Karma Girl Part 12

KarmaGirl.

11.

I woke up early the next morning. I opened my eyes, and the room slowly came into focus. The last thing I remembered was crying my eyes out while Striker held me. Was he still here? I heard nothing over the sound of my own quick breathing. I rolled over.

Striker was gone. Only a slight indentation in the bed revealed he had ever been there to start with.

Relief washed over me. Mornings after were always tricky. I'd never really known what to say to Matt or any other man in my bed first thing in the morning. They had been few and far between. What could I say to the superhero whose secret ident.i.ty I was trying to uncover after he just saved my life? What could I say to someone who could give me incredible pleasure one night, then hold me so gently the next?

What the h.e.l.l could I say to a man I'd come to care about?

Nothing.

Carmen Cole, reporter extraordinaire, superhero-ubervillain exposer, could never say anything to Striker.

Never.

I got out of bed. My vision blurred, and the room zipped around. I sat back down. After a moment, my head cleared. I was really going to have to stop falling down and getting the stuffing beat out of me. I padded into the bathroom to a.s.sess the damage.

I stared into the mirror in horror. Malefica wouldn't have to work too hard to turn me into a monster. My lip had doubled to twice its normal size. A few cuts and sc.r.a.pes slashed across my face, and a lovely purple bruise had taken up residence high on my right cheek. The bruise went along nicely with my puffy, bloodshot eyes. The faces of my attackers popped into my head. Imaginary hands brushed my body.

The phone rang, chasing away the horrid memories. For now.

"h.e.l.lo?"

"Carmen, it's Henry. Are you okay? You don't sound too good."

I didn't feel too good either. Every muscle ached, my head throbbed, and my stomach still churned with fear. "I'm fine, Henry. What's up?"

"I got your message. I don't know what happened. It must have been a glitch in my computer program, but I left off the last two names. I didn't save a copy of the information, though. If you still want it, I would have to go back through and recompile it."

My brows knit together. Henry saved everything, even old gum wrappers, by the looks of his overcrowded desk. What was going on with the computer guru?

I walked into the kitchen and looked at the calendar on my refrigerator. Two days to go until Malefica's deadline. The two missing billionaires weren't going to save me. Nothing could. "No, that's okay. Never mind. It's not that important."

"Well, okay. I guess I'll see you at the benefit tonight then."

"Benefit? What benefit?"

"The benefit for Yee-haw!, the therapeutic riding program."

I groaned. That couldn't be tonight. I glanced back at my calendar. Sure enough, there it was spelled out in big blue letters.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing, nothing at all." One of the biggest social events of the year, and I looked like death warmed KarmaGirl.

over.

"Lulu invited me to go with her," Henry said in a shy tone. "We had dinner last night. We really hit it off. I'm glad you gave her my number."

"That's nice, Henry. Really it is."

"Are you sure you're okay? You sound kind of tired."

"Yeah, that's it. I'm tired. I had a rough night last night. Couldn't sleep a wink." It was partly true.

"Okay, well, I'll let you go. See you tonight."

"Bye, Henry."

He hung up. I wanted nothing more than to crawl back into bed, pull the covers up, and never come out again. I couldn't do that, though. I owed Lulu, and I'd promised her I would cover the benefit and write a wonderful story. I wanted to pay off my debts before my meeting with the Triad. This would be the last opportunity I had to write an article about the riding program. h.e.l.l, it would probably be the last story I wrote for the society page. No more flat champagne, no more moldy cheese, no more dealing with the likes of Fiona Fine.

That was a little something to look forward to before Frost turned me into a female version of Bigfoot.

Several hours and a couple of pounds of makeup later, I arrived at the Bigtime Museum of Modern Art.

The museum, located across the street from the library, was the crowning jewel of art and culture in Bigtime. Wide marble steps led up to the entrance, which was framed by ma.s.sive columns. The building itself towered several stories into the air. An enormous banner draped over the entrance read: YEE-HAW COPPERS! BENEFIT FOR BIGTIME'S FINEST TONIGHT.

