“Diversion,” I murmured. “We need Trace to catch their attention so you two can corner them and I can get the boy.”
Summer ducked out of the stairwell to contact Trace. Adam looked displeased, but knew I was right. He pushed me by the upper arm back into the hall and held the door behind us until it clicked closed.
“I’m not leaving you alone here this close to them. If they know we’re coming, this is the route they’ll take.”
I hated it when he treated me like a vulnerable child. I had a gear bag for a reason. “You know it’s the only way,” I said, trying not to glower. “I have to be able to get the kid. If anyone goes up this stairwell, they’ll hear us and bug out—or worse. We need Trace to come down from above and make lots of noise while you and Summer block the hall exit. I’ll grab the kid while you three corner the others.”
It was the stupidest thing we’d ever done, I thought while we got into position. The thieves hadn’t moved, their voices raised now so that even I could hear them. I selected a few items from my gear bag while Trace took the elevator to the top floor and Adam and Summer ran to the other side of the building to climb to the floor the thieves were on. I prayed the targets were all together. We hadn’t wanted to take the time to search the rest of the building. I could make out increased anger now, and a new anxiety level. The longer they holed up with nothing happening, the worse that would get. And the itchier their trigger fingers.
That was the part I didn’t like. Summer could move parts of her body faster than the eye could see, but her running was only slightly above average. Dodging bullets, while vaguely within the realm of possibility, wasn’t a given for her.
Adam’s skin had bounced bullets before, but it still hurt him, and he’d never tested any of the more deadly types. He hadn’t deliberately tested any, of course, but the few bullets he’d taken had been smaller caliber, or from a distance, or garden variety. Here he’d be at close range, facing unknown ammunition and weaponry.
I wished he’d worn a suit.
A moment later, Trace signaled he was in position. Adam and Summer followed and began creeping along the hallway toward the thieves, who now argued very loudly. My own chest burned with their residual anger, and I was afraid they were going to start shooting each other.
“Now, Trace,” Adam said over the com, and a horrific racket sounded from upstairs.
I had no idea where Trace had gotten a boom box, but rap music blasted through both the com and the stairwell, far too loud for an mp3 player, shattering my eardrums in stereo. Against my better judgment, I ripped off the flexi-shield and started up the stairs. Pounding footsteps came from above, and if I hadn’t known it was only Trace, I would have thought it was sixteen football players.
The thieves were yelling now, too. By the time I reached the first landing they had retreated, but must have seen Adam and Summer coming at them. I’d only climbed about six more steps before they were back through the door and only one flight above me.
I could feel the child now, terrified but full of adrenaline. I cursed. I had never asked his name, so I couldn’t get his attention properly. I tore up the stairs, ignoring the four men surrounding him and aiming only for him, as my partners took care of their own tasks.
One of the men ran past me, so intent on escape he didn’t even bother to shove me. Trace followed, his movements stoic and confident. That one wouldn’t get away.
I reached the boy and held out my arms, ready to grab him. I had no idea what I looked like, but it must have been scary. He screamed as I bore down on him, and the pain of his fear made me stumble.
Summer emerged onto the landing, fighting the second thief. His head bounced forward and back like a boxer’s bag. Summer didn’t have a lot of power behind her punches, but her speed made that irrelevant. The boy retreated partway up the next flight of stairs, trying to get out of the way. That put him on the other side of them from me, and within reach of the third thief. The fourth wasn’t in sight, and neither was Adam. I hoped they were fighting in the hall, then put it out of my mind. I’d need all my concentration to rescue the boy from the man in front of me.
I snapped my asp baton off the loop on my hip and flicked my wrist to open it. I’d never had any law enforcement-style training with the weapon, which Adam had said made me dangerous until he saw me use it. I thrust it between the legs of Summer’s thief, who fell over backward. I leapt over him and up two steps, hauling back with the asp and trying to get in between the boy and the man who was reaching for the kid’s collar. He shouted something at me, and hatred flared around him. It wasn’t directed at me personally, but at the world in general, and I got the feeling this guy had nothing to lose.
I hesitated, but not for long. I’d worked hard to overcome my instinctive need to back away from things like this, to act without getting overwhelmed by negative emotions. To push forward, even when I knew exactly how dangerous what I faced was.
Still reaching for the kid with his left hand, the man in front of me raised his right arm, a fat black gun now pointing at my face. I grabbed the boy by his shirt and yanked him around behind me. Summer caught him and shoved him further. The swift movements knocked the thief off balance, and I whapped him in the temple with my asp.
And just like that, it was over. Adam stepped into the stairwell and calmly wrapped zip ties around the unconscious criminals. I could hear footsteps climbing up from below.
“Did we get them all?” I asked between panting breaths.
Adam nodded. “Trace needs medical attention, but it’s minor. How are you two?”
Summer held up bloody fists, but they didn’t look too bad. Adam limped to the stairs to tie my guy as three cops and a sobbing woman reached us. The boy rushed to her, wide-eyed, his relief practically glowing blue. While the cops took possession of the criminals, Hurley approached us.
