Heels and Heroes (7 page)

I’m not hunting super villains everyday either, Mom
, was on the tip of her tongue. But upsetting her mother would just mean more questions and more worry. If her mom thought things were bad enough, she’d be on Justice’s doorstep before Brenda could stop her. “I know, but I’m kind of busy with this Howler thing—” she said instead.

“He’ll be there after dinner, too,” her mom said, and her tone allowed for no argument. “Bring your friend, the one you’re staying with. Justice, right?”

The man himself had moved from the couch to stand across the table from her, and he watched her squirm on the phone with an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t think he’d be interested, Mom.”

“Why wouldn’t he be? Bring him. Seven o’clock, and don’t forget the cobbler.” Before Brenda could say another word, her mom hung up. She wasn’t one for good-byes.

“Your mom?” Justice asked.

“Yeah.” The cell phone clunked as it hit the tabletop.

“What exactly are you certain ‘he’ wouldn’t be interested in?”

She looked up from where she’d tossed the phone, right into Justice’s slight smile and raised eyebrows. “That’s rather presumptuous of you. What makes you think you’re the ‘he’ she was referring to?”

As she’d hoped, his amusement disappeared. “Is there another ‘he,’ Brenda?”

She considered teasing him, but his tone was serious, and there was a hint of something else, too. “No,” she muttered, and her face heated. “Dinner tonight at my parents’ house. My brother’s in town.”

The smile returned to his face and the edge of teasing was back in his voice when he spoke. “Well, then, guess I don’t have to order in.”

“What’s wrong with cooking?”

A touch of pink crept up his neck. “I hate doing dishes. You can eat pizza on a paper plate.”

A laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Well, if we’re going to my parents’ tonight, we’ll have to get some supplies.”

“Supplies?”

She tugged on the T-shirt hanging limply from her body. “Clothes for me to start with. And a baking pan. Something tells me you don’t have any.”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I did.”

***

Justice parked in her parents’ driveway in Naperville at five minutes before seven while she clutched the aluminum foil-covered cobbler on her lap. He’d watched her with what she could only describe as fascination as she made it, handing her ingredients and utensils when she asked for them, but otherwise staying at a safe distance.

They’d visited her apartment, electing to grab her actual clothes and take one of her baking dishes and some key items like a hand mixer, rather than spend all day shopping. The apartment had been checked, repeatedly, and had been under constant surveillance since she’d made a run for it in the night. Howler hadn’t made an appearance, and the preparations for going to her parents’ house had gone more smoothly than she’d dared hope.

“You ready for this?” She turned to Justice, who was unfastening his seat belt. He wore his regular superhero outfit, mask included, something she’d almost protested. But he had every right to protect his identity.

“Are your parents that scary?”

“They can be.”

He just laughed and took the cobbler from her lap. She tensed as his hand grazed hers, heart suddenly thumping faster in her chest.

“Then let’s treat this situation like a bandage.” The handle clicked as he opened the door. “Rip it off quick.”

Suppressing a sigh, she pulled herself out of the car. Justice waited for her before he headed toward the house.

“My mom’s a little overwhelming,” she warned him when he reached the concrete walkway.

“I’m sure I can handle it.”

“Famous last words.” She rapped on the door then turned the knob and pushed it open. “Anybody home?” she called, and heard her mom’s voice, muffled from the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and foyer. She held the door and then shut it behind him. “Come on.”

The house was lined in walls colored in various natural tones, the living room a taupe color that somehow worked well with beige-and-red striped furniture and lighter taupe pillows. Her mother had taken a home design class at a community college after she’d officially retired from the local league council and had promptly put her education to use throughout the home she’d lived in for thirty years.

They made their way to the kitchen, passing the large formal dining area, which had also felt the touch of her mom’s design class, before walking through the entryway into chaos.

Her mother stood at the gas stove, apron covering a pair of slacks and a blouse. Brenda’s father, Walter, peered into the refrigerator.

“No, not the margarine,” her mom exclaimed as he pulled a yellow tub from the depths of the fridge. “The real butter. It’s on the top shelf.”

