I sank lower in the chair. I’d told Chloe I’d be back in five minutes, but I was stretching it out to fifteen. Maybe even a full half hour. Maybe by then Wesley and his perfect date would have left.
A whisper of wool caught my ear, and the smell of crisp mint filled my nose. I didn’t know whether to howl with frustration or sigh with contentment.
“I see I’m not the only one who needed some quiet time,” a deep voice rumbled.
Wesley stepped out of the shadows in front of me. His brown hair gleamed under the dim spotlights. Stubble darkened his face, but his eyes glimmered like pure gold. Tonight, he wore a navy suit that framed his body to perfection. My eyes traced his long torso, pausing at his left shoulder and the bullet wound hidden underneath the thick cloth. I wondered how it was healing—and what his date would think of it and his other scars. Would she be repulsed? Or find them as sexy as I had?
Sexy, I decided. Talon had been right when he’d said chicks dig scars.
“Hello, Abby,” Wesley said. “I didn’t realize you’d planned this party too.”
“I plan every party that’s any party in Bigtime.” I gave him a wan smile.
He frowned. “Are you okay? You look a bit pale.”
“It’s nothing. Just a headache. All the noise has gotten to me tonight.”
“I know what you mean. Bigtime parties can be rather overwhelming, can’t they?”
I caught another whiff of his clean scent. He smelled so good. All I wanted to do was bury my face in his neck and drink in his fresh aroma. Wesley was the one overwhelming me, but I couldn’t tell him that.
“Yes, they can be.”
Desperate for something to do, I unzipped one of the pockets on my vest and fished out some aspirin and my small water bottle.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that vest you wear,” Wesley said. “I noticed it the first time we met in your office.”
I’d noticed how muscular he was. How wonderful he smelled. How his golden eyes caught the light. He’d noticed my vest. In a way, that was worse than being invisible.
I washed the pills down with the water. “Why’s that?”
My vest started quite a few conversations, especially with new clients. It horrified some of them, particularly the fashion designers like Fiona Fine and Bella Bulluci. Others demanded I stock my vest with certain pharmaceutical supplies in case they needed a quick hit of something. One particularly prominent businessman even asked me if I was a professional fly fisherman on the sly.
Piper had been bugging me about my vest for years, insisting that I should let Fiona make me a couple more fashionable versions, but I’d refused. My vest was perfect for what I needed it to do, and I liked it just the way it was.
I stared down at the black fabric with its zippers, pockets, and hidden compartments, comparing it to the fuchsia dress the brunette wore. At least, I used to like my vest just the way it was, before Wesley had swooped in and wreaked havoc on my life.
“I don’t know everything you have in there, but I think it’s exceedingly clever,” Wesley said. “And I very much like clever things, practical things. I imagine you could survive in the jungle for days with just your vest.”
His eyes shimmered in his face, and a half smile curved his mouth. I couldn’t tell if he was mocking me or not. Somehow, I didn’t think he was.
I thought of Wesley’s—of Talon’s—superhero suit, of his grappling hook gun and electro-shock visor. Maybe we had more in common than I’d thought. Not that it mattered. Because at the end of the night, Wesley and his impeccable business suit would still be going home with a fuchsia dress, not a plain black vest—no matter how clever he thought it was.
Depressed, I wanted to get as far away from Wesley as I could. I leapt out of the chair, and the sudden change in elevation made my head spin. I swayed back and forth, spots flashing in front of my eyes.
“Easy,” he said, reaching out a hand to steady me. “Easy, Abby.”
I jerked away before he could touch me. My knees hit the chair, and I almost fell back into it before righting myself at the last second. I put my hand against the glass wall to steady myself. Clumsy, clumsy.
“That must be one killer headache,” Wesley said. “Can I help you? Get you anything?”
My stomach clenched into a hard knot. What he could get me was another night like the one I’d had with Talon. What he could get me was a guy who listened to me like Talon had. What he could get me was himself. But that wasn’t going to happen. The sooner I accepted that, the better.
