Hero Unmasked: 3 (Heroes of Saturn)

by Anna Alexander

  “No! Don’t say that!” Travis shouted. “Do you know what will happen to me if people hear that shit? Don’t say anything, just keep them away from me.”

  Dhavin’s powers picked up the slightest flicker of malice from the officer. Reutgers was as protective of his community as Brett was, and Dhavin sensed the idea of fucking with a person who threatened that safety was as alluring as a wallet full of dollar bills found on the sidewalk. No one would blame you for taking it, but that didn’t make the deed right.

  A cloud formed from Reutgers’ mouth as he sighed and shook his head. “We’ll leave the charges at assault. Nothing more. Thanks, Chameleon. We’ll take it from here.”

  “Let me know if you require anything more from me.”

  “Got it.” He scratched at the stubble on his chin. “How many of Smithwick’s men have you roughed up now?”

  Good question. He knew of eight he dealt with personally, but he had no idea of how many Kristos had put a stop to. “Not enough, in my opinion.”

  “Not that we don’t appreciate the help, but you may want to call us in sooner. Stopping these thugs is our job, you’re a private citizen. He may make things personal if you continue to interfere in his business.”

  “Don’t worry about me, Officer. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself. Smithwick is but an annoying insect compared to the villains I’ve faced. If he wants to make it personal, I say have at me.”

  Reutgers shook his head. “You’ve got balls, Chameleon. I’ll give you that.”

  “Do your part, Officer, and I’ll do mine.”

  * * * * *

  Fiona felt her stomach knot like pretzel dough as she and her aunt huddled around Mags while she scrolled through the weather forecast updates on her smartphone.

  Snow, snow and more snow was expected to dump over half of the state beginning at eight that evening. How the meteorologists were so precise with their predications baffled her, but no matter what time the white stuff was expected to fall, the outcome was going to be the same—a crappy commute and lack of customers.

  A dusting of snow was common in the wintertime with their location on the mountain but usually any precipitation melted by afternoon, disappearing as quickly as it arrived. This time however, the forecast was for feet of snow and below-freezing temperatures. On the steep, twisting mountain roads, that made a deadly combination.

  Through the big picture window, the sun shone bright and beautiful, making it difficult to believe the storm of the century was on its way, but life on the mountain taught you to be prepared for anything. Two years earlier the town council downplayed weather reports less ominous than those currently playing and twelve people died when trying to navigate roads that should have been closed or treated for ice. Though the town’s resources were slim, the lesson was learned and every precaution was taken to prevent another disaster.

  The one upside of the impending doom was the shop was extra busy with people doing some last-minute shopping before becoming potentially homebound.

  The bell chimed, announcing the arrival of two more customers.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Dow,” Fiona greeted the first guest while Bridget waited on the second and Mags continued to watch the trending topics on her phone. “What can I get for you today?”

  “Chocolate. Chocolate. Chocolate,” Mrs. Dow’s four-year-old twins chanted, dancing a jig around the double-seated stroller carrying a toddler and baby girl.

  “Cool it,” their mother snapped then turned to Fiona with a sweet smile. “Yeah, like I need them hopped up on sugar before being trapped with them by the snow. Woo, what a day. The stores are crazy.”

  “So I’ve been hearing.”

  “Mitch called and the lumber mill told them to prepare to stay home tomorrow. Can you believe that? They never close.”

  Fiona’s stomach soured more at that bit of news. When the Cedar River flooded the year before and water breached the dam, the mill kept running. For them to be preparing for a closure meant they expected the weather to be really bad.

  She wiped her damp hands against her pants. “Sounds like you’ll have a full house.”

  “Yep. Can I have two dozen scones? If we’re going to be trapped, I want my favorite foods on hand.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Mrs. Dow leaned closer to whisper, “And wrap up a cherry cake too. Mitch loves them and once the kids are asleep, we can share a treat and snuggle to keep warm. If you know what I mean.”

