A New Day (StrikeForce #1)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “And StrikeForce?”

  He laughed. “They’re scared of you. Everyone is. The best thing you ever did was knock down that motel. Put the fear of god in everyone who saw it. That’s where we want them. Afraid. Knowing damn well that they’re out-powered.”

  “Are they?”

  “The strongest one they have is Alpha. Pretty sure you could take him, if it came to that.”

  “It doesn’t bother you, that I’m the muscle here?”

  He shook his head. “I’m very equal opportunity that way. And I’m not without my own strengths.” He met my eyes again. “So. Partners?” He held out his hand.

  I stared at it for a few long moments.

  And then I put my hand in his, hoping I hadn’t just sealed my own doom.

  “Good. Come on in and sit down. We have a lot to talk about.”

  “It’s safe to talk here?” I asked, looking around.

  He nodded. “I sweep it every couple of days. I’m a little paranoid about it,” he added with a shrug.

  “Paranoid is good,” I said, and he grinned at me.

  “I knew you’d get me,” he said. I followed him up the stairs and to the opposite side of the second floor from the rooms I’d tried to rob. He walked into a wood-paneled library, and I was met with the sight of dark, shining wood shelves, books lining every wall, and I think, maybe, that was the moment I fell a little in love. Not with him, of course, but definitely with his library.

  “Nice,” I said, looking around. He shrugged. “Where did you get all this?”

  “Jobs. It’s one of my things. You ever look in these people’s libraries? First editions, signed books. Antique books. It pisses ‘em off when you take shit like that. Even more so than jewelry, sometimes.”

  I nodded. I knew it would piss me off. You can take someone’s wedding ring. Diamonds can be replaced. But you do not mess with someone’s books. He was, maybe, a little more evil than I was.

  “Plus, I had to fill the shelves,” he added.

  “Yes, I noticed you have a thing about being well-stocked.”

  “Long story,” he said.

  “I don’t doubt it. Seems a little obsessive, though.”

  He nodded, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Well, it started as one thing, and then it ballooned to all the things, because I could afford it.” He met my eyes. “It’s not that weird.”

  “If you say so,” I answered.

  I turned and walked along one wall, looking at the spines of the books without really seeing them. “I want my mother kept out of this. At all costs. No matter what happens between us, no matter whether something happens to me or not. She’s not involved.”

  He nodded. “I never would have involved her. I already told you that.”

  “I find it hard to believe.”

  “What? That I’d know the one thing in this world that really means something to you, and I wouldn’t use it?” He studied me. “That’s not me.”

  I glanced away. “That, and we don’t hurt anybody. I’ve gotten this far without hurting anyone, without even coming close to killing anyone. I’m not going to start now.”

  He didn’t respond, and turned toward him.

  “Right?” I pressed.

  “If someone comes after me, guns blazing or something, I’m going to use what I have, and I’m not going to feel bad about it.”

  I crossed my arms. “You don’t need to fight back. You have your built-in getaway car.” I paused. “Was that Dearborn thing at the hotel you?” I’d seen a news report the day before about a robbery at one of the nicer hotels in Dearborn. Someone had broken into the main safe, the one the concierge kept for high-profile guests to keep their belongings safe. The burglar had been caught in the act, and, somehow or another, all of the lights in the building shattered, and then about a dozen small electrical fires sparked. The burglar had gotten out and away, thanks to the chaos.

  He didn’t answer for a moment, and then he sighed. “It doesn’t happen very often,” he said.

  “Starting now, it doesn’t happen at all.”

  He crossed his arms, mirroring my posture.

  “I’m not kidding. Hurting anyone, for any reason, is off the table. They’re defending their homes or whatever against us. We have powers and they don’t. We’re not going to hurt people. It’s one thing to steal from them. Things can be replaced. I won’t hurt anyone.”

  He took a breath, then shook his head. “So, what? Is that an ultimatum?”

  “Yeah.”

