The Color of Courage (5 page)

He had the audacity to smirk and lift
my
drink, still in my hand, to his mouth.

“Someone close to you died recently, and you’re not dealing with it.”

Evan choked on the drink. Clear, cold liquid splashed out of the bottle and splattered my fingers where I was still holding it, a contrast to his warm hand below mine. I made a face and pulled it away, using Chad’s clean napkin to wipe my fingers.

“How do you know I’m not dealing with it?”

A bit appeased that he didn’t deny it, I said, “There’s a dark hole in you, an absence. You ignore it, but it just throbs.” The emptiness pulsed when I said that. Evan rubbed his chest. “Around the edges are the usual accompaniments to grief. Pain, depression, anger. You’re doing a great job of encapsulating it, but it’s seeping.” I dropped the napkin on the shelf and picked up my bottle, meeting his eyes while I deliberately drank from it, my mouth right where his had been a moment before.

“Okay. So I’ve got a problem with you.”

Kirby scowled. “What problem?”

Evan tossed a nut into his mouth from a handful I hadn’t noticed and winked. “You’ll find out.”

He walked away again to talk to Summer, leaving Kirby to launch into a tirade and me to lament the complications of life. At least with Ian, everything was simple. We liked each other, we had fun, and then we didn’t. If I ever explored what was behind the blankness of Evan’s—or Adam’s—feelings toward me, my life would become like calculus.

“Dinner’s up!”

The group, which had seemed a perfect number a moment ago, now became a crowd as we all moved toward the narrow dining room door. I got caught momentarily between Adam and Evan. Since I’m more than six inches shorter than both of them, their eyes met in a glare over my head.

“Hey, Adam, where’s Rachel?” I asked. Rachel was his on-again, off-again girlfriend. They’d been high school sweethearts in a small Maryland town. Just like Clark Kent and Lana Lang, I supposed. He’d stuck close to home, but Rachel joined the diplomatic corps and was out of the country more than she was in. When she was here, they were together. Summer had told me yesterday that she’d popped back just in time for the dinner party. She’d said it with a great deal of satisfaction, but I couldn’t share her feelings. I didn’t like Rachel so much. Mainly—

“Adam. What’s holding you up? We’re over here. Hi, Daley. You and Evan are right across from us. You might as well sit in front of me. We’ll talk more to each other than to the guys. Summer, you’re missing a fork over here.”

Mainly because she was a bossy bitch.

“How are you, Rachel?” I graciously accepted the chair Evan slid out for me and smiled at the flawless woman being seated by Adam. She’d dressed in a magnificent dark blue silk suit, as if this were a Department of State dinner party, not a bunch of friends getting together.

Feeling underdressed and frumpy, I checked out everyone else. My sundress and sandals better matched Kirby’s capris and halter and Summer’s slim pants and floaty tunic. Trace’s date’s jeans rode as low as possible without falling off, and she bared a good five inches of skin between that and her tight polo shirt.

That was better. Rachel was definitely the one out of place.

She’d already launched into a description of some dull summit meeting she’d been working in Germany. I learned the first day I met her that she didn’t need an audience, so I didn’t bother to give her one now. I smiled at the college student Summer had hired to serve—number one on the Successful Dinner Party Hostess list: hire a server so you can enjoy your guests—and hummed a little at the plate he’d set in front of me.

“You like asparagus, do you?” Evan narrowed his eyes at the four bright green stalks tied with a strip of summer squash and drizzled with lemon sauce.

“You don’t?”

“Actually.” He grinned at me, checked to be sure everyone had been served, and picked up his appetizer fork. “I love the stuff.”

“Unplumbed depths, huh?” I picked up my own fork and maneuvered a spear.

“Sure, if you want to think so.” He flickered one eyelid in a half-wink, and I shook my head. He’d suddenly gone all flirtatious on me. But instead of annoyed, I found myself amused. It was nice to be flirted with. Knowing it was nice because it boosted my ego after Ian’s departure didn’t diminish the effects.

Across the table, Rachel was talking about some Turkish diplomat and the funny difficulties they’d had with language. Boring.

I tuned in to the conversation at the other end. John and Sylvia had their heads together, murmuring something I couldn’t hear. Summer watched them like a mother at a piano recital. Trace made faces for his bimbo, while Kirby and Chad ignored each other. Frank sat on Evan’s other side, at the end of the table, listening to Rachel and apparently even interested.

