Karma Girl Part 15

KarmaGirl.

"Don't you remember what happened at the park? That we defeated the Triad?"

"Not really. It's all kind of a blur."

The alarm stopped. The silence seemed strange after the constant blaring.

"How are you feeling?" Striker asked, concern evident in his voice.

"Not too bad, I suppose. Got my morning walk in today anyway." A sudden chill swept over me. My head throbbed. The veins in my eyeb.a.l.l.s twitched. "Actually, I'm kind of cold. Do you think you could -"

I pitched forward headfirst.

In addition to his other superpowers, Striker had excellent reflexes. He caught me before I hit the floor.

My eyes fluttered open. For the second time that day, I found myself staring at a tiled ceiling.

I sat up, back in the same room I'd woken up in. The same machines beeped and chirped and hummed, and an IV dripped into my arm. A piece of cardboard covered the shattered window. However, there was a new addition to the room.

Striker.

He sat in a chair in the corner, staring at me. "How are you feeling?" Striker asked, his silver eyes bright.

"Okay, I suppose." My throat felt like it had sand in it. "Can I have some water, please?"

Striker walked over to the sink, his stride fluid and graceful, and turned on some sort of fancy-looking filter. I eyed his backside while he filled a gla.s.s. Even his a.s.s was perfect. He handed the water to me, and our fingers brushed. A tingle shot up my arm, and I gulped down the cool liquid. Some of the sand cleared out of my throat, but my body still burned.

"How long have I been unconscious?" I asked.

"This time, only a few hours. Before that, almost three days."

"Three days? What the h.e.l.l did Frost shoot me with?"

"We're not sure, but we think it was some kind of tranquilizer. Evidently, it had some residual effect as well, which your journey through the manor didn't help. That's why you pa.s.sed out again."

"Oh."

I tilted my head. Striker looked rather silly wearing black leather in the all-white hospital room, especially with the two swords peeping up over his back. s.e.xy, but silly too. What was going to attack him in here? A nasty microbe? I felt a sudden urge to giggle.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

I smoothed my face over. This was no laughing matter, and I knew it.

"You know, you can take off that costume. I know who you are," I said in a quiet voice. "I've known for a while now."

Striker froze.

I gathered up what was left of my courage. "So why don't you take off the mask, Sam? Or should I call you Mr. Sloane?"

KarmaGirl.

14.

Striker let out a deep breath. He reached up, and his fingers touched his black mask. They lingered there a moment, and Striker closed his eyes. Then, he yanked the leather over his head.

Sam Sloane stared back at me.

I studied him. Black hair flopped over his forehead, and a long, thin scar slashed a white line down his right cheek. His nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken once upon a time. He was a handsome man, but his eyes were what set him apart. They were the brightest, most brilliant silver eyes I had ever seen. The sort of eyes a woman could lose herself in forever.

I compared the man before me to the masked superhero. Now that I knew exactly what to look for, the mask really was a thin disguise and did very little to hide his features, especially his intense eyes. How had no one uncovered Striker's true ident.i.ty before? Why hadn't I seen it before?

"How did you figure it out?" he asked.

"You made a mistake at the charity benefit. You spoke to me. Why would billionaire Sam Sloane talk to me? He hates reporters, especially the ones from The Expose. But you talked to me, made polite chitchat. And I wondered-why? The answer was he wouldn't. Sam Sloane would never talk to me. I'm a reporter, I'm the enemy. But Striker would. He would want to talk to me and see how I was doing after the attack and . . . everything else. So I watched you the rest of the evening, trying to figure it out. And it just came to me. I just knew. I went back and looked through all the files I collected and found some facts to support my theory."

"In a way, I'm glad you know." Sam poked his fingers through the eyeholes in his mask. "I wasn't looking forward to running around in my costume the whole time you were here."

I glanced at the white walls. "Where might here be?"

"Sublime, my manor on the outskirts of Bigtime. We're in a sublevel in the left wing."

"Ah."

I'd heard about the luxurious estate while covering the society beat. It was the creme de la creme of houses in Bigtime. Sublime featured several hundred s.p.a.cious rooms full of all sorts of pricey antiques, art collections, and more. The manor could house an army of people and had been the scene of many a society benefit. The grounds were just as impressive, if not more so, than the house. They featured an extensive network of gardens full of exotic, fragrant flowers in addition to fish-filled ponds, marble fountains, and even a bird sanctuary or five.

