Darkest Day (StrikeForce #3) (15 page)

A second later, the door opened and Ryan wordlessly waved me inside. He was out of uniform, in jeans and a black t-shirt. I could smell coffee wafting from kitchen as soon as he opened the door.

“Nice job,” he said, going toward the kitchen.

“Thanks.”

“Could have called for back up, though,” he said mildly. Getting right to the point, I thought to myself as I followed him toward his small kitchen. Unlike mine, which I didn’t use at all, his looked functional and often-used. Because of his powers, he was kind of a picky eater. Pots, pans, spices, and oils, as well as a coffee pot and a few other items sat on the narrow counter.

I leaned my back against the counter. “I didn’t need back up.”

“Raider and Render,” he muttered. “Maddoc last night,” he said, glaring at me.

“Yeah. Maddoc. And it meant a lot that I took him down on my own,” I said. “And you know that, maybe better than anyone, that I needed that. So what the hell is your problem?”

He shook his head.

“I had it under control.”

Ryan took a breath. “I know you did. I know. And you kicked his ass and brought in one asshole we badly needed to catch then put the hurt on two more. You were amazing.”

I held my hands up. “Okay. And?”

He took a step toward me, leaned down over me, his face close to mine. “I wasn’t there. I had to sit and wait for the next time you checked in. I was about to lose my mind.”

“Do I need to remind you that I’m the strongest fucking one here?”

His eyes were locked onto mine. “No. I know you’re the strongest fucking one here.”

“You’re just mad that you missed out on the fun,” I said, trying to lighten the mood a little. I did understand. This was the type of situation we were used to handling together. If he and Lindsey had gotten into a bad spot today, instead of me and Max, I would have been just as on edge, because it would have felt like I was supposed to be there.

“You beat the shit out of Maddoc, Jo,” he said, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I didn’t have much of a choice. He just kept coming,” I said. He seemed to relax a little, and he backed away a little and started pouring coffee into two mugs. “I thought his thing was strength, and that’s definitely part of it, but it seems like he maybe doesn’t feel pain. It was just bizarre how he kept coming. And Raider was kind of the same way today. And she mentioned something about having the best Death had to offer, so I’m betting Killjoy isn’t the only enhanced on that team.”

Ryan nodded slowly. “That could be. It’s true that it’s almost freakish how much punishment Maddoc can take.”

He handed me a cup of coffee that he’d added half and half and sugar to, and I took it with a smile.

“Was Monster any help at all?” he asked.

“He was. He actually took Render down. I got a couple of hits in, and then Monster shifted into a lion and grabbed him.”

“Good,” he said. He was looking me over. “Not a mark on you.”

“Told you I had it under control,” I said.

“This is gonna make me crazy,” he said, finally glancing away and taking a gulp of his coffee.

“I mean. I’m not happy about it either but it’s not like I didn’t live my entire life before without you watching my back.”

His expression closed up a bit. “I know,” he said.

I sighed. “Don’t take it like that.”

“I’m not taking it any way. You’re right. I’m being an over-protective ass. And I know you well enough to know that you’ll call for help if you ever need it. You’re a badass, but you’re not a reckless badass,” he added with a small smile.

“Don’t tell anyone else that,” I said, and he laughed. “So we know how my day went. How was your shift with Lindsey?”

He shrugged. “She talked. The
whole
time.”

I laughed. I’m not a morning person and Ryan isn’t the most sociable guy. It’s part of the reason we got along so well. Neither one of us were chatterboxes when we worked, and Ryan isn’t one for small talk in general.

“Other than that, though?”

He shrugged. “I prefer my old partner,” he said quietly, meeting my eyes with his warm brown ones.

“Same,” I said. And then I made myself look away. Why in the hell was I blushing now? “Um. Maybe if we train them really well, they can pair up and then we can get back to our nice, quiet patrols together. And they can talk each other’s ears off on their own patrol.”

He laughed. “There’s a plan.”

“Apparently the flight crew refers to me as ‘motherfucking Daystar.’ But in a nice way,” I said, and he laughed again.

“I know.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“They adore you. It’s like your own personal fan club over at the flight deck.”

