Dante's Fire (5 page)

“W-w-will you talk to me? Just for a while?”

He squeezed her fingers. “Yes.” He paused for a moment, probably scrambling for something to say to a victimized woman on the verge of losing it. How had this happened to her? Why? And how sad was it that a strange masked man was her only link to sanity right now?

As if he sensed her need to focus, his voice wrapped around her, silky and tight as a cocoon.

“I had a dog once. His name was Superpup.”

She couldn’t help but respond. “You’re kidding me.”

His lips tugged slightly upward. “Not. I was young when I got him and addicted to comics. Anyway, Superpup was part German shepherd, part something else. He was literally the worst dog on the planet. He ate furniture. He peed in the house. He couldn’t do any tricks. I remember trying to get him to roll over for treats, and he’d just stare at me with these patient, brown eyes that seemed to mock my ridiculous attempts to train him. But as awful as he behaved, he was always full of joy. Did you ever own a dog, Selina?”

She shook her head.

“They live in the moment. Happy with a bit of affection, a bowl of food, a nice walk outside. They’re simple creatures but have a different form of intellect. I always dismissed Superpup as failing his hero name, but adored him. We grew up together as best friends.

“Superpup slept in the same place every night, downstairs in the living room. One night, he refused to leave my bedroom. I tried to drag him out a few times, but he sat his rear on the ground and didn’t budge. I yelled, tried bribing him with treats and toys, but nothing worked. Finally, I went to bed and left him where he was.

“That night a burglar came through my window. I never heard him. The sound of growling woke me, and suddenly there was my sweet dog, snarling and crazed, as the guy tried to retreat out the window. Somehow, he sensed I’d be hurt. I think he saved my life.”

The story fascinated her. His eyes seemed far away, stuck in the distant past, no longer with her. She remained silent, waiting for the end.

“A few months later, he got cancer. We lost him quickly. And when I said goodbye for the last time, in a way I couldn’t even be sad. I knew I’d see him again one day—in another time, another place. But there were two reasons he came into my life, and I never doubted them.”

“What reasons?” she whispered.

“To save me from the night of the burglary and to teach me about love. Real love. The kind that’s real and true, with no thought to ego or benefits or safety. Superpup really did live up to his name, and I was different after that.”

Her eyes began to close, weariness seeping into every bone in her body. For a little while, the image of what Superpup must’ve looked like drifted past her vision, away from the bad stuff.

“Sleep, sweetheart.”

His last words echoed in her mind before darkness pulled her under.

Chapter Four

O
N Monday, Selina stared at her computer screen and wondered for the hundredth time if she should go home.

Every step she took throbbed with pain. Her face looked like a Halloween costume gone wrong: yellow bruises, puffy lips, and a blood-crusted brow. Make-up made it look worse, and she'd spent over an hour trying desperately to mask the truth of Friday night. Finally, she'd given up.

The looks were horrible, but the questions were the worst. She briefly told everyone about the mugging. That she was indeed just fine, even though the bruises were still fresh. When her team called her Saturday morning, all at the office except for her, she’d texted back, citing the flu. Showing up on Monday with a beaten up face screamed that she was a big fat liar. Ed turned ashen and felt responsible for not walking her home, but she made sure to laugh it off, lying that the police had already arrested them and it hadn't been that big of a deal. Much scarier than it looked.

Another lie.

The intercom buzzed. Selina dragged in a breath and answered. “Yes?”

“It’s Patricia’s birthday,” a laughing voice called out. “We’re having cake. Get out here!”

“Be right there.”

She stood up from the chair, dragging her sweaty palms down her smart Jones suit. Why was she so nervous? They had cake at least once a week, since it was office tradition and they employed hundreds of people. She tilted her chin up with determination and walked into the conference room.

