Local Hero (9 page)

The laugh relaxed her again. Hester bundled the top over Radley's head while Mitch pulled the bottoms over his legs.

“Kid sleeps like a rock.”

“I know. He always has. He rarely woke up during the night even as a baby.” As a matter of habit, she picked up the rag dog and tucked it in beside him before kissing his cheek. “Don't mention Fido,” she murmured. “Radley's a bit sensitive about still sleeping with him.”

“I never saw a thing.” Then, giving in to the need, he brushed a hand over Radley's hair. “Pretty special, isn't he?”

“Yes, he is.”

“So are you.” Mitch turned and touched her hair in turn. “Don't close up on me, Hester,” he said as she shifted her gaze away from his. “The best way to accept a compliment is to say thank you. Give it a shot.”

Embarrassed more by her reaction to him than by his words, she made herself look at him. “Thank you.”

“That's a good start. Now let's try it again.” He slipped his arms around her. “I've been thinking about kissing you again for almost a week.”

“Mitch, I—”

“Did you forget your line?” She'd lifted her hands to his shoulders to hold him off. But her eyes . . . He much preferred the message he read in them. “That was another compliment. I don't make a habit of thinking about a woman who goes out of her way to avoid me.”

“I haven't been. Exactly.”

“That's okay, because I figured it was because you couldn't trust yourself around me.”

That had her eyes locking on his again, strong and steady. “You have an amazing ego.”

“Thanks. Let's try another angle, then.” As he spoke, he moved his hand up and down her spine, lighting little fingers of heat. “Kiss me again, and if the bombs don't go off this time, I'll figure I was wrong.”

“No.” But despite herself she couldn't dredge up the will to push him away. “Radley's—”

“Sleeping like a rock, remember?” He touched his lips, very gently, to the swelling under her eye. “And even if he woke up, I don't think the sight of me kissing his mother would give him nightmares.”

She started to speak again, but the words were only a sigh as his mouth met hers. He was patient this time, even . . . tender. Yet the bombs went off. She would have sworn they shook the floor beneath her as she dug her fingers hard into his shoulders.

It was incredible. Impossible. But the need was there, instant, incendiary. It had never been so strong before, not for anyone. Once, when she'd been very young, she'd had a hint of what true, ripe passion could be. And then it had been over. She had come to believe that, like so many other things, such passions were only temporary. But this—this felt like forever.

He'd thought he knew all there was to know about women. Hester was proving him wrong. Even as he felt himself sliding down that warm, soft tunnel of desire, he warned himself not to move too quickly or take too much. There was a hurricane in her, one he had already realized had been channeled and repressed for a long, long time. The first time he'd held her he'd known he had to be the one to free it. But slowly. Carefully. Whether she knew it or not, she was as vulnerable as the child sleeping beside them.

Then her hands were in his hair, pulling him closer. For one mad moment, he dragged her hard against him and let them both taste of what might be.

“Bombs, Hester.” She shuddered as he traced his tongue over her ear. “The city's in shambles.”

She believed him. With his mouth hot on hers, she believed him. “I have to think.”

“Yeah, maybe you do.” But he kissed her again. “Maybe we both do.” He ran his hands down her body in one long, possessive stroke. “But I have a feeling we're going to come up with the same answer.”

Shaken, she backed away. And stumbled over the robot. The crash didn't penetrate Radley's dreams.

“You know, you run into things every time I kiss you.” He was going to have to go now or not at all. “I'll pick up the VCR later.”

There was a little breath of relief as she nodded. She'd been afraid he'd ask her to sleep with him, and she wasn't at all sure what her answer would have been. “Thank you for everything.”

“Good, you're learning.” He stroked a finger down her cheek. “Take care of the eye.”

Cowardly or not, Hester stayed by Radley's bed until she heard the front door shut. Then, easing down, she put a hand on her sleeping son's shoulder. “Oh, Rad, what have I gotten into?”

Chapter 5

When the phone rang at 7:25, Mitch had his head buried under a pillow. He would have ignored it, but Taz rolled over, stuck his snout against Mitch's cheek and began to grumble in his ear. Mitch swore and shoved at the dog, then snatched up the receiver and dragged it under the pillow.

