Masks (Out of the Box Book 9) (42 page)

“So that’s it, then?” Jamie asked.

“I think so,” I said as Welch slipped away, probably sensing that he didn’t want to have to deliver these reassurances. They could charge her later, after all, or continue their investigation with full intent to drop the hammer once the public had calmed down somewhat. I sensed something going on behind the scenes, but hadn’t the foggiest as to what it was. “I hope so.”

“Well, I hope so, too,” Jamie said, reddening. “Because I … kinda need to pick up the pieces of my life now. The world knows I’m Gravity … ugh, Gal … my business needs attention, I’ve just had the ultimate identity theft.” She looked at me hopefully. “
Can
I
pick up the pieces? Am I going to be able to go back to living a normal life?”

I opened my mouth to answer, and hesitated. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “You’re a superhero, and the world knows who you are. Normal is … right out. But you can maybe go back to living.” I stepped closer to her and put a hand gently on her shoulder. She had a look on her face like the wind had been knocked out of her. “It’s not ever going to be the same again. But it’s not the end, either. You’re going to be out there now, and there’s risks that go along with that. But you’re not alone.” I pulled a card out of my pocket and pushed it into hers. “And if you ever need help … call me.”

“Thank you,” she said, regret and fear mingling with her gratitude. “But … you’re leaving?”

“Well, the State Fair is going on back in Minnesota,” I said lamely. “I need to go home,” I said, veering more toward solemn.

“I just …” She lowered her voice. “I’m … afraid … in a way I haven’t been since I first started this.”

“It’s because now that the mask is off, the people you love are exposed,” I said, nodding. “I can’t pretend that feeling will just go away, because it won’t. But …” I looked toward the door behind her, where Kyra and Clarice were waiting in the room we’d just left. “It’s better to do this with help than on your own. Trust me on that. Voice of experience here.”

“I believe you,” she said, softening a little. “But … my family—”

“You’ll protect them,” I said with confidence. “You’ll find a way to make it happen.”

“You sound so sure,” she said, a little brittle.

“You’re a hero, Jamie Barton,” I said, walking away, trying to play it cool. She didn’t need crippling doubts or fears at the moment; she knew the risks she was facing, and she needed to see the face of someone who had lived the life she was stepping into, confident that she’d be all right.

That her family would be all right.

“You’ll be fine,” I said and paused. “But from now on … maybe drop the ‘Gal’ and go with just… ‘Gravity’?” I pushed my way out through the back door and took off into the sky. I shook all the way back to my hotel, hoping that in this case, I hadn’t told another lie.

Jamie let Clarice drive them home because she didn’t have a car anymore. Kyra fell asleep with her head against the window, and Jamie watched her, the streetlights illuminating her daughter’s fair hair as they passed each in turn. The silence was thick in the car, almost as thick as Clarice’s perfume, and when Jamie finally went to speak, Clarice broke the silence at the exact same time.

“I wanted to tell you—” Jamie started.

“I think what’s been bothering me—” Clarice said.

“Oops,” Jamie said.

“You go first,” Clarice said.

“No, you,” Jamie said. “Please.”

“I think what was bothering me all this time,” Clarice said, hands on the wheel, eyes looking out at the empty Staten Island side streets, “was the thought you didn’t care about Barton Designs. That you were just throwing it all away.” She looked at Jamie in the passenger seat. “But you weren’t. You were answering a higher calling—helping people.” She bowed her head for a second, almost brushing the steering wheel with her forehead. “I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for,” Jamie said. “I’m the one who should apologize. I should have told you. Instead, I left you holding the bag at Barton Designs, making excuses for me while I ran off and played Supergirl.”

“It’s amazing what you do,” Clarice said, “but I don’t know how a designer could look at that costume and think it was a good idea.”

“I … didn’t want to appear too professionally put together,” Jamie said, a little abashed. “I was afraid if I looked too good, it might point someone in my direction.”

“But you can design something new now, right?” Clarice asked with a wide smile, nodding in anticipation of the answer. “Now that everyone knows, you could pretty much come up with something that might reflect nicely upon your company, yes?”

“Probably,” Jamie said, but something about that troubled her. “I mean … if I’m going to keep doing this.”

Clarice looked at her like she was crazy. “Do you want to keep doing this?”

