Hero Unmasked: 3 (Heroes of Saturn) (6 page)

“Chocolate. Chocolate. Chocolate,” Mrs. Dow’s four-year-old twins chanted, dancing a jig around the double-seated stroller carrying a toddler and baby girl.

“Cool it,” their mother snapped then turned to Fiona with a sweet smile. “Yeah, like I need them hopped up on sugar before being trapped with them by the snow. Woo, what a day. The stores are crazy.”

“So I’ve been hearing.”

“Mitch called and the lumber mill told them to prepare to stay home tomorrow. Can you believe that? They never close.”

Fiona’s stomach soured more at that bit of news. When the Cedar River flooded the year before and water breached the dam, the mill kept running. For them to be preparing for a closure meant they expected the weather to be really bad.

She wiped her damp hands against her pants. “Sounds like you’ll have a full house.”

“Yep. Can I have two dozen scones? If we’re going to be trapped, I want my favorite foods on hand.”

“Sure thing.”

Mrs. Dow leaned closer to whisper, “And wrap up a cherry cake too. Mitch loves them and once the kids are asleep, we can share a treat and snuggle to keep warm. If you know what I mean.”

Fiona looked at the twins shrieking as they chased one another around the table and then at the toddler affectionately picking his baby sister’s nose and restrained a shudder. “How do you find the energy?” she asked before she could stop herself.

“My Mitch is a sexy man. Even more so when he’s in dad-mode.”

“More power to you, Mrs. Dow.” Fiona had to admire her resilience. The woman was insane, but she was content with her reality, which was more than most people could say.

The bell chimed again and Fiona looked up to see Officer Kilsgaard dash through the doorway and press his body deep into the shadowy corner of the room. He stood statue still, and Fiona found herself holding her breath with him though she had no idea why. After several heartbeats four members of the Cedar Women’s Auxiliary Club crossed in front of the store. They paused by the door, looking around and gesturing in confusion. When Janice Harbinger met her gaze through the glass, Fiona gave a slight wave. The woman returned the gesture with halfhearted energy and shrugged, leading the rest of the club down the street.

Once their high-pitched chatter faded, Office Kilsgaard released a slow breath and stepped deeper into the room. “Good afternoon, all.”

“Hey,” Fiona replied. “Are you okay?”

“Fine. Fine. Hello, Mrs. Dow.” He grabbed the twins by the back of the shirts as they flew past him. “Boys, make your mother proud and use your inside voices. Or else,” he finished in a low tone.

The boys ran to their mother and grabbed on to each leg, staring up at the giant man with wide eyes.

“Thanks, Officer.” Mrs. Dow laughed. “I think you may be the only person who can get them to be quiet. I may need to call you in the future.”

“They’re good lads, just young. Can I help you with your things?”

“No thanks. I’ve got a system.” She tucked the parcel Fiona handed her into the bottom of the stroller and started for the door. “Thanks, Fiona. Good luck in the storm.”

“Bye.” Fiona waved, then felt the weight of Dhavin’s gaze as silence fell between them.

With him standing before her in the flesh, guilt rolled in her belly, which she knew was stupid. He didn’t know she had intended to call him the night before, so there was no reason to feel as if she were unfaithful to him. Up until the moment she had dropped her keys, Dhavin had been on her mind. But that was before the Chameleon became Cam and a tiny tendril of hope that she would see the masked crusader again took root. A possibility. Again that word went and made everything complicated.

Was she envisioning a future of a long-term commitment and wedding bells?
Pfft.
Of course not. But she couldn’t, in good conscience, entertain the notion of even flirting with the handsome policeman when her heart was pointing her toward another. One woman, one man. That was how she was programmed.

Nevertheless, heat spread across her cheeks as she remembered the fantasies she had allowed herself to spin about Officer Dhavin. In her imagination he was a playful kisser, teasing her lips with small nips of his teeth. Cam’s kisses she imagined as more serious, deep and thorough, able to obliterate all other thoughts from her mind.

