Super Zero

by Rhonda Stapleton

  What did one talk about, post-sex? Having not been in this position, so to speak, for a long time, I couldn’t remember. I’m sure being guarded like this wasn’t supposed to be part of the deal, though.

  He coughed, shifting in his seat. “Look, about last night…” He stopped, his lips pinched.

  Oh, God.

  The blood drained from my head as realization hit me. We weren’t sex buddies. We weren’t even regular buddies. His discomfort was written all over him.

  Time to save face.

  I swept the hair off my forehead, casually tossing it back like I didn’t have a care in the world. “Let’s not talk about it. We were both drunk. It doesn’t need to get in the way of our business dealings together, right?”

  There. Cool, calm, and totally hip. Even though I didn’t believe a word I’d said. But that was my secret to keep.

  He nodded slightly, his eyes curiously flat. “It’s probably better this way.”

  I chugged from my coffee mug, the liquid warming my stomach. Which was good, because this conversation was leaving me cold inside. I stood, leaving the half-empty mug on the table, and dug my hands into my pockets. Oh, right. My underclothes were in there. I’d already forgotten. “I’m going to get changed,” I said. “I have more proofreading to do at work today.”

  He didn’t reply, just let me go. I casually strolled upstairs, then closed the door and settled in a slump on the bed, tossing my bra and panties to the floor.

  Idiot!

  I smacked my forehead hard, so the sting would wake me up to reality. Last night was nothing more than alcohol-fueled sex to him. And what was worse, it was sex he apparently regretted. Well, no way was he going to know I felt awful about that.

  My cell vibrated on the bedside table. I answered the call “Hello?”

  “It’s Amy.”

  “Oh, hey,” I said, cradling my cell between my shoulder and ear as I burrowed through my bag for fresh clothes. I was running low—time to stock up at home, so I’d have to remember to swing by there tonight. “What’s up?”

  “Well, I’ve done some digging around with my friends. Whoever’s after the crystal isn’t working with any underground organization my friends know of. They’ve heard nothing.”

  “Really? That’s odd, because I distinctly remember one of the council members saying they’d heard someone was after the crystal. Maybe they have better connections than you,” I said, teasing her.

  She snorted. “Hardly. I have friends everywhere. If a villain farts, I hear about it five minutes later.”

  “Ew! That’s funny, but gross.” I pulled out my last clean shirt and a navy blue slacks that were flattering and well cut. Not that I was dressing to impress anyone. Because I wasn’t, thank you very much.

  “Sorry.” Amy laughed. “I’m used to crude talk with the guys. So,” she said in a dropped voice, “I’m trying to dig up stuff on Vigilante, but no one has any dirt. He sure keeps his nose clean. In fact, we can’t figure out who he really is.”

  “I guessed as much.” Of course no one knows. Because the man was destined to be a mystery to me.

  “Gotta go. Wanna come over for pasta tonight?”

  “Will Dwight be there?” I asked, ribbing her. “Because I’m desperate to increase my accidental death and dismemberment coverage. Why, just yesterday, I lost both an eye and a foot. What are the odds?”

  “Hardy har,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So not funny. And no, it’ll be just us. Think you can ditch the bodyguard for a few hours?”

  I swallowed. “Well, I don’t know…”

  “Come on, you two aren’t glued at the hip. I’ll protect you while you’re with me.”

  She was right. I needed to practice distancing myself from Vigilante. Otherwise, parting with him after I turned the crystal over was going to be too difficult. Best to start now.

  “Okay, I’m there.”

  “Great. Bring a salad with you.”

  We hung up. I glanced over at the beer cooler then lifted the top to make sure the crystal was still there. Purple light bathed the room, sparkling from within the giant rock.

  I leaned in a bit closer to get a good look. Wait, what was I doing? With a jerky move, I closed the lid before I did something dumb, like touch it. No need to add one mistake on top of another.

  After a fast shower I headed back downstairs, ever-present cooler in hand. “Okay, I’m ready to head out now.”

  “Sounds good,” Vigilante said. “Let’s take my ride.”

  “Your ride?” I didn’t know he even had one, but it made sense. He had to get around somehow.

