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  The balcony was practically empty. The people up here must have had an easier time getting out. A small decision like watching from the second floor instead of the first shouldn’t have such a bearing on whether someone lived or died, but it had. I passed couches and beds intended for people to recline on, one of the leather chairs overturned in the rush to escape. Drink glasses sat abandoned on tables, and a pair of high heels lay discarded on the floor. It was hard to believe people had been having a good time up here just—how long ago had it been? My sense of time always warped during a fight.

  I’d screwed the sword back into the cane to help me climb up the stairs. Should I pull it back out? I reminded myself that I had no less than three guns on me, not that they would stop any more No-Men that Dr. Sweet might be keeping in reserve. I could shoot him, though. He’d no doubt miraculously resurrect himself again, but I could worry about that later.

  I caught movement to my left. Frightened bystanders? Another No-Man?

  It was Starla and Mr. Tomorrow.

  They were on one of the couches, kissing and groping and going at each other with desperate abandon. Thank heaven his costume was still on, but Starla was working on prying it off. My stomach churned in disgust and horror. I didn’t want to delay yet again, but I couldn’t let Starla go any farther with her assault. I went up to them, grabbed a handful of Mr. Tomorrow’s cape, and yanked him off her.

  “Wha—”

  I decked him again, even though he was the victim. This time he stayed down.

  “White Knight?” Starla gasped. She was in a little black dress, one of the straps hanging off her shoulder, and her lipstick was smeared.

  I turned my back on her and strode toward the booths. I wanted to incapacitate her, but I didn’t trust myself. She was responsible for Harris’s death, Benita’s—all the innocent people in this building. I was good at keeping my temper in check, but not that good.

  “Wait!” she cried.

  I reached the first booth and pulled the door off its hinges. It was empty.

  Starla hurried after me. I pushed open the second door and saw a young couple cowering behind the furniture.

  “White Knight, I’m sorry.”

  The third door was already open, the room also empty.

  Starla grabbed my arm, and I pushed too hard to get her off, knocking her to the floor. I smashed down the fourth door, but that room was empty, too.

  “I know you must be angry,” said Starla. “But you don’t have to be. I love you more than Mr. Tomorrow. I always have.”

  Oh, for the love of God. Is that why she thought I was angry? I’d pity her, if I didn’t pity all the people who’d needlessly died because of her more.

  I knocked down the fifth door and almost screamed in frustration. It was empty, too. When I’d seen Val’s face, she hadn’t been that far along the wall, had she?

  I stopped. Of course. I was such an idiot.

  I know a song that gets on everybody’s nerves…

  Slowly I walked past the doors a second time, focusing through my pounding head and Starla’s pawing at my arm. They all looked exactly the same until I got to the very last one. Then I saw Val. She was standing away from the edge of the balcony now, facing me. Dr. Sweet was sitting on the couch, a laptop in front of him. And that was all the detail I could take in before Giordano attacked me.

  He punched me in the solar plexus, and the fight was over before it even began. It knocked the air from lungs, and I went down. I couldn’t inhale, couldn’t breathe. My body was screaming that I was going to die, and I would have believed it if I hadn’t been hit there before. But no amount of preparation could get my breath back. I gasped, my vision blurring, and Giordano calmly got my arm in a lock behind my back and slammed me into the floor. The pain was excruciating. Lucky me, I had the feeling of suffocation to distract me from it.

  After about a minute, I started breathing again with a pathetic wheezing sound. But Giordano still had me in the arm lock, my face smashed into the carpet, and it was impossible to rise. I’d gotten a look at him before he’d taken me down. He had two black eyes, a bruised face, and who knew what else on the rest of his body. I was betting Dr. Sweet had made the No-Men beat him beforehand. He was stronger than me now, stronger by far.

  If I had enough breath, I would’ve cursed at the idiot. He’d gone through all the trouble to stalk me, ditched me at Starla’s to get here first, only to get himself mind-controlled. Some help he was.

  “You all right there, White Knight?” Dr. Sweet asked. “Got your wind back? Good.”

