The Color of Courage (17 page)

I lifted my left hand to the back of Evan’s neck and tugged him toward me. He resisted for a second before angling his body over mine. His mouth came down, and he tasted familiar already.

I relaxed backward into the crook between the arm of the sofa and the back. Evan followed me with a soft sound. His arms cradled me. I inhaled him, and lost myself.

It was what I needed. Escape.

Evan shifted me under him so we stretched out across the cushions. He released my mouth to let us breathe and nuzzled my neck. My hands wandered up and down his back. His T-shirt bunched under my hands, so I pushed it up and rested my hands on his skin. He groaned and lifted his torso. His eyes were closed, like he was concentrating on my touch, and a power and desire surged through me. I arched and rubbed against him like a cat.

He went still and opened his eyes. “Are you sure about this?”

“Yes.”

But he levered himself higher, his hands now braced on either side of me so that we only touched at the knees. He didn’t say anything, just looked at me. I couldn’t read him, and for a moment, I panicked. He was trying to play me. Seduce me to his side, so he could complete his infiltration of HQ and take us down. I was going to be our downfall, whether he was CASE or not.

Then his expression penetrated.
He
was the one who wasn’t sure we should continue. I didn’t know if that was because of me, because of him . . . or something that didn’t have anything to do with what we were doing.

I didn’t care. Evan could be noble or conniving. He could betray me and everything I stood for. But whether I slept with him tonight or not wouldn’t impact it, and it wouldn’t impact me. All I wanted was what his kiss initially promised.

Escape.

I wrapped my hands around his biceps and pulled until my body pressed once again against his chest. I avoided his mouth and sucked his neck instead. He tasted even better than he smelled. My teeth scraped his skin. His elbows bent, slowly, until we landed back on the sofa. But he wasn’t giving in, like I’d thought. He cupped my face in his hands and held me still.

“I think we should wait until you know the whole story.”

I didn’t want the whole story anymore. Not tonight. I wanted to forget the explosion and our enemies and Adam’s reticence and most of all, the little reminder in the back of my mind that Evan had wanted Summer.

“Summer and Frank are having problems,” I blurted. Then I gave a mental shrug. Might as well go with it. “The only thing that would stop me from sleeping with you tonight is if that knowledge makes you want to go to her.”

He smiled, but it was sad. “I don’t want to go to Summer.”

“Do you want to sleep with me?”

“Very much,” he whispered.

“Then shut up.” I grabbed a fistful of his hair and dragged his head down. This time, neither one of us held back. Hands wandered, squeezing and stroking and smoothing clothing aside. When we were both naked, Evan picked me up and carried me through the archway into my bedroom. He paused by the bed.

“I don’t have anything with me,” he admitted.

“Nightstand.”

He dropped my legs so I stood in front of him. He didn’t reach for the drawer, so I leaned to open it and withdrew one of the condoms remaining from Ian. I hesitated over the etiquette of using your ex-boyfriend’s condoms with a new guy. Then Evan cupped my breast, and I didn’t care about that, either. He didn’t know, and it was really the least of our issues.

I set the condom on the pillow. Evan kissed my neck, my collarbone, the corner of my mouth. His hand on my breast barely moved, caressing, and the fingertips of his other hand traced gently across the small of my back. But the lightness of his touch belied the tension I could feel in his shoulders.

He turned us and we sat on the bed, side by side. I caught his jaw and brought him back up to kiss me. I was so wrapped up in the heat of his mouth, the feel of his tongue, that we were lying against the pillows with our legs intertwined before I realized it. Evan rose up over me, his hands needy, his breathing harsh. Then we rolled and I was on top. I straddled his hips, fighting the urge to shift just right. My left hand reached and caught the foil packet. I sat up to tear it open, leaning back to slide it over him. He lifted his hips and clutched my thighs when my fingers smoothed the latex over and over to get out all the wrinkles.

“God, Daley.”

“Now?”

“Jesus, yes.” He lifted me and slowly lowered me down onto his erection. I let out a long sigh and sank down to take him deeper, then to lie on his chest. He wrapped his arms around me and held me tight, lying still, waiting.

I just wanted to revel in the pleasure. It had been a long time since I’d been so in the moment. Once we started moving it would be over too soon. And though it wasn’t foremost in my mind, I knew this would be a one-time event.