  Fiona looked at the twins shrieking as they chased one another around the table and then at the toddler affectionately picking his baby sister’s nose and restrained a shudder. “How do you find the energy?” she asked before she could stop herself.

  “My Mitch is a sexy man. Even more so when he’s in dad-mode.”

  “More power to you, Mrs. Dow.” Fiona had to admire her resilience. The woman was insane, but she was content with her reality, which was more than most people could say.

  The bell chimed again and Fiona looked up to see Officer Kilsgaard dash through the doorway and press his body deep into the shadowy corner of the room. He stood statue still, and Fiona found herself holding her breath with him though she had no idea why. After several heartbeats four members of the Cedar Women’s Auxiliary Club crossed in front of the store. They paused by the door, looking around and gesturing in confusion. When Janice Harbinger met her gaze through the glass, Fiona gave a slight wave. The woman returned the gesture with halfhearted energy and shrugged, leading the rest of the club down the street.

  Once their high-pitched chatter faded, Office Kilsgaard released a slow breath and stepped deeper into the room. “Good afternoon, all.”

  “Hey,” Fiona replied. “Are you okay?”

  “Fine. Fine. Hello, Mrs. Dow.” He grabbed the twins by the back of the shirts as they flew past him. “Boys, make your mother proud and use your inside voices. Or else,” he finished in a low tone.

  The boys ran to their mother and grabbed on to each leg, staring up at the giant man with wide eyes.

  “Thanks, Officer.” Mrs. Dow laughed. “I think you may be the only person who can get them to be quiet. I may need to call you in the future.”

  “They’re good lads, just young. Can I help you with your things?”

  “No thanks. I’ve got a system.” She tucked the parcel Fiona handed her into the bottom of the stroller and started for the door. “Thanks, Fiona. Good luck in the storm.”

  “Bye.” Fiona waved, then felt the weight of Dhavin’s gaze as silence fell between them.

  With him standing before her in the flesh, guilt rolled in her belly, which she knew was stupid. He didn’t know she had intended to call him the night before, so there was no reason to feel as if she were unfaithful to him. Up until the moment she had dropped her keys, Dhavin had been on her mind. But that was before the Chameleon became Cam and a tiny tendril of hope that she would see the masked crusader again took root. A possibility. Again that word went and made everything complicated.

  Was she envisioning a future of a long-term commitment and wedding bells? Pfft. Of course not. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, entertain the notion of even flirting with the handsome policeman when her heart was pointing her toward another. One woman, one man. That was how she was programmed.

  Nevertheless, heat spread across her cheeks as she remembered the fantasies she had allowed herself to spin about Officer Dhavin. In her imagination he was a playful kisser, teasing her lips with small nips of his teeth. Cam’s kisses she imagined as more serious, deep and thorough, able to obliterate all other thoughts from her mind.

  There was a brief moment before falling to sleep when she imagined both men stroking her from neck to toes and everywhere in between. Totally wicked and absolutely decadent.

  And totally, utterly shameful.

  “Fiona? You’re flushed. What’s wrong?” Officer Kilsgaard asked.

  “Nothing.” Except she was a horrible person. “It’s been busy and all this ta
lk of the storm is freaking me out a little. I’m good, Officer.”

  “Please, call me Dhavin.”

  “You’re working.” And even if he weren’t, he’d always be Officer Kilsgaard.

  “I am. But I still want to be your friend, even though you turned me down. Maybe in time you will change your mind, however I may be waiting a long time for that after you see what I have for you. Hold out your hand.”

  From his jacket pocket he withdrew a small white envelope. It weighed perhaps an ounce, yet it felt like five pounds balanced on her open palm. “What is this?”

  “Look inside.”

  The outside of the envelope was blank. Inside held a single sheet of paper. The blood rushed in her ears as she slid out the paper and saw the bold, blocked-lettered black script in the center.

  Dessert?

  7:30 your place. I’ll bring the wine.