I met his eyes again. “Will my partner promise to stop acting like an over-protective big brother when I’m out on patrol? Because I really don’t need protecting.”

He straightened. “Jolene, I promise there’s nothing brotherly happening here. I’ll tone it down.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I’m about to eat. Want to stay?”

“I don’t want to intrude,” I said, even as my stomach growled at the scent coming from the small oven in his suite.

“You’re not. Do you like macaroni and cheese?”

“What kind of monstrous person doesn’t?”

He grinned and turned back to the stove, stirring something. I took my coffee cup into the living room. Like my living room, his looked out over the city. Same white walls, same neutral furniture. But where I had a few little personal things around, Ryan had almost nothing. The television was off, but he had the stereo on. Rock. I walked to the windows and looked outside, drinking my coffee.

I glanced down at myself, still in my uniform. When did this become my life, where I’d finally accepted the uniform I’d once railed against and wore it almost like a second skin? I had a t-shirt and yoga pants on underneath it, and it felt heavy and restrictive all of a sudden. I set my coffee down and went into Ryan’s bathroom to peel my uniform off. I folded it and left it on the counter. I glanced around. Soap on the counter, along with a toothbrush and toothpaste. Aftershave, a razor, and shaving cream lined up on a small shelf underneath the medicine cabinet. I picked up the bottle of aftershave and uncapped it. Yeah, that was him, I realized with a smile. I capped it again and put it back, then went back out to the living room. He was dishing up macaroni and he glanced up at me.

“I was being nosy in your bathroom,” I told him, knowing he’d heard and smelled everything.

“Be as nosy as you want,” he said. He set the plates on the table, and I walked into the kitchen to join him. He pulled my chair out and I sat down, thanking him.

“Oh my god, this smells good,” I said. “I almost wish I had your enhanced senses at times like this.”

“Hopefully it tastes as good as it smells,” he said. I took a bite, and the creamy, cheesy, slightly spicy flavor was nearly good enough to make me cry.

“Holy hell,” I groaned. “Marry me.”

He choked a little, and then he laughed, shaking his head.

We ate in silence for a while, and when he offered seconds, I took them gratefully. When we were done, we carried our dishes into the kitchen.

“I’ll help with these,” I said.

“You don’t have to.”

I shrugged, and after a moment, he turned the water on and started washing the dishes, and I stood beside him and dried them with the dishtowel he pointed to. For a while, there was nothing but the sound of running water and dishes clinking in the sink, the radio playing in the living room.

It was cozy, I realized with a start. I glanced at Ryan out of the corner of my eye. “You were clearly raised much better than many of the guys I grew up with,” I finally said.

He laughed. “Yeah? What makes you say that?”

“You’re not a mess. And you have manners that I didn’t even know people still used,” I said.

“Like what?”

“Like that thing where if we’re walking somewhere, you automatically go to the street side of the sidewalk so I’m not walking by the street,” I said, smiling. “I’ve only actually seen men do that in movies even though Mama told me that was a basic thing that men should know to do. Manners were kind of a big deal with her.”

He shook his head and handed me a plate. “They’re a big deal to my grandma, too. I’m not likely to forget them. The woman’s a terror with a wooden spoon,” he said wryly.

“The street thing amuses me a little, though. I can always fly out of the way if there’s a problem.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said with a shrug. “Plus, I’m counting on you flying my ass to safety if there is actually a problem, so…”

I laughed. “I’d fly your ass to safety. Promise.”

He glanced at me, and our eyes met for just a second before we both looked away. “Good to know.”

We finished the dishes in silence and then kind of stood around awkwardly in his kitchen. “I should probably go check in with Jenson. She’ll have about a thousand questions about what happened. And I want to go through the stuff we got from Maddoc’s house,” I said.

“Or you could stay,” he said, meeting my eyes. “If you want.”

I want
, something whispered deep inside me. And I’ve got to be honest, it freaked me the hell out.

“Maybe another time,” I said, hating the shakiness I felt. I was doing it again. Fuck. A guy acted decent to me and I was getting stupid. Jesus Christ, did I ever freaking learn?

“Thanks for dinner.”

He watched me, brow furrowed in concern. “What just happened?”