After I gave my engraved invitation to the doorman and showed him my wrinkled press pa.s.s, I entered the museum and made my way to the main gallery. I paused at the entrance. The museum always took my breath away. White lights ran up the s.h.i.+ning marble columns and lent a soft glow to the enormous room. Cherub angels played and danced in the frescoes on the ceiling, while paintings splashed the walls with vibrant colors. Cla.s.sical music whispered in the background. Everything gleamed and glistened as if it had been personally spit-s.h.i.+ned.

People dressed in designer tuxedoes and glittering gowns cl.u.s.tered around long tables set up in the middle of the gallery. Pricey watches, diamond rings, concert tickets, movie roles. All were being auctioned off for charity. Waiters distributed champagne and fancy finger food to the crowd.

A motor whined, and Lulu zoomed up with Henry in tow.

"Sister Carmen, good to see you," Lulu said. "Nice dress."

"Thanks." I'd forgone my basic black for a lovely lavender ball gown with a poofy skirt. It was the only thing that looked halfway decent with the outrageous purple eye shadow and thick makeup I'd slathered on to hide my bruised, battered face. "You look nice too."

Lulu had chosen a vivid blue dress with silver trim that was one of Fiona Fine's more restrained designs.

The color brought out her flawless pale skin and accented her dark eyes. And the neon blue streaks in her hair.

"Why, Henry, I don't think I've ever seen you in a tuxedo before."

"It's only for special occasions." The black man tugged at his bow tie, probably wis.h.i.+ng it had polka dots on it. His silver gla.s.ses gleamed in the soft light.

"Well, it looks wonderful. The two of you make quite the das.h.i.+ng couple."

They both blushed and exchanged shy smiles. Henry took Lulu's hand. I grinned. So far, my inner voice had been right on target. At least I'd done something good these last few weeks.

KarmaGirl.

"If you'll excuse me, Sister Carmen, I have to mix and mingle with all these society types and remind them to open their checkbooks before they leave."

Lulu and Henry moved off into the crowd. I dug my notepad and tape recorder out of my purse. Time to go to work.

This night, I went well beyond my usual spiel. I talked not only to the major power players but to every single person I could corner. This was more than likely going to be my final story. I wanted to make it one of the best I'd ever written, even if it was going to end up buried on the back page of the society section.

I finished my last interview and grabbed a gla.s.s of champagne. I wandered out of the gallery and looked at the various pieces of art housed in the adjoining areas. Paintings by the likes of van Gogh and Renoir adorned the slick marble walls, while bronze sculptures pondered what they meant from the middle of the floor. I roamed into a room devoted to medieval weapons and suits of armor. I strolled past the displays. Silver swords glittered on the walls, reminding me of Striker.

Why had he been so kind to me last night? Had he really been concerned about me? Did he actually care about me? Or was comforting weeping and wailing women just part of being a superhero? Did I mean anything at all to him?

"Fascinating, aren't they?" a deep voice said.

I turned. Sam Sloane stood a few feet away from me. Reclusive billionaire, eligible bachelor, and all-around, It-on-a-stick Sam Sloane.

"Don't you think?" he asked.

I glanced around. There was no one else within earshot, no one else in the entire room. He must be talking to me.

Sam Sloane talking to me?

"Um, yes. Fascinating."

"The craftsmans.h.i.+p is incredible." He pointed to one of the swords and explained the process by which blind Tibetan monks handcrafted the instrument.

I paid little attention to what he was saying. I couldn't get over the fact I was actually standing next to Sam Sloane and that he was talking. To me of all people.

My inner voice chirped. Why would Sam Sloane deign to talk to me? He hated reporters, especially ones from The Expose. I frowned. And where was his supermodel of the evening? Usually, nothing could tear Sam Sloane's dates off his arm, not even buckets of free champagne. The idea of becoming Mrs. Sam Sloane was far more intoxicating.

"Is something wrong? You're frowning."

I snapped out of my reverie. "Oh no. Everything's fine. I was just thinking how hard it must be to make a sword if you were blind. I imagine you'd cut yourself quite a bit."

