Nightingale

  Bandit shook his head, his eyes as black as night. “You shouldn’t have run. Now I’m going to kill you and take what’s mine.”

  He reached down and jerked me up by my coat. He must have smiled because his breath hit me through the bandanna he wore. Garlic mixed with onions and hot sauce—all of it rancid. I almost gagged.

  “Where’s the flash drive?” Bandit asked.

  “I don’t know anything about a flash drive,” I said, lying to the end.

  He stared into my eyes, as though he could judge the truth of my words just by looking at me. Rascal used the opportunity to sink his needle-sharp teeth into Bandit’s hand.

  “Ouch!” the ubervillain roared.

  He reached out to punch the puppy, but I turned my shoulder, letting him hit me instead. Bandit’s fierce, sharp blow penetrated through my layers of clothing. Something in my shoulder popped. Pain shot up my arm, which went tingly and numb. I screamed and fell to my knees in the snow.

  Bandit shook his head. “I tried to do this the easy way, Abby, but you just wouldn’t play ball.”

  Why was he talking to me like that? From his tone of voice, you’d think we knew each other, that we were friends or something. I’d think I’d know if I’d been hanging out with an ubervillain. Surely Piper would tell me.

  “Get up,” Bandit snapped. “Get up!”

  He reached down and hauled me to my feet again. Every single part of my body exploded with pain. My head, shoulder, legs. I hadn’t felt this much hot, electric agony since I’d gotten zapped by that amp.

  He drew back his hand to punch me again. I felt something brush by my face, so close it ruffled my hair. Bandit stopped, surprised by the movement.

  “Son of a bitch—”

  The ubervillain never got to finish his sentence. A bolt thwacked! into the wall beside us, and cobalt-blue smoke spewed out of it. The smoke forced its way into my eyes, my nose, my throat. It smelled minty.

  Bandit blinked once, twice. He shook his head, as if trying to clear it. His grip on my jacket loosened, and he went down on his knees.

  I took a step back. At least, I tried to. My head felt so strange, like it was floating above my body. My legs trembled, and I couldn’t support myself. My knees buckled, and I slid to the icy ground.

  Rascal’s sharp, worried bark was the last thing I heard before the world went black.

  Chapter Eighteen

  The lump woke me. It pressed into my back like a giant thumb, a hard pressure on my spine. No matter which way I turned, I couldn’t get free of it. Couldn’t get comfortable. Couldn’t sleep.

  A few minutes and several turns later, the sleepy fog lifted from my mind—and I realized I wasn’t in my bed. The rest of the evening rushed back to me. The library event. Talking with Wesley. Walking home. Running away from Bandit. Being knocked out by that blue gas. After that, someone had come along and done something with me, taken me … somewhere.

  But where? And who? And what were they going to do with me now?

  I remained as still as a dead body on the sofa, eyes shut, straining with my ears. But I couldn’t hear anything. No machines, no whispers of movement, no swirls of air indicating someone else was nearby. Nothing sounded except a steady, low murmur, too faint for even my supersensitive ears to identify. Well, at least it wasn’t loud here.

  Because I didn’t appear to be in immediate danger, I moved my head. Something soft and filmy brushed my cheek, feeling like a spider’s web. I jerked away, but it still touched me. I bit back a scream and clawed at my face, ignoring the pain that stabbed through my shoulder with every frantic movement.

  I drew in a ragged breath, and a clean, soapy scent filled my nose. It smelled like … fabric softener.

  Fabric softener?

  I forced myself to relax and reached up. My fingers traced over the thing on my face, and I realized it was a blanket. I moved my legs, confirming my hunch that this blanket was one of several piled on top of me. They’d twisted and tangled together during my thrashing and wrapped around my body like velvet ropes.

  I pulled the blanket off my face and opened my eyes a tiny crack. Darkness. Nothing but darkness. I opened my eyes the rest of the way. Using my right hand, I unwound the sheets from my body and sat up.

