thirteen seconds until Olivia was supposed to make her grand entrance with Paul. Time to bring out the big guns.

I unzipped a pocket on the vest covering my upper body. The khaki mesh didn’t quite go with the black pants, silk camisole, and jacket I wore, but I didn’t care. My vest was better than the fanciest gown because the multiple pockets, zippers, and hidey holes contained my supplies. Today, I’d stocked it with my party gear. Bobby pins, glue, extra panty hose, clear nail polish, bandages, antacid, smelling salts, and a little pharmaceutical help—all of which were perfect for dealing with anxious, drunken, and unruly partygoers.

“Here.” I shoved my brown hair off my shoulder and pulled a white pill out of one of the upper pockets. “Take this.”

“What is it?” Olivia asked, staring at the tablet with suspicion.

“Something to help you relax. You want to relax, don’t you? After all, this is your big night—the only engagement party you’re ever going to have.”

Probably.

“If you say so, Abby.”

I checked my watch. Six minutes, thirty seconds. “I say so. Now take the pill.”

I pulled out a small bottle of water from the side of my vest and handed it to her. Olivia swallowed the pill, washing it down with the water. Really, the pill wasn’t all that potent, only having the effect of one good, stiff drink, but just the act of taking it helped most people, including Olivia. Her tight face relaxed, and her brown eyes softened. The nervous edge melted away. She’d be all right now.

I gave it another thirty seconds just to be on the safe side, then moved toward the door. “Are you ready? Paul is waiting for you.”

Olivia stood, smoothing the wrinkles out of her dress. “I’m ready.”

I opened the door.

* * *

Octavia O’Hara, Olivia’s sister, paced outside, while Olivia’s fiancé, Paul Potter, slouched in a chair. With black hair, deep brown eyes, and crimson lips, Octavia was a slightly older, sultrier version of her sister. Paul wore square glasses, and his pale, thinning, blond hair flopped over his forehead, no matter how many times he pushed it off his face.

“Is she okay?” Octavia asked. “Has she finally decided to come out? Or do I need to remind her how much money we’ve spent on this?”

I nodded. “Olivia’s fine now. She just needed someone to calm her down. You know how jittery brides-to-be can be.”

Well, she probably didn’t. Octavia ran Oomph and was one of the most respected businesswomen in the city. I’d never seen her get jittery, nervous, or upset about anything, even when her father, Otto, died last year in a boating accident on Bigtime Bay. I’d planned his funeral, and Octavia had been the proverbial rock. I hadn’t even seen her cry—not once. Olivia, on the other hand, had been a hysterical, weeping basket case.

Octavia nodded. “Thank you, Abby. I’m glad you were able to get the door open and we didn’t have to resort to more extreme measures.”

I gave her a modest smile. “That’s what I’m here for. To see to these little crises.”

Olivia had only locked the door. All I had to do was dig through my vest pockets until I found the master key to the convention center, which I kept handy for just such emergencies. If Olivia had done something more difficult, like move a dresser in front of the door, I would have had to get some of the custodians to help me break it down, creating another headache. Morris Muzicale, the director of the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra, hated it when I broke something in his auditorium.

Olivia stepped into the hallway, fiddling with her engagement ring. Octavia hurried to her sister’s side, and I was immediately forgotten, as usual.

I checked my watch again. Four minutes, three seconds.

I looked over at Paul. “Are you ready? It’s almost time.”

Paul continued to slump in the chair, staring at nothing in particular. I had to repeat myself, putting more bite into my words, before he looked at me, sighed, and heaved himself to his feet.

Octavia kissed her sister’s cheek, smoothed back Olivia’s hair, and murmured into her ear. “What were you thinking? Pull yourself together. Right now.”

Though she spoke in a harsh whisper, I heard Octavia loud and clear, thanks to my superhearing.

“It will all be over soon,” Octavia continued, “and you can go back to your incessant shopping and partying and pretend like everything is fine.”

Olivia dropped her gaze and didn’t look at Octavia.

Those weren’t the kindest or most reassuring words to say to your sister, but who was I to judge? I’d learned a long time ago that spouting sunshine rarely got the job done. This wasn’t the first dysfunctional family dynamic I’d seen, and it wouldn’t be the last. This whole incident was rather tame in comparison to some of the things I’d witnessed. Bitch slaps, hair pulling, stabbings, the occasional shooting. I even had one bride take a hot curling iron to her mother’s face because she found mommy dearest screwing her intended. Yeah, the O’Haras ranked pretty low on the Richter scale when it came to family feuds.

Octavia patted Olivia’s cheek and stepped aside so Paul could squeeze into the picture. He offered Olivia his arm. She gave him an uncertain smile and took it, her brown eyes a bit glassy. Olivia was feeling no pain now. Ah, relaxidon, the anti-anxiety wonder drug.

I pulled my cell phone out from another pocket on my vest. Thanks to the video cameras I’d hooked up earlier, the phone screen showed me the inside of the auditorium. Flowers, decorations, and five hundred invited guests crowded into the space. In addition to hosting an engagement party for her sister, Octavia intended to announce Oomph’s buyout of Polish, the lip-care company Paul’s family owned. This was definitely a merger in every sense of the word.

I hit a button on the phone, and the screen flicked to another camera. The band members were clustered together at the foot of the stage, having just finished a number and preparing to play the entrance music. The guests had turned toward the doors, waiting on Olivia and Paul. I checked my watch. Fifty-seven seconds.

I activated the headset clamped to the side of my head. “Talk to me, Chloe.”

“We’re a go,” Chloe Cavanaugh, my right-hand woman, chirped in my ear. “The band’s ready, and everyone’s eager to get a glimpse of the happy couple.”

I glanced at the screen once more. The house lights dimmed, until only candles flickered in the auditorium. As I watched, a spotlight appeared on the doors where Olivia and Paul would make their grand appearance.

Satisfied everything was as perfect as it was going to get, I signaled to the two waiting ushers to open the doors.

“All right,” I told Chloe. “Here they come.”

Olivia gave me another soft, dreamy look before she and Paul stepped inside. Gasps, claps, and murmurs of appreciation swept through the crowd.

I nodded. Another job well done—so far.

Olivia and Paul moved through the throngs of guests with Octavia watching their every step. I headed for the concrete stairs leading to the second-floor, balcony level of the auditorium.

I emerged onto the landing, and Chloe turned at the sound of my footsteps. Chloe was a petite woman in her late twenties with black hair, hazel eyes, and olive skin. Like me, she wore a simple black pantsuit. Unlike me, she didn’t have a vest on over the top of it.

I’d offered to buy Chloe a vest when I’d hired her six months ago, but she’d politely refused. She thought she could get by with what she had stuffed in her pint-sized purse. Rookie. Chloe hadn’t been through the disasters I had. She’d learn, though—if she lasted that long. Most of my employees tended to burn out after a few months. They couldn’t handle the pressure I put on them—or myself.

“How is everything?” I asked, moving to stand beside her.

Chloe swept out her hand. “See for yourself.”

I peered over the metal railing to the floor below. Earlier today, workers had removed the auditorium seats and had them replaced with thick, padded benches. Balloons shaped like enormous red lips, Oomph’s logo, bobbed up and down at the ends of the benches, while faux ivory columns ringed the area. The columns held up a sheer silk netting embossed with more lips and filled with red roses, ivy, and baby’s breath. Lights entwined with the roses made the velvet petals glow. I’d been worried about the heat from the lights igniting the flowers, but everything seemed to be okay—for now.

Olivia and Paul made their way to the middle of the auditorium, where they shook hands and kissed cheeks. If the relaxidon didn’t take Olivia’s mind off her worries, maybe the constant attention would. She’d barely have time to breathe for the next thirty minutes.

From this distance, Olivia and Paul resembled two delicate figures on top of a wedding cake, surrounded by an army of moving, glittering frosting. At least, they would have to most people. I could see them as clearly as if they stood right in front of me. I might not care for some of my supersenses, but the enhanced eyesight was a perk—most of the time.

Chloe shook her head. “You’ve done it again, Abby. I can’t believe you planned this party on a week’s notice. It looks like it took months.”

I couldn’t believe it either. I might be the professional event planner in Bigtime, but even I had difficulty throwing together a high-society soiree in five business days. But Octavia had insisted. Her baby sister’s engagement and the Oomph and Polish merger had to be announced simultaneously by mid-January in the most lavish manner possible. Olivia freaking out right before the party had been the least of my problems. Given the time crunch, I’d had to beg, badger, and berate everyone from the caterers to the florist to the band. Well, more so than usual. But somehow, it had all come together at the last minute.

My critical gaze moved from one thing to another. Decorations. Flowers. Lip balloons. Olivia. Paul.

A sense of accomplishment, of pride, filled me. I might sometimes hate parties and the crises that went along with them, but nothing satisfied me more than a job well done. Chloe was right. Everything was perfect. Just the way it should be.

Just the way I’d planned.

Chapter Two

The engagement party kicked into full swing. Olivia and Paul kept smiling and shaking hands while the band played jazzy music. The guests sipped champagne as they waited their turn in the receiving line.

But my job wasn’t done yet. In addition to wanting her sister to announce her engagement in the richest manner possible, Octavia had demanded the accompanying sit-down dinner—focusing on the merger of the two companies—be just as marvelous, which meant more work for me.

“You stay here and supervise,” I said. “I’m going to the dining hall to make sure everything’s set up there.”

Chloe nodded.

I moved down the stairs to the ground floor of the convention center, stopping a moment to twist my neck from side to side. I was rewarded with a slight pop as my tension-filled bones found a bit of relief. January usually was one of my slowest months, but this one had been nonstop action. I’d done five weddings in as many weeks. With Valentine’s Day only a month away, I was already hip deep into planning couples’ dinners and romantic rendezvous. On the big day, I wouldn’t have a moment to myself—I’d be too busy overseeing everyone else’s happiness.

Did I mention I hate some holidays too?

I checked my watch. The two-inch-wide silver timepiece was more like a small computer. It boasted three separate black faces, each one showing the minutes and seconds remaining until the next events were supposed to start. Four minutes, twenty-nine seconds before the dining hall doors opened. Fifteen minutes before the food would be set out. Thirty minutes until Olivia, Paul, and the rest of the guests entered the dining room.

Satisfied everything was on schedule, I set off down the corridor.

The Bigtime Convention Center had more square footage than almost any other building in the city. I’d planned and overseen so many weddings, parties, and fundraisers here I knew the layout blindfolded. I used my master key to open a door marked Staff Only and entered another hallway.

The twisting corridor was the belly of the beast. It ran the length of the center, a secret passage offering access to every part of the building. At first, the dimly lit hallway with its faceless concrete walls had creeped me out, but I’d gotten used to it. I couldn’t afford not to.

More than once, I’d stashed some drunken best man down here so he could sleep off his buzz rather than tell his buddy the groom that he was secretly in love with the bride. Sometimes, I thought I should give up event planning and just start blackmailing people. I had enough dirt to bury several of Bigtime’s high rollers.

I closed the door behind me, stepped onto a strip of gray carpet, and walked on. The concrete floor used to be as bare as the walls, and you could hear someone’s footsteps ring out the entire length of the hallway. Since my karaoke accident and subsequent acquisition of supersenses, loud, sharp noises aggravated me—and echoing footsteps almost always guaranteed a killer migraine. So, I’d convinced Morris Muzicale to put some carpet down here, along with a couple of cots, blankets, and pillows for my under-the-table party guests. I’d also brought in my own supplies—bottled water, protein bars, relaxidon, and a spare vest, all of which were stashed in my locker. Now, the convention center was like a second home.

I reached a door marked Dining Hall 5, used my key to unlock it, and stepped through. A six-foot-high potted palm tree partially obscured the entrance. I shut the door behind me and wiggled past the green leaves.

The dining hall looked similar to the auditorium, with its netting of roses and lights. But instead of benches, round tables large enough to seat eight people each ringed a parquet dance floor. A projector screen hung down one wall behind a podium flanked by two long tables. The happy couple and miscellaneous family members would sit there, and Octavia would announce the merger from the podium later. More Oomph lip balloons were tied to various columns. A banner stretched across the front of the podium read Olivia + Paul, Oomph + Polish = Two Matches Made in Heaven.

Lip-shaped crystal bowls sat on every table, each filled with samples of Oomph cosmetics. The guests would take the samples with them, instead of more traditional party favors.

Waiters bustled around the dining hall, lighting the candles on the tables and popping the corks off champagne bottles. One of the waiters stepped through a door leading to the kitchen. With my supersense of smell, it was easy to distinguish among the various aromas. Red-pepper-crusted chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, Parmesan-dusted asparagus, warm pumpernickel bread.

Olivia and Paul had forgone the typical bland dinner fare of baked chicken and fish in favor of more unusual dishes. Or rather, Octavia had. She’d insisted all of the food be red, white, black, or green—Oomph’s corporate colors. It wasn’t the strangest request I’d gotten. Nothing could top Milton Moore’s desire for strippers wrestling in a pit of strawberry gelatin at his ninetieth birthday party. Still, I’d tried to point out how limiting color-coordinated food could be, but the customer was always right—and Octavia always got what she wanted. Besides, she was paying me enough to do whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted—short of sleeping with her. Even then, I might consider it.

But right now, I had a caterer to talk to.

“Where’s Kyle?” I asked one of the waitresses.

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the kitchen. I pushed through the swinging double doors. A dozen chefs wearing food-spattered aprons and tall, white hats crammed inside, chopping vegetables and yelling out instructions. More waiters scooped and arranged mounds of potatoes and pounds of chicken onto plates. Kyle Quicke stood in the middle of it all.

A tall guy with a very lean figure, blue eyes, and a mop of sandy hair, Kyle owned Quicke’s, his family’s restaurant. Thanks to some secret recipes, Quicke’s served up the best food in the city. Everybody loved it, and it was my go-to restaurant for catering events. Kyle hadn’t blinked an eye when I’d told him I needed five hundred pounds of chicken in less than a week. It took a lot to ruffle Kyle, who took everything in stride.

“Abby Appleby.” Kyle smiled. “I was wondering when you were going to show up. Are you okay? You look a little tired.”

I was tired. I’d been working eighteen-hour days for the past week to make sure this party went off without a hitch, but I wasn’t about to tell him. If there was one thing an event planner could never do, it was show weakness. People expected you to be cool, calm, and in control—and more or less awake—always.

“Well, here I am. You know what I was wondering, Kyle? Where my lip-shaped cake is. It’s supposed to be outside when the guests come into the dining hall. A big visual reminder of the merger. We talked and talked and talked about this.”

Actually, I’d done most of the talking. With a touch of berating. Maybe it was the perfectionist in me, but I tended to get a little worked up at my events. All right, a lot worked up. Most of the time, I was able to get things done just by politely asking, but the rougher the going, the louder my voice got. My customers paid me to deliver the best, to make sure every detail was seen to, no matter how small, trivial, and inconsequential. Perfection was what I’d built my business, my reputation, on, and I liked to deliver. Molding chaos into birthdays, parties, and weddings to remember gave me a sense of accomplishment, satisfaction, and pride.

I pointed to a table where the cakes sat—five of them, courtesy of Bryn’s Bakery. Four chocolate layer cakes, and one monstrous, red, liplike behemoth with seven butter cream-filled layers. I thought the giant lips looked a little garish and creepy, but that wouldn’t stop Bigtime’s finest from digging into the cake—provided it made it outside on time.

“Abby?” Chloe’s voice crackled in my ear. “A few folks are leaving the auditorium, and Olivia and Paul have just started posing for the photos. Everyone should be headed your way in about ten minutes.”

“Thanks, Chloe.”

I turned back to Kyle, but he’d already moved to the other side of the kitchen, despite the fact that his chefs blocked the aisles. Kyle was stealthy. He always managed to slip out of reach whenever my back was turned. He has excellent survival instincts.

“I know, I know, get the cakes out pronto, or you’ll have my guts for garters,” Kyle said, still smiling. “Relax, Abby. You worry too much.”

I really must be tired, because I was getting a little too predictable. I’d have to come up with some new threats for Kyle Quicke.

* * *

Kyle and the waiters placed the cakes on the dining hall tables a scant twenty-seven seconds before people started filing inside. Everyone made a beeline for the desserts, just as I’d predicted. By the time Olivia and Paul arrived, the first round of food and drinks had been served, and guests had consumed three of the chocolate cakes.

Waiters brought in the chicken entrées, and everyone drifted away to their tables to eat. I stationed Chloe behind a column next to the stage so she could see to the needs of Olivia, Paul, and their family members while I took up a position next to the kitchen to make sure the food and drinks kept coming.

Nothing much happened during dinner, and finally, Octavia got up to toast her sister and soon-to-be brother-in-law—and announce the merger of their companies.

“This is not only a joining together of two terrific people but of two visionary businesses,” Octavia said.

A spotlight fell on Olivia and Paul. Maybe it was just the glare, but the two of them weren’t exactly smiling—more like cringing.

“With Oomph’s recent acquisition of Polish, we will continue to bring you not only the finest makeup but also the best lip-care products on the market,” Octavia continued.

She raised her champagne glass, and everyone applauded. Octavia’s speech soon drifted into the land of stock speak, the way these things always did. I tuned most of it out.

A few minor crises occurred during the evening, most notably Paul’s father, Peter Potter, getting drunk and trying to wrest the microphone away from Octavia. But I muscled Peter into the bathroom, shoved his head under the sink, and got him sobered up enough to return to the party.

At least no superheroes or ubervillains decided to crash the dinner. I worried about that with every event. A villain might decide to hold everyone hostage—or worse, take all of the food and booze with her. The fear was greater now, since a museum benefit I’d recently helped to plan had ended in disaster just that way—not once, but twice—with Berkley Brighton, the richest man in the city, getting killed in the crossfire.

Speaking of rich people, more than a few were in attendance tonight. The O’Hara-Potter engagement and merger were big news, as both families were worth a couple hundred million. Sam Sloane, Devlin Dash, Wesley Weston, Grace Caleb, and dozens of other business tycoons populated the room. The society and other reporters for the newspapers and TV stations had also come out to cover the event, including Carmen Cole with The Exposé and Kelly Caleb of the Superhero News Network.

I spotted Joanne James in the crowd, talking with Bella Bulluci. Joanne was hard to miss with her mane of black curls, lithe body, and sharp tongue. Bella, meanwhile, was a quiet, curvy, petite woman with frizzy hair. The two couldn’t have been more different, but they’d recently become good friends.

Joanne and Bella had been at the museum benefit the second time ubervillains had struck, and they’d both been kidnapped. Although they’d survived, Joanne’s husband, Berkley, had been killed. I’d planned his funeral a few months ago. It was one of the hardest jobs I’d ever done, mainly because I had only a couple of days to pull together what amounted to a state funeral.

But Joanne had seemed pleased with my efforts, enough to hire me to coordinate some of the other events accompanying Berkley’s passing, including all of the dedications and ribbon-cuttings his benefactors were holding. The whiskey mogul had been worth billions, and he’d spread his wealth to dozens of Bigtime charities. Pretty soon, Berkley Brighton’s name would be on just about every building in the city.

I waved to Joanne and Bella, trying to catch their attention, but the two women were deep in conversation—one I could hear, despite the ambient noise in the room.

“I still can’t believe Jasper is your brother,” Bella said, “and that the two of you don’t speak.”

“Are you on that again?” Joanne snapped. “I told you Jasper and I don’t have the same cozy relationship you have with your brother, Johnny. We never have.”

“I’m just worried about you. That’s what friends do. They worry about each other.”

Joanne rolled her eyes, but she linked her arm through the younger woman’s. “There you go again, being all sugary sweet and concerned and making my teeth hurt. Don’t worry, Bella. I’m fine. Or as fine as I can be with Berkley gone.”

The two women started talking about other things, including Bella’s significant other, Devlin Dash. I waved again, but Joanne and Bella didn’t see me, didn’t even look in my direction, didn’t even know I was alive. Nobody saw me at events. I faded into the background, just like the Invisible Ingénues did. Oh, people knew I was around, but they didn’t actually look for me—unless they needed something. In addition to having supersenses, I was an invisible woman—whether I wanted to be or not.

So, I quit listening to Bella and Joanne and went back to work. I stood against the wall, eyes flicking around, ears open wide, using my superpowers to make sure every single thing was still perfect.

By the time we got through the toasts, dinner, and dancing, it was almost midnight. I shifted on my aching feet. I would have loved to leave hours ago, but I always stayed until the bitter end. The one time I’d left a wedding before the reception ended, the maid of honor had tossed champagne on one of the groomsmen just as the waiter served the baked Alaska. One thing had led to another, until the Bigtime Fire Department had to be called out to save what was left of the church. So, I didn’t take any chances now.

“Oh, Abby?”

I jumped at the sound of Octavia’s voice. She stood beside me, propping up a very drunk Peter Potter. Superhearing or not, I’d been so preoccupied I hadn’t even heard them approach. Good thing I wasn’t a superhero and they weren’t ubervillains. I might have been in serious trouble then.

“Yes, Octavia?”

She murmured in my ear. “I’m afraid Peter still isn’t…feeling well. Do you think you could take him someplace and get him to lie down for a while?”

In other words, could I stash the embarrassing relative out of the way so everybody else could keep having a good time. I might call myself a professional event planner, but I was really just a glorified shrink, pharmacist, and babysitter rolled into one.

Before I could respond, Peter’s stomach rumbled. His round face paled, and I could hear his rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing even over the music. All the signs of a man about to be violently sick.

I stepped back but wasn’t quite quick enough. I doubted even the superhero Swifte would have been with his superspeed. Peter lurched forward, bent over, and puked all over me. The hot, sour stench of booze hit my nose while warm, squishy things I didn’t want to think about splattered onto my shoes and pants.

Oh, yes. I definitely hated engagement parties.

Chapter Three

Thankfully, only a few stragglers saw Peter upchuck all over my shoes. I fished a ginger tablet out of my vest and gave it to the businessman to help his queasy stomach. By the time I put him in a limo home, went to the bathroom, and cleaned myself up, everyone else had left.

I walked back to the dining hall to find it deserted. Thanks to the convention center’s staff and Kyle and his army of workers, the decorations and dirty dishes had already been cleared away. The area had been returned to its usual, empty, pristine shell, just as Kyle had agreed to in the contract. I might not care for his lackadaisical attitude, but Kyle always was efficient.

Because everything had been taken care of, I trudged back to the hidden corridor and made my way to the staff break room. A couple of vending machines hunkered inside the windowless area, flanked by several plastic tables and rows of metal lockers. A man wearing gray janitor’s coveralls sat at one of the tables, drinking a soda and chain smoking while he flipped through a hunting magazine.

“Hey, Colt,” I said, moving to my locker and spinning the combination lock.

“Hey, Abby. How was the party?” Colt Colton asked, taking another drag off his cigarette.

“Not too bad, except for the guy who puked on my shoes.”

Colt leaned over and stared at my black pumps, which weren’t quite so black anymore. “That’s messed up, Abby.”

“Tell me about it.”

He started to reply, but his cell phone rang. He tapped the screen and started talking.

I threw my puked-upon shoes in the trash. Digging some wool socks and my snow boots out of the locker, I plopped down in one of the chairs and pulled them on. Colt finished his call, crushed out his cigarette, and swallowed the rest of his soda.

“Duty calls.” He folded up the magazine and stuck it in his back pocket. “Later, Abby.”

“Later, Colt.”

The custodian left the break room. The second the door shut behind him, I reached into my locker, pulled out an industrial-sized can of air freshener, and sprayed a liberal amount. Cigarette smoke always aggravated my supersenses. It never failed to make my eyes itch, nose twitch, and skin crawl. Unfortunately, Colt had a two-pack-a-day habit, and the break room always reeked of smoke.

I put the air freshener back into the locker, grabbed my black coat, and shrugged into it. A black toboggan went on my head. I glanced at my watch. Just after one in the morning. I thought about calling Piper Perez, my best friend, to see if she wanted to get a drink, but it was too late to go to The Blues, the karaoke bar we still frequented despite my unfortunate accident there. So, I buttoned up my coat, pulled on my gloves, wrapped a scarf around my face and neck, and headed out.

The party guests had long deserted the convention center, leaving the long, wide hallways still and silent. Thick, crimson carpet stretched across the floor, while sheer, matching fabric covered the walls. Gold threads arranged in paisley patterns in the fabric shimmered under the low glow of the house lights. More gold glinted on the Renaissance-style paintings, while murky shadows sprawled across the floor and crept up the walls. I made a right and entered the lobby, with its hundred-foot-high ceiling, elegant chandeliers, and gold-leaf crown molding.

Eddie Edgars, the college-age guard who manned the front desk, waved at me, then returned to his reading. Even though I was about fifty feet away, I could see the cover. Eddie was engrossed in a comic book by Confidante that chronicled the latest adventures of the Fearless Five, Bigtime’s most powerful and popular superhero team. Each of the members—Striker, Fiera, Mr. Sage, Hermit, and Karma Girl—was featured in a heroic pose on the cover. I waved back to Eddie, pushed through the revolving doors, and stepped outside.

A hard spurt of wind slapped me in the face, chilling my cheeks through my scarf. It had snowed while I was inside, and several inches blanketed the street. A cold front had been stalled over Bigtime for a week. Every day, it snowed a little more, adding to what was already on the ground. The forecasters were calling for an actual blizzard tonight.

I reached through a slit in my coat and turned on the pocket-sized heater hidden in my vest. The machine clicked on, and warm air rushed across my chest, fighting back the cold. Let Chloe scoff all she wanted. There were advantages to having a vest of many things.

I stuck my gloved hands in my pockets, tucked my chin down, and walked on. I’d recently moved to a loft in the city so I could be closer to my office. My building was only a few blocks from the convention center, but the snow made it slow going.

Quiet cloaked the streets, along with the snow. Only an occasional puff of wind whistled at the icy silence. I enjoyed the tranquility after the clang, clatter, and conversation of the party. I’d learned to tune out much of the noise that aggravates my enhanced hearing, but I still ended up with killer headaches after some of my more boisterous events. Tonight, I’d been lucky; I had only a dull ache in my temples.

I’d just passed an alley on Thirteenth Street when a strange noise broke the cold quiet. It sounded like a large zipper being drawn down. A soft sound, no louder than a whisper, I wouldn’t have heard it at all if everything else hadn’t been so still.

I continued on my way, but when I heard a different noise, like metal scraping together, I stopped and concentrated, trying to find the source of the sounds. They seemed to be coming from deeper in the alley. I stepped inside a shadow at the far end and reached for my stun gun.

The alley ran about a hundred feet straight back before curving to the right. A few Dumpsters sat against the brick walls, and shadows pooled around them like blood. I looked—really looked—toward the end of the alley where the shadows were the darkest. Most people would have seen nothing but blackness ringed with snow, but I wasn’t most people. Not anymore. My vision was just as good at night as it was during the day.

The sound of metal clanged together again. A black zip line uncoiled at the end of the alley, and a figure slid to a stop, his booted feet crunching into the snow-covered ground.

His back was to me as he undid a buckle securing him to the line. He held up something that resembled a gun and pressed a button. The line, which had a silver hook attached to the end, zipped into the gun, like a tape measure being drawn into its case, and he stuck the weapon in a leg holster. He turned then, and I got a look at the noisemaker.

He wore a cobalt-blue leather costume that outlined his muscular body. In a darker shade of blue, a fierce-looking bird with outstretched wings spread across his chest. But the most prominent parts of the bird were its talons, which appeared ready to erupt from the costume and slice you with their sharp, curved edges. A harness around the man’s right thigh held a gun topped by what looked like a small crossbow, while the one on his left leg contained the gun with the grappling hook I’d just seen him use. A belt studded with crossbow bolts encircled his lean waist. A cobalt toboggan covered his hair, probably to protect him from the cold, while a wide, blue-tinted, wing-shaped visor wrapped around his face, obscuring most of it from sight.

It was Talon, one of Bigtime’s many superheroes. Talon was a bit of a Robin Hood. He frequently robbed the rich to give to charity. At least, he robbed the rich drug dealers and gangsters who populated the city. Unfortunately, there were almost as many of those as there were ubervillains.

Talon also wasn’t your typical hero in one other respect—he didn’t have a superpower. At least, none I knew of. Most of your Bigtime heroes and villains fell into one of two categories. They were either Ps or Gs—powers or gadgets. That was how I thought of them. Superheroes like Fiera, the member of the Fearless Five who could form fireballs with her bare hands, were Ps. Heroes like Talon, who relied on complicated weapons and other gizmos, were Gs. I admired the Gs much more than the Ps. Anyone with a power could be a hero. It took someone with a lot of guts to be a hero without any superpowers.

There was a finesse to Talon’s gizmos, a cool cleverness I appreciated far more than the brute strength some of the other heroes used to fight evil. The crossbow-topped gun on his thigh could do everything from shoot darts to morph into a quarterstaff, and his grappling hook gun had a myriad of functions as well. At least, that was what my friend Piper said. She knew everything there was to know about Bigtime’s superheroes and ubervillains.

Talon slid something small, skinny, and silver into a slot on his belt. I shrugged and turned, ready to get to my warm, cozy loft, when another odd sound caught my ear. It sounded like more zippers—a lot more zippers.

A second later, six men dressed in dark clothes rappelled down into the alley.

“There he is!”

“Get him!”

“Don’t let him get away!”

Talon whirled to face the men as they ganged up on him, but he more than held his own. In addition to being a gadget guru, he was a solid street fighter. The superhero punched, kicked, and took down one man after another. I just stood there and watched, too awestruck to do anything else.

Talon had just dispatched the last man when a gun burped orange fire from the other side of the alley. A bullet pierced Talon’s left shoulder, and he cried out in pain. Clutching his shoulder, he stumbled back. The bullet kept going. It hit the wall behind him and exploded, spewing a black gas in Talon’s face. The superhero screamed, as though the gas burned him. I shrank back against the alley wall.

A figure eased out of the shadows where the bullet had come from. He looked like a bad guy from some old spaghetti western movie. He wore a long, black leather duster and cowboy boots, complete with silver tips and jangling silver spurs. Black hair hung loose to his shoulders, while a black-and-white, paisley bandana covered the bottom half of his face. A black, ten-gallon hat was pushed low on his forehead. He held a silver revolver, except it was much larger than your typical gun. I knew who he was too—Bandit, one of the city’s ubervillains who was known for his two six-shooters. The handguns fired a variety of unusual projectiles, in addition to bullets. Bandit was a gun for hire, so to speak, an ubervillain who pimped himself out as a mercenary and enforcer to anyone who could pay his price.

Gun drawn, Bandit moved in front of Talon, who slumped against the alley wall, clutching his wounded shoulder. The other men limped to their feet, forming a semicircle around the injured superhero.

“Tycoon wants what you took from him,” Bandit said, drawling out each and every syllable. “Now.”

Tycoon was mixed up in this too? A whole smorgasbord of heroes and villains had come out to play tonight. Tycoon was Bigtime’s most notorious mob boss—and one of the most secretive. He’d never been photographed, and only two or three of his most trusted lieutenants even knew what he looked like or who he really was. More info gleaned from Piper. She paid attention to such things.

Tycoon could have been an ubervillain for all his secrecy. Yet somehow, he managed to run an empire of gambling and prostitution—and never get caught. Lately, the rumor mill and news outlets buzzed about him branching out and dealing in euphoridon, a very dangerous, very addictive radioactive drug with all sorts of nasty side effects.

“Tycoon…can go…to hell,” Talon said. “And you with him.”

Bandit raised his gun and leveled it at Talon’s heart. “Fine. Dead bodies are always easier to search anyway.”

I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Talon with a bullet wound in his shoulder—and about to be killed by an ubervillain. I might know a thing or two about handling drunken businessmen, anxious debutantes, and carefree caterers, but this was beyond my area of expertise. By the time I called the police, Talon would be dead, and Bandit would have whatever he was after.

I decided to improvise, something I was pretty good at. Through the slits in my coat, I patted the various pockets of my vest, searching for something useful. I’d once saved the mayor from embarrassment by spray-painting red polka dots all over her white suit after she’d sat down in a puddle of ketchup at a restaurant opening. Surely, I had something that could help save a superhero. Gum, breath mints, tissues, hairspray, more relaxidon pills…

My fingers closed over my cell phone. I whipped it out and turned it around, shielding the screen’s light from the goons in the alley. They probably couldn’t see me anyway, but I didn’t want to take any chances.

I tore off my glove and scrolled through the various ring tones until I came to the one I needed—the police siren. I’d used it before to sober up wasted frat boys and sorority girls at college mixers.

I called up the sound file and pressed Play. Half a dozen sirens erupted from the phone. It didn’t sound like the real deal to my supersensitive ears, but it should be good enough to fool Bandit and his gang of thugs. At least, I hoped it was. Otherwise, there would be one less superhero in Bigtime.

Bandit’s head whipped around to the end of the alley where I stood. I forced myself not to shrink back into the shadows. I didn’t think he could see me, because I wore black from head to toe, but I wasn’t going to draw attention to myself by moving. You never knew what ubervillains would do—or what they were capable of.

“Bandit! Let’s get out of here!” one of the men said. “The cops are coming!”

I cranked up the volume, trying to add to the illusion.

Bandit kept staring in my direction, probably looking for the red and blue flash of the oncoming police cars. A small click rang out above the roar of my cell phone. Somehow, during the commotion, Talon had managed to straighten up—and he now had his crossbow gun pointed at Bandit’s back.

The ubervillain looked over his shoulder, then back in my direction. I turned up the volume on the phone as loud as it would go, hoping it would be enough to save Talon.

“This isn’t over, Talon,” Bandit snarled. “Tycoon wants you dead. We’ll be back for what you took.”

Bandit spat on the snow, swiveled on his booted heel, and stomped through the right side of the alley. The other men limped along behind him. Talon held on until they left. Then, he let out a low groan and fell to one knee. Blood dripped from the wound on his shoulder, staining the white powder a harsh crimson.

I waited to be sure Bandit and his men weren’t coming back before I scurried to the end of the alley. “Are you all right?”

Talon paid no attention to me. Instead, he clawed off his visor and scooped handfuls of snow onto his eyes. The superhero had his back to me, so I couldn’t see his face.

“It burns,” he said to no one in particular. “Damn, that burns.”

I assumed he was talking about the gas that had erupted from the bullet Bandit had shot him with. My foot snagged on something in the snow, and I grunted and yanked it free. Talon froze. Then, he sprang into action, searching the ground around him. His fingers closed over his visor, and he slipped it on his face before turning toward me.

“Is someone there?” he asked.

I opened my mouth to respond when I realized Talon wasn’t looking in my direction. I was less than six feet away, but his head was pointed off to the right, as if I was standing over there. But there was no way he could have avoided seeing me. Even I wasn’t that invisible.

Unless…he couldn’t see me.

Maybe he couldn’t. The gas must have penetrated his visor, gotten into his eyes, and blinded him. I wondered if the effect was temporary—or permanent.

“Is someone there?” Talon repeated, moving into a low crouch, his hand tightening on his crossbow gun.

I could tell by the sharpness in his voice that he was worried I’d seen him—that I knew who he was. I didn’t know what to do, so I played dumb. I waited a beat, then scuffled around in the snow as if I’d just arrived.

“What happened?” I asked, playing the part of the upstanding citizen.

Talon gestured at the blood trickling down his shoulder. “I got shot.”

I started to open my mouth to respond but thought better of it. From the way I was stating the obvious, you would have thought I was the one who was blind.

“That. Right. Let me call the police.”

He frowned. “They’re almost here, aren’t they?”

I looked down and realized my phone was still on and still blaring out the sound of sirens.

“Oh no,” I said, shutting it off. “That’s just one of my cell phone ring tones. I heard a strange noise and clicked it on. It’s something I do whenever I’m nervous.”

Talon cocked his head to one side as if I was spouting nonsense. Maybe I was. So much had happened in the past few minutes. It was a lot to process.

“But you’re hurt. Let me call the cops for real. They’ll bring an ambulance and take you to the hospital—”

“No!” he said. “No cops, no ambulance, no hospital. I’ll be all right. Just give me a minute.”

“All right? You have a bullet wound in your shoulder. How is that all right?”

The wet, coppery stench of his blood made my stomach twist. That was the bad thing about having supersenses—I heard and felt and smelled bad things that much more. These days, being exposed to even a bit of blood was more than enough to make me light-headed.

Talon reached out and fumbled at my hand, the one holding the phone. His fingers closed around my wrist. Good grief, the man had a strong grip, even though he’d just been shot.

“I can’t just leave you out here,” I said. “You’re bleeding, and it’s snowing again. You’ll get hypothermia in no time.”

His fingers tightened on my wrist. The palm of his hand was rough and cold, his fingers hard and calloused, but a hot tingle traveled up my arm at his touch. A small rush of interest, of attraction, I hadn’t felt in a long time. I wasn’t into superheroes, not like Piper, who could recite obscure facts about every hero and villain in town, but I found myself very curious and very drawn to Talon.

“No. Promise me you won’t call the police. They can’t protect me. Bandit will come to the hospital and finish the job, and I won’t be able to stop him. Not now. And a lot of innocent people could get hurt if they get in his way.”

“But—” I protested.

“No, no police.”

I drew in a breath and opened my mouth to argue when I caught a whiff of his scent. He smelled like snow mixed with mint—crisp, cold, sharp, clean. A wonderful aroma, even if it was tinged with blood.

I looked up into his face. I couldn’t see his eyes, of course. The blue, wraparound visor hid them from view, but he had a strong, square jaw. Talon wasn’t really handsome, not like Debonair or one of the other suave superheroes, but he had a rugged look that appealed to me.

He was Talon. A superhero. A larger-than-life G-man who went around the city making things right.

And I found myself nodding in total agreement, as if it was a perfectly reasonable plan, instead of the dumbest thing I’d ever heard.

“All right. I won’t call the cops.”

“Good.” Talon smiled. “And let me thank you. If it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be breathing at the moment. Now, can I ask you to do one more thing for me?”

“Anything,” I asked, mesmerized.

“Help me stand up.”

I scooted closer to him and put my shoulder under his left arm. He was heavier than I expected—much heavier than Peter Potter had been. Then again, Talon was all leather-clad muscle, whereas Peter had been all portly businessman. I made sure my boots were steady beneath me, then rose to my feet. I’m sure there were some women in Bigtime who would have gracefully guided Talon to his feet, who would have been strong and solid while still maintaining elegance and girly-girl mystique. Not me. I grunted like a noisy tennis player from the effort of hauling the superhero upright.

But I managed it, and we stood there, like lovers in a heated clinch, my face pressed against his chin. A bit of dark stubble scraped against my skin, and I breathed in, enjoying his crisp, cold scent. Talon was a couple of inches over six feet but seemed larger, stronger in the dark night. I’d never paid much attention to superheroes, but I was definitely intrigued by the man before me. Even if he was bleeding all over my coat. Good thing it was black. At least I couldn’t see the stains easily, even if I could smell them.

Talon slid his arm off my shoulder and took a step back. His boots skidded on the snow a moment before he found his footing.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” I asked, still worried.

Talon’s face was pale, despite the stubble darkening his chin. Beads of cold sweat glistened on his forehead, and his breath puffed out in ragged gasps—all signs of someone about to pass out, superhero or not.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It’s just a flesh wound. Now, I’m sure you want to get in out of the cold. So, it’s time for me to go.”

Talon grabbed at his leg harness, fumbling around until he found his grappling hook gun. Finally pulling it free, he raised it over his head and squeezed the trigger. The hook arced up into the night sky before clanging onto the roof above our heads. Talon clipped himself to the line and gave it a tug to make sure it was anchored on something solid.

“Thanks again for the rescue,” Talon said, looking off to the left instead of at me. “Tonight, you’re my hero.”

Talon started to press a button on the side of the grappling hook gun, but his finger slipped off the gadget. He tried again, with the same result. The third time, he dropped the gun entirely. The superhero teetered from side to side, his legs crumpled, and he pitched forward, face-first into the snow.

I stared at his unconscious form. Snow drifted down from the black, winter sky, covering his cobalt-blue costume one white, crystal flake at a time.

I rubbed my aching head. I had a wounded, unconscious superhero who’d made me promise not to call the police and not take him to the hospital. Bandit and his thugs could come back any second, and the weather was going from bad to worse.

I was used to dealing with crises, but this was a doozy even for me.

What was I going to do now?

Chapter Four

Even though my headache throbbed toward full-blown migraine, I didn’t panic. I never did, not even when the cruise ship I’d rented out for a bar mitzvah capsized in the middle of Bigtime Bay with two hundred people on board. I hadn’t panicked then, with the threat of mass casualties and the end of my career as an event planner staring me in the face, and I wasn’t going to now.

Instead, I thought about things, the snow still falling around me. I looked at my phone. I could call the cops. I should call the cops. They could help the superhero, make sure he got the medical attention he needed. But Talon didn’t want me to. And he’d been right about something. If Bandit came after him while the superhero was in the hospital, he’d be dead—and other people would get caught in the crossfire.

Besides, I’d promised the superhero I wouldn’t. I always kept my promises—even when I had to plan the perfect party in less than a week’s time.

So, no calling the police.

I could hail a cab, but I doubted any were running at this hour, especially with the snow picking up speed. Even if I did find a cab, the driver would just take Talon to the hospital, and the police would get involved there.

So, no hailing a cab.

But I had to do something. I couldn’t leave the superhero in the alley in the cold. Talon would freeze to death—or Bandit would come back and finish him off. I massaged my temples, trying to think of some anonymous place where the superhero would be safe, warm, and hopefully stop bleeding.

The convention center. The public library. Quicke’s. Oodles o’ Stuff. Paradise Park. I ticked off the downtown locations in my head, discarding them all. Every place was either already closed or there’d be too many people asking too many questions.

I glanced over my shoulder toward the deserted street. I should have just kept on walking instead of stopping to investigate some strange noise. Damn superhearing. It always got me in trouble. I could have been at home in bed in my loft right now, instead of out here, freezing my ass off—

Wait a minute. My loft. I could take Talon to my loft. It was safe and warm and free of ubervillains. Better yet, it was only a few blocks away.

It was the best plan I could come up with—the only plan. Now, all I had to do was figure out how to get him there. I didn’t think I could carry Talon. At least, not more than a few feet. I looked back toward the end of the alley, hoping Fiera, Wynter, or some other superstrong superhero would just happen along to help me move Talon—or better yet, take him off my hands altogether.

But, of course, it didn’t happen. That was another reason I didn’t pay much attention to superheroes. They were never around when you really needed them. Like during my water-logged bar mitzvah. I’d expected, even hoped, for Cap’n Freebeard and his Saucy Wenches to show up and take everyone off the sinking ship, but the pirate and his psychedelic party barge had been nowhere in sight. We’d had to wait for the Coast Guard to rescue us.

So I was on my own—like always.

That’s why I wear a vest crammed full of emergency supplies. Saving a bleeding superhero from freezing to death wasn’t the sort of emergency I usually handled, but if I could strong-arm Bigtime’s wealthiest citizens into behaving, however badly, I could figure out some way to get Talon to my loft.

I unbuttoned my coat and patted the pockets on my vest, going through a mental inventory of everything stuffed inside. Nail polish. Tissues. Bobby pins. Hairspray. Breath mints. Garbage bag—

Garbage bag—that might work.

I unzipped the appropriate pocket and pulled out a large, black, plastic bag—one of several I carried around in case somebody at one of my events made an enormous mess. They also were good to give to folks like Peter Potter when they’d had a few too many.

I looked at Talon’s long torso. Good thing it was a heavy-duty, supersized bag, because he wasn’t a small man. I unrolled the bag on the snow next to him and tied two knots in the end. Then, I got down on my knees and pushed and strained and heaved, rolling him onto the bag, face-up.

During my shoving, a silver flash drive slipped out of a slot on Talon’s belt. I picked it up. The gizmo looked like your typical flash drive—except for the letter T embossed on the glossy surface. I wondered if the T stood for Talon or something else. No writing or labels were stuck on it to tell me what information it contained, but I slipped the drive into my coat pocket. I’d give it back to Talon later, when we were both warm and conscious. I also plucked his grappling hook gun out of the snow, unbuckled him and the gun from the zip line, and slid the weapon back into the holster on his leg.

The superhero’s shoulder wound had stopped bleeding, probably because he’d been lying in the cold snow for several minutes. Talon’s leather costume looked fairly thick and weatherproof. I hoped it would keep him warm enough until I got him to my loft.

Once I had Talon more or less arranged on the bag, I brought the edges up and tied it around him. By the time I finished knotting the plastic together, the superhero resembled a mummy swathed in one big, shiny, black bandage.

Talon didn’t move or stir during the ordeal. I was glad he couldn’t see me like this, grunting, sweating, and flailing in the snow. I wasn’t naturally graceful anyway, not like Piper, but I was being clumsier than usual. My normal awkward self and then some. Not that Talon could see me anyway with the gas Bandit had sprayed him with. Or that he’d ever noticed me before. Few people did.

Then again, I’d never really been up close and personal with a superhero either. It wasn’t like I was one of the folks in the Slaves for Superhero Sex group. SSS was one of the city’s more infamous organizations, filled with people who did extremely stupid things like handcuff themselves to railroad tracks in hopes of being saved by a hero or even a villain—and showing their gratitude with their bodies afterward. But I couldn’t scoff too much at the group. The members had been smart enough to hire me to plan their Valentine’s Day dance this year.

Once I had Talon wrapped up, I grabbed the two knots I’d tied at the end of the bag, using them as handles. I turned toward the front of the alley, my back to Talon, took a step forward—and almost yanked my arms off.

The bag didn’t come with me, didn’t budge an inch. I was lucky the plastic hadn’t ripped. But this was the plan I’d come up with, so I tried again. Still, the bag didn’t move.

I tried again. Nothing.

Finally, I hunkered down, dug my boots into the snow, and surged forward with a fierce growl that would have drowned out Yeti Girl. This time, the bag moved—five whole inches. Well, it was five inches closer to my building.

“You’re heavy, you know that?” I groused.

Talon didn’t respond.

I wiped the freezing sweat off my forehead and tried to quit wheezing. It was times like these when I wished I’d gotten superstrength from my run-in with that overcharged amp. If you’re going to almost get electrocuted to death, you should get something good out of it. But no, I’d wound up with supersenses instead, which were completely useless in this situation.

But Abby Alexandra Appleby was nothing if not persistent. Somehow, I grunted, heaved, and dragged Talon out of the alley. The snow made it easier, once I got going. If the ground had been bare, I never would have managed it. The bag helped too, sliding along the icy terrain.

Three minutes later, I reached the end of the alley. I looked up and down the street. Swirls of snow gusted here and there, splattering a fresh coat of the white stuff on whatever was in the way. I cocked my head to one side, listening—really listening. Silence. More fat, fluffy flakes cascaded around me, whipped sideways by a blustery breeze, like I was trapped in a snow globe someone kept shaking.

Once I got my breath back, I cracked my neck, gripped the bag handles, and plowed down the street. I managed to build up a bit of speed, mainly by ignoring Talon’s body thumping up and down on the snow. I did stop when I lost my footing and banged the superhero into the side of a mailbox, but Talon didn’t wake up, so I figured it hadn’t hurt him too much. Besides, I was saving his life. What were a few bruises compared to that?

Normally, it would have taken me about five minutes to walk the remaining blocks to my building. Tonight, dragging an unconscious superhero behind me, it took closer to thirty.

By the time I reached my building, I was a sweaty mess. My toboggan had slid down into my eyes, along with my brown hair, and my scarf hung limp around my neck. My body ached from the strain of hauling Talon around, and my numb, stiff fingers wanted to stay permanently curled around the knots on the bag. Why couldn’t I have run into somebody lighter, like Aria? The thin, petite superhero, who was fond of singing opera while she fought ubervillains, didn’t weigh much more than a hundred pounds. Talon tipped the scales at almost twice that much.

My building didn’t have a doorman, something I was extremely grateful for tonight. If someone had been around, he would have asked a lot of awkward questions, like Why do you have a black bag wrapped around a superhero? Why are you dragging him through the streets late at night? Aren’t you worried about his head flopping around like that?

I let go of the bag and opened the door with my key. Then, I stuck one foot inside so the door would stay open while I dragged Talon through it. I’d never been fond of brown linoleum, but it was relatively easy to pull the unconscious superhero across the lobby floor.

Management had renovated the elevator a couple of months ago, so I didn’t have to worry about how I was going to drag the superhero up five flights of stairs. I pulled Talon over to the gray metal doors, punched the Up button, and slumped against the wall, exhausted from my snowy workout.

The elevator’s doors opened, but no ping! announced its arrival. I’d disabled the box weeks ago. There were some noises I just couldn’t stand with my superhearing. Pinging elevators topped the list, along with roaring vacuum cleaners and chirping cell phones.

I hauled Talon inside and punched 5 for my floor. The elevator creaked and groaned, but slowly it started to rise. Gears churned and ground out ragged whispers, but I couldn’t detect any other noises. I’d moved into the building six months ago for several reasons—including the fact that it was as still as a tomb. Most of the other residents were senior citizens. Nice, quiet senior citizens who didn’t slam their doors or scream at each other and add to my migraines. Plus, the walls were very, very thick. I’d called up the building’s architect and grilled him about that before I signed the deed.

The elevator door slid back, fronting a short hallway with a door at the end. I tugged Talon out of the elevator, opened the door to my loft, pulled him inside, and flipped on the lights. Then, I closed the door behind me and slumped against it, taking a much-needed breather.

My loft took up the entire fifth floor, but the space was empty, almost barren, mainly because I wasn’t around enough to fix it up. Boxes full of clothes, books, and dishes lined one wall—the same spot they’d been in for months. The only thing I’d completely unpacked had been my collection of CDs and albums. Music was the one thing I couldn’t live without—and the only loud noise that didn’t automatically give me a headache.

Speaking of music, I needed some now. I shucked off my dripping boots and shrugged out of my coat. The coppery stench of Talon’s blood on the black fabric made my stomach roil, and I made a mental note to drop the garment off at the dry cleaners.

I padded over to my stereo system, which took up the better part of one wall. I hit a button on my iPod, and a playlist featuring The Killers blared on. Maybe the pulsing rock beats would get me energized enough to get Talon into the bathroom so I could clean him up.

The superhero still didn’t wake up, not even when I unwrapped the bag from around him. Talon was surprisingly dry, considering all of the snow I’d dragged him across and through, and he didn’t seem to be any worse for wear from the bumps he’d taken during the trip—except for the wound in his shoulder. A small trickle of blood ran out of it, and the edges had turned purple from the cold. That didn’t look good.

I plodded over to my desk and retrieved my executive-style chair—complete with rollers. Sweet, sweet rollers. I dug through one of the boxes marked Towels and put some black ones over the chair so the leather wouldn’t get soaked with melting snow and blood. Then, I wrestled Talon up into the chair. From there, it was a breeze to slide him across my hardwood floor into the bathroom. I pumped the reclining lever on the bottom of the chair and tipped Talon over into the bathtub, which was sunk into the tiled floor.

I wiped the sweat off my face and cracked my neck to relieve some of the tension. I wouldn’t have to work out for a week after this Fiera-like effort. I thought screaming at Kyle sapped my energy. Lugging a superhero around was worse.

But I wasn’t done with Talon yet. Promise or no promise, I wasn’t letting him die, which meant figuring out some way to see how injured he really was and warm him up at the same time. I crawled into the oversize bathtub with the unconscious superhero, propped him up into a sitting position, and placed a towel under his head.

Then I stripped him.

I started with his boots, yanking off the heavy, blue shoes and matching socks, before moving up and unbuckling the silver belt around his waist. The leg harnesses and grappling hook gun came next, minus the hook, since Talon had shot it away in the alley.

I put the weapon aside and moved on to the crossbow gun. I hefted that weapon in my hands, surprised by how light it was. The metal bow on top was the same cobalt color as the rest of Talon’s costume. A bolt rested in place, the string pulled taut. All you had to do to fire it was pull the trigger mounted on the gun below. I peered at the bolt. The metal shaft led down to a clear, arrow-like tip that seemed to be made of glass. Something blue shimmered inside the bolt, and I jiggled the bow. The material sloshed around like liquid. Maybe Talon has his own version of blinding gas, just like Bandit did.

I curled my hand around the barrel of the gun, my finger on the trigger. A row of buttons ran along either side of the barrel, just pressing into my hand. Each and every one of the buttons would probably make the weapon do amazing things. I didn’t push any of them, though. I didn’t need to shoot a crossbow bolt through the bathroom wall—or into my foot. I set the weapon down and continued with my superhero stripping.

I managed to peel Talon’s pants down his legs and almost wished I hadn’t when I realized he’d gone commando. But I needed to get him warm and cleaned up, and I didn’t think he’d appreciate me soaking his costume in water. Next came the shirt—part of which was stuck to Talon’s bloody shoulder. I tugged gently at first, trying to pry the leather off the crusty wound without causing him any more pain, but it wouldn’t come free. In the end, I had to yank the stiff, sticky fabric away from the bullet holes in the front and back of his body. The superhero let out a low groan but didn’t wake up. Probably for the best.

I also pulled Talon’s toboggan off his head. I stared at his hair, a rich shade of chestnut shot through with maple highlights. He wore it short in the back and a bit fluffed out on top, or maybe that was because I’d yanked off his winter hat. For some reason, I’d always pictured Talon as more of a Nordic type, with shocking, white-blond locks and icy blue eyes to match.

I laid the toboggan with the rest of Talon’s clothes just outside the door so they wouldn’t get wet. The boots, pants, and weapons were fine, but the blood-soaked shirt was beyond help, especially with two bullet holes in the left shoulder.

I turned back to the naked superhero in the tub, my gaze examining his body from head to toe. Yeah, I knew it was wrong, but I leered at him. Only a little. Piper would never forgive me if I didn’t. Believe me, Talon had plenty of assets to admire. Washboard abs, strong, corded arms, good pecs. I’d never believed in love at first sight. But lust? Certainly.

In addition to the hard body, Talon had plenty of scars; small, slightly puckered holes I took to be old bullet wounds; thin slashes from knives, swords, or other sharp weapons; even a burn mark that looked like a triangle on his right shoulder. Other nicks and scrapes dotted his torso like weird white freckles.

I traced my fingers over the triangle burn. Then, I laid my palm against his chest, right over his heart. Hot tingles surged up into my arm at the touch, and I sighed with pleasure. With my supersensitive skin, I was almost always cold, no matter how many layers I wore, but Talon radiated heat, even though he sat naked in my chilly porcelain tub. Good. That meant he wasn’t suffering from hypothermia as I’d feared, although I still needed to get him cleaned up.

I moved my hand, examining the superhero’s old wounds. I had some experience with first aid, having patched up numerous folks at my events. Kids, mostly, who’d gotten too enthusiastic about their playing and ended up with bloody knees. But the more I looked at the scars, the more I realized Talon wasn’t just a G-man superhero. He was also a regular guy—one who’d gotten hurt more than once keeping others safe. One who was hurt right now. One who needed my help.

So, I quit leering. I turned on the tap, wincing as the faucets squeaked, and let the water get warm before stopping up the tub. I also put some Epsom salts into the mix. They always helped me relax after a long day at the office. Maybe they’d help Talon too—and hopefully drown out the lingering stench of blood clinging to his skin.