“There she is!” Tom and Ed motioned her over, and her assistant began shouting about forty being the new thirty. A large sheet cake sat on the table, with shots of champagne in plastic glasses being passed around. Black balloons were tied to the chairs, and a withering, dried, black rose made up a centerpiece.

Selina held up her hand in acknowledgment, forcing a smile at the cheers and claps attacking her ears. Usually she adored participating in celebrations with her co-workers and took the role of cake cutter. Sweat pricked her brow. What the hell was wrong with her? Her throat locked at the idea of squeezing in between the mass of bodies to get to the cake. Why was she acting ridiculous?

“We got cooties, Rogers?” Tom shouted out. Laughter broke out.

Patricia, the birthday honoree, raised her glass in the air. Short, dark curls flopped about her face in artful fashion. “She wants a break from cutting! Screw you, Tom! Next time you get me a black rose let’s see if your lunch order ever gets delivered correctly.”

Whistles rang out. Her heart pounded so hard she wondered if everyone could hear it. The noise continued as they cut the cake, teased each other, and drank the bubbly liquid. Her back pressed against the wall, and suddenly a hard, muscled arm dragged across her chest, brushing her breasts.

Selina froze. Terror chopped through her. A silent scream rose to her pursed lips and then she was pushing the intruder away, backing away to safety. Drew Coleman, one of the top salesmen in the unit, raised a brow and lifted both hands in the air.

“Sorry, Selina. Just trying to get some cake.”

She tried to laugh it off and make a joking remark. The words got stuck, and feeling on the verge of a panic attack, she ducked her head and raced out of the conference room.

The moment she shut the door behind her, her legs gave out. Selina sank into the matching leather armchair, much smaller than hers, and buried her face in her hands.

What was happening to her? She wanted normalcy. She wanted to forget. But she was so damn jumpy. Even at lunch, she’d tried to venture out to the deli with her team, but the thought of walking down the street close by the incident twisted her stomach. When she headed past the main lobby, the noise level jolted her. Dialogue, keys tapping, laughter, phones ringing. The only place she felt safe was in her office, but the isolation caused a different fear.

The weekend had been a blur. With bright sunlight streaming through the windows, she'd felt a bit stronger and capable. Dante vanished with the night, until she wondered if she'd made him up with her subconscious in order to get through a traumatic experience. So, Selina pushed him out of her mind and made herself go through the rituals of a Saturday. She decided to lay low and heal from the night’s traumatic events.

Wash. Dress. Eat breakfast. She'd tried cleaning her apartment but her muscles ached. Instead, she'd worked most of the day on her laptop, sipping tea, television blaring for company. She buried Friday night's event to the recesses of her mind, closed the door and locked it tight.

Until night fell.

Still exhausted, she tried desperately to sleep. But the nightmares came.

"Shut up, bitch." Slapped, pushed down to the cold ground. Hands ripping away her sweater, pulling at her jeans. Her naked breasts exposed for their laughter and groping fingers.

She screamed and sobbed uncontrollably at the raw images behind her lids.

"I'm here." Dante's voice reached into the nightmare, grabbed her tight, and brought her to safety. This time, she knew he was no apparition. He was real; he was her priceless gift to keep away the demons. At least for a while.

He stood guard over her both Saturday and Sunday night. Kept the nightmares at bay. Held her hand, brought her water, and let her talk when she wanted. His calm strength flowed through her as if a blood transfusion, allowing her some peace.

It made no sense, yet she didn’t care. A masked stranger was now the only person she clung to. A million questions swirled through her mind, but she was too tired and battered to voice them. Accepting his comfort was the only thing that kept her sane.

Selina shook off the memory of her weekend and tried to re-focus. Time to get back to work. She needed to be ready for Forrester on Thursday, and still had a dozen phone calls to make.

A knock sounded on the door.

She jumped out of her seat, and then turned red at her obvious skittishness. Daniel hovered by the door with a banded pile of mail. "Hey boss, can I come in?"