Which left Evan. And Adam, I realized. He’d probably heard Rachel’s story before. He and Evan started talking, and Adam asked Evan about his job. Evan gave an evasive answer. Some junk about stock research. I didn’t buy it.

“Private investigator?” I flashed my sweetest smile and leaned to the side so the server could take my empty plate.

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you’re not denying it, are you?”

He shook his head at me, exasperation misting the edges of his aura. “I work for a private company, yes.”

“But HQ doesn’t have stock.”

“Who says I’m investigating HQ?”

“Are you saying you’re not?”

“Daley, honestly,” Rachel said, radiating disgust. “There are more subtle ways to get the information you want.”

“I know that, Rachel, thank you.” I didn’t take my eyes off Evan, even as butternut soup was served. “But some people respond better to the direct approach.”

“That’s true,” Evan agreed. “Are you one of them?” he asked Adam. I was aware of his surprise, but he didn’t show it outwardly.

“I am, yes.”

Rachel sighed and started talking to Frank.

“All right then. You had a case—”

Evan stopped talking when Adam’s beeper went off.

Chapter 5

The room went quiet except John and Sylvia, who seemed oblivious to the rest of us as they giggled over their soup.

“Excuse me.” Adam swiped his napkin over his mouth and stood.

“No!”

The shout came from Summer’s end of the table. She looked outraged at the interruption. “Tell them no, Adam.”

He gave her a “yeah, right” look and opened his phone as he exited the room. Summer dropped her head into her hand.

Trace’s date squealed. “Is it a mission?”

“Probably,” Trace said in a low voice. “But we shouldn’t let it interfere with dinner until we have to.”

We continued with our soup, but conversation was perfunctory until Adam walked back in.

“Trace and Daley.”

We stood instantly. Trace’s date asked if she could come. He bent to dissuade her, and I belatedly turned to Evan.

“Sorry. Enjoy the Cornish hens without me.” I joined Adam and Trace, and we walked through the living room.

“It’s a jumper.” Adam started to open the door. “He’s wielding a knife and threatening anyone who comes near. The police department’s counselor got cut pretty badly when she tried to talk him down.”

I’d already started going taupe, but the similarity to my disastrous first mission speared me with terror. I wrung my hands and willed my lungs to stop squeezing before Adam noticed my reaction. With focused will, the spear narrowed, and I nodded.

“Can I tag along?”

Halfway out the door, we all turned to find Evan standing behind us. I sensed only curiosity now, none of the suspicion of before. It made no sense to me, but he didn’t mean harm. Not today. I shrugged at Adam, who passed it along to Evan.

“I have the van,” he said to me and Trace. “It’s stocked.”

The van was at the curb half a block away. Adam circled to the driver’s side and beeped the other doors open. Trace went shotgun while Evan and I climbed into the back.

“Why just you three?” he asked, settling in.

Adam started the van with a roar and took off down the street with me still standing, reaching for Trace’s suit. I stumbled, and Evan put his hands on my hips to steady me.

I liked it.

But he wasn’t paying attention, had just been keeping me from landing on him. And I had more important things to do.

“Skills.” Trace took the suit I handed him and started changing. “A jumper’s got emotional issues. Obviously, Daley can get to the bottom of that.”

“Obviously.” Evan flashed me a wry smile, then one of greater interest when he realized I was changing, too, not just putting the suit on over my other clothes. Like I could fit pants and a jacket over this dress.

I ignored him. He watched me and listened to Trace explain.

“Adam’s gonna be our point guy. Knives are no threat to him.”

I could tell that was news to Evan, but he didn’t interrupt. He became my valet, taking my dress and handing me the jacket to put on over my ivory satin bra without ogling my chest. What a gentleman.

“I would think Summer’s speed would be a bigger asset.”

Even with my attention on my boots, I heard the carefulness of his tone. What was it with him and Summer? And why had he tagged along with us instead of staying in her house with her?

“Summer didn’t deserve to be taken away from her dinner party,” Adam said, wheeling around a corner at top speed but looking and acting like he was on a Sunday drive. “We can handle it.” The van jolted to a stop, and we craned our necks to see up through the windows. The jumper was on a ledge three stories above the ground. Not high enough for a serious suicide, I thought. Three stories was low enough to maybe land just right for survivable damage.

