CHAPTER 10
A BIT TOO DEEP

SLOANE STOPPED BY THE City Brew that morning for a cup of black coffee and a breakfast sandwich. Her mother was stocked to the brink with every flavor of coffee imaginable, but not just a plain black brew, and she didn't plan on getting it now for her daughter either. Sloane had to make do with the coffee shop down the street.

She exited the City Brew with a fresh to-go cup of coffee and headed back to the Rosewell for some much-needed writing time. She had wanted to spruce up the coffee with the nip she thought was in her jacket pocket, but alas, she must've drank it already. Oh, well. Her gloved hands stayed warm around the hot cup, but eventually, one had to abandon the precious heat when her phone started ringing. Sloane clumsily pulled it from her purse and answered it on the last ring, not bothering to look at the caller ID. "Hello?"

"Bernstein," Bobby greeted groggily, "long time, no talk."

Sloane took a sip of her coffee and crossed a busy street, earning a few horns from some angry taxi drivers. "You sound like you just woke up."

"That obvious, huh?" He sighed heavily. "What's going on?"

She could tell from the edge in his tone that he wanted to know where she'd gotten in the Spider-Man search. He needed to learn some subtlety. "Is that code for, 'Did you find Spider-Man?'" She laughed and ungracefully pulled her parka's collar up when a frigid breeze blew past her. "I planned on calling you sometime today to tell you. I was able to get ahold of him."

"You did?" Bobby asked, flabbergasted. "I'll be honest, I didn't have a lot of faith that you could find him."

"Wow, thanks."

"It's nothing personal. You're just not good with that shit. Anyway, how'd you find him? Was he swinging around a building late at night? Saving some cat from a tree?"

Sloane snorted. "He's basically a retired old man, Bobby. He's not doing any of that shit." She took a sip of coffee and slipped past a woman with a baby stroller on the narrow sidewalk. The Rosewell was just down the street. "Let's just say I know a guy who knows him. Somehow, I got the easy way out."

"Of course." She could almost hear him rolling his eyes.

"I met him a few nights ago on a rooftop. It took a little convincing, but he agreed to help me." She smiled happily and did a little jig as she walked, but stopped when she noticed kids cackling at her from across the street. Her glare cut through their laughter. "I will say," she continued, turning back to the street ahead, "he doesn't seem like much of a hero anymore. I mean, the guy literally asked if he could take a swig from my flask. He's more like a lazy drunk going through a midlife crisis."

Bobby chuckled. "Sound familiar?"

Sloane's brow pulled together. "Fuck off, Reyes. I'll have you know I'm drinking my coffee sober." For a split second, she questioned herself and sniffed the lid to make sure. She sighed – yep, no booze.

"Good job. How about keeping up that mentality so you don't end up in a ditch somewhere?"

As she neared the Rosewell, she began to fast walk to escape the cold. "That's not funny."

"I was being serious," he quipped as she crossed the street in front of the apartment building. "There's a serial killer running around there and the last thing I need is you ending up as one of his victims."

"I'll be fine," she replied, passing by the small alleyway where the recycle bins and the dumpster sat. She had to stop walking so a group of workers could haul the dumpster to their trash truck. "Besides, I think I'm a little out of his age range."

Something shiny brought Sloane's attention to the dumpster. At the top of the trash pile were a few dirty cans of red spray paint, clearly used or empty. Memories of the vandalism flashed through her head. BEWARE THE JAWBREAKER. All written in red spray paint.

She thought of Everett's glare, and a shiver ran through her, not from the wind.

Bobby groaned on the other line. "Sloane, I'm not joking –"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, Bobby. I'll call you back." She ended the call before he could give her any gripe.

While the workers got in the truck and prepared the crane to lift it, Sloane quickly approached the dumpster. She got on her tiptoes, plucked one of the cans from the top of the pile, and stuffed it in her purse. She ran to the doors of the Rosewell before the workers could notice her.

