“I was engaged to a wonderful man. His name was Travis. He was murdered too.”

“I’m sorry,” Johnny said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s good to talk about him. My friends are afraid to ask me about him, to even mention his name. They don’t want to stir up bad memories.”

Johnny put his arm around me, and I leaned into him. His shoulder felt warm and solid under my cheek. “Tell me about him, Fiona. Tell me about Travis.”

So I did. I told him how kind and caring Travis was, how much I loved him, our plans and hopes and dreams. The only thing I left out was our nighttime occupation as Bigtime’s resident superheroes and how it had led to his death.

“What happened to the person who killed him?” Johnny asked when I wound down.

The image of Malefica plunging into a vat of radioactive goo flashed through my mind. “Oh, she got what she deserved in the end. What about your father? What was he like?”

“He was a lot like your Travis. Kind, caring, considerate. He was a wonderful father. The only thing we ever argued about was—” Johnny cut off his words.

“Was what?”

He hesitated. “My taking over part of . . . the family business.”

78

J e n n i f e r E s t e p

“I thought you’d done that already.”

“Most of it, yes. But there was one area I wasn’t particularly interested in. That’s where my father and I disagreed. In fact, I hung up on him the last time we talked about it. It was the last time I ever spoke to him.” Sadness and guilt tightened his handsome face.

I squeezed his hand. “Have the police caught the person responsible for his death?”

“The police are useless. They can’t do anything about it. But I can. And I will. The people responsible are going to pay. More than they ever dreamed of.” The vehemence in his voice startled me. His eyes glittered with anger and a deadly promise.

Johnny turned to me, and some of the anger melted away. “But let’s think about happier things. Here we are stuck on top of a Ferris wheel, the whole city at our feet. It would be a shame to let the view go to waste, wouldn’t it?”

Johnny pulled me toward him. His eyes glowed like a lion’s in the twilight, illuminating the chiseled planes of his face. My heart quickened. My lips parted. I leaned forward. He did the same. And then—

My cell phone rang.

´ 7 ´

We stared at each other, frozen in an almost-kiss. My phone kept ringing out the old song “Light My Fire,” by The Doors. The loud, blaring rock tune could mean only one thing. Fiera was needed. My desire to kiss Johnny warred with my duty and responsibilities as a superhero. It was a short, tough battle, but duty won out. Drat. Why did my father have to raise me to always do the right thing?