Under Control

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“This is an interlude, Sloane. We have no idea how long this will last before I’m running for my life again. And I have a confession.” “Oh?” “I don’t have as much control as you think I do.” This time, when he pulled her mouth down to his, the kiss wasn’t soft and gentle. He pressed her lips open with his, then dipped his tongue into her mouth. Sloane met him in kind. Her body started to hum. Tom shifted her so she lay completely on top of him, and she could feel his erection at the apex of her thighs. He wrapped one long leg around the back of her calf and raised his other knee. His arms snaked around her back and pulled her tighter against him, and he deepened the kiss even more. Sloane was lost, awash in sensation— heat, and power, and desire. As Sloane’s desire grew, so did her awareness of Tom’s power, which had been honed anyway, with the training and proximity. The power in turn increased her desire, until she was near insane with need. And he hadn’t even touched her anywhere interesting. Tom tore his mouth from hers and groaned. “God, Sloane. I need you.” There was no time—or ability—to think about it. To remember her reasons why it was a bad idea. To convince Tom he didn’t really want her. All she could do was pant, “Yes.”

ALSO BY NATALIE J. DAMSCHRODER Blue Silver: Lost Our Forever Brianna’s Navy Seal Cat’s Claw Elemental Passion Indulgence Institutional Sex Kira’s Best Friend A Matter Of Choice The Passion Of Tanner Black Slow Build Sophie’s Playboy To Catch A Cowboy The TreeKeeper

UNDER CONTROL BY NATALIE J. DAMSCHRODER

AMBER Q UILL PRESS, LLC http://www.amberquill.com

UNDER CONTROL AN AMBER QUILL PRESS BOOK This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental. Amber Quill Press, LLC http://www.amberquill.com All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be transmitted or reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief excerpts used for the purposes of review. Copyright © 2006 by Natalie J. Damschroder ISBN-10 1-59279-627-3 ISBN-13 978-1-59279-627-4 Cover Art © 2006 Trace Edward Zaber

Layout and Formatting provided by: ElementalAlchemy.com

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Lainey, because without her, this story would never have been written.

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UNDER CONTROL Sloane Marshall trained superheroes. Discovering them was easy. There weren’t many of them out there. For every two hundred leads she investigated—and almost always quickly dismissed—she found one potential. And not all of those had the attributes necessary to become super. It wasn’t enough to have super strength or the ability to shapeshift. You had to be a leader. Confident. Humble. For every superhero she coached to infamy, six didn’t make the cut. She knew, before she even met him, that Tommy Idaho was special. “Vodka sour,” she told the bartender before swiveling on her stool to survey the room. Not that she needed to. She’d spotted Idaho right away, in a large circular booth in the back of the upscale bar. It was quiet, full of leather and dark wood, cloth table coverings and shining crystal. Just the kind of place a scientist would go. Idaho didn’t look like a scientist. Of course, many of them didn’t 1

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once they’d removed their lab coats. But he was more football quarterback than microscope jockey, with broad shoulders, thick dark hair, and blue-green eyes that sparkled as he laughed at something the woman next to him said. If he weren’t superhero material, he’d be exactly her type. “He’s gonna see you.” “Doubtful.” Sloane didn’t look at the kid who’d settled on the stool next to her. Her backer, Darren Cranston, had sent this old friend of Idaho’s to meet her when the basic file had left her more skeptical than usual. Tommy was an orphan, “strange” since birth, which meant his powers were intrinsic and not the result of chemical ingestion or radiation or experimentation or any other external factors. That in itself was rare. He also reportedly had more than one power. Super speed and strength, which were common enough nowadays, relatively speaking. Fast healing, something often engineered since advanced medicine had made it possible for those with super bank accounts. There were suggestions of other things, unproven but if true, would probably render Tommy Idaho the greatest superhero who’d ever lived. It wasn’t possible. So she’d marked him off and gone to Russia to train a woman who could absorb life energy and use it to move, create, and banish things, all the characteristics of illusion or magic, but for real. Then Percy Keller showed up. He lived in Massachusetts, so Darren sending him to Russia told her he believed in Idaho. A lot. Percy was a wide-eyed kid who looked barely old enough be in this bar. But he’d graduated from high school with Tommy, and had been one of his best friends. His testimony had convinced Sloane to come to Amherst. She didn’t have anything else on the schedule, and proving them false was almost as much fun as discovering them. 2

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She hadn’t expected to detect his power before she was even in the door. Of course, it could be anyone in the bar, though the strongest signal came from that corner table. If Idaho wasn’t the real deal, one of his colleagues was. “He’ll be mad if he finds out I told you about him,” Percy muttered after ordering a soda. He kept his back to the room. “Why’d you want me to meet you here, anyway? Sloane tossed a few nuts into her mouth, still watching Idaho. “You’re going to help me test him.” Percy’s inhale was audible. “Test him how?” “Don’t know yet.” “Don’t you know enough already?” Sloane spared him a glance. He really didn’t want to be here. “Does Idaho have a temper or something?” Percy shrugged. “No. Not really.” He glanced over his shoulder, then quickly back at the bar, his shoulders hunched. Sloane watched him for a minute, wondering why his tune had changed. On the private plane back from Russia he’d been chatty, telling her story after story of things he’d seen his friend do. Now, she wondered if he was about to be caught in a lie. Or worse. What if Idaho was more super-villain than superhero? She wouldn’t have expected that. Darren had provided a file, and she’d done her own research, as well. Tommy Idaho had been an abandoned baby, just a few weeks old, found in a cornfield in Idaho. He lived in an orphanage for over a year. Two couples had sought to adopt him, but then returned him before the adoption finalized, citing an illness or strangeness they couldn’t cope with. Doctors had been unable to find a reason for his uniqueness, though one medical report indicated his blood work had been strange, unlike anything the lab had ever seen. His development overall was normal, if slightly advanced, 3

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and if you ignored the parts about picking up chairs and running faster than the adults chasing him. Miles an hour faster. Finally, when he was nearing what had been assigned as his second birthday, a couple from Massachusetts adopted him, and it stuck. The records Sloane turned up revealed a pretty normal couple, teachers in Amherst who owned a small farm, subsistence-level. No criminal records, steady employment, no other kids in the family. Active in church and community, blah, blah, blah. There were no red flags hinting at abuse or anything else dark and damaging, though such things weren’t always evident. Sloane couldn’t discount the possibility. Five years ago, the Amherst newspaper had done a story on Tommy Idaho, who was graduating with a combined BS/MS degree from UMASS. One of the questions asked was why he didn’t share his parents’ last name, Rockner. “We always wanted Tommy to know where he came from,” his mother Ethel had said. “The orphanage discouraged it, said it sounded like a heavy metal guitar player. But we think it sounds like a man destined for greatness.” Corny, Sloane had thought. But she had to admit it had an alter-ego sound to it, like in the old comics that existed before real superheroes did. Tommy’s police record was sealed, but Darren had special dispensation to access such things, which meant Sloane did, too. She’d never asked how he got this dispensation, not sure it was really legal. Idaho had been present at a surprising number of crime scenes, saved the day at accident scenes, and been charged with a dozen crimes for which the charges were dropped. All hallmarks of the real thing, and a noble character. His school record was quieter. Top grades, no sports, only participated in yearbook committee and the honor society. He was obviously brilliant, getting both a bachelor’s and a master’s in four 4

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years, and now worked for a hush-hush scientific think-tank between Amherst and Pelham, Massachusetts. A think-tank Sloane suspected Darren owned, which might be how this guy came to his attention. So far, in the five years he’d been working there, Idaho hadn’t done anything remarkable. Except save some colleagues from a fire. And survive a beam falling on him when he’d absentmindedly walked through a construction area. He was low man on the totem pole in his department, though his reviews were good and he apparently did solid work. Percy had learned Tommy’s secret halfway through high school, and he said the things the kid had done were amazing. But instead of being reckless and show-off-ish, he’d hidden his talents unless they were needed, and only used them for good. Percy had sheepishly admitted to trying to use his friend, especially to impress more popular kids, and Tommy would have none of it. So he seemingly bought into the great power/great responsibility thing. That was good. But he lived in the middle of nowhere. That wasn’t so good. Sure, superheroes were needed everywhere, and she’d found one for most of the major cities in the States. But he chose to be nowhere, and that probably meant reluctance to use his gifts, and she decided that was a likelier reason for Percy’s fidgeting right now. It would make her job more difficult, but that was okay. She liked a challenge. And people like him were more in control, which always made them easier to train. That was the part that made her most excited about this job, now that she’d seen him. Comic books had always portrayed superheroes as super-gorgeous, and the reality was the opposite. Most were simply average. Some were downright homely. The hardest ones were the ones whose physical appearance belied their talents. That made it easier for them to hide their abilities, should they want to, but it also undermined the confidence factor. Tommy Idaho was old-school. Sloane was enjoying just watching 5

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him talk, half hidden behind a table. Working with him would be one fine assignment. If he was the real thing. Sloane found herself hoping he was. Time to find out. She swiveled back to the bar and leaned close to Percy. “What would you say is his biggest strength?” He gave her a “duh” look. “His strength.” “You know what I mean. The talent he has the most command of and the least fear to use.” Percy nodded. “His strength. Because he can hide how strong he actually is, and blame it on luck or leverage or whatever. The speed is too obvious, and the healing he can’t control.” “Okay.” She finished her drink while she thought. “Go out and get your car. Wait down the street. When you see me start to cross, hit the gas.” Percy started to protest, but she got up and walked toward the back hallway where the restrooms were. She had to pass Idaho’s table and kept her eyes on him as she went. He glanced up when her steps slowed, and she met his eyes in invitation. And felt the surprise in his mirrored in herself, though she kept it masked. A second later she was past, the connection broken, and her step faltered. Had that been…sizzle? “Way to go, Tom-man!” came a voice behind her. “You can pick ’em up without even smilin’!” “Shut up, Fred.” The reply came from the only woman at the table, and Sloane wondered if she was Idaho’s girlfriend. Nothing in his file or her research had said he was attached. Of course, it could be a recent development, and he wasn’t well-known enough or important enough for the local paper to talk about his social life. She narrowed her eyes at the pang of jealousy. She did not—repeat, not—get involved with superheroes, no matter how good-looking they 6

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were. Her shove into the ladies room was more forceful than necessary, and she was glad no one was coming out. She’d have broken their nose. She took a minute to calm herself. Her plan wouldn’t work if she wasn’t in full control. After a normal amount of restroom time, she left the bathroom and walked back to the bar without looking at Idaho. She retrieved the jacket she’d left on a stool, thanked the bartender sweetly, and headed out the door. Hovering by the bushes to the left of the entrance, she peered back through the main window. Yep, he’d gotten up. With his back to the door, he pulled on a black cashmere overcoat, said something to his friends, and tossed some cash on the table. Scientists are well paid. It looked like he was covering everyone’s drinks. Satisfied that he was on his way out, Sloane checked for Percy’s car. A dark coupe idled about a block away. She peered quickly back through the window, saw Tommy reaching for the inner door, and headed out into the street. Percy, God love him—she hadn’t been sure he had the balls for it—hit the gas and headed directly for her. She turned and froze, as if paralyzed by fear. The car was scant feet from her before she realized Idaho was going to do nothing. She leaped sideways and hit the pavement hard on her left shoulder, barely keeping from cracking her head on the curb. Percy swung by inches from the soles of her boots, and skidded to a halt down the street. She heard his car door open and running feet, but was looking at Idaho, who still had not moved. Superhero, her ass. Except he was. He might not have taken her test, but even from across the street, she could tell. “What the hell was that?” Percy panted, running up to her and bending to help her to her feet. 7

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Sloane rose, wincing at the grating pain in her shoulder. “Not according to plan,” she muttered. “You all right?” She nodded. Percy looked at his friend. “What the hell?” Idaho waited until they’d crossed the street to him. He was staring at Sloane. “You should go back to Cranston Enterprises, Ms. Marshall,” he said. A shiver went through her. She looked at Percy. “You told him?” He cringed. “Kind of.” She looked back at Idaho. “How did you know it was me?” A smile flickered over his lips. “Women like you don’t come on to men like me in Amherst’s most expensive bar.” She snorted. “That’s easy to believe. Not. Anyway, since I am here—” “You’ve made a wasted trip. Just go tell Mr. Cranston that I’m one of the duds. I’m sure he’ll believe you. Though,” he frowned, “if that’s how you test all your prospects, I’m surprised they’re not all dead.” It wasn’t how she tested all her prospects. She never went straight for the lifesaving move. And in this case, his power was so strong, all she’d had to do was get him alone and she’d know for sure that he was the real thing. He was just so unique, so compelling, she found herself wanting to keep her distance. She’d fucked up. Badly. “Percy, I’ll see you Saturday. Ms. Marshall.” Tommy tipped his head and moved on down the street. Sloane watched him go, and then turned to Percy. “Thanks for your help, kid.” She started to walk toward the lot where she’d parked her Mustang. “Wait. That’s it? You’re leaving?” 8

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She turned, walking backward, and spread her arms. “What do you want me to do? He doesn’t want it. I can’t force him.” He ran up to walk with her. “That happen often?” She shrugged. “Enough. Usually the false ones want it and can’t have it. But once in a while, the responsibility of the job is too much for someone to face. The world is better off if they don’t take the job.” “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. I just didn’t agree that he should be kept in the dark.” Sloane tried not to be irritated. They’d gone over this before, on the plane back from Russia. “I told you I have reasons for not alerting them from the start. Sure, this time it wasn’t that he was a fake. Honestly, though,” she relented, “it wouldn’t have mattered. I just might have gotten to see him in action first, that’s all.” It probably would have been something worth seeing, she thought, but didn’t say. Percy looked miserable enough. “No big deal, kid.” They paused next to her car. “Thanks for coming,” he said, and shook her hand. “You take care of yourself. And your friend.” She smiled, climbed into the Mustang, and headed for her hotel, surprised at the disappointment she felt. *

