Nightingale (24 page)

The sight of him made my blood run cold.

“Hello, Abby,” Bandit said.

Chapter Seventeen

I froze. Bandit on my block. On my street. Talking to me. Calling me by name. Not good. So not good.

“Um, hello,” I said in the calmest voice I could muster. One should always avoid being rude to ubervillains if one wanted to keep breathing.

I clutched Rascal to my chest with one hand. With the other, I reached into my vest pocket and curled my fingers around my stun gun. Not that it would do much damage against the ubervillain. If I could somehow manage to use it before he just killed me.

Despite the disasters I’d faced at my events, I’d never been confronted by an ubervillain—not once. I didn’t think I had anything that would slow Bandit down, much less save me from getting shot. My vest contained many, many things. Unfortunately, Kevlar was not one of them. But I was definitely splurging for it the next time I went to Oodles o’ Stuff.

“You have something that belongs to me,” Bandit drawled. He jerked his thumb over his finger, pointing at the limo. “Or rather to my employer, Tycoon. And I want it back. Now.”

My eyes flicked to the car. Something red dangled from the rearview mirror, something that seemed to have a familiar, heart-like shape to it, but that was all I could make out. Even with my supervision, I couldn’t see who was inside through the metal of the car—and I didn’t want to. Tycoon was notorious for keeping his identity a secret. Rumors said only a handful of people knew who the mob boss really was, and his anonymity allowed him to stay in business and avoid being busted by Chief Sean Newman. If I saw Tycoon’s face, I might as well just shoot myself instead of waiting for Bandit to do it.

“I have something that belongs to Tycoon?” I said, confused.

Bandit nodded, his dark hair falling forward. The moonlight hit his face, highlighting the black-and-white, paisley pattern in the bandana tied around his face. It only added to his sinister air.
 

“There must be some mistake. I don’t have anything of yours. Or his. I’ve never met you before. Never even seen you before. Well, not in person anyway.”

Like most ubervillains, Bandit occasionally appeared on SNN hawking his latest merchandise. The ubervillain also held illegal camps where people could go play cowboys for a day—complete with real duels using real guns and real bullets. And, of course, Bandit made the news whenever he evaded the police or superheroes during high-speed car chases. A couple of weeks ago, he and Pistol Pete, the gun-loving superhero, shot up the street outside Oodles o’ Stuff when they both went in to buy some supplies at the same time.

“That’s where you’re wrong, Abby.” Bandit’s voice sounded low, hard, and cold, despite the way he drawled out his words. “I know you have it. It wasn’t in your apartment or at the convention center. So, you must have it on you.”

My apartment? He’d been in my apartment? My blood congealed a little more.

“What am I supposed to have?” I asked, trying hard to keep my voice from shaking.

“A flash drive,” he said, holding his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. “About this big.”

A flash drive? I didn’t have any flash drive—

Oh yes, I did. The one that had fallen out of Talon’s belt. The one the dry cleaners had found. The flash drive I’d stuffed back into my coat pocket—the same coat I had on right now.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I took a step back. “I don’t have any flash drive.”

Bandit shook his head. “I’d hoped to do this the easy way. But if you won’t give it to me willingly, I guess I’ll just have to take it off your body—your dead body.”

Bandit stepped toward me, his boots crunching on the snow. Rascal let out a fierce growl, baring his teeth at the approaching ubervillain. Bandit’s eyes flicked to the dog. He frowned. I guess he wasn’t an animal lover either.

“Actually, let’s make that two things of Tycoon’s you have,” he said.

I shuffled back, ready to turn and run.
 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Abby.” Bandit tipped his ten-gallon hat a little lower on his head. “I really hate to chase people. It upsets me. I tend to shoot people when I’m upset.”

Upset? Forget that. I didn’t want to be this close to him now, when he was just menacing. But I made myself stop. He was right. Running wouldn’t help me. He’d just put a bullet in my back.
 

Bandit opened his mouth to threaten me again when the strangest thing happened—a car exploded.

I screamed and threw my hand up to ward off the intense heat and light. The explosion sounded like a couple of fighter jets doing formations in my head. The pain was so great my vision went white, then black, then white again. I blinked repeatedly, trying to get my sight back. After a minute, I realized it wasn’t a car, but rather a trash can that had exploded—the one in front of Jasper’s brownstone. How bizarre. And the blast seemed to be contained, burning only in the trash can, without spreading to the surrounding cars. A curtain twitched in one of the brownstone’s windows. For a moment, I thought I saw Jasper inside, holding a phone in his hand. He must have come home early from the dedication. Then, the curtain fell back into place, and he vanished.

Bandit swore under his breath, and his eyes flicked up to the street signs, as though he wasn’t supposed to be here. He looked at the limo, but the car just sat there. The second Bandit’s back turned to me, I ran.

I probably could have made it around the corner if Rascal hadn’t chosen that moment to let out another growl.
 

“Bitch!” Bandit screamed behind me. “Come back here!”

Yeah, right. Like
that
was going to happen. I picked up my pace.

Over my pounding footsteps, something
burped
and
zipped!
through the air. Acting on instinct, I threw myself up against the building. A small, silver object zoomed past my head and slammed into the streetlight at the end of the block. The projectile punched through the metal, leaving a hole about the size of a quarter, and kept going until it hit the brick building on the next block. Black gas spewed from the projectile. Red sparks shot out of the streetlight like a sparkler, and the walk sign flashed like a strobe light.
 

For the first time in my life, I was glad I’d touched that live amp at The Blues. Otherwise, I’d be dead right now, my skull pierced by Bandit’s bullet.
 

I shoved away from the wall, ready to run again. I stepped forward, my foot sliding on a patch of ice. My arms flailed, and my body jerked to one side, but I didn’t fall. I made a hard right and raced into the alley stretching between the main streets. Rascal barked and yipped, and I struggled to hold on to the puppy without crushing him.

“Be still!” I yelled at him. “In case you haven’t noticed, I’m running for our lives right now!”

Maybe it was the sharp, panicked tone in my voice, but Rascal seemed to understand what I was saying. He settled down, and I kept running.

The alley led to another street a block over. It was more heavily traveled than my block, with footprints everywhere, so Bandit shouldn’t be able to tell which direction I’d gone. I knew I couldn’t outrun the ubervillain—or his gun. My eyes flicked over the snowdrifts. But maybe I could hide from him. I dashed across the street and down the block about fifty feet, crouching behind a car still buried up to its tires in snow. I reached up and rattled the door handle. Locked. Damn.

Across the street at the entrance to the alley, spurs jangled, and boots stamped on the snow. The sounds were faint, whispers really, but I could hear them. He was here already. Bandit was here. I went completely still, scarcely daring to breath.
 

“I told you that I hate chases, Abby.” His voice floated across the street. “Now, you’ve made me upset.”

And then—silence.

I strained and strained, but I couldn’t hear the ubervillain over my racing heart and quick, frantic breaths. Those sounds drowned out everything else. I couldn’t tell where he was, what he was doing, or most importantly, which direction he was walking.

I sank down into the shadows, hoping he’d turn the other direction and walk away from me. There was a police station a few blocks up. If Bandit headed the other way, I just might be able to sprint there before he realized his mistake and caught up with me. I eased forward, ready to take the chance.

And found myself staring at a pair of cowboy boots. I looked up. Bandit towered over me. The wind fluttered his hair and made his duster dance against his legs. The cold black leather brushed my cheek like the hand of death. I shrank back.

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.