The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 3): Fall of Heroes

by Harlow, Jennifer

  “Maybe, but my gut tells me this is them. Just have to crack the shell, and we’ve got ‘em.”

  “I’ll ask around. See if I can find you a hammer, but now I have to go. I’m already late for a meeting.”

  “Okay. Call me if you find anything useful. And I know I haven’t said it, but words can’t express how much I appreciate all you’re doing for me.”

  “You’d do it for me.”

  “Damn straight, playboy. Talk to you later.”

  “Bye, gorgeous.” He hangs up.

  Worth a shot, even if I do feel like I need a shower now. If leading him on leads me to a cure, I can live with that. And thinking of showers…and food, and coffee. If I intend to pull an all-nighter, all of the above will be required. Sadly the price for those necessities proves to be blood, saliva, urine, and more tests. The showers have hot water today at least, I get clean sweats and underwear, and there’s a ham and cheese sandwich left. No coffee though. “We’re making a fresh pot,” the lab assistant informs me as she escorts me out of the lab. “We’ll bring it out to you all soon.”

  “Thanks. And can you please remind Dr. Ambrose to eat? He forgets,” I say.

  “I think he did eat before he went upstairs.”

  “Upstairs?”

  “He said he needed a nap. I assume that’s where he went.”

  As usual I have to wait a full minute at the threshold with a rock in my stomach as the UV lights zap any stray virus from my skin before I can run two steps at a time upstairs. He could just be tired. Even he needs at least two hours of sleep a night to recharge. But he got four last night. Yeah, I fucking sprint down the hall to his bedroom and knock harder than needed. “Who is it?” Jem asks.

  “Jo. Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” The rock in my stomach expands to my chest when I lay eyes on him. He can try to hide it behind that smile, but be it how pale he is or the fact that smile momentarily falters when he moves his head to look at me from the bed, I know something’s wrong. Still, he says, “Hi,” as that smile grows.

  I shut the door and rush over to him. “What’s the matter?” He doesn’t get up, doesn’t even lift his head from the pillow. I feel his forehead. Not hot but definitely cold and clammy. “Has the vertigo gotten worse?”

  “I’m fine,” he assures me.

  “Don’t you dare lie to me, Jem Ambrose. Not to me.”

  His smile slowly fades even becoming a frown. “Come lie down.” He pats the bed. “It’s difficult to keep my head at this angle. You’re making the world tilt on its axis. Although you always were good at that.”

  “Not so bad at it yourself,” I say as I climb into bed. I rest my head on the pillow so we’re staring at one another like we have so many precious nights and days. For a moment, as I gaze into those sapphire pools rimmed with thick coal black lashes, it’s as if we’re back in our penthouse after a long day finally able to relax. Finally safe with the one person who understands. The most perfect moments of my life. But the moment passes when I notice how red the whites of his eyes are. “How bad is it?”

  “The vertigo is progressing with more frequent bouts that last longer. Half an hour this time. My strength…I’m not sure I could lift you now. I cut my finger two hours ago and it’s just now healing. I’m exhausted. My body, my mind. I can’t focus. I don’t know how much longer I can hide this from them.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t. There are drugs that help with vertigo and—”

  “The moment I tell them I’m symptomatic they’ll drag me to the hospital where I’m under twenty-four hour surveillance hooked up to machines with no communication outside.”

  “And where they can manage your symptoms,” I stress. “Maybe they can slow the progression. Buy time.”

  “Joanna…” He tries to find the right words, but judging from the sad smile he affixes, there are none. “My body is attacking itself. Every organ, every cell. By tomorrow I won’t be able to hide it. At this rate of progression I have two days—”

  “No.”

  “…until I am in full systemic organ failure.”

  “No,” I say. I’m surprised I can talk my heart’s pounding so hard and the weight of that boulder in my gut makes it seem like I weigh a literal ton.

