Angel

by Lola Dodge

  Simply unforgettable…and wildly dangerous.

  Manhattan Ten, Book 4

  Angelina Márquez’s perfect memory recall makes her ideally suited to manage the Manhattan Ten superhero crew, a task that sometimes borders on insanity. Still, the price of being everything to everyone is high.

  A recruiting trip to UCLA does nothing to cure her chronic insomnia. Intel indicates someone in the L.A. Pack may be harboring anti-super sentiment. On top of that, she’s sent to retrieve a straight-out-of-the-jungle panther shifter being detained at LAX.

  Tequani was looking forward to visiting his hero brother, but when civilization unexpectedly brings out his claws, he’s court-ordered to stick with Angel while his paws are on U.S. soil. He’s fully prepared to be bored out of his skull—except Angel’s talents and beauty fill the vacant places in his soul.

  Angel can’t seem to stop Quan from burning himself into her mind, right down to the exact dimensions of his abdominals. But when they fall into a trap, survival means pooling every one of their talents. A move that could balance their souls…or throw their hearts into dangerous chaos.

  Warning: Feeding panther-shifters results in territorial behavior and steamy displays of affection. Be on the lookout for claw marks, love bites and heavy petting.

  Angel

  Lola Dodge

  Dedication

  Thanks, as always, to my #1 reader, Aileen. I couldn’t do it without you!

  Chapter One

  Angel

  I could curse at Steel in every one of my ten languages and it wouldn’t be enough. “Another club fight?”

  “It wasn’t my fault.” Steel leaned against the table of his interrogation room—after his fifth incident in as many months, they might as well engrave his name on the door. Subtitle: playboy pain in my ass.

  “Have you tried to stop smiling at girls with boyfriends?” A smile was all he needed. With his rumpled post-fight hair, killer blue eyes and a face flushed from I didn’t want to know how many shots, he looked every inch the cover model. I wasn’t complaining when the royalties on his last photo book alone were paying the rent and utilities for the Manhattan Ten headquarters, but it was 3 a.m. and I’d been blissfully asleep for once when Sgt. Clinton Jones called my direct number.

  It was Steel’s fault I was on a first-name basis with half the NYPD, but I was the designated babysitter for all M10-related incidents. Especially those involving drunk and disorderly heroes.

  “She smiled at me first.” Steel tried to give me the same treatment, fluttering his lashes like a high-school cheerleader, but he leaned in too far and snapped his handcuffs with his super strength. “Oops.” He pinched the chain back in place.

  “Stop flirting and I’ll get you bailed out.” I’d been immune to his charms for years and wasn’t in the mood to play. Wearing zero makeup and hiding pajamas under my trench coat made me cranky.

  “That’s my Angel.” Steel blew a kiss.

  Dios mío. One of these days, I was going to kill him.

  Sgt. Jones waited in the hallway. His dark hairline was receding more than expected for mid-thirties, but his kids were two and five, and his wife, Monica had passed away from breast cancer last year.

  At the sight of him, waves of images and information flooded my head.

  Home address 5B #401, Bleecker Street, Bushwick.

  Sgt. Jones extending his hand as we meet for the first time on December 8th, 2011. “Are you Angelina Márquez?”

  Dozens of other conversations fought for my attention. “How long have you been with the Ten?” “We can’t lower the bail this time, Angel.” “Cup of coffee for you?”

  No.

  I tamped down the inevitable rush of memories and gathered data. The total recall was always there, whether or not the information was relevant or wanted. I’d gotten used to working around the stray bursts over the years, and the power to remember everything was generally an asset, but I was being flooded in useless memories more and more often and I couldn’t do my job if I couldn’t focus on the task at hand.

  Right now, that was getting Steel out of trouble. I took a cleansing breath and forced away the superfluous associations.

  “He all right in there?” Sgt. Jones asked.

