Super Series (Book 4): Supervised (8 page)

By now, Mellie and Cheyenne had finished bringing all of the food over and were serving. Mellie took away my wine glass and pushed a plate of beige finger foods at me. “Eat. You have to finish this before I’ll let you have more wine.” I took a bite of something and practically choked on its tastelessness. It needed salt, bacon, and cheese. I was basically eating cardboard.

Meanwhile, Bridget was pushing the swatches over to Gloria, who took a few seconds before she decided on Honey. And Cheyenne chose a color called Dandelion, which she explained was also the color of her aura, according to her psychic.

Finally, it was my turn. Honestly, all of the colors looked the same to me. I could have picked any of them. So I decided to just browse the names until I found that spoke to me. It only took a minute but I found it. I handed the swatch back to Bridget, who sat there with an expectant look on her face and a pen and pad to write down my choice. “I think I’ll go with Nacho Cheese. For some reason, it’s all I can think about right now.”

*****

“Did you call Mom on me?”

By the time I left Mellie’s, I’d spent four hours drinking wine and nodding emphatically as Bridget told us what Mellie’s wedding was going to be like. I’d eaten the nutritional equivalent of cardboard and been attacked by Bridget with a tape measure for my dress measurements. I needed pizza. Stat!

As I set my sights on the pizza place, my phone rang. It was Ella, which was funny because all of that wedding talk that night made me think of her outburst the other day. I thought maybe she was calling to tell me that she was engaged and pregnant. Instead she was calling to yell at me for telling Mom about her nervous breakdown. “Come on, Ella. What did you expect me to do?”

Ella sighed through the phone. “I know. I had a little. . . moment there. It’s just that it’s a big thing, Audrey. You wouldn’t understand,” she said, echoing Mom from a few days earlier.

“Apparently.” I didn’t know what else to say so I just changed the subject. “How’s Din-Din?”

“Pregnant,” Ella deadpanned. “Rodney put a flyer up at his gym about adopting them out. We already have three leads. Of course, we’ll do due diligence, on these people. I have a few interviews this week.”

I sighed. I’d assumed that she was over the Rodney thing since she’d talked to Mom but I guess I was wrong. “Tell me you’re not getting back together with Rodney.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like him. Even after we broke up, I kept going to the same gym so I could see him. I broke up with him over superficial things. I was worried about what my colleagues would think about him if I brought him to the staff Christmas party. I wanted you to stop making fun of me.”

“Oh, so it’s my fault?”

“No. It was my fault for not just enjoying the fact that he’s a good guy who likes me a lot and makes me feel happy. I’m not going to waste my time dating guys just because they look good on paper. I like Rodney. He likes me. That should be enough. I don’t know if this is going to end in marriage and kids but I’m too old to not be happy.”

She was still getting on my nerves with this old shit. “You’re not old! You’re only three years older than me!”

“And you’re getting old, too. Don’t let the fact that you live like a teenager fool you. One day you’ll feel the same way I do.”

A part of me envied how simple it was for her. It was that simple for Mellie, too. Why wasn’t it that simple for me? Was she right? Was it just a matter of time? I didn’t know, but I did know one thing. “Ella?”

“Yeah?”

“If you get married, I can
not
be your bridesmaid. I know I’m supposed to but I just can’t do it.” I told her about Mellie getting married and recapped the bridesmaid night to her.

Ella laughed and continued to laugh for a full two minutes. Finally, she said, “Oh, Audrey, I wouldn’t ask you to be in my wedding. I want my wedding to be good.”

Chapter 12

I got the text message right after I got off the phone with Ella. Nathaniel had a way of popping up just when I’d forgotten how messed up things were.

Be at St. Jude at dawn. No excuses.

I knew texting back that I hadn’t seen dawn in a long time wouldn’t be met very well. So I just went to bed as soon as I finished my pizza and dragged myself out bed as early possible the next morning. 

I took the train over to St Jude and arrived at the parking lot just as the sun crested over the horizon. Rocky, Frankie, and Nathaniel were already there. Frankie was hopping back and forth from foot to foot, trying to use his abilities to keep himself warm. Rocky had on last night’s makeup, wore a pair of sunglasses, and held a Starbucks cup she was nursing. Nathaniel wore his early morning best scowl.

“We are fucking this whole thing up,” he announced. He used the word “we” but he was looking at me. “Monday night was a complete failure. All we succeeded in doing is driving El Gato further underground. The Noches are laying low. It’s going to be that much harder to do this now.”

