"Just a sec. I want to see if U-Urbana won against Lake City."
Lexie rolls her eyes. "You'll have to forgive my husband. They didn't teach him manners in the cave where he was born." She walks around to the couch, snatches the remote from the armrest, and shuts off the TV.
"Hey!" Brendan says.
"We have a legitimate hero in our home and all you care about are football scores!"
"What?" He turns around, and when he spots me, his mouth opens a little. "Oh, shit. Sorry," he says, standing.
"No worries."
"Joanna, Brendan. Brendan, Joanna," Lexie says.
He walks over to shake my hand. I'm a dwarf beside him. "Nice to meet you," he says. "Lexie's been sitting outside for hours waiting for you to show up."
"I was working on my tan, thank you very much," Lexie says.
"Yeah, right. I told you to just call." He returns his attention to me. "She's very impressed by you."
"Why?" I ask.
"You saved all those women," she says, rounding the couch to reach us. "I mean, I didn't see it or anything because I was cowering in the bathroom, but I heard all about it!"
"I really didn't do anything," I say. "It was mostly Lady Liberty. I just disarmed KitKat."
"Even still. You ran into that room to help your friend. That's huge. That alone makes you a hero."
"Or a moron," I counter.
"You should know there's nothing you can say to change her mind," Brendan says, wrapping his arm around his wife's tiny waist. "Once she's made it up, you're doomed."
"Doomed you, babe," she says with a smile. He leans in to give her cheek a peck. If they start making out again I am so out of here. She looks at me. "Sorry. We're shameless."
"It's okay."
"Bren, can you go get that fruit salad in the fridge? I'm starving."
"Be right back," he says before leaving.
Lexie grabs my hand and yanks me toward the couch. "Sorry, I'm totally kidnapping you right now. I am dying for girl talk, and you are the only person in this godforsaken city I even remotely like." We sit on the couch. "So, new best friend, what on earth possessed you to run into that room the other day? I mean, I know a little about your history, but still. You must really like that Bitsy woman."
"I guess. I didn't really think about it."
"So you're just one of those insanely brave people who run into burning buildings to save people. I so admire that."
I sip my water. "Well, you got the insane part right at least."
She falls back in the sofa. "You're being modest. Admit it, you rule. Hell, if half the crap I heard you went through last year is true, I'm shocked you're not in a padded cell. Kidnapped twice, getting shot at, watching your best friend die, that's like a lot." She licks her lips. "I knew him, you know. Justin. We met him at a few parties through the years. He was quite a guy."
"Yes," I say, gazing down.
I drink my water. I know what the next question is. "Did you know?" I always say, "How could I not?" and excuse myself.
Instead, she asks, "Are you still in love with him?" I almost choke on the water, coughing it all up onto my shirt. Lexie gasps and reaches across to get me a tissue. "Oh, crap. I am so sorry! Me and my damn mouth! Brendan's always telling me I have no filter. It's just that someone told me you were crazy in love with him for decades. I totally get why, he was a major babe. I can't even imagine what that must have been like for you. I guess you'll always love him, huh?"
I have no idea what to say. "I-I suppose."
"I get that. If something happened to Brendan, I'd never get over it. Widow's weeds for life. And I look dreadful in black."
"Are my ears burning?" Brendan asks as he walks in. He has two bowls of cut up fruit and forks. "You surviving the Spanish Inquisition there, Jo?"
"She hasn't strangled me yet, so that's a good sign."
He kisses the top of Lexie's head. "It's early yet, babe."
"Oh, go away."
"I live to serve." He kisses her again. "Nice to meet you, Jo. I have a feeling we'll be seeing a lot more of each other. Scream if you need back-up."
"Pretty sure she can take me, babe." We watch as he walks out. "Hot, isn't he? You can bounce a quarter off his ass. Literally."
O-kay. I clear my throat. "So, how long have you two been married?"
"A little over three years. We were friends for about a year, lovers for another after that, then made it official. I mean, we drive each other nuts, but that's part of the fun."
"You seem very much in love," I say, eating a piece of cantaloupe.
