Kitty Goes to War (Kitty Norville 8)

“I’ve got a Watch shift this morning.” He was on the local Citizens’ Watch, had been since her mother died. The local police didn’t have enough people to man the checkpoints and continue their usual workload. Citizens’ Watch took up the slack.

“Are you sure—I mean, are you sure you should still be doing that? I didn’t think you’d still—”

“I’m not dead yet,” he said cheerfully.

“But what if something happens?”

“Nothing’s going to happen.”

“But—”

“Evie, I plan to keep things as normal as possible for as long as I can. I like the Watch. It gets me out. I’ve got everyone in town looking out for me. I’ll be fine.”

This was like when she was in high school, with her parents standing in the kitchen listing all the reasons she shouldn’t go out after the game, with all the drunks on the road, and her insisting that she’d be fine.

He put the empty glass in the sink. He’d reached the door when he looked back and said, “You want to come along?”

“I should try to get some work done. I don’t want to leave Bruce hanging.”

“I’ll see you after lunch then.”

“Dad?”

He hesitated, hand on the doorknob.

“I went downstairs last night.” She let that hang for a moment, waiting for him to offer a response, wondering what he would say without her prompting him.

“Oh?” was all he said.

She wet her lips and tried again. “The storeroom—has the stuff in there ever been catalogued? Do you have any idea what all is down there? What it’s worth? You could have your own antique show.”

A slow, wry smile grew on his lips, and the look in his eye told her before he even spoke that he wasn’t going to answer her question.

“I’ll see you this afternoon,” he said, then was gone.

Figured. Though she wondered why a roomful of antiques demanded such deep, dark secrecy. Had someone in their family’s history been a master thief? Run a pawn shop in the last century and never bothered to sell off the assets? Was a budding museum curator? At least he hadn’t gotten angry at her for invading the forbidden storeroom.

She set up her laptop in the living room, on the coffee table, and sat on the hardwood floor in her robe and stocking feet. She’d shower and change later. Who did she have to impress?

Curled up in the middle of the carpet, napping politely, Mab kept her company. When Evie got up for a glass of water or to stretch her muscles, Mab always looked at her, ears cocked, alert. When Evie relaxed, so did Mab. Evie worked up the courage to scratch the dog’s ears; Mab acknowledged the attention with a couple of thumps of her tail. Her father must have kept the stray dog for company.

Bruce had already e-mailed her sketches of the new pages. He must have been up all night, too. Once colored, the Cessna explosion was going to be spectacular. He had it covering a two-page spread.

So, what to write next. They had a formula that demanded a certain number of shots fired each issue, and she was in danger of running short. She needed a battle scene.

The crew barreled across the tundra in a stolen Jeep, racing against an execution order sent out for one of the men they were supposed to rescue. The Blackhawk was out of commission for now—sabotage in the fuel tank. The Russians were supposed to be helping them, but someone on the inside didn’t want them to succeed. A three-way battle ensued, no one was sure who was siding with whom.

Usually, Evie wrote things like “chase scene” and “fight,” and let Bruce’s capable imagination construct the details in four-color panels that splashed across entire pages.

But something about this battle tickled her story instincts. Throw out a clue, a hook

that could carry the plot to the next issue. An enemy chopper ran them down. Matchlock managed to steer them into a gully and under cover, but not before Talon saw a face he swore he knew, a man he thought he had left behind to die in the arctic years before. Talon had had to make a decision—stay to save his platoon-mate, or leave and ensure the success of the mission. Talon had abandoned him. The memory still haunted him.

And there the issue ended, centered on the expression of stark disbelief on Talon’s face.

Next issue: He’ll want to follow the enemy chopper. He’ll want to learn what had happened to his friend, how he’d survived. Tracker argues with him. Her mind is on the spy imprisoned in Siberia. On the mission. She’ll go alone if she has to, she’ll defy him—

Someone knocked on the door.