  -C

  Her brain refused to process the information. “I don’t understand.”

  Officer Kilsgaard smiled. “You have an admirer.”

  “I still don’t understand.”

  “This morning I responded to an accident near the Old Saw Bridge and,” his voice lowered to a murmur, “our mutual acquaintance was there. He told me he had patrolled this area of town and asked me about you. Apparently you made quite an impression on him last night.”

  “I did?” she squeaked then flushed again when she noticed Aunt Bridget taking an avid interest in their conversation. She angled her body away from her too-interested aunt and asked in a more controlled voice, “You talked about me? What did he say? He really gave this to you?”

  “Correct. And I am to report back to him with your answer. I’ve been instructed to ensure it is in the affirmative.”

  Had the world turned upside down? No way was she being asked out by the man of her dreams via the hunky guy she turned down the night before. This had to be a joke or else everything the officer said last night about his interest in her was a lie. “Why did you agree to deliver this? I mean, especially after yesterday.”

  He ran a finger over the smooth countertop, eyes downcast. “I like you, Fiona, and I want you to be happy. If not with me, then with someone else who deserves you. Believe me though, I’d rather you give me a chance. But the Cha—he’s a good guy. And I think he’s lonely. It’s not like he has a lot of friends or someone he can relax around. You’ll be good for him too.”

  Her fingers tightened on the paper that still carried the heat of Cam’s touch, as if it were fresh from the copy machine. She drew the paper to her chest then realized tucking it between her cleavage was not the most mature move.

  “Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

  “Then I’ll answer for you. I’ll let him know you’ll be waiting.”

  “How? Can’t I call him?”

  “He uses more elementary methods of communication. He has to be careful who has a direct line of contact to him. So is it a yes?”

  The word came to her lips then clung to her tongue. Why was she suddenly afraid? It was only a meeting, after all. Not even a date. And here was this great guy standing before her, who made no bones about wanting to spend more time with her. What should she say? Who should she choose?

  “Yes.” The word came out on a breath.

  One night. She could be reckless for one night.

  The slow, sexy smile that curled his firm lips almost made her take the word back. Cripes, when did she go from having one potential suitor to two? Some women might think this was a good problem to have, but all Fiona wondered was what gods did she piss off to be tortured in this fashion.

  “Good.” He rapped his knuckles on the countertop. “If it doesn’t work out between you two, will you reconsider my offer?”

  She nodded. “Thank you, Officer…Dhavin.”

  “My pleasure. Bridget, love.” He sauntered toward her aunt. “Is that a fresh batch of shortbread I smell?”

  “Yes,” her aunt answered slowly. Her narrowed-eyed gaze bounced back and forth between them. “This is the second day in a row you’ve been in. You must really like our sweets.” She waggled her eyebrows at the innuendo.

  “They are the best I’ve ever tasted. But you already know that.” He winked. “Give me three dozen to take back to the station. Once that storm hits, it’s going to be a long night for us on duty.”

  “Sure thing.” She reached for a white box and began to load it with large handfuls, not even bothering to count. “This will be on the house.”

  “Auntie,” Fiona exclaimed.

  “All right, all right. Half price,” she whispered.

  Fiona let it go. After all, it was for a good cause and she had other things to worry about, like what to wear and what type of dessert would a superhero enjoy?

  Warm pot de crème smothered over golden skin sounded absolutely decadent, but not for a first date.

  Second date, maybe.

  Chapter Four

  Twenty seconds.

  Fiona rearranged the plate of tartlets on the table. The lemon chiboust filling was the perfect dessert for a first date. Not too heavy, refreshing and bright, plus the sweet-and-tart cream went well with either red or white wine. And nothing was flakier than her shortbread pie dough. She angled the dish so the light from the chandelier sparkled against the crystal, and looked at the clock on the wall again.

  Only fifteen seconds more had passed? Gah!