  He smiled at me from the couch, the club’s flashing lights gleaming off his oily skin.

  “Let her go,” I rasped.

  “Or what?” He looked at me in amusement. “We do need to be going, though. Before the DSA shows up. Though I suppose Ms. Belmonte could convince them not to arrest us.” He crossed his legs, looking as comfortable as could be. “I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to work with a telepath of your wife’s talents. The one I sent after Director Lee fried his brain, the useless clod. And the twins, well, you’ve met them. Plenty of raw power, but no finesse.”

  I tried to pull free from Giordano, but all I managed to do was cause myself enough pain to make my vision blur. Pressed against the floor, my guns jabbed into my bruised ribs. If I could just draw one… No, not yet. Dr. Sweet was staring right at me. If he saw me reach inside my jacket, he’d have Giordano break my arms. I had to wait.

  “There’s no need to panic,” said Dr. Sweet. “I’m not going to kill her.”

  My body stiffened even more than the arm lock had already made me, and my thoughts raced to figure out what he meant. It couldn’t be anything good.

  “I’m going to have her kill you.”

  My breath stopped like I’d been hit in the solar plexus a second time. And yet, if I died and she lived… on some level, I was okay with that, wasn’t I? I was more than willing to die for her. And she and Elisa had gotten along perfectly fine without me before.

  No. I couldn’t let myself think like that. I had to fight him. He was probably lying, anyway.

  “And then you’ll just let her go?” I croaked.

  “Well, I might still kill her. After I let it sink in that she’s killed her own husband.” He shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet.”

  I tried to throw off Giordano again. Damn it. He was just too strong. I had to get to Dr. Sweet. I could resist Val's influence on my thoughts, but I couldn’t defend against her overloading my brain until it bled. No one could. And Val…

  Dr. Sweet’s fingers clicked across his keyboard. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this, watching for the right opportunity.” He was blind typing, keeping his smug eyes on me the whole time. “Then Miss Strauss brings me the perfect chance practically gift wrapped. Your little wife drugged and imprisoned; you running around town playing detective. I just had to jump in.” He sighed. “I wish I had more time to savor this moment, but you’ll just have to imagine I gave you a long, proper villain monologue, okay?”

  I looked at Val, willing her to break out of it. But her eyes were glazed over, her scarred face expressionless. She might be facing me, but she wasn’t seeing me. The machine’s control was too complete. I had no chance of snapping her out of it.

  Part of me hoped she was already too gone, that she wouldn’t realize she’d killed me when Dr. Sweet finally pulled the plug. I struggled violently against Giordano, using the movement to camouflage how I moved my free hand closer to my chest. Or at least how I tried to move it. My arm didn’t want to obey my brain’s command. Overloaded with pain, my body was trying to give out on me.

  “Wait!”

  I’d forgotten about Starla. Her black heels stopped on the carpet next to me, and I twisted my head up to see her looking at Dr. Sweet.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” she said. “I want him, not Mr. Tomorrow.”

  Dr. Sweet was silent for a moment. “Getting her to force him to love you—to make love
to you…” His tone was thoughtful. “Interesting, but it wouldn’t quite have the same effect as making her kill him.”

  “It would be easier,” she said. “He already loves me. He’s just too shy. You have to make him act on it.”

  I groaned. “Starla, listen to me. I don’t love you. I never have. Stop this while you still can.”

  She pretended not to hear me.

  “We don’t have the time,” said Dr. Sweet.

  “Make time,” Starla snapped. “I’m paying the bills. You do what I tell you to.”

  In the silence that followed, I almost felt sorry for her. The woman had no idea who she was dealing with.

  “You have paid me,” Dr. Sweet agreed. “But since that money is in my account now, there’s really no need for you anymore, is there?”

  I winced. She’d paid him in advance?

  Sweet’s fingers raced across the keyboard.

  “Now wait just a second!” Starla said. “We had a contract.”

  “I’m a mad scientist, dear.”

