Heroes 'Til Curfew (Talent Chronicles #2)

Heroes ’Til Curfew

Smashwords Edition

© 2011 Susan Bischoff

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form.

http://susan-bischoff.com

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Cover Art by Robin Ludwig Design Inc.

Authors note: This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Contents

Titles in the Series

Acknowledgements

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

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Come Find me

Impulse Control (excerpt)

Red (excerpt)

Glimpse (excerpt)

The Talent Chronicles

Hush Money

Heroes ’Til Curfew

Heroes Under Siege (forthcoming)

Also

Impulse Control (short story)

Acknowledgments

The author wishes to thank the following talented people:

Kait Nolan, gifted author and dear friend, who continues to be THE person who makes me finish what I start.

Andrew Mocete and Claire Legrand for careful reading, enthusiastic feedback, and unconditional support.

Stacey Wallace Benefiel who, as it turns out, is as awesome at beta reading as she is at crafting stories.

Lauralynn Elliott, author and friend, who came in with an amazing, last-minute proofreading effort.

Robin Ludwig, Robin Ludwig Design Inc., for a cover so exciting it made me want to write a book that was worthy.

My husband, Les, who continues to put up with a lot.

And my daughter, Briar Rose, whose boundless creativity is inspiring.

Chapter 1

Joss

Just because you’re paranoid, doesn’t mean no one’s out to get you.

The thought went through my head in my dad’s voice—I was that well programmed. That’s why I’d varied my schedule, to throw off my stalker.

As I walked down the brick-paved road that ran through the middle of the downtown pedestrian mall, my own boots were the only ones I could hear beating the pavement. The feelings I had weren’t the sensations of being followed and watched that I had become familiar with over the last month or so. Tonight was different.

It’s not like I’m that kind of psychic. I don’t have any kind of extra-sensory perception or anything. It’s just that, since I was a little kid, my dad trained me to pay attention to my surroundings. At some point that kind of training turns to instinct—an instinct that warned me something was up.

The economy of our town was not great, and downtown was especially bad. Yeah, here and everywhere else in the country, right? That left a lot of empty storefronts on the mall, a lot of darkened glass windows that showed my reflection as I walked by, a lone, dark-haired girl in a vintage army jacket and combat boots, faking confidence in her stride.

Our store was at the far end of the mall and I had to walk the whole length of it to get home. I was happy when my dad started letting me walk home by myself, because I loved walking it, the feeling of freedom in the night air, the quiet, the glow of the converted gas lights. But making enemies, getting my ass handed to me, getting to walk around with a bruised face for weeks and all the attention that got me…that kind of thing changes a girl, I guess.

I glanced over at the image of the confident girl who moved from glass to glass beside me, at the dark alleyways that opened up every few buildings, the looming, brick store facades, and the shadows under awnings where the attractive but weak lamplight didn’t reach. I listened hard to the sound of nothing—too much nothing, it seemed to me—and tried not to think about the cell phone in my pocket and of calling Dylan. Not because I was some useless girl, afraid of the dark and in need of rescuing, but just to hear his voice.

As if I would have the guts to just call up Dylan.

I passed by the fountain that they didn’t bother to put water in anymore, even in summer. More than one person had used it for a giant trash can during the day. Is that really any better than throwing your trash right on the ground? What’s wrong with people?

I don’t know what it was that made me take a closer look as I walked by Dog-Eared. Mr. McGuffey closed the shop at five o’clock. He always said that after dinner his customers were all home reading, and he would be too. The lights were on low in the front of the store, like usual. Over the piles of used books stacked against the front windows, the tall bookcases created a maze through the shop and stacks on the floor encroached on the narrow aisles. But I guess that squeezing your way around Dog-Eared is part of its charm.

There was a flare of light. Just a quick something that was gone almost as I noticed it. Definitely not right. Moving closer to the shop, I thought I saw a shadow of movement, so I decided to duck down the alley and see if I could see anything through the windows over there.

Now I’ll admit it: it’s not a great idea for a girl, alone at night in a deserted downtown shopping area, to go creeping down dark alleys to peep in store windows where suspicious activity may or may not be taking place. But in my defense, I’m not exactly an ordinary girl, and I was just going to have a look anyway.