Now came the ultimate question—to remove the visor or not?

I stared at the visor covering Talon’s eyes and most of his face. The cobalt lenses reminded me of a pair of wraparound aviator sunglasses more than anything else, although they were tall and wide. The design matched the bird on his suit, with its outstretched wings and claws. Right now, the visor was the only thing preserving Talon’s anonymity. I’d stripped everything else away.

Piper wouldn’t have hesitated. She would have yanked his visor off first thing to see who Talon really was. She would have done it before she even thought about moving him out of the snowy alley. But I wasn’t obsessed with superheroes like Piper was. I didn’t particularly care who was who. I just wanted them to steer clear of my events.

But Talon had reacted violently to the gas spewed from Bandit’s bullet. He’d clawed off the visor and scooped snow on his face as if his eyes were on fire, and he hadn’t been able to see me afterward. I was betting his eyes were red and swollen—maybe worse. They needed to be cleaned and flushed, just like the wound in his shoulder. I’d rather remove Talon’s visor and learn his secret identity than have him be blinded for life because I’d refused to act.

So, I reached for the visor—and was rewarded with a violent shock the second my fingers touched the smooth lenses.

BZZT.

“Ouch!” I yanked my hand back, shaking it. It shocked me! His damn visor had shocked me!

That was only the beginning. Tiny panels opened up where the lenses met the frames on either side, and two thin metal bars slid out. Awestruck, I watched as the bars wrapped around Talon’s head and snapped together in the back with an audible click. I leaned back and realized that a small circular device had formed around the two bars, almost like a lock anchoring them together. My fingers crept out to touch it—

And a voice boomed through the bathroom.

Unauthorized user alert! Unauthorized user alert!

I screamed and stumbled back. After a moment, I realized the voice emanated from Talon’s visor—a very mechanized, bossy voice.

Stop and desist your superhero unmasking immediately! Any further attempts to remove Talon’s visor will result in increasing electrical shocks up to and resulting in death. This is not a joke. Repeat, this is not a joke…

The voice went on from there, chastising me for trying to remove the visor and encouraging whoever was listening to dial 911 and/or the hot line for the Fearless Five and ask for the superhero on call. But only if Talon was bleeding copious amounts.

It took me a minute to realize what had happened—Talon’s visor had some kind of automatic, self-defense mode to keep me from taking it off. I stared at the back of his head where the two bars had locked together. From the smooth texture of the metal, I was pretty sure the bars and lock were made of solidium, the hardest metal around. The stuff was virtually indestructible. You practically had to have a nuclear reactor to melt it down, which meant there was no way for me to get the visor off now. Not even a superstrong superhero like Fiera could have broken those bars. At least, not without a particularly heroic effort.

A visor with its own built-in defense mechanism to keep an unconscious superhero from being unmasked. Now that was clever.

I’d already been shocked to within an inch of my life once before, so I wasn’t eager to repeat the process. I heeded the visor’s warning and left it alone. I’d tried to help the superhero. That was all I could do.

I got out some clean washcloths and towels, along with some bandages and all the antibiotic ointments, healing creams, and painkillers I had. By the time I finished, a considerable pile littered the floor next to the bathtub.

After I’d been jolted into having supersenses, I’d tried every migraine drug on the market, trying to find some way to ease the constant pounding in my head. Even now, after I’d gotten a grip on my powers, a horrible headache manifested in my skull at least once a week.

Water filled the tub, and I turned off the faucets. Talon looked much better since I’d brought him in from the cold. The white strain had faded from his face, from what I could see of it, and his breathing was even and steady. I cocked my head to one side, listening—really listening. His heart pumped along with a steady rhythm.

My eyes went to his left shoulder and the small hole there. Now, it was time to get that disgusting, coppery blood off the superhero and see what else I could do to help him. I wet a washcloth and gently pressed it to Talon’s injury.

The second I touched him, the superhero drew in a sharp, ragged breath.

Although I couldn’t see them, I got the distinct impression his eyes snapped open. I didn’t have any time to react or move. Talon jerked up and latched on to my wrist.

Then, he yanked me into the tub with him.

Chapter Five

I didn’t just fall in. I plunged all the way in—fully submerged. Water forced its way into my mouth, my ears, and worst of all—up my nose. Water going up my nose was an excruciatingly painful and ticklish sensation now that I had supersenses, almost like inhaling liquid fire.

I flailed upward, breaking through the surface, coughing, sneezing, and sputtering water all over the superhero.

“Who are you? Where am I? What happened?” Talon demanded, thrashing around in the oversize tub.

Somehow, despite his injured shoulder, the superhero grabbed both my hands and pulled me toward him until I lay against his slick chest. Damn, he was strong, even for a mere G-man.

“You got shot by Bandit in the alley. I was there. You asked me not to call the police, remember?” I asked, trying to squirm free so I could push my wet hair off my face.

Talon’s grip tightened on my wrists. “Bandit!” he hissed. “Do you work for him? Or Tycoon?”

“Of course not!” I snapped, trying to pull back again unsuccessfully.

It was more than a little strange to be trapped in a tub full of warm water, especially when I was not so gracefully straddling a very wet, very naked, very excited superhero. One with acres of muscles—everywhere. Muscles I could feel through my waterlogged clothes. I couldn’t help but get a little excited myself. All right, a lot excited. Lust at first sight was a powerful, powerful thing.

“You got shot. Before you passed out, you told me not to call the cops, so I didn’t. But since I didn’t want you to freeze to death, I brought you to my apartment so I could clean you up and see how badly you were injured. That’s all. I swear.”

Talon stilled. The rest of the night must have come back to him, because he nodded and let go of my hands. I used the opportunity to scramble off his lap, careful not to knee him in the groin. I stumbled up out of the tub, water dripping out of my hair and pooling on the floor.

Talon reached up and rubbed his temple. His fingers stilled, and the superhero realized two metal bars encased his head—which meant I’d tried to take off his visor.

“I wanted to see how bad your eyes were,” I said in a defensive tone. “That’s why I tried to remove your glasses, not because I wanted to know your secret identity. Although from the shock I got, I’d say nobody takes off those glasses but you.”

A faint smile curved Talon’s lips. “That’s the idea. They’re programmed to accept only my DNA.”

“Well, it’s a good one. My fingers are still tingling.”

My toes were too, but I think that had more to do with Talon being naked than with his electro-shock visor.

Talon chuckled. “Who are you?” the superhero asked, his voice now more curious than harsh.

I opened my mouth to respond but thought better of it. I’d wrapped a superhero in a garbage bag, dragged him down several city blocks, shanghaied him into my apartment, stripped him naked, and tried to take off his visor. This was awkward enough already. Did I want Talon to know who I really was? Chances were he was some rich businessman who did the superhero gig for kicks in his spare time. Some suave society playboy who’d be at the majority of events I planned. One who’d secretly think of me as a superfreak, while I had no clue who he was—or that he was laughing at me behind my back.

No. I was definitely not telling Talon my real name.

“Tell you what—why don’t I just call you Talon, and you can call me…”

My eyes flicked around the bathroom, as if an anonymous name would magically appear in the steam on the mirror.

“Um…”

My gaze fell to the floor. No name there, just puddles of water.

“Um…”

I looked out the open door. Talon’s clothes sat in a row in the next room. My eyes latched onto the winged bird insignia on the superhero’s ruined shirt.

“Wren.” It was the first thing that popped into my head. “Just call me Wren.”

“Wren?” Talon asked. “Is that your real name?”

“Of course not. But it’s a bird name. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

“But why don’t you just tell me your real name?”

I sighed. “Look, you’re naked. In my apartment. I don’t usually have strange, naked men in my apartment, especially not superheroes. You’re not going to tell me your real name. Why should I tell you mine? It will probably be easier for both of us if we stick to anonymous names. That way, I won’t wonder whether my mailman is thinking about the night I took off his clothes whenever he delivers my packages.”

Talon threw his head back and laughed. The rich, throaty timbre rumbled through the room, almost like bass notes. The sound made me smile, despite the weirdness of the whole evening.

“Well, I can guarantee I’m not your mailman, but I get your point.” Talon smiled. “So, Wren it is. You saved my life. That’s all I really need to know. Nice to meet you.”

Talon must have still been feeling the effects from Bandit’s gas because he held out his hand about a foot away from where I stood. I leaned down and stuck my wet one in his.

“Nice to meet you too, Talon. Now, why don’t we get you cleaned up?”

“I’d like that.”

* * *

I spent the next half hour leaning over the tub, cleaning the wound in Talon’s shoulder. The bullet had gone all the way through, which meant I didn’t have to try to dig it out, like people always did in the movies. I don’t think I could have, given how much smelly blood would have been involved. Looking at the two small, neat holes in his skin was bad enough.

Talon pressed a hidden button on the side of his visor, which started humming. A moment later, the mechanized voice delivered its diagnosis.

No vital tissue damaged in shoulder region. Flesh wound only. Recommended course of action is round of painkillers and bed rest…

“Your visor can tell how seriously injured you are?”

Talon nodded. “Yeah. I don’t have superpowers, so I have to rely on my equipment more than most. I programmed the visor with a body scanner, basic medical information, and some other bells and whistles.”

“That is too cool,” I said. “A stun gun, a body scanner, and a medical encyclopedia. That thing’s better than a Swiss Army knife.”

The superhero laughed again. I liked the sound.

“You know, you have a very gentle touch,” Talon murmured as I rinsed off his shoulder. “I’ve barely felt a thing this whole time.”

A gentle touch? Yeah, I supposed so, now that my skin was supercharged to feel even the slightest vibration up to ten feet away. That was one of the reasons I usually wore oversized flannel shirts, baggy cargo pants, and custom-made camisoles by Bella Bulluci and Fiona Fine whenever I was at home. I couldn’t stand to feel anything but the softest, smoothest, silkiest material on my skin.

“Well, I’m trying,” I said. “It’s not every day I patch up a bullet wound.”

Talon shrugged. “Don’t worry. It’s not that hard. I’ve done it several times.”

I knew he had. Nicks and scars covered his body, the signs of old battles and the price of being a superhero—especially one without any regenerative capabilities. Unlike Striker, the leader of the Fearless Five who could heal instantly, Talon was more of a mortal superhero, a clever gadget guru who used his wits to get by, which made me like him even more.

“All right,” I said. “It’s as clean as I’m going to get it.”

It was clean—squeaky clean. I couldn’t smell any stench of infection, and the edges of the wound looked better now, if a bit jagged.

“I’m afraid it’s going to leave a scar, though.” I patted the wound dry and squeezed some superstrength antibiotic ointment into it, being sure to smear the grease on the front and back of his shoulder.

“That’s okay. I’ve been through worse.” His mouth tilted up into a smile. “Besides, chicks dig scars. Or so I’ve been told.”

I laughed. Any chick who didn’t dig him would have to be stone-cold dead. I didn’t tell him, though. I didn’t want Talon to think I was some weird Slaves for Superhero Sex groupie. I’d already stripped him naked. That was weird enough.

“Well, if chicks dig scars, they’ll be swarming all over you when they get a load of this one,” I replied, sticking a large, thick cotton bandage over the wound and taping it down. I repeated the process on his back.

“There. You’re all patched up.”

Talon grabbed my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze, his fingers even warmer than the water around him. “Thank you, Wren. You don’t know how much this means to me.”

“No problem.” I pulled my hand away and ignored the hot tingles spreading through my body at his slight touch.

“Now, let’s see what we can do about your eyes. Can you see anything? Anything at all?”

He shook his head. “Not yet. The blinding gas is something new Bandit’s been using. The last time he hit me with it, I couldn’t see for two days.”

“But it’s not permanent, then?”

“No,” he said. “Just annoying.”

I let out a quiet sigh. In other words, I was stuck with a superhero for the night.

* * *

I left Talon alone in the bathroom so he could take off his visor and flush out his eyes with some warm water. He opened the door ten minutes later. His visor still covered his face, but the two metal bars that had clamped it to his head were gone. I guess the superhero thought he could trust me not to lunge forward and yank it off his face. Or he just knew I didn’t want to get shocked again.

Then came another problem—finding something for him to put on. I might be used to planning for every emergency, but having a naked, wounded superhero wearing nothing but a damp towel in my apartment was one even I’d never dreamed of.

My gaze traveled up and down Talon’s body, taking in his long torso, tight muscles, and white scars. Did this really qualify as an emergency? Because I could get used to this view—easily.

“I can just put my clothes back on,” Talon said. “It’s not a big deal. They’ve been dirty before.”

I looked at the shirt. To my sensitive nose, it reeked of blood, metal, and gunpowder. The boots and pants weren’t so bad. They just smelled like wet leather. But I shuddered at the thought of Talon putting that nasty shirt against his smooth, gorgeous skin—and clean wounds.

“Trust me. You don’t want to put your clothes back on. At least not your shirt until I wash it.”

“You can’t wash leather,” he pointed out.

“Oh. Right.”

I knew that. I’d told Fiona Fine the same thing when she’d shown up wearing a white leather sundress at a barbecue I’d planned for Nate Norris. I’d warned Fiona her pristine leather probably wouldn’t make it through the day stain-free, but the flamboyant fashion designer insisted dirt wouldn’t dare stick to her clothes. Sure enough, ten minutes into the barbecue, someone jostled Fiona, causing her to spill a bucket of baked beans onto her dress—ruining it. I’d had to chew gum the rest of the day to keep from telling Fiona I told you so.

But something about Talon made me tongue-tied. Normally, I had no problem talking to people, even confronting them, no matter who they were, as long as it was in a professional capacity. I’d gone toe-to-toe with Joanne James, Johnny Bulluci, and all the other Bigtime wheelers and dealers. Maybe it was because he was paying so much attention to me, but I felt different around Talon. A little shy, a little uncertain, and not like myself at all. I wanted him to like me, and I wasn’t quite sure why. Or perhaps it was just because he was rough and tough, and I was totally in lust.

“Maybe your husband or boyfriend has an extra T-shirt and some pants I could borrow?” Talon said.

“Sorry, I don’t have a man of the house. It’s just me.”

The superhero looked at the wall where he thought I was. “You’re not with someone?”

I shook my head. Then realizing he couldn’t see me, I spoke. “Nope, afraid not. No pets either. It’s just me.”

“That surprises me,” he murmured.

“Why?”

It didn’t surprise me. I worked sixty hours a week planning event after event. What little free time I had I spent with Piper or at The Blues singing karaoke. Even when I was up on stage belting my heart out, it wasn’t like men lined up to get my number. I wasn’t exactly a knockout when it came to looks. My hair was long, straight, and brown. Not auburn, not caramel, not tawny. Just…brown. I had nice skin, if a bit on the pale side. My eyes were light too, a pretty but unspectacular green.

It all added up to a pretty average package. I was lucky if someone bought me a drink once a month. Even when I was on stage and supposed to be the center of attention, I always managed to fade into the background.

Don’t get me wrong. I’d dated several guys over the years, including some of Bigtime’s playboy businessmen, but things never jelled. I worked too much, and he didn’t work enough. I couldn’t cook or decorate, while he was a gourmand. I liked rock ’n’ roll, while he preferred—heaven help us all—polka music. And with the playboys, I was never rich or thin or pretty or flamboyant enough to hold their interest for very long.

I’d given it my best shot with Ryan Rivers, the hotel heir. Ryan had been everything a billionaire playboy should be—charming, handsome, funny. So charming, so handsome, and so funny I’d been willing to overlook his love of the aforementioned polka music. Shudder. Things had gone great for about three months. Then, Ryan had grown distant. Canceling dates. Ignoring my phone calls. Never wanting to hang out. He’d delved to the depths of Abby Appleby and decided to move on to greener, richer, prettier pastures.

I hadn’t wanted to have another failed relationship, so I’d resorted to desperate measures—and tried to mold myself into the sort of woman I’d thought Ryan wanted. I’d started dressing up, acting coy, and being as girly-girly as I knew how. Which, sadly, wasn’t very. But the tighter I’d tried to hold on to Ryan, the faster he’d slipped away. He’d taken me out to Quicke’s one night and given me the old It’s-not-you-it’s-me speech. Except I knew it was me and not him. At least, it was in his mind.

The day after he broke up with me, Ryan showed up at one of my events with a supermodel on his arm, looking happier than he’d ever been with me. Ryan didn’t acknowledge my presence the whole night—or at any other event since. After that night, I vowed never to change anything about myself ever again. Especially not for some spoiled rich guy who thought he was better than me.

After Ryan, I’d concluded that relationships were messy and not worth the effort. Besides, I hadn’t met a guy yet who wasn’t turned off when he saw how I yelled at people to get things done. Or who didn’t sneer and scoff at my vest.

Getting my heart trampled on by another Bigtime businessman and being tossed aside for a flashier model was a mistake I wasn’t going to repeat—ever. My eyes went to Talon’s obscured face. No matter how tempting it might be.

I shook my head. A relationship? With Talon? I barely knew the guy. Lust at first sight was one thing, but this was ridiculous. Forming an immediate emotional attachment to a superhero was something one of the Slaves for Superhero Sex groupies would do. I wasn’t that much of a superfreak.

My eyes flicked over Talon’s body again. It was the towel, I decided. Slung low on the superhero’s hips, that damp, little towel revealed far more than it concealed. It was teasing me. Taunting me. Mocking me with brief flashes of Talon’s impressive assets and reminding me how long it had been since anybody had rocked my world, so to speak.

“It surprises me you’re not with someone because you’re a remarkable woman, Wren,” Talon said.

“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls who save your life.” I tried to keep my tone light so he wouldn’t hear the longing in my voice.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t.”

“Well, I just haven’t met the right guy yet.”

It was my typical answer to end this runaway train of conversation. Some of my clients, especially the older society matrons like Grace Caleb, thought I would make an excellent blind date for their thirty-something grandsons. I’d gone on a couple of those dates and lost some clients when things didn’t work out. Now, I had a strict, no-dating-clients’-grandsons policy.

Talon opened his mouth to say something else, but I cut him off. I didn’t want to hear him expound on my virtues anymore. It only made me want things I’d given up on a long time ago. Love, tenderness, decent sex. Things I could never have—like him.

“Come on,” I said. “Let’s find you something to wear.”

I rummaged through my unpacked boxes of clothes, but no man of the house meant no men’s clothes. In the end, the only thing long enough to cover the superhero was my old, gray flannel robe—and it reached only to mid-calf. Still, I helped him slip into it.

“Soft,” Talon murmured. “But not as soft as your touch.”

My hands froze. He was temporarily blind so he didn’t see the horrid blush screaming across my face, but I could feel each and every one of my pores turning tomato-red. If I didn’t know how much blood the superhero had lost in the past few hours, I would have thought he was flirting with me—and been embarrassed at how much I liked it.

No, I decided, Talon would never flirt with me. Oh, he might exchange witty, sexually suggestive banter with the mysterious Wren who’d saved his life. But he’d never engage in such activities with me. Not if he could see me for who I really was—good ole dependable Abby Appleby.

“Come on. I know you must be tired. I’ll show you to the bed.”

I took Talon’s hand, ignoring the heat of his calloused fingers on mine, and led him farther into the loft. My king-size bed stood against the back wall, flanked by a line of floor-to-ceiling windows. Heavy, black drapes covered the glass, cutting off my view of the patio outside.

I turned Talon around, put my hands on his shoulders, and eased him onto the mattress. “There you go.”

“I can sleep on the couch,” Talon said. “I’m feeling much better now.”

I didn’t see how. If I’d been shot by Bandit, I still would have been whimpering like a baby, but Talon seemed positively cheerful. Maybe he still felt the effects of the adrenaline from the battle. Or maybe he just enjoyed the danger, like so many of the heroes and villains did.

“You’ll sleep on the bed,” I said in my best, no-nonsense, I’m-the-boss-dammit voice. “You’ll be more comfortable, and besides, it’s closer to the bathroom. I don’t want you tripping over something and injuring your shoulder again.”

Not that there was much to trip over. Besides the bed, my loft contained a sectional couch, a kitchen table with two chairs, my desk, and my entertainment center with its TV, enormous sound system, and stacks of CDs and albums. The rest of the space was open and empty, a hollow shell.

I helped Talon swing his legs up over the side of the bed and get settled under the covers. I smoothed the comforter and blankets down around him.

“I’ll be right across the room if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Wren,” Talon said, catching my hand, “for everything.”

I closed my eyes, savoring the slow stroke of his thumb against mine. He had such a soft touch and was so careful with his hands, as if I were made of the finest crystal. His gentleness, this simple show of courtesy, of affection, stirred something inside me I’d all but forgotten. Talon kept sliding his fingers over my hand like he never wanted to stop, and I didn’t want him to. But he needed to rest, and I needed to get control of myself. So, reluctantly, I tugged my hand away.

“Good night, Wren,” he whispered.

His voice sent tingles through my body, just as his touch had done moments ago.

“Good night, Talon,” I whispered back.

Chapter Six

A deep rumbling jolted me out of my sweet, sweet sleep. I sat straight up, eyes wide, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat. Was someone breaking in? What was going on? Why was I sleeping on the couch instead of in my own bed?

The sound rattled around inside my skull, the way all loud, unexpected noises did. I forced myself to listen to it, to focus, concentrate, and determine what it really was. With my enhanced hearing, a pin dropping twelve feet away could be as sharp, big, and painful as someone hammering a nail into the wall.

The sound came again, deep and even and sort of…phlegmy. And I realized what—or rather who—it was.

Talon. He was snoring.

Oh no. He was not.

If there was one thing I hated, one noise I detested above all others, it was the sound of someone snoring—I. Can’t. Stand. It!

I need calm to sleep. Peace. Quiet. Dead freaking silence. Snoring is the antithesis of all those things—squared. An evil that should be eradicated, along with ubervillains. If someone’s snoring, it means he’s getting sleep—sweet, sweet sleep I am not getting. Instead, I’m the one awake, listening to a motorcycle roar through my head every time the snorer takes a low, slow, rattling breath. I had hated the noise before I developed supersenses. I absolutely despised it now.

I tried to ignore it, tried to block the snoring out of my mind and focus on going back to sleep. When that didn’t work, I dug a pair of earplugs out of my vest and stuffed them in my ears. They muffled the noise but didn’t completely block it. Now, it just sounded like Talon was in the bathroom instead of here in the main room. So I added a pillow. And a blanket. And the three sheets I’d put on the couch. Piling them all on top of my head.

Talon’s snores penetrated my defenses, piercing them like Bandit’s bullet had shot through his shoulder.

After an hour of tossing, turning, and muttering curses, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I unwrapped the sheets from around my head, tossed the blanket on the floor, and dug out the earplugs. Then, I marched over to the edge of the bed. A shaft of moonlight slipped through the drapes, slicing across Talon’s face. I didn’t need it, though. With my eyesight, if there was even a hint of light in a room, I could see just as well as if it were noon.

The superhero was lying on his back, his good arm thrown up over his head. The sheet had slid down, bunching around his waist. For once I didn’t leer at his toned chest. All I wanted was to stop that horrid, horrid noise coming out of his mouth. My gaze crept to the pillow next to him, and my fingers twitched. Suffocation would be one way to put an end to it. He was probably still weak from being shot…

I made my fingers unclench. No, I couldn’t do that. So, I decided on a different course of action. If I wasn’t sleeping, then neither was he.

“Hey!” I said, poking the superhero with my finger. “Wake up!”

I reached out to poke him again, when Talon sprang into action. He might not have any superpowers, but his excellent reflexes more than made up for it. He grabbed my wrists, yanked me down on the bed, and rolled on top of me before I knew what had happened.

“Hey!” I snapped, trying to squirm out from beneath him. “Watch who you’re throwing around!”

“Oh, Wren. It’s just you.” Talon yawned. “What do you want? Is something wrong?”

“You were snoring,” I accused, trying to ignore how hot his body felt against mine. He was a hundred times warmer than my microfleece sheets could ever be.

“Oh. Sorry. Did I wake you?”

I gritted my teeth. “You might say that.”

Talon didn’t let me up, though, and he didn’t move away. We lay there on the bed, like a couple caught in the throes of passion—his thigh wedged between mine, his elbows just scraping the sides of my breasts. Talon’s breath puffed against my face. He smelled of mint. How could the man have minty-fresh breath at five in the morning? Somehow, he did.

I couldn’t see Talon’s eyes behind the visor, but another part of him grew rather active against my thigh. Another loud thump-thump-thump caught my attention, and I realized it was his heart. Racing—just like mine.

For a moment, I thought of raising my lips to his, of indulging in this unexpected attraction I felt for the superhero, of being reckless and carefree and having what I wanted. Lust at first sight wasn’t such a bad thing, was it? The people in Slaves for Superhero Sex had all sorts of sexcapades with the city’s heroes and villains. College kids had one-night stands like they were going out of style. Bigtime’s finest businessmen and women bed-hopped like it was an Olympic sport. Surely, one little kiss couldn’t hurt—

Talon shifted his weight, breaking the lustful fog that had settled over me.

No—no, Abby, I chastised myself. Bad, bad idea. He’d been shot a couple of hours earlier. I wasn’t going to take advantage of a wounded man, no matter how much my body screamed at me to do it. Besides, lust at first sight only led to early-morning regrets.

“Um, do you want to let me up, please?” I asked.

He let out another breath. “Of course.”

Talon rolled away, taking the long, hard warmth of his body with him. I scrambled off the bed and hustled back to the couch.

“I’ll try to keep the snoring to a minimum,” Talon called out in a husky tone.

“I’d appreciate that,” I replied, diving into my cocoon of cooling sheets.

“Wake me if it bothers you again.”

“Sure,” I said, even though I had no intention of getting within five feet of him for the rest of the night. I didn’t trust myself—not now.

We lay there in silence. After about thirty minutes, Talon drifted back to sleep, but it was a long time before I followed, and Talon’s snoring didn’t have anything to do with it.

Well, not that much.

* * *

I woke up a few hours later. I didn’t feel a hundred percent recharged but good enough to face the day and whatever it had in store—superheroes included.

I threw back the sheets and padded over to the windows. Talon was still asleep but, thankfully, not snoring now. I stared at him. The superhero had turned onto his right side, with his arm curled under his head. I didn’t see any blood seeping through the bandages on his left shoulder. My nose twitched. I didn’t smell any either. The G-man superhero was tough, even if he didn’t have a power to help him battle evil and fight crime.

He looked so sexy sleeping that I reached out a hand, longing to brush the chestnut hair off his forehead, to see if it was as soft and silky as it looked. But I curled my fingers into a fist. Touching the superhero was a bad, bad idea. Besides, I didn’t want to get shocked by his stupid visor again.

So I walked over to the windows, threw back the drapes—

And immediately closed them. The sun bounced off a thick layer of snow so white it pierced my eyes with its dazzling brilliance. I groaned, trying to ignore the migraine that popped to life inside my skull. In addition to loud noises, unexpected bright lights made my head ache.

“Wren?” Talon asked, stirring on the bed. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I replied, peeking out through a crack in the drapes this time instead of yanking them wide open. “Except it looks like it snowed a couple feet last night. Nothing’s going on.”

I didn’t see any cars in the street, except for the ones covered up past their wheels in the white stuff. None of the usual vendors populated the corner. No taxis, no one going to work or church. Even the city’s numerous pigeons hunkered down in the eaves on the side of the building. I didn’t see any tracks where a plow might have bulldozed through.

“Let’s see what the news folks are saying.”

I turned the TV to SNN. In addition to being devoted to all things hero and villain, the round-the-clock news channel was also the go-to source for information in the city.

“Can you turn it up?” Talon asked. “I can’t quite hear it over here.”

“Oh. Sure.”

I cranked up the volume, wincing as the SNN theme music blared on and added to the ache in my skull. A news anchor with a tan face and a bad toupee smiled into the camera.

“Well, folks, this is one Bigtime snowstorm we’ve woken up to this morning. Heh, heh, heh. The city received almost three feet of snow overnight. Chief Sean Newman of the Bigtime Police Department has ordered all businesses shut down for the day while plows clear the streets. We go out live now to Kelly Caleb, who’s made her way to Paradise Park. Kelly, what’s the situation?”

The camera cut to a blond woman wearing a fuchsia snowsuit, gloves, and a toboggan with a fuzzy ball on the end of it. She smiled, her perfect teeth whiter even than the dazzling snow around her.

“Well, Steve, I’m live in Paradise Park, which has become a winter wonderland today…”

Kelly talked about the record amount of snow the city had received and how everything was canceled because of it. I was grateful the O’Hara-Potter party had taken place yesterday instead of being scheduled for tonight. My next event, one of the Berkley Brighton memorial dedications, wasn’t until Tuesday, which should be enough time for the city to dig itself out.

A noise on the TV caught my attention. A shimmering blur zoomed by Kelly, sending sprays of snow up around her before suddenly stopping. Swifte, another one of Bigtime’s many superheroes, beamed into the camera. Usually, Swifte took center stage with his flashy white costume, but today he faded into the snowy background.

“Hey, Kelly, what’s happening?” Swifte asked.

Kelly looked over her shoulder and ducked. A large snowball zoomed over her head and smacked into Swifte’s chest.

A trilling laugh floated through the TV, and the cameraman swung his lens around to a woman wearing an ice-blue suit. A giant snowflake flashed like a strobe light on the front of her costume. Wynter. Another one of the city’s heroes whose icy powers were just what her name suggested.

“Hi, Wynter.” Kelly smiled at the superhero. “I thought we might see you out and about today.”

“I do love this kind of weather,” the superhero purred. “And I love snowball fights even more. What do you say, Swifte?”

The other superhero dusted the snow off his costume. “Sure. Just don’t come crying to me when you lose.”

Wynter held out her hands. Blue flames formed on her palms before turning into two snowballs. “Care to make a friendly wager on that?”

Swifte grinned. “Always.”

The two heroes spent the next few minutes lobbing snowballs at each other while Kelly gave the play-by-play action. Swifte was faster, throwing the balls at the speed of light, but Wynter had an ace up her sleeve—her superpower. While Swifte lobbed fist-sized snowballs at her, she summoned a giant one on the hill behind him. Gravity did the rest. The ball bounced down the rise, picking up more snow with every roll. Swifte never saw it coming. The enormous mound landed on top of the superhero, picked him up, and kept right on going toward the park’s Ferris wheel. All you could see of Swifte were his legs sticking out of the sides of the powdery mass. Winner, Wynter.

“Well, folks, as you can see, the superheroes are having just as much fun as the city’s kids,” Kelly Caleb said. “Speaking of kids, schools have already been closed for tomorrow, Monday, and could remain closed the rest of the week…”

She started listing the cancellations, and I clicked off the TV.

“I’m glad you came along when you did,” Talon said. “Or I’d be another icicle out there.”

I shrugged, even though he couldn’t see me. “It was nothing, really.”

“It was something to me, Wren.” His voice was low and sexy. “It was really something.”

The intense tone in Talon’s voice rattled me, especially because he stared at the wall where he thought I was instead of looking at me.

“How about some breakfast?” I asked, changing the subject. “I know you must be hungry, and you really should keep your strength up.”

“Breakfast would be great.”

I’m not really a domestic type. Cooking isn’t my forte, and I’d much rather eat out than make something for myself. In fact, one of my favorite guilty pleasures was getting barbecue and all the fixings shipped in from this restaurant called the Pork Pit down in Ashland. But I had enough food on hand to whip up some ham-and-cheese omelets, crispy bacon, blueberry pancakes, and apple juice.

While I cooked, Talon stumbled into the bathroom. Then, I helped him over to the kitchen table, put a plate of food in front of him, and slid some silverware into his hands.

Talon fumbled around with his fork, the metal utensil screech-screech-screeching against the stoneware plate every time he stabbed it instead of his omelet. After the fifth time, I took the plate away from him and cut up his food before handing it back. I just couldn’t stand the noise.

“The pancakes are at three o’clock, the omelet’s at six, and the bacon’s at nine.”

I wrapped my fingers around his hand and guided it to where the food was. More tingles shot through me at the feel of his skin on mine. I hesitated, enjoying the sensation, then pulled away. These lust-at-first-sight feelings were getting out of hand.

“Thanks,” Talon said. “I’m usually not this clumsy.”

“You’re usually not blind either.”

“My eyes are a little better today,” he said. “Everything is gray now instead of totally black, and I can sort of make out blurry shapes. I should be able to see well enough to get out of here by tomorrow. I think that’s long enough to impose on you.”

Talon started eating his breakfast, but I put my fork down, troubled. Things would be different when his sight returned. I wouldn’t be able to hide behind the name Wren. Talon would know exactly who I was while keeping his own anonymity intact. All the awkwardness and weirdness would return, and I’d be right back to wondering which rich playboy thought I was a superhero-stripping freak.

What exactly would Talon think when he could see clearly again?

When he could see the real me?

Chapter Seven

After breakfast, Talon took a painkiller and went back to sleep. Because I couldn’t go to the office and leave the superhero alone, I used the opportunity to unpack my things, namely the few CDs that had gotten mixed up in the wrong boxes. Because Talon was asleep, I put a CD into the entertainment center and turned the volume down low, not wanting to disturb him.

As I moved around unpacking, I sang along. Most people sing only in the shower, but I do it whenever and wherever I can. It really helps me relax. My main guilty pleasure in life is doing a couple of numbers a few times a week at The Blues, the karaoke bar where I’d had my unfortunate run-in with that overcharged amp. As a way to keep me from suing her, Melody Masters, the owner, promised me free admission and drinks for life.

Cyndi Lauper launched into her classic rendition of “Time After Time,” and I sang along, trying to make my voice, my tone, my pitch match hers. That was one good thing about having superhearing—it gave you a deeper appreciation for music. I’d always loved music, but now I did for another reason entirely—it was the only thing I could listen to really, really loud and not give myself a migraine. Something about the pounding beats soothed away the aches instead of adding to them.

Cyndi came to the end of the song, and so did I, letting the last note trail off. Claps sounded, and I turned. Talon sat up on the bed, staring in my direction.

“Wow. You have a beautiful voice. Absolutely amazing.” The superhero smiled. “You should call yourself Nightingale instead of Wren.”

I just looked at him, with his scarred body, gadget-filled visor, and all-around cool factor. He was a nightingale, a thing of beauty, mystery, and wonderment. I was nothing but a shabby little brown wren—one he’d never look at twice after he left my apartment. I don’t know why that depressed me—but it did.

“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, trying to make a joke of things. “I think I’m more of a wren. Nobody ever pays much attention to me.”

“Well, they should,” Talon said in a firm voice. “They really should.”

I couldn’t stop the fierce longing that swept through my heart at his words.

Longing for him to keep on noticing me. Now, tomorrow…hell, forever.

* * *

We spent the rest of the day talking about everything—and nothing in particular. The weather, food, books, movies, sports. Small stuff, really. But somehow, it added up to a lot.

I felt like I could talk to Talon forever. We had so much in common. We were both ardent fans of the Bigtime Barracuda football team. Both wished we had more time to read. Both felt like we worked too hard but couldn’t seem to stop ourselves.

Even more important than our similar interests was that I felt like I could talk to the superhero about anything. Bare my soul, my deepest, darkest thoughts to him, and have him be okay with it. That Talon would still like me, no matter what I said or did, what horrors I revealed. That was how I felt about him, I realized. That I would like him no matter what.

That I did like him.

“Come on,” he said after lunch. “Tell me why some guy hasn’t snatched you up already. I’m dying to know.”

“Do I have to?”

“Oh yes,” Talon said. “Aren’t you tired of talking about sports? We can regale each other with dating disasters. That’s what friends do.”

“Are we friends?”

“Well, sure. Don’t you think so?”

Talon was stretched out on the bed, an arm thrown up over his head, a leg cocked to one side, my old robe just barely covering him. I’d never seen a sexier pose, not even in Piper’s Bigtime’s Sexiest Superheroes calendar, and I was draped over the end of the sofa staring shamelessly at him. I just couldn’t look away. I wouldn’t describe my leering as exactly friendly, but I decided to answer his question anyway.

“No guy has snatched me up because I don’t exactly advertise myself as being on the market.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’ve had some bad relationships, including one that ended rather abruptly. I’m not anxious to get dumped again. I suppose I’m gun shy.”

“Lies,” Talon declared.

“Lies? How do you figure that?”

He grinned. “Because I bet you’re gorgeous. A real heartbreaker. You probably have two or three guys on a string, all of them fighting over you.”

I looked at my reflection in the mirror on the wall. Brown hair, green eyes, cargo pants, flannel shirt. “Gorgeous and I aren’t exactly close friends. As for the guys, well, it’s a nice fantasy.”

“Oh, come on,” Talon said in a firm voice. “You’re gorgeous inside and out. I know it, and I’m sure other guys do too.”

Gorgeous. He called me gorgeous again. Nobody ever called me that.

My heart fluttered, my hands trembled, and I wanted to sing and throw up at the same time. In that moment, in that instant, I realized I felt something for Talon. Something beyond lust at first sight. Something deep. A connection stronger than any I’d ever experienced. It wasn’t sane or logical or rational, but it was there—a feeling I couldn’t deny.

I wanted to go over to the bed. To touch Talon. To snuggle in the crook of his arm. To run my fingers through his hair (avoiding the damn visor, of course). To press my lips to his. To just let him hold me while we talked. But I couldn’t do it. Images of Ryan and his supermodel flashed through my mind. I just couldn’t take the risk.

“What about you?” I asked. “Why aren’t you married with three kids?”

“Gun shy like you, I suppose. Haven’t met the right woman. Bad experiences in the past. Et cetera, et cetera.” His tone was cheerful, flippant even, but I heard a note of longing in it. The same longing that was in my own voice.

“And the real reason?” I asked, probing deeper.

Talon hesitated. “Maybe I’m a romantic, but I want the whole story, the fairy tale.”

“The fairy tale?”

He shifted on the bed. “You know, the lightning, the magic, the fireworks. The desire to be with someone no matter what. To know this woman is the one for me. That’s what I want. I just haven’t found it yet.”

Wow. I didn’t know what to say, except to tell the superhero he was every girl’s dream—including mine. My eyes traced over his long legs, his hard chest, his smiling face. I’d like to be the one to share in his lightning, his magic, his fireworks, his everything.

Talon grinned. “Don’t tell anybody, though. Superheroes aren’t supposed to be hopeless romantics.”

“Why not? Don’t you know chicks dig romantic guys? Especially if they’re superheroes.”

He just laughed.

The more we talked, the more I liked Talon. He was just…fun. Easygoing, carefree, and completely self-deprecating. Talon wasn’t afraid to make fun of himself—or his supposed lowly standing among the superheroes in Bigtime.

“The Fearless Five rule this town,” he said. “I’m just a second-string superhero, backing them up when they need it. Actually, more like fourth string. Swifte’s the number two guy in town, and I’d say Debonair’s number three, ever since he went over to the good side and started working with the art museum.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” I protested. “I think you’re one of the coolest heroes in the city. Certainly one of the cleverest, with your gadgets.”

I cringed the moment the words left my mouth. I sounded like I had a fangirl crush on the G-man superhero, which I totally did—but he didn’t need to know.

Talon grinned instead of seizing upon my fawning statement. “Well then, you need to buy some more of my action figures, because Striker is kicking my ass when it comes to sales.”

“Well, I’ll rush right out and buy one just as soon as Oodles o’ Stuff reopens,” I promised.

He nodded in satisfaction. “Good. Now, if you could convince about a hundred thousand of your closest friends to do the same, I might be able to move up to third string.”

We both laughed.

Talon also wasn’t afraid to parade through my apartment wearing nothing but my ratty flannel robe and a smile. It must have been drafty in certain areas, but Talon never complained, and he didn’t ask me to trudge out into the snow to get him some decent clothes. Gentleman George, the superhero who paid more attention to his three-piece suits than fighting evil, would have been climbing the walls if his ascot had been the tiniest bit askew.

Just being with someone who didn’t expect me to immediately see to his every whim was a refreshing, new experience. I liked it. Scratch that. I loved it.

Finally we got around to the make-or-break topic—music. Ever since I’d dated Ryan, the polka-loving playboy, I always asked guys about their musical tastes up front. It saved everybody a lot of time because I was not compatible with guys who liked rap, bluegrass, or polka. Shudder. I hadn’t been before my accident gave me superhearing, and I definitely wasn’t now that I could hear every painful note in crystal clarity.

“So, who’s your favorite band?” I asked.

“Green Day,” Talon said.

I liked Green Day too. My heart beat a little faster.

“The Pretenders are good.”

I was cool with The Pretenders. So far, so good.

“And—” He cut himself off.

“And who else?” My eyes narrowed. “You were going to say somebody else’s name. Whose?”

Talon turned away. He hadn’t exactly been looking at me anyway; he still couldn’t see, but now, the superhero totally averted his face. “It’s sort of embarrassing…”

“Come on. Out with it. Who is it?”

“John Denver,” he mumbled.

I snickered.

“Hey, hey,” he admonished. “Quit laughing.”

“John Denver?” I asked. “You, Talon, the rough and tough superhero who gives bad guys a hard time, like John Denver? The sensitive, soulful singer-songwriter?”

“Yeah, I do.” His mouth lifted into a smile. “Besides, chicks dig sensitive stuff. But don’t tell any of the other superheroes. I don’t want to ruin my rep as a bad-ass.”

I snickered again.

So, we listened to some Green Day and some Pretenders. I even dug out my CD of John Denver’s greatest hits to appease the superhero’s softer side.

“Why don’t you sing something?” Talon asked after we’d finished listening to the CD.

We were sitting side by side on the couch now.

“I don’t know,” I said, fidgeting. “I don’t really sing for other people, unless I’m drunk enough to do karaoke.”

“You were singing before when you thought I was asleep. What was that song?” he asked.

“‘Time After Time’ by Cyndi Lauper.”

“Sing that.” Talon grabbed my hand and turned his head in my direction. “Please, Wren. For me?”

I stared at him, looking at his visor-covered face and scarred body that was more than a little visible beneath my robe. I wished I could have seen his eyes, seen what was in them, seen how he was really looking at me. Because I knew how I was staring at him—with my heart and with all these new feelings he stirred in me painted on my face.

“All right.”

Against my better judgment, I sang it for him, once with the CD turned down low and once a capella.

“Wow!” Talon said when I finished. “Whatever it is you do, you should quit your day job and be a singer. You have a tremendous voice, Wren.”

“Thank you,” I said, glad the superhero couldn’t see how impossibly red my cheeks were.

“No,” he said. “Thank you. That was a musical treat.”

He grabbed my hand and squeezed, his rough, calloused fingers dwarfing my own.

I squeezed back. This time, I didn’t let go.

* * *

That afternoon, I made a dinner of tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches. Not the most glamorous or complicated of meals, but it was warm, filling, and soothing—just like being with Talon.

Afterward, the superhero and I sat together on the couch. SNN droned on in the background as Kelly Caleb did another story from Paradise Park. To my surprise, the power had stayed on, despite the wet, heavy snow blanketing the lines outside.

“You know, this has been the most relaxing day I’ve had in a long time,” I said, sighing and sinking lower into the sofa.

“Really?” Talon said. “Why’s that?”

“I don’t get much time off from work, but it’s my own fault. I’m a raging perfectionist.”

“What kind of business are you in?” Talon said.

“No details,” I chided. “Remember?”

“Of course,” he said. “But let me help you relax a little more. It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done for me.”

Before I could ask what he was up to, Talon reached over and fumbled around until he laid his hand on my neck. His hard, warm fingertips sank into my skin, gently kneading.

“Why are you doing that?”

“Because you’ve been cracking your neck all day,” Talon said.

He kept right on massaging, his fingers pressing on the vertebrae in my neck. I sighed and leaned into his touch like a puppy. If I had a tail, it would’ve been thumping a hundred times a minute. My neck cracked in the most wonderful way, my bones popping from top to bottom. Pleasant tingles flooded my body, traveling from my spine into my arms and legs.

“You really are tense,” he murmured.

Talon’s hand slid lower, and he pressed his thumbs deep into the muscles of my back, loosening, soothing away my knots. I sighed in pleasure again, and Talon kept right on massaging me with his good arm.

I blinked. He’d stopped for some reason. I turned my head, and there he was next to me. I’d been so entranced by the massage I hadn’t even felt him move closer.

“Nightingale,” Talon whispered.

I opened my mouth to tell him my name was Wren, but I stopped. Instead, I lifted my fingers up to his face, laying my palm against his cheek. Stubble darkened his chin, and his sharp whiskers bristled against my sensitive skin. But I didn’t mind the rough, prickly sensation. All I could think about was touching my lips to his, of giving in to these feelings, this rush of emotions I felt for the superhero.

So I did. And it was—perfect.

The kiss was perfect. Not because I’d planned or plotted or even imagined it—it just was.

Talon responded with just as much feeling. Maybe more, because he didn’t stop there. He wasn’t content to just steal a sweet kiss. Evidently, there were some things a man could do even when he’d been shot and temporarily blinded. Like put his hands up a woman’s shirt.

He pushed aside my long, loose, flannel shirt with no problem or fumbling of any kind. My silk camisole confused him for a moment before he managed to slide his hand up under the band that bound my breasts. His fingers closed over my nipple, and I almost bucked off the sofa, the sensation was so strong.

“Do you like that?” Talon whispered, rolling the stiff peak between his fingers.

Like it? If he kept doing that, I was going to have an orgasm right then. I shuddered and tried to get a grip on the tingles racing through my body—tingles that turned into surges of hot, electric pleasure.

Talon pressed his lips to mine again. I grabbed his head with my hands and opened my mouth, my tongue meeting his. Somehow, despite the soup we’d had earlier, the man still tasted like spearmint, which was rapidly becoming my favorite flavor ever.

“I know this is crazy, that we don’t even really know each other. But I want you, Nightingale,” he whispered against my lips. “I want you so much. You make me smile and laugh and just feel.”

I wanted him too. More than I’d wanted anyone in a long time. Ever, really. And I wasn’t going to deny myself this. Not tonight. But I had to ask him one question first.

“Are you sure you’re up to it?” I rasped. “Your shoulder—”

“Is feeling much, much better now. Let me show you what I can do with my hands,” Talon teased, his fingers closing over my breasts and massaging them just as he’d done to my neck a few moments earlier. “See? I’m perfectly fine now.”

If I should be a singer, then Talon needed to open up his own massage parlor. A whole chain of them. The man was that good.

“Then, hold on a minute,” I said.

I scrambled away from him, crawling toward my vest, which I’d thrown on the floor in front of the TV last night. I yanked open one of the zippers and drew out a condom. Always prepared, that was me. I took birth control pills already, but it never hurt to have extra protection. Besides, you wouldn’t believe how many times I’d had bridesmaids and other members of a wedding party come up to me and ask if I had any condoms they could have. So I’d taken to carrying them with me at every wedding—one for each bridesmaid and groomsman in attendance. It wasn’t just limited to weddings. Recitals. Business conferences. Potluck dinners. I’d even had a soccer mom corner me at her kid’s birthday party because she was getting back together with her ex—at least for the afternoon.

“What are you doing?” Talon asked.

“Getting a condom.”

“Good idea,” he said in a light, easy tone. “We’ll get to that in a few minutes.”

“And what are we going to do in the meantime?” I teased.

Talon stood, opened the robe he was wearing, and let it fall to the floor. Then, he put his hands on his hips and struck a pose that even showboat Swifte would have had a hard time copying. “I have some ideas,” he said.

My eyes trailed down his body, stopping at his erection. “It certainly looks like you do.”

“First things first,” Talon said, holding out his hand.

I gave him the condom, and he tore open the packet and slipped it on. Evidently, that was something else a blind man could do quite easily. When Talon finished, I moved back into his arms. I thought about kissing him or running my hands up and down his chest. Instead, I just stood there. Hesitating. Truth be told, when I stopped to think about it, I always felt a little awkward and self-conscious during sex, because it was one of the rare times when a man’s attention was focused squarely on me. And Talon was right. This was crazy, insane really. Lust at first sight gone out of control.

Talon didn’t kiss me or try to undress me. Instead, he just stood there, running his hands up and down my body. His touch was light, surprisingly so, given how rough his hands were, but every soft fingertip he trailed up my shoulder and down my chest burned into my skin, making me ache inside. Overpowering all my awkward fears and doubts.

Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I grabbed his hands and held them tight against my chest. “What do you say we get naked?”

“I’m already naked,” Talon replied, smiling. “But I’d be more than happy to help you.”

He slid my camisole straps down one at a time, pressing sweet kisses along my arms and shoulders as the silk slid away. Then, he pushed the fabric down, exposing my breasts. His hands covered them again, kneading them as before. I couldn’t stop the low groan escaping my throat. Talon leaned down, his mouth just brushing my nipple, his tongue just flicking out to tease it.

By this time, so many tingles rippled through my body I felt like I’d been electrocuted again. It was wonderful, but my skin was too sensitive, and I was too impatient. I drew back, unzipped my pants, and stepped out of them. My panties followed a moment later, then the camisole.

I put my hands on Talon’s face and crushed my lips to his. He responded by yanking me toward him and pressing his fingers into my back, sliding them down my body, even as our tongues drove together. His shaft brushed my inner thigh. His fingers did too, before retreating. Again and again and again.

Exquisite torture. And I loved every second of it.

But I was in a frenzy. Too much pressure. Too much pleasure. Too many sensations.

“Talon,” I said, my voice low and husky with need.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

Talon picked me up. I locked my legs around his waist and buried my face in his neck, drinking in his minty aroma.

“Wall,” he rasped into my hair. “Couch, table, chair, something, anything.”

“Couch back and to your left,” I murmured.

Talon swiveled around and took two steps forward. He reached out and touched the back of the couch. He laid me down on it. The fabric felt cool and scratchy against my bare back, but I didn’t care. There was only one thing I wanted to feel right now—Talon.

He steadied himself, then slid into me. I opened my legs, taking him inside.

I’d had sex since my accident, so I knew what to expect with my supercharged skin and heightened senses—knew I’d feel everything more now. Feel his stubble scraping my cheek. Hear his voice rasping out my name. Smell his scent spreading over my skin. Taste his tongue in my mouth. See him moving over me.

But this pleasure was more intense than any I’d ever experienced. And it wasn’t just physical. Hot emotions rushed through me as we kissed and caressed and moved back and forth together. I thought my supersensitive, supercharged body would explode as Talon thrust deeper inside me.

Then, it did, and we both did—together.

* * *

Afterward, we remained cuddled on the couch, wrapped in a blanket. I had my head pillowed on Talon’s chest, while he drew small circles on my shoulder with his finger.

“I like being here with you, Nightingale,” he said, his chest rumbling with every word. “You finding me in that alley was one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

“Why do you keep calling me that?” I asked. “I’ve told you a dozen times now my name is Wren.”

“No it’s not. Nightingale is your name,” he said in a firm voice. “You’re no drab wren. You could never be that.”

Sure I could, I thought. That’s what I really am. You’d agree, if only you could see me.

I closed my eyes as a horrific realization struck me. Talon would be able to see me, sooner rather than later. A few more hours, another day tops, and he’d get his sight back. He’d told me as much.

This cocoon we snuggled in, this perfect little bubble of easy happiness, would pop! as soon as Talon saw me. The story, as he called it, the fairy tale, would disappear as quickly as lightning striking the ground, leaving behind nothing but scorched earth—and the ashes of my heart.

He wouldn’t want me anymore. He wouldn’t want good ole Abby Appleby, who was practical, uptight, and occasionally yelled at people to get things done. He’d want his fantasy woman. Nightingale. The mysterious, clever, witty, gorgeous heroine who’d saved him.

I didn’t know what Talon would do if he realized who I really was. How he’d react. Would he try to pretend he felt the same way about me as he did about Nightingale? Would he give me the let’s-just-be-friends speech? Or the it-was-great-but-it-was-only-one-night talk? Or worse, would he be like Ryan—completely ignore me and pretend like this had never happened?

I didn’t know, and I didn’t want to find out.

“Would you like something to drink?” I asked, pulling away from him.

“Sure, that would be great.”

“Just a minute.”

I went into the kitchen and pulled a bottled water out of the fridge, but instead of handing it to him, I walked over to my vest, the one I’d worn to the O’Hara wedding, the one I’d gotten the condom from. I pulled a small, white pill out of one of the pockets and dropped it into the water, watching it fizz. When the pill dissolved, I moved back over to Talon and handed him the water. He sat up and took a long drink, draining half of it in one gulp.

“You know, I think Bandit’s drug is wearing off,” the superhero said. “The grayness is getting brighter, and I can see more shapes now. Like this bottle.”

Talon looked at the bottle, and his head tilted to one side. He let out a slow breath. “Wren? I feel…strange. Did you…do…something…to me?”

“I’m sorry, Talon.” I pressed my palm against his cheek. “I gave you a sleeping pill.”

“But…why?” the superhero asked, his voice thick and slow.

“So you won’t ever see the real me,” I whispered.

The superhero’s head dropped onto his chest. He slumped against the couch. The bottle rolled out of his hand and fell to the floor.

Chapter Eight

I stood there, holding my breath, but the pill, a combination of relaxidon and some other drugs, had already taken effect, and Talon slept peacefully—for now.

So, once again, I had an unconscious superhero in my apartment—and this time, I needed to move him before he woke up. Before he could see me for who I was—a superfreak.

I threw on some clothes and my vest, ignoring the treacherous, warm glow I still felt from being with Talon. Then, I redressed the superhero in his hat, boots, pants, leg harnesses, and weapons. I hesitated when I came to the bloody shirt. It went against all my supersenses, especially my nose, to put that nasty, smelly thing back on him, but I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t take him out in the snow half-dressed.

The leather shirt had shrunk from being wet, and I struggled to get the stiff fabric onto Talon’s body, but I managed by duct taping the leather together when I couldn’t get the zipper in the back to close. The same thing went for his pants. First, I’d taken them off, and now I wrapped tape over certain sensitive areas to make sure they didn’t get frostbite. I really was a superfreak.

Talon looked so calm, so comfortable, so sexy sleeping on my couch I almost changed my mind. Then I remembered how he kept calling me Nightingale and what would happen if he found out who I was. How disappointed he’d be. My resolve hardened.

Now I had another problem—where to take the G-man superhero. I wasn’t just dumping him in the street. He’d freeze to death before the pill wore off. So, where could I stash him? The blizzard had shut down everything, even Quicke’s restaurant, according to SNN.

I paced back and forth in front of the couch, zipping and unzipping the pockets on my vest, as if they held a space where a superhero could sleep off a pill and the lingering effects of a blinding gas. My vest held a lot of things, but that, unfortunately, was not one of them. My keys were in one of the pockets, and I pulled them out, spinning them around and around on their silver ring. I kept shooting looks at Talon, making sure he was unconscious, which was why I rammed my right knee into the kitchen table.

“Ouch!”

I put a hand on the edge of the table, catching myself before I did a complete nose dive, but my keys slid from my grasp. They smacked on the table before bouncing off onto the floor. I winced at the harsh clang. Cymbals clashing together in my ear couldn’t have sounded any louder. But the jangling keys gave me an idea. In addition to the ones for my loft and office, the ring held another very important key—the one to the convention center.

