John knelt in front of the Kingmann-Bay safe, unforgiving rosewood punishing his knees for taking so long. Sweaty fingertips brushed over grooved metal as he turned the dial a hair's width at a time, eyes closed, listening.
If the price tag of the decor filling the rest of the top-floor office was any indicator, Celia wouldn't be hungry after this.
He turned the dial one more hair, and the faintest 'click' whispered behind the safe's door.
He blew out a breath, and grasped the lever next to the dial, twisting the handle and pulling the heavy, lead door open with a creak of the hinges.
Jackpot. He reached for the payday inside.
Fabric rustled behind him. "Don't you know crime doesn't pay?"
His heart shot into his throat. Security wasn't supposed to be on this floor! He whipped around, planting a hand to keep from falling over as his knees screamed.
Blonde hair glowed almost pearl-white in the moonlight filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Skin-tight fabric hugged an athletic, but deceptively powerful frame blocking his escape. But what drew his attention the most, was the fact that she was floating a meter above the floor, staring down at him with a raised eyebrow.
Power Girl.
The old, numb weight settled in his chest. "Well... That's unfortunate."
"Surrender."
He lowered his head and closed his eyes, and a long, slow breath drained out of him like a sail losing the last bit of wind keeping it afloat."I do." He pushed the safe door closed and zipped up the empty backpack resting under it. "I'm not stupid enough to try running from a Kryptonian."
A hint of a smile tugged her lip. "You'd be surprised how many are."
No. He wasn't stupid enough to run. Just stupid enough to fail when it really mattered. He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as his knees throbbed, and he slung the pack over his shoulder, looking up at her and giving an empty shrug as if to say: 'now what?'.
She descended until her boots touched the ground, and stretched an arm toward him.
He started walking, and she grasped his upper arm, firm but not painful, and led him through the hallways toward the elevators.
He shook his head. "How did you know I was here?"
"You left the roof access door wide open."
Huh? He furrowed his brow, and looked at her. "What are you talking about? I came in through the parking basement and took the stairs."
She stopped, bringing him to a halt with her in the hallway, and her eyes narrowed, searching his own green orbs.
Her gaze bore into him, and a tingle ran down his back. Were all Kryptonians like this?
"What?" he said.
A muffled boom jolted the floor under their feet, and he flinched.
She whipped her head toward the sound, scanning the floor frantically until her gaze fixed on a single spot on the carpet, and her jaw tensed, her fingers digging into his arm like steel hooks.
"Ouch! Please, Power Girl."
She looked at him, then to where her nails sunk into his skin. She blinked, and then shook her head, pulling him into the closest office and pointing her index finger right at his face. "Don't move." Her voice was deadly serious.
Before he could respond, she shot out of the room like a sonic blur, a sheet of paper on the desk next to him wafting to the floor like a leaf caught in the wind.
The paper collided into his shoe with a tiny crinkle, and he chewed his lip. Nothing to gain by staying, nothing to lose by trying, right?
The paper stared back at him silently.
Right.
"Sorry, Power Girl."
He crept to the door and peeked out into the hall, checking both ways for white spandex. Take a really long time to get back, please.
He darted through the door and ran to the safe room, sliding to his knees in front of the lead box. Come to papa.
He yanked open the safe, the hinges squealing, and he raked the stacks of bills into his waiting backpack before zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder. Now the tricky part.
He crept back out into the hall, looking left and right. Power Girl would have taken the closest set of stairs down. The second closest set it is, then.
He sprinted down the hall past one flight of stairs, his heart pounding as his pack flopped against his side, and he reached another set of stairs at the end of the corridor. He hot-footed it down two steps at a time, his sweaty palm sliding on the white-washed railing as he flew down the steps, reaching the ground floor in record time.
Home stretch... He reached for the stairwell's exit door.
A muffled gunshot cracked the silence of the building, and his heart jumped as he cranked the handle. Blurry images that always lingered just out of reach at the edges of his mind bloomed violently into focus, and he shook his head just as violently as if he could rattle them away.
