Tick Tock chuckled as Powerhouse walked up, wiping his hands on his suit. “You gotta see this. The bullet dented his skin.”
That sounded kinda cool. X checked it out with the others – until the pain reminded him it was his shoulder that got shot. “Okay, enough. If we’re done here...” X let the sentence hang. Sometimes they’d work for hours, one situation after another. Sometimes they’d power down and have a beer somewhere. Tonight, X hoped the guys would accept that he just wanted to go home to his wife.
He looked at the bullet dent again. He hoped she wouldn’t notice. He hadn’t quite gotten around to explaining…things.
“You gonna be all right?” the cop asked.
“I’ll be fine,” X assured him with a smile he wasn’t quite feeling.
“He won’t even have a bruise in the morning,” Tick Tock said, slapping him on the back, close to his sore shoulder.
X slapped him on the back in return. Hard. Tick Tock stumbled and laughed.
“Maybe next time,” Powerhouse said under his breath as they started to walk away, “we’ll get to do something hard.”
“Good luck, officer,” Tick Tock said over Powerhouse’s grumbling.
“No matter how often I work with you guys, I still – geez, it’s amazing.” The cop shook hands with each of them, and went back to work.
As Superhero X and the others faded into the shadows, he heard the cop say, “Hey, could my son get your autographs…sometime?”
TORI was still shaking when she walked in the front door. The wind off the bay made the January temperatures feel colder than ever, but it wasn’t the weather that made her shiver. It was the idea that she might be a super freak.
She kicked off her boots at the door, hung up her coat, and dropped her purse on the couch. She headed for the fireplace, swaying a bit on her feet. Which shock was greater – being part of an armed robbery or learning you might be a… Don’t think about it. Just get warm. Taking kindling and old newspapers from a metal bin on the hearth, she built a fire in short order.
Soothing warmth danced in front of her eyes, taking the chill off. Dropping onto the couch as close to the fireplace as she could get, Tori cuddled down deep into the cushions, pulling the nearby afghan tightly around her. Joe’s tan-colored half-Siamese cat Snickers wandered in and jumped up on her lap. Tori pulled him under the afghan and held him close, trying to soak up his warmth.
The last nine days combined her favorite time of year – Christmas and New Year’s – with the best time of her life – getting married to a fabulous, gorgeous guy and spending a week with him in a Disney World hotel. Joe’s willingness to be silly, his romantic gestures, and his gallant nature made a heady mixture. Add in the sense of comfort and safety she always felt when he was around, and she was a goner, head over heels.
Then she’d come home to…this. Images of the robbery taunted her. The gun, the blood, the wounded man’s words. She squeezed her eyes shut. It couldn’t be true.
But the policeman. Could it be true?
Could it be that she forced people to do things just by telling them to? Or was she just a girl who had an uncanny ability to get people to follow her? Dad always said she was a natural leader. Mom said she was too pushy, that she went too far when she wanted something.
She sucked in a choking breath – could she be a freak? Tori saw that superhero’s face – maybe he really was a superhero, how else could he have moved almost faster than the eye could follow? – and heard his harsh words again. Then her mother’s face appeared, and she saw Dixie turn her back on her daughter. They may not always get along well, but she loved her mother. She didn’t want her to think Tori was something…unnatural.
God, help me figure this out. I’m not a freak. I have to stop listening to the voices in my past. But who am I? Am I different in some way? Could you really have created superheroes?
Sure, the Bible was filled with stories of heroes, but superheroes? When Lexie got upset, she could get so out of control that everyone around her would get upset, too. But that just meant they had a dysfunctional family like everybody else. If Tori was accused of being too pushy, well, maybe she was. But she was working on it. That guy, whoever he was, couldn’t be a superhero. And he definitely didn’t know anything about her.
She threw off the afghan and jumped up. Snickers meowed his protest. Marching into the kitchen, Tori took pots and pans and kitchen appliances out of the cupboards. She’d cook; that would clear her head. She’d cook a lovely dinner for her wonderful new husband, and she would think. She’d figure this out.
