These Boots Were Made for Stomping (18 page)

He jumped the last few steps and landed in a crouch, calling out in his most authoritative voice, “Stop! Police!”

One kid dropped his gun, but Damian didn’t. “Bitch!” he screamed, and aimed his gun at Lucy, who was still on the table. There
was no choice. Joe had no doubt that Damian was about to kill her.

Joe pulled the trigger.

Lucy screamed as Damian collapsed, even as she did a spinning flip to the floor. Micki dove forward, grabbing the girl and
tucking her body around the small teen. Joe barely had time to register the move as he was diving to the iffy cover of the
lab table. Bullets ricocheted around the room.

Fortunately for him, the bad guys were kids, too inexperienced to handle a firefight with calm. Their shots were wild, and
their bodies stayed exposed. Joe crawled under the table as fast as he could. He took aim and fired. Once. Twice.

Not bad. They went down, and he was pretty sure he hadn’t killed them. Thirty seconds later, Larry and three other officers
burst in—two from the back, two from the stairs. They barked something official. Joe hadn’t a clue what. He couldn’t make
out a thing over Lucy’s screams. And he most especially didn’t hear a peep out of Micki.

Had she been hit? Was she dead?

“No,” he whispered as he started crawling over. “Nononononono.”

“It’s all right. We’re okay. You’re okay. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

He didn’t even hear the words at first. They were a kind of low, soothing murmur beneath Lucy’s wails. But once he caught
the steady vibration, he fixated on it like a lifeline.

“Lucy, take a breath. That’s good. Inhale.”

Micki was alive. She was trying to settle Lucy down. He pushed the little girl aside and wrapped his woman tight to his chest.
“Mickimickimicki.”

“Umph!” That was all the protest she gave as she tightened her arms around him.

“Marry me,” he said into her ear. “Right now. We’ll find a judge. I know where one lives.”

He felt her freeze in his arms. Then she pulled back. He only let her go about an inch, but it was far enough for him to see
her eyes as she scanned him from head to shoulder. It was as far as he would allow her to move. “Did you get hit?” she asked.

“What? No. I’m fine. Are you fine?” He had already scanned her entire body twice, but maybe he had missed something.

“I’m fine. And Lucy’s . . .” She glanced to the side where the girl was staring at them with wide eyes. “Lucy’s fine, too.
She’s stopped screaming. And she’s breathing now, right, honey?”

“Everything all right there?” Larry cut in from above them.

“Yes, Officer, I think we’re good. Thank you.”

“That’s not an officer, that’s Larry,” Joe cut in. Then he turned to his friend. “Larry, we need a judge. Right away.”

Larry’s gaze sharpened. “For a warrant?”

“A marriage license,” Joe answered, his mind churning fiercely.

“I think he hit his head,” said Micki as she ran her fingers through his hair.

Joe pushed her hands away. “I did not hit my head!” he snapped. “Oh God, did
you?
”

“I’m fine,” she answered again, but he was running his hands through her hair just to make sure. “Joe—”

“I’ve never been so scared in my whole life,” Joe snapped. He took a breath rather than relive the last few minutes. “We’re
getting married, and that’s that.”

Micki was silent for a moment. He opened his mouth to argue further, but she pressed her fingers to his lips. It stopped the
words cold—not because he couldn’t speak around her hand, but because he was lost in the feel of her two dainty fingers hot
against his lips. One little mistake, and she could be dead right now.

“Micki,” he groaned, but she was looking at Larry.

“I think a paramedic ought to check him out.”

“But—” Unfortunately, Larry seemed to agree. He leaned down and lifted Joe up by the arm. Meanwhile, Joe was nearly sputtering
on adrenaline-fueled outrage. “I just said I love you, and you think I need a paramedic!”

“Actually, buddy, you never said you loved her.”

“I damn well did! I—”

“Joe!” Micki straightened. She kept an arm around Lucy, who wasn’t screaming anymore, but was still obviously in shock. “We’ll
talk more later. I swear. Right now, we’ve got children to handle.”