“What?”

On the other end of the line, Hester bit her lip. “Mitch, it's Hester.”

“So?”

“I guess I woke you up.”

“Right.”

It was painfully obvious that Mitch Dempsey wasn't a morning person. “I'm sorry. I know it's early.”

“Is that what you called to tell me?”

“No . . . I guess you haven't looked out the window yet.”

“Honey, I haven't even looked past my eyelids yet.”

“It's snowing. We've got about eight inches, and it's not expected to let up until around midday. They're calling for twelve to fifteen inches.”

“Who are they?”

Hester switched the phone to her other hand. Her hair was still wet from the shower, and she'd only had a chance to gulp down one cup of coffee. “The National Weather Service.”

“Well, thanks for the bulletin.”

“Mitch! Don't hang up.”

He let out a long sigh, then shifted away from Taz's wet nose. “Is there more news?”

“The schools are closed.”

“Whoopee.”

She was tempted, very tempted to hang up the phone in his ear. The trouble was, she needed him. “I hate to ask, but I'm not sure I can get Radley all the way over to Mrs. Cohen's. I'd take the day off, but I have back-to-back appointments most of the day. I'm going to try to shift things around and get off early, but—”

“Send him down.”

There was the briefest of hesitations. “Are you sure?”

“Did you want me to say no?”

“I don't want to interfere with any plans you had.”

“Got any hot coffee?”

“Well, yes, I—”

“Send that, too.”

Hester stared at the phone after it clicked in her ear, and tried to remind herself to be grateful.

Radley couldn't have been more pleased. He took Taz for his morning walk, threw snowballs—which the dog, on principle, refused to chase—and rolled in the thick blanket of snow until he was satisfactorily covered.

Since Mitch's supplies didn't run to hot chocolate, Radley raided his mother's supply, then spent the rest of the morning happily involved with Mitch's comic books and his own sketches.

As for Mitch, he found the company appealing rather than distracting. The boy lay sprawled on the floor of his office and, between his reading or sketching, rambled on about whatever struck his fancy. Because he spoke to either Mitch or Taz, and seemed to be content to be answered or not, it suited everyone nicely.

By noon the snow had thinned to occasional flurries, dashing Radley's fantasy about another holiday. In tacit agreement, Mitch pushed away from his drawing board.

“You like tacos?”

“Yeah.” Radley turned away from the window. “You know how to make them?”

“Nope. But I know how to buy them. Get your coat, Corporal, we've got places to go.”

Radley was struggling into his boots when Mitch walked out with a trio of cardboard tubes. “I've got to stop by the office and drop these off.”

Radley's mouth dropped down to his toes. “You mean the place where they make the comics?”

“Yeah.” Mitch shrugged into his coat. “I guess I could do it tomorrow if you don't want to bother.”

“No, I want to.” The boy was up and dragging Mitch's sleeve. “Can we go today? I won't touch anything, I promise. I'll be real quiet, too.”

“How can you ask questions if you're quiet?” He pulled the boy's collar up. “Get Taz, will you?”

It was always a bit of a trick, and usually an expensive one, to find a cabdriver who didn't object to a hundred-and-fifty pound dog as a passenger. Once inside, however, Taz sat by the window and morosely watched New York pass by.

“It's a mess out here, isn't it?” The cabbie shot a grin in the rearview mirror, pleased with the tip Mitch had given him in advance. “Don't like the snow myself, but my kids do.” He gave a tuneless whistle to accompany the big-band music on his radio. “I guess your boy there wasn't doing any complaining about not going to school. No, sir,” the driver continued, without any need for an answer. “Nothing a kid likes better than a day off from school, is there? Even going to the office with your dad's better than school, isn't it, kid?” The cabbie let out a chuckle as he pulled to the curb. The snow there had already turned gray. “Here you go. That's a right nice dog you got there, boy.” He gave Mitch his change and continued to whistle as they got out. He had another fare when he pulled away.

“He thought you were my dad,” Radley murmured as they walked down the sidewalk.

