Nightingale

by Jennifer Estep

  I tried to go around him, but he put his other hand on the wall, trapping me between his arms.

  “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about, Abby. All this time I’ve been looking for you, searching for you, and you’ve been right under my nose. What was this to you? Some kind of sick game?”

  My mouth dropped open. Anger surged through me, and I forgot about denying everything. “A game? No, it was never a game to me. I’m the one whose life was turned upside down. I’m the one who found you in that alley and put myself in Bandit’s line of fire. Rest assured, Wesley, Talon, whatever the hell you call yourself, this was definitely not a game to me.”

  “Then, why did you drug me and leave me here in the center? Why didn’t you come forward?” he demanded. “Why didn’t you tell me who you really were? Especially after you found out I was Talon?”

  I mumbled my response.

  “What?”

  “Because you wouldn’t have cared about me the way you did about Wren, about Nightingale,” I said. “She was this great fantasy you created. This wonderful, gorgeous woman who saved you. Look at me. I’m a mess. I’m always a mess. I just couldn’t live up to that. To your image, your perfect ideal of her. I never can.”

  Wesley’s face softened a bit. “But you didn’t even give me a chance.”

  I shook my head. “I couldn’t take the risk. If I’d told Talon who I was that first night, would he, would you, have told me your secret identity?”

  Wesley didn’t answer me.

  “I didn’t think so.”

  We stood there, not quite looking at each other. In the silence, my supersenses flared to life. The heat radiating off Wesley’s body warmed me from head to toe. His breath slid along my face. I could even hear the roar of his heart. Its frantic beat matched my own.

  “So, now you know,” I said in a tired voice.

  “And what about the flash drive? Do you have it?”

  I nodded. “I looked at it, trying to figure out what was on it, but I couldn’t get past the encryption. I was going to give it to you tonight.”

  “So where is it now?”

  “In my vest pocket. Piper has it. I’ll go get it from her.”

  “We’re not quite done yet,” Wesley said in a low voice.

  The dark, dangerous light in his golden eyes frightened—and excited—me. He leaned forward, his arms still on either side of my body. I stood straight against the wall, trying to keep as much distance as possible between us. I closed my eyes, trying not to relish his wonderful, minty smell.

  “I’ve been looking for you for days now, wondering if Bandit had gotten to you first, if he’d killed you. Do you know what that did to me? Do you?”

  “You’re a superhero. Your job is to protect innocents. Chicks, as you so eloquently call them. You were worried, and you wanted your flash drive back. I get it,” I muttered.

  “No, you don’t get it at all.” Fury punctuated every syllable. “Yeah, I’m a superhero. Yeah, I protect innocents. But Nighting—but you were different. We talked. We laughed. We connected. I pretty much bared my soul to you, talking about fairy tales and lightning. Then, there’s the fact that we slept together.”

  “So what? Lots of people have sex with superheroes,” I mumbled, trying not to remember how good it had been, how good he had felt next to me. “There’s a whole club devoted to it.”

  “So I cared about you, Abby. I thought we were starting something—something that would grow, something that would last. That’s why I slept with you. Not because I get some kick out of one-night stands. What kind of superhero, what kind of man do you think I am? ”

  The raw hurt in Wesley’s voice made tears gather in my eyes. I couldn’t keep the salty drops from spilling down my cheeks, ruining what was left of my makeup.

  “Don’t cry, Abby. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell at you.” Wesley brushed a tear off my face. “You’re just—you’re not—you’re not who I thought Nightingale would be.”

  His words pierced my heart in a way Bandit’s bullets never could.

  “Of course not. I never am,” I whispered. “And that’s the problem.”

  I closed my eyes and turned my head to the side, hoping—needing—him to go away. To leave me alone. To pretend he didn’t know the truth. So I could convince myself my worst fear hadn’t come true. That he didn’t find me to be a disappointment.