*

*

“Did you try to talk to him?” Sloane held her phone to her left ear and used her right hand to pack the few things into her suitcase that she’d pulled out before going to the bar. “There was no need. He made it clear he wasn’t into it. I’ll be home by—” “Oh, no, you won’t.” Sloane frowned at her backer’s uncharacteristic tone. “What?” “You’ll stay there until he agrees to training. To listing with the guild.” Active superheroes were required to register their powers and intentions with the guild Darren also sponsored. It kept on top of any 9

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rogue shoes, as Sloane liked to call them, and offered some protections for the good ones. There were about fifty-two members of the guild, a little less than half discovered by Sloane. Most of the rest had been coached by her rival, Billy Judd, and the remainder were self-taught. There were also half a dozen retired superheroes who ran the governing board. “Darren, he wants nothing to do with me. With any of it.” “Are you sure about that? Or is it possible that Judd got to him first?” “You tell me.” She huffed an exasperated breath and pulled out the phone book. She knew where this was going. She’d argue, but the end result would be the same. “You’re the one who’s best friends with Billy’s backer.” Karl Heinrich was a German businessman who’d gone to college with Darren Cranston. They were mixed up in a lot of business arrangements together, but Sloane believed Darren had started the guild and hired her just to compete with his old friend. Darren ignored her statement. “Sloane, you must understand the importance of confirming and training this man. Failure—” “Failure,” she interrupted. “There is no such thing. We’re not talking about the end of the world. This isn’t a comic book. The man does not want the job. We can’t make him—” Darren’s cultured tones didn’t change when he cut her off, but she could feel his impatience with her. “You must set aside your personal perspective, Sloane. This is not about you. This is about an extraordinary man, and it is about his survival, his understanding of our world and the way it works. Life is not a comic book, no, and arch-villains do not abound. But there is danger, danger aimed at young Mr. Idaho, and you are closest. You are our best chance for keeping him out of enemy hands.” He stopped to let his words sink in. “Someone is after him,” Sloane finally stated. She dropped into the 10

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wooden desk chair and pressed her hand against her forehead. “Who?” But she knew the answer. She sighed. Competition with Billy Judd to see who would get to train the next great hero was one thing. Racing to convince the hero that he or she wanted to be heroic, before the bad guy either convinced them differently or removed them from the equation, was something else. Not the most fun part of her job. “Why Idaho?” “As I said, he is extraordinary. He has more power than I believe any of us have seen, anywhere else, save one.” Sloane ignored the last part. He was always slipping in asides about that, and she would not be provoked. “Like what? The stuff in his file is common enough, if a bit bigger than most.” “Not all is in his file, because not all could be verified. I believe he has weapons and abilities he rarely uses. Things that will astound you.” “X-ray vision?” she joked. “Super hearing?” “Enhanced senses, yes, but not as imagined by the scribes of the past. Those are for you to discover and help him refine.” “And the danger part?” Darren cleared his throat. “Magnus VanDein.” Shit. “Nuff said. I’ll call him tomorrow.” “Tonight.” She snorted. “He’s liable to shoot me with his laser eyes if I go over there tonight. I’ll try to get to him at work in the morning. Best I can do. I need to plan.” “All right. And Sloane.” The older man’s voice softened. “Be careful. I shouldn’t want anything to happen to you, not even to protect or secure this boy.” “Thanks. I’ll watch my back.” “See that you do.” Sloane sighed as she hung up the phone. He’d had to make this 11

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complicated. She hated complicated. *

*

*

“I’d like to make an appointment to see Tom Idaho, please.” Sloane sat in her car in the Pelherst Research parking lot, watching the front door. She’d already tried calling Idaho directly, but he’d anticipated that and blocked her at reception. She’d changed her voice a little and waited twenty minutes to make this second call. “I’m sorry…are you sure you want Mr. Idaho?” “Of course I’m certain. Who else would I want?” The young woman sounded less assured than she had the first time Sloane had called. “Usually his supervisor, Mr. Dechevni, meets with…where are you from?” Sloane didn’t have much clue what Pelherst did, but Darren had anticipated that and e-mailed her a cover. “My name is Samantha Mitchell. I’m with Terle Industries, and we wanted to discuss some of the results of the research that Pelherst is doing. But I was told to contact Mr. Idaho. Isn’t Dechevni on vacation this week or something?” She held her breath, hoping Darren’s intel was right. “Well, yes, he is, but he will return next week. If you’ll just—” “I’m sorry, I’m only in town today. I’ve just had a meeting with a competitor, and we’d like to make an immediate comparison. Of course, if that’s not possible…” “Oh, I’m sure it is. Hold, please.” Sloane waited. And waited. She wondered if Idaho had seen through her weak deception and if so, if he’d convince the receptionist to turn her away. Finally, the instrumental music disappeared and the woman came back on the line. “Mr. Idaho will be happy to meet with you today. He’s available as early as ten o’clock.” 12

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“That’s fine, thank you.” She hung up, slipping her phone into her pocket and watching the front door, in case he was planning to slip out. An hour later, there’d been no sign of him. She knew he could have gone out another exit and used his powers to get away unseen, but that would be cowardly and irresponsible, and she didn’t think either trait applied to him. Since her normal mode of dress hadn’t been appropriate to the plan, she’d picked up a suit at Wal-Mart, the only place open early enough. It was basic and not great quality, but not so bad she’d be turned away at the door. She only needed to look the part for a few minutes. Long enough to get to Idaho and start talking. The receptionist looked both as young and as refined as she’d sounded on the phone. Her eyes flicked to Sloane’s navy suit and faux leather pumps, but her smile never faltered. She rose smoothly. “Ms. Mitchell?” “Yes.” “Right this way, please.” “Thank you.” Sloane followed her through a maze of white, brightly lit corridors, their heels tapping in unison, until they reached the door to a conference room. It was empty. “Mr. Idaho will be right with you. Please help yourself to coffee.” Sloane thanked her again and quickly surveyed the room. If she made coffee, she’d be as far from the door as she could get. He’d see her and skedaddle before she could move. But the wall to the right of the door held art. She could pretend to be studying that so when he started to enter her back would be to him, and she could move to block the door before he realized it was her. Assuming he didn’t suspect as much, already. She set her attaché on the table where he could see it, removed a folder, and stepped into position. A few seconds later the door opened. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Idaho enter the room completely, 13

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see her, and stop. She swiveled and slid sideways, blocking his exit. “You.” His expression was inscrutable. “You’re not surprised.” “No.” “But you came to meet me.” He dropped the legal pad and pen he was holding on the table across from her attaché and sat. Sloane waited, just to be sure, before circling the table to sit across from him. “If you’re here, you’re not going to just go away. So I decided it would be better to talk to you so you make the decision on your own.” She smiled. “To go away?” He didn’t. “Yes.” She dropped the false friendliness. “I won’t. So you might as well resign yourself to that and cooperate.” “Fine.” “Great.” Amazing how he could hold such an emotionless expression for so long. Even his eyes, as sharp as they were, betrayed nothing. “What do you know about me and Darren Cranston?” Idaho’s expression didn’t change. “We can’t talk about this here.” “I’m not waiting to talk about it somewhere else and let you get away again. The surveillance is off. Is the room soundproof?” He glanced into one corner. “Yes. But I can’t tell if someone turns the audio on.” She could, but wasn’t going to tell him that. “So we’ll be cryptic. Please tell me what you know so far.” Maybe it was the please, but his tension lessened almost imperceptibly. “I know you search for people…like me.” Sloane figured the hesitation was because he was admitting there was something about him worth looking for. “You train for the guild. And Cranston, for his own reasons, pays 14

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you well to do so.” Sloane leaned forward. “Do you know those reasons?” She didn’t. Cranston would never tell her what drove him. She figured a dead kid in his past or something like that. That was the kind of thing that motivated most people. But he shook his head. Only mildly disappointed, she said, “Yes, I discover and train shoes.” At his quizzical look, she flipped open her folder and wrote SuperHerOES and underlined the capital letters. It would be a good code, so they could talk about it without anyone knowing what they were saying. “Do you know Billy Judd?” she asked. “I know who he is. He hasn’t contacted me.” “What about Magnus VanDein?” He shook his head. Before she could ask another question, he said, “Ms. Marshall, I told you, I’m not interested.” “Why not?” “You researched me, didn’t you?” “Of course.” “Then don’t you know?” She thought about the police records she’d perused. Her interest had been mainly evidence of his abilities. But now she considered from a different perspective, and remembered— “The kid in the quarry.” He didn’t respond, but she knew she was right. It was always dead kids. “What happened?” “He fell. I tried to save him, but I made things worse.” Now emotion showed through the granite. His jaw ticked, and she could see the pain behind his eyes, eyes he tried to keep cool and unconcerned. “That’s why the training,” she said softly. “Though I have no doubt you’ve learned better control since then.” “I don’t use it.” 15

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“At all?” “Ever.” Okay, that was a first. “Not even to open a pickle jar?” His mouth hinted at a smile. “Not even.” Sloane straightened her spine. “There are people—” “Spare me the responsibility to the public speech. Or the God-given gift speech. I don’t even need to hear the joy in nobility speech. Nothing will make me change my mind.” “Well, there’s—” Again, she was cut off, this time by a knock at the door. The receptionist peered in. “Mr. Idaho? There’s someone else here to see you. He said he had an appointment.” A frisson went up Sloane’s spine. Something was wrong. Idaho was frowning, too. “I didn’t have an appointment.” The door was shoved open and the receptionist stumbled sideways, into the room. “You do now.” The man who entered looked normal enough. He wore a suit nicer than Sloane’s, and his hair was well styled. But he also wore a gun concealed under his suit jacket, and he emanated menace. Tommy and Sloane had both stood when the door opened. She slipped her file and pad into her attaché and slung the strap across her body, making the moves casual. “Mr. Idaho, we need to speak with you.” “I’m sorry.” Tommy motioned to Sloane. “As you can see, I’m already in a meeting. Perhaps you can schedule for tomorrow.” “Don’t think so.” The man reached for Tom with his left hand and the gun with his right. Sloane pulled the receptionist behind her and 16

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pushed her to the floor while Tom dodged the man’s reach, ducked the gun, and tripped him on his way by. The man had said “we.” Sloane darted for the door, ready for the man who swung at her head as she reached the hall. She grabbed his arm and used her momentum to swing the guy around and slam his head into the wall. Dazed but conscious, he slid to the floor. She glanced over her shoulder. Tom was grappling with a third man, who had a gun out and his finger on the trigger. The only thing keeping him from firing was Tom’s large hands around his wrist, pushing the weapon upward. Sloane dashed forward, planted, and swung her foot into the gun man’s crotch. He crumpled. Tom pulled the gun apart and dropped the pieces on the floor. “You’ve got to get out of here,” she said. “More will come, and anyone around you will be in danger.” “I know.” He looked grim. “There’s a side door that way.” He pointed down the hall behind her, but started to walk in the opposite direction. Sloane followed. He stopped. “This changes nothing. I don’t care who’s after me besides you or what they want. Nothing will change my mind.” He stalked away from her again, aware that the men they’d temporarily disabled weren’t hurt enough to stop coming after him. He hoped they weren’t government agents or something, but didn’t know why they would be. He’d done nothing in his adult life to make someone come after him. Except be. He heard clicking steps behind him, a curse, and then the soft swish of stocking feet on tile. He’d lied to her, a bit. He didn’t deliberately use his abilities, but he couldn’t stop the enhanced senses. He could also smell her, and knew exactly when she caught up to him, even though she didn’t say anything. 17

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He wasn’t going to waste any more energy arguing with her. She did what she wanted to do, and she’d deal with the consequences. He didn’t need to be told that about her. The corridor ahead was empty and he quickened his pace, heading for the door at the end. A shadow briefly passed the window, and he held in his own curse. Someone was on the other side. And since the majority of the people in this building were lazy and used the elevators, it was likely more people seeking him. What the hell had made him so popular all of a sudden? “You can’t go home,” Sloane said, hitting the wall next to the door as he leaned against the opposite side. She stretched up just a little— she was only a couple of inches shorter than he was—to look through the window and nodded. He held up one finger, then pointed her way. She nodded again. The door opened toward the stairwell from her side. She put her hand on the knob, and they silently counted together to three. She shoved open the door, he pushed into the stairwell. The man on the other side raised his arm, but Tom was on him too fast. He put his arm under his chin and held him against the wall as Sloane rushed by. Then he swept the man’s feet out from under him and followed her down the stairs, as quietly as possible. They reached the lower floor and pushed through the door to the outside. There was no one to be seen and silence in the stairwell behind them. This is too easy. Sloane must have thought so, too, because she stopped with the door open, providing partial cover, and scanned the trees a few hundred yards away. Tom examined the parking lot to their left, then the width of the building to their right. Nothing. “Where?” he murmured. “Lot, probably,” Sloane muttered back. “Where’s your car?” “Near the building. Yours?” 18

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“Near the exit. What are you driving?” “Prius.” She snorted. “Guess we’ll go for the long dash. Let’s go, we’ve been stationary too long.” She stepped away from the door. Tom started to follow, but the zipping noises alerted him. He looked up to see three black-clad figures fast-rappelling down the side of the short building. “Run!” He pushed at Sloane’s back. She took off, zigzagging across the lawn to the parking lot, where she ducked between cars and wound between them, fast even in heels. Tom followed, taking a slightly different path. He heard a ptuing sound, and something bounced off the macadam in front of him. They were shooting. He ran faster. More chips of parking lot flew. Sloane got to her car two seconds ahead of him. She’d unlocked it by remote so Tom ducked inside. Sloane ran past the car. He looked out the back window to see her feverishly digging at a tree trunk. He looked forward and saw the three figures dodging through the parking lot. “Come on, Sloane!” he roared. A few seconds later she jumped in the car, twisted the key in the ignition, and shot out of the parking space. She did a one-eighty to hit the exit and zoomed out into the empty street. No one followed. “You know what that means,” Sloane said, looking in the rear view mirror. “They know where I live.” “That’s not all they know.” She opened her palm to show what she’d been digging out of the tree. It was a brass bullet. *

*

*

Sloane let Tom think as she drove away from Pelherst Research. These guys knew who he was, where he worked, and his primary 19