“All right.” Adam pointed at Evan. “You stay here. At least next to the van,” he added when Evan opened his mouth. “You’re our responsibility and we don’t need you getting hurt or in the way.” Somehow, he said it in a tone guaranteed not to offend, and Evan nodded.

“Trace, you go to the floor below and rig your gear. I’ll shield Daley while she tries to talk to him. I can protect her, but—”

“I know the drill.” Trace was a much more subdued version of his usual self. He goofed off constantly and made jokes to deflect just about everything important, but when it came to stuff like this, he got serious. Real serious.

Adam nodded once. “Then let’s go.”

The spot the man had chosen wasn’t as ambiguous as I’d originally thought. When we reached the crowd held back by a string of police officers and long wooden barriers, I saw he was standing above the entrance to a parking garage. The cement sloped downward as it neared the building, giving him a bigger distance and a greater chance of success. Fat columns, the kind used to block vehicles from pedestrian walkways, bordered the sides of the driveway. The police were using these as the guide for crowd control, but they were still too close. If this guy did jump, those on the front lines would be in therapy for months, trying to forget the feel of human pieces being splattered on them.

I didn’t want to remember the one death I’d witnessed, and set up a mental barrier to the images. I’d been an innocent bystander like these people, going about my typical college-student evening, when I’d happened on the scene. That guy hadn’t hesitated or given any warning. At least, none that anyone had ever heard, until the gunshot.

Adam found the person in charge and asked for an update.

“Guy’s name is Gino Scarengio,” the police captain explained loud enough for me to hear but not the crowd a couple dozen feet away. “No one knows what brought this on. We can’t track down any family or girlfriend or anything like that. He didn’t work in this building.”

“Did he say anything to the negotiator?” Adam asked.

I waited as the captain relayed nothing of any assistance while Adam listened intently and asked questions that made the guy feel important rather than stupid. He didn’t scoff or give any sign he thought the police had mishandled the situation, and within moments we were let into the building and directed to the office that led to Gino’s ledge.

We paused just inside the doorway. The office was empty and had been since Gino cut the negotiator. It was still and quiet, belying the pain and fear and anger coming off him in waves. His aura was a huge jumble, too fractured and complicated for me to get any sense of the reason for his emotions.

“He’s unstable,” I told Adam, my own voice low. No sense letting him know we were there. Not yet.

“No kidding.”

I looked sharply at him. It was so rare for him to make a joke even off the job. But except for a tiny twinkle in his eye, there was no sign that’s what he’d been doing.

“I thought he’d want to be talked down,” I continued, “since he hasn’t jumped yet. But I don’t get that feeling. He’s just waiting. I don’t know what for.”

“Okay. Let me know when you’re ready.”

I nodded, thinking of what I would say to Gino. How I could get through to him, when trained negotiators hadn’t been able to. I was probably going to have to project again, like in the restaurant. I swore I’d start practicing in my off hours. This kind of trial by fire was too dangerous.

I took a deep breath. “Okay.”

Adam moved in front of me and we stepped forward in unison. The movement drew the jumper’s attention. He spun quickly but carefully, the knife held in front of him, and I saw it was one of those long, wide-bladed knives with a serrated section near the hilt and a hole in the middle, the kind sold in a pack on home shopping channels in the middle of the night.

Agitation spread before him, leading fear, anger, and deep, deep despair. I concocted a bubble of calm, infusing it with hope—at least, I
tried
to infuse it with hope—and pushed it forward, a few feet ahead of us but moving at the same pace. I didn’t want to hit him with it too suddenly.

“Who are you?” He waved the knife. “Negotiators, I suppose. Well, don’t bother. And stop right there!” He turned his wrist so his hand was on top of the knife, which pointed at Adam’s chest, albeit several feet away. “The last negotiator didn’t fare so well.” He laughed, and for the first time I perceived malice. He wasn’t just desperate, despairing, prepared to die. He hated, too. He wanted to hurt others, not just to ease his own pain, but . . . just because.

It was such a rare thing it stopped me. My bubble grew thin, sagged. I wasn’t sure I had the strength to go up against this guy.

For the first time, I realized what a newbie I was at this. Even after several years in HQ. We were Clark Kent in Smallville, not Superman after years of honing his power.

And we were going to fail.

“Gino, we’re not negotiators.” Adam paused, and I could feel his own uncertainty. Then it was banished by determination, and I knew what he was going to do.

