"That was really great of you," I said, still laughing. "Although I bet the popcorn guy's not too happy that all his bags disappeared."

"Don't worry," Debonair replied. "When the vendor checks his cash register tonight, he'll find a note with a couple extra hundreds in it for his trouble."

"You mean to tell me that Debonair, superthief extraordinaire, actually pays for what he steals?"

He smiled. "Sometimes."

I thought back to the painting he'd stolen from Berkley. I opened my mouth to ask him about it, but Debonair took my hands in his.

"Now, let's take a tour of the rest of Bigtime. My Bigtime."

We teleported all over the city. Laurel Park. Quicke's. The public library. The mostly rebuilt observatory.

The cloudless sky sported a heavy blanket of stars. The bright pinpricks reminded me of a mound of sequins on one of Fiona's dresses, surrounded by oceans of black velvet fabric. A full moon bathed everything in a hazy glow, softening the glare from the neon signs of the downtown businesses. Every part of the city twinkled now, just after midnight. It was so beautiful that for once I didn't even mind all the superheroes we ran into. And there were plenty.

Granny Cane pummeled some mugger in Laurel Park. Wynter chowed down on a couple of burgers at Quicke's. And we passed Black Samba so many times I lost count. Didn't she have anything better to do than ride bus tops around town all night long? Evidently not.

But Swifte was the worst of the bunch. He lounged downtown near Jasper's brownstone when we landed there. Even though the street was dark, I could still see Swifte. His shimmering white costume announced his presence a mile away. I'd once asked Fiona if she'd designed the garment, but she strenuously denied it, claiming men should never, ever wear white. Still, I wondered. It looked exactly like the sort of over-the-top outfit she'd create.

Debonair waved to Swifte, and then we popped over to the top of the Chronicle. Debonair looked down and pointed. A second later, Swifte skidded to a stop in the street below. He did the same thing a minute later when we landed on the Expose's skyscraper.

"Is he following us?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's sort of a game we play." Debonair grinned. "We're always arguing over who's power is better and faster-his superspeed or my teleportation."

It seemed like a silly thing to argue about to me, but then again, I'd never professed to understand superheroes.

Debonair wrapped his arms around me. "Let's give him a run for his money, shall we?"

POP!.

POP!.

POP!.

We teleported to other places, so fast I barely registered where we were before we were off again. Oodles o' Stuff. The front steps of the art museum. The marina. But instead of being frightened or disoriented, I found the experience exhilarating. There was something so free and wonderful about being able to go wherever you wanted, whenever you wanted. And it didn't hurt matters that my luck decided not to bother me. Oh, the static was still around me, but I didn't feel any disasters coming on.

Finally, we teleported back over to Quicke's and waited. Swifte zoomed to a stop in front of us a second later.

"Bringing up the rear, just like always," Debonair said, smiling at the masked man.

"Watching your back, just like always," Swifte retorted.

The two of them punched each other on the shoulder, shook hands, and started exchanging the latest hero-villain gossip. Swifte did most of the talking, spitting out words as fast as he could run. I guess he got around more than Debonair did. Literally.

"Are the two of you friends?" I asked during a rare moment when Swifte stopped long enough to take a breath.

I didn't know much about Swifte, but I'd never heard of him being part of a superhero team before. He was a loner, like Debonair. Swifte was one of the heroes who liked to keep the spotlight fixed on himself, but the two of them acted awfully chummy. They had to be more than casual acquaintances. Did superheroes have real friends? Or maybe their relationship was more of a professional colleague kind of thing.

"Not really," Swifte said. "I'm just always around whenever D here gets himself into trouble."

"Is that often?" I asked.

"Often enough." The superhero looked me up and down. "So this is your main squeeze, huh, Debonair? The one you keep yammering about all the time. Not bad. Not bad at all."

Debonair slung his arm around my shoulders. "Not bad? Bella is gorgeous from head to toe. Anyone who says otherwise is a fool. Besides, at least I have a main squeeze. How long has it been since you've had a date?"

Swifte grinned. "About two hours, if you count speed dating."

Debonair shook his head, then laughed.

The way they poked fun at each other reminded me of my relationship with Johnny. I would have thought they were brothers, except I knew that Debonair, Devlin Dash, was an only child.

"Well, folks, I'd love to stay and chat, but I've got a city to patrol." Swifte gave us a salute. "Later."

I blinked, and he was gone. I shook my head, trying to get the world to slow back down to normal. Talking to Swifte was like living your life on permanent fast-forward.

