Masks (Out of the Box Book 9) (37 page)

There was a faint flicker of irritation in Nealon’s eyes, and then she simmered down, which Nadine found surprising. “No,” Nealon said. “I came to ask if I could buy an advance copy of the Balls Out!™ Success Plan.”

Nadine tensed. “How did you kn—you looked through my office?”

“You left the window open,” Nealon said, inviting herself to sit down at the bar. She was playing this way too cool if she was looking for revenge, almost like she thought she was a real cop or something. “I’m here about Jamie Barton.”

The barman set down another whiskey in front of Nadine and she lifted it toward the TV screen. “I was just watching that,” she said smoothly. “What a shame.” She didn’t put too much effort into it.

“Her daughter’s missing,” Nealon said, voice tight. Oh, so that was why she was here.

“I wouldn’t know anything about that,” Nadine said. “I’ve been sitting here for the last little while—”

“I know you wouldn’t get your hands dirty yourself,” Sienna said, not even looking at her. “But this girl’s life is on the line.” Her jaw tightened as Nadine watched, as though it was paining her to speak this humbly. “If you know anything about what’s happening here—”

“All I know is what I see on the news,” Nadine said, trying to keep the smirk from showing. “I mean, really, though, we should have seen this coming.” When Nealon cocked her head slightly, Nadine went on. “Heroes, right?” She waved a hand at Sienna. “You were the first, and look at you now. You set the standard, proved that the people we thought were better than us, that we looked up to—they were just people like us. Petty, venal, angry—in your case, at least—people. No better. Sometimes worse.” She raised her glass to the TV and the image of Jamie Barton. “I mean, look what she was hiding behind that mask.” She giggled and leaned closer to Sienna. “And I’m not just talking about the wrinkles—”

“I can see through
your
mask,” Sienna said, leaning in, all menacing now. “I think the world’s gotten a good glimpse of you now, so even if you can—trade again or whatever it is you do when you play with your computers all day—”

“You’re really proving me right on that whole, ‘you’re not better’ business, aren’t you, you poor, sweet, simple soul?”

“—they’re not going to accept you back to their little clan,” Nealon went on. “You’re going to be an outcast of humanity.”

“Oh, I’m drowning in sanctimony,” Nadine said, and tipped her glass up to empty it in one good gulp. “I need more Macallan if I’m going to continue this conversation.”

“You’re destroying this woman’s life,” Sienna said, pointing to the TV. “Her daughter’s life. These are people.”

“There are lots of people in the world,” Nadine announced, sliding her glass toward the edge of the bar to see if it would go crashing off the other side. It stopped short. “I don’t let them or their pitiful little woes get me down, and I don’t let them get in my way.” She looked at Nealon and smiled. “That’s what you don’t understand. That’s why I’m the Queen of Wall Street. That’s why I always get what I want.”

Sienna Nealon gave her a hard look. “Sounds like a parenting fail to me.” She leaned in, so that Nadine could smell her breath, which was a little rank. “If I find out you were involved in this in any way—”

“You’ll what?” Nadine announced to the whole bar, the dozen or so patrons. “Kill me?”

“I would never do such a thing,” Nealon said loudly, “I’m upset with you, but that’s no cause for violence.” Then she lowered her voice, the stage whisper for the benefit of witnesses over. “If I found out you’re involved in this, I will take the silver spoon up your ass and use it to carve your heart out. Because, in the words of the late, great Alan Rickman, it’s dull, you twit, and it’ll hurt more.” And with that she stood up, eyes blazing, but smile sweetly fixed as though she’d just given out a recipe for brownies or some such. “I hope you enjoy your drink.”

“Oh, I will,” Nadine threw right back.

“We are interrupting this program to go to a live broadcast on YouTube,” the television announced, causing Nealon’s head to turn, “from a group claiming responsibility for kidnapping Gravity Gal—a.k.a. Jamie Barton’s 16 year-old daughter, Kyra.”

Nadine watched as the screen frizzed into a digital livestream of some sort, complete with the blocky interruptions she’d come to expect from a video at low quality. The scene was dark, and there was a man in a black mask with sunglasses, speaking in muffled tones. “—and if Gravity Gal does not come to us immediately, here at old Sea View Hospital in Staten Island,” the camera swept around shakily enough that Nadine felt a hint of nausea at its motion, “we will execute her daughter.” The video settled on a tear-stained face of a teenager with duct tape over her mouth. “If the police come in, we will kill the girl,” the man said in a dull tone. “If anyone else attempts to interfere … we will kill the girl. Gravity Gal alone must come for her—and answer for what she’s done.” The picture froze, then cut out.