She pulled food items out of cupboards, out of the refrigerator, out of the pantry until it looked like she meant to prepare a gourmet Thanksgiving dinner for twelve. Her hand shook as she plugged in the food processor. As she pulled off the cover, it fell to the floor.
Her tears fell, too. This couldn’t be true. She wasn’t a freak! She didn’t want her family to hate her!
Tori felt panic grow within her. They would. They would hate her, think she was trying to be something she wasn’t, something important. That’s what Dixie always said when a “superhero” story came on the news. Another freak trying to be famous and important. Her face would curl into a mask of disgust. Then she would forbid anyone to talk about it.
No! Tori shook her head. That wasn’t her. She didn’t want to be famous or important. She just wanted to live a nice quiet life, watch her nephew grow up, raise some kids of her own, volunteer at church and at school. Same as every other normal suburban housewife. She didn’t have any powers. She wasn’t a freak.
Now stop thinking about it. She gripped the counter hard with both hands, eyes squeezed shut. Forget it. Just forget all about it. You’re not a superhero. Forget it. It’s not true! Forget it! Forget it!
She repeated it over and over until she felt herself relax. Her hands lost their death grip on the counter. She took a deep breath and tried to relax the muscles in her face, her neck, her back. She breathed in again. And out. Calming breaths. All was well.
Tori finally opened her eyes and took one last long breath. Better. She felt better. She looked at all the food and pans on the counter. What had she been making? She couldn’t remember. Was company coming over tonight? Why else had she pulled out so much food?
Shaking her head, she chuckled a little. Maybe this is what happens to all new brides. She got so excited about making Joe his first home-cooked meal as a married man, she’d forgotten what she was going to make. She decided on baked chicken with pasta and put everything else away.
Snapping and crackling from the living room caught her attention. Had she made a fire when she came home? She didn’t even remember. She shook her head and smiled to herself. She had to find a way to get more sleep before she forgot her own name.
“Hey, honey,” Joe called when he walked in later.
Butterflies danced inside as they always did when she heard his voice. Tori heard him taking off his coat and boots and went to greet him. Dinner had been ready for ten minutes, and Joe hadn’t answered his cell phone for the last half hour. She couldn’t decide whether she should be worried or angry. She opted for neither now that he was safely home, but made a mental note to talk to him about improving his communication skills. Right now, she only wanted to work on non-verbal skills.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” she said with a smile, wrapping her arms around him. “How was your day?”
“It was fine,” he said, holding her tight and giving her a long warm kiss, “but I missed you, decided to cut short my night with the guys and come home.”
“D’oh!” Tori slapped her forehead. Any pique she’d felt, banished. She gave him another kiss. “I’m such an idiot, I totally forgot. Well, I made dinner. Are you hungry?”
Joe grinned. “I’m a man, I’m always hungry.”
Tori’s feet left the floor as Joe pulled her closer, his lips doing wonderful things to hers, then trailing over her cheek, around her ear, down her throat.
“Jo
e!” she squealed, her toes curling from his kisses, her feet kicking to get down. “Dinner! Chicken, not me.”
He laughed and put her down. “Why didn’t you say so?” He picked up his briefcase and headed for his room.
Their room, Tori reminded herself. She felt like giggling every time she thought about it. Tonight would be only the third night they’d sleep together in their bed. She never thought she’d have this life – love and marriage and living in a house with a fireplace and a cat. She loved it. Definitely different from her and Lexie’s plan to grow old together, safely alone in their little apartment, hidden from the world.
As she watched Joe walk away, Tori remembered what he looked like under his clothes. Maybe they’d go to bed early again tonight. She sighed and smiled, her fingers touching her still-moist lips. Yup, this life was way better than the one she’d planned.
“Let me wash my hands and I’ll be right there,” Joe called from the hall.
