Caped and Dangerous - Isabel Jordan Page 0,35

beginnings of the ability to teleport. It hadn’t panned out, though. After one ill-fated episode when she’d tried to teleport to the beach and ended up in an IKEA in Des Moines, the ability had disappeared altogether. If she’d announced to the press that she was able to teleport and the ability later vanished, she’d be a laughingstock.

So, whatever Bryn was cooking up, it was a smart move to keep it to herself for the time being.

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Greer asked. “Your new power?”

Bryn shook her head, sending her glossy blonde hair—which was apparently impervious to humidity—flying. “No, I wanted an update on Killian Morgan. Rio told me he came to the hospital to see you after you were hurt. I assumed you were letting him get close so that you could figure out what he’s got going on downstairs. Am I right?”

Yep. I’m definitely getting close to him, and as I suspected, he has lots going on downstairs.

But something told her that wasn’t at all what Bryn was asking.

“Actually,” she began carefully, “I haven’t been able to find any evidence that he’s doing anything illegal. Downstairs, upstairs, or anywhere in between.”

Not that I’ve looked. Nope. I’ve been too busy licking him like a lollipop and riding him like Seabiscuit.

Bryn’s face fell like a little kid who’d been told she couldn’t have candy for dinner. “But I was so sure I was on to something. Did you ask…”

She trailed off, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly as she studied Greer's face.

“What?” Greer finally asked, doing her best to project an innocent I-absolutely-did-not-fuck-the-guy-you-asked-me-to-investigate aura.

Bryn wasn’t having it, though. Apparently her ability to see through walls also allowed her to see through bullshit, because she said, “You aren’t investigating him at all. You’re, like, sleeping with him!”

Greer shifted uncomfortably in her seat, resisting the urge to point out how little actual sleeping they’d done. It was mostly back-to-back screaming orgasms, punctuated by really great conversations and high-end takeout food.

But that wasn’t really Bryn’s business. So…

“Look, kid, I don’t owe you any details about who I may or may not be sleeping with. The point is, you’re wrong about Killian. He’s not a villain. He’s one of the good guys.”

Bryn blinked owlishly at her for a solid thirty seconds before saying in a tone as flat as day-old Diet Coke, “Sure he is. Because the world is positively brimming with 30-something-year-old hot billionaires who engage in nothing but honest business practices.”

Greer was almost impressed by the level of snark in that comment. And if she wasn’t suddenly overcome by her desire to defend Killian, she might’ve told Bryn so. But as it stood, she needed to shut this shit down with a quickness.

Seriously, the gall of this…child to think that her—what?—two years on the job earned her the right to question a twenty-year veteran? If Greer said Killian was a good guy, that should be good enough for Bryn, damn it! If Greer had questioned her supervisor (who had more than earned the superhero name Battle Axe, for God’s sake) when she’d been Bryn’s age, she would’ve been shit-canned on the spot. Bryn was just damned lucky that Greer was fairly easy going and open-minded.

Not that the ungrateful little punk appreciated it.

“It doesn’t matter what you think about him,” Greer said in a near hiss. “I trust him. And if you take your suspicions to anyone else, like, say, the mayor, I’ll make sure you regret it. This ends now. The vendetta you have against him is over.”

She expected Bryn to be angry. She had just been threatened, after all. But Bryn’s reaction was far more condemning than that.

She just shook her head sadly and said, “I really hope you’re right. Because if you’re making a decision with your heart instead of your head and it doesn’t work out in your favor, a lot of people—you included—could get hurt.”

Greer felt her chin come up involuntarily. “That’s not going to happen.”

Bryn opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off when Rio’s voice popped into both their cochlear implants.

“G, Bryn,” he said, “I need to talk to you both. My place. Now.”

Greer glanced over at Bryn, whose eyes widened. Rio never needed to speak to both of them urgently. And his voice sounded…off.

“Everything OK, Rio?” she asked casually.

She could actually hear him swallow hard before saying, “Yep. Five by five.”

Greer sucked in a harsh breath. That was their code for “shit is about to hit the fan”. It’s what