Her dad muttered something and stuck his head back in the refrigerator, and her mom turned her attention to her guests. “Brenda! Oh good, set the cobbler on the island.” She waved toward an empty section of the counter, and Justice obediently set the dish down.

“Mom, Dad, this is Justice. Justice, these are my parents, Walter and Mabel Booth.” They shook hands and her mother returned to the stove while her father went back to search for the butter. “Your brother’s in the backyard; why don’t you take Justice out there and introduce him.”

“You don’t want me to help?”

Brenda must have sounded as incredulous as she felt, because Mable laughed and said, “Oh, after dinner for sure, but show your guest around for now.”

Plush with thick grass, the backyard was so long it appeared too thin, but it was wider than the house it hid behind. It was the backyard she’d grown up in, practicing soccer and watching over her younger brother.

Paul stood there now, bottle of beer in hand, back set to the house as he surveyed the yard. He turned when they opened the French doors that led onto the deck, face breaking into what Brenda mentally termed his professional smile.

He was dressed casually, in cargo shorts and a polo shirt. He’d long since stopped being Brenda’s “little” brother in anything except age, towering over her at only an inch or two shy of Justice’s six-foot two-inch frame. Paul held out a hand, smile firmly affixed to his face.

“This is my brother. Paul, this is Justice.”

The men exchanged a quick handshake and polite greeting, and then Paul grabbed Brenda in a big hug.

“Sis! It’s been way too long.” He released her and gave her a pat on the back that almost made her stumble before turning his attention back to the tall man behind her.

Before Paul could start the small talk, their mom stuck her head out the French doors. “Brenda, I do need your help after all. Your father is hopeless.”

Brenda laughed. “Be right in, Mom.” Her mom disappeared back into the house.

The guys were already talking about baseball, and Justice shot her a quick smile without interrupting his conversation. She smiled back and headed for the kitchen.

***

“So I guess I should be asking the inevitable question; what are your intentions toward my sister?” Paul asked, as soon as the door shut behind Brenda.

Justice raised an eyebrow at him. Paul’s expression was still friendly, but the edge to his tone made Justice’s muscles tense.

“In that case, I’d say my intentions, such as they are, are none of your business.” Like Brenda’s brother, he kept his smile firmly set.

Paul handed him a beer from the cooler sitting next to a large table on the deck. “Oh? Would you be satisfied with that answer if she were your sister?”

“We’re working together,” he said finally. Blonde hair and Brenda’s bright smile flashed in his mind, and he fought to maintain his polite expression. He could hardly blame the man for being protective about his sister.

“I’ve never seen her look at any of her coworkers like that.” Paul’s expression grew grim, and he looked Justice up and down. “I don’t want her getting hurt.”

“You meet a lot of your sister’s coworkers?”

Paul frowned and Justice took a swig of his beer. He’d thought not. He understood the concern, but it was misplaced. A kiss or two did not make him a threat to her. Hell, she didn’t care about him, not really. She seemed to enjoy his company, liked to tease him, but hadn’t acted like she cared much past that. And that was okay with him. He didn’t need a woman in his life; he was better off alone, with no one to worry about but himself. They would catch Howler, solve this case, and things would go back to normal. His throat tightened and he took another sip of his beer.

“My sister’s great. But I know how A-lister heroes like yourself are with normal women like her. I’m not gonna let you—” Paul stopped talking as Justice took a step toward him.

Blood rushed to his ears. Paul expected him to treat Brenda badly just because she didn’t have an impressive superpower. Did he really think so little of his sister? That she needed a superpower to make her memorable?

The door opened and Brenda peeked out. “Dinner’s on the table.”

***

“So, Justice,” her mom said, as soon as they sat at the table, which was heaped full of roast beef with potatoes and carrots, a large salad, and her mom’s homemade bread. “What brought you to the Chicago area?”

Brenda dragged her attention away from the mouth-watering scent of the roast filling the room to listen to his response.

He shrugged. “Day job, actually. Coming here was a kind of promotion.”

