He was catching up. Harris clenched his hands into fists, ready to bash Slippery Jim upside the head. At this speed, the force would knock the man silly. Smiling at the thought, Harris pulled back his fist. He was close enough that he could see the sweat running down the back of Slippery Jim’s neck. Just a little farther…
The beach twisted like a watercolor painting that had been smeared, and Slippery Jim reappeared three feet to Harris’s left. Harris stopped, his feet digging a gash in the sand as he skidded. He lowered his fists and closed his eyes. Slippery Jim had avoided his running punch—but he hadn’t avoided the small sandstorm that Harris’s superfast feet had kicked up. The cloud of sand hit them, stinging Harris’s bare skin, but Slippery Jim had it worse with his eyes open. He shouted and swore.
Harris waited until the count of ten to open his eyes. He found Slippery Jim hunched over and staggering, his palms pressed over his eyes. Harris backed up about a dozen feet, enough to give him a slight running start, then charged and decked Slippery Jim across the jaw.
Slippery Jim hit the sand hard, and his reddened eyes lolled.
Harris sighed. He shook the sand out of his hair, dusted off his clothes, and wiped a bit of vomit from his chin.
He really needed to freshen up before the wedding.
•••
Harris stood at Dave’s side as Val walked down the makeshift aisle made by the rows of chairs on the sand. The bride was stunning with curled black hair and curves that should be illegal, a burn scar received during her former profession covering half of her face. A breeze of salty air rustled the train of her off-white dress, and she held a bouquet of tropical flowers. Dave beamed when he saw her.
Harris shifted, trying to ignore the various bumps and bruises he hadn’t even realized he’d gotten. Val handed her bouquet to Lady Nightmare, who briefly met Harris’s eyes. The two of them had gotten Slippery Jim taken care of, though they’d disagreed on the details at first. They had dragged him, dazed, to Lady Nightmare and Sara’s suite, where she’d pulled a handgun from her suitcase.
“Whoa whoa whoa.” Harris had dived in front of Slippery Jim, his hands raised. “You don’t need that.”
“Relax,” she said. “I’ll have Eddy dump the body later. You won’t be implicated.”
“Not worried about being implicated. Worried about the needless waste of human life.”
“Superheroes.” Lady Nightmare shook her head in disgust. “What do you suggest, then?”
“Call the cops?”
“You said no cops. That’s why we went to all this trouble. The cops will want witness statements from everyone, and they’ll probably arrest me—and Val—just on principle. I thought you didn’t want to ruin the wedding?”
Harris rubbed the back of his neck, thinking furiously. “Okay. We tie him up and stash him in the closet for now. He can’t teleport through solid walls, right? When Dave and Val are safe on their honeymoon cruise tonight, then we call the cops.”
Lady Nightmare’s lips twisted as she gazed at where Slippery Jim lay on the floor. “Still illegal. I’ll have to rewrite his memories to make him think we didn’t catch him until the evening.”
“But you won’t have to murder him.” Harris raised his eyebrows. “Which is risking a life sentence, by the way.”
She’d taken a noisy breath through her nose. “Fine.”
Now, as Lady Nightmare stood under the arch on the other side of her sister, she wore a subdued smile and didn’t look murderous in the least.
When it was time to pass Dave the rings, Harris patted his pockets comically and widened his eyes in alarm. He got a giggle out of the flower girl, Dave and Val’s soon-to-be-legitimate daughter, and indulgent smiles from Dave’s mom and Sara in the seats. Dave gave Harris a look, and Harris cut the act and handed over the ring box with a wink.
Vows were exchanged, the bride was kissed, and the small group of guests stood and applauded. Dave was grinning like a fool, and the normally aloof Val had a flush to her cheeks. It was a happy and hopeful new beginning, and while no one could say for sure how it would end, the two of them had a chance. Harris was happy to say he’d helped give it to them.
The bride and groom linked arms and walked back down the aisle, and Harris offered his arm to the maid of honor. She looked him up and down before accepting.
“You’re all right, Speedy.” She gave him half a smile as they walked across the sand.
“You’re not bad, either. We actually made a pretty good team, huh? We should celebrate. Drinks are on me at the reception.”
“It’s an open bar.”
“Really? Awesome.”
They caught up to Dave and Val, who were waiting as the guests milled around and the hotel staff came out to set up for photographs. Lady Nightmare went to hug her sister, and Harris slapped Dave on the shoulder.
“You’re hitched.”
“I’m hitched,” he agreed.
“Still feel like you’re going to throw up?”
“No.” He looked past Harris toward Val. “I feel pretty darn good.”
Val came up and kissed Harris on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said seriously. “For everything.” Her dark eyes were too knowing, and she gave him an enigmatic smile.