  “I don’t care who you are! You can’t just walk away. I’ll hire someone else and send them after you.”

  “That would be an even bigger waste of your money.”

  “Then I’ll go to the police. The DSA. I’ll tell them this whole thing was your idea, and they’ll hunt you down. You’ll go to jail. I have lawyers, you know.”

  “Stop him,” I croaked. “Don’t let him finish typing. He’ll kill you.”

  “You can’t do this to me,” she hissed at Dr. Sweet. “You don’t know who you’re messing with. I’m Starla Strauss. I’ll—”

  She cried out, and her hands flew to her head. She stumbled as her face screwed up in pain. Then she stared at Dr. Sweet and seemed to realized what was happening. She whimpered and turned to me, eyes bulging.

  “Help m—”

  She collapsed.

  Her body fell right beside me, staring with dead eyes. Brain hemorrhage, just like Harris. I could only stare back in shock. After everything she’d done, her death should have made me happy, but it didn’t. She hadn’t needed to die. At the very least, she should have lived to stand trial for murder.

  “Now then,” said Dr. Sweet. “Let’s get back to business.” He started typing again, and this time, it would be me who died instantly when he finished. And he was using my wife’s powers to do it. I pulled my half-numb arm slowly closer to my chest. Dr. Sweet was looking at his computer screen now; if I was going to reach my gun, this was my moment. But my hand felt like it was made out of lead, like my circulation was cut off. I groped awkwardly inside my jacket… There. My hand clasped around the grip, and I pulled out the gun.

  Giordano knocked it out of my hand—and lost the leverage for his arm lock. I threw my head back and slammed my skull into his nose. Blood gushed everywhere, and mind-controlled or not, he was dazed. I threw him off and pulled out the second Beretta.

  Dr. Sweet was typing. If he finished giving the order to Val, I was dead.

  I fired off three shots. Only one hit him. It took him in the side, and he screamed, but it didn’t kill him. One hand clutched to the wound, he clicked falteringly over the keyboard with his other.

  Giordano tore the gun from my hand. He pinned me to the floor again, hands around my throat, and I couldn’t pry him off. He was too strong. Blood from his nose splattered onto my face, and I thought his ugly mug was going to be the last thing I saw before I died.

  I spotted my cane out of the corner of my eye. I reached for it, found the handle, and bashed Giordano over the head. It would only make him stronger, but I had to get him off me. I clobbered him with no identifiable technique, just desperation. His grip loosened, and I shoved with all my might. He flew a dozen feet and smashed into one of the couches.

  I had to get to Dr. Sweet, but Giordano was already getting up. I didn’t have the strength to knock him out, and I couldn’t restrain him. I had to stop him long enough to free Val.

  The sword.

  I tried to push myself to my feet, but my knee buckled. I hissed a curse as Giordano advanced on me like some unstoppable automaton. How much of him was still him? He was analyzing and reacting on some level, so he wasn’t a complete mindless zombie.

  “I know you can hear me,” I said. “And I have enough experience with telepathy to know that on some deep, dream-like level, you understand.”

  He stopped and regarded me warily. He must have been commanded to keep me stalled and restrained, not kill me. With his gaze on my face, I fiddled desperately with the handle of my cane behind my back.

  “All those years working for the Belmontes, and you can’t even resist Val’s mind-control.”

  Something flickered in his muddy eyes.

  “She must think you’re pathetic,” I went on. “No wonder she chose me—”

  He charged. I rolled at the last split second, pulled free the sword, and slashed his Achilles tendon as he ran past.

  He hit the floor, and wouldn’t stand again. I was already crawling away. The authorities would get here before he bled out, and if he got surgery soon enough there would be no lasting damage. He’d be fine. Probably.

  I dragged myself across the rough carpet, bumping and scraping every one of my injuries. Both my Berettas were gone. I reached down toward my legs, wincing in pain, and took the tiny pink Derringer from its ankle holster. The movement cost valuable time. Pain pierced through my head. Was it Val’s deadly touch? My entire body trembled as I reached the booth’s doorway. Dr. Sweet was typing fast. I didn’t waste another second. I opened fire.

