“I—”
“Hear me out,” he continued. “For one thing, I can’t believe you still live down there. It’s a zoo! Knifings, muggings, drug dealers…Are you nuts?”
“No, I’m not nuts. I also work there. I grew up there. I went to school there. And so did you!”
“It wasn’t as bad then.”
“Baloney.” She stood, too, eager to defend her turf. She stabbed one finger into the scarred surface of the table for punctuation.
“Could you stop pounding the table, please?” He set his jaw. “I have a headache.”
She curled her hand into a fist. Keeping her voice low and intense, she declared, “A lot of good people live down there, you know. And we are fighting to save our neighborhood. If you had one ounce of empathy or compassion in that stupid, gorgeous head of yours, you would help me.”
“Stupid and gorgeous?” He cocked an eyebrow. “Interesting combination. You make me sound like a supermodel, which is something I’ve never been accused of before.”
“Just stupid,” she grumbled.
There was a long pause. “So what was it you wanted me to do?”
“Join me and my friends.”
“I’m not joining any crusades.” Luke ran a hand through his hair, looking very weary. “The people who build casinos don’t fool around, you know. They are not nice people.”
“You don’t have to fight them,” she promised. “We just need your name, to let people know that someone like you is on our side. It will help a lot. You could give us some money—for St. Benny’s, for a scholarship in your name, maybe. And you could come for Career Day and the Snow Ball, the benefit dance.”
“I can’t—”
“You can think about it. Luke, you’re a press agent’s dream. We need you!” she pleaded, giving him her best sweet-and-sincere smile.
“You can use my name for a scholarship if you believe it’ll help. And I’ll think about the rest” He held up a finger. “Just think. Nothing else.”
“Luke, that’s great! I promise you won’t be sorry!”
Thrilled, she danced around the table to show Luke how grateful she was. But he backed off immediately, scrambling to get out of her range. Confused, she went sideways, intending to reach up and give him a very small, very harmless peck on the cheek. Instead, he feinted left just as she went right, and then he turned his head just as she planted one on him.
Oops. Right on the lips. Right on the hotter-than-apistol, hard, sweet, luscious lips. And this was no peck. This was a searing, sizzling slice of pure bliss.
Gilly fell backward, dazzled. He looked like he’d been blindsided. She understood the feeling.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Gathering up her coat and hat, Gilly couldn’t get out of there fast enough.
Cold air smacked her in the face, but it was almost a relief. Ever since she’d met Luke, she’d tried to act cool and unconcerned, determined not to make a fuss over him like all the other girls did.
Yet here she was at this late date playing the fool.
“Aw, jeez,” she said miserably, heading for the bridge back to the other side of the river. “Why did I do that? And why did it have to feel so damned good?”
LUKE STAGGERED upstairs to his bedroom, his mind and body reeling.
Obviously he’d been kissed before, but never with this kind of mind-shattering intensity. Damn his stupid body for blowing a simple kiss all out of proportion, for making him feel like his brain was buzzing, his lips burning, his fingers tingling, his ears ringing…
He fell onto the bed, wanting to wrap himself in thick layers of wool and never come out. Too much information was racing through his nervous system, sending impulses every which way. And suddenly one leg began to twitch. It would’ve been funny if it wasn’t so humiliating. He felt like some kind of robot with all the wires crossed.
Taking several deep breaths, he focused hard to calm the racing of his heart.
Slowly, carefully, he closed his eyes, breathed deep and reeled in all his powers, turning down the volume for a while. He could do it if he concentrated. He’d been practicing, and he was getting better at damping down his infuriating supersenses.
All this was still so new, still so untested. It took several long moments for him to hear himself think again. Much longer than it had ever taken before.
But then, he hadn’t been coming off a kiss from Gilly any of the other times.
He swore so loud it echoed in his ears. How strange. He turned his head toward the window. With all the commotion going on in his brain, he hadn’t heard Gilly leave. No roar of an engine starting. No slam of a car door.
