A New Day (StrikeForce #1) (8 page)

He glanced back toward the trailer park. “No.”

“No, what?”

“No. I wouldn’t do any of that. You say no, then that’s it. I walk away wishing I’d done a better job of convincing you. I’d never do any of that.”

“Why not?”

“Because there’s no benefit in it to me. All of it would end up pissing you off, and then you’d never work with me. Plus what does your mother have to do with it? What kind of jerk would bring her into it?”

“Are you for real?”

He took a breath. “I’m being honest here. I manage well enough on my own. But it could be so much better. It could be so much more, and I have plans. There are so many things I want to do, and it feels like nothing is happening fast enough. And that day I caught you in my house; it was like the answer was there, staring me right in the face. If it had been anyone else standing there, I would have ended them.”

“You could have tried,” I said, meeting his eyes.

“I might have succeeded.”

“Not likely.”

He smiled. “It’s a business proposition. I mean, there are enough rich bastards to go around, right? But it would be a lot easier on both of us to team up. Less… lonely, maybe.” He shrugged again.

“Aren’t you one of those rich bastards?” I asked.

He grinned then. “Only thanks to the generosity of all the rich bastards I’ve encountered over the years, including my father,” he said with a smirk. “I still want more.”

Damn it. He was saying all the right things. And he had Luther’s trust. He was appealing to my own desire to do more, though I had the feeling his “more” was a bit different from mine. It was probably stupid. He was probably planning on double-crossing me or something for all I knew, but I had to admit that he had a point. He was the first person I’d ever met who was like me. As in, a thief and a powered person. I could see the same feral, hungry look in his eyes that I saw every time I looked in the mirror.

But there was more. The sense that he wasn’t used to hearing the word “no.” The fact that he clearly knew my name, where my mother lived, and what I could do — the three things I’d been almost obsessive about keeping secret. He was saying he would never use those things against me. I’d have to be a moron to actually believe that. Everyone had a price. If someone ever named his, he’d spill faster than you could whisper “traitor.” The same was true of Luther.

I could not believe she’d given him my name.

“I’m not sure,” I finally said. “I don’t know you.”

“Yeah.”

“And it would be so easy for you to double-cross me, or mess with me.”

“You don’t trust so easy,” he said, and I shook my head. “That makes two of us.”

“So maybe it would be better for each of us to do our own thing, and just stay out of each other’s way. And I’ll promise not to hit your house again.”

He let out a short laugh. “You wouldn’t get inside again.”

“Is that a challenge, Richie Rich?” I glanced over at him, and caught a smile, a glint in his eyes.

“My name’s Damian Rutherford. It’s not something I share with many people.“ I didn’t answer. “So we’re even, Jolene Faraday. You want to turn that name over to somebody, tell them I’m a thief, you have the power to do it. You know where I live. It wouldn’t even be hard to make my life hell.”

“So why say anything?” I stopped, and he stopped with me. I’m not exactly a tiny thing, but even so, he stood a good few inches taller than me. Thin, though. The kind of person my Mama would try to fatten up immediately.

“Because I believe in taking risks sometimes, if the payoff seems worthwhile. You’re a risk I’m willing to take.” He backed up a step, eyes on mine. “You know where to find me if you change your mind. Until then, we’ll just keep doing our things, separately.”

“Take care,” I said.

“You too. Try not to knock down any more shitty motels.”

“That was fun, though,” I said, and he laughed. He turned, walked away, giving me a quick wave over his shoulder as he did. I stood there and watched him walk away until I couldn’t see him anymore.

“I am going to kill Luther,” I said, to no one in particular as I shoved my shaking hands into my pockets.

Chapter Five

“You gave him my name? My real, actual, legal freaking name?” I said to Luther as she waved me into her living room. “I knew I should have kept that to myself.” I sat down on the uncomfortable sofa near the windows, and tried to pretend I hadn’t seen Luther roll her eyes to the heavens, as if she was hoping God would deliver her from hysterical children, as she’d called me more than once. “Really, Luther?”

“Settle down. I wouldn’t give that to just anyone,
kotka
.”

Kotka
. “Cat” in Polish. Cat burglar. Luther was just too damn cute sometimes, but I wasn’t in the mood.

“Why him, Luther?” I asked more quietly. She sat down with a bit of a wince.

“Because many hands make lighter work,” she said, speaking in her own weird code again. In other words, more profit to be made, by her, if Damian and I teamed up.

“I can’t believe you told him that.”

“He would have found it out anyway. He told you what he can do, yeah?” I nodded, still glaring at the floor. “He figured out enough to know that you come over and help me out from time to time. It probably wasn’t too hard from there. All I did was confirm it. Smart, that one.” She paused. “And he wouldn’t betray you. I know that, too.”

“How can you know that?” I asked.

“You’re around as long as me, live the kind of life I’ve lived, you get a good sense of people. I’m not wrong.”

I stood up and strolled over to the mantle, which was lined with little statues of cats. Cats, everywhere, in Luther’s place. Both the real and decorative variety. “I told him no.”

“Which is your choice. And he’ll honor it,” she said with a shrug. “I think it’s foolish, but what do I know? I’ve only lived three times as long as you have.”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Don’t pull the old lady thing on me, all right?”

She shrugged and lit a cigarette.

“If you’re wrong…”

“I’m not. I’ve known that one almost twenty years.”

“He’s not much older than I am,” I said.

She nodded, raised her eyebrows as if to say “yeah, and?”

“He’s in his early thirties. And yes, I’ve known him almost twenty years. Not many I work with for that long. Most aren’t smart enough to have that long of a career. Keep that in mind,
kotka
.”

“He doesn’t seem bad. I’m just…” I shrugged.

