The Origin (31 page)

The obvious conclusion was that the Black Hero was injured in some way when he came to Olivia King’s aid; from a gunshot wound, if the blood spatter pattern was anything to go by. Lingle put down the sketch and looked through the photographs of the crimson hallway carpet, finding it hard to believe that anybody could survive that kind of blood loss. Was the mask’s sender actually telling the truth? Could the Black Vigilante actually be dead?

“Then where the hell is the body?” he said, studying the large photographs carefully for any clues that might have been overlooked. There were no indications that the body had been dragged through the carpet, nor blood droplets indicating that it had been carried out. And what was his watered-down blood doing on the bathroom floor? Moreover, what was his connection to Olivia King? None of it made any sense.

The questions niggled at him until a memory emerged from the back of his mind of a certain woman’s expression as she caught sight of the mask on his desk. His ears began to ring as he felt that familiar excitement that came with a lead. He pulled out the King file and picked up the phone, determined to wring answers out of one prima ballerina.

* * * * *

Daniel paced on the busy sidewalk of the Chrysler Building as he waited for Olivia to descend from the rooftop. He kept telling himself that he would not have hesitated to help had it been anyone other than a child, but as he repeated the mantra in his head, he knew it was nothing but a lie, a mask to hide behind so as not to scare her away. Because, Olivia notwithstanding, his true intention was never to touch anyone else ever again. She was his last link to physical intimacy, and in turn, to humanity. And he could not, would not, risk that for anything.

“What the hell, Daniel?”

He spun on his heel and came face to face with an incensed Olivia, her hands crossed at her chest. From a distance, he could hear the wail of ambulance sirens approaching and breathed a sigh of relief. “He’ll be alright.”

“How do you know? You didn’t even stay to see if he was okay!” She was near tears, her eyes sparkling even as she fought to control the muscles on her face.

“What could I have done that an ambulance couldn’t?”

She wiped at her eyes furiously. “You could have taken him to the hospital faster.”

“You know I couldn’t touch him. I couldn’t risk infecting him!” he said, throwing his hands up.

“But he was just a kid!”

“Exactly! I can’t do that to a kid. I won’t.” He stuffed his hands in his jacket pockets when he realized they were shaking.

“So you’d rather he had brain trauma? Be a vegetable all his life instead of having some fantastic power?”

He held her gaze. “Finding out that you’re different from everyone else, that you’re a freak of nature, is far from fantastic,” he said with steely reserve. “I won’t sentence a kid to my fate.”

“Because your life right now is just so goddamn
difficult,
isn’t it? Being a superhuman is just such a burden,” she said, the sarcasm dripping from her tongue unbecomingly. She tightened the red scarf around her neck, her eyes searching his, for what he didn’t know. “I have to go, Daniel.” She extended her arm and a taxi pulled in to the curb.

She began to limp off, but he grabbed her sleeve. “I’ll just carry you home.”

“No, thanks. I’m going to go see a doctor. For my ankle,” she said, unable to look at his face as she headed for the taxi. Just as she was reaching for the door handle, he felt a wave of urgency wash over him. Without hesitation, he darted in front of her, cradled her face with his hands and kissed her desperately, wanting to say with his actions what his words could not.

She was first to break the kiss, pulling his hands away.

“Please don’t change your mind,” he said in a rasping voice, keeping hold of her wrist.

“I’m not changing my mind,” she said. “I just… need to catch my breath. And think.”

He nodded. “Okay.” And, after pressing a soft kiss on her forehead, he stepped aside, unwrapped his anxious fingers from her wrist, and let her pass.

* * * * *

Smith tried to call Olivia’s cell phone again, but like the times before, it went straight to voice mail. Through the BMW’s tinted windows, he tried to read the Detective’s expression as he stood outside Olivia’s apartment building, his hands on his waist as he stared up at the seventh floor in the waning daylight. Detective Lingle rang the buzzer again, letting his finger rest on the button longer than necessary.

Fifteen minutes and a few phone calls later, the cop finally hopped back into his car and left. Smith pulled the back of his seat up a little higher now that the danger of being spotted was gone. He crossed the street just as a taxi came to a half in front of the building and a moment later, Olivia emerged, her face looking more tired than he’d ever seen.

He plastered his go-to pleasant smile and approached. “How are you?” he said, noticing her slight limp immediately. “What happened to your leg? You weren’t hurt yesterday.”

She waved him away as she gingerly made her way up the stairs. “It’s nothing. I just sprained an ankle.”

“Did you see a podiatrist?”

She turned to him, one hand gripping the metal railing. “As a matter of fact, I did.”

“And?”

She sighed impatiently. “Mild sprain. No torn ligaments. R.I.C.E. method. No dancing for a few weeks.”

He eyed her carefully and found the answer he was looking for, there in the slight droop of her shoulders. “You won’t be able to dance the rest of Swan Lake.”

“Like hell I won’t,” she said through gritted teeth and continued up the steps awkwardly.

He followed her into the building and into the elevator.

“Listen, I appreciate all the time off you’ve been giving me, but I still have a job to do. I’m here to keep you safe.”

She took a deep breath as she stared into the dull green elevator doors. “I don’t need an overpriced babysitter. I’m fine on my own.”

Smith’s nostrils flared. The girl had a way of working his last nerve. “Oh, is that right? So I suppose that’s why there was a copper waiting outside your door this afternoon?”

“Who?”