No. Not now.
He stepped out into the dark lobby, nothing but a set of glass double-doors ahead separating him from freedom, and he hefted the pack higher on his shoulder, blowing out a breath. Power Girl was bullet-proof, anyway.
A white blur streaked past his face faster than he could blink, and Power Girl smashed into the ground at his feet like a limp marionette, the polished marble floor shattering under her like a stone spider web.
His heart lept into his throat, and he jumped back. "What the!"
She made a horrible noise, like trying to breathe through a damp rag, and her eyes fluttered, a red stain expanding rapidly from a quarter-sized hole just above her left breast.
He stood frozen, ice crashing through his veins as his mouth worked silently. Kryptonians didn't bleed.
"Finish 'er off!" A voice echoed from above.
His head snapped up, and a figure leaned over the railing of a balcony four floors up, leveling a gun over the edge.
His gut clenched, and an unknown instinct launched him toward her without a thought. "No!"
Gunshots cracked through the lobby, reverberating off the smooth walls like a deadly echo chamber, puffs of obliterated marble bursting up around Power Girl's limp form like miniature explosions.
He grabbed her by the arm and dragged her like a man possessed as gunfire chipped the ground around them, flinching at every clap of fire. Crap!
He pulled her through the stairwell door, and slammed it shut with his shoulder, bullets sparking against the metal. "What is happening?!"
A moan broke through his thoughts. "What... What are you doing?" Her voice was weak, and her gaze unfocused. "Get out of here."
He rushed to her side, sliding the pack off his shoulder and letting it fall to the ground as he pressed his palms against the wound, keeping as much blood in her as he could. "I thought you were supposed to be bullet-proof!"
She swallowed, gritting her teeth. "Kryptonite-tipped."
"What the heck is kryptonite?"
Hinges squealed further up the stair case, and heavy footsteps pounded down the steps a few floors above their heads. "—Then kill 'em both."
The ice pouring through his veins reached out and gripped his spine, cold dread racing up his back.
Power Girl lifted a half-limp hand and pushed at him. "Go... Run."
The footsteps pounded nearer and heavier.
A whisper of the old pain clawed its way up from where he buried it long ago, gluing his feet in place. I can't. He slid one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees, and hefted her up, jostling her wound.
A choked moan caught in her throat.
He cast a glance down at his bag, still sitting where he dropped it.
Voices grated above with the clattering of rifles. "Come on, move it!"
He shook his head and turned to the descending set of steps, racing down as quickly as he could without dropping her.
The boots and shouts nipped at his heels like rabid dogs chasing behind him, and the parking basement door appeared at the bottom of the stairwell like a portal to salvation.
Or hell, depending.
He slammed his shoulder into the push-lever, the metal barrier screeching out of his way, and he burst into the darkness of the parking garage.
The street exit at the opposite end of the garage might as well have been on the other side of the planet. No way he was gonna make it there before bullets started flying behind him.
He whipped his gaze from corner to corner of the dimly-lit, concrete sarcophagus, desperation beginning to boil inside him. "Come on, come on..."
Power Girl lifted a sluggish finger toward a white mini-van ten meters away. "Over there."
Worked for him.
He rushed past the support pillars standing like guards against any lead that might be sent their way, and eased her down behind the van, leaning her up against the dented side-door.
A metallic crash clanged through the garage, boot-steps following after. "Find 'em!"
His heart twinged, and he swallowed the lump in his throat, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. These bastards weren't sending him home early. There was still something he needed to do, first.
Power Girl closed her eyes, and released a slow, deliberate breath. She placed one hand over the wound above her breast, and the other against the side of the van, her jaw tensing as she pulled herself up, palm squeaking on the scratched paint.
The footsteps froze. "I heard something."
John's heart seized, and he snapped his head toward her. "What are you doing?" he hissed.
She grit her teeth, but regret tempered the hardness in her eyes. "What I have to."