"Love of my life. No question." She shifts on the couch. "So, what about you? Your heart healed enough to let someone in yet? Got your eye on anyone?"
I gaze down at the fruit. "No. Not really."
She examines me, then laughs. "You are so lying! I can tell. My bullcrap detector is never wrong. Drives Brendan nuts. So, who is he? Is he handsome? Is he a playboy? Lawyer? Maybe a doctor?" My grip on the fork tightens. "Oh, a doctor! Nice. So, what's his name? Is he cute? Have you gone on a date yet?"
I glance up, more than a little uncomfortable and showing it. "There's no one. Really. My last relationship ended badly, and I am absolutely not in a place to jump into another one."
"Well, love has its own timetable. When the right guy comes along, it doesn't matter if you're busy, emotionally ready, or even looking, everything just falls into place. Can't fight fate, new best friend. I speak from experience. So, what's his name?"
"There's no one," I insist.
She pouts. "Fine. We obviously need a spa day or two to solidify this friendship before you share all your dirty little secrets." She smiles. "But I will get it out of you," she says, biting the watermelon and winking. "Then onto more neutral topics. Are you going to Rachel Mills' twenties party and who are you wearing?"
*
I return home an hour later with an appointment at a spa and another to go shopping for party dresses with my second new best friend. The odd thing is I don't mind. There's something about her I actually like, maybe her honesty. She's not fake, not playing games. It's refreshing, especially within the society set. I'm cautiously optimistic. At the very least there'll be someone at parties who doesn't look down at me.
I shower, change into jeans and camouflage top, braid my hair, and make my way to the command center. I once timed how long it took to get there from Justin's bedroom, and it came to four minutes. Seventeen thousand square feet. This house is too damn big. I really fucking hate it here, I really do. Besides the size, I'd swear the former Pendergasts are floating around, judging me, pissed to have an interloper in charge of their legacy. I should move into a townhouse or penthouse and turn this place over to the historical society for tours or just shut it up. Doris can be moved and set-up someplace more convenient. I scoff. Yeah, that's going to happen. Maybe in ten years I can let go. Until then…at least I get some exercise. And it's not so lonely anymore with my regular guests popping in all the time.
Lord Nightingale, in full regalia, is hard at work with Doris when I walk in. Wouldn't they be more comfortable in jeans and t-shirts? Wonder if they'll ever slip up and let me in on their secret identities. Doubt it. Justin kept it from me for twenty years and would have kept it for twenty more if a teenager hadn't let the cat out of the bag. Bastard. Both of them. "Howdy, stranger," I say as I stroll down.
The hero spins in the chair to face me. "Hello."
"Long time no see. Miss me?"
"Um, I-I-I suppose," he says, a little flustered. I seem to have that effect on people lately.
I lower myself into the chair beside him, and he tenses as he always does when I'm within two feet of him. "Good work on Casanov. I heard they added racketeering and facilitation of rape to the charges. Could we be any better at this? I think not."
"This is your victory more than mine. You did the majority of the work. We simply finished what you started."
"Well, I am so clearly awesome. Can't argue with that."
I think he smiles, but it's too quick to be sure. "And how-how are you doing? Liberty informed me what transpired a few days ago. You weren't physically injured?"
"Nope, not a scratch."
"And mentally?"
I shrug. "I had a massive breakdown in the hospital, but a fri--someone helped me through it. Nothing since then."
"Good." He pauses. "What you did was very brave. You're to be commended."
"Praise from Cesar. I'm flattered. Maybe I can get the club ring now," I say, stretching in my chair. His eyes dart to my pressed out chest then quickly spins to face the monitor. I'll let this objectification slide. "So. We took down a major crime boss. Let's not let the moss grow. What next, handsome?"
"I'm, um…" he shakes his head to clear it. My boobs are that great. "A large quantity of C-4, Semtex, and gelatin were stolen from a military base fifty miles from the city last night. What's worrisome is this is the second such theft in as many days. Both times they drove onto the base using fake IDs, incapacitated the soldiers on watch with one death, then drove off with the ordinance. The sketches the surviving soldiers provided of the culprits are generic at best. No one was really paying attention."