  I sat there, waiting for my eyes to focus. But for once, my enhanced eyesight failed me. No light penetrated this room, and I could make out only what I could hear, feel, smell, and touch. The faint murmur in the background. The lumpy sofa. The shag rug under my socked feet. The stale odor air gets when it’s circulated through office buildings over and over again. The sour fear in my throat and mouth.

  So, I focused on my body. My left shoulder throbbed with hot, searing pain, a new wave blossoming every second. The pain had spread down into my arm, ending at my fingertips, which felt numb, cold, and useless. My knees ached from where I’d fallen, and the fabric of my pants had glued itself to the cuts that had opened up on them. I could smell my own dried blood, but there didn’t seem to be a lot of it.

  I wasn’t in the best shape of my life, but I could still move. I didn’t know where I was, but I wanted to get out of here. Or at least find the damn light switch.

  I stood up and realized that whoever had brought me here had also done away with my clothes. Some of them, anyway. My coat was gone, along with my heavy boots and vest. All I wore now was my camisole, silk jacket, pants, and wool socks. I patted the sofa and the rug in front of it, but all my fingers touched were blankets and shag carpet. I couldn’t find my clothes. Damn. If only they’d left the vest, I could have fished out my miniature flashlight instead of being blind—

  It hit me then what else I was missing—or rather who.

  “Rascal!” I whispered. “Rascal, are you in here?”

  No yip-yap or bark answered my frantic call. No sudden scurries of happy movement. No tail thumping against my legs. No doggie breath. Rascal wasn’t here.

  Hot, salty tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t know why. I didn’t do well with animals, didn’t even really like dogs. The only reason I had Rascal was because Piper had foisted him off on me. But the room seemed so … empty without the puppy. So … still and … quiet. For the first time in a long time, I didn’t welcome the silence.

  A few tears slid down my cheeks, but I ignored them. Rascal might not be in here, in this room, but maybe he was close. Better yet, maybe he’d escaped during the struggle with Bandit. Maybe he’d even found his way over to Jasper’s brownstone. I wasn’t going to think about what else could have befallen the puppy. I wasn’t going to think about him getting hit by a car or attacked by a bigger dog or shot by Bandit. I just couldn’t.

  I got to my feet and stumbled to my right, using the sofa as a guide. When I reached the end of the sofa, I put my hand on the wall and kept going. I fumbled around in the dark, sliding my hands along the wall, looking for a light switch, a window, a door, anything. Up, down, left, right.

  There wasn’t one. No light switch, no door, no window. The walls felt cool and slick like glass, and my fingers squeaked as they moved over the smooth, flat surface. I didn’t feel any latches or panes for a window, and I got the impression I wasn’t touching the real walls, that there was something behind the glass, some sort of other space.

  No lights. A stale smell. Not much noise. The lack of perception, of seeing, feeling, and hearing every little thing, unnerved me. This was the first time in two years I hadn’t been aware of everything all at the same time. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  I kept feeling along the walls and realized the room was large—several hundred square feet at least. Because I couldn’t find a light switch on the wall, I decided to walk out into the middle of the room. Surely, there had to be a lamp of some sort. I took a step forward. Then another, then another—

  My knees hit a low table, and I fell on top of it, smacking into the wood, then rolling off. The carpet was thick, but not thick enough to break my fall. I landed hard on my injured shoulder. The steady wav
es of pain coalesced into an erupting geyser, steaming, burning, and searing my shoulder, my arm, and my fingers. I rocked back and forth, moaning and clutching my good hand to my shoulder, trying not to throw up as the feeling stabbed through my entire body.

  I don’t know how long I huddled there, curled into a tight ball, but eventually, a sound penetrated the throbbing haze. I focused on it, desperate to pull my mind away from my aching shoulder and bruised knees. The sound came again, a loud, metallic click, like a key turning in a lock.

  A door opened. White light spilled in, cutting a path across my face and adding to my misery. I squeezed my eyes shut against the sudden influx of brightness.

  “Now, you’ve done it,” a voice murmured.

