“I didn’t realize they let just anyone into these things,” Fiona sniffed. The tall blond elbowed me out of the way and ordered a double gin-and-tonic.
“Hello, Miss Fine,” I said in a sweet, sugary tone that would rot teeth. “It’s good to see you again too. Tell me, did you make your dress yourself, or did it come out of a paint-by-numbers catalog?”
Fiona’s pink lips pressed together. Too bad her face didn’t crack from the strain. I glared at the haughty fashion designer, daring her to make a scene. I wasn’t afraid of these people, and I wouldn’t be cowed by them. Not anymore. I didn’t even care if I kept my lousy job on the society beat. Let the editors at The Exposé fire me for offending Fiona Fine. The threat of being dumped into a vat of radioactive goo made my other trials and tribulations pale in comparison.
“Carmen, what a pleasant surprise,” Chief Newman’s deep brogue cut in.
Fiona gave the police chief a heated look, grabbed her drink, and flounced away. The chief appeared at my elbow. He had traded in his usual subdued suit and tie for a brand-new tuxedo. He looked quite distinguished, and many of the wealthy widows eyed him like hungry vultures flying over a piece of fresh meat.
“Hello, Chief. Good to see you.”
Newman lowered his voice. “Listen, I know it’s a lousy time to talk business, but I want you to come down to the station tomorrow and take a look at a couple of bodies we found out by the marina.”
“Bodies? Why?”
“They might be your two kidnappers. They match your description.”
“How did they die?” I asked.
“They froze to death in one of the big fish freezers down by the docks.”
For a moment, my vision fuzzed over. I shook my head, and the world returned to normal. Still, I couldn’t stop the chill slithering up my spine.
“They probably got drunk and wandered into the freezer by accident. We found several beer cans at the scene. The coroner says their blood alcohol levels were off the charts.”
I knew better. Frost’s icy handprints covered this one. My inner voice chattered. He’d murdered his two henchmen. The question was, why? Had they stepped out of line? Or were Frost and the rest of the Triad trying to send me a message?
“Are you ready for me, Miss Cole?” The conductor, a thin man with a receding hairline, interrupted our conversation.
I felt stiff, frozen inside. Every movement was an effort. “Sure thing, Mr. Muzicale. I’ll see you tomorrow, Chief.”
“Just come by when you get a chance. I’ll be in all day.”
The chief strolled away. Matronly, marriage-minded society types trailed after him like sharks drawn to blood in the water. I focused my attention on the balding conductor and plastered a big, fake smile on my face.
“Tell me, Mr. Muzicale. What does the Bigtime Symphony Orchestra have on tap for patrons this season?”
*
Two hours later, I put the finishing touches on my story and sent it to the society editor. After getting the usual response, I walked over to Henry’s desk. He wore his usual shirt, sweater vest, khakis, and bow tie. Henry had skipped right over his youth. He wasn’t even thirty yet, but he already dressed like an old man.
His nose hovered next to the flickering computer monitor. His fingers danced over the keyboard in a rapid, staccato rhythm.
“Henry? Henry?”
No response. I put a hand on his shoulder. A static shock sparked and cracked between us.
“Yikes!” Henry jumped a foot out of his chair. “You scared me!”
“Sorry for the interruption.” I shook my tingling hand. “I was wondering if you had compiled that list for me.”
Henry blinked. “Sure. I’ve got it here somewhere. Let me check.”
He dug through a tall stack of papers. Minutes ticked by. I frowned. Even though his desk was Chaos Central, Henry could usually find a pin in less than a second. What was up with him?
Ten minutes later, Henry yanked a thick binder out from under a pile of half-empty, takeout Chinese cartons on the back of his desk. I wrinkled my nose. The paper containers reeked of two-week-old General’s Chicken.
“Here you go. All the info on the fifty wealthiest citizens of Bigtime. The binder has copies of all the information, so you can mark up the pages any way you like. I’ll e-mail you the digital files in a few minutes.”
“Thanks, Henry.” I stuffed the binder into my purse. “By the way, did someone named Lulu call you?”