"So where are the others?" I asked.

"Others?"

"Fiona Fine, Henry Harris, Chief Sean Newman."

"Why would those people be in my house?"

Sam's voice was calm, cool, controlled, but I detected the faintest bit of shock in it. I was getting better at reading him.

"Because they're the other members of the Fearless Five." Sam's eyes drifted to a light on the ceiling.

My inner voice chattered.

"Is there a hidden camera up there? Are they watching us right now from some superduper secret control room deep in the bowels of this place?"

"Yes, yes, they are."

I looked up and waved. "Hi, guys. What's up?"

KarmaGirl.

"Are you sure you feel okay?" Sam asked ten minutes later. "Maybe you should spend the day in here resting."

"I'm fine," I said for the twentieth time. "Now, can we please get out of here? I'd like to take a shower and clean up." I glanced down at my white pajama ensemble. "And put on some real clothes, if you have any."

"Actually, we brought all your things here."

I blinked. "You did?"

"Yes. I let myself into your apartment after we fought off the Triad. The chief and I packed up your stuff and brought it here."

"But how did you know I was going to the park? I made it a point not to tell you."

"I went to your apartment to check on you, just like always, but you weren't there."

"Just like always?"

Sam dropped his eyes. "I've been swinging by your building at night to make sure you were safe."

"How long have you been doing that? Since the night I was attacked?"

"No. Not since that night. The other night. The night we were . . . together."

"Oh."

I didn't know what to say. All this time I had thought he didn't care. That I hadn't mattered to him. That that night had been nothing more than satisfying s.e.x between two willing partners. But he had been watching me, looking out for me. The knowledge thrilled me. My heart lifted.

Sam continued with his story. "Since you weren't in your apartment, I nosed around. You had the meeting written down on the calendar on your refrigerator in big letters. I knew the month was probably up. I saw the notes you left on the table and figured out the rest. You should have told me that it was time, Carmen."

I stared at the floor. "I didn't want anyone else to get hurt. It was my mess. I wanted to get out of it myself."

"Really? Is that why you had a couple of pounds of explodium taped to that swing set?"

"I was hoping I could eliminate the Triad by myself. Or at least go out trying."

Sam raised a black eyebrow. "You wanted to commit suicide by blowing yourself to kingdom come?"

"It would have been better than what Frost had in store for me."

He didn't argue.

Suddenly, a horrible thought flashed through my mind. "What about the others? Are they okay? They didn't get caught in the blast, did they?"

Sam shook his head. "No. Everyone's fine. Fiera was closest to the swing set, but obviously, the fire didn't hurt her. The rest of us were out of range."

I closed my eyes. Thank heavens. I couldn't have lived with myself if I'd hurt another superhero, especially a member of the Fearless Five.

Sam slipped the IV needle out of my arm and put a small bandage over the wound. His skin felt warm and smooth on my own. More tingles spread through my body. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sensation, remembering how good, how solid the rest of him had felt against me. In me. Sam's ragged breath brushed my hair, and I knew he felt it too, this strange magnetism, this odd chemistry between us.

"Come on," Sam said, breaking contact and stepping away from me. "Since you're bound and determined not to rest, I'll show you to your room."

Sam led me through a series of long hallways. "We're a couple of hundred feet underground here, in KarmaGirl.

case you're curious."

"Three hundred thirty-seven feet to be precise. I saw the construction invoice when I was investigating you," I said. "Underground construction is a giant red flag. It practically screams supersecret underground lair, both for superheroes and ubervillains. It's like drawing a great big bull's-eye on yourself. I can't tell you how many people I busted on underground construction bills alone. The Kilted Scotsman, the Blue Berserker, Shrooma."

Sam's face tightened at the mention of the other superheroes and ubervillains I'd exposed. I shut up. I was blathering anyway, trying to fill the silence. It was an annoying habit I developed whenever I was nervous or guilty or both. Being in the Fearless Five's headquarters was more than enough to make me feel guilty, given Tornado's suicide. And queasy. As for Sam, well, just thinking about him was enough to get me worked up in a completely different, totally unacceptable way.

