Hero Status Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Note from the Author

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Hero Status

  by

  Kristen Brand

  Copyright

  Copyright © 2014 Kristen Brand

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without the express written consent of the publisher, excepting brief quotations used in reviews.

  Editing Services by Holloway House

  Cover by AngstyG

  Chapter 1

  People like to debate where superpowers come from. What genetic mutation causes special abilities beyond what seems naturally possible? Experts theorize how the traits are inherited and what part the environment plays in affecting if and how they develop. I don’t have much to add to the discussion. Just because I have superpowers doesn’t mean I know how they work. Sometimes, though? I think they’re fueled by caffeine.

  Lack of coffee was definitely my problem this morning. When the cook burst into the dining room with a shout, I should have calmly assessed the situation before reacting. Instead, I jumped and hit the table, jolting the silverware and knocking over my full cup of café con leche. Coffee drenched my wife's favorite—and very expensive—white tablecloth and splattered onto the imported wood flooring. I winced and grabbed a napkin to sop up the spill.

  Our cook was a big, burly man who’d gone to seed with age, the apron stretched across his beer gut reading, “Charred and Dangerous.” He tried to untie it, but his hands were still covered by oven mitts.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “Feds outside.”

  Before I could ask anything else, he rushed down the hallway, muttering something about hiding his guns. But I doubted federal agents had come all this way just for our cook’s illegal firearms.

  “It’s probably nothing to worry about.” The maid smiled at me, ignoring the spill as she snatched a steak knife off the table. “They like to come around and ask questions every now and then.”

  “This happened a lot in the old days?” I asked.

  She shrugged and hurried off in the same direction as the cook. I stared stupidly after them for a moment, coffee still dripping onto the floor, then picked up my cane from where it rested against my chair. Standing up always made my knee twinge, but I ignored it and walked slowly into the kitchen. The room was wide, its floors and granite countertops so clean they reflected the light. The cook had left an omelet sizzling on the stove, and it filled the air with a smell that made my mouth water. I walked past it to the big window over the sink, and sure enough, two black SUVs were coming down the palm tree-lined driveway.

  The omelet hissed and crackled angrily. I flipped it over, but the fluffy yellow egg mix was already crusted with black. I turned off the burner with a sigh. If I was going to have to deal with a government raid first thing in the morning, I’d like to do it on a full stomach, at least.

  Something trampled down the stairs. A person might have assumed it was a herd of cattle, if that person didn’t have kids. A second later, my teenage daughter, Elisa, barreled into the kitchen, her face flushed with panic.

  “Dad, there are—”

  “Federal agents outside. I know.”

  She tugged on my arm. “They’ll be here any second.”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll deal with it, whatever it is.”

  “But we can’t just sit here. We have to do something.”

  “Like what?”

  She made a noise somewhere between a groan and a sigh to convey exactly how hopeless she thought I was. “I’m getting Mom,” she said, storming off. Which left me to get the door.

  As I walked, my cane sank into the hallway carpet then clunked on the white marble of the entrance hall. It was a big room full of white pillars, a spiral staircase, and expensive paintings my wife swore were brilliant art. The ceiling held a golden chandelier, its light mixing with the morning sun, and floral arrangements provided a touch of bright color and a fresh scent that wafted through the air like perfume. Elisa’s dirty sneakers were lying next to her half-open backpack in the corner.

  The front door came into view, and I glared at it like I could see the agents on the other side. My wife and I had been retired for almost four years now. If they wanted to arrest us, they’d had plenty of time. Why pick today to ruin my morning? Now don’t get me wrong—I respect the various agencies of our government and what they do to protect this country. I’ve worked with most of them over the course of my career. But it’s never good news when one shows up at your front door.

  The doorbell chimed, and I took a deep breath and answered it.

  Two men in suits and sunglasses stood on my doorstep, tall, broad, and just generally taking up a lot of space. I drew myself up in response. It wasn’t as easy for me to look intimidating as it used to be, not with the cane, but I was still six-foot-four and built like a tank. An old, rusty tank that hadn’t seen the battlefield in years, but a tank, nonetheless.

  “Good morning,” I said. “How can I help you?”

  They were federal agents, all right. From the Department of Special Affairs, to be exact. I should know, because I used to work for them. All superheroes did. The DSA was the go-to agency for law enforcement and intelligence involving people with special abilities.

  “Good morning, Mr. Del Toro. I’m Agent Cox; this is Agent Sosa. May we come in?”

  “Don’t let them inside without a warrant,” Elisa said.

  She’d reappeared at the bottom of the stairs, clutching the banister as she all but snarled at the agents. I opened my mouth to scold her but was beaten to it.

  “Elisa, show the agents respect until they give you a reason not to.”

  Elisa clamped her mouth shut, and the rest of us stared. My wife could have that effect when she walked into a room.

