Chapter One

Misty hobbled through the New York rush hour crowd, her pinched toes shrieking for mercy inside the Jimmy Choo’s Rena insisted she wear.

“High heels ought to be outlawed,” she grumbled. “No matter how good they look.” I don’t know why I let Rena talk me into using this stupid pair. Just because she can wear these things doesn’t mean everyone can.

She checked her watch, staring in disbelief at the time. Late again. If the public knew I was a hero, I could use my power to get there faster.

“Excuse me.”

Misty stopped and turned. Irritated at the delay, her breath caught in her throat. A man stood behind her, holding out one of her bags. He was at least six feet, five inches tall, his T-shirt pulled tight across his wide chest, outlining the muscles beneath. Her glance drifted downward to the jeans hugging his hips, the seams straining around his legs. She swallowed hard, wondering what he looked like under that dark blue denim.

She forced her gaze back to his face. Some of his red hair had escaped the ponytail he sported, and the eye-patch covering his left eye was not big enough to hide the scar starting at his hairline and ending in the middle of his cheek. Had his nose been broken? It looked like it. He could pass for an eighteenth century pirate, she thought.

“You dropped this,” he said, his slight British accent surprising her.

She reached out to take it, her fingers brushing his. “Thanks. I never knew it was gone.”

“Where’re you off to in such a hurry?”

“I’m meeting a friend for dinner, and I’m late.” She sighed. “Again.”

He smiled, taking some of the bags from her hands. “Why don’t you drive?”

She pointed to her right. “The restaurant is just down there.” She grinned. “I was going to walk then decided to run.”

“Want some company?”

“Sure.” She nodded. It’d be worth being late now, she thought.

He offered her his arm, and they headed toward the restaurant. “Taylor Tremain.”

“Misty Severin,” she said. “Thanks for the help.”

“You’re welcome.” He turned serious. “I’m surprised I actually saw the bag fall. I’m not at my best currently.”

Misty glanced at him. “Problems?”

He shrugged. “I’m job hunting and nobody’s hiring.”

“Do you have any prospects at all?” she asked, holding his arm a little tighter.

He shook his head. “A few, but not enough. Right now, I’m working nights as mall security. Between that and job hunting during the day, I guess I’m half asleep.”

“Night work is hard on the body,” she said. And what a body it is.

Someone called her name, and they turned simultaneously.

“We seem to be at your destination.”

She nodded, gazing into his right eye. It was as blue as the Caribbean Sea. “Thanks for walking with me.”

He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more. “Would you meet me here for dinner tomorrow night around six?” he finally asked.

Misty’s heart pounded in her chest. Oh yeah. I’ll be here with bells on. But caution kept her quiet. What if he was some nut job or a serial killer? It’d kill her hero street cred to be found hacked to death by some lunatic. But his right eye was kind, and they’d be in public. Besides, she could take care of herself.

“Okay,” she said. “Sounds great.”

He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it lightly. “Until tomorrow.”

Misty was still watching his retreating figure as her friend walked up.

“You’ve got another new boyfriend?” Rena asked. “You could’ve said something, you know.” She raised her hands to stop Misty from saying anything. “I know I used to be the one with the revolving door of men, but you’re catching up. I wouldn’t have even told the rest of the team.” She gave her friend a stern glare. “The honeymoon’s over, isn’t it?”

Misty rolled her eyes. “You know, Rena, it’d be nice if you let me get a word in edgewise.” She stared at Taylor’s retreating figure. “Actually, we just met.”

Rena watched him walk away then grinned, nudging her with her elbow. “So is he another candidate for the list of ‘Men Not Going to Heaven Because What They Do to a Pair of Pants Is a Sin’?”

“Right now, he is the entire list. Come on. Let’s order, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

****

Jack McClennan, the man calling himself Taylor Tremain, hurried down the street, limping the last few paces before stopping in front of a sleek, futuristic, black van. Glancing over his shoulder, he murmured, “Defensive systems off.” The lock popped and the door opened with a soft hiss. He hauled himself into the driver’s seat, and the door shut with a quiet click behind him.

He pulled off his right boot for the second time that day. “Engage autopilot. Enter coordinates for Warehouse One. Surveillance systems up. Let’s go home.”

