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insistently. “I had a vision and saw you killed.”
    “And I had a vision where I won an all-expenses-paid trip to Fiji. That doesn’t mean anything is going to happen. Let me get up, please.”
    “No. It’s not safe.”
    Her patience frayed as the terror inside amped her headache up another notch. “I’m not lying here until I die of starvation because the door might—”
    The door exploded.
    Blue ice surrounded them like a shield, then, as the last piece of shrapnel fell to the ground in a smoldering pile, the ice receded, leaving frost patterns on the pavement.
    “I told you so,” the superhero said as he pushed himself up. He was taller than she was and his black costume had jagged blue lightning strikes crossed over it.
    Angela smoothed her wig out. “Fine. You have visions. Is it anything useful, like the winning lotto numbers for tomorrow?”
    “It doesn’t work like that.”
    “It never does.” She eyed the smoking wreckage of the doorway. “Care to clean this up?”
    “What am I, your maid?”
    “And my nanny.” Angela stepped towards the door.
    “Who are you?”
    She pointed. “Cool the hallway off, and I’ll tell you.”
    The hero shot a jet of icy cold air down the wall. Melting metal cracked under the arctic blast.
    “Very nice,” Angela said, turning her back on him and studying the remains of the door. “Very nice indeed.”
    ***
    “Who are you?” Arktos repeated. Nothing in his vision had hinted at the fact that the woman would be another superhero. Or quite so...attractive. With their bodies pressed together he’d been far too aware of lithe muscles under him and the subtle spice of her citrus perfume. It clung to him like a phantom hand, stroking his libido.
    She gave him a come-hither smile. “I’m Rage.”
    “Rage?”
    “Because I manipulate emotions and enrage people?” She waited with an expectant smile. “It’s sort of a joke.”
    “I’ve never heard of you.”
    “Under the circumstances I’m sure I can find it in my heart to forgive you.”
    He stretched an arm across the doorway, blocking her from stepping into the hall. “You need to go home now.”
    She patted his cheek. “You’re so cute. How long have you been in the business? Three years? Four?”
    “Six.”
    “I’ve been in it for over twenty, so let’s pretend that I know what I’m doing and you’re the newbie who still needs training pants. M’kay? Good. I’m glad we had this little talk.” She fluttered her eyelashes at him before brushing past, trench coat swaying as she walked.
    He stared. “No one has been with The Company for over twenty years. None of the talent, at least.” Most heroes didn’t survive four years. It was a rough life and he’d only made it so far because he was cautious. He had Aaron to think about.
    She threw him a glance over her shoulder. “I didn’t say I was with The Company. I said I was in the business.”
    “Rogue.”
    “I prefer the term freelance.” She shot him a coy smile. “The pay is nothing to write home about, but I set my own hours.”
    “And what’s your talent?”
    “I can sense emotions.”
    He waited for her to add something. When she didn’t respond, he jogged along the hall to catch up. “What else do you do?”
    “Nothing,” she said, resuming her brisk pace.
    Arktos’s eyebrows went up under his mask. “Do you even know what’s going on in there?”
    “I hear people screaming in pain and the door was booby-trapped. That’s enough for me. It’s giving me an ever lovin’ headache.”
    He caught her shoulder and pulled her away from the balcony door. “I don’t hear anything.”
    She didn’t flinch under his gaze, or try to pull away. “I hear emotions like you hear words. Most people are just whispers; I can sense their emotion if I really try, but usually it’s drowned out by the noise of my own thoughts. This is like having a rock concert under my bedroom window when I have a migraine. People in there are terrified.