That was where I was going to take Talon. It would be warm, and the superhero would be safe until he woke up. The center was only a couple of blocks away, and was big and anonymous. Talon would have no idea where he’d come from—or more importantly, who had taken him there.

One problem solved. Now, how to get the superhero out of my apartment and over to the center without anyone seeing us? I wasn’t putting him back in a garbage bag and dragging him through the street, but I couldn’t call a cab either. Talon would find a way to trace it back to me, if the cabbie didn’t automatically lock the doors and drive my ass straight to the police station.

My eyes fell on my chair, the same one I’d used to maneuver Talon into my bathroom. No, I couldn’t use that either. There was no way it would roll through the snow. I needed something that would glide. Something I could push or pull. Something like…a sled.

I frowned and looked over at the boxes lining one wall. They might have been twenty feet away, but I could read the small, white labels clearly. Piper had insisted we label every single box when she’d helped me move. She’d even brought her own label maker to ensure it was done to her satisfaction. My eyes traced over the boxes. Dishes. Towels. Books. DVDs. My gaze latched on to a label that said Abby’s Old Stuff.

Because it was the biggest and longest, that particular box huddled on the bottom of the pile. Naturally. I marched over, shoved the other boxes off it, and ripped open the top. The cardboard box contained the assorted random stuff I’d stored in my mom’s garage over the years. She’d foisted it off on me when I’d moved into the loft, but I hadn’t had the time or inclination to unpack it. The box held junk, for the most part. Stuffed animals, old toys, tattered report cards, embarrassing childhood photos.

I pawed through the layers until I spied a bit of red plastic. I reached down, took hold of the plastic, and yanked. The animals didn’t want to let it go, but I pulled out a small, plastic sled. In my younger years whenever it snowed, I’d trudge outside with the sled and spend hours climbing up and sliding down hills with Piper. I frowned. The toy seemed smaller than I remembered, only about five feet long and cracked down the middle. But it would do. It was going to have to.

I took the sled over to the couch and eased Talon onto it. It was a foot too narrow and more than a foot too short for the superhero. His chest hung over the sides, while his legs stretched out past the edge.

So, once again, I got out every woman’s best friend—duct tape—and wrapped it around Talon, securing him to the sled. I also made sure I had a pocket knife in my vest, so I could cut him free later. Then, I went over to the windows and looked out. It was after nine now, darkness had spread its black blanket across the city. Nothing moved in the street below. Only a smattering of lights gleamed in the distance. Now was as good a time as any to go—and start pretending the past two days had never happened.

That Wren didn’t exist.

That I’d never met Talon.

And that I didn’t wish I really could be his Nightingale.

* * *

Dragging Talon out of my loft and into the elevator was simple enough. We rode down to the first floor in silence. The doors slid open, and I stuck my head outside. Everyone else had already gone to bed. No one haunted the lobby. So I grabbed the rope on the end of the sled and pulled Talon out of the elevator. I maneuvered him over to the front doors and peered through the glass.

I didn’t see anyone out on the block. Then again, I usually didn’t. This was a residential neighborhood, quiet except for the morning and evening rush hours. Only two other buildings populated my side of the street, and the block across from me was one enormous brownstone owned by a guy named Jasper.

Because the coast was clear, I opened the doors and dragged Talon outside. Kelly Caleb hadn’t been exaggerating about the snow. The white stuff went up past my knees in some spots, but the plows had been out, and the snow on the streets had been packed down enough so you could walk on it, if you were careful.

Farther down the next block, a few kids sledded up and down the giant mounds of snow created by the city’s plows. Their happy shrieks, giggles, and shouts carried through the still night air.

“Wheee!”

“That was awesome!”

“Let’s go again!”

The kids were intent on their fun, and none of them gave me a glance. For once, I was happy to be the invisible woman as I pulled Talon out onto the street. Still, I turned away from the kids and walked fast, like I had somewhere important to be—and that it was perfectly normal to be dragging a body duct taped to a sled behind me.

The snow and the night fought for supremacy, reflecting off each other and making everything a dull gray. A rare, fresh tang hung in the air. I breathed in, and the cold burned my lungs. All I could smell was the thick, wet snow—mixed with Talon’s clean scent on my skin.

I looked over my shoulder at the superhero, but Talon remained in the same position. Face-up, hands crossed and taped over his chest, a blanket piled on top of him for extra warmth. He wasn’t even snoring.

I hurried on and made it to the convention center without incident. Darkness shrouded the massive building, just as it did every other one on the street. I went around to the alley, the one the caterers used for deliveries, and unlocked the side door. I’d go out through the front and smash the glass on one of the revolving doors. That way, Talon wouldn’t wonder how he’d gotten into the convention center undetected. He’d just assume I’d broken in and dumped him there.

I dragged Talon inside and locked the door behind me. It was dark, but thanks to my enhanced eyesight, I didn’t need a flashlight to make my way down the hall. The sled didn’t glide as well on the carpet as it had on the snow, but I huffed and puffed my way to the service elevator and rode it up to the second floor.

I pulled Talon out onto the main balcony, flipped open my knife, and cut through the tape that bound him to the sled. Then, I grunted, heaved, and shoved him up into one of the cushioned chairs, making sure he was far away from the edge.

As I tried to make Talon as comfortable as possible, my hand brushed his visor. I tried to pull my fingers away, but I wasn’t quick enough. The stupid thing shocked me again, even through my black fleece gloves.

Unauthorized user alert! Unauthorized user alert! The mechanized voice boomed out through the open auditorium, echoing back to me. Then, the bars shot out the sides, and the visor went into full-fledged self-defense mode.

I grimaced at the noise and wrung out my tingling fingers. I should have been happy this would be the last time I’d ever get zinged by that damn visor—but I wasn’t.

I dropped to my knees in front of Talon. He slumped in the chair, head back, arms loose at his sides, like he was relaxing and ready to catch a show instead of sleeping off a pill. I leaned forward and pressed my palm against his heart, saying good-bye. Heat soaked into my gloves, reminding me of Talon’s body moving against my own.

I dropped my hand, got to my feet, and turned away.

I reached down to pick up my pitiful red sled, and a creak of leather caught my attention. I looked up. Talon’s head swiveled from side to side, as if he was looking for somebody—me. I froze. The superhero was waking up.

I quietly scooted away from him, abandoning the sled, and pulled my black toboggan farther down onto my head and my scarf higher up on my face.

Bandit’s gas must have been wearing off as well, because Talon turned his head in my direction, drawn by my furtive moments.

“Nightingale?” he murmured, his words slurring together. “What’s going on?”

“Just sit still.” I kept backing away. “The drug will wear off soon. You’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

“Wait…” he called out.

It was too late. I’d already run down the stairs.

* * *

After smashing one of the convention center’s front doors, I ran back to my building, if you could call falling, stumbling, and sliding along icy patches running. I didn’t stop until I was back in my loft with the door locked behind me.

I pulled off my chilled clothes, trudged into the bathroom, and took a long, hot bath, trying to pretend like everything was normal. Trying not to think about how Talon had pulled me into the tub with him last night. Or how we’d spent our time together today.

After an hour, I got out, dried off, and put on my warmest, softest Bella Bulluci fleece pajamas. But the material didn’t feel as smooth against my skin as it usually did. I doubted anything would besides Talon’s hands. I wasn’t likely to forget his touch anytime soon. That was another curse of having supersenses—everything got imprinted on my memory that much more. The good, the bad, the heartbreaking.

I shut the drapes, climbed into bed, and snuggled into my microfleece sheets. They, too, were the softest on the market, part of Bella’s homeware collection. Normally I could go to sleep in a matter of minutes, drifting away into the blackness that waited. But tonight I couldn’t—because my pillows and sheets were full of his clean, minty scent.

I buried my nose in one of the pillows and thought about Talon. I wondered if he’d left the convention center by now. If he had his sight back. If he was angry with me. Or just relieved I was gone. I felt panicked, confused, and sad about the whole thing.

Come on, Abby! I chided myself. There was no need to panic. Talon would never find out I was Wren. Even if the thought somehow crossed his mind, he’d dismiss it outright. Because I was good ole Abby Appleby. Not Wren, and certainly not someone like Nightingale.

There was certainly no need to feel confused, weepy, and sentimental about things. I’d slept with a superhero after an intense twenty-four hours of bonding. It happened to people practically every day in this city. All it meant was I could join the Slaves for Superhero Sex club now. Nothing else. Hell, the SSS freaks would applaud me for my love-him, slip-him-a-sleeping-pill, and dump-his-ass-in-a-public-place philosophy.

A one-night stand.

That was all it would ever be.

No matter how perfect it had been.

* * *

After a night of almost zero sleep, I got up early the next morning and peered out a crack in the drapes. The plows had worked through the night, clearing the streets. They’d cut what looked like a tunnel through the snow, pushing the heavy, wet stuff into five-foot-high banks and further burying most of the cars parked on either side of the road. Smaller plows had carved out paths on the sidewalks, which meant I could go to work. Good. I needed the distractions and crises today.

I opened the drapes a little more, letting cracks of sunlight into the loft. Then I padded over to the closet and slid back the door. Thirteen vests hung on the metal rack inside, along with the other clothes I’d unpacked. I flipped through the vests until I came to my Winter Wear one. The silver, down vest was equipped with the usual pockets and supplies, including a few extras, like hand warmers, a small can of de-icer, and tear-and-sip packets of hot chocolate.

I put on my usual black undies, along with some silk long underwear and a pair of heavy-duty waterproof cargo pants on top. A matching camisole covered my torso, along with a thermal turtleneck, a heavy, gray cable knit sweater, and a loose flannel shirt. I put on three pairs of wool socks, then stuffed my feet into my boots. A fleece hat went on my head, held down by a pair of earmuffs. I started to shrug into my black coat, when the rank odor of blood hit me. Talon’s blood. Ugh. I wasn’t wearing that until it had been cleaned. I grabbed a hanger and wrapped some plastic around the coat so I could drop it off at the dry cleaners.

I fished another coat out of the closet, a gray one that matched the vest, and finished off my weatherproof ensemble. I felt like a marshmallow, puffed up from the extra clothes, but I wanted to be warm. I also slid a pair of thick, black sunglasses on so the glare from the snow wouldn’t bother me too much.

Once I’d properly equipped myself for the great outdoors, I grabbed my keys and the bloody coat and headed out. A guy wearing a gray trench coat and snowshoes trudged past me. The dark goggles wrapped around his face made me think of Talon. The superhero should be fine. The pill I’d given him should have worn off last night, and his eyes should have been fully recovered from Bandit’s blinding gas by now.

I shrugged those thoughts away and started walking. Unlike my mad dash last night, I took my time this morning. Thinking. By the time I reached my office building, I’d convinced myself I was fine with being Talon’s one-night-stand, mystery woman. That I didn’t really care if I ever saw the superhero again. That everything was going to go on just as it had before. With no looking back and no regrets.

I rode the elevator to the thirteenth floor. The doors opened, but no loud, annoying ping! sounded. I’d disabled the sound in this elevator, too, and in every other building I frequented on a regular basis, including the convention center.

I stepped out into a typical office chamber. Chloe Cavanaugh’s station, a round desk with a computer and several phones, stood in the middle of the open area. Three-foot-high silver letters on the wall spelled out the name of my business and motto. A+ Events—When you want perfection, you want A+.

Chloe wasn’t at her desk, though. I checked my watch. Just after nine. She was probably having trouble with her car, given the massive amounts of snow that had been dumped on it in the past few days.

I swept past Chloe’s desk and unlocked the door to my office. It was very much like my loft in that it contained a lot of open space—with little furniture. My desk took up most of the back wall, with its phone banks, two computers, two printers, and two monitors, and mounds of legal pads. Three leather chairs crouched in front of the desk, with a matching sofa shoved over in the corner. The sofa contained a fold-out bed I used for nights when I worked into the wee hours and was too tired to trudge home. A bank of windows behind my desk offered a view of the building across the street. At least, they would have if the black drapes hadn’t been closed.

I put my keys down on the desk and shrugged out of my coat, earmuffs, scarf, and gloves. The red light on my phone blinked, and I checked my voice mail.

“Hi, Abby, this is Chloe. My car won’t start, so I’m going to have to take the subway. I’ll be there as soon as I can…”

I listened to the rest of her message, then hit the delete button, and moved on. A couple more missives from some of my favorite florists, caterers, and bands told me not to worry about various events. Right. I wouldn’t stop worrying until they were over and done with.

I returned a couple of calls, but most folks were still digging out from the blizzard and weren’t in the office yet. Around ten thirty, I’d finished calling everyone I could, so I took a break.

I drew the drapes back from the windows a little bit at a time until my eyes adjusted to the glare from the sun on the melting snow. Then, I pulled back one of the sliding glass doors and stepped onto the balcony attached to my office. The balcony was tiny and nothing like the sweeping observation decks over at the skyscrapers that housed The Chronicle and The Exposé, the city’s two newspapers. But I liked it nonetheless, because I could sneak out here for a little peace and quiet when my clients and their insane demands got to be too much. I had a nice view of the street and some of the downtown landmarks, like the Ferris wheel over at Paradise Park and the giant F that marked Fiona Fine’s fashion store. Plus, the balcony was high enough that I could breathe in air that wasn’t completely smoggy. The height also muted the harsh cacophony of the streaming traffic below.

Faint scratches and twitters caught my attention. Being the kind person she was, Chloe had installed a bird feeder in the corner of the balcony. Given the cold, snowy weather, the feeder was quite popular this morning. Birds cheeped, chirped, and hovered around it, some perched on the lip of the balcony, all waiting their turn to get a beak full of precious birdseed.

I didn’t know much about birds, but I spotted a couple of flashy red cardinals, as well some bossy, noisy blue jays. Another bird huddled among the bunch—a wren, its simple brown feathers and small frame overshadowed by the other bright colors around it.

A wren, not a nightingale.

Disgusted, I stomped back inside, slammed the door shut, and closed the drapes.

Chapter Nine

I’d just plopped down into my chair, determined to get back to work and forget about wrens, nightingales, and birds in general, when the phone rang. Normally, Chloe answered the incoming calls, but since she hadn’t logged into the phone system today, they got routed to me.

“A+ Events. We make things perfect every single time.”

“Hey, Abby,” Piper Perez’s warm, cheery voice flooded my ear. “What’s going on?”

“Not much,” I replied. “Just getting ready to call and nag at some more people.”

“Is Kyle on your hit list?”

“Always.”

“Well, how would you like to yell at him in person? I need to pick up some stuff for Fiona.”

That was Piper’s way of asking if I’d like to have lunch at Quicke’s. The Fiona in question was Fiona Fine, Piper’s boss and the main reason Quicke’s stayed in business. The fashion designer’s appetite boggled the mind, especially when you considered how svelte she was.

“Sure,” I replied, even though I really wanted to be alone right now. In the dark. Listening to music. Angsty stuff, punctuated with some angry rock here and there.

“Great!” Piper said, not picking up on my less-than-stellar mood. “I’ll meet you there around one.”

“See you then.”

I hung up and swiveled my chair around to the window. Because the black drapes were shut, I couldn’t tell if the brown wren had gotten its due at the feeder. Or if it still waited its turn, hidden among the other birds’ colorful plumage. I pushed those thoughts away. Metaphors. Who needed them? Talon was out of my life. I’d never see him again, and that was for the best.

So, I turned back to the desk and reached for the phone, ready to make Flora of Flora’s Fauna & Flowers a very unhappy woman.

* * *

Chloe showed up a little after eleven. She unwound her fuzzy, striped scarf from her neck and griped about having to walk a mile in the snow to catch the subway when her car wouldn’t start.

“You should just get rid of that old clunker.” I put some invoices that needed to be faxed on her desk.

“Well, I might be able to if somebody gave me a raise. Hint, hint. I’m ready to step up in more of a partner capacity.” Chloe stared at me, her hazel eyes earnest and sincere. “You know I am, Abby.”

I did know. Chloe had proven herself to be punctual, dependable, and capable of quick thinking during the months she’d worked for me. But I was a control freak. I always had been. In middle school, I was the annoying girl who planned the spring formal dance and tried to get everyone to color-coordinate their outfits to my balloons—or else.

People grumbled, but when they realized how well the dance turned out, I got a bit of grudging respect—and somehow got roped into planning all of the dances and school functions after that. The trend continued into my college years at Bigtime University. Event planning seemed a natural, lucrative fit for my perfectionist, anal-retentive skills, so I’d gotten my business degree and started A+ Events, building it up one event, one client at a time. Now, almost ten years later, I was the premiere party planner in Bigtime.

I didn’t like to turn the reins over to anyone. Didn’t trust anyone to oversee the details, put out the fires, and make sure every single thing was perfect. The only reason I’d hired Chloe was because I had to sleep sometime.

That hadn’t stopped Chloe from bucking for a promotion, though. She was one of the few people who weren’t afraid of me and my propensity to yell. She just let the noise slide off her, tuning me out until my voice fell back to its regular volume. Normally, when Chloe asked about a promotion, I told her no flat-out.

Maybe it was Talon and the longing he stirred in me to be noticed—or at least to have more of a life outside of work. Either way, I hesitated.

“I’ll consider it.”

You would have thought I’d handed her a winning lottery ticket. Chloe gasped. Her mouth dropped open, and her eyes widened. “Really?”

I nodded.

“Oh, Abby!” Chloe threw her arms around my neck, hugged me, and let out another shriek of happiness.

I winced as the sharp, girly-girl sound pounded into my skull. I’d give her the promotion right now just to stop her squealing in my ear.

Sensing this was as much as she was going to get today, Chloe let me go. But she kept beaming, her smile stretching from ear to ear. The phone rang, and she leapt to answer it.

“G-o-o-o-d morning! A+ Events. We make things perfect every single time! This is Chloe speaking! How may I help you?”

Grumbling, I turned and went back into my office.

* * *

By the time I finished calling people and making sure the upcoming Berkley Brighton memorial dedication would go off without any weather-related problems, it was almost one and time to meet Piper at Quicke’s. I told Chloe where I was going and promised to bring her a Monte Cristo sandwich and piece of apple pie. I pulled on my layers, grabbed my bloody coat, and headed out.

More traffic crawled along the streets now, the cars and taxis moving at about a tenth of their normal, breakneck speed. A lone vendor stood on the corner hawking giant pretzels, but few folks were willing to wade through the drifts to get to him. In addition to the snow, jagged icicles decorated the roofs and eaves of the buildings. Soft plop-plop-plops of water fell from the sharp tips, splattering onto the sidewalks. Slowly but surely, the city was thawing out.

I trudged through the melting mess, dropped my coat off at Stan’s Steamers Dry Cleaners, and made it to Quicke’s a little after one. Even though it was early afternoon, the restaurant’s blue, neon sign flashed on and off above the revolving door. Hot air blasted me in the face as soon as I entered the building, along with a smorgasbord of aromas. Fresh sourdough bread, steaming potato soup, hot marinara sauce, warm chocolate cake. I drew in a deep breath, and my stomach rumbled in anticipation. Everything always smelled and tasted good at Quicke’s, so good that I didn’t mind the noisy chatter of the crowd or the constant clink-clank of silverware that went along with it.

Kyle worked the podium at the front. He saw me and smiled. “Abby, what’s up? You’re looking a little chilled,” he joked, taking in my puffy layers.

“Well, I’m sure some of your amazing cuisine will be more than enough to thaw me out,” I said. “So, how are we looking for the library dedication tomorrow night? Is the blizzard going to affect anything?”

He shook his head. “It’s always business with you, isn’t it?”

I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Well, I’m happy to say the answer is no. I had the supplies delivered right before the O’Hara party, and my workers have confirmed they’ll be able to make it into the city for the event. So, we’re good to go.”

I opened my mouth but realized I didn’t have any reason to berate him. At least, not right now. Kyle might be a pain in my ass sometimes, but he always came through—usually with surprising speed.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night then,” I replied.

“You will. Are you here to have lunch with Piper?”

I nodded.

“She’s at her usual table next to the window.” Kyle handed me two menus. “Tell her I said hello.”

“You could tell her yourself,” I suggested.

A sad smile flitted across Kyle’s face, and his blue eyes wouldn’t meet mine. He shook his head and looked over my shoulder, greeting the elderly couple in line behind me. I got the message. Subject closed.

Kyle and Piper had dated for a year, and she’d been totally, completely, madly in love with him. Things had been going so well she thought he was getting ready to suggest they move in together, but the bastard dumped her on their one-year anniversary a few months ago with no explanation. I thought it had something to do with the fact that Piper had been saved by Swifte from being run over by a bus a couple days before. Maybe Kyle had felt threatened. Piper had talked about the superhero nonstop after that. She’d even bought all of the Swifte merchandise she could get her hands on, adding it to her already significant superhero-ubervillain memorabilia collection.

Whatever his reasons, Kyle kept them to himself—and kept his distance from Piper. That was another reason I needled him whenever I could—payback for my best friend. She might be mature enough to eat in his restaurant without making a scene, but I wasn’t above making his life difficult whenever I could.

Menus in hand, I headed past the podium. Folks of all ages crowded into the restaurant, having braved the snow in search of good food. Quicke’s had some of the best in the city, along with speedy service, big portions, and reasonable prices. People also liked the restaurant’s atmosphere; it was a shrine to Bigtime’s superheroes and ubervillains. The Fearless Five, the Terrible Triad, Johnny Angel, the Mintilator. Posters and newspaper clippings of heroes and villains covered the walls, while toys, cars, action figures, and more decorated tables and the long, brass-railed bar running down one side of the restaurant.

Quicke’s was neutral territory, one of the few places in the city where heroes and villains could hang out without fear of reprisals from one another or even the police. I spotted several bright splashes of spandex as I moved through the crowd. Wynter sipped something that looked cold and blue at the bar. A few feet away, Halitosis Hal and Pistol Pete, the two superheroes who were best friends, chowed down on double cheeseburgers, fries, and chocolate milkshakes. Another table next to them appeared empty, except for the glasses, plates, and forks floating back and forth across it. The Invisible Ingénues had to be sitting there. They were the only women in Bigtime who got noticed less than me.

I spotted Piper at one of the restaurant’s prime tables in front of the windows looking out on the street. Kyle reserved the same spot for her every day, even after their breakup. The table was right under a poster of Talon holding his grappling hook gun. A poster of Bandit hovered next to it, both of his revolvers drawn and pointed at the G-man hero, as though the two of them were fighting just as they had in real life.

Piper Perez had been my best friend since forever. She also was one of the most striking women I’d ever seen. Her glossy, black hair framed her face like a silk waterfall, bringing out the dusky tones in her tan skin and highlighting her warm, brown eyes. The only thing distracting from her natural beauty was her nose—her very red, very swollen nose. Piper blew into a tissue. Several more littered her side of the table and clustered on the windowsill, along with her oversized purse.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked, unbuttoning my coat and hanging it on the back of my chair.

“Allergies.” Piper sniffled. “They’re killing me.”

I wondered how her allergies could possibly be bothering her when every blade of grass in the greater Bigtime area was buried under three feet of snow, but Piper was hypersensitive. Dust, pollen, cat dander. Everything made her sneeze.

A waiter bustled over to take our order. Piper got a bowl of broccoli cheese soup with a baked potato and a basket of sourdough rolls, while I requested a salad with hot, grilled chicken and creamy blue cheese dressing. I also put in a to-go order for Chloe’s sandwich and pie.

“And I need my usual carryout order, Ray,” Piper told the waiter. “Times five today.”

“Sure thing,” Ray said, scribbling on his pad.

When he left, Piper turned her attention to me. She looked at me from top to bottom, and her dark eyes narrowed. Piper might not have supersenses, but she was just as observant in her own way.

“Spill it,” she demanded.

“What?” I asked, trying to play innocent.

“Spill it. You’re all depressed and moody. I could hear it in your voice over the phone this morning. Tell me what’s bothering you, Abby.”

I never could hide anything from Piper. Besides, I needed somebody to talk to about what had happened—and to tell me how crazy I was for wanting to see Talon again.

“Well, you know the O’Hara party on Saturday night?”

Piper nodded.

“Something strange happened after that…”

I told Piper everything from finding Talon in the alley to dragging him back to my apartment to having sex with him, then drugging him and taking him to the convention center. She listened intently through it all, making mental notes in her head. Piper had a mind like a supercomputer—she never forgot anything, especially when it came to superheroes and ubervillains.

“So you saved Talon, took him back to your place, and had your way with him?” Piper asked. “Sweet!”

“I wouldn’t exactly call it having my way with him.”

“Well, at least you got some action. Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve seen a naked man?”

Piper’s eyes drifted to the front of the restaurant. I didn’t have to turn around to know she was staring at Kyle. Her dark gaze flicked to the poster above our heads.

“And with Talon. He’s one of the coolest heroes in the city.”

“I thought you worshipped at the altar of Swifte,” I teased. “And the Fearless Five.”

She waved her hand. “The Fearless Five are so passé. So over. Swifte too. Edgy independent operators like Talon are all the rage these days.”

Piper was obsessed with superheroes, mainly because she kept getting rescued by them. She always seemed to be in the wrong place at the right time. If a building caught on fire, Piper would be stuck in the penthouse. If an elevator suddenly lost power, Piper would be trapped inside. She’d been almost mugged, almost flattened by a runaway subway train, and almost run over by more speeding cars than I cared to remember.

She’d been saved by everyone from Aria to Granny Cane to Wynter, and she had the autograph collection to prove it. Piper kept track of all the heroes and villains in the city, and she probably knew more about the superfolks than they did themselves. Sometimes I thought she ought to quit her job as the chief financial officer of Fiona Fine Fashions and go to work as a reporter for SNN. Piper could give Kelly Caleb a run for her money.

“So who is he?” Piper asked.

“I don’t know.”

Her mouth dropped open. “You had an unconscious superhero in your apartment, a naked, unconscious superhero, and you didn’t look to see who he really was?” Her voice rose with every word, ending in a near screech.

I winced. “Keep your voice down. You know loud noises give me headaches.”

“Sorry,” she muttered. “But I have to say, I’m very disappointed in you, Abby.”

“Well, don’t be. I couldn’t have found out who Talon was even if I wanted to.”

I told her about the electro-shock visor and the metal bars that had shot out of it when I’d tried to take it off.

“Oh, yeah,” Piper said. “Talon upgraded to a new visor about three months ago. I didn’t know it had those sorts of capabilities, though.”

Her chocolate eyes gleamed, and I could tell she was making more mental notes, probably for the hero-villain encyclopedia she was writing. Piper was such a fangirl she’d decided to pen the ultimate guide to Bigtime’s superheroes and ubervillains, including all of their battles, rivalries, and costume changes over the years.

Ray brought our food, and we spent the next few minutes eating. My salad was wonderful, the way Quicke’s food always was. Fresh, creamy dressing. Crisp vegetables. Chicken seasoned with tangy lemon pepper. But I didn’t have an appetite; instead I pushed the greens back and forth on my plate.

“Do you think you’re going to see Talon again?” Piper asked, tearing into a roll and slathering it with honey-cinnamon butter.

I shook my head. “No. He doesn’t know who I am, and I don’t know who he is. It’s not like we swapped numbers or anything.”

“But you sort of know who he is,” she said. “You have seen him naked.”

“I know, but I’m not sure I’d recognize him. I was a little freaked out by the whole thing.”

“If you ever see him again, I think you’ll know him. Especially with those supersenses you’ve got now.” A wistful note crept into her voice.

Piper had been with me the night I’d received my supersenses. Her only regret was I’d gotten them and she hadn’t. She’d always wanted to be a superhero, dreamed of becoming one ever since we were kids, but this time, I’d been in the wrong place at the right time instead of her.

We were at The Blues karaoke bar. I’d been doing my best impersonation of a diva, while Piper flirted with the bartender and sipped gin and tonics. I’d just finished my number when one of the amps beside the stage produced a screaming fit of static. I’d gone over to help Stanley Solomon, the bar’s sound guy, fix it and started fiddling with some of the knobs.

Unfortunately, a giggly sorority girl chose that exact moment to spill her amaretto sour on the amp. The police said there must have been a frayed wire or something in the amp. Whatever it was, my hand was attached to it when it decided to pump out a couple thousand volts of juice. All I remembered was waking up in the hospital the next day screaming for someone to turn the volume down on their radio, only to discover it was the heart monitor beeping out my pulse.

Everything bothered me after that. The slightest noise. The softest touch. The faintest bit of sunlight. The migraines, oh, the migraines. Piper finally figured out what was wrong with me, after she’d gone to the Bigtime Public Library and checked out and read the few books on superpowers she didn’t already own. Piper’s theory was that the jolt I’d received had opened some closed part of my mind, giving me the ability to see, hear, taste, touch, and smell a thousand times better.

“Well, now that we’ve properly dissected your strange and curious love life, I need a huge, huge favor,” Piper said. “Will you help me?”

“Sure,” I said, pushing away my half-eaten salad. “What is it?”

“It’s in my purse. Or rather, he is.”

“He?”

Piper nodded. She leaned over and opened her bag. A ball of sandy fur nestled in a white blanket in the bottom. Fur?

I leaned over to get a better look, and a small whine greeted my ears. The ball of fur lifted up its head and stared at me with two liquid brown eyes.

“A puppy? Where did you get a puppy?”

“I found him wandering the streets right before the blizzard hit,” Piper said, grinning. “He’s the cutest thing, but you know I can’t keep him because of my allergies. I can’t even wear faux fur without sneezing for two hours afterward…”

Piper’s voice trailed off, and she gave me a pointed, hopeful look.

“Oh no,” I said. “Don’t even think about it. No way. I can’t keep him. I can’t have a puppy around. I’m not home enough to take care of one.”

She beamed at me. “But that’s the beauty of this little guy. He’s small enough right now to fit in a purse. Surely, you can hang him on your vest somewhere.”

I looked down at the squirming ball of fur. “Hang him on my vest? He’s not a water bottle, Piper.”

“Listen, it’s just for a few days until I can find him a good home. I just can’t bear the thought of taking him to the pound. Please, Abby. Please?”

Piper looked at me with her big brown eyes—eyes very similar to the puppy’s.

“All right.” I sighed, knowing I was beaten. “But only for a few days. And you’re buying the dog food. Got it?”

“Got it.”

She reached down and petted the squirming ball of fur—and sneezed all over him. The puppy didn’t seem to mind though, wiggling closer to her.

“Here.” Piper shoved her purse at me. “Pick him up. Let him get used to you before we leave.”

I put the bag on my lap. The movement excited the puppy, who stood up and put his paws on the side of Piper’s purse. Sandy-brown fur covered his back, but his belly was pure white fluff. His big, triangular ears pointed up over his head and were rather large in proportion to the rest of him, like rabbit ears on an old TV.

“What kind of dog is he?” I shoved my finger into the purse so he could sniff it.

“A Welsh Pembroke corgi.” Piper blew into another tissue. “They’re supposed to be very intelligent.”

The puppy certainly seemed smart. He was already trying to find some way to get out of Piper’s purse, but his paws kept sliding off the slick fabric. I put my hand on him, and he calmed down. He nestled into the blanket, put his head on his paws, and went back to sleep.

“So does this furball have a name?” I asked, wondering how much this was going to complicate my life.

“No,” Piper said. “I’ve just been calling him dog and boy. Why don’t you name him? You’re the one who’s going to be taking care of him.”

My eyes drifted back to the poster of Talon on the wall. That name was already taken, but another good one came to mind, one that made me think of the superhero.

“Rascal,” I said. “Let’s call him Rascal.”

Chapter Ten

The waiter returned with our check. It was Piper’s turn to pay, and I let her, particularly because she’d foisted Rascal on me. The waiter brought me Chloe’s sandwich and pie, stuffed in a white bag bearing Quicke’s logo—a winged, Hermes-like foot. Then, he went back into the kitchen to retrieve a large cardboard box for Piper. The waiter grunted as he set it down on the table.

I stared into the box, which contained dozens of containers of soups, salads, sandwiches, fries, drinks, and desserts. “Fiona must really be hungry today.”

Piper shrugged. “She’s always hungry. How that woman eats the way she does without blowing up like a blimp, I’ll never understand.”

Fiona had an appetite that would put a horse to shame—and a body a supermodel would envy. Blond hair. Long legs. Big boobs. A disproportionately small waist. She was a live, walking, talking doll.

Anytime Piper came to Quicke’s for lunch, she took something back for Fiona—usually about half the menu. Today, Piper ordered enough lunch for ten people, but I knew Fiona would eat every single bite—and that Piper would be lucky if the enormous meal kept the fashion designer satisfied until dinner.

“You still think she has an eating disorder?” I asked.

“There’s got to be something wrong with her,” Piper replied, opening a container of creamy potato salad. “Now get Rascal out of my purse before you leave.”

I grunted, reached inside, and grabbed the puppy. He barked with happiness at being out of the bag. A few of Quicke’s other patrons shot me disapproving looks for having a dog inside the restaurant, but none of the staff batted an eye. Fiona—and by extension Piper—spent too much money in here for them to treat Piper like anything but a queen, even if she wasn’t dating Kyle anymore. Piper could strip down, dance naked on the tabletops, and smash out every window in the joint, and they wouldn’t lift a finger to stop her.

“All right, dog,” I muttered, holding the squirming puppy with one hand. “Let’s see how I can carry you back to the office without dumping you in the snow.”

Piper was right—Rascal was small enough to fit inside a pocket on my vest, the big one I usually stashed my water bottle in. That compartment lies to the left side of my chest, which meant I could zip my coat up most of the way, and Rascal could stick his head out the front and breathe.

“Okay, guys, I need to get back to work before Fiona eats the furniture,” Piper said. “Call me later, and let me know how he is, okay?”

“Sure, sure,” I grumbled.

Piper gave Rascal a final pat, sneezed, grabbed the box of food, and headed outside.

“Well, I guess it’s just you and me now, dog,” I said, staring down at the furball.

Rascal licked the bottom of my chin with his wet, rough, stinky tongue. Ugh.

* * *

I’d walked about a block when I realized Rascal was going to be more trouble than all of my clients put together. The puppy barked at every single car and person we passed, his squeaky yip-yaps rattling inside my skull. He wiggled so much I finally put him on the ground. Rascal tried to hop over the snow without actually touching it. Evidently, the cold, wet sensation didn’t feel too good against his tiny paws. After half a block, the corgi stopped, plopped down on his butt, and stared up at me, his brown eyes expectant.

“Come on.” I walked a few feet ahead of him. “Let’s go, dog. I have florists to badger.”

Rascal barked. It might have been my imagination, but I thought there was a rather defiant tone to the sound.

“Come on. Come here, dog,” I said, trying to get him to follow me.

That was what dogs were supposed to do, right? I didn’t really know, since I’d never had one before. I’d never really had any sort of pet—or never one that lasted very long. The goldfish my mom bought me for my seventh birthday went belly-up the first time I changed the water in their bowl. The hamster she purchased for my eighth birthday ate his way through his plastic cage and got locked in a closet we rarely used. I found Scruffy two weeks later, toes up. The turtle I got the next year made it a month before I took him outside to play and let him wander into the path of an oncoming minivan, and Shelly got shellacked. After that, I didn’t get any more animals as gifts, but my mom did make a generous donation to the Bigtime Humane Society in my name every year.

I plowed a few feet ahead, but Rascal didn’t move. Instead, he whined, so pitifully that an elderly couple walking down the street stopped to stare at us.

“I think he wants you to pick him up,” the old woman said.

I opened my mouth to tell the lady I knew that already when I caught a glimpse of her face underneath her rose-colored hat. White hair, blue eyes, pink cheeks—Grace Caleb, one of the bastions of Bigtime society. More importantly, one of my clients. We’d worked together planning the doomed benefit for the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art.

“Oh, Grace, I didn’t recognize you.” I turned to the man standing beside her. “Or you either, Bobby.”

Bobby was Bobby Bulluci, another bastion of Bigtime society and the grandfather of fashion designer Bella Bulluci and her brother, Johnny.

“That’s all right, Abby,” Bobby replied. His face was red and ruddy from the cold. “It’s obvious you have other things on your mind. Like this little guy.”

Bobby leaned down and held his gloved hand out to Rascal. The puppy sniffed it suspiciously for about half a second before he decided Bobby was friend material. Bobby responded by scratching Rascal’s pointy ears. The puppy grunted with pleasure, his tiny tail sending up sprays of snow.

“I didn’t know you had a dog, Abby,” Grace said.

“He’s not really mine. I’m just babysitting until I can find him a good home.” I smiled at them. “What do you say? Would you like him? He’s a very sweet dog.”

Lying was another skill I’d perfected as an event planner. I’d had the puppy about ten minutes, but sweet wasn’t the word I’d use to describe him. Rascal had proven himself to be stubborn, difficult, and demanding.

“Unfortunately not,” Bobby said, straightening. “We’re a bit busy to bring a dog into the house right now.”

Grace nodded her head in agreement. “We’re tied up almost every night.”

“Literally,” Bobby added.

They both chuckled, amused by some private joke.

Busy? Tied up? What did the two of them do at night besides attend society soirees? Go out on the town and fight evil? Jeez. It wasn’t like they were Granny Cane and Grandpa Pain, the two seventy-something superheroes who suckered bad guys into mugging them before kicking their asses all the way to the police station. Grace and Bobby could have just told me no. They didn’t have to make up some lame excuse about being too busy.

“We’d love to stay and chat, but we have a lunch date with Bella and Devlin,” Grace said, referring to her grandson, Devlin Dash.

“Of course. Don’t let me keep you.”

Bobby held out his arm, which Grace took, and the two of them walked on. Rascal watched them go. When he realized they weren’t taking him with them, his head swiveled back around to me—and he whined again.

“Fine,” I muttered. “I’ll carry you, you little con artist.”

I picked up the dog and stuffed him back inside my vest. He wiggled closer to me, his scent filling my nose—an aroma my supernose particularly loathed.

“Now, you’re wet. And you know what wet dogs do? They smell bad. Really bad. Especially to me.”

Rascal just barked and licked my chin again. Ugh.

* * *

By the time I got back to the office, it was after two. The elevator whispered open, and I walked over to Chloe’s desk and dropped her food bag on top of it. She looked up from her monitor.

“Thanks, Abby—a puppy!” Chloe yelled, catching sight of Rascal. “You have a puppy!”

I winced. First Piper, then the dog, now Chloe. Didn’t anyone in Bigtime know how to modulate their voice? I plucked Rascal out of my vest and handed him to her. Chloe hugged the puppy to her chest, and he barked with happiness.

“When did you get a dog?” she asked, stroking his sandy fur. “I didn’t think you liked dogs.”

“About twenty minutes ago.”

Chloe gave me a sideways glance. From the tone in her voice, you’d think I was a serial killer who mutilated small animals in my basement. I didn’t hate animals—just the messes they made. I loathed planning any event that involved them. They were worse to work with than kids. Give kids enough sugar, and you could keep them happy, but animals were a wholly unpredictable lot. I still hadn’t recovered from having a llama spit in my hair during Pistol Pete’s Petting Zoo at Paradise Park last summer.

“He’s not mine,” I grumbled. “I’m just watching him until Piper can find him a good home. She found him wandering the streets before the blizzard.”

“Well, he is just the cutest thing ever!” Chloe squealed in that high-pitched, singsong voice people use with their pets—the one that made my head pound.

I grunted. “Yeah, he’s adorable.”

Rascal seemed to know we were talking about him because he wagged his tail back and forth. He started squirming, so Chloe set him down. The puppy bounded along the floor, stopping every few feet to smell the carpet.

“Why don’t you take him?” I suggested.

“I’d love to…”

Maybe Chloe would get that promotion sooner than she thought—

“But I can’t.”

Maybe not.

“My building has a strict, no-animals policy,” she continued.

“Well, do me a favor then,” I said, handing Chloe the hundred-dollar bill Piper had given me before we’d left the restaurant. “Run down to the pet store on Fifth Street and get him some food and one of those cushioned baskets to sleep in.”

“Sure,” she said. “I’ll go as soon as I finish lunch.”

I tried to get inside my office before Rascal could follow me, but he was strangely quick for a puppy. At least, he was on dry land. He bounded in just before I closed the door. I opened it back up, trying to shoo him outside where Chloe was, but Rascal trotted over to the couch, intent on jumping up on it, even though he was too tiny to hurdle the high cushions. He stared at the sofa, then at me. Then, he started barking, whining, and prancing around.

“All right, all right,” I mumbled. “Here you go.”

I put Rascal up on the sofa, and he yipped with gratitude. The puppy ran from one end to the other, sniffing the pillows and cushions.

“Now, you might be able to pull that I’m-the-cutest-sweetest-most-adorable-dog-ever stuff when we’re out in public, but not with me. I have a lot of work to do. So, sit down and take a nap,” I ordered.

Rascal dropped to all fours and put his head down on his paws, almost as if he understood exactly what I’d said. Then again, I didn’t really know what dogs did and didn’t understand.

While Rascal napped, I got back to work, fielding calls from various assistants wanting to know whose party I was planning for Valentine’s Day. The answer? Pretty much everyone’s.

Chloe came in around three with the basket and bowls of water and food for Rascal. The puppy hopped down off the sofa and tore into the puppy chow.

Crunch, crunch, crunch…

I heard every mouthful go down. With my superhearing, it was like listening to bones break.

After oohing and aahing over the puppy again, Chloe returned to her desk. A minute later, she buzzed me.

I pressed down on the intercom. “Yes, Chloe?”

“Hi, Abby. Wesley Weston is here to see you. He doesn’t have an appointment but hoped you could squeeze him in.”

Wesley Weston was another one of the society circuit’s rich businessmen. Weston made his fortune through some computer gadget he’d invented, something he’d made smaller, better, and cheaper than the other guys, before selling the patent for several billion dollars. These days, he spearheaded a variety of companies under the helm of Weston Corp. Rumor had it Weston was a bit eccentric, buying and selling companies because they amused him and not necessarily to increase the bottom line in his portfolio. Then again, when you were worth close to fifty billion bucks, you could burn a significant amount of cash on mere amusements.

“Abby?” Chloe asked.

I glanced at my calendar. I didn’t have anything else scheduled the rest of the day besides the usual round of phone calls. I might as well see what Weston wanted. I’d never done an event for him before. Maybe he’d finally realized he should hire A+ Events instead of leaving the planning to his army of underlings.

“Send him in,” I said, getting to my feet.

Chloe opened the door, and a fresh, crisp aroma drifted into my office, overpowering Rascal’s damp fur. Something about the smell bothered me, but I didn’t have time to figure it out before he stepped inside. Weston was a little over six feet, although his boots gave him a few more inches. A royal blue trench coat hung down to his knees, flapping around his beige corduroy pants. A matching blue sweater peaked out just over his collar, contrasting with the faint stubble that covered his chin. His hair was a dark brown and spiked up a bit over his forehead.

The businessman wasn’t particularly handsome, not like Sam Sloane or Johnny Bulluci. Weston’s face was too rugged, his jaw too square. He reminded me of a boxer more than anything else—his face had the rough, hard look of someone who’d taken more than a few punches. Still, something about him nagged at me.

“Hi, Abby, I’m Wesley Weston,” he said, extending a hand. His eyes, a warm, golden hazel, met mine. “I’ve seen you at several events, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced.”

Of course not. None of the society bigwigs ever bothered to introduce themselves to me—unless they needed something. Even then, they focused on what they wanted and how fast I could get it, rather than social niceties like first names and small talk. Or just saying please and thank you.

“It’s a pleasure,” I murmured, taking his hand in my own.

The second his skin touched mine, hot tingles flooded my body. His fingers were warm and hard and calloused. Exactly as warm and hard and calloused as the ones I’d felt glide along my body. The ones that had been more gentle and maddening than I’d thought possible.

I drew in a breath. His smell. The same sharp, clean minty aroma that had soaked into my sheets and pillows.

“Is something wrong?” Wesley asked.

His voice rumbled with a low, sexy timbre, the exact same one that had rasped out my name.

As much as they might annoy me, my supersenses didn’t lie. They told me everything I needed to know. They told me who Wesley Weston was. Who he really was.

Talon—Wesley Weston was Talon, and he was in my office.

PART TWO

WREN

Chapter Eleven

He’d found me—Talon had found me. That horrifying thought slammed into my mind with as much force as one of Bandit’s bullets.

“Is something wrong, Ms. Appleby?” Wesley repeated, dropping my hand. “Have I come at a bad time?”

“Of course not,” I croaked, trying to keep him from seeing how shocked I was.

I just stood there, looking at him. Wesley glanced over his shoulder at Chloe, who hovered in the door and was just as confused by my glassy-eyed, slack-jawed stance. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think.

Rascal saved me. The puppy lifted his head from the sofa and barked with curiosity at the new person in the room. Wesley spotted the dog, and a smile creased his face.

While I gawked, Wesley strode over to the couch, dropped to his knees, and petted Rascal. For his part, the puppy rolled onto his back, giving Wesley access to his pudgy tummy.

Watching him pet Rascal gave me time to shake off my shock—and realize he hadn’t found me. Wesley Weston didn’t know I was Wren. If he did, he would have swooped into my office dressed as Talon to protect his own secret identity. Instead, he was here as Wesley Weston.

Wesley Weston, business mogul, had come to see Abby Appleby, event planner.

Not Wren—and definitely not Nightingale.

“I’m sorry about having the dog in here,” I said. “A friend just gave him to me, and I haven’t had a chance to take him home yet.”

“No problem,” Wesley said. “I like animals. Dogs, cats, birds.”

Of course he liked birds. He’d named himself after part of one.

The businessman gave me a smile, the same sort of wry, self-mocking smile that had stretched across Talon’s face, the one that made my heart pick up speed like a runaway train.

“Please,” I said, snapping back to my senses. “Have a seat.”

Wesley settled himself in the chair in front of my desk. I jerked my head at Chloe. She nodded, walked outside, and shut the door behind her.

Legs shaking, I plopped in my own chair and tried to pretend like everything was normal. Like my one-night, superhero stand hadn’t just walked through the door in his street clothes.

“So what can I do for you, Mr. Weston?”

“Please, call me Wesley,” he replied. “I need you to plan an event.”

“Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

His eyes met mine again, and I noticed them—really noticed them. I marveled at their color. Technically, they would be classified as hazel, but hazel didn’t tell you they were a shimmering gold, rich and jeweled and pure. Bright. Vivid. Intense. No wonder he hid them behind that visor. Supersenses or not, I would never have forgotten eyes like that.

I shook my head, trying to focus. “What sort of event is it?” I pulled out a legal pad so I could take notes. My fingers shook only a little.

“I understand you handled the engagement party and merger dinner for Olivia O’Hara and Paul Potter on Saturday night,” Wesley said.

“Yes,” I replied in a cautious voice. “But what does that have to do with your event?”

“I recently acquired Glo-Glo Cosmetics, and I want everyone to know the company is still a force to be reckoned with.”

Another part of party planning meant reading the business pages—and listening to gossip on the society circuit. Glo-Glo was the other major cosmetics company in Bigtime—and Oomph’s chief rival. In recent weeks, the two companies had been engaged in an intense bidding war to acquire Polish, the company owned by Paul Potter and his family. Industry insiders suggested whoever got Polish and its lip-care products would corner the makeup market—and brush the other company out of business. Octavia O’Hara had won that round, with the help of Olivia’s engagement to Paul. More than a few folks had whispered the engagement was the only reason Weston Corp. hadn’t acquired Polish—and that Octavia had hurried the two lovebirds’ romance along to ensure that Oomph got control of Polish.

“What sort of event do you want me to put together?” I asked.

Wesley leaned forward. “A dinner announcing Glo-Glo’s acquisition of Gelled. It’s a lip-care company just like Polish. Gelled is much smaller, but it has great customer loyalty and the potential for major growth, which is a point I want to drive home.”

I scribbled down notes, including one to remind myself to call Piper about all this. In addition to being obsessed with superheroes, Piper was rather particular about her appearance, having just about every makeup product you could imagine. She’d be able to tell me everything I needed to know about Polish, Gelled, Glo-Glo, and Oomph, including which colors and products were best for me. Piper was always trying to make me over, to get me to realize my full potential, as she called it. Like any good best friend, she thought I was prettier and more special than I really was.

“I’d like to start off with a formal sit-down dinner,” Wesley said. “Followed by some talk about the new acquisition, then a night of drinks and dancing. But I don’t want your usual business dinner. I want everything to be hip and young and fresh and cool. That’s Gelled’s demographic, and I want to show everyone how vibrant the company is.”

“How many people do you want to invite?”

“Oh, I want to keep it small, say five hundred or so.”

Small. Right. I made another note. “And when do you want this event to take place?”

Wesley hesitated. “Well, that’s the thing, and the reason I came here in person. My secretary insisted on it after I told her what I wanted. I was wondering if you could pull something together for Friday.”

I glanced at the clock on my desk. Just before four on Monday afternoon.

“Friday? You want me to pull this together by Friday night?”

He nodded.

Somehow, I managed to keep my expression smooth and even. “You want me to plan a hip, young, fresh, cool event, complete with a sit-down dinner, music, and dancing in less than a week’s time?”

“I know it’s asking a lot, but I’m willing to pay whatever fee you require to get it done.”

Normally, I would have turned him down. I required at least two weeks’ notice for events of this magnitude. Usually three. The only reason I’d done the O’Hara-Potter dinner was because Octavia had paid me through the nose—and suggested if I didn’t, she’d never hire me to work for her again. I’d never worked for Wesley, so I wouldn’t be losing his business if I told him no, but I wouldn’t be gaining any either. And I desperately needed to rebuild my savings after sinking all my money into my loft.

But this was Talon sitting in front of me. The guy who’d noticed me, if only for a little while. The one who’d seen me, who’d made me feel interesting, witty, and vibrant. Who declared that I was gorgeous. The man who called me Nightingale.

So I quoted him a figure that was only four times my going rate, instead of five. I might be a freak for wanting to be close to my one-night superhero stand, but I wasn’t stupid. This was going to be a lot of work in a short amount of time, and I wanted to be well paid for it.

Wesley didn’t even blink. He drew a checkbook from inside his jacket. My eyes focused on his left shoulder, the one with the two bullet holes in it underneath his clothes, but Wesley showed no sign of pain as he wrote the check and handed it to me. His heart rate was fine, and he looked as though he hadn’t done anything more strenuous than breathe the past few days. The G-man superhero really was a tough guy.

“I’ll start calling my suppliers now to give them a heads-up and swing by your office in the morning to pitch you some ideas,” I said. “Say around ten?”

“That will be fine.”

I stood and extended my hand to Wesley. “I guess we have a deal, then.”

He took it, his calloused fingers squeezing mine just as gently as they’d slid across my skin before. Treacherous, hot tingles spread through my body. Wesley’s hand lingered on mine, his golden gaze sharp and probing on my face, as though he saw something unexpected in my green eyes.

For a moment, I wondered if he knew who I was—if he’d figured it out, just like I had. Because the attraction I felt for him was intense. Palpable. Undeniable. Like lightning surging through my whole body. But the smile he gave me was too bland and nonchalant. The notice he’d given me, the interest, had already melted away. He’d gotten what he wanted, gotten me to agree to plan his event, and I was all but invisible once more.

“Until tomorrow,” Wesley said, dropping my hand.

“Until tomorrow,” I replied, resisting the urge to massage the tingles out of my fingers.

He walked over to the couch, where Rascal perched, his brown eyes taking in everything. Wesley gave Rascal another pat, which the puppy happily accepted. Then, the businessman opened the door and left my office.

I stood until the door swung shut again. Then, I leaned over and braced my hands on my desk. My fingers tingled. My knees twitched. Tremors shook my body.

Fear was not a pleasant feeling, and I’d been so afraid he’d known. That he’d figured out I was Nightingale. That he’d finally realized I was nothing but a drab, brown wren.

Fear of disappointment, fear of rejection—those were two more reasons I didn’t date much. I’d had more than my share of both. Ryan had just been the last in a long string of breakups. Each time, each experience, each failed relationship stacked another brick on top of the wall ringing my heart.

But Talon had soared over my defenses as easily as he’d defeated Bandit’s goons. And I’d been thrilled by it—happy to fly up there with him, if only for one night.

But now it was time to come back down to earth. Back down to Bigtime, where things always seemed to work out for other people, instead of for me. Back behind my wall, where I’d be safe once more.

I breathed in, forcing the cool, stale office air into my lungs until I got control of myself. No matter what had happened between Wesley “Talon” Weston and me, it didn’t change the fact that I had a major event to plan—and less a week to make everything perfect again.

I straightened and pushed the button on the intercom. “Chloe?”

“Yes, Abby?”

“Get Kyle Quicke on the phone. I need to order five hundred more pounds of chicken.”

Chapter Twelve

I spent the rest of the day feeling like I’d been split into two people, like so many superheroes and ubervillains before me. Gentleman George. Captain Sushi. Caveman Stan.

First, there was Abby Appleby, who called Kyle Quicke and the other usual suspects to order supplies and book workers, space, and more for the Weston event.

Then, there was Wren, who kept remembering her time with Talon and comparing him to Wesley Weston—and found little lacking in either man.

“Abby?” Chloe said.

I jumped, startled by the sound of her voice. My assistant hovered in front of the desk, Rascal cradled in her arms.

“Did I scare you?” Chloe asked.

“Yeah,” I said, letting out a breath. “You did.”

She frowned. “But you always hear me come in.”

With my superhearing, I could hear every move Chloe made, even when she was at her desk, the door to my office was shut, and I had music on. She was a good employee, only goofing off and playing computer solitaire late in the afternoon when she was killing time before she went home.

“I guess I was just distracted planning the Weston event.”

Chloe nodded. “Well, I’m leaving for the day. Is there anything else you need?”

“No, because I’m leaving too.”

She blinked. “You are? But it’s only five. You never leave before seven, especially when you have a new client.”

I shut down my computer. “Well, tonight I’m going home. I’ll work on the Weston event from there.”

Chloe’s hazel eyes widened, and she stared at me like I’d sprouted blue fur. Maybe I should. People would probably pay more attention to me. Even Wesley might notice me then, at least until Yeti Girl arrived on the scene.

Chloe stared at me as I pulled on my hat, coat, scarf, and gloves. She handed Rascal to me, and I stuck him into the pocket on my vest. The puppy wiggled around until he got comfortable, then licked my chin with his wet, rough tongue.

“You ready to go home, dog?” I asked.

Rascal barked. To my surprise, he’d actually been good today, sleeping and amusing himself and not making too much noise. I scratched his ears. His tail thumped against my heart through the fabric of my vest.

I also grabbed the bag from the pet store containing the supplies Chloe had bought before turning off the office lights and heading to the antechamber. Chloe stood by the elevator, her finger on the hold button. She let go when I stepped inside, and the doors closed.

“You’re really going home.” From the awe in her voice, you’d think I’d just done some incredible feat, like climbing to the top of the Skyline Bridge and diving off into the waters of Bigtime Bay.

“Yes, I’m really going home.”

We reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open. Chloe gave Rascal a final pat, and we said our good-byes. She crossed the street, her black hair swinging as she walked toward the subway. I turned the opposite direction and headed toward my building.