Something about taking one of the cans felt so criminal. Maybe it was because she could be carrying around possible evidence of a vandalism crime. This can had to belong to Everett. He almost made it too easy, throwing it out in his building's dumpster. But that just made her question if he could be involved in the first place. He was still a teenager, definitely not smart enough to be a hardened criminal.

But the way he looked at her when they watched the story on the news ... And the fact that he was always sneaking out after his family went to sleep ... Something about it all just rattled her, and haunted her dreams. She couldn't keep her suspicions at bay.

Sloane had to tell her mom about all of this. The can would be good evidence to convince her that something was going on.

Her hands got sweaty as the elevator slowly went up each floor to the penthouse. When the doors opened, she expected to hear her mother cleaning the kitchen, like she did every morning. But Sabrina wasn't there, nor was she tending her Snowdrops on the deck. She wasn't going a load of laundry or getting herself ready at her vanity. She wasn't in the apartment at all. Of course, the one time Sloane needed to speak with her ...

As she left the master bathroom and went down the long hallway to the open living space, Sloane heard someone speaking loudly in the next room. She popped her head into Francis' office and, surprisingly, found him sitting in his office chair, facing the large window overlooking the East River. Sabrina told her at dinner one night that he hardly ever worked from his home office: "Only when he's having a rough morning do I find him there." Looks like Sloane was going to make it worse.

Frank swiveled around in his chair and continued jabbering on the phone with some business partner. Sloane opened his door more and leaned on the frame, knocking on the hardwood to get his attention. He noticed her, finally, and held up a finger to give him a minute. "Yeah, yeah, I get it, Marvin. Listen, I gotta go."

Frank ended the call and slammed his phone screen down on the desk. He sighed before feigning a smile up at her. "Good morning, Sloane. How was your sleep?"

"Fine," she replied in a bored tone, eyeing all the books on his shelf. "Where's my mom?"

"Oh, she went out to brunch with some friends." He waved his hand. "Is there something I can help you with?"

Sloane's gaze flickered back to his. She set her cup of coffee on the small table beside the door. "Maybe." She stalked up to his desk, pulled the used spray paint can from her purse, and placed it on the freshly-oiled wood. "Is Everett into art?"

Frank stared at the can for a long moment, and then looked back at her. He didn't reach for it or touch it. His hands stayed laced together on top of his chest. "Not that I'm aware of."

"I think he's going around vandalizing and spray painting BEWARE THE JAWBREAKER everywhere."

He gave a soft chuckle. "Do you have any proof?"

Sloane glanced at the can and then at him. "Well, the can, for instance –" She paused, pushing stray locks of golden-brown hair behind her ear. "It's the same shade of red being used for the vandalism, and it was thrown out in the building's dumpster. And I ..." She debated her next set of words. "I saw Everett sneaking out a few nights ago, and the next day some cars down the street were vandalized. You don't think that's some kind of coincidence?"

"I think you saw a ghost." He laughed again, but this time, it was more mocking. She watched him pick up his briefcase and make sure everything was there, as if what she told him had no significance. "Vandalisms happen all the time in Long Island City. Kids see the flashiest building on the block with the prettiest cars and think, That would be a good vehicle to ruin today."

She arched a brow. "And you don't think that's a problem?"

"Of course, I do. Which is why I pay extra to keep our cars in the lower garage." He stood from his chair, briefcase in hand, and picked up his car keys sitting in a dish on the corner of his desk. Frank mustered a quick smile. "And I'm late for a meeting. Don't worry about my son, Sloane. He's a good kid."

Frank patted her shoulder and moved past. Sloane heard the elevator ding a moment later, and he was off. She stood in his office for a few more minutes, contemplating their conversation. She grabbed the can and placed it back in her purse with a frown.

Did that motherfucker just ignore everything she said?

━━━━━━

Sloane had never felt more anxiety than later that day when she got a text from an unknown number. She stopped writing when the notification popped up on her screen. Perplexity covered her face when she opened the message, a bubble lodged in her throat.

UNKNOWN: Meet me at the Brewster again at 9. I got the reports.

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: Who the hell is this???