Tori pulled her thoughts from the bedroom and straightened the pile of boots and shoes by the door so none of the wet ones got on the carpet. She frowned and picked up one of her boots. Had she stepped in dog poop? Gross. No, she looked closer at it, not dog poop. Something kind of brown had dried onto it though.
She picked up the other boot. Oh, much worse. Whatever it was covered the bottom of that one. Sighing, she took both of them to the laundry room and stood them in the sink. She ran the water, waiting for it to turn warm. Joe had an old toothbrush lying there, presumably for scrubbing things, so Tori used it on the first boot. Sure enough, the stain began to wash away.
“Whatcha doing?” Joe asked, coming up behind her and wrapping his arms around her waist, nuzzling her neck.
Tori smiled, loving the feel of him so close. Marrying Joe was the best decision she’d ever made, regardless of what other people said.
“I got something on my boots today.” She let warm water wash over the bottom of the boot in her hand. “I wanted to get it off just in case it stains.”
Joe leaned closer to look at the other boot. Tori followed his gaze and saw a red puddle around the sole.
“What in the heck?” Tori frowned and picked up the boot.
Joe tensed behind her, then pushed her aside to examine both boots. “Tori, this is blood! Are you okay? What happened?” He dropped the boots and turned to her.
“No, I’m – I’m fine.” Tori tried to think of anywhere she’d walked today where there had been– “Paint. It must be paint. It’s not blood.” Eew! That went beyond gross.
Joe touched the puddle and rubbed his fingers, then sniffed them. Wiping his hand on a towel, he turned back to her. “What happened? Where are you hurt?” he demanded. His voice sounded angry, but his eyes looked scared.
Tori took a step back. Her head felt fuzzy, like she’d just awakened from a dream but couldn’t quite remember it. Joe ran his hands over her body – something she normally liked quite a lot, but now it felt impersonal and intrusive. He lifted her shirt, turned her around to check both her front and her back, ran his hands down her legs.
“Joe! Stop it!” Tori pulled away from him, but he grabbed her and hauled her close. “What are you doing? What’s wrong with you?” Tori’s annoyance held an edge of fear. Why did he look so frightened?
Joe stopped manhandling her and stared her down. “You’re sure you’re not hurt? Were you around someone else who was hurt?”
This conversation was giving her a headache. And it wasn’t the kind of thing she wanted to talk about before dinner. But she wanted to reassure him that she was fine. Boy, and she thought she watched too much TV.
“Joe,” she said, forcing herself to speak calmly. She could see him trying to relax, taking a deep breath and pulling her closer. “Listen to me, baby.” She took his face in her hands, eye to eye. She focused on calming him down. “There is no blood. I am not hurt and there is no blood. Understand?”
He stared at her for a moment, and Tori wondered what he was thinking. But he finally relaxed, rubbing a hand over his forehead.
“Are you okay?” she asked him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he said. “I’m fine, I’m just tired. A little headache, that’s all.”
Tori took a deep breath and tried to relax. Joe held her close and she closed her eyes, that wonderful warm feeling permeating her soul. Never in her life had she felt as absolutely safe as she had since she’d met Joe. She didn’t like to examine the thought because it implied that she hadn’t felt safe before. Life had been hard, almost unbearable sometimes, but that didn’t mean anything. Everyone had hard times. She pushed the disturbing thoughts away. Whatever the reason, when she was with him, she felt like she could do anything.
“We need to eat, Mr. Clarke, before the chicken turns to rubber,” she said, patting his behind and pulling away toward the door. Her boots could wait. She didn’t want him thinking about them anymore.
“Lead the way, Mrs. Clarke,” he said.
He sounded as tired as Tori felt. They definitely should go to bed early. She smiled as she put dinner on the table. Time to find out if her husband’s willingness to cuddle extended past the honeymoon.
CHAPTER 3
WHERE was his son?
Evan Ruffalo sighed heavily and rubbed his eyes. Replacing his glasses, he tried to concentrate on the spreadsheets in front of him. He hoped the new temp was an Excel whiz. He’d arrived at six this morning to work on the reports for today’s meeting, but he wasn’t sure the information made sense. He couldn’t concentrate.