His lips twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt. "Yes, I imagine you would."

High heels clicked on the floor, and a tall blond sashayed into the gallery. I stifled a groan. Not her again.

Fiona Fine flounced up to us. The fas.h.i.+on designer wore a gown of s.h.i.+mmering silver beads that brought out every curve of her perfectly perfect body. Her eyes flicked over me, and she put her hand on Sloane's arm. I immediately got the message.

"Sam, what are you doing in here?"

"Just looking at the swords."

The two of them exchanged a long, tense look. I could have cut the air between them with a dull spoon.

KarmaGirl.

"We really must get back to the benefit. Chief Newman was looking for you," Fiona emphasized.

A shadow fell over Sloane's face, and he turned to me. "Please excuse me."

"Thank you for telling me about the swords," I said.

Fiona shot me another nasty look and led Sloane away as fast as she could in her towering high heels. I frowned. What was that all about?

Although I'd gathered more than enough information for my story, I stayed at the benefit and kept an eagle eye on Sam Sloane. He shook hands, greased palms, and worked the room like the business tyc.o.o.n he was. He seemed equally comfortable talking to ancient widows as he did flirting with their twenty-something granddaughters. Sloane charmed everyone. Well, almost everyone.

Joanne James didn't seem very impressed with the businessman. At one point, Sam tried to engage her in conversation, but Joanne ignored him, downing another gla.s.s of champagne. Then again, Joanne was hard to impress. She was one of Bigtime's wealthiest women-and the black widow of the society circuit. The forty-something, multiple divorcee was always on the lookout for her next husband.

From the way she went from man to man, I'd always thought that Joanne had to have some sort of seductive superpower. And that she was really an ubervillain in disguise-maybe even Malefica herself.

Joanne had the same sort of fantastic body as the ubervillain, and she was about the right age. I stared at Joanne, wondering if she was the one threatening to drown me in radioactive goo unless I did her bidding. She could do it. Joanne was someone you didn't mess with. She hadn't gotten to where she was today by being the shy, retiring, wallflower type.

Joanne's eyes settled on Berkley Brighton, the whiskey billionaire, and she strolled away from Sloane without a backward glance. Maybe he just wasn't rich enough for her.

Morgana Madison also wasn't a fan of Sloane's. The two ignored each other all night long, even when they were talking to the same people. According to business reports, they wanted to buy the same computer company and were currently locked in their latest business battle.

However, one person had a very keen interest in Sloane-Fiona Fine. She kept a grip on his arm the rest of the night. It was a wonder the poor man didn't have claw marks. Evidently, Fiona didn't want me anywhere near him. I wondered when the fas.h.i.+on designer had become so protective of Sloane. The two were friends but had never been an item. The couple made their way to Chief Newman, who stood next to Lulu and Henry. Lulu said something, and they all laughed. Suddenly, Sam Sloane turned, as if he could sense me staring at him. Our eyes locked. My inner voice whispered.

And I knew.

I knew.

I knew who I'd had incredible s.e.x with. Who had made me feel so pa.s.sionate, so alive, so vibrant. Who had saved me from my would-be rapists. Who had held me so tenderly while I'd cried.

I couldn't believe it. I couldn't wrap my mind around the fact.

Just like that. Out of the blue. The puzzle pieces snapped into place. The picture came into focus. All my research, my encounters with Striker, the folks on the society circuit, the list of the richest men and women in Bigtime-it all finally fit together.

I knew who Striker was. And Fiera, and Mr. Sage, and I had a sneaking suspicion about Hermit too. I could have smacked myself for not seeing it sooner. They had been there right under my nose the whole time, just as I suspected. The irony of it all made me take a long swig of my champagne. The golden bubbles rose to the top of the gla.s.s and fizzed out.

So what the h.e.l.l was I going to do now?

KarmaGirl.

12.

I sat in my apartment and brooded.

Roamed around the library and brooded.

Wandered through the park and brooded.

I spent the better part of the next day brooding in and around the greater downtown area of Bigtime.