“Valentina.”
Joey shouldn’t recognize this number, since it was a new phone to replace the one Jean-Baptiste had taken. But I wouldn’t reveal how much that worried me by asking him about it.
“I’ve thought about your offer,” I said. “I want to discuss it in person tomorrow.”
“Excellent.” His voice sounded crisp and businesslike, no ominous tones to hint that he’d masterminded everything. “We can talk over lunch. Eleven forty-five tomorrow. I’ll meet you at Superhero Sandwiches on Flagler.”
His choice of restaurant threw me, but I recovered fast. “See you there.”
He hung up, and as I lowered the phone, Irma watched me out of the corner of her eye.
“You have a plan?” she asked.
“Convince him to leave with me—either through seduction or mind-control or a combination of both—take him to a secure location and murder him. Slowly.”
“Hm.”
Was that a disapproving or appreciative sound? I couldn’t tell and was too tired to try and figure it out. Leaning back against the headrest, I struggled to keep my eyes open. I was conscious enough to notice Irma was taking about five times more turns than strictly necessary, but a quick scan of her mind showed that she hadn’t noticed a tail; she was just being extra cautious since we’d come from a DSA building.
When we finally arrived at the safehouse, I stumbled a little on the walk to the front door. Irma and I didn’t turn on the lights inside, used to the dark as we made our way quietly through the house. I spotted Elisa asleep on the living room couch and smiled. Though Irma had told me she was safe, it wasn’t quite the same as seeing it with my own eyes.
My good girl. She’d followed instructions and come straight back to the safehouse. I’d been so afraid she’d burst onto the scene at the Marine Stadium in a stupidly heroic show of bravery and make a mess of everything. It was nice to know I could trust her.
Of course, the only things I should have to trust her with were not to throw wild parties when I was out of town or do drugs—typical teenage stuff. Instead, I had her telepathically casing rendezvous points with crime lords and hiding out from murderers in safehouses. That wasn’t how I’d wanted to raise her, and all the parenting advice blogs in the world couldn’t help.
I blinked. “Why is she on the couch?” I whispered. “What’s wrong with her room?”
“She gave up the bed to Rosa,” Irma answered.
They weren’t sharing? I thought about what that might mean, but my thoughts crawled as slowly as someone who’d been kneecapped, so I gave up and decided to worry about it tomorrow. Leaving Irma to stand watch, I found Dave in the guest bedroom, Dr. Quevedo sleeping on a cot off to the side. At night, I could pretend my husband was merely sleeping soundly and not comatose. I kissed him softly, whispered goodnight, and staggered into the master bedroom to finally go to bed.
Except someone was already lying in it.
“Umrf.” Bianca shoved me sleepily when I practically sat on her by accident. “Watch it.”
“What are you doing in my bed?” I snapped.
“There’s nowhere else to sleep. You need a bigger safehouse.”
I didn’t have the energy it would take to evict her, so I just crawled in next to her. She was hogging all the blankets just like she used to when we were children. I wondered how her wife dealt with it.
I thought her presence would bother me, but I fell asleep within seconds.
Chapter 16
The next morning, having slept surprisingly well with Bianca all but pushing me out of the bed, I caffeinated myself as Eddy and Irma looked over a map, an X marking the location of Superhero Sandwiches. We’d taken over the kitchen table, forcing Elisa to the couch to eat her breakfast. Rosa hadn’t emerged from the bedroom yet, making me envy youth and their ability to sleep until noon—though she’d probably lost sleep due to the trauma of getting kidnapped, so maybe I should save my jealousy for another day.
Bianca stood at the kitchen counter as she mixed a Bloody Mary, her way of dealing with being stuck inside the crowded safehouse. Dr. Quevedo had appeared briefly for breakfast before retreating into the room where Dave lay. He’d perused the bookshelves in the living room before leaving, taking some reading material with him. I always made sure my safehouses were well-stocked with books. It was almost as important as food and weaponry.