Luke paused, sitting up. Come to think of it, he hadn’t heard any of the telltale sounds of an automobile when she’d arrived, either. Just the crunch of her shoes in the ice-crusted snow, the creak of the gate, the puffs of her breath.
“She was walking,” he muttered. “Damn it. She was walking.”
Quickly he strode to the window, slamming open the French doors and stepping onto the balcony. He gripped the railing, breathing deep of the dry, frosty air, gazing out across the river to the mean streets of West Riverside. The cold air pricked at his nose and his skin, but he ignored it, intent on what he was trying to do.
His house was high on the bluff, with nothing between him and Gilly’s neighborhood but the frozen river. So close, and yet a world away.
“Damn it,” he said again, more fiercely this time. He knew he was just venting his frustration, but somehow it made him feel better. “First she mouths off at the mayor and some casino sleazebucket, and then she walks home, at night, in the dead of winter, back to that lousy neighborhood where she lives. She might as well paint a target on her back!”
His words ebbed away in the cold, still air, leaving him in silence. But as he purposely fine-tuned his ears, reaching, stretching, for some evidence of Gilly’s presence, he began to pick up sounds. There was a kind of hush, for the snow muffled many of the normal night noises. But he could hear the whistle of the icy wind sailing past his face, hear it skate over the frozen river below, hear the horn of a taxi not too far away, even the tinny footsteps of someone marching across the high narrow bridge that spanned the river.
Gilly. He knew it was her. It wasn’t something he could explain, but his senses seemed even sharper as he honed in on his target. His gaze caught her small figure tramping resolutely across the bridge, head down, hands in pockets. Not even a car broke her path or lit her way.
Luke concentrated harder, astonishing even himself when he caught the subtle scent of her perfume. He remembered the smell from earlier in the kitchen, when he’d noticed the aroma of lavender that seemed to cling to her hair. Surely she was too far away for him to smell that now. But he did, as if the light fragrance was wafting on the wind directly from Gilly to his nostrils.
“This is impossible,” he murmured. But he could see her, couldn’t he? And hear her, almost taste her? As powerfully as he sensed her, Gilly should’ve been within a few feet. Instead, she was more like a mile away.
His powers were much stronger than he’d had any reason to know. But this wasn’t some general bionicman stuff. No, this was specific to Gilly. If there were other people on the bridge, he couldn’t see them. If there were other men or women on the street outside Blackthorn Manor, their secret scents were safe from him. But Gilly was coming through loud and clear.
Could this be because of the kiss? As if she’d left a mark on him that he could use to pinpoint her presence?
He shook his head. “It can’t be. There has to be some other explanation.”
But he couldn’t think about that now. As he traced her path, blocking out any other sounds or smells that might’ve interfered with his surveillance, he realized he could stay with her. It was as if he’d put a homing device on her, for God’s sake.
The shadows deepened on the bridge, but he could still make out her small form, still hear every step, still smell that damned perfume or shampoo or whate
ver it was. And then she left the bridge, and her footfalls changed from a sort of ringing metallic noise to a softer sound against snow-deadened concrete.
She turned down a street in West Riverside, and he lost visual contact. “At least I can’t see through buildings,” he said, almost glad to know his powers had a limit.
He narrowed his eyes. He might not be able to see her, but he could still hear the telltale rhythm of her footfalls. And they had stopped.
He flared his nostrils slightly, breathing deeper. His nose was picking up a new odor. Fear. His brain recorded the data quickly, with one piece of information tumbling after the other. Sweat. Unwashed bodies. Fear.
His heart pounding, his mouth dry, he could physically feel the tension radiating from wherever she was. But it wasn’t her fear—it was his.
“I’m scared to death she might be in danger,” he realized. And his own fear was coloring his perceptions. He swallowed against the panic, calming himself enough to reconnect with the faint ribbons of sound coming from below.
A clatter of voices, Gilly’s among them. She sounded calm, soothing. Good for her.
But there were other sounds, too—a squeal of protest, heavy footsteps, the harsh clank of metal, angry threats—drowning her out.