“Ooh, a revenge scheme,” Nadine said, pretending to shiver. “Someone mad at Gravity Gal for the destruction? Or a criminal getting her back for something she did to them?”

Nealon’s eyes settled hard on her. “I pick the latter. Where’s Sea View Hospital?”

“Staten Island, I guess,” Nadine said in disgust. “How should I know? No self-respecting Manhattanite gives a damn about Staten Island.” She turned back to the bar.

“You did this,” Nealon said flatly, hovering in shadow between Nadine and the door.

“Prove it,” Nadine said, bored now. “But if I did … let’s face it … you’re nowhere near bright enough to pin it to me.” She smiled sweetly. “No one is. But hey,” she brought her glass up in a toast-like motion, “you could still kill me. Here, in front of witnesses. Later, with no witnesses, except these people who saw us arguing, and would probably drop a dime on you.” She smiled. “You feeling like crossing that line, Nealon? Want to rip my memories out of my head?” She ran a hand over her neck. “Rip my throat out like a rabid dog? Do you think that would improve your situation at all? They,” she waved a hand around the bar, around the world, “do hate me right now. You might not even get convicted if you did it right here, in front of everybody.” She leaned closer. “But I suspect that’d be all the confirmation your ex would need to really believe he was right—that you are a villain, not a hero. It’s not what good guys do, after all.”

It was a measure of how effectively she’d read Sienna Nealon, Nadine thought, that the girl just stood there, almost quivering with anger. “I’m going to go fix this problem you’ve thrown into the life of others,” she said, “that’s all. But I can tell you that someday, the law is going to catch up to you—and on that day, I only hope I’m there to see it.” And with that, she was off, out the door of the bar with a whooshing sound as the air was disturbed by her swift passage.

“Good luck with that,” Nadine said and brought the glass back to her lips. She knew defeat when she saw it, and that right there was a girl tucking tail and running. She doubted she’d ever see Sienna Nealon again.

The spin of the helicopter was nauseating, made Jamie want to hurl the entire contents of her stomach toward the rapidly approaching ground as she spun in. Dimly, she raged at the injustice of it all as the world around her spun.

All I’ve tried to do is help people. Save people. Save lives.

And this is what I get for my trouble?

I should just throw up my hands and leave, let this thing go—

No.

She threw down a channel and reversed it, cushioning the fall of the helicopter as it dropped, heading right for a house. That wouldn’t do at all; she threw down another stabilizing channel and used it to stop the spin, as the rotor blade up top railed and tried to pitch the helicopter around. Now she had it, though, slowly descending toward the ground, the rear anchored so it would no longer spin. She heard grinding, the sound of an engine giving up, and the chopper eased toward empty pavement, a parking lot where she could guide them to a safe landing.

Jamie sprung off the bottom a couple hundred feet from landing, still feeling nausea from the spin—and something else.
I almost gave up
, she thought, feeling sick to her stomach more at the thought that she had come so close to despair and let it ruin her.

I’m innocent.

My daughter is missing.

I will fight this until I’m vindicated.

She set down upon the ground easily, like stepping onto a cushioned carpet. She brought the helicopter down gently, and the police officers within came stumbling out, retching, their guns put aside as they heaved, the smell wafting over to her telling her that they mostly hadn’t waited until they were out of the helicopter.

“You’re not going to get away with this!” Frost screamed as he came streaking out of the sky.

“Away with what?” Jamie asked crossly, looking up at him as he skated down on his ramp of ice that sparkled in the sun. “With downing the chopper? Because that was you.”

“I—I didn’t do that,” Frost stumbled over his words. “I—I had nothing to do with that.” He was looking around furtively, but there was no one to validate him.

“What are you talking ab—
you did that!
” She pointed at the crashed chopper. “I had to save them because you—you—you
jackwagon
—you shot their tail rotor with ice!” She pointed accusingly at the rear rotor, still encrusted with glassy ice. “You did that! Stop trying to dodge responsibility, you—you—liar!” She flushed beet red as she said it. “I have half a mind to pin you to the pavement and let the police deal with your sabotage in their own way.”

Frost’s eyes flashed with hatred. “You’re the wanted woman here, not me!” And he raised his hands at her. Jamie readied herself, prepared to—

Something thumped into her, and suddenly Jamie was rising into the air, leaving the ground and Frost behind. She could see Frost’s face as he stared after her, jaw wide, and she glanced upward to see Sienna Nealon holding her under the armpits.

