The Origin (25 page)

“What gives you the right to invade my privacy like this?” he heard Olivia say, hearing the rawness in her voice. “I don’t need a bodyguard. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

Smith leaned against the doorjamb, appearing casual, as though he was not actually eavesdropping.

All was silent for a while. “Fine,” she said, though her tone was anything but defeated. “But only for a little while, then he’s history, understand? I will not live my life under constant watch.”

He didn’t much like the sound of becoming history, but he stood up, straightened his sports jacket, and assumed his usual air of good humor nevertheless.

The door opened a crack and an irritated face peered through. He saw the violet eyes regarding him, looking him up and down as if trying to determine his guarding abilities.

He smiled, the kind that made his dimples stand out. “I take it your father explained everything?”

She nodded as she opened the door. Her lips were tight as she gave him another once-over. He stood quietly and appeared completely harmless yet protective, a trick he’d learned long ago at the beginning of his career.

“Smith,” Olivia said as she stepped aside. “Tell me the truth: are you really here to keep me safe?”

“I’m really here to keep you safe,” he said so swiftly that his brain took a moment to catch up with his mouth.

Relief washed over her face and, to his mild surprise, she pulled a gun out of the back of her pants and placed it on the side table. Her eyes met his with a sparkling challenge.

“You won’t be needing that while I’m around,” he said and smiled.

Detective Lingle watched as Olivia stood up, not hiding the fact that she was eager to end the interview and exit his office. With its overflowing bookcases, large metal desk that took up half the space, various unmatched chairs, and the curiously large potted fern in the corner, Lingle knew that the room projected exactly the disheveled, suffocating atmosphere that he was aiming for.

“Thank you for coming in.” He extended his hand for a shake.

Olivia smiled thinly and returned the perfunctory sentiments. She was so uncomfortable that, if she wasn’t the victim, he might have thought she was a suspect. Such was the effect of his office.

“You may want to consider staying at a friend’s place while the investigation takes place,” he said in a brassy tone that he often used on his own children.

Olivia furrowed her eyebrows. “With all due respect, but, no.”

“It’s just until after the suspect, John
Mathers
, is caught.” He stood up with a groan, unable to believe what he was just about to say. “We seem to have an invisible guy on the loose.”

“You don’t believe me,” she said, her voice devoid of warmth.

He held up his hands. “Your story corresponds with the prisoners’ statements, so three people all saying the same thing is a little hard to discredit. But still, the idea of an invisible man is a little hard to swallow. Especially since you said he was visible the day before, at the ballet. Dane and Felton said he was visible at the beginning of the night, then was just gone when he came down to the van.”

He searched her face for a reaction then realized that she was staring intently at the Ziploc baggy at the corner of his desk. The bag, containing one black knit item, had just been sent to him by an anonymous tipster that very day.

Silently berating himself for being so careless – he blamed it on the late nights – he shoved the bag and the ripped envelope inside a desk drawer.

“Is that…” Olivia said in a high-pitched voice. She cleared her throat and continued in a calmly forced tone. “Was that the Black Hero’s mask?”

“How did you know it was a mask?” he said in surprise.

“Because it looked like a ski mask.”

Lingle cocked his head. “What do you know of the Black Hero?”

She shrugged, trying the nonchalant act. “Just that he wears a black ski mask.”

“A lot of people wear black ski masks. What makes you think of the Black Hero?” He tried to keep his voice light, free of suspicion. The last thing the department needed was to scare off a possible lead on one of New York’s most popular mysteries.

“He was on the news, that’s all.” The way she’d suddenly become animated, a far cry from the monotone of the interview a moment earlier, revealed much to the seasoned cop.

“Do you know the Black Hero?” he said, getting straight to the point. “Or have any information on him?”

She shook her head far too quickly. “No.”

“He’s a wanted man, Miss King. Anyone who is found to be aiding and abetting this criminal will also be considered guilty in the eyes of the law.”

“What about your eyes?” she asked. “Do you really think a man who is helping keep the city safe is truly a criminal?”

He crossed his arms across his chest, facing the question that had nagged at him for months. For truly, he was still torn. Still, he was a man of the word of law and felt the call to defend it. “His intentions are noble, but by definition he is a criminal.”

“But he’s not killing anyone.”

“He doesn’t have to. He can’t take the law into his own hands, deciding what’s right or wrong. We have a legal system for that very reason. Anything else is just asking for anarchy.”

“Anarchy is at your doorstep, Detective,” she said, those hypnotic eyes fixed firmly on him. “And you’re choosing, instead, to hunt for the one man who is warding it off.”

“We can’t afford to have one man out there who thinks that he’s above rules or accountability. If we let this one go, then how many others will follow in his footsteps? How many people are going to get hurt out there because they’re stupid enough to think that they can be superheroes? A considerable number of people, that’s for sure.”

“I wish you knew just how important he is,” she said wistfully.

Lingle’s
eyes narrowed. “I’ll ask you one more time, Miss King: do you know the Black Hero?”

She looked him dead straight in the eye. “You will believe me when I say I do not know anything about the Black Hero. You will not ask me any more questions about him.”

Lingle blinked twice, suddenly feeling stupid for questioning the woman in such a manner. Of course she knew nothing about the Black Hero. “I’m sorry. I was out of line.”