We arrived at an elevator. Sam punched in a series of numbers on a keypad next to the doors. They slid open. He punched in another code on a pad inside the elevator. The doors pinged closed, and the elevator rose.

I studied Sam. He stared straight ahead at the smooth door. I couldn't decide who was s.e.xier-Sam Sloane or Striker. He looked d.a.m.n good either way. My eyes trailed down Sam's lean, firm body. I imagined him stopping the elevator, turning to me, taking me into his arms, peeling the white pajamas from my body, and then- I shook my head. I really needed to get some new fantasies. Ones that didn't star Sam aka Striker Sloane. I'd almost died a couple days ago, and now I was thinking about jumping him in an elevator.

What the h.e.l.l was wrong with me?

Several floors later, the elevator stopped. Sam punched in yet another code. The doors slid open, revealing a small black s.p.a.ce.

"Where are we?"

"This leads out to the wine cellar." He hit some more keys, and another door opened.

We emerged in the far corner of a ma.s.sive wine cellar. Rack after wooden rack of bottles stood like quiet sentinels in the damp, cool s.p.a.ce. Sam flipped open a panel in the wall and punched in one final code. The secret door slid shut, and he closed the panel.

I eyed the labels as we walked by. From the stories I'd done on the society beat, I knew the bottles in Sam's cellar went for thousands and thousands of dollars apiece. He probably even had some Brighton's Best whiskey stashed away somewhere, just like Malefica had in her secret lair. A vague thought stirred in my mind. Brighton's Best- Sam opened another door, and the thought fled. We climbed up a flight of stairs and emerged into a wide hallway. Gilded mirrors lined the walls. A crystal chandelier dangled hundreds of feet overhead. Ivory and jade statues peeked out from wall recesses. Wide marble stairs led up to the top floors of the manor.

I tried hard not to gawk. I'd been to high-society affairs before at some of the finest homes in Bigtime, but Sublime blew me away. Everything whispered of money and elegance and power. It was enough to make a middle-cla.s.s country gal from Tennessee feel, well, just a little inadequate. All right, downright inferior. Especially when I was wearing a lab rat getup and smelled like I hadn't had a shower in days.

All the opulence reminded me once again of the painful fact that I was way out of my league when it came to Sam Sloane. h.e.l.l, I wasn't even in the same time zone.

Sam wound his way up the stairs and past yet more lavishly filled rooms. He came to a set of doors at the very end of one hallway, and we entered an enormous room.

KarmaGirl.

"This is your suite. There's a bedroom, bathroom, walk-in closet, and living room complete with a TV, CD player, DVD player, and all the other usual bells and whistles."

It was all that and a bag of chips too. A couple of bags. Big bags. I worked very hard to keep my jaw from dropping open. The suite was three times the size of my apartment and just as richly furnished as the rest of the manor. One of the silver-embroidered throw pillows on the sofa probably cost as much as all the furniture in my apartment. Put together. And tripled. The electronics also blew my mind. The entertainment system Sam showed me was state-of-the-art with the latest and greatest technology and remote controls. I even spotted a laptop on the writing desk that was almost as big as the TV. It looked like it could run a couple of countries all by itself. I pinched my arm. Just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Or dead.

"Your stuff is over there." Sam pointed to a pile of boxes next to the wall near the king-size bed. "And here's the intercom. I've had it connected to my room. Just push the b.u.t.ton if you need something. If I'm not in my room, the call gets routed throughout the manor. It might take a few minutes, but Henry or someone else will answer you."

"You mean you don't have a trusty butler with a stuffy British accent to do your bidding and help you slip into your superhero getup? I thought that was a requirement for all you rich, superhero types," I quipped. "How terribly disappointing."

"Sorry. I tried the whole servants thing, but it just didn't work. Servants are too nosy for their own good.

I have some crews come in a couple of times a week to cook, clean, and take care of the grounds, but that's it. If you know where I can find a trusty butler with a stuffy British accent to do my bidding, please, let me know."

Sam grinned. His white teeth contrasted with his dark, tanned face. His pale eyes sparkled, and little laugh lines appeared at the corners. The effect devastated me. My heart skipped about twenty beats. No wonder every eligible debutante in Bigtime wanted to hook Sam Sloane. The man was gorgeous from head to toe. I knew. I'd seen most of him.