More of the snow had either been cleared or melted away, thanks to the plows and the superstrong salt the city workers used to coat the streets. Now, the wet stuff only reached up past my ankles. The winter sun painted the sky in dusky purples and twilight grays as it dipped behind the towering skyscrapers. The soft, pretty colors reminded me of a lovely painting I’d seen of a sunset at Cypress Mountain. The wind caressed my cheeks—cold, but not unbearably so. More people scurried on the streets, and cars rumbled through downtown, zipping by faster than they had this morning. Everyone was getting back to their usual snow-free routine.

Including Bigtime’s superheroes and ubervillains.

A mob of people clustered at the end of the block next to a black van. I spotted a flash of silver, and smoke filled the air. That van, that silver color, that smell. It could only mean one thing—that the Fearless Five were here. More specifically, Karma Girl and Fiera.

I caught sight of the two superheroes. Fiera stood in the middle of the crowd, as eye-catching as ever in her skin-hugging, orange-red catsuit. She bench-pressed a fanboy over her head with one hand while his buddy took pictures. With her free hand, Fiera shot sparks up into the air, her trademark salute. Karma Girl leaned against the F5 van, signing an occasional autograph but mostly just watching Fiera show off.

I slowed down, threading my way through the milling mob. Unlike Piper and the other fangirls in Bigtime, I had little interest in superheroes, unless I needed them to do an appearance at an event.

A spark of blue caught my attention, and I turned my head. Karma Girl stared at me, her eyes glowing as bright as sapphires, almost like she could hear my thoughts. I waved at her. I knew Karma Girl better than some of the other heroes, and a few weeks ago she’d helped guard some toys for an annual Christmas charity drive that had been on display inside Oodles o’ Stuff. Of course, a couple of ubervillains had stolen the toys and were going to sell them on the Internet before Karma Girl managed to stop them. It had been a close call—too close for my liking—but the toy giveaway had gone off as planned, thanks to Karma Girl and the rest of the city’s heroes.

I looked at Fiera, then back at Karma Girl. She grinned and shrugged, as if to say What can you do? I shrugged back and walked on.

I’d gone about two blocks when I felt a series of vibrations under my feet that had nothing to do with the rush-hour traffic. I stopped, concentrating. The vibrations grew closer and stronger, as if something very large was headed my way. The vibrations traveled up through the street and into the surrounding buildings, until even the traffic lights swung back and forth from the force of them.

I looked over my shoulder. Through the gathering dark, something charged my way. Something big. Something blue. Something brawny.

I flattened myself up against the nearest building. A seven-foot-tall woman lumbered past. Blue fur covered her body, while her eyes glowed a milky white. She wore what looked like a blue toga and sandals, and her feet were big and bare with toes as long as my fingers. Yeti Girl. Another one of Bigtime’s ubervillains. Sort of. Yeti Girl was a superstrong being who liked to smash things because the noise amused her. Every once in a while, she tore through town, flattening cars and leveling buildings before the cops and the nearest superhero managed to shoot her full of tranquilizer darts.

I’d just stepped back onto the street when I felt another series of vibrations—this time quick and smooth and churning. I sighed and put my back against the wall once more.

Swifte zoomed down the street after Yeti Girl, speeding by so fast he didn’t even whip up any snow. A moment later, an SNN news van careened after him. The van took a turn on two wheels as the driver tried to keep up with the superfast superhero on the icy street. The squeal of tires screeched into my brain, and my temples throbbed with the beginnings of a migraine. Rascal barked, excited by the sudden action and wanting to follow the news van. No doubt the pint-sized puppy thought he could help corral Yeti Girl, even though she was twenty times his size.

“Sorry, dog,” I said. “We’re going home. I’ve still got work to do.”

After making sure nothing else was coming out of the dark to squish me, I crossed over to the next block. It was quieter here, so quiet I didn’t even see the figure dressed in black until I was about five feet from her. She wore black leather from head to toe as so many of the heroes and villains did, but what set her apart were the snakes—live snakes covered her arms like turquoise and coral bangle bracelets. A few more curled around her neck and shoulders, while still more dangled from the elaborate headdress she wore. Black Samba leaned against a bus stop sign, doing a little shimmy, her arms crossed over her chest to ward off the cold.

Rascal stuck his head out of my coat a little more, intrigued by this new person. I looked down at Rascal, then back at the superhero. She had snakes. Those were animals, albeit cold-blooded ones. Maybe she’d want another. It was worth a shot.

I marched over to the superhero, plastered a smile on my face, and tapped her on the shoulder in a spot that wasn’t covered by a sleeping snake.

“Yes?” the superhero asked, turning around.

“Hi, Black Samba. Sorry to bother you. I’m Abby Appleby. I met you at the petting zoo last year at Paradise Park.”

She nodded, the snakes in her headdress bobbing up and down. “I remember. You were the one who got the mice to feed to my babies.”

Contributing to the genocide of small mammals hadn’t been one of my finer moments, but it had kept the superhero and her snakes happy. “Yeah, that was me. Anyway, I was wondering how you feel about dogs.”

“Dogs?”

I pointed at Rascal. “Yeah, dogs. I’m trying to find him a good home.”

A bus screeched to a halt in front of the stop. Black Samba stared at Rascal, who let his tongue hang out, showing off his happy, goofy, puppy face.

“He’s cute, but the snakes don’t do so well with other animals,” she said. “Sorry.”

“You’re not the only one,” I muttered.

Black Samba leapt up onto the hood of the bus. She waved at the driver, then climbed onto the roof of the vehicle. The superhero tapped her foot on the metal, signaling the driver that she was ready to go. She started dancing again as the bus pulled back into traffic.

Rascal barked, and Black Samba waved good-bye to us.

“I just can’t give you away, can I, dog?” I said.

Rascal barked again.

* * *

I made it back to my loft without running into any more heroes or villains. I put Rascal down and shrugged out of my coat while checking my messages. There was only one from Piper, asking how Rascal was doing. I put some food and water out for the puppy, slipped a Green Day CD into the player, plopped on the couch, and called her back. I told Piper that Rascal was doing just fine. Then I revealed exactly who had come into my office this afternoon—and his alter ego.

“You’re kidding me!” Piper squealed. “Wesley Weston is really Talon?!”

I held the phone out until Piper got control of herself—and her voice. “I’m positive it’s him. His hands felt the same. He smelled the same. His voice was the same. It has to be him.”

“How exciting!” she said. “So what are you going to do now?”

“What do you mean what am I going to do now? I’m going to plan his event.”

“And?” Piper prompted.

“And what? I’m not going to tell him who I really am, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The thought made my stomach churn with fear.

“Abby—”

“No, Piper,” I cut her off. “I’m not going to tell him. There’s no point in it. It would just make things weird. Well, weirder. It was a one-night stand, and now, it’s over.”

“It’s not over,” she said in a firm voice. “It’s just getting started. This is destiny, Abby. Destiny with a capital D. She’s tapping on your shoulder and saying Hey, this great guy is for you. Do you really want to ignore her?”

I rolled my eyes. In addition to being a total fangirl, Piper was a hopeless romantic. She believed in destiny, true love, and karma, despite her breakup with Kyle.

“You said the same thing when I got fried by that amp at The Blues. That me getting struck dumb with supersenses was destiny. That I was going to do great things with my new powers. All I’ve done is see the world in high-def and hear it in surround sound. Frankly, I’ve had enough of destiny and the migraines that go with it.”

Because I wasn’t answering destiny’s call, Piper tried another avenue. “The sex, Abby. Think of the sex. Wouldn’t you like to have more of that?”

As badly as an ubervillain wanted world domination. But I wasn’t going to admit that. It would only make her more determined.

Piper argued some more, but I didn’t budge. She might be a romantic, but I was a realist—and more stubborn. She finally agreed to let me handle Wesley my own way, even though she told me I was making a terrible mistake. She also made me promise to give her hourly updates, if the situation warranted. Like if I somehow tripped and found myself naked in Talon’s arms again. I only wished I could be that clumsy.

I ignored the mistake talk, but I gave in to the updates demand. After all, what are best friends for if not to dish about dreamy guys? Especially the ones you’ll never have?

We talked for a few more minutes about Talon and Wesley. I also asked Piper about Oomph and Glo-Glo, the two competing cosmetics companies.

“Meet me at Oodles o’ Stuff at nine tomorrow morning,” she said. “There’s someone down there who should be able to give you all the details.”

“See you there.”

After we hung up, I grabbed a bottled water and a chocolate granola bar. Then I went over to my desk, tugged a legal pad out of a drawer, and plopped down in my chair. Rascal curled up in the basket Chloe had bought and slept while I worked on themes for the Weston event.

Wesley wanted something hip and young and fresh and cool. Something memorable. Something that would blow Octavia and Oomph away. I tapped my pen against my chin, trying to come up with something I hadn’t done a thousand times before. It was tough. I planned more than a hundred events a year, from birthdays to weddings to business conferences. I’d done just about every imaginable theme as well.

As I thought, I sang along with Green Day, and the perfect idea came to me—rock ’n’ roll.

Nothing was cooler than that. Rock ’n’ roll was the very essence of being hip. Plus, Talon—or rather Wesley—liked it. And I found myself wanting to please him, even if he would only think I was doing my job.

So, I started to plan.

I’d booked the convention center this morning. With the right decorations and lights, I could transform the space into an upscale rock concert complete with disco balls and neon strobe lights. Maybe even a couple of ice sculptures shaped like guitars.

I’d forgo the usual orchestra and get Melody Masters to do the music. In addition to owning The Blues karaoke bar, Melody fronted Miked, a popular indie rock band. They could play some of their own tunes, mixed in with covers. Classic rock with a contemporary twist—tailored for the rich set. I couldn’t go too wild or I’d scare off the society matrons, but it would definitely be hip and cool.

An hour later, I had ten pages of notes and people I needed to call to get the ball rolling. Music, decorations, food, table and chair rentals, all of the usual things to nail down. I looked at the clock. After nine. Tomorrow was going to be another long day. I should crash now and get as much sleep as I could.

I took a quick shower and put on my pajamas, determined to go to bed, but Rascal had other ideas. The puppy waited for me outside the bathroom. He barked once, then bounced over to the front door. He stared at it expectantly, as if he could open it by the sheer force of his mind. When it didn’t oblige him, Rascal looked over his shoulder at me—and whined.

I sighed. “Let me guess. You want me to take you for a walk, don’t you? So you can go do your business?”

I might have imagined it, but I thought Rascal nodded. So, I threw on my jacket and gloves over my jammies. Unfortunately, Chloe hadn’t thought to buy a leash or collar at the pet store, so I had to scoop up Rascal and carry him into the elevator and then outside onto the street. I placed the puppy on the sidewalk next to a snow-covered fire hydrant and stepped back.

“All right, dog,” I muttered. “Let’s make this quick.”

Rascal wandered around, trying to find the perfect spot. He sniffed the hydrant. The car parked next to it. The mailbox. The car parked next to that. Finally, just when I was tempted to leave him out in the cold, Rascal did his thing.

When he finished, I reached down to pick him up, but Rascal squirmed out of my gloved grasp. Damn, he was quick. Or maybe I was just getting old and slow. I was twenty-nine now. Unlike Olivia O’Hara, I was saving my mental breakdown and freak-out for later this year, when I turned thirty.

“Rascal! Come here!”

The puppy might have been tiny, but he leapt over the snowdrifts like he was a deer. What had been in that food Chloe had bought? Some radioactive drug like euphoridon? Because Rascal acted like he was on something good.

The puppy bounded across the street, ears pointed sky-high, and I started to panic. I darted after him, my boots skidding on a patch of ice. Piper would never forgive me if I let him get run over by a car. Rascal kept right on going and started climbing up the steps of the brownstone that took up the opposite block—Jasper’s brownstone.

Not good.

Rascal made it to the top of the steps, looked up at the door, and wagged his tail. Not a second later, the front door opened, and a woman stepped outside. That in and of itself was strange enough because Jasper didn’t have many visitors, but I would have recognized that tall, skinny figure anywhere—Joanne James.

Joanne wore a long, lavender coat with matching gloves and boots, and her black hair spilled down her shoulders. Maybe it was the soft glow from the streetlight, but Joanne looked younger than her forty-something years, her face smooth in the dark night.

Joanne James was the richest woman in the city, having married and divorced several men over the years, getting millions in alimony every time. She had inherited billions more last year when ubervillains murdered her husband, Berkley Brighton.

Rascal barked, and Joanne caught sight of him. She arched an eyebrow, and amusement flashed across her face. She stood there, one hand holding the door open, and stared at the puppy. Rascal, of course, took this as an invitation to gallop inside. It was bad enough he’d dashed across the street. Now he’d invaded someone else’s home. That dog was going to be the death of me.

I plodded up the stairs, muttering vague curses at Piper under my breath and wrapping my coat tighter around my body in hopes that Joanne wouldn’t notice my blue snowflake jammies peeking out the bottom. Her head whipped around at the sound of my footsteps scuffling in the snow.

“Hi, Joanne. What are you doing here?”

Her violet eyes narrowed. “Just visiting. What are you doing here, Abby?”

I pointed to my building. “I live across the street. My dog just ran inside Jasper’s brownstone.”

“That puppy is yours?” she asked. “I didn’t know you had a dog.”

There was that tone again. The one intimating it was the shock of a lifetime to learn I had an animal in my care.

“He’s not mine. I’m just babysitting until I can find him a good home…” My voice trailed off suggestively.

Joanne cut me off with a laugh. “Oh honey, don’t even ask me to take him off your hands. I don’t do well with animals unless they’re grilled and on my dinner plate.”

Joanne was Bigtime’s equivalent of a black widow spider. She survived on men, money, and the occasional glass of champagne. I doubted food ever passed through her lips.

We stood there in the cold, staring at each other. Because she was here, I might as well give her the latest information on her event. It would save me a phone call tomorrow.

“Everything’s set for the library dedication. I tried to call you earlier today, but Berkley’s secretary said you weren’t in.”

“I was busy,” Joanne said in a stiff voice. She batted her eyes, as if blinking back tears.

“Of course.”

Seconds ticked by in silence.

“Well, if you need anything or want to know more about the dedication, just call me. You have my number,” I said, my voice a little kinder.

Joanne might be a brittle society queen, but she had just lost her husband. I knew she was grieving. I’d planned Berkley’s funeral. I’d seen how she’d cried over his grave when she thought everyone else had gone.

Joanne looked at me. “You’re such a marshmallow, just like Bella.”

“Excuse me? I’m a marshmallow?” Surely I didn’t look that fat in this coat.

“Yeah, a toasted marshmallow. All black, tough, and crunchy on the outside, all warm, sweet, and gooey on the inside.” She shook her head. “It’ll get you into trouble someday.”

I started to say I wasn’t a marshmallow any more than she was, but Joanne opened the door wider. “Come on. Let’s get your dog.”

She strolled into the house. I lunged forward to keep the door from closing shut and followed her in.

“Jasper!” Joanne called out. “You’ve got a visitor!”

“I know,” a low voice sounded. “I’ve got him right here.”

Jasper appeared at the end of the hall and walked toward us. He held Rascal in his arms, scratching the puppy’s head with obvious affection. I let out a quiet sigh of relief that he hadn’t been annoyed at the dog for slipping inside.

I’d first met Jasper a few months ago when I’d moved into my loft. I’d been walking home from work when I’d passed him on the street. He was struggling to pick up some mail he’d dropped. His arm and leg had been in casts at the time, the result of being mugged and beaten. I’d gotten his mail and helped him inside his house. He’d tried to pay me for helping, but I’d refused. Now I said hello to Jasper whenever I passed him on the street, but I still didn’t know him very well.

“See, Abby? Your dog is fine,” Joanne said.

“I told you, he’s not my dog.” I turned to Jasper. “I’m so sorry. I was walking him, and he just got away from me. He’s very fast for a puppy.”

“Yes, he is,” Jasper murmured, rubbing one of Rascal’s ears between his fingers. “But I suppose that’s to be expected.”

“It is?”

“Given his breed,” he said.

“Oh.”

Jasper looked at Rascal, then at me, then at Joanne. The whole situation was strange, but then again, Jasper was a strange sort of guy. Glasses squatted on the end of his nose, while a small diamond twinkled in his ear. His voice was low and soft, and he always wore grayish clothes on his tall, thin frame, as though he wanted to fade into the background. At the moment, Jasper had on what looked like gray coveralls with house slippers. If I’d passed him on the street, I would have thought he was some sort of mechanic.

I didn’t even know if Jasper was his first or his last name. Everyone on the block called him Mr. Jasper in the respectful, hushed tones you’d use to talk about an ubervillain or mob boss. I’d seen him at some of my events, but like other society folks, he didn’t speak to me unless he wanted something. Even then, he seemed to keep mostly to himself, avoiding the limelight whenever possible. Still, he’d always been nice and polite to me.

Rascal started wrestling around, so Jasper put him down. Rascal made a beeline down the hall, stopping in front of a closed door. The puppy sniffed around the door’s edges, leaving me standing between Jasper and Joanne. Not exactly where I wanted to be.

“So, how do you two know each other?” I finally asked.

“We’re brother and sister,” Jasper said. “Joanne and I were having dinner to talk about some old family business.”

Joanne’s mouth tightened, and she gave Jasper a sharp look, like she wanted to strangle him for revealing state secrets.

I remembered Bella and Joanne talking about Joanne’s brother Jasper at the O’Hara party. I just hadn’t thought he would be this Jasper. I looked at him, then back at her. They really didn’t look much alike. Joanne wore what amounted to a winter power suit, while Jasper looked like he’d be perfectly happy with grease on his ratty coveralls and a monkey wrench in his hand.

Then, I noticed their eyes. Joanne’s were a vivid violet color. Jasper’s were lighter, but just as intense. Both of them had the same sort of hard wariness in their gaze, as if they expected trouble at any moment. Weird.

Rascal put his paw on the door and barked, like he’d found the entrance to a mine full of dog biscuits. Jasper seemed amused by the puppy’s antics. I was not. Every yip-yap pounded into my brain, adding to the pain and strangeness of the day.

“Well, I’ve got to run, Jasper. We’ll talk again tomorrow. Good night, Abby.” Joanne nodded at us, then sashayed out the front door.

With Joanne gone, I was even more nervous. I went down the hall, scooped up Rascal, and stuffed him back inside my coat. That seemed to calm the puppy, although he kept growling at the closed door, like a drug- or bomb-sniffing dog who’d scored a hit on a major stash.

“Well, thanks, Jasper. I’ll let you get back to…whatever you were doing.” I kept a firm grip on Rascal and headed for the door, determined to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Abby?”

“Yes,” I said, turning around to look at him, but still backing toward the door.

“You should be careful,” he said.

I gave him a puzzled look.

“I’ve heard about some incidents lately in the neighborhood. Some violence. I just wanted you to keep an eye out.”

“Oh. Okay.”

His words seemed innocent enough, but there was a strange tone to them, almost like he was warning me about something specific.

“Well, thanks,” I said.

He nodded at me. “Be safe.”

“You do the same.”

Jasper smiled. “Don’t worry about me. I’m always safe.”

I didn’t know about that, because he was the one who’d been mugged, but I didn’t know what else to say, so I nodded and left the brownstone. Still pondering Jasper’s bizarre words, I headed back to my apartment. I was about halfway across the street when I got the feeling someone was watching me. I stopped and looked up and down the block, but I didn’t see anyone.

Still, I felt like I was standing in a long, tall shadow, with someone looking down on me. I raised my head, my eyes scanning the rooftops, but didn’t see anyone. No superheroes zooming through the sky. No ubervillains swinging from rooftop to rooftop. Not even a couple of teenagers sneaking out for a quick cigarette. I opened my eyes and ears. Really looking. Really listening. Nothing.

I shivered, wrapped my arms tighter around Rascal, and hurried back to my building. I didn’t stop until I was in my loft with the door locked behind me.

Chapter Thirteen

The noises woke me.

Fierce, aggressive yip-yaps punctuated by squeaky gr-gr-growls. Nails clicking on the floor. The slap of a tail against glass.

I smashed my ear into my pillow, flattening the fluffy mound into a fabric pancake beneath my head. Then, I reached over, grabbed my other pillow, and pulled it on top of my exposed ear. I’d stuffed my earplugs in hours ago, determined to get a good night’s sleep, but I could still hear him.

Rascal, the freaking superdog, was on the prowl.

Evidently, puppies didn’t need much sleep, because Rascal had spent the past two hours pacing back and forth in front of the glass windows and door that lined the back wall of the loft. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was a junkyard dog, trained to bark at the slightest noise. That, or his pea-sized brain thought there was something lurking outside that he could chase.

Of course, I yelled at him. Snapped my fingers. Threatened to leave him out on the cold balcony all night long, even though it was an empty threat and I couldn’t bring myself to do something like that. But unlike most of the caterers in the greater Bigtime area, Rascal wasn’t cowed by my sharp tone or harsh words. Instead, the puppy would settle down for a few minutes, seemingly chastised, and I’d lie back down and close my eyes. Then, just as I drifted toward the land of sweet, sweet sleep, Rascal would scramble to his feet and bark at the patio door again.

Finally, after two hours of this chess game, I sat up, smacked the lights on, and marched over to the puppy, who had his nose pressed up against the door.

“What are you doing?” I demanded. “It’s after midnight. Puppies should be asleep, and so should I.”

Rascal looked up at me, his eyes big and intense, his ears standing straight up like two antennas. He pressed his nose against the door and growled again, as if he wanted me to open the glass so he could sink his teeth into whatever was out there. Except I knew there wasn’t anything lurking outside. This was one of the quietest blocks in Bigtime, which was the exact reason I’d moved here. No gangs. No crime. No loud neighbors.

I sighed. “You’re not going to shut up until I show you there’s nothing out there, are you?”

Rascal looked at me.

“Fine,” I muttered.

I yanked a cord, pulling the drapes back. Then, I stepped to one side and pointed out the door. “See? There’s nothing out there. Nothing at all.”

Rascal let out a low, hoarse growl. He lunged forward, barking like he was a fierce guard dog instead of a couple of pounds of ears and attitude.

A shadow fell on my body. A long, tall shadow, just like the one I’d seen earlier this evening.

I whirled around. Heart pounding. Eyes wide. Nostrils flared—and stared out at my empty balcony.

I put my hands on the glass and looked out—really looked. Empty—the balcony was empty.

I took a breath and tried to get my racing heart under control. There was nothing out there. The shadow had probably been a bird, startled by the sudden light and noise inside the loft. I let out an angry breath. Probably another wren, too stupid to seek shelter for the night.

Still, I double-checked and made sure the door was locked. Rascal kept growling, and I massaged my temples. Oh yes, the puppy was definitely going to be the death of me. But I wasn’t going alone. Piper was coming too, I thought darkly. She was going to hear all about this in the morning.

I pushed the drapes shut and pointed my finger at the puppy’s basket in the corner. “You’ve seen there is absolutely nothing out on the balcony. So lie down and go to sleep. Now!”

Rascal’s ears quivered and slowly lowered. His nose twitched, almost like he was sniffling. He looked at his basket, then at me. Tail between his legs, he trotted over to it and curled up inside.

I slapped off the lights, got back into bed, and pulled the covers up to my chin. I sighed into my pillow, more than ready to sink into the darkness until the sunlight slipped through my drapes.

Then Rascal whined—a pitiful, pathetic, why-don’t-you-love-me-anymore? whine—followed by a whimper of the same caliber and some more sniffling.

“Oh, good grief,” I muttered, giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. You can sleep with me. Anything to calm you down. But only for tonight. My bed is not going to permanently reek of puppy. Come here, Rascal.”

I didn’t have to say it twice. He hurdled out of the basket so fast he kicked it into the wall behind him. Rascal bounded over to me. I reached down, picked him up, and deposited him on the foot of the bed. But the puppy wasn’t happy there. Oh no. As soon as I put my head on my pillow, the puppy crept up to my chest, squirmed his way under my arm, and put his warm, wet nose next to my cheek.

He grunted with contentment. I rolled my eyes and dug my fingers into his fur. Rascal yawned, and I wrinkled my nose as a wave of puppy chow hit me.

Dog breath—just what I needed to smell all night long. Still, I couldn’t help but smile as we both settled down to sleep.

* * *

I met Piper the next morning at Oodles o’ Stuff, Bigtime’s most popular department store. Each of the store’s many floors was crammed with every conceivable good in the known universe, from clothes and shoes to computer and printers to exotic spices and gourmet foods. Even though it was just before nine, shoppers crowded into the store, and cash registers rang up sale after sale. Rascal barked, excited by the lights and noise. Nobody batted an eye as I carried the puppy inside. If Yeti Girl could storm through here when she was in one of her rampaging moods, folks weren’t going to look twice at Rascal.

I went over to the map inside the front door. I wasn’t a big shopper, and I came to Oodles o’ Stuff only when absolutely necessary, like when I’d been overseeing the holiday toy drive. The store had rearranged its merchandise since then, so I scanned the table of contents until I spotted the location of the makeup counter—straight back on the first floor. I fell into the flow of traffic and let the shoppers sweep me in that direction.

Piper spotted me and waved. She stood beside a tall woman with cropped blond hair. Everything about the other woman was perfect, from the smart, sharp lines of her ice-blue pantsuit to the subtle makeup that colored her face. I walked over to them, and Piper made the introductions.

“This is Sabrina St. John,” Piper said. “She’s Oodles o’ Stuff’s main buyer and color consultant. She also did the makeup for Fiona’s last fashion show, and she’s a genius when it comes to color combinations.”

We shook hands. Sabrina had a firm, pleasant grip, although her fingers were cool to the touch.

“Piper says you want the lowdown on the lipstick wars in Bigtime,” Sabrina said, her pale blue eyes meeting mine.

I nodded. “I just finished an event for Octavia O’Hara announcing Oomph’s merger with Polish. Now, Wesley Weston wants me to put one on for Glo-Glo.”

“That doesn’t surprise me,” Sabrina said. “Oomph and Glo-Glo are the two main makeup companies in Bigtime. They’ve always been competitors. Follow me.”

She led us down a long, glass counter. Lipsticks, eye shadows, glosses, blushes, foundations, and concealers lined the area, each one more colorful and in a brighter, prettier tube than the last. Sabrina stopped under a sign that read Add some Oomph to your look. Red lips kissed on either side of the word. Another sign a few feet away screamed Glam. Gorgeous. Glo-Glo!

Sabrina pulled out products from underneath the counters and started talking about the Oomph and Glo-Glo makeup lines. I picked up some of the pots of color and eyed the glossy packaging. Every product promised to deliver a subtle but different and fabulous look, from the shimmering eye shadow to the matte foundation. I unscrewed two lipsticks that seemed to be the same shade of red and the exact same color as twenty others sitting in the display case, but each one of the tubes had a different name on the bottom, from Candy Apple to Fire Engine to Burnt Sienna. There were lots of colors with the word sun in them. Sunset. Sunbeam. Sunrise.

I snickered.

“What’s so funny?” Sabrina asked.

I shook my head. “Oh, just the fact that somewhere there’s a person sitting in an office whose sole responsibility it is to come up with fifty different names for the same color of red. And the fact this person probably makes more money than me.”

Sabrina grinned. “I’d say that’s more sad than funny, wouldn’t you?”

I arched an eyebrow. “Touché.”

To look at Sabrina, you’d think she was another puffed-up, self-important, perfectly polished fashionista. But the more she spoke, the more I found myself liking her. She didn’t sugarcoat anything, and she didn’t talk down to me just because I wasn’t wearing the latest design by Fiona Fine or Bella Bulluci.

“So what do you think about Oomph’s acquisition of Polish?” I asked.

“I don’t think it will help them as much as people think. Although that’s not the only thing that Octavia O’Hara is up to these days.” Sabrina pulled out a plastic bag embossed with the Oomph red lips logo. “Oomph is set to launch a new line of makeup around Valentine’s Day. This is a sample of the products.”

I recognized the items inside. The same ones were given away at the O’Hara-Potter dinner. Octavia must have sent them to all the stores in town too.

My eyes flicked down the rest of the counter, and I stared at the rainbow of colors. I hadn’t known there were that many shades of red in the world, but Oomph boasted twenty-six of them. Piper dabbed a bit of perfumed lotion on her hand, sniffed it, and started sneezing. Rascal leaned down, trying to bury his nose in a pot of lime-green eye shadow. I pulled him back before he could give himself a clown face.

Sabrina opened the Oomph bag and set a variety of products on the counter. Ivory Tower foundation. Quicksilver eyeliner. Sunrise lipstick. A couple of Black Velvet eye shadows. Everything you needed to turn yourself from drab to glam. At least, that was what the packaging claimed.

“Are those products any better than what they have out right now? Or what Glo-Glo has on the market?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I haven’t tried them yet,” Sabrina said. “Honestly, I don’t use the Oomph products much anymore, except for a few old standbys that haven’t changed. The company’s color palette is too red and orange for my liking, and the quality’s really gone downhill since Otto O’Hara died.”

“How so?”

“I’ve had several complaints from customers about allergic reactions, odor problems, gunky residues,” Sabrina said. “And it’s not just my customers. Oomph has lost a significant amount of their market share in the last six months to Glo-Glo. The truth is Glo-Glo makes the better quality product—at a third of Oomph’s price.”

“But these Oomph colors look really great, really vibrant,” Piper said.

She unscrewed a red lipstick from the kit and showed it to me. My nose twitched, and I caught an acrid whiff of sulfur, a disgusting, noxious smell that left me nauseated.

“Ugh.” I wrinkled my nose. “Don’t put that on your hand, much less your lips.”

“Why not?” Piper asked.

“Because it smells like a rotten egg.”

Sabrina leaned over and sniffed the lipstick. “I don’t smell anything.”

“Trust me,” I said. “It reeks. It must be a bad tube or something.”

Piper put the lipstick away, and we talked more about the two makeup companies. I opened my mouth to ask Sabrina another question, when she leaned over and grabbed my chin. She had a strong, firm grip, like she could crush my head with her bare hand if she wanted to. It was a little unsettling, as was the critical look she gave me.

Sabrina tilted my head from one side to the other. “You know, you have beautiful skin. What do you use on it?”

“Just soap, water, and sunscreen.”

Sabrina raised an eyebrow. “No exfoliators? No moisturizers?”

“Sorry,” I said. “Peppermint lip gloss is about as close to makeup as I get.”

“That’s a damn shame,” Sabrina said.

* * *

I left Piper and Sabrina and arrived at Wesley Weston’s building five minutes before ten. Weston Corp. had its headquarters in one of the downtown area’s many skyscrapers, right next to The Exposé. One Weston Square was a bit shorter than the other buildings but more than made up for it with its unique architectural design. The outside reminded me of wedding cake—one with square, even layers stacked and twisted at varying angles on top of each other.

I pushed through the revolving doors and looked up. The inside of the building was a hollow oval, with wide, carpeted ramps crisscrossing up to the top floors. A big sign screaming Get Some Direction Here! hung over the information desk. I signed in as a visitor and got a plastic pass to clip to my coat. The guard behind the counter directed me to an elevator in the corner of the lobby, marked by a big bronze arrow.

“That goes up to Mr. Weston’s private office.” The guard fixed his gaze on Rascal, who poked his nose out of my jacket once again. “But I’m afraid you’re going to have to leave the dog down here.”

“The dog’s coming with me,” I said. “Believe me, I’m not any happier about it than you are.”

After his barking fit, Rascal had settled down, but I’d spent the rest of the night breathing in puppy chow breath. I’d drifted off about two in the morning, only to be awakened by a tongue bath at seven, and Rascal’s breath had gotten worse overnight. Ugh.

After meeting with Piper and Sabrina, I’d headed to my office, hoping to leave the puppy with Chloe, but she’d already gone over to the Bigtime Public Library to check on the details for tonight’s dedication. I tried to leave Rascal in my office until Chloe came back, but he’d let out another pitiful whine as soon as he realized what I was up to. So, I brought him with me. That way, at least my furniture wouldn’t get chewed, peed, or pooped on.

The guard opened his mouth to argue with me, but I cut him off.

“Listen,” I said, giving him the cold, hard stare I reserved for Kyle Quicke. “Mr. Weston has hired me to plan a very important shindig for his company. I have to put together the party of the year in less than a week’s time. So you can either let me go upstairs with the dog and do my job, or I can turn around and go back to my office. And you can explain to Mr. Weston why you wouldn’t let me up to see him.”

The guard paled at my words, as I knew he would. I’d gotten pretty good at reading folks over the years, learning how much pressure to apply, when to berate, when to cajole, when to just ask nicely. There was nothing an employee feared worse than upsetting his boss, even if that boss was a certifiable angel of hope, faith, and charity.

“Go right on up, ma’am,” the guard said, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

“That’s what I thought.”

* * *

I got into the elevator and pushed the button marked Penthouse. Like most of the city’s wealthier citizens, Wesley chose to do business on the very top floor of his building so he could have a commanding view of the significant piece of Bigtime that he owned.

The elevator doors pinged! open, the abrupt sound stabbing my brain. I winced and rubbed my temples. It was a good thing the party was being held at the convention center. Hopefully, today would be the only time I had to ride in this noisy elevator.

I stepped outside, expecting to find myself in a hallway or antechamber manned by a secretary. Instead, the elevator opened into a massive room that took up the entire top floor. Thousands of square feet stretched out in front of me, decorated here and there by clusters of plaid couches, leather chairs, and metal tables.

But the waterfall was what caught my attention.

Jagged black rocks made up one entire wall of the penthouse. Water flowed down the rocks and formed a gurgling pool. That pool, in turn, became a stream that cut across the floor, flowing under a bridge. The smooth, round arch contrasted with the sharp points of the rocks. Yin and yang as it were.

I closed my eyes. The steady hiss of the waterfall drowned out the ambient noise from the rest of the building. A bit of spray wafted onto my face, cool and refreshing.

The room also smelled strongly of mint. My eyes flicked to the other side of the bridge, where Wesley Weston sat behind a desk made of silver metal and sleek, blue glass. Today, the businessman wore a pair of gray corduroys topped by a cobalt-blue sweater. He bent over his desk, staring at some papers. Spotlights dangling from the ceiling picked up the dark chestnut streaks in his hair and highlighted the sexy stubble on his chin.

I stood there, staring at Wesley. He must have sensed my gaze because he looked up from his desk.

“Abby,” he said. “Right on time.”

“It’s a bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.”

“Please, come in.”

I crossed the bridge and walked to the desk. It took several seconds. Wesley’s eyes followed my progress, making me feel awkward and self-conscious. I hurried my steps and stumbled over my own feet, having to grab on to the bridge for support. Rascal let out a warning bark, not wanting to be squashed. I righted myself and walked on, trying to ignore the hot, aching blush screaming across my cheeks. Finally, I reached the desk.

“It’s nice to see you again, Abby.”

“You too, Mr. Weston.”

We shook hands, and the familiar, inevitable tingles rushed through my body, tumbling from my hand down into the soles of my feet.

He smiled. “Please, call me Wesley. Everyone does.”

“Okay, Wesley.”

His gaze fell on my chest, lingering there. Was he checking me out? My heart started to pound—

Until an insistent yip-yap reminded me exactly what—or rather who—he was looking at.

“And I see you brought your dog too. How are you today, little fella?” Wesley asked.

Rascal let out a happy bark and squirmed around, trying to leap out of my vest and onto Wesley. I unbuttoned my coat, grabbed the puppy, and put him on the ground. Rascal darted under the glass desk and pounced on the brown tassel on Wesley’s loafer.

“Sorry about bringing him,” I said, laying my coat on one of the chairs in front of the desk. “I was going to leave him with my assistant, but she’d already gone out to a job site.”

“It’s not a problem.” Wesley shook his foot to make the loafer tassel wiggle back and forth. Rascal growled, his eyes fixed on the waving scrap of leather. “Like I said before, I like animals.”

“Well, thank you for understanding.”

“No problem.”

He leaned down and scratched Rascal’s ears. The puppy grunted and leaned into the businessman’s leg. I stared at Wesley’s fingers as they sank into Rascal’s fur. I remembered the feel of those long, hard fingers trailing down my body. The exquisite torture they had wrought in their wake—

I shifted in my chair, an ache building between my thighs.

“Is something wrong?” Wesley asked.

“Of course not. I was just admiring your, um, office.”

He quit petting Rascal and took the chair behind his desk. The puppy decided to go exploring, sniffing his way along the carpeted floor.

My eyes flicked to Wesley’s desk. Papers and grainy black-and-white photographs of a woman covered the surface, along with what looked like lab reports. Wesley saw me staring at them, picked them up, and flipped them over. The obvious lack of trust didn’t bother me. He could have been looking at company secrets. Not exactly something you wanted to share with a woman you thought you’d just met yesterday.

While he shuffled around papers and photos, I latched on to the first thing that popped into my mind to fill the silence. “You know, I haven’t been in this building since the city sold it to help pay for the damage done by Morgana Madison and her alter ego, Malefica.”

Morgana Madison had been one of Bigtime’s richest women and the owner of the newspaper, The Exposé. But she’d also had a darker side, moonlighting as Malefica, the leader of the Terrible Triad, the city’s most feared ubervillain team. As Malefica, she’d had all sorts of superpowers, including telekinesis, or the ability to move objects with her mind. As Morgana Madison, she wielded almost as much influence. But Malefica, aka Morgana, had disappeared a while back after being in a building-leveling battle with the Fearless Five. At least, that was what the rumor mill kept spouting. Nobody knew exactly what had happened to Morgana, but her assets had been auctioned off to help pay for improvement projects around the city.

“It’s been a long, slow job, but we’re almost done with the renovations,” Wesley said.

“It’s very impressive,” I admitted, staring at the waterfall. I could close my eyes and listen to the sound of falling water all day long. “Especially the waterfall. It’s just gorgeous.”

“You like it that much?” he asked.

“Oh yes.”

I felt Wesley’s eyes on my face, so I kept staring at the waterfall. And I realized there was something strange about it—a pattern hidden in the rocks. It almost looked like two giant cracks cut down the middle of the fall. I squinted harder, trying to bring the jagged rocks into supersharp focus, but the tumbling water obscured whatever benefit my enhanced eyesight might have provided.

“Are you sure your waterfall is structurally sound?” I asked.

“Of course. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know. It sort of looks like it’s cracked in the middle.”

He hesitated. “Oh, that’s just a pipe that goes farther back into the wall. The builder didn’t do quite as good a job at hiding it as he said he would. You must have very good eyes. Most people don’t even notice it.”

His voice was calm and as smooth as the water spilling down the wall, but he’d caught his breath before he’d spoken, almost as if I’d uncovered his greatest secret. I already knew he was Talon. What could he be hiding that was bigger than that?

I cleared my throat. Time to get on with business. I pulled out the thick binder that contained the information on the rock ’n’ roll theme I’d dreamed up. I’d converted my notes to glossy pages full of charts, graphs, and seating arrangements. I’d even done some quick mock-ups of what the convention center would look like, should Wesley approve my theme.

I know some folks would have done a fancy display on their laptop or tablet, but I still liked doing paper presentations. I felt like seeing something on paper made it seem more real and helped people better visualize their events. Plus, it just made it easier for folks to flip back and forth to the pages and points that interested them the most. But I’d also e-mail the information to Wesley when I got back to my office, so he could have an electronic copy as well.

“Now, about the party,” I said, starting with my usual pitch. “I came up with an idea for the theme that would reflect the hip vibe. If you could review it now, I would appreciate it. Given the amount of time left, I need to start calling people and finalizing orders today. Even then, I have to warn you that I might not be able to get everything you want.”

“That’s fine,” Wesley said. “This was sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Usually, I prefer to act rather than react to business problems, but Octavia O’Hara surprised me.”

“You didn’t think she’d steal Polish away from you?”

Wesley leaned back in his chair and grinned. “You’ve done your homework.”

I smiled back. “Another bad habit of mine, I’m afraid.”

“I’m starting to like your bad habits.”

His golden eyes met my green ones. He wasn’t even touching me, but tingles swept through my body, and I began to ache once more.

“To answer your question, no,” Wesley said. “I didn’t think Octavia would get Polish considering the generous offer I made Paul Potter and his family. But this isn’t the first time she’s bested me. I’m sure it won’t be the last.”

I stared at him. “You seem to be taking it in stride.”

He shrugged. “I’ve made and lost half a dozen fortunes. Another company always comes along. I just like to upset Octavia whenever I can.”

“Why?”

“We dated for a few months a couple years ago. But we weren’t a good fit, and things didn’t end well. Ever since then, Octavia’s gone out of her way to meddle in my business affairs, I suppose as payback for my breaking things off. Trying to buy Polish was a bit of revenge on my part.”

Wesley had dated Octavia? My heart quit pounding in my chest. It quit beating—period—and whatever foolish hope I’d harbored in the deepest, darkest corner of my soul crumbled to ash and blew away. Because Octavia was everything I was not—wealthy, sophisticated, gorgeous, and elegant. Why would Wesley ever look twice at me when he’d been with someone like her?

“Abby?” he asked, cutting into my thoughts. “I thought you wanted me to look at your proposal.”

I’d twisted the folder into a tight cylinder in my hands. “Of course.”

I smoothed out the plastic and handed it to him. Wesley opened the folder and looked through the papers. To my surprise, he actually read my proposal, every single page, instead of just flipping through the sheets the way most of my clients did. While he read, I glanced over my shoulder at Rascal. The puppy had wandered over to the waterfall. He sat at the edge of the pool and stared at it, fascinated by the gurgling water.

After about ten minutes of reading, Wesley glanced up at me. “You put all this together in less than twenty-four hours?”

I shrugged. “It’s my job. I don’t call my business A+ Events for nothing.”

“Well, the name fits.” Wesley studied me. “This is exactly what I was looking for. The rock theme is brilliant. It will really get the local papers and TV stations buzzing.”

More than a little pride pulsed through me. This heady sensation, this warm feeling, was the reason I put up with the problems, hassles, and outright crises. The perfectionist in me enjoyed doing a good job for my clients. It gave me a sense of satisfaction as much as it pleased them when everything went off beautifully.

“I thought you might like it.”

“Really? Why?” he asked, drawing his brows together.

“Because—” I clamped my mouth shut.

Because you told me how much you liked music in my apartment. That was the real reason. But I couldn’t tell him that. Wesley would realize in an instant I was Wren—and that I knew his secret identity as Talon.

“You just seem a little hipper than some of my other business clients,” I finished lamely. “I wouldn’t exactly present this to somebody like Milton Moore.”

He laughed. “I don’t know. Old Milton might get into the swing of things.”

“If his ninety-year-old hips would let him.”

Wesley laughed again. The bass sound rumbled over me, low, deep, and even more soothing than the splash of the waterfall.

“Well, I think these are marvelous ideas,” he said. “Run with them, and remember, whatever you need, I’m more than happy to pay for.”

He stretched forward and started to hand the folder to me.

“Oh no,” I said, gently pushing it back to him. “That’s your copy to keep.”

Our fingers brushed. Tingles, tingles everywhere. This time, Wesley seemed to feel something too. He frowned and stared at me, like I’d static shocked him or something. I snatched my hand away from his. After a moment, he pulled back and put the folder on his desk.

“Okay,” he said. “Thanks for the hard copy.”

“Great. You’re welcome,” I said, nervous once again. “If you’re okay with the theme, I should get going so I can spend some time at the convention center, prepping it for the dinner. Do you need anything else?”

“Of course not,” Wesley said. “I think our business is concluded. I’m sure you’ll do a marvelous job.”

Well, he’d certainly been enthusiastic when he’d called out my name a few nights ago. I suppose that counted as one marvelous job.

“I’m looking forward to seeing how everything turns out,” he said. “Please feel free to call if you run into any trouble.”

I opened my mouth to say something, but his golden eyes had flicked back to his desk, and he started pulling out photos and papers once more.

Business concluded; I was promptly forgotten once again. I was surprised it had taken him this long to start ignoring me. It was time for Wren to fade into the background—just like always.

I collected Rascal from his perch by the waterfall and said good-bye to Wesley. The businessman gave me an absent wave before he picked up a magnifying glass, flipped over the papers on his desk, and returned to examining them. Whatever he was looking at, it must have interested him because he scribbled down notes on a pad.

I sighed and walked over to the elevator. It arrived with a particularly loud ping!, fueling the migraine flaring to life in my brain. I stepped inside and turned around, staring back across the vast space at Wesley, but he was totally absorbed in whatever he was doing. He didn’t even glance in my direction as the doors slid shut.

Pain pierced my heart. I’d thought Wesley was different, that Talon was different, but he was the same as the other rich people in Bigtime. Just like Ryan. Wesley didn’t see the people who made his life easier. Didn’t see the people who worked so hard for him. Didn’t see the people who wanted to please him so badly. Who wanted him so desperately.

Wesley “Talon” Weston didn’t see me—and he never, ever would.

Chapter Fourteen

I let myself mope until the elevator opened on the ground floor. Then, I straightened my spine and stormed out because I had a job to do—and a party to plan.

I dug my cell phone and headset out of my vest, plugged them together, and slipped the device in my right ear. While I walked to the convention center, I called my usual suppliers, finalizing the orders I’d dumped on them yesterday. It was tough, but I managed to browbeat and badger everyone into meeting my deadlines—at significantly higher prices. Kyle was positively giddy when I got off the phone with him, mainly because I’d agreed to triple his usual catering fee due to the short notice. But Wesley said money was no object, and I was in a mood to spend some of his right now. Maybe he’d finally pay some attention to me when he got the bill. I barked out a short, humorless laugh and kept walking.

By the time I reached the convention center, I’d nailed down just about everything, from the decorations to the food to the music. Melody Masters, in particular, was more than happy to play the Weston shindig. She wanted the exposure for her band—not to mention the hefty fee.

A couple of men wearing gray coveralls, black boots, and gloves blocked the main entrance to the convention center, standing in front of one of the revolving doors. An open toolbox sat against the smooth stone of the building. Hammers, screwdrivers, and tape measures perched in plastic containers inside. As I walked past, the sun glinted on the head of one of the hammers. I grunted in pain as the light stabbed into my eyes, blinding me.

“Sorry, ma’am,” one of the men said, mistaking my grunt for some sort of inquiry. “This door is closed. If you need to get into the center, you’ll have to use the entrance farther down the block.”

I peered around the guy and realized he and his buddy were measuring the empty frame for a new pane of glass. I winced. I’d forgotten about the door I’d broken on my dash out of the convention center when I’d left Talon here. I made a mental note to give an anonymous donation to the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra. I owed Morris Muzicale that much for wrecking a piece of his convention center.

I walked half a block to the other entrance. Instead of revolving, these doors had handles. I opened one of them, stepped into the massive lobby, and headed for my destination.

Eddie Edgars, the regular guard, sat at his perch behind the security desk. At the scuffle of my shoes on the slick floor, Eddie looked up from his comic book, the latest edition created by Confidante. The cover featured a perfect replica of the mock snowball fight between Wynter and Swifte that SNN had aired earlier in the week. Wynter laughed as she pitched a snowball at Swifte. Confidante could sure churn out her comic books quickly. Then again, the superhero’s ability to draw at the speed of light certainly helped.

“Hey, Abby.” Eddie waved at me. “What’s shaking?”

“Not much. Just here to look over a few things for my next event.”

Normally, I would have breezed past Eddie, but Rascal started yipping and squirming. So, I decided to let someone else watch the puppy for a while. Unlike the snotty guard at Wesley’s building, I trusted Eddie to take care of Rascal. Besides, Eddie owed me for getting him tickets to the upcoming Fiona Fine fashion show. Like most guys, he had a thing for supermodels.

I opened my coat, plucked Rascal out of my vest pocket, and sat him on top of the counter in front of Eddie.

“A dog? When did you get a dog?” Eddie asked, holding his finger out so Rascal could sniff it.

I grunted again. Why did people keep asking me that? It wasn’t like I was Frost, the ubervillain who’d liked to experiment on animals before the Fearless Five put the deep freeze on him.

“Do me a favor. Watch him for me for a few minutes.”

“Sure,” Eddie said. “No problem. I love dogs.”

I left Rascal with Eddie, turned the corner, and strode down the carpeted hallway. I yanked open the door to the stairwell and climbed to the second floor. A minute later, I walked out onto the balcony, staring at the vast space below. It wasn’t quite noon, but the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra was hard at work. Musicians sat on stage, instruments dangling from their hands, as they chatted and gossiped. A short, thin man with a bald head stood in front of them, rapping on a metal podium with a baton and trying to get their attention.

“People! People! How many times have I said you should always conduct yourselves professionally whenever you’re on stage?” Morris Muzicale bellowed at his musicians. “Even when you don’t have an audience.”

“But we do have an audience,” one of the cellists contradicted. “Abby’s here. Hi, Abby.”

The cellist and his cohorts waved to me. Cellists. Always so cheeky.

I lifted my hand in salute. Most of the musicians knew me because I came by at least once a week to check on arrangements for my latest event. I’d done more than a few of their weddings, anniversaries, and birthday parties too.

Morris, the esteemed director of the orchestra, looked over his shoulder. Even though several hundred feet separated us, I could feel his glare—and see it in remarkable detail thanks to my enhanced eyesight.

“Yes, well, Miss Appleby hardly qualifies as an audience.”

“So you’re saying we don’t have to act professionally then?” the same cellist piped up.

A few of his colleagues snickered. I could hear Morris’s sigh loud and clear, even up here in the nosebleed section. I’d once suggested to Morris that the orchestra should mix up its repertoire, play some rock operas or something a little livelier than Bach, Beethoven, and other songs by old, dead white guys. His face had turned purple, his eyes had bulged and twitched, and a vein beat like a tambourine in his temple. Morris had been so insulted I’d thought he was going to have a heart attack on the spot.

Morris gave me another hard stare, then turned back to the orchestra. He tapped his long baton on top of the stand. “From the top, ladies and gentlemen…”

While the orchestra played Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik,” I pulled a notepad and pen out of my vest and paced from one side of the balcony to the other, making crude drawings of where everything would go. I did the same thing for every event, visualizing the decorations, the flowers, the food, the placement of each and every little thing. The rough sketches helped pinpoint potential trouble spots. I had enough crises pop up by themselves. I tried to do everything I could to limit the avoidable ones.

We’d have to pull the auditorium seats out and bring up the hidden parquet floor for the dancing. Standard operating procedure. The long, narrow orchestra pit would be converted into the bar as usual. That was where I’d put the ice sculptures, and let the bartenders use it to cool some of their supplies. It would be fun and functional. Wesley might be free and easy with his money, but I liked to give my clients plenty of bang for their buck.

Water sloshed in a bucket, and the scent of bleach mixed with cigarette smoke drifted over me—a harsh but familiar smell.

I looked over my shoulder. Colt Colton used a long-handled mop to push a yellow bucket along the balcony toward me.

“Hey, Abby. Party planning again already?” Colt asked, yanking his mop out of the water and slapping it against the floor.

“Don’t you know it. Big shindig set for Friday night.”

There wasn’t really anything else to say, and we both quieted. Colt mopped away the sticky film of spilled soda that always seemed to cover the floor, while I continued to plan. After a few minutes, I tuned out the splash of his waterlogged mop. I didn’t even notice that he’d finished until I felt him staring at me.

“Did you need something, Colt?”

He leaned on his mop. “Actually, I wanted to ask you a question.”

“Really? What?” I said, scribbling more notes on the pad. Maybe I should get three ice sculptures, one for each end of the bar and the center, too—

Colt cleared his throat. I kept writing. He cleared it again, and it dawned on me that he wanted my full, complete, and undivided attention. I looked up from my notes.

“I’m sorry. Too much to do, too little time. What did you want to ask me?”

“Well, we’ve known each other a while now, Abby.” Colt stared at me, his eyes dark in the shadows.

“Yeah…” I replied, not sure where he was going. The only thing I could think of was maybe Colt wanted some extra work and was going to ask me to get him a gig as one of Kyle’s waiters. I’d be happy to do that for him, given how many times he’d helped me out with various problems at my events.

“Well, I was wondering if you’d like to go out sometime. Get some dinner, watch a movie. Maybe tonight?”

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Go out? With Colt Colton? The thought had never crossed my mind. He was just another cog in the Bigtime society wheel like me, a guy I said hello to but didn’t think about otherwise. Truth be told, Colt was as invisible to me as I was to the Bigtime society folks.

So I looked at him—really looked at him. He was taller than I’d realized, and a pair of faded, gray coveralls covered his body. It was the same uniform the other maintenance personnel at the convention center wore, but he filled it out well, with broad, powerful shoulders and a solid chest. A bit on the long side, his black hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, while his face was pale from spending so much time indoors. He had a perfect, straight nose and lips that would have been more at home on a model than a custodian. Colt wasn’t unattractive. Actually, he was rather handsome.

“Abby?” he asked.

I looked at him again—really looked at him.

And realized Colt’s eyes were dark brown, almost black, instead of golden. His smile full-on, instead of self-mocking and wry. His voice raspy, instead of a deep rumble I could feel in my toes.

Colt Colton wasn’t Wesley Weston. He wasn’t Talon—and I just wasn’t in the mood.

“Um, actually, I’m sort of getting over a bad relationship right now.” It wasn’t exactly a lie. Getting over one-night stands could be tough, depending on how much you’d had to drink.

“And I have an event tonight. At the library. I’m sorry.” I added the last part because it seemed like the thing to do. I didn’t want to be cruel. Not like Ryan had been to me.

Not a flicker of emotion showed on Colt’s face. No anger flared in his eyes. No embarrassment colored his cheeks. His breathing pattern didn’t change. His heart didn’t speed up.

Instead, he shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

Colt straightened, took hold of his mop, and pushed his bucket over to the service elevator. He stepped inside and turned around. Just before the doors closed, Colt’s eyes met mine. He smiled, his teeth flashing like pearls in his face. It was an innocent smile. Just a colleague silently saying good-bye to another.

But for some reason, it made me shiver.

Chapter Fifteen

I made a few more notes, collected Rascal from Eddie, and headed to the office. Chloe rocketed out of her chair the moment the elevator opened, briefing me on the library dedication. She’d also had the foresight to bring me a cheeseburger and fries from Quicke’s. My nose twitched, and my stomach rumbled at the hot, greasy aroma. Maybe I really should consider giving Chloe a promotion.

We chatted for a few minutes about the library dedication. It was the first of many events to be held in Berkley Brighton’s honor, and I wanted to make sure everything was perfect. Surprise, surprise.

“It sounds like you’ve got everything under control. Why don’t you see it through to the end?”

Chloe’s eyes widened. “You’re letting me run point on this?” Her voice hovered dangerously close to squeal territory.

I winced. “Most of the work’s already been done. Let’s see how you do at handling the last-minute details. That’s when you really have to think on your feet. You still want that promotion, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“Well then, do a good job tonight, and I’ll consider it some more.”

Chloe held her arms out wide and started to come around the desk.

I snapped up my hand and stopped her. “No—no hugging.”

Chloe looked a little put out by my refusal to be all girly-girl affectionate, but she got over it and started making phone calls. I grabbed the bag with the sandwich from Quicke’s and went into my office.

I took off my coat and put Rascal on the floor. The puppy trotted over to his water bowl and lapped up half of it. I ripped open the Quicke’s bag, unwrapped the cellophane covering the burger, and dumped the fries on the paper next to it. I closed my eyes, leaned over my feast, and breathed in, letting the wonderful aromas assault my senses. Grilled beef. Poppy seed bun. Sharp Cheddar cheese. Extra tomatoes. A dollop of mayonnaise. Blue cheese dressing for my fries.