Before he could do it, Gino scoffed at us. “Not negotiators. Cops then? Come to try to stop the poor pathetic sap before he hurts someone?” He waved the knife again and turned back to the street below. I wasn’t close enough to the window to see the crowd on the ground, but I saw his grin. “It’s doubled in size since I got up here. Think I can hit that little girl if I jump hard enough?”

“We’re not negotiators or counselors or cops.” Adam moved closer to the open window. It wasn’t large enough for either of them to move through quickly, which gave him a little protection. “Ever hear of HQ?”

Gino squinted into the air, not looking at us. “HQ. Sounds like a TV show or something.”

“We’re an agency.”

“I remember.” Gino barked a laugh, but it wasn’t the same. Some of the harsher emotions had been startled into suppression. “You’re superheroes? They thought I warranted superheroes?” He looked Adam up and down. “You gotta be the head guy. So this doesn’t frighten you.” He stabbed at Adam’s shoulder.

Adam didn’t move. The knife tip snapped off and rattled into the track of the sliding window.

Gino cursed and turned away again. “I don’t need superheroes.” But there was something in his voice, in his aura. A flicker of satisfaction. Maybe this was all about getting high-level attention. I thought he muttered something about Chicago, but I didn’t catch it, and then Adam was talking to him again.

“Why don’t you tell us what you do need?”

I had to admire Adam’s approach. He didn’t sound cajoling or patronizing or oh-so-gentle. He just used the matter-of-fact, calm tone he used with everyone.

“I need about fifty more people.” Gino watched the crowd below. “Probably about ten minutes, I’ll get them.” His grin stretched wide, horrible, and he muttered, “He was right. He was right.”

“Who was right?” But Gino ignored Adam now, concentrated on the growing crowd.

Adam barely moved his fingers, but I knew what he was signaling. I backed out of the room and radioed Trace.

“This isn’t going to work up here, Trace. The guy is beyond help.” And something more. Something malicious. But I didn’t know what, and all we could do was focus on the plan.

“You ready?” I asked.

“Completely.”

“All right. He wants an audience. Radio the police to clear the crowd completely. Get rid of the news teams. I don’t care how, but the faster the better. I’ll probably have only about five minutes up here.”

“All right. Be careful, Daley.”

“Don’t worry.” I took a deep breath and stepped back into the room. Adam glanced back, and I nodded. He kept talking to Gino, but the man grew more agitated the more he said. I concentrated on building my bubble again, but this time I didn’t bother with hope. I used as much calm as I could, and added the opposites of his emotions. Love. Happiness. I couldn’t quite manage euphoria, but thought about giggles, and the bubble started to sparkle. I sent it out again, but it met resistance. Gino’s emotions were too damned strong.

I moved closer, but it wasn’t enough. I couldn’t do it through empty space. I was going to have to go out on the ledge with him.

For a moment, my own fear overwhelmed everything else I’d built. Was it worth it? Risking my own life for this asshole, who’d done God-knew-what, and wanted nothing more than to hurt others? Something inside me screamed, “No!”, and it was the part of me I kept locked away, untouched by all I felt around me.

But then Adam turned my way, his brow furrowed, and the reason I’d joined HQ squelched the fear. Not completely, but enough to render it ineffective. I’d joined because what I can do is too difficult to bear if I’m not helping people. And if I could help save Gino, I’d be saving the people below us, the ones watching on TV, and who knew how many others.
They
didn’t know what I knew about Gino. They saw only tragedy about to happen. And if we could stop it, we’d be giving them hope and comfort.

“I have to go out there,” I said to Adam.

“No.” He grabbed my arm and tried to move me out the door, but I stood firm.

“It’s the only way. Let me go.”

I never talked to Adam like that. The conviction in my voice surprised me, because my throat was too tight to have let it out. My heart pounded in my chest, and my breathing was shallow. Would Adam respond to those signs of fear, or to my voice?

He managed to move me two steps backwards, but then Gino let out a bellow of rage, and I knew the crowd was dispersing. It was now or never. “Let me go,” I repeated, and Adam did.

“Hey, Gino.” I climbed onto a chair positioned conveniently under the window and stuck my leg out. He spun around and swiped at my leg, but the fabric of my suit protected me, and he cursed again. I shifted my weight and ducked through the window, then stood there, held in place by Adam’s grip on my ankle.

“What the hell are you doing?” He raked me with a scathing sneer, but it didn’t touch me. My bubble had shrunk to “fit” me.