  “He’s fine. Let’s do the paperwork and I’ll get him out of your hair.” I followed the sergeant to his office; after so many incidents, we had the procedure down to a science. I signed the legal documents and approved M10 funds for the estimated damages. Only twenty grand tonight. Very tame by Steel standards. “Should I expect any criminal charges?” I’d already left a few messages for the legal team.

  “Not likely.” The sergeant shifted the relevant papers into his Steel file. “No broken bones, and my officers got a handful of witnesses saying he tried to stay out of it. I don’t know what they put in the drinks at these clubs, but all the kids want to fight the superhero. Lucky for us he’s such a cooperative guy.”

  That was one of Steel’s few redeeming qualities. He went peacefully with the authorities and cooperated when he could’ve broken out by sneezing too hard.

  So why did the authorities send Temptress to pick him up in Vegas?

  I bit down hard before that memory jaunt could get started. Not now. I wanted to get back to headquarters and pretend I’d be able to fall back asleep, but my brain was already whirring with cases that needed to be followed up tomorrow, and Nil’s birthday was Tuesday, and merchandising wanted to talk about a set of Manhattan Ten figurines, and Ivory needed some new outfits to replace the ones that Pan kept tearing off her—

  I took a deep breath. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

  “Agreed.” The sergeant shook my hand and led the way back to the interrogation room. Steel had snapped his handcuff chain again, only now he was passed out with his head on his arms.

  Oh no he didn’t.

  If I didn’t sleep, he didn’t sleep. I pinched his nose and he jolted.

  “You just break another pair of my cuffs?” Sgt. Jones folded his arms in the doorway.

  “Sorry, sir,” Steel said. “Couldn’t help it.”

  “Just toss ’em.” The sergeant rubbed a hand against his scalp. “I don’t know why I bother anymore. You’re destroying my budget.”

  Steel pulled the cuffs off his wrists like they were snap bracelets and set the mangled remains on the table. I tugged his sleeve, hauling him to his feet. “I’m sure Steel would love to headline your next fundraising benefit to make up for that.”

  “Yeah. Totally.” Steel wasn’t convincing anyone, but he’d agreed and he’d do it with a smile. It was a good cause.

  The sergeant’s eyes practically twinkled. “Best news I’ve heard all night.”

  It should be. Steel’s core fans included a loyal following of New York heiresses.

  Our business done, I tugged the offending hero outside. We had to duck past the cameras waiting at the station’s steps, but that didn’t stop the reporters from calling out questions.

  “Angel! What’s he in for this time?”

  “Steel! How you feeling? When’s the new movie out?”

  I covered my face with a hand and hustled Steel into our waiting car before he stopped to give interviews.

  As we chugged back to Midtown, he passed out again with his forehead pressed against the glass, but I wasn’t thankful for the silence. With no one to help and nothing to do but wait to get back to the tower, it was either relive an endless stream of memories or review my to-do list. Meet with PR and legal first thing to clear up the latest Steel hijinks. Send Steel, Jet and Panther reminders to get a gift for Nil’s birthday party—which would be informal because he didn�
�t like a fuss. Get Thunder’s report on the New York State super legislation. Talk to the shipping company in Vegas about packing up Temptress’s penthouse—

  Jenny Ray wearing a peach-colored sundress, her hair in sexy blonde tangles as she stands in the crook of Tank’s arm. “I’m Temptress. So nice to finally meet you, Angel.”

  Jealousy choking my throat so tightly I stutter my response. “You. Yes. You too. Nice to meet you too.”

  I bit back the wave of memories before it could go any farther, but my cheeks were already heating in remembrance of my idiocy. Tank was my boss—and my friend since college, but also my boss. How could such harmless feelings be so mortifying?

  I’d known my crush on him would never go anywhere—if it could even be called that. We were both too brainy-powered and I was still too hung up on the memory of my first awkward kiss (Sam Choi at the seventh grade dance, wearing his dad’s cologne, and his tongue enters my mouth, flopping like a dead fish) to commit to any guy. But Tank…meeting his eyes at orientation, the jolt the first time he taps my shoulder, the surge of hormones as his thigh presses against mine watching a movie on his couch.