I was just about to sink my teeth into the burger when a whine sounded. A small, pitiful, can-I-please-please-please-have-a-bite-of-that? whine. The one that was like nails shooting into my skull. The one that was like a cheese grinder on my heart. The one that made me feel guilty. The one that was rapidly turning me into spineless mush.

I peered over the side of the desk. Rascal perched next to my shoe. Ears tall. Eyes big. Tiny tail whipping back and forth.

“You cannot possibly be hungry given all the puppy chow you’ve eaten today.”

Rascal whined again and leaned into my leg, pleading with me.

“All right,” I muttered. “I’ll pet you, but that’s it. You’re not getting my food.”

The puppy barked, knowing he’d gotten the better end of the deal.

* * *

That afternoon, I left the office around three to get ready for the Berkley Brighton dedication. Chloe might be in charge, but I was going to be there to supervise. On the way home, I swung by Paw-Paw’s Pet Emporium and bought a collar and leash for Rascal. My next stop was Stan’s Steamers Dry Cleaners so I could pick up my black coat. Another surprise waited for me besides the exorbitant bill.

“We found this in the pocket. Figured you forgot to take it out.” The cashier handed me a silver flash drive.

I frowned and took the drive from him. It couldn’t possibly be mine. The ones I used at the office were blue and all had A+ Events engraved on them—then I remembered. It was the drive that had fallen out of Talon’s belt the night Bandit shot him. The one I’d picked up out of the snow and stuffed into my pocket. I’d forgotten about it. I wondered what was on it, and if Talon even realized he was missing it. Was he looking for it? Maybe I’d slip it on Wesley’s desk if I went to his office again.

“Thanks,” I said, stuffing the flash drive into my coat pocket once more.

I left Stan’s, went to my loft, and took a quick shower. I brushed out my hair, put on some minty lip gloss, and dug through my piles of unpacked clothes until I came up with a sky-blue camisole silk top, navy pants, and matching jacket, not unlike the outfit I’d worn to the O’Hara party. I had a fair number of dark-colored suits in my closet for a variety of occasions. Even I knew better than to wear cargo pants and a flannel shirt to a formal event, even if I stayed behind the scenes most of the time.

Then, it was time to put on my vest of the evening—my Serious Vest. The black vest looked like the others in my closest, but it contained its own unique set of supplies, ones that came in handy at more somber occasions. Most of the items were of the female persuasion, eye makeup remover, unused tubes of mascara, and tissues. Lots of tissues. People usually made with the waterworks at dedications, because nobody in this town got anything dedicated to them unless they were dead, like Berkley. With waterworks came runny mascara and ruined makeup, which the Bigtime society queens always hurried to fix. Folks also tended to be a little more restrained at dedications—at least until the food and booze started flowing.

I looked at my watch. Just after five. The fundraiser wouldn’t officially start until six thirty, but I was always the first person at my events. Although Chloe was technically handling things, I wanted to get the lay of the land. Just because I was letting her take the lead didn’t mean I wouldn’t step in if things got out of hand.

I slipped the new collar and leash on Rascal, flagged down a cab, and hopped inside. The taxi deposited me in front of the Bigtime Public Library just before six. To my surprise, Chloe was already there, supervising a couple of workers stringing a banner above the front entrance that read Book ’em, Chief! Reading drive kicks off tonight.

In addition to dedicating part of its space to Berkley, the library was hosting a fundraiser and contest to get patrons to read more. This year, the library decided to partner with the police force to get the word out. The centerpiece of the event was a mock jail where folks could bide their time and drink champagne until one of their buddies paid their bail. In other words, wrote the library a hefty check. I thought it was rather ridiculous, but that was what the library’s board of directors wanted. The cops, particularly Chief of Police Sean Newman, had loved the idea. Evidently, they relished the chance to slap handcuffs on some of Bigtime’s wealthier citizens, something they didn’t get to do very often.

The dedication and subsequent fundraiser was one of the smaller events I’d done in recent weeks, which was why I’d decided to let Chloe handle it. Only about two hundred people had been invited, as Joanne had wanted to keep things small and intimate, at least for the dedication. But there were still a hundred details needing attention—like making sure a certain superhero showed up on time.

Once the guys finished hanging the banner, I grabbed Chloe and took her aside. Expecting the grilling, she looked at me calmly and serenely, as though everything was fine. She’d even brought along a clipboard, probably to prove to me that she’d done everything that needed doing.

“Food?” I asked in a tense voice.

“The hors d’oeuvres and champagne will start circulating in thirty minutes, just as the doors officially open.”

“Decorations?”

“All of the lights and greenery have been strung up, and the plastic bars for the jail have been erected,” Chloe said. “The banner announcing the Brighton dedication should be hung any second now.”

“Guests?”

“I’ve gotten RSVPs from everyone, and we’ve already had some people show up. They’re clustered next to the jail.” Chloe gave me a look. “Don’t worry, Abby. I know you put me in charge because this wasn’t a huge event, but you don’t have to worry. I’ve double- and triple-checked everything. It’s going to be fine.”

“And Fiera?” I asked, saving the toughest and most important question for last.

Chloe chewed her lip. “Her, I don’t know about. She’s the only thing I haven’t been able to confirm. I haven’t seen her anywhere. I was just getting ready to call her.”

“Let me.”

I whipped out my cell phone and pushed a button, speed-dialing the contact number I’d been given for Fiera and other members of the Fearless Five. In addition to being the city’s most powerful superhero team, the Fearless Five were the most popular. Everybody wanted the heroes to appear at their events. They got so many requests they’d set up a hot line where people could call and leave messages with dates and details. Even then, the superheroes were always booked weeks, if not months, in advance.

I hit send. Something clicked, and a mechanized voice told me to punch the number that corresponded to the superhero I wished to contact. I punched in 5 for Fiera. A second later, a phone rang just outside the library doors. Chloe couldn’t hear it, but I did. “Light My Fire” by The Doors blared out. A good song and a great ring tone. At least I approved of Fiera’s taste in music, if not her punctuality. I ended the call without waiting for her to pick up.

“What?” Chloe asked. “What is it? Why did you hang up?”

“Because she’s here.”

Fiera pulled the front door of the library open so hard I thought she would rip it off its hinges. In addition to having a fiery personality, the superhero was stronger than ten men put together. Sure enough, she clutched a small cell phone in her hand. The metal case looked mushy, like it was slowly melting. Her blue eyes flicked over the entryway, resting on Chloe and me. Fiera flounced over to us, a bit of smoke puffing off her body.

“Did you just try to call me?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied and made a point of looking at my watch. “You’re late. You were supposed to be here at six, not six fifteen.”

“Well, I would have been on time, but I had to pull a guy out of a wrecked car over on Thirteenth Street. Forgive me for stopping to save someone’s life. But I’m here now, so don’t get your panties in a wad, Abby.”

The fiery superhero crossed her arms over her chest and looked at me. Fiera was a tall woman with the stereotypical superhero physique—long hair, big breasts, and legs that went on forever, all poured into a body-hugging, orange-red spandex suit. Fiera also was the main attraction tonight. The superhero was here to help the cops take people to jail and encourage them to read more.

I would have preferred to have Karma Girl, or even Mr. Sage, but Fiera had been the one who’d called me back and said she’d show up. Because they got so many requests, the Fearless Five took turns doing public events, and I’d been unlucky enough to get stuck with her. I was a little nervous at the thought of Fiera around books. Having the library go up in flames would not be good for business. Besides, I’d already had one disastrous run-in with a superhero this week. I wasn’t ready for another.

“You know what you’re supposed to do?” I asked.

Fiera tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. A few sparks shot out from the ends. “Of course, I know what I’m supposed to do. I am a professional superhero, after all. This isn’t the first dog-and-pony show I’ve been to, Abby. Don’t worry. I’ll make nice with the civilians.”

“And,” I prompted, “I specifically put it in the contract.”

Fiera rolled her blue eyes. “And I won’t set anything in the library on fire.”

“And?”

She sighed. “Or anything else within a two-block radius until the event is over.”

I nodded. “Good.”

“Even though everyone would have a lot more fun if I did,” she muttered.

If there was one group of people who were even more temperamental and demanding than society debutantes, it was superheroes. I glared at Fiera, and she stared right back at me. Her gaze then dropped to my side, where Rascal sat. The smoky superhero fascinated the pint-sized puppy. Curiosity filled his brown eyes, and his pointy ears perched on high alert.

“Aw! What a cute little dog!” Fiera said, dropping to her knees and holding out her hand.

I winced as her voice pierced my skull. Rascal sniffed her carefully, confused by the smoke drifting up from her body. But once he realized Fiera wasn’t going to burn him, he was more than happy to let her scratch his tummy.

“When did you get a dog?” Fiera asked.

I might as well stamp the details on my forehead. Maybe then people would quit asking me that particular question in that particular tone of voice.

“A few days ago. He’s up for adoption, if you want him,” I said. “Maybe the Fearless Five could add a mascot to the team. You seem to have everything else already.”

Fiera’s eyes narrowed at my words, but she kept petting Rascal. I started to open my mouth to say something else catty to her, but Chloe cut me off.

“Ms. O’Hara, how nice to see you again,” Chloe said, elbowing me in the side.

Octavia O’Hara strolled over to our group. Octavia might have been all business at the merger dinner a few nights ago, but she was ready to party tonight. She wore a long, green gown accented with crimson trim. The bright colors enhanced the bronze beauty of her flawless skin. A slit ran halfway up her thigh, exposing a very shapely leg, while the neck of the garment dipped into a severe V, showing a healthy amount of cleavage. Octavia’s black hair flowed like water around her shoulders, and her dark eyes practically smoldered.

A rare bit of envy stabbed my heart. Octavia looked gorgeous. I could see why she’d caught Wesley’s eye. I could just picture the two of them together. They’d be the perfect couple—rich, powerful, beautiful. I fingered the edge of my vest. Octavia was a real nightingale, and I felt more like a wren than ever.

“Abby, Chloe. I wanted to come over and tell you again how wonderful the merger announcement turned out,” Octavia said. “It truly was a night to remember—in all sorts of ways.”

I wondered what Octavia would say if she knew I was planning a similar event for Wesley and that I was going to outdo what I’d done for her in less than a week. She’d find out soon enough and probably dump me as a client, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

Chloe nudged me in the side again, reminding me that I really should respond when people spoke.

“Thank you, Octavia.” I tried to smile. “We appreciate that.”

“It was our pleasure, really,” Chloe’s smile went off a lot better than mine did.

Nice save. Chloe really was serious about getting that promotion, and I just might let her have it if she kept up the good work.

Octavia started to respond, but Rascal barked at her. It wasn’t his usual you’re-a-new-person-want-to-pet-pet-pet-me? bark. No, this time, the dog’s voice dropped to a growl. Fiera sank her fingers into his fur, almost like she was keeping him from latching on to Octavia’s ankle. I stared at the corgi. I’d never seen Rascal growl at anyone. He might be annoyingly precocious, but he really was a sweet, even-tempered dog. I wondered at the sudden change.

Octavia looked at me, then at Fiera and Rascal, then back at me. Evidently, she wasn’t a dog lover, because she didn’t squeal and tell Rascal exactly how cute he was. In fact, she took great pains to step around him, not even letting her crimson stilettos come within a foot of the puppy.

“Whose…animal is that? And why is it in the library?” Octavia asked, her nostrils twitching in disgust.

Anger surged through me, replacing the hot jealousy. I might be stuck with Rascal, but that didn’t give Octavia the right to insult him, especially because I’d busted my ass for her not more than a week ago and had gotten puke all over my shoes for my trouble.

“His name is Rascal, and he’s mine. He’s a stray I’m trying to find a home for.” My voice could have sharpened knives.

“I see.” So could Octavia’s.

We stood there toe-to-toe. Octavia sneered down her nose at me. I had to curl my hands into fists to keep from reaching for my stun gun. Chloe looked back and forth between the two of us.

“Well,” Octavia said. “I should be getting inside. Abby, Chloe, Fiera. Lovely to see you all again.”

“You too, Octavia,” I muttered.

Octavia shot one last look at Rascal, who was still growling, before moving into the library.

“I don’t think she’ll be calling you to plan her next party,” Fiera said, letting go of Rascal and getting to her feet.

“Right now, I don’t care.”

“Abby!” Chloe gasped. “You don’t mean that!”

“Yes, I do,” I muttered. “Rich types. They’re all the same. You do one little thing they don’t approve of, and you get on their hit list. How was I supposed to know Octavia doesn’t like dogs?”

“But you’re Abby Appleby, event planner to the stars,” Fiera said. “Isn’t it your job to know?”

It was my job to know, just like it was my job to keep everyone happy, just like it was my job to go into the library and make nice with Octavia. But I wasn’t in the mood to do any of those things. For some reason, all I wanted to do right now was pet Rascal.

So, I picked up the puppy and snuggled him against my chest. Rascal let out a much happier bark and licked me. For some reason, the gentle scrape of his tongue against my chin comforted me.

“Good boy,” I murmured, scratching his ears. “Good boy.”

Chapter Sixteen

More people arrived, including Sam Sloane, Devlin Dash, and Bella Bulluci. Carmen Cole with The Exposé and Kelly Caleb from SNN also showed up to cover the event. Making nice with Octavia moved to the bottom of my list of priorities.

I took Rascal to the break room for the library staff. That was where the food was being delivered from Quicke’s before being put on silver trays and served to the guests. I tied Rascal to a table in an out-of-the-way spot twenty feet from the platters. Kyle gave the puppy a dish of water and promised to keep an eye on him while I worked the dedication and party.

The main library floor had been largely cleared of bookshelves, and rows of cushioned folding chairs had been set up before a podium. A banner behind the podium read Bigtime’s favorite son—We’ll always remember you, Berkley. Off to the right, plastic bars ringed a fifty-foot-long case of crime books, comprising the jail where people would spend their time later tonight. Waiters circulated through the glittering crowd bearing the requisite glasses of champagne so everyone could get a little buzz on to get through the speeches that would make up the dedication.

Everything was perfect except for one thing—Joanne, Berkley’s widow, was a no-show. And there were only two minutes, thirteen seconds left until the dedication was supposed to start.

“I’m going to call her again,” I said to Chloe and headed to the lobby.

She nodded, her face pale. I felt sorry for her. Everything else had been going so well, and now this. But Chloe had to learn you could never take anything for granted—not even your guest of honor showing up at her own event.

I yanked my cell phone out of my vest and glanced at my watch. Fifty-nine seconds left. I’d just punched in the first number when the door swished open. Joanne strolled inside, a pair of sunglasses masking her eyes, even though it was pitch-black outside. To my surprise, Jasper followed her in. For once, my neighbor wore a snazzy gray trench coat and suit. With his glasses and the diamond twinkling in his ear, he looked quite handsome. I smiled at Jasper, who tipped his head in response.

Then I turned to Joanne. “You’re late.”

Joanne raised a black eyebrow. She took her time pulling off her lavender coat and glasses.

“Guests of honor are not supposed to be late to their own events.”

“I’m not the guest of honor,” she snapped. “Berkley is—and he’s dead. What are you going to do? Dig him up and wheel him in here?”

Her words and tone were harsh, but the telltale glint of tears gleamed in her eyes. I winced. She had a point. Sometimes, I forgot Joanne still grieved for her husband underneath the hard, brittle, polished exterior. Sometimes, I think everyone forgot.

Jasper put a comforting hand on his sister’s shoulder, but she shook it off and lasered him with a hard stare.

“Just because we’re speaking again is no reason to get all emotional on me, Jasper. I’m fine.”

To prove her point, Joanne tossed back her head, strolled through the rows of chairs and people, and slid into her seat just as the lights dimmed. I checked my watch. Five seconds later, a retrospective of Berkley’s life cued up on the film screen behind the podium.

“Sorry about that,” Jasper whispered, coming to stand beside me. “She still misses him terribly.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I’m used to the temper tantrums. Joanne is actually one of my calmer clients.”

“Seriously?” he asked.

“Seriously.”

Jasper gave me a sympathetic look.

* * *

After the film ended, various library officials gushed on about the good they were going to do with Berkley’s twenty-five-million-dollar donation. Joanne looked bored by the whole thing, examining her nails through the speeches, but her eyes got misty again when the officials unveiled the solidium plaque engraved with Berkley’s name.

Once the tribute ended, it was time to move on to the second part of the evening—the library fundraiser. Fiera did her usual volatile superhero routine, strong-arming men into the faux jail and threatening to smack them around with the long arm of the law if they didn’t straighten up. Everyone seemed to enjoy her shtick while they gobbled up spicy chicken and pineapple kebabs and bite-size cucumber-and-cream-cheese sandwiches shaped like books. With all the men and a few of the women clamoring to have Fiera escort them back to jail numerous times, the library received several hefty bail donations from Bigtime’s wealthier citizens.

Including Wesley Weston.

The rugged businessman showed up just as the dedication ended—and he wasn’t alone. A breathtaking brunette who wasn’t any bigger around than a kebab skewer stuck to his arm like glue. She wore a glamorous fuchsia dress that showed off every inch of her perfect figure. I stood against the wall and watched them. Wesley murmured something into her ear. The brunette laughed and snuggled closer to him. He took her hand and smiled.

My heart lurched. I would have traded places with her in a second. But she was another nightingale, just like Octavia. And I was nothing but a—no, not a wren. Not even that. Wallpaper. I was wallpaper. Everybody walked by me; nobody noticed me.

For the first time in my life, I wished I wasn’t wearing my vest. That I could just enjoy the event. Laugh, talk, drink, and not worry about whether I’d ordered enough food or if the shrimp rolls would make everyone sick. But I couldn’t do that. I was the party planner, not a partygoer. This was my event, and I had a responsibility to make sure it was perfect.

So I went into the kitchen and told the caterers to start circulating the cream puffs in the next forty-two seconds, as they were supposed to—or else. Kyle took the brunt of my assault, but yelling at him made me feel a little better.

Once I’d made myself hoarse, I stomped back out onto the library floor. My eyes flicked over the crowd, but I didn’t see Wesley anywhere. His brunette date was chatting up Milton Moore at the bar, although she was having a hard time flirting while his two nurses checked the elderly billionaire’s oxygen tank.

It was for the best, I decided. I’d done nothing but stare at Wesley all night. It wasn’t doing me any good, and I certainly didn’t need to start thinking about his alter ego, Talon, again. That would only make me start wishing other things were possible, things that could never be. Like Wesley seeing me for who I really was—and actually liking me. Supersenses, anal retentiveness, freakish tendencies, warts, and all.

Chloe hovered next to a potted palm near the faux jail. I went over to her.

“I’m taking a break.”

Her hazel eyes widened. “But you never take breaks during an event,” Chloe said, dropping her voice to an awed whisper. “Never.”

I shrugged. “Well, this is your event. You can handle the crises for a change.”

“Abby, are you okay?” she asked. “You don’t sound like yourself. You haven’t all week.”

My gaze strayed back to Wesley’s bombshell brunette. “I’m just a little tired, that’s all. I’ll be back in a few minutes. Call my cell if you need me.”

I could feel Chloe’s eyes on my back as I moved through the crowd toward the elevator. I rode it up to the library’s top floor, wincing as the doors pinged! open. I’d disabled the annoying sound three weeks ago, right before the library’s Christmas party. Usually it took the maintenance men at least six weeks to restore the noise, which was why I hadn’t bothered to check it before the dedication. Evidently, they’d upped their timetable.

I stepped onto the library floor and walked past the reference section with its movable bookcases and computer stations. Normally, college students clustered up here, reading boring, obscure texts and sneaking off to have sex in the stacks when they thought no one was looking. Because the library had closed early for the fundraiser, the area was deserted. Just the way I wanted it to be.

Spotlights here and there provided a bit of dim illumination. I strolled along the glass wall overlooking the library’s indoor garden until I found an easy chair hidden in the shadows. I sank into it, cracked my neck, put my head back, and rubbed my temples. All the laughter, squeals, and commotion had made my head ache, despite the superstrength aspirin I’d taken before the party. The elevator’s annoying ping! had pushed my typical dull headache into pounding migraine territory. Well that, and seeing Wesley with another woman.

I growled, a low sound that could have come out of Rascal’s throat. What did I think was going to happen? That Wesley, that Talon, would swear off all women but me? As if. Wesley was rich, attractive, and single. He wasn’t going to stop living his life—or stop seeing the ladies—just because his G-man superhero alter ego had a one-night stand. Just wishing such a thing, daring to dream it was possible, made me more pathetic than I already was.

I sank lower in the chair. I’d told Chloe I’d be back in five minutes, but I was stretching it out to fifteen. Maybe even a full half hour. Maybe by then Wesley and his perfect date would have left.

A whisper of wool caught my ear, and the smell of crisp mint filled my nose. I didn’t know whether to howl with frustration or sigh with contentment.

“I see I’m not the only one who needed some quiet time,” a deep voice rumbled.

Wesley stepped out of the shadows in front of me. His brown hair gleamed under the dim spotlights. Stubble darkened his face, but his eyes glimmered like pure gold. Tonight, he wore a navy suit that framed his body to perfection. My eyes traced his long torso, pausing at his left shoulder and the bullet wound hidden underneath the thick cloth. I wondered how it was healing—and what his date would think of it and his other scars. Would she be repulsed? Or find them as sexy as I had?

Sexy, I decided. Talon had been right when he’d said chicks dig scars.

“Hello, Abby,” Wesley said. “I didn’t realize you’d planned this party too.”

“I plan every party that’s any party in Bigtime.” I gave him a wan smile.

He frowned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”

“It’s nothing. Just a headache. All the noise has gotten to me tonight.”

“I know what you mean. Bigtime parties can be rather overwhelming, can’t they?”

I caught another whiff of his clean scent. He smelled so good. All I wanted to do was bury my face in his neck and drink in his fresh aroma. Wesley was the one overwhelming me, but I couldn’t tell him that.

“Yes, they can be.”

Desperate for something to do, I unzipped one of the pockets on my vest and fished out some aspirin and my small water bottle.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that vest you wear,” Wesley said. “I noticed it the first time we met in your office.”

I’d noticed how muscular he was. How wonderful he smelled. How his golden eyes caught the light. He’d noticed my vest. In a way, that was worse than being invisible.

I washed the pills down with the water. “Why’s that?”

My vest started quite a few conversations, especially with new clients. It horrified some of them, particularly the fashion designers like Fiona Fine and Bella Bulluci. Others demanded I stock my vest with certain pharmaceutical supplies in case they needed a quick hit of something. One particularly prominent businessman even asked me if I was a professional fly fisherman on the sly.

Piper had been bugging me about my vest for years, insisting that I should let Fiona make me a couple more fashionable versions, but I’d refused. My vest was perfect for what I needed it to do, and I liked it just the way it was.

I stared down at the black fabric with its zippers, pockets, and hidden compartments, comparing it to the fuchsia dress the brunette wore. At least, I used to like my vest just the way it was, before Wesley had swooped in and wreaked havoc on my life.

“I don’t know everything you have in there, but I think it’s exceedingly clever,” Wesley said. “And I very much like clever things, practical things. I imagine you could survive in the jungle for days with just your vest.”

His eyes shimmered in his face, and a half smile curved his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not. Somehow, I didn’t think he was.

I thought of Wesley’s—of Talon’s—superhero suit, of his grappling hook gun and electro-shock visor. Maybe we had more in common than I’d thought. Not that it mattered. Because at the end of the night, Wesley and his impeccable business suit would still be going home with a fuchsia dress, not a plain black vest—no matter how clever he thought it was.

Depressed, I wanted to get as far away from Wesley as I could. I leapt out of the chair, and the sudden change in elevation made my head spin. I swayed back and forth, spots flashing in front of my eyes.

“Easy,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady me. “Easy, Abby.”

I jerked away before he could touch me. My knees hit the chair, and I almost fell back into it before righting myself at the last second. I put my hand against the glass wall to steady myself. Clumsy, clumsy.

“That must be one killer headache,” Wesley said. “Can I help you? Get you anything?”

My stomach clenched into a hard knot. What he could get me was another night like the one I’d had with Talon. What he could get me was a guy who listened to me like Talon had. What he could get me was himself. But that wasn’t going to happen. The sooner I accepted that, the better.

“I’m fine. In fact, I should be getting back downstairs.” The white spots faded to gray, and I pushed away from the wall. “Before something goes wrong.”

“What could go wrong?” he asked. “Everything was perfect when I left.”

“Perfect,” I muttered. “Yeah, everything’s always perfect when I’m around.”

Wesley cocked his head to one side, as if he didn’t quite understand what I was trying to say. I wasn’t sure I knew either. All I wanted was to get away from him.

I hurried back to the elevator and pushed the call button. Wesley followed, the fabric of his suit rubbing together as he walked. The doors pinged! open. I winced at the sharp noise, stepped inside, and turned to face him.

“Are you coming?” I asked.

Wesley shook his head. He stood there in front of the open doors staring at me. He frowned, and as his eyes darkened, I jabbed the button for the first floor, avoiding his gaze. I didn’t look up until the doors closed.

When I was alone again, I slumped against the cold, metal wall and fought the tears forming in my eyes.

* * *

I used the elevator ride to pull myself together. By the time the doors opened on the first floor, I’d almost convinced myself everything was fine.

That I wasn’t pining for a guy I’d never get. That I didn’t want him to look at me, to notice me, and like what he saw more than anything else.

That I wasn’t halfway in love with him.

I stepped out of the elevator. The laughter, conversation, and rattle of silverware felt like a drill boring into my skull. If anything, the dedication had gotten louder since I’d been upstairs. I checked my watch. After ten already, and the party was still in full swing, but I was ready to call it a night, no matter how many disasters might be in the making. I found Chloe in the break room, petting Rascal.

“Hey, Abby!” Chloe leapt to her feet as if I’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “I know you said he’d be fine back here, but he looked so pitiful just sitting there and then he started whining…”

I stared at the puppy. Rascal yipped and let his tongue hang out of his mouth. If that wasn’t a devilish expression, I didn’t know what was.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of him from here on out since I’m going home.”

“Home?” Chloe looked me up and down. “You’re going home?”

I nodded.

“You’re leaving?” she squealed. “Now?”

I rubbed my temples. “If you don’t shatter my eardrums, I am.”

She threw her hands up in the air. “But the benefit isn’t even over yet. And you never, ever leave before an event is over. That’s when disaster strikes. Remember how many times you’ve told me that?”

I nodded. “I do, and I don’t care right now. My head is about to split in two.”

“But—but—I’ve never handled an entire event,” Chloe sputtered, panic clear in every syllable.

I put my hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Give it another hour, and the party will start winding down. Kyle and his staff will take care of the mess like they always do. Just make sure everyone is sober enough to get into their limo. Okay?”

Chloe let out a breath and nodded.

“All right, then. Good night, and good luck,” I said.

* * *

I retrieved my black coat, pulled on my gloves, hat, and scarf, and wrapped Rascal’s leash around my hand. I didn’t want to walk through the boisterous party again, so I slipped out the side door. Rascal huffed with contentment as we stepped into the chilly night air. The puppy seemed to be just as happy to get away from the noise and lights as I was.

After the puppy did his business, I scooped him up and tucked him inside my coat. He licked my chin in thanks. I wrinkled my nose at his bad breath, but it didn’t bother me as much as usual.

The snow might have done a disappearing act, but so had the people who’d crowded into the streets earlier today. I relished the quiet darkness after the noise of the party. A few taxis cruised by looking for late-night fares, but I tucked my chin into my coat and kept going. I liked walking. It gave me time to unwind after a long, hard day—and a chance to convince myself that I had to get over this obsession with Wesley. Nothing was ever going to come of it, and I needed to realize that before I did something supremely stupid—like tell him I was the mysterious Wren.

I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I reached my block before I knew it. To my surprise, a black limo idled in front of my building. I’d just stepped onto my street when a shadow detached itself from a doorway up ahead. At first, I thought it was just some guy stopping to have a late-night cigarette.

Then, he turned and walked in my direction.

I slowed my steps, but I didn’t stop walking. Instead, I moved to the edge of the sidewalk so I wouldn’t have to get within arm’s reach of him. I also reached through the slits in my coat and unzipped the pocket holding my stun gun. I might like walking home at night, but I wasn’t careless. Granny Cane and Grandpa Pain couldn’t apprehend every mugger in the city.

The guy was about fifty feet from me when a car drove by. The glare from its headlights seared my eyes, destroying my night vision. I squinted and kept walking. By the time I blinked the spots away, the guy stood in front of me. Black leather duster, silver-tipped cowboy boots, guns in the holster around his lean waist, a bandana covering the bottom half of his face.

The sight of him made my blood run cold.

“Hello, Abby,” Bandit said.

Chapter Seventeen

I froze. Bandit on my block. On my street. Talking to me. Calling me by name. Not good. So not good.

“Um, hello,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. One should always avoid being rude to ubervillains if one wanted to keep breathing.

I clutched Rascal to my chest with one hand. With the other, I reached into my vest pocket and curled my fingers around my stun gun. Not that it would do much damage against the ubervillain. If I could somehow manage to use it before he just killed me.

Despite the disasters I’d faced at my events, I’d never been confronted by an ubervillain—not once. I didn’t think I had anything that would slow Bandit down, much less save me from getting shot. My vest contained many, many things. Unfortunately, Kevlar was not one of them. But I was definitely splurging for it the next time I went to Oodles o’ Stuff.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Bandit drawled. He jerked his thumb over his finger, pointing at the limo. “Or rather to my employer, Tycoon. And I want it back. Now.”

My eyes flicked to the car. Something red dangled from the rearview mirror, something that seemed to have a familiar, heart-like shape to it, but that was all I could make out. Even with my enhanced vision, I couldn’t see who was inside through the metal of the car—and I didn’t want to. Tycoon was notorious for keeping his identity a secret. Rumors said only a handful of people knew who the mob boss really was, and his anonymity allowed him to stay in business and avoid being busted by Chief Sean Newman. If I saw Tycoon’s face, I might as well just shoot myself instead of waiting for Bandit to do it.

“I have something that belongs to Tycoon?” I said, confused.

Bandit nodded, his dark hair falling forward. The moonlight hit his face, highlighting the black-and-white, paisley pattern in the bandana tied around his face. It only added to his sinister air.

“There must be some mistake. I don’t have anything of yours. Or his. I’ve never met you before. Never even seen you before. Well, not in person anyway.”

Like most ubervillains, Bandit occasionally appeared on SNN hawking his latest merchandise. The ubervillain also held illegal camps where people could go play cowboys for a day—complete with real duels using real guns and real bullets. And, of course, Bandit made the news whenever he evaded the police or superheroes during high-speed car chases. A couple of weeks ago, he and Pistol Pete, the gun-loving superhero, shot up the street outside Oodles o’ Stuff when they both went in to buy some supplies at the same time.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Abby.” Bandit’s voice sounded low, hard, and cold, despite the way he drawled out his words. “I know you have it. It wasn’t in your apartment or at the convention center. So, you must have it on you.”

My apartment? He’d been in my apartment? My blood congealed a little more.

“What am I supposed to have?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.

“A flash drive,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “About this big.”

A flash drive? I didn’t have any flash drive—

Oh yes, I did. The one that had fallen out of Talon’s belt. The one the dry cleaners had found. The flash drive I’d stuffed back into my coat pocket—the same coat I had on right now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a step back. “I don’t have any flash drive.”

Bandit shook his head. “I’d hoped to do this the easy way. But if you won’t give it to me willingly, I guess I’ll just have to take it off your body—your dead body.”

Bandit stepped toward me, his boots crunching on the snow. Rascal let out a fierce growl, baring his teeth at the approaching ubervillain. Bandit’s eyes flicked to the dog. He frowned. I guess he wasn’t an animal lover either.

“Actually, let’s make that two things of Tycoon’s you have,” he said.

I shuffled back, ready to turn and run.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Abby.” Bandit tipped his ten-gallon hat a little lower on his head. “I really hate to chase people. It upsets me. I tend to shoot people when I’m upset.”

Upset? Forget that. I didn’t want to be this close to him now, when he was just menacing. But I made myself stop. He was right. Running wouldn’t help me. He’d just put a bullet in my back.

Bandit opened his mouth to threaten me again when the strangest thing happened—a car exploded.

I screamed and threw my hand up to ward off the intense heat and light. The explosion sounded like a couple of fighter jets doing formations in my head. The pain was so great my vision went white, then black, then white again. I blinked repeatedly, trying to get my sight back. After a minute, I realized it wasn’t a car but rather a trash can that had exploded—the one in front of Jasper’s brownstone. How bizarre. And the blast seemed to be contained, burning only in the trash can, without spreading to the surrounding cars. A curtain twitched in one of the brownstone’s windows. For a moment, I thought I saw Jasper inside, holding a phone in his hand. He must have come home early from the dedication. Then, the curtain fell back into place, and he vanished.

Bandit swore under his breath, and his eyes flicked up to the street signs, as though he wasn’t supposed to be here. He looked at the limo, but the car just sat there. The second Bandit’s back turned to me, I ran.

I probably could have made it around the corner if Rascal hadn’t chosen that moment to let out another growl.

“Bitch!” Bandit screamed behind me. “Come back here!”

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. I picked up my pace.

Over my pounding footsteps, something burped and zipped! through the air. Acting on instinct, I threw myself up against the building. A small, silver object zoomed past my head and slammed into the streetlight at the end of the block. The projectile punched through the metal, leaving a hole about the size of a quarter, and kept going until it hit the brick building on the next block. Black gas spewed from the projectile. Red sparks shot out of the streetlight like a sparkler, and the walk sign flashed like a strobe light.

For the first time in my life, I was glad I’d touched that live amp at The Blues. Otherwise, I’d be dead right now, my skull pierced by Bandit’s bullet.

I shoved away from the wall, ready to run again. I stepped forward, my foot sliding on a patch of ice. My arms flailed, and my body jerked to one side, but I didn’t fall. I made a hard right and raced into the alley stretching between the main streets. Rascal barked and yipped, and I struggled to hold on to the puppy without crushing him.

“Be still!” I yelled at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m running for our lives right now!”

Maybe it was the sharp, panicked tone in my voice, but Rascal seemed to understand what I was saying. He settled down, and I kept running.

The alley led to another street a block over. It was more heavily traveled than my block, with footprints everywhere, so Bandit shouldn’t be able to tell which direction I’d gone. I knew I couldn’t outrun the ubervillain—or his gun. My eyes flicked over the snowdrifts. But maybe I could hide from him. I dashed across the street and down the block about fifty feet, crouching behind a car still buried up to its tires in snow. I reached up and rattled the door handle. Locked. Damn.

Across the street at the entrance to the alley, spurs jangled, and boots stamped on the snow. The sounds were faint, whispers really, but I could hear them. He was here already. Bandit was here. I went completely still, scarcely daring to breath.

“I told you that I hate chases, Abby.” His voice floated across the street. “Now, you’ve made me upset.”

And then—silence.

I strained and strained, but I couldn’t hear the ubervillain over my racing heart and quick, frantic breaths. Those sounds drowned out everything else. I couldn’t tell where he was, what he was doing, or most importantly, which direction he was walking.

I sank down into the shadows, hoping he’d turn the other direction and walk away from me. There was a police station a few blocks up. If Bandit headed the other way, I just might be able to sprint there before he realized his mistake and caught up with me. I eased forward, ready to take the chance.

And found myself staring at a pair of cowboy boots. I looked up. Bandit towered over me. The wind fluttered his hair and made his duster dance against his legs. The cold, black leather brushed my cheek like the hand of death. I shrank back.

Bandit shook his head, his eyes as black as night. “You shouldn’t have run. Now I’m going to kill you and take what’s mine.”

He reached down and jerked me up by my coat. He must have smiled, because his breath hit me through the bandanna he wore. Garlic mixed with onions and hot sauce—all of it rancid. I almost gagged.

“Where’s the flash drive?” Bandit asked.

“I don’t know anything about a flash drive,” I said, lying to the end.

He stared into my eyes, as though he could judge the truth of my words just by looking at me. Rascal used the opportunity to sink his needle-sharp teeth into Bandit’s hand.

“Ouch!” the ubervillain roared.

He reached out to punch the puppy, but I turned my shoulder, letting him hit me instead. Bandit’s fierce, sharp blow penetrated through my layers of clothing. Something in my shoulder popped. Pain shot up my arm, which went tingly and numb. I screamed and fell to my knees in the snow.

Bandit shook his head. “I tried to do this the easy way, Abby, but you just wouldn’t play ball.”

Why was he talking to me like that? From his tone of voice, you’d think we knew each other, that we were friends or something. I’d think I’d know if I’d been hanging out with an ubervillain. Surely Piper would tell me.

“Get up,” Bandit snapped. “Get up!”

He reached down and hauled me to my feet again. Every single part of my body exploded with pain. My head, shoulder, legs. I hadn’t felt this much hot, electric agony since I’d gotten zapped by that amp.

He drew back his hand to punch me again. I felt something brush by my face, so close it ruffled my hair. Bandit stopped, surprised by the movement.

“Son of a bitch—”

The ubervillain never got to finish his sentence. A bolt thwacked! into the wall beside us, and cobalt-blue smoke spewed out of it. The smoke forced its way into my eyes, my nose, my throat. It smelled minty.

Bandit blinked once, twice. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. His grip on my jacket loosened, and he went down on his knees.

I took a step back. At least, I tried to. My head felt so strange, like it was floating above my body. My legs trembled, and I couldn’t support myself. My knees buckled, and I slid to the icy ground.

Rascal’s sharp, worried bark was the last thing I heard before the world went black.

Chapter Eighteen

The lump woke me. It pressed into my back like a giant thumb, a hard pressure on my spine. No matter which way I turned, I couldn’t get free of it. Couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t sleep.

A few minutes and several turns later, the sleepy fog lifted from my mind—and I realized I wasn’t in my bed. The rest of the evening rushed back to me. The library event. Talking with Wesley. Walking home. Running away from Bandit. Being knocked out by that blue gas. After that, someone had come along and done something with me, taken me…somewhere.

But where? And who? And what were they going to do with me now?

I remained as still as a dead body on the sofa, eyes shut, straining with my ears. But I couldn’t hear anything. No machines, no whispers of movement, no swirls of air indicating someone else was nearby. Nothing sounded except a steady, low murmur, too faint for even my supersensitive ears to identify. Well, at least it wasn’t loud here.

Because I didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, I moved my head. Something soft and filmy brushed my cheek, feeling like a spider’s web. I jerked away, but it still touched me. I bit back a scream and clawed at my face, ignoring the pain that stabbed through my shoulder with every frantic movement.

I drew in a ragged breath, and a clean, soapy scent filled my nose. It smelled like…fabric softener.

Fabric softener?

I forced myself to relax and reached up. My fingers traced over the thing on my face, and I realized it was a blanket. I moved my legs, confirming my hunch that this blanket was one of several piled on top of me. They’d twisted and tangled together during my thrashing and wrapped around my body like velvet ropes.

I pulled the blanket off my face and opened my eyes a tiny crack. Darkness. Nothing but darkness. I opened my eyes the rest of the way. Using my right hand, I unwound the sheets from my body and sat up.

I sat there, waiting for my eyes to focus. But for once, my enhanced eyesight failed me. No light penetrated this room, and I could make out only what I could hear, feel, smell, and touch. The faint murmur in the background. The lumpy sofa. The shag rug under my socked feet. The stale odor air gets when it’s circulated through office buildings over and over again. The sour fear in my throat and mouth.

So, I focused on my body. My left shoulder throbbed with hot, searing pain, a new wave blossoming every second. The pain had spread down into my arm, ending at my fingertips, which felt numb, cold, and useless. My knees ached from where I’d fallen, and the fabric of my pants had glued itself to the cuts that had opened up on them. I could smell my own dried blood, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of it.

I wasn’t in the best shape of my life, but I could still move. I didn’t know where I was, but I wanted to get out of here. Or at least find the light switch.

I stood up and realized that whoever had brought me here had also done away with my clothes. Some of them, anyway. My coat was gone, along with my heavy boots and vest. All I wore now was my camisole, silk jacket, pants, and wool socks. I patted the sofa and the rug in front of it, but all my fingers touched were blankets and shag carpet. I couldn’t find my clothes. Damn. If only they’d left the vest, I could have fished out my miniature flashlight instead of being blind—

It hit me then what else I was missing—or rather who.

“Rascal!” I whispered. “Rascal, are you in here?”

No yip-yap or bark answered my frantic call. No sudden scurries of happy movement. No tail thumping against my legs. No doggie breath. Rascal wasn’t here.

Hot, salty tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t know why. I didn’t do well with animals, didn’t even really like dogs. The only reason I had Rascal was because Piper had foisted him off on me. But the room seemed so…empty without the puppy. So…still and…quiet. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t welcome the silence.

A few tears slid down my cheeks, but I ignored them. Rascal might not be in here, in this room, but maybe he was close. Better yet, maybe he’d escaped during the struggle with Bandit. Maybe he’d even found his way over to Jasper’s brownstone. I wasn’t going to think about what else could have befallen the puppy. I wasn’t going to think about him getting hit by a car or attacked by a bigger dog or shot by Bandit. I just couldn’t.

I got to my feet and stumbled to my right, using the sofa as a guide. When I reached the end of the sofa, I put my hand on the wall and kept going. I fumbled around in the dark, sliding my hands along the wall, looking for a light switch, a window, a door, anything. Up, down, left, right.

There wasn’t one. No light switch, no door, no window. The wall felt cool and slick like glass, and my fingers squeaked as they moved over the smooth, flat surface. I didn’t feel any latches or panes for a window, and I got the impression I wasn’t touching the real wall, that there was something behind the glass, some sort of other space.

No lights. A stale smell. Not much noise. The lack of perception, of seeing, feeling, and hearing every little thing, unnerved me. This was the first time in two years I hadn’t been aware of everything all at the same time. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

I kept feeling along the wall and realized the room was large—several hundred square feet at least. Because I couldn’t find a light switch on the wall, I decided to walk out into the middle of the room. Surely, there had to be a lamp of some sort. I took a step forward. Then another, then another—

My knees hit a low table, and I fell on top of it, smacking into the wood, then rolling off. The carpet was thick, but not thick enough to break my fall. I landed hard on my injured shoulder. The steady waves of pain coalesced into an erupting geyser, steaming, burning, and searing my shoulder, my arm, and my fingers. I rocked back and forth, moaning and clutching my good hand to my shoulder, trying not to throw up as the feeling stabbed through my entire body.

I don’t know how long I huddled there, curled into a tight ball, but eventually, a sound penetrated the throbbing haze. I focused on it, desperate to pull my mind away from my aching shoulder and bruised knees. The sound came again, a loud, metallic click, like a key turning in a lock.

A door opened. White light spilled in, cutting a path across my face and adding to my misery. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden influx of brightness.

“Now, you’ve done it,” a voice murmured.

I cracked my eyes open. A figure stood in the doorway. He was nothing more than a tall, backlit shadow, but I would have known that voice anywhere. That deep bass rumble. That sly tone. That rich timbre that made me melt.

Talon.

* * *

“Who are you?” I asked, playing dumb.

“Someone who’s here to help you.” His throaty voice sent chills up my spine.

“Then why can’t I see you?”

Careful what you wish for. Something else clicked, and light flooded the room, searing my eyes. A headache erupted in my temples, throbbing in time to the pain in my shoulder. I groaned and buried my face in my uninjured shoulder to shut out the glare. After a few moments, I opened them again, blinking away the white wall that clouded my vision. The room came into focus.

I gasped because those glass walls I’d felt before held gadgets. Dozens and dozens of gadgets. Crossbows, bolts, grappling hooks, swords, staffs. Costumes too. Rows of cobalt-blue leather shirts, pants, and boots. The whole back wall was nothing but a giant display case.

I turned my head, looking at the rest of the room. Monitors took up the right wall, along with banks of computers, a metal desk, and an executive-style chair. Several more chairs clustered around a table in front of me. Papers, pens, and empty coffee cups dirtied the surface of the table. The chairs pointed at the front wall, which was covered with maps, photographs, and dry-erase boards full of squiggly handwriting. I also spotted my coat, gloves, scarf, and hat draped over a chair, along with my vest. My boots sat next to them.

But the most curious thing was the left wall. There was nothing on it. No monitors, no glass cases, no notes or photos. In fact, it looked like it wasn’t even really a wall, but a panel that hid something else from view.

I’d heard about places like this. The nooks, crannies, and secret chambers superheroes called home. The safe places where they kept their weapons and assorted costumes. I’d seen them on SNN countless times. But I’d never been in one—especially not Talon’s.

Boots squished into the carpet, and a shadow fell over me, blocking the light. Cobalt-blue leather, blue visor, a hint of dark stubble on his chiseled chin.

“Talon?” I asked, trying to pretend like I’d never seen him before—at least, not in person.

“You know who I am?”

“I saw your poster at Quicke’s the other day.” I didn’t add the fact I’d seen the rest of him naked not too long ego.

I looked around the room again. “Where are we? Why did you bring me here? What happened to Bandit?”

“You’re safe. That’s all you need to know,” Talon said. “I brought you here because I couldn’t very well leave you on the street to freeze to death.”

His mouth twisted, and I knew he was thinking about me, about Wren, and how she’d saved him from the cold too.

Talon continued. “I didn’t have any problem doing that to Bandit, though. Hopefully, the city workers will find him frozen solid in the morning, although I rather doubt it. He seems to have as many lives as bullets in his guns.”

I hoped it too. Probably more than Talon did.

The superhero kept staring at me, and I realized how awkward I must look, sprawled on the floor, legs sticking out, sock-covered toes curled into the carpet. I put my hand on the table to pull myself up. Pain ripped through my injured shoulder, and I fell to the floor, moaning once again.

Talon dropped to his knees beside me. “Are you okay?”

“Bandit…hit me…did something…to my…shoulder,” I gasped between waves of pain.

“Here, let me see if I can help.”

Talon put his arm under me and eased me into a sitting position with my back against the table. I closed my eyes and inhaled, breathing in his scent. He smelled good—so good. Like danger, sex, leather, and mint all mixed together.

Talon’s fingers probed my shoulder. I hissed to keep from screaming with pain—and to drown out the feel of his hard hand on my body again.

“It’s dislocated,” he announced. “I can put it back into place for you, but it’s going to hurt.”

It couldn’t hurt worse than it already did. “Just do it.”

“All right,” he said, taking hold of my shoulder again. “On three. One, two—”

Talon pulled my arm forward and wrenched my shoulder back. Bones scraped together. Tendons stretched. Something popped!

I screamed and screamed, then slumped over, sweat sliding down my face. Talon gathered me in his arms, and I buried my face in his neck. Another wave of pain hit me. More throbbing. My muscles twitched. And then—I realized I could feel my fingers again. They tingled as if awakened from a long sleep.

“That wasn’t three,” I muttered against Talon’s neck.

He chuckled. “I know, but it’s better this way. Trust me. You don’t want to know when it’s coming.”

We sat there on the floor for a while, him holding me, and me trying to get my breath back. I could have stayed in his arms forever, but I kept wondering where Rascal was—and at the fact I missed him so much.

“Where’s Rascal?” I asked.

“Rascal?” he echoed.

“The dog. The puppy in my coat. Did Bandit—did he—”

“No, Rascal’s fine. I have him in another room. Your dog is just fine.”

Some of the tightness in my chest eased. Rascal was all right, and I was counting my lucky stars I’d gotten through the night with only a dislocated shoulder and scraped knees.

Although I didn’t want to, I dislodged myself from the superhero’s embrace and crabbed across the floor to the sofa. I turned and leaned against it so I faced Talon. The superhero remained by the coffee table, his legs stretched out in front of him—the same pose he’d struck on my bed. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Then, I realized I’d shoved my ass in his face when I’d moved to the sofa. I winced. I couldn’t make out his eyes behind the blue visor, but he smiled. Maybe the view hadn’t been too bad.

“So, what the hell is going on?”

Talon crossed his arms over his chest. “I was hoping you could tell me, Ms. Appleby.”

“You know my name?” I knew he did, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

He nodded. “I’m not the only one with a reputation in this town. Now, do you want to tell me what Bandit was after? Why he was harassing you?”

“You don’t know?” I asked, surprised.

He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t hear what he said to you. I was too far away.”

“But why were you even there in the first place? Were you following me?”

Half of me was filled with dread, the other half with excitement. Maybe Wesley had been concerned about me at the library. Maybe he’d decided to make sure I got home safely. Maybe—

“Of course not,” Talon said. “I’m not some sort of stalker. I was after Bandit. I lost him for a few minutes, but I got a tip about his location from a guy I know. I spotted the burning trash can and followed the sound of your voices.”

A tip from a guy? He must have meant Jasper. I thought I’d seen him holding a phone in his hand through the curtains. Jasper must have decided to become some sort of superhero informant because of his recent mugging. That was the only reason I could think of for him knowing Talon.

So the superhero had been tracking Bandit, not me. I should have been relieved he hadn’t figured out I was his mystery woman. Still, I chose my words carefully. I didn’t want to blow my secret identity as Wren when it was still safe. No matter how much part of me just wanted to confess everything to Talon. Did superheroes feel this conflicted when they lied to their loved ones? Maybe I should ask him.

Maybe not.

“I don’t know why he was after me,” I said. “He must have me confused with someone else. He kept saying I had something that belonged to him. A flash drive.”

I thought of something else the ubervillain had said. “He also claimed I had another thing that belonged to him, and he looked at Rascal. It was strange.”

“I thought as much.”

Talon got to his feet. He held out his hand, and I took it. He pulled me up so fast I stumbled into him, our bodies flush against each other just as they had been that night in my apartment. I stepped back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sudden rush of color in my cheeks.

I shouldn’t have worried. Talon had already gone to his computers, sat down in front of them, and started mashing buttons. I was the only other person in the room, and I’d already faded into the background.

Anger surged through me, replacing the usual, bitter disappointment. I wasn’t going to be brushed off so easily. Not again. Not by him. I marched over to the computers and stared at the flickering images. Most of the monitors showed news clips of Bandit, hawking his action figures and shooting out tires on police cars with alarming precision.

“What are you doing? What are you looking at?”

Talon swiveled in his chair and faced me. “Do you really want to know? Because if you do, there’s no going back.”

“What do you mean? You’re not going to pull off your mask and reveal your secret identity, are you?”

He laughed. “Of course not, but if Bandit thinks you have the flash drive he wants, you’re in danger. The less you know, the better.”

“Not really,” I pointed out. “He’s convinced I know about it. Even if I tell him otherwise, he’d still torture and kill me trying to get me to tell him what I supposedly know.”

“Well, yeah,” Talon admitted. “But I was trying not to upset you, to get you to look at the bright side of things.”

“I’m not really a bright-side kind of gal. Besides, I want to know what’s going on. He said he’d been in my apartment looking for it and it wasn’t there. What kind of flash drive is Bandit after?”

I couldn’t see Talon’s eyes through the tall blue visor, but I got the impression he was studying me carefully. “How much do you know about me?”

The change of topic surprised me. “Just what I’ve read in The Exposé or seen on SNN. You’re a superhero. You use gadgets to help you fight evil. That’s it.”

I also knew he liked Green Day and The Pretenders. Secretly listened to John Denver. And that he really liked it when I did that shimmy with my hips—well, I wasn’t going to go there. Talon’s sexual preferences were not part of this conversation.

“Then you know Bandit is my archenemy. I’ve been trying to take him down for years.”

I nodded.

“But for all his bravado, Bandit is just a hired gun, no pun intended. He works for someone who calls himself Tycoon. Have you heard of him?”

I nodded again. “Sure. Everybody has. He’s the big mob boss in Bigtime.”

“I managed to pinpoint Tycoon’s main headquarters. It took me months, but I finally found where he was hiding,” Talon said. “A few nights ago, I broke inside. I was looking for Bandit, but I found something even better—Tycoon’s mainframe. The computer that houses all of the information about his organization. The drugs, the gambling, the money laundering, everything. I’d just hacked into the mainframe when someone discovered I had broken in. Before I left, I copied the information onto a flash drive, but Bandit and some of his lieutenants waylaid me in an alley, and Bandit shot me.”

I thought back. That would have been Saturday, the night of the O’Hara party, when I’d found Talon blind and bleeding. “How did you get away?” I asked, playing the part of the naïve, innocent civilian.

“Luckily, a woman was there,” Talon’s voice softened. “Her name is Nightingale. At least, that’s what I called her. She helped me get away from Bandit. She took me to her home and patched me up.”

“So maybe she has the flash drive Bandit wants.” I rubbed my hands together, hoping he wouldn’t notice my trembling fingers. “Maybe she swiped it when you weren’t looking.”

“I think she does have it,” Talon said. “But I don’t think she took it. At least, not on purpose.”

“So, why don’t you just go get the drive from her?” My heart hammered in my chest, and my mouth went dry.

His mouth twisted. “Because I don’t know who Nightingale really is. We didn’t exactly exchange contact information.”

No, just bodily fluids.

“She…left me before I could thank her for her help.”

Yeah, I drugged you and left you in the convention center so you wouldn’t find out who I really was. That sentence dangled on the end of my tongue, but I clamped my mouth shut. I could never tell Talon the truth. He wouldn’t understand. Hell, I wasn’t sure that I understood.

“Oh. So you don’t know anything about her?”

His voice dropped to a whisper. “Just that she likes to sing. Nightingale has the most amazing voice I’ve ever heard.”

The heat, the passion, in his tone, made my throat close up. I didn’t say anything. I had a hard enough time just breathing.

Talon cleared his throat. “No, I don’t know anything about her. Nothing concrete, like her name or age or where she works.”

Or the fact that she’s standing right in front of you.

I closed my eyes. This was harder than I’d thought it would be. Especially when he talked about Wren, about me, like that. Like I was somebody he wanted to see again. Somebody he cared about.

“But I’ve been looking for her.”

My eyes snapped open, and I tried not to stagger back. “You—you have? Why?”

“Lots of reasons,” he said. “I want to say thank you, of course. But even more than that, she was…kind to me. Kinder than anyone’s been in a long time.”

His voice was casual, but there was a sharp undercurrent in it, longing tinged with desperation—or maybe that was me wanting to hear things. Wanting Talon to feel the things I’d felt.

“I’ve gotten some information on Nightingale, even a photograph, but so far, it hasn’t led me anywhere.”

I flashed back to the pictures and documents I’d seen on Wesley’s desk. The ones he’d been examining so intently. They couldn’t possibly be of…me, could they? Where would he have gotten my picture from?

“What I don’t understand is why Bandit would confuse you with her,” Talon said.

Reality bitch-slapped me in the face again.

“Um…well…I was out late that night at an event. Maybe he saw me walking down the street or something.”

A lame excuse at best, but he nodded, accepting it. “Possibly.”

“But why would Bandit think Rascal belonged to him?”

“Well, where did you get the dog from?”

I supposed there was no harm in telling him the truth—about this. “My best friend Piper Perez found him in an alley downtown before the blizzard hit. She didn’t want to take him to the pound, but she’s allergic to dogs. So, she asked me to keep him while she finds him a home.”

