by Tasha Black
Tarek leaned back on his heels and stroked his chin.
“That is unfortunate,” Noora said. “We’ve seen the breathtaking work you have done with whole and partial limbs. What other artificial replacements will you be bringing to market?”
“Well,” Mallory said with renewed excitement. “We’re just about to test a replacement eye that we’ve been developing for some time. And one of our lead programmers is also working on a way to translate audio signals into a format that would be compatible with our nerve replacements,”
“Bringing sight to the blind and music to deaf ears,” Tarek said, his voice losing the businesslike edge and slipping into his usual deep tones. “Yours is truly a noble calling, Dr. Pruitt. But how disappointed your patients will be with the rest of the world, after gazing upon your beauty as their first sight.”
Cordelia’s jaw dropped.
Mallory blushed so vividly, her cheeks matched her hair.
“You must join us for dinner at Les Cadeaux,” Tarek said, “so that we may hear more.”
“Um…,” Mallory stammered, looking down at her lab coat and t-shirt. “I don’t really have anything appropriate to wear.”
“Nonsense,” Noora said. “You are a woman of science. What could be more appropriate?”
“Doesn’t Les Cadeaux have a dress code?” Mallory asked almost plaintively.
“Not tonight, it doesn’t,” Noora smiled.
Mallory gave Cordelia a questioning glance, as if to ask what she was supposed to do.
“So it is settled,” Tarek decided crisply. “Ms. Cross, you will join us, of course?”
“Of course,” Cordelia replied.
“Wonderful,” Noora clasped her small hands together in delight.
“But I think we’ll drive separately,” Cordelia added, putting a protective hand over Mallory’s.
13
West slowly slid the dishes into the soapy water, willing himself to focus on the simple task of washing up instead of obsessing about Cordelia.
It was late and she still wasn’t home. She hadn’t even called.
His hand tightened on one of the plates a little too hard and it shattered.
Cordelia’s mother and Jessica both looked up at the sound.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Cross. I guess I’m still getting used to the new hand,” he lied.
“That used to be Dad’s favorite plate,” Jess said, her voice shaky with emotion. “It was all we had left to remember him by. And now it’s…gone.”
“Jessica Artemis Cross,” her mom admonished her. “Behave yourself.”
Jess giggled.
“It’s okay Westley. We got them on sale at Bed Bath and Beyond. Let me get the dustpan,” Mrs. Cross said kindly, as she bustled out to the hall closet.
“Hey Westley, did you do a little shopping this morning?” Jess asked lightly.
“I… why do you ask?” he managed.
Jess nodded at the small TV on the kitchen counter. Mrs. Cross always had the news on. Right now the volume was muted.
On the screen, a a grainy video played. It was West tackling the shoplifter through the window.
Shit. He hadn’t thought about the security cameras.
Before he could get his head around how big a problem it was, he heard Mrs. Cross’s footsteps in the hall.
Moving quickly, he put himself between the screen and Mrs. Cross, taking the broom and dustpan from her.
“I’ll get this. Why don’t you go on into the living room,” he said hastily, with what he hoped was a normal smile. “I’ll make us some tea.”
“That sounds nice.” Mrs. Cross sounded pleased as she headed back out to the hall.
“SO?” Jess asked immediately.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said firmly.
“It says there’s a reward,” Jess teased. “I could sure use a new pair of roller skates.”
“Fine. It was me, obviously,” he admitted. “I saw that guy. He was shoplifting. I thought he was going to pull a gun. I remembered we talked about, how someone should clean up this place, so I tried. It didn’t go exactly how I pictured it in my head.”
“I hope not,” she replied.
“I already sent an anonymous payment for the window,” West continued. “And I had someone check on the shoplifter. He has a few broken ribs. His medical bills are covered. It’s more than he deserves. He was the one stealing, not me.”
“That was a nice thing to do,” Jess said, clearly impressed.
“Well,” West said. “I did hit him pretty hard.”
“That’s the part I was talking about. Do you think we could get a copy of the security footage? It looked awesome!” Jess enthused.
“C’mon,” he said.
“No. I’m serious.” The playful, mocking tone had vanished from her voice. “That was pretty righteous. Most people would have just looked the other way.”
“I should have,” he replied.
“No way!” Jess cried.
He looked over at her. Her eyes flashed and her cheeks had gone pink with excitement. She meant it.
“But look what happened,” he said.
“So you were a little overzealous this time,” she said.
“This time?”
“Well, you can’t stop now,” she said. “This is a great first step.”
“First step toward what, exactly?”
“Becoming a hero, genius,” Jess explained slowly, as if he were being stupid.
“Fight crime, like in one of your comics?” He smiled at her. “I don’t think so.”
“You’re a billionaire with daddy issues,” she said dryly. “It’s either that or politics.”
Though he knew he shouldn’t, West stopped to consider for a moment.
It was a ridiculous idea, of course.
Wasn’t it?