There was a brief moment before falling to sleep when she imagined both men stroking her from neck to toes and everywhere in between. Totally wicked and absolutely decadent.

And totally, utterly shameful.

“Fiona? You’re flushed. What’s wrong?” Officer Kilsgaard asked.

“Nothing.” Except she was a horrible person. “It’s been busy and all this talk of the storm is freaking me out a little. I’m good, Officer.”

“Please, call me Dhavin.”

“You’re working.” And even if he weren’t, he’d always be Officer Kilsgaard.

“I am. But I still want to be your friend, even though you turned me down. Maybe in time you will change your mind, however I may be waiting a long time for that after you see what I have for you. Hold out your hand.”

From his jacket pocket he withdrew a small white envelope. It weighed perhaps an ounce, yet it felt like five pounds balanced on her open palm. “What is this?”

“Look inside.”

The outside of the envelope was blank. Inside held a single sheet of paper. The blood rushed in her ears as she slid out the paper and saw the bold, blocked-lettered black script in the center.

Dessert?

7:30 your place. I’ll bring the wine.

-C

Her brain refused to process the information. “I don’t understand.”

Officer Kilsgaard smiled. “You have an admirer.”

“I still don’t understand.”

“This morning I responded to an accident near the Old Saw Bridge and,” his voice lowered to a murmur, “our mutual acquaintance was there. He told me he had patrolled this area of town and asked me about you. Apparently you made quite an impression on him last night.”

“I did?” she squeaked then flushed again when she noticed Aunt Bridget taking an avid interest in their conversation. She angled her body away from her too-interested aunt and asked in a more controlled voice, “You talked about me? What did he say? He really gave this to you?”

“Correct. And I am to report back to him with your answer. I’ve been instructed to ensure it is in the affirmative.”

Had the world turned upside down? No way was she being asked out by the man of her dreams via the hunky guy she turned down the night before. This had to be a joke or else everything the officer said last night about his interest in her was a lie. “Why did you agree to deliver this? I mean, especially after yesterday.”

He ran a finger over the smooth countertop, eyes downcast. “I like you, Fiona, and I want you to be happy. If not with me, then with someone else who deserves you. Believe me though, I’d rather you give me a chance. But the Cha—he’s a good guy. And I think he’s lonely. It’s not like he has a lot of friends or someone he can relax around. You’ll be good for him too.”

Her fingers tightened on the paper that still carried the heat of Cam’s touch, as if it were fresh from the copy machine. She drew the paper to her chest then realized tucking it between her cleavage was not the most mature move.

“Wow. I don’t know what to say.”

“Then I’ll answer for you. I’ll let him know you’ll be waiting.”

“How? Can’t I call him?”

“He uses more elementary methods of communication. He has to be careful who has a direct line of contact to him. So is it a yes?”

The word came to her lips then clung to her tongue. Why was she suddenly afraid? It was only a meeting, after all. Not even a date. And here was this great guy standing before her, who made no bones about wanting to spend more time with her. What should she say? Who should she choose?

“Yes.” The word came out on a breath.

One night. She could be reckless for one night.

The slow, sexy smile that curled his firm lips almost made her take the word back. Cripes, when did she go from having one potential suitor to two? Some women might think this was a good problem to have, but all Fiona wondered was what gods did she piss off to be tortured in this fashion.

“Good.” He rapped his knuckles on the countertop. “If it doesn’t work out between you two, will you reconsider my offer?”

She nodded. “Thank you, Officer…Dhavin.”

“My pleasure. Bridget, love.” He sauntered toward her aunt. “Is that a fresh batch of shortbread I smell?”

“Yes,” her aunt answered slowly. Her narrowed-eyed gaze bounced back and forth between them. “This is the second day in a row you’ve been in. You must really like our sweets.” She waggled her eyebrows at the innuendo.

