by Ashley Ladd
“Chill. I didn’t impersonate a cop. I just helped to stop a crime in progress. I think…” She’d have to do some research at work, albeit after the fact. Oh God. She didn’t need any more trouble. “That two-timer turned right around from kissing me senseless and wanting to come up and see my sketches, to making love to her like she was the only girl in the world.” Even though she’d told herself a million times that Cole couldn’t cheat on her with her, she wasn’t sure her logic made sense. Her thinking contained a definite flaw. Forgiving him seemed like rationalizing, and she detested rationalizers.
Too restless to lie down any longer, she jumped to her feet and paced in front of her pretend psychologist, her hands linked behind her back.
“He didn’t recognize you because you wore my wig and brown contact lenses instead of your glasses?” Sher’s head turned to look at the television, and she stared at it for several moments. “No one but Lois Lane could be that blind…or stupid. I used to sit in front of my TV and yell at Lois to open her ears and eyes. She was a reporter! And your guy’s a cop. I guess he’s not the brightest bulb on the FLPD, is he? This doesn’t exactly give me a lot of confidence in our local boys in blue.”
“Hey!” Haley marched to Sher, towered over her, and planted her hands on her hips. “It was dark every time he saw me.” She flipped on her radio. Something big could be going down and she’d been incommunicado. Cole might need her. “Can I borrow your bike again tonight?” She disappeared into her bedroom and changed into her costume.
Shaking her head, Sher ambled after her and propped up the doorway. “Methinks I created another Frankenstein’s monster. Give a girl a wig and change her life. Tell me you can’t seriously be thinking of continuing on with this madness?”
Hang her job! Even her freedom wouldn’t matter if she sat back and allowed Cole to get hurt. “Protecting the man I lo—have feelings for…isn’t madness.”
Sher blinked. “I hope you’re not loco. Seeing that you’re younger than moi, you’re too young to plead Alzheimer’s. Promise me you won’t try to fly off a tall building like Superman. I don’t want the cops draggin’ my butt out of bed at three a.m. to identify my mangled bike or your broken body wearing my favorite red wig.”
Haley pulled off the borrowed mahogany wig and held it out before her, and stared at it with crossed eyes. Her own nondescript hair was pinned up in funny little pin curls so her unruly curls wouldn’t tumble out of the wig’s edges, and she looked like something out of Fright Night. She held up her fingers in a Girl Scout salute. “Promise.” She trembled at the thought of flying in a plane, so there was no way she’d jump off a building. She smoothed her hands over her outfit. “Silly woman. This is a Catwoman costume. I’ll just speed around on your motorcycle, and pretend it’s Batman’s car.”
“Oh, okay.” Sher sauntered into the middle of the room. “You can’t keep this up forever. The guy’ll never forgive you if you make him a bigamist with yourself.”
Like he would be a bigamist if he married her. But of course he’d be furious if she didn’t tell him the truth. She’d get around to it, if he continued to date either one of her personas. “I’ll tell him eventually…or else Catwoman will just disappear. I’m hoping he’ll choose plain old Haley.”
“Uh-oh.” Sher shook her head. “Now you’re talking about yourself in the third person. Not good, girlfriend.” She tweaked Haley’s bouncy, bright curls. “Besides, you’re nowhere near plain.”
“Can I borrow the motorcycle, then?” Haley bent over and zipped up the spindly, high-heeled boots. Her fingertips caressed the soft black leather. “If he marries me…I mean Haley-me, not Catwoman-me, you’ll be my maid of honor.”
“So long as I don’t have to dress up like a cartoon character, I accept.” Sher gazed at her red wig. “I think I’ll wear my blonde wig for the wedding. Then we’ll match.”
“We’ll even have the identical hairstyle so we’ll be twins.”
“…policeman in trouble at Sunrise and 54th. Repeat. Policeman in trouble at Sunrise and 54th. Suspect is armed and dangerous. Approach with extreme caution…”
Haley gasped, freezing to the spot, while her heart hammered and her blood pumped ten miles a minute. Every nerve ending screamed to be let loose. Instinct told her that her man was in trouble. “Cole needs me.” She crammed the wig back onto her head and held out her hand, palm up. “Keys,” she demanded in a voice as authoritative as any she’d ever heard her father—the police chief—use.