“This would be the perfect spot to set up a sniper rifle,” Eddy said longingly as he pointed to the building across the street on the map. His leg was bandaged up, and a walker stood next to the table. Unable to walk without assistance, he was officially benched for the foreseeable future.
I patted the top of his hand reassuringly. “It’d be too suspicious, anyway. Two heads of the Belmonte crime family killed by a sniper while meeting with me? I’d have to mind-control everyone in the world to stop them from figuring it out.”
“You still need a backup plan.” Eddy’s forehead crinkled as he looked at me.
“I’ll wait outside with a rocket launcher,” Irma said.
“Not with all those civilians around, you won’t,” I replied. “Too much collateral damage.”
Sorry if that made you think I was growing a conscience, but my reasons were self-motivated, as usual. Kill a bunch of innocent shoppers and office workers on their lunch break like that, and the cops and DSA come after you hard. I didn’t need the extra trouble.
Irma made a sour face. “Assault rifle?” she compromised.
“Smoke bomb,” I said.
She scowled as if she didn’t have sixteen knives hidden on her at all times, plus one of Eddy’s pistols for good luck.
“You don’t need an assault rifle, Irma.” Bianca sauntered over from the counter and lifted her Bloody Mary in a solitary toast. “You’ve got me.”
She brought the drink to her lips, and I waited until she’d taken her first gulp to say, “Actually, I need you to stay here.”
She choked, and I fought hard not to smile. Robbing a bank is all well and good, but it’s the little evils that bring true joy.
After coughing and wiping her mouth, Bianca glared at me. “You’re not serious.”
“Jean-Baptiste went after Dave in his hospital bed. He’s not going to stop until I take Joey out of the equation. I need you to help Eddy and Elisa keep Dave safe.”
“You’d rather I sit around here doing nothing instead of backing you up? Come on, Val.”
Bianca’s drink nearly sloshed out of her glass, she was so animated. Irma, too, was giving me a doubtful look, but I refused to change my mind.
“I can protect myself, but Dave can’t right now.”
“Then can I murder Joey and you take the boring job?” Bianca asked.
“No, this is between him and me.”
Bianca groaned and shuffled back to the kitchen counter. Then she put down her glass and grabbed the bottle of vodka.
“Uh-uh,” I said. “We could be attacked any second now. You need to be sober.”
Bianca lowered the bottle the way a hero reluctantly talked out of revenge lowered a gun. “You’re lucky I love you, or I’d break this bottle and stab you with it right now.”
“I love you, too,” I replied.
My phone rang, interrupting the touching family moment. Moreen’s name flashed across the screen, reminding me that I hadn’t gotten ahold of her when I’d tried her back and then totally forgot. In my defense, yesterday had been pretty hectic.
I picked up the phone and tried to think of someplace in this tiny house where I could have a conversation in private. Deciding on the back porch, I slipped outside with a quick excuse. The table and chairs were covered in pollen, so I stayed standing, looking out over the overgrown yard and empty birdbaths. It was hot as hell despite the early hour, but hopefully, I could keep this conversation quick.
“We missed him in Augusta but found traces of his operation,” Moreen said by way of greeting.
Moreen Lee has been a lot of things: governmen
t agent, Dave’s ex, and head of the DSA. Right now, she was a private detective, and I’d hired her for the second time after Dr. Sweet had broken out of prison. The psychotic supervillain had come after my family too many times over the years, and I wasn’t going to sit back and wait for his next plot. Moreen had been following his trail for me—well, not for me. Yes, I was paying her, but she was one of those upright moral types who would gladly chase after a criminal like Sweet to keep people safe.
“More psyc?” I asked, referring to the drug he’d been producing last time I’d crossed paths with him. (Or one of his clones. I was still confused on that part.)
“Not sure,” Moreen said. “We found a drug production facility of some kind—and we were lucky. I scraped up a sample of whatever he was making, but the science guys are saying it’s a little different. Same active ingredients or something but a different ratio.”