Joe blinked, feeling both foolish and stupid at that moment. He’d just shot three kids, and he was more concerned about marrying
his girlfriend than their lives?

He glanced around him. Gorzinsky was being led out in handcuffs, as was the one who’d bent down to recover the chem teacher’s
gun. Both were completely unscathed. The two he’d shot at the end were bleeding and complaining to the cops who were giving
them first aid. They’d live. If the sound of sirens was any indication, there were ambulances on the way.

Finally, he let his gaze travel to Damian. No way was that kid alive. He’d known it before he looked, but he forced himself
to see anyway. Two shots to the chest—one from Joe, one from one of his own gangbangers. Yup, very dead.

“The paperwork is going to be hell,” he murmured. Not the most PC thing to say, but he couldn’t regret the shooting. Damian
had been about to kill Lucy. And he sure as hell was going to kill Micki.

“I’m glad he’s dead.” Lucy’s voice was high and thin, but still strong. Her gaze slid to Joe. “I only dated him to find out
where the drugs came from. He only dated me because I know about chemistry. He wanted me to make the drugs for him, but I
had to get proof on Mr. Gorzinsky.”

“No, you didn’t, honey,” Micki said as she stroked Lucy’s hair out of her face. “That’s what the police do. Your job was to
be a kid.”

But Lucy wasn’t listening. She was toeing off her magic shoes. “That’s why I took your shoes, Miss Becker. I never thought
you’d follow me in here.”

“Amen to that,” muttered Joe. “And don’t you ever do that again!”

Micki wasn’t even listening. She stopped Lucy with a quick squeeze. “Keep them on, Lucy. I think you need them more than I
do.”

“What?” gasped the girl.

“What!” bellowed Joe. “She can’t—”

“She can,” interrupted Micki firmly. “Keep them, sweetie. I won’t need them back home in Michigan.”

“What!” bellowed Joe again. “I can’t move to Michigan!”

Micki looked up, but not at Joe. Instead, her eyes trained on Larry. “Lucy’s been incredibly brave, but I think she’s about
done in for tonight. Can she stay with me, and I’ll bring her in for a statement tomorrow?”

“Take the kid, Larry,” Joe interrupted, his patience completely exhausted. “Take her away, right now.”

“Joe!” Micki exclaimed, but he didn’t give her a chance.

“Just give me a minute, please. Just a damn minute with the woman I love, okay?” He didn’t know if he was talking to Larry
or Micki, but it didn’t matter so long as everybody left him alone with her. Just for a single minute. And until they could
find a judge.

Larry snorted, then wrapped an arm around Lucy, who was still shaking. “Come on, kiddo. Let’s get out of this basement.” And
while Lucy was slipping her shoes back on, Larry took a moment to smile at Micki. “For what it’s worth, ma’am, I think he
really does love you. I’ve never seen him this rattled before. Not even when he got shot.”

“Getting shot is easy,” grumbled Joe. “Damn stupid, but easy. It’s watching someone you love get shot—that’s hard. Life-changing
kind of hard.”

Beside them, Larry sighed. “That’s as romantic as he gets, ma’am. If that’s okay with you, then I think you ought to say yes
and marry him.”

“I don’t need your help!” Joe snapped.

“Yeah, buddy, you do. You proposed to a woman in the middle of a drug lab right after—”

“Yeah, yeah. Get out of here.”

Larry looked like he was going to argue, but after a glare from Joe, he shrugged and buttoned his lip. A moment later, he
and Lucy were climbing the stairs.

The basement was still overflowing with paramedics for the boys. Soon there would be the M.E. for Damian, and a host of other
people doing their jobs. But for this second, it was just Micki and him in their little corner of Mr. Gorzinsky’s drug lab.

He didn’t give her a moment to think. “You can’t go to Michigan, Micki. My life is here. And you can’t give up your job. You’re
too good at it.”