"Now that we've gotten rid of motormouth, I'm going to take you somewhere really special," Debonair said. "Hold on to me, and don't let go."

I was all too happy to wrap my arms around his waist, lean my head on his shoulder, and close my eyes.

POP!.

The wind whipped my hair around my face, and I opened my eyes. We stood on top of the Skyline Bridge. The enormous suspension bridge stretched over the bay and connected one side of Bigtime to the other. The mile-high platform offered a sweeping view of the nighttime skyline. The towering skyscrapers resembled slender candles from this distance, set here and there with jeweled lights. Cars zoomed over the bridge below, their headlights winking like fireflies, while the lapping water of the bay shimmered all around us, a silver carpet at the bottom of the world.

"It's amazing," I whispered.

"Isn't it?" Debonair said. "This is my favorite place in the entire city. I come up here a lot to get away from it all and just think."

Debonair snapped his fingers. Two lawn chairs appeared, along with a thick stadium blanket.

"Shall we?" he asked.

I nodded. We sat in the chairs, scooting close together, and Debonair wrapped the blanket around us. I didn't really need it, though. Just being near him was enough to keep me warm. We sat there, listening to the whistling wind and the hum of the cars below for a long time.

"So what do you think of superheroes now?" Debonair asked, his voice light and hopeful.

"What do you mean?"

"Are we all still as bad as you think we are?"

I frowned. "Wait a minute. That's what this is about? You've been teleporting me around the city because you're hoping I'll change my mind about dating a superhero?"

He gave me a shy smile. "Guilty as charged. So, is it working? Being with a guy who can take you anywhere you want to go does have some perks, right?"

I shook my head. "It's not about having powers. That's not why I don't like superheroes."

"Then why?" Debonair asked. "What's so terrible about being a superhero?"

"Because where there are heroes, there are also villains. Villains who want to do bad things. Villains who hurt people. Who kill people."

"So, you're afraid something will happen to me?" Debonair asked. "Bella, I can promise you-"

"Don't," I snapped, my voice as cold as the solidium cables around us. "Don't you dare promise me that you won't get hurt. I've had other people make those same promises to me. And they never, ever kept them."

Memories of my father flooded my mind. His face. Smile. Laugh. Voice. All gone forever because he'd cared more about being Johnny Angel than he had about me and my brother.

I suddenly couldn't stand to be near Debonair. To be touching him. To feel him next to me. I stood up and threw off the blanket. My power flared, and the wind whistled down and tore the fabric from my fingertips. Debonair reached for it, but the blanket sailed away, floating out over the bay.

"I'm sorry about that. I'll buy you another blanket." I rubbed my aching head. "I think you should take me home. Now."

Debonair stared at me, his eyes two pools of blue against his pale face. "All right. If that's what you really want."

I nodded.

Debonair snapped his fingers, and the chairs disappeared. Then, he put his arm around me and teleported us back to my bedroom. I stepped away from him, shrugged out of my coat, and yanked off my gloves.

"Thank you for this evening. I had a nice time," I said in a stiff voice.

And I had. For a little while, I'd been able to pretend Debonair wasn't a superhero. That he was just a guy that I liked. Instead of someone I could never be with.

"Bella-" he started.

"I've had a long day, and I'm really tired. I think you should go."

Debonair reached for my hand and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. I couldn't stop my pulse from speeding up at his touch, but I kept my face and eyes hard.

"As you wish," Debonair murmured, his voice sad.

Then- POP!.

He was gone.

23.

After a night of fitful sleep, I headed into the city to visit the art museum the next morning. Despite Bobby's protests, I needed to get out of the house. Needed some time away to think about me and Debonair. And if we could really have a future together. Because somehow, somewhere along the way, I'd started falling for the sexy thief, blue-black leather, mask, and all.

But before I left, I cleaned up the mess I'd made in the kitchen. It wasn't pretty. The pasta and sauce had glued itself to the floor, and it took me twice as long to scrape it up than it would have last night. I'd almost finished when my luck turned against me, and I knocked over the bucket of water I'd used to mop up the pasta. I sighed and started all over again.

I showered, changed into a fitted black suit, and drove my Benz into the city. Even though it was lunchtime and downtown hummed with activity, I snagged a parking spot right outside the museum. The Bigtime Museum of Modern Art was closed for repairs, but one of the security guards waved me through.