Now, I was pretty damn sure that everyone was looking at me.
Well, that’s just fucking ridiculous. I wasn’t even allowed to go inside. Why am I being blamed for everything?

Nathaniel went on. “Our numbers are on the line here. Our reputations are at stake here. The time for half-assing it is over.”

I shivered in my coat and rubbed my gloved hands together. It was freezing. And this
Bravehart
moment could have been done over text.

“All of us work this district. All of us have contacts. I want you to reach out to everyone you know and get something on the Noches and El Gato. Somebody knows something and I want that information. I want something by tomorrow. Understood?” We all mumbled our agreement and Nathaniel dismissed us. Rocky and Frankie took off in their super impressive ways and I started to walk off in my unimpressive way.

“Hold up, Audrey.” Nathaniel hadn’t taken off like I was used to him leaving. Instead, he walked over to me. “I meant what I said about Supers being an elite group. Not everyone with powers should be on the job.”

Whoa.
That’s
not
what you want to hear from the person who supposed to sign off on your probation. “Nathaniel, I’m here for whatever you need.”

“I need results from you.” I nodded like I actually believed I could deliver anything related to a result. “If not, go concentrated on your boyfriend. Get married. Maybe have a couple of kids. And leave the work to the real Supers.”

Chapter 13

After that inspirational meeting behind the church, I spent the rest of the day hiding out in my apartment. I only left because I had a dinner date with Mike that night.

I hadn’t seen him since Tues night. We’d exchanged a few short texts that left a funny feeling in my stomach. He’d asked to see me before but I’d had been busy with Nathaniel and the mission. But I couldn’t exactly say that, either. Instead, I pretended to be very caught up in Mellie’s wedding plans. He was hosting a poker game on Saturday night and was probably working late on Friday. So we setting on Thursday dinner at his place.

I climbed the stairs to 3A around seven with a twelve pack of beer and the intention to make it a short night. Basically, we’d agreed to stop talking about me disappearing at this friend’s house. I could understand why he was upset but I couldn’t tell him any more than I’d already told him. I tried to imagine doing all of this hiding long-term. I couldn’t.

I stood outside his apartment door for a few minutes. I wanted to knock but my flight or fight instincts were telling me to get the hell out of there. I had just about decided to bail and send him a text saying that I had diarrhea or something, when the door opened. Mike was standing there wearing an apron that said Kiss the Cook, holding a garbage bag in one hand. “Hey, what are you doing?”

“I was just about to knock,” I lied. I was just about to make a run for it.

“You don’t have to knock, Audrey. You can just come in.” He stepped out of the doorway and pointed back inside his apartment. “Go ahead in. I’ll be back in sec. I just want to take this out.” He headed down the stairs and I went inside.

Inside Mike’s apartment, he had already started cooking. By the time he came back, I’d thrown the beers in the fridge and cracked one open for myself. He crossed the room and gave me a quick kiss before washing his hands and resuming his cooking. “You said you liked mushrooms, right? Because we’re making chicken marsala.”

This was the second time that day that someone had said “we” when they really meant one person. “You mean ‘we’ as ‘you,’ right?”

“No, I meant ‘we’ as in ‘us.’”

I groaned. “Mike, you may not have realized this about me but I can’t cook. That’s why I have all of those takeout numbers on my phone’s speed dial.”

He laughed. “You’re going to make the salad. That counts.”

I took a long gulp of my beer. “I’ll try. Don’t expect much, though. I once—” I was interrupted by a buzzing from my back pocket. My phone. I fished it out and tapped the screen to life. It was a text from Nathaniel.

Do you have any new intel on El Gato?

I quickly typed back:

Not yet.

I looked up to see Mike pointedly not looking at me. “Who’s that?” he asked.

“Nobody,” I lied. This was becoming a thing.

Mike went back to fussing with the food but the tension in the room was palatable. “Can’t be nobody. Someone must have sent the text.”

“It’s Mellie, actually. You know, my friend who’s getting married? She wants to remind me about doing some dress shopping. She’s worried I’m going to be late.” Liar’s Rule Number One: Mix in a little bit of truth with your lie to make it more believable.

“Mellie, huh?” Mike said. “It’s nice to hear about something of yours besides this building. We generally just talk about me and my stuff.”

I nodded like I hadn’t just given him that info to distract him and I honestly planned to tell him more about my personal life.
Fat chance, buddy.
My phone buzzed in my hand again.

Audrey, if you’re not going to, I don’t think I can sign off on your probation.

Fuck you,
I thought. But I texted back:

I know. I’m working on it.

