Arc Angel (9 page)

“Harassment.”

“You think I’m harassing you? I’m merely a reporter digging to find the truth about a crime last night, and you’re a key witness. That’s not harassment, that’s journalism.” He had the nerve to sound insulted.

“Maybe the harassment charge won’t stick, but at least it will get you out of here.”

She could almost hear Brooks processing her latest salvo. When he spoke again, his voice had changed, become rougher, less modulated. The oily veneer slipped a notch.

“You’re right. If you call the police, they will probably escort us off the premises, for now. But we’ll be back. Maybe later this afternoon. Maybe tonight.”

Miranda shivered at the promise his words held.

“So go ahead and call them,” Brooks said. “It won’t bother us much. Besides, it will give me a great opportunity to talk to them about your work for Tech Corp. I’m sure Detective O’Hara would love to get some information about your unauthorized access. I hear hacking charges are bringing an average of two to three years in jail these days. And if she knew you were hiding that from her, she may wonder what else you’ve been hiding from her. And we both know you didn’t tell the fair detective everything.”

Miranda had never broken into a company, well, not without permission, but she also didn’t want the police looking at her too closely for anything right now. Detective O’Hara had been very kind to her that morning, despite Miranda’s inability to tell her the actual truth, but Miranda couldn’t risk too many more questions. Still…

Brooks broke the silence, some of the smoothness in his voice returning as he regained his confidence. “And of course this time the fair detective will be considering booking you for murder.”

Murder?
Miranda’s breath caught in her throat.

“That’s right, Miranda. The mugger you zapped last night? He died of his injuries about an hour ago.”

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.

She’d killed someone. Not intentionally, but what did that matter. A man was dead because of her. She looked around her glass-strewn hallway.

I have to be stopped.

Brooks schmoozed on.

“I don’t blame you, hon. The guy was scum. The world is better off without him. Plus, Detective O’Hara would probably believe you did it in self-defense. Probably. Of course then you’d have to explain exactly what you did to the guy.”

Miranda wrapped her arms around her stomach, trying to hold herself together. Murderer. She was a murderer. Bile rose up in her throat, threatening to spill out onto the carpet.

“So, Miranda. What exactly
did
you do to the guy? Come on, let me in and tell me the whole story. I’m on your side.”

“G-go away,” she croaked.

“Sure, I’ll go away. Right after you let me in and tell me the whole story.”

“There’s n-nothing to tell.”

“Magical powers, killing a guy, lying to the police… if that’s what you call nothing, I’d hate to hear what you think is worth talking about.”

The son of a bitch was mocking her.

Miranda fumbled for a retort, but came up dry. She knew they wouldn’t go away until she gave them what they wanted. And she knew there was no way in hell she would talk to them. They were at an impasse.

“I’ll never talk to you. Go away.”

An almost palpable silence hung in the air. Then she heard a thud from outside the door, as if someone had dropped something heavy.

“Aw, Miranda. I’d hoped we could do this the easy way, the friendly way. But if you aren’t willing to talk, then I guess my friend Hank here will need to convince you. Either way, I
will
get my story.”

Her front door suddenly shuddered from the impact of what could only be a 200-pound man ramming himself into it. Miranda’s building was sturdy, built in the 50s, but it wouldn’t take more than another couple of tries before Hank would break her doorframe and enter her apartment.

For the first time in her life, she desperately wanted to get
out
of her apartment. She’d laugh at the irony if she wasn’t so completely terrified.

She had to stop them. An image of her hallway light shattering flashed into her mind, but she flinched away from it. She didn’t want to hurt anyone, even if they were threatening to hurt her. She didn’t have time to call the cops, and even if she did have time, she didn’t want to deal with the repercussions.

Maybe she could climb out her bedroom window, down the attached fire escape. The 12-foot drop wouldn’t be fun, but she could do it. Of course they’d figure out what she’d done and come right after her.

Unless they couldn’t get out.