The elevator doors swished open but she remained unmoving. Smith gave a shrug, though he recognized the detective who had tried to pay Olivia a visit. Still, it wouldn’t help matters if she knew that he was well acquainted with both sides of law enforcement in New York and all over the world. “Do you know what he wanted? Maybe he came to tell you that they’ve apprehended John
Mathers
?” he said instead.

She gave him an incredulous look then finally exited the elevator. “I don’t know what the cop wanted. And honestly, I don’t care. It’s probably just another guy my father hired to keep watch over me.”

“I think I would know if that were the case.” When she unlocked the door, he nudged her aside and stepped inside, a gun already in his palm. After a quick inspection of her apartment, he returned to the living room and said, “John
Mathers
is really invisible now? You sure?”

“I saw, or rather, did not see, him with my own eyes.”

He exhaled. “I read it on the police report, but I didn’t believe it.” Then again, there were many things about that night that he was still finding hard to believe. Like the fact that the two men he had apprehended claimed that Olivia was a witch who could make anyone do whatever she pleased. More unbelievable was the fact that Smith was now finding it hard
not
to believe them.

Her eyes narrowed. “You read the police report? How?”

Smith ignored the question and motioned to the hallway table with his chin, where a cell phone lay abandoned. “You’d better check your messages. I’m betting you have a few.”

Olivia deleted the first few messages from Smith, then blanched when she heard Detective
Lingle’s
deep voice. She knew that he was there to help her, but if she never saw him again, she would be just dandy. “Miss King, I’m outside your building. I’d like to come up and have a word with you about the kidnapping,” he said in the way that automatically shot her veins full of guilt.

She flipped the phone shut immediately.

“What is it?” Smith said. “Did they find
Mathers
?”

“No. Will you please stop asking that?” she snapped. “It was nothing. Now, you will–”

“Stop. No way are you doing that
you will
business again,” he said, losing his cool as he held a hand aloft. “I’ve had plenty of sleep, thanks.”

“Then you will go and drink at the bar,” she said before he could edge a word in. “Then you will go back to your hotel and sleep.”

Smith closed his eyes and sighed impatiently. “Fine. I’ll go to the bar. But, Olivia,
you will
tell me one day how you’re able to do that.”

She raised her eyebrows, her eyes artificially wide. “Able to do what?”

He gave her a level stare. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“Not likely.” As she shook her head, she realized just how little Smith’s watchful green eyes missed. She would have to be doubly careful as the man was just too observant for his own good. “And you will forget that you are suspicious.”

He blinked a few times then a triumphant smile emerged on his face. “Nope. Still suspicious.”

“Huh.” She considered him, wondering if giving too many directives would make one desensitized. For a terrifying second, she wondered if her power of command was already beginning to wane. She hoped not; she still had so much to do.

As soon as Smith left, she dialed Detective
Lingle’s
number, anxious to get it over with.

He picked up immediately. “Miss King,” he said without greeting. “Thank you for returning my call.”

“Yes. What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering if it would be possible to meet you at the station tonight? I have a few questions about the kidnapping.”

She glanced at the clock: almost six. “I’m sorry, I have plans,” she lied.

He made a noise that was a cross between a grunt and a growl. “This is important.”

“Is this about John
Mathers
?”

“No.” He paused for a long time before saying, “It’s in relation to the blood we found in the hallway where you were being held captive.”

She frowned, trying to remember if she’d injured either Dane or Felton enough to draw blood. But for some reason, she couldn’t access the memory, as if her brain had built a steel wall to keep her out. “Was it from those two kidnappers?”

The Detective’s voice was unfathomable when he said, “No. And not from John
Mathers
either. There was a fourth person there. Who he is or what he was doing there is what we need to figure out. We really need your help, Olivia.”

Her heart began to pound, as if she should know who he was talking about. “I only heard three voices when I was up there. And there were definitely only three of them in the van.”

“Regardless, I would still like for you to come in. Will you be able to come to the station tomorrow?”

“I can’t. I have dance classes all day tomorrow then a performance at night. How about Sunday?”

Lingle grunted in displeasure. “You can’t come in any sooner? This is important. For you, especially.”

“I’m sorry Detective, but tomorrow is the last day of Swan Lake.” She tried to avoid looking at her boots. “And I can’t miss it.”

He sighed audibly, more for her sake, she suspected. “Alright. First thing Sunday morning.”

“I’ll be there,” she said and hung up. She crumpled onto the couch and gingerly zipped off her boots, sighing a little as the pressure on her ankle was released. She was no stranger to sprained ankles, knew what kind of excruciating pain she was in for in the morning, and though it worried her, she vowed to still dance. She wiped at the corners of her eyes and stood up to get an ice pack from the freezer. The closing of Swan Lake was supposed to be her graceful farewell to the ballet world, her final shining glory, and she was determined to dance perfectly. Even if it broke her.

Olivia spun across the stage, a vortex of elegance, before Michael caught her around the waist. She stood on one toe, her other leg lifted back and curved around Michael’s back, as he spun her around, slowly at first, then picking up speed. She stopped, breathless and spellbound, and came face to face with Alex.

“Don’t go,” he said, his handsome face pleading. She looked around for Michael, but the lights blinded her to the audience and the rest of the cast. The hands around her waist squeezed tighter, expressing the breath from her lungs. She turned back to Alex in panic, but came to face Daniel instead, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. He spun her around and placed a soft kiss on the back of her neck as the arms around her tightened once again, and this time, she was certain there was no way out…