I looked up from my phone to see Mike staring at me. “You ready for me to start on that salad?” I asked. He didn’t say anything. I put my phone back in my pocket and went over to the kitchen. Mike still didn’t say anything as I started cutting the lettuce. “Man, this is a sharp knife. So, you have any idea how much of this I should cut? I have no idea. I’m not a salad person. Not that I’m opposed to eating a salad. I’ll try anything once.” I laughed at my own joke. Mike didn’t laugh with me.

“That isn’t Mellie, is it?” he finally asked.

“Why would it not be Mellie? Who else could it be?” Liar’s Rule Number Two: Answer questions with questions. It puts the person you’re lying to on the defensive.

“Answering my question with a question, huh? Nice one,” Mike chuckled. But his laugh sounded hollow. I kept forgetting that Mike was a cop. He must have been as used to identifying lies as I was to telling them. “Is that the guy from the other night? Nate?”

“Nathaniel,” I corrected him without thinking. Liar’s Rule Number Three: When you’re dealing with someone who can tell that you’re lying, just go ahead and tell the truth. Sometimes it’s knocks them off their game. “Yeah, it’s him. I didn’t want to tell you because I thought you might think it was weird,” I said, dumping the lettuce into the bowl. “I didn’t want you to think—”

“Think what?” Mike handed me the tomatoes.

I shrugged. “Think anything when it’s really nothing.”

“How do you know that guy again?”

Shit, what did I say last time?
I cried in my head. Outside, I tried to keep my composure. I was violating Liar’s Rule Number Four: Remember your fucking lies. I searched my brain but couldn’t bring it back. Finally, I threw it back to him. “You don’t remember? That’s not like you.”

Mike didn’t answer me back. He just murmured something and got out the pot for the pasta. My phone buzzed again. Nathaniel had texted me back.

Work harder.

I didn’t even bother to answer. I went back to my salad duties with a ball of anxiety in my stomach. I was thinking about how I had nothing to give Nathaniel on El Gato. And I was thinking about how much longer I wanted to do this with Mike. He was a great guy. He bought me candy and made me dinners. I liked him better than any of the few guys I’d dated in the past. Shit, I was eating salad for him. But I didn’t know how much further this could go. I was already having a hard time lying to him. How much longer until he realized I had a big secret?

“Fuck!!!” My hand slipped with the knife and I cut my hand instead of the tomatoes.

“Shit! Are you OK?” Mike rushed over to me. “Let me see.”

“NO!” It came out harsher than I had intended but I couldn’t let him see. I cupped my left hand with my right and ran toward the bathroom. “It’s not that bad! I just need to run some cold water over it and put a band-aid on it. You have a first aid kit, right?” I babbled as I ran. I slammed the bathroom door behind me and locked it.

In the bathroom, I uncovered my hand to see a bloody mess. It always surprised me how the smallest parts of the body bled the most. I ran the water in the sink to wash off the blood. As the water cleaned my hand up, I could see the wound clearly. My palm was clearly sliced through to the bone. I could see the white of it underneath the meat.
I have got to stop injuring myself at dinners.

On the other side of the door, Mike was turning the knob. “Audrey, open the door.”

“I’m OK. I’m just cleaning it. I’ll be out in a minute.”

Then my phone buzzed again. “Is that your phone?” I guess he could hear it through the door and over the sound of the running water. “Are you texting that guy in there? What the hell is going on?”

“For God’s sake Mike! I’m not texting anyone. You saw me cut myself. I’ll be out in a minute. Who the hell has such sharp knives anyway? Why can’t you have a cheap dull set like everybody else in the world?”

“What does my cutlery have to do with anything? Open this door, Audrey, before I break it down.”

I couldn’t open the door. If I did and he saw my hand, he’d want me to go to the hospital. And what would he say when it was completely healed by the time we got there? “Just give me some goddamn space.” Even I could hear the harsh tone in my voice. “I’ll be out in a minute. Get away from the door.”

It must have worked. Mike didn’t say anything else and he stopped trying to open the door. A few more minutes later, my thumb was as good as new. I flexed it a few times to test it out. Then I pulled some gauze out of Mike’s first aid kit and wrapped it around my thumb. Then I added another layer for good measure. I had to make it look good for him.

When I opened the door to the bathroom. The hallway was empty. I walked out into the living room and Mike was sitting on the couch with his hands clasped together and his chin resting on this hands. I held out my bandaged hand in front of me. “See? Good as new. Nothing to be worried about. But I gotta tell you, Mike, I’m not feeling the salad anymore. Post-traumatic stress and all of that.”