I mulled that over for a moment. Dr. Sweet was up to something, but it didn’t seem related to the attack in the Keys, and that was all I cared about right now.
“Send me a copy of the info and keep searching,” I said.
“Sure. Anything else?”
I swallowed. I’d rather plunge a knife into my own hand than tell her what had happened to Dave, but she deserved to know. The two of them were still really good friends.
“Yeah,” I said. “Sit down. This isn’t going to be easy to hear.”
• • •
I rubbed my face as I walked back inside, feeling like I’d just lost a boxing match. Elisa shot up from the couch. I thought she wanted to tell me something, but a second later, I sensed Rosa coming down the hall.
She emerged wearing sweatpants and a T-shirt that were both too small for her, probably clothing I’d had stored in the safehouse for Elisa to wear. (And when was the last time I’d updated those?) Her hair was a mess, and she looked around at us with bleary eyes. When I reached out with my powers, I found her mind a jumble of noise and exhaustion.
Irma stood briskly. “What would you like for breakfast?”
Rosa’s gaze went distant for a second. “Ice cream.” She nodded to herself. “Definitely ice cream.”
Irma nodded and bustled over to the freezer.
Elisa went quickly to Rosa’s side and touched her arm, and they engaged in a hushed conversation that I— No, I wouldn’t eavesdrop. I was a good mom. I wouldn’t invade their privacy.
Rosa gave a strained smile in response to something Elisa said, and I forced myself to continue into the kitchen to focus on the map of the restaurant. I had work to do; no time to meddle in my daughter’s romantic relationships. Never mind that their troubles were my fault. I’d heard of parents screwing things up for their kids, but getting your daughter’s girlfriend kidnapped was probably a new one.
Their murmurs changed pitch, making me glance up despite myself. Though I kept my mind-reading powers firmly in check, I couldn’t help noticing how Elisa’s shoulders were curled in and Rosa leaned away from her rather than toward her.
Crap—but that didn’t mean things were over, necessarily. The trauma from Rosa’s abduction was still raw and would be for a while, and she probably just needed time. And therapy. I should offer to pay the bills for that, actually. It was the least I could do.
Irma brought over a bowl of vanilla ice cream covered in sprinkles and chocolate syrup, the spoon handle sticking up from it at an angle. Rosa took it with a tired thank you and retreated to the bedroom, a soft thump indicating when she’d closed the door behind her.
Alone, Elisa drooped and flopped back onto the couch. Abandoning the maps and plans on the table, I walked over and sat beside her.
“Give her time,” I said. “She’s been through a lot.”
Elisa looked down at her lap, picking idly at the frayed edges of her denim shorts. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Keep doing exactly what you’re doing,” I said. “Be there for her when she needs it and give her space when she needs that.”
“That doesn’t sound like enough.”
“Nothing is. There’s no checklist you can go through to make everything better.”
She sighed heavily and leaned her head back against the couch. Her eyes squeezed shut, and for a moment, she couldn’t hide the pain in her expression. My heart broke.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
Her forehead crinkled. “For what?”
I waved my hand, trying to gesture at the whole situation: her comatose father, traumatized girlfriend, and the safehouse she was forced to hide in. “Everything. This isn’t the type of life I had in mind for you. I wish I could’ve given you something better.”
“Better?”
“Safer. More normal.”
Elisa snorted and rolled her eyes. “Mom.”
“Don’t take that tone with me, young lady.” I tried to glare, but the corners of my mouth quirked up. “I’m having an emotional moment here.”
Elisa grinned, but then she looked at me thoughtfully. “You know I go to school, right?”
“I should hope so. If I find out you’ve been skipping, I’ll ground you so hard that the prison system will learn something.”
“I go to school—and half the kids there have parents who don’t give two shits about them, so don’t go thinking I’d be better off with a normal life.” She put “normal” in air-quotes.
“So at least I care?” I chuckled humorlessly. Caring was meaningless. It wasn’t going to wake up Dave or fix things with Rosa for her. Caring wouldn’t keep Elisa safe.