Henry pushed his glasses up his nose. “Yes, yes, she did.”
“And what did you think of her?”
“She seemed like a very nice woman.”
I arched an eyebrow. “A nice woman? A nice woman you might take to dinner if you could tear yourself away from your computer long enough?”
Henry fiddled with his glasses again. “Um, well, you see…”
“Never mind, Henry. I’ll let you two work it out. I just wanted to make sure she’d called you and got the ball rolling.”
Henry and Lulu had made contact. My inner voice whispered with satisfaction. The rest would take care of itself. Who knew? Maybe Lulu could introduce Henry to Bella Bulluci’s men’s collection and get rid of those horrid polka-dot bow ties. Or at least get him to stop wearing stripes with them.
I told Henry good night and made my way through the gauntlet to the elevator. I rode to the ground floor, brushed past the doorman, and headed out onto the sidewalk.
“Hey, baby. Where you off to? Why don’t you come over here and sit on Daddy’s lap?” my familiar harasser cooed from his stoop.
“Get a life, loser,” I snapped and kept walking.
After two blocks, I stopped. A faint scuffle sounded behind me. I turned, but there was no one on the deserted street. I didn’t even see any headlights coming in my direction. No people, no cars, nothing. A shiver slid up my spine. I eased a hand down into my purse and grabbed my pepper spray. I continued on, quickening my strides.
The uneasy feeling continued for several more blocks. My inner voice murmured, and I knew who was, well, stalking me.
“Oh come out,” I snapped. “I really hate playing hide-and-seek, especially with superheroes. You’re all so much better at it than I am. It’s so not fair.”
I scanned the long, dark shadows. I squinted hard but saw nothing unusual, just walls and parked cars and expired meters. “Well, are you going to show yourself or not?”
A couple of college-age kids with backpacks slung over their shoulders plodded down the steps of the Bigtime Public Library. They must have heard the tail end of my conversation with my invisible friend, because they gave me a wide berth, giggling as they passed. They probably thought I was some drugged-out hooker talking to myself. They disappeared around the corner. More laughter floated on the air.
I tapped my shoe on the pavement. It had been a long day, and I was exhausted. I didn’t want to play games tonight. “Hello? Is anyone out there? Striker?”
He didn’t appear. After a long, tense moment, I let out a breath. If Striker wanted to follow me home, so be it. I couldn’t stop him. If he was even out there to start with. Maybe I was just imagining things due to my odd, intense desire to see the sexy superhero again.
I turned around to continue my trek home. Striker stood in front of me.
I shrieked and stumbled back. My heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. My arms windmilled. My body tilted backward. I closed my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, painful impact.
It never came. I opened my eyes. Striker had caught me. The superhero loomed over me. His arms supported my back, and he held me like we were ballroom dancers frozen in an elegant dip. His hot breath brushed against my cheek as soft as a butterfly’s kiss on my feverish skin. He smelled of musk and the cool night, and his leather costume felt smooth and supple under my grasping fingers. Striker’s firm, hard thigh lodged between my legs. He shifted his weight, rubbing my thighs ever so slightly. My breasts tightened at the sensual contact, and a warm sensation floo
ded my veins. I couldn’t breathe. Striker’s eyes widened. Hot, electric-blue sparks flared to life in their silvery depths. A current snapped and hummed between us. For a mad, mad moment, I thought Striker might lean in and kiss me, capture my lips with his. I parted my own. I wanted him to. Oh, how I wanted him to. Every molecule of my overheated body screamed at him to do it.
Striker pulled me upright. His hands slid down my back, scorching my skin through my jacket and the thin silk of my dress. He held on to me a moment longer than necessary, then dropped his hands. My head felt light and airy as a cloud. I didn’t know if I was dizzy from the abrupt change in elevation or from the feel of Striker’s strong arms around me. Maybe both.
“Don’t do that,” I snapped, trying to hide my hormonal flare-up. “Do you want to give me a heart attack?”
Striker shrugged. “Sorry. You said to come out. I was just waiting for the kids to go by. How did you know I was following you?”