“Thank you. That would have ended much worse without you guys.”
“All in a day’s work,” Adam quipped lamely.
“You’ll have to come down to the station for statements.”
We agreed to do so. Hurley said something about the media getting hold of the story, but I didn’t think it would matter. We’d done stuff like this before, and never scored higher than page six. I didn’t think this would be any different.
I was so wrong.
Chapter 2
“Today’s News Magazine wants to do a feature on us.”
I stopped dead halfway to the coffeemaker and stared at Adam, who’d slouched his lanky body in one of the hard plastic chairs. “What?”
“They got hold of the jewel heist story and called to set up interviews.”
“Wow.” I grabbed a mug from the cabinet. “That should help business, huh?” The international magazine was young, a surprising success in the age of information overload, and a rival to Time and Newsweek. But Adam wasn’t happy. I sensed apprehension and even a little fear. “What’s wrong?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know if that level of publicity is good for us. It’s not like we’re a for-profit corporation or something.”
Trace piped up from the battered recliner in the corner. “There’s nothing wrong with profit, man. My landlord’s breathing down my neck.”
Kirby, leaning against the cabinet in the corner across from Trace, telephone pressed to her ear, grimaced. “I thought you took care of that?”
“Yeah, in May. Funny thing about rent. They make you pay it every month.” He stretched, his worn T-shirt riding high on his abdomen. I saw Kirby’s eyes latch on to the sight and hid my smile when she jerked her gaze away.
“Who are you on hold with?” Summer asked Kirby.
I nudged her away from the coffee pot, then heaved a sigh when I saw the switch was off and the brew was cold.
“The company that held my student loan. I
transferred it to another bank, and they’re pretending they never got the money.” Kirby tapped her pen on the counter top. “Jerks.”
Adam cleared his throat. “We should have the recovery fee from the jewelry store’s insurance company by the end of the week. But that’s not what I’m concerned about.”
The room echoed with a group groan. Adam’s concerns were often counter to our own. The recovery fee was more than our usual monthly budget, but it wouldn’t cover living expenses for any of us, never mind all of us. We all worked other jobs, usually consecutively or freelance, because few employers were patient with us taking off at a moment’s notice, no matter who we were saving.
There wasn’t a big call for private sector superheroing, and most of what we did was last-second work that often got us nothing in return.
“Publicity could get us some money-making jobs,” Trace said.
“Maybe even a benefactor!” Kirby’s eyes shone. She had this idea that some rich person could bankroll us so we could stop pinching pennies.
“Real life isn’t a comic book.” Adam’s voice was more than cautious. It bordered on depressed.
I finished preparing a new pot of coffee and flipped the switch, then turned to watch Adam. I hated how this stuff got to him. It wasn’t like he’d had a dream to run a superhero agency. He’d been a misfit who happened to meet another misfit, who heard about another, and so on, until we wound up here. But he’d really taken on the burden of leading us. I wanted him to have a chance to live a life, instead of bunking down at HQ several times a week and spending his free time filling out grant applications so we could make and maintain our gear.
Kirby started talking into the phone, apparently off hold, and Trace picked up a piece of the newspaper from the floor next to the chair.
“How can it hurt?” I asked.
Adam’s eyes met mine, and he suddenly went normal. The first time I understood what that meant, my brother had stopped being angry at his losing football team and started being angry at me for standing in front of the TV. But even though he yelled and pushed me out of the way, I couldn’t see his anger at all. Physically, it was a relief.
Emotionally, it was terrifying.
I couldn’t read him, but it was obvious his concerns had to do at least partly with me. I didn’t know why a magazine interview would put me—or all of us, including me—in danger, but for some reason he thought it would. I was about to ask when Summer, oblivious to the silent communication between me and our “boss,” changed the subject.
“Hey, I’m having a dinner party on Saturday. I want all of you and your SOs. You’ll bring Ian, right?” she said to me. “I hope he doesn’t bag out again.”
It was the first time someone had mentioned Ian in front of me since we’d broken up, and it must have shown on my face. Summer covered her open mouth with her hand. “Oh, no! What happened?”
I shrugged, wishing we didn’t have to do this here, but it was too late. Trace had looked up from his paper. Adam’s face was a total blank. Kirby seemed torn between yelling at the person on the phone and listening to us.
“He broke up with me,” I admitted.
“When?”
“A few days ago. The day of the jewelry heist, actually.”
“Oh, Dale. I’m so sorry.” She hugged me, then dragged me over to the table. “Tell us.”
I sat again, resigned to rehashing the whole mess. Or rather, non-mess. “It’s no big deal,” I lied, but my friends knew me too well. They aimed identical scowls at me, and Trace even flexed his whole upper body.
“He just . . . fell for someone else. Kind of.” I explained Ian’s logic.
“Idiot,” Trace said.
“Heartless bastard,” was Summer’s assessment. Kirby nodded from the corner.