As the auto-drive engaged, he grabbed a large briefcase from between the seats and opened it, revealing tools for slim wire and computer circuitry repair. He stretched his leg across the passenger seat and rolled up his pant leg. Peeling back the artificial skin, he popped open a panel the length of his shin. He shook his head, sighing when he saw the same wire had broken loose, again. It needed to be replaced.

“Bloody junk,” he growled, soldering the wire as the van drove him home.

The bay door to the warehouse opened, closing silently when the van idled to a stop next to a beat up Chevy. He climbed out and limped to the living area. All he wanted to do was collapse on the sagging couch, but passed it, in favor of the bedroom and the small bathroom beyond.

Running water in the sink, he pulled off the eye-patch, placing it on the back of the toilet. He stared at the solid white artificial eye, lightly fingering the scar that ran down his face. His eye was just about the only part that didn’t give him problems. Considering he’d ripped it out of an android, and it wasn’t government-issue, it was to be expected. He wore the eye-patch for show. The scanners in the eye let him see perfectly all the time.

“They should’ve let me die,” he whispered.

He stared at his reflection before pulling off his shirt, splashing water on his face, and rubbing his wet hands on the back of his neck. “Nice to meet you, Taylor Tremain.” He shook his head. “Just bloody terrific. As if I don’t have enough identities to keep track of, I come up with another one on the spur of the moment.”

The water swirled down the drain, and he watched the droplets drip off his chin. Misty’s face intruded on his thoughts and, against his better judgment, he let her. He’d lied to her right from the start. He lived on lies these days, but he hated them, hated himself for being reduced to using them.

He’d studied her when she’d taken her bag back. She was beautiful. Her round face gave her a youthful look, but the full lips were definitely a woman’s. Her hair was soft brown, almost auburn, hanging halfway down her back, her eyes maybe a shade darker. He’d slowly looked her over, taking in the full breasts, the small waist, and those long, nicely shaped legs.

What had possessed him to ask her out? He shook his head. He remembered how Misty looked, the life and laughter in her eyes. Her touch on his arm had shocked him. The same vibrancy had drawn him to his wife the day they’d met years ago. Asking her out must’ve been a moment of insanity on his part, nothing more. One date wouldn’t hurt, would it? He glanced at himself in the fogged glass of the old mirror.

“You’re a liar and a fraud, hero.” He sneered at his reflection. “You just keep telling yourself lying to her is for her own good, and maybe you’ll believe it.” He squeezed his eyes shut. If he wasn’t careful, he’d end up as crazy as his ULTRA records indicated.

He snatched the towel from the hook on the wall. “If she knew the truth about me, she could get hurt, even killed, just like...” He threw the towel on the floor. “Damn it!”

Limping to what could loosely be called a kitchen, he snatched a beer from the compact fridge. He yanked out the rubber band, scratching the back of his head as his long hair fell around his shoulders. He hobbled to the living room, easing himself down on the couch, and stretched his leg out to rest on the coffee table. He turned on the TV, letting the news babble in the background while his mind wandered.

A name pulled him out of his reverie and he frowned. “Captain Starblast, leader of the hero team, the Challengers, will be dedicating the new children’s wing of St. Anne’s Memorial Hospital tomorrow at noon. As the premier hero team in the city, the Challengers not only defend the people who live here, but also help the community on a more personal level.”

The other news anchor nodded. “That’s right. The people know they can always count on the Challengers for any task, no matter how large or small.”

“Damn heroes. At least one of us got something good out of my trial, captain,” he snarled at the image. He picked up the remote to turn off the TV when he heard his name.

“Who is the Scavenger? We’ll be exploring that question tonight on NewsLine at ten. We’ll have an exclusive interview with a prominent ULTRA psychologist. Tune in. It should be very informative.”

“I’ve finally made the big time. Can’t miss my television debut.” He checked his watch, noting he still had a few hours to kill.

Glancing at his desk, he spied a note on top of a new stack of paperwork to replace the stack he’d finished the day before. He flipped it open and read:

Hey, Jack.

Call this pile an early Christmas present.

Ho, ho, ho!

Frank

He snatched the page off the top and began typing. “Bloody hell, I hate paperwork.”