Shades of Gray - By Jackie Kessler & Caitlin Kittredge Page 0,93

her, squeezed her.

Valerie started, then returned his embrace. “Are you okay, Les?”

“I am,” he said against her hair. “But the team isn’t. He’s going to hurt someone, Valentine.”

Valerie pulled back and regarded her husband. Her tall, beautiful husband, with his wicked gaze and smile that could render her speechless. He was the opposite of Blackout in every way—loving, a good listener, a good father. A hero. But there were shadows under his eyes and new lines around his mouth. After years of living together, Valerie knew the signs. “It’s more than that.”

“What? No. Don’t be daft. I’m just worried about George and Holly.”

“No,” Valerie insisted. “You’ve barely been sleeping. You get up in the night and pace, your head isn’t in the game in the field. Not that I blame you. We have to be so careful now because of that family suing Blackout …”

“He did break their father and husband’s back,” Les muttered. “Valerie, I just … I couldn’t stand it if we became like that. Little puppets, with little strings, controlled by little men who know nothing about what it takes to do this job.”

Valerie leaned up and kissed him on his cheek. There was stubble there—the Hero of New Chicago had even been forgetting to shave for the vids. “We will never be like them,” she whispered.

“How do you know?” Les said glumly. “Our lives aren’t our own, Valentine. They’re just not.”

“I know because you’re a good man, Lester Bradford,” Valerie said, meeting his eyes, “and George Greene is not. You could never hurt me and Callie, Les. No matter what Corp did to you. It’s just not in your blood.”

“But it’s in Blackout’s.” He sighed. “He’s changed, Val. You didn’t really know him before. He used to be a good man. A great hero.”

“I’m sorry I never knew him. But this isn’t about him, Les. It’s about Holly and Joan.” Valerie bit her lip. “Do you think he’s going to hurt them?”

A long pause before he said, “I do.”

She curled her fists inside her gloves. “Then tomorrow, when the administrative offices are open, we do what needs to be done.”

Les nodded, and there was a steel in his eyes that Valerie had never seen. Gone was the laughing, smiling Luster. The man staring back at her was hard, tempered with sorrow.

But Valerie wasn’t afraid of those eyes. They were still her husband’s.

And she felt a similar hardness growing around her own gaze and around her heart.

For Holly’s own good, they’d have to turn in the man she loved.

CHAPTER 45

ANGELICA

I could have pulled Angelica and the girl out at any time. I could have pushed through the paperwork for Blackout’s Therapy. I could have done either of those things, and others. All I did was watch. And record.

—From the journal of Martin Moore, entry #186

The last afternoon the family was together started out so well. George had been more loving and tender than he’d been in years, even talking seriously about their trying for another baby, something Holly desperately wanted. And now he was playing Bad Guys with Joannie, pretending to be the wolfish Big Bad and running around on all fours, laughing as he chased the giggling girl around the living room.

Holly was humming as she dolloped out more cookie-dough batter onto the baking sheet. She’d already made two batches, the cookies on cooling racks now, their smell filling the kitchen and making their apartment truly feel like a home. She’d even pretended not to notice when Joannie snuck a cookie. Smiling to herself, Holly shook her head. It was a good thing her little girl would be trained to be a hero; she had no natural ability to be a thief.

Yes, it was good.

Holly mopped her brow and eyeballed the remaining batter. Not enough for another batch after this; she’d just have to make it all fit. She rearranged the blobs of dough on the tray.

Joannie came charging through the kitchen, shrieking laughter.

“Stop running in socks,” Holly called out as her girl disappeared around the corner.

Her husband came barreling through a moment later. He paused to plant a kiss on her cheek, then let out a pretend bellow and galloped after Joannie, whose shrieks of delight reached deafening levels. A moment later, the girl tore through the kitchen again, sliding before she rounded the corner.

Holly sighed. One of these days, her daughter would listen to her. Maybe.

She opened the oven, calling out, “No running, oven open!”

Joannie peeked her head in, and Holly felt the girl’s