  He threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. But you also understand that I use my powers to make a point? To get them to do what I want?”

  “And I’m totally fine with that. Threaten them with it all you want, but don’t freaking hurt anyone.”

  “Fine. Deal. Stay away from your mother and don’t hurt anyone. Anything else?”

  “We avoid each other in public. We meet up here, and we work. Other than that, you don’t know me, and no one has any idea that we even know the other exists.”

  He nodded. “People start seeing us together without masks, they might somehow put two and two together. Heights, builds.”

  “Exactly.”

  “All right. So let’s get started. I’ve been doing recon on a few places for a while now, and I have some possible targets we could hit pretty quickly.”

  I sat down at the long wooden table in the center of the room, and he sat across from me, and we spent the next few hours planning how we’d pull off our first job together. Along with the rush of adrenaline that came from knowing I’d be making another hit was the heavy feeling in my stomach, the certainty that this had been a really, really stupid idea.

  As long as Mama’s bills got paid and I was able to help a few people out, it would all be okay. I’d get used to it, and I’d make sure he didn’t hurt anybody.

  I was doing a public service, really.

  I am so good at lying, sometimes I even manage to lie to myself.

  Chapter Seven

  Three weeks later…

  “This should be an easy one tonight,” Damian said in greeting when I walked into the library. Three weeks working together. Three jobs. We’d hit two banks and one armored car, and in three weeks’ time, I’d had more money pass through my hands than I’d ever imagined. It was almost too easy.

  “They’re all easy ones,” I said as I settled onto one of the mahogany chairs that ringed the large round table.

  “I promised you they would be,” he said with a small smile. I looked away. In some ways, working with Damian was a dream. Plenty of money, no close calls. That was nice. Having someone to share the victory after the fact was nice, too.

  And he was generous. He’d given me a key to the house so I could let myself in easily whenever I wanted. Offered me a room so I could stay on those nights when the job required late hours or an extra bit of work on my part. I’d declined that offer.

  He walked across the room and sat in the chair beside mine. “I promised I’d make sure you never had to worry about money again,” he said, and a chill went up my spine. My mind shot back to one of the few memories I have of my father. I was four. He was drunk, breaking vases, candle holders, picture frames in our living room, just out of stupid drunken spite, shouting at my mother over and over again about how good she had it, that she didn’t appreciate any of it… that he was a good provider and she didn’t know how lucky she was.

  That she never had to worry about money.

  “Jolene,” Damian said, and I shook myself out of it, rubbed my arms, trying to warm myself. This was different. I could walk away any time I wanted. And when I was ready, I would.

  “I was thinking, after this job is over, maybe we can come back here and watch a movie or something? We can hang out. I’d like to know more about you,” he said, and I got up and went over to the window. “Or not,” he added, an edge to his voice that I hadn’t heard there before.

  “I think that the less we know about one another, the better,” I sa
id, looking at the window, watching his reflection. He shook his head, leaned his elbows on the table.

  “When are you going to trust me?” he asked.

  “I don’t do the trust thing. We’ve established that already, I thought.”

  “We’re partners. You really need to get over this.”

  I took a breath. “About that…”

  “Don’t,” he said, and I turned around to look at him.

  “Don’t, what?” I asked, aware now of the tightening in my stomach, the adrenaline rush, the immediate “fight or flight” thing that had been my response for most of my life. Usually, it came to “fight,” and I was fine with that. Mostly.

  “Don’t start talking about splitting up the team already. We’re just getting started.”

  “We’re doing too many jobs. I never did this many. I did one a month, maybe two—“

  “Yes, but it’s not just you anymore. You have your goals, and I have mine.”

  “Yeah, and your goals are a hell of a lot more expensive than mine, I think,” I said, voice raised a little when he started to interrupt me. I crossed my arms over my chest. Three weeks, and we’d already had this discussion twice, about the rate of our jobs, about the concept of “enough.”