Through a window I could see the wide aisle that ran across the back of the shop, in front of the door to the back rooms. In that aisle were four boys doing bad things.

I recognized Jeff right off, even though his back was to me. Maybe it was the Neanderthal posture. Standing next to him was a smaller guy who looked vaguely familiar. Probably a freshman. Across from Jeff was a tall guy I didn’t know, who looked older than we were. Next to that guy was a sophomore, Nathan, who was in my gym class last year.

Jeff and the freshman each had a pile of books in front of them, and when I say pile, I mean it looked like they’d just gathered up an armload and dumped them on the floor. Nice. They were tossing these books, in sync with each other, into the air in front of the other two. Who would then d-i-s-i-n-t-e-g-r-a-t-e them. No, really, I kid you not. I don’t know what Nathan was doing, but his book just turned to dust which floated down to the carpet. The older guy’s book burst with a brief flash of flame and then exploded into embers that glowed for a second before they joined the mess of dust and ash on the floor.

I shuddered. Damn I hate fire.

And fire in a bookshop? Genius. What a bunch of idiots. Did they want to burn the place down? Start a fire that would rip through all those stacks of books, choking the place with thick, black smoke, trapping them all in that maze of bookshelves as they crawled frantically along the floor, searching for the exit, while the temperature—

I sat down hard in the alley and put my head on my crossed legs, taking deep breaths of dirty, old cement and the smell of my leather boots. It’s worth mentioning again: I hate fire.

But what was I going to do, let them burn down the store with their stupidity? Besides the fact that not even stupid people deserved that experience, more importantly, there was Mr. McGuffey. He used to bring me some tattered picture book that was beyond selling every week when I was a little kid in the store with my dad. I totally owe my love of reading to my complete lack of a social life and the owner of Dog-Eared. So there was no way I was going to just walk away.

And I couldn’t call the police either. Or…I guess it was more like I wouldn’t. These guys were Talents. No matter how much I didn’t like them, I still had enough us against them mentality that I wasn’t about to bring in the cops. We Talents needed to police our own.

The cops would just report the whole thing to the National Institutes for Ability Control. If NIAC came to investigate Talents in Fairview again, it wasn’t going to be good for anyone. We’d already had more kids taken away to the State School in the last month than in the last few years put together, and I did not want to draw any more attention to our town than we already had.

I just wished these idiots felt the same way.

I pushed myself back up and moved to the next window, the one that didn’t have a view of much of the shop because it was located behind a bookcase and piled with paperbacks. I could see the latch in the middle, so it wasn’t a problem to reach out to it with my mind and get it to turn. The fact that it had been painted over at least once required a little mental elbow grease, but I got it. I floated the piles of paperbacks down to the floor before opening the window, so they wouldn’t fall and make noise, and then I hoisted myself up and climbed in.

At the end of the row of bookshelves, I peeked around the corner. They were still playing their stupid game.

The first two would count it down, Three, two, one, GO! and toss the books.

Then the other two would say, Ashes to ashes! and Dust to dust! at practically the same time they destroyed the targets.

Losers. I was debating what to say when a girl rushed out of the center aisle into the middle of them to bang on the door to the back room. Yeah, hon, just step right in the middle of a contest between the guy with the flame and the guy with the—disintegration ray power. Whatever. It’s not always easy to come up with names for some of these Talents.

The door was yanked open and Marco stepped out. My stomach did something unpleasant. Okay, I’ll admit I was kind of scared of my nemesis. Call it post-traumatic stress. Mr. I-Can-Bench-Press-A-Steel-Girder did almost kill me not too long ago. When I looked at him, I imagined the feel of his hands around my throat, right before Dylan tackled him and saved my life. I so did not want to take Marco on again.

You’re screwing up Angie’s concentration, Bella. What do you want?

Corey was feeling me up again when I was out of my body.

What? came a voice from the stacks. She wasn’t using it.

Cor, this isn’t a date-rape opportunity, it’s a job. If you get your rocks off fondling unconscious chicks, get some GHB and do it on your time. Or take Sleepy, here, for a night on the town.

"My name is Curtis," the freshman whined, indignant.

Like anyone cares, Jeff said.

