Fingers press at the vulnerable juncture where my jugular meets my jaw, a puff of breath ghosting across my face.
“Look at me,” he says.
The white of his mask looks blue in the diffused light even as other colors reflect off it, still just as blank. Noises draw closer as the police search the house and the seconds stretch on, but Charade doesn’t move or speak. Not for the longest time.
“This isn’t over.” His voice is low and harsh, the inverse of the softness with which his knuckle caresses my cheek. “I had him tonight, and you took that away from me. I won’t forget it.”
A shiver shakes me as his warmth leaves my skin just as the mayor and Chief of Police burst through the doorway.
2
ZANE
ONE YEAR LATER
The autumn air is crisp against my skin, though the sun’s out with force today. Of course it is. The sun always shines for her.
Checkmate.
I grit my teeth, thankful for the scarf that shields my disdain from the sea of people dressed in much the same way around me—hats, scarves, and gloves to ward away the cold. Sunglasses.
With my tweed jacket, black jeans, and boots, I could be one of the younger professors over at NMU. Maybe in another life.
Today I’m here for her, just like everyone else. Sitting on a wooden bench about thirty feet away from the raised marble stage created by the steps of City Hall. An older woman at the other end tips her chin at me, her wiry curls blowing gently in her face. I flash my most charming smile and her eyes go wide, cheeks flushing as she turns away.
Attention is the one thing I don’t want today anyway.
I clench my coffee tumbler as Vanall takes the stage.Bastard. My thoughts flash to the night of the masquerade, when myhands wrapped around his throat and finally… he knew the price of my retribution.
Then she got in my way and never left—Checkmate.
I haven’t gotten even a fraction as close to him since.
My temper boils as Vanall drones on, waxing poetic about the virtues of that ostentatious pain in my ass.
“Where would New Malcolm be without Checkmate?”
One can only dream.
“Checkmate saved a family from a raging inferno.”
A mob family, who started that fire themselves trying to destroy evidence.
“She protected City Hall from criminal infiltration.”
As if the biggest criminal weren’t speaking on the mic right now.
“She single-handedly stopped the largest heist in the East Side Bank’s hundred-year history.”
And she shits fairytales and rainbows, and everything she touches turns to gold.Pfft.Please. Besides, it was information I was after that night, not money. And it was pure, dumb luck she was even there. I’ve learned to watch the rooftops since then, and spotting her crouched form among the stars has saved me more than one headache.
“Let’s have a round of applause for Checkmate, our very own hero of New Malcolm!”
She saunters on stage, the air locking in my lungs as I take her in. Her skin practically glows, a million-watt smile stretching her full, rosy lips. Chestnut hair cascades in perfect curls down her back and around her shoulders, luminous in the bright light. I wonder if it’s her real hair color, or if, like so many Supers in New Malcolm, she wears a wig as part of her disguise. As I look at her now though, her honeyed eyes flashing, her strong, voluptuous body sheathed in a brand new vibrant purple suitthat highlights every sensual dip and curve, I can’t imagine her any other way.
If a “dream girl” is the woman who haunts sleeping and waking nightmares, then Checkmate is definitely mine.
“Fuck.”