“They are the best I’ve ever tasted. But you already know that.” He winked. “Give me three dozen to take back to the station. Once that storm hits, it’s going to be a long night for us on duty.”

“Sure thing.” She reached for a white box and began to load it with large handfuls, not even bothering to count. “This will be on the house.”

“Auntie,” Fiona exclaimed.

“All right, all right. Half price,” she whispered.

Fiona let it go. After all, it was for a good cause and she had other things to worry about, like what to wear and what type of dessert would a superhero enjoy?

Warm
pot de crème
smothered over golden skin sounded absolutely decadent, but not for a first date.

Second date, maybe.

Twenty seconds.

Fiona rearranged the plate of tartlets on the table. The lemon chiboust filling was the perfect dessert for a first date. Not too heavy, refreshing and bright, plus the sweet-and-tart cream went well with either red or white wine. And nothing was flakier than her shortbread pie dough. She angled the dish so the light from the chandelier sparkled against the crystal, and looked at the clock on the wall again.

Only fifteen seconds more had passed? Gah!

Cam wasn’t late. Not really. 7:32 did not count as late. Each tick of the second hand made it seem like an eternity, but her brain understood it was only nerves making her think she’d been waiting at the ready forever.

She grabbed a lock of hair and twisted the frizzy ends into some semblance of a curl and took another tour of the first floor. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, the junk mail had been tossed into the recycling and all the dishes were put away. One pair of shoes waited by the door, strategically arranged to look as if thrown without a care. She wanted to appear tidy but not unrealistically neat. It was best not to set too high of an example.

Maybe she should put the tartlets back into the refrigerator. No, too long in the cold and the tops could turn to rubber. But if she kept them at room temperature any longer the raspberry syrup drizzle might bleed into the cream, making an unappetizing mess.

Refrigerate. Yes. No. Yes. Ugh.

A light rap on the sliding glass door drew her up short. For several long seconds she stared at the venetian-blind-covered window as her brain ceased to fire commands. A second knock made her jump and she hurried across the room. Remembering their conversation from the night before, she peeked through the plastic slats instead of whipping open the door. Cam rewarded her with a smile and an approving nod.

“Woo, it’s cold,” she couldn’t help but shout after she slid the glass open and a frigid breeze blew her hair back. White flakes had begun to fall and dusted the ground like powdered sugar. “Come on in.”

She slid the door shut then looked up, way up and for the first time in her life felt dainty.

Holy. Crap.

The Chameleon was standing in her dining room.

Yep, there went her cognitive ability. The house could be burning down around them and she wouldn’t notice, or even care. His image blurred as her vision fuzzed out due to lack of oxygen from her frozen lungs. That intense stare of his was a laser beam to her core, sending a tingle of excitement zinging through her bloodstream at the same time it scared her witless.

Dear Lord, please don’t let me make an ass of myself.

“Thank you for accepting my invitation,” he said as he withdrew a bottle of wine from the bag tied to his belt. “Especially since I invited myself over. No one knows where I live, and I need to keep it that way at least for now.”

“Oh, I understand. Please, have a seat.” She gestured to the chair at the head of the table. “Or would you prefer to sit in the living room?”

“The dining room is fine.” He pointed to the plate. “Fiona, those look wonderful. I haven’t seen tarts like this in your shop. Did you make these for me?”

Wait, he’d been
in
her shop? How did she not know this? She meant to ask, but his delighted smile distracted her. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I went with a neutral flavor.”

“I don’t think you make anything I wouldn’t like. I hope this wine goes well.”

She took the offered bottle and snapped her teeth together to stop the girlish squeal that threatened to burst forth. “This is my favorite, and I can be picky with my wine. This will be perfect. Let me get us some glasses.”

“Allow me.”

He started to rise and she stopped him with a sharp, “No. You’re a guest. Besides, when was the last time someone waited on you?”

“Longer than I can remember. I’m the type of man who usually does the serving.”

“Not tonight. Sit. Relax. If you can.”