  “They can keep me on life support for perhaps a week, but…unless my regen can be fully restored, the damage will be irreparable. Even with it, I’m not sure that much damage can be reversed. You still hold my power of attorney. It will fall to you to—”

  “Pull the plug? Kill you?” I ask, voice brittle.

  “End my suffering.”

  I shake my head on the pillow. “You can’t ask that of me.”

  He reaches across to caress my cheek with his thumb. “I know. But I am. And I trust you to make the right decision.” He wipes my tear away.

  Goddamn it. I’m crying again. Sniffling like a weakling. “This is a pointless conversation. We-We’re close to finding them. The Motoneslly Group. It’s a shell corporation. They-They own controlling interest in Biodyne, a medical supply company, an airline, and those are just the ones we know of right now. By tomorrow we’ll have them.”

  “Joanna…”

  “You are not going to die,” I say with utter certainty.

  The love of my life smiles again. As if he actually believes me. Guess I’ll have to keep the faith for us both. It is my turn after all. His faith got us here. He cups my face in his palm which I kiss. “There’s so much I want to say to you,” he whispers. “So much…” He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “Ho-How difficult is it to hang up a towel?”

  I do a literal double take. “What?”

  He opens his eyes again. “Or put the cap back on the toothpaste? Or wipe the counters when they’re dirty? I hate how much of a slob you are. It drives me mad.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I chuckle.

  “I hate how you snore and steal the covers. It’s a miracle if I get a few hours of sleep.”

  “Wait, is that why you bought the earplugs? You told me it was because you could hear the neighbors when they got up in the morning.”

  “I lied to spare your feelings.” He pauses. “Just like I lied when I said I enjoy those action and horror films you drag me to on date night. I loathe them. Just as I loathe when we’re out at a business or formal function and you spew vulgarities. You swear more than is necessary in any situation. It embarrasses me. And I hate…” He pauses for a second, the sides of his mouth twitching, “I hate that you slept with Bennett Stone. I hate it. It was cruel. Vindictive. And I didn’t deserve that.”

  “No. You didn’t. And I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

  “I know. And I forgive you.” He smiles. “With all my heart and soul, I forgive you.”

  “Thank you,” I whisper as another tear falls. “And I’m sorry…for all the cruel things I said. How I behaved.”

  “That I deserved. I should have told you about Justin.”

  “Yes, you should have,” I whisper before slowly smiling. “But I forgive you.”

  Jem lets out a tiny sob as tears spring from his eyes too. “You do?”

  My turn to wipe his tears away. “Yes. I forgive you because…I don’t have a choice. The only other option is not having you in my life, and that’s not a goddamn option. I’ve tried to hate you. To not feel a damn thing about you, but…seems the only thing I can do is love you. Because in spite of being an anal retentive, awkward, know-it-all, you’re also the sweetest, kindest, most brilliant, best man I have or will ever meet. You showed me I was worthy of love. That I’m just not some coarse, bitchy, pigheaded, damaged thing. You made me believe it.”

  “How could you have ever doubted that?” he asks desperately. “How can you not see what I do? Joanna, you…are beautiful. Not only on the outside. Whenever I look at you, whenever I watch you talking to people, fighting for what you believe in, fighting to make this world just a fraction better, I swell with such pride. That this astonishingly, clever, fierce warrior is mine. Th
at she deigned to cast her lot with mine. That she thought me worthwhile enough to piece me back together. To bring me back to life with her love. How could that woman not be worthy of love?” he asks as if he cannot fathom it. “You are a miracle, Joanna Fallon. Don’t you dare think otherwise. Not for a single solitary moment.”

  I stare at this man. This god among men who accepts me as is. The love of my otherwise dark, cold, cruel world and feel as if I’m going to burst with light. With pure happiness. How did I think for a minute I could live without him? “Marry me.”

  The corners of his mouth twitch into a smile. “What?”

  “Not this again,” I chuckle. “You heard me, Ambrose. Marry me.”