  He was quiet for a moment, and I knew he was thinking. Trying to find a way to finesse me into his point of view, most likely. After a few moments, he blew out a breath and looked at me. “You’re not thinking big enough. Whatever it is you’re doing with the money, and I think I know what it is, you could go bigger. You could do more.”

  “And risk someone starting to ask questions,” I argued. “The whole reason this has worked for me so well, for so long, is that I’m not stupid. Other than a few slip-ups, I’ve done my best not to be noticed. And that goes for the robberies themselves as well as what I do afterward. And you don’t get that. You were raised with money, you’ve got this house… you go throwing money around, and no one will give it a second thought. Me? All anyone would wonder is ‘where the hell did she get that kind of money?’ And I don’t want anyone wondering about me.”

  “You are so damn scared of everything,” he said. He shook his head as if he was deeply disappointed in me.

  “Because I am. Fear makes me careful.”

  “Or it holds you back,” he argued.

  I was sick of the conversation already. We were delving too far into sharing our goals and dreams for my liking and he was starting to piss me off. I looked away, out the window.

  He cursed under his breath, then ran his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know you didn’t want to get into all this shit,” he said. I didn’t answer. “Yes, my goals are more expensive than yours, maybe. But you benefit, too. The people you want to help benefit. Your mother benefits—“

  “Leave my mother out of this,” I said quietly, slowly. I turned my head and looked him straight in the eye, and he was the first one to look away.

  “I didn’t mean it in any way other than to say, you’re doing it. You’re helping her. What we do together is helping.”

  I turned back to the window. “Don’t pretend to care about that.”

  I heard him sigh, and then I heard footsteps as he started pacing across the library. He did that a lot, and I was finding it more annoying with each passing day. “You’re right. I don’t care about it, but you do. And you’re doing it.” Then he laughed. “What are the odds I’d finally take on a partner, and it’s one who has the screwiest sense of honor I’ve ever heard of?”

  I bit my lip. Took a breath.

  “After this one tonight, I want to cut back some. You did this before on your own. You want to do more jobs, do them without me. Save the big or tricky ones for the ones we do together. But little shit like last week? That armored car? You could have done that on your own.”

  “Yeah, but then you wouldn’t have gotten a cut of it,” he said. After a moment, he shrugged. “It’s convenient having your help. It makes my life simpler. But if it’s cut back or lose you as a partner completely, then I’ll cut back on our team jobs. Okay? I know a guy who’s looking to partner up. Maybe I’ll start doing some side jobs with him.”

  I nodded. Took a breath. “If you ever rat me out, so help me I will kill you myself,” I told him, meeting his eyes. “And we both know I can.”

  He didn’t look away. “I know you can, and I don’t doubt that you would try it. I don’t know how many times I can tell you that you can trust me. Yeah, my plans are different from yours, and I’m a little annoyed that I thought I was all set and now I’m not, but—“

  “What are your plans?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “We don’t have a sharing type of partnership, Jolene.”

  “Is it something I’m going to hate having had a hand in?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  I watched him, and he shook his head again. “You know I was raised rich, and I’m sure you’re already thinking ‘oh, boo-hoo, poor little rich boy’s gonna tell me about his struggles.’”

  He wasn’t wrong. It was almost exactly what was going through my head. I just shrugged.

  “And I didn’t struggle. Not the way you likely did. But I spent a lot of time alone, and then, as soon as my mom left, my dad shipped me off to boarding school.” He laughed. “I loved it there. Freedom. Nobody watching me every second. For the first time in my life, I didn’t feel like I had to tiptoe around and try not to be noticed, try not to bother anyone. I could be whatever I wanted.”

  I nodded.

  “There’s nothing like that for kids with powers,” he said.

  “Are there many?” I asked. It wasn’t something I’d given much thought to.