"Our tax dollars at work," I say. "How much did these guys get?"
"Enough to level several buildings. Best case scenario, they package it off and sell it black market."
"Worst, this wasn't for the money and whoever did it has a plan," I finish. "A fanatic with a grudge. Yikes."
"Yes. Yikes. The problem is with no fingerprints, unobservant witnesses, and no prior crimes with the same M.O. I am at a loss how to proceed. Tempest examined the scene but found nothing of use. It is a quandary."
I raise an eyebrow. "Or you've been holed up down here in the dark for hours, and your brain is fried. Scoot over." I bridge the gap between us, and he moves so the arms of our chairs touch. I start accessing the databases as he watches, still tense beside me. Don't know if I should take that personally. "It's going to be a pain in the ass to go through, but I am going to get you a list of all the black market explosives sellers and buyers within seventy-five miles." I print the page before going to the next. "I am also printing you a list of bomb makers and criminals known to have used ordinance in their crimes." I press a few buttons and out pops the list. "Done. Now, just because I like you and am super nice, I am going to get us some lunch and help you locate these bastards. Sound good, your Lordship?" I stand up. "You take a break. Go outside, fly around, do yoga on the beach, just get out of here for fifteen minutes. You need it."
Because I'm feeling particularly generous today, and we're going to be down here for hours, I assemble a feast. Salad, turkey on wheat sandwiches, V-8 juice, and chips which I will do my damnedest to resist. He's still gone when I return. I do love a man who listens to reason. I switch on the radio to the classic rock station, set up the remote laptop so we can both access the computer at the same time, sit down with my sandwich, and start culling the lists. My partner in anti-crime returns a few minutes later to resume his post. I learned in the week we were compiling the Casanov case he doesn't like to talk while working, so we do our separate assignments side-by-side. He's not the most sociable of people. Probably why we get along so well.
As we reach hour two, I have the locations on seventy-five percent of my scumbags and strained eyes from staring at this monitor. At least the tedium is broken by my new favorite game: count the times the hero glances at me when he thinks I'm not looking. Fifteen times in two hours. I don't know whether to be flattered or creeped out. Wonder if he does the same thing with Liberty. In my limited experience observing them together, I've come to the conclusion they aren't a couple. There's no touching, no tenderness of voice, nothing to indicate they bump uglies. And if he has a girlfriend, she's very understanding considering he probably has a day-job then spends hours either here or on patrol. No, he doesn't have a girlfriend. It's been a long time since he has judging from his reaction to me. Poor guy. All work and no play. No way to live.
It's my turn to glance. He rubs his neck and grimaces in pain. "Super-healing on the fritz?" I ask.
"What? Oh, no. I've just been hunched over for so long it finally caught up with me. I'm fine."
We continue working for a few minutes, and the rubs continue. After the tenth time, I throw my pen down. "You're driving me fucking nuts. Would an aspirin help?"
"No. My body metabolizes them too rapidly. Multiple Vicodin or Oxycotin might."
"Well, we're out." I came home from rehab and found all the pills and booze gone.
"I'll be fine," he says as he turns his head toward me, followed by a quick intake of breath.
I push the chair away from the desk. "Oh, for fuck's sake," I mutter as I stand.
"What-What are you--" he asks as I walk over.
"Turn around. I'm good at this." He hesitates but obeys. "Where does it hurt?"