  She had long black hair, eyes so dark they were nearly black, as well, and a faded burn scar that covered the right half of her face. A black pencil skirt and low-cut red blouse showed off her curves, and her heels clicked against the floor as she walked. She was beautiful in the same way as a jeweled knife: people admired the gold and gems on the hilt but never forgot that the blade could cut. And she hadn’t dulled with age. I’d known her for twenty years, and she was still as alluring as she’d been on the day we first met.

  Of course, when we’d met, she’d been holding up a bank.

  “Valentina Belmonte?” asked Agent Cox.

  She arched her thin eyebrows, looking down on him even though he was taller. “Yes?”

  “You’re under arrest.”

  The shock hit me like a bullet. And yes, I’m bulletproof, but the things still hurt. I forced my voice to remain calm as I asked, “For what?”

  Agent Cox gazed at us with an expression trained to give nothing away.

  “Murder.”

  A statement like that demanded to be followed by a moment of silence, at least. The utter lack of sound seemed to fill the entire hall, from the floor to the high, arched ceiling, until my daughter shattered it.

  “Bullshit! You fucking assholes are out of your—”

  “Elisa,” I said sharply. “Go upstairs.”

  “But—”

  “Listen to your father,” Val
said. “You need to get ready for school. Everything will be fine.”

  Elisa opened her mouth like she was going to start swearing again, but then she closed it, hung her head, and hurried up the stairs. When she was out of sight, Val turned back to the agents with a dramatic sigh. “I suppose you’re going to handcuff me? Goodness, this brings back memories.”

  Sure enough, Agent Cox pulled out handcuffs. Agent Sosa pulled out a syringe.

  I was in between them and Val in a flash, limp or no limp. “This is ridiculous. She didn’t kill anybody.”

  “Just doing our job, sir.”

  Val put a hand on my arm, and I met her eyes.

  They have a SWAT team, five telepaths, and half a dozen of your costumed contemporaries standing by.

  Her words formed in my head, and I didn’t need to express my reaction; she could telepathically sense that as well.

  We had no choice.

  Well, we did, technically. Val could resist arrest. If it came to a fight, there was a chance she could win. She might be retired, but she was still the Black Valentine, one of the most infamous supervillains in the country. But a fight in our home, with none of us prepared for it… Better to just go along with the agents.

  And of course White Knight would never suggest I try to evade the law, Val teased.

  No, but I don’t have to like it, I replied.

  Well, I don’t like it either, dear. And it’s sweet of you to worry, but this is hardly my first arrest.

  She broke contact and smiled at the DSA agents. “You’ll have to excuse my husband, gentlemen. He’s just jealous someone else gets to handcuff me.”

  Agent Sosa uncapped the syringe. Val’s blouse was sleeveless, so he had no trouble reaching her inner elbow to inject the exatrin. The drug was standard procedure for arresting telepaths and would completely shut down her abilities. It would also leave her drowsy and muddled, not the best state for someone being interrogated on murder charges. She turned around and put her hands behind her back, and Agent Cox wasted no time in snapping on the cuffs.

  “I’ll get to the bottom of this,” I promised her.

  She gave me a smile, thin and secretive, leaving me clueless as to whether she thought I was being noble or just plain stupid.

  I loved that smile.

  “Take care of Elisa,” she said.

  “Of course.”

  For a moment, we just looked at each other, neither willing to be the first to turn away.

  Agent Cox cleared his throat. “Ms. Belmonte.”

  The agents took her by the arms and escorted her out. When they reached the door, she glanced over her shoulder and winked at me.

  I followed them out into the humid Miami morning and watched as they walked her down the stone path to the driveway. Val held her head high, striding forward as if the whole thing had been her idea. Her hair fluttered in a breeze that rustled palm leaves overhead and sent waves lapping against the dock in our backyard. Our property was large, trees obscuring the view from the road. I was the scene’s sole witness, and my grip on the smooth metal handle of my cane began to shake.

  They put my wife into the back of the SUV and drove away.

  • • •

  “Your mother’s been arrested.”

  I stood in the doorway of Elisa’s bedroom. The walls were covered in photographs, magazine clippings, posters, and drawings, but it was still more visible than the floor. Clothes spilled out from open dresser drawers and littered the carpet, and scattered books lay open where they weren’t in stacks. The sheets had been kicked off the bed and lay in a pile half-covering an expensive flute not put away in its case. Val had told her to clean this up last night. Such a short time ago and everything had been perfectly normal. I was still reeling from the change.

  Elisa stood on a clear patch of floor in front of the mirror, brushing her short hair with hard, forceful swipes. It was closer to my pre-gray brown than her mother’s black, and the way she was attacking it with the brush, you’d think she was trying to tear it out.

  “I was there, Dad. I know.”

  The two of us were alone. Last I’d seen of the maid, she’d been on the phone with Val’s lawyer, and I had no idea where the cook had gotten to, but they’d both been with Val for decades; they knew how to handle this sort of thing. They’d probably know exactly what to say to Elisa to comfort her, but that was my job. I just hoped I wouldn’t screw it up.