Musk and heat, smooth skin under my cheek, hard muscle against my thighs and deep inside me, conspired against my desire to make it last. I rose up and started to move, lifting slowly, descending hard. Squeezing him. It had been long enough that my orgasm started to build immediately. I pumped faster, bracing my hands on his chest. Evan gasped and arched. Then, just as everything came to a pinpoint at my center, he gripped my hips and stopped me dead. I throbbed and gasped, my entire body tight. When it eased, I opened my eyes and found him watching me.

“Did you come?”

I shook my head.

“Good. Not yet. I’m sorry,” he breathed. “I didn’t realize you were so close, or I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Why did you?”

His hands caressed my hips, then stroked up my spine. “It was too soon. I didn’t want to leave you behind.”

I smiled down at him. “Thank you.” I started to move again, but he held me down. I pouted.

“You look adorable.” He lifted his head and nipped my lip, then rolled me under him without slipping completely out of me. One thrust, and he was seated deeply again. I shuddered.

“I won’t last much longer,” I murmured.

“Me, neither.” He kissed me softly, pressed his tongue between my lips. Then, with his elbows braced beside my head and one hand beneath it, he started to thrust again.

Because he was lying so close on top of me, the angle was sharp. Each stroke pressed upward against my clit. By three, I was climbing again. By five, I couldn’t see. He started moving faster. I dug my nails into his back and cried out, desperate.

Evan pressed his face into my neck. His mouth was open on my throat and his fingers dug into my scalp. I exploded and heard him shout my name as he joined me.

Coming down was bittersweet. I knew, as I drifted off after Evan had disposed of the condom and curled around me, that when I woke he’d be gone.

I was right.

Chapter 15

“So much for projecting emotions,” I grumbled, fingering the note he’d left on my kitchen counter next to a pot of coffee that was likely less fresh than he’d intended.

Despite his absence, I’d slept until nearly noon. My aches had been replaced by stiffness that I figured I could work out. I planned to make the rounds with Kirby to see Trace and Summer, and then help her do research. Adam had left a message on my voicemail that all of us would meet the next afternoon at his place, after Trace and Summer were discharged, and not to go to HQ for any reason.

I wasn’t sure if I wished Evan had stayed this morning, or if I was glad he’d left. I read the note again.

Daley,

I didn’t want to wake you after all you went through yesterday. I’m sorry to leave, though—last night meant more than you probably think. I hope, after tomorrow, you don’t regret it.

We have a lot to talk about.

Evan

Now that it was over, my lack of caring about projecting my emotions during sex had disappeared. I wanted to know if I had done it. I wanted to be comfortable enough with Evan to be able to ask him. But this note . . .

I decided to take things one moment at a time, and for once not work myself up trying to figure out what he meant. Tomorrow would come soon enough.

I showered and retrieved the newspaper from the hallway to read while drinking my coffee. At least, that was the plan. The cover story soured my stomach and made even coffee unpalatable.

Superheroes Kill Local Woman

The content of the article made it more of a question than the headline did, but the headline would do the damage. Police were investigating the explosion on the river that killed Ana Paselteur, an office worker who’d had a “minor accident.” The article said HQ was trying to extract her from the wreckage when the explosion occurred, sinking the remains of the boat and throwing three superheroes clear. The detective in charge of the investigation said HQ members were suspected of no wrongdoing, but the reporter quoted others as saying the damage from the blast made evidence very difficult to assess, and conflicting eyewitness accounts put our role in question.

“Fuck.”

My phone rang. I glanced at the display, expecting Adam’s name, as if he’d have sensed that I just read the article. But no, that was wishful thinking. Only my mother had that kind of sense.

“Are you all right? You were in that blast, weren’t you?”

“I’m fine, Mom. We’re all fine.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes, honestly. I don’t even ache. Trace has some cuts, and Summer had a concussion and some breathing problems, but other than that, there’s no problem.”

“Except that poor woman who died.”

At first I heard censure in her voice, but then I decided I was projecting. Mom wouldn’t blame us, no matter what the paper said.

“What happened, Daley?” Her voice was soft now, sympathetic, and I couldn’t quite believe it. She wasn’t haranguing me to give it up.

“We’re not sure.” I stopped myself from saying more. Telling her someone was after us would revert her instantaneously to the “old Mom.” I didn’t need more pressure. “There will be an investigation.”

“The important thing is that you’re all okay. But . . .” She paused, then said, “If you need to talk . . .”

