A New Day (StrikeForce #1)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  “You could have tried,” I said, meeting his eyes.

  “I might have succeeded.”

  “Not likely.”

  He smiled. “It’s a business proposition. I mean, there are enough rich bastards to go around, right? But it would be a lot easier on both of us to team up. Less… lonely, maybe.” He shrugged again.

  “Aren’t you one of those rich bastards?” I asked.

  He grinned then. “Only thanks to the generosity of all the rich bastards I’ve encountered over the years, including my father,” he said with a smirk. “I still want more.”

  Damn it. He was saying all the right things. And he had Luther’s trust. He was appealing to my own desire to do more, though I had the feeling his “more” was a bit different from mine. It was probably stupid. He was probably planning on double-crossing me or something for all I knew, but I had to admit that he had a point. He was the first person I’d ever met who was like me. As in, a thief and a powered person. I could see the same feral, hungry look in his eyes that I saw every time I looked in the mirror.

  But there was more. The sense that he wasn’t used to hearing the word “no.” The fact that he clearly knew my name, where my mother lived, and what I could do — the three things I’d been almost obsessive about keeping secret. He was saying he would never use those things against me. I’d have to be a moron to actually believe that. Everyone had a price. If someone ever named his, he’d spill faster than you could whisper “traitor.” The same was true of Luther.

  I could not believe she’d given him my name.

  “I’m not sure,” I finally said. “I don’t know you.”

  “Yeah.”

  “And it would be so easy for you to double-cross me, or mess with me.”

  “You don’t trust so easy,” he said, and I shook my head. “That makes two of us.”

  “So maybe it would be better for each of us to do our own thing, and just stay out of each other’s way. And I’ll promise not to hit your house again.”

  He let out a short laugh. “You wouldn’t get inside again.”

  “Is that a challenge, Richie Rich?” I glanced over at him, and caught a smile, a glint in his eyes.

  “My name’s Damian Rutherford. It’s not something I share with many people.“ I didn’t answer. “So we’re even, Jolene Faraday. You want to turn that name over to somebody, tell them I’m a thief, you have the power to do it. You know where I live. It wouldn’t even be hard to make my life hell.”

  “So why say anything?” I stopped, and he stopped with me. I’m not exactly a tiny thing, but even so, he stood a good few inches taller than me. Thin, though. The kind of person my Mama would try to fatten up immediately.

  “Because I believe in taking risks sometimes, if the payoff seems worthwhile. You’re a risk I’m willing to take.” He backed up a step, eyes on mine. “You know where to find me if you change your mind. Until then, we’ll just keep doing our things, separately.”

  “Take care,” I said.

  “You too. Try not to knock down any more shitty motels.”

  “That was fun, though,” I said, and he laughed. He turned, walked away, giving me a quick wave over his shoulder as he did. I stood there and watched him walk away until I couldn’t see him anymore.

  “I am going to kill Luther,” I said, to no one in particular as I shoved my shaking hands into my pockets.

  Chapter Five

  “You gave him my name? My real, actual, legal freaking name?” I said to Luther as she waved me into her living room. “I knew I should have kept that to myself.” I sat down on the uncomfortable sofa near the windows, and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen Luther roll her eyes to the heavens, as if she was hoping God would deliver her from hysterical children, as she’d called me more than once. “Really, Luther?”

  “Settle down. I wouldn’t give that to just anyone, kotka.”

  Kotka. “Cat” in Polish. Cat burglar. Luther was just too damn cute sometimes, but I wasn’t in the mood.

  “Why him, Luther?” I asked more quietly. She sat down with a bit of a wince.

  “Because many hands make lighter work,” she said, speaking in her own weird code again. In other words, more profit to be made, by her, if Damian and I teamed up.

  “I can’t believe you told him that.”

  “He would have found it out anyway. He told you what he can do, yeah?” I nodded, still glaring at the floor. “He figured out enough to know that you come over and help me out from time to time. It probably wasn’t too hard from there. All I did was confirm it. Smart, that one.” She paused. “And he wouldn’t betray you. I know that, too.”

  “How can you know that?” I asked.

  “You’re around as long as me, live the kind of life I’ve lived, you get a good sense of people. I’m not wrong.”

  I stood up and strolled over to the mantle, which was lined with little statues of cats. Cats, everywhere, in Luther’s place. Both the real and decorative variety. “I told him no.”

  “Which is your choice. And he’ll honor it,” she said with a shrug. “I think it’s foolish, but what do I know? I’ve only lived three times as long as you have.”

  “Don’t.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t pull the old lady thing on me, all right?”

  She shrugged and lit a cigarette.

  “If you’re wrong…”

  “I’m not. I’ve known that one almost twenty years.”

  “He’s not much older than I am,” I said.

  She nodded, raised her eyebrows as if to say “yeah, and?”

  “He’s in his early thirties. And yes, I’ve known him almost twenty years. Not many I work with for that long. Most aren’t smart enough to have that long of a career. Keep that in mind, kotka.”

  “He doesn’t seem bad. I’m just…” I shrugged.

