Caped and Dangerous - Isabel Jordan

CHAPTER ONE

BEING a superhero is not all it’s cracked up to be.

Evil doesn’t take a break because you have a date, or the flu, or just really want to stay home and binge-watch Supernatural on Netflix while wearing slouchy socks and sweatpants.

Nope. Superheroes don’t get vacation days. You’re pretty on call 24-7, with crappy state-employee health benefits and damn near useless dental coverage.

And for what? The feel-good knowledge that you’re doing something good for your fellow man? The adoration of the public? Pfffttt. Sometimes the “adoring public” sues you because when you flew in to save them from a carjacking, you accidentally shattered their windshield with the bad guy’s head.

A thank-you would be customary in such situations, but it doesn’t happen as often as one would think.

And you know what else? Capes chafe the back of your neck like a bitch. They always feel like an irritating tag in the back of a $2 T-shirt.

These were all things Greer Glenanne, aka G-Force (a stupid nickname she did not choose for herself, mind you), wished someone had told her before she’d taken the gig as the official superhero for Gem City.

But that was twenty-ish years ago. Back when she was shiny and new and so idealistic it hurt. There’d been so many things she’d wanted to do, so many people she’d wanted to help. She’d been so sure she would save the world one day.

Now she got sued by the people she saved. (Yeah…that was a true story, sadly.) Her bum knee ached so badly every time it rained she was forced to limp on the job. Sometimes she woke up and her back hurt for no reason at all. Or she threw it out entirely because she sneezed wrong.

As it turned out, being able to fly and bench press a Buick didn’t protect you from all the typical middle-aged maladies that impacted normal folks.

Then there was the fact that she was in early onset menopause. That was a fun one. Hot flashes and heightened emotions. Just what every woman with superpowers should have.

So, if being a superhero sucked, being a middle-aged superhero sucked the biggest bag of dicks the world had ever known.

“Hey! Yo, G!”

Greer startled at the voice that popped into her ear, nearly causing her to spill the mug of hot chocolate she’d just pulled out of her microwave.

Yeah. That was another thing that sucked about being a superhero. The Bluetooth-enabled cochlear implant that allowed her team to reach her, anytime, anywhere.

Day. Or. Night.

The sheer number of times she’d taken calls while on the toilet was appalling.

“What?” she snapped, wishing more than anything that she could just drink her damn hot chocolate and go to bed. But Rio only said “Yo” in that tone when she wasn’t going to like what he had to say.

Rio Flores was her tech support, her project manager, her personal assistant, and her best friend all rolled into one six-foot-tall, ridiculously attractive gay man who had better style than all the Queer Eye guys combined. He was her Overwatch—the Felicity Smoak to her Green Arrow.

And he was about to ruin her night. She could just feel it, from the tips of her messy bun to the soles of her fuzzy pink bunny slippers.

“I got a call from Hottie McStudly, my friend.”

Greer groaned and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ugh. Not again. Please, don’t tell me.”

“OK. But he says he has something of yours. Again.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “See, I told you not to tell me.”

“Sorry,” Rio said, not sounding sorry at all. “But we don’t know for sure it’s her this time.”

Oh, of course it was her. It was always her. “Don’t patronize me.”

Bryn Terrell—no official superhero nickname yet—was and had always been a pain in the ass, ever since the state made her Greer’s trainee.

It wasn’t that Bryn was bad at the job. Quite the opposite, really. She was just overzealous. She tended to treat jaywalkers with the same “I am Justice” attitude she threw at bank robbers and muggers. She saw every petty thief and minor league crook in the state as evil. Greer had been at the superhero gig long enough to recognize all the shades of gray between good and evil.

There were so many shades of gray.

And Bryn’s righteous quest for justice was topped off with a mountain of blonde curls, perky, 20-year-old boobs, and a sweet, lilting voice. All of that made Bryn almost more than Greer could take on a good day.

And today was not a