“I’m fine. In fact, I should be getting back downstairs.” The white spots faded to gray, and I pushed away from the wall. “Before something goes wrong.”
“What could go wrong?” he asked. “Everything was perfect when I left.”
“Perfect,” I muttered. “Yeah, everything’s always perfect when I’m around.”
Wesley cocked his head to one side, as if he didn’t quite understand what I was trying to say. I wasn’t sure I knew either. All I wanted was to get away from him.
I hurried back to the elevator and pushed the call button. Wesley followed, the fabric of his suit rubbing together as he walked. The doors pinged! open. I winced at the sharp noise, stepped inside, and turned to face him.
“Are you coming?” I asked.
Wesley shook his head. He stood there in front of the open doors staring at me. He frowned, and as his eyes darkened, I jabbed the button for the first floor, avoiding his gaze. I didn’t look up until the doors closed.
When I was alone again, I slumped against the cold, metal wall and fought the tears forming in my eyes.
*
I used the elevator ride to pull myself together. By the time the doors opened on the first floor, I’d almost convinced myself everything was fine.
That I wasn’t pining for a guy I’d never get. That I didn’t want him to look at me, to notice me, and like what he saw more than anything else.
That I wasn’t halfway in love with him.
I stepped out of the elevator. The laughter, conversation, and rattle of silverware felt like a drill boring into my skull. If anything, the dedication had gotten louder since I’d been upstairs. I checked my watch. After ten already, and the party was still in full swing, but I was ready to call it a night, no matter how many disasters might be in the making. I found Chloe in the break room, petting Rascal.
“Hey, Abby!” Chloe leapt to her feet as if I’d caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “I know you said he’d be fine back here, but he looked so pitiful just sitting there and then he started whining…”
I stared at the puppy. Rascal yipped and let his tongue hang out of his mouth. If that wasn’t a devilish expression, I didn’t know what was.
“Don’t worry about it. I’ll take care of him from here on out since I’m going home.”
“Home?” Chloe looked me up and down. “You’re going home?”
I nodded.
“You’re leaving?” she squealed. “Now?”
I rubbed my temples. “If you don’t shatter my eardrums, I am.”
She threw her hands up in the air. “But the benefit isn’t even over yet. And you never, ever leave before an event is over. That’s when disaster strikes. Remember how many times you’ve told me that?”
I nodded. “I do, and I don’t care right now. My head is about to split in two.”
“But—but—I’ve never handled an entire event,” Chloe sputtered, panic clear in every syllable.
I put my hand on her shoulder. “You’ll do fine. Give it another hour, and the party will start winding down. Kyle and his staff will take care of the mess like they always do. Just make sure everyone is sober enough to get into their limo. Okay?”
Chloe let out a breath and nodded.
“All right, then. Good night, and good luck,” I said.
*
I retrieved my black coat, pulled on my gloves, hat, and scarf, and wrapped Rascal’s leash around my hand. I didn’t w
ant to walk through the boisterous party again, so I slipped out the side door. Rascal huffed with contentment as we stepped into the chilly night air. The puppy seemed to be just as happy to get away from the noise and lights as I was.
After the puppy did his business, I scooped him up and tucked him inside my coat. He licked my chin in thanks. I wrinkled my nose at his bad breath, but it didn’t bother me as much as usual.
The snow might have done a disappearing act, but so had the people who’d crowded into the streets earlier today. I relished the quiet darkness after the noise of the party. A few taxis cruised by looking for late-night fares, but I tucked my chin into my coat and kept going. I liked walking. It gave me time to unwind after a long, hard day—and a chance to convince myself that I had to get over this obsession with Wesley. Nothing was ever going to come of it, and I needed to realize that before I did something supremely stupid—like tell him I was the mysterious Wren.
I was so wrapped up in my thoughts I reached my block before I knew it. To my surprise, a black limo idled in front of my building. I’d just stepped onto my street when a shadow detached itself from a doorway up ahead. At first, I thought it was just some guy stopping to have a late-night cigarette.