  I watched her in silence, trying to figure out what must be going through her head. She glared into the mirror and ignored me, the strokes of her hairbrush falling with rhythmic precision. Elisa had the misfortune of taking a lot after me. She was already taller than her mom, had a more athletic frame, and though she resembled Val in the face (thank heaven), she had my eyes. But that didn’t mean we saw the world in the same way. Not even close.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I said finally.

  “You don’t know that,” she snapped. “You can’t know that.”

  “She didn’t murder anyone.”

  “Of course she didn’t!” Elisa slammed the hairbrush down on the dresser and rounded on me. “She’s retired. She doesn’t do that stuff anymore. Everyone knows that. It’s not going to stop them from trying to lock her up.”

  “The DSA is investigating a murder. They’re not out to get your mom.”

  “Yes, they are. They’re a bunch of bast—”

  “Elisa.” My voice came out with an edge. “Those men and women put their lives on the line to protect this country every day.”

  “But they don’t care about us. Last time they took Mom away, they put her in prison for two whole years.”

  Her voice broke, and she looked away. I kicked myself for not realizing sooner that this was the problem.

  Val and I had only tied the knot three years ago. Before that, Elisa had lived with her mom. I hadn’t known she existed, so when Val got sent to prison, Elisa had been left alone. Oh, Val’s relatives had taken her in, but Val’s side of the family… “Dysfunctional” was too kind a word. It hadn’t been an easy two years for Elisa.

  I wasn’t the most emotionally sensitive guy in the world, but I wasn’t that much of a blockhead. I walked up to Elisa and hugged her gently.

  “It’s not going to be like that this time.”

  She sniffed and shuddered, trying hard not to cry. “How do you know?”

  “Because this time, she’s innocent. I’m not going to let them put her away for a crime she didn’t commit.”

  Elisa let out a trembling breath and pulled away from me. She looked down and wiped her eyes and nose.

  “Okay.”

  “Good,” I said. “Now go on and get ready for school. Your mom will want to hear about your day when she gets back.”

  She returned to the mirror, and I walked out of her room. The moment my back was to her, my face abandoned its encouraging smile and settled into a more natural glower. I didn’t like seeing Elisa cry. My first instinct was to fix everything for her—well, no, my first instinct was to hit whoever had caused her tears, but I didn’t know who that was yet. A criminal who’d framed Val? A DSA agent with a grudge? And what kind of evidence did they have against Val anyway? I knew how to fight crime, but my job had always ended after the arrest. I was no lawyer, and if they prosecuted Val for murder and won, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  But none of that mattered. I’d basically just promised my daughter I’d keep her mother out of jail, and I’d do everything humanly possible—superhumanly possible—to keep that promise.

  • • •

  I dropped off Elisa at her high school and watched until she’d disappeared behind the doors. Maybe I should have told her to stay home. If I were in her place, I wouldn’t have been able to pay attention in class. But I didn’t know how serious things were with Val yet, and it was Elisa’s first week as a freshman; I didn’t want her to miss a day this early. Anyway, it would probably be better than her sitting home alone all day and worrying. I shook my head. Elisa
would be fine. The best way I could help her was by getting her mom home as soon as possible.

  The roads around the school were congested with the morning rush, so I took the chance to use my phone. I just hoped Moreen hadn’t changed her number. It had been ages since we’d last talked.

  “Dave,” she greeted after the third ring. “Took you longer than I thought.”

  “I had to drop off Elisa at school. You want to explain what’s going on?”

  I’d have been surprised if she wasn’t aware of Val’s arrest. Moreen Lee was the director of the DSA; the agency didn’t do much she didn’t know about. She and I went way back from before my days as White Knight, when we’d gone to college together.

  She was also my ex.

  “I’m not going to discuss an ongoing case with you,” Moreen said. “Especially not over the phone.”

  “Then I’ll fly up to Washington, and we can discuss it in person.”

  “You do that,” she said, amusement in her voice.

  I paused. “You’re in Miami.”

  “Yeah.”

  That wasn’t good. For her to come down in person, the case must have been serious. Just who did they think Val had murdered?

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  She groaned. “We really don’t.”

  “She’s my wife. You owe me that much, Mo. I’d do the same for you, and you know it.”

  The line went silent, but I knew she was still there. I waited her out.

  “Fine,” she said. “I told myself I wouldn’t do this, but—” She sighed noisily into the phone. “Stop by the Miami branch. I can spare five minutes for you.”

  “Thank you.”

  “And I mean those five minutes literally. I’m bringing a stopwatch.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind,” I said with a smile, and hung up.

  It was a start.

  I put on my blinker and inched closer to the car in front of me. The DSA’s Miami office was downtown along with pretty much every government building, from the local county courthouse to consulates from all over the world. My foot itched to stomp on the accelerator, to tear across town and demand answers, but there were half a dozen cars between me and the stop sign. Traffic packed the main road, making it almost impossible to turn onto, and the usual morning rush hour wasn’t completely to blame. People were pouring into the city for Miami Hero-Fest this weekend.