Arc Angel (17 page)

“Yeah, I can see how that would be a little unnerving.”

“Exactly. So I freaked out a little. Who wouldn’t? I imagine that demon possession is a bit
unnerving
as well.”

“Demon possession?”

“Closest thing I can think of to describe it. So yeah, it pissed her off that I was unnerved.”

And she hadn’t even noticed his entire reaction. She’d been so focused on his face that she hadn’t looked down at his lap. Thank god. Because apparently mousy girls turning into superheroes turned him on.

Now that definitely freaked him out. Sure, he’d always felt an affinity toward Arc Angel, but she’d never given him a hard-on. More proof of how undersexed he was.

Dan’s usual grin had disappeared, replaced by on honest-to-god frown. Uh oh. That only happened when Bryce had been particularly jack-assy.

“Can you blame her for being upset?” Dan said. “She’d shared something very personal and very scary with you, and you reacted like she’d turned into Linda Blair. Did you even talk to her about it? Ask her about how she felt? I can only imagine how hard it must have been for her to even go there, with such a severe anxiety disorder.”

Bryce looked down at his hands, chagrined at the reprimand, only to jerk his head back up. Anxiety disorder?

He must have looked funny, because Dan started to soothe him right away.

“I know you didn’t upset her on purpose, but you should be more sensitive with her. She’s going through a lot, and, frankly, I’m surprised she’s holding up as well as she is. She needs you right now, needs a friend.”

Bryce’s brain whirled. Miranda had an anxiety disorder. That explained her running out on him when he’d talked about filming her, her abnormal attachment to her apartment and her fear when she’d been driven out of it, and her immunity to the Campion charm.

With the new understanding came crushing guilt. He’d been pushing this poor woman since the minute he’d met her, instead of taking the time to help her relax and get used to him. Well no more. From this moment forward he was going to be the kindest, most considerate person ever. Partly because he needed her, sure, but also to stop feeling like the hunter who’d shot Bambi’s mother.

“I promise to try harder. You’re right. She needs a friend right now, and damn it, I will be one to her.”

“Whether she likes it or not?”

“Exactly. Now let’s go get these tests done.”

The tests would take a few hours, especially with Dan doing them without an assistant, which gave Bryce plenty of time to come up with a way to get Miranda to forgive him. Again. He’d found his superhero, and he was determined to keep her.

***

Come for the coffee, stay for the handcuffs. Yet another reason Miranda didn’t go out. When you stayed home all the time, you didn’t have to worry about being arrested over your latte.

To be fair, Kate hadn’t actually tried to arrest her, despite finding out in the span of a few short minutes that Miranda had zapped a man and a security system. But Miranda had been too scared to trust that the non-arresting would continue once Kate had time to think it over, so she’d fled the scene. Maybe her life really had become an episode of
Law and Order
.

As she looked out the back window of her cab, watching the city flash by, Miranda thought about Kate’s reaction to her in general. Should she have trusted the detective? After all, she’d out and out said that she wanted to protect Miranda. And she’d been incredibly nice and supportive, checking in on her, asking how she felt about everything.

Now she felt guilty for not sticking around to let Kate arrest her.

Miranda sighed. Interacting with people was damn hard.

Once bitten, twice shy, I guess.

Not that it was fair to compare Kate O’Hara with Bryce. But look what a bad idea trusting Bryce had turned out to be. And he’d only smooshed her ego and bruised her heart. O’Hara had the power to throw Miranda’s ego, heart and the rest of her in jail. No, better safe than sorry. As nice as Detective O’Hara appeared, Miranda didn’t feel comfortable trusting her right now.

The cab turned onto Jackson Avenue before Miranda realized her mistake. If the police were looking for her, as Kate had suggested they might be, they’d undoubtedly start at her apartment, the most logical place to find her. In fact, until the last two days, it would have been the only place to find her.

But where else could she go? She refused to go back to Bryce’s. She had no other friends, and her parents hadn’t lived in the area for years. Maybe she could check in to a hotel. The thought of being in such unfamiliar surroundings made her shiver. And the logistics involved… No. Not a good idea.