“Joe, you don’t know if you love me for real. You love—”

“If you wave at your boobs again, I’m going to lose it. Micki, let me explain something. I’m not attracted to big boobs. I’m
attracted to strong women. Sarah, the blonde bombshell you keep referring to, is a triathlete and an ADA. She can reduce a
lying witness to infancy and look fabulous while doing it. And Marjorie, the second bombshell you saw me with, is a firefighter.
No shit. A firefighter with a nose for arson like you wouldn’t believe. She’s smarter than any PhD, and she can flop a two
hundred-pound man over her shoulder without breaking a sweat.”

“Okay—”

“Listen to me!” He held her arms, afraid that if he let go she would disappear back to Michigan. “I like strong women. I love
you.”

She shook her head. “I gave those shoes to Lucy. She needs them way more than I do—”

“I don’t give a damn about the shoes! Micki, you are the strongest women I’ve ever met. Tonight, you faced down a drug-dealing
gang without any damn magic shoes. You were terrified, and yet you kept your head and even made a good stab at fooling that
ass Gorzinsky.”

“It didn’t work.”

He shrugged. “Yeah, well, that’s why you’re not a cop. Micki, you’re a teacher. And a damn good one.”

“You think I’m a terrible teacher!”

“I think you’re a naive one. But with my help, you’ll be so amazing—damn it, you already are amazing! And I love you! It’s
not adrenaline, it’s not any magic whatevers, it’s not even the trauma of seeing you in the middle of a firefight. It’s because
I love you. And I want to marry you. So please—”

“Oh, for crying out loud!” bellowed Larry from the stairwell. “Get on one knee, ya moron!”

Joe shot an angry look up the stairs. Apparently neither Larry nor Lucy had really left. But Joe went down anyway. In fact,
he went on both knees, letting his grip slide to Micki’s hands. “I love you, Micki Becker. Will you please marry me?”

She didn’t answer. She was studying his face, her eyes misting up . . . with love? Could it be?

“Yes,” she finally whispered.

Larry and Lucy cheered from the stairwell. Joe blinked, then abruptly wrapped Micki in his arms. His knees wouldn’t lift him
up.

“I love you, too,” Micki said against his ear. It was the greatest moment of his life. In fact, he had a full two minutes
of absolute joy before he remembered something else.

“Uh . . . we’re not going to Michigan, are we? I mean, I could possibly get a job, but—”

“I guess . . . well, I guess I haven’t explored all the possibilities available for me here in Indianapolis. Besides,” she
said as she helped him stand, “Lucy’s here. How am I going to borrow the shoes every now and then if I’m not in the area?”

His heart—and his groin—lifted at the thought. “You mean, we could maybe borrow the shoes. Like one night a week?”

She glanced over her shoulder at Lucy, who nodded. “That, or go back to that Web site.”

He grinned. “God, you are the greatest woman alive!”

She wrapped her arms around him and kissed him soundly. “I love you, too . . . big boy.”

MARIANNE MANCUSI

Karma Kitty Goes to Comic Con

To fellow Rebel of Romance Liz Maverick.

May this year’s “costumes” give us

superpowers, too.

CHAPTER ONE

“Whoa. Have you ever seen so many people in one place that wasn’t Disney World in your entire life?” Hailey Hills asked, stepping
through the hallowed doors of the Jacob K. Javits Center, home of the 2008 New York Comic Con. She scanned the room, her eyes
taking in the myriad colors, lights and sounds. To her left, Captain America stuffed foam muscles into his latex shirt. An
Elvis Stormtrooper crooned to a bevy of bikini-clad Princess Leias on an elevated stage. And Captain Kirk challenged Captain
Picard to a
World of Warcraft
duel over at the Blizzard booth down the aisle.

Comic Con. Geek heaven. She was finally here.

Her artist, Thomas Carol, shook his bleached blond head. “No way, José,” he said, his voice filled with appropriate awe. “This
place is more colorful than a parade in P-Town. I can’t believe we’re actually here.” He turned to her, his eyes sparkling
(and not just from the glitter he’d applied in the cab). “Squee!” he cried, grabbing Hailey’s hands in his and jumping up
and down.