“Uh, sure. All I did was find the rings, you know. After I lost them.”
Her smile grew wider. Then the photographer called the bride and groom back to the front. The guests headed for the reception, and Lady Nightmare went to join Sara. Harris lingered, hands in his pockets, as he watched Dave and Val, both of them seemingly incapable of stopping their smiles. For the first time since Harris had retired from superheroics, he felt like he’d done some real good.
Note from the Author
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And keep reading for a preview of Hero Status, book 1 in The White Knight and Black Valentine Series!
People like to debate where superpowers come from. What genetic mutation causes special abilities beyond what seems naturally possible? Experts theorize how the traits are inherited and what part the environment plays in affecting if and how they develop. I don’t have much to add to the discussion. Just because I have superpowers doesn’t mean I know how they work. Sometimes, though? I think they’re fueled by caffeine.
Lack of coffee was definitely my problem this morning. When the cook burst into the dining room with a shout, I should have calmly assessed the situation before reacting. Instead, I jumped and hit the table, jolting the silverware and knocking over my full cup of café con leche. Coffee drenched my wife's favorite—and very expensive—white tablecloth and splattered onto the imported wood flooring. I winced and grabbed a napkin to sop up the spill.
Our cook was a big, burly man who’d gone to seed with age, the apron stretched across his beer gut reading, “Charred and Dangerous.” He tried to untie it, but his hands were still covered by oven mitts.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Feds outside.”
Before I could ask anything else, he rushed down the hallway, muttering something about hiding his guns. But I doubted federal agents had come all this way just for our cook’s illegal firearms.
“It’s probably nothing to worry about.” The maid smiled at me, ignoring the spill as she snatched a steak knife off the table. “They like to come around and ask questions every now and then.”
“This happened a lot in the old days?” I asked.
She shrugged and hurried off in the same direction as the cook. I stared stupidly after them for a moment, coffee still dripping onto the floor, then picked up my cane from where it rested against my chair. Standing up always made my knee twinge, but I ignored it and walked slowly into the kitchen. The room was wide, its floors and granite countertops so clean they reflected the
light. The cook had left an omelet sizzling on the stove, and it filled the air with a smell that made my mouth water. I walked past it to the big window over the sink, and sure enough, two black SUVs were coming down the palm tree-lined driveway.
The omelet hissed and crackled angrily. I flipped it over, but the fluffy yellow egg mix was already crusted with black. I turned off the burner with a sigh. If I was going to have to deal with a government raid first thing in the morning, I’d like to do it on a full stomach, at least.
Something trampled down the stairs. A person might have assumed it was a herd of cattle, if that person didn’t have kids. A second later, my teenage daughter, Elisa, barreled into the kitchen, her face flushed with panic.
“Dad, there are—”
“Federal agents outside. I know.”
She tugged on my arm. “They’ll be here any second.”
“Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it, whatever it is.”
“But we can’t just sit here. We have to do something.”
“Like what?”
She made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh to convey exactly how hopeless she thought I was. “I’m getting Mom,” she said, storming off. Which left me to get the door.
As I walked, my cane sank into the hallway carpet then clunked on the white marble of the entrance hall. It was a big room full of white pillars, a spiral staircase, and expensive paintings my wife swore were brilliant art. The ceiling held a golden chandelier, its light mixing with the morning sun, and floral arrangements provided a touch of bright color and a fresh scent that wafted through the air like perfume. Elisa’s dirty sneakers were lying next to her half-open backpack in the corner.
The front door came into view, and I glared at it like I could see the agents on the other side. My wife and I had been retired for almost four years now. If they wanted to arrest us, they’d had plenty of time. Why pick today to ruin my morning? Now don’t get me wrong—I respect the various agencies of our government and what they do to protect this country. I’ve worked with most of them over the course of my career. But it’s never good news when one shows up at your front door.
The doorbell chimed, and I took a deep breath and answered it.
Two men in suits and sunglasses stood on my doorstep, tall, broad, and just generally taking up a lot of space. I drew myself up in response. It wasn’t as easy for me to look intimidating as it used to be, not with the cane, but I was still six-foot-four and built like a tank. An old, rusty tank that hadn’t seen the battlefield in years, but a tank, nonetheless.
“Good morning,” I said. “How can I help you?”
They were federal agents, all right. From the Department of Special Affairs, to be exact. I should know, because I used to work for them. All superheroes did. The DSA was the go-to agency for law enforcement and intelligence involving people with special abilities.
“Good morning, Mr. Del Toro. I’m Agent Cox; this is Agent Sosa. May we come in?”
“Don’t let them inside without a warrant,” Elisa said.
She’d reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the banister as she all but snarled at the agents. I opened my mouth to scold her but was beaten to it.