He pushed his powers further, closing his eyes, concentrating on the pattern of noises. But it was too muddled, too confusing.
“Damn,” he said, pounding his fist on the wrought-iron railing of his balcony. His muscles didn’t respond well to quick violent movements like that, and they sent him a nasty throb of agony. Every interaction with the outside world seemed to bring only one thing— more pain.
But he knew what he had to do.
“There’s only one way to make sure she’s safe,” he said grimly. “I’m going to have to go down there.”
GILLY TRIED to stay calm. Defiantly wielding a garbage-can lid with one hand, she shoved Tony further behind her with the other.
“Stay back,” she hissed over her shoulder.
“But you—”
“I’m covered,” she argued, brandishing the big metal lid like a shield.
“We gonna get you, lady,” one of the punks taunted, slashing out with his knife just for kicks. He was at the other end of the dark alley, nowhere near her, making ninja motions to act cool. “We gonna get you and your little girlie friend, too.”
Tony made a growling sound deep in his throat, and Gilly sent him a scathing glance. Now was not the time for macho heroics. But trust a teenage boy to get all bent out of shape because some nutcase criminal threatened his manhood.
“You guys are pathetic,” she shouted, kicking a trash can and making a nice loud bang that she hoped would wake up a few neighbors.
“You one weird broad,” the other thug accused. “You crazy, lady, interfering like this. You coulda just walked on by, y’know?” Although he displayed a somewhat rational streak not shared by his compatriot, he also seemed to be taking it personally that she wasn’t cooperating and letting them slice and dice her student without complaint. “You gonna be very sorry you screwed with us.”
“Yeah, well, next time maybe you should pick your target a little better,” she retorted. “No way I’m walking on by when lowlifes like you two start ganging up on friends of mine.” To Tony she added darkly, “Even friends who have no business being out this time of night.”
Punk number one, the mouthier and less grounded in reality of the two, let loose with a stream of invective that centered on bodily functions, waving his knife and lurching closer. Too close for comfort. Her heart beating a little faster, Gilly edged back a step, pushing Tony toward the end of the alley where he could maybe escape. To cover her egress, she clanged the garbage-can lid back and forth on the side of a building. “Help!” she cried loudly. “Anyone! Help!”
“Hey, what’s going on?” A pretty blonde in a trench coat appeared in the alley. She looked nervous, but she held up a miniature canister on a key chain. “I have mace!” she announced. “So you guys better back off.”
Without comment, Punk number one let out a fearsome yell and reached out as if to smack her. He didn’t actually make contact, but the woman slipped on one of her smart little pumps and crumpled to the pavement, sending her tiny can of mace skittering into the shadows. And then she started to whimper. So much for the cavalry.
“I’m tired of this crap!” Punk number one shouted, glaring at Gilly. Punk number two pulled out his own blade and started advancing. Grimly Gilly judged her chances with each of them. Her trusty shield couldn’t protect her on both sides at once. So who should she go for—Mr. Erratic-but-Scary or Mr. Controlled-but-Threatening?
Just as she gritted her teeth and made up her mind, yelling, “Run, Tony!” and giving him a shove backward, a bizarre figure loomed over the scene from the blackest corner of the alley.
He was tall and kind of spooky, swathed in a long black coat that made his shape hard to determine. Wide shoulders definitely, but the rest was impossible to tell. His collar was raised, and his features were concealed behind a dark scarf that wrapped around his face like a bandit’s mask. A black fedora was pulled down low over his forehead. Very dashing. Very Humphrey Bogart.
Just under the brim of the hat, Gilly caught the reflection of sunglasses. He was wearing sunglasses? At night? In the deepest shadows of a dark alley?
“Where did you come from?” Gilly whispered as the man in black swept down on the two thugs.
It was too dark, and it all happened too quickly to be exactly sure what he did, but as Gilly stood there, her trash-can lid dangling from one hand, the tall man crashed Punk number one into a brick wall and then knocked the knife out of Punk number two’s hand. The second one seemed to consider a moment, gazing back and forth between his injured hand and the moaning heap that used to be his partner.