“I see. Well, that means something.”

“What?”

“Before I was discovered at Tycoon’s headquarters, I read about a project called Sunrise. I didn’t read enough to know exactly what’s it about, but it looked like Tycoon was experimenting with a radioactive drug—euphoridon. Testing it on cats and dogs. Certain breeds, like corgis.”

Euphoridon was Bigtime’s radioactive version of crack—only far more addictive and deadly. There was something familiar about the name Sunrise too, like I’d seen or heard it somewhere recently, but I focused on the last thing that Talon had said.

“So what are you saying? That Rascal is some kind of superdog?” I asked. “No way. He’s just a puppy.”

“You haven’t noticed anything strange about him? Nothing at all?”

Well, there was his seemingly boundless energy and enormous appetite. But I thought that was because he was a growing puppy rather than a superdog. The only really strange thing about Rascal was the way he seemed to understand exactly what I was saying, but Piper told me corgis were intelligent.

“I don’t know. I’ve never had a dog before.”

“You’ve never had a dog before?” Disbelief colored Talon’s voice.

I grimaced. Now, I was getting that tone from a superhero. “No, I’ve never had a dog. I don’t do so well with animals. But what would the drug do to him?”

“I’m not sure,” Talon said. “It would depend on the dosage and various other things. It might make him a little quicker, a little smarter than the average dog. But I’m not sure if Rascal is one of the dogs or not. I’d have to run some tests to find out. With your permission, I’ll draw some of his blood.”

“Will it hurt him?” I asked, worried.

“No. Just a little prick, and it will be done.” He turned back to his monitors. “But even with his blood, it doesn’t mean anything without the flash drive. I won’t even know what to look for.”

“But what about Tycoon’s headquarters? Can’t you just break in again?”

Talon hit some keys on his computer, and a burned-out warehouse appeared on the monitors. “No. He razed the building that night. There’s nothing left.”

My eyes flicked to my coat. The flash drive was probably still in there. All I had to do was show it to him, give him the information he needed—and reveal my secret.

I stood there, wrestling with my desire to do the right thing and my need to remain anonymous. Talon hit a button, and the monitors faded to black.

“Enough about this,” he said. “You’re probably tired and want to go home. Don’t worry. I’ll find some way to figure it out. I’m just sorry you got mixed up in the middle of it.”

He looked at me, and I knew he was dismissing me. He’d done the brave thing, the right thing, the noble thing, and saved me from Bandit. Now, he was going to blindfold me and dump me in my apartment. Just like someone had dumped Rascal in the snow the other night. Just like I’d dumped Talon at the convention center. A vicious cycle, dumping.

“I want to help you,” I blurted out, surprising myself as much as I did him.

“Why would you want to do that?” he asked, puzzled. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“Yes, it does. I mean, Rascal is sort of my dog, for the moment anyway, and Bandit thinks I have what he wants. I want to help you find the flash drive. That’s the only way I’m ever going to be safe. Maybe your mystery woman didn’t take it. Maybe you just…dropped it somewhere. I could help you look for it.”

“And what would you get out of it?” Talon asked.

The chance to be close to you again. A chance to get you to see me. A chance for you to fall in love with me.

Fall in love with me? Where had that nonsense come from? I was getting as starry-eyed and sentimental as Piper.

I gritted my teeth. “Call me a good Samaritan. I don’t like ubervillains. I don’t like being threatened, and I hate people who are mean to animals. Besides, if you take out Bandit and Tycoon, those are two less villains I have to worry about crashing my parties.”

He leaned back in his chair, measuring my words.

I stuck out my hand before he could think about them too long, because my story had as many holes in it as a piece of Swiss cheese. “What do you say? Partners?”

Talon looked at my hand, then at me. After a moment, he nodded. “Partners.”

We shook hands. His hard, calloused fingers covered mine, and I flashed back to that night in my apartment and the marvelous things he’d done with those fingers—things I ached for him to do again.

Evidently, Talon didn’t feel anything, because he dropped my hand, reached over, and hit a button on one of his computers. One of the monitors on the wall slid back, revealing a metal nozzle. Something clicked, and the nozzle spewed out blue gas.

“What—what are you doing?” I asked, my voice slurring as the minty sleeping gas seeped into my lungs again.

Talon stood. I tried to step back, but he caught my arms and held me fast.

“I trust you, Abby, but not enough to let you see where you are. Don’t worry. I’ll take you and your dog to your friend’s house where you’ll be safe. I won’t let Bandit hurt you. I promise. I’ll be in touch soon.”

“But, the flash drive…” I mumbled, trying to tell him I had it.

“No buts. Sleep, Abby, just sleep,” Talon murmured.

His voice was the last thing I heard before my eyes closed once more.

Chapter Nineteen

Something scraped my cheek. Something warm, wet, and sticky. Something that smelled like day-old puppy chow.

I opened my eyes. Rascal stood on the sofa next to me, licking my face.

“Hey, boy,” I mumbled, reaching up and scratching his ears.

His tail thumped against my ribs, and he grunted with happiness. More tears gathered in my eyes. I was so happy to see him again, even if he might be a radioactive superpup.

A shadow fell over me. I looked up and blinked. Piper’s concerned face came into focus.

“Well, it’s about time you woke up,” she said.

I sat up the rest of the way and scanned the room. Framed superhero posters brightened the walls. Shelves full of comic books, action figures, and plush toys reached from the floor to the ceiling. Life-size cardboard figures of Swifte, Wynter, and other heroes struck noble poses. I recognized Piper’s obscenely neat, clutter-free, superhero-shrine living room.

“How did I get here?” I asked.

* * *

We sat on the couch in front of the TV, Rascal snuggled between us. Over some hot chocolate, Piper filled me in on what had happened since Talon knocked me out. The superhero had pounded on her door around two in the morning. She’d peered through the keyhole to find Talon standing outside, holding me in his arms, with Rascal hooked to a leash on Talon’s belt. Piper had let him in, and the superhero had put me on the couch before vanishing.

“He said he’d saved you from an ubervillain. That you were fine and you’d wake up in a few hours,” Piper said, sipping her hot chocolate. “He was even nice enough to give me his autograph to add to my collection.”

I glanced at the TV. Just after seven in the morning. The anchors on SNN did their usual early morning banter before sending things over to the news desk.

“Now, you want to tell me what you did last night, Abby?” Piper asked. “I already know who you did.”

“Shut up,” I growled. “It wasn’t like that.”

Even though I’d wished it had been.

I told her about Bandit confronting me on the street, then chasing me. How Talon had come to my rescue, taken me to his superhero lair, and agreed to let me help him find the missing flash drive.

Piper’s brown eyes grew brighter with every word. “How romantic!” she squealed.

I winced and gave her a pointed look.

“Sorry. And they say chivalry is dead. Not when Talon’s around, it’s not.” Piper stared at me. “So, did you use this opportunity to tell him who you really are? That you’re his much-sought-after mystery lady? His one, his only Nightingale?”

“Of course not,” I said, horrified she’d even suggest it.

“You’re going about this all wrong, Abby.”

Rascal rolled over. Piper sneezed and scratched his snow-white belly.

“You should just tell Talon who you really are—and that you know his secret identity too. That way, the two of you can figure out what Bandit is up to together—and see if you have enough chemistry for more than a one-night stand. Besides, it’s not good to lie to people. It’s just not good karma.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’ve been looking at your Mr. Sage thought-a-day calendar again.”

She shrugged and sniffled into a tissue. “We can all learn a thing or two from superheroes.”

Piper lived her life like she was a superhero. She firmly believed in truth, justice, and all that jazz. Lying, fibbing, or telling half truths to make things easier wasn’t something Piper approved of, although she’d do it when absolutely necessary.

“You should tell him, Abby,” she said, her voice softer. “I know how much you like him. You practically glow whenever you talk about him.”

“I know, I know,” I muttered. “I do like him, but I just can’t bring myself to tell him the truth. That I’m Wren. What if he takes one look at me and wonders what he was thinking the other night? What if he’s like Ryan?”

“Then Wesley’s not worth your time or energy—leather suit or no leather suit,” Piper pronounced.

I bit my lip and looked away. On SNN, men dressed in white protective suits and masks hauled body bags out of an alley and put them into a van bearing the words Animal Control on the side.

“Turn the TV up,” I said, my eyes fixed on the screen. “Right now.”

Piper grabbed the remote and hit the volume button.

“…and we go out to Kelly Caleb, who’s on the scene of a breaking story. Kelly, what’s the situation?” the anchor said.

Kelly Caleb stared into the camera, her blue eyes dark and serious. “A city sanitation worker made a gruesome discovery this morning. While collecting trash from this alley, he stumbled across the bodies of about fifty cats and dogs, many of them only a few weeks old. Officials don’t know where the animals came from, but Chief Sean Newman of the Bigtime Police Department said they believe the bodies have been here for a few days, hidden by the snow...”

As Kelly provided more background on her story, the screen showed footage from earlier in the morning. The camera zoomed in on the body of a puppy who looked a lot like Rascal. The puppy’s eyes were closed, and it almost looked like it was sleeping. The sight sickened me.

“That’s right around the block from my office, from Fiona’s store,” Piper said.

“That’s where you found Rascal, isn’t it?” I whispered.

The puppy barked at the sound of his name. I picked him up and hugged him to my chest.

“How did you know?”

I told her the rest of the story. How Talon had broken into Tycoon’s headquarters. How he’d discovered that the mob boss had been experimenting on animals. The interest Bandit had shown in Rascal and the puppy’s vicious reaction to him.

Piper eyed the puppy, who’d decided to go to sleep in my arms. “And Talon thinks Rascal is one of those dogs?”

I nodded. “He said he was going to take some blood to try to confirm it. Although he said he didn’t know if he could without the information on the flash drive.”

“The drive you picked up in the alley.”

I nodded.

“Do you still have it?”

“Let me check.”

I handed Rascal to her. Piper sneezed violently three times, but the puppy slept on. I retrieved my coat and dug through the pockets. The silver flash drive was inside, just as I’d left it. I couldn’t quite believe that I still had it and that Talon hadn’t felt it when he’d put my coat back on my body.

“Is that it?” Piper asked.

I nodded.

“Well, let’s see what’s on it and why everyone wants it so badly.”

* * *

Piper flipped on her laptop, stuck the flash drive in the appropriate slot, and hit a few buttons. The computer’s gears ground together as the machine tried to read the flash drive. Piper typed in some commands. Numbers, letters, and other coded gibberish flashed on the screen, and a window popped up wanting a login and a password.

She shook her head. “It’s encrypted. There’s no way I can open it.”

I sighed. I’d been dreaming when I thought it would be this easy. That we could just read the information on the drive, find out who Tycoon was, and anonymously give the information to Talon and the police.

Maybe I should just tell Talon who I was. Maybe I should take a chance he was really the great guy he seemed to be. Maybe I should do a lot of things. I wrinkled my nose. Like take a shower. I smelled like sleeping gas and dried blood, and Rascal’s tongue bath hadn’t helped. Plus, the warm water would help soothe the aches and pains I’d gotten from my adventures last night.

Piper tapped her fingers against her lips. “But I might know someone who could open it for us. Or rather, Fiona does.”

“Fiona? What does Fiona know about computers?”

The only things Fiona seemingly cared about were her clothes, food, and her fiancé, Johnny Bulluci. That was all she’d talked about a few weeks ago when she’d come in to discuss plans for her engagement party and upcoming wedding.

“Not much,” Piper said. “Although she can break plenty of them. The woman’s stronger than she looks. I asked her to unplug a cord for me, and she ripped it right out of the wall—along with the outlet. But Fiona has a friend, Lulu something. She came in the last time our system went down. Our tech guy worked on the problem for two hours and got nowhere, but she had it up and running in ten minutes. It was amazing, especially when Lulu told Fiona the whole system was a piece of junk—and Fiona didn’t throw her out of the store.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Fiona didn’t let her have it?”

Piper shook her head. “Nope. She just let Lulu talk to her like that. I couldn’t believe it either.”

Fiona never let anyone get the best of her. If you pissed her off, she let you know about it—in a hurry.

“Can you call Fiona and get Lulu’s number?”

Piper glanced at her Swifte clock. “Are you kidding? It’s not even eight yet. Fiona is not a morning person. She usually doesn’t roll into the office until after ten. Even then, I normally don’t speak to her until lunchtime. At least, not without food in hand.”

I tapped my fingers against my knee, more than a little impatient. I wanted to know what was on the flash drive—right now. But calling Fiona and bugging her wouldn’t do any good. I knew from past experience that the fashion designer did things when she wanted to. Like Kyle Quicke, she had a remarkable ability to tune me out.

“It’s just as well,” I said. “We need to go by my loft first anyway. I want to see how much damage Bandit did.”

Chapter Twenty

I took a shower, threw on some clothes I kept at Piper’s, and went over to my building.

Bandit had been telling the truth when he said he’d ransacked my loft. Actually, ransacked wasn’t the right word. Decimated was more like it.

Standing in the doorway staring at the mess, I was shocked and horrified. Bandit had ripped the furniture to pieces. Drawers had been yanked out of my desk; their contents upended on the floor. He apparently put his fist through all of them, searching for secret compartments. The couch cushions had been shredded. Down feathers and cotton stuffing covered the floor like soft piles of snow. The light fixtures had been ripped out of their sockets and smashed, and the floorboards pried up. He’d pulled the doors off my closet and rummaged through my clothes and shoes. Several of my vests lay crumpled on the floor, the khaki fabric crisscrossed with cuts where he’d slashed into them, trying to see what was inside.

Bandit had even dug into the boxes I hadn’t unpacked, dumping their contents on the floor. Books, papers, dishes, towels. It was a broken, jumbled mess—one Rascal found to be the perfect playground. The puppy grabbed one of my socks and wrestled with it while Piper stood aghast in the middle of the destroyed loft.

I’d sunk almost all of my money into the loft, to have a soundproof oasis shutting out the rest of the world, but Bandit had destroyed my peace, ripped it away from me. I felt sick and violated.

The worst thing was what the ubervillain had done to my music collection. Bandit had tipped over my entertainment center, spilling CDs across the floor. He’d opened every case; I guess to check and make sure they held what they were supposed to and that I hadn’t copied the flash drive onto one of them.

Then the bastard had broken the discs—every single one.

All my rock music. My jazz collection. The pop tunes, the disco beats, the classical arrangements. All gone. He’d even smashed my laptop and iPod and the albums I’d collected over the years. The bastard.

“Well, look at the bright side,” Piper said, her voice far too cheery for my liking. “Bandit did your unpacking for you.”

“Yeah, great,” I muttered and kicked a cracked CD case with my boot.

“He actually did you a favor dumping everything out in the open like this. It’s no problem. We can have this place clean in a few hours. Sparkling. Spick-and-span. It’ll be fun!” Piper chirped.

I gave her a sour look. Neat freak didn’t begin to describe the depths of Piper’s depravity. She organized her underwear by size, color, and frequency of use.

I, on the other hand, had better things to do, like find out what was on Talon’s flash drive and finish planning the event for his alter ego, Wesley Weston. I whipped out my cell phone and called Chloe.

“Hey, Abby,” Chloe said.

“How did the party end last night?”

“Everything went fine,” she said. “There were a few incidents, but I handled them all.”

I gripped the phone tighter. “Incidents? What sort of incidents?”

“Well, Fiera started juggling fireballs and accidentally toasted the banner strung up in the jail. But Chief Newman grabbed the fire extinguisher and put it out before it spread, almost like he knew she was going to light it up. Peter Potter got sloshed and had a few words with Octavia, but I broke it up before it got too out of hand, stuffed him in a limo, and sent him home. A few people started saying catty things about Berkley, complaining his name was on everything in the city. Joanne didn’t like that. I thought she was going to leap onto one woman and punch her, but this tall guy with an earring pulled her away before too many feelings were hurt.”

Out-of-control superheroes. Drunken businessmen. Catfights. Pretty typical stuff. “I’m sure you did just fine.”

“Where are you?” Chloe asked. “It’s after nine. You didn’t call and tell me you were going to be late. I was getting worried.”

I couldn’t remember the last time I hadn’t been at the office by nine, but I figured I’d earned a break after almost getting killed last night. “I’ve had a bit of a situation.”

I told Chloe I’d spent the night at Piper’s, and someone had broken into my apartment and made the biggest mess ever. I asked if she could call Clean Dreams and have them send over a crew to help get things straightened up and to haul away what couldn’t be salvaged. Chloe agreed to phone them, and we hung up.

Piper was reluctant to leave the cleaning to someone else, but I told her we had a fashion designer to bribe—and a flash drive to decrypt. I grabbed the few clean, undamaged clothes I could find and the two vests that had survived Bandit’s rampage. Then, I dropped to my knees and sorted through the broken CDs on the floor, trying to find one that wasn’t snapped in two.

Nothing. I sat back on my heels and blew out a breath. I pushed my hair out of my eyes, and my gaze landed on my CD changer. Maybe he hadn’t thought to look in there. I scooted forward and hit the button. The drawer slid open, revealing another broken disc. Okay, maybe he hadn’t thought to check if there were any more discs. I pushed the button again.

The changer revolved, and a single, intact disc appeared—John Denver’s greatest hits. The CD I’d played at Talon’s request. A wave of longing hit me. If only I could rewind time to that one perfect moment.

“Are you ready, Abby?” Piper called out from the doorway.

“Yeah, I’m coming.”

I slipped the CD in my coat pocket, and we left.

* * *

By the time we got to Piper’s office at Fiona Fine Fashions, it was after ten. We went through the front of the store. Racks of designer dresses crowded into the white space, each one more brightly colored and boldly embellished than the last. Classical music trilled in the background while models flounced up and down a catwalk, showing off a variety of wedding gowns. Piper moved off to talk to one of the clerks at the front desk. I stood off to the side.

A group of women perched in overstuffed chairs at the end of the catwalk, sipping champagne and eating gourmet chocolates. Octavia and Olivia O’Hara were among them, along with Paul Potter. I waved at Olivia. She smiled, waved back, and started to get up. Then, her eyes fell on Rascal. Olivia froze, half in, half out of her chair. Paul’s gaze slid over to me, and he frowned. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him with a happy expression on his face, not even during the engagement party.

Octavia also turned her head at her sister’s movement. Spotting me, Octavia’s mouth flattened into a hard line. Not the most pleasant of expressions.

Paul leaned over and whispered something to Octavia. She nodded and put her hand on Olivia’s arm, pushing her sister back down in her chair. Octavia got to her feet and walked over to me. Today, she wore a dark green suit with round, white buttons.

“Abby.”

“Hi, Octavia. Is Olivia shopping for wedding dresses already?”

“Yes. She and Paul are so in love, they plan to get married on Valentine’s Day.”

That was less than a month away. “Well, give me a call, and we’ll set up a time to talk about the ceremony.”

A dark emotion flashed in Octavia’s eyes. “We’re going to let Katie Connors plan the wedding.”

“Katie Connors?” I said in disbelief. “You’re going to trust your sister’s wedding to Katie Connors? You know, she can barely plan a kid’s birthday party and have it turn out well.”

“I’m sorry, Abby,” Octavia said, her voice cool.

I narrowed my eyes. “Why? Did she offer you a better price?”

“No. We’ve just decided to go in a different direction.”

“But why? You liked what I did for the engagement party, didn’t you?”

“Of course,” Octavia said. “But it’s come to my attention you’re planning an event for Wesley Weston, where he’ll announce his acquisition of Gelled. I don’t appreciate people who stab me in the back, Abby. In under a week, no less. You will not be planning anything else for me—ever again.”

Octavia turned on her stiletto and stalked to her chair. Paul stared at his nails, like he could manicure them with his eyes. Olivia gave me a weak smile and returned her gaze to the models, as though ivory lace was the most interesting thing in the world.

“What was that about?” Piper asked, coming to stand beside me.

I shook my head. “Just what I thought would happen. Octavia found out about the Weston party and banned me from planning any more of her events.”

“I’m sorry, Abby.”

I shrugged. The loss of a customer didn’t bother me as much as usual. Maybe it was because it was Octavia, the woman who had dated Wesley and sneered at Rascal.

We walked on. Piper punched in a code on a door, and we stepped into the back of the building. Workers huddled at stations, sewing sequins, feathers, glass beads, and more on clothing, handbags, and other accessories. Piper stopped to chat with some folks before heading to her office.

We also got waylaid by more than a few people who just had to tell me what a cute puppy Rascal was. Rascal, of course, was more than happy to prance around and strut his stuff. I eyed the puppy. Maybe Tycoon’s radioactive drugs had made him supercute. That was the only explanation I could come up with for the way people reacted to the corgi—everyone except Octavia.

We reached Piper’s office. It was just as neat as her apartment, with everything sorted by size, color, and height. Only a couple of Swifte sticky pads broke up the sterile, professional space. Piper kept her superhero obsession and massive collection of fangirl items mostly at home.

“Piper! There you are!”

Fiona Fine struck a pose in the doorway. The fashion designer was known throughout Bigtime for her outrageous designs, and today was no different. Fiona wore a crimson miniskirt paired with a top covered with black and white geometric patterns. Red go-go boots crawled up to her knees, while white, plastic hoop earrings dangled from her ears. On anyone else, the outfit would have looked ridiculous, but Fiona pulled it off—with plenty of style to spare.

“I was starting to worry,” she said. “It’s not like you to be late.”

“I had to help Abby with something,” Piper said in a breezy tone.

Fiona sniffed and tossed her blond hair over her shoulder. “Well, you should have called.”

“But if I’d called I wouldn’t have had time to get these.”

Piper held out a paper bag full of cream cheese-filled doughnuts. She’d insisted we stop by Bryn’s Bakery on the way here, even though it made us ten minutes later. She’d wanted to bring Fiona a bribe to help smooth things over.

“Is that a problem?” Piper asked. “If you don’t want any, I’m sure Abby and I can take care of them—”

“No!” Fiona said, snatching the bag out of Piper’s hands and digging into it with the enthusiasm of a true sugar addict. “Not when you bring me doughnuts to make up for it.”

Piper gave me a smug, knowing look before scooting around her desk and flipping on her computer. I leaned against one of the file cabinets and watched Fiona shove a doughnut in her mouth and then proceed to eat the other dozen in under three minutes—without asking us if we wanted a single one. Rascal yipped in protest, but Fiona ignored him, too intent on her food to notice the puppy.

“Actually, I was hoping you could help us with something,” Piper said.

“What?” Fiona mumbled through a mouthful of cream cheese.

“Abby’s been having some computer problems. I was wondering if you could give me the number for your friend, Lulu. I remembered how she fixed our computers a couple of months ago. I was wondering if she might help Abby.”

It might have been my imagination, but Fiona’s blue eyes seemed to sharpen at Piper’s words. It was sort of hard to tell when she was stuffing food into her mouth at the speed of light.

Fiona swallowed the last doughnut, then licked a few crumbs off her fingers. “What do you need Lulu’s help with?”

Piper opened her mouth, but I cut her off. I didn’t want her to get into trouble with Fiona over this. I pulled Talon’s flash drive out of my pocket and showed it to the fashion designer. “I put some files on here and used the password protection feature. Now, I can’t get to them. I don’t know what’s wrong with the drive, and I need the files. They’re for an event I’m planning.”

“The Wesley Weston party?” Fiona asked.

I nodded. That lie was just as good as any other.

“I got my invitation this morning. Johnny did too. We’ll be there. So I suppose I should help you make it as fabulous as possible,” Fiona said. “Let me see if I can find Lulu’s cell phone number.”

She sashayed next door to her office. I followed her, with Piper behind me.

Where Piper’s desk was neat-freak clean, Fiona’s was a slob’s paradise with crumpled papers, uncapped pens, half-used legal pads, crushed soda cans, and empty takeout containers. Fiona hunted through the haphazard mess on her desk while Piper paced back and forth outside the door, growing more and more agitated. Fiona’s lack of proper desk maintenance aggravated Piper to no end.

“If Lulu’s your friend, shouldn’t you have her number in your cell phone?” I asked, trying to speed the process along. “That’s where I keep my important contacts.”

“I did, but my phone got fried last night,” Fiona said.

“That happens quite a bit to you, doesn’t it?” Piper asked. “If something’s not getting overheated, it’s snapping in two.”

Fiona put her hands on her hips. “Yeah, it does. Now, do you want Lulu’s number or not?”

I looked at Piper. She shrugged, and we both shut up.

“I know I have it here somewhere,” Fiona muttered, shoving a pile of papers off the desk. They hit the reams already carpeting the floor.

Piper closed her eyes and let out a whimper. She looked like she was going to faint.

Fiona wasn’t making much progress, so Piper decided to motivate her. She went into her office and brought back another bag she’d gotten at the bakery. Thick, round bagels bulged out of the top of the sack.

“Are those bagels?” Fiona asked, her eyes brightening.

“Blueberry, your favorite,” Piper said. “With extra cream cheese.”

Fiona leapt into action then, shoving just about everything on her desk off onto the floor as she searched for Lulu’s number. Unable to watch the trash piles multiply exponentially, Piper handed me the bag of bagels and went back to her office.

“A-ha!” Fiona cried, holding up a wrinkled business card. “Here it is!”

She handed me the card, and I gave her the bagels. Fiona tore into the bag before I turned to leave. Rascal wandered over to the fashion designer in hopes of scoring a treat. His tail thumped against her boots as he stared at the bag, as if it would magically split in two and shower him with bagels.

Fiona eyed him. “Sorry, dog. No thumbs, no bagels.”

“Come on, Rascal,” I said. “You had plenty of puppy chow this morning.”

Rascal let out a pitiful whine, but I picked him up and carried him back to Piper’s office, making sure the door shut behind me.

“I can’t believe she eats like that!” I whispered to Piper.

She shrugged. “You get used to it after a while. Although I need to get some more pamphlets about that eating disorder clinic for her. I think if Fiona would just admit she has a problem, that would go a long way toward solving it.”

Rascal barked his agreement.

* * *

Piper called Fiona’s friend, Lulu Lo, and told her about my problem. Lulu agreed to meet us at lunchtime at the coffee bar in the Bigtime Public Library. We dropped Rascal off at my office with Chloe and headed over to the library.

I checked my watch for the fifth time. Lulu Lo was five minutes and forty-nine seconds late. “What does she look like?” I asked Piper. “Is she here? Or just late?”

“Believe me, you’ll know who she is when you see her. Lulu is hard to miss. At least, her hair is.”

Piper took another sip of her mocha latte and flipped through Confidante’s latest comic book. Evidently, Confidante had been lurking around during the library fundraiser, because this issue featured Fiera taking Milton Morris to jail.

My gaze flicked over the other folks slurping coffee, hot chocolate, and apple cider in the library’s coffee bar. Nobody met Piper’s description of a petite woman who used a cane to get around. All I saw were college students trudging back to the stacks, sad that their winter break was over. An older couple dozed in armchairs in the sunny spots inside the glassed-in garden. A floor above us, children laughed as a librarian read them a funny story. Up on the third floor, someone cursed the copy machine for jamming again.

A steady, solid thump-thump-thumping sounded above the hisses, gurgles, and burps of the espresso machine. I turned toward the entrance to the coffee bar.

“Let me guess. You hear her cane hitting the floor,” Piper said, not even bothering to look up from her comic book.

“Or something that sounds a lot like it.”

More thumps sounded, and a woman limped into the coffee bar. She was around our age—late twenties—and wore fitted jeans, sneakers, and a nice Bulluci pullover jacket. Piper was right. You really couldn’t miss seeing Lulu Lo. Because in addition to being very pretty, she sported neon blue streaks in her black hair. Lots of them. Lulu stepped through a patch of sunlight, which the metallic strands caught and threw back in my eyes. I squinted against the sudden glare.

“Hey, Piper,” Lulu said, coming over to our table. “How are you?”

“Good,” Piper said. “And you?”

Lulu shrugged. “Not bad, although I’m not loving being out in the cold and snow.”

“We wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t important. I’ll let Abby explain. Can I get you something to drink? On us, of course.”

Piper didn’t have to offer twice.

“I’ll have a triple espresso with three shots of raspberry syrup, one of vanilla, and whipped cream with chocolate sprinkles on top,” Lulu said.

Piper left to place her order. Lulu sat down in Piper’s seat and leaned her cane against the table. She shrugged a backpack off her shoulders, put it at her feet, and pulled a slim laptop out of it.

“So, Abby, what’s the problem?” Lulu asked, powering up the computer.

“I have this flash drive,” I said, pulling it out of my coat pocket and showing it to her. “I put some information on it, and now it’s saying it’s encrypted and won’t let me access my files.”

“Encrypted, huh? We’ll see about that,” Lulu said.

She took the drive and plugged it into her laptop. The same password screen Piper and I had seen this morning popped up, but that didn’t faze Lulu. She started typing and muttering to herself about codes, passwords, and firewalls. I didn’t understand a word she said, but she seemed to be making progress.

Piper returned with Lulu’s espresso, and she reached out and took a big swig of it without taking her eyes off her laptop screen. If anything, the coffee made her type faster. Piper wandered off to see if she could find a superhero book she hadn’t read while I stayed with Lulu.

After about twenty minutes of typing, Lulu sat back in her chair and took another drink of her espresso. Her dark eyes flicked to me. “What sort of information did you put on this drive?”

“Just some client files,” I lied.

“Really?” Lulu said. “Nothing important?”

“Well, it’s important to me,” I said, trying to play along, even though I didn’t know where she was going with her questions. “Why do you ask?”

She turned the laptop around so I could see the screen. “Because not only is your flash drive encrypted, but your folders and files are in code as well. I’ve managed to get around the login encryption, but not the one that unlocks the information in the files. This looks like gibberish to me. Does it mean anything to you?”

Yellow folder icons covered the screen in a long row. They had names like Ivory Tower, Black Velvet, and Quicksilver. The only thing I could think of was superhero and ubervillain names. All of them had strange, colorful names like that. Talon had told me Tycoon was experimenting with radioactive materials. Maybe this was a hit list of superheroes or information on ubervillains Tycoon wanted to hire or even create himself. I didn’t know, and it frustrated me.

This was what Talon had risked his life for? This was why Bandit had trashed my apartment and almost killed me? To get a flash drive full of worthless information? How was this supposed to tell Talon who Tycoon really was and what the mob boss was up to? How was this supposed to help me get out of the mess I was in?

“Can you decode the files?” I asked. “I really need the information.”

Lulu gave me a sly look. “I can, but it’ll probably take me at least a day, maybe two. And it will cost you.”

“How much?”

I winced at the figure Lulu quoted me. There went the Weston fee and any chance I had of getting my loft back the way it was before Bandit had destroyed it.

“Or…” Lulu’s voice trailed off.

“Or what?”

“You plan parties, right? Weddings and stuff?”

“Yeah.” My voice was cautious.

“So do my engagement party and wedding, and we’ll call it even.”

I sighed. “Let me guess. You want to get the jump on Fiona and all the other brides-to-be in town and get married in some costly, overly elaborate fashion tomorrow night.”

“Oh no. Henry and I want a small ceremony. Probably twenty people, tops. And it’s still a couple months off, at least. I’m not walking down the aisle while I’m still using that.” She pointed to her cane.

Twenty people? That was all she was going to invite to her wedding? I could plan something like that in my sleep.

“Let’s do it,” I said. “Whatever equipment you need, just let me know, and I’ll cover the cost of that too.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the equipment.” Lulu waved her hand at me. An emerald engagement ring sparkled on her finger. “I have some friends who’ll give me the hookup. In fact, I think you know one of them—Jasper.”

“Jasper? The Jasper who lives across the street from me? You know him?”

Lulu nodded. “We’re old friends.”

I thought back and realized I’d seen her at the brownstone a time or two. I wondered if Lulu knew about Jasper’s role as a superhero informant or his connection to Joanne, but I didn’t ask.

Lulu studied me over the rim of her espresso cup, her face serious. I always got uncomfortable when people stared at me, and I tried not to fidget.

She leaned forward and dropped her voice. “Speaking of my friends, you might need their help, Abby. I don’t believe this flash drive belongs to you, and I don’t think you just have client files on it. I think you’re playing with something that doesn’t belong to you—and that you’re going to get burned by it.”

My heart froze in my chest. Did Lulu know? Did she suspect what was really on the drive? Did she know it belonged to Tycoon? Or even worse, did she work for him herself?

I decided to play it cool. “Maybe I should just ask someone else to help me with this, because you don’t believe me.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lulu said in a soft voice. “I don’t think you want anyone else to know you have this drive. Besides, I’m the best in the business. Nobody else will be able to crack the code but me.”

“Really? There’s no one else who can decode it?”

“Baby, trust me. I’m the best. But don’t tell my fiancé. Henry likes to think he’s the best.” Lulu grinned. “But I’m going to need to take it with me to see what I can do with it.”

I hesitated. I hated letting go of the flash drive. If Lulu took it, what guarantee was there that I’d ever get it back? She might be Fiona’s friend, but she wasn’t mine. I didn’t know anything about her, except that she liked strong coffee and metallic hair dye, and that she was friends with the shady guy on my block. That didn’t exactly add up to someone I could trust.

Lulu sensed my hesitation. “Look, I need to make a copy of the drive anyway, just in case I screw something up while I’m trying to decode it. I’ll put the copied files on my laptop and let you keep the original drive. Does that sound okay?”

“That’ll be fine.”

“All right.” Lulu’s eyes met mine again. “And remember what I said about my friends. If you’re in trouble, they can help you. No matter who or what it is—or how bad it is.”

I thought about Bandit and how he’d almost killed me last night. I could still hear that bullet whistling through the air over my head. I tried not to shiver.

“Don’t worry, Lulu. I’m not in any trouble.”

“Sure,” she said in an easy voice, leaning back in her chair. “And I can tap dance.”

Chapter Twenty-One

Lulu made a copy of the files on the flash drive and left the library. I found Piper on the third floor, flipping through another Confidante comic book, this one about Swifte. I told her what Lulu said about needing time to decrypt the files.

“Well, I should probably get back to the office,” Piper said. “I need to review our latest earnings reports.”

“Me too. I still have work to do on the Weston event.”

“Call me the second anything changes,” Piper said.

I promised her, and we went our separate ways. It was almost two by the time I made it back to my office. Chloe sat at her usual station, throwing a tennis ball to Rascal and working on her computer while he ran after it, wrestled the ball to the ground, and chewed on it.

“There you are,” Chloe said. “I just got off the phone with Clean Dreams. They went to your apartment. They said your furniture was a total loss. So were your CDs. Most of the clothes were salvageable, so they took them to clean and repair.”

I sighed. Chloe handed me the message, along with a stack of others from clients wanting updates about their events.

Rascal bounded back to Chloe. She gently pried the wet, sticky tennis ball from his mouth and sent it skipping across the room. The puppy barked and raced after it.

“I also called Lou’s Locks and had them change yours. The locksmith dropped off your new keys an hour ago.” Chloe handed me an envelope. Then, she gave me a critical once-over. “Are you all right, Abby? You look tired.”

I rubbed my head. I was tired. In the past few days, I’d saved a superhero, slept with him, discovered his secret identity, been attacked by an ubervillain, and gotten caught up in some weird conspiracy.

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.” I cleared my throat. “But I wanted to say thanks, Chloe. I appreciate your hard work. I know I haven’t been myself lately. You’ve really picked up the slack around here. I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

Her face brightened. “That’s okay, Abby. I’m just glad you trust me enough to keep things running for you.”

“Thanks, Chloe. You’ve been a big help.”

“Oh, Abby!”

Before I could stop her, Chloe leapt up from her desk and threw her arms around me. What was it with her and the hugging? I started to roll my eyes but thought better of it. Instead, I reached up and patted her on the back. I supposed I could suffer through a hug. Chloe had been a lifesaver these past few days.

It was just too bad she couldn’t save me from Bandit as well.

* * *

I spent the rest of the day working. Calling clients, badgering suppliers, and trying to nail down the details for the Weston event and the others I was juggling. T-minus two days and counting until the party of the week went off, but things were coming along nicely, despite the warp speed with which I’d had to arrange everything.

Chloe left around five o’clock. I dug through the few CDs I had stashed at the office and put in American Pie by Don McLean. The singer started the title song, and I kept right on plugging away. It was amazing how much stuff could pile up on my desk in a few hours.

By about nine o’clock, I had finished up everything that absolutely had to get done. Rascal had long ago gone to sleep on one of the couch cushions I’d pulled onto the floor for him. Every once in a while, the puppy let out a squeaky yip and his brown paws twitched. Maybe he was chasing Bandit or some other bad guy in his sleep.

I got up from my desk and stretched, rolling my neck from side to side. It cracked once, twice, three times, and some of the pressure drained from my body. I usually had no problem dealing with stress, but the past week had been a doozy.

I walked over to the door, opened it, and stepped onto the balcony. A spattering of snow crunched under my boots, and a steady, cold breeze ruffled my hair. I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned on the wall that ringed the balcony, staring out into the night. Late evening was my favorite time of day. It had been ever since my accident at The Blues. The Bigtime skyline glowed in the late evening, the buildings transforming into a soft, gunmetal gray around the white lights of the offices. Other beacons around the city added more diluted color, including the flashing red signal on top of The Exposé’s skyscraper and the blue one over at The Chronicle.

The sounds softened too. Street vendors had packed up their carts and headed home, while slowing traffic patterns lessened the rumble of cars and buses. A few people walked on the street, but the frenzied crush of commuters had already trekked to the suburbs to let the city sleep for a few hours.

As I stared down, I thought of how much my life had changed. This time last week, I’d been worried about pulling the O’Hara-Potter party together. Now I had another event to plan. Not to mention an encrypted flash drive half the city wanted to get their hands on and the unwanted attention of an ubervillain.

Oh yeah, I’d gone and fallen in love with a superhero too.

Maybe it was the hint of a smile that always seemed to be on his lips. Or his self-deprecating sense of humor. Or the fact that he didn’t take the whole superhero thing too seriously. But I’d fallen for Talon—and his alter ego, Wesley Weston.

I wondered where Wesley was. If he was out as Talon tonight. If he was any closer to discovering my secret identity as Wren. I hoped not. I didn’t know what I’d do if he learned the truth—or more importantly, how he’d react. Despite Piper’s assurances that Talon—Wesley—would understand, I wasn’t so sure. I’d drugged the man, after all. Dumped him in the convention center. Lied to him time and again.

I sighed. The cold seeped into my body, and I realized how tired I was. Time to go back to Piper’s and crash on her sofa for another night. Clean Dreams might have hauled away the damaged furniture and CDs from my apartment, but I wasn’t going back there. Not until Lulu decoded that flash drive and I gave it to Talon and the police. Not until I was sure Bandit and the mysterious Tycoon weren’t coming to my loft in the middle of the night.

As I turned to go inside, I noticed the bird feeder was empty. Normally, this wouldn’t have bothered me, but a solitary bird fluttered down from the sky and pecked at the empty feeder, searching for something to eat.

I stared at the bird. Big, bright eyes. Small body. Dull, brown color. A wren.

The bird hopped around the feeder, twittering a sweet, sad song. It stopped for a moment, shivering. I knew exactly how the wren felt—alone and cold.

So, I grabbed one of the bags of birdseed Chloe kept out here and scooped out enough to fill the feeder. The wren fluttered away at my approach but returned as soon as I stepped away. It dug its beak into the plastic container, snagging seed after seed. I shook my head and turned to go inside.

Thwang!

Something shot into the wall above my head, showering bits of brick everywhere. I ducked, falling into a crouch and pressing my body against the wall. Had Bandit come for the flash drive? Decided to attack me in my office? Was he shooting at me right now?

I held my breath, opened my ears, and listened—really listened—but no more zips, zooms, or zings sounded. I heard nothing except the murmur of car horns and distant conversations. I looked up, but my supersensitive eyes couldn’t quite tell what had slammed into the building, and I didn’t want to stay out here and find out.

I crawled along the ground, staying as close to the balcony wall as I could. Then, I got up into a crouch, balancing on the balls of my feet and ready to leapfrog through the open door back into my office before Bandit put a bullet in my back—

A masked figure dropped out of the sky, landing on the balcony in front of me, like a dark angel falling from the heavens.

I shrieked and rocked back. My right foot lurched sideways, and my knees gave way. I smacked into the ground, almost whacking my head on the bird feeder. I shook off the pain rocketing down my side and scooted back. The icy balcony seared my hands.

The tall figure loomed in the open doorway. Something clicked, like the hammer being drawn back on a gun. The shadow strode toward me. Then—I smelled mint and sighed with relief.

Blue boots stopped in front of me, and Talon crouched down until his face was level with mine. “Sorry about that. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’m all for this partnership thing, but couldn’t you have called first?” I groused. “I thought Bandit was shooting at me.”

Talon frowned. “Why would you think that? My grappling hook barely makes a sound.”

“Unfortunately, I have excellent hearing.”

“Really? How interesting.”

I couldn’t see his eyes behind the blue visor, but I could feel Talon’s gaze sharpening as he studied my face. I dropped my eyes and tried to figure out some way to get back on my feet without overly embarrassing myself—or shoving my ass in Talon’s face again. The superhero came to my rescue once more.

Standing, he offered me a gloved hand. I took it, and he pulled me to my feet.

“Why am I always picking you up, Abby?” Talon murmured, his voice low and teasing.

I relished the feel of his hand on mine, even if it was covered by a leather glove. “I suppose because I’m always falling down. Sorry. Being clumsy is a bad habit of mine.”

He flashed me a smile. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my job.”

His job. I dropped his hand. He’d given me a hand because it was his job. I wanted him to help me because he liked doing it, liked spending time with me. Not because some stupid superhero code of honor made him put clumsy chicks back on their feet.

“How are you, Abby?” Talon asked, failing to notice my darkening mood. “I came by to check on you.”

“I’m fine, just a little tired. I suppose I should thank you for taking me to Piper’s last night—even if you did knock me out to do it.”

He shrugged, not the least bit sorry about gassing me. “It was a necessary precaution, Abby. Surely, you can understand.”

I did. More than he’d ever realize.

“So what’s going on?” I asked, probing for the real reason behind his visit. He hadn’t come just to see me. I wasn’t that optimistic—or naïve.

“I uncovered some information that might get me closer to Nightingale, to finding out who she really is. Hopefully, that will lead me to the flash drive.”

My heart froze in my chest. “Like what?”

Talon leaned against the edge of the balcony. “I lifted her DNA and a few partial prints off some duct tape she used. I also managed to get my hands on black-and-white surveillance footage of her running away from the Bigtime Convention Center. Unfortunately, the center only has cameras on the front of building, but it should give me a rough idea of what she looks like.”

DNA? Fingerprints? Surveillance footage? Who the hell was he? CSI: Superhero? Hot, sweaty panic gurgled up in my throat, but I forced it down, squashing it with cold, calm reason. I thought back to that night. Okay, so he’d gotten my DNA and prints off the tape, but it wouldn’t help him. I’d never had my DNA tested for anything, and I’d never been fingerprinted.

I’d been wearing a heavy coat, gloves, a toboggan, and a scarf wrapped around my face. More importantly, I didn’t remember looking up when I’d rushed out of the convention center, so he shouldn’t get much from the surveillance camera. Oh, he’d know I had a black coat, but so did thousands of women in Bigtime. He wouldn’t get my hair, eye color, or skin tone. Besides, I had a very average, nondescript sort of face. He wouldn’t know it was me. It would be okay, I told myself. It would have to be.

Still, the fact that he was still looking for me, for Nightingale, touched and unnerved me. You’d think he was Prince Charming and I was some fairy princess he was chasing. The fairest woman in all the land, or some such nonsense, instead of a plain Jane, overworked event planner. The equivalent of an ugly stepsister.

“What about you?” he asked. “Did you find out anything?”

“Well, Bandit ransacked my apartment. Not that that’s particularly helpful, but I thought you should know.”

He nodded. “I don’t want you to go back there until this is over with. You shouldn’t be alone either or work late by yourself.”

“I’ll try to remember all that,” I said with a wry smile. “Tomorrow.”

We stood there, looking at each other.

“Well,” I said, “I hate to be a party pooper, but it’s late, and I’m tired. I’m going to go back to Piper’s and crash for the night. Thanks for dropping by.”

Talon hesitated. Damn that thick visor. I couldn’t tell what emotions swirled behind the blue lenses. “Would you like a lift?”

“What?” I replied, a little confused. “Are you going to call me a taxi or something? Or do you have your own supervan like the Fearless Five do?”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Nope. I have something even better.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I said, staring over the edge of the balcony.

We stood on the ledge. When Talon offered to take me home, he meant getting around the way he did—using his grappling hook to swing from rooftop to rooftop. I stared down at the street again. Thirteen stories looked a lot higher and scarier than it had five minutes ago.

“Do you trust me?” Talon asked, using the same cajoling tone I did with my panicked debutantes.

I bit my lip and nodded. Rascal let out an excited bark from the pocket on my vest. Evidently, the puppy knew exactly what was going on and thought the whole thing was going to be a grand adventure. I hated adventures. I’d always thought adventure was a polite way of saying this is a stupid way to die.

“Then it’ll be okay,” Talon said. “I promise. Now, hold on to me, and don’t let go.”

I wrapped my arms around him as tight as I could, not even caring whether it was appropriate. The G-man superhero’s right arm cinched around my waist like a steel vise. Talon drew his grappling hook gun out of the harness on his leg and pulled the trigger. The silver hook arched out, carrying a long zip line with it, and clanked onto the building across the street. Talon yanked on the solidium cable, ensuring it was firmly anchored. At least, that was what I hoped he was doing. I couldn’t bring myself to look.

“Here we go,” he whispered in my ear.

Talon leapt off the roof, taking me and Rascal with him. I closed my eyes, not wanting to see how very high we were. I wasn’t necessarily scared of heights, just of falling—and being splattered onto the pavement below. But cutting off my vision didn’t help. The rest of my supersenses kicked in, compensating for my blindness. I could feel every part of our descent. The wind pushing against my back. The empty space surrounding us. The sharp tang of terror in my mouth.

We landed on the roof of the building across the street. I didn’t move away from Talon for fear my knees would buckle.

“You know, you might enjoy it a little more if you opened your eyes,” he teased.

“Maybe next time,” I muttered, burying my face against his neck.

Two buildings later, I did manage to open my eyes. We sailed down Talon’s zip line, almost like we were flying. The air was clear up here, clean and fresh and free of the hazy smog that sometimes blanketed Bigtime. I drew a deep breath down into my lungs, enjoying the scent. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

Rascal liked the sensation too. The puppy let out several happy yips, although he seemed to know enough not to squirm around and fall out of my pocket. Still, I sandwiched him between Talon’s body and my own, just in case. We soared from building to building, sailing over the city below. The skyscrapers and office lights twinkled like a carpet of stars beneath us.

Mostly though, I was happy to be with Talon. Even if he was just doing his superhero duty and helping a lost chick get home.

By the time we landed on the roof of Piper’s building, I was sorry to see the evening come to an end.

“Thanks for the lift.” I forced myself to drop my arms from around his neck and step away. “It was really something.”

“Something good or something bad?”

“At first, I would have said something bad, but now I can see why you do it,” I replied. “The feel of the wind in your hair, the sense of flying, the thrill of making the perfect landing. It has its charms.”

Talon smiled. “You’re one of the few people I’ve met who really understands that.”

I gave him a quizzical look. “Why? Don’t you have other superhero friends?”

He shrugged. “Sure. We all help each other out, but I’m a pretty solitary guy. Most of the other heroes in Bigtime have a superpower or two. I don’t, and that sets me apart.”

“So, why do you do it? Why be a superhero if you aren’t like everybody else?”

“I’d like to say I’m doing something noble, like avenging the death of my parents at the hands of an ubervillain or making the world a better place for humanity. Being a symbol for justice. Using my superpowers for the greater good. All the usual motivators.”

“You’re not doing those things?”

“Sorry,” Talon said. “My parents are alive and well. I don’t have a lot of angst or issues, and I don’t consider myself a beacon of hope inspiring others. I just don’t like bullies, and that’s what so many of the ubervillains are. Schoolyard bullies in spandex costumes, and Bigtime is their playground.”

I’d never really thought about it that way before, but I could see his point. “Bullies like Tycoon and Bandit.”

He nodded. “They’re some of the worst ones. Tycoon thinks his money, power, and anonymity make him untouchable. Bandit just enjoys hurting people. If I never accomplish anything else as a superhero, I’m going to find a way to take them down.”

I thought about my shoulder and the way Bandit had hit me. Yeah, the ubervillain liked hurting people.

“It’s not easy not being like the other heroes, not having a power to help me, but what can I say? I like a challenge.” Talon grinned. “Besides, chicks dig superheroes.”

I laughed. “Yeah, they do.”

We fell silent. I thought about Talon’s words, about how he was a loner. And I thought of the events I’d planned, of all the nights I’d stood along the wall and hovered in a dark corner watching everyone else have fun.

“I know what you mean. It’s not easy being different, being an outsider.”

Talon nodded. “No, it’s not.”

“Still, sometimes, it’s nice to be alone.”

He stared at me. “But sometimes it’s even nicer to have someone to share it with.”

My brows pulled together in confusion. Was he—did he mean—could he possibly have enjoyed himself tonight? With me? Abby Appleby, not the mysterious Nightingale?

For the first time since this whole thing started, a bit of hope flared up in my chest, a single match sputtering in a cavern of darkness. But before I could open my mouth to ask him what he meant, Talon raised his gun high and shot his cable up into the sky.

He bowed his head, hit a button on the gun, and soared into the darkness. All I could do was stare at the spot where he’d been.

Rascal let out a plaintive whine, wondering where his new friend Talon had gone and desperately wanting him to come back.

“Me too, boy,” I whispered. “Me too.”

* * *

I used my key to let myself into Piper’s apartment. She sat at her kitchen table, which was embossed with the Fearless Five logo. Her finger hovered over the buttons on her Hermit phone, as though I’d caught her in mid-dial.

“There you are!” Piper said, getting up and pulling me into a tight hug. “I was getting worried about you. I called your office and your cell, but you didn’t answer. I thought something might have happened.”

“I’m fine,” I said, returning her hug. “I turned the phones off so I could get some work done. I should have told you I would be late. Sorry. But something did happen—Talon showed up at my office.”

Piper wanted all the juicy details right away, but I made her order a Pizzazz pizza first. Over slices topped with ham, pineapple, and extra mozzarella, I told her about Talon appearing on my balcony—and taking me on a moonlight ride across the city.

“How romantic! I wish I had a superhero for a boyfriend.” Her eyes drifted to the Swifte clock on the wall.

“He’s not my boyfriend,” I insisted. “He doesn’t even like me. He’s just letting me help him find the flash drive, humoring me because Bandit tried to put a bullet in my head.”

Piper gave me a knowing smirk. “Oh, he’s your boyfriend—he just doesn’t know it yet.”

Pizza forgotten, Piper started talking about how much time we’d been spending together, how he kept showing up wherever I was, and of course, the kicker—the fact that we’d slept together. Piper was so wrapped up in her speech she didn’t even notice when Rascal hopped up in a chair, snatched her half-eaten slice, and downed it in two gulps before either one of us could stop him. She sneezed, absently patted him, and prattled on some more about destiny, karma, and true love.

I let her words wash over me as I helped myself to another slice of pizza. No matter what Piper said, no matter what she proclaimed or what her Mr. Sage calendar said, I knew the truth. There was only one woman Talon was interested in, and it wasn’t me. At least, it wasn’t the real me—it was Nightingale.

I sighed. Rascal took the sound as a cue that he could have some more pizza. He put his nose on the table, nudging the white cardboard box toward the edge. I grabbed the box just before it slid over the side and took the last two pieces with it. Rascal whined, upset over the loss of his pizza.

“Sorry, boy,” I said, getting another slice. “But I need this a lot more than you do.”

* * *

I spent the night on Piper’s sofa, tossing, turning, and trying not to think about Talon. Rascal awakened me the next morning with a pizza-flavored tongue bath.

“Ugh. You little mutt,” I groused, rubbing his ears. “What am I going to do with you? Besides buy you some toothpaste?”

“I might have a solution.” Piper sat at the kitchen table drinking apple juice and reading the latest edition of The Exposé. “I’ve been talking to some people about taking him off your hands. Kyle said he’d love to have a dog.”

“He did?”

“Yep.”

She tried to pretend like it was nothing, but I could have heard the slight catch in her voice even if I didn’t have superhearing.

“Wait a minute. Why were you talking to Kyle? What happened to I hope the rotten bastard gets an STD and can never have sex again? Remember? That was your latest diabolical thought.”

Piper sighed. “Kyle and I might not be together anymore, but I still care about him. I always will, despite what he did to me. Besides, I should get something out of him dumping me.”

I couldn’t argue with that. There wasn’t much you could do with a broken heart, not even when you were as optimistic as Piper.

“There’s a storage room at Quicke’s where Rascal could stay during the day while Kyle works,” she continued. “I think Kyle wants to make Rascal some sort of mascot. Maybe even dress him up in a little cape. Wouldn’t that be cute?”

“Oh yeah. Cute.”

Rascal barked, as though he liked the idea. I hugged the puppy to my chest. Over the past few days, I’d gotten attached to the little guy. I wasn’t sure how I felt about giving him away. He’d grown on me, wormed his way into my heart as easily as he did everyone else’s. Maybe that was his real superpower.

But it would be better for him to be with someone else. Someone who could really be around for him, instead of shuffling him from place to place. Someone who had time to play with him and feed him and love him. Running my own business sucked up most of my time, and it wouldn’t be fair to Rascal to be locked in my office or loft all day long, to always be at the bottom of my to-do list instead of at the top. He deserved better than that. I wanted him to have better than that.

As much as I would miss Rascal, giving him to Kyle would be for the best. Besides, it would give me another excuse to berate the caterer, if he didn’t take good care of my puppy.

Piper left to go to work, and so did I, taking Rascal with me. By ten o’clock, I’d done everything I should have, except for one item—call Wesley and update him on his event. His was the only message I hadn’t returned.

I leaned back in my chair and stared at my phone. I should call him. I shouldn’t put it off any longer. Shouldn’t wait. And I definitely shouldn’t go see him in person.

My hand hovered over the phone. Rascal raised his head off his cushion. Then, he scrambled up, hurtled across the office, and circled around my feet doing the classic, doggie I-have-to-go-outside-right-now-and-pee-pee-pee dance.

I smiled. The puppy had just given me the perfect excuse to get out of the office and visit Wesley. Two birds with one stone, and all that. I did so love to multitask.

“Come on, Rascal,” I said, grabbing my coat. “We’re going out.”

* * *

I clipped Rascal on his leash—the cobalt-blue one Talon had left behind—and headed to Paradise Park. Normally, I avoided the park because of the constant noise and flashing lights. But I cut through the back side that bordered Bigtime Cemetery and let Rascal do his business on the icy grass. Once the puppy finished, I scooped him up and carried him, wanting to get to Wesley’s office building before I lost my nerve.

Ten minutes later, I stepped into the lobby and walked over to the security guard. “Abby Appleby. I’m here to see Mr. Weston.”

“Do you have an appointment?” the guard muttered, shooting me a hostile look. It was the same guy I’d faced down before—the one who hadn’t wanted to let me take Rascal up to Wesley’s office.