  He smirked, lifting the corner of his sexy mouth. “Wait’ll you see this.”

  I followed him into the garage. He flipped on the lights and took a drop cloth off of a shiny black motorcycle.

  Oh, God, the man was killing me. I was going to have to ride pressed up against his back, in full contact with him? How would I survive this?

  I swallowed hard. This was going to be one hell of a ride.

  * * *

  “I’m going out tonight,” I said to Vigilante as I proofread the CompuParts proposal Mason had given me. I scanned the contents on the computer monitor. Whoops, a typo. I fixed it, finally daring a glance at my bodyguard.

  After riding on the motorcycle with him, I’d had to work extra hard to keep calm and cool. Luckily, that battle stayed within me, not where he could see it. Or so I hoped, anyway.

  Vigilante looked up from the papers I had him filing. “What? Where are we going?”

  “I’m going to visit—” If I told him I was visiting my sister, he’d insist on going to protect me. “I’m visiting Hellfire. She’s an old friend of mine. And she’s a superhero, so I’ll be safe.”

  “No.”

  “Um, excuse me? You can’t just say no.” My blood started to boil. If there was one thing I couldn’t stand, it was my pseudo-sex buddy whom I had a crush on telling me I couldn’t go do something.

  “You’re not going there without me. I’m not leaving you and the crystal unprotected like that. Not smart.” He clenched his jaw as he stared at me, eyes hooded.

  “Well, I say I am going. She’s a perfectly competent superhero who could cook any bad guy’s ass. I’ll only be gone a couple of hours.”

  We only had another week to go until I wasn’t around Vigilante anymore. A sick feeling hit me at that thought, but I tried to push it down. I wasn’t going to worry about that now. What I needed to do was lessen my dependence on him. Cut the ties before the complications got too deep. It was already starting to become so because of what happened last night.

  “You’re my sidekick,” he finally said, crossing his arms and leaning back into the chair. “You can’t leave.”

  “What?" I scoffed. "You can’t use that against me.”

  He shrugged. “Them’s the rules. I didn’t make them. Sidekicks need to stick with their superhero.”

  “I’m not a real sidekick, and we both know it.” I softened my voice. One could get more flies with honey. “Look, I won’t be gone long. You can have the evening to run some errands and be away from me for a while.”

  He nodded, his face deadpan. “You have been a pain in my ass lately.”

  “Hey, now!” I laughed.

  My phone line rang—it was Mason. I pushed the speaker button. “This is Jenna.”

  “Jenna,” he said, his voice brusque as usual, “I need you to take my car in a few minutes and get it detailed.”

  My eyes inadvertently rolled before I could stop them. Luckily, no one but Vigilante saw. He chuckled at my expression.

  “Sure thing.” I ended the call. “Sometimes I just love being his lackey.”

  “I can see that.” His face got serious then. “Look, I know you want to go out tonight, but we have a big responsibility on our hands. This crystal isn’t something to take lightly.”

  “Couldn’t you just watch it for me, then?” Even as I asked, I knew that was a dumb idea.
And handing the crystal over wouldn't win me any brownie points with the League. "Never mind. Pretend I didn't just ask that.”

  “If you can't handle it, maybe you should give it back to Mason. Watching it is a full-time job.”

  Dammit. He was right. And as much as I wanted to be my own woman right now, I needed to think of the greater good. What happened if I was attacked while traveling to Amy’s place? The crystal could be taken away from me.

  God help us all if that happened, because that kind of power in the wrong hands could be a disaster.

  “Fine,” I muttered. “You made your point, okay?” I grabbed the beer cooler and my purse and rose from behind my desk. “Let’s get this car cleaned. Wait in here while I grab Mason’s keys.”

  Vigilante wisely said nothing. Probably for the best, as I would have clocked him one. I was still a little raw about how this morning went down. I mean, it was all well and good for him to be embarrassed about drunken sex, but to be so distant? Not cool.

  I shuffled over to Mason’s office, about to knock on the door.

  “No,” I heard him say. “I can’t get you any more right now. You’ll have to make due.”