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weakness. It was more than she’d known. What she presumed was an allergy to brass hadn’t been in his file. That said a lot about who was after him, and his intentions. VanDein wasn’t usually about killing. The world’s top criminal wasn’t content with just getting rid of the superheroes who were his potential nemeses. “We have to go to my parents’,” Tom said, breaking the silence. “They’d expect that.” “They’d expect me to go home or to some secret lair or to get out of town. They wouldn’t expect me to endanger my family.” She didn’t agree, but she knew where he was coming from. If they knew about the brass, they knew about his family. Knew they were close, and could be used as bait. “Let me try something different.” She pulled her phone from its clip on her attaché, which was still slung across her body, and flipped it open. While she selected a previously called number, Tom unhooked the strap of her bag from one end and pulled it from around her body. Then he reached across her to retrieve and buckle her seatbelt. “Thanks.” She eyed him as the phone rang, her brain catching up to what her instincts and her body had been telling her since last night. But then Percy answered in the middle of the fourth ring. “Hey, kid, it’s Sloane Marshall. Tom needs a favor.” “I’m working, Sloane.” He sounded perturbed. “I already screwed things up. I’m not—” “Wah. I’m not interested in your self-pity. His parents are in danger. He can’t go, it will make it worse. I need you to go over and check on them. If they’re there and okay, you need to get them out. Send them somewhere safe. They should know where they can go.” She glanced at Tom, who nodded. “If they’re not there, call me immediately. If someone else is there, don’t go in, but call me. We won’t be far away.” Percy agreed without question, and she hung up. Tom took the 20

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phone. “Good thinking.” He still sounded worried. “I hope so. He’s a good friend,” she observed. “I don’t want him to get hurt. But my responsibility is to you.” Tom didn’t argue. “Where are we going?” “Some place safe.” She hoped. When Darren told her about VanDein, she’d immediately set up a safe house, so to speak. This wasn’t the first time she’d tried to protect a shoe from VanDein. But she hadn’t had the time she normally had to prepare. “It’s temporary. But hopefully, assuming no one put any trackers on us or my car, they won’t find us there.” They weren’t marked. She knew that. But it had been a possibility. Tom didn’t say anything else the rest of the ride. Sloane let the silence cocoon them, let Tom figure out for himself what he was going to have to do. She just hoped he came to the same conclusion she already had. In the meantime, she pondered her own issues, ticking them off on mental fingers. One: they worked together like a highly trained team. Tom anticipated her needs and she read his intentions. It was the only reason they’d gotten out of there so easily. Two: She’d stopped thinking of him as Tommy somewhere back in the Pelherst building. That removed a layer of separation from them. She was only a couple of years older than he was, but as long as he was “Tommy” she could think of him like a kid. Three: Her physical reaction to him had already started that process. Sloane had never had a problem with her superhero ban. She’d trained a lot of good-looking men, had been attracted to a couple, but had always kept that attraction from growing into anything else without difficulty. She was afraid this one was going to be much different. Tom wasn’t only gorgeous, he was noble and selfless and there was already something between them, something more than chemistry. It was like they belonged together. 21

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But that was impossible. Except a lot of her parts were telling her it wasn’t. Even ones she trusted. Twenty minutes later she pulled around behind a small house set far off the road and screened by trees. Nothing had changed since she’d left that morning. “Looks secluded enough,” Tom observed. “Security?” “Some.” She’d been out early and set up some rudimentary measures, but it wasn’t as secure as the Cranston compound. Hopefully, they’d only be here a short time before she convinced Tom to come with her to the compound. She didn’t take many of her shoes there, but he’d be safer. For some reason, she cared a lot more than usual that VanDein not get his hands on this man. They entered the house together after she unlocked the front door. They split up, searched it, and met in the kitchen. “Percy should have called by now,” Tom said. “I know.” On cue, the phone rang. Sloane looked at the display. It was a number she didn’t recognize. “Hello?” “Where’s Tommy?” It was an older woman’s voice, demanding. The voice of a professor whose students got away with nothing. Without a word, Sloane handed the phone to Tom. “Hello? Mom. You both okay?” He listened for a while. “Yes. I’m fine, obviously. Take Percy with you. No, don’t say it. These lines aren’t secure.” A full smile spread over his face, lightening his seriousness and making Sloane’s heart flutter, even though the smile hadn’t been meant for her. A voice very deep in her head said, “Uh-ohhhhh.” Tom clicked off the phone, the smile still on his face. “Percy got to them just before the suits did. There was a skirmish, but they got away 22

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clean. They’re taking Percy with them to our other house. It’s not easy to find. They’ll be okay as long as they’re not followed.” “Good. What was the smile for?” He flashed it again, and this time her breath stopped. She cursed herself. If she couldn’t get under control, she was going to have to pass on training him. “Sit. We need to talk.” Since she’d been about to say the same thing, she didn’t take offense at his tone. She pulled a jug of iced tea from the fridge first and poured two glasses, giving him one. He thanked her politely. As soon as she was sitting at the table across from him, he started his interrogation. “Who is Magnus VanDein and why does he want me?” “Right to the heart of the matter,” she observed. “VanDein is the world’s biggest and most untouchable criminal. He’s probably not the richest man in the world, but he’s on his way. He’s got his hand in just about everything. World politics, civil wars, organized crime, a hundred legitimate companies that probably don’t operate legitimately. But he either knows how to cover it up, or has the connections to remain invisible. About the only thing he doesn’t get into is drugs.” “And he wants me. A nothing scientist in the middle of the woods in Massachusetts.” “You’re not a nothing. Only the fact that you don’t use your abilities has kept him from finding you before now.” She frowned. “If you don’t use them, ever, how did you save the people in the fire? And survive the falling beam?” He shrugged. “The way any normal person would.” “Are you impermeable?” “No. My skin is more durable than most, but it can be damaged. Burned, cut.” “Healing power?” 23

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“Some. Not miraculous. But fast. Tell me why VanDein wants me.” Sloane sighed. “He likes to corrupt superheroes. It’s easier if he can get to them before I do, or before Billy does.” “And by what methods does he corrupt them?” “I don’t know. It probably depends on the susceptibility of the hero. Some corrupt easily. Money and freedom are much more attractive than helping and protecting people.” “And the others?” “We suspect torture. Maybe conversion.” She had to force herself not to flinch at her own words. “Conversion?” She pulled the brass bullet from her jacket pocket. “Allergies. Or whatever you want to call them. Every superhero has one. We think it’s nature’s attempt at balance. The stronger the superhero, the stronger the allergy. VanDein can use his captives’ allergies to hurt them. And if they’re exposed the right way, long enough, it can completely remove their powers.” “Really?” He studied the bullet in her hand with a hunger that touched her with despair. “I didn’t know that could happen.” “Nothing is absolute.” She curled her fingers around the warped metal. “How it works depends on how the powers were created in the first place. Some people were exposed to chemicals or biological agents that induced their abilities. Usually in those cases the same agents are poison to them. They may interfere with their powers when exposed, like if they drink or breathe them. Sometimes they totally incapacitate the person until the body processes it. Over time, with constant exposure, the abilities might fade.” “What about someone who was born with their abilities?” “Exposure hurts.” She opened her hand. Tom reached for the bullet, rolling it between his fingers. It left a red line across the pads. He hissed and dropped it back into her hand, a dark red spot on his thumb. 24

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“Contact with small amounts probably diminishes your strength and speed, weakens your enhanced senses. If this had entered your body and we hadn’t been able to get it out right away, you’d probably die. If there was a way to kill your abilities without killing you, there’s no way to tell what other effects it would have. It’s not worth it,” she finished softly. He nodded. “So VanDein wanted to kill me?” She sighed. “I don’t know. I can’t see why he would, unless he knows you’re far too noble to be corrupted and he wants you off our team.” “How could he know you were here?” “I think it’s more likely that Darren knew VanDein was coming, and that’s why he sent me.” Tom nodded again. She waited while he thought. “Tell me about your so-called training.” “I help you learn the full extent of your abilities, and how to gain full, precise, exquisite control. We discuss the kinds of situations you can use your abilities in. Whether or not to be public with them. Lots are, nowadays. It uncomplicates things, though it can create a target of a lesser hero. Once you’re registered with the guild, law enforcement has access to your information and can contact you for assistance. There’s also a stipend paid by the guild for the work you’d do, from the money paid by governments and private agencies, depending on where you operate.” She was encouraged by Tom’s unwavering interest and occasional nod. So when he said, “Count me out,” she was shocked. “Out of what?” “All of it. You go make a report that my powers aren’t real, and it will get to VanDein, and everything will go back to normal.” “I’m sorry, it won’t go that way.” His eyes bore into hers. “It has to.” 25

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“Why?” He looked down at the countertop. “I can’t lie. I know your powers are real. And even if I did, it’s too late. VanDein knows more about you than I do. He’d never believe the reports were false. So he won’t stop until he has you.” “Or?” She frowned. “What do you mean, or?” “If that’s all there is, that he won’t stop, then why bother? He’ll just kill me and you’ll move on to the next guy.” “Person.” “Person. Why bother trying to avoid it? Just let him kill me now.” “It’s not going to happen. I won’t let it.” “What’s the alternative? When does it end?” She didn’t want to answer, because it sounded naïve and simplistic. But it was the only possibility she knew. “VanDein has not gone after anyone who has listed with the guild. But you can’t list until you go through full training and testing. The guild has requirements. So until then, you’re vulnerable. But if you reach that point, he may leave you alone.” She sighed, drained her glass, and took it to the sink. When she turned, Tommy was right beside her. As he reached to put his own glass in the basin, his chest brushed her shoulder. A shudder went through her. His outstretched arm was like a wall, closing her in. This close, his power almost overwhelmed her with its strength. She tilted her head back and met his gaze, surprised to find her thoughts and emotions mirrored there. Just like in the bar, something sizzled between them. Tom didn’t move. He didn’t take his eyes off hers or back away, but he didn’t move closer, either. “Let me help you,” she whispered. “It’s the only way.” Finally, he nodded. “Here. Two weeks. Then I’ll see what happens next.” Sloane agreed, relieved. As soon as he gave her space, she headed 26

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out to change. If two weeks were all she had, she was going to start immediately. *

*

*

Two weeks of “training” had Tommy Idaho beyond most of Sloane’s heroes’ ten-week point. Despite his reluctance, when he decided to do something, he went full at it. She’d catalogued his abilities that first day, pushing him to demonstrate them. He didn’t have the laser vision she’d joked about, but he did have telekinesis. Not the “waft spoons through the air” kind, but like a seatbelt that jerks into place during impact, he could use his mind to halt large moving objects. Or start them moving. Sloane had never seen that before. It made her wonder if he had other talents he wasn’t revealing. If he did, she didn’t know how to make him reveal them. Since that initial assessment, she’d worked with him on control, range, and use. And felt kind of ridiculous for pressing the issue. No one needed her training less than he did. He might have said he didn’t use his abilities. Ever. But the truth was, his “non-use” was really complete control. There were drawbacks to this fast-moving program. Proximity wasn’t making Sloane any less aware of Tom’s appeal. His intensity as he concentrated on what she asked of him made her hot. And his amazing control drove her wild wanting to break it. Which would be a very stupid idea. The final day of the second week arrived, and after a sparring session Sloane would never admit under torture had served solely as a way to touch Tom’s body over and over again, they settled on the back porch of the little house to re-evaluate. “So, you’ll tell Cranston you’re not necessary.” Tom stated it as fact, and Sloane tried not to be annoyed. He may not need her training, but that didn’t make her unnecessary. “Have you changed your mind?” 27

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“About what?” “Joining the guild. Being an active superhero.” “No.” His reply was short and sharp, like a knife slice. But she wasn’t intimidated. “Then normally, yes, that’s what I’d do. I am adamantly against trying to push shoes into becoming full-fledged superheroes when they don’t want to. But VanDein’s still out there. And something’s not right. You’re holding out on me.” Tom, who’d been leaning forward, elbows on his jeans-clad knees, dangling a glass of lemonade between them, didn’t move. He didn’t look at her, or scoff, or shake his head. So she knew she was right. “Tom, if you can do more—” “That’s enough.” He stood, and in reflex she did, too. Their movements put them nearly face to face. Tom looked over her head, staring at nothing. “Okay.” Sloane felt the heat emanating off his body, felt the tension in every muscle. Her heart ached for the burden he bore. Had borne since he was a child. No matter what he did to hide it, it dominated his life. She could sense his loneliness almost as easily as she could sense his power. And she’d made it worse. He was still concerned for his parents, still faced the dilemma of fighting VanDein and losing versus just letting him win, still fought what she rather self-righteously believed was the right path for him. Joining the guild would protect him from VanDein, but would require him to be an active hero, something he obviously still felt strongly against. Suddenly, she was tired of the battle. And if she was, how must he be feeling? She watched her hands rise up to rest on the flannel shirt that hung open over a T-shirt he wore with his jeans. They were Wal-Mart issue, purchased the same day she bought her cheap suit, and laid in here just 28

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in case she had to bring him to the safe house without letting him pack first. She’d only purchased two sets of clothes, and since he’d been washing them every other day, the flannel and jeans were already worn soft. “Sloane, what are you doing?” Tom curled one hand around her wrist and finally looked at her. She licked her lips. “Something different.” When his gaze moved to her mouth and the blue of his irises darkened, her pulse leapt. He was attracted to her. Something she hadn’t been able to discern at all. She’d wondered, for the past two weeks, if he kept it hidden like she tried to do, or if it just wasn’t there. He didn’t move, but his mouth was somehow closer. She tried to tell herself she didn’t do superheroes, but the reasons why didn’t seem so compelling. Her lips parted. Her hands pressed lightly against his chest. But Mr. Stoic didn’t move, didn’t change expression. Suddenly, all she wanted was to shred his goddamned control. “Come here.” She took his hand, lacing her fingers through his, and tugged him toward the back door. “Enough of this. You need a break.” “I don’t need—” “Of course you do.” She urged him to lie down on the wide sofa. “I’ve been so focused on what I wanted from you, I lost sight of what you’re dealing with. Turn over.” Looking disgruntled, he nevertheless did what she said. Sloane perched on the edge of the cushion, next to his hip. “Take this off,” she added, pulling on the tail of the flannel shirt. “Sorry.” Tom struggled to get it off without sitting back up, which he couldn’t do now without dumping her on the floor. “I don’t know what you—” “I know. Shush.” She tossed the flannel shirt in a ball on the nearby easy chair, then leaned forward to dig her hands into Tom’s shoulders. 29