“How interesting,” her mom said carefully. Asking questions of superheroes about their secret identities or day-lives as most people called them was usually a no-no. Mabel Booth was a superhero herself, and had a deep respect for keeping one’s super and normal lives separate.

“Tell us about your case, dear,” Brenda’s father said, after Justice’s silence made it apparent he wasn’t going to offer up any more information.

She poked at her potatoes with her fork and tried to think of the best way to describe Howler. “It’s nothing big, really. The villain—Howler—can knock people out with sonic waves. Makes my power useful for once.” She shrugged. “He doesn’t have super strength or anything, he’s kind of a skinny guy. Nothing to worry about.”

Justice frowned at her, but didn’t contradict her story.

“Guess it’s gotta be nice for you to get in the field for once.” Paul shoved a big bite of roast in his mouth. “Not like your power’s usually good for a whole lot except getting in some quiet time,” he said around the food.

Brenda stiffened in her seat but didn’t argue. He was right; it was good to get out in the field, frightening as it was much of the time. And she couldn’t argue with his opinion about her powers, though she was tempted to throw a chunk of roast at him for his lack of tact.

“Doesn’t take a powerful ability to be useful.” Justice’s voice was lower than usual, and when she glanced at him it surprised her to see his clenched jaw and the red color rising up his neck onto his face.

“Sure,” Paul said, apparently oblivious to the signs of Justice’s anger. “But I mean, not as if our Bren’s usually useful in a superhero capacity.”

“Paul,” her mother said, voice full of warning. But Brenda noticed that her father’s attention was all on Justice. Her father was a quiet man, not given to talking about much outside of football except on rare occasions, but he watched Justice like he’d done something very interesting.

“What? It’s not an insult; it’s just the way things are. Jeez, I didn’t say
she
was useless or anything. Just her power.”

“Her power saved the mayor of Chicago last night.” Justice stood up from the table and leaned over to stare at Paul while he spoke. “Her power saved an innocent elderly couple whose only crime was minding their store.” He raised a hand from the table and pointed at Brenda. “Her power is the only chance we have of catching a dangerous super villain.” He tossed his napkin next to his plate. “I’d hardly call that useless, and you should have a little more respect.”

Brenda gaped as he sat back down. Unable to take her eyes off him, she struggled to speak, to find something to say. But her mom was faster.

“He’s right, Paul,” her mom said simply. “Who’s ready for cobbler?”

Chapter Six

Silence radiated from her during the drive home, and tension twined around her crossed arms, her clenched jaw, her fixed stare out the window. Whatever her problem was, it wasn’t his fault. He defended her from that tactless jerk of a brother. She could stew about it or yell at him, but that was her call. Not his problem, not his conversation to start. But when they entered the house, his determination cracked.

“Okay, what’s your problem?” he asked when she plopped her purse on the coffee table just a little too loudly.

She turned to face him, hands on her hips. “What’s my problem? What’s
your
problem? I mean, I invite you to dinner with my family and you start a fight?”

“Your brother started it. I just finished it.” His voice rose, and he made his way across the room so he stood only a few feet in front of her. “How could you expect me to just sit there when he was talking about you like that?”

Face flushed, she raised her chin and glared at him. “He wasn’t talking about me, just my power. Look, I know he can be a jerk, but he’s still my brother. And he’s right, my power isn’t exactly the most useful one around.”

“Bullshit. Your power is as useful as you make it. You’ve proven that to the Superhero League this week, why can’t you believe it yourself?”

She spluttered, “I, that’s not…this Howler thing is a unique situation.”

“Well, regardless of how you view it, I’m not going to sit at a table—your parents’ or anyone else’s—and let someone degrade it—and by extension, you—without saying something.”

Her bright eyes glinted with unshed tears, seeming even darker than normal, and her brows drew together in confusion. “Why do you care?”

Simple words, but he struggled to answer her question. Why did he care so much? Why had he had to force himself not to jump across the table and knock that condescending grin off her brother’s face? He looked down at his fists clenched against his sides. Because he cared, that’s why. He gave a damn, even though it was stupid and dangerous and likely to get him hurt.