“Yeah.” He started to put a hand on Radley's shoulder, then waited. “Does that bother you?”

The boy looked up, wide-eyed and, for the first time, shy. “No. Does it bother you?”

Mitch bent down so they were at eye level. “Well, maybe it wouldn't if you weren't so ugly.”

Radley grinned. As they continued to walk, he slipped his hand into Mitch's. He'd already begun to fantasize about Mitch as his father. He'd done it once before with his second grade teacher, but Mr. Stratham hadn't been nearly as neat as Mitch.

“Is this it?” He stopped as Mitch walked toward a tall, scarred brownstone.

“This is it.”

Radley struggled with disappointment. It looked so—ordinary. He'd thought they would at least have the flag of Perth or Ragamond flying. Understanding perfectly, Mitch led him inside.

There was a guard in the lobby who lifted a hand to Mitch and continued to eat his pastrami sandwich. Acknowledging the greeting, Mitch took Radley to an elevator and drew open the iron gate.

“This is pretty neat,” Radley decided.

“It's neater when it works.” Mitch pushed the button for the fifth floor, which housed the editorial department. “Let's hope for the best.”

“Has it ever crashed?” The question was half wary, half hopeful.

“No, but it has been known to go on strike.” The car shuddered to a stop on five. Mitch swung the gate open again. He put a hand on Radley's head. “Welcome to bedlam.”

It was precisely that. Radley forgot his disappointment with the exterior in his awe at the fifth floor. There was a reception area of sorts. In any case, there was a desk and a bank of phones manned by a harassed-looking black woman in a Princess Leilah sweatshirt. The walls around her were crammed with posters depicting Universal's most enduring characters: the Human Scorpion, the Velvet Saber, the deadly Black Moth and, of course, Commander Zark.

“How's it going, Lou?”

“Don't ask.” She pushed a button on a phone. “I ask you, is it my fault the deli won't deliver his corned beef?”

“If I put him in a good mood, will you dig up some samples for me?”

“Universal Comics, please hold.” The receptionist pushed another button. “You put him in a good mood, you've got my firstborn.”

“Just the samples, Lou. Put on your helmet, Corporal. This could be messy.” He led Radley down a short hall into the big, brightly lit hub of activity. It was a series of cubicles with a high noise level and a look of chaos. Pinned to the corkboard walls were sketches, rude messages and an occasional photograph. In a corner was a pyramid made of empty soda cans. Someone was tossing wadded-up balls of paper at it.

“Scorpion's never been a joiner. What's his motivation for hooking up with Worldwide Law and Justice?”

A woman with pencils poking out of her wild red hair at dangerous angles shifted in her swivel chair. Her eyes, already huge, were accented by layers of liner and mascara. “Look, let's be real. He can't save the world's water supply on his own. He needs someone like Atlantis.”

A man sat across from her, eating an enormous pickle. “They hate each other. Ever since they bumped heads over the Triangular Affair.”

“That's the point, dummy. They'll have to put personal feelings aside for the sake of mankind. It's a moral.” Glancing over, she caught sight of Mitch. “Hey, Dr. Deadly's poisoned the world's water supply. Scorpion's found an antidote. How's he going to distribute it?”

“Sounds like he'd better mend fences with Atlantis,” Mitch replied. “What do you think, Radley?”

For a moment, Rad was so tongue-tied he could only stare. Then, taking a deep breath, he let the words blurt out. “I think they'd make a neat team, 'cause they'd always be fighting and trying to show each other up.”

“I'm with you, kid.” The redhead held out her hand. “I'm M. J. Jones.”

“Wow, really?” He wasn't sure whether he was more impressed with meeting M. J. Jones or with discovering she was a woman. Mitch didn't see the point in mentioning that she was one of the few in the business.

“And this grouch over here is Rob Myers. You bring him as a shield, Mitch?” she asked without giving Rob time to swallow his pickle. They'd been married for six years, and she obviously enjoyed frustrating him.

“Do I need one?”

“If you don't have something terrific in those tubes, I'd advise you to slip back out again.” She shoved aside a stack of preliminary sketches. “Maloney just quit, defected to Five Star.”