She shuffled forward, unsteady feet scraping across oil-stained cement, and she stepped out into the open like a torn standard swaying on a battlefield.
His eyes widened.
Rifles clattered. "There she is!"
Within the space of a second, she drew herself up to her full height, and all semblance of weakness evaporated as lines of fury etched through her face, embers of red igniting in her eyes as she leveled her gaze.
Gun barrels raised in gloved hands.
A primal yell tore from her throat, rattling the windshields around them, and the red embers erupted into crimson novas engulfing her pupils before exploding outward with laser intensity, fueled by her bone-chilling cry.
The red beams streaked across the dark garage like searing rage, bathing the air in a blood haze. They smashed into tactical-vest-covered chests, launching the bastards like ragdolls into the punishing concrete behind them with audible cracks. Limp bodies crumpled to the floor, tendrils of smoke snaking up from their torsos, evaporating into darkness.
Unnerving silence descended like thick fog.
John's mouth hung open, words and thoughts failing him.
Power Girl stood motionless, chest heaving. Then, all at once, the energy seemed to drain from her body. She swayed on her feet, and her eyes fluttered as she fell back, her knees giving out.
He darted forward, and caught her against his body, easing her down and looking between her face and her wound.
The entire front of her costume was the color of old wine, contrasting harshly with the ashen paling of her skin, and the snow-white of the fabric.
His stomach clenched. No. No no no. Not again. Please. He patted her cheek. "Power Girl? Power Girl!"
Her breathing was shallow, and her eyes unfocused as she looked back up at him. "More... Inside... Go..."
The wail of sirens floated into the dark space, gradually getting louder.
Relief washed through him, and he exhaled, his chest untightening. "Cavalry's here," he said. "Just hold on."
The chopping thump of helicopter blades rattled the building as the sirens neared, and tires screeched outside—a squad car tearing down the entrance ramp. Red and blue light strobed against the garage walls, washing away the sense of relief with cold numbness as light reflected back across the metal bars lining the car's rear windows.
He swallowed. I'm sorry, Celia.
The car screamed to a stop five meters away from them, and the officer jumped out with his gun drawn. "What's going on?"
"Save her." John locked his gaze on the last remnants of woven snow not stained crimson, and he didn't look away.
"Just save her."
CHAPTER TWO
Days. A week, maybe. Who knows.
They wouldn't tell him if Power Girl was alive or not.
Grey walls closed in on him from all sides, staring at him as he stared right back, but none of them had a clock. Just scratch marks. One-hundred-and-twenty-eight by his last count.
Counting helped him to not fall asleep.
They couldn't charge him without knowing that he did something. They couldn't release him without knowing why he had been there.
He stayed silent.
Voices in the lobby. New ones. Footsteps echoed in the hall outside his bars. The clacking of heels.
He glanced toward the bars.
Blonde hair glowed almost pearl-white under the florescent lights running the ceiling. A smart business suit and skirt hugged an athletic, but deceptively powerful frame standing outside his cell. But what grabbed his attention the most, were the crystal-blue eyes gazing at him from behind clear lenses.
Karen Starr. Of Starr Enterprises.
As in the owner of the building he tried to rob.
He chewed the inside of his cheek. "Well... That's unfortunate."
A hint of a smile tugged her lip. "You may be surprised."
He cocked an eyebrow, and a loud buzz rang out as the latch of his cell-door released with a metallic clunk, the bars retracting into the wall.
She turned, and the clacking of her heels faded toward the exit, her voice carrying down the hall: "Collect your things from outprocessing. I'll meet you outside. Don't keep me waiting."
The closing of the lobby door reverberated through the space, and his brow knit.
OOO
Twenty minutes later, flickering lights and scarred walls gave way to piercing sunlight and fresh air.
Well, fresh for the city, anyway.
Karen Starr leaned against the silver hood of a Mercedes parked outside the station, her legs crossed in front of her, and a familiar backpack hanging loosely from her hands.