After one last four-letter word, he took to his heels and ran.
Suddenly all hell broke loose. Tony scrambled back into view, the blonde sat up and started to shriek, and the sharp piercing squeal of a whistle penetrated the alley.
It all sort of swirled around the edges of Gilly’s consciousness as she stared at her rescuer. “Wh-who are you?” she asked, peering into the shadows for a better look.
In a soft, dangerous voice, he whispered, “You’d be advised to stay off the streets.”
His words and the sheer power of his presence spun out and looped around her, lashing her, pulling her toward him. It was as if nothing else existed in the alley but her—and him.
Her mouth dropped open. She took a step back, coming flush up against a wall. She never would’ve believed it was possible to be burned by the heat of a gaze she couldn’t see, or to get all tingly and turned on by someone who hadn’t even touched her.
But he was so tall, so intense, so overwhelming, that all it took were a few whispered words, and she was positively adrift in desire. How did he do that?
Behind her Tony whispered, “That dude’s awesome, man,” just as another earsplitting whistle sounded, so close Gilly winced and spun around.
Blinding light hit her right in the eyes. Squinting and shading her gaze, Gilly took a gander at the cause of the commotion. “Mrs. Mooshman! And Mr. Zamechnik!” Two neighbors from her building? They were wearing bright green jogging suits and toting heavy-duty flashlights and whistles. “What are you doing here?”
“We’re on NOD patrol tonight, darling,” Mrs. Mooshman said happily, giving another good blast on the whistle.
“NOD patrol?” Gilly was afraid she was going deaf. Smiling sweetly, she reached over and put her finger over the hole in the whistle. That solved one problem.
“Neighborhood Observers and Defenders,” Mrs. Mooshman supplied, tapping the letters embroidered on her ghastly green jacket. “The NOD Squad. There was a sign-up sheet in the laundry room last week, and I said to myself, Iris Mooshman, you need to do that, even though I didn’t know I would get this imbecile—whose name shall remain nameless by me, if you get my
drift—for my partner.” She gave poor Mr. Zamechnik, who was eighty if he was a day, a jab with her elbow. “Because this imbecile takes much too long and he also cannot read a map. So it’s a good thing he has me as his partner, because otherwise, I swear, Gilly darling, we would still be back in the lobby of 104 Beech Street, which is where we started of course, trying to figure out where to go—”
“Oh, dear,” Gilly interjected helplessly. She knew Mrs. Mooshman would go on for hours if they let her.
But the punk on the ground began to stir, sitting up and groaning loudly, so Mrs. Mooshman toddled right over and bonked him on the head with her flashlight, and he went down like a sack of potatoes.
Mr. Zamechnik asked politely, “Should somebody maybe stop the blonde girl from screaming so loud? Would you like I should slap her or something?”
Gilly shook her head hastily and went to help the woman, who was still sitting where she’d landed, her hands over her mouth, yelping in sharp little bursts. “It’s all right now,” Gilly told her soothingly. “You’re fine. I don’t think you’re hurt. Unless you twisted your ankle or something when you fell.”
The blonde stopped in midwail, looked Gilly right in the eye and cried, “I ran my nylons. And I broke three nails!”
“Gee, that’s awful.” Probably in shock, Gilly decided charitably. She dusted off the blonde and helped her to her feet and then started back to check on Tony and the two senior-citizen avengers, but the woman grabbed her arm.
“Hey, who was that guy? You know, the one in black?”
Gilly whirled ground. She gazed into the shadows where he’d been. “I guess…I don’t know.”
Gone. He was gone. As swiftly as he’d appeared, he’d vanished. Too bad. She still had this funny twinge in her stomach just remembering the way he’d looked at her from behind those glasses. And she would’ve liked to get a better look, thanked him properly…maybe get his phone number.
Meanwhile quite a crowd had gathered.
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