  Tank was different from other guys, and I’d expected being a mind reader would keep him as single as total memory recall kept me. I didn’t want that distance—hated it, actually—but anyone I let into my life had too much power over my state of mind. I’d tried to get over my pathetic middle school hang-ups by going on a real adult date, but now I couldn’t step into the West Village without sinking in flashbacks.

  My date’s eyes darting to check out the waitress’ ass. His rough fingertips against my hand as he leans in for a kiss that I can’t let happen.

  Reality had to be so much easier for normal people. Forgetting the awkward memories or putting a positive spin on them after a few weeks or months of distance.

  For me?

  Replay didn’t lie, and the ability to cold review what had happened made it impossible to hide the ugly parts. How was I supposed to get into a relationship with a man when I’d be picturing every mistake he’d ever made every time I looked at him for the rest of our lives?

  That was why I’d fixated on Tank. After so many years together, I knew how genuinely good he was. We could be close without him ever crossing the line of our friendship because he knew exactly how terrified I was of going further.

  We were supposed to be single together forever, and I was content with that.

  Until the Temptress, Jenny Ray, was assigned to bring Steel in for questioning and got tangled with Tank instead.

  Now I was in the brainpower boat alone and acting like a thirteen-year-old brat. By all accounts, Jenny was lovely, and she and Tank were already fairly serious. I had no reason not to be thrilled for him.

  No valid reason, at least.

  Maybe work was finally getting to me. I lived for it, but between providing Tank and Ruin administrative support, keeping Steel out of trouble, getting Belle settled in the tower, negotiating a few dozen contracts and planning for my trip to UCLA—plus the day to day problems associated with running a group of out-of-control superheroes—it might be too much even for me.

  That would explain the headaches, although the lack of sleep was par at this point. I hadn’t slept more than four hours at once since May 15th, 2005. Not that I was counting on purpose.

  The car finally slipped into the underground parking garage beneath the Manhattan Ten’s Midtown tower. We pulled into our space, but Steel hadn’t stirred.

  “Steel?” I nudged his shoulder. “Robby?” Not even his street name warranted a reaction.

  It was physically impossible for me to carry him to the elevator. I could wake a few of the guys to help, but none of them needed their sleep disrupted.

  Instead, I hauled Steel onto his side. The car had a fancy storage locker just for occasions like this. I grabbed a blanket and smoothed it over him before placing a bottle of water in his hand. He was going to wake up with a nasty, but not entirely undeserved, hangover.

  Waving goodnight to our driver, Stu—47, divorced, no kids, grew up in Park Slope, now living in a one-bedroom in Bed-Stuy—I headed for the elevator.

  The first time I rode this elevator, butterflies in my stomach, wondering if I was meant for the Manhattan Ten and if I could survive.

  This was my 10,011th ride on the elevator, and every one of those rides wanted to flash back.

  As per usual.

  I stopped up to my floor for a quick shower, then contemplated trying to nap, but my brain was too wired to sleep and I had too much to finish before this trip to L.A. Instead, I pinned my long dark hair into a French twist, making a mental note to book an appointment for a trim, then slipped into the new Trina Turk pencil skirt I’d gotten for a steal for $75 at Bloomingdale’s.

  When I headed down to the office on the third floor, nothing about it looked like 5 a.m. on a Sunday morning. The overhead lights weren’t on yet, but lamps glowed from the rows of cubes and the lights blazed in both Tank and Ruin’s offices.

  I paused at my desk to flick on the power—lighting up the ten monitors—and headed for my morning check-in with Tank.

  Quiet thoughts.

  Tank couldn’t help reading minds, but that didn’t mean I had to project at the man.

  “Morning.” I knocked on the doorframe. “Did you hear about our friend—?”

  Tank held a finger to his lips and pointed. Jenny lay wrapped in a fleece blanket on the leather sofa, her loose blonde curls tumbling like this was a shampoo photo shoot.