“No. But I need to see Mr. Weston and give him this.” I held up a folder that contained the final details for the party.

I could have e-mailed the files. Maybe I should have e-mailed them, but I wanted to see Wesley—for reasons I didn’t want to think too much about right now.

“I can take that for you,” the guard replied, holding out his hand.

I pulled the folder back. “I would prefer to personally put it on his desk.”

I never left anything with assistants because they had an annoying habit of misplacing things. I certainly wasn’t going to leave the folder with Mr. Bad Attitude. He’d chunk it in the trash can before I got out of the building.

The guard looked at me, then at Rascal. “Mr. Weston said he didn’t want to be disturbed this morning.”

That old excuse? I’d only heard it a thousand times before. “I’ll take my chances.”

“Fine,” the guard muttered. “Go on up.”

I rode the elevator up to the penthouse. The doors pinged! open, but the sound didn’t bother me. I was too intent on seeing Wesley to care about the migraine gathering in the base of my skull. I stepped inside the office. The waterfall gurgled and fell as usual. I admired the rock wall before turning toward the desk.

To my surprise, Wesley wasn’t there. My eyes flicked around the office, but he wasn’t relaxing on any of the other chairs or couches. I breathed in. I didn’t even detect his minty scent in the enormous room.

“Mr. Weston?” I called out. “Wesley?”

No answer.

Maybe he’d gone out for a power brunch or the guard had known he wasn’t in the office and lied to me. I pushed away my disappointment and strode over the bridge to his desk. I put the folder on top of the stack of papers. Unlike Fiona’s haphazard desk, Wesley’s was the very picture of organization, with everything neatly stacked and filed.

Rascal pulled on his leash, wanting to explore, so I let go of the long rope. I reached into my vest and pulled out a notepad, along with a pen. I scribbled down the reason for my visit, asked that Wesley call me, and stuck the note on top of the folder. I also went ahead and e-mailed the files from my phone, so he would have electronic versions as well.

I put my notepad, pen, and phone back in their appropriate pockets, then looked for Rascal. The puppy was sniffing the rocks along the edge of the pool under the waterfall. I walked over and crouched down beside him, running my hands through his silky, sand-colored fur.

“All right, boy. It’s time to go back to work.”

I started to pick up Rascal, but he wasn’t through sniffing. He wiggled away from me and started barking and bouncing around like he was a jackrabbit.

“Rascal!” I snapped. “Come back here!”

The puppy paid no attention to me. He scampered along the pool, running toward the rushing water. He reached the wall, headed left. And then—he disappeared.

I froze. One moment, the puppy had been by the rocks, the next he’d vanished. Had he fallen into the water?

I blinked, sure my eyes were playing tricks on me, but my eyes never did that. Not anymore. Rascal wasn’t anywhere in sight.

I hurried to over to the rocks, right up to the edge of the waterfall, where it formed the left wall of the office. I dropped to my knees and peered into the swirling water, hoping to see a wet head bobbing up and down. I wouldn’t care how bad he smelled as long as he was all right.

Nothing.

“Rascal? Rascal!”

A tinny bark sounded above the roar of the waterfall. I cocked my ear, listening—really listening. He barked again, and something moved off to my left. I ducked my head down and squinted. After a moment, I realized Rascal hadn’t fallen into the pool—he’d gone around it. Some sort of tunnel ran behind the waterfall, barely visible from where I was.

I got to my feet and approached the wall, peering through the falling water. Rascal stood in the middle of the hidden walkway and barked again, his feet bouncing off the floor and exposing his white belly.

“Get out of there! Come here! Right now!”

Rascal gave me a silly grin, then turned and loped farther down the tunnel.

I stepped past the cascading water, and the cool mist kissed my face, but the tunnel itself was dry. The three-foot-wide sliver of space ran parallel to the wall. I wondered what it was for. Maintenance?

Rascal galloped ahead of me. Maybe he really was a superdog, as Talon claimed. He could sure move quick enough. I hurried to catch the puppy.

And then—he disappeared. Again.

I rushed forward to the spot where he’d been. The walkway came to a dead end ahead, and Rascal hadn’t fallen into the pool. I would have heard or seen the splash. So where had he gone?

A strip of white caught my attention, and the faint outline of a door came into focus. He must have gone in there. I pushed on the door, and it swung open. I stepped through, ready to admonish the dog. Just because Rascal was supercute didn’t mean he had the right to put himself in danger. He easily could have skidded off the walkway and fallen into the water during his enthusiastic romp. This area was not a playroom—

The thought vanished from my mind.

I found myself staring at three very familiar walls—walls covered with gadgets, maps, photographs, and computer monitors. My eyes flicked to the man sitting in the center of it all—Wesley.

Chapter Twenty-Three

This was the room Talon had taken me to when he’d rescued me from Bandit. The waterfall. Talon’s secret lair, Wesley’s secret superhero lair, lay behind the waterfall in his office. I should have known.

Wesley stared at me. This time, no visor hid his reaction. Shock and horror flashed in his golden eyes, but it was quickly followed by what looked like relief. Relief? Why would he be relieved I’d discovered his secret?

“Well, I see you found me after all, Abby,” Wesley said, rising to his feet.

“I—um—well, you see—”

My voice trailed off under his intense gaze. Finally, I realized that I was supposed to say something, to explain why I’d wandered in here. “I came to drop off some papers for you. Rascal got onto the walkway. I tried to grab him, but he ran away. Then, I saw the door.”

“And you just had to push it open.”

I winced. “Guilty as charged. I didn’t want Rascal to get hurt.”

Wesley’s gaze went to Rascal, who sprawled in the middle of the floor, panting. He stared at the puppy, then back at me. He nodded.

“I’m glad you found me, that you know I’m really Talon. It’ll make things easier.”

I blinked. He wasn’t mad? He wasn’t going to yell, scream, and try to gas me into oblivion? He wasn’t going to shoot me up with some drug to make me forget my discovery? What kind of superhero was he?

“It will?” I asked.

He smiled. “It will. I’ve made some progress regarding the surveillance footage. I don’t recognize the woman, but maybe you will. You seem to know a lot of people in Bigtime.”

A queasy feeling settled into the pit of my stomach. “I’ll give it my best shot,” I said, lying through my teeth.

* * *

Wesley shut the door and locked it to make sure no one else would wander in. Then, he leaned over his computer and pulled up the surveillance footage from the convention center the night of the O’Hara party. He hit a few buttons and stepped back.

My picture popped up on a dozen monitors.

The camera had caught me as I fled through the front of the center. My eyes fixed straight ahead, my arms pumping at my sides in mid-run. The still, black-and-white photo was grainy, but I recognized myself. I doubted anyone else would, though, except Piper. With my brown hair, green eyes, and pale skin, I don’t have a very memorable face. And I certainly wasn’t anywhere close to gorgeous, as Talon had so fervently claimed in my apartment.

“I’m not sure,” I said, pretending to contemplate the mystery woman. “It’s not a good photo, and you can’t see her face. Just a bit of her nose where it sticks out of her scarf.”

“I know. I just hoped maybe you might recognize her, that you’d know her from somewhere.” Frustration tinged his voice. “I ran her DNA and partial prints through every database I could hack into. Nothing. The same thing went for my facial recognition software. All that tells me is she’s never been arrested or fingerprinted. Which, I suppose, is a good thing.”

I tried to keep my tone light and casual. “Is there another reason you want to find her? Other than just getting the flash drive back?”

He froze for a heartbeat and stared at the monitor. I thought he was going to give me the old song-and-dance about thanking the mystery woman for saving him, but he surprised me.

“I spent some time with Nightingale while I was recuperating from my injury. I know it sounds crazy, but we talked, we laughed, we connected. That kind of feeling, that kind of emotion, is rare.”

I had to clear my throat before I could speak. “You sound like you care a lot about her.”

He turned his golden eyes to me. “I do care about her. That’s why I want to find her. That’s why I’m going to find her.”

There he went with that fierce, princely determination again. That dogged emotion that made me melt. Wesley didn’t mention sleeping with the woman, and I couldn’t bring it up. In a way, it was like I was a superhero—but I could never, ever tell my civilian lover who I really was. He’d be disappointed and angry I’d lied to him—no matter what Piper said.

“I’m sorry I can’t help you. But I’m glad I know who you really are. And—and I wanted to say I had a nice time last night. When you took me home.” I forced out the last few words.

Wesley gave me a small smile. “I did too. Once you quit screaming.”

My mouth dropped open to protest when I realized he was teasing me. “I didn’t scream so much as whimper.”

A rumble rose up in Wesley’s throat, and he laughed. I joined in, enjoying the sound of us laughing—together. Then, the laughter faded away, and there was nothing left but his eyes on mine, and the tight, hot rush of emotions in my chest.

I looked away. “Well, I should be going. Getting back to work.”

“I understand,” Wesley murmured. “I should too. Do me a favor, Abby?”

“What?”

“Be careful,” he said. “Bandit is still out there. Until we find Nightingale and the flash drive, you’re in danger.”

“Don’t worry. I have no desire to run into him again.”

“Good.”

He walked over and opened the door for me, and I grabbed Rascal’s leash. I started to leave but stopped, not wanting to go. Suddenly, I wanted to confess who I really was to Wesley. Give him the flash drive and tell him everything. He deserved to know, even if I could never measure up to his idea of what his mystery woman was. I moved closer and opened my mouth.

Wesley stared down into my face, his golden eyes tracing my features. He looked at me—really looked at me—as if he was seeing me for the first time. His gaze darkened to the color of amber.

The intense scrutiny made me nervous, but I plunged ahead. “Wesley, I need to tell you—”

He leaned in and kissed me. His lips touched mine, and my words were lost, swept away by the tingles zipping through my body—tingles that melted into electric heat.

I couldn’t quite believe it. Wesley was kissing me—the real me.

Abby. Not Wren. Not Nightingale.

Me. Just me. Only me.

The kiss was soft, gentle, sweet. Nothing like the hard, quick, fevered ones we’d exchanged in my apartment. There was no frenzy here. No hurry. Only his lips and mine—together.

Wesley settled his hands on my hips, his fingers resting on my waist. My hands crept up to his shoulders. I wanted to wrap my arms around his neck, yank him toward me, and kiss him like there was no tomorrow. Kiss him with every ounce of feeling I had for him. But I didn’t want to scare him. After all, he really wanted Nightingale. He was probably just kissing me because I was here—because he couldn’t have her.

The thought broke my heart, but not enough for me to end the kiss.

Wesley’s hand went to my cheek, cupping it. He tilted my head and deepened the kiss. I marveled at his gentle touch. How could a man with such rough hands have such an easy way with them? Wesley’s tongue found mine, and I opened my senses, imprinting every bit of him onto my mind, my heart.

His hard fingers against my cheek. His clean, minty smell. The scrape of his stubble against my cheek. His body pressed to mine. The quick catch in his breath. The pounding of his heart under my palm.

I knew this would never happen again. Not to Abby Appleby. So, I savored these sensations, these feelings, this one kiss.

Everything was perfect—until Rascal barked.

We froze, lips just touching. Rascal barked again, and we looked down at him. The puppy sat at our feet, wagging his tail. Evidently, he wanted in on the kissing action. I sighed.

Wesley pulled back, dropping his hand from my cheek. I let go of his shoulders. And the perfect moment ended.

His eyes gleamed in his face. “I’m sorry, Abby. I don’t know what came over me. Please accept my—”

“Do not apologize,” I snapped. “Say anything you want but that.”

Surprise filled his features, and he looked at me as if he’d spotted something he’d never seen before. As if I were some strange zoo creature he was peering at through metal bars. A freak of nature. If he only knew what a superfreak I really was. Then, his face cleared and smoothed into an unreadable mask.

“All right,” Wesley said. “I won’t apologize.”

I nodded, not sure what else to say. Not sure I could say anything without telling him everything—including how I felt about him.

“Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow night at the party,” Wesley said. “Unless I find out some more information before then.”

“Until then.”

“Until then,” he murmured.

I gave him a faint smile, then led Rascal through the hidden door as fast as I could.

Chapter Twenty-Four

“You have to give him the flash drive, and you have to tell him who you really are,” Piper said an hour later. “Not necessarily in that order.”

I leaned back in the chair in my office.

“It’s obvious the man is attracted to you.” Her voice rang with conviction.

I turned down the volume on my headset. “No, he’s not. He’s attracted to Nightingale. I was just there, a handy pair of lips he could lay into.”

Piper sighed. “You are, without a doubt, the most pessimistic person I know, Abby. You need to have more self-confidence.”

“Why?” I muttered. “So I can screw up my courage and do something stupid, like bare my soul to Wesley, only to have him tell me thanks, but no thanks?”

“No,” she snapped. “So you’ll quit thinking of yourself as invisible. As everyone else’s problem solver instead of your own. You do so much for everyone else, you never stop and do things for yourself, Abby.”

“You’re the pretty one,” I tried to joke. “I’m the one who gets things done. That’s the way it is.”

“No, that’s just the label you put on me—and yourself.”

Piper’s sharp tone cut me like broken glass because what she said was true, and we both knew it. I did think of myself as invisible. And not in a joking sort of way. Being an event planner, being a problem solver, blending into the background had become more than just how I made my living—it had seeped into every aspect of my life, like a radioactive goo eroding everything, including my own sense of self-worth.

“Why do you put up with me and my neuroses?” I asked in a soft voice.

“Because I love you, and somebody has to be around to kick your ass every once in a while.”

My throat closed up. “I love you too.”

“Good,” Piper said. “Now that we’ve got the ass-kicking out of the way, I say we go blow off a little steam. And I know just the thing—karaoke.”

“I don’t feel like karaoke tonight,” I said.

“Of course you do,” she replied. “You always feel like karaoke. Now, finish up at work and bring Rascal over to my apartment. It’s time for some singing and drinking. Not necessarily in that order.”

* * *

Piper and I arrived at The Blues just after seven. The karaoke bar was housed in a brick building on the outskirts of downtown. A line had already formed outside the door as people waited to get in. Three music notes marking the entrance glowed in the darkening night. Their vivid blue color reminded me of Talon’s costume.

Piper and I had discovered The Blues in college. For a five-dollar cover charge, you could drink all the beer you wanted—as long as you sang at least one song. Piper didn’t like to sing, but she didn’t have to. There was always some guy more than happy to buy her a drink. But I actually enjoyed getting up on stage and belting my heart out. It was the only time when people looked at me—even if they were halfway wasted.

Izzy, the tattoo-covered bouncer, gestured at us. We stepped up, and he let us past the blue velvet rope. Piper and I came to the bar at least once a week, so Izzy knew us well and that I could actually sing a bit. And because this was the place where I’d had my unfortunate accident, they had to let us in.

The inside of The Blues was simple and classy. A long, chrome bar ran along one wall, accented by strings of blue icicle lights. Stairs along either side of the back wall led up to a three-foot-high stage. Sound equipment and racks full of song books crouched in front of the area, while a blue disco ball spun over the top of it. Right now, a college-age girl with pea-green curls warbled out “Hit the Road Jack” by Ray Charles.

“Let’s get a drink first,” I shouted over the noise. “I need to talk to Melody anyway about tomorrow night.”

Piper nodded, and we headed in that direction. We waited until a couple of guys in suits tried unsuccessfully to hit on Piper while ignoring me. After she shot them down, we took their places at the bar. I waved to Melody Masters, the owner, and held up two fingers. She waved back.

About three minutes later, Melody deposited a wine spritzer on the bar in front of Piper and a Bloody Mary for me.

“Hey, Abby. What’s up?” Melody asked, her voice a little raspy.

“Same old, same old. You?”

She grinned. “Same old, same old. But it ain’t half bad.”

Melody’s half bad would have been pretty good for anyone else. She was a tall, lithe woman with short, tousled red hair and sparkling blue eyes. She wore a leather miniskirt, a red bustier, and ankle-high biker boots. Melody looked like she’d been born to be a rock star—and she was trying to make the dream come true.

“We all set for the Weston event tomorrow?”

She nodded. “Yep. Me and the gang have been looking over the playlist you gave us. We’re definitely ready to rock.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Within reason,” she added. “Wouldn’t want to give the old guard too much excitement.”

“Exactly, I don’t need anyone having a heart attack while you’re on stage.”

Melody laughed, but the sound devolved into a cough.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You don’t sound so good. You’re not sick, are you?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Just a little something in my throat.”

She grinned again and moved off to take care of a customer at the other end of the bar. I watched her, but Melody laughed and talked with everyone the way she always did.

Piper and I swiveled around on our stools. As we watched the action, I felt myself relaxing. Piper was right. I was in the mood for karaoke. This was my place, and tonight, I wasn’t going to think about Talon, Wesley, Bandit, or what could be on the mystery flash drive. Tonight, I was going to drink, sing, and have a good time.

I jerked my head at the stage. Piper smiled and ordered us another round. I moved through the crowd, winding my way around tables and giggling groups of college co-eds, before reaching the steps that led up to the stage. A tall guy wearing an oversized Hawaiian shirt sat at a table in the corner, a headphone held up to his ear. On stage, a skinny guy with a rather large Adam’s apple and thick glasses crooned out a decent version of “Come Monday” by Jimmy Buffett. I headed for the guy in the Hawaiian shirt.

“Abby! What’s going on, girl?” Stanley Solomon said, grinning.

“Not much.”

“You going up on stage tonight?” he asked, sliding controls up and down on the board in front of him.

“You know it.”

Stanley had been overseeing the sound system at The Blues for as long as I could remember. He’d been trying to fix that cursed amp the night of my accident, but I’d gotten zapped instead of him. As a result, Stanley never let me touch anything now. I couldn’t blame him. Honestly, I wasn’t sticking my hand near any amp again—ever.

“What are you in the mood for?” Stanley asked. “Some jazz, some R&B, maybe a little disco?”

“Nah,” I said. “I’m in the mood to rock.”

He smiled.

* * *

For the next half-hour, I sang song after song, pouring my heart out to the drunken patrons and anyone else who was listening. I did some Green Day, a few songs by The Killers, some classics by The Pretenders, all my old favorites.

“‘Time After Time’?” Stanley asked when I told him what I wanted to end with. “By Cyndi Lauper?”

I nodded.

A grin spread across his face. “Whatever floats your boat, Abby.”

That’s what I finished out the night with. More than a few people clapped as I took a short bow and walked off stage. I nodded and smiled, appreciating the applause. Even I thought I’d been pretty good tonight.

More important was how I felt—and the decision I’d made. Somewhere between the first drink and my last song, I’d decided to go for it. To tell Wesley, to tell Talon, who I really was. That I was his mysterious Wren—and see if he thought I could be his Nightingale too.

Piper was right. It was time to quit being invisible. Time to quit blending into the background. Time to make a stand, make some noise. Time to rock. Time to focus on what I wanted. And I wanted Wesley.

I just hoped he’d feel the same way too.

“You were awesome, Abby!” Piper said when I rejoined her at the bar. “And I’m not just saying that because I’m your best friend.”

I grinned. “I know.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You know? Usually, I have to browbeat you before you admit how great you were. So, are you going to tell me what’s going on with you? Or do I have to guess?”

“I’ll going to tell him. I’m going to tell Wesley everything.”

Her lips curved into a satisfied smile. “Well, it’s about time.”

“But I’m blaming you if he hates me forever for lying to him,” I added. “So, be prepared.”

“I think I can handle it,” Piper replied.

She raised her glass, and I clinked mine against it. The sound was music to my ears.

PART THREE

ABBY

Chapter Twenty-Five

The next morning, I left Rascal with Chloe at the office. Then, I spent the rest of the day at the Bigtime Convention Center, ensuring that everything arrived on time and was put in place for the Weston event.

Burly guys hauled in cases of champagne, wine, and other spirits. Three women wearing shockproof gloves plugged strobe lights into hidden wall outlets. Still more men and women carted in tables, chairs, linens, and crystal.

Unlike the O’Hara event, I’d decided to have the business dinner and the after party here in the auditorium instead of serving the food in one of the other rooms. It was easier to oversee everything when it was in one spot. Plus, I’d gone all out for the décor. I didn’t want to split the effect by having part of it here and part of it somewhere else. Wesley wanted to wow people, and he was going to get his wish.

Stanley moved from one side of the stage to the other, installing extra amps and wiring in the sound system. Melody clutched a microphone and followed him, doing sound check after sound check. Her voice seemed raspier today, but she gave me a thumbs-up.

I watched from the balcony as five men from Isabella’s Exquisite Ice rolled a dolly toward the orchestra pit, which had already been converted into a bar, complete with red vinyl swivel stools. A fifteen-foot-tall ice guitar with flames coming out of its sides perched on top of the dolly.

The movers had almost reached the end of the aisle when one of the men tripped over his own feet and fell against the dolly. The guitar sculpture rocked on its pedestal. I sucked in a breath. The other movers froze. The massive block of ice creaked back, then forth, before settling into its groove once more.

“Hey, buddy!” My voice boomed through the auditorium like thunder.

Everyone turned in my direction. I leaned over the balcony and stabbed my pen at the klutz who’d almost ruined my ten-thousand-dollar ice sculpture.

“You!”

The guy pointed at his chest. I gave him a sharp nod. He swallowed.

“You cause that to tip over, and I’ll put you on ice—permanently. You feel me?”

The man nodded and hurried down the aisle to join the rest of his crew. Slowly, carefully, they transferred the frozen block from the dolly onto the air-conditioned, checkerboard stand at the left end of the bar. The matching sculpture was already in place on the right side.

Once they finished, the movers looked up at me. I nodded in approval and checked ice sculptures off the three-page-long list on my clipboard.

The smell of bleach and cigarettes assaulted my nose, and Colt Colton moved to stand beside me. The maintenance man wore his usual uniform of gray coveralls and work boots, with his dark hair back in a low ponytail.

“Problems, Abby?” Colt asked.

“No more than usual. Why are you here? I thought you were helping Eddie hang the disco balls.”

“I needed a smoke break,” he said. “Eddie’s doing the last one now.”

Smoke break? Yeah, I could have figured that out without my supernose. Colt reeked of tobacco. Filthy habit. Even if Colt had asked me out before I’d met Wesley, I still would have told him no. I didn’t date guys who smelled like a smokestack.

A harsh clang of metal caught my ear, and I looked up at the catwalk circling the auditorium. Eddie stood a hundred feet above me. I watched as he lowered a five-foot-wide mirrored, silver sphere over the edge of the railing. The disco ball joined the others that ringed the area. Eddie tugged on the line a couple times. Then, he stepped back and stared at the ball. When he was sure it was secure, he gave me a thumbs-up. I waved back and checked disco balls off my list.

“You coming back for the event later tonight?”

I nodded. “Yep, coming back and staying until the bitter end.”

“Maybe we could get a drink after you’re done,” Colt suggested.

I looked up to find him studying me with his dark eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say yes.”

I couldn’t. Not now. Not tonight. In less than twelve hours, I was planning on telling Wesley that I was really Wren. I wasn’t going to be stuck in a bar with Colt.

“You know I told you I was getting over a bad relationship?”

He nodded.

“Well, it’s back on now.”

His eyes darkened.

“I’m sorry—”

“That’s okay,” he said, cutting me off. “I always seem to be a step behind these days. Later, Abby.”

“Later, Colt.”

He strolled toward the stairs, opened the door, and disappeared. An uneasy feeling ballooned in my stomach. That was the second time in less than a week Colt had asked me out. I couldn’t figure out why. He couldn’t think I was that hot. Could he?

I shook my head. Maybe Piper was right. Maybe I only thought I was invisible. Or maybe Colt was just desperate.

The tinkle-tinkle of breaking glass caught my ear, and I leaned back over the balcony. One of the workers crouched on her hands and knees, trying to scoop up the shattered remains of a champagne flute. She shot frantic looks over her head, hoping I hadn’t noticed the telltale noise. As if. She could have dropped a pin, and I would have heard it like a nail being pounded into a board.

“Hey you!” I yelled. “You with the butter on your fingers! You drop another one of those glasses, and I’ll make you eat it for lunch!”

* * *

Once everything was in place and I’d yelled at just about every single person on the premises, it was after five and time to change clothes and come back for the event.

Piper called right as I finished up and insisted I meet her at Oodles o’ Stuff. Pronto. I checked my watch and muttered. A little more than ninety minutes before the party started. Another few hours after that I was going to tell Wesley everything. I didn’t have time for this. I needed to pick up Rascal, go back to Piper’s apartment, restock my Party Vest, and try to make myself as presentable as possible.

Usually, I didn’t care too much about what I looked like, but tonight, I wanted to be at my best. I’d even resigned myself to wearing a dress—and heels. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to show a little cleavage and leg when I bared my soul to Wesley.

Because I was pressed for time, I grabbed a cab and told the driver to make a beeline over to Oodles o’ Stuff. He pulled up to the department store about fifteen minutes later. I paid the driver, pulled out my cell phone, and dialed Piper’s number as I walked to the entrance. She picked up on the second ring.

“I’m here,” I said, pushing through the revolving doors. “Where are you? I have things to do tonight, you know. Like tell the man of my dreams I love him.”

Piper laughed. “Relax, Abby. I’ve taken care of everything. I’m on the first floor next to the evening wear.”

I squinted against the glare of the lights. Clothes, clothes, and more clothes crowded the first floor.

“And where would that be?”

“You know your way around that dark, dank, convention center, but you have no idea where the gowns are at Oodles? Your priorities are so skewed,” she chided.

“You’re not helping.”

“About five hundred feet to the left of the front doors,” Piper said. “Hurry up.”

I walked in the appropriate direction, skirting the shoppers blocking the aisles. I spotted Piper standing next to a tall, blond mannequin that reminded me of Fiona. Piper had been one of the five hundred people on Wesley’s guest list, and she was already dressed to the nines in a long-sleeved, shimmering gown made of silver fabric.

“So what’s the emergency?” I asked. “What was so important I had to meet you here?”

She beamed. “Your makeover, of course.”

I blinked. “Makeover?”

* * *

Piper led me into one of the fitting rooms, where a dazzling blue dress hung on a metal rack. Matching shoes, a small purse, and a host of other accessories sat on tables on either side.

“What are you doing?” I asked Piper, staring at the display.

She grabbed my hands. “I’m going to get you ready for your Prince Charming. Or Prince Superhero. Or whatever you want to call him. You want to look great when you tell him who you really are, don’t you?”

I hesitated. “But you know that I did the same thing for Ryan. That I tried to turn myself into a different person just to please him. It didn’t work with him. What makes you think it will work with Wesley?”

“Because you’re not changing yourself,” she replied. “You’re just looking your best. There’s nothing wrong with that. Besides, Wesley already knows you—the real you. We’re just putting a little icing on the cake tonight. Come on, Abby. Let me help you. Let me do this for you. It’ll be fun.”

Then she gave me that look—that hopeful, pleading look I could never ignore. I sighed.

“All right, but you know I can’t wear that dress,” I said. “I have an event tonight. I need my equipment, my supplies. I need my vest.”

“I thought you might say that.”

Piper sighed and jerked her head. My Party Vest draped over a chair in the corner of the room.

“And before you even ask, yes, I restocked it with your usual gear,” she said. “You can wear it during the event, but you are taking it off when you talk to Wesley. Agreed?”

I nodded.

“Good. Now strip.”

I went behind a black plastic partition and took off my clothes. Shivering, I crossed my arms over my chest.

“Underwear too,” Piper commanded. “You can’t wear granny panties under this.”

Grumbling, I stepped out of my undies and pulled off the matching camisole. Piper passed me a lacy bra and panties.

“Now the dress,” she said, handing it over.

The gown Piper had picked out was short and funky. The fabric was a petal-soft, jersey knit with plenty of stretch. The knee-skimming hemline and long sleeves ended in uneven zigzags, with tatters of fabric layered over the top of them. A wide, patent-leather belt looped around the waist, matching the black velvet trim that piped along the edge of the skirt and sleeves. The dress dazzled me so much it took me a minute before I realized what color it was.

I laughed. “Cobalt blue? Isn’t that overkill?”

Piper smiled. “I thought you might like to wear your man’s colors. Besides, that shade will rock on you.”

I started to pull the dress on. “Um, won’t Fiona miss this?” I asked, catching sight of the FFF label—and the three-thousand-dollar price tag under one arm.

“Nope,” Piper said. “I brought her a dozen hamburgers, twenty hot dogs, five buckets of fries, and enough soda to float a battleship for lunch from Quicke’s today. I also stopped by Olé and got her one of those five-pound burritos, three orders of chips and salsa, and fifteen sopapillas with honey. Then, I gave her the fourth-quarter reports, which showed sales rose almost ten percent. She told me to take whatever dress I wanted, along with the shoes and accessories.”

I shook my head. Fiona’s rampant love of food was going to get her into trouble one day. It was a wonder it hadn’t bankrupted her already. I shimmied into the dress and stepped around the partition.

“Nice,” Piper said. “Although, it would look better if you’d take your socks off.”

I curled my wool-covered toes into the carpet a second before doing as she asked. Piper picked up a pair shoes and held them out. They were more sandals than heels, with long, thin straps that wound up to my knees. They too were cobalt blue.

Piper didn’t stop there. She put a black velvet choker with an elegant blue cameo around my neck and handed me a small, boxy purse. I opened the top and looked inside. She’d stuffed essential items in it, like breath mints, tissues, clear nail polish, a small tool kit, and condoms.

I held up one of the foil packets. “Ever the optimist, I see.”

She grinned.

I put on the shoes. Piper put her hands on my shoulders, marched me over to the three-sided mirror, and then stepped out of view.

I twirled this way and that, watching the skirt swirl around my legs. Piper was right. The cobalt-blue fabric made my pale skin look delicate and dainty instead of just ordinary, and the deep V-neck maximized what cleavage I had. Overall, I didn’t look half-bad, even if the shoes were already starting to squeeze my toes.

“Now,” Piper said. “Phase One is complete. On to Phase Two—hair and makeup.”

* * *

Sabrina St. John waited for us at the cosmetics counter, along with a guy with a short, spiky Mohawk.

“This is Harold,” Sabrina said. “He’s going to do your hair while I work on your makeup.”

I smiled at Harold, my gaze flicking up to the orange streaks in his hair.

The two of them pushed me down into a chair and covered my designer dress with a black smock. Piper settled into a chair and flipped open the latest Confidante comic book, this one featuring the Fearless Five on the front. Harold and Sabrina eyed each other as warriors would on the battlefield. Harold sank a brush into my hair, while Sabrina grabbed the first of the three dozen pots of makeup she had lined up on the glass counter.

And so it began.

Harold snipped, teased, and sprayed my hair, muttering about my split ends. Meanwhile, Sabrina tweezed, exfoliated, and moisturized my face. Harold tilted my head back. Sabrina yanked it forward. Harold brandished his scissors at Sabrina. She made a threatening move with a mascara wand. I was caught in the middle, like a tennis ball whacked to one side of the court, then slammed in the opposite direction. Both kept barking commands at me through the whole, torturous process.

Harold: “Sit up straight.”

Sabrina: “Close your eyes.”

Harold: “Bend your head down.”

Sabrina: “Pucker your lips.”

I’d never had so many beauty products on my body at one time. Vanilla-scented hairspray. Raspberry-flavored lip gloss. Styling gel that reeked of jasmine. Blush that smelled exactly like its Apple Blossom name. A migraine tried to pound to life inside my skull at the smelly onslaught, but I took deep breaths and ignored it. Nobody ever said getting beautiful was easy. Besides, I was doing this for Wesley. I could suffer a headache for him.

To amuse myself while I got worked over, I tried to guess the names of the colors of the various cosmetics arranged on the counter, but I was always wrong. What I thought looked like Gunmetal Gray eyeliner turned out to be Quicksilver. The Midnight eye shadow was Black Velvet. The Almond foundation became Ivory Tower. And on and on, with each name more colorful than the last. Something about the names nagged at me, but Sabrina and Harold started working on me once more, and the thought was pushed to the back of my mind.

The bickering beauty consultants worked on me for about thirty minutes before both seemed satisfied. They stepped back and stared at me.

“You good?” Sabrina asked.

Harold nodded. “Yep. You?”

She nodded.

Sabrina whipped off the smock around my neck while Harold spun the chair around so I could see what they’d done. I met my own eyes in the mirror.

Amazing—that was the only word to describe my transformation. Harold had taken my plain, brown hair, given it a bit of volume, and twisted it up into a fancy bun. Curled tendrils framed my face, softening the harsh line of the bun. Two sapphire chopsticks held the updo in place.

My face glowed thanks to the bronzing powder and blush Sabrina had used. She’d painted my eyes a smoky black and lined them with a silver shade, making them seem big and bright. She’d colored my lips a deep raspberry, sealing in the vibrant pink with a layer of clear gloss.

I looked better than ever before. Polished. Put-together. Sophisticated. And dare I say it, sexy. Abby Appleby was gone. So was Wren.

Tonight, I looked like Nightingale.

I just stared into the mirror, awestruck by the change. The consultants took that as a sign of approval.

“You’re welcome,” Sabrina said, packing up her powder puffs and pots of color.

“Ditto,” Harold echoed, grabbing his own gear.

Sabrina handed me a plastic bag full of bottles and brushes. “Here are some trial sizes of everything I used on you tonight, along with Harold’s stuff. Try them out. If you like the look, come back next week, and we’ll see what other products might work for you.”

Both passed me their cards. I palmed the cards and nodded, still too dumbstruck to speak. The consultants moved off into the crowd. I kept staring into the mirror.

“Abby, you look wonderful!” Piper squeezed my hand. “Wesley is going to take one look at you and wonder where you’ve been all his life.”

I squeezed her hand back, but my answering smile quickly faded.

Underneath the fancy dress, perfect hair, and marvelous skin, I was still the same old Abby—the same woman I’d always been. Was a little color on my lips and cheeks going to be enough to dazzle Wesley? I didn’t know.

But I was ready to find out.

Chapter Twenty-Six

Piper had to return to work to take a late conference call. She promised to swing by my office, pick up Rascal, and bring him to the party. I grabbed another taxi and headed back to the convention center, arriving a little after six. Things weren’t officially supposed to get under way until seven, but I wanted to double-check the food and decorations one more time. I wanted—no, needed—everything to be perfect tonight.

I pushed through the doors of the center and waved to Eddie at the front desk. He frowned, as if he didn’t know who I was, but I kept walking. Well, tottering would have been a better description. The sandals matched my dress perfectly, but they were hell on my feet.

I made my way to the break room. A lone cigarette sat in an ashtray on one of the tables. Colt must have just left. I spun the combination dial on my locker, grabbed my can of air freshener, and doused the whole room.

When the air was somewhat clear, I shrugged out of my coat and stuffed it into the locker, along with the miniscule purse Piper had given me. It might look pretty, but it wasn’t big enough to hold my supplies. So, I put on my Party Vest, zipped it up, and checked the pockets. Piper had been more than thorough. She’d restocked every single hidey-hole with the appropriate item, from breath mints to garbage bags. She was a good friend.

I shut the locker and headed down the long hallway that ran through the middle of the center. When I reached a door labeled Main Kitchen, I dug my key out of my vest and let myself in.

Kyle and his staff were already there. Strawberries, kiwis, and other fruits painted every visible surface with a rainbow of pinks and greens. An army of apron-clad chefs chopped, peeled, and mashed everything from avocados to zucchinis. The steady thwacks-thwacks-thwacks of their flashing knives created a weird harmony. Trays of bread warmed on racks, while more workers filled glasses with ice water and limes. Kyle arranged cream cheese canapés on serving trays. His hands blurred together as he stacked the appetizers on top of each other.

Kyle slowed at the sound of the door slamming behind me. He blinked once and did a double take. He stopped, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing. Then he let out a low whistle. “Nice dress, Abby.”

“Thanks.”

I stalked through the kitchen, my eyes flicking over the pots and pans. Tomato bisque simmered on the stove, while potatoes baked for a second time in the industrial-size ovens. Chefs dumped pounds of pasta into boiling water, while others pan-seared chicken over open flames. Pepper, cinnamon, vanilla, and more spiced the air.

I opened my mouth to launch into my usual tirade about serving times, but Kyle beat me to the punch.

“The hors d’oeuvres will start circulating at seven,” he said. “Dinner begins at seven thirty, followed by the speech at eight. We’ll roll out the strawberry and chocolate fondue fountain at eight fifteen, and more hors d’oeuvres will be available at eight thirty when folks decide to start dancing. Did I miss anything?”

I gritted my teeth. “No.”

“So, relax, Abby.” Kyle gave me his usual lazy grin. “Try to have a little fun tonight. Everything will be perfect.”

“It better be,” I warned. “Or else—”

“Or else you’ll chop off my fingers and feed them to me,” he finished, still smiling. “I’ve heard it all before, and I haven’t lost my fingers yet, have I?”

I clamped my mouth shut. Damn. I really needed to get some new threats.

* * *

I left Kyle to his canapés and walked to the auditorium. The disco balls hanging from the catwalk caught the dim light and reflected it back. Everything shimmered and shined, from the sparkling silverware on the tables to the white and black tiles in the checkerboard dance floor. The two guitar-shaped ice sculptures towered into the air at the foot of the auditorium, creating a perfect frame for the stage behind them. Workers scurried back and forth at the bar, popping corks off champagne bottles and cutting up limes, lemons, and oranges.

Everything looked perfect, but I couldn’t relax. I knew from past experience things rarely went off without a hitch—no matter how much I planned. I strolled toward the bar to make sure nobody was being particularly clumsy. Up on the stage, Stanley Solomon talked to Hilary Hoover, a young woman with bright pink hair. Hilary was the drummer for Miked, Melody Masters’s band. Stanley played bass guitar. His dark eyes fell on me, and he gestured for me to climb the stairs and join them.

Hilary rushed over as soon as I set foot on the stage. “Abby! Thank goodness you’re here!”

“What’s wrong?” I asked, sighing on the inside. Nobody ever rushed up to me unless there was a major problem.

“Melody is sick,” Stanley rumbled. “Which means we don’t have a lead singer for the band tonight.”

I closed my eyes. Of all the things that could happen, this was near the top of the list in terms of badness because the event theme revolved around rock ’n’ roll. The disco balls, the guitar ice sculptures, the dance floor. What would a rock ’n’ roll party be without the actual rock ’n’ rollers? Boring—not hip or fresh or cool, just a boring letdown. Besides, if I didn’t have any music at this thing, people would riot. They had to have something to drink and dance to.

“Where is she?” I asked.

Melody had looked fine when I’d seen her earlier. Maybe if she wasn’t too sick, she could do at least one number—

“In the hospital,” Stanley replied. “She passed out earlier today at The Blues. Her temp was a hundred and three. Doctors think it’s a bad case of the flu. They’re giving her fluids and keeping her overnight for observation.”

I rubbed my aching head. This was not the end of the world. I wasn’t going to let it be. I looked at Hilary. “What about you? You sing backup. Can’t you cover for her?”

Hilary shook her head. “Backup, not lead vocals. Besides, I think I’m coming down with what Melody has. My throat is sore, and my voice is really raspy, just like hers.”

I ignored the pounding in my head. “All right, this is what we’re going to do. You guys will get on stage and play through the opening round of drinks and dinner. Don’t sing; just play instrumental versions of whatever you want. Just make it upbeat and snappy.”

“What are you doing to do?” Stanley asked.

I pulled out my cell phone and dialed Chloe’s number. “I’m going to find you a lead singer.”

Chloe picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“I just parked my car. I should be there in about five minutes.”

“Get here faster,” I said. “We have a major problem.”

* * *

I let Chloe oversee the food and drinks while I tried to conjure up a lead singer for the remaining members of Miked. People started arriving around seven. Everyone dashed down to the bar, grabbing drinks and oohing and aahing over the ice sculptures.

Piper was one of the first people through the door, Rascal trotting by her side. Despite my crisis, I laughed when I saw the puppy.

“A doggie tux!” I bent down to pet him. “Where did you get a doggie tux?”

Piper smiled. “Fiona’s decided to branch out into petwear. She says there’s no excuse for people to dress their dogs in those horrible sweaters now that she’s on the job.”

Rascal barked and turned around, showing off his designer suit. I scratched his ears, and he leaned into me, his fur tickling my bare legs.

“I’d love to stay with you guys, but I have work to do.” I told Piper about my musical crisis.

She nodded. “We’ll catch up later then. Come on, Rascal. Let’s go get some champagne.”

The puppy barked again and followed her.

Wesley Weston made his grand entrance at seven fifteen. Tonight, he wore a navy blue tuxedo and a crisp white shirt. Diamond cufflinks glittered on the ends of his sleeves, while his chestnut hair gleamed underneath the disco balls. He looked every inch the billionaire he was.

Wesley grabbed some champagne and scanned the crowd, as though he was looking for someone. For a moment, I wondered if it could be me. Then I forced myself to be rational. Wesley wasn’t looking for me. He was probably doing a mental inventory, seeing who had showed up and who hadn’t. Even if he was searching for me, I didn’t have time to say hello. I was too busy trying to avert another crisis. Still, I watched him work the crowd, shaking hands, smiling, and making small talk. His brunette from the library was nowhere to be found. It seemed Wesley was flying solo tonight. That gave me a little bit of hope, even though just about every single woman at the party made it a point to go over and say hello to him.

While Bigtime’s elite munched on music-note-shaped canapés, I systematically went through the contacts in my cell phone. I called every single singer, musician, and drummer in the city. Nobody was free. I strong-armed Eddie into bringing me a phone book from the lobby and started going through the yellow pages.

Nothing. I came up with nothing. Every single singer in the greater Bigtime area was already booked for tonight. By seven thirty, I was desperate. By eight, frantic. The lights went down, and Wesley stood up to give his speech about how Gelled was the ultimate lip-care company. I huddled backstage for a conference with Hilary and Stanley. Piper and Rascal were there too.

I checked my watch again. Thirteen minutes, twenty-five seconds left until the band was supposed to start rocking the stage, and I was short one singer. “I couldn’t find anybody. Nobody. I’m sorry. You guys will just have to do your best.”

Stanley and Hilary stared at each other, then Stanley turned to me.

“Why don’t you do it?” he suggested. “We’ve both heard you down at The Blues. You’re good enough to front for Melody this one time, and you know all the songs. All you have to do is one set, just enough to get the crowd rocking. We can take it from there.”

The thought made nervous tingles shoot through my body. It was one thing to sing in The Blues in front of drunken frat boys and giggling co-eds. It was quite another to rock out in front of the Bigtime society crowd—my clients. I peeked through the curtains lining the stage. Wesley was well into his speech now. I checked my watch again.

Twelve minutes, twenty-nine seconds, and no rock ’n’ roll divas in sight.

“I don’t think you really have a choice,” Stanley said. “Not if you want a singer tonight.”

I looked at him, then Hilary, then Piper. A sigh of acceptance escaped my lips. I pressed a button on my cell phone. “Chloe, can you handle things for the next thirty minutes?”

“Sure,” Chloe’s voice echoed back to me. “Do you need a break?”

“Not exactly.” I closed my eyes. “I’m going to be on stage.”

* * *

Chloe agreed to take care of any other problems that might pop up. Stanley put a microphone in my trembling hand, while Hilary gave me a quick rundown of the playlist, even though I’d already memorized it. Then, the two of them moved off to see to a few other things before we took to the stage. I unzipped my Party Vest.

“Hold this, and don’t let it out of your sight,” I said, shoving the vest at Piper.

“You got the mystery flash drive in here?” she whispered.

I nodded. “Yeah. And get the relaxidon ready. I’m going to need it—a lot of it—if this doesn’t go well.”

“Take a breath, Abby,” Piper said. “You’re going to do great.”

Rascal licked my toes in agreement.

Seven minutes and thirteen seconds later, I found myself standing in the middle of the stage. Stanley flanked me on the left, his guitar heavy in his hands. Hilary sat off to my right surrounded by her drum set.

Everything came into supersharp focus. The smell of the chicken that had been served for dinner. Stanley’s sandalwood cologne. Hilary’s cherry-scented lip gloss. The faint swirl of air against my cheeks. The knit dress rubbing against my skin. My own frantic heartbeat.

“And now, it’s time to get…Miked!” the announcer screamed.

The curtains drew back from the stage, and the crowd went wild. Stanley thumbed out some loud chords. Hilary added a steady beat on her drums. I drew in a deep breath, put the microphone up to my lips, and started to sing.

I sang everything from rock classics to power ballads to a few Miked originals. During the songs, I squinted against the spotlights and looked through the throngs of people, searching for Wesley, but I didn’t see him anywhere. So I focused on my singing, letting the music carry me away. Trying to match my voice, my tone, my rhythm to the chords and harmonies filling my ear.

And I found myself getting into it. Throwing my arms out wide. Strutting up and down the stage. Blowing kisses to the crowd. The music turned on something inside me, something that liked the spotlight, that craved the attention.

The first set wound down after about twenty minutes. Stanley took the microphone from me and announced that the band was taking a break. The spotlight went off, and the curtains closed. The heady rush of adrenaline wore off, and tremors shook my body. I doubled over and put my hands on my knees, trying not to throw up.

“That was great, Abby!” Hilary said, coming out from behind her drums. “Melody couldn’t have done better herself.”

“You did good,” Stanley said. “Real good. You wanna do another set?”

I shook my head. “No. I think that was enough for one night. Can you guys handle it from here?”

The musicians nodded.

“Good, because I’m going to get some air.”

I stumbled down the steps and out into the auditorium. My eyes fixed on the door that led to the hidden corridor. I walked toward it, not even acknowledging Piper, Rascal, or the people like Carmen Cole who said hello to me.

I went into the corridor and walked about fifty feet down the hallway. I’d just slumped against the cool concrete wall, when steps quickened on the carpet behind me.

I looked up, and there he was—Wesley.

Coming right at me.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Wesley stopped about twenty feet away. His eyes traced my face, my shellacked hair, my blue dress, my ridiculous shoes. Then, he said the one word that made my world start to crumble.

“Nightingale?” he whispered.

Terror roared through my body. No. Oh no. He couldn’t find out now, not like this. Not when I looked like a sweaty reject from a hair band.

“Nightingale?” he asked again.

I should have protested, should have shook my head as though the name meant nothing to me, but I couldn’t. Not after everything that had happened between us.

“Nightingale,” Wesley said, his voice harder and more certain.

I bit my lip, whirled around, and walked away from him.

“Hey! Wait!”

By that time, I’d broken into a full-fledged run. I scampered down the corridor, trying to find someplace to hide, someplace where he wouldn’t find me. I spotted a broom closet out of the corner of my eye. Hands shaking, I twisted the knob, yanked the door open, and closed it, hoping he hadn’t seen me come in here—but he had.

A second later, the door jerked open, and Wesley stepped inside. He scrutinized my hair and makeup. His gaze trailed down my body and over the blue dress. Recognition dawned on his face. “Abby? Abby Appleby?”

“That’s my name,” I said, laughing and trying to make a joke of things.

Wesley stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. “You’re Nightingale? My Nightingale?”

I tried to move past him, but he put his hand on the wall, blocking me. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Nightingale is your mystery woman. Not me.”

I tried to go around him, but he put his other hand on the wall, trapping me between his arms.

“I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Abby. All this time I’ve been looking for you, searching for you, and you’ve been right under my nose. What was this to you? Some kind of sick game?”

My mouth dropped open. Anger surged through me, and I forgot about denying everything. “A game? No, it was never a game to me. I’m the one whose life was turned upside down. I’m the one who found you in that alley and put myself in Bandit’s line of fire. Rest assured, Wesley, Talon, whatever the hell you call yourself, this was definitely not a game to me.”

“Then, why did you drug me and leave me here in the center? Why didn’t you come forward?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me who you really were? Especially after you found out I was Talon?”

I mumbled my response.

“What?”

“Because you wouldn’t have cared about me the way you did about Wren, about Nightingale,” I said. “She was this great fantasy you created. This wonderful, gorgeous woman who saved you. Look at me. I’m a mess. I’m always a mess. I just couldn’t live up to that. To your image, your perfect ideal of her. I never can.”

Wesley’s face softened a bit. “But you didn’t even give me a chance.”

I shook my head. “I couldn’t take the risk. If I’d told Talon who I was that first night, would he, would you have told me your secret identity?”

Wesley didn’t answer me.

“I didn’t think so.”

We stood there, not quite looking at each other. In the silence, my supersenses flared to life. The heat radiating off Wesley’s body warmed me from head to toe. His breath slid along my face. I could even hear the roar of his heart. Its frantic beat matched my own.

“So, now you know,” I said in a tired voice.

“And what about the flash drive? Do you have it?”

I nodded. “I looked at it, trying to figure out what was on it, but I couldn’t get past the encryption. I was going to give it to you tonight.”

“So where is it now?”

“In my vest pocket. Piper has it. I’ll go get it from her.”

“We’re not quite done yet,” Wesley said in a low voice.

The dark, dangerous light in his golden eyes frightened—and excited—me. He leaned forward, his arms still on either side of my body. I stood straight against the wall, trying to keep as much distance as possible between us. I closed my eyes, trying not to relish his wonderful, minty smell.

“I’ve been looking for you for days now, wondering if Bandit had gotten to you first, if he’d killed you. Do you know what that did to me? Do you?”

“You’re a superhero. Your job is to protect innocents. Chicks, as you so eloquently call them. You were worried, and you wanted your flash drive back. I get it,” I muttered.

“No, you don’t get it at all.” Fury punctuated every syllable. “Yeah, I’m a superhero. Yeah, I protect innocents. But Nighting—but you were different. We talked. We laughed. We connected. I pretty much bared my soul to you, talking about fairy tales and lightning. Then, there’s the fact that we slept together.”

“So what? Lots of people have sex with superheroes,” I mumbled, trying not to remember how good it had been, how good he had felt next to me. “There’s a whole club devoted to it.”

“So I cared about you, Abby. I thought we were starting something—something that would grow, something that would last. That’s why I slept with you. Not because I get some kick out of one-night stands. What kind of superhero, what kind of man do you think I am? “

The raw hurt in Wesley’s voice made tears gather in my eyes. I couldn’t keep the salty drops from spilling down my cheeks, ruining what was left of my makeup.

“Don’t cry, Abby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Wesley brushed a tear off my face. “You’re just—you’re not—you’re not who I thought Nightingale would be.”

His words pierced my heart in a way Bandit’s bullets never could.

“Of course not. I never am,” I whispered. “And that’s the problem.”

I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, hoping—needing—him to go away. To leave me alone. To pretend he didn’t know the truth. So I could convince myself my worst fear hadn’t come true. That he didn’t find me to be a disappointment.

Wesley let out a ragged breath. I felt him move, but instead of reaching for the door, his hand cupped my cheek, his hard fingers as soft as ever against my skin. I opened my eyes. His golden gaze met mine. We stared at each other. The seconds ticked by. Still, neither one of us moved—

Wesley kissed me. It wasn’t gentle and sweet, as the kiss behind the waterfall had been. This one was hard, rough, and demanding. My supersenses kicked into overdrive. His minty taste. His soft touch. His hot body flush against my own. The sensations overwhelmed me. Frying me just like that amp had done. Melting me from the inside out.

Wesley’s tongue plunged into my mouth, and I met it with my own. He poured all of his pent-up frustration, longing, and confusion into the kiss. His emotions matched my own. I grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. I wanted to be his Nightingale so badly it hurt—even if it was only for tonight.

Wesley’s hands went to my breasts, squeezing and kneading the sensitive mounds through the soft fabric of my dress and bra. He flicked his thumbs over my nipples. I groaned and threw my head back. Wesley pressed his lips to my neck, sucking at my skin.

I brought my hands up between us and tore at his shirt. Buttons popped off and bounced away into the darkness of the closet. I ran my fingers over his solid chest, scraping his nipples with my nails. My hands were everywhere, touching him—until they came in contact with something soft and gauzy. I looked down. A bandage still covered his left shoulder where Bandit had shot him.

Wesley grabbed my hand. “It’s fine, thanks to you.”

He kissed me again, hard. More heat ripped through me, scorching away my doubts. I yanked his shirt up out of his pants and fumbled with his zipper. Wesley reached into his hip pocket and drew out a packet from his wallet just before his pants fell to his ankles.

He wore cobalt-blue boxers underneath, and I slid those down his thighs. I straightened and stroked him with my hand, circling his hard tip with my finger. Wesley put one hand against the wall and leaned into me. His muscles jerked and twitched as he fought for control.

Wesley opened his eyes, those beautiful, beautiful golden eyes, and stared at me. He grabbed my hand and pressed the condom packet into it. With shaking fingers, I tore it open and slid it on him. When I finished, Wesley pushed his hands up the hem of my dress. He hooked his fingers into my panties and slid them down. I stepped out of the wispy fabric.

“Lace,” he said. “Nice.”

Then, he tossed them aside. Wesley grabbed my hips, lifted me up, and put my back against the wall. He looked at me, really looked at me, his golden gaze stripping away all my secrets. I wondered if he could see how much I wanted him. How much I cared about him. How much I loved him.

I couldn’t read the swirl of emotions in his eyes, but they glowed with an intensity I hadn’t thought possible.

Wesley’s hand moved up my thighs, his fingers barely brushing my skin. They tangled in my curls, and he stroked me there, just as I’d done to him moments before. My breath caught in my throat.

“Ahhh,” I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders.

He put a finger inside me, slowing moving it up and down. It was good, so good—but not quite enough.

“More,” I pleaded. “Now.”

I put my mouth to his for another hot, long, hard kiss. Wesley withdrew his finger.

He pushed up into me, even as I sank down onto him. He pumped into me, over and over again. I buried my face in his neck and cried out with every thrust—and so did he.

“Nightingale,” Wesley murmured against my hair. “My Nightingale.”

Chapter Twenty-Eight

We didn’t speak for a long time. Wesley lowered me to the ground. I stared up into his face.

“Nightingale,” he said again, smiling.

Nightingale.

Not Abby. Not even Wren. Still that damned Nightingale.

After everything, he still didn’t see me—not the real me. Wesley could only focus on the person he wanted me to be. His perfect mystery woman. I felt like Bandit had just emptied his gun into my stomach.

“You can get the flash drive from Piper. We’re done here. I’m leaving.” Somehow I managed to get the words past the knot in my throat. “Chloe can help you if there’s a problem with the event.”

Wesley brushed my hair off my face. “Abby. I’m sorry—”

“Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry.” I stepped around him. “Don’t talk to me right now. Just—don’t.”

I straightened my dress, twisted open the knob to the broom closet, and ran. I ran and ran and ran down the hallway until my lungs and toes screamed for mercy. Then, I sputtered to a stop, rested my head against the concrete wall, and sobbed.

* * *

By the time I reached the break room, I’d regained control of myself. Hands shaking, I spun the dial on my locker. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror taped to one side. All of the makeup Sabrina had so carefully applied was streaked and smeared from my eyes to my chin. My face resembled a bag of candy left out in the sun—a rainbow of mushy, melted color. I grabbed a tissue out of my locker and scrubbed off what I could. Surprisingly, my hair was mostly in one piece, thanks to the superstrength styling gel and hairspray Harold used.

I yanked out my coat and pulled it on. I closed the locker door and leaned against it, trying to summon up the energy to walk home.

Trying not to think about Wesley.