  “There are some. Do you have any idea how easy it is to open up an educational center in this state? And the laws are even more lax when it comes to powered people. Honestly, it’s like they just want to pretend we don’t exist.” I could tell that he was warming up to talking about it. He started talking faster, moving his hands around, making more animated gestures. “I read about these girls in Wisconsin who got expelled from their public school because they were supposedly a danger to the other kids. And then they got kicked out of their homes.”

  “That’s rough,” I said.

  “Yeah. They lived on the streets for years, begging for food and money. Took to robbing places, pickpocketing.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “StrikeForce arrested them. Last I was able to find out about them. StrikeForce says that they served their time and are living new lives, with new names.”

  “Well. At least StrikeForce managed to do something for them,” I said. “Unlike the usual, you know?”

  He nodded. “Maybe. But how much better would it have been if they’d had a place to come to when they were kids? Or if there had been a place for their parents to ship them off to, the way my father shipped me off?”

  “So… that’s your plan? Open up a boarding school for powered kids?”

  He nodded.

  “That’s surprisingly altruistic of you. Didn’t know you had it in you.”

  “Well, I don’t. They’ll all be well versed in the art of thievery.”

  I scrunched up my face. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  He shrugged.

  I closed my eyes. “You know what? I don’t want to know. Let’s go back to our ‘no sharing’ rule now.”

  He shuffled through some newspapers on the table. “If you say so. You ready? There’s money sitting out there with my name on it.”

  A few minutes later, we left the house in silence, then split up. I flew away once I was a few blocks from his house, out of the sight of any nosy neighbors who may have been watching, and then walked to a corner store where we’d planned to meet up. We’d walk together from there, then fly to our target, which was another bank in the northern suburbs.

  It took us a little over fifteen minutes to get there, and, light though Damian was, my arms were grateful when I was finally able to pu
t him down. Flying and carrying him was convenient, but not exactly the most elegant way to go. We landed a few blocks away, behind a grocery store that was closed for the night.

  “Jolene,” he whispered when we landed.

  “Yeah?”

  “I was kind of an asshole earlier. I know you hate it when I bring your personal life up. I’m sorry.”

  I stopped and looked up at him. “And I’m sorry I can’t be the kind of partner you want,” I said. “I’m just not made that way.”

  “I know,” he said, glancing down. “We’ll work it out.“

  “Yes, we will. Meaning that when I say ‘nope,’ that’s it. Right?” I asked, and he rolled his eyes. We finished donning our disguises as we hid near the dumpsters behind the grocery store. I wrapped my face and pulled up my hood, and he pulled on a black ski mask and gloves. “Let’s go. You have a closet that isn’t filled with stuff somewhere in that big house, don’t you?”

  He let out a short laugh, and I felt myself relax a little, felt that edge of excitement that came from the thrill of planning a heist. I can only imagine that it’s how athletes feel before a big game, or, maybe how it feels right before you’re about to kiss the love of your life. Crazy, exhilarating, out of control. The world both seems to slow down and speed up, all at the same time. It’s beautiful. It was life, and even with all of the stress Damian brought into my life, I still loved this part.

  We took to the air again once we got close to the bank. “After you,” he murmured, and I shoved the doors open, breaking the metal grates and the multiple locks as easily as if I’d been pushing open a screen door. Alarms started going off, lights flashing, and Damian strode past me, calmly speaking in a low voice that sounded more like a series of clicks and weird buzzing noises than actual words. The first time he’d done it, it had freaked me out because I wondered if he was having some kind of fit or something. But this was his thing. This was him, “talking” to the electronics and other devices in the building, breaking in to the safe and other systems, making it easy for us and, hopefully, buying us time.

  “Here we go,” he said. He pulled the door to the safe open, and we rushed in and started grabbing whatever we could. Bags, stacks of money, whatever. I filled my pockets but mostly focused on watching for our friendly local police officers. Or StrikeForce, who we expected to show up all the time, but hadn’t managed to put a damper on one of our jobs yet.