“You’re under arrest or something,” Nealon said, “in case they ask.” She had a strained look. “I found Kyra.”

“I’m—what?” Jamie stared up at her. “What are you talking about, you found Kyra?”

“She’s at Sea View Hospital,” Nealon said tightly. “You know where that is?”

Jamie blinked. “Yes. It’s an old disused sanitorium. When I was a kid we used to sneak in through the fence on Brielle Avenue. It’s in terrible disrepair—wait, you’re saying Kyra is in that old wreck?”

“She’s being held hostage there, yeah,” Nealon said, halting. “Where is this hospital?”

“Over there,” Jamie pointed to the thick woods around the old place, visible from miles away. Fortunately, that made Sea View easy to find. “It’s a complex, though, more than one building—”

“I don’t know which one she’s in,” Sienna said, altering course, dragging her along for the ride. This was so much faster than gravity channels. “But the guys who got her—and I’m pretty sure they’re working for Nadine Griffin—they’re demanding you show up, alone.”

Jamie felt stunned, as though she’d taken a semi-trailer to the chest. “Then I have to go alone.”

“
Or
,” Nealon said, as if she were talking to a child, “we could just ignore that blatant trap and confound these assholes by crashing in like a couple superheroes together.”

“This isn’t your fight,” Jamie said, a wave of fear washing over her. “But … I would welcome any help I could get to save Kyra.”

“Okay, then,” Sienna said as they crossed over the woodsy boughs that marked the beginning of the Sea View property. “We do this carefully. This is, without doubt, a trap, and I’m pretty sure they don’t care if they kill your daughter, so long as they bury you and your reputation at the same time.”

Jamie felt a spike of chill. “That’s … what this is about? Killing me? While I’m down?”

“It has a certain element of pathos to it, doesn’t it?” Sienna asked, voice cracking slightly. “You’re going to die hated, blamed for something you didn’t do.” Her voice got stronger as the main building came into view, a multi-story monstrosity that looked as though time had left it the worse for the wear. “But we’re not going to let that happen,” she went on. “We know it’s a trap, so we’ve got one play and one only—get Kyra, get out before they can spring it. It’s a good bet they’ve underestimated us.”

“I think they’ve underestimated
you
,” Jamie said numbly. The whole world was against her—her and Kyra, and Kyra probably wasn’t even on her side at this point. Who would be, given what she’d been accused of? Attacking New York? That was beyond the pale. “Odds are good they’ve got the measure of me.” She stared down at the hospital as they came streaking in overhead. “This old building … anything I try and anchor to it with a gravity channel runs the risk of damaging the supports … or collapsing it totally. I’ll be at a disadvantage in here.”

“I’m pretty sure you disassembled a burning building like a kid licking the top off an ice cream cone the other night,” Sienna said, lifting Jamie up like a child and holding her in front of her face. “I didn’t know you were capable of that, and I’ve studied you some. You are more powerful than you know, so how can they know it?”

Jamie swallowed. “The FBI are going to come, aren’t they?”

“One problem at a time.”

“And Frost?”

“One jagoff at a time, then.”

Jamie stared down at the roof of the hospital. It looked unsteady, at best. “She’s down there? You’re sure?”

“Unless the criminal kidnappers lied,” Nealon said, with a waver of uncertainty. “But they probably didn’t lie, because they want you to come.” She grimaced. “I’ve been through this a few times before.”

“I feel sad that someone of your age has had this much experience in the dark things of the world.” Jamie put down a channel to the ground and then another, taking up her own weight. “I haven’t always agreed with your methods, but … you are a heroine. And … thank you for this.”

Nealon stared at her, then swallowed almost imperceptibly. “Let’s go save your daughter.” And she dove for the rooftop.

The problem with Jamie Barton was that she was just so gosh-darned earnest. She looked at me and said I was a hero, and I kinda wanted to cry a little. People didn’t tend to call me that, or when they did, it was on some internet discussion forum where several other people called me a freak, a hippo, a menace to society and worse. I’d even concede that there were more complimentary things said about me than uncharitable ones, but it’s hard to pay attention to people praising your graces ten times when someone comes in below them and rails against your faults. I have an eye for the negative, a mind that wallows in my own failings, and a tendency—in spite of the stoic mask I project to the public—to lace up brick boxing gloves and trash myself at the end of the day as a failure, a fraud, and a murderer.