“Squee, indeed,” Hailey said with a laugh. This was the day she’d been waiting for her entire career. She shuffled her heavy
bag to rest better on her shoulder. “Come on, let’s find our booth and get situated for our signing.”

Thomas consulted his map. “According to this, we’re in 2134.” He looked up at the numbered banners flying high above them.
“Which is approximately the other side of the universe,” he added. “We’d better start hoofing it.”

They weaved their way through the crowd, trying to stay focused on their destination and not be sucked into the exciting displays
flanking their path. After all, they weren’t here as spectators. They’d been asked by their publisher, Straylight Comics,
to do a signing of the latest issue of
Karma Kitty
. Straylight was a smaller publisher, and only asked a few of its authors and artists to sign each year, so it was a huge
honor for Hailey and Thomas and their little comic-book-that-could to be amongst the chosen ones. And they planned to make
the most of the opportunity.

“I wonder if Collin’s here,” Hailey mused, half to herself, as she ducked under a fierce lightsaber duel between Luke Skywalker
and a somewhat potbellied Darth Vader, who’d obviously taken Yoda’s “Size matters not” mantra to heart when hitting the old
Mos Eisley Cantina on Tatooine for a few brews.

Thomas rolled his glittery eyes. “Girlfriend, please do not tell me you’re planning to spend the best weekend of your life
moaning over Mr. Hollywood. I simply will not be able to take it and will be forced to commit hari-kiri with some savage sword
stolen off a hunky Conan cosplayer. And you know how I hate having to borrow my suicide weapons.”

“I’m not!” she protested, feeling her face heat. “Please. I couldn’t care less if he’s here or not. Honestly. I was just making
casual conversation to pass the time during our million-mile march to Straylight’s booth. If you like, I could go back to
chatting mindlessly about the weather. Would that topic be approved by the thought police?”

They pushed past a seven-foot-tall caveman robot. “You’re at Comic Con!” Thomas cried. “The best you can come up with is ex-boyfriend
extrapolating or whether it’s going to rain tonight? That is sad, Hailey. Truly sad.”

She sighed. Thomas had a point. She should be over joyed to finally be here. It was an opportunity of a lifetime and one she’d
waited years for. A chance to promote her beloved Karma Kitty, meet fans face-to-face, and get her serious geek on with like-minded
folk.

And yet, despite all of this, all she’d been able to do for the last few weeks was create wild scenarios in her head about
running into Collin Robinson and what she’d say to him if she did.

Collin Robinson. College boyfriend and former love of her life.

They’d met in Film 101. Him, a straitlaced corn-fed Midwesterner. She, a hippie-dippie artist from San Fran. And yet they’d
hit it off right away when they both burst out laughing during the final scene of
Citizen Kane
as they realized Rosebud (SPOILER ALERT!) was just some stupid sled. He’d asked her out for coffee, she’d said yes, and the
rest was history.

A year later they’d started sketching out ideas for the original Karma Kitty. Hailey would write the stories of the superhero
cat and Collin would draw the pictures. She’d found him to be an amazing artist—totally self-taught—who’d really helped her
vision come to life. They’d spent hours working on the first issue, staying up late every night and ordering pizza as they
drew and wrote. Hailey couldn’t remember a time before or since that she’d been so happy. It seemed, up until their wedding
day, that everything would have a happily ever after.

Until two things happened.

The first was Karma Kitty’s rejection for publication. The second, well, we’ll get to that in a minute.

Collin and Hailey had finished the first issue of their comic book and had been sending it out to publishers. Problem was,
while every publisher under the sun seemed to praise Hailey’s writing and storylines, they always, in the next breath, criticized
Collin’s art.