If I hadn't known better, I would have thought there was another benefit planned. People scurried back and forth in the marble halls. But instead of fund-raiser types, most of them were construction guys, hauling supplies over to the damaged wing. Just about everybody wore a hard hat and carried tape measures, rulers, or some other sort of tool. They chattered among themselves, shouting over the steady thwack and thump of sledgehammers. The harsh chemical smell of paint and plaster filled the air, burning my nose.

I walked over to the wing that housed the museum offices. I pushed open the glass door and went inside, my heels sinking into the plush carpeting. A secretary manned the information desk out front, her multiple phones jangling in time like instruments in a symphony. I waved at her and strolled down the hall to Arthur Anders's office. I knocked on the door and cracked it open.

Arthur sat behind his desk, talking on the phone. He waved me in and finished his conversation. Then, he rose, straightened his plaid jacket, and came around the desk. Arthur gave me a friendly hug and kissed me on both cheeks. My old professor was very continental that way.

"Bella, how are you feeling?" Arthur gestured for me to sit down and took the chair opposite mine. "I was so glad to hear the Fearless Five rescued you. And so quickly."

"I'm fine. I didn't come to any real harm. Just got shaken up a bit." I didn't want to talk about my ordeal, so I switched the conversation back to the thing Arthur loved best-the museum.

"How are you holding up? How bad was the damage?"

"Not as catastrophic as it could have been. Being the location of a superhero-ubervillain battle has long been one of my greatest fears." Arthur took his glasses off and started polishing them with the edge of his jacket. "The roof was destroyed, along with one wall. Most of the items on display escaped major damage, though. We were extremely lucky in that regard."

I grimaced. There was that damn word again.

"We should be able to reopen in a couple of days," Arthur continued.

"So soon?"

He slipped his glasses back on. "People have been wonderful. Donations have poured in to pay to repair the damage, and all the local construction crews have been more than willing to help get the museum back into shape. We've even had some heroes come and clear out the rubble and get things back on track."

"That's wonderful," I said, grateful something was going to turn out right from all this messy drama.

"What's even more wonderful is that the Fearless Five recovered the Star Sapphire. Berkley's agreed to let us put it back on display and continue the Whimsical Wonders exhibit-with a bit more security, of course."

"Of course," I murmured.

Arthur's phone rang again. He moved to pick up the receiver, and I waved a silent goodbye and left his office. I'd learned what I needed to. But I still wanted to see the damage for myself, so I headed back to the new wing of the museum.

Arthur was right. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. One of the walls was gone, probably from the force of the grenade blast. Construction workers clustered around the empty space, measuring and talking about angles and structural soundness and other building terms. All the glass and rubble and debris had already been cleaned up. The roof had been replaced, as had the many spot- and footlights. All the items that had been on display were gone, though. They wouldn't be brought back in until they'd been cleaned, and everything was pristine and secure once more.

As I stared at the beefy workers, my thoughts wandered back to Debonair and what had happened between us last night.

Now that I knew-or at least thought-he was Devlin Dash, things were even more complicated. He wasn't just some guy in a sexy suit who'd seduced me. He was a real person, someone I knew. Or at least, thought I did.

I thought back, trying to remember every encounter I'd had with the awkward businessman, including our dinner together the night my father had been murdered. I'd told him the truth. I couldn't remember much of anything that had happened around the time of my father's death. Oh, I remembered ordering the appropriate flowers, picking out a casket, making sure the newspapers printed the correct obituary. But the service itself was a blur. I'd felt that way for weeks afterward, like I was just going through the motions of life, instead of actually living it.

From what I could recall, I hadn't thought of it as a date. Just a dinner between two acquaintances. We'd been working late, chairing the art auction, and had stopped by Quicke's heading to our respective homes. I wondered why Devlin thought it had been a date. And whether he actually wanted to see me now or was just hanging around because he knew he could get lucky- My cell phone rang. I pulled it out of my purse and checked the caller ID. Hannah Harmon.

I frowned. What could she want? Despite working on the benefit, we weren't exactly friends. We were just associates and barely that. Hannah had made noises after my father died about making a bid for Bulluci Industries. She's retracted her offer after Grandfather made it clear Bulluci was and always would be a family affair. Family was everything to Grandfather-and to me.

"Hello, Hannah. How are you?" I asked in my best business voice.

Family might be everything, but you should never burn bridges.

"I just wanted to call and see how you were doing." Hannah's voice was just as smooth and professional as mine. "I hope I'm not bothering you."

"Of course not."

"I heard about what happened at the museum. What a terrible tragedy."