In truth, he did have an indescribable feeling of exhilaration. He’d never experienced it before - except after rescuing Sean. He felt alive, like what he did actually mattered.
He and Jess had talked already about how this neighborhood was suffering.
Was this the reason he hadn’t gone back to work yet?
The thought of shuffling around numbers and sitting at a desk while people attended his every whim had never seemed less appealing.
“That’s silly,” he told Jess, but even West could hear that there was no feeling in his voice.
“The look in your eye says otherwise,” she said.
“I wouldn’t know where to begin,” he hedged.
“Let me help you,” she offered.
“What did you have in mind?” he asked, risking another glance at her.
Jess was beaming. It would at least be fun to plot and scheme with her, even if it was only pretend. She was a good kid.
“First,” she said, barely containing her enthusiasm. “We can’t have anyone identifying you. You’re lucky that video was so crappy. Unless you want to go all Tony Stark?”
“Who?” West asked.
“Iron Man?” she replied, incredulous.
“I saw that one!” he told her triumphantly.
“Right. Good work,” she said, rolling her eyes slightly. “Well, everyone knows that Iron Man is Tony Stark. Do you want to go public like that?”
“No. Definitely not,” he said quickly.
“Then we’ll need a disguise,” she explained.
“Like a mask,” he agreed.
“I was thinking a little more high tech,” she said with a half smile.
The teapot whistled. West got up to get their mugs and the boxes of tea out of the cupboard. It didn’t stop Jess’s planning.
“And we’ll need to get you up to speed. Download Comixology on your iPad, and I’ll tell you which issues to buy. As long as you’re still breaking dishes, and windows, you’re not getting anywhere near my mint conditions,” she said with a wink.
14
Cordelia sat alone in the back of the car.
The lights of Gla
cier City streaked by, rainbow-like stripes of color stretching into infinity. It was long after the hustle and bustle of rush hour. The city took on a surreal appearance when viewed at speeds you normally couldn’t approach downtown.
Dinner with the prince and princess had gone very well. Tarek and Noora had hung on Mallory’s every word. And they’d kept the drinks flowing all night.
When dinner was over, she and Mallory had been invited to go dancing afterward. Cordelia had declined, but Mallory agreed readily enough. Cordelia couldn’t decide if she’d like to be a fly on the wall, or if she was grateful not to be.
She was exhausted from being “on” all afternoon and evening. All she wanted was to go home. Unfortunately, she’d left her stuff at the office and had to go back for it.
“You alright back there, sweetheart?” A masculine voice piped up from the front of the car. John McSweeney, the same voice that had checked on her in the elevator earlier.
McSweeney was the replacement head of security Dalton had chosen to cover him in his absence.
Cordelia knew that Dalton would never leave them in anything but capable hands, and he had handpicked McSweeney from his carte blanche choice of all employees of the company.
But it was still hard to believe that John McSweeney was really the absolute best employee of Worthington Enterprises to keep them safe in a crisis.
He was an older gentleman, unremarkable in both height and weight. He wore wire rimmed glasses. His shock of thick white hair and neatly trimmed white mustache reminded Cordelia of Albert Einstein.
McSweeney was good-natured about the late hours of the job. As a matter of fact, the later the hour, the looser his tongue. After midnight, he talked ceaselessly about the beauty of his late wife and the wondrous accomplishments of his two grandchildren. If she ever met them, Cordelia would know to ask little Jack about guitar lessons and Shali about modern dance.
“I’m fine, Mr. McSweeney,” she called back to him.
“Good girl. I’m sorry you’re not home with your family. You work too hard,” he declared.
As he launched into a detailed description of how his daughter managed a work-life balance, Cordelia felt herself zoning out.
She’d never really shaken the bad feeling she had at lunchtime. Something was wrong.
Her hand went automatically to stroke the bite mark on her arm.
It had to do with Edward Dalton, she was sure of it. When she’d felt the panic earlier, she had been sure Edward was in some kind of danger.
But now the feeling was completely gone.
Did that mean that Edward was…
She didn’t allow herself to finish the thought.
They arrived without delay in front of Worthington Enterprises. McSweeney was out and opening her door before she knew it, asking her if she would like him to accompany her up to her office.
She declined politely, preferring to be alone with her thoughts for a few minutes. She left him waiting with the car and made the familiar trip upstairs.
As she gathered her things, Cordelia looked out onto the view of Glacier City through the window across from her desk. Her bag hung limply from her hands, forgotten, as she remembered that Dalton lived just a few blocks away. She could practically see his building from here.
Though she knew he wasn’t home, Cordelia was suddenly consumed with a desire to go to his place. Maybe something there would tell her where he had gone, or what was happening with her.
She didn’t have a key but she had read all the Nancy Drew mysteries as a kid, so she was pretty sure she could pick a lock.
But McSweeney was Dalton’s friend. He would certainly want to know why she was going to his apartment.