She raised a brow at him.
He tugged at the cuff of his sleeve, and started walking.
"This is yours, I believe." She held out her hand, the bag swinging freely from her open palm.
He looked between her and the backpack, and tentatively reached for it, wrapping his fingers around the shoulder-strap as if asking permission.
She gazed back at him evenly.
Okay, then... He slid the bag from her hand and slung it on his shoulder. "Uh... Thanks."
That was when he noticed the weight.
"Of course, that still leaves the question of who the money inside belongs to."
The air left his lungs. Crap.
She crossed her arms and stared at him, the arch never leaving her brow.
He rubbed his neck and examined a crack in the sun-baked pavement. "Well..." Wasn't much point in lying, was there? "I guess it's, uh, yours." He braved a glance toward her icy gaze, bracing himself for the worst.
She stared at him a few moments longer, and then finally nodded, his answer seeming to please her. "Good. Then get in the car." She walked around to the driver's side and got in, her crystal blue orbs looking expectantly at him through the windshield.
Huh? Of all the reactions that would make sense, that wasn't one of them.
But he found his legs moving of their own accord. Wasn't like he had the option of saying no to her while he was holding a bag of stolen money on the front steps of a police station.
Maybe that's what she was counting on.
He dropped the bag on the floor in front of the passenger seat, and lowered himself into the smooth leather.
They drove away from the station, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye. "Look, not that I don't appreciate the change in scenery, but what exactly is this?"
"I wanted to talk to you before I decide what to do with you."
Oh, well that puts me at ease... "You didn't get me out of there so you could kill me yourself, did you?"
The corner of her lip tugged. "I don't kill people."
Comforting. "So... Where are we going?"
"We'll be there soon enough."
He furrowed his brow, but didn't speak anymore, biting back the questions stacking in his mind. She probably wouldn't know if Power Girl was alright, anyway.
Before long, they came to a very familiar apartment building.
His lips parted as he stared at the chipped, maroon bricks that made up the facade of a building that looked even more dilapidated through the window of a Mercedes. "How do you know where I live?"
"Did you think you could steal from me, and I wouldn't find out everything there is to know about you?"
He rubbed his neck and looked away.
She continued. "Former military, spotless record, not even a parking ticket to suggest you've ever committed a crime in your life. So I have to wonder: Why now?" She unclasped her seat-belt, wincing slightly as the nylon strap slid across her chest, and she pushed the door open, climbing out. "Come on. Show me inside."
Great... He shook his head, but grabbed his pack from the floor and followed her into the building. The cracks in the walls and the peels of old paint smacked him in the face more than they ever had before. "Don't you have more important things to do than see the inside of a bricked-over dump?"
"No."
Of course not... He sighed and twisted the knob of his room's door, giving it a light shove with his shoulder until the splintered wood gave way.
"Such as it is." He led her into the space. Calling it a 'living room' would imply some sort of living occurred there. "I'd tell you to make yourself comfortable, but I've never successfully gotten comfortable here. I'm not sure it's possible."
He stopped in the middle of the room, between the mattress shoved against one wall, and the ripped excuse for a couch shoved against the other, and he sighed, turning around to face her. "So." He shrugged. "What happens now?"
Her eyes carved a trail across the room, taking in every crack, stain, and box of Chinese food with a neutral mask before settling on a photo taped to the wall above the couch.
Two men in camouflage fatigues sat on either side of a small, round bar table, drinks sitting forgotten as they locked in an epic arm-wrestling match—one straining comically as he raised his head toward the heavens as if begging for divine intervention, and the other rolling his eyes.
His jaw tensed, and he looked away. Toward a section of carpet that didn't have cigarette burns.
"What were you planning on using the money for, exactly?"
He gathered enough grit to meet her gaze again. "Food."
Her brow arched. "Twenty-thousand would buy a lot of food."
"That was the idea."
Crystal blue drilled into him, staring at him long and hard, and her jaw worked in small motions as if chewing on a thought.