For a moment in the closet, I’d thought I’d a chance. That maybe he’d take a chance on me. But no. Wesley still longed for Nightingale, and I just couldn’t be her. All of the makeup and pretty dresses in the world wouldn’t change the fact that I was still good ole Abby Appleby. Dependable. Uptight. Invisible.

Footsteps smacked into the floor behind me. Metal jangled together, and cigarette smoke filled the air. I sighed, hoping Colt wasn’t going to ask me out again. I just couldn’t take it right now. Still, I turned and opened my mouth to say hello.

But Colt wasn’t the one standing behind me.

He had Colt’s face, with its dark, expressionless eyes. Colt’s long hair hung loose around his shoulders. Colt’s mocking smile curled his lips. But the black leather duster fluttering around those cowboy boots and the guns strapped to his hips were all Bandit’s.

My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Colt? You’re really Bandit?”

“Hi, Abby,” the ubervillain said.

His gloved fist exploded against my temple, and the world went black.

* * *

Something wet dripped on my cheek. The steady drip-drip-drip turned into a torrent. A wave of water cascaded over my head, snapping me back to reality. I sputtered and coughed. Rough hands jerked me to my feet. I opened my eyes. Colt’s face, Bandit’s face, stared back at me.

“It’s about time you woke up, Abby,” he said.

“What do you want?” My head throbbed from where Bandit had hit me, and I was having trouble focusing on him.

“What I’ve always wanted—the flash drive,” Bandit growled. “Where is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

He let me go. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor. I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. Pain stabbed my skull like an ice pick, but I took a deep breath and made myself forget about it, made myself examine my surroundings.

I huddled at the foot of a table in the middle of a large conference room. Chairs surrounded the table, and legal pads covered the shiny surface. Gray carpet stretched over the floor, and matching drapes shuttered the windows at the far end. The water Bandit had doused me with had come out of a crystal carafe sitting on a cart. He’d soaked my head and shoulders, and water dripped from the ends of my hair, spattering onto the floor.

My eyes fixed on the door thirty feet behind the ubervillain—and I tried to figure out how I could get through it without getting shot.

“Do you think I’m stupid?” Bandit growled. “I know you have the flash drive. You were there in the alley the night I shot Talon. Don’t try to deny it.”

I gasped. Things had just gone from bad to worse. I didn’t think Bandit or any of his goons had spotted me that night. I’d thought I’d had some plausible deniability where the drive was concerned. Now, even that was gone.

“How do you know?”

He smiled. “Because I saw you, Abby. In addition to being pretty handy with these,” his hand fell to one of his guns, “I also happen to have supersenses—just like you.”

I gasped again. “How do you know I have supersenses?”

“The headaches, the air freshener, the constant wincing at loud noises. All dead giveaways. I did a little checking. Your accident at The Blues was in the newspapers. I got my supersenses when a power line fell on my car. I figured an amp couldn’t be much different. But back to the drive.” Bandit leaned down until his eyes were even with mine. “If Talon had it, he would have broken the encryption and exposed Tycoon by now. My guess is he lost it in the snow that night. That’s when you picked it up. You probably put it in that vest of yours, which is why I couldn’t find it when I tore up your loft.”

“My coat, actually,” I admitted. Had it only been Tuesday since my loft had been destroyed? It seemed longer than that.

An odd thought struck me. “Wait a minute. You didn’t ransack my apartment until Tuesday night, a couple days after the fight in the alley.”

“I was busy looking for Talon. With that bullet in his shoulder, I’d thought he’d go to the emergency room. When he didn’t turn up there or anywhere else, I started staking out your apartment.”

I remembered the odd shadow I’d seen and Rascal barking at the balcony door. Bandit had been watching me even then. Now, I was glad the puppy had kept me awake. I put the rest of the timeline together. “That’s why you asked me out, isn’t it? So you could get into my apartment and look for the flash drive?”

He shrugged. “You’ve always been nice to me, never looking down on me just because I’m a glorified janitor. I thought I’d try to be civil about things.”

“Why do you even do it? Work as a janitor? Surely, you can make more money doing…this.”

“All I do is sit on my ass, smoke, drink coffee, and read magazines,” Bandit said. “It’s not the most strenuous job, and nobody pays any attention to my comings and goings. It’s a good cover.”

No, it was a great cover. I’d never looked too closely at Colt. He was another janitor, a guy who cleaned up the messes my parties made. I hadn’t thought to look deeper than that, and I’d certainly never dreamed he could be an ubervillain. Maybe if I’d paid a little more attention to him instead of bitching about being invisible all the time, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

“After you searched my apartment, why did you confront me on the street? Why just assume I had the flash drive?”

“I couldn’t take a chance you didn’t,” Bandit said.

“You mean Tycoon couldn’t take that chance.”

The ubervillain shrugged. “He’s particular about keeping his identity a secret. Not only would the information on that drive expose him, but it would jeopardize a rather expensive operation he’s been working on.”

“Sunrise?” I asked, remembering the name Wesley had mentioned.

Bandit’s eyes glittered. “You read the flash drive?”

“No. I couldn’t get past the second encryption. All I saw were these folders with weird names, like Ivory Tower, Black Velvet, and Quicksilver. I thought they were names for superheroes or ubervillains—”

I flashed back to earlier tonight, when I’d been at the makeup counter at Oodles o’ Stuff and Sabrina had been working on my face. I thought of the products she’d used—and their names. Apple Blossom blush. Rocking Raspberry lip gloss. I’d seen the other names there. Ivory Tower foundation. Black Velvet eye shadow. Quicksilver eyeliner. The folders weren’t about heroes or villains. They were names for makeup colors.

Makeup? What could a gangster like Tycoon possibly have to do with makeup? He was into drugs and gambling, not lip liners and bronzers.

Bandit’s eyes never left my face. “You know, it’s a shame you’re so smart, Abby. It’s going to get you killed.”

The ubervillain turned toward the door. “You might as well come in.”

The door creaked open. Shadows filled the hallway outside, but I could just see the outline of a dark figure.

“She’s figured it out,” Bandit said. “Most of it, anyway.”

“Well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?” A soft feminine voice floated into the room.

Octavia O’Hara stepped into the light.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Octavia walked over to stand beside Bandit. The contrast between the two was striking. Octavia wore a fitted red jacket, a short skirt, and stilettos. Her black hair was up in a tight bun, and her makeup was flawless. Bandit was in black, from the bottoms of his boots to the paisley bandanna tied around his neck.

“Hey, baby,” Bandit murmured, putting his arm around Octavia.

She leaned in and gave the ubervillain a slow kiss, raking her teeth across his bottom lip. His hand cupped her breast, and she growled. I cringed and dropped my gaze. I felt like I’d been sucked into some cheesy porn movie, where the rugged cowboy does the uptight businesswoman in the conference room. Or, in Bigtime’s case, the ubervillain and the high-society debutante.

They broke apart, each one practically salivating over the other.

Confused, I looked up at Octavia. “What are you doing here?”

Octavia gave me a cool look. “I’m here to make sure this unpleasantness is taken care of once and for all.”

It dawned on me why she was here—and who she really was. “You’re Tycoon, the gangster?”

Her dark eyes flicked to Bandit. The ubervillain smiled.

“I told you she’d figured it out,” he said.

Octavia shrugged. “It doesn’t matter that she has, does it?”

Bandit smiled and shook his head. More fear piled onto the hard, cold knot in my stomach.

“But I thought Tycoon was a man,” I said. “You’re…not.”

“My father, Otto, was the original Tycoon,” Octavia said. “I took his place last year.”

Last year? That was when I planned his funeral. “Your father didn’t drown in a boating accident, did he?”

Octavia’s smile was all the answer I needed. The cruel curve of her crimson lips frightened me more than Bandit’s guns. “I presented my father with a plan that would have made us billions, far more than his penny ante drug and gambling rings, but he didn’t want to act on it. So I decided it was time for a management change.”

“What plan?” I asked.

“Sunrise, of course,” Octavia snapped. “You have the flash drive, don’t pretend like you don’t know what’s on it.”

“But I don’t know,” I said, trying to draw things out so I could keep breathing. “I couldn’t open the files.”

“But you recognized the names,” Octavia said.

“They’re just names for different colors of makeup. Who cares about makeup?”

Octavia’s eyes darkened, and I realized my mistake. She cared about makeup. A whole hell of a lot—enough to kill me for insulting her.

“You know what, baby?” Octavia turned to Bandit. “Instead of standing here talking in circles, let’s show Abby exactly what she’s going to die for.”

Bandit smiled again.

* * *

The two of them exchanged another kiss, then Bandit hauled me to my feet. He let go of me, and I crumpled back to the floor. Bandit dug his boot into my ribs. I gasped and jerked away.

“If you fall again, I’ll put a bullet in your spine.” His voice was cool and casual.

“Not up here,” Octavia admonished. “I just had the carpets cleaned.”

Octavia strolled out of the conference room, and Bandit pushed me along behind her. I recognized the hallway. Even if I hadn’t, the red lips hanging on the wall would have clued me in—I was in Oomph’s corporate headquarters. I’d come up to this floor several times to speak to Octavia while planning the engagement party and dinner for Olivia and Paul Potter.

“What about Olivia?” I asked. “Does she know about you?”

“Olivia does what she’s told,” Octavia scoffed. “If I hadn’t needed her to marry Paul to add the appearance of legitimacy to my takeover of Polish, I would have dumped her overboard with my father.”

“What do you mean?”

As we walked, I peered into the offices that branched off the hallway, hoping someone was working late. But the offices were all as dark and empty as Octavia’s soul.

She pushed the button to summon the elevator. “Peter Potter likes to drink, and when he’s drunk, he likes to gamble. He was into my father for millions.”

“And Polish was the payoff?”

Octavia nodded. “We were going to handle the merger quietly, but then Wesley Weston made a play for Polish.”

Wesley. My heart twisted. I could still smell him on me, still feel his lips on mine. I should have told him how I felt about him, even if he’d rejected me, because now, I’d never get the chance.

I realized Octavia was staring at me, waiting for a response. “So you forced Olivia and Paul to get engaged so no one would question the merger too much.”

She nodded. The elevator pinged! its arrival, hurting my ears, and Bandit crowded me inside. Octavia stepped in after him and hit another button, followed by a code on a keypad to one side of the door.

We went down. When the doors opened again, we stepped out into a lab. Everything was white plastic, from the walls and floors to the counters running down either side of the room. Trays sat on the counters, every single one full of eye shadows, lipsticks, blushes, and more. Every inch of space shimmered with color, from soft pinks to aqua blues to plumy purples. There was enough makeup to cover every woman’s face in Bigtime.

Bandit shoved me forward. Octavia strolled in front of us and threw her arms out wide.

“This is where the magic happens,” she said in a proud voice.

Magic. Right.

We walked about halfway down one of the counters, before Octavia stopped and swept her hand out again.

“And this,” she said, “is Sunrise.”

A black-and-white cardboard display embossed with Oomph’s red lips perched on the counter. The display framed several makeup products, all encased in black plastic—a lipstick, a bottle of liquid foundation, pressed powder compact, eye shadow, eye- and lip-liner pencils, blush, mascara. My eyes caught on the names. Ivory Tower foundation. Black Velvet eye shadow. Quicksilver eyeliner.

I looked at Octavia, who watched me, waiting for a reaction. “But it’s just makeup.”

What was so sinister about that? The worst thing you could do was poke your eye out with a mascara wand. What about it was worth killing me for?

“It’s not just any makeup,” Octavia said. “It’s a very special blend. New versions of old, beloved products. I called the collection Sunrise because that’s our signature red lipstick.”

She uncapped the lipstick and twisted it up. The Sunrise red shade was pretty enough with a soft, shimmer finish, but it smelled—bad. Like rotten eggs mixed with sweaty gym socks. I realized it was the same lipstick, with the same putrid odor, that had made my nose burn at Oodles o’ Stuff when Piper had showed it to me.

“Go ahead, Abby,” Octavia said, holding the tube out to me.

I shook my head and backed away as far as I could. I wasn’t touching that stuff.

“What’s the matter? Don’t you want to freshen up?”

“She can smell it,” Bandit said. “Just like I can.”

“Oh. I forgot she has supersenses.”

I stared at the tube. “What’s in that?”

“Oh, the usual ingredients. Beeswax, various dyes and pigments, and just a hint of euphoridon.”

I blinked. “Euphoridon. But that’s—”

“A radioactive drug,” Octavia finished. “A very addictive one. Euphoridon is what most of the junkies down on Good Intentions Lane get strung out on.”

“And you put it in makeup? Why?”

“To get women hooked on it, of course,” she replied, capping the lipstick. “So they crave it. So they buy Oomph makeup and nothing else without even realizing what they’re doing or what’s happening to them.”

“That’s why you gave away all those free samples at the engagement party,” I accused. “You were trying to get people hooked on it then.”

Octavia stared at me. “You really are too smart for your own good, Abby. Actually, those were just trial samples. Primers, if you will, of some of our best-selling products with just a hint of euphoridon in them to whet people’s appetites for more. Subconsciously, of course. My market share will double in the first week alone when the Sunrise makeup hits the market. Within a month, I’ll have a stranglehold on the industry and be ready to launch a new lip-care line, with the help of Polish.”

The way Octavia talked, you would have thought she was discussing the weather, not the massive addiction of every makeup-using woman in Bigtime. There wasn’t much I could say. Still, I tried to think of something, because the longer I kept talking, the greater the chances were of me coming up with a brilliant plan to escape. I opened my mouth to respond, when a faint yip caught my ear.

My heart froze. Rascal? What would he be doing here? I cocked my head and listened—really listened. The yip came again, followed by another, and another, until a whole chorus of dogs yapped together.

“The dogs are howling again,” Bandit said.

Octavia rolled her eyes. “Well, we won’t need them much longer. One more test, and the lab coats tell me we can start mass-producing the Sunrise makeup. Then, we can sit back and wait for the money to roll in.”

“Hopefully I’ll have a little more time to deal with the animals,” Bandit said. “Instead of dumping them in an alley for the police to find.”

“That was your fault,” she hissed. “If Talon hadn’t slipped past your so-called security team—”

“Wait a minute. You tested your radioactive makeup on animals?” I asked, remembering what Wesley, what Talon had told me, and his suspicions about Rascal. “Those puppies and kittens they showed on SNN? You killed them?”

“I had to test it on something,” Octavia said. “The police tend to notice when people go missing.”

“And my dog? Rascal, was he one of yours?”

“Unfortunately,” Octavia glared at Bandit. “Letting him get away was another one of your slipups.”

“What was I supposed to do?” he growled back. “The little bastard bit me, and I dropped him. I took a couple of shots at him, but he was quicker than I thought he’d be, thanks to all that euphoridon your lab coats shot him up with.”

The two of them started arguing, but I tuned them out. Red rage colored my vision like the gloss on Octavia’s perfect lips. Little bastard? Little bastard? Rascal was the best dog in the world. Oh sure, he barked and begged for food and generally thought he was the king of Bigtime and should be treated as such. But Rascal had more humanity in his tail than the two of them did in their entire bodies. Bandit was the bastard, and Octavia was an ice-cold bitch. They had to be stopped. Both of them.

But how? And with what? If I’d had my vest, I at least would have had my stun gun. I might have taken Octavia out with that before Bandit shot me. But I’d left the vest back at the party with Piper. Without my vest, without my supplies, I felt naked, exposed, helpless.

And it wasn’t like there were any weapons just lying around in the lab. Just lipsticks, powders, and mascara wands as far as the eye could see. Just makeup. My gaze flicked to the Sunrise display.

Radioactive makeup.

While Octavia and Bandit argued, I palmed a lip pencil with one hand. With the other, I swiped the pot of loose face powder.

“Enough!” Octavia snapped. “None of this is getting us what we really want—the flash drive.”

They both turned their attention to me.

“Now you have a choice to make, Abby,” Octavia said. “You can tell me where the drive is and who you’ve told about it, and Bandit can kill you quickly.”

The ubervillain pulled out one of his pistols and twirled it in his hand. Light danced off the silver weapon. “Three in the back of the head. You won’t feel a thing.”

Yeah. Right.

“Or?” I asked, pretty sure I wasn’t going to like Option Two any better than Option One.

“Or,” Octavia continued, “you can refuse to talk, and Bandit can draw out the process.”

He kept spinning his gun. “I’ll start with your ankles. Then, your knees. Your hips. Shoulders. You can put quite a few bullets in the human body before irreparable damage is done. Although, you’ll wish you were dead after the first shot.”

This time I believed him.

“It’s your choice,” Octavia said. “Now make it.”

Chapter Thirty

I drew in a deep breath. “All right. I’ll tell you where the flash drive is. There’s no need to torture me.”

Octavia smiled. “I always thought you were reasonable.”

I dropped my head and edged toward her, as if I was totally beaten. It was such a Rascal thing to do, looking defeated and begging for sympathy before springing into action. Octavia smirked at Bandit. I tightened my grip on my flimsy weapons.

“Well?” Octavia demanded. “Where is it? Where have you hidden the drive?”

I raised my head and looked into her cold, merciless eyes. “Up your ass, bitch.”

I brought my hand up and rammed the lip pencil into her right shoulder. It wasn’t much of a weapon, but I put plenty of force behind it. The pencil punctured her arm, sinking into her flesh. Coppery blood spurted out from the wound, and the odor of sulfur intensified as the euphoridon seeped into Octavia’s system.

Octavia screamed. I snapped the pencil off and stabbed her arm again with the broken tip. Bandit cursed and raised his gun. I grabbed Octavia’s shoulders, spun her around, and shoved her into the ubervillain. Then, I popped the top off the face powder I’d swiped and blew into it as hard as I could. A cloud of euphoridon crystals erupted from the container. Bandit cursed as the powder flooded his eyes. He banged into Octavia, and the two of them fell to the floor.

“Get her!” Octavia screamed. “Get that bitch!”

I dropped the face powder, turned, and ran.

* * *

I sprinted through the lab as fast as I could. For once, I didn’t even think about the sandals pinching my feet. If I did that, I’d slow down, and then, I’d be dead.

A door was at the far end of the room. I sprinted toward it, slammed my hand into the bar, barged through the opening, and kept going. Bullets banged into the closing door. A few pieces of hot lead pierced the metal and pinged! down the hall after me. I screamed and kept running.

I went through two more long, narrow rooms, both containing more makeup counters and scientific equipment, before my legs couldn’t run anymore. I slowed to a shuffle and listened for jangling, booted footsteps behind me. I didn’t hear any, but I kept moving, determined to put as much space between me, Bandit, and Octavia as possible.

I went through another door and found myself in a gray hallway. I went right and came to another branch. I zigged and zagged through the underground maze, going right and right, then left, left, left, trying to take the least logical route possible so Bandit wouldn’t find me. I saw another door, went through it, and emerged into what looked like a basement. Lots of metal walls. Lots of concrete beams. Lots of cardboard boxes. No weapons. No way out.

I couldn’t go back and risk running into Bandit, so I moved farther into the basement. The yips and yaps of the animals I’d heard before grew louder. The sounds tugged at my heart, but I pushed the feeling aside. I couldn’t help the poor creatures right now. I could barely help myself.

I turned a corner, and my gaze snagged on a red box—a fire alarm. I didn’t know if it would do any good, but I yanked the alarm. Sirens blared, reverberating through the building. I winced at the noise. Maybe I could run or hide until the fire department arrived.

I limped along, my eyes sweeping over everything. It was dark here, with only a few weak bulbs flickering on the concrete walls, but the lack of light didn’t bother me. With my enhanced eyesight, I could see as clearly as if it were noon. Piper was right. I was going to do great things with my supersenses—like save myself.

I spotted a bit of color ahead and picked up my pace. An Exit sign glowed red about two hundred feet away. A sweet, sweet Exit sign.

I’d just touched the door when the fire alarm quit blaring. The sudden, abrupt silence made my head spin. Bandit must have told building security it was just a false alarm. He’d probably called the fire department too, which meant no one would be coming to help. Damn.

I shoved open the Exit door, and a flight of stairs greeted me. I started climbing. Up, up, up, as fast as I could. My sandals rang on every step, the sound echoing to the top of the stairwell and back down. I didn’t care how loud I was being or how much the noise hurt my aching head. Seven flights later, I spotted a door marked Lobby.

I didn’t barge through this door as I had the others because I had a sneaking suspicion Bandit and Octavia would be waiting for me on the other side. They might have lost me in the labyrinth of underground chambers, but they knew I’d try to find a way out and that I’d head up to the lobby. If I were them, that’s where I’d be waiting.

So, I climbed up another flight of stairs to the first floor. I put my ear to the door, but I couldn’t hear anything over my own ragged breathing. Bandit could be waiting on the other side, gun pointed, his finger on the trigger. I couldn’t tell, not even with my supersenses. I’d just have to risk it.

Putting my hand on the bar, I cracked open the door and winced as it squeaked. I slipped through. The door whispered shut behind me, but it sounded as loud as a drum to my ears. I moved away from it.

Much like the Weston building, the first few floors of Oomph’s headquarters wrapped around an open lobby. Three staircases set equidistance apart from each other led to the upper floors. Potted palms, small trees, and other greenery decorated the lobby itself, while a pair of red lips about a hundred feet wide dangled from the ceiling near the elevator bank. The lips swung ever so slightly, the cable holding them to the ceiling groaning with every movement.

I crept through the hallway to the closest set of stairs. My eyes snagged on another fire alarm. I thought about pulling it again but didn’t want to give away my position. I had no qualms, though, about opening the glass case and removing the fire extinguisher inside.

Makeshift weapon in hand, I eased over to the left staircase. A frosted glass railing ran between it and the wall. I dropped to my knees and crawled along, stopping as I reached a cut-out lip in the glass. I peered through the clear pane into the lobby below.

Everything seemed to be normal. There was no sign of Octavia, Bandit, or any other goons. Not even a security guard sat at the front desk. Maybe I’d lucked out—

A flash of silver caught my eye, and I looked—really looked—at it. Sure enough, Bandit stood half-hidden behind a palm tree in the shadows. I wouldn’t have seen him at all except for the gleam bouncing off his gun. I scanned the rest of the lobby but didn’t see Octavia. She had to be lurking around somewhere, though.

I bit my lip. There was no way I could get past Bandit without him putting a bullet in my back, but there was no point in going up to another floor. The lobby was the only exit I knew of out of the building. I sure wasn’t going back down to the lab again. Maybe I could just hide in one of the bathrooms until morning, then sneak out when the commuters came in—

A faint sound rang out through the lobby. Bandit froze. I cocked my head, listening. It came again. That soft sound of a zipper being drawn down. My breath caught in my throat.

Talon—he was here.

A second later, a thin, black cable fell into the lobby, and a man in a cobalt-blue leather suit slid down it. I would have known him anywhere. Talon’s head swiveled back and forth as he unbuckled himself from the line.

In the shadows, Bandit lifted his gun, just as he’d done in the alley. This time, though, I wasn’t going to stay quiet.

“Talon! Behind you!” I screamed.

Both men looked up at the sound of my voice. I stood up and chucked the fire extinguisher over the balcony at Bandit. The can clanked against the floor. It didn’t come anywhere close to hitting the ubervillain, but it made him flinch, and his bullet went wild. Talon rolled behind a cluster of chairs.

“Abby!” Talon said.

I never got a chance to respond. This time, Bandit raised his gun and fired at me. The glass railing shattered. Jagged, broken pieces cut my arms and hands, and I lost my balance. I bounced down the steps, hitting each and every one, before falling hard onto the lobby floor.

Pain exploded in my body. My hips. Back. Shoulders. Arms. Head. Every single part of me ached and throbbed. Blood filled my mouth.

A hand shoved itself into my hair and pulled me up. White stars burst in front of my eyes. For a moment, I couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t breathe. All I could feel was a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. Somehow, my lungs kept working. I blinked, and the stars faded away, even if the pain didn’t.

Bandit shoved me in front of him, using me as a shield. His gun made a cold, round impression against my throbbing temple. Talon slowly stood from his position behind the chairs. He had his crossbow gun up and pointed at Bandit.

“Put the gun down or she dies!” Bandit hissed.

“She dies, you die!” Talon snarled back.

“Bandit!” a third voice cut in. “Bandit, what’s your status?”

It took me a minute to realize Bandit was wearing a transmitter in his ear and that Octavia was squawking at him.

“I’ve got Abby in the lobby. We have a visitor too. Get your ass down here.”

Bandit held me in front of him, his gun against my head. Talon stood about fifteen feet away, gun still out, his arm steady. My supersenses kicked into high gear, and I felt, heard, and saw everything amplified a thousand times. The ashy stench of Bandit’s sweat. The coppery taste of blood in my mouth. The steadiness of Talon’s arm. The cable creaking over our heads. My eyes flicked up.

The cable.

About thirty seconds later, the elevator pinged! open. High heels stabbed the floor, and Octavia walked up to Bandit. She also had a gun, but I noticed with no small sense of satisfaction she had to hold it in her left hand. Blood still dripped from the wounds I’d put in her right shoulder. For once, Octavia wasn’t the picture of cool perfection. Her black hair hung around her face, plastered to her neck. Dark circles had appeared under her eyes, and her red lipstick had smeared across her cheeks. I wondered if Octavia’s haggard appearance was from the blood loss or the euphoridon pumping through her body.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Talon, come to save his damsel in distress.”

“And if it isn’t the mysterious Tycoon,” Talon replied. “It seems you’re bleeding. What happened to your arm?”

Octavia’s eyes cut to me. I smiled.

“I think you need to put your gun down,” Bandit replied. “Or I’m going to put a bullet in Abby’s head. Right. Now.”

Talon didn’t lower his weapon. Instead, he raised his other hand. Something silver glittered between his fingers. My breath caught in my throat. The flash drive. He must have gotten it from Piper and broken the encryption. That must have been how he knew to come to Oomph headquarters.

Octavia spotted it too. “Give me that, and I might let you live.”

“That’s a lie, and we all know it. So, we’ll trade,” Talon said. “Abby for the drive.”

Octavia looked at Bandit. The ubervillain nodded. They were going to double-cross Talon as soon as they got the flash drive and kill us both. I knew it, and so did he. So, why was he trying to bargain with them? To save me? Or to save Nightingale?

“All right,” Octavia said. “Bandit, let her go.”

The ubervillain lowered his gun and shoved me toward Talon. I stumbled and would have fallen if the superhero hadn’t caught me. His arm caused me more pain as it wrapped tightly around my waist, but I wouldn’t have traded the feeling of his body against mine for anything in the world.

“Abby—”

“There’s no time,” I whispered. “The lips. Shoot your crossbow at the lips. At the cable.”

“What? Why?”

“Do you trust me?”

Talon nodded.

“You have her. Now, the flash drive,” Octavia said. “Slide it over here.”

Talon let go of the drive and kicked it away with his boot. It skidded across the floor, and Octavia dropped to her knees, grabbed the drive, and studied it. Bandit kept his guns trained on us.

“This looks like the right drive.” Octavia looked at me. Our eyes locked, and her mouth hardened. “Kill them!”

The world went into slow motion. Bandit pulled the trigger on his gun. Talon threw himself to one side, taking me with him. A bullet brushed my cheek, the hot metal stinging my skin. Talon fell to the ground, me on top of him. He raised his arm. The trigger on his crossbow gun clicked, and a bolt shot out. Bandit raised his other revolver, ready to fire again. We were prone on the floor. This time, he wouldn’t miss.

But Talon’s aim was true too. The bolt zipped through the cable, slicing it in half. Even from my position on the floor, I heard it snap. Air flowed over my skin as it started to fall.

Bandit also heard the sound. His eyes flicked up, but he realized the danger too late. He dived to one side, trying to get out of the way. Octavia was too intent on raising her own gun to move.

Bandit might have been a quick draw, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. The neon lips sign crashed down on the ubervillain and Octavia, pinning them. Lights exploded in the glass structure. Sparks hissed everywhere, painting the lobby a brilliant, bloody red. Talon rolled us over so that he was on top. He shielded my body with his, and I buried my face in his neck. Explosion after explosion rocked the room. Metal zinged through the air. Acrid smoke boiled up from the shattering sign.

And then—silence.

Talon rolled off me and up onto his knees. I stayed on the floor. My body ached too much for me to do much more than breathe. Still, I turned my head to look at the damage.

The lips sign lay flat on the floor. Octavia’s stilettos peeked out from the middle. Movement caught my eye. A hand holding a gun waved at the left corner of the sign. I watched it move once, twice, a third time. Then, it stilled, and the revolver slipped from Bandit’s fingers.

Talon turned his attention to me. “Abby, are you okay?”

“I hurt—everywhere.” I coughed, and more blood filled my mouth.

He cupped my cheek with his hand. “Just lie still. I’ll call an ambulance—”

He never got to finish his statement. Something, or rather someone, chose that moment to rip the building’s front door off its hinges. Metal screeched. Glass shattered. More alarms blared.

Talon snapped up his gun, ready to defend me again. I loved him for it, but he didn’t have to—because the Fearless Five strode into the building.

Fiera was first, her fists blazing as orange-red as her costume. Then came Striker in black leather, his twin swords peeping up over his shoulders. Mr. Sage followed in his flowing, green cape. Hermit stepped inside next, his checkerboard goggles catching the light, and finally there was Karma Girl, draped in sparkling, silver spandex.

There was another person with them, someone I never would have dreamed of. She headed for me, along with Mr. Sage. The other heroes went over to the fallen sign to see if Bandit and Octavia were still alive.

“Lulu?” I asked, not quite believing my eyes.

“Hey, Abby.” Lulu dropped to her knees beside me. Her neon blue hair gleamed in the light. “I finally decrypted those files you gave me. They were pretty interesting, but I guess you know that already.”

Mr. Sage looked at Talon. “I think you can put that away now. It looks like you’ve done plenty of damage with it already.”

Talon nodded and holstered his weapon. Mr. Sage turned his attention to me. He set a bag on the floor and pulled out a stethoscope.

“Hi, Abby. I’m going to take care of you.” Mr. Sage’s voice was calm and soothing, with an Irish accent.

He put the cold metal against my chest and told me to breathe, but I looked up at Lulu.

“These are your friends? The ones you told me about at the library?” I asked.

She nodded.

“The Fearless Five, the city’s best superhero team, are your personal friends.”

Lulu grinned. “Yeah.”

“Some friends,” I said.

Chapter Thirty-One

The police arrived a short time later. Striker and Hermit stayed behind to help them, while Fiera, Karma Girl, and Mr. Sage tended to me. The superheroes and Lulu loaded Talon and me into their van and took us to their secret headquarters. Mr. Sage worked on me during the ride, checking my blood pressure, pressing on my chest and stomach, asking me where it hurt.

Talon—Wesley—held my hand the whole time.

I faded in and out of consciousness. The van stopped, and someone, probably Fiera, lifted me onto a gurney. The wheels squeaked, adding to my headache. The next thing I felt was someone pressing a cold cloth to my face. After that, the world went black.

Voices woke me sometime later.

“She took a nasty fall. She’s got a concussion, cracked ribs, and cuts.” Mr. Sage’s voice sounded like it was far away.

“But?” Talon asked.

“But she’s going to be fine.”

“Thank you,” Talon said.

A gentle hand cupped my cheek. I tried to reach up to grab it, but I just couldn’t move. I just couldn’t…move…

I drifted along, not really asleep but not awake either. A loud, angry voice jerked me out of my dreamlike state.

“I’m going to kill Piper!” someone hissed.

Piper? Was Piper here? Was she in trouble?

I opened my eyes. I was lying in a bed in a hospital-type room. Gauze covered my cut arms, while an IV dripped fluid into me. Medical machines beeped and chirped around the bed like songbirds. The lights were turned low, as if it was nighttime outside.

“I’m going to kill her!” Fiera hissed again.

“You can’t kill Piper, and you know it,” Karma Girl countered.

“Well, I can’t kill Abby. At least not before she finishes planning my wedding.”

I spotted the two superheroes through the window in front of my bed. They stood outside the room, but I could hear them as if they were right next to me, especially Fiera. Her voice carried.

“I give Piper a three-thousand-dollar dress and what happens? Her friend ruins it!”

Karma Girl crossed her arms over her chest. “And what exactly prompted you to give Piper a free dress? Or do I even have to guess? She brought you food, didn’t she?”

“There might have been French fries involved,” Fiera admitted.

“Then you have nobody but yourself to blame,” Karma Girl said. “Quit letting people bribe you with burritos. Besides, it was for a good cause. Did you see Abby? She looked amazing. I never knew she could sing like that.”

Fiera sniffed. “Her voice was great, but a ruined dress is still a ruined dress…”

The two superheroes moved down the hall, and their voices faded away.

The way Fiera was raving about the dress, you would have thought she made it, instead of Fiona. It wasn’t like they were the same person or anything—were they? Could Fiona actually be Fiera? That crazy thought was the last thing I remembered before sleep claimed me once again.

* * *

The next time I awoke, I felt more like myself. Most of the medicated fog was gone, along with my headache. I opened my eyes a crack, and the overhead light stabbed into them. So, I squeezed them shut and fumbled around, patting the bed, looking for a call button. I wasn’t going to open my eyes again until that light was turned down.

“Abby?” Talon whispered. “Are you awake?”

“Yeah, can you turn the light down low, please?”

“Why?”

I sighed. I’d told him everything else. I might as well share my final secret. “Because I have supersenses. Bright lights give me headaches.”

His leather costume creaked, and a moment later, the light faded to a low glow. I opened my eyes. I was still in the same hospital room, but now, Talon was here. The superhero dropped into a chair beside my bed. I wondered how long he’d been in here with me.

“Would you like to sit up?” he asked.

I nodded. Talon put his hand under my shoulder and helped me. It still hurt to move, but not as much as it had at Oomph. I didn’t have to look under the sheets to know my ribs were taped up. I could feel more bandages on my arms and legs, covering the cuts I’d gotten falling down the stairs.

“How do you feel?” Talon asked.

“Better. How long have I been in here?”

“Two days. You have some broken ribs, but Mr. Sage says you’re going to be fine.”

“I know. I heard you talking to him.”

We sat there. Then, Talon reached up and took off his visor.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“You know who I am. I feel silly talking to you with my visor on.”

“Oh.”

More silence.

“So what happened that night after we…talked in the broom closet?”

Wesley cleared his throat. “Well, I went back to the party, heading to the bar to get good and drunk. But your friend Piper cornered me. She wanted to know where you were and what I’d done to you. She said a guy with missing buttons on his shirt had to be up to something.”

I smiled. “Piper tends to notice things like that.”

“Anyway, she told me she knew I was Talon and that you were Nightingale.”

“So, she gave you the flash drive then?”

“No,” Wesley shook his head. “We were arguing when Rascal started acting up. He barked and barked and just wouldn’t be quiet. He pulled his leash right out of Piper’s hand and ran out of the auditorium. We followed him. He managed to push through the revolving doors and get out onto the street. That’s when I spotted Bandit putting you into a limo. I tried to catch the car, but it took off. I grabbed Rascal and told Piper what I’d seen. She’d gotten the limo’s license plate. She also told me about the file names you’d seen on the drive. I traced the limo to Octavia. Putting two and two together, I grabbed my gear, suited up as Talon, and came looking for you. You know the rest.”

I nodded.

Wesley took my hand. His hard fingers gently stroked my sensitive skin. “I want you to know I came for you, Abby. Not for Bandit or Tycoon. Just you.”

“Because you save innocents.”

“No, because I wanted to save you. Because I couldn’t have lived with myself if anything had happened to you.”

The fervent tone in his voice, the bright light in his eyes, the tightening of his fingers on mine. It almost sounded like he cared about me. About me—Abby.

“I’m so sorry for everything,” Wesley said. “I’ve just been so confused.”

“Confused?” I asked. “Why were you confused?”

“That time in your apartment, when Wren, Nightingale, was taking care of me. We really connected.”

I nodded.

“I thought we had something—something special. But then, you drugged me and ran away before I could see who you were. I didn’t understand why, so I decided to look for you, and then, I ended up hiring you for my event. You were wonderful. Smart, funny, witty. I was attracted to you, and I couldn’t figure out why, because I’d already fallen for this other woman.”

“That’s why you kissed me that day behind the waterfall?” I asked. “Because you were attracted to me?”

Wesley gave me a strange look. “Why did you think I kissed you?”

I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what to tell him.

“Then I find out you’re really Nightingale, that you’ve been under my nose the whole time. I’m a superhero. I’m used to lying to people about my real identity. Call me a hypocrite, but I didn’t like it when somebody did it to me. Especially somebody I cared about.”

I couldn’t breathe. Somebody he cared about. Dare I hope he still did?

“Can I ask you something?”

“Anything,” Wesley said.

“What did you think Nightingale was like? Who did you think she was?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Somebody like Fiona Fine, I guess.”

My heart broke.

I was about as far away from the tall, blond, gorgeous Fiona as you could get. I’d been right all along. Wesley had been searching for a fairy princess—and that was someone, something I could never, ever be.

“Do you think we could start over?” he asked, his hand still on mine. “As Abby and Wesley?”

I wanted to. Oh, how I wanted to. But so much had happened. We’d told so many lies, hurt each other so much, without even meaning to. Wesley might claim he’d been attracted to me, but Nightingale was the one he’d been searching for. How could I know for sure which one of us he really wanted—his fantasy or my reality? The doubt would eat away at me.

Besides, I’d dated rich guys before. It never worked out. In the end, I really was a Wren, and Wesley was destined for somebody like Fiona, a glittering, beautiful Nightingale. He deserved that. Someday, he’d realize it and leave me. Better to cut my losses now and walk away with some dignity, even if my heart was in shreds.

I pulled my fingers away from his. “I’m sorry, Wesley. I don’t think we can. Too much has happened.”

“But—”

“No,” I rasped, my throat closing up. “Don’t say anything else. I appreciate you staying here and looking after me, but I’m sure the Fearless Five can take things from here. Please leave.”

Wesley looked at me. I made myself meet his golden gaze. I kept my face smooth, expressionless, the same polite mask I put on at every party I planned.

It worked, just like always.

Wesley stood. He slipped his visor back on, morphing into Talon once more.

“Good-bye, Abby.”

“Good-bye,” I whispered.

He moved toward the door. I didn’t start crying until it shut behind him.

* * *

The Fearless Five dropped me off at Piper’s apartment the next day. Fiera even carried me up the stairs so I wouldn’t have to put too much pressure on my ribs just yet. She put me down on Piper’s couch. Rascal hopped up beside me and slathered doggie kisses all over my face.

“I’ve missed you too,” I said, scratching his ears. “So much.”

While I got reacquainted with the puppy, Fiera stalked around Piper’s apartment, her smoldering eyes taking in all the superhero paraphernalia.

“Wow,” Fiera said. “I didn’t know you were into superheroes this much.”

Piper frowned at the familiar tone in her voice. Fiera stared at a flame-shaped lava lamp in the corner that bore her likeness.

“Nice,” the superhero said. “But I would have splurged and gotten the one with the signed collector’s plate on the bottom.”

“It’s in the bedroom,” Piper replied. “Right next to my Fiera throw pillows.”

Fiera grinned.

The superhero scorched her autograph into Piper’s kitchen table and left. I filled my best friend in on everything that had happened. The Fearless Five had called and told her I was okay, but she wanted to hear the details firsthand—especially when it came to Wesley.

“He throws himself at you, and you tell him no, we can’t start over?” Piper said. “Why would you do that? He’s your Wesley, your dream guy, your superhero.”

“He’s also the guy who wants another woman, a fantasy I can never live up to. I’ll only end up disappointing him.”

“Those are just excuses, and you know it. You’re just scared he’ll break your heart,” she said.

“Maybe I am. I love him, Piper, but I don’t know if he can ever love me for me.”

“Wouldn’t it be better to take a chance and find out?”

I rubbed my head. “Yes. No. I don’t know. I just—I just need to be by myself right now. Everything’s been so crazy. I just need some normal for a while.”

Piper didn’t push me any more. She knew when to kick my ass and when to let me lick my wounds. It was one of many reasons I loved her.

“Well,” she said. “I have some good news for you.”

“What?”

“Clean Dreams finished fixing your loft, and I finally got Kyle to agree to adopt Rascal.”

“Oh no, he’s not,” I snapped. “Kyle’s not taking my dog anywhere.”

“Your dog?” Piper asked, arching an eyebrow.

“My dog. You think I’m going to give him up after he helped save my life? Not a chance. Besides, Quicke’s isn’t the only business that could use a mascot.” I stared at the puppy curled up between us. “What do you say, boy? You and me forever?”

Rascal barked, jumped up, and licked my chin. I laughed and hugged him closer.

* * *

I went back to work a week later. I was still sore and bruised, but I was going crazy sitting on Piper’s couch all day watching SNN. Besides, I had events to plan. Parties to oversee. Caterers to berate.

“Abby!” Chloe squealed when I got off the elevator with Rascal. She ricocheted around her desk and caught me in a tight hug. “It’s so good to have you back!”

“Not so tight, Chloe,” I wheezed. “Cracked ribs, remember?”

“Oops! I’m sorry. How are you?”

“I’m fine. How have you been holding up?”

Chloe had pretty much been running A+ Events while I’d been injured. “Well, it’s been a lot of work, and I’ve had more than a few crises, but I’ve held it together.”

She launched into a recap of some of her more memorable catastrophes, like how a star running back for the Bigtime Barracudas football team had hit on the wife of the team’s owner at their latest party.

“It sounds like you did fine,” I said. “I’m going to go catch up on my messages, and then, we’re going to have a long talk about making you a partner.”

“Oh, Abby!” Chloe squealed, reaching toward me again.

“No! No more hugging today!”

“Okay, okay.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But you need to know that Olivia O’Hara is in your office. She showed up and wouldn’t leave. I was going to give her five more minutes before I called the police.”

“It’s okay. I’ll talk to her.”

“Are you sure?” Chloe whispered.

“Yeah,” I said, handing her the leash. “But keep Rascal out here with you.”

I took a deep breath and opened the door to my office. Olivia scrambled to her feet at the sound. She looked as beautiful as ever, but a tight smile creased her face and dark circles ringed her eyes.

“Hello, Abby,” she said in a soft voice.

“Olivia.”

I walked past her and sat down at my desk. I also unzipped a pocket on my vest, pulled out my stun gun, and set it on my lap—just in case.

Olivia settled back into her chair. “I wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I didn’t know what Octavia was doing. I didn’t know about the radioactive makeup, the animal testing, Bandit, any of it.”

“But you knew she was Tycoon,” I said. “You knew she killed your father. You had to know that from the beginning.”

Olivia bit her lip and looked away. “I suspected, but I couldn’t prove it. I tried to go to the police, and Octavia threatened me. She threatened to hurt Paul. His family. I couldn’t let her do that.”

“So you did nothing instead.”

Olivia didn’t deny it. Her gaze dropped to her finger, which was missing its diamond solitaire. “The engagement’s been called off, and Polish is going back to the Potters.”

“Well, that’s something.”

We sat there, me staring at Olivia, her staring at the floor.

“I came here today because I wanted to ask you—”

“If you’re going to ask me to plan some memorial service for Octavia, you can get the hell out of my office right now,” I snarled.

Octavia had been killed instantly, her body crushed by the giant lips sign. The coroner said she’d never known what hit her. Bandit hadn’t been so lucky, or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it. The sign had landed on his back, severely damaging his spine and putting him into a coma. Doctors said the ubervillain would probably be paralyzed from the waist down for the rest of his life—if he ever woke up.

Olivia’s eyes widened. “No! Oh, no. I would never ask you that.”

“So what do you want?” I asked, tired of being polite to the woman whose sister had tried to kill me.

“I wanted to ask for your forgiveness,” she said. “I know I don’t deserve it, that my family doesn’t deserve it, but I’m still asking.”

Forgiveness? I didn’t know if I had it in me, but I didn’t want to have hate in me either. That would make me as bad as Octavia and Bandit.

“I hope your future is better than your past,” I finally said.

She nodded. “Thank you, Abby.”

Olivia walked out of the office and started past Chloe’s desk. Rascal spotted her leaving. He barked and wagged his tail, hoping for a tummy rub. Olivia hesitated, then reached down and petted Rascal. Tears gathered in her eyes. Then, she straightened and left the office.

Chapter Thirty-Two

“Hey! You! You with the giant singing fish! You drop that, and you’ll be sleeping with the fishes tonight!”

The mover holding the ten-foot-long plastic fish almost wet himself, but he held the fish steady while his buddy anchored it to the wall. Once the job was done, I checked singing fish off my clipboard.

Two weeks had passed since that night at Oomph, and I was back at the convention center, overseeing the annual meeting of the Bigtime Fly Fishermen’s Association. The group had been pretty easy to work with. Their only odd request had been that I order fifty battery-operated singing fishes to decorate the auditorium. My watch beeped, reminding me what time it was—and where I had to be.

“I gotta run. I’m meeting Piper over at The Blues. Can you handle things from here?”

“You betcha,” Chloe said, pulling a pen out of her vest.

To celebrate her becoming a partner, I’d bought Chloe her very own vest. She wore it only to humor me, but in time she’d realize its value. Chloe still had a lot to learn about how to handle crises in Bigtime.

And I still had a lot to learn about letting go. Making Chloe a partner and giving her more responsibility had been harder than I’d thought, but I was slowly learning. It felt good to let go. Plus, it gave me more time to spend with Rascal. The puppy was growing by leaps and bounds and demanding more attention than ever.

“Have a good time tonight,” Chloe said.

“I always have a good time at The Blues.”

She smiled. “I know.”

I stared at her, wondering at the strange tone in her voice.

Suddenly, Chloe lunged forward and leaned over the balcony. “Hey! You!” she yelled. “You break that wine, you buy it!”

I hid a smile.

* * *

I grabbed a taxi and arrived at The Blues at six o’clock. To my surprise, nobody waited outside. Usually on a Friday, you couldn’t get near the place, but tonight, the street was deserted, except for Izzy the bouncer. He stood in his usual spot in front of the velvet rope.

“Hey, Izzy, where’s the crowd?”

“Private party,” Izzy said. “And you’re on the guest list.”

Party? What party? I planned all the parties in Bigtime. I didn’t know of anything going on here tonight.

Curious, I stepped inside. The karaoke bar looked the same as it always did. Bar. Stage. Sound equipment. Except that all but one of the tables had been cleared out. That one table was at the foot of the stage, with two chairs beside it and a single red rose lying across the white tablecloth. An ice bucket stood at one side, chilling a bottle of champagne. It resembled a setup I might do at one of my Valentine’s Day events.

“What’s going on?” I asked, more confused than ever.

Melody stepped out from behind the bar and handed me a flute filled with champagne. “It seems you have an admirer who wants to serenade you tonight. So sit down, and enjoy the show.”

She steered me over to the table. I sank into the seat, still not sure what was going on. Stanley waved to me from his place beside the stage. After a moment, the lights dimmed, and a spotlight fell onto the stage. The curtain parted.

And then—Wesley stepped into the light.

He wore corduroys and a blue suit jacket over a white T-shirt. His golden eyes shimmered. I breathed in, letting his minty scent wash over me.

“Hi, Abby,” he said.

“Wesley,” I said, trying to ignore how good he looked.

It was a battle I’d been losing for two weeks. Wesley had been at just about every event I’d done since that night at Oomph. My gaze followed him all night long, every night. More than once, I’d found him staring back at me. I definitely wasn’t invisible to him anymore, but we never spoke. Never said hello. Never even waved at each other.

Sitting in Piper’s apartment, I’d had a lot of time to think about Wesley—and wonder if I was being a fool for not giving him a chance. For not giving us a chance. Maybe Piper was right. Maybe a broken heart would be better than always wondering what could have been, because my heart couldn’t hurt more than it did right now. Half a dozen times, I’d thought about calling Wesley. Half a dozen times, I’d stopped myself, unable to squash the nagging voice in the back of my head that told me he’d always find me to be a disappointment.

He smiled. “You sang for me once. I thought I’d return the favor.”

Wesley nodded at Stanley, who hit a button on his sound board. The opening strains of “Annie’s Song” by John Denver filled the bar. Wesley put the microphone to his lips and sang.

Now, if there was one John Denver song that would make any girl cry, it was this one. A beautiful, beautiful song—being terribly, terribly butchered by Wesley.

He might be able to create complicated gadgets, sail over the city on zip lines, and take down ubervillains with a few well-placed punches, but there was one thing he couldn’t do—sing. After the first thirty seconds, my ears hurt. After a minute, I was in agony. Finally, around the ninety-second mark, I stood up.

“Okay,” I said, waving my hands. “That’s enough. Please, please stop.”

Wesley winced. “Was I that bad?”

“Honestly? I think I’d rather listen to polka music.”

He laughed. I joined in. Now, that was a sound I could get used to.

“Can you guys give us a minute?” Wesley asked.

Melody and Stanley nodded and went into the back. Wesley hopped off the stage and came over to me.

“What’s going on? Why are you here? Where’s Piper? Why are you…singing?”

“Piper helped me set this up, with Chloe’s help,” Wesley said. “There was no girls’ night out. That was just a story we made up to get you here. I didn’t know if you’d come otherwise.”

I didn’t know if I would have either.

He put his hands over mine. “I lured you here tonight because I wanted to say I’m sorry for being such a jackass. You were right. I was expecting something different from Nightingale.”

I nodded, hoping he would hurry up and finish his apology so I could go cry in private. I was right. He’d been disappointed in me—was still disappointed in me.

Wesley’s golden eyes locked with mine. “But I found you instead, and you’re wonderful, Abby. Better than a fantasy, better than Nightingale could ever be. Because you’re the real thing. You’re the one I want. Not her. You’re the one I fell in love with.”

He put my hand on his chest, right over his heart. I felt it thump through the fabric of his shirt. “You’re the one I fell in love with, Abby. I feel the lightning with you. The passion, the everything. It took me a while to realize it, but I fell in love with you that first night in your apartment. And then again that night I saved you from Bandit. And again that day behind the waterfall. And again that night at the convention center.”

“Shut up,” I snapped.

“What?”

“Shut up,” I repeated. “Shut up and kiss me.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Wesley murmured.

He lowered his lips to mine—and it was perfect.

Better than before. Because this time, I knew he was kissing me. Abby Appleby. Wren, Nightingale, they were gone now. I was the only one left—the only one he wanted. Wesley had come to me, not them. He’d done all this for me. He wanted me, supersenses, anal retentiveness, freakish tendencies, warts, and all. I couldn’t quite believe it, but I wasn’t going to ignore destiny’s call, as Piper would say. Not this time.

Wesley ended the kiss and leaned his forehead against mine. He stroked my cheek.

“So, does this mean…” His voice trailed off.

“It means I love you too. I have for a long time now.” I smiled. “Even if you do like John Denver.”

We both laughed.

Epilogue

Two weeks later

I stood on the balcony at the Bigtime Convention Center. Below me, about a hundred workers strung up balloons shaped like hearts, various superheroes and ubervillains, and certain body parts best left to the imagination. It was time for the big Valentine’s Day dance put on by the Slaves for Superhero Sex club, and I was overseeing the show, freakish balloons and all.

The doors at the bottom of the stairway opened, and footsteps squeaked on the stairs. A moment later, mint filled the air.

“Did you bring Rascal with you?” I asked without turning around. “Piper had a date or something tonight and couldn’t keep him.”

A bark answered my question. I turned around to find Wesley standing behind me. Rascal sat at his feet, waiting for one of us to pet him. I leaned down and obliged the puppy.

“I’m still getting used to you having supersenses,” he said. “I’m never going to be able to sneak up on you, am I?”

“Probably not,” I said, scratching Rascal’s ears. “But I can’t sail over the rooftops without you, can I?”

“It’s not quite as romantic as sailing when your beloved screams her head off,” Wesley quipped.

“I don’t scream—anymore. Well, not that much.”

He raised his eyebrow. He came over and put his arms around me. “Can you get away yet?”

I leaned into him. The past few weeks had gone by in a rosy blur. I wasn’t sure where Wesley and I were headed, but I was enjoying the ride so far—and going to do everything I could to keep sailing across the sky with him.

“Give me a few more minutes.”

“Well, hurry up. I think there’s a broom closet down the hall we haven’t explored yet,” he murmured in my ear.

I smiled back. “And I just happen to have the master key to all the doors in the building. Imagine that.”

“Why use my imagination when the real thing’s right here?” Wesley asked, pressing a kiss to the side of my neck.

“Why walk all that way to the broom closet?” I whispered back.

I tied Rascal’s leash to the balcony railing and pulled Wesley into the shadows. The puppy barked in protest, wanting to follow us. He strained against his leash and whined and barked.

But it was a very, very long time before we got around to untying him.

Other books by Jennifer Estep

The Bigtime series

Karma Girl

Hot Mama

Jinx

A Karma Girl Christmas (holiday story)

Nightingale

~

The Elemental Assassin series

Books

Spider’s Bite

Web of Lies

Venom

Tangled Threads

Spider’s Revenge

By a Thread

Widow’s Web

Deadly Sting

Heart of Venom

The Spider

Poison Promise

E-novellas

Thread of Death

Kiss of Venom

~

The Mythos Academy series

Books

Touch of Frost

Kiss of Frost

Dark Frost

Crimson Frost

Midnight Frost

Killer Frost

E-novellas

First Frost

Spartan Frost

About the Author

Jennifer Estep is a New York Times bestselling author, prowling the streets of her imagination in search of her next fantasy idea.

Jennifer is the author of the Elemental Assassin urban fantasy series. The books focus on Gin Blanco, an assassin codenamed the Spider who can control the elements of Ice and Stone. When she’s not busy killing people and righting wrongs, Gin runs a barbecue restaurant called the Pork Pit in the fictional Southern metropolis of Ashland. The city is also home to giants, dwarves, vampires, and elementals—Air, Fire, Ice, and Stone.

Jennifer is also the author of the Mythos Academy young adult urban fantasy series. The books focus on Gwen Frost, a 17-year-old Gypsy girl who has the gift of psychometry, or the ability to know an object’s history just by touching it. After a serious freak-out with her magic, Gwen is shipped off to Mythos Academy, a school for the descendants of ancient warriors like Spartans, Valkyries, Amazons, and more.

Jennifer is also the author of the Bigtime paranormal romance series. The books feature sexy superheroes, evil ubervillains, and smart, sassy gals looking for love.

For more information on Jennifer and her books, visit her at www.JenniferEstep.com. You can also follow her on Facebook, Goodreads, and Twitter.

Happy reading, everyone!

Table of Contents

Copyright

Table of Contents

Dedication

KARMA GIRL – BOOK ONE

Part One – Beginnings

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Part Two – Superhero Central

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Part Three – Bigtime

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

HOT MAMA – BOOK TWO

Part One – Wedding Bells

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part Two – The Honeymoon’s Over

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part Three – Breakup Blues?

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

JINX – BOOK THREE

Part One – I Hate Superheroes

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Part Two – An Exception to the Rule?

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Part Three – I Heart Debonair

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Epilogue

A KARMA GIRL CHRISTMAS – HOLIDAY STORY

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

NIGHTINGALE – BOOK FOUR

Part One – Nightingale

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part Two – Wren

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Part Three – Abby

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

Other books by Jennifer Estep

About the Author