  Wesley let out a ragged breath. I felt him move, but instead of reaching for the door, his hand cupped my cheek, his hard fingers as soft as ever against my skin. I opened my eyes. His golden gaze met mine. We stared at each other. The seconds ticked by. Still, neither one of us moved—

  Wesley kissed me. It wasn’t gentle and sweet, as the kiss behind the waterfall had been. This one was hard, rough, and demanding. My supersenses kicked into overdrive. His minty taste. His soft touch. His hot body flush against my own. The sensations overwhelmed me. Frying me just like that amp had done. Melting me from the inside out.

  Wesley’s tongue plunged into my mouth, and I met it with my own. He poured all of his pent-up frustration, longing, and confusion into the kiss. His emotions matched my own. I grabbed his jacket and pulled him closer. I wanted to be his Nightingale so badly it hurt—even if it was only for tonight.

  Wesley’s hands went to my breasts, squeezing and kneading the sensitive mounds through the soft fabric of my dress and bra. He flicked his thumbs over my nipples. I groaned and threw my head back. Wesley pressed his lips to my neck, sucking at my skin.

  I brought my hands up between us and tore at his shirt. Buttons popped off and bounced away into the darkness of the closet. I ran my fingers over his solid chest, scraping his nipples with my nails. My hands were everywhere, touching him—until they came in contact with something soft and gauzy. I looked down. A bandage still covered his left shoulder where Bandit had shot him.

  Wesley grabbed my hand. “It’s fine, thanks to you.”

  He kissed me again, hard. More heat ripped through me, scorching away my doubts. I yanked his shirt up out of his pants and fumbled with his zipper. Wesley reached into his hip pocket and drew out a packet from his wallet just before his pants fell to his ankles.

  He wore cobalt-blue boxers underneath, and I slid those down his thighs. I straightened and stroked him with my hand, circling his hard tip with my finger. Wesley put one hand against the wall and leaned into me. His muscles jerked and twitched as he fought for control.

  Wesley opened his eyes, those beautiful, beautiful golden eyes, and stared at me. He grabbed my hand and pressed the condom packet into it. With shaking fingers, I tore it open and slid it on him. When I finished, Wesley pushed his hands up the hem of my dress. He hooked his fingers into my panties and slid them down. I stepped out of the wispy fabric.

  “Lace,” he said. “Nice.”

  Then, he tossed them aside. Wesley grabbed my hips, lifted me up, and put my back against the wall. He looked at me, really looked at me, his golden gaze stripping away all my secrets. I wondered if he could see how much I wanted him. How much I cared about him. How much I loved him.

  I couldn’t read the swirl of emotions in his eyes, but they glowed with an intensity I hadn’t thought possible.

  Wesley’s hand moved up my thighs, his fingers barely brushing my skin. They tangled in my curls, and he stroked me there, just as I’d done to him moments before. My breath caught in my throat.

  “Ahhh,” I gasped, digging my nails into his shoulders.

  He put a finger inside me, slowing moving it up and down. It was good, so good—but not quite enough.

  “More,” I pleaded. “Now.”

  I put my mouth to his for another hot, long, hard kiss. Wesley withdrew his finger.

  He pushed up into me, even as I sank down onto him. He pumped into me, over and over again. I buried my face in his neck and cried out with every thrust—and so did he.

  “Nightingale,” Wesley murmured against my hair. “My Nightingale.”

  Chapter Twe
nty-Eight

  We didn’t speak for a long time. Wesley lowered me to the ground. I stared up into his face.

  “Nightingale,” he said again, smiling.

  Nightingale.

  Not Abby. Not even Wren. Still that damned Nightingale.

  After everything, he still didn’t see me—not the real me. Wesley could only focus on the person he wanted me to be. His perfect, mystery woman. I felt like Bandit had just emptied his gun into my stomach.

  “You can get the flash drive from Piper. We’re done here. I’m leaving.” Somehow I managed to get the words past the knot in my throat. “Chloe can help you if there’s a problem with the event.”

  Wesley brushed my hair off my face. “Abby. I’m sorry—”

  “Don’t. Don’t say you’re sorry.” I stepped around him. “Don’t talk to me right now. Just—don’t.”

  I straightened my dress, twisted open the knob to the broom closet, and ran. I ran and ran and ran down the hallway until my lungs and toes screamed for mercy. Then, I sputtered to a stop, rested my head against the concrete wall, and sobbed.