Hailey never understood why. To her, Collin’s Karma Kitty was beautiful—exactly how the character should look. But for some
reason, his style was not going over well with the publishers. And let’s just say their rejections were not going over so
well with Collin. He started becoming more and more discouraged by the whole thing, and though he put on a brave front, Hailey
could tell he felt like he was bringing her down. Finally, one day he’d told her he was done drawing and ready to get a real
job; she needed to find herself a new artist. She tearfully begged him to reconsider—Karma Kitty was nothing without him—but
he’d made up his mind. He signed over his rights to the comic to her and never drew again. Not even a doodle. Which was really
sad, because he had loved it so much and was really, really good, no matter what those stupid publishers thought.

But Hailey hired a new artist and they were still in love and still going to get married.

Until the Hailey Curse kicked back in.

You see, while at first glance Hailey Hills seemed your typically normal free-spirit twenty-something, the more time you spent
with her (and Collin spent quite a bit, seeing as they were in love and all) the more you started to realize there was something
odd about her experiences. Weird things happened to Hailey. Really weird things. You know that “friend of a friend” they always
mention in urban legends? Well, that was Hailey.

Sometimes she’d see dead people. Other times animals would talk to her. She’d once spotted a blind albino alligator down a
NYC drain. The cactus she’d brought back from Mexico really had been filled with spiders. And on the same trip, she’d adopted
a big rat she’d thought was a dog. (He ran away from home, sadly.) She’d even once found a piece of chocolate that looked
just like the Virgin Mary. (Problem was, before she could alert the media and become rich beyond her wildest dreams, the hot
sun melted it into a more Jabba the Huttlike shape—which, oddly enough, still ended up fetching $14.95 on eBay.)

The problem was, these things only seemed to happen when she was by herself. And when she tried to explain them to people
later, she often had a hard time getting anyone to believe her. In fact, no one, except maybe her mother, bought any of it
at all. And since Hailey’s mother was currently whittling away the remainder of her life in a locked psychiatric ward after
one day waking up in a bathtub with a stolen kidney and a note suggesting she not move and call 911, she honestly didn’t make
the best character reference.

Some would dismiss Hailey as crazy, others called her a flake, while still others would decide she was flat-out lying in order
to make excuses for her aforementioned flaky behavior. That was Collin’s deal, anyway. Mostly because every time something
weird happened, it ended up interrupting something he’d planned for them. And when she’d show up, hours late, blaming the
ghost who’d begged her to help him avenge his death, Collin just assumed she couldn’t admit she’d forgotten, got tied up,
or just simply hadn’t wanted to go to the event in question in the first place. And no convincing on her part would get him
to change his mind.

In a way, Hailey didn’t blame the guy. If the weird things didn’t always happen to her, she probably wouldn’t believe in them,
either. For example, she’d never forget the time Collin’s dog, Skippy the Schnauzer, informed her there was buried treasure
in Central Park. Excited, she’d dragged Collin to the location in question to help her dig. Which would have been fine, had
it not been Superbowl Sunday—the Superbowl Sunday where the Patriots eked out a win over Collin’s beloved Rams in one of the
biggest upsets of all time, to be exact. Collin accused her of being jealous of his sports addiction. Worse, the only treasure
they found after digging in the supposed spot was an old can of hash. (Though to Skippy’s credit, to him this might very well
have been the Holy Grail.)

So for Collin’s sake, she tried to reverse the curse. When Elvis called out to her from the Frozen Foods section of Stop &
Shop, she pretended she didn’t hear him. (Even though she’d been sorely tempted to suggest the Lean Cuisine over the triple-pepperoni
pizza he’d tossed into his cart.) And when Bigfoot attempted to kidnap her on her trek through the Appalachian Mountains,
she’d had her Taser ready.

But on her wedding day, she’d been distracted, and naturally let her guard down. So when the kitty cat meowed that it was
stuck in a tree, she’d walked out of the house to rescue it. An obvious trap, of course, and soon she found herself spinning
away from Earth in a flying saucer, minutes before the ceremony. She was greeted by catlike aliens and informed she’d been
chosen to star in their new reality show,
Who Wants to Live with an Earthling?
When she got back to Earth three weeks later, $52,000,000 Catonian dollars richer (not that you could buy much with Catonian
dollars, save kitty litter and catnip), Collin had been nowhere to be found.