“Thanks, Mom. I’m okay.” I didn’t want to push my luck. “I’ve got to go, I’m late to meet Kirby.” She was picking me up downstairs, but Mom didn’t have to know that. “I’ll call you later.”

“Take care, Daley. Oh, and don’t forget the picnic. I have to tell you what to bring.”

“I’ll call you.”

“Spike got his orders, and he ships out three days after the picnic. So we’re making it a kind of farewell for him, okay?”

“Fine. We’ll talk about it later. Love you, Mom.” I clicked off and sighed in relief. A week ago, that conversation would have gone a whole lot differently. Maybe our air-clearing Friday night had worked.

The phone rang again. Kirby.

“I’m downstairs.”

“I’m on my way.”

By the time we’d seen a chipper Trace and a much more lucid Summer, then spent three hours scouring media archives and little-known corners of the Internet, I was exhausted. But we’d made some connections, and had a few nuggets we could maybe build a plan from.

Charles Auberginois called Kirby as I was getting ready to leave her place. She motioned for me to wait and put him on speakerphone.

“Ms. March. I tried to reach you at HQ, and no one answers there. Mr. Tarantino doesn’t seem to be answering his telephone, either.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Auberginois, after yesterday’s incident, we’re a bit scattered. What can I do for you?”

“Yes, I saw the papers. You’re all right, I trust?”

She frowned at me, mild annoyance swirling in her aura. “Our injuries are minor, relatively speaking. We were very lucky. Thank you for asking.”

“Of course, of course. Now. I have a contractor creating updated suits for you, and I was hoping to get one of your spares, perhaps, as a sample for him to work from?”

Excitement swooped through her. “New suits? Fabulous! I have mine here at my place, if you want to send someone to pick it up.”

She gave him her address and hung up, then pursed her lips thoughtfully as her excitement spike faded. “If he was so concerned about us, why didn’t he call yesterday? Or earlier today? He has to be keeping tabs on us.”

I shrugged. “It didn’t sound to me like he
was
concerned. Maybe he’s keeping close enough tabs that he knew our conditions, and was just being polite.”

“Maybe.” She stretched her neck to one side, then the other. “You sure you want to take the Metro home?”

“Yeah, you’re just as tired as I am. Is Frank getting Summer out tomorrow?”

She shook her head. “She wouldn’t let me call him. Things are really not going well. I’ll pick them both up.”

“Want help?”

“No, just meet us at Adam’s. I think they’ll both be mobile, and my car’s easy to get into and out of. I’ll see you there.”

She walked me out. When I turned at the corner, before I descended to the train, I looked back to see her still standing there. Watching my back. She waved, and I waved back, and had a moment of comfort, like everything would be all right.

And it would, I vowed. HQ’s strength wasn’t in its powers. It was in its people.

CASE had seriously underestimated us.

I didn’t want to be the first one to arrive at Adam’s. I was worried I’d be awkward with him, after his confession in the park and my night with Evan. I also had a feeling my time would be completely taken up over the next undeterminable number of days. So I took my time the next morning, cleaning the apartment and tying up loose ends with my consultations.

I still got there before anyone else.

Any potential awkwardness fled when Adam opened the door, however. My eyes traveled from his shoulders, which were
not
propped on crutches, to the splint-free right hand holding a jug of milk, and down over his well-worn jeans to the left leg now wearing a walking boot.

“Come on in,” he invited, backing up with his full weight on his leg. His broken leg.

“What’s— How—” I stepped inside and waved a hand at his leg and arm.

His mouth quirked up, but his overall expression remained serious. “Apparently, I heal fast.”

The brief flare of amusement in his aura disappeared under the weight of anxiety and despair he carried. They were solid, heavy colors, which meant they’d been static for a while. I followed him to the kitchen, where he poured the milk into a pitcher on a tray already laden with coffee fixings.

“You didn’t know that before?” I grabbed a stack of mugs as he replaced the milk in the fridge and lifted the tray to take it into the living room.