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“Just relax. I want you to pretend none of this is going on. Think about the place where your parents are.” She had a feeling it was a special place, the kind of location people went to retire because of the beauty and serenity of it. She frowned when his muscles tensed. “Not about your parents, just about that place. Think of the best things about it. The quiet. The privacy.” She kept on, murmuring soothing words as she kneaded the incredible muscles of his shoulders and back. Slowly, his breathing lengthened and his body relaxed. She stopped talking and just concentrated on freeing the remaining tension locked in his arms, legs, neck, and scalp. Her own breathing, no matter how she tried to school it, grew rougher. Her mouth watered, and before she was done, she had an image endlessly looping in her head, of Tom turning over, pulling her down to his chest, and kissing her senseless. And then he did it. At first, she thought it was just her fantasy, the one she couldn’t escape. But his hands were hard on her arms, his body hard under hers, and his mouth fantastically soft. His lips caressed hers but didn’t open. He ended the kiss but held her trapped against his chest. “Thank you.” His voice was barely a rumble. “I can’t believe how much that helped.” “Good.” “You’ve been pretty amazing, you know,” he said, studying her. “I’ve been a bit of a brat.” She shook her head. “Hardly.” His expression serious, he released her left arm and stroked her hair back from her face. “I have a feeling you don’t want this.” “Depends on what ‘this’ is. If it’s getting you to the compound where you’ll be safe and have facilities to expand the range of your powers, then you know I damned well do.” “And you damned well know that wasn’t what I meant.” 30

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Of course she knew. But the phraseology was wrong. “It’s a donut thing—more of a ‘shouldn’t have’ than a ‘don’t want,’” she admitted. IDIOT! screamed her brain. But her mouth said, “I eat the donuts anyway.” He smiled and slid his hand up to her neck, urging her gently down to his mouth. His eyes closed just before hers did, and their lips met in a warm, soft kiss. His mouth was perfect—masculine and strong, but not so big that he engulfed her. This time he parted her lips with his, making the kiss hotter, but released her after only a few seconds. Sloane lifted her head a few inches. Tom’s expression was no longer inscrutable, but she didn’t trust herself to read the emotions on it. “So what kind of donut am I?” he asked, his voice low and husky. “Whipped cream.” She smiled slightly. “Powdered.” His hands roamed up and down her back. “Why is it a ‘shouldn’t do’?” “It’s a bad idea for me to get involved with a superhero.” “Why?” She sighed. “It’s kind of obvious. I never stay in one place. I’m constantly training new ones, some who are better in one regard or another than the last one. Jealousy and frustration are inevitable.” “And?” She shrugged one shoulder as best she could, lying on his chest. “That’s a good enough reason.” “Nope.” She stared at him. “Nope?” “Nope.” He shook his head without taking his gaze away from hers. “There’s more to it.” Of course there was, but she didn’t have to tell him what. The problem was, her reasons weren’t standing up in the face of what she’d learned about him over the last two weeks. The nobility and 31

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humbleness that had been evident in her first encounter with him weren’t superficial. They went to his core. He was also sweet and never took anything for granted. He’d been the one to set up a meal preparation/cleanup/housecleaning system so that they were never living in a sty and the burden never fell on one of them more than the other. They’d talked over meals about their families and his job, and he honored her need for time alone, even as he accepted her accelerated schedule for training. It was like they’d been together for years. But there were secrets. His, hers, she had no idea who had more. But they interfered as much as their awareness of VanDein and his unclear agenda. “I have plenty of reasons to stay uninvolved,” she finally said, “but from where I’m lying, they don’t seem that important.” “And that means?” “Whatever you want it to mean.” Tom shook his head. “Things are too complicated for that, Sloane. You can’t give me all the control.” “You have too much already,” she grumbled. He grinned. “What?” “That’s my problem. You have too much control. I’m dying to break it.” His grin widened. “You can try.” “Yeah.” She laughed. “I would do it, too. But you’re not the kind of guy who does casual or inconsequential, even if I’m that kind of woman.” “Which you’re not.” “I can be.” She moved to pull herself off of him, but he tightened his arms around her. “This is an interlude, Sloane. We have no idea how long this will last before I’m running for my life again. And I have a confession.” 32

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“Oh?” “I don’t have as much control as you think I do.” This time, when he pulled her mouth down to his, the kiss wasn’t soft and gentle. He pressed her lips open with his, then dipped his tongue into her mouth. Sloane met him in kind. Her body started to hum. Tom shifted her so she lay completely on top of him, and she could feel his erection at the apex of her thighs. He wrapped one long leg around the back of her calf and raised his other knee. His arms snaked around her back and pulled her tighter against him, and he deepened the kiss even more. Sloane was lost, awash in sensation— heat, and power, and desire. As Sloane’s desire grew, so did her awareness of Tom’s power, which had been honed anyway, with the training and proximity. The power in turn increased her desire, until she was near insane with need. And he hadn’t even touched her anywhere interesting. Tom tore his mouth from hers and groaned. “God, Sloane. I need you.” There was no time—or ability—to think about it. To remember her reasons why it was a bad idea. To convince Tom he didn’t really want her. All she could do was pant, “Yes.” Almost before she said the word, Tom was on his feet, one arm still wrapped around her, his mouth back on hers and his other hand somehow managing to undo both their jeans and shove hers down. She kicked and pushed with her feet until they were off. Then she was against the door, and Tom was inside her. They sighed in unison. Tom rested his head beside hers, his face on her shoulder. She felt a shudder go through him. Sloane stroked his hair. “Don’t hold back,” she whispered. “I can handle it.” He tightened his arm around her waist, shifted his hips, and for an instant, she wasn’t sure she could. She’d never had sex with someone 33

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of his power. A minute ago, she’d wanted to make him lose control, but now was almost afraid of what would happen if he did. But not afraid enough to stop him. He started slowly, pulling all the way out, then gliding deep, testing her wetness and ability to take him in. He wasn’t small, but he wasn’t huge either, and she could take him all the way without discomfort. He did it again, pressing against her on the in-stroke, and she gasped. “Okay?” he murmured against her hair. “Yes.” She tightened her arms across his shoulders, her fingers gripping his skull, preparing herself. She hitched her legs a little higher around his hips. He caught her left thigh, braced, and started to move. Sloane cried out, stunned at the pleasure that flooded her, spreading through her limbs and making her fingertips and toes tingle. Tom gasped her name and moved faster, impossibly fast, and she flew apart, the easiest orgasm she’d ever had. If it wasn’t the biggest or best, it didn’t matter, because the first hadn’t subsided when the second was on her. And then a third. She felt like a rag doll, shuddering against Tom’s chest as he shouted and arched. She felt him filling her, and the sensation against her cervix wrought another throbbing orgasm out of her. If he’d been a normal man, this would have ended in a heap on the floor. But Tom gathered her up, carried her to his bedroom, and laid her on his bed. The hint of possessiveness wasn’t lost on Sloane, but she didn’t care. She wasn’t stubborn. She could be “his,” however temporarily, in the bedroom without being “his” anywhere else. Tom removed his clothes and her shirt and bra before climbing into the bed with her. “Tomorrow we have to talk about our next step,” Sloane said, snuggling back against him. “But tonight we can take a break.” She smiled and closed her eyes, amused that even with his strength 34

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and endurance, he fell into post-coital sleep like any other man. *

*

*

Eventually, Sloane fell asleep, too. After fighting her brain for over an hour, debating the pros and cons of what had just happened, and on letting it continue. She hadn’t found resolution before comfort and fatigue finally took over. She slowly awoke lying on her back, Tom looming over her, his mouth drifting over her face, dropping kisses in random patterns. She realized she was a bit of a dichotomy—by discovering and training superheroes, she put herself at the peak of control, letting no one dominate her. But sexually, she loved the sense of being under someone else’s control. It was an illusion, of course. She’d never been in a sexual situation she couldn’t stop or guide, and this one was no different. But Tom’s strong, hard body over hers, enclosing her, pinning her…well, that just turned her on. His mouth found hers with carnal kisses, open-mouthed, tongues dancing, breath gasping between them. They went on and on. Sloane’s hands roamed over his torso, feeling the muscles she’d bounced off of for the past fourteen days. They were so hard, but his skin so smooth, unmarred, over them. Tom balanced on his elbows, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders as he concentrated fully on her mouth. She writhed under him, feeling his erection between her legs, as hard as—no, harder than the rest of him, and moaned. “Tom,” she gasped, breaking free of his mouth and tossing her head back. He did as she’d hoped, pressing his mouth to her neck, but it wasn’t enough. He was moving too slowly, too dispassionately. She twisted her arms up between them and started to put them around his neck so she could maneuver him where she wanted, but he grabbed her wrists and pressed one above her head, the other down by her side, 35

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while he feasted on her neck and collarbone and ears and then, after forever, on her chest. Sloane watched him as he put his mouth to the middle of her chest. He nuzzled her breasts, stroking the skin with soft, open lips. She arched. He caressed his way up to her nipple, which he took between his lips, and pleasure zinged through her body. She felt him smile against her skin, and sighed. “Are we taking the slow way this time?” she asked. “You are.” He released her wrists and his hands covered both breasts, pinching her nipples with the perfect amount of pressure. She allowed herself to cry out and grind against the part of him still resting between her thighs, now even harder. She rubbed him, trying to drive him as wild as he was driving her, but he’d have none of it. He made his way down her body, caressing with his big hands, nipping and licking and kissing. Then, suddenly, when she couldn’t stand any more at that languid pace, he lifted her hips with his hands and plunged his tongue into her. She screamed. She couldn’t help it. The heat, the wet, the texture of his tongue were a pleasure she’d never taken. She thought she’d explode instantly, the way she’d done before. But she didn’t. He started stroking her clit with his tongue in slow circles that drove her slowly up, but didn’t take her over. She climbed higher and higher, tensing, and convulsed just before she would have orgasmed. And he stopped. Then he did it again. Over and over he took her to the brink and let her fade back. “Tom,” she protested. “Not yet.” He waited a few beats, watching her, then bent to her again. This time, his tongue moved at super speed. As fast as his hips had moved earlier. She went up and over before she could even draw a breath, but because he didn’t stop she kept climbing and exploding, climbing and exploding, until she could see and hear nothing, feel 36

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nothing except the parts of her that Tom touched. After what she hoped was only a few minutes she came back to herself. She sensed Tom watching her, sensed his arousal and the surging power he kept so contained. “Show-off,” she panted, groaning at the aches in her legs from holding the muscles so tight. “Same to you.” He grinned as he crawled up the bed to lie beside her. Sloane wasn’t going to let him get away with it. As far as she was concerned, it was still night, and they were still on break. She rolled to her side and reached for his chest, stroking her fingers over the smooth muscle. Tom’s own hands continued to roam all over her body, as if he couldn’t stop touching her. And between them was his cock, hard and hot and waiting. She rolled him to his back, following so that she lay on top of him. She grabbed the bars of the headboard and pulled herself up so her breasts were at his face. He sighed and tongued her nipple, then caressed the sides of both breasts. She slid down his body, taking her turn to taste and nip, concentrating on the sensitive skin of his lower abdomen and hips, where he twitched and made almost-unheard noises in the back of his throat. Wrapping one hand around the base of his cock, she hesitated with her mouth over it. Tom scooped up her hair where it dangled around her face, blocking his view. She felt him watching her expectantly. She could give him what he’d just given her. But it would unbalance their secrets. Would revealing one of her own free him from his, or carve a chasm between them? It wasn’t worth the risk. She lowered her head and took him in, taking her time to moisten his length. Almost all of him fit, but unlike any other man she’d previously done this for, he didn’t lift his hips or push down on her head. Even with his own pleasure, he was thinking 37

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about her. Sloane kept her pace slow for a long time. She enjoyed Tom’s moans and restless shifts, the tightening of his hands in her hair and eventual gathering of the skin around his testicles. He was getting close. She sped up, using her hand and mouth and much, much harder suction than she had so far. Tom shouted her name, bucking, then froze with his body in a long arc off the bed. She paused, waiting for the crest, and then stroked him again, hard and fast, for the aftershocks. It seemed to take forever before he relaxed back onto the pillows. Then he gathered her back up into his arms, kissed her tenderly, and they went back to sleep. *

*

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They got up at the same time the next morning. Sloane caught a few significant glances and gave some of her own, but neither spoke as they separated, took solitary showers, and met back in the kitchen to make breakfast. Tom removed eggs, cheddar cheese, and milk from the refrigerator and set them next to the stove. Sloane set up the coffee pot, hit start, and pulled a loaf of bread from the bread box. “Why do you think VanDein’s been so quiet?” Tom asked a moment later. Sloane dropped four slices of bread in the toaster but didn’t push them down. She gauged the doneness of the eggs. “I’m not sure.” They’d been in touch with his parents every few days, and they’d seen and heard nothing. Percy had returned to work and reported that all was normal at Pelherst. At least, according to the receptionist, whom he’d dated once or twice and had contacted again. Sloane hoped he liked her and wasn’t just “taking one for the team.” “Two minutes,” Tom said. She shoved the toaster slide down and pulled two knives from the silverware drawer. “It could just be that he lost track of us,” she said. Marmalade for 38

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Tom from the fridge, peanut butter from the cupboard for her. She finished up the toast just as he dumped the eggs onto two plates. “Or he could be working up to something bigger, after seeing how you reacted to the last test.” Tom set two glasses of milk on the table and sat across from her. He started eating right away, but Sloane stared at her plate. This was all wrong. They worked together better than anyone else she’d ever been near in any capacity—superhero, lover, roommate, colleague. But in the doing, she’d lost perspective. The line that was always there between hero and trainer had blurred so much they had become partners. “So what comes next?” Tom asked. Sloane noticed his food was almost gone. She hadn’t touched hers. “After a shoe lists with the guild, usually setting a territory, making connections with the leaders of the communities you’d watch over.” “That wasn’t quite what I meant.” He glanced over, then frowned at her plate. “You’re not eating. What’s wrong?” His gaze came up to her face. “Is it last night?” It wasn’t, actually. Last night had been indescribable, but she could move on from something like that. It was the rest of it, and she couldn’t articulate it. “You surprise me, Sloane.” Tom rose and carried his dishes to the sink. He added the egg pan and spatula and started filling the basin with water. “How so?” she managed to ask. “You’ve been honest with me,” he started, squeezing soap into the running water. Sloane got up and carried her plate to the counter, dropping her fork into the sink. “Are you so certain of that?” “You might not have told me everything, but what you’ve said has been truth.” He quickly washed dishes and placed them in the empty 39