“I can’t blame him,” I said, kind of meaning it. “He’s right. If he’s that excited about someone else, he’s never going to feel more strongly about me.”
“Bullshit.”
I jumped. I didn’t think I’d ever heard Adam say that word before. His aura wasn’t visible, so I had no idea what emotions fed the curse, but his blue eyes shone at me for a second before he turned away.
“If he really knew you,” he said quietly, “feelings for someone else wouldn’t even be possible. You’re better off without the douchebag.”
“Asshat,” Trace threw in.
Kirby covered the phone and contributed, “Big bag of dicks.”
Adam smirked a little and folded his arms. I was a little lost for words. The insults and support I’d expected, but Adam’s sweetness took me by surprise.
“Did you love him?” Summer asked softly.
I shrugged. “We weren’t together long enough to know that.”
“But you were practically living together. You’ve been dating for months. His mother loved you.”
Kirby slammed the phone down. “There’s no checklist for that shit, Summer. If she didn’t know, she didn’t know. Probably she didn’t love him, or she’d be blubbering into your shoulder and holding out her coffee for a slug of whiskey.”
I managed a chuckle. “She’s right. I’m okay. It’s no big deal.”
Trace stood. “Don’t worry, Dale. I’ll be your date for Summer’s dinner party.”
“What happened to Jill?” Kirby asked him.
“Drifted. Haven’t talked to her in weeks. She’s too high maintenance.” He leered at Summer. “I’m waiting for Summer to come to her senses. With her skills, I’ll fall in love with the first—” He ducked the spoon she threw at him. Trace was constantly asking how fast Summer could do a hand job. She used to get really ticked off, but now just pretended to be. She was in a serious relationship, her first one ever, and I suspected her “skills” might have come into play.
“Thanks, Trace, but I don’t need charity. I can handle a dinner party on my own.” But all of a sudden, I wanted to cry. I hadn’t cried the day Ian dumped me, or any day or night after that. It wasn’t so much losing Ian that hurt, as the loneliness that came with that loss.
I didn’t want to admit that, didn’t want the pity they’d offer, so I turned my attention to Kirby, who shimmered with anger.
“No resolution with the loan company, huh?”
That started her on a tirade that lasted until she and Trace left for their day jobs and Adam disappeared into his office, which was no bigger than a broom closet.
Summer and I left together. She had a weaponless combat class to teach, but had enough time to bring up Ian again.
“Are you sure you’re okay? You say it, but don’t seem it.”
“I am, really.” I grabbed my backpack and headed for the front door. The tile floor was cracked, and I kicked a piece across the lobby, hoping to distract her. But it was Kirby who was always striving to get us improvements, and Summer wouldn’t be distracted.
“Why don’t you come with me tonight? You could use a workout, I bet. Some cute guys in that class, too.”
“Nah, really, I’m not ready to get fixed up again already.”
“It’s just eye candy. And maybe hand candy.” She winked.
“I don’t think . . .” I trailed off. When I did think, working out seemed like a better idea than going home and making my way to the bottom of a pint of ice cream. When your superpowers were the non-physical kind, it was always prudent to keep in shape and improve your skills.
Since Summer could move her arms and legs faster than the eye could see, her class was very popular with local law enforcement as well as FBI, CIA, and NSA field agents. She did a lot of one-on-one, and though no one could keep up with her, they still improved their own skills so they could best anyone else they went hand-to-hand with. They sparred with each other while they waited their turn with her, and I sometimes joined in. Maybe grappling with a
sweaty, hard male body would be good for me in more ways than one.
“Okay, but don’t let Eugene near me today.”
“I don’t think he’ll be there, don’t worry.” She hailed a cab, and a few minutes later, we walked into the Side Street Gym.
And were immediately accosted by Eugene.
“Hey, Summer. The class is overflowing tonight. You’ll be here forever.” He came around the counter and slouched along next to me back to the locker room entrances. “Hiya, Daley. Haven’t seen you in a while. What am I feeling today? Can you guess?”
“I don’t guess, Eugene.” I didn’t want to feel his icky feelings. He lusted after Summer to a degree I’d never detected in anyone, and with an intensity I had a hard time blocking. It was like he was trying to channel through me. He loved the “Guess what I’m feeling?” game and I’d stupidly gone along the first couple of times. Now he wouldn’t stop.
“Well, of course I know you don’t guess. I’m in a good mood, though. Know why?” He pushed his glasses up his nose. “Tell me why.”
I followed Summer into the locker room and glanced back over my shoulder. “I’m not a mind-reader, either. And I really don’t want to get inside your emotions today. Thanks, anyway.”
My sarcasm was totally lost on him. “Sure, sure, Daley. Bad day, huh? Not as bad as last week though!” He shoved at the glasses again, peering around the slowly closing door. “Maybe next time!”
“Not if I can help it,” I muttered, slinging my bag onto a bench.
“Sorry.” Summer cast a glance at me, but I just shrugged.
The Color of Courage Page 2