  “Oh, he’s bad. As bad as you or me or anyone. Sinners, all. That’s why we go to church.”

  I studied her for a few moments, then shook my head. “Whatever.”

  “Speaking of church. Will you be driving me this week?” Would I have merchandise for her this week, she meant.

  “Maybe. I need to look at my schedule.”

  She pursed her lips in that way she did when she was annoyed with me. “Well. Let’s hope so. I’m not getting any younger, and there’s still plenty of saving I need.” She wanted an influx of cash. Or, her sisters did, maybe.

  “We’ll see what I can work out,” I said, glancing toward the window. I had a couple of places under surveillance. “You know, beggars can’t be choosers,” I said.

  She smiled, and there wasn’t a whole lot of warmth in it. “No. No, they most certainly cannot.”

  I let myself out. Great. Now I had Luther on my back. My relationship with her was mutually profitable, but a lot of getting the best prices on things relied on how happy Luther happened to be with me at the time. And a Luther who got regular kickbacks for her services was a happy Luther.

  The last thing I wanted to do was pull off a job just then. It took focus I didn’t have, and I had enough excitement in my life without the adrenaline rush that came with cleaning out rich people’s houses.

  Still. How hard could it be when all I had to do was fly out?

  One job. In, and out.

  As it was, the job itself wasn’t hard. Jam the security system, in and out in under three minutes, grab some nice jewelry and some coins. Luther liked coins, but I didn’t know anything about them. I even got out without any problem, opening a window and flying out. Easy.

  I was flying over West Bloomfield when I saw the line of squad cars, lights flashing, heading toward the place where I’d just been, and I let out a loud laugh as I flew away. I got home, stashed my loot, and grabbed the tub of rocky road out of the freezer. I sat on the ugly sofa in my living room, shoveled ice cream into my face and got ready to watch the news. I was still surrounded by unpacked boxes. My stuff just didn’t seem to belong there, and I wasn’t in a h
urry to unpack everything. So, for the moment, I was living out of boxes. I’d have to at least shuffle them elsewhere before my mother came to visit, or she’d insist on helping me and if there was one thing I definitely didn’t want, it was Mama rooting around in my stuff.

  I’d get around to it. Eventually. I turned my attention back to the news. When the top story was “Relentless burglar strikes again,” I laughed.

  My laughter froze and died when my image flashed onto the screen. Not anything most people would recognize. Me, face covered by a black scarf, only my eyes exposed. Nobody could tell anything from that. It wasn’t the first time security cameras had captured my image, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. As I sat watching the black and white video of myself, my stomach started twisting, worse when I realized that the window I’d flown out of was right in view of the camera.

  Shit.

  I leaned forward and watched as I opened the window and flew out into the night.

  There was a voiceover, and I listened as I watched. “As you can see, we have exclusive video of the burglar who has plagued the suburbs in recent years, exiting via a second story window. Exterior cameras showed another view.”

  “No,” I groaned, eyes glued to the screen.

  And there I was, flying over the back yard. Grainy, dark, but it was very clearly a person, flying. The video looped again, and then the anchor went to an interview with the West Bloomfield chief of police.

  “So, chief. Is this what I think it is? Is our burglar a powered person?” the anchor in the studio asked.

  “That is what it appears to be. Which may very well explain why he was so hard to apprehend.”

  I let out a little breath. They still thought they were dealing with a dude. This was a good thing.

  “And will StrikeForce be involved in the investigation as a result?” the anchor asked.

  On screen, the chief nodded. “I met with Alpha right before coming on the air with you. He has promised StrikeForce’s assistance, as well as their partnership in trying to get an identity. There aren’t that many powered people around. It won’t be hard to narrow it down.”

  “Do we believe this is the same being who destroyed the vacant Eight Mile Motel?” the anchor asked, and they cut to video of the pile of rubble I’d left in my wake.

  “Right now, that is the assumption we have to go with. Eyewitness reports indicate someone flying away from that scene. It’s not all that common of an ability.”

  “This being seems dangerous.”

  “Indeed. The public should consider this person to be extremely dangerous. Any indication of someone flying, someone with a ridiculous amount of strength, should be called in to either local law enforcement or the StrikeForce hotline. Do not attempt to approach the suspect. Stay safe, stay in your home or vehicle, and let the professionals deal with him.”

  The news went to commercial and I sat there numbly. I was getting sloppy. Stupid. I should have taken off on foot, and then flown away later. I knew better. I’d always valued my anonymity. A figure in black, skulking into houses and emptying them. That had always been all I was. Now that they’d connected the two sides of my identity, now that there was that super powered angle… shit.

  My life was about to get more complicated. StrikeForce wasn’t the most active organization, but they had some hard hitters. They’d taken in a few super powered troublemakers in the past few years. It wasn’t all about photo ops for Alpha and, if nothing else, they could prove to be a definite pain in the ass.

  I tried to soothe myself with the fact that they were still sure I was a guy. So they weren’t all that close, and as long as I laid low for a while, it would blow over. Or at least the immediate heat would.