“Oh, he’s bad. As bad as you or me or anyone. Sinners, all. That’s why we go to church.”

I studied her for a few moments, then shook my head. “Whatever.”

“Speaking of church. Will you be driving me this week?” Would I have merchandise for her this week, she meant.

“Maybe. I need to look at my schedule.”

She pursed her lips in that way she did when she was annoyed with me. “Well. Let’s hope so. I’m not getting any younger, and there’s still plenty of saving I need.” She wanted an influx of cash. Or, her sisters did, maybe.

“We’ll see what I can work out,” I said, glancing toward the window. I had a couple of places under surveillance. “You know, beggars can’t be choosers,” I said.

She smiled, and there wasn’t a whole lot of warmth in it. “No. No, they most certainly cannot.”

I let myself out. Great. Now I had Luther on my back. My relationship with her was mutually profitable, but a lot of getting the best prices on things relied on how happy Luther happened to be with me at the time. And a Luther who got regular kickbacks for her services was a happy Luther.

The last thing I wanted to do was pull off a job just then. It took focus I didn’t have, and I had enough excitement in my life without the adrenaline rush that came with cleaning out rich people’s houses.

Still. How hard could it be when all I had to do was fly out?

One job. In, and out.

As it was, the job itself wasn’t hard. Jam the security system, in and out in under three minutes, grab some nice jewelry and some coins. Luther liked coins, but I didn’t know anything about them. I even got out without any problem, opening a window and flying out. Easy.

I was flying over West Bloomfield when I saw the line of squad cars, lights flashing, heading toward the place where I’d just been, and I let out a loud laugh as I flew away. I got home, stashed my loot, and grabbed the tub of rocky road out of the freezer. I sat on the ugly sofa in my living room, shoveled ice cream into my face and got ready to watch the news. I was still surrounded by unpacked boxes. My stuff just didn’t seem to belong there, and I wasn’t in a hurry to unpack everything. So, for the moment, I was living out of boxes. I’d have to at least shuffle them elsewhere before my mother came to visit, or she’d insist on helping me and if there was one thing I definitely didn’t want, it was Mama rooting around in my stuff.

I’d get around to it. Eventually. I turned my attention back to the news. When the top story was “Relentless burglar strikes again,” I laughed.

My laughter froze and died when my image flashed onto the screen. Not anything most people would recognize. Me, face covered by a black scarf, only my eyes exposed. Nobody could tell anything from that. It wasn’t the first time security cameras had captured my image, and it probably wouldn’t be the last, either. As I sat watching the black and white video of myself, my stomach started twisting, worse when I realized that the window I’d flown out of was right in view of the camera.

Shit.

I leaned forward and watched as I opened the window and flew out into the night.

There was a voiceover, and I listened as I watched. “As you can see, we have exclusive video of the burglar who has plagued the suburbs in recent years, exiting via a second story window. Exterior cameras showed another view.”

“No,” I groaned, eyes glued to the screen.

And there I was, flying over the back yard. Grainy, dark, but it was very clearly a person, flying. The video looped again, and then the anchor went to an interview with the West Bloomfield chief of police.

“So, chief. Is this what I think it is? Is our burglar a powered person?” the anchor in the studio asked.

“That is what it appears to be. Which may very well explain why he was so hard to apprehend.”

I let out a little breath. They still thought they were dealing with a dude. This was a good thing.

“And will StrikeForce be involved in the investigation as a result?” the anchor asked.

On screen, the chief nodded. “I met with Alpha right before coming on the air with you. He has promised StrikeForce’s assistance, as well as their partnership in trying to get an identity. There aren’t that many powered people around. It won’t be hard to narrow it down.”

“Do we believe this is the same being who destroyed the vacant Eight Mile Motel?” the anchor asked, and they cut to video of the pile of rubble I’d left in my wake.

“Right now, that is the assumption we have to go with. Eyewitness reports indicate someone flying away from that scene. It’s not all that common of an ability.”

“This being seems dangerous.”

“Indeed. The public should consider this person to be extremely dangerous. Any indication of someone flying, someone with a ridiculous amount of strength, should be called in to either local law enforcement or the StrikeForce hotline. Do not attempt to approach the suspect. Stay safe, stay in your home or vehicle, and let the professionals deal with him.”

The news went to commercial and I sat there numbly. I was getting sloppy. Stupid. I should have taken off on foot, and then flown away later. I knew better. I’d always valued my anonymity. A figure in black, skulking into houses and emptying them. That had always been all I was. Now that they’d connected the two sides of my identity, now that there was that super powered angle… shit.

My life was about to get more complicated. StrikeForce wasn’t the most active organization, but they had some hard hitters. They’d taken in a few super powered troublemakers in the past few years. It wasn’t all about photo ops for Alpha and, if nothing else, they could prove to be a definite pain in the ass.

I tried to soothe myself with the fact that they were still sure I was a guy. So they weren’t all that close, and as long as I laid low for a while, it would blow over. Or at least the immediate heat would.

And the next thought I had was that I could be used as a bargaining chip. Damian lived the same life I did. What if he got caught? What if he decided to use me, turn me over in exchange for lighter punishment? What if he blabbed?

“You’re being paranoid,” I muttered, snapping the television off. I paced. What I really wanted to do was put my fist through something, but that would be an even dumber idea now than it had been the first time I’d done it.

Luther would be pissed. I could look forward to a lecture from her, no matter how good the loot was. Any heat on me was potential heat on her, and Luther was all about Luther. Luther wouldn’t hurt me. Couldn’t now, actually. But she knew who I was. She likely knew who my mother was and where she lived and worked.

You wouldn’t think she’d be worth worrying about. Geriatric Polish lady, right? Here’s the thing, though: you don’t stay in this business for very long without being able to make damn sure that your secrets stay secrets.