“I’m sorry I didn’t call you. I didn’t want to worry you.” She took a deep breath. “And I’m fine, Mom, really.”
“Good,” her mom said, and some of the strain disappeared from her voice. “Well, anyway, that’s not the only reason I called. I wanted to make sure you remembered to bring peach cobbler tonight. Your brother loves it.”
“Tonight….”
“Yes, tonight. Your brother is in town. Don’t tell me you forgot?”
No, I didn’t forget something as exciting as dinner with Paul while being involved with something as banal as being stalked by a super villain. “Of course I didn’t forget. But honestly, with everything going on I’m not sure dinner is the best idea.”
“Nonsense, your brother doesn’t come into town every day.”
I’m not hunting super villains everyday either, Mom, was on the tip of her tongue. But upsetting her mother would just mean more questions and more worry. If her mom thought things were bad enough, she’d be on Justice’s doorstep before Brenda could stop her. “I know, but I’m kind of busy with this Howler thing—” she said instead.
“He’ll be there after dinner, too,” her mom said, and her tone allowed for no argument. “Bring your friend, the one you’re staying with. Justice, right?”
The man himself had moved from the couch to stand across the table from her, and he watched her squirm on the phone with an eyebrow raised.
“I don’t think he’d be interested, Mom.”
“Why wouldn’t he be? Bring him. Seven o’clock, and don’t forget the cobbler.” Before Brenda could say another word, her mom hung up. She wasn’t one for good-byes.
“Your mom?” Justice asked.
“Yeah.” The cell phone clunked as it hit the tabletop.
“What exactly are you certain ‘he’ wouldn’t be interested in?”
She looked up from where she’d tossed the phone, right into Justice’s slight smile and raised eyebrows. “That’s rather presumptuous of you. What makes you think you’re the ‘he’ she was referring to?”
As she’d hoped, his amusement disappeared. “Is there another ‘he,’ Brenda?”
She considered teasing him, but his tone was serious, and there was a hint of something else, too. “No,” she muttered, and her face heated. “Dinner tonight at my parents’ house. My brother’s in town.”
The smile returned to his face and the edge of teasing was back in his voice when he spoke. “Well, then, guess I don’t have to order in.”
“What’s wrong with cooking?”
A touch of pink crept up his neck. “I hate doing dishes. You can eat pizza on a paper plate.”
A laugh bubbled out of her throat. “Well, if we’re going to my parents’ tonight, we’ll have to get some supplies.”
“Supplies?”
She tugged on the T-shirt hanging limply from her body. “Clothes for me to start with. And a baking pan. Something tells me you don’t have any.”
He shrugged. “I wouldn’t know what to do with one if I did.”
Justice parked in her parents’ driveway in Naperville at five minutes before seven while she clutched the aluminum foil-covered cobbler on her lap. He’d watched her with what she could only describe as fascination as she made it, handing her ingredients and utensils when she asked for them, but otherwise staying at a safe distance.
They’d visited her apartment, electing to grab her actual clothes and take one of her baking dishes and some key items like a hand mixer, rather than spend all day shopping. The apartment had been checked, repeatedly, and had been under constant surveillance since she’d made a run for it in the night. Howler hadn’t made an appearance, and the preparations for going to her parents’ house had gone more smoothly than she’d dared hope.
“You ready for this?” She turned to Justice, who was unfastening his seat belt. He wore his regular superhero outfit, mask included, something she’d almost protested. But he had every right to protect his identity.
“Are your parents that scary?”
“They can be.”
He just laughed and took the cobbler from her lap. She tensed as his hand grazed hers, heart suddenly thumping faster in her chest.
“Then let’s treat this situation like a bandage.” The handle clicked as he opened the door. “Rip it off quick.”
Suppressing a sigh, she pulled herself out of the car. Justice waited for her before he headed toward the house.
“My mom’s a little overwhelming,” she warned him when he reached the concrete walkway.
“I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Famous last words.” She rapped on the door then turned the knob and pushed it open. “Anybody home?” she called, and heard her mom’s voice, muffled from the wall separating the kitchen from the living room and foyer. She held the door and then shut it behind him. “Come on.”