“It was quiet. Too quiet,” I said in a deep, serious voice.
Striker folded his arms over his chest.
“It was a dark and stormy night?” I tried again.
He looked up. The moon glittered like a giant opal in the sky.
“I just knew, okay?”
Curiosity filled Striker’s eyes, but I didn’t feel like explaining myself. He had his secrets, I would keep mine. Including the fact that I was desperately, dangerously attracted to him.
“So are you going to walk me home or what?” I shoved my hands into my jacket pockets. “It’s rather cold. I’d really hate to get frostbite and rob Malefica and Frost of their chance to turn me into a monster.”
Striker gestured at the deserted street. I began to walk, and the superhero fell in step beside me, sliding from shadow to shadow like the creature of the night he was. A block went by, then another, then another. I wasn’t sure what to say to him, given the way our last conversation had gone. It hadn’t been a smashing success.
“So, how was your day?” I asked.
“Excuse me?”
“How was your day? Bust any more drug-runners? Apprehend any thieves? Have any building-leveling fights with ubervillains?”
“Why do you ask?” Suspicion colored Striker’s deep voice.
I closed my eyes a moment, letting his rich tone wash over me. Even his voice was sexy. “I’m just making conversation. That’s what people do, you know. There’s no ulterior motive. I promise.”
“Well, I got up this morning, went to work—” He stopped.
“Went to work and what?”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Well, what did you do after work?”
“I can’t tell you that either.”
“Well, what did you have for lunch?” I snapped. “Surely that’s not top-secret superhero information.”
“Steak with mashed potatoes and a side salad,” Striker replied. “And a piece of chocolate cheesecake for dessert.”
I gave up on conversation after that. I was too jealous of the cheesecake to continue.
We strolled along. I glanced at Striker out of the corner of my eye. His silvery eyes glowed like a cat’s in the twilight, and his hair glistened under the fluorescent streetlights. My gaze traced his lean, muscled form. His black leather suit clung to his body like a second skin. The man certainly filled it out well. My eyes dipped lower. In all sorts of places. My cheeks flushed. Despite the chill in the air, I felt very warm.
Focus, Carmen, focus. I pulled my thoughts back to the matter at hand. Striker knew what I was up to. So why had he sought me out? He should have been busy burying all traces of his real identity from my prying eyes. Instead, he walked me home as if we were a couple of teenagers on a date. Maybe he’d mistaken me for a little old lady who needed help crossing the street. I bit back a laugh. Not likely.
Several minutes later, we arrived at my apartment building, and I still hadn’t come up with any answers to my burning questions. Or a way to cool this sudden sexual fire inside me.
“Well, here we are,” I said. “Home, sweet home. Thanks for the company.”
“You know, you really shouldn’t walk on the streets at night by yourself,” Striker said. “It’s not very safe, especially now that Malefica has targeted you.”
“Yeah, well. It’s cheaper than taking a cab all the time. Some of us have to live within our means.”
“Why do you say that?”
I eyed Striker’s supple leather suit and the two swords peeking up over his shoulder. “Your getup there probably costs more than everything I own put together. It’s obvious you’re not a poor man, Striker. If I had to guess, I’d say you’re just another bored billionaire who does this for kicks in his spare time. Right? Tell me, are you hooked on the adrenaline rush or just a slave to the noble idea of making the world a better place?”
Striker’s eyes darkened to a stormy gray. He didn’t reply. Ah, so I’d hit the nail on the head. Perhaps Henry’s list would be more useful than I thought.
I fished my keys out of my battered purse. “Did you want something else? It’s been a long day, and I’d like to go inside and get some sleep.”
“The reason I followed you tonight was to offer you protection,” Striker muttered.
My mouth dropped open. “Protection?”
“Yes. We can protect you from Malefica and the rest of the Triad until we figure a way out of this mess.”