  I cracked my eyes open. A figure stood in the doorway. He was nothing more than a tall, backlit shadow, but I would have known that voice anywhere. That deep bass rumble. That sly tone. That rich timbre that made me melt.

  Talon.

  #

  “Who are you?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “Someone who’s here to help you.” His throaty voice sent chills up my spine.

  “Then why can’t I see you?”

  Careful what you wish for. Something else clicked, and light flooded the room, searing my eyes. A headache erupted in my temples, throbbing in time to the pain in my shoulder. I groaned and buried my face in my uninjured shoulder to shut out the glare. After a few moments, I opened them again, blinking away the white wall that clouded my vision. The room came into focus.

  I gasped because those glass walls I’d felt before held gadgets. Dozens and dozens of gadgets. Crossbows, bolts, grappling hooks, swords, staffs. Costumes too. Rows of cobalt-blue leather shirts, pants, and boots. The whole back wall was nothing but a giant display case.

  I turned my head, looking at the rest of the room. Monitors took up the right wall, along with banks of computers, a metal desk, and an executive-style chair. Several more chairs clustered around a table in front of me. Papers, pens, and empty coffee cups dirtied the surface of the table. The chairs pointed at the front wall, which was covered with maps, photographs, and dry-erase boards full of squiggly handwriting. I also spotted my coat, gloves, scarf, and hat draped over a chair, along with my vest. My boots sat next to them.

  But the most curious thing was the left wall. There was nothing on it. No monitors, no glass cases, no notes or photos. In fact, it looked like it wasn’t even really a wall, but a panel that hid something else from view.

  I’d heard about places like this. The nooks, crannies, and secret chambers superheroes called home. The safe places where they kept their weapons and assorted costumes. I’d seen them on SNN countless times. But I’d never been in one—especially not Talon’s.

  Boots squished into the carpet, and a shadow fell over me, blocking the light. Cobalt-blue leather, blue visor, a hint of dark stubble on his chiseled chin.

  “Talon?” I asked, trying to pretend like I’d never seen him before—at least, not in person.

  “You know who I am?”

  “I saw your poster at Quicke’s the other day.” I didn’t add the fact I’d seen the rest of him naked not too long ego.

  I looked around the room again. “Where are we? Why did you bring me here? What happened to Bandit?”

  “You’re safe. That’s all you need to know,” Talon said. “I brought you here because I couldn’t very well leave you on the street to freeze to death.”

  His mouth twisted, and I knew he was thinking about me, about Wren, and how she’d saved him from the cold, too.

  Talon continued. “I didn’t have any problem doing that to Bandit, though. Hopefully, the city workers will find him frozen solid in the morning, although I rather doubt it. He seems to have as many lives as bullets in his guns.”

  I hoped it, too. Probably more than Talon did.

  The superhero kept staring at me, and I realized how awkward I must look, sprawled on the floor, legs sticking out, sock-covered toes curled into the carpet. I put my hand on the table to pull myself up. Pain ripped through my injured shoulder, and I fell to the floor, moaning once again.

  Talon dropped to his knees beside me. “Are you okay?”

  “Bandit … hit me … did something … to my … shoulder,” I gasped between waves of pain.

  “Here, let me see if I can help.”

  Talon put his arm under me and eased me into a sitting position with my back against the table. I closed my eyes and inhaled, breathing in his scent. He smelled good—so good. Like danger, sex, leather, and mint all mixed together.

  Talon’s fingers probed my shoulder. I hissed to keep from screaming with pain—and to drown out the feel of his hard hand on my body again.

  “It’s dislocated,” he announced. “I can put it back into place for you, but it’s going to hurt.”

  It couldn’t hurt worse than it already did. “Just do it.”

  “All right,” he said, taking hold of my shoulder again. “On three. One, two—”

  Talon pulled my arm forward and wrenched my shoulder back. Bones scraped together. Tendons stretched. Something popped!

  I screamed and screamed, then slumped over, sweat sliding down my face. Talon gathered me in his arms, and I buried my face in his neck. Another wave of pain hit me. More throbbing. My muscles twitched. And then—I realized I could feel my fingers again. They tingled as if awakened from a long sleep.

