In addition to always doing my duty as a superhero, my father had also drilled it into my head how important it was to keep the promises I made, no matter how small or trivial they might seem. But that didn’t mean I still couldn’t have some fun with Johnny.

“You could meet me there, and we could sneak out afterwards,” I suggested.

“It’s a date.”

He grinned, and my heart fluttered. The man had one hell of a smile. And great eyes. And a terrific body. And . . . The list went on for quite a while.

“So I guess this is good night,” Johnny said.

“I guess so.”

I stared into Johnny’s eyes. Then, I leaned in and pressed my lips to his. He put his arms around me and pulled me closer. This kiss wasn’t like the others. Oh, it was still hot and passionate. But there was a gentle sweetness to it, a sense of letting down our cool, guarded, society facades. The rich, charming playboy and the bitchy fashion designer were getting to know each other, faults and all. The Ferris wheel jerked and began to drift downward. We kissed until the ride stopped.

*

*

*

82

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

I had Johnny drop me off outside my store to keep up appearances. I waited until the limo’s taillights disappeared, hailed a cab, and went back to my apartment to get my convertible. Twenty minutes later, I got off the interstate and turned onto a pothole-filled dirt road that seemed to end in the middle of the woods. I kept my foot on the gas, plunging the car into a dark stand of pine trees. My tires fell into a well-worn track, and my headlights bounced off a rock wall up ahead. I flicked them on and off five times in rapid succession. The wall slid aside, and I drove into a lighted tunnel, which stretched out for another mile, before expanding into an underground garage.

The garage, like the rest of the underground Fearless Five compound, was hollowed out of the extensive network of caverns beneath Sublime. Wrenches, screwdrivers, and other tools lined the garage walls, along with cans of oil, wires, and other automotive parts. Five black vans huddled together inside the open space. They were our preferred mode of transportation when we went out into the city at night to fight crime and help with natural disasters. The vans resembled the one from the old A-Team television show, only the F5 vehicles had more computer equipment and electronic gizmos stuffed inside them than collagen in Erica Songe’s pouty lips. Thanks to Sam’s money and Henry’s technological genius, the vans were also bullet-, bomb-, and ubervillain-proof. Henry’s small white scooter was also parked inside the garage, along with my father’s city-issued sedan. So was Lulu’s van. I frowned. What was the computer guru doing down here this late at night? She should be at home trying to hack into the CIA mainframe or hijack the SNN nightly newscast or something equally geeky.