All I could do was just stare at him. Then, reality kicked in. “How could you protect me? Put me up in a safe house somewhere with round-the-clock guards?” I shook my head. “Sorry, I’ve read that story before. Everything would be fine for a while. But one day, your guard would be down, and Malefica would come for me. Besides, I can’t go into hiding and keep my job. Like I said before, I’m not independently wealthy. Protection isn’t really an option for me.”
Still, the offer touched me. Despite everything I’d done to them, the Fearless Five was still willing to help me. Perhaps there was a reason they called them superheroes after all. I stared down at the sidewalk. “I appreciate the offer. I really do. And I want to thank you for it. I know it must have been a difficult decision, given my history with Tornado.”
Silence greeted me. I looked up. I whirled round and round, but Striker had disappeared into the night. There was no sign of the sexy superhero.
How the hell did he do that?
Chapter Nine
I stood in front of my dresser, brushing my wet hair. A cold chill swept through my body, and a familiar current flooded the room. I glanced into the mirror. He was there behind me.
I put down my brush and faced him. Without a word, Striker pulled me into his arms. His lips captured mine. They were just as warm and firm as I’d imagined. I opened my mouth, and his tongue slipped inside. I loved the clean taste of him, the feel of his muscled arms around me, his musky scent. He filled my senses until there was nothing else.
Striker laid me down on the bed. I pulled him on top of me, enjoying the feel of his weight on my feverish body. My clothes disappeared. So did his leather suit. Only the black mask that covered his face separated us. His gray eyes burned into mine. I kissed him, long and hard and deep. Our hands explored each other’s bodies with hungry purpose. He trailed his fingers down my breastbone and over my quivering stomach. I opened my legs, and he sank his fingers into me.
I cried out. Waves of pleasure rippled through my body. Striker stroked me until I was dizzy with desire. Then, he pulled back. I whimpered at the loss of contact, at the loss of his touch. Striker loomed over me. His eyes shimmered with the brilliance of a thousand stars. I knew what he wanted. It was the same thing I did. I opened my legs once more, and he plunged into me. He began to move—
I gasped and sat up. My eyes flew around the dark room. The door was shut, the windows locked. Everything was in its place. No sexy superheroes lurked in the shadows that pooled on the floor around the bed. Alone. I was alone. All alone. It had been a dream. Just a dream. I flopped back against
the pillows.
Damn.
*
After a long night of heated dreams, I woke early and walked down to the police station. I met up with Chief Newman, and we headed for the morgue in the basement.
I’d been to the morgue many times before, when I’d been working the investigative and police beats. It was a dark, depressing place that smelled of harsh chemicals and decay. Sometimes, I thought I saw the blood of the murder victims puddling on the floor and dripping down the walls. Not a pleasant vision.
We entered the viewing area. A glass partition separated us from the autopsy room. The coroner, a tall, square man, stood on the other side of the glass in front of a large metal table. Blue toes peeked out from under two white sheets.
“I’ll warn you, this isn’t a pretty sight,” Chief Newman said. “Are you ready?”
I nodded. The coroner pulled back the sheets.
I gagged and turned away.
“Easy, easy,” the chief rumbled. He put a hand on my arm to steady me. “Is that them?”
“Yes.”
I forced myself to turn back and look at the two bodies. I recognized my kidnappers, despite their condition. Their skin was pale as ice and looked twice as hard, while their hair had turned an unnatural white. Blue and purple veins popped out on their faces, reminding me of some kind of macabre spider’s web. The men’s eyes and mouths gaped open, frozen in sheer terror. Even their tongues had turned blue. Even though the men were dead, I could feel their horrific fear as they’d realized what was about to befall them. A chill crawled up my spine. This was what Malefica and Frost had in store for me if I didn’t uncover Striker’s identity.
“We haven’t identified them yet, but it’s only a matter of time. Why don’t you go back home and get some rest? If I find out anything, I’ll give you a call,” Chief Newman said in a comforting tone. “I don’t think there’s anything more you can do here.”
Dazed, I made my way back up to the ground floor. My stride quickened with every step. I stumbled outside and started to run. But even as my sneakers smacked against the concrete, I knew I couldn’t outrun Frost or my own inevitable, chilly fate.
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