Hey, you guys need to get back to business. Now. Angie’s still working on the safe. Bella, get your virtual ass back up to the roof and do your job.

Okay, but I thought you’d want to know that some girl went down the alley and was looking in the windows.

What? Marco asked, in a dangerous tone that made the boys sit up, but didn’t seem to affect Bella very much.

Yeah, dark-haired girl in an army jacket? Looked kind of like Joss Marshall.

Oh shit. I pulled back behind the stacks and started to move toward the window.

He came through the bookcase. I mean through the bookcase. One minute there was no one between me and the window, and the next there was a shimmer to the air in the form of a body coming out of the books. It grabbed me hard while it was still fading back into Corey Danvers. He smiled at me as he jerked me into the back aisle where everyone could see me.

And look what I found.

* * *

Dylan

What time is it?

Time for you to get a watch, Eric told me.

About a minute since the last time you asked, Kat added. Damn, Dylan. You know, at first it was cute, but it’s getting sad.

"Seriously, man. You’re all anxious to get over there before she gets out of work, and are you even going to talk to her this time?"

We talk, I muttered defensively.

I never knew you to be this chicken-shit around a girl before. Eric reached across the checkout counter and punched me in the shoulder, like the guy-punch was supposed to take the sting out of it.

He’s not chicken-shit, baby—

Why did it feel like a new low that I needed Joss’s crazy friend Kat to defend me?

—he’s just embracing the stalker lifestyle.

I’m not a stalker! I’m just waiting for my moment.

Oh, honey, no. A guy doesn’t kiss a girl and then wait around a month for his ‘moment,’ okay? Kat was giving me air-quotes. Awesome. You see Eric waiting around for some moment?

They then engaged in a PDA that might have gotten me fired from the mini-mart if Casey had come out of the back room and caught them. I had to clear my throat twice to break it up.

Lookit, Kat said, digging her phone out of her bag, I looked up stalker in the dictionary the other day. I’ll show you. She pressed a few buttons and then held it up. See?

Naturally, the display showed a picture of me. Nice friends. It’s enough to make a guy long for days of being best buds with Marco and being pressured into a life of crime.

If you want to walk Joss home, Eric advised, just go over there and say, ‘Hey, Joss, mind if I walk you home?’

"Oh yeah, ’cause that’s brilliant. Kat saw her lift a steel girder, like, three stories in to the air…with her brain. The girl tosses sofas like it’s nothing—"

Don’t forget how she ripped out all my kitchen cabinets!

And there’s that, I said to Kat. So I’m supposed to go over there and offer to walk her home at night? Like she needs someone like me to look out for her. How stupid does that make me look?

"And yet you keep leaving here and racing over there to follow her home instead. If you’re so sure she doesn’t need you looking out for her, what are you doing?"

Maybe I just like the view.

While Eric had a laugh over that, I had to admit to myself that he had a point. It was stupid of me to keep following her home at night, thinking I could do anything to help her if trouble came looking for her. But then, I was all kinds of stupid over Joss lately.

When I thought about it, and I thought about it way too much, it didn’t make sense for me to be protective of Joss. She didn’t need someone like me. But I couldn’t stop myself from feeling it, from needing to look out for her, and knowing I’d do whatever I could to help her—even if whatever I could do was pretty useless.

It was like when I thought she was in over her head with Marco, and I found them with his hands around her neck. I didn’t think about the fact that he had super strength and was probably going to kill me. It was like that part of reality didn’t matter, didn’t even apply to me right then. Lucky for me, Joss was able to use her Talent to help me fight him back.

Because that’s how lame I am, that I needed my girlfriend’s psychic ability to do my fighting for me.

Except she’s not my girlfriend. Because that’s how lame I am.

Are these paying customers, Maxwell? my boss asked me.

Yes, sir, Mr. Casey, Kat said with too much enthusiasm. "I just love to shop here!" She made a show of browsing the gum selection in front of the register.

My friends just dropped in to give me a ride when Manny gets here. Eric, for all his ribbing, was always happy to drive like a madman to get me from Casey’s Go-Mart over to Gene’s Army/Navy Store in time for Joss to get off work. Mostly because Eric was always happy to be speeding.

Ortega’s not coming. Something with his wife, water breaking, blah blah blah. Porter’s filling in.