* * * * *
Cole lay in wait for his mystery woman, his gut clenched. He scanned the alley and perked his ears for any sign of her arrival. She should have been here over an hour ago. Soon, he’d have to scrub the operation and call it a failure.
For the thousandth time, he checked his watch.
Maybe she was on to him. Did that mean Sheila had squealed? Or could Sheila be the mystery woman herself?
His police cruiser blocked the alley on the south end.
Dressed in all black, including a ski mask to hide his face, Brad posed as the bad guy. He prowled the alley, blowing bubbles with his gum.
Maurice, Steve, Eddie and Fernando lay in wait in the shadows. Each had expressed concern that Cole’s mystery woman wasn’t going to show if she hadn’t by now.
Two unmarked units waited near the open end of the alley waiting to block it off and trap their guest. They had chosen a section of the alley with no escape routes. The buildings on both sides were joined. There wasn’t even a sidewalk for a motorcycle to escape. Several large dumpsters lined the buildings. Stray cats picked through the trash that littered the cracked pavement. They paused occasionally to glare at him if he took a step in their direction.
Brad gave him the go-ahead signal.
At least, they were physically ready for her. Cole didn’t like what he had to do once they caught her and he wished he were anywhere else but here.
Why was he conflicted about doing his duty? After all, she was a complete stranger. All he knew about her was that she tasted sweet and felt heavenly in his arms.
But so did Haley…
Haley made him laugh, and she stimulated his mind, as well as other parts of his anatomy. Haley was real. She had a history. She didn’t lurk around mysteriously in the dark and play charades.
Cole rubbed his chin, staring off into space. So, what about Haley? His blood boiled and his groin ached just thinking about her. Every nerve ending sizzled when they touched. Her lips far eclipsed any honey he’d ever tasted. She made him laugh. And she’d make a good sensible wife and mother to some lucky man. He couldn’t go wrong choosing her.
Except he was also obsessed with his fantasy heroine. What a dream come true! As ethereal as mist, she disappeared as quickly as she appeared. He couldn’t rest ‘til he knew who she was.
But fantasies weren’t real. Once he knew the woman’s true identity, would the magic evaporate? She might have no personality. What man in his right mind would want a wife who chased around on motorcycles in the dead of night? Or maybe he just wanted a sizzling affair with the temptress until the fire in his gut burned out? Then he’d be ready to settle down with a nice woman like Haley, like his Pop had suggested.
Brad sauntered over to him. “I don’t think she’s coming, or she’d have been here by now. Let’s call it a night.”
Grouchy, Cole slammed his fist into his other hand. “Not yet. Maybe she didn’t hear the call yet. She could be on her way.”
“The other guys think we’re bustin’ our balls to wait any longer.” Brad lifted his mask and fanned his face. “Man, you know how hot this sucker is?”
Cole growled. “Just give it ten more minutes. If she hasn’t shown, we’ll scrub the operation.” A car sped past the alley and his nerves jumped to alert. But it was another false alarm so his gut clenched.
“Maybe she’s on to you, man.” Brad pursed his lips and laid a commiserating hand on Cole’s shoulder.
Cole knocked off his friend’s hand. “She c
ould be staking us out, you know. You’ll blow our cover,” he hissed. “Be a real pal, and point that gun at me.”
Brad raised his toy water pistol.
They were taking no chances of shooting one another or their mystery lady with live ammo. He hoped this wouldn’t make the news, or else they would be the laughingstock of South Florida. Worse, the criminals might not take them seriously in future.
A motorcycle roared to life, jerking Cole alert. “It’s her.” His gut clenched and his fingers tightened around the flashlight he held. His pulse hammered in his veins and his breathing came out in short bursts. He flashed the signal in Morse code to his men. “Ready. Action. Roll ‘em,” he muttered under his breath.
To Brad, he ordered, “Get that arm up and gun out, soldier. Look threatening. Snarl or something.”
Brad snorted, backing away a few feet, gun raised high. “If she shoots or karate chops me, you’re a dead man.”