  Val was a much better shot than I was. I was still proficient, but I’d always stuck more to close-range fighting since it was obviously my strength. Val might have pulled off a shot to the head at this range, but I aimed for the center of his body, since it was the biggest target.

  I got lucky. I hit the laptop, too.

  Dr. Sweet made a wet, stifled cry, and Val crumpled to the floor.

  I crawled to her, barely registering my pain over the fear. But I was slow, so slow. God, it seemed to take ages to make it to where she lay face down. I dropped the Derringer and tore the helmet from her head.

  “Val?”

  She didn’t stir.

  I pulled her closer to me, feeling her neck for a pulse. She had a heartbeat, and she was breathing, but she didn’t react.

  “Val!”

  I shook her gently—very gently. My panic was rising, and it was hard to control myself.

  Dr. Sweet made a rasping noise, and after a second, I realized it was laughter. I had the gun back in my hand and pointed it at him so fast it made me dizzy.

  “Go on.” His hands were clasped to his bloody gut, the broken laptop discarded on the floor. His breathing was ragged. “Finish it.”

  After several long seconds, I lowered the gun. “If you don’t bleed out, you’ll get arrested. Maybe prison will take care of you better than death did.”

  I turned away and cradled Val in my lap. My hand ran through her hair and along her face, and in my head, I repeated her name over and over, praying she’d hear and wake up. I kept her in my arms through the arrival of the police and the DSA, through shouted questions and Dr. Sweet’s arrest, until the paramedics came and took us both away.

  Chapter 17

  The last time I’d been hospitalized had been after I’d rescued Elisa from Dr. Sweet, and that small, sanitized room was where everything had changed. I’d never forget the place. A few cards and flowers had rested on the shelf, and the smell of the bouquets mixed with pine-scented cleaner. The window’s light blue curtains had been opened, letting in the sunshine in an attempt to cheer up the room. I’d been too drugged to appreciate it.

  I’d had four visitors. Walter was the first. I’d been muddled and drowsy, barely able to keep my eyes open, but the sight of him brought me to alertness better than a cold shower and a hot cup of coffee. His face had been wrinkled with annoyance, but he always looked like that, so it didn’t necessarily mean anyt
hing. I looked for the little tells. His gray hair was still perfectly combed across his head: that was good. But he’d loosened his tie: definitely a bad sign. I wished I’d known how many cigarettes he’d gone through; that would be the most accurate measurement of how much trouble I was in.

  He appraised me, and something in his expression softened. “Christ, you look pathetic.”

  I grunted. “The girl?”

  He closed his eyes and massaged his temples. If he had a migraine, things were definitely serious.

  “Valentina Belmonte and her daughter are being treated at a private hospital. They’re still trying to figure out what Dr. Sweet did to the kid, but for now, it looks like she’ll be fine.”

  I sank deeper into the bed as I relaxed. That was the only thing that mattered, really. For a few moments, the beeping of my heart monitor was the only sound as Walter scrutinized me.

  “She has your eyes,” he said.

  I felt an ache in my chest that had nothing to do with my injuries. “Does she?”

  “You left a few facts out of your report,” he growled.

  I didn’t reply.

  “Unless you honestly didn’t know,” he said. “If the Black Valentine used mind-control to rape you, and you didn’t know, then say so. I’ll believe it, because I trust you.” He spat out the last part like an insult. “Is that what happened?”

  I took a deep breath and exhaled. “No.”

  He was silent for a long time.

  “I will do everything in my power to convince my superiors to press criminal charges,” he said in hard voice.

  I nodded vaguely, having expected it. Part of me wished I’d been left in the fire.

  “But I doubt they’ll want the media circus that will come with taking White Knight to court,” he went on. “You’re probably going to get off scot-free, you lucky son of a bitch.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “But I want to make one thing perfectly clear. You’re done, Dave. Your clearance, your benefits, everything. When I’m finished with you, the only government building you’ll be allowed inside is a post office.”