Then, he turned and walked in my direction.
I slowed my steps, but I didn’t stop walking. Instead, I moved to the edge of the sidewalk so I wouldn’t have to get within arm’s reach of him. I also reached through the slits in my coat and unzipped the pocket holding my stun gun. I might like walking home at night, but I wasn’t careless. Granny Cane and Grandpa Pain couldn’t apprehend every mugger in the city.
The guy was about fifty feet from me when a car drove by. The glare from its headlights seared my eyes, destroying my night vision. I squinted and kept walking. By the time I blinked the spots away, the guy stood in front of me. Black leather duster, silver-tipped cowboy boots, guns in the holster around his lean waist, a bandana covering the bottom half of his face.
The sight of him made my blood run cold.
“Hello, Abby,” Bandit said.
Chapter Seventeen
I froze. Bandit on my block. On my street. Talking to me. Calling me by name. Not good. So not good.
“Um, hello,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. One should always avoid being rude to ubervillains if one wanted to keep breathing.
I clutched Rascal to my chest with one hand. With the other, I reached into my vest pocket and curled my fingers around my stun gun. Not that it would do much damage against the ubervillain. If I could somehow manage to use it before he just killed me.
Despite the disasters I’d faced at my events, I’d never been confronted by an ubervillain—not once. I didn’t think I had anything that would slow Bandit down, much less save me from getting shot. My vest contained many, many things. Unfortunately, Kevlar was not one of them. But I was definitely splurging for it the next time I went to Oodles o’ Stuff.
“You have something that belongs to me,” Bandit drawled. He jerked his thumb over his finger, pointing at the limo. “Or rather to my employer, Tycoon. And I want it back. Now.”
My eyes flicked to the car. Something red dangled from the rearview mirror, something that seemed to have a familiar, heart-like shape to it, but that was all I could make out. Even with my enhanced vision, I couldn’t see who was inside through the metal of the car—and I didn’t want to. Tycoon was notorious for keeping his identity a secret. Rumors said only a handful of people knew who the mob boss really was, and his anonymity allowed him to stay in business and avoid being busted by Chief Sean Newman. If I saw Tycoon’s face, I might as well just shoot myself instead of waiting for Bandit to do it.
“I have something that belongs to Tycoon?” I said, confused.
Bandit nodded, his dark hair falling forward. The moonlight hit his face, highlighting the black-and-white, paisley pattern in the bandana tied around his face. It only added to his sinister air.
“There must be some mistake. I don’t have anything of yours. Or his. I’ve never met you before. Never even seen you before. Well, not in person anyway.”
Like most ubervillains, Bandit occasionally appeared on SNN hawking his latest merchandise. The ubervillain also held illegal camps where people could go play cowboys for a day—complete with real duels using real guns and real bullets. And, of course, Bandit made the news whenever he evaded the police or superheroes during high-speed car chases. A couple of weeks ago, he and Pistol Pete, the gun-loving superhero, shot up the street outside Oodles o’ Stuff when they both went in to buy some supplies at the same time.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Abby.” Bandit’s voice sounded low, hard, and cold, despite the way he drawled out his words. “I know you have it. It wasn’t in your apartment or at the convention center. So, you must have it on you.”
My apartment? He’d been in my apartment? My blood congealed a little more.
“What am I supposed to have?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.
“A flash drive,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “About this big.”
A flash drive? I didn’t have any flash drive—
Oh yes, I did. The one that had fallen out of Talon’s belt. The one the dry cleaners had found. The flash drive I’d stuffed back into my coat pocket—the same coat I had on right now.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a step back. “I don’t have any flash drive.”
Bandit shook his head. “I’d hoped to do this the easy way. But if you won’t give it to me willingly, I guess I’ll just have to take it off your body—your dead body.”