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side of the sink. Sloane put a clean plate upside down over her uneaten breakfast and put the plate in the refrigerator. “I haven’t kept anything from you that relates to you or your situation.” “I know.” He finished soaping the pan and grabbed a towel to start drying the dishes she began rinsing. “That’s what I mean.” His expression slowly returned to the stony inscrutableness of two weeks ago. Sloane couldn’t take her eyes off him. “But you’re a hypocrite, Sloane.” She gaped at him. “A hypocrite? What are you talking about?” “I’m talking about this whole use of powers thing. You would have given me those speeches, wouldn’t you? The responsibility, God-given talent, all that? Back in that conference room, when you first tried to recruit me?” She had to admit she would have. “Then why aren’t you using yours?” Her mouth fell completely open. “What?” No one knew about her. How could he? Even after last night, when she’d allowed him to see more of her than anyone, she knew she hadn’t given anything away. Had she? “Tom, I—” But he held up a hand. “Someone’s out front.” An instant later a quiet alarm, meant to be heard inside but not out, started to beep. Someone had tripped her perimeter sensor. The slow beep sped up once, then again. “Three of them,” she said. “We were tagged.” “We weren’t. They’d have been here sooner.” And she’d have known. But there was no time to debate how they were found. “Come on.” She flipped off the lights. Tom followed her down the hall toward the bedrooms. She didn’t enter them, but opened a closet door at the end. “Panel in the back. Push on the top two corners and it will pop out. 40

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Follow the stairs and the tunnel to the back of the property. There’s a car waiting.” She handed him the keys she’d dug out of her pocket. “If I’m not there in five minutes, leave.” She expected him to argue. The big, bad, male superheroes always argued, and the last two weeks he’d proven himself to be one. Also, last night had changed their dynamics quite a lot. But he didn’t say a word. He took the keys and ducked into the closet, somehow avoiding knocking over any brooms or buckets. Sloane closed the door behind him and headed for the front of the house to see what they were dealing with. *

*

*

Tom had no trouble opening the secret panel, refastening it behind him, or following the tunnel to the nondescript car she had waiting at the other end. What he did have trouble with was leaving Sloane behind. But he knew her well enough now to know she had a plan, she could take care of herself even better than she’d demonstrated during training, and her only real vulnerability would be him. They were better off separating while she did what she had to do. But he didn’t like it. When he emerged from the blackness underground, the sunlight dazzled him before his eyesight adjusted. He waited just inside the entrance for a few minutes, but spotted no one. Still cautious, he dug up a rock with his toe and heaved it to a vegetated area behind the car. There was no movement anywhere. Staying low, he worked his way through the underbrush to the driver’s side of the car and eased into it, avoiding sudden movements and a high profile. It was all unnecessary. Nothing happened, even after he started the car. It had been more than five minutes since he left the house, and Sloane was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t leaving without her. But he didn’t want to leave this spot, either, and have her show up thirty 41

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seconds later, vulnerable. Shit. He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead. Come on, Sloane. He’d give her another few minutes. He couldn’t do what he knew he had to otherwise. The seconds ticked past. Nothing moved, not even leaves in the breeze. Tom’s imagination considered what could be happening to Sloane. She could be running. Hiding. Fighting. Or captured, tortured, and near death. He started arguing with himself. You don’t owe her anything. She can take care of herself. I can’t leave her. Who knows what those men would do to her? She wants you to go. She’ll be grateful I didn’t. You can’t do it. I have to. Resigned, he turned off the car and stuck the keys in the glove box, in case she made it back here before he did. Then he got out of the car, stripped off his flannel shirt, and toed off his loafers, the only shoes he had at the little house. “She’s really going to owe me,” he muttered before climbing onto the back of the car, flexing his knees, and leaping into the air. *

*

*

Sloane hid next to the large picture window in the living room, behind the long, heavy drapes. The sensor that had been tripped was at the end of the dirt driveway, so the people who’d tripped it were just coming into view as she got into position. They crouched low, keeping to the tree line, and the dappled shade and their slow movements would have camouflaged them if she hadn’t known they were coming. She assumed they’d left their car on the street, which was too far for her to have heard it. But not too far, apparently, for Tom, who’d known before the sensor was tripped. Super senses, indeed. 42

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Forcing her attention back to the men, she studied their faces and weapons. She didn’t know any of them, which didn’t mean anything. VanDein’s low and mid-level staff were constantly changing. These guys looked more capable than the first wave, but they didn’t have any super abilities. She could take them with little problem, but not likely in the five minutes she’d given Tom. She had her car just behind the house, aimed at the exit and ready to go. She just hoped he listened to her and took off when she didn’t show up. She had a bad feeling he wouldn’t. The first guy reached the door, tried the locked handle, and spotted the window. The main window, that she was standing beside, didn’t open. But flanking it were two classic double-hung windows. Sloane didn’t move as he slid a card up between the panes and worked the lock open, then slowly slid the window up and climbed inside. His actions pushed the drapes outward, and Sloane held her breath. But he didn’t look her way. He was focused on unlocking the front door and letting his friends in. They entered almost soundlessly, using hand signals and nods before they fanned out into the room. Sloane couldn’t see them but, concentrating hard enough, she could sense where they were and what kinds of movements they made. She also sensed when no one remained in the living room. Just in case someone in the kitchen or hall was in view, however, she slid very slowly and carefully toward the open window and eased out of it. She was almost completely on the porch when her foot caught on the drape, shifting it suddenly. There was no warning shout, but she heard the pound of footsteps across the hardwood floor. She was busted. She dragged her foot the rest of the way out, rolled, and came to her feet next to the porch rail. The guy who’d spotted her opened the door as she vaulted onto the dry grass and took off around the corner of the building. She skidded to a halt when she saw another one next to her 43

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Mustang. He spotted her and raised his gun. She veered off toward the woods, expecting to feel a bullet in her back at any moment. But there was no report, no thud, no pain, and she made the trees. She threw herself on the ground. Voices sounded back near the house. Rolling a few feet to her left, away from where they’d seen her enter the woods, she peered through the ferns to see what was happening. The three guys were all outside, now. One shook his head. The one who’d climbed in the window pointed toward the trees. The Mustang guard nodded and braced his arms on top of the car, gun aimed, as if waiting for her to come bursting out. She wasn’t that dumb. Problem was, she was on the wrong side of the house from the second car, the one Tom should be leaving in right now. He’d be driving north, away from her location. So the Mustang was her only way out. No, it wasn’t, she corrected herself. They had to have a vehicle out on the road. And she could start it without keys. She shifted to her hands and toes, staying low, and scrambled through the underbrush to her left, hoping the sun and shadow prevented VanDein’s men from seeing her movements. She wasn’t that lucky. She’d gone a quarter of the way around the house and nearly made the edge of the driveway by the time they spotted her. This time they did shout. Sloane launched herself to her feet and took off down the driveway. Gunshots sounded. That pissed her off. What the hell did they want her dead for? Stupid idiots. They should stealthily follow her so she’d lead them to her target. Too late now. She had no intention of doing such a thing. She’d get their car and take off in the opposite direction of the one Tom should have gone in. Somehow, Darren would have to find a way to get him to the compound. She’d been right. There was a car. Parked about fifty yards from the end of the driveway. It had two men in it. Who saw her immediately. 44

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And aimed weapons out the open windows of the car. Sloane had nowhere to go. She could hear crashing noises behind her, as the men from the house cut through the woods. The car, which was running, jerked as the driver put it into gear and started forward. The passenger took aim. Sloane started to turn, to run—to do something she hadn’t done in years. Before she could move a step, something came down onto the dirt road next to her, grabbed her, and launched her into the air. *

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Tom had figured flying was like riding a bike. That you never forgot how to do it. Boy, was he wrong. When he first leaped off the car, his body tried to do what it knew how to do, but his brain tried to control it, and gravity said, “Ha ha, you fool,” and almost overruled both. Once he managed to get airborne, he couldn’t steer. He kept going in the wrong direction. He wobbled and bobbed like Woodstock, glad Sloane couldn’t see him. Or anyone else, for that matter. He managed to get back to the house and hovered, trying to see what was happening. At first there was nothing, and he wondered if Sloane had somehow gotten away. But then he saw an armed man standing by her car, brandishing his weapon, so he figured she’d gotten into the woods. Would she head for him, or the road? The road. If someone was following her, she wouldn’t lead them to him. He didn’t want to be spotted, so he veered off to the right, away from the direction the man at the car was looking, and arced around toward the road, getting a little smoother with each bit of distance he flew, but still wobbling more than he should have been. Then he saw her. Sloane ran down the driveway, moving fast, but heading toward more armed men, and pursued by two of the original trio, who were closing faster than Tom was. They were going to cut her off. 45

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The hell they were. Suddenly, it all came flooding back. He focused on his goal and his body took over, soaring him over the treetops. He dropped his feet and shot earthward, landing lightly exactly where he’d planned, wrapping an arm around Sloane, and lifting back in the air before she or anyone else could react. “Holy crap,” she breathed, looking not at the ground, as most people would, but directly at him. Her face was close. Too close. Too awed. Old emotions swept through him, euphoria and powerfulness and a desire to show off. Things that had, in part, made him stop doing things like this in the first place. A moment later he dropped them down next to the sedan. “Let’s go.” “Thanks, Tom.” She watched him slide his feet into his shoes. “You were barefoot?” He shrugged and circled to the passenger side. “They fall off.” He could feel Sloane staring at him. “Can we get out of here before they find us?” She climbed into the car and put out her hand for the keys. He retrieved them from the glove box and dropped them into her palm, not looking at her. She didn’t say anything, just started the car and drove away, smoothly and at normal speed. No one followed. After they’d been driving about half an hour, Sloane handed him her cell phone. “That’s secure, if you want to check in with your parents again.” “Thanks.” He checked the signal strength, then dialed the number of the house his parents had bought for retirement. His mother had told him a few years ago that they’d bought it anonymously, and it couldn’t be traced to any of the three of them. At the time, he’d thought it a foolish precaution, though he’d appreciated the concern behind it. Now, he was glad for their foresight. The last two weeks had been uneventful 46

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and his mother was getting antsy to go home, but now, he was glad he hadn’t let her. His father answered. “Dad, it’s me. How’s everything there?” “Status quo.” There was something wrong. His tone was too careful. And he didn’t use words like “status quo,” said they made him sound too stuffy. “How’s Mom?” “Oh, you know, she’s out gardening.” Panic flashed through him. She hated gardening. “What’s she planting?” “Something like four or five geraniums. They rotate. The things she plants.” “Uh-huh. And did anything break this time? She’s not very gentle with the stems.” The panic had immediately settled into calm, though anxiety still burned in his chest. He hoped his father understood what he was asking. “No, no, nothing broken this time. All are intact. She’s always got a plan for the garden. Next step will be tonight. Only two perennials will be left.” “Okay, Dad. Give her my love.” He wanted to tell him they were on their way, but was afraid if someone was listening to his side of the conversation, it would tip them off. Or trigger them to hurt his parents. “I’ll call again tonight, then. Talk to her when she’s done with her perennials.” “Okay, son. Love you.” Tom disconnected the call and hit the button for Percy’s cell phone. “What’s wrong?” Sloane asked. “Head for I-91 North. They’ve got my parents.” “What?” She checked her mirrors and made an immediate and 47

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illegal u-turn. “How bad?” “Four or five at any given time, but they have a rotating schedule. I think they only have two on duty at night. Dad says they’re making a move tonight, but I don’t want them to take them on by themselves. Percy.” He sighed in relief when his friend answered. “Are you alone?” “Ah…no. Diana’s here.” “Who?” “Your receptionist,” he said significantly. “Oh!” He cursed himself for letting Percy drag someone else into this. “You’ve both got to get out of there. Get as much cash as you can, then find somewhere safe until you hear from me. Don’t use your real names or contact anyone. Don’t use this phone.” He didn’t say why, in case someone had managed to tap into Percy’s signal. “I’ll be in touch.” He waited only for Percy’s assent, grateful they had a friendship that kept Percy from arguing or questioning him. He snapped the phone shut and leaned back, sighing. This had all gone to crap, and he didn’t know how he could have prevented it. “Where are we going?” Sloane asked. “Vermont. Just outside Woodstock. It’s over two hours away. Fuck!” “It’s okay. It sounds like they’re in a holding pattern. We’ll get there in plenty of time.” She paused. “Want to talk about the flying thing?” “Want to talk about why you didn’t fly?” He shook his head. “Sorry. That was harsh.” “I didn’t fly because I can’t.” “I didn’t tell you because I don’t want to be able to.” She was silent for a minute. “Then why did you?” Tom rolled his eyes. Women. “Because you needed me.” “You didn’t know that.” “I was pretty sure. And right. So let’s not argue about that.” 48

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“I—” “But maybe you didn’t need me. You could have sped away. Or jumped up out of range. Or, I don’t know, used laser vision to melt the bullets, maybe?” He shifted his legs, and his knees bumped the dash. He reached in front of the seat and pulled the lever to release it, shoving it back so hard he heard a crack. “What are you capable of, Sloane?” She didn’t look at him. “I’m not—” He slammed his fist on the arm rest. “Dammit, Sloane, stop lying to me! After everything, can’t you be honest?” “I’ll be honest, Tom, but before I reveal all my secrets, why don’t you ask yourself why it’s so important to know?” He didn’t need to. He knew why. But her question pierced his anger, anyway, because he wasn’t really angry at her. At least not this much. Sloane had become important to him, which made her evasions and secrets painful because they implied that he wasn’t as important to her. More than that, he was worried about his parents, undecided what he was going to do about becoming a traditional superhero, and afraid—though he’d never say it out loud—that VanDein would render all those issues irrelevant. Sloane had wanted him to lose control, and now he had. He hoped she was enjoying it. “We need to discuss what we’re going to do when we get to Woodstock,” she said after a few minutes. “It would be easier,” he said in a more reasonable tone, “if I knew what you can do.” Sloane had hoped, however foolishly, that VanDein’s men had derailed any discussion of his hypocrite assertion. But she had to acknowledge that he’d figured out the truth, somehow. “How do you know I can do…stuff?” she asked. She was going to say “anything” instead of “stuff,” but that would still sound evasive and 49