UNKNOWN: Spider-Man.

Sloane screamed and threw her phone on the bed. Between the excessive drinking and being sucked into her writing, she'd completely forgotten to put the number Peter had given her in her phone contacts. And now, she completely embarrassed herself.

Maybe she needed to calm down. If anyone was more embarrassing, it was the guy in his late twenties swinging around New York in a spider costume.

She picked her phone off the bed and swallowed hard.

SLOANE BERNSTEIN: Sorry! Forgot to add your contact info. I'll see you at 9.

SPIDER-MAN: You're a funny one, Sloane.

Sloane scrutinized his words on the screen. You're a funny one? What the actual hell did that mean? Was he making fun of her?

She needed to stop herself. The last thing she needed was obsessing over some guy in a mask. She didn't have time to overanalyze everything he said. He was her partner in this case, not a hook-up.

Sabrina had made a pot roast that night, and Sloane noticed Frank staring at her all throughout dinner. Was he waiting for her to tell Sabrina? Considering his reaction this morning, she decided it was in her best interest to not mention the can to her mother, who would probably have the same response as Frank. Besides, she wouldn't do it right in front of Everett. He might be a defacer, but she would still show respect, no matter how much she didn't particularly like him. Sloane still needed to gather more information before she told Sabrina, and maybe Spider-Man could help with just that.

After everyone retired to their rooms for the night, Sloane slipped out at eight-thirty and hailed a cab quicker than usual. Probably because it was so cold that no one wanted to be out tonight. She was dropped off near the back of the Brewster Building and took her route up the emergency staircase to the roof. It took her a bit to get up those stairs though. The first time, it was easy, but the second just reminded her why she needed to lay off the booze and get into shape. As if that would happen.

Spider-Man was already waiting for her on the roof. The streetlight above his head cast an eerie setting as he dug through his ripped backpack for something. Sloane wouldn't have been surprised if he had had that thing since he was a kid.

She looked at the time on her phone, and then announced her arrival by saying, "You're early."

He jumped the slightest bit, turning around to face her. "So are you." His voice was more muffled than usual, harder to pin down. He had to be using a modulator of some sort to hide his voice.

"Only by a few minutes, but I'm always the one who's on time. You excited to see me or something?" She approached him with a grin, and he made sure he wasn't facing her when she appeared at his side. "Who's the funny one now?" She elbowed his side.

"Okay, uh –" He pulled two folders from his bag and threw them in front of her, right on the ledge of the building. Sloane ineptly grabbed them, making sure they wouldn't fall. "Here are those autopsies on Hayden and Isabella. They're copies. The real ones are still back at the precinct."

Sloane fingered through the pages and recognized the information. Some parts of the reports were still unfinished. She viewed up at the hero. "How were you able to get them?"

"Listen, I might be older, but I think I have a little more dexterity than you." He jumped up on the ledge, teetering back and forth. Sloane wondered if she should abandon the files and pull him back, but like he said, he did have the dexterity. She swallowed hard.

"I went in when I saw the very last detective leave. Fogelman, the lead detective, was actually the first to retire home, but I wanted to make sure I wouldn't be caught," he continued. "I went in through the emergency exit, disabled all the alarms, found the files, took copies, and then skedaddled. Easy as pie."

Sloane tilted her head. "Wait, how did you disable the alarms?"

He looked at her for a moment, and then laughed. What did she say that was wrong? "You almost got me there," he said, pointing a gloved finger at her. The frays of thread blew in the wind. "I can't reveal all my secrets."

That reminded her – "Well, I have a secret for you." She stuck the folders underneath her armpit and pulled the spray paint can from her purse.

Spider-Man stared at the can before dragging out, "... You into art or something?"

"What? No! I found this in my building's dumpster –"

"Oh, so you're a dumpster diver."

"No, just listen." She threw him the can and he caught it with no issue. "This is the same shade of red being used for the Jawbreaker vandalism. I have no idea if the people who are doing it are involved with the killings, but it's still suspicious." She pointed at the can in his hands. "I found that in my mom's building's dumpster, just recently thrown out. My weird step-brother keeps sneaking out of his window after everyone goes to sleep, and I found his Instagram and he has pictures with those two girls! He told me he didn't know them!"