  His smile wanes. “If this is merely because I’m dying—”

  “Excuse me, you’re the one here who thinks you’re dying,” I point out. “I know you’re not. I’m asking because…I love you. Because I know we’re going to get our million nights and there isn’t a single one of those where I don’t want to be by your side.” I shrug. “It’s as simple as that, genius.”

  “Then I guess I better marry you, huh?” he chuckles.

  “Damn straight.”

  He breaks into happy tears, as do I, before I bridge the now minuscule space between us until it’s gone forever. We kiss and caress the sins of the past away. I’m sweet and gentle, something only he draws out of me. I never want to make love to another man again. I never will. Only him. Afterward is just as perfect, lying in each other’s arms, my head resting over his heart.

  “I missed you,” he whispers as he strokes my hair. “I missed you so much. Your smell. Your laugh.”

  “My snoring?” I quip.

  “Even that.”

  I rest my chin on his chest and gaze up at my fiancée. “Well, unless you have any more life altering secrets hidden away, you’re stuck with me now.” He stares down but doesn’t smile. I can read his face better than a book. “Do you trust me?”

  “More than anyone on this earth.”

  “Then why won’t you trust me now? Trust me on this? If you think I’m going to let a little microscopic bug take you from me, you are not as smart as you pretend to be. This isn’t over. We’re just beginning. I refuse to become a damn widow before we’re even married, and we are getting married. We are going to stand before our friends, our family, God and whoever the hell else is listening and pledge our love and fidelity to one another. We are gonna let the world know what we already do: we’re friends. Lovers. Partners. You’re not standing me up, Ambrose.”

  “Never,” he says, finally smiling.

  “Then you just lie back and let me save you this time.”

  He caresses my cheek, the smile growing. “You already have.”

  And I’m damn well going to again. He’s all I have. All I want. I need him. And nothing will stop me from getting my million nights and a million more with him.

  Nothing.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Down and Out

  For the first time since we last slept in the same bed, I wake feeling like an actual human person. Rested. Coherent. The only problem is I wake alone and slept five hours longer than I’d wanted. I can still smell him on the pillow and take a few more seconds to savor that. To remember his touch, his taste, his kisses and laughs. How could I have thought I wanted to go through life without them? That bleak thought spurs me out of the warm, comfy bed to quickly dress into my sweats and hustle downstairs. I can’t save him from bed.

  Unfortunately, I’m not the only one up at four AM. I pay the price of needing to use their toilets with more blood, urine, and lung secretion tests. At least I get cereal with real milk out of the bargain. Jem’s in their lab, working away already. My lab rat duty done, it’s my turn to get to work. I find Doris all by her lonesome in The Chamber. Harry must be sleeping. Smart man. First I check Harry’s notes on Biodyne. Seems while I was getting laid, he was working. That’s why he’s the best.

  Per his investigation, he found no evidence of Biodyne researching adenoviruses. None of the doctors on our list, save for one, has ever worked there, and that one doctor has since moved to India to work on stem cell research. Shit. Of course this doesn’t mean Biodyne’s clean, but its disconcerting. They could have kept the research off the books, secretly funded by Motoneslly through back channels. A forensic accountant could suss that out but it’d take months. We—

  The video chat rings over the speakers. I put on my headphones and mic before accepting the call. Justin sits on a familiar couch scowling over the monitor. I miss my couch. “Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to hail someone for over an hour.”

  “It’s the middle of the night. We were…sleeping.”

  “It’s gone,” he says.

  “What’s gone?”

  “Motoneslly. The tax records, what little there was on Noogle, the offices, their website, everything. It’s gone.”

  “What?” I pull up Noogle and sure enough no links appear. Nothing on the whole of the internet matches my search.

  “It’s the same in every database, Jo. The few records we found have been deleted.”

  “What about Biodyne and the others?”

  “Their records do still have Motoneslly listed as their owner, but unless we know precisely which companies to search for, we won’t find any more links. No one will. They’ve effectively cut off our intelligence gathering. The government’s as well. What we have is all we’re probably going to get. And in further bad news, Lexie went to the Motoneslly apartment and office in Independence. No surprise the apartment was empty, however the office wasn’t. Three men in ski masks were there, wiping the computers and literally torching the place.”