“Never got hurt enough to find out.” He set the tray on the coffee table but didn’t move away. That meant I had to step up next to him to set the mugs down. I didn’t want to be that close to him—mainly because I
did
want to be that close to him. I went around the table and set them on the far side, then backed up to a fancy wing chair in the corner. Its presence reminded me that Rachel, who had done all their decorating, was no longer living here. The décor was the same, a mix of contemporary and classic pieces in rich complementary colors. I thought the walls were more bare. She must have taken her souvenirs and gifts from foreign dignitaries with her. But her influence remained, because I saw nothing of Adam in the room. I figured his office at the back of the apartment, which I’d been in only once, would be the same as before. Neat and tidy with worn, comfortable furniture and state-of-the-art equipment and no sentimentality. If Adam kept photos or reminders of anything in his past, he hid them away. Just like his emotions.

“So is your arm completely healed?” I watched him make a cup of coffee without realizing it was for me until he handed it over. I thanked him, sorry I’d been so concerned about not being near him that he’d had to play host.

“It took some doing to convince the doctors, but yeah. It hurt like a sonuvabitch for a few days, then suddenly didn’t. Same with the leg. That fracture was more complex so it’s not completely healed yet, but I figure it will be by the weekend.”

“That’s great.” I relaxed a little, knowing he’d be able to lead future battles. We’d kinda fucked up the last one we did without him.

The doorbell rang, then the door opened and Trace, Kirby, and Summer entered. There was a flurry of greetings, ginger hugs and handshakes, and assurances of health, and then we all settled around the living room.

“First,” Adam began, “I owe you all an apology for the river.”

We protested until he held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter what the circumstances were or would have been. I wasn’t there. I apologize for that.”

“We don’t need it,” I said.

The others nodded. Adam wrapped his hands around his mug.

“I heard what happened in chunks. I want to hear it all again, from each of you, one by one. Daley, you were first in the water, you start.”

I told him what had happened from my perspective, from the time I got into the new truck until I was released from the hospital. Then Trace, Summer, and Kirby did the same.

“The dog’s labs came back,” Adam said. “I have a friend over there who stayed late yesterday to process them. He was drugged and died of sudden cardiac arrest. The drugs are what put him into a frenzy so Daley couldn’t calm him, and also what killed him.”

We nodded. We’d thought that was the case.

“The woman—”

“Ana Paselteur,” Kirby inserted.

“—was killed in the blast. They recovered most of her remains.”

Trace winced. “She didn’t have a chance.”

“No, and it doesn’t appear that she was intended to.”

“Kirby and I did some digging on her yesterday,” I said. “We found a connection to Gino Scarengio. They have superficial similarities like having no immediate family, few if any friends, no pets, didn’t own their homes, and lost their jobs not too long ago. They had nothing to lose by committing suicide.”

“But we wondered what would make them choose this cause.” Kirby cut in. “Turns out, both belonged to the same grief counseling center. Gino’s mother was killed in Memphis a few years ago, in a freak accident. The superheroes down there were on another call and didn’t make it in time to rescue her.”

“And Ana’s fiancé claimed to have powers,” I finished. “He apparently didn’t, and when he died trying to stop a tree from falling on a car, she blamed the superhero culture for putting ideas into his head and damaging his mind.”

“We should talk to Scarengio about this,” Trace said. “Any progress on getting into the psych ward to see him?”

Adam rubbed a hand over his face. “Gino Scarengio died last night.”

A gasp went around the room. “Suicide?” Summer asked.

“Undetermined. He had nothing in his cell that he could have killed himself with, and no apparent marks on his body. They’re doing an autopsy and a security review to see if someone got to him.”

“Does that mean the cops are taking us seriously?” I asked. “They believe CASE has this big agenda and are working against us?”

“I don’t know. They’re pretending to, at least.” He glanced at Kirby, then at me. “What else did you find out?”

Kirby handed him a folder. “Not enough. We found some more propaganda, but it’s pretty much the same as the pamphlet you had. There are some forum discussions that seem to be coded. One thread matches up with the last three or four events we had, and I printed all the posts from that section so we can try to figure out their plan.”

“Did you make duplicates?” Trace started to lean forward to replenish his coffee and hissed as his back spasmed.

Kirby jumped up to do it for him. “I did. I figured we can read and brainstorm.”

She handed out the packets and we all began to read. I read once through all the threads on the twenty-three-page printout, then returned to the ones Kirby had marked as being related to past events. She’d highlighted certain phrases and noted what she thought they might mean. Using that, I started reading the newer threads.

It was no use. After an hour, I couldn’t interpret more than three possible items: a stationary target, a reference that might have been to me, and something that might have meant they had someone on the inside.