Porter? Manny was always early. Partly because he was that kind of guy, and partly because I had told him I liked to leave ten minutes early and he didn’t mind getting paid for my 10 minutes. Carl Porter, on the other hand…

Mr. Casey, I really need to leave on time tonight.

Well, I guess you’d better pray for a miracle.

But—

But nothin’, Maxwell. You know I’ve got a mean wife at home that’s scarier than any crisis you got. I get in the door five minutes late and she starts searching my truck for panties.

Damn, Eric muttered.

Never marry an insecure woman, boys, that’s my free advice of the evening. You’re here until Porter gets here, and that’s it. If he’s not here by ten, you can try calling Winters.

Yes, sir. I tried not to be too whiny about it, but in my head I was thinking how much freer my schedule was when I was living the life of a petty thief. I had lifted a fair amount of beer, snacks, cigarettes, and other merchandise from Casey over the years. Working for him, and keeping an eye on his stuff, was part of my new leaf-turning penance thing. But it was sucking right now.

Kat’s phone rang as Casey walked out the door.

I’m at Casey’s, waiting for Dylan, who’s been waiting for his ‘moment’ by the way, and she actually held the phone with her shoulder so she could do the air quotes for the phone caller—did I mention crazy? to get off work. A pause, then, Dylan, why haven’t you been answering your phone?

Casey said my leather jacket made me look like a punk and was keeping old ladies from buying lottery tickets. And he needs one of them to hit it big so he can get his share because his wife’s demanding to go to Bermuda or some shit. I guess I left my phone in the pocket. It’s in the back.

Jesus, Kat said into the phone, slow down. I can’t listen to both of you at once. He says because it’s in the pocket of his jacket which is in the back because—Well, damn, girl, take my head off. Fine. Here he is. Kat passed the phone over the counter. It’s Heather. You might want to hold it away from your ear. She’s a little wound up.

You okay, Heather?

It’s not me, it’s Joss.

I backed up into the stool we kept behind the counter and sat down.

I’m not sure what I heard—not heard, but…you know—

Yeah, I get it. Heather tended to hear stray thoughts in people’s heads. Go on.

They were just going by my house, on foot. I kinda got a glimpse of them out the window.

Who?

I’m not sure. Definitely Marco, though, and Jeff, some ‘voices’ I couldn’t quite place, maybe five or six, and Joss.

What’s she doing with those guys?

She’s thinking a lot. Trying to take in details and come up with some kind of a plan to get away. She’s wishing she could see, so I think she’s blindfolded.

Fuck. Besides the fact that Joss with Marco scared the crap out of me, and Joss being taken away blindfolded scared the crap out of me, the part of my brain that was actually thinking knew that her ability worked about a million times better if she could see what she wanted to move. I knew that she could use visualization to some extent, but her Talent was really weak that way and didn’t always work. If she couldn’t see, she was almost helpless.

She’s scared, Dylan.

Join the fucking club.

Do you know where they’re headed? What Marco’s planning?

I…it was really a mess of thoughts, all of them at once, and once I heard Joss, I really just concentrated on her.

Any little thing, Heather, I said quietly, trying to sound calming.

Okay, um…Marco thought about his…lair? Does he have a lair?

A string of expletives went through my head, but I was also kind of relieved. At least I knew where they were headed. He does, the freak. Anything else?

Marco’s got a lot of hate. It was kind of inarticulate, but I think ‘payback’ was clear. And Jeff wants… Dylan, if you know where they’re going, you need to just get there.

I clicked off the phone without saying goodbye. We gotta go. Now.

What about the store? Is it Joss? Did something happen? Kat asked.

Yes, it’s Joss, and fuck the store. You run it, I said, heading for the door.

Go through the storeroom, Eric told me, I’m parked around back. We’ll go kick some ass and then I’ll swing by to pick you up later, ’kay, baby?

Call me! I heard Kat yell. I was swiping my jacket off the hook as we ran through the back room. How much time had we already lost because I didn’t think to keep my phone on me? Had Joss tried to call me?

I looked. No messages. Of course not.

Eric slammed his hand down on the hood as he moved around the front of the car and his Talent brought the engine roaring to life. We threw ourselves down into the Camaro, slammed the doors, and he peeled out of the parking lot.