  #

  By the time I reached the break room, I’d regained control of myself. Hands shaking, I spun the dial on my locker. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror taped to one side. All of the makeup Sabrina had so carefully applied was streaked and smeared from my eyes to my chin. My face resembled a bag of candy left out in the sun—a rainbow of mushy, melted color. I grabbed a tissue out of my locker and scrubbed off what I could. Surprisingly, my hair was mostly in one piece, thanks to the superstrength styling gel and hairspray Harold used.

  I yanked out my coat and pulled it on. I closed the locker door and leaned against it, trying to summon up the energy to walk home.

  Trying not to think about Wesley.

  For a moment in the closet, I’d thought I’d a chance. That maybe he’d take a chance on me. But no. Wesley still longed for Nightingale, and I just couldn’t be her. All of the makeup and pretty dresses in the world wouldn’t change the fact that I was still good ole Abby Appleby. Dependable. Uptight. Invisible.

  Footsteps smacked into the floor behind me. Metal jangled together, and cigarette smoke filled the air. I sighed, hoping Colt wasn’t going to ask me out again. I just couldn’t take it right now. Still, I turned and opened my mouth to say hello.

  But Colt wasn’t the one standing behind me.

  He had Colt’s face, with its dark, expressionless eyes. Colt’s long hair hung loose around his shoulders. Colt’s mocking smile curled his lips. But the black leather duster fluttering around those cowboy boots and the guns strapped to his hips were all Bandit’s.

  My mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “Colt? You’re really Bandit?”

  “Hi, Abby,” the ubervillain said.

  His gloved fist exploded against my temple, and the world went black.

  #

  Something wet dripped on my cheek. The steady drip-drip-drip turned into a torrent. A wave of water cascaded over my head, snapping me back to reality. I sputtered and coughed. Rough hands jerked me to my feet. I opened my eyes. Colt’s face, Bandit’s face, stared back at me.

  “It’s about time you woke up, Abby,” he said.

  “What do you want?” My head throbbed from where Bandit had hit me, and I was having trouble focusing on him.

  “What I’ve always wanted—the flash drive,” Bandit growled. “Where is it?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Bullshit.”

  He let me go. My knees buckled, and I hit the floor. I groaned and cradled my head in my hands. Pain stabbed my skull like an ice pick, but I took a deep breath and made myself forget about it, made myself examine my surroundings.

  I huddled at the foot of a table in the middle of a large conference room. Chairs surrounded the table, and legal pads covered the shiny surface. Gray carpet stretched over the floor, and matching drapes shuttered the windows at the far end. The water Bandit had doused me with had come out of a crystal carafe sitting on a cart. He’d soaked my head and shoulders, and water dripped from the ends of my hair, spattering onto the floor.

  My eyes fixed on the door thirty feet behind the ubervillain—and I tried to figure out how I could get through it without getting shot.

  “Do you think I’m stupid?” Bandit growled. “I know you have the flash drive. You were there in the alley the night I shot Talon. Don’t try to deny it.”

  I gasped. Things had just gone from bad to worse. I didn’t think Bandit or any of his goons had spotted me that night. I’d thought I’d had some plausible deniability where the drive was concerned. Now, even that was gone.

  “How do you know?”

  He smiled. “Because I saw you, Abby. In addition to being pretty handy with these,” his hand fell to one of his guns, “I also happen to have supersenses—just like you.”

  I gasped again. “How do you know I have supersenses?”

  “The headaches, the air freshener, the constant wincing at loud noises. All dead giveaways. I did a little checking. Your accident at The Blues was in the newspapers. I got my supersenses when a power line fell on my car. I figured an amp couldn’t be much different. But back to the drive.” Bandit leaned down until his eyes were even with mine. “If Talon had it, he would have broken the encryption and exposed Tycoon by now. My guess is he lost it in the snow that night. That’s when you picked it up. You probably put it in that vest of yours, which is why I couldn’t find it when I tore up your loft.”

  “My coat, actually,” I admitted. Had it only been Tuesday since my loft had been destroyed? It seemed longer than that.