“What?” I asked, heading to his bathroom to grab my uniform.

“Your heart rate just went nuts. Like, panic.”

“I just realized I really do need to go. That’s all,” I said, hugging my uniform to my chest as if that could muffle the way he could hear my heart beating. “Thanks,” I said, and he nodded. I opened the door and tried not to run out on him. I swore I was barely able to breathe until I got onto the elevator, and I stood there with my eyes closed, trying to settle down.

So desperate.

So easy.

Pathetic.

Killjoy’s words echoed through my mind, haunting me, reminding me of how very, very wrong I’d been about everything with him, how obviously messed up I am about guys. Ryan was a friend. Co-worker. And he’d been kind to me,
good
to me, and pathetic idiot that I am, my stupid heart was already turning it into something more.

“Not this time, Satan,” I muttered, something Mama had often said when she was refusing to let herself fall into being angry or depressed. Or when she recognized that she was about to do something stupid. I closed my eyes, and opened them again when the elevator doors opened. I made my way down to my room and let myself in. I leaned back against the door and just tried to breathe. This was stupid. I was overly-emotional. Still mourning Mama. Obviously still blaming myself for Mama, because I deserved the blame. Still wanting to find Killjoy and rip his heart out. Stressed out over the changes at work, over seeing Maddoc and having to face him again. And very clearly messed up in general. Nothing new on that count, at least.

I pushed myself away from the door and tossed my uniform onto the chair in the living room.

“Fuck,” I groaned. I needed to get my shit together, and this was just one more example of it.

I spotted the large cardboard file boxes I’d taken up to my suite to go through after Portia’s clean-up crew had brought them back from Maddoc’s house. I grabbed one and set it on the coffee table, pulled out a stack of papers and started reading through them.

No more letting my mind wander, for a little while, at least.

I spent the next couple of hours going through the stuff from Maddoc’s house and car. Most of it was crap. Junk mail, bills. Maddoc’s real name was apparently Sergei Kovalchek. He had expensive tastes and the credit card debt to go with it. I’d assumed that supervillainy was a fairly prosperous gig, but apparently not much of that was trickling down to Maddoc. No signs of any family members or love interests. Lots of letters from dumbass women who had villain fetishes. I tossed another one of those aside in disgust. I got my fair share of weirdo mail, and just about every guy on the team got a handful of nude (or close to it) photos mailed or emailed to them every week from fans.

Mine were usually from guys who wanted me to hit them.

I shook my head and kept going through the papers. There wasn’t a ton there, but then I remembered that I still had both of the phones Maddoc had been carrying with him. I went to my room and grabbed them, then flopped back down onto my couch and started going through them.

It wasn’t much more interesting than his other mail and paperwork. I was about to give up when a few items on his web browser history piqued my interest. He’d spent a few days regularly looking up information on the Detroit Mafia. And one name kept coming up over and over again: Bruce Giannotti.

Giannotti.

I grabbed my own phone, where I usually kept quick notes of shit I didn’t want to forget, and went to the note I’d written after the secret dinner meeting I’d had with the rest of my little team.

Daemon’s real name was Salvadore Giannotti.

I almost let out a little shout of joy, and I forced myself to calm down and focus. It could just be a coincidence. I doubted it was something Jenson and David had missed. They’d been going over all of this Daemon shit since the night I’d gone to his house.

And yet… if Daemon was related to the Detroit Mafia godfather, it wouldn’t be that much of a leap to suggest that Detroit’s super villains and the Detroit Mafia were working together. And if they were, it explained why Detroit seemed to get hit so hard with this shit, why we had more problems with villains and crime and general insanity than anywhere else since the Confluence.

Mafia ties would explain where Killjoy got the funding to buy allies and facilities and guards and all of the other shit we were finding.

It was something to mention to Jenson and David. Another angle they could be looking at.

My eyes were starting to blur from reading for so long. I set Maddoc’s phone down on the coffee table and lay down, resting my arm over my eyes. The next thing I knew, my phone was ringing. I blinked awake, irritated with myself for dozing off when I still had more stuff to go through. I picked my phone up, and at the sight of the “unknown number” on the screen, my heart started pounding. I quickly enabled the call tracing app and answered.