“Elisa, show the agents respect until they give you a reason not to.”
Elisa clamped her mouth shut, and the rest of us stared. My wife could have that effect when she walked into a room.
She had long black hair, eyes so dark they were nearly black, as well, and a faded burn scar that covered the right half of her face. A black pencil skirt and low-cut red blouse showed off her curves, and her heels clicked against the floor as she walked. She was beautiful in the same way as a jeweled knife: people admired the gold and gems on the hilt but never forgot that the blade could cut. And she hadn’t dulled with age. I’d known her for twenty years, and she was still as alluring as she’d been on the day we first met.
Of course, when we’d met, she’d been holding up a bank.
“Valentina Belmonte?” asked Agent Cox.
She arched her thin eyebrows, looking down on him even though he was taller. “Yes?”
“You’re under arrest.”
The shock hit me like a bullet. And yes, I’m bulletproof, but the things still hurt. I forced my voice to remain calm as I asked, “For what?”
Agent Cox gazed at us with an expression trained to give nothing away.
“Murder.”
A statement like that demanded to be followed by a moment of silence, at least. The utter lack of sound seemed to fill the entire hall, from the floor to the high, arched ceiling, until my daughter shattered it.
“Bullshit! You fucking assholes are out of your—”
“Elisa,” I said sharply. “Go upstairs.”
“But—”
“Listen to your father,” Val said. “You need to get ready for school. Everything will be fine.”
Elisa opened her mouth like she was going to start swearing again, but then she closed it, hung her head, and hurried up the stairs. When she was out of sight, Val turned back to the agents with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose you’re going to handcuff me? Goodness, this brings back memories.”
Sure enough, Agent Cox pulled out handcuffs. Agent Sosa pulled out a syringe.
I was in between them and Val in a flash, limp or no limp. “This is ridiculous. She didn’t kill anybody.”
“Just doing our job, sir.”
Val put a hand on my arm, and I met her eyes.
They have a SWAT team, five telepaths, and half a dozen of your costumed contemporaries standing by.
Her words formed in my head, and I didn’t need to express my reaction; she could telepathically sense that as well.
We had no choice.
Well, we did, technically. Val could resist arrest. If it came to a fight, there was a chance she could win. She might be retired, but she was still the Black Valentine, one of the most infamous supervillains in the country. But a fight in our home, with none of us prepared for it… Better to just go along with the agents.
And of course White Knight would never suggest I try to evade the law, Val teased.
No, but I don’t have to like it, I replied.
Well, I don’t like it either, dear. And it’s sweet of you to worry, but this is hardly my first arrest.
She broke contact and smiled at the DSA agents. “You’ll have to excuse my husband, gentlemen. He’s just jealous someone else gets to handcuff me.”
Agent Sosa uncapped the syringe. Val’s blouse was sleeveless, so he had no trouble reaching her inner elbow to inject the exatrin. The drug was standard procedure for arresting telepaths and would completely shut down her abilities. It would also leave her drowsy and muddled, not the best state for someone being interrogated on murder charges. She turned around and put her hands behind her back, and Agent Cox wasted no time in snapping on the cuffs.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this,” I promised her.
She gave me a smile, thin and secretive, leaving me clueless as to whether she thought I was being noble or just plain stupid.
I loved that smile.
“Take care of Elisa,” she said.
“Of course.”
For a moment, we just looked at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away.
Agent Cox cleared his throat. “Ms. Belmonte.”
The agents took her by the arms and escorted her out. When they reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at me.
I followed them out into the humid Miami morning and watched as they walked her down the stone path to the driveway. Val held her head high, striding forward as if the whole thing had been her idea. Her hair fluttered in a breeze that rustled palm leaves overhead and sent waves lapping against the dock in our backyard. Our property was large, trees obscuring the view from the road. I was the scene’s sole witness, and my grip on the smooth metal handle of my cane began to shake.
They put my wife into the back of the SUV and drove away.
Buy Hero Status on Amazon
Fight Crime! (A Love Story) Blurb
David Del Toro just wants to make the world a better place. It would be nice if he could find a way to do that without punching people, but as the superhero White Knight, that’s kind of in the job description.
Valentina Belmonte has one small, simple goal: to be the greatest supervillain who ever lived. Unfortunately, meddlesome heroes and her own backstabbing allies aren’t exactly making that goal easy to achieve.
The two of them really shouldn’t fall for each other. But even with incredible superpowers, they just can’t fight true love. Yet if they want to survive long enough to be together, they’ll have to battle invisible assassins, their own personal failings, and a power-hungry, ruthless crime lord who can kill with a single touch.
Fight Crime! (A Love Story) is a free online serial that updates weekly at kristenbrand.com.
The White Knight & Black Valentine (Book 0): The Best Man Page 3