Cole’s gaze riveted on the still clear alley entrance, willing her to enter their trap. A feeling that didn’t sit well, he felt like a spider, spinning its web around its prey.
The roar grew louder. He could smell her oil. She was almost here. He stretched his arms so high over his head they ached. Now he knew what a damsel-in-distress felt like.
Finally, she blazed into the alley, speeding toward Brad, who ducked and rolled to safety as she kicked a deadly leg. If he’d been a second slower, she would have kicked the water pistol from his hands.
The units closed in, blocking the alley, entrapping her. The troops fanned out from one edge of the alley to the other, blocking the exit.
The woman must not have seen them for she pulled up next to Cole and shouted above her noisy engine, “You okay? Hop on!”
Cole grabbed the cycle’s handle and shook his head, his features taut. “Turn off the bike and get off!”
His men crept closer, water pistols drawn. They looked lethally real in the dark alley. The web pulled tighter.
Cole’s throat constricted.
“You set a trap,” she accused, loudly gunning the cycle. Her sharp glance ricocheted to the men, and then settled on him. Pain flickered across her eyes before an angry shutter slammed down on them.
She presented her silky mahogany head for his inspection. Her shoulders tensed, bunching together. Again, a trace of recognition sparked, but the connection failed. The woman seemed very familiar, yet he couldn’t place her.
“Who are you? Identify yourself.” He had to shout to be heard over her engine. “Get off the motorcycle!” His patience wore thin as did his nerves. Didn’t she realize her little game was over and that he had won?
She shook her head vehemently, revved her engine and roared off toward the far, blocked end of the alley, flame shooting out the bike’s afterburners. Her hair whipped out behind her.
“She’s not going anywhere,” Brad said smugly beside him, yanking the knit mask off his head. “We’ve got her blocked.”
Worry slammed through Cole as he watched the wheels spin faster and faster, and the bike eat up its safe-stopping margin. He cursed under his breath as he gave chase on foot. She was going to crash and burn. What was wrong with her?
The officers standing by the vehicles flailed their arms. Cole shouted to his Catwoman, “Stop! By order of the police.”
Brad cupped his hands around his mouth. “There’s no way out. The alley’s blocked.”
But the motorcycle stayed true to its path and bore down on them. The men dove out of the way when the mystery woman’s motorcycle rode over the hoods of their government-issued sedans. Cole’s jaw dropped so wide it almost disjointed. He slammed into the nearest car, heaving over the hood. Furious, he pounded his fist into the car as he watched the night swallow bike and rider. “Damn!”
Chapter Eight
Haley verged on hyperventilating. She wheezed from fright and the superhuman exertion she had been forced into when leaping over those police cars to escape. Joy filled her that she had performed such a difficult stunt and lived relatively unscathed. Fury raged through her that Cole dared to set a trap.
“Top secret mission, my foot!” She revved the engine, taking out her aggression over them. She wound through the city, choosing alternate routes too narrow for cars to squeeze through, in case they tried to follow. Finally sure she’d ditched Cole and his cohorts, she hid Sher’s motorcycle and brown wig in a safe spot several blocks from their apartments, and slinked home in the shadows, barely daring to breathe.
If Cole suspected her, he might have another trap waiting at her house. Even sans wig and cycle, how could she explain walking alone after dark in all black? She looked like a cat burglar.
Tiptoeing up the fire escape instead of using the elevator, she treaded carefully. The hallway was clear when she peeked out the door. Inhaling deeply, she screwed up her nerve to traverse the last few steps to safety.
“One.” Her gaze darted back and forth for any signs of another trap. The way looked clear.
“Two.” Her ears perked for any suspicious sounds. All she could hear was the hum of a stereo and the central air unit whooshing on.
“Three.” She exhaled and dashed for her apartment, adrenaline pumping through her. When her fingers fumbled with the keys, wasting precious moments unlocking her door, she chafed. “Come on, butterfingers.”
Feeling guilty, and scared, and jittery, she wished she’d listened to Sher. The feeling of danger permeated the air, so once inside she turned the lock and threw the dead bolt. She tore off her costume, balled it up tightly, wrapped it inside an old T-shirt, and hid it at the back of her bottom dresser drawer. She buried the boots inside a large box in the far region of her closet.