His husky chuckle stroked her along the spine as she dashed into the kitchen and set a new world’s record for uncorking a bottle of wine. She grabbed two of her finest crystal glasses and began to run back but forced herself to slow her steps. At the corner she paused to sneak a peek and admire him for a bit.

Man, he was impressive. Even seated, he was taller than she and his chest seemed to stretch as wide as the table. Perhaps it was her overactive imagination, but she swore little arcs of electricity sparked in a halo around him, as if his energy were protesting the stop of action.

“So,” she began as she entered the room and poured a measure of red liquid into each glass. “How was your day? Ugh—no, don’t answer that. It was a stupid question. Not that I don’t care how your day was, ’cause I do, but that’s just so lame. How was your day? How completely uninteresting on my part—”

“Fiona.”

Her heart leapt into her throat when he placed his big, warm palm over her shaking hand and trapped her in the snare of his deep-brown gaze.

“Sit.”

Her legs buckled and she plopped ungracefully into the chair that was fortunately positioned in the best spot to prevent her from falling on her ass.

“Breathe.”

Her lungs expanded, immediately following his command.

“Good. Again.” He nodded when she complied and smiled, which threatened her composure all over again. “I can feel your nervousness like I swallowed a live octopus. It’s only me. Relax.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“Why not?”

She felt her eyes boggle and gestured wide to indicate his grandness. “Because you’re you. The Chameleon.”

“I’m Cam. Just a man like any other.”

She snorted, much to her horror. “Yeah, right. Doesn’t matter. There are so many questions I want to ask you but don’t know if I should, or if I even want to know the answers to them. I don’t think I can have a normal conversation with you without coming off like a major dweeb and I…I…”

It hurt too much to look into those all-seeing eyes. Why couldn’t she stop talking? With every word she spouted it was as if she was cementing her status as an uncouth goofball.

“Tell me, Fiona. Please.” He recaptured her hand and gave her a reassuring squeeze.

“I want you to like me,” she admitted in a small voice.

“I do like you. That’s why I’m here.”

No, like me, like me. Like me enough to throw me on the floor, smother me in lemon cream and lick me clean, like me,
she wanted to shout. Instead she responded with a soft. “Oh.”

“Ask me anything and I’ll answer, if I can.”

Her gaze immediately flew to the cowl covering his head and face.

Will you take off your mask?

She bit her tongue and tried to force her mind onto another topic.

“You hesitate when I know there is something specific on your mind.”

“No there isn’t.”

“Fiona. I will let you in on a secret only the sheriff knows about.” He leaned closer. “I can sense emotions.”

“Sense? Sense how?”

“When I told you I sensed your nervousness, I really can. Whatever emotion you are feeling, I feel too.”

“All emotions?” she asked, though she knew the answer.

The corner of his mouth quirked up and his eyelids lowered. “All of them.”

“This information does not put me at ease.”

His chuckle slid over her like warm butterscotch. “I promise I won’t hold anything I learn against you, even though you intrigue me beyond reason and I desperately want you to elaborate on some of what I’ve sensed going on inside you. In case it escaped your notice, I want you to like me too.”

But she did. She liked him a lot. Probably more than he was ready for.

“Ask me,” he encouraged with a whisper.

Dare she make such a bold request?

No.

He wore the mask for a reason and for all intents and purposes, they were still strangers to each other. Would the shape and planes of his face make a difference in how she felt about him? God, she hoped she wasn’t so shallow.

What had she done thus far to warrant the trust needed to expose himself in such a fashion? Nothing. And she was going to prove that in her mind, he was more than a superhero.

“Where are you from?”

His eyes widened then narrowed, and for a moment she thought she had empathic powers and was able to taste his suspicion that she was hedging her own curiosity. He nodded once then answered, “How familiar are you with Saturn?”

“As in the planet? Wait. Are you an alien?” she shouted before she could temper the shock in her reaction.