After some intense Googling, she learned he’d moved to LA by himself—just as they’d once planned to do together. She’d dialed
him up and tried to explain the whole alien reality show thingie, but as you might guess, she didn’t get much past the initial
abduction part before he cut her off. He told her if she didn’t want to marry him, she should have just told him so, instead
of making him stand up there at the altar like a loser, while his friends and family shot him pitying glances from the groom’s
side of the church. (And let’s just say her vegan-dieting, goat-milking, harvest co-op-shopping family whooping it up after
they realized Hailey must have come to her senses and damned the misogynistic tradition that Collin had intended to trap her
under didn’t go over that well either. Nor did PETA-member-in-good-standing Uncle Earnest’s
Free the
Doves
campaign or AA-member-in-very-poor-standing Aunt Edna’s
Free the Vodka
one.)

He loved her, he said. But he just couldn’t take it anymore. He needed someone reliable. Someone who was there for him, not
stuck on Mars.

She tried to argue that they had been light-years and light-years from Mars, but he was in no mood to listen. Finally, she
gave up, realizing it was a lost cause. And maybe it was for the best anyway. How could she agree to spend the rest of her
life with a man who refused to believe her?

That was five years ago, and though she’d forced herself to go on a string of disastrous first dates, she’d never met anyone
who could live up to Collin. She thought about him all the time and Googled him on a daily (okay, sometimes hourly) basis.
Their breakup certainly hadn’t hurt him career-wise. In no time at all he’d become one of Hollywood’s top producers, with
a special knack for developing movies based on comic books. Everyone and their fanboy brother was in love with him, if one
believed LiveJournal blogs. They linked him to movie stars and waxed poetic about his life of red wine and red carpets.

It should have been her life. He should have been her guy. If only that stupid alien-abduction reality show hadn’t happened
at the worst possible time. If she ever ran into Executive Producer Fluffy McGee again, they’d have some words, for sure.
(“Bad Kitty,” came to mind. The other words would be unprintable in the more polite publications.)

“Hey, let’s go throw on our costumes,” Thomas suggested, nodding toward the bathroom sign at the back of the convention hall.
She’d hired Thomas after Collin quit and he ended up working out quite well—though Hailey would always be partial to Collin’s
sketches. Karma Kitty sold to Straylight soon afterward, and they’d been working on the comic ever since.

Hailey nodded, pushing thoughts of Collin to the back of her mind. “Good idea.”

Wanting to make a good impression on their publisher and their fans, she and Thomas had created their own custom costumes,
based on characters from Karma Kitty. Hailey, of course, was dressing as Karma Kitty herself, with a short plaid skirt, white
button-down shirt, schoolgirl tie, and glittery thigh-highs. She had clip-on cat ears and tail to complete the outfit.

After much protest, Thomas had agreed to go as Big Kitty, the evil cat pimp. He’d original wanted to play Fifi, the frisky,
flirty sidekick, but Hailey had ultimately vetoed the idea, saying she didn’t think even Comic Con was ready for a six-foot,
three-hundred-pound bikini-and-fishnet-clad drag queen walking around. (Though now that she was actually here, she realized
that perhaps Thomas may not have even gotten a second glance. Still, at least hers wouldn’t be the only eyes bleeding, which
was always a plus.)

She entered the bathroom stall and started peeling off her street clothes, replacing each item with its kitty-wear counterpart.
Once outfitted, she pinned the ears to her head and the tail to her skirt. Then she reached into her bag for the pièce de
résistance—the boots.

They were golden-colored, lacing up to just below her knees, exactly the type of shoes her feline heroine wore when fighting
crime. Of course, while the real Karma Kitty could effortlessly kick ass wearing five-inch platform soles, Hailey would be
lucky if she could walk in them to booth 2134 without breaking an ankle.