Damn that Gavin Brooks. Miranda knew he had to be the one who’d called in the accusation. It was a perfect trap, too, since she had indeed broken into Tech Corp. But legally, since she’d been hired to do so. Unfortunately, her contract had been secret; only the company’s CFO had known. Sure, she had a copy of the signed contract, but they could claim it was a fake. And Miranda wasn’t naïve enough to think that Mr. Smith would be stepping up to clear her name any time soon. That would be too easy, and her life was anything but easy these days.

The cab pulled up in front of her building. At least she didn’t see any police yet. Should she go in? She desperately wanted to change clothes, and she knew she should eat something to keep her strength up, even if the idea of food made her stomach churn. Maybe she’d just make a quick visit, for provisions.

She climbed out of the cab only to come face-to-face with a gentleman standing to the side of the building’s entrance. She froze. Undercover police officer?

“Ms. James. I have your new keys.”

Oh, right, the security Bryce had set up. She forced herself to walk over and take the keys, thank the man and punch in the door code. If only the security could keep out the police too.

She climbed the stairs to the third floor and stopped outside her door. Her thick, shiny, new door. She inserted the shiny new key in the shiny new lock and opened the door.

Ah, home. At least for a little while.

She hurried inside and locked up tight behind her. Being back in her fortress of solitude and being surrounded by her belongings did comfort her, even though she couldn’t stay. Sure, the place wasn’t anywhere as nice as Bryce’s house, since her idea of decorating was to tack up a poster or two, and her furniture had been purchased for comfort rather than appearance. But despite the slightly sterile feel, it was home.

She went into her living room and flopped onto her overstuffed couch. If only she could get a pizza and watch some DVDs. Something mindless and silly to take her mind off everything. A comedy. But not a romantic comedy with its ridiculous “misunderstandings” that got resolved in 90 minutes. She didn’t need the reminder that the first connection she’d ever made with a guy had collapsed completely and wasn’t going to be salvaged by the time the credits rolled.

Alright, enough self-pity. Enough whining about Bryce. She needed to figure out where she could hide out from the police. She decided to gather up some necessities while she tried to come with a plan.

First stop, her computer. She could access a number of programs from her handheld, but she wanted full access to her system. She opened her bottom desk drawer, looking for the laptop bag that had come with her latest purchase. Though she’d doubted she’d ever use it, she hated throwing things away and so had shoved it into her junk drawer. Sure enough, there it sat. But wait a second. On top of her bag lay a copy of an invoice from a job she’d worked a few months ago. She never filed paperwork in the bottom drawer. That should have been in the top drawer, somewhere in the middle of the pile.

A chill ran through her. She tried to shake it off.

Now don’t overreact, Miranda. Not everything is related to your recent adventures. Maybe you put the invoice in the wrong drawer.

But she knew she hadn’t. She yanked open her other desk drawers and rifled through them. On the surface, they looked like they always did, but when she looked a little closer she noticed several misfiled papers and a number of odds and ends no longer in their usual spots.

She scrambled to find her copy of the Tech Corp contract, knowing she wouldn’t find it. Sure enough, no signed contract.

Damn it. Someone had been in here. In her desk. As her brain tried to comprehend the situation, an even worse possibility occurred to her. Her computer.

She created and tested security systems for a living, and she made sure she practiced what she preached. Her computer had more security on it than a Fortune 500 company’s bank records. No one could hack her computer. At least she hoped that still held true. She logged in and started to check the system. Whew. It didn’t look like they’d gotten in. Her stuff was safe.

Except that it wasn’t. Someone had been in her apartment, going through her stuff. She’d felt contaminated when the reporter had been trying to break down the door, but now, knowing that someone had actually been inside, touching her things… she ran to the bathroom and vomited in the toilet.

When she could stand, she mechanically wiped her face and rinsed her mouth. Okay, she definitely couldn’t stay here now, even if the police weren’t looking for her. She didn’t think she could get past the violation.