“I … just worry about Kyra is all,” Jamie said, swallowing heavily. “I put the mask on because I wanted to protect this city, but also protect my daughter. Now … what if the two don’t go together? What if they’re irreconcilable? I can’t watch her all the time, after all, and—” Jamie stopped; there was a crowd in the road ahead, blocking access to their street. Jamie tensed, raising her hands to get them ready to react to whatever threat waited.

“Uh oh,” Clarice muttered, and she slowed as they approached the crowd.

“Hey!” someone shouted, pointing right at the car, “It’s her!”

Jamie felt the panic rise, worried they were going to get swarmed in an eager mob, or worse, an angry one, but the crowd made way for Clarice’s car, parting. She looked at them then looked askance at Jamie. “Uhm …?”

“I think you can drive through,” Jamie said, watching the people surrounding them, mesmerized as they waved and cheered, not too loud, though. There were signs in their midst bearing slogans like, “We believe in you!” Someone was shushing them; someone who had seen Kyra sleeping against the window, telling them, “Keep it down! You’ll wake her kid!”

“What’s going on?” Kyra asked, coming off the window, voice slurred from sleep.

“Welcoming committee,” Jamie said as the car slowly cruised up the street and Clarice steered it carefully into the driveway. “Of some kind.” Jamie tensed, ready to drop a series of channels around them that would clear ten feet of space in a second. She took a breath and then opened the door and stepped out of the car.

The crowd receded, giving her space. “Uhm, hi,” Jamie said, suddenly self-conscious. She was still wearing her costume, but her face was exposed, and that was not a natural feeling to her, even now. “What are you doing here?”

“Jamie,” said a guy up front. He looked familiar, and it took her a second to realize he was the cop that had put her in handcuffs. “We’re—we’re here to watch your back.” The crowd cheered again; they had to be hundreds strong, filling the street. She caught a glimpse of a neighbor, staring at her, hands clapping together. “You’re our hero, after all, and, uh … we didn’t want you to have to worry about your family while you’re out saving others peoples’. So we’ll watch your house, watch out for your daughter.” He nodded, and she saw others doing the same. “Hey, we stick together. We’ve got your back.”

Jamie stood there, still, a little tingle running up her spine. Maybe it would be all right, after all. “And I’ve got yours,” she said, and she could feel the smile breaking through as she said it. “All of yours.”

“I told her to just drop the ‘Gal’ and go with ‘Gravity,’” I said into the phone the next morning as I scooped my luggage off the carousel at MSP—Minneapolis/St. Paul International Airport.

“Really?” Reed asked through the phone. His tone was hard to pin down.

“I thought it sounded cooler.” I headed for the doors, figuring I’d just fly low over Bloomington and drop my bag off at home. I’d already exchanged some texts to set up my afternoon plans.

“Lame,” Reed pronounced. “Also, already taken. A Google search, that’s all I’m saying, and you’d spare yourself the pain of ignorance.”

I rolled my eyes as I stepped out into the warm day and lifted off the ground. I’d need to keep low near the airport so as not to knock a plane out of the sky. “So I’m bad at naming things.”

“Probably the least of the numerous reasons you should never have children,” he said smugly. He got like this when he knew things and I didn’t. He was quiet for a second, and then said, “Did you hear about Nadine Griffin’s mansion burning down?”

“It was in the papers at the airport,” I said, trying to play it off casual. “Looks like she bolted or something, maybe to avoid an arson charge.”

“Maybe,” Reed said, pretty neutral. I didn’t want to fish for his opinion on the matter because … I wasn’t sure I wanted to encourage him to look deeper. It was entirely possible he’d already settled his suspicions on me, and if he had, I didn’t want to give him fodder for it. “You think she’ll turn up again?”

“I hope so,” I said, “I’d really like to punch her in the face. You know, for old times’ sake. But she’s pretty crafty, so I doubt she’ll get caught.”

He was quiet for a minute. “If she was that crafty, you’d think she would have been smart enough to avoid burning down her own mansion.”

“Touché,” I said, not daring to usher him off the phone so I could fly without having to hold it up to my ear. I was clear of the airport now, but holding myself to a hundred feet or so off of 494 West. “I—”

“Augustus and I need to do a little work on this thing,” he said, sounding … normal? I hoped. “I should let you go.”