I thought about calling Heather back, asking her if she could tell if any of the others had Talents and what they were. But would knowing that really help? What was I going to do when I got there?

Something. I was just going to do something.

Chapter 2

Joss

The sweat-jacket tied around my head stank like cigarettes and pits. The way it was wound up, part of the zipper had gotten caught up with the sleeve and was digging into the side of my head. It had reached that point where it itched more than anything else. But nothing I could do about it with my hands bound behind my back with electrical tape. Except be grateful they’d found the tape after the jacket thing. I was going to get to keep my eyebrows. Bonus.

If I could keep the rest of me intact that would just be aces.

I shook off the distraction of nausea-inducing bad thoughts and refocused. It was a long walk, maybe close to half an hour, so probably a bit more than a mile from the mall. Marco never once let up on his grip on my arm. I was guessing we were cutting through some yards and parking lots by the change in the terrain under my boots, the fact that I was hearing things like loud televisions and phones ringing more than I was hearing cars going by, and that, hey, a group of kids force-marching a blind-folded girl down the sidewalk was bound to attract some kind of attention. One would hope. Judging by where we had started, how much downhill there was, and how the wind had picked up and really cut in where I couldn’t pull my unzipped coat closed, I figured we were going down to the river.

Which I had to admit was a scary proposition. How long could I tread water without the use of my arms? How cold was that water? What was the current like? How hard would it be to breathe when this jacket took on water and was stuck to my face? And that’s all assuming I was conscious when I went in.

I tripped and went down. It wasn’t a brilliant attempt at escape; it was probably a concrete curb. The first few times that had happened, Marco’s grip had kept me upright. But this time he let me go and I went down hard on the packed, gravelly earth so fast that I didn’t have time to try to turn onto my shoulder. And of course I couldn’t put my hands out. Fortunately the padding of the jacket saved my face from the worst of it, but son of a bitch that really hurt. Plus it was hard not to be humiliated, even though I knew that was the point of the exercise.

I got a boot in the ribs, reflexively rolled to my side and cringed away from it while I tried to catch my breath. Come on, Joss, Jeff said, and the boot landed on my shoulder, forcing it down to the ground and me onto my back. He straddled me and dropped to his knees, landing hard on my pelvis which was really gross, but better than if he’d had the sense to sit on my chest or stomach where it would be harder to buck him off. This isn’t a rest home. What are you doing?

A hand grabbed me under the armpit and yanked hard. Only Marco would have had enough strength in one hand to pull that hard and that fast, toppling Jeff back onto my legs as I was dragged across the rocky dirt and back onto my feet. My shoulder felt like it was going to tear right through my skin.

Hey!

She was about to buck you off—

I might have liked that.

—and probably kick you in the teeth, you moron, Marco finished. Let’s quit playing around and get inside.

I heard Jeff picking himself up and dusting off as Marco dragged me along. Now that I knew they were taking me inside, the river was starting to sound a lot more inviting. A sudden wave of panic made my limbs feel watery and uncoordinated.

This is really not the time to lose it. Man up.

I stepped more carefully, picking up my feet in case there were steps and finally felt concrete under my boots. I dragged my foot and felt a layer of grit, but no debris. I didn’t know if that told me anything. The wind had changed, so we were definitely inside, but it seemed just as cold as it had been outside. Or maybe that was just me.

Tony, let’s get some light in here, Marco barked, letting go of me and leaving me unanchored and lost in unfamiliar, dark space.

Yeah.

I felt heat rush past my head and the weird disturbance it made as the air changed in the path of what I assumed was a fireball. I couldn’t help but jump to the side, away from it. And then of course it happened again on the other side. I jumped again. Tony chuckled. A hand clamped down hard on my shoulder and voice close to me said, Don’t worry, Joss. You can’t see me, but I can see you.

I was jolted half out of my boots by a blast of crappy music right behind me. Tony let me go and his jacket moved against mine as he dug out his phone. Marco came back to us.

Your girlfriend didn’t want to come along tonight, fine, but don’t let her keep you on the damn phone all night. Hate that shit, Marco added, to me, it seemed, as Tony’s voice walked away from us. I ignored Tony’s conversation and Marco. I was listening for the other people in the room, trying to get a sense of where they were, maybe hear objects they were using that I might use.