Determined, Cordelia decided to exit through the back of Worthington Enterprises so that McSweeney wouldn’t see her go. She could dash over to Dalton’s on foot, and then go back the way she’d come, into the back door of the building, and then return to McSweeney through the front door.
She pulled out her cell phone and texted McSweeney so he wouldn’t worry and come looking for her.
CC
I’ll be about an hour. I have a few things to do.
A moment later her phone buzzed.
JM
Sweetie, you work too hard. I’ll be here, don’t you worry.
Cordelia arrived at the door to Dalton’s apartment fifteen minutes later, slightly out of breath from the three flights of stairs.
Out of politeness, she knocked on the door, and then rang the bell.
Nothing.
She got out a credit card, and looked at the door frame. It was pretty tight. Nancy Drew never had to deal with fire safety rated doors.
Just for the heck of it, she tried the knob.
It turned easily and the door opened.
What the heck?
It was dark and still inside. She tried the light switch.
Nothing.
“Edward?” she called.
Calling out his name spooked her a bit.
And there was no answer.
Breathing deep, deliberate breaths, Cordelia reminded herself that he had told her he wouldn’t be around. Maybe someone who was supposed to check on the place had forgotten to lock up behind them.
Nevertheless, the whole thing gave her a bad feeling. This had not been a good idea.
She turned to leave.
Then something caught her eye. The light from the window had revealed something in the entryway.
She grabbed her phone and turned on the flashlight.
A dark stain spread across the wood floor of the entryway.
She leaned in closer.
Blood.
Oh god, she needed to get out. Quickly.
She rose and turned toward the door.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway froze her in her tracks.
It was probably just a neighbor, this was a big building, she told herself.
The footsteps grew louder and stopped outside the front door.
No!
Cordelia pulled her phone to her breast, too frightened to try to swipe it off to hide the light.
She ducked into a bedroom just as the front door squealed softly on its hinges.
Begging herself not to bump into anything in the dark, Cordelia backed her way into a closet.
Once inside, she pulled the door shut by millimeters until it was mostly closed. The closet smelled like Edward, it must be his clothes. For a moment she was comforted.
Then it hit her hard.
Something bad happened here. Whoever was out there was bad news. And now she was literally backed into a corner.
Mind racing, she willed herself to calm down.
Could she call someone? Or text someone for help?
The footsteps came closer. Now they were in the room with her. She couldn’t risk making a sound.
Don’t breathe. Don’t breathe.
Her heart thundered so loudly, she worried it might give her away.
With the hand that wasn’t holding the phone to her chest, she felt around the inside of the closet for something to use as a weapon. She might need it soon.
The footsteps approached the closet.
15
Edward Dalton was trying not to lose his mind.
The aqua-blue cinderblocks went up and down before his eyes as he completed another set of push-ups.
There was nothing else to do.
He’d woken with a headache, squinting in the blazing light of a new room.
The fluorescents overhead were on all the time - there was no way to turn them off. The buzz alone was driving him crazy.
There had been a pair of baggy camo pants and a wife-beater that was a size too small sitting on the foot of his bed.
And there was a collar around his neck.
He figured it had to be for tracking, but maybe there was some type of control measure in it too. He’d examined it in the mirror and couldn’t make heads or tails of it. It was just a small black box on a tough syn
thetic ring- made of Kevlar, or woven carbon fiber maybe.
Whatever it was, it wasn’t coming off without some serious persuasion.
So here he was, with no phone, no clothes of his own - no belongings at all.
The room was sparsely furnished. A standard issue bunk. A footlocker filled with more of the same camo pants and wife-beaters he was wearing now. A bedside table with a small lamp that Dalton assumed must be bugged.
There was a toilet, a sink and a mirror, making it a vast improvement over where he’d been kept before. There was even a small card table with two folding chairs, though what he was supposed to do with them he wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like he was expecting to do a lot of entertaining.
On the whole, the room was sort of a cross between a fleabag motel and a prison cell.
And the walls were the same underwater blue as before.
Dalton turned over for some crunches. He lost count a while ago, but he figured he needed to stay sharp for his next opportunity. He tried not to think about the collar, and the implications it had as far as the possibility of escape. If he didn’t keep hope alive, his chance was zero.
He forced himself to think about West, who had made an impossible recovery from a situation that should have been fatal. He forced himself to think about Cordelia, and what it would be like for her if he didn’t get to the bottom of Alpha Division’s secrets.
Reeling as he thought of his friend, and whether he might have ruined her life, he lost count of his crunches. Didn’t matter, he would keep doing them until he tired, then go back to push-ups or jumping jacks.
The bruises on his chest from the shotgun blast were already gone. Dalton had always been a quick healer.
Nevertheless, it would be fantastic to get another run at the big Russian bear that shot him. These punks had never seen a “crybaby” until they saw what Dalton would do to that trigger-happy bastard.
A light shuffling outside the door brought him to his feet.
He sniffed the air.
Sterling.
She marched right in, filling the room with the scent of night jasmine.