His stomach knotted under her gaze. Why are we even having this conversation? What does she even care? Just give her what you owe her so she'll leave and then maybe this stupid game can be over.
He slid the backpack off his shoulder and held it out to her like a beggar's can of change. "Look, just take it, alright? I'm sorry for stealing from you. Really. I don't want any trouble."
The bag hung from his open palm, and she glanced down at the frayed pack.
Just take it and go. Please.
Silence descended, and she exhaled quietly, nodding almost more to herself than him. "Alright. If that's how you feel, then I'll go. But the money is yours to keep."
What? His eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"From what I understand, if you hadn't been in my building—regardless of why you were in my building—the armed men who broke into my vault would have gotten away before the police arrived." She gazed at him with a strange look in her eye. "And Power Girl would have died."
His chest untightened slightly. "So she lived, then?"
The strange look still shone behind her eyes. "Yes. She did. Though, I have to admit I'm curious: Why did you risk your life to save her? You got what you wanted—if you had just left, you would have been gone before the police arrived, and the missing twenty-thousand would have been blamed on the vault-breakers.
She peered at him. "Why did you give up the score to save her?"
His eyes flicked to a box of half-eaten chow-mein decorating the floor, and he rubbed his neck. "Seemed like the right thing to do."
"What does that make stealing, then?"
A hot ember ignited in his gut, and his face tightened. "It's been a long few days, Miss Starr, and I'm very tired. You can take the money or leave it. But either way, I'd like to sleep now, so if you've had your fill of seeing how the other half lives..."
He dropped the bag at her feet and walked over to the door, twisting the dull, brass knob and wrenching it open.
He looked at her expectantly.
Disappointment dimmed the cerulean glow of her eyes. She pulled the lapel of her suit jacket tighter over herself, covering a hint of a white square that had begun to peek out from under the edge of the fabric, and she started toward the door, leaving the backpack where he dropped it.
He stepped aside as she passed, and she stopped in the doorway, looking at him once more with that strange ember in her gaze.
"I arranged for your release out of gratitude for helping to stop the vault-breakers," she said. "And because you have no criminal history. Please, for your own sake, don't become the person who needs to be stopped in the future."
She turned, and the clacking of her heels faded down the hall.
He shoved the door closed behind her with a resounding thwack. What the hell did she know about it, anyway? Takes one trip outside her ivory tower, and she deigns to lecture the 'at risk' about morality?
He huffed and shook his head, but his gaze landed on the backpack lying on the floor.
It stared back at him silently.
Celia... The tiny whisper sprouted in his belly, and choked out the heat inside him.
The fire drained out of him like rain-soaked ashes that left a bad taste in his mouth, and he ran a hand down his face, breathing out long and slow. Nice one, genius. Almost throw away the very thing you needed.
Suddenly, he really did feel tired.
The rev of a high-performance engine rumbled to life outside, and he shook his head, glancing at the clock on the far wall. It didn't matter anymore. He had what he needed. The last loose end was finally within tying distance, and he wasn't gonna waste any time in tying it off.
Even if he now owed the person who helped him tie that loose end an apology.
"Sorry, Starr." He settled his gaze on the backpack, and exhaled through his nose. "And thanks."
OOO
Karen Starr sat in her car, having parked a few blocks from John's apartment behind a bulky sedan that would hide the prominent Mercedes logo, and she absently rubbed the bandage that itched under her suit jacket.
The screen of her palm-pilot showed a blinking dot moving through an outline of John's building, courtesy of the tracker Bruce had insisted on stitching into the shoulder-strap of the backpack.
Not very tired then, after all. She sighed, her lips pulling into a frown.
The door of the building opened, and John stepped out, looking left and right before hefting the bag up higher on his shoulder and setting off at a brisk pace.
She placed the device on the passenger seat with a shake of her head, and twisted the key in the ignition. If the twenty thousand was going toward something less innocent than food, she needed to know, and she needed to confront him before he did something he couldn't take back.