“Okay,” I said, wondering if he was hanging up because he suspected what I’d done, or if he was telling the truth. Oh, what a tangled web. “Talk to you later.”

“Enjoy the State Fair,” he said, and I felt a moment of apprehension as I hung up. I hadn’t said anything to him about going to the State Fair today.

I flew on, veering north and following 35W toward my house. I set down in the grassy backyard and opened the door. It was all quiet, so I dropped my suitcase, changed into something a little more summery, strapping my pistol in my waistband with a sigh—I’d missed Shadow—threw on a light overshirt to keep it from imprinting and left, locking the door again behind me. I checked my text messages and smiled as I stood there in the sun.

See you soon
, the latest message said, and I took off into the sky, heading northeast.

I set down outside the State Fair grounds a little while later to “Oohs!” and “Aahs!” of tourists from outstate marveling at my entrance. I bought my ticket and presented it at the turnstile, then flew over the street, neatly dodging the rickety wooden walkover ramp and heading straight into the grounds.

I landed by the Australian Potato Stand, the smell of sweet, fried goodness lingering in the air. The animal barns were nearby, but even they couldn’t extinguish the wondrous fried smell of the potatoes. I could see the milk booth down the way, and the stand where they sold the deep fried breakfast sandwiches. It wasn’t a mystery to me why assholes on the internet talked about my ass, but I’d be damned if I was going to pass up a bucket of Sweet Martha’s cookies later, because if I did, the internet trolls would win, and we couldn’t have that.

“Hey,” came a voice from behind me, and I turned to look at a man who was standing there, staring at me.

“Hey yourself,” I said, then realized he had Australian potatoes, sliced longways, breaded, fried, and saturated with ranch on one side and cheese sauce on the other. I raised an eyebrow. “
You’ve
got good taste.”

“Tell me about it,” he said and offered a potato. I chose one smothered in ranch with just a hint of the cheese. It was still steaming, hot, and it tasted fabulous. “By the way you look … amazing.” He gave me the up and down. “Stunning. Really. I feel like a flashbang went off behind my eyes.”

“You don’t know how to talk to girls for shit,” I teased, scooping another potato from his plate without asking. There was a tiny paper Australian flag stuck in the top of the mound, affixed to a toothpick. “But you do all right with me.”

“Well,” Jeremy Hampton said, grinning, “you’re different than most girls.” He leaned in and whispered in my ear. “For instance, most girls can’t pull off a CZ-75 Shadow inside the waistband.”

I stared back at him, tall and gorgeous. My very own training officer, former FBI Hostage Rescue guy, and pretty damned handy man. My employee. Hostile workplace lawsuit waiting to happen.

Good thing he hit on me first.

“I’m glad to see you here,” I said as he threaded an arm around my waist. He offered the potatoes again, but I passed. I had designs on the deep-fried Oreos and deep-fried pickles, and even with my meta metabolism, I had to pace myself. I put my arm around his waist in return.

“Did you think I’d stand you up?” he asked, leading me up the road past the concrete bunker of the Lee and Rose Warner Coliseum.

“No,” I said, shrugging as he discarded the rest of the potatoes in a trashcan. There were way too many of them for us to finish them all. “I just …” A few ideas passed through my head, all boiling down to one thing …

Why the hell would any sensible, good-looking, intelligent, decent and totally badass man want to hang out with … me?

“I’m just glad to see you,” I said, feeling a little burn of guilt. He didn’t know what I’d done. Reed might not know. Augustus didn’t know. That was the price of the secrets I hid behind the mask I wore every day.

Secrets. They might just be eating me alive.

But to get rid of Nadine Griffin … maybe that was a secret worth the price.

As I stared into Jeremy’s eyes, walking down Judson Avenue, a crowd of happy Minnesotans around me, I smiled to myself. I’d keep this one secret, but … no more. Let them all out, live open, be better—like Jamie. That was what I needed to do.

No more secrets, I thought, as I took his hand in mine, just for a few seconds, feeling his warm skin against mine, like the sun shining down on us both.

No more secrets.

Well … except for that
one
other.

President Gerry Harmon stared at Scott Byerly across the
Resolute
desk. The young man looked shamed, his complexion dark, eyes downcast. He’d come himself, like a child called on the carpet in a headmaster’s office. Harmon stared at him, watching him, but he already had the full measure of the man. The visual inspection was just for show, really.