“My grandfather finally suggested that I hire a male administrator. Walter’s a confirmed bachelor and old enough to be my father. He’s a great adviser and organizer. He keeps my life on the straight and narrow.”
“Not an easy task.” Had she said that aloud? Her cheeks heated.
One corner of his mouth lifted. “I’ve never been easy to manage, but I have matured over the years.”
Matured? She didn’t believe him for a second. The man had purchased Haunt, a playground for adult anonymity. Costumes were a sexual stimulus and hormones ran wild. Pleasures stirred the night. He’d have his choice of sexual partners.
Law absently rubbed his forehead, wincing just a little. Pushing off the wall, he offered, “Would you like a cocktail before dinner?”
“I’m not much of a drinker.”
“Perhaps a coffee liqueur after our meal, then.” He took her arm and drew her down the hallway.
His effect on her was immediate. The warm wrap of his hand above her elbow detonated goose bumps all over her body. Heat flushed her chest and her breathing deepened. Her panties dampened. There was no keeping her cool around this man. She broke contact the second they entered the living room.
Law’s penthouse was not what she’d expected. A trio of superheroes protected his space. Batman, Superman, and Aquaman stood larger-than-life and authentically costumed. They looked so real, Cat expected them to greet her.
Tentatively, she touched Batman’s hand. “Molded fiberglass?” she asked.
Law nodded. “The statues are very lightweight and easily moved. Tonight they guard the living room, tomorrow Walter will carry them down the hall to his office. He’s a fan of comic book characters, too. It’s quiet in the penthouse most days. He says the heroes keep him company.”
Little boys still lived inside Law and Walter. Cat had grown up with four brothers, all comic book fans. It appeared men secretly wanted superpowers to fight evil. Or perhaps they just liked the masks and capes.
Of the three heroes, she favored Aquaman, ruler of the seas and Atlantis. Cat wasn’t much of a swimmer, but she admired his ability to breathe underwater and telepathically communicate with marine life. Who wouldn’t admire a hero who could propel himself through the water at high speeds and swim up Niagara Falls?
She crossed her arms over her chest and stepped deeper into the room. Known for its Golden Age ambience, the Richmond Grace was decorated with antique furniture, original oil paintings, chandeliers, and Persian rugs.
Law’s space, however, was ultramodern, tasteful, and distinctly male. The black marble tiles now glimmered with an inlay of pearl-and-teal abalone shell. He’d updated the living room with black leather sofas, geometric tables, and soft lighting. Clusters of spiral bamboo in enormous tangerine glass vases tapered toward the vaulted ceiling.
A wet bar banked French doors that opened onto a wide balcony. A lover’s terrace, Cat thought, where a flowering trellis and thick hedges kept sexual secrets.
On the far wall, two hundred, possibly more, professionally preserved and framed comic books drew her attention. She crossed the room to take them all in. Each one appeared to be in mint condition.
Small platinum plaques at the base of each frame designated the date and issue of each comic. Installed within the wall and attached to each plaque, high-tech sensors alerted hotel security to theft or vandalism. The comic books were to be seen and not touched.
“My brothers loved The Flash.” She stared at an original 1940 issue.
“I bought that one at auction,” Law said as he dropped into a deeply cushioned armchair. Bouncer sprawled at his feet.
Cat wasn’t a collector, but she understood the value of each purchase. “Have you always liked comics?” she asked.
“I was born with a comic in my hand.” His smile was rueful. “Superheroes inspire me.”
She lifted her gaze to a 1962 Spider-Man and a 1974 Wolverine. She stood on tiptoe to view a comic book separated from the rest, one tucked into the top corner. “Clone Man,” drew her smile, and Law’s sudden frown.
A local comic strip illustrator for the Richmond Times-Dispatch had syndicated “Clone Man” in a twelve-comic series. In the 1980s, a restaurant had opened in the superhero’s honor for birthday parties and special occasions, only to later close its doors when kids turned from reading to video games.
“I was lucky enough to attend a Clone Man party.” The memory warmed Cat’s heart. “My parents didn’t have a lot of money. My brothers, sisters, and I all wanted a Clone Man bash. We collectively agreed to celebrate one big birthday in the summer so my parents could get a group rate and cut the cost of individual parties. We had a blast.”
She studied the comic more closely. Dressed in black with a red sparkler helmet and purple cape, Clone Man was a cosmic magician. Thick smoke and his house of mirrors helped him fight crime. His reflection multiplied into a magical army. The bad guys always thought themselves surrounded and outnumbered.
“Did you ever celebrate a birthday at Clone Man?” Catherine knew Law was from Richmond. “You’d have loved it. Our combined birthdays brought my family closer together. We shared, laughed, and my brothers bought Clone Man helmets in the gift shop. My sister and I got a fistful of sparklers and a flexible, wavy mirror that cloned our images. That was one of the best nights of my childhood.”
It had been one of the very worst for James Lawless.
Damn, he didn’t want this. Didn’t need this. Not here. Not now. And not with a woman he’d just met.
A stillness settled over him and tension knotted his neck. Memories hit hard—haunting, vivid, and all too real. He pressed his fist to the hollow spot in his chest. He couldn’t catch his breath.
Never in a million years had he expected Cat to recognize the superhero. Most people overlooked Clone Man. Law had purposely hung the framed comic high and nearly out of sight. Its value was minimal to most collectors. Viewers blew by the comic book without interest. Not so with Cat. She’d shared a family celebration far happier than his own.
He was the last man to exchange secrets or confidences, yet Cat’s story broke the seal on his past and he slowly bled out.
“Law?” Catherine’s voice sounded distant and tinny. He could still see her, but her image was small, as if she stood at the end of a tunnel.
Alarmed, she crossed to him, her fingers fisted in her pleated skirt. She took a chair at right angles to his own. She said nothing, allowing him time and space to pull himself together.