He disappeared around the far corner of the block, and she cranked the wheel, reaching for the pile of white fabric hidden in the center console.
CHAPTER THREE
Violet wisps of twilight streaked the sky as John stepped out of the taxi, pulling the backpack onto his shoulder. A small, but well-kept home sat nestled between two Oak trees brushing white-washed slats with their leaves. Bay windows framed a living room worthy of Norman Rockwell, and a flag folded into a triangle sat in silent vigil on a mantle inside.
He exhaled.
"You want me to wait here?" the taxi driver called out.
"No, thanks." John hefted the pack higher on his shoulder and started walking toward the front door. "I won't be coming back."
He stopped at the door and swallowed, raising a fist. He hesitated only a moment before knocking.
The wooden portal opened, and Celia stood in the threshold, brown eyes widening. "John?" She launched herself forward and threw her arms around him. "It's been so long! Why didn't you call?"
He circled his arms around her, and squeezed her back. Her ribs were deep ridges under his touch. "Hey, Celia. How are you?"
She pulled back and slapped his chest. "I'm fine, now answer the question!"
"Well, I haven't really had a phone in a while..."
She scoffed and shook her head, but her smile never left her face. "Well, what are you waiting for? Come in!"
He gave her a fleeting smile of his own. "I can't stay, but I wanted to give you something before I left."
"What do you mean, you can't stay?"
He slid the backpack off his shoulder with one hand, and took her hand in his other, placing the strap in her waiting palm and closing her fingers around it. "You have to promise me not to open it until after I leave, alright?"
Her smile finally faded as she looked at him. "But... Where are you going?"
"I guess I'll find out when I get there." He poured as much affection as he could into his gaze, and stepped back from her. "Take care, Celia." He turned before she could respond, and pushed away the memories trying to claw their way up, leaving them behind on the porch along with a bewildered woman holding a backpack.
His heart still twinged.
He brushed past the hedge that tickled the end of the walkway, and something white flashed in the corner of his vision, behind a winding Oak stretching over the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street.
He whipped his head toward the flash, but it disappeared like a sonic blur—or a figment of his imagination—and a leaf broke free from its place, wafting across the street like a piece of paper caught in the wind.
The leaf collided into his shoe with a tiny crinkle, and he followed its path back to the tree, not a hint of white anywhere to be seen.
A small crease knitted his brow, but he shook his head, continuing down the sidewalk toward the distant skyscrapers of the city.
If he had looked up, beyond the wisps of dark grey streaking the airy violet, he might have seen a tiny, white speck keeping pace with him.
OOO
The violet dusk gave way to the ink of night, and John sat on the roof of his apartment building, his tired legs hanging off the edge as he looked up at the flickering specks above.
His thumb brushed back and forth over the polished dog-tags in his hands, the stamped letters of his name passing under his touch like cold braille that only he could read.
He breathed in deep, and held it a moment before letting it sigh back out, his gaze falling to the fog-dampened street below. The yellow streetlights were distorted moons in the damp blacktop. Broken reflections.
A voice behind him shattered the silence. "Long way down."
His heart shot into his throat. No one could have gotten through the door after he locked it! He whipped around, planting a hand on rough brick to keep from falling.
Power Girl descended, touching down on the graveled roof until her boots sunk into the loose rock, and she looked down at him with a raised brow.
He stared at her for a moment, and then turned back to the street, resting his elbows on his knees. "So it is."
She didn't respond right away, and he didn't say anything more. There was no point in doing anything other than sitting quietly as long as she was there.
Finally, she spoke. "Can I sit with you?"
He shrugged. "You can do whatever you want."
He felt her eyes narrow against the back of his head, but gravel began shifting behind him.
She lowered herself onto the ledge beside him, and he glanced at the jagged brick digging into her bare thighs.
"That can't be comfortable."
Her lip tugged. "I'm fine."