  Cam wasn’t late. Not really. 7:32 did not count as late. Each tick of the second hand made it seem like an eternity, but her brain understood it was only nerves making her think she’d been waiting at the ready forever.

  She grabbed a lock of hair and twisted the frizzy ends into some semblance of a curl and took another tour of the first floor. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, the junk mail had been tossed into the recycling and all the dishes were put away. One pair of shoes waited by the door, strategically arranged to look as if thrown without a care. She wanted to appear tidy but not unrealistically neat. It was best not to set too high of an example.

  Maybe she should put the tartlets back into the refrigerator. No, too long in the cold and the tops could turn to rubber. But if she kept them at room temperature any longer the raspberry syrup drizzle might bleed into the cream, making an unappetizing mess.

  Refrigerate. Yes. No. Yes. Ugh.

  A light rap on the sliding glass door drew her up short. For several long seconds she stared at the venetian-blind-covered window as her brain ceased to fire commands. A second knock made her jump and she hurried across the room. Remembering their conversation from the night before, she peeked through the plastic slats instead of whipping open the door. Cam rewarded her with a smile and an approving nod.

  “Woo, it’s cold,” she couldn’t help but shout after she slid the glass open and a frigid breeze blew her hair back. White flakes had begun to fall and dusted the ground like powdered sugar. “Come on in.”

  She slid the door shut then looked up, way up and for the first time in her life felt dainty.

  Holy. Crap.

  The Chameleon was standing in her dining room.

  Yep, there went her cognitive ability. The house could be burning down around them and she wouldn’t notice, or even care. His image blurred as her vision fuzzed out due to lack of oxygen from her frozen lungs. That intense stare of his was a laser beam to her core, sending a tingle of excitement zinging through her bloodstream at the same time it scared her witless.

  Dear Lord, please don’t let me make an ass of myself.

  “Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he said as he withdrew a bottle of wine from the bag tied to his belt. “Especially since I invited myself over. No one knows where I live, and I need to keep it that way at least for now.”

  “Oh, I understand. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Or would you prefer to sit in the living room?”

  “The dining room is fine.” He pointed to the plate. “Fiona, those look wonderful. I haven’t seen
tarts like this in your shop. Did you make these for me?”

  Wait, he’d been in her shop? How did she not know this? She meant to ask, but his delighted smile distracted her. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with a neutral flavor.”

  “I don’t think you make anything I wouldn’t like. I hope this wine goes well.”

  She took the offered bottle and snapped her teeth together to stop the girlish squeal that threatened to burst forth. “This is my favorite, and I can be picky with my wine. This will be perfect. Let me get us some glasses.”

  “Allow me.”

  He started to rise and she stopped him with a sharp, “No. You’re a guest. Besides, when was the last time someone waited on you?”

  “Longer than I can remember. I’m the type of man who usually does the serving.”

  “Not tonight. Sit. Relax. If you can.”

  His husky chuckle stroked her along the spine as she dashed into the kitchen and set a new world’s record for uncorking a bottle of wine. She grabbed two of her finest crystal glasses and began to run back but forced herself to slow her steps. At the corner she paused to sneak a peek and admire him for a bit.

  Man, he was impressive. Even seated, he was taller than she and his chest seemed to stretch as wide as the table. Perhaps it was her overactive imagination, but she swore little arcs of electricity sparked in a halo around him, as if his energy were protesting the stop of action.

  “So,” she began as she entered the room and poured a measure of red liquid into each glass. “How was your day? Ugh—no, don’t answer that. It was a stupid question. Not that I don’t care how your day was, ’cause I do, but that’s just so lame. How was your day? How completely uninteresting on my part—”

  “Fiona.”

  Her heart leapt into her throat when he placed his big, warm palm over her shaking hand and trapped her in the snare of his deep-brown gaze.

  “Sit.”

  Her legs buckled and she plopped ungracefully into the chair that was fortunately positioned in the best spot to prevent her from falling on her ass.