Bandit stepped toward me, his boots crunching on the snow. Rascal let out a fierce growl, baring his teeth at the approaching ubervillain. Bandit’s eyes flicked to the dog. He frowned. I guess he wasn’t an animal lover either.
“Actually, let’s make that two things of Tycoon’s you have,” he said.
I shuffled back, ready to turn and run.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Abby.” Bandit tipped his ten-gallon hat a little lower on his head. “I really hate to chase people. It upsets me. I tend to shoot people when I’m upset.”
Upset? Forget that. I didn’t want to be this close to him now, when he was just menacing. But I made myself stop. He was right. Running wouldn’t help me. He’d just put a bullet in my back.
Bandit opened his mouth to threaten me again when the strangest thing happened—a car exploded.
I screamed and threw my hand up to ward off the intense heat and light. The explosion sounded like a couple of fighter jets doing formations in my head. The pain was so great my vision went white, then black, then white again. I blinked repeatedly, trying to get my sight back. After a minute, I realized it wasn’t a car but rather a trash can that had exploded—the one in front of Jasper’s brownstone. How bizarre. And the blast seemed to be contained, burning only in the trash can, without spreading to the surrounding cars. A curtain twitched in one of the brownstone’s windows. For a moment, I thought I saw Jasper inside, holding a phone in his hand. He must have come home early from the dedication. Then, the curtain fell back into place, and he vanished.
Bandit swore under his breath, and his eyes flicked up to the street signs, as though he wasn’t supposed to be here. He looked at the limo, but the car just sat there. The second Bandit’s back turned to me, I ran.
I probably could have made it around the corner if Rascal hadn’t chosen that moment to let out another growl.
“Bitch!” Bandit screamed behind me. “Come back here!”
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. I picked up my pace.
Over my pounding footsteps, something burped and zipped! through the air. Acting on instinct, I threw myself up against the building. A small, silver object zoomed past my head and slammed into the streetlight at the end of the block. The projectile punched through the metal, leaving a hole about the size of a quarter, and kept going unti
l it hit the brick building on the next block. Black gas spewed from the projectile. Red sparks shot out of the streetlight like a sparkler, and the walk sign flashed like a strobe light.
For the first time in my life, I was glad I’d touched that live amp at The Blues. Otherwise, I’d be dead right now, my skull pierced by Bandit’s bullet.
I shoved away from the wall, ready to run again. I stepped forward, my foot sliding on a patch of ice. My arms flailed, and my body jerked to one side, but I didn’t fall. I made a hard right and raced into the alley stretching between the main streets. Rascal barked and yipped, and I struggled to hold on to the puppy without crushing him.
“Be still!” I yelled at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m running for our lives right now!”
Maybe it was the sharp, panicked tone in my voice, but Rascal seemed to understand what I was saying. He settled down, and I kept running.
The alley led to another street a block over. It was more heavily traveled than my block, with footprints everywhere, so Bandit shouldn’t be able to tell which direction I’d gone. I knew I couldn’t outrun the ubervillain—or his gun. My eyes flicked over the snowdrifts. But maybe I could hide from him. I dashed across the street and down the block about fifty feet, crouching behind a car still buried up to its tires in snow. I reached up and rattled the door handle. Locked. Damn.
Across the street at the entrance to the alley, spurs jangled, and boots stamped on the snow. The sounds were faint, whispers really, but I could hear them. He was here already. Bandit was here. I went completely still, scarcely daring to breath.
“I told you that I hate chases, Abby.” His voice floated across the street. “Now, you’ve made me upset.”
And then—silence.
I strained and strained, but I couldn’t hear the ubervillain over my racing heart and quick, frantic breaths. Those sounds drowned out everything else. I couldn’t tell where he was, what he was doing, or most importantly, which direction he was walking.
I sank down into the shadows, hoping he’d turn the other direction and walk away from me. There was a police station a few blocks up. If Bandit headed the other way, I just might be able to sprint there before he realized his mistake and caught up with me. I eased forward, ready to take the chance.
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