He nodded more to himself than her, and returned to staring at the flickering diamonds above, absently running a thumb across his dog-tags.
Pools of icy blue studied him, and he forced himself not to look at her.
"Will you be honest with me, John?"
Weight settled in his chest. "Do I have a choice?"
Her gaze burned the side of his head. "You always have a choice."
"You gonna lecture me, too?"
"Do you need to be lectured?"
He exhaled, and lowered his head into his hand, rubbing his forehead. "What do you want from me, Power Girl? Why are you here?"
"I'm fulfilling my purpose," she said. "And I have to admit, I'm curious about you. You're something of a contradiction to me." She tilted her head. "I'd like to know: What is your purpose?"
"I've fulfilled my purpose."
"That's what I was afraid of."
He huffed out a laugh, but there was no humor in it. "The mighty Power Girl is afraid?"
"I'm only mighty here," she said. "On this planet."
He finally turned to her, and cocked an eyebrow.
She lifted her gaze to the flickering specks above, and searched for only a moment before raising a finger toward an unremarkable speck. "Do you see that star?"
It took him a second to find which one she meant, but he nodded.
"That's where I'm from. That was my home. It was totally destroyed, and I was powerless to stop it." The skin around her eyes crinkled. "My home, my family... Even my very identity was burned up in the ashes of Krypton, and I was left empty."
He looked away.
"I know the hollowness, John," she said. "And that's why I'm here. Because this is my purpose now." She placed her hand on his forearm. "But I want to know... Why are you up here?"
He swallowed. "Just enjoying the night air."
She glanced down at the dog-tags in his hands, and then back up to him.
A twinge sprouted in his heart, and it traveled up until it squeezed his throat. What was he supposed to say? That looking at the same stars night after night was better than seeing the same blood-stained bricks night after night? That it was better to spend the night shivering and alone, than to have the company of your own memories?
He gripped the cold metal, and stared at the broken, yellow reflections below. "We were coming home from a bar. It was a bad neighborhood, but I wanted to get home so I said we should take a shortcut through some alleys." He shook his head. "All because I was in a hurry to get home. And now, his wife has to choose whether to eat, or pay her mortgage so she can have a roof over her head."
He was lying to himself. He hadn't fulfilled his purpose, he had failed in his purpose.
Her thumb brushed his arm. "You saved my life, John. I would be dead if not for you."
"My best friend is dead because of me."
"No," she said. "I know what happened in that alley, John. You are not to blame."
"Then why do I see it every time I sleep?"
"Maybe because you need to forgive yourself."
He looked down at the silver tags reflecting shards of light in his hands, and he wiped a droplet that beaded over his name. "I don't know if I can do that."
"I can show you the first step." She cupped his clenched fists in her hands. "Will you give me your dog-tags, John?"
He kept his eyes on where her hands covered his. "Why?"
"You know why," she said. "And you know what you're promising me if you give them to me."
He turned from the fire-forged metal biting into his skin like ice, and looked into the pools of blue glowing like embers in the darkness.
She held his gaze.
Something inside of him broke, and a sour thread tore across his heart like a lash. Slowly, he opened his fingers under her hand until his tags laid open between their palms.
She closed her hand over his, trapping the tags between them, and the ice melted under her touch.
Something wet splashed against his hand, but his vision was a little clearer now.
She gracefully rose to her feet, taking the dog-tags with her, and she offered him her other hand.
He sniffed, and let her pull him up.
"It's just as well." She smiled faintly, holding up the tags. "If there's a new thief in my city, I need to know who he is."
He huffed out a breath, but this time, it did have some humor in it. "You already know who I am."
"Not yet. But I'd like to."
He looked at her.
She stretched an arm toward him. "Come on. I want to hear exactly how you got into Starr Enterprises, and made it all the way up to Miss Starr's office without setting off any alarms."
"Isn't it a little late for a story?"
"Not at all." Something in her eye twinkled. "Don't you know?"
He raised a brow.
"The best heist stories always happen under starlight."
THE END