She'd been avoiding people all day, but found herself nodding at his question. "Sure, Dan. Want a cup of coffee?"

"Sounds great, as long as you have a few minutes."

"I need a coffee break." She watched him walk to the farthest table where she kept her one-cup coffee maker fully stocked and consistently brewing. Her gaze took in his Judas Priest t-shirt, worn jeans, and Sketchers sneakers. The light streamed over his loose dark hair and illuminated the jagged scar, but she only saw the deep pull of his eyes, the strong slope of his jaw covered with a bit of stubble, and his graceful motions as he took the chair opposite hers.

"Heard about the mugging." He looked her over. His face gentled. “I've been worried about you but didn't want to push. How are you holding up?

Selina opened her mouth to give her usual statement. Instead, the truth tumbled out. "Not great. I got spooked, and now it's pissing me off. I'm jumping at things like a baby."

He stared at her thoughtfully. "Do you think you're Wonder Woman or something? You need to give yourself a break. I can't believe you came into the office today."

"I'd rather work." She took a sip of her own coffee. "Anyway, it's over now. I need to move on."

"Sounds like a plan. But your mind may have a different agenda."

"I hate weakness," she muttered.

"You don't have a weak bone in your body." His voice dropped and caused shivers to run down her spine. Odd. For a quick moment, he sounded so familiar. Suddenly, her casual friend across the table struck her as a powerful man. His dark intensity ruffled her nerve endings. Her belly dipped, and confusion marred her brow as she stared at him. Instead of his usual retreat, his gaze locked with hers. Those piercing eyes, so like Dante’s, pinned her to the ground. Energy sizzled between them. This time, Dan challenged her right back. And not as a friend.

As a man.

Selina swallowed hard and concentrated on her coffee cup. A low chuckle echoed in the room at her obvious surrender but she refused to acknowledge it. She couldn't take a change in their relationship right now. Between the after effects of the assault, and her strange nightly visitor, Selina couldn't handle the idea of her steady friend Dan suddenly wanting more. No wonder she was beginning to compare them. Their looks and build were similar. Of course, she doubted poor Dan was masquerading as a nightly superhero with the power of fire.

She so needed some therapy.

Selina tried to make light of the moment. “I have plenty of weaknesses. Ever see me devour a cupcake in under three seconds?”

“Loving dessert could never be a weakness. I think your biggest issue is championing lost causes.”

Her eyes widened. “What are you talking about?”

“You like the Mets. That’s scary.”

She gasped. “Unfair! Their time just hasn’t come.”

“Don’t think it ever will. How about when we do the company pool for the Triple Crown horse race? You always pick a fifty-to-one shot.”

“I want to make money.”

His lip quirked. “You pushed for Inferno to buy the Eastwood property and no one has been able move it for over a year.”

She tilted her chin up in sheer defiance. “That’s gonna sell. The place is an artistic gold mine, and his mother is in a nursing home. He desperately needed the money, and eventually we’ll make up for the loss of profits.”

This time, his lips curved into a full-fledged smile. “See, I rest my case. You’re weak, but in only one place: your heart.”

That part of her anatomy stuttered, paused, and restarted with a vengeance. How did he know so much about her? Sure, they had daily conversations, but never saw each other outside of the office. Yet, he seemed able to look straight past the surface and see her completely bare.

No. She would not deal with these odd emotions right now. The last thing she needed was more confusion.

She forced herself to sound casual. "Well, thanks for the support."

"No support. Just truth." He paused and cleared his throat. "I don't know the details of the mugging, but I do know it takes a long time to heal. I had a similar experience when I was younger."

She leaned forward with curiosity. "What happened?"

Darkness stole over his face. His features seemed carved from stone. "Someone I loved was killed. For a long time, I didn't know how to handle it. I lashed out, angry at the world, angry at my weakness. I finally realized in order to be strong; we have to allow ourselves to feel the grief first. The rage. The helplessness. Then we can heal."