What should she do? She couldn’t call the police. Not even Detective O’Hara. No use tempting fate, especially with the extra pressure on her now that Gavin Brooks had followed through on his threat.

Speaking of the reporter, was Brooks the one who had been in her apartment? It seemed logical, since he and his goon certainly had the opportunity. Maybe he’d been looking for information on her that would link her to Arc Angel… oh crap.

She ran into her bedroom only to freeze in the doorway. Sure enough, the box containing all her Arc Angel comics, the one she’d so carefully put back on the shelf yesterday morning, sat in the middle of her bed.

And a piece of paper lay on top of the lid.

Miranda inched into the room and picked up the paper as if it were a coiled and hissing snake. She read the note twice before it started to sink in.

Miranda, My Angel:

I’ve heard quite a bit about your special abilities, and I must admit they’ve sparked an interest. You’re a powerful woman, and I want to see more.

Come to 438 Ashmore Street tonight at 9 p.m. Alone. We don’t need the police or any of your friends mixed up in this, do we? Though I will be bringing a guest. Just think of it as a small incentive. As long as you appear on time, my guest will be free to go. If you choose not to come… well, I don’t think my guest will enjoy himself very much.

I’m looking forward to seeing you tonight. I’m sure it will be an electrifying meeting.

—Mr. Brown

The note slipped from her fingers and drifted to the carpet. She stood, paralyzed. She just wanted to go back to normal, to be left alone. And every time she took one step closer to that goal, the rug got yanked out from under her.

She sank down onto her bedroom floor. Someone knew. Mr. Brown, though she doubted that was his real name. But whoever he was, he knew a lot. He knew about Arc Angel.

And he knew about Bryce, too. It must have been him the note referred to, since she didn’t exactly have any other friends, and she hadn’t talked to anyone else since this whole thing had started, not even online. He had to be the “guest” the note mentioned. Who else could it be?

She wanted to run away, take off for parts unknown, get the hell out of town. But her anxiety immediately shut down that possibility. Where would she go? Some cheap motel somewhere? She couldn’t use her regular cab company, because it would be too easy to trace her movements. And if she made it to a motel undetected, she’d have to check-in in person and use cash, which she didn’t have. Besides, running wouldn’t solve anything. It would simply postpone the inevitable. If someone knew this much about her, he obviously had the skills and resources to hunt down a scared, anxiety-prone young woman with no survival skills. Besides, what about that not-so-subtle threat about the guest? If she didn’t show up, someone might be hurt.

So she couldn’t run. Could she go to the police? She’d talked herself out of it moments earlier, but that had been before she’d found the note. The situation had been bad, but the note truly crossed a line. It contained a deliberate threat. Maybe she should turn herself in, despite the potential hacking charges that could be brought against her. Maybe it would be safer in custody.

How would Mr. Brown react to Miranda sitting in jail instead of showing up for their rendezvous? Probably not well. For all she knew, he might take out his frustration on the poor anonymous guest. Miranda shivered. She couldn’t risk not showing up.

Still, maybe she should call the police. Detective O’Hara might listen to her. She glanced at her watch: 5 p.m. Maybe she could call the police and, in the next four hours, talk them into believing that a., she didn’t hack into Tech Corp, b., she hadn’t meant to kill the mugger and c., that she could really use some back-up for her meeting tonight. And then maybe she could talk them into believing the Cubs would win the World Series. Miranda sighed. No, she couldn’t go to the police.

If she didn’t run, and she didn’t call the police, what did that leave her? She couldn’t rely on Bryce. Miranda felt the now-familiar pang when she pictured his face. She didn’t know how Mr. Brown knew about Bryce, but she couldn’t risk drawing him into this any further. Even if he cared more about Arc Angel than Miranda James, she wanted to keep him out of danger. She’d send him a quick e-mail, to put him on guard in case Mr. Brown had targeted him and planned to use him against her tonight.

Miranda realized that she’d managed to talk herself into the only course of action left: following directions and going to the appointment later that night. Her recently emptied stomach rolled. She wasn’t only heading into the unknown, she was heading into the most-likely-dangerous unknown. Sweat beaded on her brow.