“No kidding?”

“Skinner's been muttering about traitors all morning. And the snow didn't help his mood. So if I were you . . . Oops, too late.” Respecting rats who deserted tyrannically captained ships, M.J. turned away and fell into deep discussion with her husband.

“Dempsey, you were supposed to be in two hours ago.”

Mitch gave his editor an ingratiating smile. “My alarm didn't go off. This is Radley Wallace, a friend of mine. Rad, this is Rich Skinner.”

Radley stared. Skinner looked exactly like Hank Wheeler, the tanklike and overbearing boss of Joe David, alias the Fly. Later, Mitch would tell him that the resemblance was no accident. Radley switched Taz's leash to his other hand.

“Hello, Mr. Skinner. I really like your comics. They're lots better than Five Star. I hardly ever buy Five Star, because the stories aren't as good.”

“Right.” Skinner dragged a hand through his thinning hair. “Right,” he repeated with more conviction. “Don't waste your allowance on Five Star, kid.”

“No, sir.”

“Mitch, you know you're not supposed to bring that mutt in here.”

“You know how Taz loves you.” On cue, Taz lifted his head and howled.

Skinner started to swear, then remembered the boy. “You got something in those tubes, or did you just come by to brighten up my dull day?”

“Why don't you take a look for yourself?”

Grumbling, Skinner took the tubes and marched off. As Mitch started to follow, Radley grabbed at his hand. “Is he really mad?”

“Sure. He likes being mad best.”

“Is he going to yell at you like Hank Wheeler yells at the Fly?”

“Maybe.”

Radley swallowed and buried his hand in Mitch's. “Okay.”

Amused, Mitch led Radley into Skinner's office, where the venetian blinds had been drawn to shut off any view of the snow. Skinner unrolled the contents of the first tube and spread them over his already cluttered desk. He didn't sit, but loomed over them while Taz plopped down on the linoleum and went to sleep.

“Not bad,” Skinner announced after he had studied the series of sketches and captions. “Not too bad. This new character, Mirium, you have plans to expand her?”

“I'd like to. I think Zark's ready to have his heart tugged from a different direction. Adds more emotional conflict. He loves his wife, but she's his biggest enemy. Now he runs into this empath and finds himself torn up all over again because he has feelings for her as well.”

“Zark never gets much of a break.”

“I think he's the best,” Radley piped in, forgetting himself.

Skinner lifted his bushy brows and studied Radley carefully. “You don't think he gets carried away with this honor and duty stuff?”

“Uh-uh.” He wasn't sure if he was relieved or disappointed that Skinner wasn't going to yell. “You always know Zark's going to do the right thing. He doesn't have any super powers and stuff, but he's real smart.”

Skinner nodded, accepting the opinion. “We'll give your Mirium a shot, Mitch, and see what the reader response is like.” He let the papers roll into themselves again. “This is the first time I can remember you being this far ahead of deadline.”

“That's because I have an assistant now.” Mitch laid a hand on Radley's shoulder.

“Good work, kid. Why don't you take your assistant on a tour?”

It would take Radley weeks to stop talking about his hour at Universal Comics. When they left, he carried a shopping bag full of pencils with Universal's logo, a Mad Matilda mug that had been unearthed from someone's storage locker, a half-dozen rejected sketches and a batch of comics fresh off the presses.

“This was the best day in my whole life,” Radley said, dancing down the snow-choked sidewalk. “Wait until I show Mom. She won't believe it.”

Oddly enough, Mitch had been thinking of Hester himself. He lengthened his stride to keep up with Radley's skipping pace. “Why don't we go by and pay her a visit?”

“Okay.” He slipped his hand into Mitch's again. “The bank's not nearly as neat as where you work, though. They don't let anyone play radios or yell at each other, but they have a vault where they keep lots of money—millions of dollars—and they have cameras everywhere so they can see anybody who tries to rob them. Mom's never been in a bank that's been robbed.”

Since the statement came out as an apology, Mitch laughed. “We can't all be blessed.” He ran a hand over his stomach. He hadn't put anything into it in at least two hours. “Let's grab that taco first.”