  I would not be jealous. It was beneath me. Truly.

  I switched to my internal voice. Did you hear about our friend, Steel?

  Tank’s familiar mental touch flipped through my thought bank like he was paging through a filing cabinet. He was the logic board, I was the memory card. We’d worked like that for years.

  That asshole. Tank pinched the bridge of his nose. Sorry he woke you. I know you haven’t been sleeping.

  Not a problem. He’s passed out in the garage. Which Tank already knew. But speaking of not sleeping… Are you sure you’re getting enough rest? Tank’s dark eyes were bloodshot, and although his brown hair was cropped too short to be rumpled, his black tee showed a few wrinkles.

  Don’t worry on my account. Any other news?

  I usually would’ve taken a seat on the sofa while we hashed out the itinerary, but it was already occupied. Instead, I projected my to-do list in one shot.

  Tank nodded. Everything set for L.A.?

  I’d been deliberately slacking on that front. I was hoping you’d change your mind and take the lead. A recruitment fair was the last item I wanted on my agenda, especially when we hadn’t sent a representative in years—not since bringing Steel onto the team. Literally every student in the Practical Heroics Department at UCLA wanted to sign with the Manhattan Ten.

  You’re the best suited for this one, Lina. And you haven’t visited your mother in almost a year. You know how she gets.

  Lina. Always Lina in our private talks. He had to be the only one who remembered Angelina Márquez. To the rest of the world, I was Angel, administrative aide to heroes far and wide. And yes, I knew how my mother got. That wasn’t a sufficient reason to put myself at the center of another press frenzy.

  It won’t be a press frenzy. A student frenzy, maybe, but there’s no one better for us to send.

  I gave a mental sigh. I know. All the other heroes were tied down on one case or another.

  And I need you on the ground to deal with a new complication.

  Oh?

  Tank motioned me around his desk and cued up an email. We may have a new lead on the anti-super affair in L.A. The feds tracked some suspicious calls placed from the Pack’s offices. Have you been in touch with Pix lately?

  My gears churned as I skimmed through the message. The team had been struggling to find
new leads since Ivory accidentally killed our best target, and it had been months with no news. We knew that some of her tribesmen of ice elementals had been brought in to hunt and murder supers, but they’d also been casualties, and nothing short of resurrecting them would help us find the persons responsible for the last string of serial murders.

  We couldn’t repeat that.

  Still, I decidedly did not want to nose in on the L.A. Pack’s territory, even if Pixie was a member. She was my best friend and former college roommate, but it wasn’t good form to intrude on another hero group’s area.

  Shouldn’t they have jurisdiction?

  The calls were placed internally, so we’ve been asked to step in, Tank thought. And there’s suspicion this could be connected to the Pack intern who disappeared last year.

  Suddenly “complications” sounded like an understatement. Resolving murders and abductions wasn’t my forte.

  Are you sure I’m still the best choice? Why not wait a few days and send Panther and Ivory? It was Pan’s case if it belonged to anyone. I hadn’t done anything close to fieldwork in years, and that was perfectly fine in my book.

  I was hoping to handle this with some tact.

  Well…

  Panther would roar in and Ivory wouldn’t be shy about ice-skewering any suspects the two of them happened to find. Thunder?

  He’ll fly you to L.A., but we need him in D.C. this weekend. You’re the only one who can poke around without rousing suspicions.

  With the rest of our roster tied down on other jobs and cases, it was me or no one, and following up these leads was essential. We couldn’t risk any more innocent supers losing their lives. Send me the rest of the info and I’ll see what I can do.

  Thanks, Lina.

  Jenny shifted, drawing the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

  Tank winced and pushed back from his chair. Bad dreams. Better wake her.

  I’ll leave you to it. I slipped out, closing the door behind me. My to-do list was approaching dissertation length and worrying about Tank and/or Jenny wasn’t going to get the boxes ticked.