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make him angrier. He needed to not be angry if they were going to save his parents. “I can sense your power. It’s stronger than I’ve ever felt from anyone.” She spared a glance away from the heavy highway traffic. “You’ve sensed it in others?” “Rarely, and usually in such small amounts they probably weren’t even aware of it themselves. There was one guy who could do telekinesis, and a woman with some minor precognitive and empathic abilities. But nothing super-level.” “Well, that’s actually my greatest strength. I’ve never met anyone else who can do it.” “Hence the job you do.” “Cranston found out about me fifteen years ago. He’d been dreaming of doing what he’s done with the guild and my training for a lot longer.” She sighed. “He talked me into signing on with him, but was never able to get me to admit to my other abilities, never mind use them.” “And they are?” But she was remembering their first encounter, in the bar. “That look you gave me when I walked by your table. That wasn’t sizzle, was it? It was surprise because I’m one of you.” If she spoke the truth, Tom wasn’t dumb enough to admit it. “There was sizzle.” “And that’s why you didn’t save me from Percy’s speeding car. Because you knew I could get out of the way myself.” “Or something. But you didn’t.” She glared at him. “I did.” “But not heroically.” “No. I don’t use that stuff. Ever.” She allowed herself a small smile at echoing his own words on the matter. 50

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“You still haven’t told me what you can do.” She took a deep breath and tried to concentrate on the road. “I also have electronic sensitivity. I know what item is on and active, pinpoint its location, and sense its use. Which was how I knew we weren’t tagged.” “That’s handy. What’s your range?” “About a hundred yards.” She signaled to go around a tractor-trailer laboring with an uphill climb, then moderated her own speed. “There’s a radar gun around the next bend.” Sure enough, they rounded the curve, and there was a state trooper in the median, his gun blatantly visible in the passenger window. “Nice job. What else?” The words felt dry in her throat. “Speed. Strength. The usual. And,” she went on before he could push her again, “I can cause pain without touching someone.” “Ahhhhh.” Tom nodded. “Now I see. You don’t use the others because you’re afraid of using that one.” “It’s not exactly a heroic trait. And it’s far too tempting to use it in the heat of emotion. So I decided a long time ago never to be a superhero. But because I can understand them—you—it makes me a good trainer.” “You are a good trainer.” He tugged her right hand off the wheel and stroked her fingers. “I understand, Sloane. I’m sorry I was harsh about it. You’re not a hypocrite.” She didn’t respond. He’d pushed one of her buttons. It was something she tried very hard not to feel, and didn’t reveal to anyone. She wasn’t sure yet if revealing it to Tom made her feel closer to him, or farther away. Sloane tugged her hand away and put it back on the wheel, glancing back to change lanes again. “Are you hiding anything else from me?” she asked. 51

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“No. The flying was it. It was part of the quarry incident. It’s the one thing I’d never learned to control properly. But it was such a rush, I didn’t care. After the boy died, I locked it all up.” They rode in silence for a few miles. Then Sloane said, “Okay. Let’s plan.” *

*

*

Sloane knew their plan would have a slim chance of working, since they had such limited information to go on. As they drove through downtown Woodstock, a quaint but lively New England town, she sensed the power. And knew that VanDein hadn’t sent mid-level goons, but some of his top converts. They were going to be battling people with unknown abilities, unknown strength. Without knowing exactly why. Not good. She followed Tom’s directions until he said they had about a mile to go before they reached the farmhouse. Then she pulled over and turned off the car. Tom looked at her, but she could tell his attention was already up the road. “We need to address something,” she told him. “It may not be necessary, but I don’t think this is a good time to assume anything.” She could see him pull his focus in a little, back to the car. “Okay.” “I don’t know what effect last night has on our relationship, and”— she held up a hand—“that’s not what I want to discuss.” She tried to ignore her disgruntlement at the look of relief on his face. “I don’t want you to feel responsible for me, that’s all. I’ll take care of my end, and you worry about your parents. No matter what happens.” Now she had his full attention. “Are you telling me not to be stupid and come back for you, or jump in front of a bullet for you, things like that?” “Yes.” She smiled and wanted to pat him on the head. “Exactly.” He didn’t smile back. “Sloane, I know you’re capable. And my 52

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parents come first, no matter how important you’ve become to me. If you understand that, and can treat this the same way, then there’s nothing further to discuss.” “Good.” He leaned forward, intense. “But I also expect you to do your damnedest to get out of there safely, as well. Got it?” She nodded. “Got it.” “Then let’s go.” They exited the car and moved slowly down the street, keeping to the side of the road and scanning full circle. They encountered one jogger and an older man walking a dog, but it was a sparsely populated neighborhood, for which Sloane was grateful. When they got to the Rockner property, Tom led her to a double row of hedges that bordered the yard. There was just enough space to slide between them, and they were able to approach from the neighbor’s side so no one in the house could see them. Sloane focused on the occupants of the building, trying to differentiate bodies by the emanations of power, as well as gauge the strength of that power. “I’m thinking three of them,” Tom murmured. “One upstairs, two down. The one up has the greatest ability.” Sloane nodded. “It may mean your parents are split up. Or the one upstairs can be a lookout. Can you see anything?” He shook his head. “There’s too much glare on the windows.” She looked around the modest property. There was no cover between the hedges and the building, and no plants against the building to hide behind. Dappled light from the trees wasn’t sufficient to protect against visibility. Even their speed wouldn’t be faster than could be seen, if someone was looking in the right place. “I suggest we wait until it gets dark,” she whispered. Tom nodded, and they got as comfortable as they could in the dirt, heads cocked to 53

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peer between scratchy branches. About an hour later, someone came out the back door, looked around, and walked the perimeter of the house. A different person reversed the pattern forty minutes after that, and the third within twenty minutes. Sloane expected the first person back out an hour later, but it was only half an hour, and it was the second guy. “They’re not following a set pattern,” she whispered to Tom after the guy had gone back inside. “And my legs are completely numb.” Moving extremely slowly, which was definitely not one of Sloane’s strengths, they shifted position so they were lying flat at the bases of the bushes. Tom had to twist sideways because his shoulders wouldn’t fit, and more of their bodies were exposed this way, but the sun had moved so they were in deeper shadow. They had a few more hours to go, and the dangers of reduced circulation had to be considered. Sloane watched the patrols and scanned the windows between patrols. She’d hoped VanDein’s men would display some hint of their abilities, but so far, nothing. There’d been no sign of his parents, either, and she wondered if they were even still there. They shifted position two more times without drawing attention to their location, as far as she could tell. Finally, dusk faded in, and she decided the light was enough to hide them. Tom had told her there was a security lamp on the back of the house that would render the yard as bright as day, so the best time to get to the house was now, right before the light came on. Tom went first, crouching at a tiny gap in the bushes, pushing through, and dashing across the yard so fast Sloane could only see a gray blur, and she’d watched him the whole way. She waited a minute to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, and followed. “Nice,” Tom breathed into her ear as they flattened themselves against the siding between the back door and kitchen window. Sloane didn’t risk thanking him. She peered into the lit kitchen, 54

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seeing no one. Tom ducked under the window of the back door and tested the handle. It turned. She followed him into the kitchen, both crouching low, the center island and a table and chairs barriers between them and the doors. Tom had drawn a map in the dirt, so Sloane felt pretty confident about the layout of the building. This close, though, she couldn’t tell who was where; the emanations of power overlapped and she only knew all three men were inside. Tom glanced at her and cocked an eyebrow. She nodded. He crab-walked across the linoleum floor to the swinging door that would lead him to the dining room and then the living room, where he figured most of the group would be. Sloane slipped along the counters to a different door that led to a back stairway. As soon as Tom was out of her sight she felt uneasy. Something was going to go wrong because they couldn’t communicate. But what choice did they have? Tom wasn’t going to wait any longer to get his parents free. She was surprised he’d lasted as long as he did. She scooted up the stairs, lying flat on them so only the top of her head lifted above the landing. The L-shaped hallway was empty. She could hear voices to the right, where the master bedroom and bathroom were. Ahead of her were two other bedrooms, another bathroom, and the main stairs. That side of the building felt deserted, at least up here. Staying low, moving on her fingertips and toes, she crawled down the hall until she could hear the words of the people in the master bedroom. “I’m telling you, Nelson, Tommy won’t let anything happen to us. He’ll be here.” Ethel Rockner’s voice was strong and confident. Sloane hoped that meant she wasn’t hurt or hobbled, and not just that she had faith in her son to overcome anything. “We can’t put that burden on him.” Tom’s father sounded weaker, but determined. 55

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“You told him—” “In code. I can’t be sure he understood, or that he’s on his way. I don’t know how far away he was, or if these men traced our call and went after him. There are too many variables, and I’m not risking it.” “Nelson….” “Dear.” Sloane imagined him taking his wife’s hands in his. “They have guns. With brass bullets in them. I want us to be free of here before Tommy has to face that. He doesn’t have a chance if one of those hits him.” Sloane had actually risen to her feet and started back down the hall in panic before she stopped herself. There hadn’t been any gunshots yet, and Tom could avoid them. He had the speed. And the strength and knowledge to disable the weapons. If he was lucky, he could get to at least one, maybe two of the men before guns came into play. Her responsibility was here. Taking a chance that the subject of their conversation meant they were alone, Sloane reversed and entered the bedroom. A straightbacked, sharp-looking woman with short, spiky gray hair rose from the bed. Fight flared in her eyes. Her husband, who looked at least ten years older, didn’t move from the chair he sat in but raised the cane he held. Sloane held out her hands. “I’m with Tom. He’s downstairs.” She kept her voice low and her ears tuned to the hall. “We have to get you out of here now.” Ethel relaxed. “You’re Sloane Marshall.” “Yes.” She hurried to the window, looked out, and lifted it. The room faced the front of the house, and it was a fairly easy path out onto the porch roof, down to the rail, and off the side of the porch onto the ground. She could help them easily. Except… She turned back to Nelson. “Mr. Rockner, are you hurt?” “He’s not hurt. Just weak.” Ethel was already raising her leg to put 56

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it through the window. “They wouldn’t let him eat more than bread the last two days. I think they were suspicious of him.” Sloane grinned and put a hand on her arm. “But they underestimated you, huh? Let me go first, please. Help your husband out after me, then follow.” Ethel did as she’d been asked, and Sloane slipped out onto the roof and scurried to the edge to ensure the way was clear. There was no one outside, and she could hear nothing from inside the lower level of the house. She moved back up the gentle slope and helped Nelson through the window. He leaned against the house, gripping the window frame, and nodded at Sloane to help his wife through. Ethel, however, was already out and closing the window. They made more noise than Sloane liked getting to the edge of the roof, but moved quickly. She swung her legs over the gutter, flipped onto her stomach, and lowered herself until her feet found the railing. It was trickier keeping her balance and getting Tom’s father down onto the rail. Ethel followed him over and put an arm around him to help hold him in place. His arms and legs were trembling as Sloane leapt to the ground and tugged his pant leg. She didn’t dare say anything, in case windows were open. He didn’t seem to want to let go of the gutter over his head. Sloane tugged harder. His wife pried at his fingers. Then a car pulled into the driveway. Nelson apparently found his courage and let go immediately, dropping into Sloane’s arms. She didn’t dare turn to look, but the headlights of the car went out and two doors opened, then closed. Ethel climbed down, demonstrating extraordinary flexibility for her age, and crouched next to Sloane and her husband. Sloane pressed her finger to her lips and they nodded. She turned her head, praying whoever had pulled up hadn’t seen them on the edge of the porch. She could only see vague figures moving up the walk. “I just don’t understand why we’re here,” came a petulant and 57

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slightly familiar female voice Sloane couldn’t place. “Why didn’t we just keep going to Canada or something? Niagara Falls would have been better than Backwater, Vee Tee.” The front figure stopped moving abruptly. “This isn’t a lark, Diana.” It was Percy. Which meant the petulant female was the receptionist at Pelherst. He continued, “Tommy’s parents are here, and it’s the safest place I know of. So just shut up, all right? They’re good people. Don’t be a bitch.” Sloane rose out of her position halfway through Percy’s little speech. She had to intercept them, get them out of there before they knocked on the door. But it was too late. The door opened, spilling golden light across the porch and onto the couple standing at the base of the steps. Sloane hit the deck. “Come in. The more, the merrier.” A shiver went down her spine when she heard that voice. She didn’t want to believe it, told herself it wasn’t him, but she knew better. She’d bantered with him often enough to recognize his slight drawl with even those few words. The situation had just gone FUBAR. “Who are you?” Percy asked. Sloane could see him backing up a few steps, putting Diana behind him. “Someone you don’t want to piss off. I said, come in.” Percy hesitated, but then moved forward. Neither he nor Diana had looked in her direction. Sloane hoped he didn’t give her away. The double set of footsteps crossed the wooden porch, then went silent as they stepped inside. The light shone down the porch steps for a few more moments, then started to narrow. When the door closed, she backed up to the Rockners and whispered instructions to them for finding the car and getting to Cranston’s compound. He knew who they were and would let them in. 58