When Miranda had moved into this building, she’d “upgraded” the existing security system. If someone tripped the new wireless system, a loud siren would go off, extra bright hallway lighting would turn on and the feed from the cameras in each hallway would be sent instantly to a security company Miranda worked with.

That might be enough to deter most common criminals, but she doubted it would stop Hank. She looked at her hands, then at her glass-covered hallway carpet. If only she had more control, she could do something to the security system. But she didn’t dare. Knowing her track record, she’d probably blow up the building or set it on fire. She couldn’t risk it.

Her door shuddered from the strength of Hank’s shoulder, and the left side of the door frame creaked ominously. Surely her neighbors could hear the assault. Where was nosy Mrs. Dobrusky when you needed her?

“Last chance, Miranda. Open up.”

What else could she do? Hank would be through in only a few more attempts. She had to try to set off the system. Maybe it would at least delay Brooks and his goon, and she could get away. She ran to her bedroom, where the system’s sensor hung. Her heart raced, and her breath came in shallow gasps. She located the sensor but had to stop and lower her head, trying to regulate her breathing.

Just when the lack of oxygen started to make the edges of her vision go fuzzy, she felt herself straighten. Her breathing calmed, and her body stopped shaking. She felt good, strong, powerful.

THEY WILL NOT ENTER.

Her hair swirled around her head as she strode to her window and easily slid it open, the crackle of electricity visible on her palms. Then she turned back to the security sensor and mentally followed its connection to the main control box in the basement. She sent three quick surges of energy into the sensor and could feel them travel from her hand down the wires to the main box. In an instant, the building went dark, even the emergency lights. At the same time, the siren started up, so loud that she could feel it vibrate inside her. She knew without needing confirmation that the other pulse had jammed the locks on all the exterior exits.

WE MUST GO.

She turned and climbed out her window and on to the rusty fire escape. She calmly pulled the window shut. Gathering a small wisp of power, she rubbed her energized finger across the metal hardware, melting it into a solid blob.

With amazing grace and strength, she swung over the edge of the fire escape. She slid down until she dangled a story above the ground and then let go, falling down onto the street below.

***

Bryce’s front doorbell rang. Instinctively he turned to the intercom, above the kitchen counter, ready to call to Matthews to handle it, but then stopped himself. He’d dismissed Matthews for the evening. Besides, he wasn’t a freaking invalid. He could still answer his own door.

Though he did wonder who could possibly be on his front step. He didn’t get many guests these days, and the guard at the gate hadn’t called about any visitors. And, come to think of it, he hadn’t heard a car pull up either.

He’d only made it halfway across the foyer when the doorbell rang again. He tried to peer through the frosted glass panes flanking the door but could only determine that whoever stood on his doorstep was rather short and seemed to be propped up against the side of the house. And suddenly he knew the identity of his visitor. He didn’t have a clue why she’d returned, but he was damn glad she had.

He swung open the door without hesitation.

“Miranda! Hi! It’s so great to… Miranda, what’s wrong?”

She tried to push away from the wall, but she swayed so precariously that if he hadn’t caught her arm she would have fallen. What had happened to her? And how had she ended up at his front door? How had she gotten past the gate and the guard?

Obviously, now was not the time for questions. He slung one of her arms around his neck, grabbed her around the waist, and half dragged her into the house. Kicking the door shut behind them, he pulled her into the front parlor. The room rarely saw any use, but it sat closest to the door and had a sturdy sofa, onto which he promptly deposited his guest.

Her head slumped to the side, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. She looked so tiny on his big couch. Whatever had happened to her, she needed help, probably more than he could give. Maybe he should call Matthews after all. No, Miranda may be out of it, but she could still tell the difference between Bryce and Matthews. And Bryce refused to let her know the extent of his dependency. He had to do this on his own.

“Miranda,” he said, crouching down in front of her and smoothing the wild hair off her pale cheek. “Miranda, what’s wrong? Do you need a doctor?”

She sluggishly shook her head before letting it rest against the back of the upholstered couch.

Not a very convincing response, but Bryce didn’t want to override her if he didn’t have to. For some reason, she’d come back to him, and he refused to blow it again.