“Yes, I guess that is what I am to you. I’m actually from the largest moon. You call it Titan, but to me it is Skandavia.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? Well, of course you are, but, seriously?”

Who knew aliens were so hot? No, she didn’t mean to think that. But still. Who knew? He was certainly no little green Martian. Although Martians were from Mars and he was from Saturn, maybe that was the difference.

Why was she even debating this?

There was an honest-to-God alien sitting in her dining room, holding her hand! Since the Chameleon’s first appearance, the townsfolk have been speculating about his origins. They all suspected he wasn’t exactly human, but to know for certain he was an alien? From outer space? Pow! There went her mind, officially blown.

A strangled laugh choked her throat. “How? I mean—Wha—Why?”

“Breathe. Breathe, Fiona.”

“I’m trying.”

“I know it must be difficult to believe, but it’s true.”

“Why did you leave? Are you here on your own?”

The light in his eyes dimmed as he looked away and chewed on his bottom lip. Had she hit upon an off-limits topic already?

“No.” He squeezed her hand. “Don’t shy away. I haven’t talked to anyone about my origins, and I didn’t think it would be so difficult to do so.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything.”

“I want to. I want you to know me.” He drew in a breath. “This uniform I wear marks me as a guard for the royal family. Like with any nation, there was discontent and the king did not handle the rising conflict well. Not even the sage advice of our wisest council could sway him. I…was banished for failing to keep our queen safe when she risked meeting with the revolutionaries on her own.”

“Earth was to be your prison?”

“Yes.”

“And your powers? Do all people from your world have them?”

At this, he chuckled. “No. These abilities I have were unexpected. Except for the heightened empathy. It’s so cold on Skandavia we communicated by reading each other’s emotions. But the strength, the speed, I never imagined, and believe me, it took me awhile to gain control.”

“Did you have no one here to help you? No one to confide in?” She leaned forward, completely fascinated by his tale. An alien!

“With this?” He placed his palm over the center of his chest. “Too risky.”

Then why me?
The question blistered her tongue. She didn’t let it free for she didn’t want him to think about how unexciting she really was.

“Thank you for trusting me. I won’t tell anyone anything.”

“I know.” His smile made her insides quiver. “How about a toast? To new friendships.”

“That sounds nice.” She clinked her glass to his and took a healthy swallow of the fruity wine.

“Now, tell me more about you—” he began and was cut off by a muted buzzing sound emitting from his belt. He withdrew a cell phone and frowned at the display before answering. “Ya?”

Interesting. There was a way to contact him without using the Cedar police force as a courier service. Fiona took another sip of wine and tried not to eavesdrop on the conversation. So what if the voice on the other end carried a distinctly high-pitched, female tone? If he wanted her to have his phone number, he’d let her know.

Dear Lord, he could sense her emotions! Patience, patience, she chided herself and focused on controlling the slight, miniscule, surge of jealously that shot through her heart. A needy, clingy woman would probably turn a man like him off.

Cam replied to whoever called with a series of one-word sentences and an occasional grunt before ending with, “I’ll be there soon.”

Disappointment squeezed her around the chest before she lassoed it tight and buried it deep inside her mind.

“You’re getting stronger at doing that,” he said as he slipped the phone back into his belt. “I almost didn’t feel you at all.”

She tried for her best doe-eyed innocent expression. “What do you mean?”

“I’m disappointed too.” He ran the tip of his finger down her cheek and along the curve of her jaw and all the tension in her melted. “Don’t be afraid to feel emotion around me.”

“Some things I want to keep to myself. Besides, if you can sense my emotions, you can sense other’s as well. I don’t want to burden you.”

“You will never be a burden, Fiona.” He sighed and rose from his chair. “Obviously you know I have to leave. That was the sheriff. The snow is coming down fast and a logging truck has jackknifed at the bottom of 518 and is blocking most of the road. Traffic is light now, but it has to be moved before anyone crashes into it. Unfortunately Mac, the tow truck driver, has also slid off the road and is delayed.”