  An odd thought struck me. “Wait a minute. You didn’t ransack my apartment until Tuesday night, a couple days after the fight in the alley.”

  “I was busy looking for Talon. With that bullet in his shoulder, I’d thought he’d go to the emergency room. When he didn’t turn up there or anywhere else, I started staking out your apartment.”

  I remembered the odd shadow I’d seen and Rascal barking at the balcony door. Bandit had been watching me even then. Now, I was glad the puppy had kept me awake. I put the rest of the timeline together. “That’s why you asked me out, isn’t it? So you could get into my apartment and look for the flash drive?”

  He shrugged. “You’ve always been nice to me, never looking down on me just because I’m a glorified janitor. I thought I’d try to be civil about things.”

  “Why do you even do it? Work as a janitor? Surely, you can make more money doing … this.”

  “All I do is sit on my ass, smoke, drink coffee, and read magazines,” Bandit said. “It’s not the most strenuous job, and nobody pays any attention to my comings and goings. It’s a good cover.”

  No, it was a great cover. I’d never looked too closely at Colt. He was another janitor, a guy who cleaned up the messes my parties made. I hadn’t thought to look deeper than that, and I’d certainly never dreamed he could be an ubervillain. Maybe if I’d paid a little more attention to him instead of bitching about being invisible all the time, I wouldn’t be in this mess.

  “After you searched my apartment, why did you confront me on the street? Why just assume I had the flash drive?”

  “I couldn’t take a chance you didn’t,” Bandit said.

  “You mean Tycoon couldn’t take that chance.”

  The ubervillain shrugged. “He’s particular about keeping his identity a secret. Not only would the information on that drive expose him, but it would jeopardize a rather expensive operation he’s been working on.”

  “Sunrise?” I asked, remembering the name Wesley had mentioned.

  Bandit’s eyes glittered. “You read the flash drive?”

  “No. I couldn’t get past the second encryption. All I saw were these folders with weird names, like Ivory Tower, Black Velvet, and Quicksilver. I thought they were names for superheroes or ubervillains—”

  I flashed back to earlier tonight, when I’d been at the makeup
counter at Oodles o’ Stuff and Sabrina had been working on my face. I thought of the products she’d used—and their names. Apple Blossom blush. Rocking Raspberry lip gloss. I’d seen the other names there. Ivory Tower foundation. Black Velvet eye shadow. Quicksilver eyeliner. The folders weren’t about heroes or villains. They were names for makeup colors.

  Makeup? What could a gangster like Tycoon possibly have to do with makeup? He was into drugs and gambling, not lip liners and bronzers.

  Bandit’s eyes never left my face. “You know, it’s a shame you’re so smart, Abby. It’s going to get you killed.”

  The ubervillain turned toward the door. “You might as well come in.”

  The door creaked open. Shadows filled the hallway outside, but I could just see the outline of a dark figure.

  “She’s figured it out,” Bandit said. “Most of it, anyway.”

  “Well, that’s a pity, isn’t it?” A soft feminine voice floated into the room.

  Octavia O’Hara stepped into the light.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Octavia walked over to stand beside Bandit. The contrast between the two was striking. Octavia wore a fitted red jacket, a short skirt, and stilettos. Her black hair was up in a tight bun, and her makeup was flawless. Bandit was in black, from the bottoms of his boots to the paisley bandanna tied around his neck.

  “Hey, baby,” Bandit murmured, putting his arm around Octavia.

  She leaned in and gave the ubervillain a slow kiss, raking her teeth across his bottom lip. His hand cupped her breast, and she growled. I cringed and dropped my gaze. I felt like I’d been sucked into some cheesy porn movie, where the rugged cowboy does the uptight businesswoman in the conference room. Or, in Bigtime’s case, the ubervillain and the high-society debutante.

  They broke apart, each one practically salivating over the other.

  Confused, I looked up at Octavia. “What are you doing here?”

  Octavia gave me a cool look. “I’m here to make sure this unpleasantness is taken care of once and for all.”

  It dawned on me why she was here—and who she really was. “You’re Tycoon, the gangster?”