She nodded curtly and stood up.

Bewildered, Lingle watched her leave, wondering what in the world had come over him to suddenly become so suspicious. Once more he blamed the late nights.

“Knock, knock,” Lindsey, the wet-behind-the-ears lab technician, said as she rapped on the glass insert on the door.

“What’s up?”

She entered, all spiky brown hair and spunk, and immediately began to talk. “I’ve finished the lab work on the DNA samples found at the office building.”

Still feeling out of sorts, he gave her a look of confusion. “Remind me again what case you’re talking about,
Linds
?”

“The King kidnapping case,” she said, looking behind her. “Wasn’t that Olivia King you were just talking to?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “What did you find?”

She nodded. “I ran tests on hair found at the building and it matches those on the suit.”

“
Mathers
.”

“Yup.”

“And the blood on the carpet?”

“It matched that of the droplets found in the men’s bathroom.”

“And? Was it in our system?”

She snickered. “No. That would be too easy.”

Lingle ran his fingers through his
buzzcut
. “Well, that’s not handy at all. You’ve tried other state’s databases?”

A nod.

“Well, dandy. One more mystery to solve.”

“You’d be out of a job otherwise.” She shrugged and had just turned to go when he remembered something. “Hold on a sec.” He reached into the drawer and pulled out the Ziploc bag and tossed it to Lindsey. “Do me a favor and see if you can find any DNA on that.”

“For the same case?”

He shook his head, running his palm along his forehead. “No, this one’s for the Black Vigilante case. Whoever sent it claims he’s dead.”

Lindsay raised a pierced eyebrow. “And you don’t believe it.”

“No.” Lingle stood up and cracked his knuckles, ready to take another swing at the case that had rankled him for two months now. “I think the Black Vigilante is still out there. And I still intend on finding him.”

* * * * *

“Where is Alex?” Olivia said as she emerged from the police station, finding one less blond head to look at. Both Alex and her brand new bodyguard had brought her to the police station, Smith insisting because it was his job, and Alex insisting because of Smith’s insistence. Apparently, judging from his exit, Alex had finally determined that Smith was trustworthy enough.

“He said he had an important something or another at work but warned I’d better treat you well or he’d sever my balls,” Smith said with a grin. “He’s a real charmer, that one.”

Olivia smiled thinly and turned her attention out the window and away from the newly lodged thorn in her side.

The thorn cleared his throat. “Your father wants me to bring you to King Towers.”

Her nose flared at the thought of the man who’d so grossly invaded her privacy without even consulting with her. Her father might have won the initial battle, but the war was far from over. “No thanks. I have to go to the hospital to get checked out.”

“He wants to talk to you about recent events.”

“Like the fact that I was almost raped and killed because of him? Or the fact that he hired you to shadow me without my consent?”

“I can’t pretend I agree with what he’s done,” Smith said, effortlessly pulling into the heavy flow of traffic. “We both know what kind of man your father is.”

Olivia silently agreed with no small amount of ire. Her father was definitely a pompous jerk who felt like he didn’t have to ask permission, even from his own family. She had witnessed enough of how he’d treated her mother to know that he’d never even think to ask his own daughter for her opinion, let alone permission.

“Regardless, he
is
your father. And after last night, would you blame the guy for wanting to see you for himself?” Smith looked at her sideways and she came to the sudden realization that she could be like her father, if she so chose. She didn’t need his permission to dismiss Smith.

“We’re not going to King Towers,” she said, a small smile curling the ends of her lips. “You will take me to the hospital right now.”

“Okay–“

“And then you will take me to my boyfriend’s place then leave.”

“Where will I go?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know. Go to your apartment or hotel and get some sleep.”

Smith blinked at her, and she knew it had worked. “Okay, whatever you say.”

She smiled to herself.
Indeed.

At the hospital, Olivia’s face was cleansed with hydrogen peroxide and a salve applied to all wounds.

“What is that?” she asked, trying to read the name underneath the King Industries logo on the label.

The nurse glanced at the tub as she replaced the lid. “
Ultrasporin
. It’s a first-aid antibiotic treatment,” she said. “We just got it in a few weeks ago.”

The nurse placed the tub in Olivia’s hands, allowing her to inspect the newest miracle ointment from her father’s company.

“It’s similar to ointments already on the market that reduce scarring, but this one allows the wound to heal much faster.”

Olivia looked up. “How much faster?”

The nurse’s small smile was full of excitement. “Well, just last week, this two-year old girl came in with a deep laceration on the underside of her chin. She had fallen forward on one of those ride-on toys. The poor thing had to have three stitches. Had to be held down by four nurses plus her mother.”

Olivia took a deep breath, glancing down once again at the ointment while the nurse continued her anecdote.

“Anyway, we applied the ointment and dressing, and sent them on their way. Three days later, the skin was healed well enough to remove the sutures.”

“How long was it supposed to take?”

“Normally, about five to six days.” She bit her lower lip and retrieved the tub. “This ointment is a huge jump in scientific technology. Can you imagine, in a few years, we might have something that heals almost instantly?”

She nodded absently, her mind already wandering off to the man who was turning out to be the living future of medicine.