Supervillainess (Part One) by Lizzy Ford Page A

through him. He
didn’t want to become attached to anyone, didn’t want to take the
chance of disappointing someone he admired in case he slipped up
here as he had in Chicago.
    At his hesitation, Tish’s smile warmed. “You
deserve a place to sleep, Kimber. Directions are in the envelope.
Just give the address to a cabbie. If you need a day off to get
oriented, let me know.”
    “That won’t be necessary,” he said. “Are you
sure? Is your friend sure?”
    “We insist. You’re a hero, after all.” She
tapped the newspaper on her desk.
    “I wish they would stop that shit,” he said
with more emotion than he intended. “I’m no hero.”
    “You are to the seven people you saved.”
    I’m the one who got their
homes destroyed in the first place. Kimber
was quiet.
    “Go home tonight,” Tish said. “There’s
nothing better than a nice shower and bed after a double
shift.”
    It was true. He hadn’t spent much money on
his apartment – but he did buy an expensive bed. After being on his
feet all day, he needed it.
    “Only until I find my own place,” he said
firmly.
    “Take your time. She’s out of town until
fall.”
    “Thank you, Tish. Really. This means a lot
to me.”
    “You’re welcome. Go home.”
    Kimber rose, clutching the keys in his hand.
Uncertain what to think about Tish’s kindness so soon after Gary
asked him to hang out, he felt both a longing to try to fit in and
the urge to flee, lest he fucked it all up again. He couldn’t bear
the kind of pain that came with not living up to the expectations
of people he respected.
    “Thanks, again,” he murmured, torn.
    Kimber left her office. He had planned on
going for a run, but the thought of a hot shower, after a week of
lukewarm ones at the hospital, sounded too good to pass up. He
returned to the locker room and gathered his meager belongings. He
had exactly two sets of running outfits, five sets of scrubs and a
pair of jeans and sweatshirt remaining from the fire. The clothes
had been at work – everything else was gone.
    He called a taxi and then waited several
minutes before it arrived. Uncertain what to expect from the
invitation to stay in a stranger’s house, he debated whether or not
he should return the keys and find his own place. The driver
whisked him all the way across town, out of the city’s center and
into one of the quiet neighborhoods he didn’t know existed.
    Millionaires’ Row, read the street sign. The taxi turned down a
cobblestone street lined with historic, towering townhouses on
either side. The hedges and gates in front of each building were
meticulously maintained. Not a single crack was to be seen in the
sidewalks, and no cars parked alongside the curbs to obscure the
views of gorgeous bougainvillea that clung to wrought iron lattices
and arches in each gate.
    Behind the gates, the townhouses were a
mixture of brick and stone front, ranging in size from four stories
to six, and each wider than a city bus was long.
    The driver stopped, and Kimber looked from
the address written on the paper to that displayed on the arch.
    You can’t be
serious, he thought, tired enough he almost
laughed at the beautiful townhome with its stone facade.
    He paid the taxi driver and got out, gazing
upward in curiosity as well as surprise. He had a feeling his
supervisor had been the one to broach the idea of him staying
there. He couldn’t imagine someone voluntarily offering up a
multi-million dollar property to a stranger.
    He unlocked the gate and entered, closing it
behind him. A small courtyard shrouded by ten feet tall hedges
contained a garden and stone seating areas. He walked up the stairs
to the front door and unlocked it.
    A chandelier came to life as the door
opened. The ceiling of the foyer rose three stories high. Dark,
wooden floors were offset by lighter, neutral walls, black fixtures
and rugs, and modern furniture in dark woods.
    Resting his belongings on the floor, he
walked through the bottom floor of the