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No one would be able to get to them there. “Where’s Tommy?” demanded Ethel. Her fingers closed around the car keys, but she didn’t move. I wish I knew. He’d had plenty of time to act, but he didn’t know where his parents were. There hadn’t been any commotion, so she doubted he’d been captured or confronted the men downstairs. “He’ll be fine, as long as you get out of here. They’ve got to have gone looking for you by now. Please. Go. I have to get back inside.” It took her a couple more precious minutes to convince them, but finally they trotted across the side yard to the neighbor’s, where they couldn’t be seen from the house as they made their way up the street. She hoped they’d be able to reach the car, then dismissed them from her mind. She couldn’t worry about them now. More urgent things awaited her inside. After a moment’s thought, she climbed back up the rail to the roof. She bypassed the master bedroom and slipped through the mercifully unlocked window of a secondary bedroom on the other side of the building. It was clearly being used by the rotating guards. Clothing was strewn everywhere. Half-empty pizza boxes and soda cans stacked the corners, and the stench of smoke permeated the air and linens. She didn’t bother searching the room but crossed directly to the door and slipped out into the empty hall. The stairs were to her left, also empty, but she could hear Percy’s voice in the foyer, arguing—not pleading, which impressed her—for them to let Diana go. A few seconds later, to her stunned surprise, they did. She screeched and protested the whole way, but Percy’s soft “thank you” reached Sloane over the sound of the door being locked and chained. Three down. Two to go. Plus herself. Not that simple, now that she needed answers more than simple escape. More footsteps indicated an empty foyer, so she crept down the 59

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stairs, testing each one for creaking and sighing as she went. The house was pretty solid, and she had to give the Rockners kudos for their choice and their maintenance. “All right, Keller, what are you doing here?” Now Sloane had no doubt. It was Billy Judd, her friendly rival, employee of Karl Heinrich, her boss’s best friend. But was he working for VanDein, or on his own? She hoped it was on his own, and rationalized that VanDein’s people wouldn’t have simply waited for Tom to show up. They would have forced his parents to contact him and draw him into a trap. Except Billy didn’t have powers, so there were still three other people in there who did. Billy also didn’t usually work with a superhero entourage. Which meant the other guys were still likely VanDein’s. Percy didn’t answer Billy’s question. A deeper, more Europeanaccented voice said, “Explain. Or I’ll perforate your bowel.” Sloane heard him chamber a round in his pistol and winced. Percy still didn’t talk. “Your choice.” The voice had an offhand finality to it, and Sloane gathered herself to zoom into the room. But then Billy said, “Knock it off.” Sloane heard footsteps, then a click, a “humph,” and what she thought was a body dropping onto a chair. “Do you know who I am?” Billy asked. Percy said, “I can g—no. I don’t know.” “Where’s Tommy Idaho?” “No idea.” “Why are you here?” It’s okay, Percy, just tell him. It won’t hurt anything. She hoped the Rockners had reached the car by now. Percy must have weighed his options and found them wanting, because he said, “Tommy called me, told me to get somewhere safe. I 60

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thought here would be.” He cleared his throat. “Where are Nelson and Ethel?” There was silence for a moment, then fast-moving thumps in her direction. She had no time to hide, even if she had a place. She wrapped her hand around the other fist, wound up, and slammed the guy right in the chin as he emerged from this living room. His head flew back, his feet shot forward, and he shook the house when he landed on his back, unconscious. And she hadn’t even used her powers. Billy Judd and Percy appeared in the living room doorway, looking astonished. Another head bobbed behind theirs, trying to see past them. The third man rushed out of the den across the hall, gaping at Sloane standing at the bottom of the stairs. All present and accounted for. Except Tom. The guy from the den took a few steps across the hall, raising his arm like he was going to grab Sloane. She ducked under it and stuck her foot out as she passed. He tripped and tumbled into Billy’s arms. He shoved him back upright, and Sloane grabbed the back of his collar and shoved him downward so hard he smacked his head on the floor. “Sloane Marshall. Long time.” “Could have been longer.” She scowled. “What are you doing here?” The guy stuck behind Billy got impatient and pulled Percy back into the living room so he could push past Billy and attack Sloane. She wasn’t feeling too patient, herself, so she put on a burst of speed and straight-armed him against the wall. Her hand in his solar plexus knocked the wind out of him, and he slumped to the floor. “Same thing as always,” Billy said, watching her work. He still held his gun, but it rested in the crook of his left elbow, his finger on the outside of the trigger guard. “Bullshit.” She gave him half her attention, the other half waiting 61

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for the two conscious men on the floor to get up and attack her again. “This isn’t how you work. Since when are you connected to VanDein?” Hatred she’d never before seen passed over Billy’s face. “I don’t work for VanDein. These guys were here when I got here.” She didn’t believe him. They’d been taking orders from him, and VanDein’s people wouldn’t do that unless they’d been instructed to. And where the hell was Tom? “Then what are you doing here?” He shrugged. “Same thing as always. To get Idaho under Karl’s guidance.” “He doesn’t need guidance,” she said automatically. “And I already trained him, so he goes into the guild under Cranston. But—” “But VanDein’s after him,” Billy finished. “Apparently.” She eyed the men on the floor. None moved or seemed alert, and she got the impression they were waiting for Tom to show himself. “What’s the deal with these guys?” “I honestly don’t know. I just got here today. Idaho had been missing from work for weeks, and I got tired of hanging out in Amherst.” “You’ve been in worse places.” “Sure. But I have no more patience than you do. So Karl tracked this place down.” “Where are the Rockners?” Percy demanded. He stepped forward. “Are they all right?” He looked at Sloane. She wanted to give them as much time as she could to get away. “I hope so. I haven’t located them.” Billy snorted. “Yeah, right. I have no doubt they’re already out of the house.” The man Sloane had put into the wall jerked. It was hardly more than a twitch, but she and Billy shared a look and she knew he was thinking the same thing she was. 62

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So okay. Let’s have at it, then. Aloud, she said, “Yeah. They’re long gone.” Tom emerged from the living room. “That would have been helpful to know.” Sloane didn’t know if he was aware of the state of VanDein’s men or not. But when they exploded into motion, in more sync than they should have been, Tom reacted as quickly as she and Billy did. He pulled Percy behind him and started throwing fast, strong, yet pulled punches. Sloane joined in, and Billy went for feet. The fight would have been over in seconds, if fists and speed had been the only tools. Sloane aimed a spin-kick at one guy’s head. Before she connected, he held up his hands and a shockwave slammed her in the chest. She flew back against the den doorjamb. Her head smacked against the wood. She wasn’t sure if the flashing light she saw came from someone’s hands or her own brain. Someone yelled. The house shook, and plaster dust cascaded around her. “Assholes,” she muttered. She pushed herself up, drawing in deep breaths. Mr. Shockwave had turned his attention to Percy, who was wielding a poker in absence of any superpowers. She was deciding who needed her most when she realized some of the dust in the air wasn’t white, but a dull gold with a metallic shimmer. As it fell down over Tom and he gasped, she realized what it had to be. Fuck. She had three bad guys between her and Tom, with Billy closest to the door and Percy closest to Tom. She didn’t have many options. Clenching her hands into fists and holding her arms out wide, she started to spin. Just before her turns got too fast for her to be able to see details, she saw one of the men pulling a gun. Brass bullets. Hoping she didn’t hit Billy or Percy but not caring if she did, she whirled toward Tom, knocking bodies aside. The report of the gun was 63

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somehow both loud and muffled. She stopped her spin in front of Tom. He grabbed her, shock on his face, under the fear and fatigue from the brass dust. Then she felt the pain. Left rear shoulder, no exit. She started to sag in Tom’s grip. But there wasn’t time for that. She had to get him away, before VanDein’s men recovered from her spinning punches. She straightened her legs, careful not to lock her knees. The goons were on the ground again. Percy’s expression was as shocked as Tom’s. Billy just looked grim. “Take him to Cranston,” she said. Her voice sounded rough. “No. You’re hurt.” But then Tom couldn’t stand any more. His hands slid off her shoulders as he fell back onto the stairs. “Please, Billy. I have to trust you. He inhaled his allergen. He has to get out of here, and I can’t make it to the compound. He’s too vulnerable right now.” “I’ll do it, don’t worry.” He crossed the hall, pausing to kiss her cheek before he bent to help Tom to his feet. Tom protested, but couldn’t even stop Billy from slinging his arm over his shoulders. “Don’t make me carry you, man.” Without looking back, he lugged Tom out the door. “I’ll meet you there,” Sloane croaked. She managed to remain standing until they were off the porch. Percy caught her before she hit the floor. “Thanks.” She craned her neck, hissing against the pain as she tried to see the wound in her shoulder. “How bad is it?” “Bad. How did they know his allergen?” Percy lifted her higher on her feet and aimed them at the door. “No idea.” Breathing hurt, so she stopped talking. She wanted to tell Percy what to do, but before she could collect the strength, the blackness at the edges of her vision collapsed in on her. *

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She awoke suddenly, frantic, certain they were still under attack. Someone had her by the left arm, and when she tried to wrench away from them, pain sheared her from her shoulder through her chest and down her side. “Shhh. Sloane, it’s okay.” Masculine but soothing hands gentled her, made her focus. Percy. She blinked, and realized she was in a hospital room. Not the compound. “Where is he?” Percy looked grim and didn’t answer right away. “Have you talked to him?” He nodded. “Is he okay?” “He’s okay. He needed to cough out the dust, and Billy made him strip down and rinse off in a stream next to the road about a mile down. So he recovered by the time they got to the compound.” “Then what’s wrong? How long have I been out?” She tried to sit and found it impossible with one arm strapped to her body and the other tied to an IV. Percy pressed her back with one hand and the button to raise the head of the bed with his other. “It’s only been a day,” he assured her. “Is Tom at the compound, then? I need to call Darren.” But Percy shook his head. “He’s not there, Sloane.” She stared at him. Dread seeped into her chest. “Where is he?” He drew in a deep breath. “He went after VanDein.” *

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For Tom, what started out as a dramatic and dangerous move became anticlimactic when he reached VanDein’s castle in France. No one ran him off the road and captured him on the drive in. No one met him at the gate to fight him or even escort him. When he approached the main doors of the castle, a woman dressed as a maid opened them, inclined her head, and led him to a library without speaking. 65

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Both Darren Cranston and Karl Heinrich—who’d met him and Billy Judd at the compound—thought he was nuts to be doing this. But he’d had a lot of time to think as his body recovered and Judd drove him to Cranston’s. He’d always been a loner. Percy had learned of his abilities when they were young, and his parents of course knew. But he’d known that most people would not simply accept what he could do. Maybe the early failed adoptions had imprinted him somehow, even though he couldn’t remember them. As he grew older and learned there were others like him, he’d had brief hope that he could live a normal life, albeit one with a unique definition of normal. The death of the boy in the quarry had shown him there was danger in lack of control. He’d never dared reveal himself to the women he’d dated, hadn’t even come close to wanting to try. They always proved themselves unable to handle it somehow, either in attitude or perspective. Sloane Marshall was totally different. She understood because she lived it. She was his equal in so many ways, and challenged him. He hadn’t even realized he was suffocating until she opened up his world. He didn’t know how she felt about him, except that she’d been willing to die to save him. That bullet could have been her end, but it would have been his. So he thought they had a future worth exploring, and lots of unresolved issues, both individually and together. She couldn’t make him get over his fear of using his powers without getting over her own. But they couldn’t deal with any of that until he dealt with VanDein. He refused to keep running from him and his men, to put his family and friends in continuous danger. He’d end this now. Somehow. VanDein kept him waiting for twenty minutes, which didn’t surprise him except as far as it wasn’t, again, capturing and caging him, or attacking him with more brass dust. The library was a pleasant room, 66

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filled with light shining through tall windows and stacked three stories high with books. Tom found tattered copies of Harry Potter mixed with first editions of Faust. “Ahhhh, Tommy Idaho.” Tom turned. Magnus VanDein was a tall, slender, elegant-looking man with an expensive haircut. He wore his silk shirt and dress pants like lounging pajamas, and his toothy smile less like a shark than a Hollywood agent. “I’m glad you made yourself at home. I apologize for the delay. I was on a conference call that went a bit over.” He crossed to a spindly legged table and removed the stopper on a crystal decanter. “Whiskey?” “No, thank you.” Tom wondered why he was bothering with manners when the man had tried to kill him. “As you wish.” He poured himself two fingers and restoppered the decanter. “Frankly, I’m surprised you’re here, Mr. Idaho.” “Why is that? Because you thought your people would have killed me?” He lifted one shoulder as he sipped. “It was a possibility, though not my first goal. Then again, you had help. Ms. Marshall is quite capable.” His expression displayed respect, amusement, and not a little avarice. “Oh, how I wish I could have attained her. If I had, you would have been superfluous.” He motioned at Tom with one hand. “You’re not here to listen to me, however. I believe you have something to say?” Since this wasn’t at all what Tom expected, his original plan, spotty as it was, wouldn’t do. So he winged it. “I don’t know what you want from me, but I’d like you to stop trying to get it.” VanDein raised his eyebrows. “Haven’t I already?” He sipped his drink again. “I don’t know. Where’s my family?” 67

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VanDein laughed. “You know very well they are safe on Darren Cranston’s compound.” “Are they?” Tom couldn’t stand still. He started to prowl around the small pieces of furniture. “It took me two days to get here. I don’t know that they’re still safe.” VanDein sighed. “I have no intentions of harming your family. I never did. They were simply bait to get to you.” He shook his head, his mouth drooping. “You’ve really ruined my plans, Mr. Idaho. I had steps through which to proceed, and you’ve jumped straight past six of them. After ruining three and four, I might add.” He sighed again. “You are entirely too much trouble, and the fact that you are here means you are also entirely too noble. I can’t turn you, and it would be a terrible shame to kill you.” He set his glass down and spread his arms. “So I imagine I will have to honor your request.” Tom narrowed his eyes. “That’s it?” “Yes.” He circled a white plush sofa and sat, laying his arms across the tops of the cushions and crossing his legs. “Ms. Marshall has no doubt told you stories that feed your distrust. Our past has left her bitter, of course. But I am a man of my word. We shall no doubt meet again, as adversaries, but my sights are already set elsewhere.” He waved a hand in a lazy circle. “You may go about your business.” It was a clear dismissal, but Tom didn’t move. “What past has Sloane believing you to be a super-villain?” He’d kept the jealousy out of his voice, but it still reverberated with intent. Other things might come between himself and Sloane, but he wouldn’t let VanDein be one of them. The other man chuckled. “You shall have to ask her about that. I am certainly no ‘good guy.’ But neither am I pure evil. I appreciate the importance of the heart. And that is all I shall say.” He rose and held out a hand for Tom to precede him out of the room. Uncomfortable putting his back to this man, he didn’t see any way to avoid it. 68