"Um, um, the bo-bottom of my neck and shoulders. Are you--" My hands slipping onto his shoulders makes the hero jolt. Yeah, it's been awhile since he's gotten laid. "You don't--"
"Shut up," I say, kneading his shoulders. "I used to do this for Justin all the time, so don't read anything into it. It's either this or I smash my laptop over your head in frustration. So relax. You're as tense as a man facing execution." I dig my thumbs into the base of his neck, moving in a circular motion. I used to do this for Harry too. He'd take off his shirt, I'd pull out the baby oil, and work out his kinks. The massage usually only lasted a minute or two before he pounced. God I miss those nights. Lust ripples through me at the memory of our oily couplings. Nightingale's not the only one who needs to get laid. "Feel good?" Nightingale nods. I'm coming up on my old record, eleven months. It's unnatural. I mean, the program says I shouldn't start a relationship. A one night stand isn't a relationship. It's…stress relief. They advocate that. It'd be a mercy on both ends. Gazing down at Nightingale with his pink lips relaxed and smooth breathing, I have the strongest urge to spin this chair around, rip off the lower part of his costume, climb on top of him, and screw his brains out right in that chair. I'd leave the mask on. Be kind of thrilling to fuck a guy without knowing who he really is. My hands slowly move from his shoulders to his collarbone and the start of his pecs, rubbing up and down. "Bet this feels even better," I whisper duskily. His head tilts back to see my face. I smile seductively, but that smile falls when I meet his eyes behind the plastic coverings. I gasp a little in surprise. Fuck.
"Well, well, well. Isn't this cozy?" Liberty says behind me.
As if he were radioactive, I yank my arms away. Double fuck.
Nightingale and I spin around to see both Liberty and Tempest standing by the beach door smirking. "Do you want us to some back later?" Tempest asks.
"I-I-I had a crick in my neck," Nightingale says.
"Of course you did," Liberty says in an insinuating tone.
"Really, nothing is going on," I insist.
Liberty's about to open her mouth again, but Tempest waves his hand and says, "We believe you. We just came for an update on the robberies."
"Of-Of course," he sputters, moving as far from me as possible. All business, Nightingale reviews our progress.
"Good job you two," says Tempest. "Liberty and I will begin interrogating the people on the lists. See what intel, if any, the scumbags can give us. We'll take it from here. Nightingale, go home and get some rest. You look like hell. I'll be in contact."
Why do I get the sense I've been dismissed in my own house. If I didn't want to get the hell out of this fucking room I'd throw a hissy fit. Instead, I say, "Thank you," and start walking toward the ramp. "Good luck." Nightingale keeps his eyes on the floor as I walk out, but Liberty isn't as bashful. With a proud smile, she gives me a quick thumbs up. I cannot get out of here fast enough. I don't feel safe until I close my bedroom door, whacking my head against it in frustration.
Brilliant.
Wonderful.
Perfect.
I let out a lon
g, deep sigh. Why can't anything ever just be fucking simple?
CHAPTER FIVE
Roaring Twenties
Ever since third-generation real estate mogul Danforth Mills married his considerably younger third wife Rachel, daughter of his old business partner, he became less known for his business savvy and more for his over-the-top parties. Millions wasted on fire breathers, a chocolate fountain as tall as a house and pop stars serenading his young bride. Don't know how they'll be able to top the circus themed soirée this summer with the entire troupe from Cirque de Marquee meandering around and contorting right in front of you. Ugh.
At least I get to wear classier clothes this time. The 1920s was an impressive era fashion wise. Lexie and I figured all the other women would be decked out as flappers, which my stylist Isolde confirmed, so we went different routes. Lexie's more dapper than her husband in a tuxedo a la Greta Garbo, complete with top hat. We do match in the make-up department with bright red lipstick and dramatic eyes. Even dressed as a man she's prettier than me.
I decided to go simple yet elegant with a sleeveless black satin couture dress with an asymmetrical, layered hemline. Lexie thought it was too plain and insisted crystals be added. She actually put my whole look together with great detail, including the peacock feather on my headband, even bossing her hairdresser around while he worked on me. Don't know why she cares so much, but I was happy to have her take over. Beauty rituals are not my wheelhouse.
"We're just making an appearance, right?" Brendan asks.
Lexie rolls her eyes. "You TiVo'ed the game. It'll be there." We, really Lexie, insisted we ride in the limo together. Built in excuse, blame the other person when we leave in half an hour. Devious mind, I like that in my friends.
"It's not just the game. I have practice early tomorrow, among other things."
"Sweetie darling, I love you to bits, but you really need to stop complaining. This is your debut into society. You don't want everyone to think you're some uncouth, ungrateful anti-social jerk do you?"
The Galilee Falls Trilogy (Book 2): Galilee Rising Page 6