  “That wasn’t three,” I muttered against Talon’s neck.

  He chuckled. “I know, but it’s better this way. Trust me. You don’t want to know when it’s coming.”

  We sat there on the floor for a while, him holding me, and me trying to get my breath back. I could have stayed in his arms forever, but I kept wondering where Rascal was—and at the fact I missed him so much.

  “Where’s Rascal?” I asked.

  “Rascal?” he echoed.

  “The dog. The puppy in my coat. Did Bandit—did he—”

  “No, Rascal’s fine. I have him in another room. Your dog is just fine.”

  Some of the tightness in my chest eased. Rascal was all right, and I was counting my lucky stars I’d gotten through the night with only a dislocated shoulder and scraped knees.

  Although I didn’t want to, I dislodged myself from the superhero’s embrace and crabbed across the floor to the sofa. I turned and leaned against it so I faced Talon. The superhero remained by the coffee table, his legs stretched out in front of him—the same pose he’d struck on my bed. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

  Then, I realized I’d shoved my ass in his face when I’d moved to the sofa. I winced. I couldn’t make out his eyes behind the blue visor, but he smiled. Maybe the view hadn’t been too bad.

  “So, what the hell is going on?”

  Talon crossed his arms over his chest. “I was hoping you could tell me, Ms. Appleby.”

  “You know my name?” I knew he did, but it seemed like the right thing to say.

  He nodded. “I’m not the only one with a reputation in this town. Now, do you want to tell me what Bandit was after? Why he was harassing you?”

  “You don’t know?” I asked, surprised.

  He shook his head. “No. I couldn’t hear what he said to you. I was too far away.”

  “But why were you even there in the first place? Were you following me?”

  Half of me was filled with dread, the other half with excitement. Maybe Wesley had been concerned about me at the library. Maybe he’d decided to make sure I got home safely. Maybe—

  “Of course not,” Talon said. “I’m not some sort of stalker. I was after Bandit. I lost him for a few minutes, but I got a tip about his location from a guy I know. I spotted the burning trash can and followed the sound of your voices.”

  A tip from a guy? He must have meant Jasper. I thought I’d seen him holding a phone in his hand through the curtains. Jasper must have decided to become some sort of superhero informant because of his recent mugging. That was the only reason I could thi
nk of for him knowing Talon.

  So the superhero had been tracking Bandit, not me. I should have been relieved he hadn’t figured out I was his mystery woman. Still, I chose my words carefully. I didn’t want to blow my secret identity as Wren when it was still safe. No matter how much part of me just wanted to confess everything to Talon. Did superheroes feel this conflicted when they lied to their loved ones? Maybe I should ask him.

  Maybe not.

  “I don’t know why he was after me,” I said. “He must have me confused with someone else. He kept saying I had something that belonged to him. A flash drive.”

  I thought of something else the ubervillain had said. “He also claimed I had another thing that belonged to him, and he looked at Rascal. It was strange.”

  “I thought as much.”

  Talon got to his feet. He held out his hand, and I took it. He pulled me up so fast I stumbled into him, our bodies flush against each other just as they had been that night in my apartment. I stepped back, hoping he wouldn’t notice the sudden rush of color in my cheeks.

  I shouldn’t have worried. Talon had already gone to his computers, sat down in front of them, and started mashing buttons. I was the only other person in the room, and I’d already faded into the background.

  Anger surged through me, replacing the usual, bitter disappointment. I wasn’t going to be brushed off so easily. Not again. Not by him. I marched over to the computers and stared at the flickering images. Most of the monitors showed news clips of Bandit, hawking his action figures and shooting out tires on police cars with alarming precision.

  “What are you doing? What are you looking at?”

  Talon swiveled in his chair and faced me. “Do you really want to know? Because if you do, there’s no going back.”

  “What do you mean? You’re not going to pull off your mask and reveal your secret identity, are you?”

  He laughed. “Of course not, but if Bandit thinks you have the flash drive he wants, you’re in danger. The less you know, the better.”