Marco spun me around, pulling me up on my toes by the front of my jacket so that we were almost touching and I was completely off-balance. I’m really glad you found us tonight, Joss. That rib Dylan cracked for me is just about all fixed up now and I’ve been thinking about you a lot lately. He turned us fast, tangling my legs, and then shoved me backward. I was falling through space, tucking my chin and bracing for the cement landing. Instead I collapsed onto what felt like a couch. It rocked backward with the impact, settled back on its feet, and a cloud of cigarette and other reek puffed up from within it. I could feel hard, scratchy upholstery, gunked by time and filth, against the fingers that were trapped between the small of my back and the cushions.

Marco straddled me, sat on my lap with his knees on either side of my legs, and his hand closed over my throat. Not squeezing, but just settling over the bare skin at the edge of my t-shirt, maybe just to feel my pulse race. I kept trying to breathe slowly, normally, and not give him the satisfaction of knowing how much he was scaring me, how threatened I felt, how helpless.

You know, he said, his thumb stroking up and down my neck, I don’t really understand what Dylan’s interest ever was in you. Because I’ve been watching you guys at school and clearly he’s just…not interested, right? I mean there you are, hanging around with your sad, shy-girl thing, stealing the little glances and all. And has Dylan made any kind of a move at all? Not that I’ve seen. And trust me, that’s not a problem for my boy Dylan.

He’s not your boy.

No, he’s not. Anymore. But he’s not yours either, no matter how pathetically much you…what’s the word, pine? No matter how much you pine after him. I thought he was into you, I really did. But I guess he got over it. I wonder what you did...

This was the part where I was supposed to, like, get all upset and tell Marco to shut up. Maybe cry or something. Like I’d give him the satisfaction. Wrong girl, asshole.

Of course, could be you’re too butch for him. I can see how that would be a turn-off. But sweetheart, he said, leaning into me, when we’re done here, when I’m done, when my boys are done, there ain’t no way Dylan is ever going to want whatever’s left of you.

All right, that’s it, one of the girls said so unexpectedly that we both jumped. Marco, that’s just nasty. I’m not hanging around for that.

So go. I don’t give a shit what you do.

Bella, you coming?

I… the other girl’s voice just trailed off.

The first girl made a disgusted noise in her throat. Fine. I’m outta here.

Marco, it was one of the guys, and since I couldn’t place it, I figured it was Curtis, I-I’m gonna walk Angie home, er, if that’s okay.

Again, busy, don’t care.

Marco! Tony called.

WHAT?! and now Marco’s hand did clamp hard around my neck.

Phone.

What the fuck, so she can whine at me about keeping you out late? I’m not gonna deal with your skag for you.

Shut up, man, it’s not her. Call waiting.

Something about the way Tony said that was weird, meaningful, and it must have meant something to Marco because he let go, got up off me, and walked away. I tried to take a deep breath but it came as a series of jerks that wanted to turn into hiccupping, hysterical sobs or something. And that’s just not happening. None of this is happening. Because you’re going to focus, use your skills, use whatever weapons come to hand, and get yourself out of this mess. Period.

Marco must have been talking outside because I couldn’t hear voices. I could sense that there were still people in the room with me, even had a general idea where they were from the little sounds they made as they shifted and waited. But no one spoke.

Footsteps, brisk and definite, approached across the concrete. I figured that was Marco and I braced, knowing I was unable—at least right now—to stop him from getting hold of me again. Someone passed quickly in front of him, intercepted, and I heard Bella’s voice, again. Marco, you don’t really—

I gotta go. Tony and I got somethin’ we gotta go take care of.

Now? Jeff asked.

"Yeah, now," Marco snapped in that did I stutter or did your ears flap? tone. Bella, I need you up on the roof, watching over things until I get back.

But I want to go with you, she whined.

Well, you can’t. So do what I’m tellin’ ya.

The couch bounced and sagged as Bella landed beside me, and it was hard to keep myself from toppling onto her.

Fine, she said, and then her body went limp.

"The rest of you, whatever you do, do not take that blindfold off, you got me?"

Absolutely, boss, Corey said with an undertone of smartass.

"We’ll