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His concern was for naught. VanDein bid him adieu in the hall, the maid led him to the door, and despite his sense of impending attack all the way back to the airport and even in the air, nothing happened. *

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“I’ll find him myself if I have to, you know I will, Darren. You can’t stop me.” Sloane’s voice carried through open windows as Tom strode up the walk to the main building on the compound. He’d have thought the gatekeepers would have relayed his arrival, but they obviously hadn’t. He’d never heard Sloane so out of control. He slid the keycard he’d been supplied with when he first got here through the access slot next to the door, submitted to the retinal scan, and opened the door when it clicked. Impatience had him pulling it too hard so that it bounced and slammed closed behind him. All conversation in the main room just ahead of him shut off. Sloane appeared in the doorway. She looked pale and disheveled, her left arm anchored to her side with a sling, but her expression was a mixture of determination and fear. “You’re back.” Fear faded, replaced with relief and suspicion. “What happened?” “He let me go.” He’d debrief her later, but the last thing he wanted to do right now was talk. “Can we go somewhere private?” Without a word, she turned right and headed down the hall. Tom watched her move as he followed her, assessing her energy and pain levels. He didn’t want to do this if it was going to hurt her. But he’d never wanted anyone so much in his life. Since they’d left the safe house, fear and anger had been his dominant emotions. On his return from France he’d tried to reach the compound, but his cell phone had died and he hadn’t memorized the number to use any other phone. As a result, he hadn’t known Sloane’s condition post-op. Her walk was steady, her speed and gait not indicative of someone 69

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in pain. He found himself holding his breath in anticipation of what she would do when she stopped moving. Would she blast him for leaving her and going after VanDein? Reject him as a bad job? Or allow him to hold her, and more? Sloane opened a plain white door that had more locks than a Brooklyn apartment. Tom heard them engage automatically behind him when the door closed. Sloane turned, threw her good arm around his neck, and dragged his head down to hers. Her kiss was frantic, desperate. She bit at his mouth, sucked on his lip, and inhaled his tongue until he caught up with her and took over, thrusting his tongue deep into her mouth, then gentling the duel. He rested his hand on the small of her back, conscious of her injury. She tasted of nothing but Sloane, and the desire that moments ago had been purely emotional became physical. His cock shifted, hardening slowly between them. He tried not to pull her against him, but he wanted more of her body. “It’s okay,” Sloane murmured against his mouth. “I’m fully doped. It won’t hurt me.” Tom pulled back a little. “You’re sure?” She nodded. He stroked his hands at her waist, the left up her side to her breast and back down. The sling blocked access on his right. She wore a thin white ribbed tank top with a flimsy bra underneath and a pair of knit shorts. Easy access. But he realized he did have something to say first. “I love you, Sloane.” Nice lead-in, he thought. Not eloquent. But honest. She stared at him. “There’s no way—” “Yes, there is. And it’s not because you took a bullet for me, or because you know my secrets. I guess—” He had to think a minute. This wasn’t something he spent a lot of his life doing. “I guess it’s because we’re the same. You understand me, and I understand you, and 70

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that doesn’t mean things will be perfect. Hell, it doesn’t even mean we’ll last very long. But right now, at this minute, I know with everything in me.” He struggled not to tighten his grip on her. “I love you.” “Tom…” she breathed. He didn’t let her say more. He didn’t want or need automatic reciprocation. He just wanted her to know, before he made love to her, that it was making love. Her shorts slid easily down her long legs, needing only nudging with his hands before falling to the floor. She wore flimsy panties underneath, and he made short work of those, too. He left her shirt on. The stretchy material gave him access to the rest of her body, and taking it off would require more patience and care than he thought he had available. He bent his head and tasted her neck, inhaling the scent of her clean skin and the hair piled haphazardly above it. His hands kept moving, shaping the curve of her back and the soft skin of her hips and ass. Her breath sighed out next to his ear, ending in a little hum. He maneuvered her backward, slowly, until they reached a bed in the corner of the room. Tom let her lower herself to the pillows and shift gingerly until her whole body was on the bed. Then he lay down on her good side and rotated her to face him. “Something’s incomplete here,” she murmured. Her fingers tugged at his shirt. He levered his upper body off the bed, grabbed a fistful of the shirt between his shoulders, and pulled it off in one movement. “Better?” “Mm. A little.” She touched his chest, but her movement was limited, lying on her right arm and having no use of her left. Her fingers slid down to his waistband and dipped inside. Tom’s stomach muscles jumped and his cock flexed. Sloane smiled. “Take these off.” 71

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He obliged, then moved closer to her. He started at the top, rubbing the pads of his fingers across her scalp, then holding her head and face while he kissed her. Sloane moaned when his hands came down over her shoulders to her breasts. He caressed them through the fabric, feeling her nipples bead. When she arched her back, he pulled the shirt and bra down to take her into his mouth. Sloane pressed on the back of his head so he sucked harder, then released to flick the point of his tongue over it. Sloane’s breathing was faster now, her movements restless. She pulled her good arm out from underneath her and slid it under Tom’s head, then pressed her whole body closer to his. Her top leg climbed up over his hip, exposing his cock to her moist heat. Tom did his damnedest to ignore that. He stroked her leg, behind her knee, down to her ankle. He wrapped his fingers around the ankle and tugged her leg further over him so his dick touched her. She gasped and thrust. She was slick enough to glide over him. He pressed upward, his hand on her ankle transferring to her hip and gripping. She used her arm to pull herself closer to him so their bodies touched shoulder to hips. Tom wondered what Sloane would think if she could sense how tenuous his legendary control was right now. He pressed his face into her neck and inhaled deeply, trying to find an anchor, to not plunge into her. But the more he thought about that dark, wet, hot place, the more he needed to be in there. Sloane shuddered, and he couldn’t wait any longer. He tilted his hips backward until the head of his cock was at her opening, then pushed into her, slowly, letting her juices coat him and smooth the pathway. When he was buried to the hilt he relaxed, feeling Sloane slump against him in relief. His left arm under her waist, he braced that hand at the small of her back to hold her in place. He adjusted his right hand on her hip, trying not to squeeze too tight, and started a slow, longthrust rhythm, watching her face. Her eyes were closed, mouth parted, 72

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completely focused on her pleasure. He’d never seen any woman more beautiful. Something in his chest spasmed, the feeling that had told him he loved her when he first saw her in the doorway intensifying. His blood started rushing through him, speeding him toward nirvana, the place he desperately wanted to get to, yet wanted to put off reaching forever. He shifted his hips to sharpen the angle. “Oh!” Sloane grabbed his shoulder, pressing her nails into his skin. He barely felt it, but her pleasure spurred his, and he could feel the orgasm approaching. He couldn’t slow it down without stopping the thrusts, but he could feel Sloane tightening around him. Her face tensed and her hand closed harder over his shoulder as she struggled to catch up to him. He could put on the speed and bring her there instantly, but he didn’t want to do that. He wanted this to be from the heart, not the body, as stupid as it would sound if he tried to explain it. Sloane hitched her leg higher and wrapped her other ankle around his, thrusting her hips. Tom’s vision dimmed, darkening at the edges. He was going to come, to flood her with his seed, and she wasn’t there yet. He could touch her clit with his thumb, but letting go of her hip would shift their whole dynamic, and he didn’t want the pleasure to be lost. It was nearly perfect. He just had to…there. “Yes!” Sloane yelled, arching again and grinding against him as the twist of his lower body rubbed him higher, against her clit and her Gspot at the same time, he hoped. She convulsed, then started milking him as she came, and he exploded. He couldn’t see, could barely feel, as his body flew apart and his movements became jerky and uncontrolled. He jerked hard against Sloane, making her cry out, and pulsed again, and again, and again, until all his muscles gave way and he sank into the bed, rolling onto his back and pulling Sloane on top of him so he didn’t have to let go of her. 73

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He didn’t think he ever could again. *

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Sloane lay with her head on Tom’s shoulder, her loose arm stretched up across his chest and opposite shoulder. Her belly pressed flat to his, his penis still inside her, their legs stretched out alongside each other’s. She’d never been more comfortable. Now she had time to think about what he’d said. That he meant it, even though there was so much for both of them to learn. She’d seen enough in her job and her travels and just with association with the guild to know that crisis often intensified emotions that weren’t real or lasting, but it also solidified those that were. She wasn’t sure which this was, here. But she was with Tom when it came to finding out. “Are you okay?” Tom’s voice rumbled beneath her ear, almost more felt than heard. Now that he’d called attention to it, she realized her shoulder ached. The meds must be wearing off. But it wasn’t enough to make her move off him. “I’m okay.” His hands roamed over her back, soothing. “I need to ask you something. It’s really none of my business, but…” She lifted her head and propped her chin on her closed fist. “About VanDein?” He nodded. “What happened over there?” she asked, frowning. Had he said Magnus just let him go? “We had a civilized conversation, he told me we’d thwarted all his plans and I had his word he would stop trying to kill me or whatever he really wanted to do, and that we’d meet as straight-on adversaries in the future.” “That sounds like him.” Tom raised an eyebrow. “It does?” 74

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She nodded. He propped one hand behind his head. “Not from what you’ve explained to me. Wanna tell me what you left out?” His careful tone and underlying emotion she couldn’t quite define— jealousy? Anger? Betrayal?—alerted her. Shit. “He said something about our past, didn’t he.” It wasn’t a question. She should have known the bastard would use that. But then, maybe it was what had saved Tom’s life. She sighed and started to climb off him, but he stilled her with his free hand. “Just tell me.” The undercurrent was gone. But she couldn’t seem to think coherently enough this close to him, so she sat up and straddled his lower abdomen. “Magnus was the one who first discovered my talent for detecting superheroes. It was just after college. He’s about eight years older than me, I think, and was in Rome on business where I had stopped while hiking around the continent, totally unsure what to do with my life.” “You were involved with him?” She nodded. “I won’t say I was naïve and foolish, because I wasn’t, but he’s one of those intense guys who puts his entire focus on a person.” She smiled. “Like you. So I spent about six months with him. Then Cranston contacted me, told me about him and Heinrich and the guild they were starting. Magnus was furious. I had thought some of his business was shady, but wanted to believe it wasn’t completely crooked. It was. I left.” She winced, remembering. “The day I left, he had a business associate in the house. The man—I can’t remember his name—tried to use me as leverage and would have shot me. Magnus took the bullet. I still left. “He apparently always considered me the one that got away, and told me that someday, I’d understand.” Tom stroked his hand over her bandaged shoulder. “Do you?” 75

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She nodded. “I never felt for him like that. Not like…” She trailed off, thinking. Did she feel for Tom the way Magnus had purportedly felt for her? Would she have stopped the bullet for anyone else? Looking down at his strong features, dark hair, and shining, intense eyes, she knew the answer was yes. She’d have taken the bullet for Billy or Percy, because that was the kind of person she was. But the difference was how she’d have felt about either one of them getting shot. Watching Tom die would have killed her, too. “I love you.” The words came out before she knew she was going to say them. “You don’t have to say that.” “I know. But I mean it.” She felt his penis shift behind her buttocks, and her awareness of her position, of him under her, changed. She smiled. “I don’t know any better than you do where this might go. But I do want to find out.” Holding her breath against the pain it caused, she bent to kiss him. “I love you,” she murmured against his mouth, then slid her hips back so his now-rigid cock slid back into her. She sighed and straightened. “And I really love your resilience.” She rocked her hips. Her tissues were still sensitized, and the friction sent tingles over her entire body. She moaned. Tom lifted his hips to push himself deeper. Sloane rocked harder, trying to lift herself off his body, but her arm hindered her. She couldn’t brace herself well enough. Tom took over, then, grabbing both hips and raising her up a few inches. The room seemed to vibrate with power as he held her in the air and thrust upward, each stroke wringing a cry from her. The orgasm was long and slow, climbing like a roller coaster up an endless track. Tom gasped and thrust harder and she was over, tumbling down the other side with him, colors flashing behind her eyelids. She’d just drawn a much-needed breath when someone knocked on the door. “Sloane? You all right?” 76

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She laughed. “Yes, Darren! We’ll be out in a few minutes.” “All right. We need to debrief Mr. Idaho on his trip to France, and Karl and I want to discuss the guild with him. Territory…” Sloane blocked him out. He was all business, just like she used to be, and suddenly she had little patience for it. She looked down at Tom, still trapped between her thighs, and marveled at how different everything in her life looked from this new perspective. But even that was nothing compared to the changes Tom was about to make. She climbed off and slid down next to him. His arm automatically came around her shoulders, his thumb caressing her skin without any consciousness on his part. She could see he was already pondering his choices. “Tom.” She waited until he turned his head and looked at her. “I’m off the job. I won’t try to influence you or your future, not like I was before. And I’ll stand between you and Darren if I have to.” He smiled, and he didn’t look like the malleable kid she’d once thought him to be. He’d grown up a lot in a month. “Don’t worry.” His grin widened. “I’ve got it all under control.”

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NATALIE J. DAMSCHRODER

Natalie J. Damschroder became a writer the hard way—by avoiding it. Though she wrote her first book at age five (appropriately titled, My Very First Book) and received accolades for her academic writing (Ruth Davies Award for Excellence in Writing for a paper on deforestation her senior year in college), she hated doing it. Colonial food and the habits of the European Starling just weren’t her thing. Shortly after graduating from college, however, she found her niche— romantic fiction. After an internship with the National Geographic Society, customer service for a phone company just wasn’t that exciting. So she began learning how to write the books she’d loved to read all her life. Four books and six years later, she finally sold. Now she struggles to balance her frenetic writing life (how else can she get all the stories in her head on paper?) with her family, the most supportive husband in the world and two beautiful, intelligent, stubborn, independent daughters (one of whom has already declared her desire to be a writer, too). She somehow also fits in a day job and various volunteer positions in and out of the writing industry. More can be found at www.nataliedamschroder.com. *

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Don’t miss The TreeKeeper, by Natalie J. Damschroder, Available from Amber Quill Press, LLC As The TreeKeeper, Kayana holds the highest office on Vios, a planet colonized hundreds of years ago but reliant on an archaic economic

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