Getting to a meeting on time lately was a minor miracle, and not a little stressful. Evan was afraid he’d get the ax soon if he didn’t get his work back up to an acceptable level. Management had been understanding at first, but people were beginning to grumble. If he could find a damn temp worth his time, he could train her to get the work done while he continued his search for Jason.
Where was he? Where was his son?
He slammed his fist on his desk. The sound reverberated in his empty office. He’d begun to look at the police as part of the problem, not part of the solution. Since he and Sharon hadn’t yet taken custody of Jason, and the adoption paperwork hadn’t been completed, they had little grounds to push the authorities to find a child everyone believed dead.
Even Sharon believed Jason was dead. Damn her.
Seventeen children under the age of ten had gone missing in the last two years – in a ten-block radius of the orphanage. There were two elementary schools and six pre-schools in the area, so perhaps percentage-wise seventeen missing children weren’t worth anyone’s time…even if twelve of them had lived at St. Silvia’s Home for Orphaned Children. How could no one see the pattern, the significance? Sure, it was a bad area of town and the authorities blamed it on runaways and custody problems, but what six-year-old runs away from the place where he eats and sleeps? The place where he waits for his new mommy and daddy with uncontrollable excitement?
Evan had interviewed every member of the orphanage staff, most of its volunteers, and parents of other children missing in Double Bay. Hell, he’d even interviewed the street people living nearby. One drunk told him all the kiddies had been abducted by tall red aliens. Another that they’d been eaten by the alligators in the sewers. Lot of help they’d been.
Evan dug in his desk drawer for more aspirin. The guilt was eating away at his head and his stomach. He didn’t want to lose Sharon. She was his life. But he couldn’t join her in her grief, not yet. Not until he held his dead son in his arms. But Sharon couldn’t take the strain anymore. Evan wondered if she believed Jason was dead only so she could grieve him and move on with her life.
But would she move on without him?
Not yet, honey. Don’t give up yet. I may have found something.
Last night Evan had returned from a weekend trip to Vegas. The trip had been a gamble that paid off – he had a name. The Nine. He didn’t know if The Nine represented nine companies or nine people, but they were involved in illegal genetic resea
rch, at least some of which was happening here in Double Bay. And Evan’s tipster was sure The Nine were experimenting on children.
It wasn’t enough to go to the police yet, but Evan was determined to find something or someone who could lead him to his son. He opened his bottom desk drawer and pulled a folder from beneath a jumble of office supplies. Inside, a smiling little six-year-old beamed out at him. Evan couldn’t help himself. He smiled back, touching the boy’s cheek, remembering the day he and Sharon had asked Jason if he’d like to join their family.
Evan’s computer beeped at him. The pop-up on the screen reminded him about his meeting in fifteen minutes. Evan shut the file on Jason, then tucked him safely into the bottom drawer. With a sigh, he forced himself to get the lead out as he rushed from his office and down the hall to the copy room. A minute later, he hurried past some co-workers chatting and sipping coffee in the hall outside the kitchen. Just a few minutes after nine, most people were barely at their desks, but Evan was five minutes away from being late.
“Oh, there he is. Evan!”
Evan turned his head while still heading toward his office. Pam Higgins from Human Resources waved a hand at him, another woman in her wake. “I can’t right now. Late for a meeting across the street.”
“But this is your new temp,” said Pam.
“Temp. Right.” Evan swore under his breath. He forgot he’d interviewed someone yesterday. He should’ve asked for her to show up at noon. The last temp had been a nightmare – always late, didn’t know what “cross-foot” meant, swore Excel was her spreadsheet software of choice but couldn’t create a macro to save her life. Pam had been great about trying to get him the right person. He’d lost count of how many people he’d tried. And since he needed her help, he didn’t want to piss her off.
“Follow me,” he told the women, and kept walking.
Unexpected Superhero (Adventures of Lewis and Clarke Book 1) Page 3