Still breathing heavily, she turned on her shower as cold as she could stand and sluiced herself clean. She scrubbed her hair and face also, removing all stench of the motorcycle from her body. Then she drenched herself in jasmine-scented cologne and redressed in a loose-fitting white robe, the antithesis of her alter ego.
Although she felt a bit better and breathed easier, nervous energy still pulsed through her. No way could she go to sleep or read a book. Besides, the hour was barely nine-thirty and her internal clock didn’t normally wind down ‘til midnight.
Knowing it unwise to deviate from her normal routine, she whipped up a couple of batches of cookie dough. One sugar cookie dough, the other batch, peanut butter.
The familiar, wonderful scent of baking cookies wrapped around her, and she calmed down another notch.
Still antsy, she turned on her television and searched through her videotapes for an interesting movie. Her gaze riveted to her Superman collection. She felt a magnetic pull toward it, and selected the first in the series—and in her opinion—the best.
Inserting the tape in her VCR, she adjusted the TV and the movie credits rolled. Superman’s theme song filled her tiny apartment. She hummed to it and waved her arm as if conducting an orchestra. Popcorn popped in the microwave and she prepared another tray of cookies for the oven. She grabbed a chilled bottle of spring water from her fridge, dumped the buttery popcorn in a large bowl, and carried the snack out to her living room where she spread out on her floor in front of the tube as if she were nine years old again.
Clark Kent’s transformation into the superhero thrilled and enthralled her. Someone pounded on her apartment door just as a TV bullet exploded from a barrel, and she screamed.
“Haley! You okay?” Sher yelled through the door, rattling the knob and pounding louder.
Haley gulped and scrambled to her feet. The deadbolt sounded like rifle fire when she undid it, grating on her already frazzled nerves.
As soon as the door started to open, Sher pushed her way in. Her friend looked around suspiciously. “You sure you’re okay?”
Haley nodded, relocking the door. “It was a trap. Cole set me up.” She dropped back in her place and stuffed a handful of popcorn into her mouth. Through it, she invited, “Wanna watch Superman with me?”
; Sher loomed over her, hands on hips, the red pageboy wig slightly askew on her head. “Where’s my bike? Keys, please.” She wiggled the fingers on her outstretched hand. “What d’ya mean he set you up?” Her red eyebrow crooked. “He knows who you are now?”
Onscreen, Lois Lane practically swooned over Superman. Cole reminded Haley so much of the reporter with her big puppy dog eyes that adored the caped crusader. She shook her head and guffawed. “How can she not recognize him as Clark Kent, the man she works with every day? How dare she call herself smart! I mean, the only difference is no glasses and a suit.” She attacked more popcorn. “It’s not dark, nor does he have the same hairstyle and color. He’s not even disguising his voice.”
“My bike?” Sher scowled. “You didn’t mangle it, did you?”
Haley rolled to her side and gazed straight up at her neighbor, who reminded her of Godzilla from this perspective. “That’s a great motorcycle, you know. It jumps police cars like magic.”
Sher blinked, but otherwise froze. “Come again?” She pinned Haley with her gaze.
Haley sat up, pulling her knees to her chest, and sighed. “Dear Cole set a trap for me. He wasn’t in any danger. He and his buddies were laying in wait, in a dead-end alley.”
Sher stared at her with eyes wide.
“They pointed guns at me and ordered me to give myself up.” Cole must be desperate to discover her alter ego’s true identity, which meant he couldn’t be too interested in her real self.
“So he just let you go?” Sher sunk to her knees next to Haley and leaned on one arm.
Haley shook her head. “No. I panicked and jumped the bike over two police cars and got away. I’m still in shock.” She held out her unsteady hand. “See?” She delved into the pocket of the pants that were strewn over the couch’s arm and took out Sher’s key ring and returned it. “I didn’t know if they might show up here, so I hid the bike a few blocks away. I’ll take you to it. Tomorrow soon enough?”
“Long as it’s in a safe place.”