The house was lined in walls colored in various natural tones, the living room a taupe color that somehow worked well with beige-and-red striped furniture and lighter taupe pillows. Her mother had taken a home design class at a community college after she’d officially retired from the local league council and had promptly put her education to use throughout the home she’d lived in for thirty years.
They made their way to the kitchen, passing the large formal dining area, which had also felt the touch of her mom’s design class, before walking through the entryway into chaos.
Her mother stood at the gas stove, apron covering a pair of slacks and a blouse. Brenda’s father, Walter, peered into the refrigerator.
“No, not the margarine,” her mom exclaimed as he pulled a yellow tub from the depths of the fridge. “The real butter. It’s on the top shelf.”
Her dad muttered something and stuck his head back in the refrigerator, and her mom turned her attention to her guests. “Brenda! Oh good, set the cobbler on the island.” She waved toward an empty section of the counter, and Justice obediently set the dish down.
“Mom, Dad, this is Justice. Justice, these are my parents, Walter and Mabel Booth.” They shook hands and her mother returned to the stove while her father went back to search for the butter. “Your brother’s in the backyard; why don’t you take Justice out there and introduce him.”
“You don’t want me to help?”
Brenda must have sounded as incredulous as she felt, because Mable laughed and said, “Oh, after dinner for sure, but show your guest around for now.”
Plush with thick grass, the backyard was so long it appeared too thin, but it was wider than the house it hid behind. It was the backyard she’d grown up in, practicing soccer and watching over her younger brother.
Paul stood there now, bottle of beer in hand, back set to the house as he surveyed the yard. He turned when they opened the French doors that led onto the deck, face breaking into what Brenda mentally termed his professional smile.
He was dressed casually, in cargo shorts and a polo shirt. He’d long since stopped being Brenda’s “little” brother in anything except age, towering over her at only an inch or two shy of Justice’s six-foot two-inch frame. Paul held out a hand, smile firmly affixed to his face.
“This is my brother. Paul, this is Justice.”
The men exchanged a quick handshake and polite greeting, and then Paul grabbed Brenda in a big hug.
“Sis! It’s been way too long.” He released her and gave her a pat on the back that almost made her stumble before turning his attention back to the tall man behind her.
Before Paul could start the small talk, their mom stuck her head out the French doors. “Brenda, I do need your help after all. Your father is hopeless.”
Brenda laughed. “Be right in, Mom.” Her mom disappeared back into the house.
The guys were already talking about baseball, and Justice shot her a quick smile without interrupting his conversation. She smiled back and headed for the kitchen.
“So I guess I should be asking the inevitable question; what are your intentions toward my sister?” Paul asked, as soon as the door shut behind Brenda.
Justice raised an eyebrow at him. Paul’s expression was still friendly, but the edge to his tone made Justice’s muscles tense.
“In that case, I’d say my intentions, such as they are, are none of your business.” Like Brenda’s brother, he kept his smile firmly set.
Paul handed him a beer from the cooler sitting next to a large table on the deck. “Oh? Would you be satisfied with that answer if she were your sister?”
“We’re working together,” he said finally. Blonde hair and Brenda’s bright smile flashed in his mind, and he fought to maintain his polite expression. He could hardly blame the man for being protective about his sister.
“I’ve never seen her look at any of her coworkers like that.” Paul’s expression grew grim, and he looked Justice up and down. “I don’t want her getting hurt.”
“You meet a lot of your sister’s coworkers?”
Paul frowned and Justice took a swig of his beer. He’d thought not. He understood the concern, but it was misplaced. A kiss or two did not make him a threat to her. Hell, she didn’t care about him, not really. She seemed to enjoy his company, liked to tease him, but hadn’t acted like she cared much past that. And that was okay with him. He didn’t need a woman in his life; he was better off alone, with no one to worry about but himself. They would catch Howler, solve this case, and things would go back to normal. His throat tightened and he took another sip of his beer.
“My sister’s great. But I know how A-lister heroes like yourself are with normal women like her. I’m not gonna let you—” Paul stopped talking as Justice took a step toward him.
Blood rushed to his ears. Paul expected him to treat Brenda badly just because she didn’t have an impressive superpower. Did he really think so little of his sister? That she needed a superpower to make her memorable?