“You do.” Elisa’s voice went soft. “You’re a— You’ve always been a good mom.”
I felt the genuine emotion in her words and definitely didn’t blink rapidly to banish tears. The Black Valentine didn’t cry. And if I did, I’d kill you if you told anybody.
I reached over and hugged her, and as she rested her head on my shoulder, Julio’s question from the hospital came back to haunt me. Are you really that eager to take away the only parent Elisa has left? His words lingered in my head like the scars of a telepathic attack. He’d been talking about doing something that would get me arrested, but it applied just as well—or better—to something that could get me killed.
If I was really a good mom, I wouldn’t risk my life with what I was about to do next.
Chapter 17
Superhero Sandwiches was tacky as hell. Its food was fair to middling: sandwiches, burgers, and a salad or two for the health-conscious. But it didn’t attract customers with its menu. It attracted them with its stupid gimmick. The poor waiters and waitresses didn’t get a button-down shirt or even a polo for their uniform.
They were forced to wear superhero costumes.
I don’t know how much they got paid, but it wasn’t enough. Food service was a tough job on the best of days, but picture trying to weave between crowded tables with the Crimson Phoenix’s long cape hanging from your shoulders or staying on your feet for hours in Victory’s heeled boots. It didn’t help that the costumes looked cheap, like something you’d grab in a bargain bin after Halloween.
The walls were covered in superhero paraphernalia: signed photos, movie posters, and shelves of action figures. The moment I walked through the door, I scanned the crowd and the exits. It was busy, and a good deal of the clientele were parents with small children, making me glad I’d forbidden Irma from bringing the rocket launcher. (Tease me about having a conscience all you want, but I don’t hurt kids. Even a supervillain needs to draw the line somewhere.) There were plenty of adults, too, including a group of sweaty businessmen leering at a waitress dressed in Starbright’s skimpy costume. I resisted the urge to give their brains a sharp poke and kept searching. At least two of the booths and three seats at the bar held Joey’s men.
“Hi!” chirped the hostess, who was dressed in Miss Mesmerize’s miniskirt. Her gaze lingered on my scar for a moment before she plastered a smile back on her face. “How many—”
“I see my table,” I said and walked toward it.
Joey was seated in the corner, where he could keep an eye on the windows and exits. His suit was gray today, with a double-breasted jacket and a white folded handkerchief peeking out of the pocket. He held a martini glass casually in one hand as he watched me approach—another attempt to imitate my father, since Joey had always been a beer kind of guy.
I bet it tasted terrible. The menu here had maybe five cheap drinks on it, a concession to parents reluctantly pressured by their kids to come here. You could find better liquor at a gas station.
Looking at his face, I felt a stab of melancholy as I remembered the boy I used to fool around with and who had pined over me for years. But I pushed those feelings away. It didn’t matter who he used to be. Right now, he was the man who’d attacked my family, and nothing mattered except making him pay.
“Valentina,” he greeted as I sat down across from him.
“Joey,” I replied. “There’s a perfectly good steakhouse right across the street, you know.”
“I thought you’d feel more comfortable surrounded by heroes. You spend so much time with them, after all.”
I opened my mouth, but the waiter arrived before I could retort.
“Can I get you anything to drink?”
Realizing my mouth was still open, I snapped it closed. The waiter wore a White Knight costume.
He was too skinny to pull it off, and the plastic domino mask was too big for his face, looking awkward where it was held in place by an elastic band. He smiled cheerily, and I took a deep breath.
“Just water, please.”
He left, and I turned my attention back to Joey, whose usual grim mouth was upturned in a smug smile.
“So, this is how you’re going to play it?” I asked.
His smile didn’t slip. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“You say you want to help, but when I get here, you insult me.”
“That wasn’t my intention.” His eyes widened as if something had just dawned on him. “Do you mean the waiter? Because I don’t decide who the hostess assigns to our table.”
The White Knight & Black Valentine Series (Book 4): Kill Them All Page 13