  I paused. Should I enter, or come back?

  “Fine.” He cussed loudly. “I said fine. I’ll meet you tonight.” I heard his cell phone click off.

  I knocked on the door.

  “What?” he asked in a sharp voice.

  “I’m here to take your car.”

  “Huh?” He scrambled through papers on his desk, obviously not listening to me.

  “Your car." I did my best to keep my tone from sounding frustrated. "You asked me to have it detailed.”

  “Oh. Right.” Mason dug into his pants pocket, tossing the keys at me. “Have at it. Thanks.”

  I turned to go.

  “Hey, hold on a sec,” he said. “How’s that crystal doing?”

  “Just fine.” I put it on his desk and opened the lid.

  He stopped digging through his papers to stare at the jewel. “Wow, I always forget how pretty it is.” I saw his fingers twitch.

  I nodded and closed the lid, for once understanding Mason. Every time I saw it I wanted to touch it, too. Probably part of its curse—knowing you can’t touch it, but wanting to anyway.

  “It is beautiful,” I agreed.

  He shook his head as if to clear it. “Okay, I’ll see you in a bit.”

  I headed back to my office. “Got the keys,” I said to Vigilante. “Let’s motor.”

  Five minutes later I was behind the wheel of Mason’s ride, a silver Jaguar. But not an ordinary Jaguar. It was souped-up beyond belief, decked out with more gadgetry and gizmos than you could shake a utility belt at. I didn’t know of any other superhero with as fly a ride as Mason but I suspected they all tried to top each other, insofar as fabulous accessories went.

  Though not evident on the outside, the car came with its own protective shield, instantly activated from inside or with the handy remote, just in case you were outside the automobile. It had bulletproof metal, as well as machine guns tucked away safely on the sides. It also had rocket-powered engines, quite handy for the superhero in a hurry.

  I hardly ever drove Mason’s supercar, except to have it cleaned out and detailed by his specialized dealer. The engineer of the car, Adam Silverstein, was flat-out crazy but a total genius. Came with the territory, but that’s how these things usually went. Mason didn’t trust anyone else to handle his stuff, which meant I always had to deal with the crazies. Fun for me.

  I opened the sunroof, enjoying the warm air flowing in, tossing my hair about. I grinned at Vigilante. “Now this is the high life.”

  He shook his head at me, a bemused smile on his face. “Not bad, but I prefer my motorcycle.”

  Maybe Mason had a few CDs in there we could listen to on our way to Silverstein’s garage. “Let’s listen to some music.” I reached over Vigilante’s lap toward the glove compartment, trying not to think about his lap in anything other than a purely platonic way. Got to focus. I wouldn’t think about Vigilante as anything other than a friend and a superhero. I could do this.

  I sprung the glove compartment open, and out wafted a bank receipt, right between Vigilante’s thighs. He clenched them tightly together, pinning the receipt in place. I reached over to remove it then thought better of it, jerking my hand back. Touching him was going to blow my resolve out of the water.

  But my movement didn’t go unnoticed.

  With that arrogant eyebrow of his raised, Vigilante picked the receipt up, glanced at it then looked again. “Wow.”

  “What?” I turned the car left at the stop sign, pulling into Silverstein’s driveway.

  Wordlessly, he handed me the bank receipt—which was a deposit made yesterday for a million dollars.

  Chapter 10

  “Wow is right,” I whispered, stunned. That was more money than I’d ever seen in my life. No wonder Mason could afford to buy tennis bracelets for everyone.

  Hell, I should ask for one myself, since he apparently had fat cash.

  A little twinge of guilt twisted through my gut as I eyed the paper. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to be seeing this. The bank wasn’t our company’s, so it had to be his personal account. Definitely off-limits.

  But there was something weird going on here I couldn’t ignore.

  Before I could talk myself out of it, I crammed the receipt into my purse and slammed the glove compartment door closed. Vigilante didn’t say anything, and I was glad because I would have felt bad making up a lie about why I was keeping the receipt.

  “I’ll run the keys into Silverstein so he can get started,” I said, taking them out of the ignition. “It’ll take him about an hour to finish the car. We can pop over to Starbucks and grab a cup of coffee to kill time. It won’t take long.”