Spider-Man stopped inspecting the object and met her eyes. "I don't know," she concluded. "My gut is telling me he could be connected to all of this somehow."

He hopped off the ledge and approached her carefully. "I highly doubt a teenager is getting involved with this bullshit, but ..." He shrugged. "If it makes you feel better, I'll have – um – Peter check it out. He works for a lab and can scan the fingerprints."

She gave him a genuine smile as he threw the can in his bag. "Thank you." Hugging the folder close to her chest, the two of them turned to look off at the city skyline. No matter what time of day it was, New York was still alive and lit up. There was something almost magical about it, like Disney World. Except the city was filled with homeless people and trash everywhere rather than people sweating in character costumes. Sloane licked her lips, feeling weirdly at peace with the retired hero by her side.

"It feels like it's been too quiet lately," she said, meeting the mask's eyes. Her hands got clammy as soon as he faced her. "Do you think the killer will strike again soon?"

"Only time will tell." He paused, and for a moment, Sloane wondered if he was smirking underneath the mask. "You nervous?"

She rolled her eyes. "Like I told my boss this morning, I think I'm too old to be a victim. He, or she, seems to like teenage girls." A sigh escaped her lips, filtering into the cold air. "I do get a bit queasy at the sight of blood, though."

His mask creased, right in the area where his brows would be. "How in the hell have you survived as a crime reporter then?"

"I've never visited actual crime scenes. Just looked at pictures. That's enough for me." She smacked the folders against the brick ledge and placed her palms on them, dragging her eyes up at the mask. "I bet you've seen a lot of blood over the years, huh?"

He didn't look at her, just kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest. "More than I'd like."

She eyed him suspiciously. "So is that why you stopped? Or just kinda ... faded away?" She had to fight the urge to sweat when he faced her again. "I mean, obviously, you haven't fully hung up the mantle, but ... I don't know. I'm just trying to figure you out."

Silence echoed between them, and they were so close that she could almost smell the Irish Spring soap he used sometime today. He leaned in. She froze, teeth gritted. And then, he said, "Those questions are a bit too deep if you ask me."

Sloane frowned and moved away slightly. "I'm usually good at reading people. I can't read you though," she snickered. "It's probably the mask."

A long minute passed by, and the silence was comforting. Slowly, but with no hesitation, Spider-Man laid his large, gloved hand on top of hers. Sloane had never felt anything so electric, so shocking, and she looked at him to see if he reacted the same way. But then she remembered the mask, and she'd never know exactly what he felt.

"There's nothing to figure out," he said, slipping the folder past her palm when she wasn't looking.

Sloane felt the cool surface of the brick beneath her gloved fingers and realized what he'd done. She looked down at the brick, and then back at him, watching the way he fingered through the photo clippings. Something felt lodged in her throat again. Could it be ... desire?

She shoved those thoughts away as quickly as they came. Sloane straightened her back, composing herself, as Spider-Man toss the folder back at her. She grabbed them before the contents could spill out, almost falling to her knees. He caught her by the arm and pulled her up.

"You're better off keeping those than I am," he said while she stuffed them in her large purse. "But text me pictures of the reports, just so I have them. And make sure they aren't blurry."

She feigned a smile. "You're hilarious."

He patted his backpack before hauling the straps over his broad shoulders. "I'll give this to Peter. Gotta go."

Sloane went to grab his arm. "Wait, but –"

Spider-Man was already gone, swinging off into the darkness before she could even reach him. And as she descended the staircase of the Brewster Building, Sloane wondered if she'd ever be able to feel that kind of electric shock again.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: things are heating up between sloane and spidey hehehehe 😋😋😋 which is gonna be WILDLY different than her feelings for peter. now this is gonna get messy 🤭

also!! what do you guys think of the new cover? I'm so into it!!!! 💘