Part 15 (1/2)

KarmaGirl.

”Don't you remember what happened at the park? That we defeated the Triad?”

”Not really. It's all kind of a blur.”

The alarm stopped. The silence seemed strange after the constant blaring.

”How are you feeling?” Striker asked, concern evident in his voice.

”Not too bad, I suppose. Got my morning walk in today anyway.” A sudden chill swept over me. My head throbbed. The veins in my eyeb.a.l.l.s twitched. ”Actually, I'm kind of cold. Do you think you could -”

I pitched forward headfirst.

In addition to his other superpowers, Striker had excellent reflexes. He caught me before I hit the floor.

My eyes fluttered open. For the second time that day, I found myself staring at a tiled ceiling.

I sat up, back in the same room I'd woken up in. The same machines beeped and chirped and hummed, and an IV dripped into my arm. A piece of cardboard covered the shattered window. However, there was a new addition to the room.

Striker.

He sat in a chair in the corner, staring at me. ”How are you feeling?” Striker asked, his silver eyes bright.

”Okay, I suppose.” My throat felt like it had sand in it. ”Can I have some water, please?”

Striker walked over to the sink, his stride fluid and graceful, and turned on some sort of fancy-looking filter. I eyed his backside while he filled a gla.s.s. Even his a.s.s was perfect. He handed the water to me, and our fingers brushed. A tingle shot up my arm, and I gulped down the cool liquid. Some of the sand cleared out of my throat, but my body still burned.

”How long have I been unconscious?” I asked.

”This time, only a few hours. Before that, almost three days.”

”Three days? What the h.e.l.l did Frost shoot me with?”

”We're not sure, but we think it was some kind of tranquilizer. Evidently, it had some residual effect as well, which your journey through the manor didn't help. That's why you pa.s.sed out again.”

”Oh.”

I tilted my head. Striker looked rather silly wearing black leather in the all-white hospital room, especially with the two swords peeping up over his back. s.e.xy, but silly too. What was going to attack him in here? A nasty microbe? I felt a sudden urge to giggle.

”What's so funny?” he asked.

I smoothed my face over. This was no laughing matter, and I knew it.

”You know, you can take off that costume. I know who you are,” I said in a quiet voice. ”I've known for a while now.”

Striker froze.

I gathered up what was left of my courage. ”So why don't you take off the mask, Sam? Or should I call you Mr. Sloane?”

KarmaGirl.

14.

Striker let out a deep breath. He reached up, and his fingers touched his black mask. They lingered there a moment, and Striker closed his eyes. Then, he yanked the leather over his head.

Sam Sloane stared back at me.

I studied him. Black hair flopped over his forehead, and a long, thin scar slashed a white line down his right cheek. His nose was slightly crooked, as though it had been broken once upon a time. He was a handsome man, but his eyes were what set him apart. They were the brightest, most brilliant silver eyes I had ever seen. The sort of eyes a woman could lose herself in forever.

I compared the man before me to the masked superhero. Now that I knew exactly what to look for, the mask really was a thin disguise and did very little to hide his features, especially his intense eyes. How had no one uncovered Striker's true ident.i.ty before? Why hadn't I seen it before?

”How did you figure it out?” he asked.

”You made a mistake at the charity benefit. You spoke to me. Why would billionaire Sam Sloane talk to me? He hates reporters, especially the ones from The Expose. But you talked to me, made polite chitchat. And I wondered-why? The answer was he wouldn't. Sam Sloane would never talk to me. I'm a reporter, I'm the enemy. But Striker would. He would want to talk to me and see how I was doing after the attack and . . . everything else. So I watched you the rest of the evening, trying to figure it out. And it just came to me. I just knew. I went back and looked through all the files I collected and found some facts to support my theory.”

”In a way, I'm glad you know.” Sam poked his fingers through the eyeholes in his mask. ”I wasn't looking forward to running around in my costume the whole time you were here.”

I glanced at the white walls. ”Where might here be?”

”Sublime, my manor on the outskirts of Bigtime. We're in a sublevel in the left wing.”

”Ah.”

I'd heard about the luxurious estate while covering the society beat. It was the creme de la creme of houses in Bigtime. Sublime featured several hundred s.p.a.cious rooms full of all sorts of pricey antiques, art collections, and more. The manor could house an army of people and had been the scene of many a society benefit. The grounds were just as impressive, if not more so, than the house. They featured an extensive network of gardens full of exotic, fragrant flowers in addition to fish-filled ponds, marble fountains, and even a bird sanctuary or five.

”So where are the others?” I asked.

”Others?”

”Fiona Fine, Henry Harris, Chief Sean Newman.”

”Why would those people be in my house?”

Sam's voice was calm, cool, controlled, but I detected the faintest bit of shock in it. I was getting better at reading him.

”Because they're the other members of the Fearless Five.” Sam's eyes drifted to a light on the ceiling.

My inner voice chattered.

”Is there a hidden camera up there? Are they watching us right now from some superduper secret control room deep in the bowels of this place?”

”Yes, yes, they are.”

I looked up and waved. ”Hi, guys. What's up?”

KarmaGirl.