  “Is Lexie okay?” I ask.

  “She barely got out of there before the roof collapsed. They’re still trying to put out the fire. Same with the office New Urbana. And when I tried to check the telephone number at those addresses, there were no files found. They deleted all records on incoming and outgoing calls to those offices. Just like the fleet car Ryder drove.”

  “Who the fuck are these people?”

  “Trying to uncover that fundamental question just became twenty times harder. The question we really need to ask now is how did they know we were investigating them?”

  “If they can break the internet then I’m sure they have programs that let them know when someone’s searching for them. I’ve sent emails to the Health Department and feds with my findings.”

  “I thought that too, but the offices went up in flames half an hour before the feds began investigating them.”

  I shrug. “There has to be an informant then. I’m sure they have one in every country’s government they operate in. Several.”

  “Maybe.”

  “So what the fuck do we do now? Harry spent hours on Biodyne and got nowhere. All we have left are the airline and medical supply company.”

  “Already done. Like Biodyne, both check out clean. The only connection to the case is that Health Medical Inc. manufactures the same gas used at the prison, but so does every other supply company. They’re based in India but have distribution hubs in Jericho, Starling, Carsten, and seven others.”

  “Carsten’s only thirty miles from here.”

  “The hubs are outside every major city. Geronimo offered to take a look. He just reported back. Found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. He downloaded their shipping manifests for the past year, but it’ll take days to review. There are thousands of entries. We’re concentrating on any within twenty minutes west of the city, the way you tracked Ryder. We have the list Jem sent of what would be needed to equip a full lab to house sixteen patients. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  “Because our track record with luck is so wonderful.” I pause. “This is bad.”

  “This is bad,” he concedes.

  “Jem’s getting worse. Fast. Last night he had vertigo for almost an hour. He thinks they’ll send him to the hospital today, and that he’ll…we-we don’t
have time for this bullshit.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry,” I snap. “Don’t bring me more problems. Bring me goddamn solutions!”

  “We have the government, top scientists, and half the superhero population working around the clock, Jo. We have a suspect now. Even the press has mobilized. I called Veronica and she’s getting in touch with major networks worldwide to plaster The Motoneslly Group name everywhere. Someone will come forward with information and we’ll nail the bastards.”

  “That was…smart,” I say.

  “And the government is taking Motoneslly seriously now. The airline and supply company are top priorities. Warrants are already issued. And Lexie suggested we search social media sites for mentions, which I was just about to do. If they didn’t hack those yet, we may find people who list Motoneslly as their place of employment. We were knocked down, sure, but we’re not out yet. Nowhere near.”

  Damned if I don’t feel a little better. “Okay.” I pause. “Sorry about snapping.”

  “I’ve been your best friend for over two decades. I’m used to it,” he says with a smile. I find myself smiling back. “Catch up on everyone’s reports then help me search for a needle in a field of haystacks.”

  “Okay. Jo, out.” I cut the call.

  Down but not out. Story of my damn life.

  I’ve missed so much while I slept. The majority of our suspected doctors have been cleared and more than a few have even offered their services in helping with research. Only seven remain, all out of the country. Guess no one has contact with the supers in India, China, and Malaysia who can go knock on their doors. And thinking of India, Dr. Sharpesh formerly of Blackwater, finally wrote back offering to chat and help anyway he can. Even if he was only at early stages, it can’t hurt.

  Next I review my chicken scratch from last night about the phantomous Peter Miller and Victoria Lancaster: their alleged previous employers, the now useless home address, and random thoughts. This is it. This one piece of paper is all we have and will get on them. Why didn’t I write down their Federal ID numbers? Print out their W2s? All lost now. I shouldn’t have slept so long. I should have been down here, nose to the fucking grindstone. Well, not again. No breaks, no sleep beyond naps, until this is over.