  And the next thought I had was that I could be used as a bargaining chip. Damian lived the same life I did. What if he got caught? What if he decided to use me, turn me over in exchange for lighter punishment? What if he blabbed?

  “You’re being paranoid,” I muttered, snapping the television off. I paced. What I really wanted to do was put my fist through something, but that would be an even dumber idea now than it had been the first time I’d done it.

  Luther would be pissed. I could look forward to a lecture from her, no matter how good the loot was. Any heat on me was potential heat on her, and Luther was all about Luther. Luther wouldn’t hurt me. Couldn’t now, actually. But she knew who I was. She likely knew who my mother was and where she lived and worked.

  You wouldn’t think she’d be worth worrying about. Geriatric Polish lady, right? Here’s the thing, though: you don’t stay in this business for very long without being able to make damn sure that your secrets stay secrets.

  Her sisters, her nieces… there was a whole family empire built on fencing stolen goods and sharing the profits. None of them would be happy with the petty thief who ended up blowing the whole thing wide open.

  I couldn’t fuck up again. Which meant no jobs, no matter how bitchy Luther got about it.

  I’d get by, but it would be tight. With what I had stuffed in my dresser, I would be able to pay Mama’s crazy medical bills, but I wouldn’t be able to help anyone else. And the holidays were coming up and that was always one of those times when people who were down felt even more down, when a little help made a world of difference.

  I couldn’t do it all. Mama came first. I’d help whoever I could. It would just have to be okay, while I laid low and tried to figure out what to do next.

  The problem was that I couldn’t stop going back to the fact that there were two people now who knew my name, and that the public knew about my powers. It all added up to a little too much stress, too many chances for my identity to be blown wide open. I tried to tell myself that that was my main concern.

  But I was fooling myself, and I knew it. I could try to act all sensible, but I knew. Along with the fear of being found out, the idea of giving up the rush of the job, of not doing my Robin Hood thing, left me feeling empty inside. I knew better.

  I paced, and let the argument play out in my head. I needed a sure thing. I needed to keep working. I needed to get ahead, in case the worst happened.

  More than anything, I needed to make sure that, like Luther, I kept a tight rein on those who knew too much about me. Why not kill two birds with one stone?

  Chapter Six

  I landed in the back yard, not far from the pool I’d tried to throw myself into the night I’d tried to rob Damian’s house. I didn’t bother trying to be sneaky. I knew he had surveillance cameras around. He’d likely gotten some kind of alert the second I’d shown up on the property. I walked, taking halting steps to the back door, and before I could even knock, I could see him walking through the kitchen, toward me. I straightened, shoved my hands back in my pockets. I was wearing my face scarf and my hooded sweatshirt again, but I knew he recognized me.

  He opened the door and silently gestured for me to come in. I ducked past him into the warmth of the kitchen and tried to remind myself that this had been my decision. Kind of.

  The door closing behind me, that click of the lock falling into place, seemed much too loud, and my stomach twisted. This was a mistake. Everything in me screamed that this was a stupid idea, that this guy, this weird guy who stockpiled pillows and bed sheets, would end up being my downfall.

  For his part, he stood there, leaning against the enormous island in his kitchen, watching me. He wore jeans, a dark blue v-neck sweater. A watch glinted on his wrist, and for some reason, that made me feel better. Sensible, responsible people wear watches, right?

  I never claimed to be sane.

  “Um,” I began. He went to the back door and closed the blinds, and I started unwrapping my scarf. I shrugged out of my jacket.

  “It’s nice to see you again,” he said, and something in his tone, the warmth there, the sense that he really actually meant it, just made me feel more uncomfortable.

  “That thing we talked about last time you saw me?”

  He nodded.
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br />   “Is that still on the table?”

  “You know it is.”

  “I didn’t, actually. I thought maybe you’d change your mind.” I crossed my arms over my chest, which made me feel a little more calm while concealing my trembling hands.

  “What, because of that video of you?”

  I nodded again.

  He grinned, a slow smile that revealed rows of perfect, straight teeth. “That was supposed to scare me off?”

  “The heat is on,” I said. “Luther is probably so pissed at me right now.”

  He crossed his arms, and now that smile was at full force. “You realize we don’t need to make Luther happy anymore, right?”

  “Of course we do. Who else is going to sell our stuff?”

  “Come on, Jolene. You think we’re gonna keep robbing houses and trying to fence stolen goods?”

  I studied him. “What are you talking about? What else would we do?”

  He leaned toward me, eyes locked onto mine. “We go straight for the money. Banks, baby. Armored cars. No fences. We don’t need anybody but you and me.”

  “Luther…”

  “We’ll still give Luther her tribute,” he said, waving his hand as if it was of no consequence. “Neither of us would be shit without her. I know that better than anyone. She deserves it. Plus we’ll need someone who knows how to make sure none of it is traced back to us, and she knows how to handle all that shit. We’re about to get very, very rich, Jolene. Your strength, my ability to get into places where people don’t want me. Built-in getaway. We’re unstoppable.”

  “If we decide to go through with it,” I said quietly, eyes glued to his.

  He smiled again. “We both know you wouldn’t be here unless your mind was already made up.”