  Vigilante’s nose wrinkled up. “Why Starbucks? They’re overpriced.”

  “Well, do you see any other places for us to go? I don’t feel like hiking twelve miles to get Mom and Pop’s old-fashioned brew.”

  We were right in the middle of suburbia itself, Mayfield Heights. A nice place, but a bit sprawling for my tastes. I was used to downtown Cleveland, where everything was within walking distance.

  Plus I was wearing my new, cute black heels, and no way could I get far walking in them without developing an oh-so sexy limp.

  Much to my dismay, the hour spent waiting for the car passed in some sort of slow time warp. Vigilante and I sat across from each other in awkward silence for much of it, unsure what to say. God, this was worse than the morning-after syndrome. This was he’s-acting-weird-because-he-obviously-wishes-it-hadn’t-happened syndrome.

  It was killing me. And being forced to spend time together didn’t help. I wanted nothing more than to run home, hole up in bed and sleep for the rest of the week. But duty called, and I had to fake like I was making it. Like nothing bothered Jenna Peterson, especially not a dark, distant enigma like Vigilante.

  Nope. Not at all.

  I tried hard not to stare at his lips, curving around the edge of the cup as he drank his coffee (plain black, of course. I guess he was too macho for creamer or sugar, or one of those fancy coffee blends).

  I also tried not to remember how those sexy lips felt brushing against me. Or the sensation of his hands on the small of my back, his thumbs kneading my skin, his fingers urging me closer to him.

  But what killed me the most was the way other women in the café weren’t even bothering to hide their lust for him. Mason and I never socially hung out together, since I did his errands for him, so I didn’t have much experience in public with a superhero.

  That didn’t mean I’d forgotten how excited women could get over them.

  Actually, I was the exact same way before working with Mason and becoming a bit less enchanted with the whole superhero deal. But in all honesty, who could blame them for drooling over Vigilante? He was a striking figure, and the new maroon shirt made the rest of his outfit all the more se
xy. The dark, unkempt hair that spiked in little sections so haphazardly. The perpetual five-o’clock shadow. The curved, pouty lips.

  A total package that screamed sex.

  The brunette barista behind the counter twirled a lock of her hair, slowly moistening her lips as she stared hard at Vigilante. She looked like she wanted to do more than pour creamer in his coffee, if you get my drift.

  I tamped down the streak of jealousy running through me. I didn’t own this man. He didn’t own me. We were nothing personal, so I didn’t have any right to be upset if other women were eye-humping him.

  Not that it stopped the impulse in me to want to claw the barista’s face and scream, “Back off! He’s mine!”

  Two young women at the back of the café, who had to be no older than eighteen, whispered furiously, giggling and throwing winks at Vigilante.

  And what did he do? Did he ignore them? No. Instead, Mr. Mystery himself sent smiles back at the two women, waving his hand in return. When did he get so friendly? Argh. What was happening to me? This wasn’t me. This was some crazy, bitter, jealous woman taking up residence in my skin. And I didn’t like her one bit.

  One of the blondes at the back table rose and sashayed over, a marker in her hand. She looked like she had poured herself into her teeny tiny white tank top and skirt, a pale blue piece of fabric that did little to cover her crotch. Not that anyone seemed to mind.

  She touched Vigilante on the shoulder. “I’d love to have your autograph,” she said, her smoky blue eyes practically stroking him.

  Vigilante grabbed the marker. “Sure thing. Do you have any paper?”

  She curved the corners of her lips, sliding down the strap of her tank top to bare the top of her breast. My jaw dropped. What a hussy!

  Teens these days—so brazen.

  I clenched my jaw tight, fighting back the urge to say something to her, to him, to the whole damn café. They were all acting like idiots. But then again, so was I. I was just as gaga over the man as these women. Would it be right for me to blast them when I felt the same way?

  Vigilante laughed lightly. “Whatever you want.” He scrawled his name in a dark blue block print across her chest, up near her collarbone, which assuaged my temper slightly. At least he kept it respectful.