“Do you need something to drink, or eat? Some brandy maybe?” His mother always said that brandy was good for the nerves. Hell, maybe he should drink some then. His nerves could use some help. For the last few years, he’d made sure he only had to worry about taking care of himself, a frustrating but simple pastime. But now this fragile girl had appeared in his life, needing his help. He could definitely use a drink. Or three.

“Water.”

Okay, she wanted water. He could do that. Glad for something tangible to do, Bryce stood up and walked as quickly as he dared to the kitchen, cursing his condition with each careful step. He grabbed a glass, filled it with water and carried it back to the parlor.

Miranda sat slumped exactly as he’d left her. He sat next to her and gently supported her head as she drank from the glass he held for her. After a few swallows, she pulled back again, but he breathed a little easier when he saw a touch of color had come back to her cheeks.

“What else can I do? What else do you need?”

“Sleep,” she whispered, her eyes already closed.

Okay, he could do that too. Only one problem: all the bedrooms in the damn place were upstairs. A few years ago, he’d have easily swept up a pretty little thing like her in his arms and off to his bed, probably for a night of fun. But now… he wouldn’t be able to support her all that way, even if they did take the elevator. He could leave her here, on the parlor sofa, maybe get her a blanket? No, this couch had been purchased for its appearance, not its coziness. He wanted her to be comfortable. And safe. Somehow this room at the front of the house, with its big windows, didn’t seem secure enough. That left calling Matthews to help or… yeah, he wasn’t calling Matthews. He could do this himself, even if it meant using the damn chair.

Bryce stood up and headed to the closet next to the elevator and yanked out a top-of-the-line wheelchair. He jerked the chair around and pushed it toward the parlor. He gritted his teeth at the bumpity-bump of the wheels rolling over the cool tile floor. When he got the chair into the parlor, Miranda seemed to be well and truly asleep. Bryce slipped his arms under her legs and back and slid her onto the chair. Just that little exertion made his heart pick up speed, but a minute of deep breathing brought it back down to a safe rate. Then he pushed Miranda to the elevator, stepped on board, and took them both upstairs.

Chapter 9

“O’Hara!”

Kate looked up from checking her e-mail to see Detective Graves standing next to her desk, waving a file.

“It’s a little early for that level of volume isn’t it?”

She’d stayed up far too late the night before, researching the Arc Angel comic book, hoping it might somehow provide a clue to what the hell was going on. She hadn’t gleaned any information, but she had decided to pick up some of the comics the next time she had the chance. Arc Angel sounded kickass.

Her sleep-deprived head throbbed.

“Can you keep it down a little, Bill?”

The other detective rolled his eyes, but dropped his noise level as he dropped into her side chair.

“I take it you haven’t seen this yet?”

“You know I got here five minutes ago. So I haven’t seen much of anything other than my coffee mug yet this morning. Don’t tell me it’s another news article on the piece for the museum.”

“No, nothing like that. There was another incident on Jackson Avenue last night.”

Kate sat up straight, no longer needing her usual dose of caffeine. “Anywhere near my mugging?”

“Not just near, same address. Take a look.”

Bill tossed the file onto her desk, scattering the few papers she hadn’t yet filed. Kate grabbed it up, flipped it open and scanned the report.

Not looking up from the pages, she said, “Seems like the security system malfunctioned. A lot of noise, but no actual crime.”

“Maybe. But I still thought you might want to know about it, what with it being the same address and all.”

“Yeah, good call. Thanks.” She finally took her eyes off the report and looked at the detective. “Any chance I can hang on to this for a bit? I’d like to do some cross-checking between this and the other incident.”

“Sure. No problem. Just make sure to file it when you’re done.” Bill snorted. “As if I need to tell you that, Ms. Clean.”

Kate smiled absently, but the file had her complete attention, and she barely noticed his jibe or his exit.

This couldn’t be a coincidence. Two incidents at the same address in less than 24 hours? Definitely not random. She skimmed the list of people present in the building when the security system had been triggered, but didn’t see the one name she was expecting.